Of Heirs and Havoc ✔️ | Of Crimes and Crowns Book 2

seven: of seas and secrets

Victoria watched the waves crash against the side of the boat, over and over, wearing it down. Eventually, the dark wood would bleach white and the ship would sink more than it stayed afloat, and soon this vessel and its passengers would be worn down, and put out of use. Everything broke in its own time; nothing stayed the same.

It was what she was counting on.

She gripped the brim of her ivory hat with a gloved hand, staring out onto the lilac- and peach-streaked horizon. A gull flew by, squawking, then a few more until the entire sky was filled with them and their obnoxious cries. Soon, the matching storm in her heart would be over. She would smile at funny little things and laugh without it feeling empty and talk to her brother without seeing another, more cruel, face superimposed over his loving one. Soon, she would be alright again.

She only hoped that soon was before they reached the island.

"I've heard from the sailors that the Sleeping Island is very beautiful," Blake told her, his presence announced not only by that neutral statement but also by the creak of the salt-washed boards beneath his feet.

"Well, I hope it isn't very dull," Victoria retorted. "With a name such as that, I do not expect much excitement."

"Perhaps we'll manufacture some," Blake said, moving to stand beside her at the wooden railing. "A runaway horse, a prince in hiding..."

I've had quite enough of princes, she wanted to say. Perhaps I should never have come here at all.

"Manufactured excitement is quite the oxymoron," she argued instead. "It's hardly fun if you know it will happen."

"Then I shall be sure to keep it a secret from you, sister," he said playfully. His shoulder nudged hers.

She jerked away involuntarily. "I've had quite enough of secrets." Tori didn't bite her tongue this time—she refused to, even if it hurt him more than it did her. "But enough of that—do you have any theories as to why the prince we are seeking after refuses to leave the island?"

"Perhaps he's started a torrid romance with a girl no one approves of," Blake mused.

Victoria rolled her eyes. "How tedious that would be. Perhaps he's founded a smuggling ring of illegal activity and has become a pirate."

Blake let out a whoop of laughter. "Your imagination far exceeds mine, little sister. You ought to write novels—though I admit to being rather surprised by your choice of theory. Are women not supposed to be the romantic ones?"

"Only if you conform to the old ways of reasoning, dear brother, and you are far from old yet," Victoria countered. She stretched her limbs, the wind attempting to blow the hat off of her head as it ruffled the linen of her gown. "On the contrary, I believe men are more easily seduced than women ever could be."

"And why is that, dear sister?" His smile crinkled the corners of his dark eyes, which were wide and guileless and completely unlike her green ones.

"Men rarely have their guards up when speaking to women, for they consider women their inferiors and therefore believe they have no cause to take caution. Such a mindset makes them easy—perhaps even willing—victims," Victoria explained.

Blake's cheerful gaze turned serious, as he arched a brow. "And what would you know of men and seduction?" 

She laughed, then gave him a coy smile. The hollow feeling in her chest gave in a little, caving in and fading away. "I shall tell you when I am married."

He sighed fondly. "Whatever shall I do with such a willful sister?"

"Love me," she responded simply.

"And I do," he replied.

And she knew it in her mind, but not quite her heart.

• • •

"The Cap—Lord Rutherford has instructed me to fetch you for supper, my lady," Dolores, Victoria's lady's maid, stuttered out, bending over in a stiff bow.

Victoria stood from a mahogany table in the ship's small, cramped library and set down her hard-backed adventure novel, slipping a mark into the pages. It was a thrilling journey through a jungle, without the barest hint of romance, which she appreciated. "I see. And what time is it? Will I have to dress for supper?"

"Seven-thirty, my lady, and yes you will, my lady." The slender, short blonde woman's head bobbed quickly as she spoke.

"Let us return to the stateroom, then." She followed the older woman's path out of the oak-panelled, shelf-lined room, each footfall raising dust despite its lightness. Clearly, few sailors had the time or interest to read any books. They meandered through the low-ceilinged corridors and up to the deck for a brief moment of respite from the claustrophobic surroundings of the ship, before entering the suite Victoria was sharing with her brother.

"Which dress, my lady?" The lady's maid hovered by the unpacked steamer trunk, which lay next to the armoire, hands clasped in front of her.

"The blue one, Dolores," she replied absentmindedly, moving to the small round window to peer at the rocking waves outside.

"The navy-blue, my lady?" Dolores opened the wardrobe door hesitantly. "Or the periwinkle?"

"The gown with the beaded neckline." Victoria turned to face the maid, bunching handfuls of the muslin skirt of her day dress tightly and then releasing them. "It's silk, from Xiangjin."

The maid laid it out and helped Victoria into the layers of corset and petticoat required for the evening gown. Dolores also procured a pair of matching gloves in white edged in pearls at the wrists to match the pale gossamer that lined the collar and cuffs of her gown. Finally, she was ready, the combination of elegant dress, carefully styled hair, and strategic dabs of perfume making her feel capable of facing supper tonight... and anything else the fates decided to toss her way.