Page 51 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Morgana

I ’ve heard about people getting seasick, but the gentle swell of the riverboat’s movement beneath my feet actually settles my stomach.

There’s something soothing about the constant motion.

Maybe because I spent so many years cooped up at Gallawing—this feels too much like freedom for it to make me uneasy.

It’s not enough, however, to fully wipe away my nervousness about what lies ahead of us. Below deck, a host of rebels, five fae, and an exiled crime lord make the journey with me, and I feel personally responsible for them all.

This is my plan, and if anyone gets hurt, it’s on me.

But if that isn’t part of being a queen, I don’t know what is—making the best decisions you can and shouldering the consequences when they come.

I just hope I’ve balanced the scales right.

This mission might be dangerous, but surely it will prevent more suffering in the end?

We’re not just risking twenty lives for one child, but for everyone who will get hurt if Caledon becomes more powerful. That must be worth it.

I wish I felt more certain.

A soft sensation dances at the edge of my awareness, like a hand stroking across my mind. I lean into it and hear Leon’s voice in my head.

“I’m coming to join you, my love. ”

I relax my shoulders. Being able to consciously exchange thoughts with Leon is taking some getting used to, but it’s not as intrusive as I might’ve thought.

Now that I’m aware of it, it’s easier to control what I share and what I keep to myself.

When we do connect, it’s like knocking on a door and waiting for the other to answer.

Warm hands encircle my shoulders, and I lean back against Leon’s chest, tucking my head under his chin. Together, we watch the countryside slip by. In other circumstances, this would be a beautiful evening to spend with the man I love.

In other circumstances, when we weren’t going where we’re going, to do what we have to do.

“It’s normal to feel nervous about the mission ahead, but don’t take those feelings as a bad omen,” Leon says, still looking out across the water. “With some luck and the gods’ good will, it’ll all go to plan.”

“Well now you’ve cursed us for sure,” I say playfully.

“Then I’ll say special prayers to Ralus tonight to un-curse us,” he replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“I can’t stop worrying about returning to Qimorna itself,” I admit. “The last time I left, I left a piece of myself with it. I had to fight hard to get it back.”

“But you did get it back,” Leon says. “And this won’t be like last time.”

“You’re right,” I say, turning around to face him. “Because this time I have you. And as long as you’re by my side, I can take it all on.”

“No pressure then,” he says with a smirk, but he pulls me to him and kisses me deeply enough that for a moment all those nerves slip away with the river.

CORRIN

“And that’s a full house,” crows Moss, laying his hand down on the table for Esther and me to see. The smuggler waits for our groans of disappointment, then starts gathering the florins from the middle of the table with a triumphant grin.

Of course, Captain Ravesley guessed right away that my new friends were all part of a certain group just as he’d worked out that Leon and his soldiers weren’t Trovians on their first voyage with him.

He’s too savvy to miss much, but he’s an excellent contact to have.

When I requested he get us to Godom as quickly and discreetly as possible, all he did was raise a grizzled eyebrow and mumble something about how me turning political hasn’t changed his rates.

Esther throws her cards down with a sigh.

“That’s what I get for playing with smugglers and men who own gambling dens, I guess,” she says.

“ Used to own gambling dens,” comes a voice from behind me. “His are all burned down now.” Damia circles the table, sitting herself down in the empty chair beside me.

“And a terrible shame it is, Mr. Wadestaff,” says Moss as he eagerly pockets my coins.

“Thank you, Moss,” I say archly. “It’s good to know that at least someone here has heart enough to lament a man’s misfortune.”

“What’re you playing?” Damia asks.

“A Trovian game,” I say casually. “I doubt you’d know it.”

As I hoped, her eyes flare in challenge.

“Try me.”

“It’s called the Cleric of Agshire,” I say. “One of my favorites. Hand of seven, aces are high, and fours reverse your fortune—got it?”

“Oh the Trovians didn’t invent that one,” she says, a smile twisting her lips. “We have it in Filusia. But I’m not surprised it’s your favorite game. We call it Cockroach.”

Esther laughs, nearly choking on the ale she’s drinking, and I give Damia a wide grin .

“You Filusians have such a way with words, I’m surprised more of you aren’t poets.” I scoop up the deck and begin to deal. “Instead, you seem to be much more interested in running around cutting and stabbing things.” I lay out the last few cards for the players.

Damia laughs as she picks up her hand. “And Trovians are all peace-loving lambs, I suppose?”

“Peaceful? No. But it’s true that some of us enjoy spending our time loving ,” I say with a knowing look.

Esther rolls her eyes, but Damia’s cheeks darken.

“Then I’m surprised you bothered to come on this mission at all,” Damia says, her voice low. “There’s not exactly going to be much opportunity for it.”

“We’ll see,” I say, and I feel a spark of excitement at the look she gives me in return.

“I’m serious,” she says. “You’d have been better off staying in Tread, where you could happily avoid sticking your neck out for anyone but yourself.”

I pretend to be offended as the others stay with their hands or draw.

“Excuse me? I’m a very crucial part to Princess Morgana’s plan,” I say. “Besides, the Temple wrecked my city, and it’s only fair I pay them back in kind.”

“Funny, I didn’t think a crook like you paid anyone back,” Damia replies.

Esther clears her throat loudly. “Can we just place our bets please?” she says.

I can tell she’s getting impatient with our flirting, or bickering, or whatever it is we’re doing.

Yet I can’t seem to help myself. There’s something about Damia that just gets under my skin, like an itch I can’t scratch.

Damia stares me down as she drops a couple of florins onto the table.

Yes, I’d very much like to scratch that itch.

Two minutes later, I’m laying down my winning hand and watching those green eyes spark with annoyance as I collect my spoils.

“I give up,” Esther says, standing up from the table.

“Don’t quit so soon, miss,” Moss says imploringly .

“I have to before you all make a pauper of me,” the rebel says, ducking beneath a beam and heading toward her cabin.

“What was that you said about the Filusians inventing this game, Damia?” I say smugly.

“I need a drink,” the fae says, abruptly standing and stalking off toward the galley.

I can’t resist, dropping the cards and pocketing my winnings. “Sorry, Moss,” I say. “But looks like the game’s over.”

I leave the smuggler complaining as I abandon him to follow Damia.

She hears me, of course, glancing over her shoulder and shaking her head when I step out into the narrow corridor down to the ship’s kitchen. Again, I see the hint of a smile on her lips, inviting me closer.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“I’m quite thirsty myself, as it happens.”

She tuts but doesn’t say anything else as I fall into step beside her. We naturally brush up against each other in the cramped space, and the heat dances from her skin to mine, calling to me.

“You know,” I say, “I think I’ve finally worked out the one thing you’re bad at,” I say.

She laughs. “You mean aside from assassinating would-be queens?”

“That was just bad luck ,” I say. “But no. You’re a terrible bluff.”

“I am not!” she protests.

“Oh, but you are. I could tell exactly how bad a hand you had the moment you picked it up.” I angle myself so she has to slow her steps too. “Just like I can tell that you enjoyed that kiss we shared far more than you expected to. And you still think about it.”

I lean toward her, and she takes a step closer, her lips parting slightly. Her scent fills the air, and I hold her gaze as I take in a deep breath, inhaling her.

She’s the one who closes the gap, crushing her lips against mine. It’s as delicious as the first time, only better, because this time there’s no farce, no role to play. It’s her real desire I feel as she presses her lean, taut body against mine.

My hand goes to her hair, tugging it down from the tight knot she’s twisted it into, so it cascades downward. I run my fingers through it, marveling at how soft it is, burying my hand deeper until I’m cradling the back of her head.

Our kiss is a fight for control, tongues clashing as we try to claim each other, but I know I’ll win.

She might have more experience, but I have more tricks up my sleeve.

With a deft movement, I spin her around and back her into a dark corner behind a post, pulling my shadows around us until we’re concealed in darkness together.

Now all she can do is feel —my hand running up her thigh, the stroke of my fingers at the nape of her neck. I press the hardness of my arousal against her just as I lower my lips to the delicate spot of skin on her neck just below her ear.

She releases a moan so beautiful I think I might have died and gone to the Eternal Realm. I immediately make a mental note of that spot, vowing to worship it a thousand times more.

Except as soon as she makes the noise, her entire body goes stiff, and she draws back.

“Corrin, turn on the lights,” she says, her voice hard. I release my shadows. Once there’s enough light to show her expression, I see that she’s angry. Her mouth is swollen from my kisses— our kisses—but it’s drawn into an unhappy line, and her eyes are cold.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, bewildered by the sudden change.

“ This is wrong,” she says, straightening and sidestepping me.

I stare at her. Her cheeks are still flushed, her breathing not quite returned to normal, and yet she’s sweeping her hair back up into its tight knot, her eyes refusing to meet mine.

“I’m sorry if I misread—” I begin to say, but she interrupts me.

“Just leave it, Corrin,” she bites out. She sounds more angry with herself than me. “We shouldn’t be messing around like this. We should be focusing on the mission. ”

I search her face for some clue, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in her attitude.

And then it dawns on me. I know she took our unsuccessful trip to Elmere hard, but I hadn’t expected it to affect her this badly.

Maybe I should have, though. She feels she failed her captain, and herself.

She’s a soldier, and she doesn’t take these things lightly. Still…

“There’s no point beating yourself up about the past,” I say gently. “And there’s no reason why you can’t enjoy yourself in the present, whether there’s a mission ahead of us or not. Especially when there’s a mission ahead of us. I mean?—”

“Stop it,” she snaps. “I don’t want to hear it, Wadestaff.” She pulls her tunic straight, squaring her shoulders. “It’s not something I expect a man like you to understand.” Then she turns and stalks away into the belly of the boat, leaving me alone with my shadows.