Prince's Fire by Amy Raby Read Free Book Online

together. A partition had been constructed between the two halves, and they used different doors to enter and exit. She liked that Rayn was sleeping so near, near enough that she might hear him breathing, and sometimes she sat quietly and listened, hoping she might hear him moving about. But the partition was thick and the ship noisy, with the wind groaning in the sails and the sailors calling as they went about their work.
    Atella sat cross-legged on the cot across from her, crocheting a tablecloth. The cots were clever contraptions, not mounted upon the floor, but hanging on ropes from the ceiling, so that when the ship heeled over, causing the floor to slant, furniture didn’t slide across the room and nobody fell out of bed.
    Celeste returned to her treatise in hopes of losing herself in a world of mathematics, where everything was systematic and logical. This wasn’t the problem she was supposed to be solving; she was supposed to be solving the problem of Prince Rayn and his reluctance to make any kind of alliance with her family. But the prince was ignoring her. From the beginning of the voyage, he’d claimed seasickness, a plausible assertion except that Celeste saw and heard no signs of illness. On two occasions she’d knocked at his cabin door and been turned away. She’d approached him on the quarterdeck several times, only to watch him retreat to his cabin. And when the captain had invited both of them to dinner, Celeste had attended but Rayn had declined.
    Nearby, a door squeaked open. Was Rayn going out on the quarterdeck? She met Atella’s eyes and they froze, trying to silence their cots, which creaked on the ropes. Voices outside the cabin—Magister Lornis, and, yes, Rayn as well.
    Atella set her crocheting aside. “Are we going out?”
    â€œIn a minute,” Celeste whispered. “I don’t want to look too obvious.”
    She reread the page she’d just written. Then she set aside the treatise, put down her chocolate, and hopped out of her cot. She left the cabin, flanked by Atella, and emerged onto the quarterdeck. Pale midmorning sunshine spilled over her. The ship was driving upwind and heeling over, giving the deck a slight slope, but Celeste was accustomed now to maneuvering on a surface that didn’t stay horizontal. Where was Rayn?
    There, on the opposite side of the ship. He stood at the rail, looking out at the open ocean with Magister Lornis at his side. Loose hairs from his braid danced in the wind.
    Atella sighed. “That is one handsome man.”
    â€œOne aggravating man,” said Celeste. But Atella was right. Rayn had that effect on women. He wasn’t vain. She never saw him striking poses or showing off; if anything, he seemed oblivious to his good looks, though he had to be aware of how women responded to him. If she were an artist, she would paint him where he stood, pensive and looking out over the water.
    â€œYou’re so lucky,” breathed Atella.
    â€œNot really,” said Celeste. “He’s not interested in the marriage.”
    â€œHe’ll change his mind.”
    Celeste doubted it. But she’d promised to do her best for Lucien and Vitala. As she braced herself to step forward and open a conversation with the prince, somebody else walked up to him. It was a woman, young and blond and pretty.
    â€œWho is that?” she whispered to Atella.
    â€œI’ve no idea.”
    Celeste watched as the woman spoke. Rayn’s body language was not open to her; he folded his arms and took a step back when she intruded into his personal space. His movements were stiff and unwelcoming, which Celeste found perversely satisfying—at least she wasn’t the only woman having trouble approaching this man. But who was this woman? All the sailors on the
Goshawk
were men. She looked Inyan rather than Kjallan. Probably she was part of Rayn’s entourage, but then why did he seem not to want her around?
    Her