Page 52 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
I had always lived to please a volatile father. Would have married the man who would have ruined me. Over time, my self must have adapted, adapted in a way that made me a dreamer. A dreamer who ignored reality and chose to believe everything would turn out like it did in fairy tales. But I wasn’t that personany longer. I didn't think Vardor would ever harm me—Iknewthat wasn't wishful thinking on my part like it had been when I hoped to make Thomas fall in love with me.
Reality had caught up to me, but now I was torn between two. Was Vardor insane, or was he a god? It should have disturbed me that I was ready to accept, no,embraceeither one. But it didn't.
I watched the moonlight cast shadows on his angled features. My eyes followed the line of his hard jaw bones, the crooked nose, down to his square chin. He was the epitome of every man who had ever frightened me, yet he was becoming the epitome of a man I very much desired.
When I woke, Vardor was gone. A pang of loss filled me, and a feeling of loneliness and longing for him made me rush through getting dressed, putting my hair up, and going in search of him.
We boarded yesterday morning before the sun came up to leave with the tide, and I spent most of the day in our cabin, organizing it. I did get to see some of the ship. It was huge and held many more passengers besides us, which was different from our first sea voyage.
I exited the cabin, located a floor above the water line. Vardor had spent a fortune securing the largest, most luxurious cabin available. It was at the end of the hall—or was it a galley? I had no idea about ship terms... I passed more closed doorsand plugged my nose as I moved by a bowl smelling of vomit, covered with a towel. It seemed the ship's swaying wasn't to everyone's stomach's liking.
The ship moved with the pulse of the waves, a rhythmic rise and fall that had already become second nature to me. Wood creaked with the movement as I made my way up the stairs to the deck. Fresh sea air filled my lungs the higher I ascended.
The deck bustled with activity; men hauled ropes, calling to one another as they adjusted the sails, their voices mingled with the cry of gulls overhead. The ship was massive, far larger than the one that had brought us to Gibraltar, and now, in the light of day, I saw its true enormity—rows of cannons, towering masts, thick ropes coiled like sleeping serpents along the planks. It was a fortress on water.
But there was no sign of Vardor.
I walked the entire deck, up and down, nodding and returning greetings ofgood morningfrom the sailors and other passengers. A sinking sensation fluttered through my stomach. He couldn't have vanished, could he? The ship was so large I feared I would never find him if he didn't want to be found. I called myself childish and silly, there was no reason why he would hide from me. Once the notion entered my head though, it was hard letting go of it. Irrational or not.
Before I flew into a full panic, I heard his voice, loud and cursing. Still, I couldn't see him until... until I craned my neck up to the sails. Somewhere among the rigging...
Relief, followed by a new worry, flooded me when I spotted him high above the deck, climbing through the sails as if he had been born to them. The crew gaped at him, startled, muttering among themselves. A landsman did not climb the masts, most certainly not a gentleman. They didn't realize that Vardor was neither.
He scaled the rigging with ease. His powerful form moved like a panther, bare hands gripping the thick ropes, body taut with muscles and control. The salty wind lifted his long dark hair, strands whipping around his face as he reached the highest sail and glanced down.
The wind carried his voice, but I couldn't make out what he said—only that the sailors near him exchanged uneasy looks, unsure whether they should be impressed or alarmed.
The first mate shouted up to him, something about staying off the ropes unless he planned to work for his passage. Vardor merely swung onto another beam and grinned. He was shirtless. And he looked very much like the god he claimed to be.
God help me, the strange sensation of liquid pooling between my legs returned. My heart rate picked up a notch, and heat rushed through me from head to toe. I looked away quickly, fixing my gaze on the horizon. I had no business admiring the man who had stolen me.
"Your husband is a bold one."
I stiffened at the voice and turned to find the captain standing beside me, watching Vardor with an appraising eye. He was a broad man, his naval coat neatly buttoned, brass epaulettes gleaming in the sunlight. His beard was well-kept, and his gaze sharp with curiosity.
"He's... unaccustomed to being confined," I said carefully.
"That much is clear," the captain mused. "I don't believe I caught your names when you boarded. You'll forgive me—I don't often host passengers of such... particular character."
Particular character.
I swallowed, my mind scrambling for the lies I had told myself to prepare.
"Roweena Lancelot," I said smoothly—keeping up with the lie I had told before—offering my hand as if I had spent mywhole life aboard ships speaking to captains. "My husband, Vardor Lancelot."
"Lancelot," the captain repeated, rolling the name over his tongue like he was testing it for falsehoods. "And where do you call home, Mistress Lancelot?"
I hesitated. England was out of the question—he might know noble families.
"A small estate near Cádiz," I lied quickly. "Though we have traveled often. My husband... is a man of trade."
The captain's brow lifted slightly, and his eyes flickered with skepticism. "Trade, you say? He moves more like a man of war than a merchant."
"He is both," I countered, keeping my voice light and indifferent. "He has to be."
The captain studied me for a long moment, then smiled slightly, as if he had decided to humor me rather than challenge the lie outright. "A fascinating pair you must be, Mistress Lancelot."
Before I could respond, another voice cut in.
