Novari shifted her purpose from revenge to observing, careful and deliberate. The common room was bustling and exciting, rum splashing around and smoke billowing from the mouths of the men. Adrian was leaned into the couch next to her, but he was not the object of Novari's observations, not anymore.

Bardarian was listening to Britter's story, shaking his head with a laugh at whatever was said. He had beautiful, perfect teeth and a beautiful, perfect smile. He lifted his bottle to his mouth and took a sip. Novari watched the muscles in his shoulder flex and relax as he placed it back down on the table next to him.

He'd bought her a cat. He'd declared war, then bought a cat to numb her sorrow. He sat there, patient and professional as she sat there with Adrian. Did he know he was going to win? Did he know he was playing her in a long game, and playing it far better than her?

No one seemed to know about her breakdown, which mean he hadn't told anyone. Adrian didn't even know if she'd gone up that morning or the night before, which meant he hadn't thrown it in his first mate's room, either. Novari wondered if he'd have done the same for Miller or Tailsley.

Rusher tossed Novari a bottle, but she didn't pass it over to Adrian like she usually would. She popped the cork, took a sniff, then drank. She glanced at Bardarian, but he was still listening to Britter, still patiently sitting in his spot, with his hat and his smile and his arms.

She narrowed her eyes a little, searching him for flaws. She wanted him to do something embarrassing, say something to turn her away—because this was a dangerous anger she was brewing and a nasty lust she was harbouring. And the more she drank tonight, the closer she got to tossing her mother's rules to the fire.

Adrian leaned forward to tell her something, placing a hand on her thigh. She kneed it away, taking another drink.

Britter noticed, causing him to lose his train of thought and stumble to a stop. He tried to get going again quickly, but it had already caught Bardarian's attention, so he followed his strategist's gaze to Novari, who met his gaze.

She searched his face. Tell me you have to talk to me, she was trying to tell him. Bring me outside this stuffy room. We don't have to talk.

She could picture it happening, bumping into him belowdecks, getting all swept up in a raging heartbeat. She could almost feel his fingers through her hair, hear the whisper of his unhurried breath.

Him, sitting at that desk, talking about the things he'd done that day while she slept. The way he'd asked her to leave because she was distracting, the way he'd defended her to her father, the way he'd told her to breathe.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then glanced back at Britter as the story resumed.

He brought the bottle to his lips. She remembered the look in his eyes on Canale, like she was artwork. The low lighting, his mother's ring.

I'm not in love, she thought to her mother. So it's harmless, right?

She found her legs becoming restless, waiting for something to change so she could have her way. Only a few moments later, Bardarian stood, placing his empty bottle on the table. "Goodnight, lads," he said, ruffling Britter's hair as he went by. "Silta," he said as he passed.

He was just saying her name because she wasn't a part of the general term, and he wanted to include her. He wasn't saying it to tell her anything, right? He wasn't telling her to come after him, was he?

When he was gone, Novari leaned over to Britter. "Does he have something to do?" she whispered. "Why is he leaving early?" He always left earlier than everyone, but every time Novari went back down belowdecks, the candles in the captain's quarters were still flickering.

Britter glanced at her. "So we can be sailors," he said. "Swear and make fools of ourselves and not worry about how it might affect his view of us."

Novari glanced at Rusher, who was talking far more now.

"Lots of men don't want to make it to the top for that reason," Britter said. "Lots of power, but isolating as all hell."

Novari wondered if he were lonely up there. He had those books, stacked around his room. He had his sketches, the beautiful drawings he made of the sea creatures, but did it get lonely? Did it feel any less so when he brought a port girl up there with him, knowing he'd probably never see her again? Did he treat those women with the same stability and gentleness as he did her? Would he still want her if she went up there?

She looked down at her bottle, empty. Only one way to find out.

She placed the bottled on the table, then touched Adrian's knee to get his attention. She leaned in and whispered, "I'm done with you. Find someone else to throw around—and if you kill my cat again, I'll kill you."

She didn't wait for his reply, didn't look back when she felt him reach out for her. She got to her feet and said nothing to the other men as she left. She didn't go belowdecks, just glanced across the moonlit deck once and took the balcony steps.

She raised her fist to knock, the decided against it. She tried the door, and it was unlocked. She pushed it open, peering around the corner.

He was leaned back in his chair reading, boots up and crossed on his desk. He glanced up at her and said simply, "Novari. You need something?"

The candlelight was thin and flickering as she closed the door behind her. He said her name like poetry, like it held great weight and meaning to him.

She took a deep breath, then walked over to the desk. She came around the side, heart fluttering. She placed one hand on the surface to steady herself, and the other on his shoulder. She pushed that rule from her mind and brought her lips to his.

He didn't push her away, but he didn't kiss her back. She willed him to do something, to do something. Her fingers shook on the desk, so unsure if he'd tell her to leave. Would she get what she wanted, or would he send her back out into the darkness?

He brought his free hand to her face, leaning forward. Novari tilted her chin back to avoid knocking off his hat, the methodical thought so out of place in her desire. He pulled her back by the shoulder, and she felt her breath hitch. He was going to tell her to leave, that she'd wasted enough of his time already.

He frowned as he searched her face, gaze wandering to her lips, then back to eyes. He was considering, wondering why she'd come after all this time, wondering why they were doing this now.

Her eyes flickered, desperate to stay. "You gave me a cat," she breathed. That was why she was here after all this time.

He set his book down, careless to keep his page. He dropped his feet from the desk, took his hat off, and pulled her back down to him. One hand on her jaw, the other on her waist.

Novari rested her weak knee on the chair between his legs, breathing not such an easy thing. He kissed her like she was something new to him, somewhere he hadn't been before.

It was perfect to her, but maybe that was because she believed he was the perfect man. Nothing panicked him, nothing flustered him in the least. He knew what to do with his lips and where to put his hands, and in realizing that, it reminded her that he'd done this with other girls, taken their control like he'd taken hers.

She kept her mind blank, tried to focus on what he was doing to her, now, not what he'd done to someone else before her. He slid a hand to the back of her neck, then up through her hair, and she felt her teeth catch his lip, tasted blood. He didn't even seem to notice, but oh, she did.

So this was what it felt like to be self-conscious. She never understood it before, but she did now. She felt the eight years between them heavy and imposing. She felt her own height rivalling his, felt the sharpness of her teeth and the cords of muscle in her back. Women weren't supposed to look like her, all tall and strong. She was supposed to be quaint, fitting to him so much easier.

Her hand slipped off the desk, and she fell to the left, cutting him again. She placed a frustrated hand on his chest.

"I—sorry," she breathed.

He leaned forward and hooked his arm under her knee, drawing her up with him as he stood. "It's fine," he said, leaning her against the desk. He licked the blood from his lips like it had never been there. Her heart strummed away as he kissed her again, the liquor coursing. His hand grazed the lower part of her spine, and Novari felt herself sigh like she couldn't believe she'd finally made it here.

She reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head. She brushed her fingers over his Chorro tattoo as he kissed her neck, memorizing the shapes. When he reached for the hem of her shirt, she lifted her arms. She felt like she didn't have enough to give him, like she'd run out of things she could offer soon. She felt breathless and useless, a peripheral actress in his extravagant performance.

She drew her legs up around him, pulling him closer. His fingers curled on the back of her neck as he lifted her off the desk. He carried her to the captain's room and shut the door with his foot.

He laid her down like she was his most prized valuable. He took a sketchbook off his pillow, placing it on the nightstand before laying her head down, as if it would be unspeakable for her to move herself. He did it all without drawing away, all while maximizing his attention, like he had nowhere better to be.

Novari didn't even realize how tired she was of being tossed around. She knew men used moments like this to get back at her for being the one with superior skill, and she'd always taken it. She'd taken it with Sam, taken it with Edward, taken it with Adrian. She didn't want to take it anymore, didn't want her body to be a man's way of proving his toughness.

Bardarian didn't seem to have anything to prove. He didn't seem to care that he wasn't the man in the room, didn't seem to mind. He was the King of the Sea, among the most powerful people in the ocean, and he was gentle as ever. Even here, even now, he didn't lose his patience nor his calm. He was him, and he'd never be anything else.

His lips were on the skin under her ear and down the side of her neck. She could hear her breath in the silence, like she'd done some sort of strenuous exercise. His fingers pressed into her hips, tugging down the fabric there. There was the taste of him—sweet like the foods that Kourvourk never served. There was the sound of his breath, so heavy but unhurried.

Novari wasn't so patient. Her fingers fumbled with the latch of his belt, losing their stillness, so he took it off for her. She'd never expected to see him lose his control, but she did expect to see him loosened, and she wasn't sure if she did. There was something on the edge of his lips, something forcing him to stay focused.

But Novari? She'd waited her whole life for this kind of treatment, this kind of passion. She closed her eyes and let everything else melt away. None of it was her problem right now.

But when the moon was high in the sky, when all the crew in the common room had retreated to their rooms, when the night was painfully dark, for a second, he finally forgot to steel himself. He finally let it go, finally whispered what he so desperately needed her to know.

I love you.

She wasn't even sure she heard him right until his fingers stilled, and then she held her breath. Her hands pulled back out of reaction, his breath the only sound in the silence.

Take it back. Angels, please take it back.

The shadow of him above her drew away a little, as if he could sense her thoughts. He glanced at her hand, no longer where it should be. He seemed to decide something then, and he pulled back all the way, shifting off her and onto his feet. He turned around, his shape nothing more than that in the darkness.

She stayed there, her eyes on the ceiling as he picked up his clothes from the floor. He shut the door behind him a little too hard.

Novari sat up, trying to get her bearings. She ran a hand through her hair. He was all over her, the smell of wax and linen.

He'd left. He'd told her he loved her and then left. He'd loved her like that and then left.

She didn't know what to do. She didn't know if she were supposed to leave or stay. If she was supposed to take the opportunity to sneak back to her corner room, if he was giving her time to leave. She slid her legs to the side of the bed, confused. She hadn't wanted those words. She'd wanted everything else, but those words had shocked her sober. Reminded her of her concrete rules that told her to sprint far away from a man that told her what Bardarian just had. She was sober now, and her head started to pound.

Something glass shattered in the captain's quarters, like he'd thrown something. The second door slammed shut.

She could leave now, now that she knew he was gone, but she felt cold without the weight of him. She wasn't sure if she should leave. She could stay, wait for him or go look for him.

But she had wanted him to leave, hadn't she? She'd put down her hands. She hadn't said any of the things she could've. She could've at least touched him, tried to tell him it was fine, she'd forget he'd said it. She'd wanted him, just not that much.

She reached for oneof the shirts in his drawer, pulling it over her head. She waited until thespace around her had been quiet for a long time, and then she slipped out.Belowdecks and into her room. She curled up and fell asleep.