Chapter 32

Rhordyn’s standing at the end of my private pier, black cloak snapping in the wind like an Ocruth war flag. My ship’s moored before him—the restless, turquoise sea clawing at its sleek hull, my bustling crew stealing glances at him while they prepare for our morning sail.

I stalk the length of the pier, steps thumping in rhythm with my surging heart rate. Whoever let him across the bridge and onto the palace grounds without notifying me has some explaining to do.

“It’s been a while since you last graced Bahari with your presence,” I call ahead. “Much has changed, has it not?”

Turning slowly, Rhordyn looks upon me with savage regard. Like I’m fucking prey. “Where’s the rest of your fleet?”

I laugh to myself, stopping before him. “Straight to business?”

He stands like a statue, arms crossed, masticating me with a single look.

Right.

“They’re getting repaired. There’s been some rough weather.” I loosen the tie around the pouch sitting heavy in my hand. “They’ll be ready around the same time my coupling is sealed. With Orlaith,” I clarify, garnishing the blow with a smirk, holding out the bag filled with recently dried fruit. “Fig?”

He continues to stare at me while wind snaps at the loose sails.

“Well, this is frosty.” I pluck out a sugared slice and toss it in my mouth. My face twists when the sickly sweetness explodes across my tongue and slurs down the back of my throat. “Hmm, actually, good choice. They’ve been oversteeped.” I toss the rest off the side of the pier, pouch and all, and reach for the waterskin slung around his neck. “Water?”

He glares down at my hand as though he’d rather see it hacked from my wrist.

I lift a brow. “Not the sharing type?”

Not even a fucking blink.

“How rude.” I shove past and scale the gangway, accepting a canteen from one of my sailors eagerly holding it out as I step down upon the deck. “Especially since we’re practically family, now that I’m fucking your ward.”

I uncork the bottle and tip it to my mouth, drawing deep, the electrified air lifting the hairs on the back of my neck.

Silence.

Even the scuffing, creaking sounds of my readying crew seem to soften.

Lowering the canteen, I see his back is turned to me. “Did I say something wrong?”

“There are signs of the Blight in the outer rim of your city,” he grinds out, cracking his neck.

I slam the canteen against the chest of someone passing by. “And?”

“Your people are too packed in. It would be more manageable if you cut into the jungle. Expand your livable land.” He spins, and there’s a darkness in his eyes that might chill me if I didn’t hold all the power in the palm of my hand.

“Land that is inhabited by a thriving nest of Irilak that make it near impossible for a Vruk attack on my borders. Among other things,” I tack on, throwing him a wink.

That darkness deepens. “You think I have anything to gain from sending my army through that jungle into this Blight-infested pit?”

I shrug. “Last I checked, it was me taking refugees from you.”

“Exactly,” he snarls. “I’d be hurting my own people. People who are here not because they want to be, but because they have no choice.”

“Though I hardly blame them, if Castle Noir is anything to go by,” I continue, ignoring his outburst, kneeling to snag the tail end of a rope from a pile lumped at my feet and looping it around my arm. “Seriously, have you not changed a thing in all these years? It’s a fucking crypt.”

He stares at me; I stare at him—winding the rope in long, controlled pulls.

He folds his arms across his chest again as a burst of wind assaults us, ferried all the way across the crumbled bay and punched with the smell of the city’s fish market. “There are more important things to spend your tithes on than golden doorknobs, Cainon.”

“Like cutting into my land to make more space for your people?”

Another bout of frosty silence. My arm strains with the weight of the rope.

“Forgive me for being a little self-indulgent, but I won’t risk the capital if I can help it. It’s the trading hub of Bahari. Parith falls and my entire territory suffers. Besides, statistically speaking, Vruks kill more people than the Blight, and I have it well managed.”

His brow lifts. “You’re talking about the wall that splits your poor from your rich and condemns the former to an early grave?”

“Those who are contributing to my territory keep well away from the outer rim. Seems to be a good incentive.” I jerk my chin toward the city glistening in a rogue shard of light breaking through lumpy, gray clouds. “Sometimes a High Master has to make sacrifices. Something I learned from you.”

Tension claps between us, and he kicks his foot forward, boot kissing the edge of the gangplank.

I snatch a look at the hilt of his sword over his shoulder. Reassure myself that there’s a blade shoved down my boot as I lump the nest of rope at my feet. “Does it hurt? Knowing your actions led to your parent’ssuicide?”

Another long, admonishing stare.

This one, I enjoy.

“And now your little toy favors me. She caught sight of the sun and realized what a monster you are.” I slip the lid off a barrel and snatch a bright green pear, biting deep, talking through my mouthful. “Seems to me like you have trouble keeping people around.”

He regards me through unblinking eyes, watching me chew.

Why does he never fucking talk?

I shrug. “Hardly surprised the only way you could secure a fuck was to coerce your oldest friend into a political pairing.”

“Spoken from the man who offered to purchase Orlaith’s virtue after formally meeting her once.”

I raise a brow, the gangway dragged onto the deck beside me, severing the ship from the end of the pier. “Keeping tabs, were you? On her virginity, I mean.”

His knuckles pop, chest seems to swell, and there’s the slightest tremble to his upper lip that spikes me full of satisfaction.

He does have a weakness for her.

I take another bite, chewing through my words. “She loves me. I’ll prove it to you at dinner tonight. You can see just how happy she is, then you can fuck off back to Ocruth. I’ll send the ships once our coupling is sealed.”

The sailors ready the sail. Rhordyn’s words spear out the moment we jerk forward and crack away from the pier. “Feels like you’re in a rush to get rid of me.”

“Or ...” I toss the core, and it clatters across the pier as wind drums at the bulging sails, “perhaps you’re just looking for an excuse to start a war and snatch my land for yourself. You do, after all, seem oh so invested in how it should be run.”

He continues to hunt me with those unnerving eyes as we drift further apart, making for the mouth of the scalloped bay. Perhaps he realizes I have him by the throat. Perhaps not. Either way, I have no intention of rushing this process.

I’ve been looking forward to watching him squirm.