If you're expecting a lemon, I'm sorry to disappoint you. This story is rated T for a reason. I'm not good at smut.

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Chapter 14: Ruled By Sins

Shyvana woke up with a pounding headache, groaning and mumbling something as she slowly opened her eyes. It was still dark, but the absence of the sound of the crickets could only mean that dawn was almost approaching.

Her hand automatically went to her temple, rubbing it furiously as a deep, throbbing ache resonated behind her eyes. She had no recollection of what happened the day before, except that she drank a lot of ale. What happened after that was a blur, and soon she gave up with an exasperated sigh, leaning her head against the soft feather pillow.

Pillow?

I'm in an inn? Oh yes, Jarvan and I stayed at an inn. How could I not remember when I went to bed?

Something felt off, she thought. Shyvana rubbed her eyes with the back of her palm. Something was amissed, but she could not tell what it was.

Then she realized that she wasn't wearing her gauntlets.

She jolted awake instantly, her mind standing on full alert, and she hissed in pain when the area in between her legs throbbed painfully. She found herself covered in a blanket, the morning chill beginning to seep into her bones. Shyvana lifted the flimsy material slightly, chancing a quick peek beneath the blanket. Just as she had suspected, she was naked from head to toe.

The half-dragon panicked, and got up, her eyes adjusting to the darkness around her. She started to see articles of clothing strewn upon the floor in the cold, tiny room – the tunic and breeches she wore yesterday, her terribly-sewn cloak, her dusty travelling boots and finally, her precious pair of gauntlets. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Her relief vanished the instant she heard a groan somewhere in the room. Slowly, she crept to the far edge of the bed, leaning over to the source of the sound. The room was bright enough for her to catch the outline of a figure, heavily asleep on the floor. She noticed the faint rise and fall of the unknown figure's chest, and she lifted a finger, a small spark dancing on her fingertip as she brought it closer to his face.

She almost screamed.

The body shifted again, this time groaning even louder, and she found herself looking into a pair of blue eyes. All she saw was exhaustion in those eyes at first, which slowly dimmed into nonchalance, before quickly replaced by surprise upon seeing the half-dragon. He gave a shocked shout, before jolting awake and sitting up on the cold floorboards.

The prince was naked, just as she was, with only a sheet covering his modesty. He looked down at his bare chest, then at the sight of Shyvana covering her nudity with a blanket. He quickly looked away in embarrassment, not before earning an angry glare from her.

"What are you doing in my room?" she asked angrily, the room suddenly growing warmer.

"You tell me!" Jarvan growled. He rubbed his eyes groggily, still dazed by sleep. Shyvana watched him carefully, deciding if to blast him to cinders or simply punch him across the face, until the prince's eyes widened with clarity, before frowning in regret.

"We drank too much, that's what happened," he sighed wearily. "Can't you remember anything?"

The half-dragon knitted her eyebrows in a furrow and thought for a while. "I only remember drinking plenty of ale, and after that…"

"We argued," he pressed his thumbs against his temple, easing the ache. "Then we just…"

"Oh," the fire in her eyes dimmed as she recollected her memories, and she looked down in shame. "That happened,"

Then they both looked away, anywhere but each other. The silence grew thick and awkward, with the prince and the half-dragon not knowing what to say. It felt like an eternity, before the prince cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have," his voice was no louder than a quiet murmur, but it carried throughout the room nonetheless. The prince had his gaze fixed at the window, where soft silver moonlight streamed through the silk curtains, that dawn had yet to come.

"I gave in to your advances," she admitted shyly. "My fault too,"

"We drank too much," he said. "That's what happened,"

"Agreed,"

They still looked away from each other, both deciding what to do to avoid their current awkward mess. Shyvana turned her back towards Jarvan, her knees drawn up to her chin with the blanket wrapped around her, refusing to believe that yesterday they had acted out of pure passion and desires, or some other emotions that she couldn't name. Yesterday they had too much to drink, and the ale muddled their minds, giving them wrong feelings regarding each other.

But her father had told her once, that a drunk man's actions and speech were often more honest than a sober man's one.

She shook that thought away, and heard a rustle from behind her as Jarvan went around the floor picking up his clothes, scattered across the floor from their activity last night. "We have to meet up before the rooster calls, and I have to check out the lighthouse Markus mentioned," Jarvan announced in his princely voice, all his shyness earlier gone and his confidence returned.

"Right," she blinked away her exhaustion. "I'll go get some rations for the voyage, and possibly some clothes as well,"

"Aye," Jarvan, now fully clothed with his pieces of armour stashed away, stopped at the foot of the bed, staring at the half-dragon. Shyvana instinctively wrapped the blanket around herself tighter, feeling uncomfortable with his stare.

She got irritated with his stare. "What is it?"

"I'm not looking at you," he said, his voice laced with humour. "The bed, I guess we'll have to pay for the damage,"

Shyvana looked down and gasped. Along the sheets of the featherbed were long ridges of scars, with fluffs of feathers spilling out from the gaps. The wooden head of the bed was broken and fallen apart, and the pillow she slept on earlier was almost ripped into half. Not only that, there were signs of burnt cloth as well, the sheets and wooden headboards charred and blackened.

She looked back at Jarvan, arching an eyebrow incredulously, "I did that?"

"Probably," Jarvan mused. "You are the only one with claws here,"

"It could be you as well, who knows?"

Instead of laughing, the prince gave a tired reply. "Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware of what I was doing yesterday,"

Shyvana said nothing. She watched the prince heading towards the door, pulling on his cowl before opening the door. It would be dawn soon, and they would have to be quick.

He quickly left, closing the door with a soft thud, leaving the half-dragon still naked on the bed, mulling over the things that had happened.

That was awkward, she thought, and got out of bed.

Early in the morning and the town was half awake, some sailors preparing for the day's journey and merchants getting ready for the days' sales. The prince walked to the harbour, avoiding the crowd when necessary, and blending in when he spied a few Noxian soldiers in the distance.

His pack held his pieces of armour, and in his hand was his lance wrapped in rolls of linen bandage. He pretended to use the lance like a staff, walking with a limp to avoid attention from others, though it was a very large 'staff' nonetheless.

When he neared the harbour, he was hit by the fresh smell of sea salt, and the soothing sounds of waves crashing against nearby capes. His lance made tapping sounds against the moist, wooden port, muttering apologies whenever he clumsily bumped into merchants and seafarers.

He soon stopped at the end of the port, overlooking a cliff far away, the lighthouse just a white thin tower from where he stood. It was far, but he noticed small flickers of light nonetheless. Lining up the tower were twelve small borderless windows, and now only the highest three were bright with small flickering flames, the other openings dark and dull.

Then one of the flames went out, leaving only two, and the sound of a distant, yet loud bell tolled. The sound carried far into the port due to the silence in the morning, and it was no surprise if they couldn't hear it during midday where the port was at its peak hours.

Jarvan walked away from the port, and watched as fishermen rowed boats out into the sea, preparing for the day's catch. He breathed in the tangy air, feeling much more refreshed than ever, the sore and burning sensation in his muscles during the endless travel finally gone.

Watching the sun slowly mounting up the hills, he couldn't help but think of her. The bright crimson hues of the waking sun almost similar to her hair, its heat as ferocious and fierce as her blazing flames. What he did yesterday was despicable, though it was entirely the ale's fault. And he was guilty about it, yet he did not regret it.

He could not remember much about the deed last night. He only remembered the shape of her lips – so soft for a hardened warrior, so responsive for a woman so harsh and cold, who often betrayed no emotions to outsiders. Jarvan's eyes dimmed at the thought of the kiss, and yesterday sparked something inside him that he couldn't fend off now, and he wasn't sure if it was the ale that played tricks with his feelings and desires, or it was truly his wish to kiss her again.

For the umpteenth time since he had asked her, he wished she would accept his offer and return to Demacia with him. It was difficult to train a warrior who could face death with such finesse and ferocity, and even harder to bring out the natural instinct of a survivor within a soldier. Ever since he met her, she had never failed to amaze him, especially yesterday, when she had revealed her vulnerable side to him. And that was the moment when he realized that she was much more than just an angry half-dragon.

There was another reason as well. One that he was too afraid to admit it.

Before he could mull it over, he caught something peculiar from the corner of his eye. Jarvan remained rooted in his place, not moving and trying his hardest to steal a glance to his right, where he noticed a suspicious armed man who had stopped in one spot for far too long.

The prince turned away and started walking away from the port. Immediately, the man moved as well, walking towards him. Somewhere from the crowd, another man emerged and joined him, in his hand a sheathed cutlass, curved and wicked.

Whoever these men are, they are not very good at tailing people, Jarvan thought. He headed towards the spot where the crowd was the thickest, most people already woken up to begin the day. Exiting the harbour, then walking past a few houses, the crowd began to thin, soon he was forced to round an alley to lose the men.

Jarvan pressed his back against the wall, his hand gripping his wrapped lance tightly. He held his breath as he waited. After what seemed like forever, he heard the squelching footsteps of the men upon the muddy ground.

What he did not expect to hear was the sharp, pained cry of a child, and the cruel ring of an unsheathed sword.

"I beg of you! I did not know anything!" the child cried, probably no older than ten. Jarvan thought he sounded familiar, until he recognized the voice. It belonged to the child who sold oysters yesterday, the one who had told him which ship was sailing to Northern Noxus.

"Nothing?" the man's sound was gruff and cruel. He spat, and the boy whimpered piteously. "My mate and I saw you talkin' with him. You think us blind? Spit it out, boy! Or my mate here will hurt your Ma, hear me? I heard she's sickly these days. Sick as a dyin' fish," he chuckled.

The prince clenched his fists. He could not risk himself being found, but some innocent boy was hurt because of him.

The boy started crying, his wail long and fearful. The men only laughed wickedly, and sounds of punches could be heard.

He could no longer bear listening to the cruel act of a child being tormented. Ripping the linen cloth away, the prince gripped his lance tightly, and walked out from the alley.

"Stand away from the boy," Jarvan said darkly, his tone brooking no argument.

The men looked up from the beaten child, and when his eyes met Jarvan, the prince felt guilt gnawing at his heart. The poor boy's eye was swollen shut, and he was lying on his back, his bruised and skinned elbows supporting him as he looked to the prince hopefully. There was a cut across his lips, and his nose was bleeding profusely. Instantly, the men drew their cutlasses, the wicked steel gleaming in the light. And one of them grinned savagely.

"Pretending to be a hero, aren't ya? I thought you were a wealthy merchant, not a fighter," a stout man with a single eye spoke mockingly, his glare evil and greedy.

So they do not know who I am. Good, the prince almost smiled, but his face darkened when he looked at the boy again. These men shall be punished for their actions, and he swore he will show them no mercy.

"Your business is with me," he growled. "Leave the boy alone, or are you both cowards that only pick on the weak?"

The short one who had been talking all the time, with his one blind eye and crooked teeth, spat to the floor in front of the prince. He brandished his cutlass and waved it around threateningly, while the other man, a rather tall and muscular brute, only grunted and tossed the boy to the ground, his lips curled in mild disgust.

Without warning, both men charged forward.

Jarvan foresaw this, as they were both sellswords that knew little about skills in duels. He easily dodged the one-eyed man's slash, and parried with the other's cutlass. Both men were caught off guard, and Jarvan quickly slid a foot forward, tumbling the one-eyed sellsword to his knees while he slammed the flat of his lance into the brute's gut.

Not giving them a chance to recover, Jarvan swung his lance around and tried to knock the brute out cold. The stout man blindly lashed out his cutlass, trying to get his friend free. The prince retracted his lance, dodging the brute's careless swings, and brought his lance down to parry the attack, knocking the cutlass out of his hand.

Without hesitation, the prince landed a boot on the one-eyed man's chest, keeping him to the ground as he desperately clawed at Jarvan's boot. The brute, grunting and picking up his mate's cutlass, suddenly dashed forward with a new burst of strength, aiming both his cutlasses on the prince's torso and abdomen. Jarvan acted quickly, kicking his opponent hard in the head, knocking him out; while bringing up his lance to defend himself against the brute's advance. Steel clashed against steel, and both weapons were locked in an embrace.

Jarvan found himself struggling against his strength, as the brute kept pushing him back. He mustered all his strength and pushed forward, resisting the brute's onslaught.

"Nice lance," the brute spoke, and Jarvan wished he hadn't. His teeth were all black and rotten, and when he spoke, he dispelled a breath that stunk as bad as a carton of rotten eggs. And his grin was malicious as poison. "Got it from an auction?"

Jarvan's arms burnt with effort from holding him back. He gritted his teeth, and managed a nervous chuckle. "Aye. Need a closer look?" he roared a battle cry and pushed into the brute's chest, knocking him backwards.

He stumbled backwards, but quickly regained his balance, then lifted both his cutlasses and smirked at the prince, who was panting heavily as his hands shook from the effort. "Name's Vikas, hired sellsword from the Rat Town. You, auctioneer?"

Jarvan snorted. "I didn't ask for your name, and I won't tell you mine,"

Vikas' lips twisted into an arrogant smirk. "It ain't matter anyway. Only the dead needs to remember the name of his killer!" he charged forward again, lifting one of the cutlasses high in the air, descending it upon Jarvan's head. The prince crouched and rolled to the side, evading the sellsword's blade, and thrusted his lance forward. Vikas, with a flick of his wrist, deflected the blow with a strong slash across the prince's lance, the ringing of steel almost deafening.

Where the sellsword lacked of finesse in battle, he had abundant in strength and brute force.

The prince staggered backwards, but the sellsword was relentless. Rushing forward with a sadistic grin, Vikas aimed for his chest, striking the prince diabolically with his cutlasses. Jarvan went into a defensive stance, raising his lance to protect himself from the blows.

One of his cutlasses was blocked, and quickly Vikas raised another, swinging it towards the prince's head. One that was too quick that Jarvan could not duck to evade the blow.

Without hesitation, the prince summoned the Golden Aegis, a sudden burst of energy and magic flowing from his body. The cutlass bounced back harmlessly from the shield, and the sudden burst of energy threw Vikas backwards, his cutlasses slipping from his hands.

The sellsword skidded to a halt, lying upon the ground, grunting painfully as the prince's shield faded.

Jarvan slowly walked towards Vikas, who was still dazed by his shield. He raised his lance towards Vikas' neck, panting heavily from the fight earlier, but the fury in his eyes fuelled his strength, and he needed answers.

Then he felt a sharp jab in his back, then dizziness.

How could he be this careless? There was the stout man that he had neglected, of course, and he made a mistake thinking he was unconscious. The prince looked over his shoulder, expecting to see his wicked grin, wounding him where his colleague had failed to.

Instead, he saw the beaten and bruised boy, looking up at him with frightened eyes, as though pleading him to forgive him. Jarvan let out an astonished gasp, before the boy pulled back, revealing a syringe in his hand. The contents were empty.

Jarvan didn't even know when he fell to his knees. His surroundings begin to swirl, his vision dimming and flashing as though he was in a dream. He felt someone punch him hard across the cheek, but he could barely feel it. He found himself staring at two pairs of boots, and the sounds of someone cursing, though from whom, he could not tell.

Someone pulled his hair back, and he was looking at neither sellswords. Instead, he was met with the face of an old man, his face so pale and wrinkled that he almost looked cadaverous. There was few hair sprouting from his bald head. And it took the prince a while to recognize him.

The tax collector.

"… don't know who you are," his voice sounded addled in his mind, but Jarvan could hear him clearly, though the drug had cut off most of his senses. "But you know how hard life can be in Noxus, and it's no surprise that we reap more than we sow,"

It took him a while to realize that the old man was talking to him, his hair still being pulled backwards by the man. Jarvan mumbled incoherently.

"I'll just cut to the chase," his voice echoed in his mind. It sounded odd, not matching with the movement of the old man's lips. "I saw you yesterday. With that hooded companion. I saw what you took out. Something valuable,"

Oh, so that's what he wants, the prince thought, but he was still too weak to move.

"Why give it to the filthy sea dwellers when I can sell it for a high value? Bilgewatians only keep gold, never use them. Noxians are different. We appreciate things of value, and we use that to our own advantage,"

You disgust me, Jarvan wanted to spit in his face, but he could only manage a weak grunt. The high pitch wail of the boy pierced the air, and Jarvan found himself worrying for the boy, even though he had just been betrayed by the child he tried to save.

"You promised me! You said you will let me go!"

"What do we do with the boy, m'lord?" it was the shorter sellsword's voice. He sounded serious and grim, only listening to his master's biddings. Unlike earlier, when he had been arrogant and eager to have his way with him.

"He's no longer of use," the old man dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Do whatever you wish,"

You will leave him! The prince struggled, but his hands could only clench and unclench, unable to support his own weight.

"Now, my lord," the old man said with a mocking tone. "I know you won't give up the jewel. But I'm sure my mercenary here has a way,"

Behind the old man, Vikas held both cutlasses, the sharp edges reflecting the early sun's rays. He grinned cruelly, and walked closer to the prince.

Something isn't right.

Shyvana strode down the port, already busy as half of the sun had revealed itself. She looked to the lighthouse in the distance – only one candle left. The bell had only tolled a few minutes ago, and she knew they were running out of time, but where was the prince?

At first, she was worried that the prince had betrayed her and ran off without her notice. She could feel anger swelling within her, then she remembered about meeting up with August and the others at the stables behind the aforementioned tavern.

Shyvana quickly made her way to the tavern, drawing her hood over her face and lowering her head when walking amidst the crowd. When she approached the stables, she breathed a sigh of relief, seeing Alfie and Lance already there, chatting while inspecting their weapons. August sat far away from them, looking disturbed.

Shyvana wanted to walk up to them and ask if they had seen the prince, or had the prince met up with them already. But she hesitated. If Jarvan had come to the stables, they would be heading to the harbour already. And Jarvan, as much as she hated him praising himself as a 'well-disciplined soldier', would never let his men wait.

And she knew that August never liked her, and the other men feared her. If she walked up to them and tell them that Jarvan had gone missing, they would instantly think it was her fault.

She turned away and walked to the teak tree behind the brothel. Perhaps the prince had met some trouble on the way and left a message?

The half-dragon looked into the tree. Nothing.

She grumbled impatiently, but at the same time she was getting anxious. Perhaps something had happened to him, and he had no way to contact them? Her mind conjured a hundred other possible scenarios that could happen to the prince, most of them bad. And the more she thought about it, the fear within her grew.

Something isn't right, she told herself again. It was a small town, and it wouldn't take a long time looking for the prince, not without some help. Shyvana clenched her fists tightly, feeling the heat rage within her. Her eyes glowed a brilliant gold, and she channelled her dragon's fury into her bloodstream, allowing a bit of her draconic senses to surface.

Instantly, she was washed over by a myriad of stimuli – colours, sounds and smells that intensified tenfold, and she could feel a deep rumbling beast rustle within her, threatening to break free. Shyvana controlled herself as best as she could – if she let her fear run wild, she could go on a rampage and turn into a dragon in the middle of the town.

Her nose searched for the familiar scent of the prince. She walked quickly, growling whenever she accidentally bumped into someone else. After the intimacy from last night, it was no surprise when she easily picked up his scent, even though shrouded by the sour smell of sweat and excrement in the back alley.

Her ears twitched when she heard the familiar sound of someone being beaten up, and the whimper of a child, nearly drowning out the quiet and excruciating grunts of a victim. The noise grew as she drew nearer, and her hands almost burst into flames.

"Where is it?" the painful sound of a punch reverberated in the alley. "Still not talking?"

"Leave him…" she could hear him clearly, and her heart sank when he wheezed in pain. "Leave the boy…"

A loud smack, then the malevolent ring of steel.

Shyvana's eyes burnt with fury and she walked into the alley.

"You leave me no choice," an old man mumbled. He was flanked by two men, one stout and short, the other tall and muscular. On the ground a young boy curled and shivered, his body battered and covered in bruises.

Before the old man was the prince, his face bruised and wounded and his head lolling about as he laid on his side. His hand clutched over a wound that was bleeding, and his eyes seemed dazed, unable to grasp what was happening in the surroundings.

"Both of you," the old men gestured. "End him -"

Shyvana ran towards the old man, and slammed a fist across the back of his head with her gauntlet. The momentum of the punch threw him to the side, a sickening crunch audible as he dropped to the floor unconscious. By the time the sellswords tried to respond to her sudden assault, Shyvana already advanced, ready to tackle both men at once.

"You crazy bitch –"

Shyvana caught the short man's cutlass, pouring all her heat into her hand as it melted the steel quickly. The short man's face flickered from anger to shock to horror, as he finally gazed at the face beneath the hood.

He saw the angry glare of a half-dragon, her eyes already narrowed into reptilian slits. The scales near her eyes shifted and shivered with rage, and when she hissed, the man almost pissed himself.

Shyvana grabbed the short man's face with one palm, summoning her flames. The man screamed as fire seared his flesh, smoke started hissing and rising from the melting flesh on his face. He was still screaming when Shyvana shoved him to the ground, clutching his own ruined face as he rolled on the ground in pain.

The large man looked at her in trepidation, his sword hand trembling slightly. There was uncertainty on his face, unsure whether to fight or run. Shyvana's hood was already thrown backwards, revealing her golden eyes and blue-grey skin. Fire licked her fingers, and she raised both gauntlets, letting liquid flames flow through the openings of her gauntlets.

"Monster…" he spat. "A freak, what do you want?"

His insult did not shake her. After all, she knew clearly what she was, and knew very well what other races thought of her. Everyone despised her, feared her, and saw her as nothing but a dangerous beast.

Everyone except Jarvan.

She walked towards the large man, and he backed away until his back touched the wall.

"Gold? I have plenty, just… Just let me go, please!"

Shyvana bared her fangs, and threw a hand forward. She swiped her burning gauntlet at the man, raking his eyes. The man started screaming in pain just as his eyes started to bleed, and embers caught onto his skin like burning paper.

She released him, leaving the men blinded and the old man lying on the floor, his head bleeding from a fractured skull. She was shocked by the pool of blood laying in a puddle underneath the old man's body, and Shyvana had no doubt that she had killed a man.

She could have looked horrified, for she had never taken a life that did no harm to her. But she was too angry to care.

Not giving a second thought, she went over to Jarvan, examining his wounds. The prince groaned as he looked up at her, his mind still in a haze but now clearer than before. She knelt with her back against the injured men, ashamed to let the prince see the blood she had shed, just because she couldn't control her rage.

"Can you stand?" her voice was laced with concern, and she was surprised by herself.

"Just… just a minute," Jarvan shut his eyes and exhaled sharply. "My head… hurts,"

She drew his arm over her shoulder, supporting his weight. He was heavy, but her draconic side lent her strength, and she was able to lift the prince at ease. Jarvan hobbled along with her, and she stopped when she saw the boy still curled on the floor, looking up at her with awe and fear.

"You will tell no one of this," she said, not bothering to hide her face with the hood.

The boy trembled as he got onto his knees. "Th-thank you, my lady!"

Shyvana snorted. "I'm not a lady,"

Together with the prince, she walked away from the chaotic scene.

When she reached the stables, August's face was twisted with fury when he saw the prince hobbling with Shyvana's aid, who had already put her hood up. He instantly glared at her, obviously putting all the blame on her.

"No time to explain," Jarvan groaned. "We have to reach the harbour… Before he leaves without us,"

August threw a distasteful glance at Shyvana before helping to carry the prince.

When they made their way to the harbour, the bell tolled.

It wasn't easy looking for the Seafarer amidst a heavy crowd while carrying an injured man. When she saw a sailor on the prow of the ship withdrawing the plank from the harbour, Shyvana nearly shoved Jarvan away and rushed forward. She searched the deck for the captain, and the sailor soon noticed them approaching the Seafarer. The sailor turned behind and shouted something.

Before she knew it, the plank was extended to the harbour once again, and walking atop it was the captain. Jarvan hissed when Shyvana walked too quickly, but they had no time to waste.

"The jewel…" Jarvan whispered.

"You left it in the inn, in my pack," Shyvana reached into her satchel and retrieved the blue jewel, shining brilliantly. "The men were after you for it?"

"Aye… And they couldn't find it," Jarvan managed a triumphant chuckle, instead it sounded like a painful cough.

"I said come before the last light," the captain donned a tricorn hat, together with his cutlass and a captain's coat, striped in black and red. His voice was full of contempt, but Shyvana detected relief in his voice as well. "Five of you, is that all?"

"Yes," Jarvan gasped, clutching his injured abdomen painfully.

Markus threw a suspicious glance at him, but asked no other questions. "And our deal?"

"Right here," Shyvana said, and revealed the jewel in her palm. She expected to see a look of awe and greed upon the captain's face. What surprised her was Markus' attention wasn't on the jewel, but on her, and the look on his face was full of horror and disgust.

Instinctively, Shyvana panicked and drew her hood forward, afraid that Markus had seen her face.

"A woman?" Markus spat furiously. He glared at Jarvan. "You're tryin' to bring a woman on my ship?"

Jarvan and his men looked at Markus questioningly, the captain still glaring furiously at the prince. Shyvana felt confused.

"What's wrong with that?" Jarvan asked. "She was with me since yesterday,"

"I ain't don't know who you people are, not until she spoke," he spat into the sea. "Women are taboo upon a ship, brings ill luck. They ain't fit for travellin',"

"We had a deal," Jarvan gritted his teeth angrily.

"A deal no more. I ain't lettin' a girl unto my ship. The Bearded Lady sees women like her like a lion sees a deer. I'm savin' you, lass. The Bearded Lady gets what She wants. And strikes us with storms and typhoons till we give you to Her,"

Shyvana had no idea who the heck the Bearded Lady was. And she was too mad to give a damn.

"The deal's off," Markus stressed on the last word. "I ain't risking my crew for your jewel, you can beg and cry for all I care," he turned and began walking up the plank.

Shyvana's eyes burnt, and she pushed Jarvan away, stomping her way towards the captain. Jarvan grunted as August and Lance caught him before he fell to the ground, his wound throbbing painfully. The prince wanted to call her back, saying that there could be another way, but she already had the captain in her grasp, holding him in the air as he struggled feebly.

The half-dragon pulled Markus towards her face, glaring at him with her fiery amber eyes. The captain yelped, his eyes wide with terror when he gazed into hers.

"You can tell your Bearded Bitch to go fuck herself," Shyvana growled, a bestial rumble replacing her usual voice. Markus tried not to cower in fear, but he looked as though he was going to piss his pants. "I don't care about your superstitions or whatever not. Will you take us to the north, or not?"

Markus held a defiant glare, but his voice shook. "Ain't lettin' you board my ship, even if you kill me!"

"I won't kill you," she growled. "I will burn your ship, with all your crew in there. Then you can join them. Don't you Bilgewatians value your ships more than your own lives?"

That struck a nerve.

"Fuck," Markus muttered under his breath. "Fine then! L-let me down!"

Shyvana released him, and he toppled to the floor ungracefully. Markus dusted his collar, already singed and blackened by Shyvana's flames. He looked up at the half-dragon with fear and hatred, her fury already dissipated.

"If halfway we met a storm, or other disasters," Markus grumbled dangerously. "I'm throwin' you, the five of you, off the board. I'll give you a fuckin' boat if you want. You can row or swim to the shore for all I care. Let the Bearded Lady decide your fate,"

Jarvan felt himself releasing a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. Shyvana stood there, her back stiffened as her rage slowly ebbed away. Jarvan released himself from August and Lance's hold, ignoring their protests.

"Thank you," Jarvan placed a hand on Shyvana's shoulder. She flinched and almost shook it away, before realizing that it was just the prince.

When she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes had dimmed. And how exhausted she seemed. As though she was burdened by something else.

"What for?" she shrugged. "Who knows if he's going to betray us?"

"At least we got ourselves a passage to the north. And thank you for saving me… back in the alley. I was drugged and helpless," his hand unconsciously touched his wounded abdomen, hissing slightly when it pulsed in pain.

A look of horror crossed her face for half a second, before returning to her usual stoned expression. She said nothing and turned as Markus roared at the sailors, telling them to weigh anchor.

The half-dragon walked up the plank to the Seafarer, followed by Jarvan and his men.