Page 12 of Reign of Light
I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. No matter what, I have friends on both sides of all this. If someone is harmed, or worse, killed because of the lies Dane has been spewing for years, I don’t know how I would live for eternity with the guilt knowing I started it all.
A crisp breeze ruffles my sleeves when I step out onto the deck. It’s still early morning, and we have a few hours before we need to be out at the plateau. Taril is already off near the far rail mopping the deck, hard at work and wiping sweat from his brow while Stassia paces next to him, rambling about something. She throws her arms in the air every so often and stomps around him, tracking wet footprints over places he just mopped, but Taril doesn’t waver. I can’t make out her words, but she almost looks angry, and I wonder what set her off so early this morning.
Scanning the deck searching for Weston, my eyes snag on someone sitting on the quarterdeck, facing away from the ship. Trailing my gaze over his broad shoulders, the tense set of his back, and his rounded arms, there’s no question at all that this is my captain, and I hurry across the deck to meet him like he asked me to.
When I crest the top of the stairs, I see he’s alone, sitting quietly on a barrel and looking out toward the island. There’s such a stark difference from last night, because right now, standing with my hip pressed into the railing, watching him, he actually looks peaceful. He doesn’t turn, and I don’t know if he heard me approach, or if he’s too lost in whatever thoughts are troubling his mind as he surveys the place that in just a few hours we might be safe to return to. A place he’s never really belonged. It wasn’t safe for him. He was hunted, condemned, vilified, but now, all that might change.
My footfalls are quiet as I cross the quarterdeck and slide my arms around him, resting my hands on his chest and rising onto my toes so I can set my chin on his shoulder. He doesn’t start, just subtly leans into me as I turn my head so my lips barely brush the curve of his ear.
“Do I still have to call you Captain in front of everyone?” I murmur, and he chuckles softly.
“I think we’re a little past that, don’t you?”
I shrug, my body sliding against his as I rest my cheek on his shoulder. “If we ever got back home, you’d have had to call me princess in front of anyone else. I feel like it’s the same thing here.”
“I still like calling you princess.”
My lips fall into a frown, but I know he can’t see it.
“I like when you call me Lennox.”
Back when he first started using it, I thought it was only a nickname. He knew it wasn’t, but without ever seeing the ring he never takes off, no one else could have known. Now, every time that word falls from his lips, all it does is remind me of why he erected sturdy walls between us. It reminds me of how he refused to tell me what he felt because of ourtitles. I know it has become almost meaningless now, because I won’t ever be a princess again, but it still reminds me of how much space just that one word put between us, and how different our life here in Dawnlin could have been if he never got past it.
“I don’t want to do anything that will cause an issue with the crew. No special treatment, remember?”
Strong fingers wrap firmly around my wrist and tug gently, guiding me around the barrel until he’s pulling me onto his lap.
“I would say you already get special treatment.” His voice lowers, but one corner of his lips tilts up in a smirk. “I didn’t make anyone else in the crew come multiple times last night.”
Cheeks heating and mouth open, my disbelieving laugh causes him to finally crack into a full grin.
“You know what I mean!” I say, shoving his shoulder, just as his laugh rings out over the quarterdeck. His grin turns devious, and he leans forward, closing the gap between us.
“Call me Weston,” he grumbles against my lips, then presses our mouths together, the slow and teasing movements causing a flame to flicker to life inside me. After last night, after the past few days of being with him, able to touch him, my body’s reaction to him is faster than I ever thought possible. He pulls away, and I inhale a deep breath, pushing down the desire to lean in again and instead focusing on his soft, content features.
“How did you sleep?”
“Fine, all things considered,” I say. “You barely moved, so I assume you are well rested this morning.”
He shifts me in his lap, wrapping his arm around my back so his hand rests on my hip.
“Honestly, it was the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. I don’t know if it was exhaustion, or just the release from everything we’d been worried about for so long finally happening, but it was different.”
Lifting my arm so it’s no longer pinned between us, I settle itacross his shoulders and toy with the seams of his vest, keeping my gaze focused on the task.
“Do you have nightmares often?” I sneak a glance at his face only to find his brows crinkled and his head slightly tilted.
“Not often. Why do you ask?”
My eyes dart back to the worn leather beneath my fingertips. “You were having one the night I left. It made it really hard to leave.”
Bringing up leaving him and returning to the Voyagers is not something I like to do, but after seeing him sleep so soundly last night, I can’t help but remember the pained look on his face that only smoothed away after the brush of my hand.
“How do you know I was having one?”
“You said something, and I thought you had caught me trying to sneak out of the room. When I turned around, your eyes were closed, and you looked like you were in pain.”
“What did I say?”
