"What of Marina?" Proteus asked, still staring at the open oceans.
Sinbad fought back the urge to force Proteus to look away, to cut off the melancholy air he wore like a cloak. It would do no good to force the prince from his grief. It would just drive him deeper, drown him under the waves of depression. He would have to draw Proteus out slowly.
But this was a question he could answer. He rested his forearms on the wood of his ship, letting her movements ease his tension. Pressing closer to Proteus than he would have years ago, Sinbad could feel Proteus shudder. "Marina..." he trailed off, his eyes on the rippling blue-green waves. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he continued. "We wanted different things. She wanted the sea."
Proteus turned shadowed eyes towards him. This close Sinbad could see the flecks of green in them. "And you? What do you want?" Grief and - Sinbad thought - hope choked his voice.