Page 54 of Beacon

With her current mood, I expected the princess to scold him for borrowing something so important without permission, but she simply beckoned him closer without question…though the same couldn’t be said for Prince Ronan, who eyed his brother with unabated curiosity.

“Why do you need the map?” he asked.

“It’s none of our business why,” Princess Seren scolded gently. “Only that we can be of assistance.”

“As an older brother I want to insist it’s my duty to learn his intentions in order to ensure he keeps out of mischief…but naturally, you’d only see through such an excuse.”

Princess Seren pursed her lips and nodded, but with the way her mouth twitched, I was certain she was tempted to smile at her husband’s antics. Prince Ronan heaved an exaggerated sigh.

“I suppose love only goes so far in indulging your husband’s every whim. You’ll miss me after I die of curiosity.” He ceased his teasing when he turned towards Owen. “Of course you’re welcome to use it. I’m unsurprised it didn’t work for you; it’s a rather temperamental thing and lately only seems inclined to listen to Seren.” He lowered his voice to a volume that was still loud enough for his wife to hear. “She’s everyone’s favorite. And I thought I was exclusive in my feelings.”

She pretended not to hear him, but by the smile twitching her lips, she clearly had. He noticed, and when he had recaptured her gaze, he winked, which only caused her blush to deepen.

“Ronan, that kind of flirting should be reserved for when we’re alone.” Despite her words, she cradled his cheek.

His thumb brushed across her blush with a look of utmost fondness. “Not to worry, I’ll do it then too.”

Owen awkwardly cleared his throat. “Shall we come back later?”

“Of course not.” The princess withdrew from her husband’s caress to face us once more. “You’d only need the map for something important, and regardless of Ronan’s opinion, it’s likely more consequential than his flirting.”

Her husband chuckled.

Princess Seren unrolled the parchment, all business. “I suppose Ronan is right in that we do need some information in order to render our assistance. What do you need the map to help you find?”

Owen glanced uncertainly at me, seeking my silent permission to share the nature of our request, and I nodded. “Marisa’s father is missing. He was last seen at sea several weeks ago but hasn’t been heard of since, though in truth we don’t know what happened to him. We’re hoping for information, whether it’s his whereabouts or…his fate.”

My stomach knotted at his words. Choosing to use the map meant I’d have to accept wherever it led, even if it was to a shipwreck and the truth that I was now an orphan.

Prince Ronan became solemn and the last of the princess’s annoyance faded, replaced with deep compassion. “Oh, Marisa, I’m so sorry.”

Emotion clogged my throat at the empathy filling her expression. Unable to adequately express my gratitude, I could only press my hands to my heart and nod.

She turned her attention to the map, only pausing to briefly massage her temple. She glanced up when Prince Ronan suddenly stood. “Where are you going? We need to help Owen and Marisa.”

“My presence isn’t needed when the map tends to only listen to you. I can contribute to the cause by bringing you tea to ease the headache you’re trying to hide.”

She frowned, clearly annoyed he’d noticed. “Headaches are impractical.”

“So they are, but they’re no match for your willingness to help. I’ll return with your tea so you can be at your best for the task.” He brushed a kiss across her cheek, briefly rested a tender hand on her stomach, and left.

Her gaze followed her husband from the room. The moment the door closed behind him she sucked in a harsh breath and rested her hand on her lower belly. Though she tried to mask it, she was clearly in pain. She hastily remembered herself and returned to the map, pausing upon noticing my concerned gaze. “What is it?”

I gestured towards her, tapped my stomach, and tugged on Owen’s hand to indicate we should leave. He seemed to share my concern. “Are you really not feeling well?” he asked uncertainly. “Should I get Ronan?”

She hastily moved her hand away from her stomach. “I’m well enough.” she insisted. “Helping Marisa must take precedence, especially over everyone’s excessive coddling.”

Though Owen looked properly scolded, it did nothing to mask his worry…or my own. As much as I welcomed her help, I didn’t want to risk her or her baby any harm…or perhaps that was only an excuse to delay her assistance when part of me was afraid what information it would render.

She returned her attention to the map with a look that suggested she wouldn’t tolerate any further distraction from the task at hand, seeming genuinely pleased to have something to do. She gave the map a few strokes, her touch lingering around the top-right corner; judging by the way the parchment leaned against her hand, this seemed to be its favorite spot to be spoiled.

“I’m pleased to see you again, too,” she crooned to it. “I’m hoping for your assistance in locating Marisa’s father.”

Since it hadn’t done much of anything when Owen had made the same inquiry, I was surprised when something actually happened: a blotch of ink suddenly appeared, as if an invisible hand had dropped it onto the parchment. The inky splotch wriggled and began to spread itself in several different directions, drawing lines as it went. It didn’t take me long to recognize the shape of the land it was recreating—the very island where Father’s fishing boat had set sail from.

Even before it finished, Princess Seren was already carefully studying the map, her gaze lingering on the lighthouse the map drew near the dock. She glanced inquiringly up at me. “Yours?” She seemed unsurprised by my nod. “Which leads me to surmise that this is where your father set sail.”

The map’s squiggly lines slowed as it finished recreating the island, but the princess continued to watch as if expecting it to reveal more. Sure enough, a splotch of brown ink suddenly appeared, forming itself into a miniature fishing boat, which crawled its way across the parchment to recreate the route Father had taken.

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