Chapter 6 Thessia #2
His pained conviction startled Thessia.
When she looked up, Hugh turned from her. He went to the wall, spelled transparent to reveal the shining sea outside their
suite. She could not see his face.
“The real thing is . . . easy. Joyous.” His voice was everything but.
Thessia cursed her clumsiness. Of course the memory still hurt him.
“Frightening, even,” Hugh went on. “A wanting both wonderful and terrible at once.”
Her mouth opened, yet Thessia knew not what to say. The Hugh she’d wed was charismatic, quick to smile, even quicker to joke.
He had been . . . performing, she was realizing. The whole time, even for her, in ways she didn’t notice. He’d mastered the
conjurated cheer Thessia sought for herself.
She should have known. It was why she’d chosen him, wasn’t it?
Chosen him, with her royal request, to pretend to the love he’d once known for real. When she was younger, she’d hoped to find genuine
love, of course, before she’d learned that any man who courted her was courting the queen. Not Thessia. Any relationship she
began would be . . . empty. Fake.
Why not control the farce? Embark on a relationship that was only ever intended to be fake? She’d never be guilelessly swept away into a one-sided romance again.
She’d gone on secretive dates with a number of eligible men. All of them had sought to flatter or impress her. Hugh was pleasant,
as was his nature. She’d decided he was not the one for her before they’d even gotten to dessert, thinking that someone so
happy and affable would never make a good match for a frustrated queen.
But then on the carriage ride home he’d suddenly begun to weep.
Guilt knifed into her. “If this is too hard for you, I would understand,” she hastened to say.
When Hugh faced her once more, his easygoing charm had returned. His mask, gorgeously flawless, like enchanted Vestriyan workmanship.
“No. I’m fine,” he reassured her. The queen very nearly found herself convinced.
“I’m sorry I never knew her,” she said instead.
He’d told her only her name, gasping out the syllables between sobs in the carriage. Zaralie. They’d fallen in love as teenagers and pledged their lives to each other. She was a soldier, and he’d volunteered to fight
in the war against the Fraternal Order to be with her. Hugh had come home from the Queendom campaign. Zaralie had not.
Hugh’s expression faltered. This time, Thessia fought off the guilt. She owed him this. If they were to lie to the realm,
she wished her fake husband to know he could speak honestly with her.
“She was very dour upon first impression,” Hugh said. His eyes went distant. “But when you made her laugh, her whole face
lit up. She loved to dance.”
“Then she must have loved to hear you sing,” Thessia offered.
Hugh smiled. His real smile, as if the compliment had illuminated some long-covered light in him.
Then his expression closed up again. The fragile magic of their connection disappeared. King Hugh, formidable and composed,
stood once more in the grieving, kind man’s place. “I find very little reason to sing these days.” He smiled once more, though
Thessia could tell it was forced. “No, it is not too hard,” he said, still pondering Thessia’s question. “I can never see
myself wanting any of this for real.” He gestured to the honeymoon suite. “Not without her. It is best that I only be asked
to pretend.”
Thessia nodded with perfunctory haste. Did the reminder of how he would never desire her in earnest sting? Indeed.
Despite Hugh’s handsomeness, Thessia had stopped herself from developing real feelings for her fake husband. But his dismissal reminded Thessia that nobody desired her.
Not even the queen could withstand this notion with an uninjured heart. In her feigned marriage, Thessia would never feel
the passion, the yearning, the companionship of which Hugh spoke.
A wanting both wonderful and terrible at once.
In the end, her husband’s painful history was exactly why she’d chosen him. She was not stealing a future from this man. It
would not have been fair to form her fake marriage with someone whom she might have held back from real love. Hugh, however . . .
Heartbroken forever over the death of his beloved, Hugh would never love again.
He was interested in elevating his station, in giving up soldiering for good. She was interested in removing herself from
The Tragedy of Galwell and Thessia.
He was safe. He was perfect.
Perfectly unreachable.
“There is only one bed here,” Thessia observed loudly. “Obviously. We shall sleep in shifts.”
She wondered whether her husband looked pleased to move the conversation on to logistics or whether she was merely projecting.
“I’ll take the first shift,” he offered. “You enjoy the boat.”
His selflessness softened her. “That is kind,” she conceded. “Thank you.”
Hugh nodded once.
Eager to escape the conversation, Thessia pulled her cloak’s hood over her head. While everyone knew of her presence on the
Sapphire Palace, she wished to move in privacy when she could.
This meant steering clear of populous places. No Chestlewitt theater or seafood spread for her this evening, unfortunately.
Instead, she decided to walk the crew deck. Like in Queendom, when she found unassuming city streets the elegant equal of the finest castle corridors, the undecorated deck captivated her. From the humble wooden railings, she watched the sun set over the ocean.
Or—she would have.
But Captain Norcross was descending from the helm to the deck, and Thessia knew only moments separated her from an unwelcome
interrogation on why she was not indulging in her honeymoon suite.
Desperate, she scuttled to the nearest hatch.
The ladder deposited her in a quaint crew compartment, small, with one bunk. The cabin—
Wasn’t empty, Thessia realized.
“Sorry!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Ghosts, I meant no—”
The explanation died on Thessia’s lips, for she recognized the other person in this compartment.
“Galwell?”
The enormous man hunched in the corner, hands raised in contrition. His remarkable rust-colored hair hung over half his face.
“What in the Ghost’s tombs are you doing here?” Thessia hissed.
“I—I’m so sorry. I had hoped to stay out of your way on the voyage,” the regretful hero promised. “I have no desire to interrupt
your honeymoon.”
“And yet you have,” Thessia replied.
Galwell straightened, some of his heroic self-possession returning. “In fairness, you stumbled in my way,” he pointed out gently.
Thessia rubbed her forehead in exasperation. Was nowhere on this damnable ship free from her present or former romantic partners?
She wouldn’t run into the foreign prince with whom she’d shared her first kiss next, would she? Would she find the shadow
play star on whom she’d had her second-ever crush hiding under the dinner spread? If she was forced to walk the decks of her
heart for the entire voyage, she would not mind the ship sinking.
“Why are you here? I literally boarded this ship to escape you,” she complained.
Galwell cocked his head in surprise. “You did? Why?”
Thessia immediately wished she could rescind the confession.
Straightening, she pretended to possess regal confidence, meanwhile searching for an explanation that would be preferable
to honesty. She couldn’t very well describe how incessant questions about her loveless love triangle were simply depressing,
could she?
She settled on dishonesty. “It’s my honeymoon, Galwell. I wanted to be alone with my husband,” she said primly.
Guilt fell heavily over Galwell’s statuesque features. “Yes. Yes, of course you did. I promise you won’t see me at all. I’ll
stay in this room the whole voyage,” he vowed, rambling in his urgency. “And when we disembark, you won’t even know I’m in
Vestriya. No one will. That’s the point.”
Thessia frowned. The point? “What do you mean? Why?”
Despite herself, she could not fight curiosity when Galwell’s eyes darted past her, scouring the room. “It’s—nothing. Enjoy
your honeymoon, Thessia.”
Oh, he expected her to simply accept his words like some pitiable princess, did he? Thessia crossed her arms. No, she would not be brushed aside. “Funny,” she challenged him, “how in another life, I would be
on this honeymoon cruise with you.”
Galwell shifted his feet. While she did not welcome his discomfort, Thessia was proud of herself. She could confront their hollow romantic history, even if he—the dauntless hero!—could not.
“You would have put on such a brave face,” she went on. “But of course, it’s what you’re best at. Nobly sacrificing yourself.”
His eyes widened, and Thessia realized he’d never suspected she knew his heart was not in their engagement. For a moment, she felt in control of her life. She was not innocent or helpless. She was clever and brave. She did not fear the truth.
“How did you—” Galwell started.
The cabin door flew open.
With dismay, Thessia welcomed their intruder. “Captain Norcross,” she greeted the old seaman.
She was on the verge of pretending she did indeed urgently need swans for her room when the captain drew a long, shining knife.
He made no reply to her greeting. His eyes were unrecognizable. Venomous, hateful, instead of his earlier weathered kindness.
“Assassin!” Galwell shouted. “Run, Thessia!”
It was no use. One very important question held Thessia in place. Why does Captain Norcross want to kill me?
Then she was shoved out of the way. The captain didn’t lunge for her—he lunged for Galwell.