She hadn’t meant to trust him. Hells, if anyone had asked, she’d have told them she didn’t. But somewhere along the way, in that walk around Nassau when he’d spun her such a fine tale about his disappointing father, in battles fighting side-by-side, in the quiet times when they’d talked in the dark, in those moments when he’d held her close... Somewhere in all that, she must have come to trust him in some small, stupid way.

Because if she hadn’t trusted him, he would never have been able to do this.

And if she hadn’t trusted him, her chest wouldn’t feel like it had just taken a full broadside from the Sovereign.

“Well played, Blackwood,” she said, voice ringing hollowly, “well played.”

Home & Hearth

The fleeting shadows beneath the archway leading into Aunt Tilda’s estate gave a welcome respite from the bright day. With a long sigh, Knigh paused there. It wasn’t hot, it was downright cold compared to Arawaké, but today the sunlight stung his eyes.

He’d spent the days since Vice’s arrest either in naval offices giving his debrief report and answering endless questions, or in the small set of rooms he’d been assigned. The apartment was comfortable. Hells, it was luxury compared to cramped life aboard The Morrigan—but the windows overlooked the dock, and he knew that ship’s sail plan too well to keep his gaze from it.

And every time he saw it, he heard, Well played, Blackwood, well played.

He shook his head. He’d thought himself prepared.

What an idiot. Nothing could have prepared him for that.

It had been bad enough when she’d looked like she was going to fight. Some lingering protective instinct remained in him because the thought of her being gunned down by marines had turned his stomach. Instead of standing back as he’d planned, he’d stepped forward to force her surrender.

But then somehow what came after had been so much worse. It was as if the moment he’d bound her wrists, all her fight had gone. Quiet, almost meek.

And although Vice had murdered Avice Ferrers, when she’d said well played it had been a dagger to his kidneys.

Traitor. That’s what her tone had said. Between the words, that grotesque accusation. She must have wondered it—when you made love to me, did you mean it? Or was it part of this?

His stomach turned. Skin burning, he gripped his sabrecat’s reins until they creaked against his leather gloves.

He had meant it. At the time. But he’d thought she was someone different.

Wild Hunt damn her. She’d betrayed him first. Made out that she was the noble Pirate Queen, that she wasn’t a monster. She’d made him believe she was a decent human being.