A knock rapped at the door—rap rap-rap. Too quiet for most of the crew. Too rhythmic for the rest. Too uniform to be anyone other than—

“Vee?” Knigh’s voice.

Of course. Speak of the very devil.

She took a long breath and swung from her hammock, landing lightly. Shoulders square, she yanked the door open.

Deciding she was ending whatever it was between them and facing the full force of Knighton Blackwood’s handsome face, crooked smile, and towering physique were two very different things.

Breath stuck in her throat, she backed away, letting him in. She hadn’t intended to let him over the threshold and yet …

Here he was, slipping in, one hand half-behind his back, the door closing after him. His presence was far too much for this cabin that was considerably smaller than her own, crowding the space with his body and clean scent. Crowding her mind, as well.

She backed away until she hit the wall, arms closed across her body.

Perhaps one last time wouldn’t hurt.

“Did you attend to all your business?” He smiled, raising his eyebrows. The hand behind his back shifted, too, revealing a brown paper parcel.

Oh gods, had he bought her a present? What? To soften the blow of his leaving? Was he planning to tell her now?

“Vee?” He took a step closer, now within arm’s reach.

“What?”

“You said you had—”

“Oh, yes, er, that. Right.” She cleared her throat, nodded. “All dealt with.”

If he thought he could come in here and break things off with a gift … What, did he think it best to catch her in private, so she could cry quietly into his arms? So she wouldn’t make a scene?

The corner of her mouth twitched at how bloody ridiculous an idea that was. He could tell her in front of the whole damn crew for all she cared—he’d get no response from her but a shrug and a nice while it lasted.

She’d save him the job. And the present.

Wild Hunt, what did he think she was, a debutant he’d deflowered who needed a pretty keepsake to salve her wounded heart?

Lifting her chin, she gave him a tight smile. “Look, Knigh, we need to—”

The door burst open. “Vice,” Perry said from the doorway, blinking at Knigh. “Ah, Blackwood, too … Er …” She peered past him to Vice, face screwing up. “Sorry to interrupt, I—”

“It’s your cabin.” Vice raised her eyebrows.

“Nothing to interrupt,” Knigh said, shuffling to the side, that parcel behind his back again.

Perry still hovered in the doorway. “Have you heard the news?”

Knigh’s brows rose. “News?”

“The Queen is dead.”

Vice’s mouth dropped open, a chill in her bones. The Queen …