“You do, though, don’t you?” Tryndon prods, as determined as a dog on a bone.
Playing obtuse just to frustrate him, I ask, “Don’t I what?”
“Like Amalia.”
“It’s irrelevant,” I say, and then I wince, remembering the last time I used that word.
I think of the meadow outside the orchard, which, unfortunately, makes me think of Amalia’s words from earlier.
You still owe me a kiss.
“Irrelevant? How could it be anything but relevant?” Tryndon demands with a laugh. “Oh, it must be eating you alive, isn’t it? How can you look at that lovely girl—all doe-eyes, practically fawning over you with hero worship—"
“I think you’re confusing the princess for a deer.”
“—and not feel like a toad? No, lower than a toad—a wart on a toad’s underbelly.”
I cross my arms, silently asking him if he’s finished.
He’s not.
“You’ve always been so noble, Rhys. You’ve lived your entire life just slightly above the rest of us, and now you’re falling for the only girl you’ve ever wronged—not to mention the only girl you cannot have. What a horrible predicament you’ve found yourself in.”
I turn to him, squaring my shoulders. “I have a mission. Whether I like or dislike Amalia makes no difference. She is a necessary pawn. It would be far harder to carry out the plan if I began to have feelings for her.”
Tryndon looks like he wants to argue, but the subject is closed. He smiles at the ceiling for a few moments, and then, with a satisfied sigh, he says, “It is a cold life you live, captain.”
I rub my temples. “For the last time, don’t call me that.”
“But you are my captain.” He beats a fist on his chest twice, like an idiot. “Leader of our brave band—fearless, determined, cold, and calculating. A man so dedicated to his kingdom, he’s willing to throw the woman he loves—”
“I do not love her.”
“—to the wolves. Quite admirable.”
“Are you done?”
He thinks about it and then nods. “I believe so, yes. Are you hungry? Shall we go downstairs and rescue your beloved from the clutches of the evil pawnbroker?”
“I regret bringing you with me,” I say tonelessly. “I should have brought Calvert.”
“Calvert is twelve,” Tryndon points out.
I smile. “And yet still better company than you.”
Tryndon laughs as he shuts the door behind us.
17
I’m brushing through my hair, fighting with the knots obtained during the morning’s ride, when a knock sounds at my cabin door.
Sighing, not happy to be interrupted, I walk to the door.
We left Grib this morning, rode across the peninsula, and boarded a small passenger ship. Now we’re sailing along the coast to Bayshore. This time, we’ll spend a night on the water. My room isn’t much larger than the one I had in Kippert, but the bedding is softer, and I have a dressing table and mirror.
I’m just about to open the door when I realize that it might be Rupert instead of Gage. Just as I feared, he traveled with us to the coast and boarded the ship.
“Who is it?” I ask, wincing as I hit another knot in my hair.
“Rhys.”
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. We’ve barely spoken in the last twenty-four hours…but he hasn’t abandoned me.
I’m not angry with him as much as I’m embarrassed with myself. I was too forward. The huntsman wasn’t unkind in his rejection; he simply acted as though it never happened.
I open the door, turning away from it and walking back into the room as I continue to fight with my hair. “Yes?” I ask absently, pretending I haven’t thought of him every waking moment since we left the ferry.
Ember stands to greet him, stretching one back leg and then the next. Her ears are perked, and she wags her tail like a jolly banner. Disloyal, that dog.
“I’ve come to escort you to dinner,” Rhys says, sounding slightly uncomfortable. “The captain said the attire is to be formal. I hope this will do.”
I glance at him over my shoulder, and I nearly drop my brush.
Rhys stands in my doorway, dressed in a charcoal gray doublet trimmed with subtle silver, an ebony jacket, and sleek boots. The fabric is fine, though the cut differs slightly from what I’m familiar with—probably a style current in Yew, the city closest to the border.
The huntsman glances down at his clothing, giving me a questioning look. “You don’t approve?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, yes. You look…” Not like a huntsman. “Fine.”
I then look down at my own dress—a simple riding gown that’s covered in trail dust.
“I need to change,” I say. “I didn’t realize it was growing so late.”
Or that he was going to escort me.
Rhys nods and steps out, closing the door behind him, and I drop to the end of my bed.
When I was eleven, I fell off my horse when I was learning to jump. I hit the ground so hard, all the air was knocked from my lungs, and I was left gasping.
That’s how I felt the moment I saw Rhys standing in my doorway dressed like a nobleman.
Who is he?
Mourning every single one of my gowns hanging in my multiple armoires at home, I pull a wrinkled dress from one of my packs. I slip it on, fumbling with the ties. They’re in the back, completely impossible. I have no idea what I was thinking when I packed it.
Growling under my breath, I fight with the laces, unable to see what I’m doing.
“This is ridiculous,” I say, and then I step onto the bed so I can see the back of the gown in the mirror.
The sway of the ship makes it hard to keep my balance. I just about have it when Rhys knocks at the door, startling me.
“Amalia, are you almost ready—”
He’s cut off by my startled, and rather loud, yelp as the ship drastically dips to the side. The door flies open. Rhys probably thinks I’m being attacked. I flail my arms, trying to catch my balance, but end up stumbling off the back of the bed…
And into Rhys.
Apparently, he’s not expecting me, because as my full weight hits him, he lets out a surprised grunt and stumbles backward. He wraps his arms around me on instinct, and he somehow manages to regain his balance before we tumble to the floor.
Once we’ve both found our footing, I stare up at him, feeling like a complete fool. I’m pressed against his chest, with my hands on his shoulders and my hair falling into my eyes.
An incredulous look crosses the huntsman’s face, and he shakes his head as if still unsure how we ended up in this position. “What happened?”
I shove my hair back. “I lost my balance.”
“Why were you standing on the bed?” From the look on his face, I’m certain he wants to ask if I think I’m five years old.
I glance over my shoulder to look at the mirror. “I was trying to tie the laces.”
“You are a complete and utter disaster,” Rhys breathes. Oddly, he almost makes it sound like an endearing quality.
The huntsman then pushes me away from him. He sets his arms on my shoulders and forcibly turns me. He’s not exactly gentle, but the movement is more brisk than harsh. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he cinches the laces and reties the loose bow.
“Will that do?” he asks, stepping back the second the task is complete.
The man didn’t even want to kiss you, and here you are throwing yourself in his arms.
“Yes, thank you.” I can’t meet his eyes.
“Are you ready?”
I step up to the mirror, trying to tame my hair. Rhys moves to stand in the doorway once more—not quite in the cabin, but not outside it either.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, quickly brushing through the rest of the tangled locks.
“It’s fine.”
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us, demanding to be filled. “Gage says I should cut my
hair. He thinks it’s a nuisance. I’ve never had to tend it myself, so I’m slow.”
“Don’t cut your hair,” Rhys answers.
I glance at him, setting the brush aside. “No?”
He shakes his head, his eyes running over the length of it.
The conversation, which was supposed to ease the tension, makes my stomach feel off. Finished, I set the brush on the dressing table. “All right. I’m ready.”
I say goodbye to Ember, promising to walk her around the deck when I get back, and I then attempt to step past Rhys and into the long, narrow hallway. Before I’m out, he grasps my arm, pulling me to a stop. I try to hide my surprise, but I do a poor job of it.
The huntsman looks like he wants to say something, but he just stands there, frowning at me. I raise my eyebrows expectantly, afraid if I speak, he’ll change his mind and I’ll never know what he’s thinking.
After several long moments, Rhys drops my arm. He clears his throat and then gruffly says, “We should go. We’re going to be late.”
Vaguely disappointed, I let him lead me toward the ship’s dining hall.
It’s hard to stay in a melancholy mood when it’s my first time on a sailing ship. The white sails are massive, and I stare up at them, mesmerized.
A young crew boy, maybe ten years old, dressed in a navy-blue shirt, with white breeches and a matching hat, pauses to bow his head as we pass.
I give him a smile, but it turns into a frown once he continues down the deck. I’m used to people showing me respect…but they shouldn’t be doing it now. I’m just a girl with a cabin in the merchant’s quarters, no one of consequence.
“That was strange,” I murmur to Rhys.
He leans down as if to whisper in my ear. “You don’t make a convincing peasant.”
I give him a questioning look, still wondering if he knows. If he does, why won’t he just admit it?
“Then what am I?” I ask, daring him to answer.
He lets out a soft snort. “You wear a necklace that is worth enough to feed a small village for at least a year. When we first met, your gown was velvet and trimmed with jewels. And when you were lost in the night, the city’s guards were waiting for your return.”
I hold my breath, wanting him to admit it.
Say it, Rhys.
It would be one less secret between us.
“You’re a courtier,” he finishes. “A nobleman’s precious daughter, likely the baby of the family considering how you’ve been coddled.”
I deflate, my shoulders sagging. On a sigh, I say, “You’re very astute, huntsman.”
He shrugs, looking terribly proud of himself considering he came to the wrong conclusion.
We reach the dining hall, and a man in a waistcoat offers to escort us to our table.
Gage is already seated. I meet his eye, and he gives me a stern shake of his head that makes me pause. My eyes move to his dining companions. He, Rupert, and Tryndon sit with a man and woman.
Because I can only see the back of the newcomers’ heads, it takes me a moment to recognize the woman. It isn’t until she turns her head, and I get a view of her profile, that I realize who she is—Lestra Debain, Lord Ternan’s only daughter, a woman who’s known to have the largest mouth in court.
She also happens to be Kess’s cousin.
I grasp the waiter’s arm. “Somewhere private, perhaps?” I ask, my voice too high.
Rhys turns to me, surprised, but the waiter looks back and gives us a knowing look, eager to assist.
“Of course,” he says, changing his route. We end up in a private corner. Unfortunately, Lestra will have a direct view of me if I take the seat the man offers.
“Oh, I…” I think quickly, trying to think of an excuse. “I…only face south while I eat.”
His eyebrows fly up. “South?”
“This seat will do nicely,” I say, yanking out the chair that will put my back to Lestra.
“I believe that’s facing east—”
“East is fine too,” I say vacantly, and then I put on a stern look. “But never west.”
He stares at me like I’ve informed him I’ll be dining atop the table. “Very good…then. Please enjoy your meal.”
Rhys takes the seat opposite me, trying not to smile. “You’re acquainted with the couple at Gage’s table?”
I lean forward. “That woman is a horrible gossip. If she sees me, the entire kingdom will know I…”
How do I finish that sentence?
I clear my throat and smooth the wrinkles from my napkin. “I just don’t care for her.”
“I see.” He looks amused.
Resisting the urge to look over my shoulder, I say, “Poor Gage. I have no idea what reason he’ll give her for traveling to Saulette when he was supposed to marry her cousin not even a week ago.”
Rhys makes the strangest noise, and I look at him, surprised.
“Did you just laugh?” I demand.
He schools his expression. “No.”
“You did.” I point at him. “I caught you.”
A brief smile crosses his face once more, and he shakes his head. “You are a magnet, attracting misfortune like no one I know.”
I fold my hands in my lap and smile, looking around the dining room. The dark wood trim is carved into swirls that match ocean waves, and thick rugs in burgundy are scattered across the floor.
The entire ship is ornate, quite lovely, and it must have cost a small fortune to book even my humble passage.
We could have traveled the coast on horseback, but there is nowhere to stop overnight, so we’d either have to make camp or ride straight through—not something I’m conditioned for. Our first night was strenuous enough.
And sleeping under the stars? That’s not even an option.
“How well are you acquainted with the woman?” Rhys asks, shifting his napkin on the table.
“Very well, I’m afraid.”
“Do you believe she’ll recognize the back of your head?”
“Hmm…” I think about it. “No, that’s not likely. I don’t usually wear my hair free.”
Rhys sits back, folding his arms. “Are you sure? Because she keeps glancing this way.”
“That’s because you’re handsome.”
Rhys meets my eyes, looking like he wants to object.
“No, it’s true. Lestra has always been particularly fond of handsome men.”
“And how does her husband feel about that?”
“The man with her?” I wave my hand. “I don’t know who he is, but Lestra isn’t married, so he’s not her husband.”
Rhys thinks about it for several seconds, and our old friend Silence blankets the private table, making me realize that this spot might be a little too cozy. Slowly, Rhys leans forward. “So, you’re saying people don’t elope?”
The question flusters me, though I have no idea why. I shake my head. “People do, yes, but not Lestra. She’ll have the wedding of the century, second only to—” I stop abruptly and look at the table.
“Yours?”
I force a smile, but my cheeks are on fire. “I was going to say…the princess’s.”
He makes a sound of agreement, but his eyes are still on me. “What about you? Would you elope?”
“Oh…no.” I pull a napkin from the table and twist it in my lap, avoiding his gaze. “Love isn’t in my future.”
Rhys studies me, and my stomach gives a little flutter. “Mine either.”
“Why can’t you find love, huntsman?” I whisper, hating the sudden disappointment that weighs heavy in my stomach.
He leans a little closer, making me match his movement, and drops his voice further. “I promised my father I would marry the woman of his choice, and when that time comes, I will keep my word.”
“Oh.” I sit back.
Why does it matter? I’ve promised myself to the Requeamare, and he’s spoken for as well.
But the idea that his intended is out there, somewhere…well, I don’t like
it.
“Has he already picked this woman out?” I ask, unable to let go of the subject.
He doesn’t answer, and I take that as an affirmation.
“She wouldn’t like that you’re here with me then.”
Frowning, studying me a little more closely than I would like, he says, “I have no idea how she feels about it.”
I frown. “You seem rather nonchalant about the whole thing.”
Rhys looks away, smiling to himself. It’s a melancholy expression, and it makes me want to reach for him, though I now know that impulse is wrong for several reasons. “I don’t have the luxury of caring.”
Thankfully, a serving man brings our first course, ending the conversation.
“They’re leaving now,” Rhys says, keeping his eyes on Lestra and her companion.
We’ve lingered at our table, waiting for them to leave first so we can slip out undetected. It should be nerve-racking, but the subterfuge is oddly exciting.
The dining hall is nearly empty now, with only a few people lingering. The musicians in the corner play softly, their tone matching the hour.
“It’s cold,” I say when we step onto the deck. Wrapping my arms around myself, I head for the railing, looking out at the glistening bay in the moonlight. “Beautiful, though, isn’t it?”
Rhys is only a few steps behind me. “Mmm,” he agrees.
I jump a little when he places his jacket around my shoulders. “You’ll be cold,” I begin to protest.
With his eyes on the water, he shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
It’s far too large, and the sleeves are long, but I will happily wear it for the rest of the evening. The fabric is still warm, and it just faintly carries the fragrance of Rhys’s soap—something woodsy. Surreptitiously, I hug myself and breathe it in.
My mind wanders back to our dinner conversation.
When we first met, Rhys said his profession wasn’t his father’s. I study him from the corner of my eye. His white shirt gleams in the moonlight. I wasn’t mistaken before—his charcoal doublet is fine. His family must be well-off, perhaps even titled. I might know them. Worse, I might know his intended.
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