Page 8 of Tangled Sails

He frowned but didn’t respond. Instead he focused again on my hair, reaching out to gather it all at the nape of my neck.

I stiffened. His closeness, his gruff kindness, the feel of his fingers brushing my neck, this whole situation was too much, and my silent tears increased. “What are you doing?”

He gentled his stoic expression, curving his mouth in what I supposed was meant to be an encouraging smile. “I just need to be certain I didn’t cut your shoulders or back while I was cutting your hair.” He lifted my wet hair and inspected my neck, back, and shoulders, then allowed my hair to flop back into place.

He stood and reached out both hands. “Come along. You need to get warm.”

I stared at those hands. For the last ten years, I’d only ever been touched by my aunt. It was such a strange thing to have this stranger reaching out to me, offering help and even comfort. I didn’t know if I could trust it, but I longed to, so I put my hands in his. When he pulled me to my feet, I became dizzy.

He held tight to my hands while I steadied myself. “It will take a while to get your sea legs.”

I studied the ship, with all its wood and rigging, watching as it swayed not quite with the waves, but in contrast to them. I’d only ever seen depictions of ships in books that Gregor had snuck to me. How strange and marvelous to be on one myself. “It’s not the ship.” I looked back at the sea, where my hair had all disappeared. “It’s strange to stand without my hair pulling on me. My neck feels unstable.” I let out a breathy laugh, then more tears leaked from my eyes.

“You are overcome.” He released my hands and picked up a vest and coat that had been discarded on the deck, then carefully maneuvered to my side so he could put a firm arm around my waist. “Harlan, find her a place to rest.”

“Where, Highness?” the dignified man with the neat beard asked in low tones. “Among the crew?”

The prince let out a grumbling sigh. “I suppose that won’t work.”

“Pardon,” Harlan said, “but the only private space is—”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Harlan.” He tugged me through the crowd of men. “Come, miss.”

A nod was the best I could do as the feeling of his warm hand shot through me.

“And all of you, get back to work,” he shouted at the milling crew.

I looked back over my shoulders at the men, the ship, and the sea. Was this all a dream? A hallucination? Perhaps it was a strange afterlife, but I didn’t think so. The water dripping from my clothing, the chill of the wind against my wet skin, the gentle pressure of this man’s arm around my waist—it all felt too real to be imagined. I grabbed onto the hand that rested on my waist, my throat tight with emotion as the simple comfort of human interaction washed over me. Auntie’s hugs and touches of affection had always felt cheap, or disingenuous, and sometimes even dangerous. But this man, who knew me not at all, simply seemed to care, and that brought even more tears to my eyes.

Despite the insanity of the situation, despite the men staring at me with awe, and despite the confusion of not knowing how I came to be on the water, I was happy to be here.

The prince guided me toward the back of the ship, to a door that was nestled between two sets of stairs leading up to a higher portion of the deck, which I couldn’t remember the name of because I’d had to return the ship book to Gregor before I could adequately study it.

He opened the door, and my brow jumped as I took in the opulence of the small room. Silk drapery and fancy carved wood adorned the space. A bed occupied one corner, a desk in another. A trunk sat to my right.

“What’s this?” I asked, fascinated by the difference in this space compared to the main deck.

The prince cleared his throat. “It’s the captain’s quarters.”

I turned to look at him, my head seeming to move too fast. “Are you the captain?”

“Yes.”

“Are you also a prince?” I was curious due to having no experience with royalty since the royal family of Branfrie had been ousted by the High Court more than three generations ago, after magic had manifested in our land.

The captain prince was slower to answer this time. “Yes.” He guided me to a chair, and after I’d sat, he gave me a very fine bow.

No one had ever bowed to me before.

“I am Prince Tavric of Islewyn.”

“Hello.” That probably wasn’t the right thing to say. He was a prince, so maybe I should have said something more formal, but I was wet and getting colder by the minute. Also, I’d never heard of Islewyn. Some of Gregor’s books had spoken of kingdoms outside the shroud, but Islewyn hadn’t been one of them.

Prince Tavric grabbed a coverlet from the bed and wrapped it around me. Then he pulled a cloth from a cabinet and placed it in my hands. “For your hair.”

“Thank you.” I did my best to squeeze my hair with the cloth, fascinated by the way my short hair moved. I stared at the blunt and unevenly cut ends hanging to my waist.

“I’m sorry about your hair,” he said, using another cloth to scrub the water from his own hair.