I honestly hadn’t thought things could get worse.

I want to go after her, but I don’t know what would undo this. A profession of love? A plea for forgiveness? Offering the kingdom on a string?

I’m not even sure she’d want any of that. It’s not even my kingdom to offer. It’s my brother’s. And right now, Kandala is no prize. I might as well offer her a hornet’s nest.

I wish I knew what Lochlan said to her. Right this instant, I want to do everything I said I would do to him.

Her words to me keep echoing in my thoughts. I didn’t make you wait.

No. She didn’t.

The worst part is that she didn’t say the words with censure. She said them with … with understanding. She knows who I am. She knows my role. She knows that any promises come with the weight of the crown behind them.

She also knows who I’ve spent the last four years being. The King’s Justice. One of the most feared men in the entire country.

She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. I heard it in her voice when she asked about my intentions for Lochlan.

When I took hold of her arm, she almost flinched.

I need to focus. I have duties here. An obligation to my king and my country. I shouldn’t have marched into this room and started … that.

But as I walked onto the ship, I kept thinking about the way Captain Blakemore invited her aboard ahead of my arrival, or the way he told her to call him by his given name at dinner. I kept thinking of his words about loyalty and honor and duty, and how his comments made my efforts to protect Kandala feel misguided and ineffective.

I kept hearing her voice from the moment he appeared in the dining room. Oh.

It’s far too similar to the way she said the very same word when my fingers found the lacing to her—

I force these thoughts to an abrupt halt. They’re going nowhere good.

I drop onto the side of the narrow bed and run my hands over my face. I wasn’t prepared to replace lust and desire with anger and frustration, and my body hasn’t fully caught up with my thoughts yet. The room feels too hot. Too small. I could step onto a battlefield and wage war this very second. I tug at my shirtsleeves to free the cuffs, then roughly shove them back.

The boat rocks and sways, but less than it did along the docks. We must be fully into the Queen’s River now.

This is happening. I’m leaving. I’m leaving Kandala.

I’m leaving my brother.

I have too many emotions, and they’re all colliding. I shove myself to my feet and stride for the door. I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I need to do something or I’m going to throw myself overboard.

But as my hand reaches for the door handle, I hesitate. I’ve hardly been on the ship for half an hour, but I don’t need anyone to think I’m upset—especially not my own

guards. I’ve been King’s Justice for four years. I know how to swallow my temper. Close quarters never keep secrets well. If my guards start whispering about a spat between me and Tessa, it’ll be all over the ship in a matter of hours, and that’s the last thing I need.

I take a step back and run my hands across my face again. There’s a tiny mirror in the corner, over the empty washbasin, but my eyes still look like thunder, so I glance away. I unroll my sleeves and refasten the cuffs.

I wish I had Quint. Or Harristan.

My chest tightens unexpectedly, but I lock this emotion away with the others. I walk to the small, barred porthole and stare out into the blackness. The bars remind me of a prison cell. Only a few tiny lights along the shore glow in the gloom. I count to ten. To one hundred.

And then I do it again.

Eventually, my temper cools. I’m no longer inhaling fire. A knock sounds at my door, and I whip my head around.

My heart kicks. Maybe she’s come back. Maybe I have a chance to fix this.

I grab the handle and jerk the door open.

It’s not Tessa. It’s Kilbourne. There are two men behind him, both lugging heavy trunks that glisten with rainwater.

“Your Highness,” the guard says. “Your trunks have been brought down.”

I stare at him. I’m trying to decide if he looks like he knows what happened between me and Tessa.

Maybe I can’t swallow all that emotion.

While I’m deliberating, one of the men blows a lock of hair out of his eyes and says, “They sure are getting lighter, Your Highness,” and the other man makes a sound like he’s trying to stifle a laugh.

My eyes narrow, and I’m tempted to make these men hold them for a solid hour, but it feels petty. I know how

loyal Rian’s crew is. I don’t want to turn them all against me.

“Forgive me,” I say. “Just set them inside.”

They do. They’re not gentle about it either. With hardly a glance at me, the men leave the trunks, then head back into the hallway. One of them wipes sweat or rain—or both

—from his brow as he goes.

I’m irritated, and I probably don’t have any right to be.

They aren’t here as my servants.

“Where are the other guards?” I say to Kilbourne.

“Silas is setting our room to order. Rocco is walking the ship.” Kilbourne casts a glance at the empty hallway, then drops his voice. “The captain promised a thorough tour once we’re ahead of the storm, but Rocco doesn’t want to wait that long.”

Interesting. Probably smart. I glance across the hallway at the two closed doors. I wonder which one is Tessa’s. “Miss Cade is comfortable?”

He hesitates. “As far as I can tell.” He studies me, and in that moment, I can tell he noticed Tessa’s sudden departure from my quarters.

He has the good sense not to mention it, which I can appreciate.

“What did Lochlan say to her?” I ask. Kilbourne draws a slow breath.

I’ve been on this ship for less than an hour, and I’m already exhausted. “Just tell me.”

“He said the king placed him on the ship for the purpose of making him disappear. He said you were a liar who deserved to be tied to the rudder.” He hesitates. “He said you brought Miss Tessa along for … ah, companionship.”

My jaw is tight.

“In the bedroom,” he adds.

I give him a look. “Thank you, Kilbourne. I made the connection.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

I sigh and close myself back into my quarters. No wonder she started demanding to know my intentions— especially when I did nothing to put her fears to rest. Instead, I probably stoked them.

I need action, but I’m not in the right frame of mind to go find it. I really would wring Lochlan’s neck. I crouch beside the first chest and unlatch it. The clothes on top are a bit damp from where rain has snuck past the leather stitching of the trunk, and I sigh, then move to hang them from hooks in the wardrobe. I could call for someone to do this for me, but now that my hands are buried in the fabric, I’m reminded of the scents of the palace, so different from the scent of seawater and fish that seems to cling to everything on board the Dawn Chaser. I’m sure Geoffrey, my valet, chose each piece carefully, because everything is practical for a journey by sea, with a few more regal pieces, surely intended for once we reach Ostriary.

But then, at the bottom of the chest, I find a worn

leather riding jacket that’s jarring with familiarity, though I’m sure I haven’t seen it in years. My brows flicker into a frown, because I can’t imagine what inspired Geoffrey to add it to my trunks. It’s fine leather, with detailed stitching, a belted waist, and buckles across the chest, but I have little use for riding attire on a ship. Honestly, I’m rather certain this used to be Harristan’s, anyway—

I freeze, struck by a memory. I was fourteen, so Harristan was eighteen. It was late autumn, and our parents were still alive. We were visiting the consul of Trader’s Landing. My parents wanted Harristan to travel by carriage, because the colder air always seemed to make his breathing worse, but by then he’d reached an age

where he could refuse. He’d ridden beside me through miles of leaf-strewn trails—and he’d paid the price. By the time we reached the consul’s estate, Harristan couldn’t speak a full sentence without gasping halfway through.

He recovered quickly once we were inside, but after hours at tea and luncheon and afternoon gossip in front of a fireplace, I grew bored with all the royal protocol. I left my brother and my parents and slipped into the dimness of the stables. I heard the low rumble of voices in the tack room, but I didn’t think much of it, until I realized what the stablehands were doing: mocking my brother.

“I’m going—” A feigned wheeze. “—to—” Another. “—I’m

—” The boy launched into exaggerated coughing.

“What’s that, Your Highness?” another laughed. “You’re going to what?”

I didn’t think. I just tackled one of them. I wasn’t even sure which one. My fist was swinging before I was aware of who I was hitting.

The stables were mostly deserted, and I’m sure they didn’t expect the younger prince to come strolling through. They definitely didn’t realize who I was at first, because the boy was older and bigger and shoved me into the dirt before one of the others grabbed his arm and stopped him. They all stared at me in panic, and I remember thinking that they were either going to finish me off—or run away.

I probably would have tackled them again, but Harristan appeared in the doorway to the tack room.

He looked from me, with my lip already swelling, to the stablehands, and his gaze had darkened. Tension clung to the room for the longest moment, and I felt the other boys weighing their fate.

“Cory,” Harristan finally said. “Mother sent me to find you. Consul Montague is preparing for dinner.” He glanced

at the stablehands. “Let’s allow them to get back to work before Father comes looking.”

The implications of that were clear. I got to my feet, and the boys scattered, finding duties quickly.

I wiped a hand across my jaw, and I was surprised to find blood on my knuckles. Harristan sighed, then pulled a handkerchief to wipe the blood off my mouth. “You can’t fight all my battles, little brother.”

I wanted to brush off his tending, but I knew from experience that Mother would be furious if she found evidence of brawling on my shirt. “You heard them?”

He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t hear it from our own servants?” He didn’t wait for an answer; he just unfastened his jacket. “Here. Put this on. You’ve ripped your shirt. Mother will come undone.”

I put on his jacket and buttoned it closed. His jacket. This jacket.

I’d forgotten all about that moment.

Now, my fingers stroke across the lapels. Geoffrey wouldn’t have packed this.

Which means my brother did.

I think of the way he slipped into my carriage tonight. I dig at the pockets, in case Harristan has slipped a note into one of them, but there’s nothing.

I sit on the edge of the bed again and inhale deeply. The jacket smells of oiled leather and sweet hay, with just the tiniest undercurrent of equine sweat. I sigh and lay back on the bed, feeling the motion of the ship beneath me, listening to the rattle of rain against the porthole window. I pull the jacket to my chest and close my eyes.

You can’t fight all my battles, little brother.

That changed later, when he named me as King’s Justice. I’ve fought plenty of his battles, to the detriment of myself.

I’m sure I’ll fight plenty more. I don’t want to disappoint him.

I don’t want to disappoint Tessa.

As usual, those two choices seem to be in opposition.

But just now, I can lie here and stare up at the ceiling, inhaling the faint scents of home, and I can put off my worries for a few minutes.

I don’t mean to sleep, but I do. When I wake, I’m in the same position as before, lying on the bed, staring into darkness, the boat rocking beneath me. For an instant, I have a moment of disoriented panic, because I can’t remember where I am. But awareness snaps into place quickly, and I sit up sharply, causing my brother’s jacket to pool in my lap. The oil lantern has burned out, and the room is cold. I have no idea what time it is, and it’s too dark to see my pocket watch.

It’s too dark to see anything.

I do have the jacket, so I slip my arms into the sleeves and ease across the room in the darkness, shifting slowly with my hands out.

My shins slam right into a chest anyway, and I bite back a swear, then catch myself against the wall.

At least it helps me find the door.

I tug at the handle, then blink in the sudden light. Two lanterns hang in the corridor. Rocco was sitting cross- legged in the center of the aisle, but he’s on his feet before I’ve swung the door all the way open. An array of playing cards were laid out on the wooden boards, but they scatter a bit from his movement.

“Your Highness,” he says in surprise.

“Forgive me,” I say. “I’ve ruined your game.”

“It’s no trouble.”

My thoughts are still a bit wild and tumultuous, and I simultaneously feel wide awake and in desperate need for more sleep. It’s a feeling I remember well from my early morning runs with Tessa. I tug my watch free and glance at the face.

Half past three in the morning. Sounds about right.

I look back at Rocco, then rub at my eyes. “You drew the night watch?”

“Kilbourne will relieve me at dawn.” His eyes flick down my form, and I realize that, aside from the jacket, I’m wearing the exact same clothes I wore when I boarded the ship—right down to my boots.

That makes me feel like a fool.

Doubly so when I glance across the hallway and see Tessa’s closed door.

I look back at Rocco, who’s studying me as if he’s wondering whether he would be within rights to suggest I go back to sleep. It’s quite possible I look hungover.

I wish I were. “Kilbourne said you walked the ship earlier,” I say.

“I did.”

I rub at my eyes again. “Give me ten minutes, Rocco.

Then I’d like to hear what you’ve learned.” “I … yes. Of course.”

I hesitate before turning back for my room. “And one of your lanterns, if you please.”

Once I close myself back in my quarters, I take less than ten minutes to feel more human. I didn’t expect indoor plumbing, but I’m pleased to find a private water closet, complete with a pitcher and basin for washing. I exchange my shirt for something less rumpled, hoping it will help me feel a bit less rumpled myself, but it doesn’t. I want to

shove my brother’s jacket back down in the chest, because it really has no place here … but something about its presence is reassuring. It’s cold anyway. I buckle it into place.

I make my way back to the door and tug at the next chest, wondering what I’ll find. It’s very heavy, and I remember one of Blakemore’s men making a comment about how they weren’t getting much lighter. I snap the latches and flip the lid open.

Bottles glisten in the light. Wine and whiskey and rum and brandy—a whole assortment of liquors from the palace. There’s an opener, too.

Quint, I love you.

I am absolutely certain that he meant for me to use them to impress dignitaries in Ostriary, or possibly to gift them right to King Galen Redstone himself, but right now, I don’t care. I seize the brandy, tug the cork free, then drink right from the bottle.

Lord, Tessa.

I plug the bottle and go for the door again. Rocco has put the cards away, and he’s standing at attention in the dimmer hallway.

I tug a trunk in front of the door to prop it open, then gesture to the little table and chairs that are bolted to the floor. “Come in. Sit.”

He takes in the bottle in my hand, then steps across the threshold. He’s tall enough that he has to duck through the door a bit. “We can wait for dawn, Your Highness. If you’d rather.”

“I wouldn’t.” There aren’t any glasses in my quarters, but there are four wooden cups stacked in a little sleeve that’s also bolted to the table. I set two on the table and pour, then drop into a chair.

Rocco assesses this, then eases into the chair across from me. “The Dawn Chaser is well outfitted,” he says. “The king had guards search the ship when Captain Blakemore first made his claim, and his logs seem to be in order. There are enough provisions on board for a crew of this size. The sailors seem competent, if a bit rough around the edges. Most of them seem quick and sharp. They’re loyal to their captain.”

“Do you trust him?” “No.”

My eyebrows go up, and Rocco shrugs. “He kept our numbers low. It seems reasonable, but the ship is easily large enough to carry a dozen more people. The lowest decks are mostly empty. As it stands, if it came to a fight, we are outnumbered two to one. More so, if you consider that Miss Cade may not be fit to fight. To say nothing of the rebel.” He grimaces. “Who knows which side he’d fight for, if it came down to it.”

“Whatever side ended with me at the bottom of the ocean.” I pick up my cup and drain it in one swallow. “What else?”

“This supposedly isn’t a gunship, but there are cannons tethered on the middle deck. We questioned Captain Blakemore, and—”

“Cannons!”

“Yes. A dozen. It’s been explained that the cannons have been with the ship since his father first sailed from Kandala, and it would be costly to remove them, so they’ve been tethered in the stern.”

“Could that be true?”

“Yes.” He pushes his cup toward me. “It could also be a lie, Your Highness.”

“I poured that for you.” “I know.”

There’s a part of me that wishes I hadn’t touched the first one—and another part that wants to drain the whole bottle. “So we’re on a ship that’s not a gunship, but could be a gunship if the need arises.”

“Yes.” Rocco sits back in his chair. “Do you have anything to write with? I’ll show you how it’s laid out.”

I check beneath the bottles of liquor and find a box of fountain pens and a new leather folio with a stack of crisp parchment.

Rocco sketches quickly. “They’ve given us the rooms at the stern, saying they’re the better quarters because they’re larger and provide a smoother ride. That could be true—or it could be that we’ve got a short corridor and it would be easy to confine us, if the need arose. It gives us a bit of an advantage, too: a single man can guard the hallway. Short of a frontal assault, there’s no real way to take a guard unawares. But to get above or belowdecks—to escape—we’d need to head for the center of the ship. Aside from the captain and his first officer, the crew quarters are at the bow, with full access to everything: the galley, the gun decks, the hold.”

“Where’s the captain?”

I expect Rocco to make another mark on his drawing, but he points at the ceiling. “Captain Blakemore and Lieutenant Tagas have sleeping quarters directly above us, along with his stateroom.”

I glance up at the heavy beams and wonder how soundproof they are. I take a breath, studying his diagram. “Where are the cannons?”

“One deck below.” He makes another line. “The firing bays are latched closed, and the cannons are tethered here.” Another mark. “And here.”

“Do they have an armory?”

“Yes. Double locked. But the guards who searched the ship reported that it was fully stocked.”

“With what?”

“I don’t know. That’s all their report said. Fully stocked. They were searching for contraband, not weapons, so I’m sure they didn’t think to make a full accounting.” He pauses. “I inquired when I walked the ship, but the crewman didn’t have a key. There really is a storm at our backs. They couldn’t fake that.”

“I’ll have to ask for a tour myself.” I run a hand across my face, and before I can think better of it, I drain the other cup. My voice has already gone a bit husky from the first one. “What are the chances I just walked into a kidnapping, Rocco?”

“The captain’s story seems solid, and he certainly has the proof: his ring, his logs, the flag. If this is a kidnapping, it’s a secret kept from the crew. I don’t feel a sense of malice.”

I don’t either—but one of Rocco’s very first statements was that he doesn’t trust the captain. The crew doesn’t need to know about a kidnapping if they’ll act when Captain Blakemore commands it.

“But …?” I prompt.

“I’m assessing who of the crew is critical to sail, and who’s not. If it comes to it, Kilbourne is set to take out Sablo and Marchon. Silas has a mark on Tagas, while I have one on Blakemore—though Tagas might be our better bet to keep the boat afloat. She’s got a daughter among the crew, so we’d have leverage, and if we take out the captain, we’re going to need leverage against someone with rank.”

His voice is surprisingly ruthless. Practical. I so rarely hear that note in anyone’s voice but my own.

I study him, and for some reason I’m reminded of the way Harristan called him Erik when he wasn’t in palace

livery. It’s a level of familiarity that’s unsettling, because I was never really aware of it. Rocco and the others must have had conversations like this with my brother all the time. My domain has always been the Hold: The smugglers and their earned punishments. The prisoners, the guards, and the night patrol. Since he’s the king, my brother’s domain has always been … all of Kandala.

I consider Rocco’s tone, and I realize Harristan must have had similar conversations about me, in the days after Tessa’s arrival at the palace. I wonder how long it took for him to question what secrets I kept, if it was his conversation with Tessa, or if it was Allisander spreading lies about his own wrongdoings.

“How long was my brother suspicious of me?” I ask Rocco now.

It’s an abrupt shift in the conversation, but he takes it in stride. “Only these last few months.”

He says it so easily, so casually, as if nothing about the time frame should be a surprise. But the words hit me so hard it almost knocks me out of my chair.

“For months?” I demand, and now he has the grace to look startled.

“Yes, Your Highness. I thought you knew.”

No. I didn’t know. My brain tries to skim through months of memories, every minute I would sit with my brother, evaluating the consuls, discussing the smugglers we caught, deliberating over the best way to maintain order and control in the streets of Kandala. All the times I sat in his room and listened to his breathing, worrying he was going to fall prey to the fevers. I think of every minute I spent trying not to destroy myself for his sake, and he was busy suspecting me.

I think about this jacket, the way my brother tucked it at

the bottom of my chest.

“Did you have conversations like this with him?” I say. “About me?”

Rocco says nothing. “Answer me,” I say.

“I will not betray the king’s confidence.” “Which one of you had a mark on me?” Again, he says nothing.

“Did he have suspicions about this journey, too?” I say sourly. “Did he worry that I might somehow be plotting with Captain Blakemore? Is that why you’re here?”

Rocco’s eyes hold mine, unflinching. “My orders,” he says evenly, “as stated by the king, are to ensure you return to Kandala unharmed.”

That could mean a lot of things. I wish I could stride across the hallway to Tessa. But of course I can’t.

I let out a long breath. My anger, my agitation, is not with Rocco. And if I’m going to survive this journey, I need him on my side.

“Fine,” I say. “Advise.” It’s what my brother always says, when he wants his guards to formulate a plan. I don’t know if I’ve ever said it.

Rocco doesn’t hesitate, but then I’m sure he’s heard it a thousand times. “For now, I recommend that you do your best to enjoy the journey. Do not allow our suspicions to come to light. The longer they believe we are willing passengers, the more we can learn. They’ll lower their guard. Let Lochlan be the troublemaker, since he seems so willing. It won’t be a distraction for us, but it will be for them.” He pauses. “I would not share your doubts with Miss Tessa either.”

I frown and imagine Tessa in her own quarters. I don’t deserve to be treated like a secret, Corrick.

It takes everything I have not to wince. I may have fallen in love with Tessa Cade, but as usual, I’m reminded that

she didn’t fall in love with Prince Corrick, the King’s Justice.

She fell in love with the outlaw Weston Lark. She fell in love with a man who doesn’t exist.

I want to pour another glass of brandy. “Rocco,” I say, “you don’t need to worry about that.”