Malchus

I get to listen to Carthalo laugh at me and nag me for the remainder of the day. Later, as I’m preparing for dinner with the royal family, my old friend’s still at it.

“Did you even stop to consider the consequences before you blurted out that marriage proposal?”

“Do I ever?”

I have a reputation for making split decisions, and they usually have a way of working out. Whether it comes to a risky new naval maneuver to capture my quarry or a knee jerk decision to invest all of my gold into some ill-advised venture, fortune has always smiled on me. Carthalo says all my success has made me even more insufferable, but I can’t help it if I’m the gods’ favorite son.

Watching myself carefully in the mirror, I fix my formal attire again and settle a heavy gold crown over my green head scarf. I look a fair sight better than I did this morning. No longer a brutish, unwashed sailor, I look like real Rorthaginian royalty.

My short beard is combed, my wild red mane is tamed and the salt crusted dreadlocks that were starting to form have been smoothed. My sharp, cat-like eyes gleam out from beneath thick brows, my bronze face is chiseled and my long jaw juts out faintly, carving out the ideal masculine image. At least, it’s the ideal in my country. I don’t know what the men princess Delphine is used to seeing look like. Still I’m sure not one of them is a greater specimen than me. Though, they might be just a bit younger…

“You really thought it was going to work out just like that,” Carthalo is still going on. “You thought you could just waltz into the court of a satellite nation and demand their princess marry you?”

“Why not? If I want her, I want her.”

“She’s the crown princess, her father’s only heir—the future sovereign of Sanos!”

“Then damn it, what do you want me to do?!” I roar at him, rounding in a fury. “I said I want that girl and I meant it! I’m taking her back with me whether she likes it or not!”

“How? You can’t just knock her on the head and carry her off to your ship.”

“So figure something out! You’re the one with the glib tongue, make it happen.”

“It won’t be that simple, Mal.”

I know he’s right and I can’t stand it. I’m at my wits end, ready to strangle someone. Carthalo sees it in my eyes and wisely takes a few steps back. Seething, shoulders heaving, I do my best to master my temper before I smash something.

“Then what—” I ask him again, “do you suggest I do?”

Carthalo’s dark eyes narrow in a faint smile, twinkling with amusement at my expense. Though he’s a loyal retainer, he’s always laughing at me, my old friend. I sense now more than ever, it amuses him to see me in this state.

“You can’t expect preferential treatment just because you’re Hanno’s son. Delphine’s not going to walk away from her role as future queen for just anyone. You’re going to have to make her leave willingly by winning her heart.”

“And how the hell do I do that?”

“Woo her, delight her. Show her your good points, show her what a gentleman you are.”

“A what?!”

Carthalo’s laughing at me again.

A gentleman? Like those fruity smelling senators back at Father’s court? In what life could I possibly emulate their frilly, effeminate manners?

“I’ll say you have your work cut out for you. But it’s not completely hopeless. You might be a brute but you’re not without your own unique charms nor your selling points. You’re rich and powerful, good looking, seventh in line to the throne. That’s a lot to offer a girl, even a princess.”

“But would Delphine be impressed by something like that?” I haven’t known her long, but somehow I get the feeling she’s not the kind of person to be attracted to wealth or pedigree.

“Who knows? There’s your personality to consider, too. It’s not for everyone, but some women really go for the entitled savage type. It’s possible she already likes you.”

“Yeah?” I say hopefully.

“At the very least, I’d say you made an impression on her. Personally, I think a couple of hotheads like you deserve each other. Though if you do marry I predict a stormy relationship with plenty more scenes like the one we witnessed today.”

“Well,” I consider this with private relish, “that’s alright.”

Carthalo sighs. “Really, a devil like you has got no business even considering marriage. If you want my opinion you ought to march straight back to the Reef Shark and head out to sea before you cause more trouble than you already have.”

“That’s not happening,” I growl stubbornly, and Carthalo shrugs and sighs with resignation.

“How do I look?”

“A little overdressed for dinner.”

“Should I take off the breastplate?”

“And the shoulder guards. You’re eating, not going into battle.”

That’s what he thinks…

The dining room overlooks another veranda and the Meddio sea, giving me immediate and unpleasant flashbacks to earlier today. King Giorgos reclines comfortably before a short table laden with fragrant grilled fish seasoned with lemons and countless other dishes. At his invitation I join him on the cushions, settling in awkwardly and managing to sit on my headscarf, yanking it right off my head. Carthalo helps me arrange it again, silently laughing at me, I sense.

Such a funny way of eating, these islanders have. They had chairs for their meeting this morning, do they have to make me eat in bed?

Conversation is light, and the king steers it easily away from the events of this morning. I eat leisurely of figs, olives and asparagus, appreciating the fresh food after so many months at sea. As he goes on I begin to wonder if Delphine will make an appearance. After what happened earlier, it occurs to me only now that she wouldn’t attend a meal with me. The thought is immediately disheartening and almost puts me off my dinner. Almost.

Everything’s so delicious. Even something as common as crusty bread dipped in wine feels special and luxurious in this setting. Sanos really is one of the empire’s hidden jewels. And the jewel of Sanos must surely be her, the crown princess. 

Her arrival on the scene is so smooth and quiet at first I don’t even notice her. Preoccupied with my meal, I’m speaking a bit heatedly to her father of the trouble I’ve had with sirens.

“Filthy, man-eating beasts,” I snarl, thinking with vehemence on several ships I lost to their tricks last autumn. “Their songs ensnare the sailors, hypnotizing them so they become as sleepwalkers. If I hadn’t slashed my arm with my own sword to jolt myself from their song, my ship would have broken upon the rocks with the rest of them.”

“Do you hunt sirens?”

The sudden intrusion of a female voice pulls my gaze, and I start at the sight of the princess lounging just a few feet from me, dressed in a properly pinned white chiton and a sheer silk cherry pink himation.

She’s so beautiful and I’m so delighted to see her that for a moment, I forget her question. Then it comes back to me.

“Hunt them? Of course,” I say, my voice suddenly rough and gravelly. I clear my throat sharply and quickly drink down a big gulp of wine.

“They’re a menace, a threat to civilization.”

“Not all sirens, surely,” she says, watching me with inscrutable thoughts. Perhaps she has romanticized the monsters, imagined their beautiful female halves are truly human, and not the most fearsome monsters straight from her nightmares. Foolish child.

“Without exception,” I assure her. “Any siren I see, I kill on sight.”