Chapter 114: Chapter 114

I’ve never been on a ship before.

Neither have I seen waters so vast, so blue, it stretched so far across the horizon, farther than eyes can see, disappearing into a heavily veiled mist. I feel like a child holding her first toy, my hands gripping the railing hard as I stare into the waters, gasping every time I see fins and sharp teeth. "Did you see that?! What type of fish is that?"

Lucien laughs beside me. "It’s a shark. And they like to eat pretty things like you." He presses his hand to the small of my back, steering me away from the railing slick with salt. "Come. Let’s find our place below."

The deck smells of rust and old blood. A few passengers glance our way, their faces hollowed by sleepless nights, eyes sharp with hunger and suspicion. Their eyes brighten at the sight of our attires, completely ordinary, and drab, yet so out of place in a place surrounded by rags and filth. A part of me wants to rip the pouch from my belt and hand them all the money they need to feed themselves.

Most of them are humans. And those who aren’t, are wolves. Rogues.

And I wonder if Cyrus knows what the effect of this war is on his people. I wonder if he knows joining forces with Rafael is endangering them. Wolves and humans may know how to co-exist, but it didn’t make them any more friendly. The larger part of Silvermoor’s population is drowning in poverty since the wealthy hoarded more wealth, and with this new alliance, Voss has opened it’s borders to most of that population.

"Don’t," Lucien warns, and I catch myself inching for the purse anyway. "You feed one, and ten more will follow. And when the gold runs out, they’ll remember you still have blood and bones to trade. Worse yet if they discover what we are. Keep it hidden. Until we reach the shore."

The gangplank groans underfoot as we step aboard. Cracked lanterns sway, spilling dull light over the packed room. The Deckhand is a small, wiry man with a scar running across his forehead with mangled stitches and three missing digits. Smoke curls from his mouth as he regards us. "You Marlow’s?"

His brogue is thick, rolling with Rs.

Lucien nods, handing him a scroll.

The man skims the note for half a second before shoving it into the hands of another. "Payment." He grunts in approval when Lucien reaches into his pocket and drops a pouch into his palm. "Cabin’s below, third hatch to your right."

His gaze drifts to me, and his lip curls. "Fine bit o’ meat. She don’t talk? We like ’em better when they don’t talk."

It’s not many times I get objectified, not even to my face, but he speaks to Lucien like he owns me. I start to respond, but Lucien’s hand finds my hip, curving possessively. "She doesn’t talk to men who smell like rat’s piss."

The deckhand’s grin falters. Lucien doesn’t look away. He just keeps that lazy, amused stare until the man erupts into nervous laughter. "Just a jest, mate."

"Of course," Lucien murmurs, smiling. His thumb presses into my hipbone before he steers me past the man, his gaze flicking briefly to the knife at the deckhand’s belt. "But I’d be wary of those, sailor. Keep your jokes close, sailor. They might earn you a trip overboard before dawn."

I keep my laughter hidden, only because I can feel Lucien genuinely contemplating throwing the sailor over board down the bond. He is usually unruffled by these things, but nothing quite prickles his feathers like someone looking or speaking to me wrong.

"Hey," I say softly when we reach the cabin--a run down room with one bunk, a bucket in the corner to take a leak and reeks of piss and puke. "You can’t go about threatening everyone who looks at me."

He makes a funny sound in his throat, scanning every corner of the room. "Watch me."

I bite back another smile and settle on the bed. The bunk creaks loudly enough to make me cringe. My muscles sigh when I lay back, having screamed for rest the entire ride here. "What are the odds we win them over?"

The bed dips beside me. Another creak. And the stench in the room subsides slightly--or maybe it’s just Lucien’s scent overpowering it. "Everyone has a price, though, not always materialistic. What matters is how much of their fancy you tickle. The people across the seas live differently. There are no kings or queens. Power is determined by trade and wealth, and for the longest of time, they’ve been trying to get their hands into my vaults. Now would be as good a time as any to let them."

I tilt my head towards him. "I’m so damned terrible at this, aren’t I?"

His fingers come down to trace the frown line off my forehead. "Royals are trained from birth in diplomacy and politics. You’re doing considerably well." His mouth quirks up. "For a novice."

I scowl. "We both know the only reason I agreed to become Queen was because you forced me to. Forgive me for being a novice."

He brushes the cloak off my head, combing his fingers into my hair until it begins to unravel from it’s braid. "And do you like it? Being mine? Or do you still want for freedom and choices to flee from me?" Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs NoveI-Fire.ɴet

The question sinks heavy between us. I don’t know what I want. Or maybe I do, but I’m too frightened to acknowledge it, because doing that makes it real. "Not that you would ever give me that, if I wanted it," I deflect.

His eyes narrow in a way that tells me we’ll return to that conversation, but he nods, allowing me to steer the conversation. "True."

He leans over me and a breathy laugh escapes me when he lowers his mouth to the curve of my neck. "But can you blame me? I can’t keep my hands off you. This is not ideal."

I bare my neck, nails tangling in his tunic as the bed creaks and he hovers over me, dropping feather light kisses here and there. "You’re going to put a baby in me if you don’t stop touching me ."

He stills, lips pausing over mine. And my eyes open to find his eyes piercing mine. "Brenda tells me you refused to take the tonic."

I stiffen, a bucket of ice dousing over the warmth that had been curling low in my belly. I jerk upright into a sitting position, back stiff.

When the maid appeared to dress me for the journey, she had come along with a vial. A contraceptive. And it had upset me. I had deemed to speak to him about it, but I didn’t know how to start that conversation. Or what to say.

"I was going to speak to you about that," I say, and my voice sounds smaller than I mean it to. "I just... didn’t know how." My fingers twist into the sheets. "I thought if you didn’t want me to bear your children, you could’ve just said so to my face."

"A war is coming, Val," he says. "It’d be a hard time to raise a child--"

"Don’t," I cut in, sharper than I intend. "I remember what your face looked like the last time I took in. Don’t tell me this is about the war." My throat tightens around the words. "You just don’t want children. At least be honest about it."

Silence stretches. The ship groans around us, the sea sighing through the cracks in the wood.

Lucien leans back against the wall, his expression unreadable. "Jessa’s not the only child I’ve had. And lost. There has been quite a number of them." His gaze flicks to me. "You think I don’t want pups? Valka, I have a good number of children, I’ve lost count of them."

My stomach drops. "What?!"