My stomach churns nervously as Matthew is led away. I haven't eaten for what feels like days, though I know it's only been two days. My God. Two days. How has all this happened in so little time?

With an internal shake of my head, I turn to the officer that still stands gaping at me. "Bring me to your captain." Any other man would backhand me for talking to him like that, but my voice is dangerous, testing anyone to try me.

The officer nods, gesturing for me to follow. Men stare at me, but not in the way that would usually make me slap them. Their faces are shocked, skeptical, maybe a little fearful, but no matter what they know not to mess with me. And it's a good choice. Right now I'm out for blood.

Below deck smells absolutely putrid of rotting fish, even more so than the barge we were on. I have no idea how these men live in such deplorable conditions. I'll have to speak to Louis about this when I get back to Paris. If I get back to Paris. It's a gamble at this point after everything that's happened.

We arrive at the captain's door, and the officer knocks gently. "Sir? There's someone here to see you."

"Leave me be, Reginald. I have business to attend to."

"Actually, Sir," he says, his voice cracking, "this is urgent."

There is silence for a moment, then a grumbling right inside the door. "My God, man, is the damned ship sinking?" the captain asks right before the door swings open. His eyes settle upon me. "Who is she? I don't need introduced to your whore, Reginald."

"She—"

"You best mind your mouth, Sir," I snarl, wrapping Matthew's coat tighter around my body. Showing the captain my lack of clothes would not help my case.

He sneers, raking his eyes down my body. Behind him, I see a small room with a desk, a few chairs, and paper. Nothing more. Not much of an office. "And who are you to speak to me in such a way? Maybe I should take you in here and teach you a lesson"—he leans toward me, his breath foul—"little lady."

"Lay a hand on me, Captain, and you will lose that hand. And that arm." I turn to Reginald. "Leave us."

The captain growls. "Don't order my men arou—"

"I said 'leave', Reginald. I suggest you do it."

Reginald looks between his captain and me, eyes frantic and confused. "Sir—"

"Don't take a step, Reginald," the captain growls.

Eyes narrowed, his hand inches toward his waist and to the sword strapped to it. Before he fingers can even touch the sword, he's pinned to the wall. "I dare you, captain, to try to control me. When I'm on this ship, I'm the only commander here. You do what I say and you will live."

"The king will have your head," he chokes out, wary of the blade against his throat.

"The king has nothing over me."

"Leave, Reginald," the captain says. I loosen my dagger from his neck as the door closes behind the officer. "I will give you what you want, but please, miss, remove your blade."

A faint smile lines my lips. "Sit," I say, nodding to the chair. He moves to sit at the one behind the desk, but I pull him by the collar into the one facing the desk. "There are certain things you don't quite understand yet, Captain…?"

"Oswilder," he says quietly.

I sit behind the desk and fold my hands together. "Captain Oswilder, you see, I am not a woman to be tampered with. One wrong move and I will kill everyone on this ship. King Louis won't blame me for it either." I start thumbing through the paper on his desk, not failing to notice the nervous look he sports. "But, as long as you obey me, Captain Oswilder, you will be immensely rewarded for saving my partner and me from death."

"What do you need?"

I glance toward him, running my fingers down his quill that lays on the desk. "Medical aid, which is already being given. At least, I hope, for your sake. We'd also like food and shelter until the morning, as well as money."

"Why?"

"I don't believe it's any of your business, Sir. But, if you must know, I'm going to Paris to see my king."

He sneers. "Are you his whore as well?"

It takes one slap to have him spitting blood on the ground. "I dare you, Captain Oswilder, to call me a whore one more time." I kneel and put my mouth close to his ear. "One more time," I whisper, pressing the tip of my blade into his spine, "and my pretty, little dagger will be in your back."

"Please," he whimpers, "I'm sorry."

I grab his black hair, forcing his head to face me. "Do you want to know who I am, Captain?" I shove my palm into his face. His eyes widen. "That's right. You know. You know and you will fear me."

"Please," he says, quieter this time. "I meant no disrespect."

I scoff. "No, that's exactly what you meant. Had you known who I was, you wouldn't have said such things. But that doesn't excuse your actions. You do not treat women as if you own them. You don't disrespect them because mess with the wrong one and she will find and kill you." I shove him into the chair. "You will give us what we want, or things will get very ugly, very fast. Do you understand?"

A faint nod.

"Good. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to see my partner. And he better be alive."

Matthew waits in the medical "hall" with a bandaged arm and a defeated look. "Get up," I say, walking into the room.

He sighs, leaning back into the wall. His dark hair is ruffled, as if he ran his fingers through it several times. "Fuck off."

"I'm sorry, I just saves our asses and I'm the one who should fuck off?" I scoff. "Such male entitlement."

He stands up and faces me, a snarl on his lips. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, my arm had a bullet go through it, and I'm stuck on a ship with one of the most unbearable women I've ever met."

"Well, good luck getting out of here without me." I turn around, and head toward the door, but his voice stops me.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I… I'm just not used to relying on anyone."

I narrow my eyes. "Who are you?"

He stands and slowly limps toward me until he's only a few feet away. "That cannot be known, for my safety and for yours."

I step toward him, cheeks flushed, but I'm not sure if it's from the heat of this room or being so close to Matthew—some stranger. "And why is that?"

His eyes are dangerous when they meet mine. There's some type of hunger there, but it's not anything I've seen before. His fingers brush against my own, and I stiffen. "I won't hurt you," he whispers. "Trust me."

I let out a shaky breath as his hands slide up my arms, settling on my shoulders. We're only mere inches apart. "I barely know you."

"I know. And you may never know me fully, but I promise, I will never hurt you. Say the word, and I will never speak to you again. If you want me to leave, say so. I will. You deserve that much for everything you've done for me."

I press my fingers into his biceps. "Thank you, Matthew. I-I don't know what you want from me, but thank you."

"I don't want anything you aren't willing to give me. You decide what that is."

My voice is shaky as I say, "When I—we—get back to Paris, you'll be immensely rewarded for your services." But I have the feeling money is not exactly what he's talking about.

"Then I will oblige," he says, then removes his hands from my shoulders. Slowly, I take a step back and try to steady my breathing. What is it about men that makes me like this? "When are we leaving?" he asks.

"At dawn."

He sighs. "That's in three hours."

I smirk. "All the more reason to go to sleep now."

"Are you sure they won't attack us?"

"You think so little of me. Of course I am."

"But they have guns," he says, resting a hand on his injured arm. "I don't feel comfortable with this."

"You'll never feel comfortable with this, but it's all we have right now, Matthew."

"Would you at least stay with me?"

That question catches me by surprise. I swallow the lump in my throat. "Why?"

"I'd just feel better if you were with me."

I smirk, though I can feel the blush rising to my cheeks. "Afraid of the dark, Matthew?"

"No, I'd just feel better knowing you were safe."

"I can take care of myself, you know." I know he knows this, and it may very well be just wanting to look out for me, but somewhere inside myself I know I want it to be something else.

Matthew smiles very faintly and says, "I know. But if they do try to attack us, I think two would be better than one."

I nod. "Fine. I… I'll stay with you if that's what you really want."

He chuckles. "Uh… do you happen to have clothes?"

I look down at myself and roll my eyes. "Yes, because a ship filled with all men will definitely have women's clothes. Of course I don't have clothes. If I recall correctly, you stripped me and left them in the boat, which is highly inappropriate, I should add."

He presses his back against a wall and lets out a breath. "I'm sorry I saved your life."

I press a finger to his chest and wrinkle my nose. "No you aren't. I am a delight and you are quite lucky to have me."

He leans closer, narrowing his eyes. "Such a delight are you? Mind showing me how much?"

I purse my lips, trying to hide the smirk that hides there. "Such a stud, Matthew."

He shrugs. "I'm just saying if you ever want to—"

"I'm not sleeping with you. Sorry."

He laughs. "It's okay. You'll come around."

"Didn't you say you'd stop if I said the word?"

"You haven't said to stop yet, and by the looks of it you seem to enjoy our witty banter."

I snort. "You're such an ass. But yes, I do enjoy our witty banter. What makes me uncomfortable is when you touch me."

He immediately removes his hand from my arm, one I hadn't realized until seconds ago he'd put there. "Fine. I won't touch you, but yo

u are always welcome to touch me, dear."

I cringe. "Don't call me 'dear.' And I'm tired. Very tired. Can we go to sleep now."

"I mean, there are other things we could do besides sleep, but—"

I cut him off by slapping his arm. "Shut up, Matthew."

"Just saying," he mumbles.

He moves away from me and locks the door. "Better safe than sorry in the midst of the imbeciles. Get the blankets out. They should be in the cupboard." As he said, the blankets lie inside the cupboard, reeking of alcohol.

"My God, what did they do to it?"

Matthew wrinkles his nose. "They wash it in alcohol because drinking water is too valuable to spare on these ship."

"I can't sleep with this," I choke, throwing it at him.

He snorts. "Suit yourself then. Any pillows?" I shake my head. "Well, there's no way we're going back out there, so cozy up. It's bedtime."

Matthew keeps his hands to himself, and for a good reason. He doesn't seem like someone who likes that kind of thing anyway, if I'm perfectly honest. As much as I'd like to cozy up with a complete stranger, the stench of blood and a dizzying amount alcohol keep me awake well past what I like.

Matthew seems to be soundly asleep, but I know he's not. I've played the game too many times not to realize the tense feeling in the air. The floor's freezing, and the fact I have no blankets doesn't help the predicament. I'm over four feet from Matthew and though it doesn't some far enough away, I move closer.

"Matthew?" I mumble into the dark.

He's silent for a moment, and I soon start to wonder if he's actually sleeping, but soon he turns to face me. "Hm?" He's wide awake, but there's an eternal tiredness behind his eyes that I recognize in myself.

"Thank you for bringing me this far. I couldn't have done it without you."

His lips twitch. "You're welcome."

We're both silent for a moment, the air rather tense. The only noise I can recognize besides the occasional squeal of a rat being eaten by the ship's cat is the somber crashes of waves against the lower deck. "Matthew?" I ask, trying to distract myself.

"Hm?" he says again, his eyes closed.

"Tell me something good."

He lets loose a breath. "Nothing is good."

"That's a lie. There is good."

"Why do you want to know?"

My chest aches. "Because I need it right now." Subconsciously, I move closer to him. "Please."

After a moment of silence I think he's going to say no again, but finally he speaks. "I had a brother once." He shifts onto his back, staring up into the ceiling. "He was wonderful. He had this smile that could… light up a room. His hair would flop over his eyes, these beautiful brown eyes, and he's always trip over things because he never paid much attention to the real world." His voice starts to strain. He pauses. "His favorite color was blue. When I asked why he always replied, 'Because it's the color of your eyes.'"

I had never noticed. His fingers brush against mine very gingerly, almost cautiously. Slowly, I press my hand to his.

"He had the messiest handwriting," he whispers. "His mind went too fast for what he was trying to write. At night when he got scared he'd climb into my bed. His mother would be furious in the morning when she couldn't find him, but it didn't matter to him." His mother. Not our. What happened to his mother?

"And he'd always be so happy when I snuck him sweets from the kitchen when the cook wasn't around. Sometimes we'd go into the gardens at night. He'd look up at the sky and say, 'Gabe, what's it like to fly?'" He stops, his breath hitching.

Almost immediately I realize why. "Gabe?"

"It's nothing," he mumbles.

"Is that your real name?" My fingers stroke his palm.

"No." He's silent for a moment. "Nickname."

I move closer to him until I feel his breath on my skin. "What happened to your brother?"

"He's gone."

I close my eyes and decide not to press anymore. "I'm sorry."

We're silent for a few minutes, only accompanied by the waves and the feeling of our near embrace. My shoulder brushes his, and his breath on my neck sends shivers down my spine. "Hey," he mumbles.

"Hm?"

"Tell me something good."

I close my eyes, contemplating what to say for a moment, before brushes my fingers down his jaw. "Once there was a girl in Gascony…

(A/N: Yeah, so I finished a chapter, I guess? I'm kinda slowly writing this, and I can't promise there'll be a lot of updates, but I'm trying.)