Eventually, we have to sleep, and I don’t really know when

he drags me to the bed, just that we’re somehow there.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says. “I want to hear if anyone gives the guards trouble.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to allow the King’s Justice to sleep on the floor,” I say, but my heart skips, because it sounds a bit coy.

I thought it would make him smile, but it doesn’t. “I rather doubt it. Harristan left me to sleep in a cell, if you recall.” He grabs a pillow and one of the blankets, then moves to the door, dousing one of the lanterns on his way.

For a moment, I don’t think he’s serious, but he unlaces his boots to kick them free, then unbuckles his jacket to toss it over the back of a chair. When his hands fall on the hem of his shirt, my breath catches, and he stops, his eyes glittering in the shadows.

I realize I’m staring at him, and my cheeks catch on fire. I flop back on the bed and drag a pillow over my face. “Sorry.”

He laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry.” “I’ve seen you shirtless before.”

Fabric rustles. “Ah, yes. So you’re immune.”

“Completely.” I slide the pillow down, peeking around the edge.

He’s wrapped in the blanket already, lying on the cold, hard wood of the floorboards. His eyes are on me now, and I unlace my own boots to kick them free, then untie my vest.

“You’re not getting a show either,” I say. “Good. Because I’m not immune.”

The heat on my cheeks goes nowhere. I crawl under my own blankets and reach to lower the flame of the other lantern, leaving us with little more than moonlight and the rhythmic creaking of the ship.

But as I lie there in the silence, I think about everything he said. I’ve always risked my life to help others, but my choices have always been simple, because I’ve never had much to lose. If I were thrown into the Hold or killed while distributing medicine in the Wilds, the world would keep on spinning.

But Corrick always has so much more at risk. I’ve been judging him and Rian by the same standards—by the standards I would apply to myself—but now I wonder if that’s been fair.

Corrick and Harristan have an entire country to lose. Their choices have threats and vulnerabilities built into each one.

For the first time, I wonder what Rian has to lose.

Across the room, Corrick shifts his weight, and I glance over.

“Corrick,” I say softly. “Tessa?”

“Come lie in the bed.”

It’s too dark to see him clearly from here, but I can sense the weight of his eyes. I wonder if he’ll refuse. But then fabric rustles, and he uncurls in the darkness,

approaching slowly, the faint moonlight revealing the shadows and lines of his body.

I shift over to make room. His bed is narrow, and not quite wide enough for two people, but he slips in beside me. Despite my shirt and trousers, I can feel his warmth, and somehow it makes me shiver.

“Are you cold?” he says. He doesn’t wait for an answer; he just rises up on one elbow to arrange the blankets.

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m not cold.”

He’s looking down at me, his eyes fixed on mine, affectionate yet predatory, gentle yet primal. Something inside me grips tight, stealing my breath.

Corrick lifts a hand as if to stroke my face, but I put a hand against his shoulder before he can touch me.

“Wait,” I whisper, and he does. He holds there, one hand half lifted, the other braced against the bed to support his weight. It’s doing impressive things to the musculature of his arms, especially when combined with the tiny remaining glow from the lantern.

But he waits, no impatience in his eyes.

I don’t know what I wanted him to wait for. Maybe it’s exactly this: reassurance that no matter what everyone else sees in him, his word is true.

A scar cuts across his bicep, and I trace a finger over the line. His skin is smooth and warm. “How did you get this one?”

His eyes don’t leave mine. “The night patrol caught a smuggler in the Sorrowlands. It’s a two-day journey to the Royal Sector. Somewhere along the way, he was able to fashion—and hide—a makeshift blade.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t sever a tendon.”

“I’m lucky he didn’t stab me right in the heart. That was his goal.”

I think of how quickly he dodged the attacker in the candy shop—but I don’t want to think about that Corrick.

I run my fingers along another scar, this time on his abdomen, and his breath shudders a tiny bit. “What about this one?”

“Ah … big man out of Steel City. Took a blade off one of the Hold guards.”

It looks like a puncture wound. “He stabbed you?”

He nods. “I was sixteen. I thought that one was going to do me in. It took ages to heal.”

Sixteen. I fight to keep a frown off my face. Sometimes I forget how long he’s been doing this, how young he was when he was forced to become someone terrible.

He has another deep scar on his lower back, I remember. I reach up to trace the jagged line to where it disappears under the waistband of his trousers, my fingers slipping under the edge of the fabric.

He hisses a breath, and his eyes close. “You’re killing me, Tessa.”

“Tell me about this one,” I say.

“That one wasn’t a smuggler.” He smiles, a little fondly, a little sadly. “That was the result of boyish nonsense with Harristan.”

“Climbing trees?” I say, and I’m only partly teasing.

“Racing horses in the snow. I was in the lead, but the horse slipped, and I came off. Harristan’s horse nearly ran right over top of me. I broke two ribs, too. I thought Mother was going to kill us both.” His tone sounds like it’s dangerously close to turning too heavy, so he presses a hand to my cheek, his thumb tracing under my eye. “How about you? Any dangerous apothecary scars for me to discover?”

“Just one. Nothing exciting.”

“Hmm.” His finger keeps tracing the line of my face, but his blue eyes hold me captive. The boat rocks and sways, but I’m content to stay here and inhale his scent. I wait for him to try for more, because I’m here in his bed. I’m not sure I would mind if he tried for more.

But his hand keeps stroking my face, and ventures no farther. My eyes begin to drift closed.

“Are you afraid?” I whisper. “No. I’m ready.”

I look up at him. “Do you really think we’re in danger tonight?”

He leans down and brushes a kiss against my forehead. “Let’s just say that I’ll be surprised if Blakemore lets us sleep till morning.”

We do sleep till morning.

Well, I do. I have no idea whether Corrick slept at all. When my eyes open, the room is almost fully dark, the remaining lantern burning through the last dregs of oil. The ship is tossing more violently this morning. I don’t know what time it is, but it must be early, because there’s barely any light in the porthole. We’re tangled up in the blankets, his breath warm against the shell of my ear.

Locked in this room, feeling the heat of Corrick’s body at my back, I could forget everything happening on the other side of the door.

The only reminder that keeps bringing things to the forefront of my mind is the brisk rocking of the ship.

“We made it to morning,” I say.

“Yes, we did. Hopefully he’s not waiting on the other side of that door to execute us.”

His voice is full of sarcasm, but there’s a note of truth hidden in there, too.

“What if the ships have drawn closer?” I say.

“If they have, I suspect Captain Blakemore will make good on his threat to return us to Port Karenin. We’ll disembark and book passage back to the Royal Sector. But that’s assuming those ships were sent by Harristan and that they mean us no harm.”

“Do you think he sent them?”

“No. I truly don’t.” He goes still, his eyes fixed on mine. “Harristan would have no reason to send them. He’s good for his word, Tessa.”

“What did you see in the spyglass?”

“They do fly under the flag of Kandala. That means someone sent them—and it’s someone with funding, because outfitting two brigantines as fast as we set sail would have been very costly. So that indicates one of the consuls.”

“Allisander?”

He winces. “Maybe? I’m actually wondering if Laurel Pepperleaf begged her father to allow her to follow us. She wanted to come along.”

“So she just … forced her way here?” “Are you surprised?”

I sigh, thinking of how earnest the young woman seemed. “Well, maybe a little. But could you explain that to Rian?”

“I could, but he’s too nervous about those ships—and I’d have no way to prove it. I’m not sure it would matter, anyway. I think there’s more at play than just worries about us leading forces to Ostriary.”

“Why else would he worry?”

“I think he’s worried about whatever is hidden on board this ship.” Corrick runs a hand through his hair. “If it is

Laurel, she’s doing it in defiance of Harristan, and we already have a rocky relationship with all the consuls. I’m worried about whoever else might be working against him. Whoever might be helping her.” He draws a heavy breath. “I just want to get to Ostriary safely so we can negotiate for steel and Moonflower. I don’t want to worry about threats to my brother. I don’t want to worry about warships that might mean to interfere with this—”

He breaks off.

“What?” I say. “What happened?”

Corrick sits up in bed and runs a hand across his face. “Before we left, there were rumors about the guards. Rocco chose Kilbourne and Silas for this trip because he said Captain Huxley wasn’t trustworthy. But Rocco also said that Harristan was suspicious of me for months before he discovered what you and I were doing.” He looks at me. “Did my brother do the same thing to me that he did to Lochlan? Was he getting me out of the way?” Before I can even answer, he rakes a hand back through his hair. “But then … was Rocco a part of it? Why would he—”

“Corrick. Corrick, stop.” I sit up, putting a hand on his wrist. “Harristan was not getting you out of the way.”

“I wish I knew who sent those ships. Maybe my brother wasn’t getting me out of the way, but it’s not a secret that I’m alone in the middle of the ocean. Someone else could.” He glances at me, then at the door. “I wish I knew what Rian was keeping in that room.” He sighs. “I’m reluctant to believe it’s more weapons. He’s too worried about those ships for him to have a full arsenal.” He makes a scoffing sound. “There’s a part of me that wants to take a hammer to the lock.”

“If that’s what it will take to satisfy you, then do it.”

His eyes flare in surprise, and he smiles ruefully. “Weston Lark might have been able to get away with it, but

I don’t need our dear Captain Blakemore arriving in Ostriary with stories of how the king’s brother can’t be trusted.”

I frown. He’s right. I don’t have any doubt that Rian would portray the prince exactly as he is, reputation and all.

“I could feel the tension on deck,” Corrick continues. “Even if I wanted to break in, I have no doubt my every move is watched. On our first night, Rocco mentioned that it’s easy to defend our rooms here—but it’s also easy for them to note when we leave.”

“What do you think he could be hiding?” I say.

“Barrels of gunpowder for the cannons?” he says. “Bricks of gold? His father’s corpse? I truly have no idea.” He sighs. “And with the other ships following us, I’m left to wonder if they know something I don’t. Did Harristan discover something after we left? Are the ships a means to rescue me? But if they are … why would they keep their distance? Those are brigantines, with coal-fired engines to support the sails. They’re too big to be nimble, but they are fast.”

“Do you think they’re a threat to you?” I say quietly.

“I don’t want to think so,” he says. “But if they’re not a threat to me, then they’re a threat to Rian and his crew— and we’re on the boat. It’s clear that their presence makes him very anxious.”

And there’s no way to figure out anything about those ships. Not from here.

I turn my thoughts back to the secret room. On what Corrick just said.

Weston Lark might have been able to get away with it.

But maybe not. Weston Lark may have been an outlaw, but he wasn’t a thief. Not really. He knew where to find

Moonflower petals by virtue of his position—or he’d buy them outright and bring them to our workshop.

I didn’t have that luxury.

“What if you didn’t smash it?” I say. My mouth has gone a bit dry, but my brain is as sharp as ever. “What if we could find out what’s inside that room without leaving any evidence?”

“Captain Blakemore surely still has people watching me

—”

“Not you,” I say. “Me.”

Corrick’s eyes are intent and fixed on mine. “You.”

“I may not be a good liar, and I’d make a terrible spy.

But perhaps you’ve forgotten, Your Highness.” I twist my fingers with his and smile. “Before I was an apothecary in service to the king, I was a rather good thief.”