Page 53 of Of the Stars and Sea

His smirk crinkles the scar over his cheek making him look dangerously handsome. “You asked me to help with your pants.”

I blanch as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“You were having considerable difficulty with your weapons belt.”

My mouth is dry as dust. Darting my tongue between my lips, I try to wet them to no avail. “Anddidyou help? With the belt?”

His smile is serpentine and I find my toes curling against the sheets under the duvet. He’s silent for a few beats, letting my torment build. Then he finally says, “You managed to get it off yourself. But it was certainly a joy to watch you struggle.”

I throw the pillow next to me directly at him. He doesn’t move this time as the pillow hits him square in the face and a few white feathers shoot out of the sides. A single feather clings to one of his shoulder-length curls.

“So violent,” he purrs. “If only you would have engaged me like this last night while I watched you undress. Things might have turned out differently.”

“Ugh! You are insufferable!”

He tosses the pillow into my lap and the scent of the ocean mixed with cedar wood spills into my nose.

His scent. He slept in the bed last night.

Blessed stars! He slept in the bed last night. And I was too drunk to even recall if anything happened between us.

Grayson must see the questions running through my mind because he says, “Like I told you, Little Pearl, taking advantage of drunk women isn’t my thing.” He stands and ambles toward me. His large frame blocks out most of the light coming from the curtained window behind him as he leans over me, taking my chin between his fingers.

“But should you find yourself undressing in front of me without having too much rum in your belly, I can’t promise that things won’t end differently.” Those ocean eyes peer down at my lips as he brushes the pad of his thumb along my jawline.

Then before my foggy mind can comprehend what his meaning is behind those words, he lets go of his hold on me and heads for the door.

Feeling suddenly exposed despite the blanket that covers my body, I look around for my clothes. They’re not on the bed, or on the small chair in the far corner of the room. Leaning to the right, I look at the bedside table and then to the one right next to me, but they’re all devoid of my belongings—including my weapons. The only indication that I spent any time in the room at all is the Serpent’s Key with a few more notches released and the two empty glasses that sit on the bedside table.

“Grayson, where are my things?”

He stops with his hand on the doorknob and turns toward me. “Your daggers are being sharpened by the smith, and your clothes . . .” He wrinkles his nose and my neck heats with embarrassment. “Your clothes were long overdue for the trash bin.”

I gape at him as embarrassment quickly flashes into anger. “You threw my clothes away?!”

“Don’t worry.” He shoots me a smug smile. “I made sure to purchase you some new ones, which the lady’s maid down the hall has ready for you after your bath.”

I ignore the way my shoulders melt down at the thought of a warm bath. It’s been far too long since I’ve scrubbed myself clean and I can feel the weight of the oils in my hair.

“I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast once you’re done getting ready. We have a lot to tend to today.” Grayson slips out the door and the handle snicks shut when I realize he said the lady’s maid isdown the hall.

“How am I supposed to get down there without my clothes?!” I call out after him. The door remains shut, but I hear the faint echo of laughter that sends a racing chill up my spine.

Chapter 14

Acool breeze floats in from an open window, skating over my arms that are draped over the edge of the copper tub. Letting my head sink back, the lady’s maid—Collette—runs her fingertips over my scalp and scrubs suds of lavender shampoo into the strands of my hair.

I nearly moan from how good it feels to have clean skin and hair after the week and a half of being at sea.

“Your hair is so beautiful, Rowenya,” Collette croons as she submerges the small copper pitcher into the bath before rinsing the shampoo from my hair with it.

“Thank you.” Stroking one of the locks between my fingers, I’m taken back to a moment long ago when my mother was the one sitting at my side, pouring warm water over my head to rid my scalp of the grime I’d picked up from running through the streets of Emerald Cove with unsavory children.

My black hair is a reminder of my mother and the beauty she was. Though, the last time I saw her, she bore a brutal scar that challenged that beauty—a scar similar to the ones that mar my own face. I try not to look in the standing mirror across the room, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen my reflection, it’s hard not to stare. Three jagged lines cross over my right eyebrow,skipping my eyelid, running down the right side of my face nearly to the edge of my jaw. The scars are no longer new and pink, but I can still feel the pain of when my grandfather’s knife came down on me as though it happened yesterday.

I can still feel the agony in my heart when he’d discovered who my father had been.

“Are you all right, Rowenya?”

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