Christ, he needed to have some bloody sense beaten into him. He was full of sap and spoiling for a fight. And he knew just the man for the job. Without a second thought, Rhystan made his way to the upper deck to find his quartermaster.

Gideon threw one look at him and raised his eyebrows. “Now?”

“Now,” Rhystan growled.

Gideon grinned, the sight of which usually made grown men piss themselves, but Rhystan only stared back as the enormous man shed his belt, boots, and weapons without another word. He did the same, yanking off his boots and shirt.

Nothing like a bracing round of bare-knuckle boxing to get one’s head sorted out. It didn’t take long for a crowd of his older crew to gather, some pulled from their beds because no one liked to miss the captain and the quartermaster beating each other bloody—or miss out on the wagers. Bets and money were already changing hands as the men formed a loose circle.

“Rules?” Gideon asked, rolling his massive shoulders.

Rhystan scowled. “None. First to call it.”

Gideon shot him a sardonic look. “That bad?”

Snarling, he answered with a nasty jab to the man’s jaw, and the fight was on. It took every bit of his focus—thank God—to avoid Gideon’s punches. The man was the size of a mountain and built of pure muscle, so getting hit by him was tantamount to getting hit by a train. Despite his bulk, he was also fleet of foot and moved like he was executing the most delicate of waltzes, with swift, beautiful, lethal precision.

But then again, so was Rhystan.

He dodged a thick fist swinging at his head and ducked to pummel Gideon’s torso. Crowing, the man barely flinched at the attack and kicked out, catching Rhystan in the thigh. He swore he could feel his bone shudder from the blow, but managed to limp out of the way and jab his knuckles into the softer tissue of Gideon’s throat.

They traded more savage blows, getting some in and missing others, and after a good while, Rhystan finally felt weariness start to creep in. For all his skill and size, Gideon was also looking a bit the worse for wear. Blood trickled from a cut at his eye and one on his lip. Rhystan was sure he looked much the same, feeling a stinging on his cheek and tasting the metallic tang of blood in his own mouth. He swiped a lock of damp hair out of his face and eyed his adversary.

They wouldn’t stop until one of them was unconscious or called the fight.

Those were the rules.

“Had enough yet, Captain?” the bigger man drawled.

“I’ve got all night.”