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His calm in the face of my desperation makes me want to scream, to throw something, to make him understand what’s at stake. But I force the feelings down, swallow them like bitter medicine. Anger won’t help Sable.

“Besides,” he adds, his tone maddeningly reasonable, “I doubt they’ll assign anyone or hold an auction before the king inspects the markets himself. Knowing him, that will take days.”

I don’t like his answer. But I can’t risk angering him, not when everything depends on his cooperation.

CHAPTER 21

• Alessia •

TIME PASSES, AND along with it the sea sickness.

My body is getting used to the churning waves and swaying ship, but there is nothing to mark the passing hours. No change of light can be seen through the drapes, but food comes and goes at odd intervals.

Kylian spends his time reading, or pretending to, when he isn’t staring at me. But my boredom has officially set in. I’ve never had idle time like this.

I turn toward the window and reach for the curtain, hoping to see something besides the never-ending expanse of ocean, anything other than these opulent walls and his unreadable face.

“Leave it,” he snaps, the sudden harshness in his voice making me jump.

My hand freezes midair, heart pounding. “I just want to see what time of day or night it is.”

“The curtains stay closed, even at night,” he replies, his tone softening. “The light in here attracts . . . attention from things in the water.”

“What kind of things?”

I remember Arlo’s playful tone when he asked me if I was afraid of what lies beneath the water. I wasn’t. But until now, I thought we were talking about silly bedtime stories, big fish with sharp teeth, or all the artifacts from the old world that sometimes washed ashore.

The king’s tone implies something more sinister.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says, opening his book again. “As long as you leave the curtains closed.”

I settle back onto the chaise, wrapping the useless blanket around me once more. My mind races with new fears, not just for Sable, but for what might be out there in the dark waters.

I drift in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of the ship’s movements, of Kylian leaving and returning. Sometimes I open my eyes to find him reading, sometimes just watching me with that unsettling focus. Time stretches and contracts, minutes feeling like hours, and the hours blend together.

The cold is no longer just uncomfortable, it’s a living thing, a parasite that burrows into my bones and feeds on my warmth. My fingers and toes have gone numb, and I can’t stop the violent shivering that wracks my frame. I curl tighter into myself, the blanket wrapped twice around me, knees drawn to my chest in a desperate attempt to conserve what little heat remains.

Across the room, Kylian lies in the bed, unmoving. Awake. Watching. A predator conserving energy while his prey weakens. The blankets on the bed look so thick, so warm. I imagine sinking into them, the weight of them pressing down, cocooning me in warmth. The thought alone makes my shivering intensify.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” I ask when his gaze feels like it’s boring a hole through me.

“I want to feed on you.”

He sits up slowly, the movement fluid and graceful, sheets sliding down to reveal his bare chest. I hadn’t even realized he’d removed his shirt. The sight of his skin, muscled and perfect, sends an unwelcome jolt through me that has nothing to do with fear.

“It won’t be like the first time,” he continues, his voice dropping to that low register that seems to vibrate inside my chest. “I wasn’t prepared for what your blood would do to me, and I know my bite didn’t hurt you earlier.”

“You nearly killed me at the blood bank, and earlier today!”

“You don’t mention me violating you,” he says softly, his gaze sliding over me like a physical touch. Heat floods my face at the memory of his fingers caressing places no one has touched before, the way my body responded despite my fear, even knowing what he was doing was wrong.

Warmth pools low in my belly at just the thought, and I hate my traitorous body for responding to the memory of his touch when it should only feel revulsion.

“Or will you finally admit you liked that part?” he adds, his eyes moving down the length of my body hidden beneath the blanket.

“No.” My voice cracks, betraying me just like my body does.

A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. “Then why do you smell aroused at me merely mentioning it?”