“Jorel can take care of himself.” Fynn combed his fingers through his hair and winced. “It’s so muggy back here. How’s my hair?”
Sol rolled her eyes as she adjusted her hood. She could not tell him the truth, but if keeping herself hidden brought him peace, she would do it. “Frizzy.”
Fynn groaned, patting down the curling brown locks and quickly tying it back. “Let’s go,” he muttered. “My day is officially ruined.”
“Because a bounty hunter nearly caught us, or because now you look like a lion?”
“Both.”
Sol’s laughter was quiet as she looped her arm through Fynn’s elbow. “I think I’ve seen enough of the market,” she said. “I’d like to return to the inn.”
“That makes two of us,” Fynn said. “Especially because Dinah will be pissed when he realizes that I slipped through his fingers.”
Sol shuddered, but did not correct him. Her—she had slipped through his fingers.
Barely.
The Captain led her down the alley and back into the blistering heat and colorful stands of the market. He stopped as they emerged between the bricks, tugging her close and assessing the street for threats—for the hunters. They continued when he deemed the market safe.
Fynn cleared his throat as they rounded a corner towards the inn. “Sol?”
She lifted her head, squinting against the sunlight as she looked at him. “What?”
“If you wanted to kiss me, love, all you had to do was ask.”
“Shut the Hell up, Fynnian.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SOL
The Princess of Sonamire paced the length of her suite, from the beautifully carved door of polished mahogany, to the colorful stained-glass windows she found herself wanting to shatter. Her boots scuffed noisily over the marble, and Sol did not care if she dug up gouges in the floor.
How could she have been so reckless—so stupid?
The friends she had made, everything that Silas had risked for her… She had nearly thrown it all away and for the trivial desire to go shopping.
“Sol, please,” Amael begged, sprawled across the foot of her bed. He’d been waiting for her when she returned to the inn, a smile on his face until he’d seen the fear in Sol’s eyes. He’d shooed Fynn away and ushered Sol into the room, demanding to know what his idiotic Captain had done to her. “You’ve got to calm down. Pacing never helped anyone, and you’re going to make yourself sick.”
She whirled to him, flinging out her hands and thoroughly dismissing his concern. “Have you not been listening?” She said. “A bounty hunter almost caught us, Amael. Fynn could have gotten hurt because of me.”
The boatswain sighed as he dangled over the edge of her bed. “You don’t know that,” he told her, for what felt like the thousandth time. “Fynn’s not as innocent as you think, Sol. He’s got bounties hanging over him, too. Those hunters could have easily been looking for him.”
“You said it yourself,” Sol snapped. “You’ve been to this port dozens of times and have never had any trouble. Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that the one time I’m here with you, Fynn’s suddenly in danger of being caught?”
Amael sat up with a groan. He dragged his hands over the shadowed scruff along his jaw. “We’re leaving in the morning,” he said. “And if Fynn believes we’re in danger here, he won’t risk coming back any time soon. You’re working yourself into a frenzy for nothing.”
Sol sat down beside him. “We should leave tonight,” she insisted. “In case they come back.”
“No one is going to leave this port before they have to,” Amael told her. “You underestimate how tired we get spending countless weeks at sea.”
She dropped her head to his shoulder and whined, “Can’t you convince them?”
“No can do, Princess. I’d prefer my extremities stay intact, and Riel might disembowel me if I—”
Sol punched him in the leg hard enough that Amael yelped and her knuckles stung. “I didn’t tell you who I was so that you could address me by my title,” she sniped. “I told you so that you’d stop being angry with me.”
“Princess has a nice ring to it, though. It’s fitting.”
“Yes,” Sol said. “So fitting that Fynn and I almost died because of it.”
Amael groaned again, flopping onto the bed and nearly collapsing on Draven. The direwolf scrambled out of his way and snarled half-heartedly. “If you would just tell him who you are, he would—”
“No.”
They would not debate this again.
Sol had seen the way Fynn’s crew became pale-faced and shaky whenever Sonamire was mentioned in conversation. The way Arden’s eyes had burned with absolute ire the only time Sol had tried speaking with her about Valestorm. She was the daughter of their enemy, most of the crew having derived from territories long at war with Sonamire, and she would not have them look at her as such. She and her heart could not take it.
“Fynn could help you, Sol. He would want to help you. You’re one of us now.”
She buried her face into her palms. “At what cost?” she asked quietly. “My father sold me to Thane Grayclaw as a condition of the Treaty to end the war. You think they won’t pay to get me back?”
Amael pulled his fingers through Draven’s fur, the direwolf inching over the mattress until his head was lying on Sol’s thigh. “You’re one girl, Sol, and as much as I love you—in a completely platonic way, of course—I can honestly say that no one is going to go to war over you. Except maybe Fynn, if you asked him to. He’d do it if it meant you would kiss him again.”
“I don’t like you, Amael. I do not like you one bit.”
He nudged her hip with his foot. Sol didn’t need to look at him to know Amael was grinning. “You didn’t have to go back for seconds, but you did. Admit it, Sol. You wanted to kiss the Captain.”
“I already told you,” Sol sighed. “It was a diversion.”
“The first time,” Amael agreed. “Not the second.”
Sol trailed her index finger over the bridge of Draven’s nose, smiling slightly at the way his nostrils flared with annoyance. “Don’t make me regret telling you. The kiss meant nothing to both of us.”
“Bullshit,” Amael accused. “A flirt he might be, but Fynn doesn’t kiss just anyone. Something tells me you don’t, either.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Sol muttered. “He was the first.”
“What?” Amael jolted upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and nearly kicking Sol in the head. “You’ve never kissed anyone else? Only Fynn?”
A blush crept into her cheeks. Sol ducked her head and fiddled with Draven’s ears. “Only Fynn,” she confirmed. “Don’t tease me about it. My brother used to mock me all the time.”
But he wasn’t teasing her, not really. That was surprise coloring his tone. “You’re a Princess,” Amael said, as if Sol needed the reminder. “The daughter of a king. You could have anyone you wanted, and you’ve seriously never—”