The small ship rolled over the waves, thrown into a lolling rhythm of the temperamental sea. Upon that ship, a young man sat on the deck listlessly, unwilling to fall under the sea’s spell like the rest of the crew.

“Gedeon, get some rest. You haven’t slept well since we left port at Uton weeks ago,” a large man said as he stepped onto the deck from the bunks below. “I’ll keep an eye on the sea. Nothing’ll happen. You have my word.”

Gedeon’s fiery gaze met his and he nodded curtly, groaning as he stood up only to be knocked back by a gust of wind.

“Take good care of her, Kalman. The Emperor would have our heads if he knew we were slacking off this close to Ryrcoki,” Gedeon warned with a grin. “If this cursed fog would lift, you’d be able to see that coastline—the Great White Cliffs of Ryrcoki in all their glory.”

Gedeon surveyed the mist-shrouded Krikor Sea around them and sent up a silent prayer to Domokos before jogging down to his cabin below decks.

Closing the door quietly, he strode to the mahogany desk in the center of the dim room and gazed down at the maps, defaced by the shipping lines drawn in as well as the secret ports and naval bases the Itaoan spies had found. He traced a rough finger across the rocky shore of Ryrcoki, following the main roads drawn in that showed the fastest routes to their bases and their royal compounds. He had strict orders to follow within the week before the invasion. The destiny of Itao rested upon his shoulders and the success of this mission; he would not let them down.

&&

Gedeon had just drifted into a dazed slumber on his cot when a great groan came from the belly of the ship. He awoke with a start, only to find his cabin in shambles, maps and telescopes, ropes and extra clothes, swords and arrows strewn across the floor as the ship lurched through the storm. He dashed to the deck to try to assist his overcome crew; but it was too late. The rough Ryrcokian storm had taken control; The Adas was at its mercy.

The young woman was a vision of beauty against the sunrise, her silhouette etched by golden rays of sunshine as she sat proudly upon her horse. She was looking out on the Krikor Sea when the first drops of rain began to fall. She turned her face to the sky and let the rain pelt her skin, leaving behind icy tendrils to snake down her cheeks and beneath the thin tunic hanging from her shoulders. She closed her eyes in ecstasy and allowed the cold wind around her to sweep her spirit skyward, leaving her heavy body behind so she could float freely and carelessly amongst the gods.

“Siran! Shoushan! Shoushan Siran, get back here this instant! Rosdom take my soul if you are not inside those walls in the next minute!”

Siran rolled her eyes and sighed into the wind, peering out into the water once more, wishing she could make out the mountainous shores of Ing’at’oul, the Island of the Gods, through the mist. She glanced back over her shoulder, just able to make out the high walls of the tashon looming over the rolling knoll. As she peered out at the ocean, she spotted the ship, small against the thrashing waves, being tossed about like driftwood. Terror knotted in stomach as she saw the ship’s path: headed straight towards Rosdom’s Lair; the Cavern of Death.

“Vartouhi! Quick! Alert the Watch! There’s a ship headed towards the Lair! Quickly, or else they’ll—” Siran screamed into the wind, hoping Vartouhi caught parts of her message as she kicked Usti, her gentle mare, into a gallop towards the sloping precipice that lead towards the rocky shore below.

&&

The Watch, a crew of retired, courageous seamen, made it down to rocky shore just as the small ship snagged on the first row of submerged rocks that made the mouth of Rosdom’s Lair such a danger to unknowing ships. Siran was already waist deep in the churning water, anchored to the shored by a strong rope wrapped around the horn on Usti’s saddle, to begin picking men out of the debris as they abandoned ship. The men joined in, hoisting weather-beaten and waterlogged crewmen onto the dry land. Vartouhi bustled down some hours later, having finally caught a ride on the blanket laden donkey cart trekking down the incline to bring servants to start treating the freezing men.

“Siran, dear, this is no place for a lady like you,” she murmured in the young woman’s ear, trying to pull the girl from her task. “Look at ye, you’re shivering. Come, let’s get ye back to the tashon, get you warm and dry again and you’ll be in time for the morning meal with your mother.”

“Vartouhi, do you ever stop talking?” Siran snapped; her eyes were still trained on the slowly sinking vessel.

As the ship started to sink lower and lower into the sea’s ravenous belly, the men started to hoist the survivors onto their backs and into the cart to bring them to the tashon to recuperate. Siran, however, remained in the sea up to her thighs, reluctant to admit that they had retrieved the entire crew from the churning waters. As the sun peaked over the cliff behind them, the ship slipped, gurgling, beneath the choppy surface and disappeared from sight. Siran sighed and wrung out the end of her tunic and began to wade back to shore when she heard a gargled cry. Looking back to where the wreckage had gone under, she saw gloved hands waving about and she quickly dove into the waves, cutting quickly through the water to save the final crewman. The water tugged at her trousers and tunic, latching onto her hair and legs to try to drag her under as a sacrifice to its lord, the angry Rosdom, but she fought them off, the drowning man her beacon to stay away from the demons that haunted the Krikor Sea. She floundered about as the waves berated her face, searching for the man who desperately needed her help.

A hand grasped her hair from behind, dragging her under the surface. She bobbed up quickly, gasping for air as she tried to loop her arm under her attacker’s to buoy him back to shore. Fighting against the undertow and the added weight, Siran struggled to make it back to shore. She washed up on the sand, coughing and trying to rid her lungs of the water she had inhaled.

Quickly remembering the sailor, she motioned for Vartouhi to roll him onto his side while she removed his heavy armor and pumped the water from his lungs as well.

“You’ll be alright, friend,” Siran whispered with a smile, pressing her ear to his chest to listen to his faint heartbeat thumping rhythmically in her ear. “I’m here now, you’ll be in good hands.”

The men of The Watch had already retreated with the other sailors into the tashon, so Usti was forced to bear the weight of Vartouhi and the strange sailor as Siran led them back to the stables nestled inside the compound.

&&

“Princess, you must leave now, we must see to the crewmen,” the servants-turned-nurses, ordered softly, waiting for Siran to release the sailor’s hand.

Siran narrowed her eyes, “By all means, Tefanaw, I’m sure you may go around me. Please, let me help him in any way possible,”

Tefanaw bristled, but sensing this argument would be won by rank, she curtsied with a curt, “Of course, Your Highness,”

Dzovig, the head housekeeper and current head nurse, bustled over and curtsied quickly before Siran. She was a rotund, rosy-cheeked woman who was rarely in one place for a long time, taking care of everyone and everything.

“M’lady, m’lady, are you sure you would like to care for this man? ‘Tis time consuming and surely you have other… activities you’d rather be doing?” she suggested anxiously.

“No, I assure you, this will be the perfect use of my time. It should be a princess’s duty to make sure her father’s guests are perfectly cared for. I shall stay. Tell me what I am supposed to do,”

“Very well,” Dzovig sighed. “You may start by feeding him this soup. Slowly! Slowly—and be careful, it’s very hot. You may want to let it air for a while so that you do not scald his throat upon all his other injuries.”

Siran nodded in dismissal, taking the soup bowl from Dzovig and watching as she and other servants bustled away to check on the other seamen.

“Very well, sir, let us see what we have today. Some soup! Very good, very good. I’ll leave that there to let it cool, sir,” Siran chattered, mainly to herself so as not to feel foolish next to the unconscious man and placed the bowl on the stool next to his pallet.

Siran observed the sleeping man, taking in the slope of his brow down to a hawk-like nose, placed squarely over hard lips, soft in the curves and framed by distant laughter lines. She reached out to tuck a lock of his deep brown locks behind his ear and drew a finger lightly down the chiseled line of his jaw, feeling the wisps of a new beard along the skin. She smiled slightly as his lips parted slightly, drawing a deep breath in, letting it out across her hand, warming the wrist as she cupped his cheek.

She turned his face towards hers to try to imagine what his eyes were like when his hand came up and roughly grasped her wrist.

The girl looked down at him in surprise as he clenched his fingers around her wrist to wrench her hand from her face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes at her.

“I-I… I was… I’m…” Siran stuttered, a blush creeping up her neck to turn her cheeks a rosy pink.

“Where am I?” he looked around confusedly, sitting up to try to get out of bed.

“You’re in Ryrcoki, in the royal tashon at Segardana,” Siran said softly. “Do you know who you are?”

Recognition flickered behind his eyes before he nodded and stared at her, piercing her with his golden gaze.

“Can I have water?” he croaked, glancing around for something to drink.

Siran got up quickly, retrieving a jug to pour water into a gourd for him. He took it gratefully and drank, before focusing his attention on her once again, taking in the damp, honey tendrils sweeping across her cheeks, the soft brown of her eyes and the plumpness of her lips, following the slope of her neck to the pale skin that slipped below her dress.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“S-Sosi,” Siran lied instinctively, wanting the handsome stranger to like her for herself, instead of the throne she represented.

“What are you doing here?”

“I-I saw your ship sinking, sir, and I came to help the Watch rescue you from the water. I pulled you out myself,”

“Impossible,” the man snorted. “There’s no way you, a woman, saved me.”

“Stranger, I’m aware you are tired and unwell, but you seem unaccustomed to Ryrcokian traditions, something I hope to remedy. Women here are equal amongst men. While we are protected, we are given all the rights that men are,” Siran said bluntly, trying to hide her shock that the kind-looking stranger could be so heartless. “Obviously you are not from here. Are you from the Territories?”

“What in Domokos’s kingdom are the Territories?” the man asked, not recognizing the Ryrcokian name for the land Itao had conquered.

Siran’s mind was racing, gathering information she had learned over the years in her lessons with her brothers, Vahe and Taniel, to decipher where this man was from, when it struck her as blatantly obvious.

“You’re from Itao, aren’t you?” she asked, daring to meet his steely gaze.

It's reposted! This is formerly known as The Last Princess of Ryrcoki, but was taken down some time ago. The new title, "Khanaghutyun", means "Peace" in Armenian, which is what the Ryrcokian "language" is based off of. I'll be posting the next few chapters fairly quickly, because they're already done. I'd appreciate some feedback though because I'm not too sure how this'll be received.