Off-white lace curtains with a floral backing cover the window on the farthest wall, keeping the room free from prying eyes. A cluster of wildflowers in a dainty, yellow vase grace the top of a square wooden table. And two small wooden chairs sit proudly on either side.
A round rug, woven in deep blues and reds, lies across the floor—soft underfoot, a small stitch of homeliness in the otherwise plain room. No big, comfy chair.
“You were right about the chair,” Odi murmurs as she glances around the space.
It’s much smaller than I’d imagined it to be, but I can’t afford to be picky. It's this or sleeping on the ship.
The wooden floorboards groan as I meander across the room, hands on hips, assessing the four walls. I bounce on the floor a few times to see how stable it is. “Seems soft enough for you to sleepon? I think I’ve given up my bed long enough.”
I flick my gaze to Odi, who is already rolling her eyes. It takes a lot of self control not to laugh at the way her lips slightly pout in protest.
She tucks her hands behind her back and strolls closer. “How about we both agree that neither one of us sleeps on the floor?”
My brow lifts in silent question, then I twist to look at the bed. It’s smaller than the one onThe Gilded Hart,which raises concern. I’m not certain I’ll fit next to her without body parts voluntarily finding her.
“Will you be able to keep your hands to yourself?” I ask, a smile tugging the corner of my mouth.
Odi sways towards me, brushing past, a hairs breadth between us before she plops down on the edge of the bed. “Will you?”
“I can’t prom—”
There’s a knock on the door, and I bite back a laugh at the cosmic timing.
My words stall, and Odi’s brow pinches in the middle. “Are you expecting someone?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I take a few steps backwards, my gaze on her before I twist and head for thedoor. Pulling it open reveals a young girl with pale green hair, pointed ears and pinkish-coloured skin. Fae no doubt. She’s holding a brown package in her hands. “I’ve been told to bring you this?” Her voice is timid, like she’s afraid I’ll bite.
I offer her a genuine small as I reach for the parcel. “Thank you, much appreciated.”
The girl curtsies and scurries away like her life depends on it. With a soft chuckle, I close the door and turn back to the confused looking pirate sitting on the bed.
There’s no need to make this a big deal, I remind myself. I only bought Odi a few necessities—nothing more.
I cross the room and offer them to her. She accepts slowly, confusion flickering across her face.
“What is this?” she asks, her voice edged with wariness.
I shrug. “I thought you should have your own things.”
She places it on the bed, and I can’t help but slow my breathing. Why did it feel so intimate to give her a gift? It’s not even an expensive one. Yet she looks at the items as if she’s never held brand new things before.
“All of this . . . is for me?” she whispers.
I drag a hand up to the back of my neck and rub it awkwardly. “I mean, it’s just some clothing, cosmetics, brush . . . and a jar, of course, for your collection.”
“My collection . . .” she says softly, smoothing the sturdy glass over her thumb.
I’d watched her fuss over the feathers and leaves and scales over and over again. Every night, like a ritual. It makes sense, given that she’s a wood nymph, though it took me longer to realize than I’d like to admit.
Her eyes are still caught on the jar. “This is too much, Rune.”
The desire to reach out, tip her chin up so her gaze meets mine and then beg her to touch me the same way her fingers dance over each gift with such a softness, coils in my chest.
“No need to borrow Soraya or Tavi’s things anymore,” I say, shoving my hands in my trouser pockets. “There’s boots too. They’re probably tucked in the bottom.”
Her brown eyes land on me, and I swear I see moisture gathering in the outer corners where her lashes kiss. An invisible thread snaps between us, and I want to reach for her. I want to pull her close and whisper into her hair that she is beautiful. That not every moment has to be sharp or full of teeth. Yet, my feet stay firmly planted and my mouth wired shut, because that would be past naked desire, past teasing and sharp-tongued banter.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “Perhaps I should freshen up.”
