IT HAD BEEN SEVEN LONG YEARS since the First Prince of the realm sailed away with his sweetheart, on the ship they built with their own hands. And now—finally—he had sent word he was coming home.
When his letter of arrival arrived that morning, all hell broke loose. Mandatory Breakfast was abandoned immediately. Plates clattered. Chairs screeched. Servants scrambled out of the way as Pendragons ran like mad lads through the halls, and a challenge to see who would get there first was placed. The two contenders being the king and his youngest child.
When the ship finally docked, the wooden plank was lowered. A familiar figure appeared at the top. A taller. Older. Arthur Pendragon. Changed as if lined with years of adventure and experience. Though the most shocking was not his new appearance but who was behind him, where Cesealia emerged, holding the hand of a small, six-year-old ginger-haired girl with bright blue eyes.
The first Pendragon in history to not be blonde.
TO BE CONTINUED
[BOOK 2]
THE FATE OF SALT AND STEEL
ARTHUR AND CESEALIA'S STORY
PROLOGUE
Arthur sat at his desk in the captain's quarters, candlelight flickering over scattered parchments and half-rolled maps.
Letters from home.
One from Artizea, another from Elaine, a few from Rhyssand, and of course, his Mother. Even a short but sarcastic note from Eugene was neatly stacked beside him. But none from his father. Not one. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
"Figures—" he muttered to himself, dipping his quill in ink.
He had written before. The first letters had been formal, filled with status reports. Even when they became more personal. Less princely, more son. Still, no reply. Maybe his father was busy. Maybe the letters never reached him. Or Maybe—maybe he just did not care. But Arthur was nothing if not persistent. He was a Pendragon after all. A Pendragon never accepts defeat with open arms. So he started again. Straight to the point. Just like him.
"Father,
I have not received a single letter from you. I am beginning to think Fin is eating them before they arrive. I would not put it past him. However, if by some chance, you did receive them and simply chose not to respond, challenge accepted. You may ignore me today, but I will continue writing tomorrow.
The ship remains in good condition. The supply levels are stable, no fights among the crew (so far). Cesealia is well, and I—"
Arthur paused, tapping his quill against the parchment.
"I miss home. But—I think I'll give it a try out here. See where the wind takes me. Perhaps I will find what I am looking for soon. Your son…"
Arthur.
He sat back, staring at the ink as it dried. He folded the parchment, sealing it with his personal seal wax, and called for Fin, who swooped in through the open window and landed on his desk with a huff.
He held up the letter. "To my father."
Fin side-eyed him, then took the letter in his talons. "Would it help if I said I did eat them?" he asked.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, "It would,"
"Sucks I am a divine bird who can't though." Fin replied.
Arthur's lips twitched into a smirk as he watched him disappear into the night.
Maybe this time, he would get an answer.
Just maybe.
He'll say it back.