After the battle, Khisa personally led the raiding parties aboard the battered Ottoman ships anchored at the coastline. Their decks, once pristine, were now marred with blood and cannon scars. One by one, the vessels were seized, inspected, and added to Khisa's growing ragtag fleet. They would serve him well.
On the edge of the docks, away from the celebrations, Tadesse crumbled.
He had curled himself up near some barrels, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, rocking back and forth like a child. His royal garb was stained with mud, blood, and fear, his face slick with tears and sweat.
Khisa spotted him and strode over, iron in his voice.
"Get up," he commanded.
Tadesse flinched and shrank further, his body trembling violently.
"Get up, Prince Tadesse!" Khisa barked louder, drawing the attention of the nearby soldiers. They looked on, some with pity, others with disgust.
"Is this really the next Emperor?" a soldier mumbled.
