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M y legs shook as I rose.

I knew King Theodore to be twenty-seven—a year older than I was—and ever since he had taken the throne seven years ago, Nemea had not ceased in his obsessive complaining.

The “boy-king,” as he still called him, was too haughty, too good, too loved, too honorable to be a ruler that Nemea could ever respect.

“I’ve brought the bride to meet you.” Nemea’s voice came sharp and cold. “This is Lady Imogen Nel, my ward. She and I were just speaking of kingly duty. She’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter while you take her for a turn around the dance floor.”

King Theodore’s scowl lingered on me for a heartbeat before he gave Nemea a beleaguered look. “Very well, Nemea. It’s kingly duty that she’s eager to discuss? If the dance is long enough, we can muse over just how thoroughly you lack it.”

I gaped at his lack of fear. He did not bother to tend to Nemea’s fragility the way the court did—the way I did.

Before Nemea could even form a retort, King Theodore extended his hand and, mortified, I set mine within it.

His calluses scratched, but his touch was warm, gentle.

My mind rattled as I remembered our interaction on the lookout.

I’d been emotional. I’d been disparaging and impolite.

As King Theodore led me away, Nemea’s meaningful gaze sank into me like a blade.

What he wanted me to do was clear. Charm. Mollify.

“I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty,” I said, my voice small. “I didn’t know who you were. I would never have been so familiar—”

“Where is your fiancé, Lady Imogen?” he asked, ignoring my apology completely.

“I—” I swallowed, trying to strengthen my voice. “I’m not sure. Perhaps the captain is hiding away with cold feet, preparing to beg His Majesty to be released from our engagement.”

“Is the captain an idiot as well as a murderer?”

His words struck me, and I did not know if I should feel flattered or shamed. Silent and tense, we found our spot on the dance floor. His gaze pressed down on me, but I kept my eyes on the wall above him, on the disembodied Siren wing that hung upon it.

A lilting, plucky tune filled the air. The thought of dancing an unending reel with him forced a stilted smile to my face.

I spoke above the music, trying anew for exuberance.

“I’m honored by your presence, Your Majesty.

I know you traveled a long way.” He set a hand to my waist, and the quick steps began.

“I couldn’t miss an opportunity to gape at Seraf’s horrors, now could I?

” he said, watching me keenly. I bit into my tongue.

“I know your handmaid, Agatha.” He nodded to her across the room, where she stood glowering at the sea of people, holding a goblet in her fist. “I was surprised to see her here of all places.”

His disdain for here was clear in the harsh way the word slipped through his teeth. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted.” It was hard to imagine Agatha having a life before she had come into mine. “And how do you know her?”

“She was my governess—for a time.”

“She was mine as well.” She must have been in Varya immediately before she’d come to Seraf. “And would she scold you for dipping below the bottom line with your quill, like she did me?”

“No,” he answered, with perfect austerity. “I never dipped below the line.”

“Oh.” I found myself missing the kindness, the warmth, that I’d seen in him earlier. “I see.”

The steps of the dance were quick and twisting.

I slid under King Theodore’s arm, hopped and spun, and could barely breathe for the way my dress clamped as tightly as a fist around my ribs.

I stepped back in front of him and set my hand in his, but his fingers wouldn’t curl over my palm to hold it. He stopped us midstep.

“Is there a problem, Your Majesty?” I asked, wincing at the stitch in my side.

“Yes.” He looked so severe, staring down at me with tight eyes. “You cannot breathe.”

“Please keep dancing.” I looked around, chest heaving, worried about causing a scene and riling Nemea’s temper. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re panting like a dog.”

I could not parse whether the man was annoyed or concerned. “Please,” I begged, “I have no desire to disrupt the dancers. I’m well. Thank you.”

He stared at me for a heartbeat, gaze narrowing, and then he started our steps again, but at a half pace. He wove us through the other pairs, keeping us both in step with the music and out of step with the rest of the room. We were as close as my skirt would allow.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“I’m letting you catch your breath.”

“I said I was fine.” Panic edged my words. Out of the corner of my eye, Nemea watched us, angry color rising in his cheeks.

“Nemea made you wear this ridiculous dress?” His voice was deep and soft, sending a wave of prickling nerves over my skin.

I glanced down at my bodice. “It was a gift,” I said tersely. “He wanted tonight to be perfect and had it made specially for the occasion.”

“Remarkable.”

“What is?”

“Nemea is even cruel with his gifts.”

The music began to drone, one bar after the next. The laughter of the dancers grated at my ears, and King Theodore, annoyingly, kept our slow pace, leading me with ease through the reeling dancers all around us. I plastered an even, pleasant look on my face, eyes fixed over his shoulder.

He pulled back, just slightly, and cocked his head. “You look familiar.” There was a question strung through the words.

“Do I? Perhaps our talk earlier has you confused.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s something else.” He kept staring, just as he had on the parapet, meticulous and appraising.

“I assure you, you haven’t seen me before today. I was born here. I’ve never left Seraf. When I was orphaned, King Nemea benevolently took me in as his ward.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “And why would he do that?”

I kept my lips pinched, not eager to offer up the true answer: that my family had been wealthy, and it was my inheritance that kept King Nemea’s kingdom afloat. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“I’d rather not speak to the man, so I’ll guess.

” I’d caught my breath, but King Theodore kept us at a maddening crawl across the dance floor.

“You are a sprig of mint in a fetid mouth. You are the balm that soothes the lash of his cruelty. Why else would he dress you up in half the archipelago’s available crystal if it was not to make it look like both his coffers and his heart were depthless?

In Nemea’s mind, he cannot be seen as truly despicable if he’s looked after someone so lovely and charming as you. ”

I didn’t hide my wince. He’d given me no compliment; rather, his words curled with scathing distaste.

I managed a wide, sweet smile despite the way my stomach sank.

“And you, Your Majesty, are clearly too shrewd to fall for his elaborate scheme.” I boldly met his gaze. “You seem far from charmed by me.”

When our eyes locked, he stopped dead and stared in astonishment. His jaw slackened. He let go of my hand, released my waist. “I do know you.”

“What?” I made a quick scan of the room. “Please, you’re making a scene.”

He shook his head, a small movement, but those keen eyes of his studied the lines of my face further—the arch of my brow and the swoop of my nose, and lower, to the bow of my lips and the sharp dip of my chin.

“What are you doing?” I raised my arms, waiting for him to take my hand again. King Nemea had come to stand at the edge of the floor, his head tipped back in suspicion. “Please, Your Majesty, you’re drawing attention.”

King Theodore took a step away from me. A young woman spun into his back, but even that did not break the way he stared. Finally, he strode toward his guards, leaving me standing in the middle of the dance floor as the music dwindled to an end.

Fingers dug into my arm, jerked me sideways. “What did you say to him?” King Nemea said gruffly into my ear.

“Nothing at all, Your Majesty.” My heart was a lump in my throat. “He said he knew me. I have no idea what he meant by it.”

“Come.” Nemea took my hand and pulled me toward the dais. His grip was too tight, his body stiff, his long strides plodding. He stepped onto the dais, and I barely cleared the riser after him. My hand crushed in his grip as he took his ruby-studded goblet and drank. “What more did he say?”

“He complimented my dress.” I fought to give him a warm look. I imbued my voice with as much gratitude as I could, but I did not dare take my hand from his. “He praised the feast. And I agreed. I can’t thank you enough, Your Majesty, for giving the captain and me such a celebration.”

His hold on my hand grew even tighter. The ring Captain Ianto had given me dug into my flesh. “You didn’t truly think all of this was for you, did you?”

I shook my head, trying to keep the pain from creasing my face. “No, of course not, Your Majesty. I only meant to express my gratitude. As you’ve said, I’ve been given far more than I deserve.”

He grunted at that, and my knuckles crunched with the force of his grip. But his voice—his voice was soft as a feather’s touch. “You were meant to defang him, Imogen. To placate him. The last thing I need is a war with that arrogant twit.”

Wet, sticky warmth filled the tight space between my fingers. “You’re hurting me,” I finally whispered.

But Nemea paid me no mind. His attention was now on Captain Evander Ianto, who stood before the dais looking formidable and hopelessly disarrayed. He held his black helmet to his hip. His sand-colored hair was windblown and sweat beaded over his tanned skin.

“There you are,” Nemea snapped. He finally released me, and I curled my fingers into a fist to hide the blood he’d drawn.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Evander bowed. Exertion colored his cheeks. There were clumps of wet sand stuck to his boots. “I got delayed in Port Helris. The ships kept coming and my men needed help.”

Nemea gave him an approving nod. His captain was nothing if not a good soldier. “Take her.” He dismissed me with a quick wave of his hand.

My curtsy was deep, reverent. While bowed, I mastered the pain that might have rippled my face before stepping to the edge of the dais.

Instead of helping me down, Evander tilted his head back and took me in.

He did not look at me like Nemea did, to assess whether I was sufficient.

Nor did he look at me in the unsettling way the king of Varya had—haunted, dissecting, and scowling.

No, he looked at me with solemn, surprising adoration.

I basked in it. Stared back. I’d always found the captain handsome, with his amber eyes, and the creases ringing them like sun rays.

I liked the smatter of light freckles that sat on the bridge of his nose, the exceedingly pleasing cut of his features.

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “You look… beautiful.” He let his gaze slink down my body and dropped his voice to a whisper. “And very uncomfortable in that dress.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot dance a reel in it.”

He smiled. “Then we’ll waltz.” He extended a hand to help me down, and when I stood before him, almost chest to chest, I froze.

The scent of the sea clung to him. Salt spray coated his armor, his skin, and it wove itself straight into my nostrils.

An intoxicating heat rolled through my body, like a wave ravenously lapping the shore.

“I’m not in my fancy clothes,” he said, apologetically. “Would you like me to change?”

My stomach swooped. “No.”

I set my stinging hand in the crook of his arm, and then he began to amble us around the outskirts of the room, watching the revelry with a smirk on his face.

I’d known of the captain for years, though we’d rarely spoken.

It had been only a fortnight since I’d been told of our engagement, but my tight muscles unspooled at his proximity.

The knot that Agatha’s disapproval had left in my gut loosened, fluttered.

“Shall I guess how many pounds your dress weighs?” he asked.

I gave him a full smile.

He stopped us. “Again.”

“Again, what?”

“Smile like that again.”

Our gazes locked and an ache began in me. I wondered what his touch might feel like. I wondered if his skin tasted like salt. “You’re incorrigible tonight.”

He gave me a wicked look. “Every night.” His warm fingers wrapped around my hand, and I flinched. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a cut.”

He took it and turned it this way and that, inspecting the weeping wound on my middle finger. His brow knit. “How did this happen?”

“It’s nothing. His Majesty didn’t realize…” Evander knelt and stuck his hands beneath the hem of my skirt, where he fumbled with the petticoats. I glanced around the room with wide eyes. “Gods, stand up—”

“Wait.” He looked up at me with a crooked smile on his lips.

A quick jerk, fabric ripped. He rose with a strip of white linen pinched between his fingers.

“Give me your hand.” Gently, he wound the fabric around the cut.

“Can you keep a secret?” he said, his graveled voice filling only the small space between us.

Startled by his question, I looked up into his desperate gaze. I felt as if I were made of secrets. “Yes, I can.”

“If he were not my king…” Evander tucked in the loose end of the linen, then kept my hand in his. “I’d run him through for hurting you.”

The sound of treachery spilling from the captain’s mouth like a profession of love made me still. It thrilled me. It terrified me. “That’s very chivalrous of you.”

Evander took a step closer and the briny scent of him engulfed me. It beat through me, making my chest fill with thrumming heat. The look he gave me was expectant, earnest.

A protector, even if it was only in spirit, was not something I’d hoped to find in the captain.

I’d only let myself wish for a thread of kindness, for him to be preoccupied enough with his job to let me continue with my quiet life still intact.

I rose up onto my toes and set a quick kiss to his cheek. “Your secret is safe with me.”