I decided to just keep going. You guys deserve some updates. So here's the third chapter. With this chapter finished we made it to the current situation. Now we can really get started. I hope you'll "enjoy" it - though I feel weird using the word "enjoy", but I'm sure you'll know what I mean.

Thank you all for the reads and the reviews!

Masks

Seven nights passed and five men perished, before the first body washed upon shore. It wasn't Seamus and Eleanor was almost upset, because she had missed him the most. This man was bloated and grey and at first she did not even recognize him as one of hers. The scratches on his back were still there though, and the golden rings on his swollen fingers were eerily familiar.

She watched as James assisted the men in hauling up the body. They could've just waited for high tide to wash it away again, but one of the local fishermen assured that come low tide, it was likely the body would again be left on the rocks.

If they found the Princess' presence weird, none said anything. But there were the occasional glances and unheard whispers.

'How far from shore does a body need to be to make certain it never returns to shore again?' she asked and the old, unsuspecting recipient of her question was stunned into silence.

'What do you mean, Princess?' he asked, after he came over his initial shock.

Eleanor shrugged.

'I've heard you speak, trying to determine how he got into the water,' she said, 'and most likely he slipped and fell from the cliffs.'

The fisherman nodded.

'Is it fair to assume then, that when a body drops off the cliffs, it will always wash upon shore?'

'Not always,' another man, younger than the first interjected, 'but if you take into account the currents, it is the most likely outcome.'

'Currents?' she asked.

All the men nodded and for a moment the body was forgotten, because when the Princess asked a question, all wanted to answer.

'Most of them lead back to shore, Your Highness,' another added. 'Either towards Galway bay and if not there, the current will bring the body into Liscannor Bay.'

'All currents lead to shore then?' Eleanor said, but 'no' they said in unison, 'not all, Princess'.

'If you sail past Spanish Point,' the younger man from before spoke, 'there's a change in currents and instead of leading you back to shore, they lead you straight to the deep of the Atlantic Ocean.'

The others nodded their agreement.

'Spanish Point is dangerous,' one said.

'The current there unpredictable,' another added.

'Great waved for surfing, though,' a golden haired fellow said and the man next to him nodded fervently and stated, 'That's why the currents there are different.'

He wanted to elaborate further, but then James cleared his throat loudly and they all went back to work, hauling up that damned body, that the Princess had unwittingly put there.

In the course of three days, four more bodies washed upon shore. Three they managed to salvage, the fourth the sea took back when came high tide and when low tide returned, so not did the body. Seamus, however, was never seen, no matter how she missed him dearly.

Eleanor continued to have her parties, continued to take different men into her bed, but she wasn't ignorant nor witless, so she never took them up the cliff. Not once. They all returned home again.

But she didn't see the shag either, and for all its roaring and thrashing and tumult, it felt like the sea was angry at her.

She went up the cliff every night, but she didn't dare take anyone with her. Even though he hadn't said anything, she was certain James knew. And the villagers were starting to ask questions. None dared imply her involvement, but perhaps she had stirred suspicion with her questions the other day.

The parties continued, though. And she mingled with the people, smiled and danced, even kissed and some nights she fucked. But never up the cliff.

Even though she missed Robbie and she dreamt of Seamus almost every night.

But when it had been nearly two weeks since she had last seen the shag, and the sea had interrupted her dreams every single night, screaming for her to come up and bring down, and come up and push down, she decided enough was enough.

There was no party planned that night and after, she couldn't even remember where she had found the boy, but he was there and he had a cock so he would do. It was low tide and the waves were calm, when she pushed him down, unceremoniously, without regret, because she was almost delirious and she simply could not take it anymore.

When she came to her senses it had started raining, pouring, lashing down, and she threw off her clothes, the pristine white bathing robe, the tiara – because he, whoever he had been, had always wanted to fuck a Princess, so the least she could do was give him his fantasy -, her dark red undergarments. When she peered over the edge, she could see him, his body, bend in such weird ways which could only prologue death. She sucked in a breath and wished for it to rain harder, for the rain to wash his body away, because it was only low tide and the sea would not claim him yet.

I will keep you company, she promised him, until the sea claims you, and she laughed because perhaps she was really going crazy or maybe this sea, this deep, this ocean, had simply poisoned her and made her its slave. Her slave.

James found her on top of the cliff. She was still naked, lying on her belly and looking down the cliff. The rain was pouring down on her and the crashing of the waves was louder than ever before.

'What are you looking at?' he asked, and he had to repeat himself twice, before she had heard him. He had lowered himself to the wet ground, sat down next to her, trying to see what had her so captivated.

She had a hand on his wrist, smiling at him serenely.

'I don't mind,' she said. Trailed a finger up to his elbow. 'I don't mind looking upon his body and wait. Wait for high tide, for high tide to take him away.'

She rolled onto her back, facing him, her hair hanging over the edge of the cliff.

'If she doesn't like them, she simply gives them back come low tide.'

A laugh, so unrecognisable and separated from who she used to be. And he didn't see, didn't see the young man who had unfortunately become her next sacrifice, but there was no doubt in his mind that he was there. No doubt in his mind that she had been watching him.

And he was scared, because he knew the Princess wasn't crazy, except that maybe she was, but the Balmoral seas were what was truly disturbing.

'If she likes them,' she smiled, 'she takes them to Robbie. And then she shows him to me, in the sunset, because she's my mistress and he her King.'

It was no surprise to them both when two days later the body was returned to shore.

'You see,' she told James sadly. 'She wants Seamus and no one else. Because Seamus looked the most like Robbie. But not too much, really.'

'I will give you Seamus,' he promised her, 'but you cannot throw him off a cliff, then.'

And she promised.

Three days later he had a mask made for her, black and silk and anonymous, and it was fashioned after Seamus' face. Every single one of her men wore it for her, gladly, even though they found it odd. Because Seamus was what the sea wanted and Seamus was who she missed, so it only seemed logical.

Soon enough the sea calmed down.

But not for long.

She went up the cliffs every day, duly, and sometimes she brought new men, other times she brought those she had already introduced to her mistress. All wore the mask and for a moment all seemed well.

After four nights she could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs at night, would still hear them when it was supposed to be low tide, and she dared not look out of her window, for fear of what she would see. Because had she ever, since moving to Balmoral Castle, been able to refuse the ocean anything?

After nine nights even her family started to notice and Helena complained of the salty air being bad for her hair and now this fucking noise keeping me up all night, while Liam joked that the sea here did not sound half as soothing as on Willow's nature cd's, and every single one of them, the King, the Queen Mother and Eleanor, had made fun of him still listening to CD's, and when he once again explained they were Willow's, they had made fun at him for dating a girl who still listened to CD's.

It didn't change the fact the sea kept them all awake at night and for Eleanor it was even worse. No matter how many she brought up the cliffs, how many she made spill their seed, how many made her gasp with want, to the sea it was never enough because it, she, wasn't permitted to keep them.

And every sunrise she seemed to mock her, because the sky was filled with birds and the sea full of fish, but never did she see that shag diving down again. Robert.

So slowly Eleanor's resolve crumbled and her promise faded, because her brother was what she wanted and her brother was what the sea would grant her.

James had learned her tells. The men she kept for herself she was unrestricted with. She kissed them, danced with them, and flaunted them to the other females at the party. This one was hers and hers alone. James needn't worry, then. But the men she took up the cliff no one had seen her with. Those were the sacrifices.

He had watched her wander from man to man this night, staying with none too long. And he knew. Tonight she would take one up the cliff. And only she would climb down again.

You promised, he thought, but he also knew she was only doing what she thought was right. They hadn't seen a proper low tide in more than a week and the fishermen were keen to go out to open sea again.

And he could see it in the way she approached the man; she was searching for not a lover, but a victim. A sacrifice. There was this one man, otherworldly handsome, even James could admit this, but he was demure, blushed when the Princess touched him arm, and though he could see it in the way her eyes darkened with lust, she would not be taking him up the cliff. And most importantly, he was a blond. His locks were almost golden and never ever had he seen her take a golden boy on top of the cliffs, nor had he seen her take one into her bed. No matter how handsome he was.

She settled on a raven-haired, lanky lad, older than her by at least five years, but still boyishly attractive. And though she did not speak to him the rest of the night, James knew she had chosen him, because there was a bit of black cloth hanging from his back pocket and James had had it manufactured himself, so he immediately recognized the black mask he had given the Princess.

He cornered her on the balcony outside, shortly after, grabbed her by the arms and demanded to know what she was thinking.

Because she made a promise, a bloody promise.

'She needs a sacrifice,' she pleaded with him. 'And I need to see Robbie.'

'You cannot, Eleanor,' he said desperately. 'They will know. They will know it was you who killed all these men. Have you not heard the fishermen?'

But she pushed him away, offended, and he fell to his knees.

'I did not kill them, James,' she defended herself. 'I made an offer, a trade. I did not kill them.'

But there was so much defeat in her voice, that James knew she had already started to distrust her own lie.

'The mask,' he exclaimed desperately. 'Take them up the cliff, but don't push them off. Does it matter in which way she receives them?'

And was he going mad, referring to the sea as she as well? Was he going mad?

'Let the mask suffocate them,' he said breathlessly. 'I will take care of the bodies. I will take them beyond Spanish Point to make sure they never return to shore.'

He looked at her hopefully.

'Please.'

And then she was on her knees as well, holding his hands in hers, because she could never, never.

'I could never,' she said. 'I could never get you involved, James.'

'I want to get involved,' he said. 'I need to get involved. I promised your father I would keep you safe. And this is the only way I know how.'

And one day, he thought, I will save you from that traitorous sea. But not now, not yet. Right now this is all I can offer you.

'James,' she said and he knew he had won. She kissed his hands, kissed his knuckles and his fingers and he lifted her up by her arms. Her eyes were red and her mascara smudged.

'Go to the toilet and make yourself presentable, Princess,' he whispered as he pulled her close in an embrace. 'Otherwise that raven-haired youth might run from you.'

He kissed the top her head. 'Everything is going to be all right.'

That night he took out a row boat and headed for Spanish Point. It was hard at first, the sea tumultuous, but she became calmer as he neared his destination. As if she knew what he was bringing her. The way back was smooth and he arrived back at the castle just before sunrise.

He was exhausted and his arms hurt, but felt strangely fulfilled. Promised himself to check on the Princess before retiring to his own rooms and made a mental note to search for a boat with a motor. In case these trips became an oft recurrence. Which he was certain they would.

He never saw the man standing on top of the cliff, the Princess' cliff, his gaze following him all the way to the castle, and remaining there, on the cliff, well after the sun had come up.

He never saw him and that was James' first mistake.