Lifting her chin, Vice held out the scroll case. She smiled at Fitz and the way his hand shook as he reached for the clue. His eyes shone with greed, desire, excitement—who knew? Maybe all three.

Much as she hated to admit it, breezing past Knigh Blackwood had been mildly disappointing. Not the execution—watching the sails flop to the deck … Lords, that was a moment she’d carry to the grave. No, that wasn’t the disappointment—it was his face. He’d watched the sails fall, he’d stared at her, and his brows had lowered in what was almost a frown, but …

But there hadn’t been that profound look of shock and horror and the realisation she’d got one over on him that she’d been hoping for. He schooled his expressions far too well for that. Prick.

So, yes, that had been a disappointment. But this, Fitz’s gaze roving between her and the case, the lick of his lips in anticipation before he took it—this almost made up for it.

They stood in his cabin, on either side of the dining table that occupied the centre of the room. Morning light streamed through the stern windows, glinting off, well a lot of gilt work. The carved moulding around the windows. A small chest on a side table. The lion feet of the side table. The frame of the large mirror over his bed. Even the finials of the bedposts. Then there were the gilded candlesticks, the huge oval platter in the middle of the table, and the chandelier twinkling above.

Despite the excesses, the golden light, thick patterned rug under her feet, and red velvet drapes around the bed made the space almost cosy. She knew from experience that bed was a soft and warm place on a cold night.

Things between them had been tense for a while now—the stories and songs about her didn’t help. A member of crew wasn’t meant to outshine her captain in the tales of victory and adventure. No doubt that was why he’d stopped having her in that cosy bed of his. It was probably also why he’d delayed offering the captaincy he’d promised.

Well, she wasn’t going to try and rekindle their relationship, but he was on the hook for her captaincy now. If this didn’t win his favour, nothing would, short of handing over Drake’s treasure on a platter.

“What is it?” He examined the case, fingers caressing the embossed drake.

She shrugged, lifting her hands. “I don’t know—I thought you’d want to be the first to see it.” More ingratiation—not that she needed it. She could have shed her clothes and offered herself on a plate to do anything he wished, and he wouldn’t have looked up from that cracked old leather.

Even her fae charm was nothing compared to a clue to Drake’s treasure.