How dare he wake her up?
His breath tickled her cheek as he chuckled. He was close.
“Come on, Sol.” Fynn shook her shoulder again, his fingers sliding over the emerald silk of her tunic. “Your Magic will have replenished by now, and I need you.”
Sol groaned and swatted him away, her palm pressing against something soft and stubbly. “Be gone, Avedea,” she said. Sol rolled onto her side and turned her back to the Captain.
“Did you just refer to me as Avedea?” Fynn questioned incredulously, his tone rising an octave. But Sol did not care if she’d offended him. “The God of Chaos and Evil? All because I’m asking you to get up?”
She batted him away again, her hand colliding with the sharp curve of his cheek. His skin was both rough and warm beneath her fingers. “Be gone, Avedea,” she said again.
“Who knew,” Fynn retorted. “That you were such a terrible grump when someone wakes you from a nap. Are you like this every morning? I feel sorry for any lovers you’ve shared a bed with.”
The Princess pushed against his face. “I’ve never shared a bed with anyone.”
“Interesting.”
Even half asleep, her cheeks burned. Sol did not often discuss her love life, especially her lack thereof, with anyone. Silas had once teased her for such modesties, but her brother had invited more men into his bed than Sol had ever cared to count. When she’d told him last month that she had never even had her first kiss, the Prince had nearly laughed himself hoarse.
“Get up, Sol, or I’ll call for Riel. And believe me, you don’t want that.”
The groan that escaped from her was a far cry from dignified, but Sol did not care about that, either. “I’m tired,” she whined. She forced herself into a sitting position, her back pressing into the cabin door, and glared at him. “I’ve never used so much Magic before.”
“Then you’ll sleep for the next week if I let you. Magic is taxing.”
Sol rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What do you need from me?” she asked, then dreadfully remembered why she was so exhausted, why her Magic was nothing more than the trickle of rain before a storm. “Is everything all right? Is Arden—can I help?”
The Captain’s expression softened. “No,” he said gently. “All we can do is wait. Amael is looking after her now while Luca gets some rest. You helped him a great deal just by tending to the rest of the crew.”
Sol idly fiddled with her hair, the vibrant red strands bound in a thick, messy braid that she’d done and redone countless times these past hours. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If I’d had more training…”
Fynn took her hand to stop her from unraveling her hair again. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice no louder than a whisper. “You did what you could. You healed me. Luca is capable of handling Arden.”
Sol studied their conjoined hands. Fynn’s callouses were rough against her skin, his thumb tracing lightly across her knuckles. “What do you need from me?” Sol asked again. Fear crept up her spine as her eyes went to his side. “Your wound, is it—did I not—”
Fynn stilled his thumb. “My wound is fine. Healed completely. There’s hardly even a scar.”
“No pain?”
He shook his head. “None.”
Her shoulders relaxed, her heart slowing to a steady beat in her chest. “Oh. Then what did you need?”
Fynn jerked his chin towards the massive enemy vessel that dipped and rolled with the waves. The serpentine bowsprit of the bounty hunters’ ship was dangerously close to splintering through the Refuge’s foremast. Sol winced, imagining her temporary home sinking to the bottom of the sea. “Riel and I are leading a raid, and I’d like for you to join us if you’re feeling up to it.”
Sol’s insides shuddered as she began to toy with her braid again. “A raid?”
“They’re bound to have supplies we need. It’d be a shame to let them go to waste.”
“What happened to the bounty hunters?” Sol asked. She had not dared to question the Captain’s crew. “Aren’t there any left on board?”
“If there were, they’d have already sailed away.”
Sol swallowed thickly. “But what happened to them?”
A gentle gust of wind tousled her hair. “I blew them all away.”
Sol’s stomach flipped. Her heart battered against her ribcage with enough momentum to splinter the bone, to burst through her flesh and reveal to the Captain the thunderous cadence in which it beat. She should fear this man. She should cower and balk and push him away and demand that he take her home. Her fate in Sonamire was better than her life in his hands.
But the Princess was not afraid. Never afraid. Not of him. “You killed them.”
“Yes.”
She swallowed again, her tongue heavy behind her teeth. “All right.”
Fynn blinked at her, the only surprise he would show. “You’re awfully calm about that.”
“Were you expecting a different reaction?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “I killed every hunter that stepped foot on this ship. I blasted them into oblivion and spared no one. That doesn’t scare you?”
Sol took a breath, her lungs straining against the salty air between them. “No.”
Fynn’s mouth quirked with an easy smile. “Then you’re far braver than I’ve given you credit for,” he said. “But you haven’t answered my question. Are you up for going on a raid?”
“I won’t be of any use to you,” Sol replied. “I don’t believe I’m the raiding type.”
The Captain chuckled. “Probably not,” he agreed. “But if you want to survive in Nedros, we’ll need to toughen up that beautifully thin skin of yours. This raid will be good for you.”
Sol absently rubbed her arms. “My skin is plenty thick.”
“No, it’s not. You can hardly handle Riel’s attitude, and you’ll find far worse in Nedros.” Sol shuddered at that. “Consider this an adventure. I’ll teach you which supplies are necessary, and which ones we can spare to leave behind.”
“That’s a learning experience,” Sol said. “Not an adventure.”
“If you’re willing to have a bit of fun, it’s both.”
Sol nervously chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t see how raiding another ship is any fun.”
He grinned at her. “You’ve clearly never seen a horde of treasure before.”
She would not tell him he was wrong.
“So you are a proper pirate,” Sol mused. “But I didn’t see any treasure in your cabin.”
Not that she had truly looked.
“We keep most of it below deck,” Fynn explained, but Sol had not seen it there, either. “Amael divvies it up between the crew, and I only take the things that strike my fancy.”
“Like rocks?” Sol questioned. “You have plenty of those in your quarters.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Rifling through my belongings, I see.”
Her eyes widened like the beautiful stones of jade the Captain had sitting on his table. “No,” she said quickly. “No, they were just—”