She cocked her head, teasing. “Former pirate, remember, Your Highness. Please, you must allow me this small celebration for the benefit of my sex.”

Mercia’s nostrils flared. “I suppose I must, though I cannot honestly say I can put much heart behind it, madam. I’ve heard the arguments for equality between the sexes. And my mother has indeed ruled a very long while, during which Albion has indeed prospered. However, on this occasion, I believe her vanity has clouded her judgment.”

Vee’s jaw knotted, every inch of her bristling as if he’d paid her a personal insult. “Vanity, Your Highness?”

“Of course”—he waved his hand dismissively—“you won’t have seen my sister or Her Majesty the Queen. However, rest assured my sister is the very image of our mother. Choosing her to succeed is choosing to see herself upon the throne once again, even in death.”

A chill coursed down Knigh’s back and the silence in their group yawned on. Even FitzRoy stared from Vee to Mercia and back again. He shook his head and gulped the last of his drink.

Vee arched an eyebrow, an icy smile inching into place. “Her Majesty is a wise ruler. I’m sure she made her decision with a mind towards Your Highness’s strengths and those of your royal sister.”

Mercia stiffened, eyebrows rising slowly.

Bloody hells.

Vee’s defence of the Queen was admirable, if surprising, but didn’t she know not to contradict royalty? From the rest of her behaviour, he’d say that had to be something she did know but was choosing to ignore.

Mercia was not a man to be questioned—not only as royalty but also as an admiral and human being. Loyalty and obedience, unwavering.

The look in Vee’s eyes, sharp and bold, said nothing good could come of her thoughts. Not here, not with Mercia. He was so much more dangerous than his manners and charm suggested.

“In fact,” she went on, raising her glass, pointing at Mercia, “I’d say—”

“Madam!” Knigh lurched forward. “I see your captain’s glass is empty”—he smiled at FitzRoy then at her, unblinking—“perhaps you can show him the best way to pour punch without spilling it.”

She’d joked about the woman at Governor deLacy’s ball right before she’d been surrounded by Naval officers and forced to run—please, gods, let her take the hint.

Danger. Flee.

She cocked her head at him, a momentary frown drawing her eyebrows together.

He fought to keep his breaths even, but he allowed his eyes to widen at her.

She inhaled sharply, eyes narrow. She wasn’t going to take the hint—or, rather, she was choosing to ignore it.

No, don’t. He touched her elbow. Please.

Her brows rose, and she sighed. “So it is. Come along, Captain.” She nodded at FitzRoy and excused them before stalking away through the crowd.