Page 75 of Spar of Hearts

Flying in lightning would be far too dangerous. This storm was stabbing bolts into the sky every second. Once it slowed, Yomira would be along in no time. They’d fly back to the ship and continue on their way with minimal delay.

The shoreline was mostly sand and rocks flanked by the glacial wall, but the further back he went, the more driftwood and dried bushes he found, and the glacial wall finally gave way to a sheer limestone cliff face. The papery shift of leaves and branches was barely audible in the distance, but he didn’t trust his hearing after all the thunder and yelling. Scaling the cliff would be a challenge in his best shape. It would be foolhardy now.

Gravel turned to sand beneath his feet as he jogged back to the beach with an armful of sticks, depositing them safely beyond the reach of the high tide. He was desperate to start the fire and get Anya warm, but a fire would be no use without some way to keep it dry. He scoured the crags for a shelter. Each unsuccessful minute felt like an hour wasted and a moment closer to Anya freezing to death.

He went back to the exposed cliff face, tracing his hands along its chalky, rain-weathered surface as he walked its perimeter. Coastal regions often had caves, and limestone like this was especially prone to being worn away by crashing waves and storms. After a few hundred feet, the cliff face gave way to a cave. It wasn’t as deep as he’d like, but it would keep the fire dry and shield Anya from the elements.

He returned to the beach and hoisted Anya into his arms. Getting her out of the rain took priority over the fire. He tucked her away in the cave, collected the kindling, then bore a hole into a larger branch with a stick until little wisps of smoke turned into flame.

Once the fire was at a rolling pace, he stripped off his shirt and trousers. Technically, his undershorts needed to go too, but he had to maintain some propriety. His eyes darted to Anya as he spread his clothes in front of the fire to dry.

It was time for the truly awkward part.

He shifted Anya on his lap and worked the strings of her bodice. His nails fumbled the finery, slipping from one row to the next without tugging anything loose. It was especially difficult to feel the position of his fingertips beneath his callouses.

And how on earth had she swam in these skirts? Her clothing was practically an anchor. Why she despised shoes and not this was beyond him.

His freezing fingers struggled to undo the middle ties. He huffed a breath. Why was it so tight? It was no wonder she couldn’t last long in the water. She’d hardly been able to breathe on dry land. This was utter madness.

Once the middle was loosed, the bottom ties followed easily. He swallowed thickly. He knew what had to come next. What if Anya woke up? She would understand, right? Or would she accuse him of being a rake again?

Roderick sighed and shook his head, then gingerly slipped the blue dress off Anya’s shoulders. His fingers glided along the smooth stretches of bare skin as he negotiated the crests and curves of her body. Mercifully, she had a white corset and a thin underskirt that hid her most intimate areas. Her undergarments could stay, but the corset had to be loosened at the very least. She needed as much air as possible. He repeated the infuriatingly fine work of loosening the threads. It was very possible this task alone warranted Lady Rowan’s employment.

“Mm…” Anya stirred as his fingers poked through the corset strings, making contact with the soft ridges of her spine. He winced. His fingertips probably felt like ice.

“I’m just getting these wet clothes off you,” he said quietly. “That’s all. I swear.”

She coughed drowsily, then fell against his chest. Wet locks of her hair tickled his neck and shoulders, reflecting the dancing firelight.

Objectively, his chest was a warm, dry place for her to lay, and the rest of his body was heating up fast.

Because of the fire.

Nothing else.

The storm outside began to dwindle as the hours wore on, no longer an unpredictable morass of pummeling rain and ice, but a gentle patter against the sandy beach and stone.

By now Roderick realized there were two things that drove him from his right mind: his people, and the Princess. Could he be more of a storybook knight—weak in the knee for royalty far beyond his reach, constantly ricocheting between duty and love?

He shook his head.

Woah there. Who said anything about love?

He glanced down at Anya, now peacefully dozing on the planes of his chest. Her fingers twitched occasionally, brows furrowed as she dreamed. It was possible she hadn’t slept at all after their fight. He tightened his grip on her, hoping regret would seep through the warmth of his skin.

His heart had stuttered when he saw her up on the rigging, barking orders with incredible calm and precision. He wanted to watch her work wonders on the ropes and shield her from all of it. He wanted to hide her away in the safety of his arms and watch her fight the tempest all at the same time.

How could she stand the gilded halls of the palace? He couldn’t picture her sitting behind a desk, signing trade agreements and entertaining the selfish rants of the aristocracy. He’d forced that image upon her at one time.

But not anymore.

The evidence to the contrary was far too great—from her tireless work on the evacuation to the simple way she embraced Emmaline and Mabel, coughing and all, without an ounce of hesitation.

Anya was a star burning bright. It would be a crime to hamper it.

When they got back to the ship, he would stay out of her way and enjoy the little glow he could catch off of her.

Anya exhaled a breathy sigh and rubbed her soft cheek on his chest.