“Obviously, envy is where your hostility towards him comes from, and it’s perfectly understandable. And”—he approached, an apologetic smile in place—“I also understand the strain you’ve been under since Papa’s death. You’ve taken it all on your shoulders—every penny, every responsibility, every decision for the family. Well, I can help now.” He cocked his head as he placed a hand on Knigh’s arm, the touch only dimly registering. “You can relax—no need to throw yourself into danger hunting pirates. Mercy will provide for us all.”

A deeper, darker cold prickled from Knigh’s scalp, down his neck, creeping all the way to his feet.

His stomach turned. Mercia was a monster, far worse than Vice. He’d happily oversee the murder of men who’d surrendered, laughing all the while.

But there was no way he could make George understand. Not without revealing his own dark secret.

George patted his shoulder and gave a smile that should have been comforting. “You’ll see.” He nodded and walked out, calling over his shoulder, “Time for dinner.”

Knigh was rooted to the spot. George was in Mercia’s power, just like that beast the Duke kept bound with his gift. His fae charm had done its work.

And with his endless supply of money, the whole family had been dragged in.

Isabel would debut in Lunden thanks to that townhouse they could now afford to rent. With her warmth and bright eyes and the decent dowry he’d topped up with Vice’s bounty, she couldn’t fail to marry well. Mother would be less reliant upon Aunt Tilda’s kindness. Plus, she loved the opera and the theatre—a season in Lunden would agree with her. Perhaps she’d finally return to wearing colour. Maybe he’d even hear her sing again.

There was no way out of this. Mercia had a hold on them all.

The Song of the Pirate Queen

When they trundled through the streets with Vice on full display in a cart, her wrists tied, the people sang The Song of the Pirate Queen. Vice grinned and let the song—her song wash over her.

From the glowers darkening their faces, the guards hadn’t expected it to go like this. People usually threw rotten vegetables and hurled abuse at the criminals being paraded by. Hells, after the arrest, she hadn’t expected this either.

Oh, Lords, they’d finished the song, and now they were cheering.

Cheering.

Laughing, she waved, and they smiled and waved back. Children trotted along with the cart, little legs pumping until they managed to touch the wheel or timber sides, then they dropped back and held out their hands to show their friends.

The poor, poor Navy—this had backfired, hadn’t it?