This journey by ship has been much more enjoyable than the last one.
It helps that Corrick doesn’t hate anyone on board. Rian remained behind in Ostriary, but most of his crew is manning the ship with Olive. Mouse is traveling with us, too. I was uncertain about that at first, but Corrick was worried that in his absence, the man would still be abused by those who remained from Oren’s followers. Olive expressed her worries as well, but since we shoved off, Mouse has been quiet and reserved, working with the crew and doing what he’s told—though he still refers to Corrick as Weston.
At night, we all sit under the stars and play games while enjoying lively conversation. There are no barbed comments, no caustic remarks, no tricks or lies or threats. Ellmo and Anya play knucklebones on the deck in the morning, and Olive and Erik can sometimes be found embracing in shadowed corners. Lochlan’s usual edge seems to be gone, and I’m reminded of the day he once said to me, I am kind.
When he plays games with the children or helps the sailors gut the fish or brings me a plate of food, I feel like I’m seeing it for the first time.
Or maybe I’m just . . . allowing myself to see it. New information, like Erik said that day in the woods.
“What’s Erik going to do when Olive has to go back to Ostriary?” I murmur to Corrick one night when we’re in the dim confines of our quarters. We’ve made the turn north up the Queen’s River, and the rocking of the ship has grown stronger, but I almost don’t care anymore. We’re so close to home. Two or three days at most.
“Quit his job,” Corrick says immediately.
I swat him on the arm. “I’m serious.”
He looks back at me. “So am I. After everything we’ve gone through, can you truly see Rocco returning to his post among the king’s personal guard?”
I study him for a moment, considering—and I’m shocked to realize he’s right. “Wow.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks Harristan for leave the very instant we get back.”
I blow out a breath. “It wasn’t too long ago that he was telling me he’d give the king forty more years if he could.”
“Well, I could be wrong, but based on the way he and Olive have been attached to each other, I’d expect him to moon around for all forty.” Corrick smiles and tugs me against him. “Haven’t you learned? Love changes things.”
Before I can come up with an answer to that, his mouth falls on mine. He steals my breath until my heart is racing against him, warmth pooling in my belly.
But then he pulls away, his hands chastely on my waist.
Which is exactly what he’s done every single time he’s kissed me on this ship.
We’re so close to home, and my cheeks are on fire, so I grab hold of his shirt and hold him against me this time.
He laughs so softly that it’s almost a growl. “Tessa.”
“Why do you keep pulling away?”
“I told you I would make a declaration before the king. I gave you my word.” He strokes a gentle finger along the side of my face, but then a devilish glint sparks in his eye. “No matter what I want, I meant what I said.”
“You mean we can’t do anything until you talk to your brother?” I demand.
“Well—no, of course not. But I thought you—”
“Lord, Corrick.” I press my lips to his again, thrusting the full length of my body against his. This time I pull a real growl from his throat—especially when I tug his shirt free of his trousers. I don’t even hesitate: I simply pull it straight up, and he helps me by yanking it right over his head. Then my hands are on the bare skin of his chest, and he buries his fingers in my hair, and suddenly I’m drowning in the taste of his mouth.
I’m so eager that I expect him to be quick, but his hands are slow. Gentle. Patient. When he draws the lacings free on my vest, I’m so desperate for his touch that I seize his wrist and pull his palm against the bare skin of my waist. His fingers trace a line of fire all the way up my rib cage, and when he lingers on my breast, it’s my turn to make a low sound of need.
I don’t know when we make it to the bed, just that we’ve abandoned most of our clothes on the way. His arms are so strong, and his body is so warm, and I’ve never felt so cherished, so loved, so adored. When we come together, he’s so careful, his blue eyes close and intent on mine. I press a hand to his cheek, run a thumb over his mouth. We have so many moments, so many memories, and this one etches its way right to the top.
But then he moves, and I gasp, and his fingers trace the edge of my breast, and suddenly I can’t think at all for a while.
It’s late and I’m tired, but neither one of us is sleeping. I’m laying across his chest, running my fingers through the new scruff of beard growth on Corrick’s chin.
“Is this annoying?” I say.
“Quite a bit.”
I grin. “It’s very different.”
“It felt very rebellious.”
That makes my smile widen. But as I gaze down at him, I suddenly realize it’s not the facial hair that looks different. It’s . . . him. He’s always been bold and unflinching as the King’s Justice, but something in his bearing has changed. It’s like the moment he agreed to go after Olive, or the way he stared through the spyglass and helped formulate a plan to take down Oren Crane. The way he’s formed more than just a friendship with Lochlan, and how he seems to have secured something akin to true loyalty and allegiance. Even his final speech to Rian about how he also wanted the best for the people of Ostriary was startling. It’s a new presence that he’s acquired. A steadfast look in his gaze, maybe. There’s a determination there. A powerful resolve.
His blue eyes fix on mine. “Do you like it?”
I stroke a thumb over his chin. “Very much,” I say, and I’m not really talking about facial hair at all.
He runs a hand across his jaw, capturing my fingers within his own. “Harristan will probably insist that I have Geoffrey shave it the instant I get back to the palace.” He goes still when he says that. “It feels so odd to say that after so many weeks.”
He looks up, over my head, at the dark porthole on the wall, and I follow his gaze. We can see the first hint of lights somewhere in the distance, the promise of cities in the more populous sectors.
“We’re almost home,” he says.
“I’ve missed Kandala so much.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Me too.”
Longing fills his eyes, and when he says the words, I hear the weight in his voice. But it’s not Kandala that he’s missing so much.
