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I force these thoughts to an abrupt halt. They’re going nowhere good.
I drop onto the side of the narrow bed and run my hands over my face. I wasn’t prepared to replace lust and desire with anger and frustration, and my body hasn’t fully caught up with my thoughts yet. The room feels too hot. Too small. I could step onto a battlefield and wage war this very second. I tug at my shirtsleeves to free the cuffs, then roughly shove them back.
The boat rocks and sways, but less than it did along the docks. We must be fully into the Queen’s River now.
This is happening. I’m leaving. I’m leaving Kandala.
I’m leaving my brother.
I have too many emotions, and they’re all colliding. I shove myself to my feet and stride for the door. I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I need to do something or I’m going to throwmyselfoverboard.
But as my hand reaches for the door handle, I hesitate. I’ve hardly been on the ship for half an hour, but I don’t need anyone to think I’m upset—especially not my own guards. I’ve been King’s Justice for four years. I know how to swallow my temper. Close quarters never keep secrets well. If my guards start whispering about a spat between me and Tessa, it’ll be all over the ship in a matter of hours, and that’s the last thing I need.
I take a step back and run my hands across my face again. There’s a tiny mirror in the corner, over the empty washbasin, but my eyes still look like thunder, so I glance away. I unroll my sleeves and refasten the cuffs.
I wish I had Quint. Or Harristan.
My chest tightens unexpectedly, but I lock this emotion away with the others. I walk to the small, barred porthole and stare out into the blackness. The bars remind me of a prison cell. Only a few tiny lights along the shore glow in the gloom. I count to ten. To one hundred.
And then I do it again.
Eventually, my temper cools. I’m no longer inhaling fire.
A knock sounds at my door, and I whip my head around. My heart kicks. Maybe she’s come back. Maybe I have a chance to fix this.
I grab the handle and jerk the door open.
It’s not Tessa. It’s Kilbourne. There are two men behind him, both lugging heavy trunks that glisten with rainwater.
“Your Highness,” the guard says. “Your trunks have been brought down.”
I stare at him. I’m trying to decide if he looks like he knows what happened between me and Tessa.
Maybe Ican’tswallow all that emotion.
While I’m deliberating, one of the men blows a lock of hair out of his eyes and says, “They sure are getting lighter, Your Highness,” and the other man makes a sound like he’s trying to stifle a laugh.
My eyes narrow, and I’m tempted to make these men hold them for a solid hour, but it feels petty. I know how loyal Rian’s crew is. I don’t want to turn themallagainst me.
“Forgive me,” I say. “Just set them inside.”
They do. They’re not gentle about it either. With hardly a glance at me, the men leave the trunks, then head back into the hallway. One of them wipes sweat or rain—or both—from his brow as he goes.
I’m irritated, and I probably don’t have any right to be. They aren’t here as my servants.
“Where are the other guards?” I say to Kilbourne.
“Silas is setting our room to order. Rocco is walking the ship.” Kilbourne casts a glance at the empty hallway, then drops his voice. “The captain promised a thorough tour once we’re ahead of the storm, but Rocco doesn’t want to wait that long.”
Interesting. Probably smart. I glance across the hallway at the two closed doors. I wonder which one is Tessa’s. “Miss Cade is comfortable?”
He hesitates. “As far as I can tell.” He studies me, and in that moment, I can tell he noticed Tessa’s sudden departure from my quarters.
He has the good sense not to mention it, which I can appreciate.
“What did Lochlan say to her?” I ask.
Kilbourne draws a slow breath.
