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Ayan laughs. “Hey, that’s not bad.”

“Enough,” I interrupt, the conversation making me melancholy.

Bartholomew casts a forlorn look at Henrik, and then he rises from his seat on the deck.

As he walks away, Caldwell asks, “What’s the lad’s problem?”

“Don’t,” I warn Ayan when he opens his mouth to answer.

With his eyes crinkled with amusement, the High Vale presses his lips together.

“Where is this port?” I ask Caldwell, directing the conversation back to its original subject.

“You go south through the straight and then veer west. Once you reach a bay, you begin north again until you reach land.”

Looking less amused than he was a moment ago, Lawrence stands straighter. “That sounds like it’s right in the heart of the swamps.”

“I suppose they had to hide it somewhere secluded,” I say, and Caldwell nods.

“Scared?” Ayan asks Lawrence, giving me a cheeky wink after he says it.

Lawrence rolls his eyes. “I’ve heard stories of the swamps. It’s hot and humid, with insects the size of birds and water snakes with an appetite for deer. Forgive me for my lack of excitement.”

“Don’t forget the chance of picking up bog fever,” I say, about as enthused at the idea of traipsing through the southern region of Ferradelle as the prince.

Lawrence grimaces. “Or being eaten by a ralnauth.”

Henrik rises as if he’s had enough of the conversation. “If you’re worried, stay with the captain on the ship.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking to Lawrence or me.

Before I can ask him, he walks away, following the same path Bartholomew took.

“Are things not going as well as you’d hoped?” Lawrence asks me, lowering his voice so Henrik won’t overhear. He seems a little too delighted at the prospect.

I flash the prince a look, silently informing him I don’t want to talk about it.

“Well, look at the bright side,” Lawrence continues, clasping my shoulder as he turns to leave. “If we go to Caldwell’s exclusive port, you’ll get several extra days before we reach Ferradelle. Maybe Henrik the Hesitant will work up the nerve to kiss you before we arrive.”

* * *

Those several extra days pass,and Henrik hasnotworked up the nerve to kiss me. Nor have I worked up the nerve to kiss him.

I’ve never been so indecisive in my life. One minute, I tell myself it’s for the best. The next, I scold myself for wasting even more precious time.

Now, it’s too late. According to Caldwell, we’re supposed to reach his criminal port by evening.

The old paddle ship traverses the deep swamps of southern Ferradelle. The sea stretches gnarled fingers into the island dukedom, twisting around mats of reeds and a few patches of sandy beach. Long-necked ebony egrets wade in the water, and small green birds rest on the scrubby gray branches of the bushes that sporadically dot the shallows.

Further ashore, thick-trunked cypress trees grow, creating a dense canopy that casts shadows upon the mysterious interior.

“It doesn’t look terribly welcoming, does it?” Ayan asks, joining me at the front of the ship.

I glance at the elf. “Just think, someday this could all be yours.”

He settles against the rail and stares at the shore. “I’m telling the truth, you know.”

I send a skeptical look his way.