It was a concept that had always rubbed her raw. Even as the daughter of a maharaja and the inherent privilege that came with it, she’d worked on standing on her own merit in Joor. She fought for her people where she could, made up her own mind by considering the facts, not what was spoonfed to her. And it wasn’t in her to withdraw or need to be rescued. But now she had no choice.

This was England…a different world entirely.

A different universe, if she was being honest. Admittedly, she was afraid, despite never having been cowed by anything in her life. Not when she’d been promised in marriage to Talbot. Not when the sepoy infantry had come guns blazing to their gates during the rebellion and Markham’s army had made an equally vicious stand. But now…the fear gnawing in her gut threatened to cripple her.

All because of the threat of strange, foreign shores.

“Your best friend Manu died defending her people,” Sarani hissed to herself while stirring broth under the watchful eye of the ship’s cook. “The least you could do is hold your head high. You’re a princess, not a helpless damsel.”

In truth, she felt as though she were about to jump off a plank into shark-infested waters, only these sharks would be dressed to the nines in yards of silken finery while wearing smiles that hid their bloodthirsty, razor-sharp teeth.

“Well, you’ll just have to make do then. You’ve handled worse,” she told herself.

“Less talking, more working,” the cook snapped, making her startle.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

True to his word, the duke had ordered her to switch jobs with Tej, and now she spent most of her time helping in the galley: baking bread, stirring boiling pots, or sifting dried grain to separate from vermin. It was tedious, but at least she wasn’t shoveling manure or forced to endure the duke’s presence in a cabin that grew smaller by the day. Rhystan might have relented, but he was still short a boatswain thanks to her, and she would not make others shoulder her share.

Tej was Rhystan’s primary cabin boy now, and though he was free with information on the captain’s whereabouts—allowing Sarani to slip in unnoticed to borrow one of Rhystan’s many volumes of poetry or novels to stave off boredom—a part of her missed their private interaction.

A stupid, cabbageheaded part of her.

She knew it wasn’t because he was intentionally avoiding her. The entire crew, including their captain, had been busy. They’d faced some rough weather along the stretch of the Atlantic, then outraced a few suspicious-looking ships that a wide-eyed Asha had whispered were smugglers. A few warning cannons had been fired, and Red had told Sarani with a grin not to worry, that the captain had a reputation for being a right mean bastard.