Rhyne knew better than to make a foolish move.

He could see it in Donovan's violet eyes, the quiet dare, the hunger for provocation, and that only grated his nerves. The Alpha wanted him to rise to the bait, to take the challenge laid bare between them, and for a moment, he almost did. His pride flared, and his fist clenched. But then, something primal tugged at him. A warning.

His instincts whispered what his ego refused to hear, and that was the fact that he had no choice but to back off. This was not the time for violence– not now.

Even his wolf, who should have been eager to bare its teeth at him, stayed silent within him. His wolf was unwilling to face such a deadly man, and Rhyne knew better than to act on his self-centered wishes.

With one final glance at Esme who remained quiet beside Donovan, Rhyne turned sharply on his heel, his jaw tight. He raised a hand in silent command, and his men followed him without question, their formation retreating from the port like a broken tide.

Esme exhaled slowly as she watched them leave. God's willing, that would be the last time she ever saw him.

As the dust of confrontation settled and everyone returned to their duties, the ship finally stirred to life. Orders were given to the crews who had boarded, and footsteps thudded against the woods.

The final rope was unfastened with a heavy snap, whilst the gangplank groaned as it was hauled back, protesting in its old hinges. For a moment, the entire port fell into a strange, suspended silence, as though the air dared not breathe.

When the ship moved, a low creak echoed through its spine, followed by the deep churn of water beneath. At first, it was nothing more than a subtle shift beneath their feet. But then a slight forward drift sent Althea swaying to find balance, which she of course, found, in the arms of Acheron. He held her close against him, protectively so she wouldn't lose balance.

"You're tense," he murmured near her ear, his voice teasing. "Are you that afraid of falling into the water?"

"Haven't you been listening?" She whispered back, not making any move to tear free from his hold. "What if we end up passing through the black river? I don't wanna get infected with what's in it."

"You won't," he assured her, his tone grounding her in place. "That's a promise from your one and only, okay?"

Althea spared him a glance, and the redness of her cheeks betrayed the seriousness in her expression. She turned her head away, and Acheron's expression brightened when she hadn't denied it this time around. She was his adorable Althea after all.

Meanwhile, the current of the water caught the vessel, drawing it out into the deep waters. The wind pressed into the sails, and the hull cut cleanly through the tide. Esme stood at the railing, her fingers curling around the iron edge as the ship slipped free of the land. It had begun to shrink behind them, swallowed by the growing distance and the fog, until the only thing left was the sea.

Their voyage had begun.

The wind caught Esme's hair, carrying blue streaks across her face. It felt foreign journeying on a ship, but the fact that she wasn't alone made it all the more easier to enjoy the experience.

She turned to Donovan who was approaching her again after he was done issuing a brief signal to the helmsman. He held his hand out for her to take, and when she did, he quietly led her below the deck, where the rooms had been prepared.

The deck of the ship was wide, and Atticus, who was busy hauling cargo into the lower level paused to wave at Esme as she passed by with Donovan. She smiled back in return. The ship was surprisingly well-organized and divided into chambers meant for long voyages. But even though the helmsman had already estimated that they might spend three days, everything was in place to ensure nobody would lack comfort. Donovan had spared no details, and that was one thing Esme truthfully admired about him.

The quarters were small but solid, each with a narrowed bed, an oil lantern mounted on the wall, and a set of thick woolen blankets. The floors were clean, the wood dark and polished, and the air held a faint scent of iron and sea salt. Most rooms were shared, and others for storage.

He took Esme to their own quarters, which was tucked away from the noise of the lower decks. The door creaked open to reveal another well-surprising cabin. Warm lamplight flickered against the dark mahogany walls, casting soft shadows across the modest space.

A narrow window let in a sliver of sea and sky, its round glass rimmed with salt.

As he led her inside, Esme realized their belongings had already been arranged with care– her trunk by the wall, his cloak draped neatly over a carved wooden chair. A modest-sized bed was bolted to the floor, and it was tucked beneath a shelf lined with books, maps, and bundles of parchment.

How everything had been moved, Esme barely knew.

"Is it to your liking?" He asked. "I brought you here so you could see it for yourself. If it's not comfortable enough, I'll have someone redo the whole thing–"

"No no, this is perfect," Esme quickly said, sincerely too, as she turned to him, wide-eyed. She actually liked it. The space was warm and thoughtfully prepared, like a rare moment of care in a world that so often felt like it demanded endurance.

Besides, she couldn't bear the thought of the workers being pushed even further after what must have already been a long, exhausting effort. Meanwhile, Donovan was busy studying her face, searching for any flicker of forced politeness or hidden discomfort. When he found none, only then did his shoulders ease.

"I already sent someone to bring something down for you," he said again. "You must be feeling hungry by now. Get some rest in the meantime. I need to speak with the helmsman concerning the black river and if there's a way around it."

"How serious is it?" Esme asked.

"Based on what was said, it's killing the fishes underwater," he told her. "I think I once saw the black river when I broke out of that fortress. A long stretch of black water. People know by its name— it's one of the ways they describe the route leading up to the fortress. A landmark of sorts, but not a pleasant one."

Esme suddenly remembered seeing something like that when she escorted Lennox to the fortress back then. "Sounds like a terrible time to be king," she uttered, wondering how Lennox was going to deal with this new problem as well.

Her words drew a laugh from Donovan– the sound quiet but genuine. "Perhaps, if he actually does something about it," he replied. "Still, the problem shouldn't be left unresolved. What if it spreads into the clean water and leaves people with nothing to drink? It's not our immediate concern for now, not unless it starts slowing our voyage."

"I wonder if the river's content have been looked into," Esme murmured, her fingers already working at the clasps of her winter dress. The heavy fabric rustled as she pulled it down her shoulders, exposing the fine linen beneath.

Donovan turned to respond, but the words got caught in his throat. The room felt warmer now, and once again, her sweet floral hit his nostril same way it did in the carriage. He couldn't understand what was happening to him suddenly, but he had been doing his best to distract his thoughts from diverting in that direction.

Esme simply glanced over her shoulder. "Would you mind?" she asked, gesturing to a stubborn clasp at the back of her dress. "It's tangled again."

Sensing that she truly needed his help, he approached her in silence. His fingers brushed the fabric– then paused when he felt her skin. Her skin was soft, warm. Too warm. And far too close. The scent of her hair rose faintly as she shifted under his touch, unaware of the effect she was currently having on him.

"Did you see it? It's this particular one right here," Esme cluelessly tried to show him. He didn't hesitate to unclasp the fastening after she did, but something was wrong.

A strange heat stirred in his chest, spreading rapidly too, and coiling beneath his skin like wildfire. His mouth was dry, and the scent of her now seemed heady to him. He was suddenly aware of every inch between them- and how little it remained. Everything was familiar, but more magnetic than he remembered.

Shaking some rational sense back into his head, he stepped back. Esme looked at him with a faint smile. "Thank you–"

"I– I have to go," he said abruptly, already heading for the door. "Get some rest."

He didn't wait for her response. He turned and strode out of the chamber, the door closing harder than it should have.

Esme simply blinked, wondering if something urgent had come up.

Meanwhile, Donovan emerged from the lower deck, exhaling sharply as he dragged a hand down his face. The cool air hit his skin like mercy, dampening the heat that had been threatening to incinerate him from the inside out.

What in the hell was happening to him?

He'd craved Esme before—plenty of times. But this… this was different.

It wasn't just desire. It was a need—raw, consuming, and utterly out of control.

It was something wilder.

"Idiot," he heard his wolf say. "It's called a mating fever. How do you not recognize it?"

"A mating what?" Donovan rasped, his mind hazy with heat and confusion.

His wolf huffed, irritated. "It happens when your bond with your mate begins to root itself– deepen beyond the surface. The fever is the body's way of demanding further closeness. Urging you toward what it needs. If she doesn't answer to it soon, the fever will continue to grow until she soothes it. The feeling is more delayed for the opposite partner, so you better hurry up."

"No way," Donovan refused. "Everyone is currently focused on the voyage, and I can't stress Esme with this. I'll just hold it in till we get back."