Søren shrugs. “My father wants things and he takes them,” he says. “Everyone else be damned.”

The words send a shock through me. No one dares to speak like that about the Kaiser, and I didn’t expect it from Søren of all people. They may not be close, but he’s still his father. I’d thought it would take more effort to turn Søren against the Kaiser, but the Kaiser seems to have done a good enough job of that on his own.

“As captain of this fine vessel, I have the right to make a few rules,” Søren says with a sigh, interrupting my thoughts.

“Rules?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, one rule,” he amends. “No more talk of my father.”

I laugh, even though my mind is whirling, puzzling out how to push Søren’s feelings about his father further, how to twist them more in my favor. But there is time for plotting later; tonight I need to just be a girl alone on a boat with a boy she likes. Tonight I need to be Thora.

“I like that rule,” I tell him, surprised to find that it’s the truth. I should be trying to coax more information out of him, but the prospect of a conversation that isn’t darkened by the Kaiser’s shadow is too much to pass up. “What happens if we break it?”

Søren softens, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, there is a plank,” he says. He sits up and opens the wicker basket, pulling out a bottle of wine. “There aren’t, however, any glasses.”

I laugh, sitting up as well. “How barbaric,” I tease.

“The plank or the lack of glasses?” he asks, uncorking the bottle with his teeth.

I consider it for a moment. “The lack of glasses. The plank is tolerable, I suppose, provided it’s well polished.” He passes me the open bottle of wine and I take a small swallow before passing it back to him. It’s barely a sip, but I need to keep my wits about me. “What else did you bring?” I ask, nodding toward the basket.

He takes a significantly longer swig before passing the bottle back to me and digging through the basket. He pulls out a small chocolate cake, still warm from the oven, and two forks.

“Forks!” I say, clapping my hands in glee. “If you hadn’t brought forks, I think I’d have gladly walked off the plank.”

He holds one out to me, but pulls it back when I go to take it. “Just promise you won’t stab me with it?” he says. His voice is teasing, but guilt ties my stomach into knots.

“Don’t be silly,” I say, keeping my voice light. “If I killed you here, however would I get back to shore?”

He smiles and passes me the fork. I’m not sure if it’s the cake itself or everything else—the ocean, the sense of freedom, the way Søren’s looking at me—but it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Though the cake is large enough for four people at least, it’s only a matter of moments before there is nothing left but crumbs and both of us are overstuffed and lying on our backs with our heads angled together.

It’s so easy, I realize, to pretend to be the sort of girl who likes him. It makes me wonder how much I’m actually pretending. I’m comfortable around him. Talking with him like this, saying things we shouldn’t, feels as natural as breathing.

He must feel it, too, because he turns his face slightly toward me. “What’s the Astrean word for cake?” he asks.

It’s a dangerous question. After the siege, anytime I spoke Astrean, I would be hit. A sharp slap across the face, a fist to my ribs that would leave a bruise, a kick to my stomach that knocked the breath from me. I didn’t speak a word of Kalovaxian back then, but I learned quickly. Speaking Astrean now with my Shadows is one thing, but it feels like a trap to speak it with a Kalovaxian prinz. When I turn to look at Søren, though, his face is open and guileless.

“Crâya,” I say after a second, before frowning. “But no, that’s not right. That refers to a lighter cake, usually lemon or some kind of citrus. Those were more common. This would have been called…” I trail off, struggling. We didn’t have chocolate cakes very often, maybe once or twice that I remember. I close my eyes, trying to recall. “Darâya,” I say finally.

“Darâya,” he echoes, his accent abysmal. “And wine?”

I hold up the bottle. The wine is light and crisp, and though I’ve only had half of what Søren had, I can already feel it working its way through me, making my mind buzz.

“Vintá,” I say. “This one would be a pala vintá. If it were red, it would be roej vintá.”

“Pala vintá.” He takes the bottle from me and takes another gulp. “Ship?”

“Baut.”

“Wind?”

“Ozamini. Our air goddess was called Ozam, so it came from that,” I explain.

“Hair?” He reaches out to touch mine, twirling a lock around his finger. I watch him, entranced. I inch closer without thinking. These are Thora’s feelings. They cannot belong to me, can they?

“Fólti,” I say after a second.

“Ocean?” I can feel his breath against my cheek as he moves closer. His face takes up my entire view, blotting out the sky, the stars, the moon. All I see is him.

“Sutana.” The word is barely an exhale. “The same as Ozamini, but this time for the water goddess, Suta.”

“Kiss?” His eyes never leave mine.

I swallow. “Aminet.”

“Aminet,” he repeats, savoring each syllable.

I should be prepared for his mouth drifting toward mine. Little experience as I have, I know it’s coming; it’s what I’ve been working toward, after all. But I’m not ready for how much I want him to do it. Not me as Thora, the broken girl, or Theodosia, the vengeful queen. Just Theo, both and neither. Just me. And maybe out here, with no one to see us but the stars, I can be that girl for just a moment.

So when he kisses me, I let myself kiss him back because I want to. I want to feel his mouth on mine and taste his breath. I want to feel his callused hands against my skin. I want to bury myself in his embrace until I forget Blaise and Ampelio and my mother and the tens of thousands of people who need me. Until we are two nameless people with no pasts, only a future.

But I can’t forget, not even for a moment.

“Aminet,” Søren murmurs again against my lips before rolling over onto his back. “I didn’t bring you out here for that, you know.”

“I know,” I say, trying to get ahold of my wits. “If your goal was seduction, you wouldn’t have led with the cat story.”