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She fell in love with the outlaw Weston Lark.

She fell in love with a man who doesn’t exist.

I want to pour another glass of brandy. “Rocco,” I say, “you don’t need to worry about that.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tessa

When I sit up in bed and find a purplish dawn sky through my porthole, I have a moment of disorientation. I know where I am, but I’m startled that I slept so well. I hardly even remember falling asleep. The ship’s rocking, which at first was nauseating, was somehow calming after the tumultuous moments with Corrick.

But now it’s morning, and he never came to my door. I expected him to apologize. Or … at the very least, to make amends.

He didn’t. And now it’s morning.

My mouth still burns with the feel of his kiss.

Maybe Iamnaive.

The prince boarded the ship like a tornado, sweeping me into his quarters with no hesitation, taking me into his arms like a famished man set before a feast. I could see every ounce of emotion in his eyes, just like King Harristan in those few moments when he asked me to prepare his medicine. This journey means somethingto them both. Corrick’s eyes were wild, but his hands were warm and sure. Eager. Desperate. Wanting.

And then it all fell apart. I don’t know if that’s my fault—or if it’s his.

I scrub my hands over my face. At least I have a job to do.

After taking care of human needs, I dig through one of the trunks that was delivered last night. If it’s windy, I don’t want skirts, so I’m pleased to discover trousers and boots and vests along with more formal attire. Once I dress and rebraid my hair, I dig through my apothecary kit to find the individual bags of Moonflower. It doesn’t take long to grind petals and make six vials, though the rocking of the ship makes me spill more than I’d like. I’ll have to be more careful when I make the evening doses.

I take one vial for myself, then plug the rest and arrange them in a small velvet bag that I tuck inside my vest. Once complete, I make my way to the door and find Kilbourne in the hallway.

The guard doesn’t look surprised to see me. “Miss Tessa,” he says, then offers me a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I say. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Half past six,” he says without looking at a timepiece. “Rocco just retired.”

I wonder if they have a strict schedule already worked out. I hadn’t anticipated them standing guard through the night, but maybe I should’ve.

I feel antsy and uncertain, but I definitely don’t want to lock myself back in my quarters, waiting for a conversation that clearly isn’t coming. “I’m going to head up to the main deck,” I say. “I need some fresh air.”

“Should I wake His Highness?”

“No!” I say too quickly. I have to clear my throat. “No. Thank you.”

“I can call for Silas to accompany you.”

I think of the guardsman who’s probably younger than I am. “No, I’ll be fine.”

For an instant, I expect Kilbourne to refuse. While I’m certainly not a prisoner, there’s no secret that everyone from Kandala has suspicions about this endeavor. I’m not entirely sure how much freedom I have here, and the last thing I want is a shadow in the form of a guardsman everywhere I go. But there must be some level of understanding that the guards can’t be everywhere at once, because he nods. “I’ll alert the prince as to your whereabouts when he wakes.”

That might be the best I’m going to get. “Thank you.” I hesitate, my hand on the bag of elixirs. I want to leave it with him, so everyone can take their dose when they awaken, but the king was very clear that no one was to tamper with my medicine—including the guards. I pull one vial free. “This is your morning dose,” I say to him. “If you wouldn’t mind making sure everyone knows I have their doses prepared once they wake.”

“Yes, Miss Tessa.”

I nod, then tuck the bag back into the inner pocket of my vest.

It’s early, but I see no one else as I head for the staircase. When I climb out into the fresh air, the wind catches tendrils of my hair and the laces of my vest. The deck dips and sways with the current, only slightly less tumultuous than yesterday. We’re miles from shore, so I can just make out the largest buildings, the occasional gleam of lights from the cities lucky enough to have electricity. The sails billow and snap overhead, and the wind roars in my ears.

I gaze up at the stars, barely visible at this hour, and see that the storm is still behind us, a solid line of deep purple clouds loomingin the distance. But we seem to be outrunning the weather, because the morning sky ahead is clear all the way down to the pink horizon. The bare edge of the sun gleams over the southern stretch of Artis that borders the east side of the Queen’s River.