Chapter 23: Into the Storm

By the fourth day at sea, Juhtmed had reached a grim acceptance of his fate.

He was not meant for ships.

He was not meant for the constant rocking, the smell of salt and fish, or the endless, endless chores the crew found for him.

And yet, despite his body's continued protests, he found himself getting better. Not good, but better.

The nausea still lingered, but it no longer sent him to the railing every five minutes. His hands were blistered and sore, but he could tie a proper knot without making Jaska laugh until he cried. He still stumbled across the deck whenever the ship lurched, but at least now he managed to mostly stay on his feet.

Progress.

"Looking less like a corpse today, Your Highness."

Juhtmed didn't bother to glare at Jaska this time. He simply continued coiling the rope in his hands. "You know, I was starting to think I'd actually get a break today."

Jaska grinned. "No such thing on a ship."

"Of course not."

A gust of wind cut through the deck, carrying the scent of salt and damp wood. The sky overhead had darkened slightly, clouds rolling in from the east. Not a full storm—just a reminder that the sea was never still.

Juhtmed let out a slow breath and focused on his work.

He wasn't sure what was worse—his body's constant discomfort or the strange, quiet moments when his thoughts drifted too far.

It had been days now. Long, exhausting days filled with the kind of work he had never done before. But for all the aches, for all the misery, he couldn't ignore the simple fact that it was... normal.

More normal than anything he'd had since waking up in this body.

There were no expectations of nobility here. No courtly games. No careful words or masked intentions. The crew treated him like any other fresh recruit—mocking, pushing, teaching.

No one cared that he was a prince.

No one cared that he wasn't really him.

That thought was dangerous. It sent a sharp pang through his chest, a reminder of the life that no longer existed. The life he had been torn from.

"You're brooding again."

Lian's voice pulled him back. She was leaning against the railing, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Juhtmed huffed. "I'm working."

"You're thinking."

Juhtmed tied off the last coil of rope and dusted off his hands. "Maybe I can do both."

Lian smirked. "Maybe. But I know that look, Juhtmed."

He stiffened slightly.

Lian almost never used his name. It was always Your Highness or some sarcastic variation of it. Hearing it now felt... strange.

Like she saw something in him that he wasn't sure he wanted her to see.

He forced a scoff. "You think you know, but really, I was just imagining throwing Jaska overboard."

Jaska, who had been eavesdropping nearby, gasped dramatically. "Betrayal!"

Lian chuckled. "That is tempting."

Jaska held a hand to his heart. "I'm hurt."

"Good." Juhtmed dusted off his tunic. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm due for my next round of humiliating ship labor."

Lian gave him a look, like she wasn't quite convinced. But she let it go.

For now.

By the time the sun set, Juhtmed was thoroughly exhausted. Again.

His arms ached from hauling supplies. His back hurt from scrubbing the deck. And he was certain the cook had made him gut fish purely out of spite.

But as he slumped against the railing, watching the last light of the sun fade below the horizon, he felt something he hadn't expected.

Peace.

Not happiness. Not comfort. But a strange, quiet peace.

Jaska plopped down next to him, stretching his legs out. "Not bad for a royal."

Juhtmed snorted. "I'll take that as the highest of compliments."

Lian leaned against the railing beside them, her gaze fixed on the darkening sky. "Only three more days."

Juhtmed blinked. "That's it?"

"It'll feel longer," Jaska said cheerfully.

Juhtmed groaned.

Lian smirked. "Try to survive until then, will you?"

Juhtmed closed his eyes for a moment, letting the wind brush against his face.

"I'm working on it."

And for once, he actually meant it.

Juhtmed found himself slipping into an odd sort of rhythm aboard the ship.

The nausea, while still present, no longer ruled his every waking moment. His body had learned to expect the ship's ceaseless motion, even if it didn't like it. The work was exhausting, but predictable. The crew had stopped watching him like a noble who didn't belong and started treating him more like a particularly useless recruit who needed training.

Which was an improvement.

Most of them, anyway.

"You call that tying a proper reef knot?" Jaska clicked his tongue in exaggerated disappointment. "Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful."

Juhtmed tightened the knot and yanked it hard. "If it holds, it holds."

"If you hold, you hold, but that doesn't make you a good sailor." Jaska smirked, arms crossed. "Try again."

Juhtmed resisted the urge to throw him overboard. Again. He wasn't sure why, but Jaska had made it his personal mission to torment him at every possible moment. Maybe it was because Juhtmed was a prince, or maybe Jaska was just like that.

Either way, it was infuriating.

He sighed and went back to redoing the knot. "Is this kind of attitude why Lian is constantly looking for ways to stab you?"

"Please, if she actually wanted to stab me, she would've done it already."

"That's… alarmingly true."

From the other side of the deck, Lian didn't even look up from sharpening her dagger. "You're not worth the effort, Jaska."

Jaska gasped in mock offense. "Cruel. Absolutely heartless."

Lian gave him a slow, deadpan look. "Yes."

Juhtmed chuckled under his breath, finishing the knot properly this time. He gave it a firm tug, testing its hold. "There. That one should meet your impossibly high standards."

Jaska examined it, rubbing his chin in exaggerated thought. "Mmm… I'd say it's acceptable. Barely."

Juhtmed rolled his eyes and moved to stand, only for the ship to lurch unexpectedly. His balance wavered, and he stumbled right into Jaska, sending them both crashing into the side railing.

Jaska howled with laughter. "You're getting so much better at this!"

Juhtmed shoved him off with a scowl. "I hate this ship."

Lian smirked. "I don't think the ship cares."

"Then I hate the ocean."

"You're stuck on it for three more days."

Juhtmed groaned, letting his head thud against the railing.

At this point, he wasn't even sure if he'd be able to walk straight once they reached land. If the rocking had started to feel normal here, would solid ground feel wrong?

He didn't want to think about it.

Better to focus on the now.

That night, Juhtmed lay in his cramped bunk, staring at the ceiling. Sleep came in fits and starts, the ship creaking and groaning with every shift in the water.

He thought he'd gotten used to it.

But tonight, something different gnawed at him.

The routine of the past few days had given him no time to think—no time to reflect on the truth that still lingered, deep in his chest.

That this wasn't his life.

He hadn't grown up with Lian. He hadn't been raised to rule.

He had been someone else.

And yet, every day that passed in this body, in this world, the memories of his old life felt thinner. Like they were fading at the edges.

Would that be a relief?

He shut his eyes and forced his thought away.

Three more days.

He just had to keep moving forward.