Page 36 of Crossbones
Unfortunately, the more I think about it, the more I realize I’d benefit more from accepting his offer than by sticking with my vendetta. At least in the short term.
I look down at the book in my hand and can’t help my jolt of surprise.
It’s a copy of the book of poetry I have in my cabin.
During my silence, Caspian has moved behind me towards the door and I vaguely hear him knock twice while I stare at the book cover. I stand up and look towards the door to see two guards enter to escort me out. I take a step towards them and stumble, a wave of dizziness sweeping over me—whether from the rum or lack of food and water, the room tilts precariously. A hand latches onto my arm and Caspian is there, the warmth of him searing into my skin. I yank my arm out of his grasp quickly but can’t quite bring myself to step away.
“This won’t change my mind about taking down De’Vero.” My words are harsh because I need to create space with something, even if my body refuses to step away from him.
Caspian’s eyes sharpen, alight with fire. “Which won’t—the book or the gold?”
“Both,” I reply, my voice more breathless than Icare to admit.
I watch his attention snag on my lips—that’s the second fucking time now and I have to fight the urge to not look at his. I don’t think I want him to close the distance all the way but I’m also surprised to find I’m not opposed to it. He meets my eyes again and leans in. Something heavy sits in the air between us and I hardly dare to breathe. I realize the other scent lingering in the air is purely Caspian—spice, bergamot and the sea. My jaw tightens in an effort to keep my breathing even.
“Good thing I’m not asking you to.” His thumb sweeps across my jaw—it’s casual, quick and so feather light I can almost pretend it didn’t happen—almost. He pulls a handkerchief from somewhere and thrusts it at me. When his hand lands on my chest, everything ignites within me, radiating out from his touch.
He has a soft smirk on his face. “You’re bleeding all over my study, Captain.”
It takes me a moment longer than decent to grasp the fabric. I’m sure he can feel my heart, and how short my breath has become. He steps away but the smug look remains and I know he’s in control of all of this. It irks me to no end, but even more frustrating, my irritation does nothing to diminish this ache that’s taken hold inside me.
A guard grabs my arm, jolting me back to reality and hauls me towards the door. Just before I’m dragged through the doorway, I have time to see the hand he touched me with flex at his side, and his chest rise with a shuddering breath before he’s gone.
Once back in my cell, I immediately sit and open the book. The paper Caspian used to mark a page falls out onto my lap. Written in neat, looping script, are five lines:
To trace the scars without asking for their stories,
to know that he is both the wreckage and the wave
—the steel and the surrender
nothing more than a man, aching
under the weight of his own name.
I re-read the lines more than a few times, then I spend the next few minutes flipping through the book trying to find the poem those lines are from only to come up with nothing.Did he write them?That thought stalls all other thoughts for a long time and that ache in my chest is back. This is now the second time he’s written down something not from our mutually shared book.
I turn back to the page he’s marked.
A crown of iron,
presses against the throat like steel—
to carry it is to stand upon the edge of a blade,
to know the world will carve its truth into your flesh
Etched into driftwood and forgotten wrecks,
legacies were never meant to last—
salt wears them smooth,
leaving only echoes where Kings once stood
And on the facing page:
Monsters do not hide—
