Chapter 18 #3
If Bernard thought so low of him, surely the rest of the crew did as well. Hell, maybe the whole kingdom did already. The wolf-masked woman had run all but screaming. Rumors of Valeria’s finest knight having his way with the drunken Princess would ruin him—and not just his career prospects.
Who would want to be with a man of such ill repute?
The ship creaked around him as he went despite his quick, light steps.
It was nearly pitch dark, save for the dim flicker of lanterns hung at either end of the hall.
The soft glow seemed to caress Anya’s blonde tresses, imbuing them with strands of gold.
She was begrudgingly beautiful, even in such an undignified state.
Moisture wet his palm just as he reached the furthest starboard cabin.
“Gah!” He shook his hand. “Divine, Anya, did you just lick me?”
Free from his palm prison, she buried her face in the hollow of his throat. “Maybe,” she whispered with a giggle. Her lips teased his skin as she spoke. He swore he could feel the warm tip of her tongue. “Want me to do it again?”
Yes.
“No,” he groaned, desperate to stifle the desire building within him. He rapped softly on the door. “Ngh—don’t—don’t do anything.”
You’re disgusting, the voice in his head whispered. It had been strangely absent the last hour with Anya. Just imagine if she knew about your past. She wouldn’t even spit in your direction.
His mind swirled as she nestled against his chest as they waited at the door. He needed to get away from her. Now. Someone was going to see. Oh Lady Rowan, please wake up, please wake up.
Just as he contemplated leaving her at the door, it swung open.
“My Lady?” Lady Rowan said sleepily. It must’ve been nearly morning—time for the two of them to go to sleep. Her eyes flew wide. “My Lady!” She caught her tone and covered her mouth. “What happened?”
“We argued, she nearly fell overboard, her ring got hot, next thing I know I found her swimming in ale.” He set Anya down.
“Come here, My Lady, let’s get you to bed.” She stared down at Anya’s feet. “Where are your shoes?”
“No shoes…never shoes…” Anya laughed and nearly toppled Lady Rowan over with a stumbling hug.
“I’ll leave them outside your cabin later,” he whispered.
“Thank you.” Lady Rowan nodded and guided the besotted Princess inside, shutting the door with a click.
“Hoo…” He slid down the wall and scrubbed his face. Resisting her advances was painful. Lecherous thoughts were bucking and chomping at the bit within him.
Dear Divine, that woman…
If she stabbed him in the chest, would his pathetic heart beg him to pull her closer and sink the knife deeper, just to catch a whiff of her bergamot scent? Why was he taking such risks to help her?
“What the hell is wrong with me?” he whispered. She was drunk. She hates me. These feelings have no place.
He was mortified to find his actions during the evacuation had stoked her anxieties about being named the heir to the throne. He vowed to do his best not to step on her toes ever again.
But that vow was for another day. Right now, he desperately needed a distraction before the voice in his mind took over. If he went back to his cabin, he’d get lost dreaming of her. And trying to tame this himself would only make the accusing voice louder.
The kitchen! He perked up. He didn’t want Annette to wake up to that disaster. There was no explanation that didn’t embarrass himself or Anya.
He shot to his feet, teeming with new purpose.
True to his word, he placed Anya’s boots outside her cabin with the ring tied to the laces. He didn’t want her to worry about who helped her in case she didn’t remember, so he included a note that he hoped would make her smile.
The Princess had truly done a number on the poor kitchen. He started with the floors, sweeping the shattered dishes and mopping up puddles of ale, then turned his attention to the counters and picked up the sticky jam jar.
Blueberry.
He’d been hoping it was mulberry.
The mystery maiden’s sultry voice echoed in his head. Warm mulberry pie. Rose hip with nothing else.
He’d come across jarred mulberries when he inventoried the supplies. He’d put them in the back of the highest pantry, presuming them to be reserved for the deck feast, since they made an excellent glaze for roast pork.
Was it possible the blueberry jam had been a consolation prize after she’d failed to find the mulberries?
She must have been the one to purchase them, and therefore knew they were somewhere in here.
It explained why she’d been rifling through the cabinets like a squirrel.
No. Not a squirrel. Something scarier than a squirrel, and much more beautiful.
He ran through the wolf-woman and Anya’s similarities in his head. Lycanian. Blonde hair. Hate shoes. Bergamot perfume.
It would also explain why she ran out when he divulged his name. But the thought didn’t make it hurt any less. Either way, he needed to know the truth.
He’d found his distraction. This would be a far more nuanced endeavor than any before. No battle. No blood.
Just baking.
How hard could it be?