A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 18 - "They abandoned the ship."

Alwyn

"Let's have this talk."

At her mother's words, Alwyn tore her eyes away from Zavier and his brothers. She'd never seen him so broken and her heart hurt for him. The only person she'd lost was Bates and she'd only known him two seasons.

She imagined the pain must be like if she'd lost Sparrow, but a dozen times over. At the thought, Alwyn wanted to comfort Zavier but knew the embrace of his brothers was more than efficient.

Besides, she had her own struggles to face.

"This way," Isla said.

She and Raif led the way up the steps to the palace. Alwyn glanced at Cyrus but he didn't seem to feel the same foreboding that she did. Which made sense, he wasn't the one that had screwed up.

When they entered the grand entrance, Alwyn couldn't help but pause. The ceiling arched high above her and was lined with intricate moldings. Alcoves dotting the entrance held marble statues that gleamed as if a servant had only just stepped away from polishing them. Light glinted off the floor and reflected Alwyn.

Shaking herself from the grandeur of it all, Alwyn followed her parents. Despite knowing she was clean, Alwyn couldn't rid herself of the thought that if she touched anything around her, she'd leave a smear of dirt.

How did Zavier call this place home? Every surface was spotless, every tapestry, painting, statue exquisite. Everything controlled, contained. The echo of their footsteps rang against the floor. It meant that running through these corridors would be impossible, everyone would hear the commotion. Yet that's how Alwyn had always pictured Zavier growing up, running around, wild, free.

The constraint of the palace explained why she'd never visited with her parents more than a few times. This wasn't likely to be a place they enjoyed staying in. All the times they stopped in Loria Alwyn could only remember having the King and Queen aboard their ship or her parents briefly visiting the palace. She understood, for two who lived on the freedom of the sea, these cold walls were too confining.

Isla guided them into a wood-paneled study, made dim by the dark furniture and the bookshelves that lined two walls. It smelled faintly of pipe smoke and lantern oil. It was a soothing smell, a strange sensation coming from a palace that felt stiff.

The family settled around a mahogany table edged with gold. Alwyn sank back in her seat, touching the delicate stenciled work. Even a table needed to be adorned. How could anyone live in a place like this?

"So," Isla said, looking from her son to her daughter. "You don't need to tell me about the attack on the palace, that will come later. Right now I want to know why most of your crew is gone and why you have a different mainsail."

Alwyn wanted to crawl beneath her table, of course her mother would notice they had a new sail. She met eyes with Cyrus. She couldn't let him talk, if he did he'd find some way to make it sound like they'd both been at fault. But that's wasn't true. This was on her. Still, she didn't want to speak.

Alwyn looked at her parents. Raif leaned against the arm of his chair, his manner relaxed as it always was. Isla sat more upright, but her face revealed nothing. It was what made her such a good captain, she showed only what emotions she wanted to be seen. As a mother, it made it intimidating to live under and even harder to try and imitate.

"You could simply ask Sparrow for his written report of it all," Alwyn said. "I'm sure he could give more detail than I could."

Something flickered across her mother's face but was swept away before it could stay.