The watcher
Vivienne was not oblivious. She could feel the weight of eyes on her, watching her every move, even though no one ever seemed to be there when she turned around. The sensation had been there ever since they crossed the stretch of the sea where the Abbyssal Lament was said to haunt. It was a notorious part of the ocean, known for strange phenomena and eerie occurrences that sailors whispered about when they thought no one was listening. The feeling of being observed persisted, making her skin prickle as if unseen eyes followed her from the shadows of the ship’s deck. Every time she tried to catch a glimpse of the source, there was nothing. Just the wind and the rolling waves, nothing out of the ordinary. But still, that unsettling sensation gnawed at her.
The crew had returned from a successful foraging trip with enough food to last them for the next month. They had stocked up on salted meats, dried fruits, and sturdy bread, and as the ship set sail once again, the mood was one of quiet satisfaction. The journey ahead would take another two weeks, according to Ashten. Vivienne wasn’t thrilled about what awaited her at the end of it. The prospect of arriving in Valoria, a kingdom teeming with power and politics, filled her with dread. Most of all, the thought of being forced to choose a suitor there gnawed at her. The idea of picking someone to marry—especially when that someone would likely be the prince of Valoria himself—felt like a heavy chain, one her father had already shackled her with in his endless pursuit of wealth and influence. Her father’s ambitions were never subtle, and his desire to see his daughter wed to a prince was the latest in a long list of schemes to secure his place in history.
Vivienne’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice that oozed sarcasm, cutting through the low murmur of the crew.
“Aye, what’s got you lookin’ so down, princess?” The sailor’s words were laced with a mocking tone, his voice trailing behind her as she stood near the ship’s edge, gazing out at the vast expanse of the sea. The ship creaked beneath her, the sails billowing in the wind as they sliced through the water.
Vivienne didn’t flinch at the sound of the voice. She had long grown accustomed to the sailors’ taunts and jests, though this one felt particularly condescending. She felt his presence more than saw him—an imposing figure standing just behind her. His hand, rough and calloused, settled on her shoulder. She brushed it off without a second thought and turned to face him. Her eyes, as always, were devoid of warmth, a blank mask that never betrayed the turmoil within.
“Nothing that concerns you,” she replied coldly, her voice steady, but with a quiet edge that hinted at the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She knew what this sailor was about. The crew had noticed by now that Vivienne was not the same cheerful princess they had met when she first boarded the ship. Back in the kingdom, she had been all smiles, laughter, and grace, her every move a careful dance of diplomacy. But here, on the open sea, she had shed that mask.
The sailor didn’t seem deterred by her dismissal. He grinned, clearly finding amusement in the tension. “Why so aggressive, princess? Just askin’ a question.” His words were dripping with mockery, and the smirk on his face only deepened. It was obvious that he didn’t view her with the respect that most others had—he saw only a royal burden, a delicate princess trapped on a ship she didn’t belong on.
Vivienne’s gaze remained level as she studied him. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her, as if he were waiting for her to show weakness, to flinch or falter. But she had learned long ago how to keep her composure, how to hold her ground even when every instinct screamed to lash out. She wasn’t the naive princess she had once been.
“Keep your distance,” she said, her tone colder than before, a subtle threat lacing her words. The sailor’s grin faltered slightly, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he leaned in just a little closer, testing her.
“You always so frosty with everyone, princess?” he asked, voice still tinged with that mocking lightness. Vivienne didn’t answer, simply turning her gaze back to the horizon, her lips set in a firm line.
The sailor let out a low chuckle, taking her silence as a challenge. He slowly backed away, but not without a parting shot. “Don’t go gettin’ too high and mighty, your highness. You ain’t the only one on this ship.” His words echoed in the quiet, but Vivienne didn’t react. She was used to it by now—the sailors’ crude jests and the way they treated her like an outsider.
Still, something in the way he spoke lingered in her mind. It wasn’t just the typical mockery. There was an underlying malice to it, a sense that this sailor—along with others on board—saw her as little more than a pawn in their world. She was a princess, yes, but on this ship, she was just another person. Another face in the crowd, meant to be tolerated but not respected.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that the eyes she had been sensing—watching her, observing her every move—were somehow connected to this ship, to this crew. She wasn’t sure who was behind it, or why, but she had the sinking feeling that this journey was going to test her in ways she hadn’t anticipated.