Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
The next morning, I find Alderic where I always seem to—brooding on the deck of his sailboat like some exiled prince in a tragic love story. He’s staring out over the water, shirt slightly rumpled, hair still damp from a rinse in the sea. It’s obnoxiously poetic.
He looks up when he hears my footsteps, and that ruinously handsome face softens when he sees me, like I’m the very thing he’s been waiting for.
Something inside me tightens. I hate that look. Or I want to climb into it—maybe both. The sunlight gilds his damp hair, his half-unbuttoned shirt clinging in just the right places, and I have to force myself not to stare at the sharp V of exposed skin.
Don’t do it, Gemma. Don’t remember how his mouth felt. How his hands felt. You are here for a reason, and how good he looks has nothing to do with it.
“I have a plan,” I announce, climbing aboard without waiting for an invitation.
Alderic’s brows lift. “Hello to you too.”
“Don’t get excited,” I say, brushing past him and ignoring the way his presence makes my nerve endings buzz. “You’re still on my shit list.”
He leans against the mast, arms crossed, looking far too handsome for someone I’m absolutely still furious with. “Are you sure you don’t mean the Men I’d Throttle If They Weren’t So Devastatingly Attractive list?”
“You wish,” I mutter.
“I do. In fact, I’ve been imagining the throttling.”
His eyes rake over me when he says it. Not crude. Not even cocky. Just a low, smoldering promise that pools heat low in my stomach.
And God help me, my body answers. A flush creeps up my throat, hot and traitorous.
He crosses the space between us, and before I can stop him, his fingers brush a strand of hair behind my ear in a touch that feels like it knows every version of me—the furious one, the afraid one, the one who still remembers how he tasted.
I do everything in my power not to lean into him.
The moment stretches, tight and trembling, his face so close, the warmth of his breath blowing against my cheek. My lips part before I realize they have, my whole body tilted toward him like a compass needle seeking north.
I’m going to kiss him.
I want to kiss him.
I want to fall, just for a second, into the deliciousness of him.
But my rational brain slices through the haze like cold steel.
“No.” The word leaves my mouth too quickly. I take a step back and grip the ropes along the bow. “We’re not doing this.”
“Gemma, I just—”
“I need your help,” I cut in, sharper than I mean to. Work mode. War mode. Anything-but-feelings mode.
“Glad to see I’ve been promoted from irredeemable liar,” Alderic says, that too-handsome mouth tugging into the ghost of a smirk.
My eyes narrow. “This doesn’t mean we’re good. We’re going to work together. Professionally. Cleanly. No more secrets.”
“I know.”
“You lied to me.”
“I know.”
“I can’t trust you.”
Something in his expression flinches. Barely. But I see it.
“Tell me what you need.” He doesn’t sound hurt. But he doesn’t sound not-hurt either.
Good. Let him sit with it.
His smile fades as I lay it out—every sharp-edged piece of the plan.
How he, posing as Alder, who’s still very much posing as him, will infiltrate Delphara’s inner circle.
How he’ll charm her, fool the priest, and slip into places only Alder has access to.
How he’ll collect notes, orders, anything we can use to shatter their reign from the inside out.
And how, at the ceremony—before they can kill another girl—we’ll reveal everything. In front of the nobles. The court. The people.
“You’ll take Alder’s place,” I finish. “She trusts him. Likes him. Thinks she can control him. Use that. Say whatever she needs to hear, get what we need. Then we burn the whole damn house down.”
Alderic is quiet for a beat too long.
“You’re serious,” he says finally.
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” I cross my arms. “You said I have to help this kingdom if I want to get home. That’s what I’m doing.”
Silence stretches between us, taut as a bowstring.
“You’re remarkable,” he says quietly. “You know that?”
I roll my eyes. “And you’re still not forgiven.”
A flicker of a smile. “Right. Logistics, then. You need access to the queen’s documents, private quarters, sacred vault of doom…”
“And you’ll need time. Time to go through it all before anyone notices.” I start pacing the deck, momentum pulsing through my limbs. “Which means I have to distract Alder.”
He frowns. “Gemma, that could be dangerous.”
“I know him. He’s arrogant and smug, and I’m sure he’s convinced I’m still halfway in love with him. If I pretend I want his help, if I make it look like I’ve come crawling back so he can play the hero, he’ll bite. He won’t see it coming.”
Alderic’s jaw ticks. “If something goes wrong—”
“He won’t hurt me.” I glance up. “Not physically, anyway.”
The hush that follows is a little too heavy.
“Bernice told me there’s a banquet tonight,” I say, shifting the subject. “Delphara’s making a big show of her new priest. It’s perfect. Everyone who matters will be there.”
“I’ll need one of my outfits he’s stolen,” Alderic muses, “and a sword. Just in case.”
“You’re not stabbing anyone.”
“I might stab Alder. Lightly.”
I shoot him a look. “No stabbing. No improvising. No grand gestures. Get proof and bring it to me.”
His grin falters. “And after?”
My throat tightens, and I turn away.
“Gemma—”
“After doesn’t matter yet,” I say. A lie I wish I could believe. “First, we save the kingdom.”