The night was light and warm, but it didn't really feel that way to Archer. He felt cold all over, just like that time freezing rain had hit Orphano. He could almost feel the sharp points of the ice on his skin. He was outsmarted, tricked, a fool that had been fooled.

In hindsight, it seemed obvious. Of course Kip wasn't just a hopeless sailor. He was too useless to be anything other than a pampered royal. That, and he'd always been too confident and unapologetic to truly be out of place. No, Kerian Kain—legitimate son of King Kain and his late wife—was right where he wanted to be.

"Silta," came Bardarian's warning. The Captain hadn't caught on to who Tanner really was, and neither had the crew.

"He told me you were astute," Kip said to Silta, indifferent to the pistol at his throat. "That was the word he used, and I thought it was dramatic, but by the angels, you are indeed astute, aren't you?"

He sounded different to Archer—more practiced, more comfortable. His voice was stiff and sure, his word choice so...royal. Had he always been that way?

"Silta," Bardarian snapped, pushing his way to the middle of the deck.

"You've got a king's scout on your ship, lover," Silta snapped back, spite and venom thick as ever.

"A king's scout?" Rusher repeated. "That's...unlikely, Ri." He spoke slowly, like she was an explosive he was terrified to detonate while he was still in the vicinity.

Bardarian realized she wasn't just being difficult, so he reverted back to his calm self. "How do you figure all this?" he asked, glancing at Tanner.

"Tanner was on a navy ship," Britter said, putting things together. "He was the only one to step up when we attacked because he knew that would get our attention. He denounced his King."

"His father," Silta corrected.

"Your father," Kip threw out pointedly. Silta pushed him back a step by taking one forward herself.

"I don't understand," Starle said slowly.

"That navy ship was out of place," Rusher said, shaking his head as he recalled the day the Avourienne had gained Tanner. "They wanted us to find them. The King sent that ship straight to us, with the plan of sending his son on board as a spy."

Archer remembered his first real conversation with his roommate. Tanner had said he'd grown up on a pirate ship, but apparently the Avourienne had found him on a navy one. He had good reason to make such a risky lie: He knew Silta and Archer were getting close—because Archer had foolishly admitted it to him—and he didn't want Silta's mind and a new fresh perspective to figure him out. And yet now, he didn't seem to mind that he was figured out at all.

"Not a spy," Archer said, and the crew turned to look at him. He cleared his throat. "An assassin." He nodded his head to Silta. If all the King wanted was a spy, he would've sent someone else.

Kip was grinning as if he still maintained control over the situation. Archer couldn't help but feel uneasy by his expression.

"Speak, would you, Tanner?" Bardarian said, but he was still looking at Archer, something unreadable in his eyes.

"It's Kain," Tanner corrected. "As in Kerian Kain, heir to the throne, Captain." Despite the fact that all of them despised the King, there was still power to the words. "And yes," he said, "I'm here to get rid of her."

Britter let out a stale laugh. "Couldn't even drop the K? You're the most useless of us. How the hell would you murder a champion?"

Bardarian took another step forward, shaking his head. "This is absurd," he started, his voice a ribbon of calm fury. "The son of the King is on my ship?"

"Are you offended by the King, Bardarian?" Kip—or rather, Kerian—said. "You're many things, but I didn't classify you as a hypocrite." He drew his brows, clear anger threading through his eyes. "If you hate the King so fiercely, sir," he snapped, "then explain to me why you have no issue sleeping with his daughter."

Bardarian, for his part, just shrugged and said something about how Silta was a lot prettier than Tanner was, but she was already reacting much harder. She took another few steps, slamming his back into the door of the navigator's room. She spoke, good and close to his face, "I'm no daughter of his."

"Really? You've got his teeth," Kerian said, a ghost of an unphased smile on his lips.

"Just shoot him," Britter called, drawing agreement from the crew.

When she still hadn't pulled the trigger, Bardarian spoke up, "Use a knife. We'll send whatever's left of him back to his father."

Silta didn't pull the trigger, nor did she reach for a knife. The deck was silent.

Kerian began to laugh. He moved in Silta's grip, body shaking from laughter. Archer glanced at Denver, confused.

"She can't," Kerian said in between gasps of air, "because—" He broke off in another fit of laughter.

Silta gritted her teeth, then looked over at Bardarian, who tilted his head. Realization flickered across his face, then something else.

Kerian controlled himself a little, then set off in one more fit of laughter. Why couldn't Silta kill him? It would make her the only heir, of course.

Admittedly, Archer found the idea of Silta as a princess equally hilarious. Imagining her in a palace with a schedule of necessities while she patiently waited for her turn to rule almost made him snort along with Kerian.

Still, he had a point: as long as Silta was disinterested in he throne, Kerian was safe.

"I can still do it," she told him. "Don't claim the throne. Leave this entire ocean in chaos."

That sobered Kerian a little. He gazed at her for a moment, then seemed to decide something.

"I dare you," he said.

It was not the first time Silta had bluffed, but it was the first time she'd been so blatantly called on it. Leaving the Cobalts with no leader would result in absolute mayhem—the type of lawlessness that nobody thrives in, especially the one person that could solve it.

Bardarian was looking at Silta. It was something Archer couldn't quite place, like he was either realizing or planning something. His mouth curved into a smile. "Put the dud in the cells," he said. "Silta, with me."

Silta backed off the Prince, letting Starle and Jackson take him, but she didn't move further. "No," she said.

"Novari—" Bardarian began.

"I said no."

Archer couldn't quite place either of their emotions. Silta's tone was concluding and firm, so Bardarian stepped forward and placed his hand on the back of her neck. He pushed her up the balcony stairs, not waiting another moment.

Archer was sure he was about to experience Silta lose her patience with him, take out a knife or something else, but what she did was far more shocking.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She disappeared into the captain's quarters with him.

"Archer!"

He startled and spun around to face Denver, whose blonde hair was tousled and blue eyes wild.

"Can you believe Kip?" he asked. "Your roommate! All along, he's the goddamn Prince!"

Archer nodded heavily like his mind was made of lead. "Yeah—it's—honestly, how he got this far is awfully impressive."

"No kidding," Denver exclaimed. It appeared he'd spent a little too much time on the ship and not enough time in port. Archer felt drained and exhausted, like his limbs had anchors attached to them. Denver looked just ecstatic.

"Look, I'm really sorry, but I'm awfully tired," Archer said cautiously. He just wanted to go to sleep, to shake off this feeling of having been outsmarted. He wanted to get out of this damn uniform and rest his leg.

"Of course," Denver said, but the disappointment was clear in his eyes. For now, he'd have to live vicariously through someone else.

When Archer opened the door to his room, it was like the whole place was a reminder of the man who'd slept above Archer for the last few weeks. Although he hadn't been close with him, it still felt traitorous. But beneath it all, Kerian and Archer weren't all that different, and that unsettled him. Sure, Kerian had been there to kill Silta, but Archer had done the same amount of lying and scheming to get to here. Silta had a reason not to kill the Prince; she had no such reason for Archer.

He struggled to close his eyes despite his intense tired state. Although it felt like hours that he waited to find unconsciousness, it was only a matter of minutes before he drifted into a dreamless, uneasy sleep.

*

Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, Bardarian and Silta were playing a game.

It was a long-term kind of game, one that had gone on for months. A wicked back-and-forth of moves and countermoves. Unnoticeable at times to everyone else, but very much there.

Tonight, the game had to be put on the back burner. Tonight, there were more important things at stake. To address them, Vallin would have to sidestep the game without admitting defeat.

"No," she said.

He gave her a simple smile, turning his charm as high as it went. "I haven't said anything yet, darling."

She returned his smile, more than aware of those sly tactics. "I know exactly what you're going to say, lover."

He was used to that—being read like a book by his ever-brilliant woman. It was unsettling when they met, but he adapted to that as he had to everything else.

"Just listen for now, pretty girl," Vallin told her, leaning against the desk.

"Don't patronize me, old man."

He laughed. Games and more games. He'd win this one, even if he were temporarily at a disadvantage.

He made himself comfortable on the desk, picking and choosing his moves. She liked his authority, but only to a certain extent. She hated begging, weakness, but not if it was for her.

"Say we kill your little brother," Vallin began. "Say shortly after, we kill his father. Do you know what that makes you?"

"You know I'm slow with family trees. Why don't you tell me?"

He matched her clever gaze. "The Queen, darling."

"Is that so?" She clicked her tongue, pushed off the frame and moved further into the room. "A shame that there's no power in that position."

"Very unfortunate," Vallin agreed.

She picked up a bottle of rum Bates had left on the coffee table.

"But you know," he continued, watching her pull the cork from the bottle. "There would be power in your husband's position."

She walked to him, bottle in hand. "Is that so?" she asked.

"That's what I hear."

She offered him the bottle, harmless. Vallin smiled and took it, then placed it on the desk behind him.

She tilted her head to the side, keeping quiet with that infuriatingly innocent expression.

Vallin stared back. He could win this round, but it was going to piss her off to no avail. If he won this round this way, she was going to come back twice as hard with her retaliation, but he could take it. That was the thing—while everyone else couldn't stand the mind games, the physical fights, Vallin could. In fact, he excelled in playing along.

He leaned back on the desk, reaching over to pull open the top drawer. He picked up the ring, glanced at it to make sure it was the right one, then tossed it over to her.

She caught it. She loved anything that sparkled, anything that shone. This particular ring was Vallin's mother's—the one Novari used to try on in the middle of the night while she thought he was asleep.

Anger wasn't strong enough for what she was feeling now. She was furious. He could see it in the tiny line by the curve of her brow, in the tic in her jaw. She wanted to drown him in liquor, slice him up with a knife until he begged for mercy. Make him pay for it.

"What's this?" she asked, voice calm. Giving him one more chance.

"That's your ring. I think we should get married."

And oh, she was mad. Beyond simple anger, now. He'd ruined a massive moment in their lives for the silly, stupid game they'd been playing, except she'd started the games instead of simply communicating, so really, it all came back to be her fault.

She stared at him, unblinking. As searing as that gaze felt, it was often harmless. "No," she said.

"No?"

"No."

Vallin hummed. Good move. Very good move. He tilted his head. "Why's that?"

"I don't want to be your pretty figurehead," she said.

"Oh, but you'd just be the prettiest, wouldn't you?"

She narrowed her gaze, golden eyes sharp. She knew he wasn't marrying her just for the crown; she knew he would've married her the second he met her, long before he knew who her father was. She knew the only reason he hadn't done it yet was because of this stupid game that had been going on for far too long.

"No," she said again. "I won't marry you."

Vallin considered getting closer, calming her down with a well-placed hand, but he knew she'd call that tactic immediately. Instead, he worded his next sentence very, very carefully. Maybe he could get two birds with one stone.

"You're refusing to marry me because you don't want to be the Queen," he surmised.

The words were loaded, and intricately so. He knew it and she knew it.

"Don't bait me," she said. "Just ask."

But he couldn't. Months ago, he'd relaxed in his obsession over her. He didn't need to buy diamonds or shower her in his best efforts anymore; why fight so hard for what was already his? He'd always been her best option—the ship, the looks, the calm nature to balance her panicked soul. He was safe; nobody could keep up with her sociopathic tendencies quite like he could. Nobody could keep up at all like he could.

She despised his comfort, so she'd pulled back to make him sweat. She turned indifferent, left him sleeping on his own. He noticed, but he refused to let her win. So he'd met her distance with more distance, let her sweat.

She hated that even more, so she brought in a third party. Someone younger, good enough to be a threat. Somebody just unique enough to be intriguing. Somebody who could figure out Kip Tanner before him. Vallin might be sweating now, but he wasn't going to admit it.

So he couldn't ask. If he asked, he lost. It would be begging for this game to end, acknowledging his mistakes. He'd have to buy her some expensive shiny thing and use it to lure her back to into his arms with apologies.

"Speak, Darian."

Vallin glanced over at her. As much as he did hate the idea of having to lose the game, he was even more terrified of actually losing her. That particular problem tasted like tears and bad rum. He wouldn't go through that again.

But that's what she wanted. She wanted him to feel so cornered, so scared of losing her that he forfeited the game. But would she really take it that far before giving up herself?

Vallin lifted his chin. So he wouldn't get security on the crown quite yet. He wouldn't get her to put on the ring yet, but he would get all of that once he'd won this stupid game.

He nodded his chin to the door. "Off you go, then," he said.

She curled the ring into her hand. Fury, anger, simply mad. She was beyond it all.

She'd make him pay.