The face of his thumb was numb with the obsessive rubbing of the pendant. It was becoming a habitual thing, an incessant fondling, especially when thoughts drifted away to places far from where he was. He could still see her face, so young and innocent, frolicking through the shrub-maze back home. They had spent an eternity of their childhood rampaging through the decorative gardens in youthful adventure, often to the ire of their father. They didn't care. It was fun. But that was long ago.

Cerulean spheres dropped to the thin golden coupling, and again he stroked it with the same numb digit that had done so a thousand times over the previous hour. She wore a matching one, or at least she did the last time he saw her, and he hoped and prayed to a thousand different gods that the caress he gave to the trinket could be felt across the distance between them, and in it she could find sanctuary and solace. "Aoline." He whispered into the obsidian night that blanketed their vessel. "I'm coming."

"Your highness?"

He had not heard the approach of his First knight, Lachlan Macquarie, though showed no sign of surprise. The honing of instincts, both on the battle field and in the senate hall, had deadened any semblance of disconcert. "I'm not the king, Lethe." Leoline corrected, using the epithet Lachlan had earned long ago. He was so quick to kill his enemy that you couldn't call him "Lethal". It took too long. So they called him "Lethe" instead.

"Only if you go by what is, and not what should be."

Leoline continued to watch over the side of their ship, The Beryl Crow. It was the oldest in the de Montesquieu fleet and of all the ships that comprised the royal armada, it was the one that had survived the most skirmishes, battles, and wars. It was because of this ability to endure that Leoline had chosen it to be their vessel; hopeful that its durability would varnish the ship's crew and passengers along the way. Movement from the edge of his peripheral alerted him to Lachlan's approach, to which he did not turn, but kept his gaze upon the calm, midnight water.

"We'll find her, you know?" Lachlan finally broke the silence when it was obvious Leoline had no intention to speak, following his gaze out into the ocean's oblivion. "We'll find her and bring her home."

The twinge of lips is fought off at Lachlan's assurance. If only it were that easy. "I know." Was his only response.

"Meleigh is worried about you, Leo. She is scared."

"She should be." Leoline spoke softly before turning his gaze to meet the eyes of Lachlan. "I could not risk leaving her there. For all we know this is a trap of the Covenant to lure us away from our lands. Between the murders of nobles and the assassination of bureaucrats, I would not dare leave my wife to face such macabre alone."

Lachlan took a step back, hands coming up in mock surrender - a perfect fit for the sardonic grin that splayed his handsome visage. "Don't impale the messenger, your highness. I'm just retelling what I've been told." A sly wink delivered. "Besides, that's why I brought all my kids along."

Leoline fought off the insurgence of a laugh, though could not detour the small camber at the corner of his mouth. "Capricious and crass - stalwart qualities that are so rarely connected."

Lachlan lowered into a deep bow resembling that of a stage performer. "At your service, my liege."

For that he could give a short chuckle. "I shall go and see to my wife. Watch the water." Leoline turned on his heel and started away, boots thumping across the damp deck.

"Yes sir." Lachlan replied, and then after a moment asked. "What am I looking for?"

Leoline opened the door that led below deck to where the quarters were located, though stopped before fully crossing the threshold to look back at the First knight. "For our destination. For the place where Aribet is." He steeled his visage, all indication of a mirth and joy dismissed with the reemergence of dour features. "For Rhy'din."

He heard the childish laughter through the door and stopped for a moment, allowing the purity of such mercurial hilarity to run its course. Such mirth was often absent aboard military vessels, and the fact that it spawned from the lips of a child made him revel in it even more. Soldiers lived in a very different world, where conventional joy, such as simple laughter, was utterly banished.

The latch was conquered by the depression of his thumb, and the resonating click heralded his arrival. He was not known for his silence, but endless weeks of secretly moving through brush amongst enemies had made him able to travel with less noise than others of his stature.
The simple room was littered with small children; Lethe's brood plentiful. There were five in total, ranging from seven years of age to three, and all of them, boys and girls, resembled their mothers. Leoline smirked at this thought - lucky them. All of them were the result of Lethe's resistance to the arranged marriage with Leoline's sister, Aribet, and a rather sore subject amongst the nobles of the realm. They considered the contemptuous response a direct violation of propriety, which spurred on Lethe to respond with a display of his middle finger.

Soldiers and politicians. They just never seemed to mix.

Through the horde of Lethe's posterity he found the form of Meleigh sitting along the bench near a wide and closed porthole, an infant cradled in her arms, her face nuzzled into the babe's chest. She hadn't seen him yet, engulfed in the wholesomeness of innocence, and he took that moment to just watch her. Their relationship had been turbulent, to say the least, as was to be expected.

Not only was he a soldier, but a leader of men, blessed by the gods with the ability to demand respect and exude authority. Rarely did he try to enforce such command, it simply happened. She, on the other hand, was the daughter of a noble who was so engrossed in the running of his territory that he raised her to be pointed and even curt if the situation called for it. His absence demanded that she be self-reliant, and that she was.

She looked up then, and he knew how it must have appeared. In the midst of in depth scrutiny he often furrowed his brow, which in turn made him look quietly angry and withheld. When she met his gaze he could tell by her disconcerted twitch that she read his features as expected, and the way she froze told him that she was steeling herself for an unpleasant confrontation.

The swift glide of a youngling, Bastien, in heavy pursuit of his younger sibling caught his attention, and thinking quickly, he scooped up the small boy as he tried to run past and easily threw him over a shoulder. "I am the dread Captain Leo and have come to eat the children who have stowed away on board!" Fingers digging playfully into young ribs, drawing out roaring and uncontrollable laughter from the child draped over his shoulder. "Who's next!"

The children screamed with fearful jubilation, and in a frenzy scattered to the far reaches of the room. With an over exaggerated, high-stepping canter Leoline stalked across the room, snarling and growling, peering out of the corner of his eyes to covertly gauge the reaction of his estranged bride.

The spin that he used to bring Meleigh and the child that she puppeteers toward him into view borders dangerously along the edge of overly-theatrical, which for him was as foreign as spinelessness. Bright blue eyes stared with a crazed regard at Evey, even as fingers reached toward her and spurred into fleshy manus-like claws. He watched as the babe giggled into floppy fits, even at such an infantile age able to instinctively understand the need to take flight. He grew closer and closer, eyebrow arched severely, lips sneered back as though his teeth were fangs, groaning and grunting with each limp step toward the baby.

Like a Lion readied upon its haunches, Leoline shot forward and scooped the small one into his large hands, easily sweeping her upward and into circles across the entire span of the room, using Evey's musical titters and coos as the symphony for their dance. It had to have been an odd sight, he was certain of it. Rarely did he allow himself to enjoy such larking freedom, ever mindful of the devious agendas of politicians and bureaucrats, though he figured that it couldn't hurt to indulge in such jovial incongruity to break the stale monotony that seafaring often lead to.

It only took twenty or so minutes before all of Lethe's children were out cold, sprawled across the cabin floor, exhausted from evading the deadly grapplers of the Dread Pirate Leo and his skulking bride. With the last one claimed by slumber, he moved through the smattering of bodies toward the small bench were Meleigh sat, the display of grace and agility a startling contradiction to the sinewy carriage of his stalwart frame. Once clear, he moved to the spot beside her and lowered down, allowing his gaze to flow over the jumble of strewn bodies. "I didn't expect them to be so lively. I guess the solitude of ship life will do that, even to children."

He turned and looked at her, taking a moment - just a small one - to search those eyes that were her own shade of blue. Her loveliness was undeniable, and just as undeniable was her brazen obstinacy. Her razor-sharp tongue and courage to use it caused him to constantly recoil, unused to such bold challenge being sent his way. He could command a thousand men to ignore their fear and march them into the lowest bowel of hell, and yet could not get her to follow even the most trivial of instructions if she didn't want to.

It was frustrating, for certain.

"I would like to purchase an estate once we arrive."

The statement was from out of nowhere, and he turned to watch her reaction.