There is nothing that Pasha could have done to prepare himself for the moment when he felt the shift inside of him, the moment that he realized his feelings could not be subdued. It was, quite literally, a bath of cold sea water.

He had spent so long holding the lid to his bubbling emotions against the pot that was his heart, using all of his hard-earned strength to fight the pressure coming from the other side, no matter how badly he wished for a taste of it. A taste of absolution, a taste of anger, of frustration, a taste of righteousness, a taste of love, just for it to burst open and leave him defenceless.

When he saw Lavinia jump from the rocks after him, saw her skirts flowing in the grey waters, felt her cooling arm around his waist, heard her screaming for help as she pulls him up to the surface… He attributed his saving to the goddess of waves, when they spoke at his chambers later that day, but that was not strictly the truth. Suddenly, she was the goddess of waves in his eyes, and then he understood.

When she first arrived from Westerlin, Pasha had ignored it, he ignored his growing interest. It was just his loneliness, his boredom, to be blamed for his heightened interest. Even when it became clear he was lying to himself, he privately insisted that it was necessary for her own good and perhaps a bit of his own, too. He is a broken man trudging alone through thick darkness, abandoned by his family and a debt to be repaid, with the blood on his hands.

Meanwhile, Lavinia… She is light and warm breezes that bring with it the scent of flowers and fresh rain. She is a kindness that his guilt-ridden heart did not deserve. She is bravery that lights his chest ablaze with pride that should belong to a better man.

Tati is serving the tea, while Simion, momentarily freed from his duties at the kitchen, sits in his lesson and cracks a few phrases in Westerlind that he learned from his prior employers. There is nothing afoul with life in the island, the dark waves are only but a memory and his teacher was behaving in her usual charming manner, with the light ceremony usual to the lower classes in their neighbouring realm. Alas, as he sits on a corner of the drawing room, wrapped around sheepskin to stave off the cold, the teacup he was drinking from unmoving in his ever-warming hands, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and his eyes blown wide as he stares at her like there was nothing else in this world, it is impossible to ignore.

It hit him with such impact that Pasha could not breathe. The brightness of her smile and the way her eyes gleamed when they met his, they stopped him dead but were the only signs telling him that the world around him was in fact still there and moved as it always had despite the feelings of his heart pooling in his beady eyes, blinding everything around him except for her.

What had he said to make Lavinia laugh in such a way? He could not recall even though the words left his lips mere moments ago. For so many times in these short weeks, he had heard his teacher laugh like this, so many times his heart had skipped a beat at the way her eyes closed and wrinkled at the sides as she smiled just like this at him, because of him.

She does not know it, and it is for the better that he does not tell her, but he is a prince. One that has no real hope of succession, yes, but a prince nonetheless, handsome and young. He has heard many a sweet laughter, followed by even sweeter words and favours. He has seen beautiful women and men falling over themselves, and has indulged occasionally of what was offered to him, with no sense of guilt and plenty of satisfaction.

Yes, things have changed and he would not feel comfortable to return to his decadent lifestyle if it was immediately offered to him, but the point stands regardless, he should be immune to such naïve charm. He should not be the one playing the lovesick fool, hanging on the bird-like melody, nor should he be giddy to think himself the cause of it.

"Pasha?"

He heard his name being spoken in the voice he loved, so gentle and quiet against the beating of his own heart. It is a voice he would always hear over anything else.

Before the young man can pull himself from the sea of his unbridled emotions and see what is going on right in front of him, slightly chilled finger tips caressed his skin with tenderness he has not felt in so long, not since his siblings, not since he was very young. They brush midnight black hair from his forehead, allowing the back of her hand to feel the heat of his skin.

The electricity shooting throughout his body at her touch pulls Pasha back from his romantic wonderings and the harrowing circumstances that brought upon this revelation. He does not have a moment to follow his train of thought to what he will do now as she leans forward, brows furrowed, eyes filled with worry. She is so close that he can almost feel the loose strands of hair that have fallen from her updo as she hangs over in front on him, her same-old dress falling over her legs in a crumpled fashion, and he realises she might not have any other to wear. He can smell her familiar scent of flowers, probably a Westerlind perfume, and the tea he chose lingering on her lips. A part of him screams at him to pull back but his heart keeps him planted in place.

Maybe, Pasha wonders, he could buy Lavinia a dress. A black one, as it is fashionable. His cousin would complain again, but no matter. Some jewellery, too, she is much too unadorned for a… Well, that is not the point now. He blinks his eyes and tries to focus again.

"You are burning up." She says softly, her utmost concern laced in her words, her lips turning downward almost anxiously. "We should get you to lay down again."

Before he can say anything, tell she that he is feeling fine and try to come up with something to say other than the truth of why he is in this state, she instructs with a kind smile and he cannot bring himself to deny her request. He knows he is diseased, even if this is a regular and displeasing side-effect of living in Tertriuk, of the sort he is slowly and begrudgingly getting used to.

With Tati taking out the table with a grumble and Simion watching them, Pasha follows a step behind his teacher. The cool air outside the stuffy drawing room did feel refreshing on his heated skin. She held onto his hand with a gentle force that said she is weary of the fact he did not like being touched willy-nilly by others but she would not take no for an answer, and guided him up the stairs and into his chambers, helping him lay down on the bed.

With her care and attention, in spite of the raging frost outside the windows, he could not stop the flaring heat that emitted from his chest and threatened to devour him. If his complexion was light, he knows he would be certainly be glowing red.

The young man held that intense look in his eyes when he sat down taking a deep breath and the moments that followed after, his mind racing.

He loved Lavinia, there was no denying it. No shoving it down and pretending it was not there. He loved her and his heart was at the mercy of that love, a love that she should not return because she deserves so much more than him and the darkness that follows him, more than…

"Why did you not say something if you were feeling unwell?" She breaks the silence and bring him from his thoughts, again.

Pasha looks up at her standing by his bedside, that worried look still painted on her visage, her arms crossed.

"It is not good for your health to be out and about as much as you do when you are this sick! You must probably feel bored up here, alone, and, believe me when I say it..." She averts her gaze, focusing on the gem adorning his tie rather than his eyes. "It worries me, too."

"You needn't worry. I am perfectly well." He promises in that same placid softness that seems so foreign on his tongue, even though he finds himself using it rather often with her.

He is benevolent to Lavinia, unlike any employer in Westerlin and even in Jehzani. When she brings her gaze back to his, her cheeks grow more flushed by the second. He wonders if she can see his emotions flickering like flames in his eyes. Worry still fills her lovely eyes and his own soften so tenderly, as if to assure her even more so of his words, and she can barely handle how it makes her feel.

"I… I'll go get you some water." The woman stammers out, avoiding his gaze once more before quickly turning around and running back downstairs.

Pasha had his head resting against his pillow and the only thing he sees is the top of the canopy on his bed. He places his hands on his face, hiding his smile and feeling the warmth radiating from his skin. He has so many worries, so many doubts, so many sins which makes him question whether he deserves to even walk in her light, but he still cannot help the tug of his lips at the thought.

He loves her.

"I love Lavinia Chester…" He lets himself finally admit out loud, the words unheard by anyone before they melt in the silence of this manor house. "I love her."

The goddess of the waves brough this woman to him, protected her ship and traced her path. Of all islands, of all families, she ended in Tertriuk and, honestly, she and her talents were lost in this pimple off the face of the world. Which, naturally, only furthered his beliefs, only proved him correct in his devotions.

Lavinia is a gift of the gods, his delivery from his sins, his forgiveness, and Pasha will devout himself to it as he has always done. He just must find a way to cleanse himself in a bright bonfire.