CHAPTER 43: [43] KNOT SO SIMPLE

The argument had shrunk the deck of the Crimson Sparrow. Even under the vast, open sky, the air felt claustrophobic. The ship glided through the waves with a rhythmic thump-thump against the hull, and somewhere above them, gulls cried their harsh commentary on the day.

Raven stood at the helm like she owned not just the wheel but the entire ocean beneath them. Her mismatched hair caught the wind, red and white strands dancing around her face as she adjusted their course with subtle movements of her wrists. She hadn’t looked at either of them since the money discussion ended, radiating the kind of pointed indifference that somehow felt louder than shouting.

Great. Now she’s giving us the silent treatment.

Pierre scrubbed a hand through his red hair, the motion doing nothing to settle the unease from the negotiation. He’d played mediator, only to end up feeling like a referee at a match where both fighters wanted him dead.

A sharp curse from the starboard side caught his attention.

Alyssa knelt beside a thick rope that lay in an unspooled mess across the deck, looking like a lazy, sleeping sea snake. Her platinum blonde hair swung forward, a silken curtain hiding her frown as she attacked the tangled rope, her attempts to impose order only making the chaos worse.

Oh, this should be good.

He strolled over, letting the corner of his mouth lift in a slow, deliberate smirk. "Having some trouble there, Princess?"

Alyssa’s head jerked up, her pale green eyes narrowing.

"I’m perfectly capable of managing a simple rope, thank you very much."

"Right. I can see that." Pierre gestured at the tangle, which now looked worse than when she’d started.

"Oh, and I suppose you could do better?" She straightened up, one hand on her hip, the other still gripping a loop of rope. "Let me guess—part of your mysterious ’adventurer’ training involved rope management?"

Actually, no. But how hard can it be?

Pierre had watched plenty of sailors during his time on ships, both in his previous life on television and since arriving in this world. It looked simple enough—just a matter of technique and muscle memory.

"Here, let a professional show you how it’s done."

He reached for the rope and Alyssa reluctantly stepped back. Loop over, twist slightly, loop over again...

The rope felt heavier than he’d expected, and slicker. His hands, which had been perfectly steady when fighting Hardy, now seemed clumsy. He wrestled a few loops into place, trying to imitate the sailors he’d seen. The rope responded by slumping into a lopsided spiral that looked less like a coil and more like a cry for help.

Okay, maybe a different approach.

Pierre tried to adjust his grip, repositioning his hands the way he thought he’d seen it done. The movement sent his carefully arranged loops sliding sideways, and when he tried to catch them, he only succeeded in creating what looked like a rope sculpture designed by someone having a seizure.

"See?" He held up the tangled mess with as much authority as he could muster. "It’s all in the wrist."

Alyssa stared at his handiwork. First, her brows knit in confusion. Then, her eyes widened in disbelief. Finally, the corner of her mouth twitched, fighting a smile that blossomed into a full, unexpected laugh.

"Is that so, Captain?"

The smug authority bled out of him. He held up the tangled mess, his posture deflating like a pierced lung. "It’s... a preliminary knot. You have to start somewhere."

"A preliminary—" Alyssa laughed.

"Oh, like you were doing any better?" Pierre shot back. "At least I got it off the deck."

Alyssa lunged forward and grabbed a section of the rope. "Give me that. You’re twisting it wrong."

"I’m not twisting it wrong!" Pierre held on to his end, and they engaged in a brief tug-of-war. "You’re supposed to pull when you loop, not loop when you pull!"

"That doesn’t even make sense!" She yanked harder, trying to wrestle the rope away from him. "You’re pulling when you should be looping, Red!"

Pierre gave a particularly sharp tug, trying to reclaim the rope, but Alyssa had wrapped her end around her wrist for better leverage. His sharp tug ripped her off-balance. Her feet scrambled for purchase on the deck, found only loose coils of rope, and she went down in a flailing heap.

Oh, shit—

Pierre dropped his end of the rope and lunged, his arms wrapping around her waist just as she tilted past the point of no return.

They both froze.

She fell back against him, and the world narrowed to the solid reality of her. Her back pressed flush against his chest, the lines of her body slotting against his.

This is not what I planned.

Her breathing had gone shallow, and he could feel the rapid rise and fall of her ribcage against his forearms. One of his hands had landed just below her sternum, fingers spread wide across her stomach, while the other rested against her hip. The rope was still tangled around both of them, creating an improvised web that seemed to pull them closer together.

His tactical mind screamed commands—Release! Disengage!—but the orders were static, shorting out against the reality of her. The weight of her body, the yielding warmth soaking through his shirt, the clean scent of salt and wind in her hair...

He’d held women before—in his previous life, in training, in passing moments—but this was different. It wasn’t like holding a person; it was like grabbing a live wire. A foreign heat shot up his arms and coiled deep in his gut. Every point of contact was a brand, a claim.

Move. Say something. Do literally anything except stand here like an idiot.

Alyssa shifted slightly, and he felt her muscles tense as she realized their position. She turned in his arms until they were face to face. Her coral lips parted, breath catching. The cold, sea-glass green of her eyes lost its sharp focus. The color seemed to deepen, the hard edges softening into something hazy.

"I—"