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S era sank into the soft cushions of the settee, gripping the small book, Matters of the Heart, in her lap as she tried to focus.

But the memory of her near-drowning kept bubbling to the surface.

She could still feel his arms steady around her, his mouth on hers, pressing air back into her lungs.

Her cheeks flushed at the thought. And, of all things, she had asked whether he was her prince!

Her prince! No.

I’m not your prince.

She grimaced. No, he was not. What on earth had possessed her to say something so absurd? She was engaged to a prince—a real one, with a castle, a title, and everything. And she wanted to get rid of that one.

Determined to distract herself, she flipped open Matters of the Heart and paged through, her eyes skimming each headline, each piece of ridiculous advice and Ashley’s scrawl as she penned her own thoughts on certain matters.

Her friend hadn’t found the book helpful, but maybe it could provide the ammunition she needed to scare off her betrothed.

Her gaze landed on “Dance With Your Beau As Often As Possible.” Perfect.

She could refuse to dance or—better yet—dance atrociously.

Perhaps she’d wax the soles of her slippers and slip on the parquet.

Sera pictured herself stomping around a ballroom, her arms flailing like a drunken sailor, her partner aghast. Yes, that might work. But was it enough?

She paged through some more.

“Become a Mystery Wrapped in a Riddle.” Hmm. She could be an open book, sharing every trivial thought with a cloying enthusiasm. Maybe chew loudly with her mouth open. Surely, even the most patient prince would falter at the sight.

A grin crossed her lips as she read, “Steer Clear of Obscure Subjects.” Oh, this had potential.

She could fill their conversations with peculiar, irrelevant topics—migration patterns of Swedish bats or theories on how fish scales influenced the tides.

She hardly knew a thing about such subjects, or if they even existed, but she could concoct all sorts of nonsense with the flick of her finger!

But still, was it enough? What she needed was that one big thing—along with these little things—that would skid the prince to a halt and make him shake his head, oh, no. No. No. No. That was what she wanted.

And yes, Sera felt a pinch of guilt when she thought about her parents and breaking such a big engagement, but having almost died today cemented her resolve.

After coming face to face with death and witnessing how quickly one’s life could be nipped in the bud, she had become all the more determined to live it, to enjoy it, on her own terms.

Her parents would understand. With time.

A loud clatter jolted her from her schemes. Isabella, her twelve-year-old sister, had entered the room, plopping onto the bench by the pianoforte, eyes gleaming with the mischief of a young girl. “You look like death.”

“How would you know what it looks like?”

Isabella grimaced. “I just wondered whether you were well. You don’t seem like yourself since this morning.”

Sera sighed. That’s because she nearly came face to face with death today. “So, you are saying I’m looking like death? Thank you, Isabella.”

“Perhaps some music will make you feel better?” Isabella flashed her a quick smile before her fingers crashed down on the pianoforte keys, creating a racket throughout the library.

Sera cringed, waving her hand. “Please, I beg you, have mercy on my ears! You’re killing me with those notes.”

The music mercifully stopped, and Isabella laughed before saying, “You know, Mama and Papa are going to hound you again. Not just because you’re sprawled out like a peasant, but because you look positively ghostly.”

“Perhaps they’ll send me to a nunnery, then.” At least it would be better than marrying her off and sending her to a foreign country to live without friends.

Isabella laughed. “If anyone’s going to a nunnery, it’s me—not that I’ll be going. A life without adventures sounds dreadful.” Her face twisted into a mock-serious expression. “Mother believes you are meant to be a princess.”

Her mother couldn’t truly think she wanted to spend her days confined to court in a foreign country. But what her mother thought didn’t matter. This was, after all, a business engagement—one her father arranged.

Sera groaned, flopping back against the cushions. “Mother Mary, please save me from this family.” Her eyes narrowed at her sister. “Would you like to marry a prince?”

Her sister’s eyes widened. “Me? Wait, do you mean the one you’re engaged to? No, thank you.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, he’s probably terribly stuck up. Or arrogant! And secondly, not all girls dream of becoming princesses. Some dream of becoming a prince.”

Sera snorted. “Only you would think that way.”

“So then, do you want to become a princess?” her sister asked.

“No,” Sera muttered sourly. “If anything, I’d rather be the rebel.”

Isabella’s brow furrowed, her voice incredulous. “The rebel? Sera, they always lose.”

Sera’s gaze hardened, a fierce glint sparking in her eyes. “That’s only because they haven’t had me as their rebel yet.”

Her sister’s laughter filled the room, her small fists thumping against the pianoforte keys in delight. “Mother would faint if she heard you say that! You, a rebel!”

“Yes, well, don’t you dare tattle on me.”

“Oh, I shall never!” Isabella paused thoughtfully. “You never mentioned anything before. Why not? I’m sure if you spoke to Papa…”

“I have, but he won’t listen to anything,” Sera muttered. “So, I gave up and pretended this engagement didn’t exist. But I can’t pretend any longer.” She hadn’t even told her friends because she didn’t want to burden them.

“Then break it off,” her sister said simply.

That was her plan and hearing it from her sister as if it were the most logical next step made her heart lurch. Would she truly dare to try and lose the prince this summer? Talk was one thing; action was quite another.

Scandal might erupt, depending on how everything transpired. Her father would be held responsible. Unless he broke it off… then it would be the prince’s fault, and she’d be nothing but the poor jilted damsel.

She could live with that.

Sera cocked her head, pointing out to Isabella, “You do realize that it might affect your chances of finding a good match?” Which was the main reason why she hadn’t truly acted before this and pretended her engagement didn’t exist.

“Top match? Sister, I have no dreams about becoming leg-shackled to any man in any life. So, please, if you are worried about me, don’t. In fact, I want nothing more than to help you out of this predicament.”

Sera’s heart swelled. “Thank you. You are far too wise for your age.” And far too curious.

Isabella shrugged. “I think everyone expects us to do certain things, but…” She hesitated, then smiled. “I think it’s still our choice, Sera.”

How wise. “You’re right, Bella. And if I have to turn this whole engagement upside down to claim my choice, then so be it.”

Isabella’s eyes gleamed with pride. “Now that sounds like something a rebel would say.”

*

No matter how grand the hotel bed or how fine the linens fit for a prince, sleep eluded him.

The velvet-soft pillows had long been discarded, unable to numb the sharp edge of his unease.

Alex turned again, the mattress groaning softly beneath his weight, but the ghost of cold water clung to him.

The nightmare always found him, curling in the corners of his mind, regardless of the walls surrounding him.

His hands gripped the silk sheet, damp and tangled at his sides.

The muted glow of a dying fire cast restless shadows across the room, flickering like the fragments of his dream.

He opened his eyes to the intricately carved ceiling above—a far cry from the ribbed beams of a ship—but it didn’t ease the ache in his chest, nor did it stop the echo of Anton’s name from slicing through the stillness.

Sleep had slipped away from him now, as it so often did after the nightmares…

The deck tilted sharply beneath Alex’s feet, the ship wavering as if caught on the edge of the world.

The air around him was thick—too thick—like trying to breathe through wet wool.

Shapes blurred and sharpened unnaturally, the sails above swollen with a wind that howled like a wounded beast. He couldn’t find the admiral or the crew, only endless shouts, their voices warped, the words slipping through his grasp.

The rope whipped around then. Anton grabbed it without him noticing.

Too absorbed in his task, the sharp warning shout failed to register with him.

One moment, the boy stood there, a goofy grin plastered on his face as his clumsy fingers fumbled with the latch.

The next, the great boom swung wide, the crack echoing like a gunshot in the heavy, foggy air.

Against his will, Alex was drawn forward; he desperately wanted to look away but couldn’t.

Anton’s head snapped to the side, his body folding unnaturally before disappearing over the edge of the railing.

Alex shouted—his voice raw and broken. Around him, the world shrank.

The railings loomed impossibly high, and the mast was tangled with ropes that reached for him, serpentine and sinewy.

A flash of blood smeared across the deck, fresh and glistening “Man overboard!” The words echoed endlessly, each syllable stretching into a taunt.

Alex climbed over the rail as the ship groaned beneath him, the sea below shimmering like living silver. Someone grabbed his arm—a faceless shadow that faded into the mist as Alex threw himself into the darkness.

The water engulfed him completely.