* * *
Twenty minutes into the carriage ride, Joren blindfolded Caecilia with a length of silk cloth. She’d have refused anyone else, but the prince had proven his integrity thrice over.
Once the vehicle stopped, Joren stepped down and assisted her to the ground, though his method of assistance involved taking her by the hips and lifting her from the carriage. Salt scented the air and the cool sea breeze kissed her skin, the slosh of the tide noisily lapping against dry land. Those clues provided enough for her to deduce he’d brought her to the docks.
But why?
Cold panic seized her. What if he’d decided to send her ahead early to Wai Alei, returning her to the islanders and her nonexistent family as he’d promised?
“Are you ready?” He was close, so intimately close his warmth radiated to her. “Nod if you are.”
Far from it, but she nodded anyway, and a strong hand encased in a kidskin glove closed around her smaller grip. Her low boot heels thudded against wood after a few steps. Down a pier.
They paused, and then Joren’s knuckles grazed her cheek. “We’re here. I…I meant what I said in the palace. If you dislike it, we can return. There’s no pressure.”
Broiling in suspense, Caecilia reached up and removed the blindfold. Before her stretched the endless blue of the Viridian beneath the pre-dawn sky. Beside them, a small but lovely boat bobbed on the water. Joren stepped aboard and offered his hand to her.
“I’d like to take you out on the sea for a while. You’ve been confined to the city for weeks now, away from everything that’s a normal part of your life.”
He wasn’t sending her home on a ship after all. Joren had decided to sweep her away on a holiday. With him.
Eyes misty and stinging, Caecilia crossed the gangway to him and took his hand.
“I take it this means you approve?” The moment she nodded, a big grin spread across his face. He signaled to someone on land, and soon after, castle servants dashed down the pier and loaded the vessel with supplies.
It didn’t take long for his helpers to prepare the boat with what she assumed were at least two days of luxuries, if not more. By the time they set out, the sun kissed the horizon and set the water aflame in ripples of amber and gold. Standing at the helm, Joren took them out from the pier into open ocean.
Men like Joren and James were born for sailing. He had a casual ease about him that warmed her spirit, that made watching him its own thrilling activity. And the smile on his face lit her soul with happiness. He’d been smiling that way the night of the sea battle, just before everything went to shit. Looking at him now, Caecilia realized joy had been absent ever since.
After he seemed satisfied with their course, he beckoned her to his side and gestured to the sunrise. She nestled against him and slipped both arms around his waist, partially burrowing her face against his throat to keep warm. With one eye, she watched watercolor stains of lavender smear through the clouds.
“I arranged for four days,” he murmured. “According to the shipwright, my new vessel should be complete by the end of next week. This may be one of our last times to be alone together before we’re thrust into war with the Ridaeron Dynasty.”
The thought was a sobering one, leading her to squeeze him tighter. Joren bent his head and kissed her brow.
“Were it not for my obligations to my crew, I’d take all the time we needed, Coral, whether it was here in Eisland or in Wai Alei.” Letting him speak, she stroked his chest and noticed how easily he handled the wheel, holding it one-handed.
“You understand that, don’t you?” When she nodded, he squeezed her shoulders then let go to lash the wheel. “Are you ready for the grand tour?”
The grand tour took them into the vessel’s private cabin, a two-room suite with a spacious clawfoot tub. An ivory curtain hung around it and a fixture angled toward the bottom.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen one of these before coming to our kingdom, have you? They’re popular on ships,” he explained, “among officers who want a hasty scrub before crawling into their racks at the end of a long shift. Otherwise, you fall asleep in the tub. Ask me how I know. It isn’t pleasant, waking with water up your nose.”
She laughed, tossing her head back and chortling soundlessly at the image he provoked.
“The loo is over this way behind this door,” he said, pushing a door inward to reveal a cramped box with a pot that no doubt flushed out to sea. “If you tug this drawstring, it activates this lantern.”
She gave the bathroom the briefest of glances, less interested in it than the rest of the cabin. The bed was spacious and wide, richly adorned with heavy quilts. A fabricated hearth occupied the opposite wall with a white fur rug stretched over the floor between them, the area bordered by a long sofa.
“I’ll be sleeping there,” he spoke against her ear, suddenly at her side again with one arm around her waist. His fingers splayed over her hip, squeezing lightly. “If you’re uncomfortable sharing a bed with me.”
Her body broke out in tingles, a slow burning heat building in her core and spreading up through her chest, all the way to her fingertips. The bed had more than enough room for two and she had no plans on kicking him out to sleep on the couch.
* * *
Not long after leaving the coast, Joren raised the lid of a provision crate engraved with a stylized rune, revealing a warming box with a polished steel lining. From that, he removed an exorbitant amount of food and set a table for two, first serving her tea and fluffy, flaky pastries filled with melted cheese, eggs, and spicy ham. From a second box, he removed crackers, tartare, different jams and chilled sausages, followed by generously portioned dishes of crème brûlée, and a lidded pitcher of orange beverage.
Joren poured her a glass of the latter. She sipped and found it pleasing, akin to fizzy pineapple-citrus wine. The sweet bubbles popped against her tongue.
“There’s alcohol in that one so take it ea—”
Caecilia tilted it back, drained it dry, then held it out for another.
Joren blinked at her. “Well. All right. As you wish, madame.”
They sailed most of the morning before Joren altered their course again. During that time, he was playful and flirtatious, chatting amiably with her one moment about nothing in particular, then turning Caecilia’s knees to the consistency of jam in the next by touching her waist or her hand as they nibbled tarts by the rail.
Until meeting him, she’d have never expected the back of a damned hand to be an erogenous zone. Curse him. He had to realize what he was doing.
The fourth refill came after brunch, once Joren cleared the table and brought out a chess board featuring whimsical creatures. Dazzling pieces of blue sky-quartz and black opal featured knights mounted on enormous wolves, sorceress queens, a dragon king on the black and red side, and a griffin king made from the translucent blue stone. Mesmerized by the craftsmanship, Caecilia smoothed her thumb over the quartz king’s wing and admired the artist’s attention to detail. The sculptor had carved out each feather.
“Pretty, isn’t it? Queen Anastasia and King Alistair gifted it to me last year for my birthday. James told them I’m fond of chess. Do you play?”
Caecilia hadn’t played in years, though she had fond memories of playing against Andromeda, Narcissa, or their father, her other three sisters disinterested in games from the surface world. She shook her head and feigned ignorance, holding up both hands.
Joren’s eyes lit up with pleasure. “I’ll teach you. There’s at least a couple hours before we reach the first of our destinations.”
They played three matches, Caecilia making foolish decisions and passing him easy wins. He gave her friendly tips after each humble victory, while she drowned her inhibitions beneath the sweet warmth of liquid courage.
“Another game?” he asked, gesturing to the board between them. He rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, revealing another tantalizing sight, teasing her with the memory of his biceps. Those remin
ded her of his hard chest and his chiseled abs, and those carved dips on each side of his hips that she’d only seen when Eliza insisted on bathing him from head to toe while Coral fought the desperate urge to palm an unconscious man.
“Coral?”
She snapped out of it, realizing he needed an answer. She shook her head and mimed flipping the table.
“You’re not enough of a sore loser to do that. I’ve only beaten you thrice, and you nearly had me that time.” The gentle smile on his face warmed. “I wonder who taught you. And yes, I can recognize when someone’s played before. You threw that last match, if not all three. Which brings many questions to mind. Your people don’t game as we do.” As he leaned forward, his eyes filled with curiosity. “In fact, most of your people don’t read our language either. James taught the Wai Alei to speak Eislandic over the course of many years, and Tiger Lily learned our alphabet to remain in contact. So tell me, where did you learn it? Did she teach you?”
She blinked at him and shrugged her shoulders before glancing away.
“Do you or don’t you know how to write our language? I’ve seen you reading it, so you must understand written words.”
The panic must have shown on her face, Joren’s concerned expression mirroring it in direct proportion. She watched the deep line crease his brow and confusion cloud his eyes. “We need to have a talk, I think, Coral. There are many things I don’t know about you, but I’d like to know.” He rose from the chair and returned with an ink pot, a quill, and a thick pad of paper.
Caecilia dipped the pen into the well and wrote, “I’m sorry I did not tell you I could read and write.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think of it,” she replied with honesty. Exposing Nathalie would have been much simpler if she’d written a thorough accounting of what she overheard. In hindsight, she felt stupid.
Though maybe it hadn’t been so much an oversight as it had been a subconscious decision to guard her knowledge. Now he was likely to ask more questions.
He leaned forward, reading her upside-down script from across the table. “Your penmanship is excellent. Where did you learn?”
“My father,” she wrote, twisting the truth.
“And where is he? Will we encounter him on the island when we return to Neverland, furious that we’ve abducted his daughter?”
“No.”
When Joren glanced up from the pad, she watched him scrutinize her expression. “He’s gone, isn’t he? Gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“No,” she wrote again. “I am disowned. I have no family. Not anymore.”
He fell back in his seat and studied her. “Disowned? I’m no expert when it comes to your people, Coral, but I know your hearts are overly big and forgiving. What could you have possibly done to be disowned?”
“I caused death through carelessness.”
The hint of suspicion in his eyes melted, features softening. “Coral… Then, we needn’t speak of it further. Your past is your own. It’s no wonder you were ready to leave the island.”
Relief eased the tension building in her chest. “Thank you,” she wrote. “I promise one day to tell you the story. Everything.”
“I look forward to it, but only when you’re ready.” He packed the game away and didn’t press her further.
It was one of the things she loved about him—his empathy.
When he returned to the cabin to store the game, she followed him to the cabinet and laid her hand on his wrist. Their gazes met, and she saw the same need brimming in his eyes. The same longing. She curled her fingers around his wrist and tugged. Joren came without resistance, bending down to meet her as she leaned up.
The kiss turned hot and deep in an instant, without any preamble, his tongue stroking and claiming her mouth with wild abandon. He hadn’t kissed her since that night in the square, far too long ago for her liking until its memories became something of a dream. Apparently the feeling was mutual. Joren held nothing back.
With no audience to judge them, Caecilia savored every second. The game case thudded to the deck, chess pieces scattering over polished wood planks. His fingers sifted through her clothing, pulled her shirt untucked, and sought her bare skin. Hot hands drifted over her naked back, squeezing her closer.
Caecilia fit herself against him, torn between enjoying the sheer presence of Joren and creating enough distance from him to fumble out of the stupid belt and trousers. Her skin was on fire, prickling with need from head to toe, accompanying the dull throb in her core.
Something louder than a war horn shrieked outside the cabin and echoed across the midday sky before a massive explosion hit the water and sent waves rippling against the boat.
Caecilia jerked away, lost her balance, and slammed against the corner of a small table. Pain shot through her hip like a knife and radiated down her leg as she bounced off it, but Joren caught her before she tipped over sideways to the floor.
“Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?”
Caecilia bit her lower lip and nodded despite the heat pooling across her skin.
“You’re not okay. You’re crying.”
Yes, from embarrassment because she’d ruined the moment over a stupid bird. She peered over his shoulder through one of the open portholes at the noisy creature. The roc had stunned his prey in one blow and already gripped the pygmy crystal whale in its terrifying talons. Poor beast, Caecilia thought, watching the sea bird lift off and out of sight. She understood the cycle of predator and prey more than anyone, but she’d always had a fondness for the opal-skinned crystal whales.
“No idea how he managed to secure his catch while shrieking like that,” Joren muttered.
Caecilia stepped outside, rubbing her hip. Another roc circled overhead, scouting for a meal of its own. She’d always thought the griffins of Cairn Ocland prettier and more dignified, fortune treating her to fleeting glimpses of both winged races from time to time.
“They’re native to the mountains of Samahara and Liang, but they travel north to our waters during fall. It’s breeding season for them, so the males will fly for days to take a single whale back to the nest for their mates. Once the hatchlings are born, he’ll sit on the nest while she hunts for him.”
Seeming to sense that the moment had come and gone, Joren carried on for a while longer, teaching her things about the sea she could easily envision him telling a young child. In her wild imagination, she pictured a little boy with a head of honey-brown curls and dark eyes or a little girl with golden ringlets, either one eager to learn more about sailing from their father.
The vision came to her with profound clarity, so real moisture crept anew under her lashes, and she knew at that moment it wasn’t a future destined for her. After all, the moment Joren discovered the truth of her identity, her dreams would come to an abrupt halt and he’d never want to touch her again.
Chapter 16
Women weren’t supposed to cry during dates. Joren knew that much, though it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something foolish. Blaming his lack of situational awareness, he steered Coral over to him and took her by the shoulders.
“Are you sure that you’re unhurt?” he asked again, gentler. “May I look?”
She bit her lower lip, ducked her chin, and nodded after the tensest five seconds of his life.
He loosened Coral’s belt and drew it from the belt loops, giving her a chance to protest. When she didn’t stop him, he pulled away the trousers enough to expose her hip and the rose-pink band of her lace knickers. A deep purple bruise marred her brown skin and extended beneath them.
“I’m not a healer—they trained me to harm people, not fix them—but I know a light mending spell. If it’s all right with you, I’ll cast it.” When she nodded again, he continued, “That means touching you. With my bare hand. Is that all right?”
Coral nodded a third time while Joren told himself he was no longer a prepubescent boy, now capable of touching a woman without spring
ing an erection.
He was wrong.
His body had a way of doing what it wished when Coral was involved, and the moment he slid his palm between the lace and her bare skin, his traitorous cock regarded it no differently than if he’d peeled her undergarments aside with his teeth.
Ignoring his obvious arousal, he channeled magic to his fingertips and over his hand. Her slim digits curled around the base of his neck.
“Pinch me if that feels uncomfortable.”
She didn’t. Where Rapunzel had excelled at healing spells and ice magic, he’d gained an equal and proportionate presence in the spheres of lightning and shieldcraft, talented in all variety of barriers but a failure when he’d undergone his healing exams. The most he’d ever repaired were minor scrapes and bruises.
As his fingers glowed across her skin, the edges of the magenta bruise receded. He turned back the damage like winding the arms of a clock, arrested its progress at the start, and then let her go.
Coral didn’t do the same. She gazed up at him with wonder in her eyes, lush lips half parted.
“I’m sorry that I—”
She kissed the corner of his mouth, lingered, then kissed the other side, pressing close enough to introduce his rigid arousal to her lower stomach. He moaned involuntarily at the sensation and slipped his hand around in the oversized trousers, squeezing her tight ass.
The trousers fell and puddled around her booted feet. She kicked them aside.
Please, Joren prayed to any god listening, though he doubted the gods were so bored they’d meddle in the love affairs of humans.
When her fingers danced over his groin in exploration, sizing up the length and stroking through his pants, he almost jumped for joy. The desire to take his pleasure with her warred with his compulsion to be a complete gentleman. In the end, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and claimed her lips in a hot, open-mouthed kiss.
Coral tasted like everything he’d ever need, the only woman he’d ever want—a fantasy brought to life for only him. And he’d do anything to make her dreams come true in return.
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