CHAPTER NINE
The room is empty, and the door is ajar when I wake the next morning, feeling like a new person after a night of uninterrupted sleep. My muscles ache as I stretch, arching backward and trying to straighten out the curve from sleeping curled up all night. I hadn’t moved an inch from where I fell asleep, subconsciously afraid to brush against Weston in the night, but despite the soreness, I feel good. I’m ready for a full day of fooling the Castaways into letting their guards down.
Sig and Stassia mentioned a job at dinner last night, so I expect I’ll learn all about that this morning. Having a responsibility that signals I’m part of the crew doesn’t feel right. I am a Voyager in my heart, and I always will be. There’s nothing anyone here can say or do to convince me otherwise.
I slide out of bed and Weston’s shirt brushes against my thighs. For once, I am thankful he is so much larger than me, and I’ll never admit that the shirt is actually comfortable. Scanning the floor, I realize the clothes I left there last night are missing.
Is Weston messing with me? Did he do this on purpose? I can’t wear only his shirt all day, and I can’t even leave the room to go yell at him about it.
I scan the room, looking all over the floor and on the furniture, hoping my pants are folded somewhere else, when a squeak from Weston’s side of the bed catches my attention. The door of the armoire slowly opens on its own, the hinges responsible for the noise. I walk over and peer inside. A new stack of clothes sits on the bottom shelf, identical to the ones Sig brought me yesterday.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the island, and grab the clothes, happy to escape from Weston’s scent following me everywhere. Falling asleep immersed in it was enough for the day.
“You awake?” Sig’s voice calls into the room as the crack in the doorway widens.
“Yes,” I say as I finish tucking my clean shirt into the waistband of the pants.
“Great, follow me.”
Shit.
It is the first time I’m alone in this room, and she gave me no time to look around. I eye the desk from where I stand, the rolls of parchment calling to me. I doubt Weston would even notice if I moved anything, but with Sig waiting for me, I will have to try at another time.
“Coming,” I call, quickly lacing up my boots and striding toward the door to find Sig standing just before the steps that lead to the deck.
“Sleep well?” she asks, eyes trailing over my face.
“Sure,” I say, refusing to give her any more than that.
We climb the stairs and step onto deck, the warmth from the suns enveloping me quickly, but the hint of a cool breeze comes off the water. Castaways are already milling about, everyone seemingly busy with their tasks for the day. I look around forStassia and Auralie, but don’t see them amongst the rest of the crew.
Laughter breaks out above us, and I look up to find Weston leaning on the quarterdeck railing, smiling with a bunch of the boys around him. One of them is telling a story, acting something out, and Weston throws his head back, grinning as a boisterous laugh erupts from his lips.
“Looks like someone got some good sleep,” Sig says as she watches the scene above us. “Finally.”
I ignore her comments and turn my back to them, facing the front of the ship. The vision of Weston grinning and laughing and the muscular column of his neck is the last image I need playing through my mind all day.
“You said I have an assignment?” I say, not doing anything to hide the scowl on my face.
“Yes,” she answers. “Everyone in the crew has an assignment to be done daily. Captain assigns the tasks, but if you have a problem, you can talk to me about it and I will bring it to him.” She strides over to a stack of supplies sitting on the deck and reaches down, grabbing the rope of a wooden bucket. “You,” she stops in front of me, extending her arm as the bucket dangles, “get to scrub the deck.”
My fingers grasp the rope handle, and my teeth hurt from clenching my jaw. Looking around the ship, I realize at this moment how truly large the deck is. I’m expected to scrub this entire thing by myself? I peer inside the bucket, empty except for a handheld scrub brush.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say and meet her gaze again. She doesn’t look like she is kidding at all, and ignores my statement.
“Water and soap are in the bathroom on the second level, so you’ll need to make trips up and down to fill the bucket andswitch out the water. Don’t slosh too much water on the steps. Cap will get pissed if someone slips.”
“I’m supposed to do this every day? Just scrub around everyone?” I ask, seething.
It’s not the fact that I have a job that is upsetting me. I may be a princess, but I’m no stranger to hard work. Just ask Brynne. It’s the manner of the work that is making my blood boil.
He expects me to be on my hands and knees, scrubbing this deck every day while everyone in the crew watches, undoubtedly treating me like a spectacle.
Fuck him.
Sig winces slightly. “Cap said to tell you it is your ‘punishment for the starvation stunt.’ His words, not mine.”
“He wasn’t man enough to tell me that himself?” I snap back.
