“Did you hear me?”
He stroked the back of her hand and met her gaze.
Her rebellious pupils dilated and her face flushed hot as he gripped her wrists, holding her firmly in place.
A crooked, fanged smile spread across his lips.
Icy fear trickled down her back. Was he going to shove her overboard? Finally get his revenge?
“Don’t, Roderick, please—” As she yanked her hands free from his touch, the ship listed to the side and threw her over.
The gut-flipping sensation of free fall hit her, then stopped short as strong arms caught her waist. Her chest swelled with panicked breaths as she looked up at him.
His mouth was agape as he matched her heaving breaths, fangs glistening in the moonlight.
“Are you all right?” he gasped. He’d nearly gone overboard himself to stop her fall.
How easily he could let go, let her slip over the side; to laugh and embarrass her like she’d done to him.
But instead, his eyes were wide with worry as he pulled her back onto the deck and onto her feet.
She stumbled into him, then quickly backtracked into the crook of the bow.
Thank the Moon she’d worn trousers today.
Anya glanced down at his well-worked hand caressing her arm. His fingers seemed to melt into her skin, kicking her pulse to the stars. Words were far from her lips.
“Anya?” He seemed to be searching her face for injuries, then surveyed her up and down.
His gaze slowly fell to her lips. She bit her bottom lip, praying it would numb the lingering sensation of his mouth pressed against hers in the garden; the hint of wine that passed between them.
Mother Moon, she had to resist. Resist! Surely with enough time the memory would fade.
Or perhaps another taste would quell her curiosity once and for all, like a poison. She just needed the right dose, and it would die.
“Look, Anya, I’m—”
“Ah!” A pang of heat jolted through her finger, radiating into her arm. She whipped her hand up to her face and stared at the ring.
It’s just warm.
Only warm. She pressed it to her cheek. It was a mere degree or so above body temperature. The sudden burst felt hotter at first. It wasn’t even close to burning. But even if it did, she couldn’t do anything.
Confound it, why did I even ask for this ring?
“What is it?” He tilted his head and grasped her trembling hand.
“It’s this ring. It heats up if there is trouble back home.”
Panic struck Roderick’s face. “Like the children? Do we need to go back?” His grip on her fingers tightened, making her aware of the intimate gesture. She pulled her hand away.
“No.” Anya turned away to hide the flush of her cheeks. “Nothing like that.”
“It isn’t nothing. You’re trembling.” His fingers brushed her hand again.
She batted him away. This ring was a reminder of just what he stood in the way of.
His disrespect and ego-driven actions had already cast her in a bad light—a light Cyrus could magnify and blind her parents with.
Cyrus had a clean reputation and the respect of the palace guards.
She was a rowdy, ill-tempered, bite-happy Princess who spent more time reading texts and tomes than entertaining stuffy suitors.
If she let Roderick get too close, he could amplify all her problems.
“It is none of your concern. Don’t act like you care about me after you did your damnedest to keep me off this expedition and insulted my lady-in-waiting.” She straightened and brushed the wrinkles out of her blouse. “Now. Are we far enough from the icebergs?”
“Ornella thinks we should give it until evening tomorrow, just to be safe.”
Great. There goes my distraction. She stared down at the ring. Whatever was happening was still going on. It would be time for dinner back home. Had her parents hint publicly at wanting to name Cyrus their heir? Or was Cyrus simply badmouthing her over a flagon of mead?
Mead. Stars, that sounded good. Anya hadn’t had a drink since the day after the masquerade. Only a week, sure. But it was an incredibly stressful week.
There wasn’t mead aboard, but there was ale.
Lots of it.