The Ice Prince
The night was just starting to fall, a blanket of darkness covering the sea, stars drifting down to the earth. The mighty vessel, a sturdy built trade ship en route to the Southern Isles, had just settled to drift for the night, letting the winds carry them the rest of the way home whilst the crew slept. The main deck was silent. A lone sailor stood watch at the wheel, thought he drifted in and out of consciousness. As far as the crew was concerned, they would be safe for the night. They were in neutral territory, a strip of sea unharmed by warships and pirates, and the mid summer evening promised serene sailing at least until morning. It was the perfect moment for the prince to act.
Deep in the lower decks of the ship sat the damned prince, chained away in a dark and damp cell, fatigued from lack of food, and nearly sick from the rolling waves beneath him. But though the night dragged on, he refused to sleep. He sat curled in his sell, waiting for the last footsteps to creak the wood above him. And when all was still, he made his move.
The young and lonesome sailor standing guard by the wheel was nearly off to dreamland when he felt the first cold wind all summer nip at his arms. It meant nothing to him in his half conscious state, he simply adjusted the the straps on his coat and tucked his arms into his chest. There was nothing odd or unusual about it until the second wind curled in, this one stronger than the first. The sailor sat upright and looked around, unsure of what was going on but instinctively alarmed.
Next came the footsteps, a pair of boots up the stairs leading below deck. The sailor rose from his post nervously, his hands going to his sword in defense.
"Who goes there?" he ventured, heart pounding in his chest. It was followed by silence, which was far more unsettling than any answer he could have received. He crossed to the stairs and drew his sword just as he noticed something white crawl up the stairs to the main deck. But it can't be…
"This ship is changing it's course." a deep, though weak, voice from below deck demanded, the wind carried the summer warmth no longer, but bit now with icy teeth. The sailor didn't want to believe it. It was summer. Just that afternoon the water was warm enough to swim and the sun was close enough to bake the sailor's skin a rosy pink.
"I only follow orders from my captain." the sailor's voice shook. Ice crawled from up the stairs and slid slick beneath his feet. He struggled to keep his balance, while his courage slipped away altogether. Snowflakes drifted in from the sky, gentle and contradictory to the anxiety that ravaged the poor young sailors heart and mind. The voice below replied first with a dark and bellowing chuckle.
"Your captain's rather…indisposed at the moment." It was then that the mysterious voice was revealed. A figure with deep auburn hair rose to the top of the stair case. He was clad in a uniform that spoke either of regimental or royal authority and hung loosely on a weak and seemingly drained body. His face was gaunt from malnourishment—he represented any sea washed prisoner. It was the prince. And though he was weak from days aboard that ship without proper food or exercise, he struck fear into the sailor's heart. Not because of his death-like appearance, likely from his bright green eyes, glowing in rage, or the fact that this was a man guilty of murder conspiracy and no longer locked in the cell below the ship (his shackles still hung from his wrists with broken chains) but for the most part, it was due to of a mysterious twist in the story.
It was the first time the young sailor had seen the prince without his gloves—he was sure of it. Even curled up in that dingy cell, the man would not part with them and many crew members noticed the oddity and would gossip extensively about it when they weren't around him. One could expect the sailors shock to find the prince without his gloves alone. But what was more than just the gloves was the cold, white swirls that danced from his fingertips, the growing daggers of ice or the heavy chilly winds that moved at his command.
"If you don't turn this thing around," the prince tested, as the ice from the ground began to crawl up the sailor's leg. "I may have to do it myself."