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“I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to allow the King’s Justice to sleep on the floor,” I say, but my heart skips, because it sounds a bit coy.

I thought it would make him smile, but it doesn’t. “I rather doubt it. Harristan left me to sleep in acell, if you recall.” He grabs a pillow and one of the blankets, then moves to the door, dousing one of the lanterns on his way.

For a moment, I don’t think he’s serious, but he unlaces his boots to kick them free, then unbuckles his jacket to toss it over the back of a chair. When his hands fall on the hem of his shirt, my breath catches, and he stops, his eyes glittering in the shadows.

I realize I’m staring at him, and my cheeks catch on fire. I flop back on the bed and drag a pillow over my face. “Sorry.”

He laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I’ve seen you shirtless before.”

Fabric rustles. “Ah, yes. So you’re immune.”

“Completely.” I slide the pillow down, peeking around the edge.

He’s wrapped in the blanket already, lying on the cold, hard wood of the floorboards. His eyes are on me now, and I unlace my own boots to kick them free, then untie my vest.

“You’re not getting a show either,” I say.

“Good. Because I’mnotimmune.”

The heat on my cheeks goes nowhere. I crawl under my own blankets and reach to lower the flame of the other lantern, leaving us with little more than moonlight and the rhythmic creaking of the ship.

But as I lie there in the silence, I think about everything he said. I’ve always risked my life to help others, but my choices have always been simple, because I’ve never had much to lose. If I were thrown into the Hold or killed while distributing medicine in the Wilds, the world would keep on spinning.

But Corrick always has so much more at risk. I’ve been judging him and Rian by the same standards—by the standards I would apply to myself—but now I wonder if that’s been fair.

Corrick and Harristan have an entire country to lose. Their choices have threats and vulnerabilities built into each one.

For the first time, I wonder what Rian has to lose.

Across the room, Corrick shifts his weight, and I glance over.

“Corrick,” I say softly.

“Tessa?”

“Come lie in the bed.”

It’s too dark to see him clearly from here, but I can sense theweight of his eyes. I wonder if he’ll refuse. But then fabric rustles, and he uncurls in the darkness, approaching slowly, the faint moonlight revealing the shadows and lines of his body.

I shift over to make room. His bed is narrow, and not quite wide enough for two people, but he slips in beside me. Despite my shirt and trousers, I can feel his warmth, and somehow it makes me shiver.

“Are you cold?” he says. He doesn’t wait for an answer; he just rises up on one elbow to arrange the blankets.

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m not cold.”

He’s looking down at me, his eyes fixed on mine, affectionate yet predatory, gentle yet primal. Something inside me grips tight, stealing my breath.

Corrick lifts a hand as if to stroke my face, but I put a hand against his shoulder before he can touch me.

“Wait,” I whisper, and he does. He holds there, one hand half lifted, the other braced against the bed to support his weight. It’s doing impressive things to the musculature of his arms, especially when combined with the tiny remaining glow from the lantern.

But he waits, no impatience in his eyes.

I don’t know what I wanted him to wait for. Maybe it’s exactly this: reassurance that no matter what everyone else sees in him, his word is true.

A scar cuts across his bicep, and I trace a finger over the line. His skin is smooth and warm. “How did you get this one?”