Sinbad was on the Nomad, griping the tiller firmly as he stared out into a crystal clear night filled with stars. A light breeze ruffled his hair as he smiled softly to himself, enjoying the solitude and peace that this time of day brought. Nothing in the world could spoil the beauty of this moment. Except for a strange shadow creeping along the edge of his vision, moving ever closer towards him until it was upon him, and he was falling, falling….

He landed at a roaring campfire, members of his crew sitting all around while Doubar entertained them with a local tale he learned from the town's barkeep. Leave it to Doubar to have already come and gone to the tavern Sinbad laughed, shaking his head. His brother had also made a stew that looked rather appetizing, like most of his cooking did. As he reached for the ladle to fill his bowl, Doubar looked over at him and offered a wholehearted smile, warming Sinbad's insides better than any campfire feast. There were no words to describe how lucky he felt at being able to travel the world with his brother, to make the best of the difficulties life threw in their way. But then that cursed shadow came again, blotting out the fire and attacking him with a savage pull.

When it let go, Sinbad was a boy of no more than ten, and he was standing outside the harbour with a young Doubar and Aiden. His brother was crying, and from the wetness he felt on his cheeks, he knew he must be too. Aiden put his hand on Doubar's shoulder. "I will take care of him for you Doubar. He will be as my own son, and I will teach him everything I know, just as your father would have done." Doubar nodded his head, wiping ineffectively at his tears as they continued to fall in droves. Sinbad grabbed his brother's hand and buried his face into his arm, but then something began pulling him, wrestling him viciously away. It dragged him through a parade of memories, all raw wounds still healing. Some of them were even nightmares, fears not yet come to pass.

But then it stopped and he was lying in his bed on the Nomad, but he wasn't alone. A perfect ringlet of red was grasped between his fingers, and creamy white skin filled his hands. The enchantress turned to smile at him, and he was looking at the most beautiful face he'd ever seen. Why did she have to be a princess in disguise? Why couldn't she just be a beguiling memory he could hold on to and cherish like this forever? There was cold laughter and Maeve's perfect face began to dissolve into bits of sand, coarse and dry and empty. The sand continued to pile up long after she was gone, filling his cabin, suffocating him until his world returned to shadow.

And memory. Moving backwards through the years like he was watching his life in reverse. There were even events Sinbad couldn't possibly remember; learning to speak, to walk, his Mother and Father. A terrible storm…

"This is impossible," Sinbad said to no one in particular, exhausted and bewildered, his head splitting like an overripe melon.

"Impossible," a cold voice answered him, and it laughed that horrible, cruel laugh he'd only heard in his nightmares. Sinbad fell to his knees and landed on concrete, with steel bars surrounding him. The memories were gone. But the shadow remained. Prince Turok glowered at him from the other side. His captor. His tormentor.

Sinbad was less than enthused. He struggled to stand despite the staggering pain in his head, likely made no better by the other man's prying. "I'd bow, but I'm afraid I'll fall over," he spat caustically, in no mood to follow royal protocol at the moment.

Prince Turok hardly looked offended, instead offering him a cruel smirk. A wave of nausea washed over Sinbad as he stood straight, and he doubled over immediately to be sick. "That looks like a bow to me," the Prince purred, enjoying his pain.

"What are you doing to me?" Sinbad forced out, too weak to stand, thus remaining in a crumpled pile.

Prince Turok smirked once more, crouching down to look him in the eye. "Nothing at the moment. But this…" he reached through the bars to touch Sinbad's temple with a long, black talon. Indescribable pain ripped through his forehead, threatening to make his whole world fall to shadow once more. "This is to make sure you don't do something stupid… like electrocute something."

Electrocute. Electricity. He had the power of lightning. Fucking lightning. That was real, this was real. He was laying before the Prince Consort of the Middle East, being tortured with his Whisper power, because he crashed the most sacred ceremony in magic tradition in no delicate fashion.

"You are not Silver, not a pure-blooded magic wielder like the rest of us," asserted Prince Turok. "Your parents were red-blooded and you are red-blooded. You are an impossibility. Something even I can't understand, and I have seen all of you." He wrinkled his nose at this last bit.

"I never invited you into my head, my liege," spat Sinbad. "So sorry you saw something you didn't like. Probably aren't used to being so close to a filthy Without as you just were."

Prince Turok narrowed his eyes, and replied dangerously, "That much is true, but I was rather unprepared to see the Crown Princess with her legs wide open for you while you shouted each other's names to the heavens. I can assure you, if she were my own daughter, you would be dead right now, plans or no plans."

Sinbad felt his cheeks flush despite himself at the thought of this invasion to his privacy. The Silvers truly did take everything from him he admonished, even his dignity. "Plans," he inquired. "What plans?"

Prince Turok offered a cold smile in return as he stood. "You'll see soon enough, sailor. Until then," he sneered, as Sinbad suddenly felt his legs go numb, and move of their own volition to stand. He was suddenly at eye level with Turok, not having moved a muscle on his own. The man was playing with him, Sinbad realized, showing him how powerless he truly was against the Whisper that sat on the throne. He shot his taloned hand out to grip Sinbad's neck through the bars, making his world even more fuzzy from lack of oxygen.

"You put on your little lightning show in front of hundreds of magic wielders, people with power, people who will ask questions," he hissed in Sinbad's ear, his voice seeming far away as he struggled to breathe. "That is the only reason you are still alive." Sinbad's hand clenched as he wished for the lightning again, but it didn't come. Prince Turok knew what he was trying to do, and laughed wickedly as he dropped him unceremoniously to the floor.

As Sinbad gasped and fought the urge to be sick again, his tormentor left him alone to suffer in silence, and dread for what was yet to come. Plans… Sinbad didn't like the sound of them, and truthfully, it didn't sound like Turok liked them very much either. That's because the man wants you dead, he admonished, as he took a little pleasure in knowing that he soured the royal family's big day. Silver linings indeed. He wondered if Maeve would agree for a moment, until he remembered that he didn't care and that he hated her. He was doing a pretty poor job sticking to that last bit, which just made him curse her all the more.

Just as he was mustering up the strength to stand, a sentinel entered the room, making Sinbad's blood run cold again. Great, more people to torture me while I struggle to remain conscious. He probably could use some medical attention, never mind a showdown. But he was at the mercy of the Capital, of the royal family, and they had none. He braced himself.

"Change your clothes… orders from Queen Elara," the man said, pointing to a neat pile of garments near the bars that Sinbad hadn't noticed before. That was definitely not what he was expecting, but as he looked down at himself and his half naked state, he was secretly grateful. If he was going to submit to questioning and torture and Gods knew what else this evening, he was going to do it with dignity. As Sinbad inspected the clothes, he was surprised at their quality… it was not a simple cotton shirt and pants. Though unadorned, they were made of a lovely material, midnight blue with a silver stripe running down the sides, along with a new pair of black oiled boots. Did the royal family dress all of their prisoners so nicely? He highly doubted it.

Sinbad coughed to let the sentinel know he could turn around again. Just as he was beginning to wonder what was next, the man waved his hand and the bars of his cage bowed open. Sinbad just stared at him for a moment, before the other man answered, "Magnetron…yes," with a chuckle. "And in case you were wondering, the man you nearly fried today is my cousin."

Great, just great Sinbad thought as he looked hesitantly at the bars. He's going to snap those up into my insides as payback. "I'm sorry…" he offered to the other man awkwardly. The sentinel chuckled. "Be sorry you missed him… he's an awful prick." A sentinel with a sense of humour, with a prisoner no less. How unexpected. "I'm Vonn Samos by the way," he said conversationally, and Sinbad thought he saw some kindness in the blue eyes that peaked through his black mask.

Vonn led him up a stairway and into a large foyer, where no less than twelve sentinels were waiting to join them. They surrounded Sinbad in a well practiced formation, with Vonn walking directly beside him. He couldn't imagine what sort of threat he could pose such that thirteen of the Queen's most elite guard would need to flank his every move, but he doubted he would get any answers from any of them.

As they reached the more beautiful upper levels, they came across sprawling rooms and hallways with floor to ceiling windows, that tinted black and they came near, to keep their presence private. It took Sinbad a moment to realize that this marvel was achieved by one of the sentinels waving her hand at every section of glass they passed. "She's a Shadow," Vonn explained to him, "a bender of light," sensing his wonder at the process.

Finally, they reached an enormous set of double doors, made of glass and ornate, curling iron. Vonn opened them to reveal a vast room, complete with Queen Elara herself sitting on her diamondglass throne, carved into an inferno. Her daughters stood from their thrones on her right side, with her contemptible husband on the left. Prince Turok looked at him in an almost bored manner, giving no indication that their earlier 'conversation' had even occurred. Sinbad felt Maeve's eyes upon him, but he refused to look at her, to give her any allusion of camaraderie between them. He was a Without to her royalty… there was nothing that could ever bridge that gap.

With a nod, Queen Elara dismissed the sentinels, the giant doors closing behind them echoing in the expansive throne room. "You will kneel," commanded Prince Turok from his throne of black glass, sharp and deadly. Sinbad should kneel, he knew this all too well. But the events of the past few hours had emboldened him in their madness. Instead, he stared coldly at the Queen, daring her to make her next move.

"Do you enjoy your cell, boy?" she spat, clearly unused to being disrespected by her subjects.

Sinbad continued to stare at her for a moment, before asking the question weighing the most heavily upon his mind. "What do you want with me?"

The Queen narrowed her eyes, her glare as smoldering as her flames. "What I want concerning you is impossible," she seethed, her meaning plain.

Sinbad chuckled mirthlessly, remembering Turok's tirade all too well. "So sorry you can't kill me and be done with it your majesty. I do tend to be rather stubborn at times."

Queen Elara ignored this, and instead began to recite: "Sinbad bin Saad, born on the twenty third of June in the year 770 AD, to parents Mala and Saad, both now deceased. You were taken on as a sailor's apprentice at the age of 8, captaining your own ship for the first time at age fifteen. To this day you retain a commendable reputation for your work." She held up a torn sheet of paper, likely taken from a book of records, before dropping it down once again.

"What it doesn't tell me is how you, a red-blooded Without, born to Without parents, came to posses the power that you do. You are not Red or Silver, but something else. A peculiarity with deadly consequences that you can hardly understand." She sighed. "So what am I to do with you?"

"You know my advice Elara," Prince Turok interjected, locking eyes with his wife, as Maeve balled her fists. It couldn't mean good news for him if that was her reaction, not to mention who the advice was coming from. For a moment Sinbad met her eyes, before quickly looking away again. She remained stoic and quiet as he's sure she'd been trained to do her whole life, but behind her eyes was pure fire.

The Queen nodded at her husband, before continuing on. "We cannot kill you Sinbad the sailor, so we are going to hide you in plain sight, where we can watch you and attempt to understand you." She paused. "You are no longer Sinbad bin Saad, a red-blooded Without."

"Then who am I?" demanded Sinbad, not liking where this was going. He was a self-made man who had worked hard to craft every inch of his reputation. He would not be leaving it behind so readily.

"Your father was Zain al Idris, a general of the iron legion, killed along with your mother in a horrible storm that destroyed the ship they were travelling on. A Without sailor took you in and together with his wife, raised you as his own, never telling you of your true parentage. You grew up believing you were nothing, and now, thanks to chance, you will be made whole again. You are Silver, a lord of a lost High House, a noble with great power, and one day, a prince of Arabia."

Sinbad could hardly breathe. "Prince… as in married to a princess?" His eyes flew reflexively to Maeve as she stared at him like he was a statue made of glass about to shatter.

"You will marry my daughter Rumina, and you will do it with all the dignity you can muster," commanded the Queen, her words echoing in the silence that followed.

Sinbad locked eyes with the youngest daughter of the royal family. Her face was a mask of calm; how she felt about her Mother just giving her away to a common sailor was impossible to tell. But as she looked him over, he noticed her eyes twinkle with a different kind of fire than the one the Queen had been throwing in his direction all evening. Along with the barest hint of a smile upon her glossy, rouged lips, he was fairly certain he knew her true feelings about the matter at hand. He was used to women looking at him in this way, but the fact that that this beautiful, deadly, royal princess was looking at him in that very same manner made his head throb worse than it already did. He couldn't deny her loveliness… although very different in appearance than her sister, they had beauty in common, no doubt inherited from their mother. But the last thing he wanted was to be involved with either of them, ever again.

"I'm sorry, but I think you'll find that I'm just not prince material," ascertained Sinbad, still in disbelief about the pronouncement.

"Oh, but I think you'll find that you are, dear Captain," Queen Elara returned. "For the first time in your rudimentary little life, you have a purpose. Here we are, in the early stages of a rebellion, with a terrorist group or freedom fighters, or whatever the hell these idiotic Red fools call themselves, blowing things up in the name of equality."

"The Scarlet Guard," Sinbad stated, remembering what he discovered earlier today. What he discovered about Aiden. "They bombed…"

"The port yes," the Queen finished for him. She sighed deeply. "Among other places within the Capital at other times. But you may just be able to help us stop there from being any more."

Sinbad stared at her for a moment, before laughing out loud. "And you think that somehow, me marrying… Rumina, right? Rumina. That somehow me marrying princess Rumina is going to make that happen."

Prince Turok rose from his throne and began to walk toward Sinbad. "What my wife is trying to say, is that you represent an opportunity for us, in the form of an inconvenience of course." He wrinkled his nose. If the Without see you, a "Silver" by blood, but Red by nature, raised up with us, they can be placated. It's like an old fireside tale, of the commoner who becomes a prince. You're their champion. They can look to you instead of terrorists… you are a distraction."

Sinbad buried his face in his hands for a moment, before looking directly at the Queen again. This wasn't a fireside tale… it was a nightmare. They want to lock him up for the rest of his life and force him to be someone else. Into being one of them. A puppet. A show to keep people quiet, happy and trampled.

"I refuse," Sinbad stated firmly, having made up his mind. Let them do their worst to him, he would not play this game. He had hated the royal family his whole life, so damned if he'd become one of them. At least he would die knowing that he had denied them what they wanted, and that he couldn't be used as propaganda against his own people.

If fire could ever be described as cold, that is the look that Queen Elara bestowed upon Sinbad at his pronouncement. Prince Turok broke the smoldering silence between them. "Perhaps you need a little reminder of what exactly we're capable of. Who exactly it is that you're saying no to. I'm sure I could search in your head to find a way that you could be more accommodating to our point of view…"

"That won't be necessary Turok," interrupted the Queen.

"But Elara…"

"That won't be necessary," she repeated, her voice firm with conviction. Gracefully, she held up another sheet of worn paper in front of her, dangling it for Sinbad to see. "Doubar bin Saad, born on the seventh of January in the year 760 AD, to parents Mala and Saad, both now deceased. Conscripted into the war effort at the age of 18, where he served for 8 years until a severe injury to his leg resulted in his discharge. He now serves as a crewman on your ship, does he not Captain?"

"What do you want with my brother?" asked Sinbad carefully, his voice and his heart as cold as ice.

Queen Elara smiled. "Nothing, to be perfectly honest. But I will want something from your brother if I can't get some co-operation from you. I'm thinking his leg must have healed up a great deal in the past several years. Perhaps enough that he could return to the front and defend our interests abroad once more."

"You heartless…

"I am not heartless Captain. Simply pragmatic. And smart. Very smart. Not to mention good at getting what I want. Remember that the next time you try to cross me, Lord al Idris." She smiled and continued. "You will live here in the palace, as is the custom for all royal grooms. Every day will be scheduled at my discretion, and you will be tutored in anything and everything to make you…suitable. From now on, you live on the edge of a knife… you will be scrutinized at all times. One false step, one wrong word, and you will suffer for it. Or rather, your brother will."

Sinbad was silent, barely registering what she was saying. It was all surreal, like a bad dream he couldn't awaken from. He thought of Doubar, poor Doubar who had no other family, who would worry about why he never came home. Maybe he would assume he fell upon some trouble in the Capital and perished. He scoffed. That's not so far from the truth. He was in deep trouble in the Capital with the royal family no less, and his old self was about to die an undignified death. He would hope he'd find Aiden and ask to join his crew, but Sinbad feared what secret connections the man had to the Scarlet Guard, a dangerous organization he prayed his brother would stay far away from.

Sinbad broke the silence. "I want my brother looked after… financially and otherwise." The Queen nodded with a maddening smirk upon her lips. He had just signed away his life and she knew it. But what choice did he have? His brother had sacrificed his whole life for him, and now he would be returning the favour for the rest of his. He only hoped he could find a way to make it meaningful, to be more than just another player in their game, where they were the only ones designed to win. He was the commoner turned Prince, the Without turned Silver… he was an impossibility. And so he would do the impossible… he would teach the royal family what it meant to lose.