His awful letter five years ago had been clear in his opinion of her, and Sarani had no doubt in her mind that he reviled her with a fire that still simmered under his skin. The missive had been laced with hurt, which she had understood, but the cruel intent had struck hard. It had delivered the bitter words of a cold, contemptuous stranger.

The man she saw now.

Sarani shivered, rubbing her own clammy, chilled flesh. Half expecting to see the captain’s lumbering form lurking outside the cabin, she scooted to the next door and darted in. Asha was no longer asleep but unpacking their sparse belongings.

Her gaze fell on Sarani’s pinched face. “Are you well, Princess?”

“Yes.” She huffed a scattered breath. “It’s Lady Lockhart from now on, remember.” The address made her heart clench. Though it had been her mother’s name, it wasn’t surprising by any stretch that Rhystan had assumed it was the title of the earl she’d married. That had been clear from the way he’d spat it out like a mouthful of poison. “Try to get some sleep. It’s still early yet. You can finish that in the morning.”

Asha rubbed her eyes and nodded. “Will you not sleep?” she asked when Sarani moved back to the door.

“As if I could,” she muttered and then forced a reassuring smile. “I need to speak to the captain.”

“The captain?” Asha’s eyes widened with fear.

She nodded. “He knows we are here.”

Somehow she would have to convince Rhystan to help and not to turn the ship around. He hated her, that much was clear. But in most cases, love and hate were inexplicably twined emotions. The greater the love, the greater the hate. Perhaps love was stretching it, though Rhystan had had tender feelings for her in the past. Maybe those weren’t all gone.

Or maybe she had skeins of wool in her brain.

Who are you fooling? The man loathes the air you breathe.

Just five years ago, loathing had been the opposite of his feelings. He’d adored her, his eyes alight with so much affection. Sarani forced herself to keep from being caught up in the images of a different, younger, less jaded Rhystan that filled her desperate brain.

She would do well to remember that that boy no longer existed. And the man in his place was a cold, hard, cynical brute who had an ax to sharpen at the grindstone. Regardless, she had to convince him somehow.

At any cost, even her morals.