Hurtling toward the churning seas, Prince Oliver closed his eyes and prepared to die. The wind and the spray lashed his cheeks; the shreds of Seraphima’s gown flew behind him like a banner. He heard Rapscullio’s scream, and knew that his own moment of impact was seconds away.
As he fell, the chain around his neck worked its way free, floating delicately upward, over his head. His father’s compass. Oliver reached out, wrapping his fingers tightly around the small disk, hoping for just an ounce or two of his father’s legendary bravery at this moment.
The brass hinge popped open, and the needle of the compass spun wildly. With his last breath on Earth, Oliver thought of home.
The world was suddenly blindingly white. Oliver winced as his vision slowly came back.
He was not falling anymore. He was not broken into pieces across the jagged rocks in the pounding surf. Instead, he was whole and safe and wrapped in Seraphima’s arms.
At that moment Oliver realized that home is not a place, but rather, the people who love you.
Which means, of course, that Prince Oliver and the girl he adored lived happily ever after.