Sol’s chest hollowed out at that.
“So have I,” the hunter drawled. “When you’re finished with her—”
“Get lost,” Fynn sneered again. He gripped Sol’s waist hard enough to hurt. “You so much as look at her, and I’ll—”
“Stop,” Sol begged. His attention snapped to her face. “Please. Don’t give him a reason. How about we go? We can find somewhere else to do…things. I won’t—I won’t charge you anything extra.”
The words were sour on her tongue. She was a Princess of Sonamire, not some prostitute that Fynn had paid to service him. She was the daughter of King Avedis, sister to the Crown Prince—
She was nothing.
Here, in Arrowbrook, Sol Rosebone was nothing but a poor rendering on wanted posters.
A pair of boots skidding over the gravel sent Fynn whirling on his heels. He reached for the knife Sol knew was sheathed at his hip, a fierce breeze rattling the canopy above.
“Dinah!” A man cried, waving his arms from the far end of the alley. “I found them! They went this way, towards the dock!”
The bounty hunter made a fist, extinguishing the fire that burned brightly in his palm. The alley was thrust back into darkness, daunting shadows looming high over the walls. Sol shuddered. “Damn it,” he said, and spat onto the ground at his feet. “What’re you standin’ there for, Marv? Go after them! For Gods’ sake, you idiot. If you let them escape, I swear to Avedea, I’ll—”
He thundered down the alley, shouting obscenities that even Fynn blanched at. But he’d forgotten them, Sol and Fynn left to their own abandonment as he searched for what may have been their doppelgangers.
“Shit,” Fynn said, collapsing against Sol as they found themselves alone in the dark. “Shit.”
Sol’s knees buckled. She gripped the Captain’s stolen cloak to keep herself upright. “We can’t stay here.”
Fynn lifted his head to look at her. His eyes were nearly black in the dark, but she saw the remorse that shone there, the regret and fear he had not let the bounty hunter see. “Sol, I—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have—”
“Fynn, stop.” Sol pressed her hand against his chest and gently pushed him back. “It’s all right.”
The Captain shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, it’s not all right. What I said to them about you, what I did—”
“It’s fine.”
Sol needed out of this alley. She needed space. Fynn was too close, too suffocating. He had stolen the air from her lungs and had not given it back, and he did not seem to care. He was rambling, stumbling over his words in a way that was simply not like him, not like that frustrating arrogance she had come to know and grow fond of.
Perhaps, Sol thought, the Captain was suffocating, too.
“I’m sorry. I should have found another way. But those hunters, had they found you, had I not pretended to—”
Sol barreled forward, blindly gripping the collar of Fynn’s cloak and pulling him to her. She rose onto her toes, her empty hand finding purchase against his shoulder, and pressed her lips against the Captain’s. Fynn gasped against her mouth, imaginably as caught off guard as Sol had been when he’d first kissed her, but he did not dare pull away.
Fynn stepped into her, his hands sliding beneath the hood of her cloak to cup her face between his palms. His earlier desperation was gone, melting away beneath something far more curious. He toyed with the Princess’ hair, twining Sol’s braid around his index finger.
She dropped onto the balls of her feet, her stomach a mess of roiling nerves inside her. “There,” Sol declared, her eyes darting to his mouth. His lips were quirked with a crooked smirk that Sol wanted to wipe off his face. “Now we’re even.”
Fynn raised an eyebrow. “Even?”
“Yes,” Sol said. “So stop apologizing.”
He did not move, did not release her from the wall she was still pinned against, still trapped between him and the stone. “Those hunters were searching for me,” Fynn mused. “And they nearly caught us both. At least allow me to apologize for that.”
The words were a spear through her chest, fracturing apart her ribcage and piercing her heart with a vengeance. No, she wanted to tell him, he still had nothing to apologize for. Whatever bounties Fynn might have, Sol was certain that hers were worth more, that the Princess of Sonamire was a bigger prize than the Captain.
“If I say you’re forgiven, will you stop saying you’re sorry?”
Fynn chuckled, resting Sol’s braid over the curve of her neck and dropping it. “Sure.”
“Should I be apologizing, too?” Sol questioned. “I didn’t ask you before I…”
“Kissed me?” Fynn’s smile widened to a toothy grin that chased the shadows from his eyes. “No, you don’t need to apologize. I didn’t mind.”
Sol flushed. “Won’t your friend mind?”
Fynn tilted his head in wonder. “Is that why you’ve been acting so strange?”
“No,” Sol said quickly. “No, that’s not why I—I haven’t been acting strange.”
“You avoided me all morning,” Fynn pointed out. He playfully tugged on her hair. “If I’d known that Jorel would bother you, I wouldn’t have called him to the table last night. But I didn’t think you’d care, and I didn’t peg you as the jealous type.”
“I don’t care,” Sol grumbled. She pushed him back, pressing against his shoulders until he moved. Fynn yielded a single step. “You’re free to indulge in whoever you please. Amael told me you have friends in every port.”
Fynn snorted. “So does Amael,” he told her. “So please don’t elevate him to a saint just because he chose not to visit her last night.”
She could not do this with him, could not think about the sinking in her chest. His relationship with Jorel did not bother her, and neither did the knowledge that Jorel was not the only one.
“We’re not discussing this here.” Sol shoved past him, straightening her cloak and cringing at the muddy hem. “I don’t suppose we can return these now.”
“Not unless you want to pay for them.”
Sol rolled up her sleeves and scoffed. “I’m not the one who stole them.”
Fynn was the epitome of patience as Sol righted herself, adjusting the skirts of her dress and flaring her new cloak around them. “I needed to hide your face,” the Captain explained. “As I’ve told you before, there are bounties on my head that paint me as a target to the hunters. I don’t need them knowing who I travel with. You’ll rarely see me in public with the crew, and if you’re going to walk around the market with me, I’d prefer your face be covered.”
“You were out with them last night,” Sol reminded him.
“Last night was an exception,” Fynn said. “The hunters aren’t welcome in that tavern, and I walked in and out on my own. They’ll have never seen me with the crew.”
“What about your friend?” Sol questioned curiously. “Aren’t you worried they might have seen you with him?”