Perhaps nothing of either of them remained. Bitterness and betrayal had a way of doing that, he supposed, scouring away at anything good until it disappeared. He refused to let himself wonder what might have been…whether they would have been married with children by this point, though the thought of her carrying his child made something in his chest ache. Damn, he was a glutton for pain.

“Let me guess,” a smug voice drawled. “You’re lying back and thinking of England. Or is it India?”

He glared at Gideon. That wasn’t what he’d been thinking, though it came damned close. “I’m thinking of wiping the deck with your face.”

“Name the time, Captain.”

Though he was spoiling for a fight, Rhystan’s eyes tracked Sarani’s movements as she headed toward the forecastle, only to be blocked by a handful of men at the entrance to the crew’s quarters. He couldn’t hear the conversation over the snarl of the wind, but he could see the immediate tension squaring her shoulders. Her hands drifted to her waist. He’d noticed the twin brace of knives there. If she was anything like the girl he’d met, those blades weren’t decorative.

“Should you intervene?” Gideon asked with a frown.

Rhystan sighed, propping one leg up on the rail. “Watch.”

* * *

Sarani calmly eyed the men surrounding her, not letting any apprehension or weakness show on her face. For the most part, she’d been left alone by the rest of the crew, with the exception of Red, whom she considered a friend, though she’d felt their stares, some more curious than others.

They knew she wasn’t male, despite the men’s clothes. But well, she couldn’t muck out the pens in a dress, could she? She had Rhystan to thank for that foul duty. It wasn’t too terrible, however. She’d insisted on taking care of her own stallion from time to time in Joor, though she’d never mucked out a manure-laden stall herself. In Joor, such a job wouldn’t be acceptable for a royal, but that didn’t mean she was incapable, especially not to prove a point to him.

Then again, she’d never been the usual type of princess.

Like most royals, her father had always wanted a son, and to her delight, she’d been educated and trained like one. Sarani suspected that her headstrong mother had had a hand in that, too. She’d wanted her daughter to embrace all of who she was, and her father had encouraged it. His pride in each of her accomplishments—from fencing to fighting to riding to her schooling—had never waned, even though other British nobles had turned up their noses, and until that day in the hall when he’d commanded her to marry the regent, he’d never treated her as any less because of her sex.