"A storm is coming – you'll need to go below deck."

De Sardet looked positively horrified, "Captain, surely there's some way I can help? You've seen me fight – you know I'm physically able…"

"Able or not, your sword'll be no good against the ocean. And I'm not having the death of the Congregation Legate on my hands. Below deck," Vasco pointed and De Sardet responded with a single, terse nod.

Kurt finished securing the boxes he'd been ordered to tie down and watched her, panicked, scanning the deck. There was something feral about her then – clearly frightened and jumpy.

"You all right, Greenblood?"

"Kurt!" her voice had that shrill, slightly-too-loud quality to it that he'd come to recognise as the way she showed her discomfort, "Would you… That is to say…"

The fight went out of her then and her shoulders sagged. She mouthed the word help at him. He smiled and crossed to her, theatrically offering his arm, "Shall I escort you below deck, m'lady?"

She nodded, mute, and clung to him as they descended into the belly of the ship.

"I never had you pegged as scared of a bit of thunder, Greenblood," Kurt teased as they picked their way down the steep steps to the room shared by the Congregation party.

"Not thunder," her voice was taught – the string on a bow pulled tight, "Drowning, trapped inside a wooden box with no way out."

The ship lurched down into the pit of a huge wave and crashed against the next peak. Kurt and De Sardet remained suspended for a second above the steps as the boat fell from beneath them, then came surging up to slam against their tail bones as their knees gave way.

Kurt grunted, and looked across the darkness as he clawed himself up.

"Greenblood?" It was more of a bark than a question, his tone one of sharp concern.

"Here," He snapped his attention in the direction of the voice and could just about make out her figure in the gloom. He reached out for her and saw her lurch for him, her hands trembling and tight when they finally found the cloth of his sleeve.

They clung to one another in the darkness, pale fingers searching ahead for the door as the world around them churned.

De Sardet found the handle first and stumbling, pulled Kurt into the room after her.

A wave of light washed over them from a storm lantern which hung stoically from the roof – a flickering, guttering pendulum of amber against the night.

"Sweet Cousin!" Constantin tried to stand to greet her, but the ship pitched again and both De Sardet and Kurt landed again on their knees, bruises on bruises, as Constantin crashed back onto his bunk.

"On the floor, Con," Kurt snarled at the Prince's son, then crawled to the edge of the room, propping his back against the door they'd entered through a moment before. De Sardet scrambled after him and tucked herself into his side.

Even in the warm glow of the lantern, De Sardet's face was pallid and shone with sweat and tears. She had that same look of vacant shock to her as she had after she'd defeated the creature at the docks – lips grey and eyes hollow.

Close to him as she was, Kurt could feel her trembling.

Instinctively, he pulled her into him, simultaneously surprised by the fact that she was so tall - as tall as him - and at how dense with muscles her body was. Having spent her lifetime calling her a 'dainty' he'd presumed that she would feel light and ethereal in his arms, but she was easily as toned and solid as any member of the guard he'd lain with.

The thought made his stomach twist in a way that was nothing to do with the storm outside.

Another wave dashed the side of the ship and De Sardet squeaked despite herself. Constantin crawled across the small space between them and sat on her other side.

"Come now, Sweet Cousin – you are easily the bravest person I know. The lightening can't be so terrible…"

"Not the lightening," she croaked, "drowning in a huge wooden coffin, unable to get out."

Another wave buffeted the ship and De Sardet pushed her face into the hollow of Kurt's shoulder, eyes tight shut. He brought a hand to her tumble of hair and buried his rough fingers in loose strands that had worked free from her braid. The warmth of her was steadying – he wasn't exactly keen on the way the boat was moving either – and he felt his own body relax a little. There was a slight shift in her breathing – an unspoken conversation where her lungs answered the ease in his muscles by taking slower, deeper gulps.

"You alright, Con?" Kurt managed before a particularly large wave knocked the lamp from its hook and plunged the room into darkness. There was silence for a long moment.

"I think, all things considered," Constantin whispered into the dark, "We should be thankful that the lamp extinguished and didn't set the floor alight…"

Kurt felt De Sardet's body stiffen again.

To begin with, Kurt and Constantin tried to talk above the creak of the wood as the storm tore against the hull. But in the end, they simply sat in silence. Waiting.

In the dark, Kurt was acutely aware of the way De Sardet felt, nestled into him as she was. Time, and the rocking of the ship, had shifted her weight so that she had lain her body across his front, her face still hidden in his chest.

He'd been close to her so many times – sparring, wrestling… never tender though. Never with her vulnerable, like this. Even on her off days, at her most clumsy, she had still been his master.

And she still is, his conscience insisted.

And that was true, of course. She was still the Legate - still the daughter of the Princess.

But she smelled so good. And as her breathing slowed and grew heavy, his skin remembered the how good someone so warm could feel…

Kurt nearly pushed her away with a sudden revulsion and tried to fix the image of that snotty little girl in his mind – he'd known her since childhood, thought of her as family…

And yet…

The conversation between their bodies continued – the quickening of his heartbeat was mirrored by a tremor of her lips as she breathed in.

He was suddenly glad of the darkness – it meant that no one could see the conflict etched across his features.

"It might just be me," Constantin all but whispered, "But the waves seem less now…"

De Sardet peeled herself from Kurt's embrace slowly, "Is it over?"

Kurt felt that increasingly familiar pang as her absence left him cold, "Could be. Or it could be the eye of the storm."

She snapped back against him and said with something of a desperate sob, "No… I can't go through that again, Kurt – I can't!"

"Hey… hey…" he couldn't think of anything more to say so he held her close again, stroking her hair as he cooed to her, "We're here – we're both here. I've got you, and Con's right here…"

He hoped no one else heard the unintentional bitterness in his voice.

"We are, Sweet Cousin," Kurt could feel Constantin's hand reach out in the darkness to stroke De Sardet's back.

Beneath them, the wood of the ship creaked and above, they heard one of the Nauts cry out.

The storm raged on and time passed.

He wasn't sure when she fell asleep. He wasn't even sure whether he'd fallen asleep too, or whether he'd simply lost track of time. But he noticed her stirring in the milky light which seeped beneath the door and through the cracks in the shutters.

"Kurt…" Her voice was soft - tired. But it was grateful and warm too.

"You're going to have to do something really spectacular to be excellent after that," he smiled.

Her weight rested on one hip, and her body pivoted away from him at point where the curve of her thigh met the wooden boards. There was little more than a foot between their faces, the intimacy of sleep still blanketing the room.

She looked positively angelic, her unruly hair forming a halo in the haze of the early light.

They stared at one another through the quiet, unsure what was to be said. She blushed then, turning her gaze down.

The movement, or the voices – however soft – stirred Constantin.

"And so we survived the night," he said, his tone slightly too chirpy for the saccharine dawn, "We should probably take ourselves above deck – see if we can offer any assistance."

Puppy-like in his eagerness to help, Constantin stood and stretched. He tidied the lamp from where it had fallen during the night and left the room with briskness and purpose. Kurt smiled with unexpected fondness as he went – he hadn't been able to take to the Prince's son when he'd been a boy, but no one could fault the boy's eagerness to do good. He supposed, idly, that it was something that came of constantly seeking approval from a distant father.

De Sardet had tamed her wayward hair as Constantin left the room, and looked every inch the legate again. She smiled at him with such warmth that his stomach churned again.

"Thank you, Kurt," she said and passed him, pecking his cheek softly as she passed, "But I hope you understand that I'm keen to leave this room…"

He watched her go and, almost possessed, his feet followed.