“Sorry, that was a personal question,” I backtrack. “You don’t need to answer that. I just know how it is going from place to place and I didn’t realise at the time that I was lonely. Then I stopped for a second and... well, it wasn’t until I met Frannie and Kit and realised how things could be different. I suppose it’s different for you because you always have the crew, but...”
Thankfully, he gives a soft smile that reminds me a whole lot of Kit, not seeming to mind my blabbering.
“It must be hard to have a relationship on the ship,” I continue, even though my cheeks are now burning. He doesn’t even have the courtesy of acting like he hasn’t noticed either, with his eyes darting to rest on them each in turn.
“If things go wrong, I mean.” Oh great, I’m still talking, why am I still talking? “It must be awkward having exes still stuck on the ship and having to see them every day.”
He pauses for a moment, cocking his head to one side with his gaze still focused intently on my cheeks. “Cookie and Bones’s arguments are enough proof of that,” he replies. “I’d never step into that territory with my crew. Not while I’m their captain. Plus, I can’t say any of them are my type. Not that I didn’t dabble when I was younger, but growing older brings clarity for some things.” Finch’s attention shifts back to the tentacle which is now running up to my scalp and massaging my aching head.
It’s like the thing has some magical ability to seek all the tender spots I’m struggling with and soothe away the aches and pains.
“As for being lonely, I’ve never thought much about it. I must be less evolved than you are, love. I suppose after being alone for so long, it’s become my normal.” He clears his throat, sitting upright. “But don’t you be feeling sorry for me. I enjoy what I do and the little family we have here, or else I wouldn’t be forcing myself to stay ashore on Kit’s orders.”
I lean forward to squeeze his knee, and his eyes widen. The other tentacle stops its work to reach toward me, drawing a line over the top of my hand and keeping it where it is when I try to pull away. Finch glances down and huffs a light laugh before adding his hand to the pile.
I fiddle with the material in my lap, words caught in my throat that I don’t quite want to give voice to just yet. It’s oddly peaceful here with him working away. It’s only after I inspect the material properly that I realise what I’m holding.
A pile of underpants.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, feeling my cheeks burn. It’s such a stupid thing to feel embarrassed by, but Finch eyes me with an amused smirk, and my blush spreads down to my chest.
“They’re not mine, love,” he says. “Another little gift for our wise monarch. I even embroidered them with his initials.”
Unfolding them, I can see an elaborate swirl of letters at the very bottom of the legs and rise to my feet. I feel the strangest urge to do something, to take the underwear and—
Finch whips the material out of my hands with one tentacle before holding it up for my inspection.
TBK.
“His initials?” I ask. “King Wildrake’s? Are we talking about the same person here?”
“Aren’t they, though?” he says, his smirk widening. “Anyway, it won’t matter. Whichever one of his mail-opening servants will be so impressed with the quality of the linen, they won’t notice.”
Now that I’m no longer holding them, my moment of madness has passed and I retake my seat. I think of that quiet whisper as I held them up. The subtle urge to stand, to move, to...
Deliver them to the king.
“They’re cursed,” I murmur softly. “Just like the parcel you asked me to post.”
Although I have no idea why he needed me to post something addressed to the king.
“Just a subtle one. One that’ll ensure they’re delivered,” he replies.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I want the answer to the questions burning inside me. Ones I probably should have asked before I helped deliver that package.
“Can I ask why you’re sending parcels to the king?”
“Kit didn’t tell you?” His eyebrows shoot up.
My stomach twists with unease. “I haven’t spoken to Kit in... days.” It’s not until the words are coming out that I realise that’s how long it’s been. “I’ve barely even seen him.”
“Ah, he’s been a little distracted,” Finch replies.
“So... the underwear?” I ask because asking about that is a lot easier than asking if Finch knows what the hell is going on with his brother.
“Ah, well, that was Kit’s clever idea,” he replies. “The deeper curse will then sink into his body like a slow dripping tap. The longer he wears them, the stronger it’ll become.”
I clear my throat. “And wh-what does the curse do?”
