Her Highness, the Princess of Joor. Now, Lady Sara Lockhart.

His Grace, the Duke of Embry. Now, Captain Rhystan Huntley.

He wasn’t unaware of the similarities between them. Both hiding behind other names and fleeing from their pasts, and now running into each other here on the high seas. He would laugh if it wasn’t so absurdly tragic. A pointless Shakespearean tragedy, in which the real bedevilment was how bitterly ironic it was that the only woman he’d ever wanted to marry had been her.

And then she had let him go without a qualm.

She had never loved him. Not truly.

He rose, stumbling slightly, and made his way next door, only to halt at the hushed sound of arguing. The two women presumably, considering both voices were female. Rhystan didn’t care that he was shamelessly eavesdropping.

“There’s nothing you can do, Princess,” Asha was saying. “If you are right, then we will have to face it when the time comes. Worrying about it now does nothing.”

Sarani made a frustrated sound. “We need to act!”

“We are on a ship in the middle of the ocean,” the maid said, her voice calm though she also sounded frightened. “What would you have us do?”

“I don’t know! How can you be so calm when we’re in danger? That could be Vikram’s doing for all we know, sending his henchmen after us.”

“I’m afraid, too, but the captain won’t let anything happen.”

“Don’t be naive, Asha.” Something that sounded suspiciously like furniture being kicked and a muffled screech and oath followed. “That. Heartless. Man. Does. Not. Care.”

“I beg your pardon, Princess, but I think you’re wrong.” Asha sniffed. “Would he have allowed us to stay on this ship if he didn’t care?”

“Correction, he does not care about me.”

“Then why keep us?”

“He had no choice, Asha. There was a cyclone. And I’m not his guest. Everyone knows how little he thinks of me. Not much has changed.” The words carried a deep undertone of bitterness. “We all have to work like wretched landsmen for our passage. Heaven knows I’m sick of shoveling dung for days on end.”

Guilt flooded Rhystan at that statement, even though he sensed it was uttered in frustration. He didn’t have time to hide as Sarani opened the door and came face-to-face with him standing there. Unabashedly listening.

He leaned against the ship’s wall and folded his arms across his chest, refusing to admit that he was indeed guilty. Nostrils flaring, she tightened her mouth as she watched him, the sheen of tears in her eyes obvious. For once, she made no move to hide her vulnerability.

“Enjoying yourself?” she snapped.

“We need to talk.”

She huffed and then sighed tiredly. “About what?”

“Come with me.”