Chapter 26
Roderick Bryson
Panic pounded in Roderick’s chest as he watched Anya fight against the waves. She wasn’t making an inch of progress toward the rope, and after using all her strength climbing the rigging and manning the helm, her energy could fade in a flash.
While the Lupus Star had sailed through many a gale without either of them, sailor’s code demanded that he stay with the ship and see it through the danger.
But his knightly code was burning hot within him, along with something much stronger than it ought to be. At his core, he was a knight, a servant of the Crown.
It was time to act like one.
He turned back to Octavio. “Octavio, you’re in charge. Lady Rowan, once the storm passes, keep us on course as close to the coast as possible.”
Octavio took a step forward. “Roderick, what are you—”
Roderick ignored Octavio, kicked off his boots, tossed his rapier to the deck, and dove over the stern.
His skin felt like glass shattering on stone as he dove into the waves, but he kept cutting through the water.
Mere days ago, such waters called his name, welcoming him into the inky blackness.
Now, he was fighting them with all he had.
Smaller splashes unlike the colliding waves drew his eye. As the swell brought him up, he saw Anya fighting to stay above the surface.
“Anya!” he gasped. “Hold on!”
He doubled his efforts, heaving air between strokes. Anya’s panicked breaths became shorter, sharper—then stopped.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins as she disappeared into the depths. He gulped a breath and dove for her, throwing his arms out in back-breaking chops through the erratic current.
His fingers met claws as he reached through the stream of bubbles billowing from her mouth, then locked his fingers with hers. She was limp and heavy, but alive. She had to be. He broke through the surface and held her close. She coughed and sputtered water from her lungs in convulsing hacks.
“I’ve got you. You’re all right.”
She fell against him, her weight forcing him deeper into the water. He had to get back to the rope. It couldn’t be more than a few hundred feet. But with Anya so weak from the lack of air, it would take twice as long to swim with her in tow.
“Roderick,” she said hoarsely, nuzzling deeper into his neck. His cheeks flushed. Could drowning mimic drunkenness? There was no way she was saying his name the way he thought she was. And if she was, for someone so diplomatic, she picked the most inopportune times to express affection.
“We’re going back to the ship. Can you hold on to me?”
“The stars,” she murmured. “You’ll watch with me, won’t you?”
Again, not the right moment. But the sparks those words ignited in his chest kept the frigid Aquillan waters from gaining a foothold.
“Of course.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. She wouldn’t remember any of this anyway. She would be back to righteous anger at him in no time. “Just as soon as we get back to the ship, all right? So hold on tight.”
“All right…” She linked her claws around his waist. It was a weak hold, but it was better than nothing. They had to get moving before hypothermia set in, or the adrenaline rush from her affection faded.
Between the roiling waves and pounding sleet, the sea and sky were one and the same.
He balanced riding the swells toward the faint outline of the Lupus Star with cutting across the ones that dragged them away.
There was no rhyme or reason to them. This was far from a natural storm.
Octavio said it would fade. It had to fade. They just had to wait it out.
After what felt like ages of gaining and losing distance, the Lupus Star disappeared into the fog of rain and ice. Anya began to shiver against him, digging her claws into his wet shirt.
Waiting it out wasn’t an option anymore.
No amount of movement was staving off the bone-chilling cold for himself anymore either.
He kept on, eyes shut tight against the salty spray.
He lengthened his strokes simply to move as much as possible—anywhere, any direction, until finally, finally, his hand dipped into sand. His eyes shot open.
Land.
Relief powered him through as he shifted Anya into his arms and pulled her onto the beach. He held her close in his lap, savoring the gentle push of her pulse against his fingers and the hint of bergamot that still clung to her skin.
She’s alive. She’s alive. He exhaled a shaky breath.
The storm continued to roil around them, but it was nothing compared to the temper of the sea. They couldn’t get any wetter.
Anya’s shivering returned full force, teeth chattering and all. He’d rested long enough. He pulled her further onto the beach away from the tide line and rested her head gently onto the sand.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to make a fire. You’ll be warm in no time.”
Survival was nothing new to him. There were plenty of times during his service as a squire that required such labor.
Their supplies would sometimes run out, get flooded in the night, or even on one occasion, burnt to a crisp by a frightened wyvern.
He never thought there would be a day where he’d pray for a wyvern to appear.
Flying in lightning would be far too dangerous. This storm was stabbing bolts into the sky every second. Once it slowed, Yomira would be along in no time. They’d fly back to the ship and continue on their way with minimal delay.
The shoreline was mostly sand and rocks flanked by the glacial wall, but the further back he went, the more driftwood and dried bushes he found, and the glacial wall finally gave way to a sheer limestone cliff face.
The papery shift of leaves and branches was barely audible in the distance, but he didn’t trust his hearing after all the thunder and yelling.
Scaling the cliff would be a challenge in his best shape. It would be foolhardy now.
Gravel turned to sand beneath his feet as he jogged back to the beach with an armful of sticks, depositing them safely beyond the reach of the high tide.
He was desperate to start the fire and get Anya warm, but a fire would be no use without some way to keep it dry.
He scoured the crags for a shelter. Each unsuccessful minute felt like an hour wasted and a moment closer to Anya freezing to death.
He went back to the exposed cliff face, tracing his hands along its chalky, rain-weathered surface as he walked its perimeter.
Coastal regions often had caves, and limestone like this was especially prone to being worn away by crashing waves and storms. After a few hundred feet, the cliff face gave way to a cave.
It wasn’t as deep as he’d like, but it would keep the fire dry and shield Anya from the elements.
He returned to the beach and hoisted Anya into his arms. Getting her out of the rain took priority over the fire. He tucked her away in the cave, collected the kindling, then bore a hole into a larger branch with a stick until little wisps of smoke turned into flame.
Once the fire was at a rolling pace, he stripped off his shirt and trousers. Technically, his undershorts needed to go too, but he had to maintain some propriety. His eyes darted to Anya as he spread his clothes in front of the fire to dry.
It was time for the truly awkward part.
He shifted Anya on his lap and worked the strings of her bodice. His nails fumbled the finery, slipping from one row to the next without tugging anything loose. It was especially difficult to feel the position of his fingertips beneath his callouses.
And how on earth had she swam in these skirts? Her clothing was practically an anchor. Why she despised shoes and not this was beyond him.
His freezing fingers struggled to undo the middle ties. He huffed a breath. Why was it so tight? It was no wonder she couldn’t last long in the water. She’d hardly been able to breathe on dry land. This was utter madness.
Once the middle was loosed, the bottom ties followed easily. He swallowed thickly. He knew what had to come next. What if Anya woke up? She would understand, right? Or would she accuse him of being a rake again?
Roderick sighed and shook his head, then gingerly slipped the blue dress off Anya’s shoulders.
His fingers glided along the smooth stretches of bare skin as he negotiated the crests and curves of her body.
Mercifully, she had a white corset and a thin underskirt that hid her most intimate areas.
Her undergarments could stay, but the corset had to be loosened at the very least. She needed as much air as possible.
He repeated the infuriatingly fine work of loosening the threads.
It was very possible this task alone warranted Lady Rowan’s employment.
“Mm…” Anya stirred as his fingers poked through the corset strings, making contact with the soft ridges of her spine. He winced. His fingertips probably felt like ice.
“I’m just getting these wet clothes off you,” he said quietly. “That’s all. I swear.”
She coughed drowsily, then fell against his chest. Wet locks of her hair tickled his neck and shoulders, reflecting the dancing firelight.
Objectively, his chest was a warm, dry place for her to lay, and the rest of his body was heating up fast.
Because of the fire.
Nothing else.
The storm outside began to dwindle as the hours wore on, no longer an unpredictable morass of pummeling rain and ice, but a gentle patter against the sandy beach and stone.
By now Roderick realized there were two things that drove him from his right mind: his people, and the Princess. Could he be more of a storybook knight—weak in the knee for royalty far beyond his reach, constantly ricocheting between duty and love?
He shook his head.
Woah there. Who said anything about love?
He glanced down at Anya, now peacefully dozing on the planes of his chest. Her fingers twitched occasionally, brows furrowed as she dreamed. It was possible she hadn’t slept at all after their fight. He tightened his grip on her, hoping regret would seep through the warmth of his skin.
His heart had stuttered when he saw her up on the rigging, barking orders with incredible calm and precision. He wanted to watch her work wonders on the ropes and shield her from all of it. He wanted to hide her away in the safety of his arms and watch her fight the tempest all at the same time.
How could she stand the gilded halls of the palace? He couldn’t picture her sitting behind a desk, signing trade agreements and entertaining the selfish rants of the aristocracy. He’d forced that image upon her at one time.
But not anymore.
The evidence to the contrary was far too great—from her tireless work on the evacuation to the simple way she embraced Emmaline and Mabel, coughing and all, without an ounce of hesitation.
Anya was a star burning bright. It would be a crime to hamper it.
When they got back to the ship, he would stay out of her way and enjoy the little glow he could catch off of her.
Anya exhaled a breathy sigh and rubbed her soft cheek on his chest.
Roderick smiled and brushed a lock of hair from her face, tracing the heights of her cheekbones. His heart was somehow aching and fluttering all at the same time. It was odd. It was nothing like before. Nothing like when he saw Millicent.
Whatever he was feeling, it was way worse than the carnal draw of the other night.
He was imagining more—dreams of delicacies denied to him for over twenty years; aspects of life and love he’d vowed to steel himself from, for fear of taking an arrow to the heart.
He wanted to put wildflowers in her golden hair, kiss her forehead every night as she closed her eyes.
Unobtainable treasures.
They would finish the expedition, and she would return to Eteross. Their success would surely secure her rightful place as the heir to the Valerian throne.
As for him?
If Petorus was no longer on the table, he was still qualified to be a royal knight. But he couldn’t bear to live on Eteross knowing Anya was so close. With her position secured, an arranged courtship would surely follow.
An engagement.
A marriage.
Any loyal knight would celebrate those occasions for their Princess. But perhaps he wasn’t as good of a knight as he thought.
These thoughts didn’t devastate him as they once might have. Octavio, Ornella, Bernard, Annette—they were there for him. The Lupus Star would welcome him—and it was beginning to sound better than Petorus every day.
Anya stirred, muttered incoherently, then finally settled back in with a tiny curve on her lips. He was so used to her being on her guard around him, alert, rigid. In this moment, she hid nothing from him.
But when she woke up, everything would go back to the way it was.