Samson opened his mouth, but the knot in his throat had appeared again as soon as he laid eyes on Elias. He raised his hands. “Only sometimes. Cheng will not bother you again.”

Elias nodded, gaze following something behind Samson. Cheng. “Right. Thank you.”

The words caught him off guard. He bowed his head, and then took a breath. “We will arrive at a local island soon. Would you like to walk with me when we land or remain on the ship?”

“You’re letting me off the ship?” Elias asked.

“As long as I can protect you, you may do as you please.”

Elias sighed. “I’d like to go ashore then.” He took a breath. “Is that one staying below deck?” His eyes followed behind Samson, still tracing Cheng’s path.

Samson nodded. He glanced toward the stairs, and Elias followed his gaze.

Elias moved first, and Samson followed silently behind him, keeping an even pace as the ascended. As they surfaced, Samson heard Elias take a breath. The sun was still low in the sky, now casting a pink haze over the water. Elias paused, looking over the railing once more. Samson stood at his side, watching as the prince leaned forward, elbows pressed against the wood. The deck was busier now, members of the crew flitting about, but Elias seemed to pay them no mind. He stared out at the water, only moving to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Samson didn’t rush him. It was nice. To stand at his side, watching as the sun slowly crept up the sky, it allowed Samson just a moment where he could pretend that this was under some other circumstance. In another life, he could have been watching this same sunrise, side by side with his prince, and it would have been so peaceful. This was... It was not that it wasn’t peaceful. But there was more beneath it. Even if he tried to focus only on the water and the warmth of the man standing mere inches from him, reality pressed on his mind like a knife, cutting through the fabric of his imagination.

“I do not appreciate being used as a pawn for my mother’s attention,” Elias said, still not looking toward Samson. Samson didn’t bother to respond. Elias wouldn’t see. So he just stood there, watching the man look away from him. “This isn’t the first time it’s been done. Not quite like this, but… I’m used to being used like this.” He paused, his eyes falling shut. His lashes brushed his cheekbones. “Just know that it may not work for you.”

Elias didn’t open his eyes, and Samson didn’t attempt to sign. It was frustrating being unable to respond to him, but if the man was purposely looking away from him, it was likely he wasn’t interested in a reply. It was alright if he wasn’t looking for an answer, but the lack of options was irritating.

Samson hadn’t considered the idea of Her Majesty not responding for long when they had set this plan in motion. It was possible, he supposed, but unlikely. Even if the Queen was not very forthcoming with affection for her children, and even if she had very little regard for Elias’s political sway, she was clear that she would do anything to maintain his status and see him excel as far as she believed he could. Hindrance from pirates would not be tolerated.

“I’d like a fresh set of clothing. It doesn’t need to be high quality, but I would like to feel clean.” Elias finally turned, pulling Samson’s key from his pocket. “I would also like to be alone. At least, with fewer eyes on me.” He spoke confidently, carrying himself toward the door to Samson’s quarters with composure that befit the heir to Kremal. But the action couldn’t conceal how his hands trembled when he pressed the key into the knob.

Samson followed, and Elias made no move to stop him, only pulling the door shut and turning the key again once they were both inside. Samson busied himself with searching through his armoire, searching for anything that might suit a prince. He had fine things– Samson may not have worn them often, but having nicer options when in meetings with particular company made him more comfortable. It wasn’t too uncommon that he needed to mingle with nobility on behalf of some allied captain or another. His clothing may not have been to the standards of royalty, but it allowed him to fit cohesively with lower nobles. Sighing, he stepped away from the wardrobe, gesturing toward it. It would be better if the prince himself could choose.

Task mostly completed, Samson took a seat on the edge of his bed before rolling up the hem of his pant leg. Elias, occupied with the wardrobe, paid him to mind as Samson found the laces on his prosthetic. Loosening them was a relief, and he let out a soft sigh as he pulled his leg from the contraption fully, stretching the muscles. It would be a while before they arrived on land. It would be good to go without the tight laces digging into his skin for a while.

Elias turned, clothing laid over his arm, and then paused, assessing the scene before him. “Oh.” He didn’t say anything else about it. “May I wear these?”

“Take anything you’d like, Your Highness. Anything of mine is at your disposal.” Samson turned his head, facing an old trunk past the foot of the bed. Inside it were a handful of personal items, mostly small trinkets from places the ship had stopped. It contained nothing of real value or importance, but he did his best to find it uniquely captivating until Elias stepped back into his line of sight of his own accord.

The prince knelt, a silk maroon shirt covering him, and eyed the prosthetic before him. He gleaned up. “May I look at this?”

Samson nodded. “As I said, anything you like.”

Elias took it in hand eagerly, fingers tracing the leather and the laces, down to the wooden joint of the knee. He rolled it, flexing the bend in his hands. “This is really well made. It could use maintenance, but it looks beautifully crafted.” He pulled the boot from it, investigating the ankle before taking the foot in hand, testing that joint as well.

Samson felt something odd in his stomach. He had rarely had others handle this, and even more rarely take any sort of interest. He supposed Elias had always been interested in machinery, though. “It was carved by Verandi craftsmen.”

“Verand has incredible medical and mechanical prowess,” he said, nodding. Carefully, he set the piece back where it had come from, leaning it against the bed. The prince stood, straightening himself. The look of wonder vanished from his face, as though it had never been there at all. As if he had remembered his situation all at once and could no longer allow himself a moment of delight.

Elias always had been interested in machinery. The sciences, too. That must have been a difficult interest to pursue in his position. While a certain amount of knowledge in those fields would be expected of a man in such high standing, he wasn’t some aristocrat who had the time to dive into books and studies. Things like how a wooden joint operated wouldn’t be standard teaching. Had that moment of curiosity been snuffed out on land as well?

“The guide to its making and care is on my shelf. There are several guides on mechanics if you’d like to look at them.” Time between stops ashore were, if they were lucky, uneventful and verging on dull. A well-stocked library helped to ease that boredom. “I have a few Verandi texts.”

Elias’s lips parted ever so slightly, as though he were considering words of protest, but he closed them into a tight, flat line, nodding as he stood. The motion was so smooth. Even in a small space like this, Elias carried himself in a way that set him apart from any other. His shoulders were square and his stride was filled with intent. His head was steady as though he were balancing some crown that wasn’t visible to Samson’s eyes.

With Elias standing over him to search the shelves, it became clear just how much the man had grown. He was taller now than when Samson remembered, and his hair longer. Instead of close-cropped sides and bangs that practically blinded him, he wore it in a comfortable ponytail, small strands falling to frame his face. His musculature, too, had strengthened. Granted, they had only been fourteen at the time– it would be a shock if the man hadn’t changed. After all, Samson himself has changed. His hair had grown to fall in loose curls to his waist, and instead of being just a little kid looking up to Elias from his shadow, he was at least a head taller than him now. Back then, he’d had another leg. Even his name had changed to time and circumstance. He was unrecognizable.

It wasn’t as though Samson was an insecure man. Looks didn’t cross his mind often. With a ship and a crew to concern himself with, that hadn’t been a priority since his early teenhood. Sitting before Elias however, watching the way the man tilted his head just so when he rested it on his hand to make himself comfortable while reading, he was aware of his own body. There were scars across his torso, now hidden by a long jacket, but still there. His hands were rough, his nails in a much worse state than the perfectly manicured ones that now held a book on ship architecture.

None of these thoughts were particularly helpful. They didn’t bring him closer to securing the Queen’s attention or give Elias any reassurance. So, he pushed them aside, and allowed himself a short sigh of relief when he heard the commotion outside the door. They’d be at the port soon. There would be much more to occupy his mind on land. To leave the comfort of the sea was rarely such a respite, but at least it would offer some semblance of solid footing.