They neared the end of their journey. Nadia had yet to comment on his proposal, and he pretended he had never offered it.

Declan would be almost sad to leave the ship, if it weren't for the malevolent captain and his far more malicious seasickness. On the journey, it had felt like a space separate from obligations or duties or any sort of societal role. He could be the most raw form of himself, not needing to fit into any categories or labels that others placed upon him. He could see Nadia, unfettered by titles others would place on her. So much had happened in these weeks at sea that he felt like it had been nearly a year.

Yet soon they would set foot on land, and everything would become real again. Olivia Delrose would truly be dead. His father would place genuine expectations on him to produce a key, a magical artifact, and all he would have was this girl.

This girl, whose introduction to court could go one of many ways. She could be added to a harem. Treated as a novelty. Trapped as a prisoner. None of them were right - none of them felt right. Not to him, not now, not after all that had happened.

He would go to bed and think about that day in Vytia, when they'd been thrown into that cargo hold. When the wine had spilled on her, when his fingers had grazed a part of her body that he was certain no other man had touched. Not even scandalous, barely even intimate, yet more vulnerable than any other moment he'd spent with another woman before.

And now they were nearing Astroia, and all of it would shatter, fading into nothingness.

All of what they were, what they could be, sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

But not yet. Not today.

He exited his chamber, straightening his deep green cravat. Declan would make the most of his time on this ship. He always did.

On his way to the dining room for breakfast, he ran into the ship's captain, Captain Hayes. Normally, Declan would have disregarded the man's name, as he did often to those who were not useful to him or absolutely essential to the tasks he wished to accomplish. But not this ship's captain. Not a man who had threatened Nadia's life, and, when they were at the end of this voyage, still had not made it clear how Nadia had been pushed off of the ship beyond veiled promises and guttural threats.

"Good morning, Prince." The captain was whistling a sea shanty.

Declan despised sea shanties in the same way that he despised bawdy drinking songs: they told too many myths with slivers of truth, and were always packaged in that haunting yet bawdy way that reminded him of love lost. No, he had far too much of that in his life already.

"Good morning, Captain Hayes," he said, striding past the man.

Captain Hayes stuck out an arm physically prevented him from moving. Though a few inches shorter than Declan, he was a barrel-chested man, the buttons of his shirt straining across his trunk. "Before you go, I wish to speak with you."

"Then for the gods's sakes, speak," he said, waving an arm. He felt the knife strapped to his thigh, the one in its sheath at his boot, a dozen weapons all over his body and hanging from his weapons belt. He was ever-vigilant nowadays, not entirely sure that the slavers' ship they had encountered in Vytia hadn't been an act of ill circumstance. "I'm sure neither of us have time to waste."

Captain Hayes dropped his arm, apparently so easily convinced. It lessened the view of him in Declan's eyes, if that was even possible, to see a man be so easily duped and so easily persuaded to give up. "I know who pushed your... priestess off of the side of the ship."

"Who?" he asked.

"Rowena Mills," he said. "Your servant girl. My men saw it with their own eyes."

His muscles tensed, as though bracing for a blow that never came, a punch that had already been thrown.

"Interesting," he said, though internally, he felt stiff with shock. "Thank you for this information, Captain. Is there any chance I can know the names of these men?"

Captain Hayes shook his head. "I respect my men's privacy."

"And I would prefer to know who is accusing Miss Mills, a ward under my care," Declan said. Rowena was a bit slippery, but she had a good heart. She was kind. Sweet. Delicate. Perhaps not entirely innocent, but she was good. She seemed to admire and look up to Nadia. Would she have done it? Perhaps, but for reasons he didn't know of.

"They said the two girls were fighting," he said with a shrug that seemed to contain a dozen unspoken sentiments that he expected the other man to know. "Women."

"Who are we to understand them," he said drily. "The names of your men, if you would. Or else."

"Or else what?" Captain Hayes put his hands on his hips, giving himself the illusion of even more stoutness than he already possessed.

"I think we both know how you managed to afford the wine on this ship, Hayes, and it wasn't from your purser," he said flatly. "I want to know who those men are by noon, Captain. Now if you'll excuse me, I hear a platter of bacon calling my name."

Whistling to himself--not a folk song or a drinking song or a sea shanty but one of the operatic themes that had played back in Astroia--Declan proceeded toward the dining hall.

-

"Rowena," he said when he entered the dining hall and saw her scooping eggs onto her plate, her brown hair in a loose braid down her back.

"Your Highness," she said, setting down the plate and curtsying. The formalities let him know that they weren't alone. Alone, she would usually drop the pleasantries. He knew too many of her secrets for that your highness nonsense. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough," he said. "But my morning has been disturbed by some news that the captain brought me."

"Will we be delayed in our journey?" Her mouth fell open in dismay, her fork pausing in its route.

She seemed unnecessarily worried about the duration of their journey, and with good reason. Reasons he would not divulge.

"It is uncertain," he said because it was uncertain. Only to play with her head a little bit. "But that isn't what I wanted to inform you of."

"What is it?" She stood at the table, fork in hand, displaying the most flagrant flouting of table manners he had witnessed since he'd lived with common soldiers. "Declan?"

The room was empty except the two of them, then, at least for now. "The captain says his men have accused you of pushing Nadia off of the ship. Did you do it?"

Her jaw dropped and she sat down, plopping into her chair like an empty potato sack. "I... I didn't see anyone that night."

"I didn't ask you who you saw," he said calmly. Were he anyone else, she would have been outright accused by now or thrown into the ship's gaol. "I asked you if you were the one who pushed her, Mills."

She lifted her chin and picked up her plate, standing up and getting ready to walk out. "I don't need to answer you."

"No, but I don't need to keep your secrets, Rowena," he said. "Answer me."

Just then, the door opened and Nadia entered. They both sat down, staring at the food as though it were the most riveting thing in the room. He picked up a rasher of bacon, stabbing it with his fork and chewing slowly.

"Good morning." Rowena perked up at the sight of her friend, looking relieved.

Nadia echoed the greeting and took a seat across from Declan. "How did you sleep?"

"Fitfully," he said, cutting off a slice of ham and bringing it to his plate. He hadn't eaten or slept well yesterday and felt suddenly ravenous. "And you?"

"Fine, but I was addressing Rowena," she said, angling her body away from him.

He hid a smile, one that was quickly engulfed by irritation. If she wanted to be a challenge... But, no, what was he thinking? She was hardly some coquette to be won over or to be made a conquest of. She was... inexperienced, to say the least. A priestess. If she was turning away from him, it was because she simply preferred Rowena's company.

Declan focused on his food and tuned out Rowena and Nadia's conversations. When he had finished his breakfast, he rested a hand on Nadia's chair. "May I speak with you in private?"

She glanced up at him, wide-eyed. "Whatever could this be about?"

Rowena cast her glance between the two of them, biting her lower lip. The girl would be hopeless at court, terrible at the art of subterfuge. Every emotion she had she wore across her face in bright, bold letters.

"You'll find out if you accept," he said, trying to inject some flirtation into it.

Maybe it would throw Rowena off of their trail.

Rowena's gaze dropped from them, focusing on her fruit juice in an amber colour.

"Let's have our conversation," she said, rising from her seat and dabbing at her mouth with a linen napkin. "Rowena, I'll meet you on the decks."

When she and Declan stood in an alcove off of the hallway, one filled with cleaning supplies - mops, buckets, and brooms - she folded her arms across her chest and looked up at him, from beneath her lashes. He didn't know if she affected the posture because she knew it was naturally charming, or because she was simply so much shorter than him. But he felt something stir in his chest, something he shoved deep down.

"What is the matter, Declan?" she said. "Why the need for this secrecy?"

He sighed. Should he tell her? "It's the captain."

Nadia tensed, her collarbones jutting out with a sharp breath. "What about him?"

"He confronted me this morning and told me that his men saw Rowena push you off of the ship," he said.

All the tension released from Nadia's body in a whoosh, and she almost laughed. "You can't tell me that you believed him. The man has tried to kill me! Who's to say he isn't pushing blame onto someone else?"

"You are my responsibility," he said, and he thought he saw something fall in her face, as though she had been expecting him to say another thing of his that she was. He couldn't. Not now. Not so soon after... after everything. "I want to investigate every possible threat to your safety."

"Even if this threat is nonexistent and comes from a very real threat on my life?" she said, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "I am sick of having guards, prince. I've lived this way for nearly two decades and I never wish to return to that life."

"You may think you are indestructible, but..." You are not. I am not. "That has yet to be proven."

"Then why not prove it? If you remember, the night I was pushed off of the ship, was the night I discovered my magical healing powers," she said. "Or has your memory started going in your old age?"

He groaned. "You've been spending too much time with Nolan if you want to tell those jokes."

She shrugged. "He's good company. Better than you, at least."

"Then I'll assign him to be your personal guard," he said drily. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," she said, her tone just as caustic as his. "I trust Rowena with my life."

"Then you're more of a fool than I thought," he said. "I don't trust anyone with my life."

"We can't all be as jaded as you," she said, tilting her chin upwards. "I'm sorry that I'm not some scarred, battle-worn soldier who's seen the pits of hell, but I refuse to live like one--"

"You were kidnapped," he said. "We both were on the verge of being sold into slavery. What if I hadn't had that knife, Nadia?"

"I don't think about that," she said hoarsely. "I never do."

"You're lying." He lifted a hand to cup her face, his touch tender against her cheekbone. She didn't flinch, her eyes staring into his.

Anger and defensiveness lit up her eyes, the green radiant in the tiny closet. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling at a faster tempo. "Just because you have some sick obsession with me, Declan, doesn't mean I feel the same way about you."

"Gods above," he cursed, and that, that made her cringe, curling inwards and stepping back, letting his hand fall to his side. So blasphemy bothered her. He tucked that away, filing it for later use. "I am not obsessed with you, Nadia, I--"

"No, you're not, you simply wish to control my life and isolate me from my friends," she said.

"Damn it, Nadia, at noon, the captain is telling me which of his men witnessed your little spill from the deck. Do you wish to know or not?" he said.

"Fine." Her eyes were still fiery, that stubborn set to her mouth still in place. Then she pushed past him and walked out, her small hands so ineffectual despite their force as she shoved against his chest.

He smiled to himself. He was lying to himself if he said he didn't appreciate the fire suffusing their interactions.