Here is the translation:

After a week spent battling the biting cold and navigating painfully through the drifting ice, the wind suddenly changes. A warm breeze rises, soft and humid, like an unexpected caress after days of turmoil. The first waves come to lick the ship's hull, finally breaking the icy stillness that had imprisoned the ocean. Cracks are heard as the ice gives way under the pressure of the returning water, and the sailors let out sighs of relief.

The heavy coats are put away, the scarves untied. The captain, previously frozen with worry, regains his confidence. The following days offer a welcome respite. The ocean, freed from its ice shackles, regains its shifting brilliance. The sailors whistle again as they maneuver the sails, and light-hearted conversations replace the heavy silences.

The seabirds reappear, soaring in the sky before diving gracefully into the water. This return is an infallible sign: they are approaching warmer waters. Master Antonin, always vigilant in Mero’s education, takes advantage of the calm to teach him the complex art of reading maritime charts. Sitting at the navigation table, he traces imaginary lines on the yellowed parchments.

— Look here, Mero, he says, pointing to a shaded area. This is the old spice route. Merchants used to follow it, but it became too dangerous due to the unpredictable currents.

Mero listens attentively, absorbed in the tales of ancient trade routes and the maritime perils faced bravely by past navigators.

A cry shatters the tranquility:

— Land in sight!

The voice comes from the lookout. Excitement spreads instantly among the crew. The sailors rush to the rail, pressing against each other. After weeks of wandering across this boundless expanse without landmarks, the prospect of touching land seems like a divine blessing.

Mero hurries outside. He squints, scanning the horizon. A faint dark line stands out from the endless blue of the ocean, hesitant but very real.

— It’s the Kingdom of Ambrelune, Master Antonin declares, adjusting his glasses to better observe the coast.

A shiver runs down Mero’s spine. He has heard so much about this legendary kingdom: its prosperous merchant cities, its immaculate houses with blue roofs rivaling the azure sky, and its markets brimming with wonders from all corners of the world.

The captain, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, gives his orders:

— Prepare to dock!

The sailors rush to adjust the sails and check the moorings. Everyone is busy, energized by the idea of returning to dry land.

As the ship slowly glides through the clear waters of Ambrelune's bay, an enchanting landscape gradually unfolds before Mero’s eyes. The steep cliffs, a brilliant white, rise proudly above the ocean, seemingly sculpted by winds and centuries. They are dotted with immaculate houses, their lime walls reflecting the sunlight intensely, giving the whole scene the appearance of a living painting. Their bright blue roofs rival the dazzling azure of the sky, creating a striking contrast that immediately captures the imagination.

Lower down, cascading terraces seem to descend to the sea, connected by a maze of cobbled alleys and steep paths. Bougainvilleas, bursting with purple, twine around columns and wrought-iron balconies, adding a vibrant touch to this almost unreal setting. Windmills, their blades still under the rising heat, punctuate the horizon like silent old guardians of this sunlit coast.

The port itself is alive with an almost palpable frenzy. The docks are crowded with people, a motley crowd of merchants shouting their prices, dockworkers with bulging muscles carrying massive bales of exotic goods, and travelers from all over the world. The vivid colors of fabrics hanging from the stalls mix with the glinting gold and silver jewelry proudly displayed by the traders.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The mixed smells of seawater, sun-warmed spices, and freshly caught fish fill the air, saturating the senses. At times, a light breeze, carrying floral scents from the heights, reaches the deck, offering a brief respite from the growing heat.

The regular splash of waves against the hulls of ships marks the ceaseless activity of the port. Small fishing boats, painted in bright colors, dance on the water, their nets laden with silver fish sparkling under the sun. Beside them, majestic merchant ships stand proudly, their tall masts seeming to reach for the heavens.

Stone warehouses with terracotta-tiled roofs line the piers, forming an imposing wall. Their large doors, wide open, reveal piles of wooden crates marked with mysterious symbols, witnesses to the complex trade routes that converge here. Workers come and go, their voices mixing with the clatter of carts and the creaking of wooden cranes being expertly operated.

Further back, tall watchtowers stand proudly, their peaks topped with blue domes. Guards man these towers, their silhouettes sharply outlined against the brilliant sky. Their watchful eyes scan the horizon with constant vigilance, ready to signal any threat from the sea.

The architecture of Ambrelune captivates with its harmonious blend of port pragmatism and striking elegance. The large market halls, vast and airy, are supported by finely carved white stone columns. Under these shaded arches, traders bustle, their voices echoing in a continuous din. Commercial discussions mingle with the sailors' laughter and the cries of public announcers touting their goods.

In a central square, a monumental fountain gushes, sending splashes of crystal-clear water into the sunlight. Children play there, joyfully splashing passersby, while old men, in the shade of graceful palm trees, peacefully chat as they watch the lively surroundings.

Further along, café terraces extend under colorful awnings, offering a welcome refuge for visitors to enjoy a cool drink while admiring the bustling spectacle of the port. Waiters in spotless aprons move efficiently, carrying trays laden with appetizing dishes.

The scene in this port city is a celebration of life itself, a vibrant mosaic of colors, sounds, and scents that strikes the mind with its richness and vitality. Ambrelune, with its dazzling brilliance and constant effervescence, seems like a promise of endless adventures and discoveries.

When the ship is finally securely moored, the captain addresses the crew:

— You have two days to rest, resupply, and enjoy the port. But listen carefully: no trouble, no stupid duels, and especially... no unpaid gambling debts!

The sailors burst out laughing before heading down in groups to the docks, eager to enjoy the pleasures of civilization after so much time at sea.

Master Antonin, true to his habits, turns to Mero and Leïla.

— We will explore the city. It’s a unique opportunity to learn more about the local customs.

Mero nods, his heart racing with excitement.

As they stroll through the cobbled streets, a street urchin suddenly appears in front of Mero. He hands him a letter sealed with a black wax seal, a mischievous grin on his face.

— This is for you, sir, he says before disappearing into the crowd.

Mero stands still for a moment, bewildered. How could a letter have reached him so quickly when he had just docked?

Master Antonin approaches, intrigued.

— A fast correspondence, he murmurs, observing the seal. Pirates have their own means of communication...

Mero breaks the seal and carefully unfolds the letter. The elegant yet slightly slanted handwriting betrays a sense of urgency.

My dear fiancé,

I hope the sea has been kind to you and that you’ve arrived safely in Ambrelune. I wanted you to receive this letter as soon as you arrived, so you know that I’m thinking of you. My father is preparing me for my future role, and I... already miss our last night aboard.

The words of Mandarine seem to dance before his eyes, evoking memories still burning. But the rest of the letter creates a chilling tension.

Be careful. There are eyes everywhere, and some do not want this marriage to happen. My father has many allies... but also enemies. If you see a man with a serpent tattoo on his left wrist, avoid him at all costs.

Mero’s heart tightens. This letter, both sweet and alarming, carries a serious warning.

He slowly folds the paper, tucking it carefully into his jacket. A shadow now seems to hang over this stop in Ambrelune. Mandarine had made sure her message reached him immediately. But if she could do it so quickly, other forces might already be at work.

The exploration of the city now takes on a much more perilous turn than he had imagined.