Deryn snorted at the tea that had stained the napkin like a mocking grin.

'Watch where you're going, Mr. Newkirk'.

'I can't fashion meself some break lights like them fancy machines, Mr. Sharp', said Newkirk. 'This is prince Alek's cabin, this is'.

'Then get on with it', said Deryn. She was angry that Mr. Rigby had made her serve the count's breakfast, while Newkirk took on the new arrivals, the Clankers that had escaped to Istambul, but that, gladly, were back.

'It's odd, isn't it? Serving a prince his breakfast. And a Clanker prince to booth'.

'Aye. But if you prefer to take on Volger, by all means...'

'Not in a million years. He gives me the creeps. Alek's more...'

Deryn raised an eyebrow and Newkirk shifted his tray and let her pass, whilst knocking at the door with his boot. 'Come in', there came a voice with a formal accent. The midshipman entered the room, but discovered that the Clanker prisoner was fast asleep in his bed.

'What the...', perhaps Alek talked in his sleep. Those Clankers were certainly odd.

Then Newkirk heard something chuckling and realized it had been the strange creature Dylan and Alek carried around that had spoken in Alek's voice. The midshipman snorted and put down the tray, staining the napkin with tea.

'Drats'. He leaned to wake Alek. He slept with his head all tilted to one side, so his firm jawline was sticking out, sewn with delicacy to his neck. His shirt was tugged down so he could glimpse a hint of chest with the pink stamp of a nipple on it.

Newkirk rubbed the blush off his face. He remembered when those strange Austrians had entered the airship, making a huge fuss with them engines and all. Alek was but a little boy tagging along with them, all haughty and stiff, but the midshipman guessed that those months working on the engines, and on the walkers back in Istambul, had drawn his arms in a firm, stronger way. And he was much kinder. For some reason, Dylan enjoyed his company and teached him how to spit and curse. Newkirk couldn't help but feel he was the guy that wasn't Alek.

He shook Alek really hard, who sat up startled.

'Your Highness'.

'Ah. Gut- I mean... Good morning'.

'Your breakfast's here. Anything you need?'.

'Thank you, Mr. Newkirk. No'.

Newkirk fingered his tie nervously. Then he strode off and shut the door with a bang that made Alek shudder. Then he sighed. Of course most Darwinists still saw him as a strange enemy, or as a haughty prisoner, and before they had joined the war they couldn't have possibly imagined they'd be serving him his breakfast. He wondered if Dylan couldn't do it instead now that he couldn't fetch it himself. The way Newkirk was staring at him as he awoke was rather hateful, which was odd, since the midshipman was usually nice.

'Highness', chuckled Bovril. 'Anything you need?'

Alek shot him a cold look as he squeezed the napkin dry. He ate his breakfast slowly, since he'd probably be left to pace around his cabin with no news of his present situation.

He had no visitors, and when night was falling he decided to peek out the door and ask the guard for a stroll outside, with Dylan if he wasn't too busy.

The corridor was silent, humming in the familiar sickly green light. There was no guard at his door. Alek cursed in German. Had he known, he'd gone for a stroll hours ago.

'What are you doing?', came a voice. It was Newkirk again, carrying a lantern.

'Oh. I was... there was no guard. I wanted to go look for Dylan'.

'You and Dylan are real chums, aren't you?'

Alek wasn't fond of the way Newkirk was staring at him, quite firmly. The midshipman covered the lantern with a black cloth and everything fell into darkness. Alek reached for his knife and prepared to shout for help. He pressed his back tensely against the wall.

'I warn you I will at once report any hateful behaviour, sir'.

Newkirk pressed his hands against the wall on either side of Alek. The prince felt his wrists against his ribs.

'I don't like Clankers', said Newkirk.

'I don't go around saying I don't like Darwinists', said Alek.

'Of course you don't. I see you, always hugging Dylan, putting a hand on his arm, an arm around his shoulders...'

Alek opened wide his eyes, trying to see something he was missing. His mind was freezing in complete puzzlement.

'What do you mean?'

'You know Dylan isn't like us'.

'Mr. Sharp', came Bovril's voice from inside the cabin.

'Like what?!'

Alek felt Newkirk's hands on his ribs, then on his back. He felt his shirt untuck like a weary sigh.

'SIR!', he shouted, slamming himself against the closed door. He fumbled for Newkirk's hands, but the midshipman seemed to think he was helping him, and his cold hands were suddenly inside his shirt, sending hot shivers all over his body. 'What are you doing?!'

'I said I don't like Clankers. But I like you'.