“I know how this works,” Malachite insists, trailing behind Lucien and me as we walk the halls hand in hand. “I’ve seen way too many hormonal nobles’ kids sneak off for a quick one and come back pregnant.” His ruby eyes glower at my navel. “Does that thing work?”

I shrug. “Not entirely sure. I haven’t had my cycle since I was turned, so…”

“Good,” the beneather breathes out. “Because two Zeras running around is a nightmare I’ve had before, and I’d rather eat horseshit than have it again. Or in real life.”

“What about two of me?” Lucien offers mildly. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Are you kidding?” Malachite throws his hands out. “Do I look like I can babysit two deluded princes at once? I have four stomachs, not ten arms!”

“Mal, please.” I sigh. “If we reproduce, I promise you will be the first to know. Okay?”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“We weren’t planning to,” Lucien drawls. “But now that you seem so invested, we might have to. Just to spite you.”

“Good.” The beneather throws his hands up. “Great. I’ll be updeck whittling a crib if you need me.” He whirls on the stairs and points menacingly. “Don’t need me.”

He storms up, his boots practically shaking the hull with every angry step.

“Bye!” I wave sweetly. “Have a nice time!” When he’s gone, I turn to Lucien. “He’s cheery.”

“Undoubtedly,” the prince agrees lightly. “He’s never been good at sharing. Or letting go.”

“Or manners,” I add.

“Or emotional subtlety. Remind me to send him home to Pala Amna for a vacation after all this.”

“And by ‘vacation’ you mean ‘a quick roll in the hay.’” I translate.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he finds his own romantic interest and leaves ours alone for a while.”

“I’d miss him, though,” I pout. “Who would we hire to spy on us while we kiss, then? It’s just not the same thrill without a constant onlooker.”

His eyes glimmer as he looks over at me. “Your sarcasm is sometimes unsettlingly genuine.”

“Thank you.” I beam.

We pass the mess hall, and among the few sailors finishing up their shift meal at the long tables sits Fione, cane resting on the bench and her head bent over the green-backed book. She reads fiercely, flipping pages back and forth with a knot between her brows.

“Don’t you think she’s working too hard?” I whisper to Lucien, and he sighs.

“As if she knows the meaning of the word. Especially when it comes to Varia.”

“She put on such a sweet front when we first met,” I reminisce. “But she was looking for Varia the entire time. Plotting. Full of surprises, that one.”

“Look who’s talking.” Lucien curls a smirk in my direction.

I fake-huff. “My surprises were calculated. Self-serving.”