25
Gypsy
The captain’s quarters on this beautiful, nameless ship are so big that they could store at least four people comfortably. But that doesn’t mean I’m fine with it.
“I wanted my own lodging,” I say, hands on my hips, staring straight into Fabien’s dark eyes, daring him to challenge me. It’s been eight long hours at the helm, steering us toward the nearest inhabited coast, and now that the time for my rest has finally come, it turns out Rancour’s promises weren’t exactly as grand as they sounded.
I should have known better. There’s always a catch. I just didn’t think it’d come down to something as petty asthis. I was half-expecting him to cuff my wrists while I slept, ready to toss me into the brig and reclaim his captain’s chair. But no—this is worse. We’re supposed tosharethe room.
“And you have your own lodging,” Fabien says, with a lazy wave of his hand toward the cabin. The massive bed, mahogany desk, and a small window overlooking the endless blue mock me. “This entire cabin is yours. Consider me merely a guest.”
A guest? My eyes narrow. “Guests eventually leave. You planning to leave?”
He nods, all casual like. “I do.” Then he moves toward the desk and leans on it, arms crossed over his broad chest, head tilted just so. Too relaxed. Too at ease for my liking. Like he thinks I’m buying this charade.
“When?” My voice sharpens, disbelief creeping in. This reeks of deceit.
He smirks, the kind of smug smile that makes my blood itch. “When we’re done with the Trials.”
Of course. The Trials. My jaw tightens as I resist the urge to throw a blade at the wall. There are plenty of them here, too, tempting me.
I let out a frustrated breath and pace the room, my boots echoing against the polished floor. “What about Zayan and Vinicola? Where are they supposed to stay?”
“They’re welcome to join the crew—or join us here.” He rolls the last word between his lips as if savoring the taste of it. As if savoring my annoyance that comes with his saying it like that. “It’s up to you,Captain.”
The way he says it—the mocking emphasis on my title—makes me want to punch him square in the jaw. I glance around the spacious cabin, which suddenly feels too small, too cramped with the thought of all of us packed in here.
“You want us all to be crammed in here like sardines?” I snap, my voice rising. “Pretty unfriendly sardines, I might add. You and Zayan sharing a room? Tell me, how many bloodied necks should I expect after the first night together?”
Fabien chuckles, but there’s no real amusement in the sound. Every attempt at a positive emotion from him is just a mask, a pathetic effort to seem remotely human instead of the burned-out shell he is. Eight hours in his vicinity taught me that.
“I will not harm any of you,” he says. “As I said, we’re linked together.”
I stop pacing and glare at him. “Zayan might not share your sentiment.”
“Zayan’s welcome to try whatever he likes,” he replies. “I’m curious to see what he thinks up.”
My mind races. Sharing quarters with Fabien? Out of the question. Trusting him? Even worse. And yet, here we are—bound together by circumstance, necessity, and the fact that he lied about this cabin.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, trying to keep my temper in check.
“It’s practical,” Fabien counters. “We’re on the same side, whether you like it or not. Besides, we need to keep an eye on each other. Who knows what’s waiting for us ahead? This arrangement ensures we’re prepared for anything.”
“Excuse me?” I shoot back, narrowing my eyes. “Prepared for what? For me to hold your hand when you get a nightmare in the middle of the night? Or are you suggesting we sing pirate shanties by candlelight together to fend off bad spirits?”
Fabien’s smirk deepens. “Well, I wasn’t going to suggest the shanties, but now that you mention it…”
I roll my eyes so hard, I swear I feel them hit the back of my skull. “You know damn well this isn’t about practicality. You just want to keep tabs on us, don’t you?”
“Why would I need to keep tabs when you’re already at my mercy?” His voice drops lower, a teasing edge in his words as he leans even further back against the desk. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it before we set sail. But if you insist on casting me as the villain, I’ll play along. Just try to keep your knives to yourself—I’d hate to ruin the upholstery.”
A bitter laugh escapes me, and I start pacing, my boots striking the floor with a sharp, steady rhythm, cutting through the smugsilence in the room. “Upholstery? Really? That’s your concern? You’ve got your priorities all figured out, haven’t you? So, what’s next? Do we get bunk assignments, or are we all cramming into this one bed? Should I grab Zayan a pillow, or would that bruise your ego too much?”
“Be my guest,” Fabien says without missing a beat.
I stop pacing, glaring at him. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
