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

twenty-seven : of scoundrels and ships

Grace was crying, and Connor turned over in bed to get her from the nursery and soothe his daughter, just as he heard the quiet footsteps of the nurse. Quiet lullabies could be heard in the connecting door between the royal bedchamber and the nursery, gentle words and quiet melodies drifting in through the cracked-open door. He rolled over again, the piercing cry having startled him too much to resume his slumber. Natasha must have felt the same way, because she faced him in the bed now, her face pale in the darkness, moonlight illuminating her dark hair.

"Do you wish to hear of my plan for dealing with that bastard of a king?" she asked him, a mischievous grin curling up her lips. Still, he could see the worry that creased her eyes, furrowed her brows, and he reached out to smooth it away.

"Pray, do tell," he responded, shifting closer to her so that his hand rested on the still-flat plane of her abdomen, his fingers splayed over the cotton nightgown she wore.

"He wants to leave, be allowed passage back to Seralia." The thoughtful tone of her voice surprised him... was she truly considering allowing him to leave? "We may be enemies, but Seralia is also the nation closest to Arlea, only a strait away," Natasha reminded him with a grimace. "Detaining their king—even for threatening ours—would likely result in a war for which we are brutally unprepared. No, we will have to send him back."

Yet there was no trace of a sigh in her voice, no sign of despair or hopelessness on her lovely face. "You have a plan, don't you?" Connor asked, already knowing the answer.

Her smile was all the confirmation he needed. "We send him back... with assassins, who conveniently wreck the ship. He will be expecting the official Arlean navy that would originally escort him back to thatfrozen wasteland, to be against him and perhaps even murder him. So he will arrange alternate means of transportation... illegally. Pirates, whom he will likely pay a handsome fee. However, our bribes will be far more generous."

He raised an eyebrow. "We have not the coffers to start a war, but enough to bribe pirates into... into wrecking a ship and assassinating a king? Or did you throw in something else to sweeten the deal?"

"We have allies in strange places, Connor." She gave him a coy smile, one that sealed her secrets. He leaned in to kiss that coy smile now, fisting her shift and pushing it up to bare more of her torso beneath the blankets.

"How reassuring," he murmured against her shoulder. "Would you mind sharing what one of those locations are?"

She gasped, the sound dissolving into a laugh. "In the morning. I promise you."

• • •

"Look at this insignia on the note I received from the pirates," Natasha passed him a seal, reaching over the plate of bacon to do so.

He examined the red circle of wax: it bore the faint engraving of two blades crossed beneath a letter M. "Which house is that?" Connor wondered aloud, taking a swig of orange juice.

"One that I recognize," Natasha replied, leaning closer to him, one hand resting on his arm. She was more physically affectionate in public when with child, a side effect he hardly minded and in fact enjoyed.

He breathed in her scent of lilacs. "Could you be less vague, darling?"

She scowled at him, but maintained their physical closeness. "Remember the baron—Huntington of Abbotsford?"

"I had hoped to forget the vile man, but yes, I do in fact recall such a dastardly villain." He grinned when she rolled her eyes at his melodramatic statement.

"Well, I forged a letter from his wife to his conspirator, and the reply I received bore a similar seal." She pulled out a piece of parchment from a pocket of her cloak. "The only difference is, the reply I received from the pirates has a letter F imprinted on top of the M, and the one from the Baron's conspirator has a letter J."

He sucked in a breath. "That has yet to solve the mystery of the house. Could it be the Marchands?"

"No, their crest has no weapons of any sort on it; theirs is a rose, I believe." She frowned, clearly puzzling over it before putting both of the letters away. "Well, there's no time to fret about such things now. Our... visitors are nearly here."

They walked to the atrium—the same space where, not so long ago, she had proposed to him. They sat at the very same table now, Natasha at the head and Connor on her right, with the pirate—whose name was unknown to them because of his own reticence—preferring to remain standing.

Connor wondered, for what must have been the thousandth time that day, if it was a sound idea to put their vital, crucial plans into the hands of pirates. If rogues and rakes and knaves, if the whole entirely unwholesome and decidedly untrustworthy lot of them could be trusted. But Natasha had assured him of their loyalty to her, one that went beyond the heavy sum they were paying the criminals. And if he didn't trust his wife, his equal, then who could he have faith in?

Nobody. That seemed to be a painful constant, every unfolding event after the other reminding him of that fact. Dominica's betrayal, the king's offer, the baron's attempted assassination of Grace... They could trust nobody but themselves.

"I know what thoughts must be circulating in that head of yours," Natasha murmured through stiff lips at his side, her voice faint enough that he had to strain to hear it. "But I do not want to hear them put into words, not until we are safe."

He gave her the slightest of nods, squeezing her hand. She gripped it back, tightly enough to crush his bones at the sight in front of them. A snake. Not a metaphorical one in the form of a power-hungry courtier, but a literal, scale-covered and brightly coloured, exotic boa constrictor, as the pirate in front of them called it. He himself was as eccentric-looking as his dangerous pet: a red-feathered cap covering his head of dark curly hair, gold hoops glinting in his ears, and he was dressed in an odd assortment of clothing ranging from a pair of nobleman's bright crimson culottes, to a black satin waistcoat embroidered in gold and silver thread, depicting flowing, indecipherable script.

"Captain," Natasha greeted the pirate with a tense smile. He knew her diplomatic skills were less than stellar—she was either frigidly impolite, or showed entirely too many of her emotions all at once—which was why Connor would later interject, in the case that the situation became too tense or too heated. "Would you like to hear our proposition?" 

"Your proposition regarding the king of Seralia?" he asked nonchalantly, leaning against a pillar of the atrium. Despite the relaxed position he took, there was an edged wariness to his form—as though at any minute he would be capable of starting a fight with any of the wicked-looking curved blades hanging at his hip. "That proposition?"

"Precisely," Connor replied, sensing tensions rising in the room despite his wife's earlier reassurance to him of the pirates' allegiances. Tensions he would have to soothe. "That proposition."

The pirate barked a laugh. "I would be more than happy to assist in such a plan... though my reasons for doing so I would prefer to keep quiet. I hope you can understand."

He did—the complexion of the pirates was distinctly darker than that of the typical Arlean, at least of the native Arlean. They likely had patriotic ties to other countries.

"Of course," Natasha ceded now, her gracious mask appearing. "But, will you aid us in the assassination of the Seralian king?"

"That much, I can definitely promise."