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“So I may have to sleep beside him,” I say, “but sleeping with him is not part of the arrangement.”

“Correct.” Cassian’s expression remains perfectly lifeless. “Physical intimacy beyond the stated public requirements is outside the contract.”

That should make the idea easier to dismiss. Instead, knowing exactly where the boundary lies makes me more aware of everything that falls just short of it.

My phone buzzes against my thigh before I can follow that thought any further. I pull it from my pocket and find a message from Hattie waiting on the screen.

Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid. Marta is organizing a blockade. The mermen are literally just floating out there watching us.

Saltweather rushes back into focus. Marta is still standing in the rain, along with everyone else waiting to find out whether they’ll be driven off their own quay before nightfall.

The contract stops being strange for a moment and becomes painfully practical. One weekend beside Sigurd gives me the protection I came here to secure.

I slide the phone back into my pocket and look down at the clause concerning Saltweather once more. Then I turn to Sigurd.

“If I sign this, your crew leaves today,” I say. “Right now.”

“They will.” There is nothing casual in his answer. “Before the ink dries, Miss Priest.”

The room seems smaller with him standing there. I’m aware of his size, the chill surrounding him, and the fact that signing this means allowing that cool, inhuman body into my personal space whenever the performance requires it.

This is one weekend. The contract gives me boundaries, but it doesn’t make the thought of touching him feel remotely impersonal.

Cassian’s fountain pen rests beside the parchment. I pick it up, and the metal feels unexpectedly warm against my palm.

I know exactly what I’m agreeing to. Saltweather gets its quay back, and I spend one weekend pretending that being close to Sigurd Eiriksson is the most natural thing in the world.

I press the nib to the parchment and write my name. Gold ink follows the movement of my hand, glowing faintly as it settles into the fibers.

When I finish the final stroke, light runs once through the signature and spreads into the surrounding lines. Cassian takes the contract only after I lift the pen.

“The agreement is now binding,” he tells us. The finality of the words settles somewhere deep in my stomach.

I hand him the pen and look at Sigurd again. My name is glowing on the contract between us now. There is no pretending this conversation was only hypothetical.

“Then you have a date, Mr. Eiriksson.” My pulse is beating harder than I want him to notice. “Try not to step on my toes.”

His eyes drop briefly to my mouth before returning to mine. “I’ll be careful with you, Miss Priest.”

His voice is low enough that the promise feels more intimate than the contract allows. A slow heat moves through me despite the chill of the room.

Back in Saltweather, his crew will be leaving the quay. My town is safe for now, and I’ve just bound myself to Sigurd Eiriksson for the weekend.

4

Expensive Armor

Sigurd

The morning fog hangs low around the modest hotel, softening the buildings across the street. Rain has left the pavement shining beneath the idling town car.

I wait beside the rear door and let the cool air settle against my skin. Yesterday, I promised to protect Saltweather without telling Valerie what still threatens it.

The treaty with Lotan carries a vow of secrecy I can’t break. Until I find another solution, I can’t tell her how much more sits behind the evacuation order.

The omission doesn’t sit well with me. But Valerie trusted my promise, and I intend to keep it.

The hotel doors slide open, and she steps onto the sidewalk in charcoal trousers, a pale blouse, and a light cardigan. Her hair is pinned loosely back from her face.