The Fire Nation Prince

Chapter 19: What We Leave Behind

The ship rolled gently over a calm stretch of the Eastern Sea.

The wind was mild and carried only salt, and the sun dipped low enough now that it bathed the warship’s iron deck in rust-red light. The ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, and the distant shape of Nan-Hai was still many hours away.

In the private officer’s dining chamber, a small, candlelit room off the central corridor of the ship’s second deck, Zuko, Rin, Lee, and Hinaro were seated around a square lacquered table. It was the first proper meal they’d shared since leaving Tutanaki.

Roasted sea duck. Bitterroot vegetables. Dried rice with sour plum slices. Simple but warm.

No one spoke at first.

Hinaro ate like a soldier, quick, efficient bites, eyes mostly on her plate. Lee sat upright, fork and knife arranged at geometrically perfect angles as he picked through his rice. Zuko leaned back in his chair, watching them quietly. Rin, across from him, chewed slowly, observing.

The tension was immediate.

Zuko finally put his utensils down.

“So.”

Everyone looked up.

He looked at the married couple with a single lifted eyebrow.

“Did you two already consummate the marriage or something?”

The words landed like a cannonball.

Hinaro choked. The rice in her mouth shot halfway down the wrong pipe. She sputtered once, cheeks flushed crimson, and glared at him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Lee blinked slowly. “Not yet,” he said, completely missing the tone. “I did inform her that I intend to sire five children through her. She disagreed. Vehemently. She also suggested she might kill me in my sleep.”

There was a pause.

Then:

Rin exploded.

He leaned back in his chair, slapped the table, and laughed so hard that his chopsticks clattered off his plate and bounced across the floor.

“Spirits, boy! You don’t waste a single damn second!”

Zuko stared, stunned at first.

Then the image settled in Lee, ever-serious, politely suggesting five offspring as part of a long-term marriage policy…

Zuko burst into laughter too.

Full laughter. Head thrown back. Not princely, not poised, just real.

“By the spirits, you said that to her? Like, just like that?”

Hinaro stood abruptly, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Fuck you all.”

She stormed out, slamming the door so hard behind her that a gust of warm air stirred the candles.

Rin nearly fell out of his seat.

Lee blinked, now looking slightly puzzled.

“...Did I say something wrong?”

Rin’s laughter doubled.

He leaned forward, thumping his fist on the table, tears forming in his eyes.

Zuko managed to hold his composure long enough to sip his tea, then snorted into the cup and started laughing again.

“You…” Zuko tried. “You really are the dumbest genius I’ve ever met.”

Lee looked between them, expression as stoic as ever. “I approached the subject with honesty. Should I not have?”

Rin wiped his eyes. “Kid, there’s honest, and then there’s strategic suicide.”

Zuko chuckled. “What exactly did you tell her?”

Lee adjusted his cuffs. “That five children is the optimal number for legacy transmission and generational continuity. I’d prefer them all to be hers, but I offered her flexibility with a concubine for two if medical or psychological strain presented itself.”

Rin fell back into his chair, breathless again. “You really just said ‘psychological strain’? Spirits preserve us.”

Zuko shook his head, still grinning but now more composed.

“Lee.”

“Yes, your highness?”

“You have to understand something. Conversations about legacy and children, they’re not business transactions.”

Lee tilted his head. “But the marriage was. It is. There’s no romance. She said so herself.”

“That may be true,” Zuko said, “but women don’t separate those things. Not the way you do.”

Rin nodded. “Exactly. Even if it’s political, you don’t bring up baby-making like you’re outlining a cargo manifest.”

Lee looked confused. “But I am.”

Zuko sighed. “And that’s why she wants to kill you.”

Lee paused.

“I see,” he said, slowly. “It should’ve been addressed in private. Then shared over time.”

“Yes,” Zuko said, rubbing his forehead. “Or never. Preferably never.”

Rin leaned forward, his grin sly. “And if she doesn’t care about privacy? She’s not the kind of woman you want children with anyway.”

Zuko smirked. “Ain’t that the truth.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Zuko raised an eyebrow again. “Go talk to her.”

Lee stood. “Should I apologize?”

“Yes,” Zuko and Rin said at the same time.

Lee gave a shallow bow and left the chamber.

The door closed quietly behind him.

A second passed.

Then Zuko and Rin collapsed into laughter again, nearly knocking their chairs over.

Zuko leaned forward, bracing himself against the table. “By Agni-‘psychological strain’? What the hell, man?”

Rin wheezed. “I can’t breathe. I swear- I can’t breathe.”

They laughed for a good two minutes before finally tapering off.

Zuko exhaled, running a hand through his hair. The warm candlelight danced across his face. The laughter faded slowly, leaving only soft breathing and the creak of the ship around them.

Rin leaned back, still grinning. “You know, for all the idiocy, at least the boy has his priorities right.”

Zuko looked over. The atmosphere shifted, not sharply. But the air felt denser.

Rin glanced at him.

“I figured I’d have kids by now. Wife. Maybe a second. Definitely a first. I’m in my thirties. I should’ve left something behind already.”

Zuko’s smile vanished.

The quiet pressed in.

“...You don’t have any kids?” he asked.

Rin shook his head. “Not one.”

Zuko’s tone changed.

Low. Commanding. Not cold… but heavy.

“That’s not acceptable.”

Rin blinked. “What?”

Zuko’s eyes locked on his. “Who did you have in mind?”

Rin didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Because for the first time since he’d joined the Crown Prince’s side…

he had no idea what to say.

---

The lower corridor of the ship groaned softly as Lee moved along its narrow hallway, the walls humming with the dull rhythm of the engine beneath the floorboards. Lanterns flickered on hooks above, swaying slightly with the ocean’s pulse. He reached the port-side alcove where the auxiliary observation room sat unused, bare metal benches, a wide porthole of dark sea, and a silence heavy enough to stop thought.

Hinaro was there, sitting on the bench with one knee drawn to her chest, elbow braced, her chin resting against her knuckles. Her other hand held a cold tea cup, untouched since she’d left the dining room. She didn’t look up when the door clicked open.

Lee stepped in, quiet. Intentional.

She noticed. Didn’t move.

“You’re persistent,” she muttered.

“I was told I should apologize.”

She snorted lightly. “Didn’t think you’d actually try it.”

“I usually take advice from people smarter than me.”

She looked at him now. “And you think that’s the prince?”

Lee stepped forward, carefully. “Yes.”

Hinaro set the cup down on the metal bench, eyes narrowing. “Well, I don’t.”

Lee didn’t respond.

The silence lengthened. Only the quiet groan of the ship’s hull filled the gaps between them.

Then she finally exhaled.

“You said five kids.”

“Yes.”

She looked at him, and her voice cracked slightly. “Do you even care what I want?”

Lee stood motionless.

“I do now,” he said honestly.

She laughed, a small, broken thing. Her voice turned bitter. “That’s comforting.”

She stood abruptly and walked to the porthole, hands behind her back, looking out at nothing. The dark sea. The blank void.

“I didn’t survive all of this just to become a damn hen,” she whispered. “You know that?”

Lee stayed silent, waiting.

“I watched my parents burn,” she continued. “Saw my brother get stabbed in the stomach trying to stop a tax officer from taking our last grain sack.”

Her throat caught.

“I was twelve.”

Lee’s gaze shifted. But still, he said nothing.

“I ran. Hid under the belly of a hay cart and stowed away across three provinces. Kyoshi Island was the only place that didn’t ask questions. They gave me a fan and a purpose.” She turned now, eyes glossy but hard. “And now I’m just… some idiot’s wife. No family. No freedom. And five children. Like a breeding sow.”

She laughed again, but it was hollow.

“I don’t want kids. Not in this world. Not for a war that’ll take them. Not for a country that never gave a shit about mine.”

Lee spoke now.

Quietly. With clarity.

“I did not know that. I’m sorry.”

She stared.

And for a moment, the fury dimmed.

But only a moment.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered, voice now trembling.

“I didn’t either,” he said.

They stared at each other, the air thick with it.

“But,” Lee continued, “being my wife may not be such a curse.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“I don’t mean it the way you think.” He took a slow step forward. “I empathise your pain. But I understand service. And I’ve seen what it looks like to stand beside someone worth serving.”

She blinked. “You mean the prince?”

Lee nodded.

“He… frightens me. The way he moves. Commands. His presence. It’s like standing too close to the edge of a cliff and not knowing if he’ll pull you back or push you off.”

Hinaro tilted her head slightly. Listening.

“But it makes you loyal?” she asked, voice dry.

“I’ve served under officers more experienced than him. None command the way he does. I used to look down on him, you know.”

That surprised her.

Lee’s face darkened slightly. “Three years ago. His exile. His hunt for the Avatar. It seemed… childish. Desperate. I thought he was weak. Obsessive.”

He looked out the same porthole now.

“But the past few weeks, almost two months, have changed everything. The way he carries himself. What he’s willing to do. He frightens me. But he also makes me believe we can win. That something larger is at play. And if we stay close to him… you’ll see it too.”

Hinaro was quiet.

Then she shook her head slowly. “You’re saying being your wife comes with perks now.”

Lee looked at her. “Yes.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Perhaps.”

She sat down again, her hands resting on her knees.

“I didn’t want children,” she said again. “Because I don’t want to bury them.”

“I do not understand that,” Lee admitted. “But I see its logic.”

She scoffed. “Of course you do.”

“The purpose of life is replication. Legacy. Biology doesn’t reward isolation. The cycle depends on succession.”

She closed her eyes.

“And there it is again,” she muttered. “The walking scroll speaks.”

“You are strong. Capable. That makes you valuable. Our children…”

“...aren’t happening anytime soon,” she snapped.

Lee paused.

“Noted.”

She stood again, this time face-to-face with him.

“I don’t know what this is. I don’t know who you think you are. But don’t ever presume I’ll just give in because some crown prince told me to marry you.”

“I don’t presume,” Lee said. “I calculate. I adapt.”

“And what do you calculate now?”

“That you are hostile. But not indifferent.”

She stared at him hard.

He looked back.

“And you’re stupid,” she said finally. “But maybe not hopeless.”

He tilted his head. “That sounds… vaguely promising.”

Then he added:

“I still believe five is the ideal number.”

Her fist clenched before he even finished.

And before he could brace…

She slapped him.

A hard one. Clean across the face.

The crack echoed in the quiet chamber.

Lee staggered half a step back, blinking.

Her voice was ragged now.

“Go to hell.”

She stormed out, her cloak flaring behind her, boots clanging on the floor like thunder.

He stood there alone, his cheek burning, one hand still half-raised where the impact had landed.

He blinked.

“…That could have gone worse.”

A few minute’s he door to the prince’s dining chamber creaked open again.

Lee stepped inside.

The room was still dimly lit, the candles down to stubby flickers now, casting tall shadows on the iron walls. Zuko sat exactly as before, shoulders relaxed, elbow on the table, sipping a still-warm cup of bitter jasmine tea. Rin, sprawled with a casual lean in his seat, looked up first.

The moment they both saw Lee’s face, they noticed it.

The mark.

Faint, but obvious.

A pink-red hand-shaped glow blooming across the left side of his face.

Rin squinted. “Is that…?”

Zuko narrowed his eyes. “She hit you.”

Lee blinked, as if surprised it required acknowledgment. “Yes.”

There was a pause.

Rin made a sound.

It was somewhere between a snort and a suppressed cackle.

“Wait… wait.” He leaned forward. “She slapped you? Like, full force?”

“Yes,” Lee said. “Standard open-palm strike. Good follow-through. Impressive speed, but her stance was slightly unbalanced, likely emotionally driven.”

Zuko stared at him. “Lee.”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Sit down.”

Lee sat.

Zuko set his cup down gently. “What did you say to her?”

“I told her that five children was still my goal. She seemed to respond favorably earlier when I admitted she was not hopeless.”

Rin slapped the table again, laughing. “Spirits, kid, you can’t help yourself.”

Zuko shook his head. “That was your takeaway? After she nearly cried on you?”

“She seemed emotionally disoriented,” Lee admitted, rubbing the side of his face. “I thought some levity might smooth things.”

“Levity?” Zuko asked.

“Yes. Mild reassurance. Framed as humor.”

Rin was doubled over, his cup forgotten. “That wasn’t humor, you fool. That was an engraved death wish.”

Lee looked mildly puzzled. “Is it inappropriate to frame a five-child plan within a domestic dispute if the outcome is already assumed?”

Zuko leaned forward, both elbows on the table now. “Lee. What about this…” he gestured vaguely toward Lee’s cheek… “suggests to you that anything is being ‘assumed’?”

Lee straightened. “She didn’t use her fan. That’s a concession.”

Rin buried his face in his elbow.

Zuko sighed into his palm, shoulders shaking. “You’re going to die in your sleep.”

“Possibly,” Lee admitted. “But I believe her threats are 30% performative.”

“Thirty,” Rin repeated, wheezing.

Zuko finally gave up and let the laughter take him. “You. Stars above, you’re something else.”

Rin wiped his face with a napkin, still chuckling. “I’ve fought earthbenders with boulders for brains. None of them walked into enemy territory like you.”

Lee blinked once. “I thought sincerity was ideal in early marital dialogue.”

Zuko raised a hand. “Lee, I’m going to offer you advice as your superior, and as someone who once thought a duel was an appropriate form of flirting.”

Lee waited.

Zuko leaned in.

“Don’t talk about children. Ever. Especially not in numeric breakdowns.”

“Even if mathematically practical?” Lee asked, genuinely confused.

“Yes,” Zuko said firmly. “Especially then.”

Rin refilled his own cup with a shaking hand. “Man’s out here asking to be roasted in his own quarters.”

Lee tilted his head, as if sincerely reflecting. “Perhaps I should have introduced the idea of offspring gradually. Over a series of discussions.”

Zuko lifted a brow. “Yes, starting in a few months. Not five minutes.”

There was a long, soft pause.

Lee looked down into his cup.

“…She really is terrifying.”

Rin burst out again.

“I told you!” Zuko added, smirking. “She’s Kyoshi-trained. She’s had more training in knife techniques than you’ve had romantic thoughts.”

Lee didn’t respond.

Zuko watched him. The flush in his cheek. The slight furrow between his brows.

“…You like her, don’t you?” he said quietly.

Lee blinked. “She’s formidable. Intelligent. That’s not the same as affection.”

Rin grinned. “That’s exactly how it starts, actually.”

Lee hesitated. “…I believe I may need a new approach.”

Zuko nodded. “Step one: stop talking about babies.”

“Step two,” Rin added, “tell her something that matters to her. Not to your stupid family tree.”

“Like what?” Lee asked.

Zuko shrugged. “Ask her what she wants. Just one thing. Doesn’t have to be deep. Could be something stupid like tea. Or silence. Or punching you again.”

Rin held up a hand. “Actually, maybe not the last one.”

Lee looked between them, absorbing it.

“I see.”

He stood slowly, nodding once.

“I’ll try again. Later. When I can walk in a straight line without attracting further violence.”

Rin leaned back in his seat. “That’s the spirit, soldier.”

Zuko smirked. “Dismissed.”

Lee turned to leave, quietly, efficiently.

As the door clicked behind him, Zuko and Rin fell into silence.

Then…

A deep breath.

And Zuko nearly doubled over again.

Rin followed immediately.

The laughter came harder this time.

Zuko pressed his hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking. “Psychological strain. Rin, he said it again!”

Rin was crying. “He’s gonna need actual strain therapy at this rate!”

They laughed until the tears came again, wiping their faces with sleeves, unable to stop.

[A/N: Read 15 to 20 chapters ahead available right now on .com/saiyanprincenovels.com.]