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‘I imagine you don’t find much time for reading between murdering and pillaging,’ I murmured, half hoping he wouldn’t hear.

‘You underestimate me.’

I jumped at the proximity of his voice as the King came to a halt beside me. He smelled of sweat and blood, the visible stretches of his skin smeared with crimson. My stomach flipped.

‘I don’t think I do,’ I fired back, my eyes lifting to the curve of his lips. Being literate didn’t make him any less a monster.

‘You’re hurt,’ he said.

I raised a hand to the skin above my collarbone, tracing the thin wound. A reminder of the price my blood unwittingly called for. ‘I’m fine,’ some part of me answered. Caught in the uncanny ring of his shadows, it was becoming increasingly harder to think.

The King extended an arm, reaching for a book on the shelf above my head and bringing it down between us. ‘Read this.’

I lifted it from his calloused hand, his heavy cloak brushing my forearm. I flinched, heat sprawling across my skin where the dark material had touched me. Then he was gone, leaving me clutching the thick green volume tight in my clammy hands, its spine streaked with blood. Fresh, from his hands.

I looked down at the embossed cover, its worn leather smooth and comforting. Curious, I traced the frayed spine, trying to picture the Heartless King seated at the table before me, reading the very same book. The image dissipated before I could grasp it.

I returned slowly to my chamber, exhaustion creeping up behind my eyes. I shed my clothes and buried myself deep into the warmth of my bed, although I knew sleep was a long way off. I stared up at the briar that bloomed in the canopy of my bed frame. There were no thoughts, no feelings or logic that could justify the destruction that had unfolded that night.

He could give me books all he liked, but I’d seen the Heartless King for what he was, seen first-hand the horrors he was capable of. I’d even, for a moment, been senseless enough to admire it. The way he’d fought had entranced me. When I closed my eyes, I could still see the fluidity of his movements, the devastating grace that raged in him like the sea.

I wondered if I, too, could kill a man with a mere twist of my hand, whether I’d have become a monster like him. Perhaps he killed simply because it came naturally to him, like breathing or walking, or like the tides rolling into shore.

Damned pirates, I thought again, cursing myself for entertaining such thoughts. There was nothing I could do but pray that despite the blood seeping into the planks above, word would still reach Bane the way it had Cullen. That he’d come for me, and whatever scheme the Heartless King’s crew had in store could be put to rest. Then . . . I didn’t know what would happen then. But maybe, just maybe, I could be free.

I reached for the book the King had given me and pulled it open with a reluctant sigh. The story drew me in, easing the buzzing thoughts that swarmed my brain, its pages turning into the small hours of the morning.

The sun was fully risen by the time I found sleep, my mind finally clear of the sight of glassy eyes turned up to the indifferent sky, and the cold sting of a blade pressed to my singing pulse.

9

The Heartless King and I ate in near silence each night, that infinite swath of mahogany between us, a banquet piled high to fill the void of conversation. The King gave infuriatingly vague answers that led me nowhere, but he no longer tried to stop me from leaving the moment I’d finished eating.

Ten days swept past with little useful information before I found a welcome surprise sitting atop my breakfast tray on a cool, cloudless morning. It was a messily scrawled note that read, Find me on deck – Aron.

A lightness carried my steps out into the crisp autumn air. I’d been too afraid to venture there during the day, but the pirates who idled around seemed unperturbed by my presence. Their King, thankfully, was nowhere in sight.

I spotted Aron leaning against the mizzenmast, cleaning his nails with the point of a dagger. ‘Mornin’, lass,’ he called when he saw me approaching.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ I asked, measuring his easy demeanour.

‘Thought ye might be lonely.’ He grinned. ‘His Majesty’s not always the best o’ company.’

I couldn’t help but smile back. If he was here to complain about the King, I was more than happy to oblige. ‘Not the best, no,’ I agreed. ‘So you’re here to entertain me?’

Aron laughed, sheathing his dagger in the baldric slung across his chest. ‘I am curious to know what ye’ve been up to wi’out me.’

I shrugged. ‘I’ve been spending most of my time in the library.’

The pirate raised a dark brow. ‘Ye like readin’?’

‘I love it,’ I admitted. ‘And the library here . . . it’s exquisite.’

‘Aye, well, I’m glad ye’re keeping yerself busy, lass.’ His smile slid into a sly grin. ‘As I said, there ain’t much to do ’round here but drinkin’ and fightin’ and, well . . .’

I cleared my throat, knowing exactly what the third option was. ‘Yes, well, I do appreciate some company every now and then.’

‘Count on me, lass. I’ll be here whenever ye need.’