Trosyn stood at attention in the Captain's quarters as he paced in front of her, his gloved hands folded neatly behind his back. After a moment he pivoted on his heel, facing her. She lifted her chin, but kept her eyes averted.

"I brought you on board knowing you might cause discord in my ranks," Captain Galli opened with. Trosyn nodded, lifting her eyebrows but still casting her gaze downwards. "I'll be speaking with Baldovo as well. Tension between my crew and him is nothing new, but this is the first time it's come to blows." The Captain crossed his arms, his finger tapping his upper arm as he regarded Trosyn sternly. "Four of my men all claim you struck Nuggi with a metal pail for being in your way, and Baldovo encouraged and incited more violence. But as your behaviour has been spotless to this point, I want to hear your side of the story."

Trosyn's eyebrows sunk low. "I was in a hurry, and Nuggi barred my path. I asked him to let me pass. He refused. So I ducked past him, and he grabbed me and pulled me back. That was when I hit him with the pail, as he made me afraid. Baldovo must have seen what happened and applauded, which was inappropriate. We both tried to leave, when the other sailors stopped us. Seeing that Nuggi was bleeding, they decided to punish Baldovo and I. I did my best to defend myself, but was overpowered. Colto and Volente came across the scene, Volente ran to get chief mate Mici and Colto intervened." Trosyn finally lifted her eyes and nodded to the captain to indicate she was done giving her statement.

Captain Galli considered her account as he stroked his beard. "I do not abide fighting and it is my policy to punish all participants. It is how I keep order. You may not be part of the crew, but you are on my ship, and that means you are under my law." Captain Galli placed his hand behind his back again. "I sympathise with being afraid, as a woman surrounded by sailors, for all the reputation they have as a profession. But there will still be consequences for you, Baldovo, and Colto."

Trosyn nodded her head, her gaze shifting from the Captain to straight ahead, chin lifted. "Understood, sir."

"But do know, this incident hasn't changed my opinion of you, nor do I retract my offer. Have you given it much thought?" the captain asked, tilting his head. Trosyn did not move, though her eye darted to him then away again.

"I have. I'm still deliberating. I've entered into hasty arrangements before, so wish to give this full thought, sir," Trosyn responded.

The Captain picked up a letter opener, poking his gloved finger with it a moment. "Well then add this to your consideration. If you were my wife, no one on this ship would dare lay a finger on you." The Captain leaned forward, whispering in Trosyn's ear, "Because I would be well within my rights to shoot them." He then straightened up and faced the door. Trosyn swallowed the lump forming in her throat, but kept her expression carefully neutral. "When I've decided on your exact punishment, you will be notified. You may leave."

"Sir," Trosyn said coolly, hairs still standing on the back of her neck as she turned to leave.

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The punishments doled out on Trosyn, Colto, and Baldovo were humane, as to be expected by a fair Master of the vessel. All were confined to quarters and reduced to bread and water for their sustenance for three days. Baldovo and Colto were placed in the same quarters, and Volente was shifted to share his cabin with one of the midshipmen. Trosyn continued to have her own cabin for the sake of propriety. The four sailors who had been in the fight were flogged publicly, but not confined or reduced in their rations, as they were needed to do their duties.

Volente volunteered to bring the scant meals to his friends, and was given permission. He used this excuse to bring his journal to Trosyn's cabin, and to sit on the empty cot across from hers.

"It will be a long three days. Tell me more of your story, and I can share it with them during our evening meal," Volente said as Trosyn pulled apart pieces of her crusty heel of bread.

"If you insist. It will pass the time. Doctor Hern offered to bring me some clean bandages to roll to at least keep my hands busy."

"Oh! Oh my, how... thoughtful?" Volente's eyebrows raised and lowered in perplexity as he prepared his writing utensils. It was a bit cumbersome as there was no desk in Trosyn's cabin. He found himself fretting over keeping all of his supplies in orderly fashion, and with the looks he was giving Trosyn, it was clear he wondered how she coped without a writing desk.

"Well, whenever you are ready," Trosyn said, watching Volente struggle to juggle his papers, ink, and pens. Once he managed to lay everything out so that it wasn't constantly rolling off the cot, he looked up at Trosyn expectantly.

I kept busy to ward off the frostiness by which Sir Benold was treating me. Some of the staff had picked up on it as well, and gave me such looks. Some of pity, some smug. Some were just curious. But none ever dared ask. They were mostly content with their own, or each other's, theories. Some even tried to make my job more difficult, but with very little impact on me. Which I am sure frustrated them, but I was beyond concerning myself with them. I was constantly worried what either Sintol or Benold might do at this point. In all of my predictions, I had not even considered one of the more alarming outcomes.

While I was airing linens outside, I saw a silhouette through the sheet I had just hung up. Moments later, the sheet I had carefully draped and straightened for most efficient drying was whipped away, and I was face to face with Vormind. I looked around in vain for the other maid I had been working with, but she was across the yard, busy with sweet talk from one of the coachmen. I looked back at Vormind who stepped closer every time I stepped back.

"You've caused quite a little tangle between Sintol and my dear cousin, haven't you?" Vormind asked, his voice bringing bile up my throat. He made a grab for me and I quickly ducked behind another sheet. Down came that one as well, tossed to the grass and mud.

"Please, I need to get to my duties," I said, looking for someone who might help me. Why was it when I actually needed the other staff, they were nowhere to be found? And when I made mistakes, they were present in spades? I looked again to where the maid and the coachmen were, but they had walked out of sight.

"I thought we had an understanding, you and I," Vormind said, blocking my retreat when I made for the nearby servant's entrance. He grabbed a nearby washing paddle, smacking it into the palm of his hand as he continued to herd me away from refuge. He went on to add, "Not only were you supposed to not cause trouble, you were supposed to keep my dear cousin happy. And he does not seem happy."

I was terrified. Vormind always prided himself on being persuasive. But his methods of persuasion were usually brutal extractions. I turned to run, but felt him yank me by my plaited hair and pull me back. If I could have, I would have cut all of my hair then and there to get away. I remember him spinning me around and taking my hands, squeezing them and looking at my fingers, remarking how nice my hands were. My hands began to sting, not because of anything he was doing at that moment, but memory of what he had done to them before. One might think a tiny sliver of dried reed would be harmless, but when placed beneath the fingernails, it can be very painful.

I insisted that he let me go, that Sir Benold said he was NOT to harm me. I remember the feeling of his breath on my ear as he told me what Sir Benold didn't know wouldn't hurt him. But what I didn't know would certainly hurt me, and clearly, I did not know my place. I will not burden you with details. He knew how to harm a person without leaving a mark. Compared to what I knew he was capable of, he was just giving me a warning, but it hurt all the same. And it put in perspective the folly of my getting too complacent.

He left after reminding me that next time he would not be so civil. I then picked up the sheets he'd tossed around and set to washing them, knowing I'd get in trouble for the mess he made. I just had to push through my pain until my chores were done, then I could cry in my room and try to soothe myself.

Afterwards I fell into brooding over my situation. I was not one prone to stewing, but I was afraid and distraught. My sense of security had been undermined. I began to question whether I was just imagining that Sir Benold still cared for me, and that he instead had some twisted fixation in his head. This just distressed me more.

A few days later when I was told to bring him his supper, I nearly refused. But I thought better of it. With an enforcer like Vormind, disobeying Sir Benold wasn't easy for me at that time. And I also did not wish to cause Mrs. Gray any grief. While she had been strict with me before, and at times seemed unreasonable, I was growing oddly fond of her no-nonsense ways. I observed how she handled everyone and knew it was nothing personal against me. There was that time when she - ah but I am getting off topic. Right. Sir Benold.

He decided to dine in his quarters, so I took him his tray. I was not too thrilled with the goblet of wine included, as I was afraid of the effect it had on him. When he saw it was I who brought him his supper, I noticed a tick at his frosted temple and he looked away. Just as I was about to leave he told me to wait. I was tempted to march straight out, but again, remembered the lashing I took from Vormind. So I stayed.

"Have the staff had their dinner yet?" he asked me. It seemed an odd question. I told him 'no'. And clearly, I would miss it if he detained me further. Instead of taking the hint and releasing me, he beckoned me over to the small table in his room, and gestured to the chair across from him. I crossed my arms and sat down. I watched as he tore open a fluffy, flaky white roll and smeared some fat on it.

"I wanted to talk to you about that conversation we had," he began. I didn't say anything, I just waited for him to get to the point. He offered half of his roll to me. I refused. He arched his eyebrow at me and left the offered half on the edge of his plate. He started to speak, but I interrupted him.

"Before you begin there's something I need to tell you!" I don't know what possessed me to speak up. I'd told him about Vormind before, and he often took his side. He looked at me, astonished with my interruption, but gestured for me to continue while he ate. "Vormind approached me while I was out with the laundry."

"When was this?" my Master asked, and I could see him growing tense. He was preparing for the accusations, I was sure.

"I believe it was... one gong past luncheon."

"Impossible. He had left by then," Sir Benold said, waving his hand. I knew it. But he seemed disquieted and he looked up at me again. "...You said you were out doing the laundry?"

"Yes, hanging it to dry," I answered truthfully.

"Could another maid verify that?" Sir Benold asked. I hesitated. I didn't want him to know about the affair between the maid and the coachman. The Coachman was married, after all. And he was of the view that infidelity in marriage increased the likelihood of infidelity in the workplace. In short, he would have fired them both. But if he asked Mrs. Gray, she would report that I was not working alone.

"Yes, Weneth was working the laundry with me, but she wasn't there at the moment Vormind made his appearance," I explained. He didn't look entirely convinced but continued eating in silence, making an encouraging gesture for me to continue. I told him that Vormind had threatened me, grabbed me, and hurt me. He did not look up once from his meal, often sipping his wine as he listened. But his brow was heavily lined, and his breathing had become shallow.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Convenient no one else saw this," Sir Benold said in a dead calm.

"He wouldn't have acted if it wasn't convenient for him," I challenged. He looked up at me with a baleful expression. I quickly looked down as a tense silence fell between us. Eventually I looked up again, and he was staring off to the side, dabbing his chin with a napkin.

"Why did he hurt you? Did he say?" Sir Benold asked.

"Yes but..."

"Tell me."

I squirmed. "He said it was because you were in a foul temper."

It was then Sir Benold committed a most ungracious sin, one which would have had me out on the streets if I were to be so bold. He put his elbows on the table. I jest. Not about his elbows, but about the gravity of the situation. But if you'd known how often he'd scolded me for it when I was young, you would smile. I know the situation is serious, but I find sometimes a bit of levity helps me go forward.

I could see Benold did look mortified, as the wheels were beginning to turn. He stammered a few quiet syllables, trying to extricate himself from an unpleasant situation. But then he finally said, "Surely you do not believe I instructed or ever even suggested he do any such thing? I would never! You know that, don't you?"

"You wouldn't do these things yourself. But you do stand by and let them happen," I chided. He looked away, snatching up his wine and taking a large gulp. He continued to glare off at some distant mote across the room.

"He should know better than to... than to..." Sir Benold grappled again with trying to salvage the situation. But the truth was not something he could reconcile and make himself look good. "Well what would you have me do? He's my cousin. I can't ban him from my house!"

"But you could!" I insisted. He stood up suddenly.

"I... you are not in a position to tell me what I should and should not do!" He said, wagging his imperious finger at me, like he did when he was my mentor.

"He is hurting me! Are you fine with that?" I asked. I usually did not resort to displays of emotion, but there were tears in my eyes and I thumped my chest with my fist. "He is hurting me."

Sir Benold sat back down, staring at me. He hung his head and placed his face in his hands. We did not speak for some time. I was considering getting up and leaving when he broke the silence.

"I never was able to keep you safe, was I? That's why... we drifted apart..." he said, disrobing this realisation of his. Perhaps he'd realised it long ago, but this was the first time he put it in words.

"I couldn't rely on you. You hurt me almost as much as he did, when you didn't believe me, and took his side," I told him. And with every word I could see him sinking further, becoming paler. But it was gratifying to see his remorse. Not from any vindictiveness on my part, but rather just from him finally recognising that he wasn't the only injured party in our previous falling out.

"You never did tell us what happened between you and Benold in the past," Volente mentioned as he jotted something down.

"No, I suppose I did not. It was so convoluted, it would be hard to put in order." Trosyn admitted, removing her cap and running a hand through her hair, which clumped in frizzy waves due to the sea air.

"Everything you have told me... it's clear you have suffered deeply. I am sorry to hear it," Volente said softly, looking over the notes.

"It's alright Volente. It's all behind me now," Trosyn muttered the latter statement.

"Is it? Goodness but it all seems so dreadful, and I worry that telling it is just reliving it. I am too much of a gentleman to want to see a woman raked over the coals of her past. Still, I... well I don't mind hearing what you are comfortable telling," Volente admitted. He took a break from writing to wipe off his spectacles.

"I bring it forward, to put it to rest," Trosyn explained. "Although, I realise, you do not speak of your own past much. Here am I, laying my history out night by night, but I've never asked about any of you. It would do me well to learn about where I am going to, as much as you are learning where I am coming from."

Volente laughed, exposing his crooked teeth, but he at least had a full set of them. Which was more than could be said for some of the sailors much younger than he. He tucked his silver hair out of his eyes and perched his spectacles back on his narrow nose. "I don't have much of a story to tell."

"Everyone has a story," Trosyn insisted.

"Well, I'm sure it will come out in spots. But let's return to you and Benold. I feel like this is building up to something significant." Volente said, picking up his pen and giving her a pleasant smile.

"You could say that..."

Well, we were finally talking about the things that needed talking about. I've lost my train of thought and the memory is fading. I don't remember everything we said. But I do remember he gave me a truly, genuine apology. Not the sort he used to puff himself up and extol his own virtues, but truly was showing remorse. In this regard, he surpassed my expectations. I even felt a little guilty for lacking the faith in him. But I think, even though I went into telling him about Vormind with low expectations, there was hope that it would make a difference.

I remember how I responded, once I had let his apology soak in. "I forgive you, Sir Benold, for what it is worth." What I didn't say was that if he made the same mistakes, I already knew it would hurt me even deeper, and take more than an apology for me to let go. I don't hold grudges. But I feel deeply, and remember much. The pain I'd endured as a result of his actions were what I was made of. Although, I was as much to blame for some of my suffering as he was. As anyone was.

He seemed surprised that I forgave him so easily. He hadn't even asked for forgiveness yet. It took him a while to figure out what to say or do next. He had run out of wine, and his hands did not seem to know where to be. On the table. On his lap. On his arm rests. And then, all pretence and preamble seemed pointless, and rather unlike himself, he blurted out, "I wish you could be my wife."

Now it was my turn to feel awkward and not know where to look. I fidgeted, which he had outlawed in my youth. He didn't seem to notice at that moment though. It wasn't a surprise after he'd kissed me that he had such thoughts about me. The awkwardness was more that I didn't know what was appropriate. "And why can't I be?" I know it was a naïve question. But I wanted to know for certain. There were nuances to slavery I still hadn't learned. I didn't know what was the culture that had developed after the war, and what were the actual laws.

He studied me for a moment or two, looking confused. Which confused me even more. It seemed the more confused each of us got, the other met a whole new level of bewilderment. I decided to take that half of a roll he'd left aside after all, as eating gave me something to do while I sorted this out. "After what you said, and when you ran off, I just assume that you don't want to be," my Master finally said.

Lucky for me, I had a mouthful of food to clear before I could respond. It gave me time to think. To feel. To focus. "What I want is to feel safe."

"And you've made it very clear that you do not feel safe with me," Sir Benold said with an air of bitterness. He eyed his wine glass as if it were betraying him by being empty.

"No, I do not," I responded plainly. He seemed put out by this for a while. But I think he was as upset with himself as he was with me.

After struggling some more with whatever demons he had, he looked me in the eye and asked, "But do you love me? At all?"

It was a very forward question, and one I could tell it was not easy for him to ask. Harder for him to wait for a response. He was already grimacing, and I could see he regretted asking before I could even speak. I wanted to tell him that I did, but not for my own comfort and safety. The trouble was, I definitely felt something for him, but could not be sure it was love. Or what he understood love to be. It was hard to see him as a whole. I kept seeing parts of him, parts of him that I adored. But then I saw sides of him that terrified me or triggered my contempt. When I tried to average it out, I really wasn't sure. I did not want to say yes or no or even that I didn't know. I tried to tell him that I felt affection or cared for him, I don't remember the exact words I used. Probably several, but he kept shaking his head.

"But do you love me?" he pressed on, not seeming satisfied with my other qualifiers. I was vastly uncomfortable, and resented being cornered into giving a yes or no answer to something that might affect my life significantly. I could never for a moment forget that he held my fate in his hands.

"How can I answer that?" I asked, not hiding the exasperation in my voice. "I do not see how any answer won't end badly for both of us. Either you get upset from my rejection and my security is in jeopardy, in addition to seeing you hurt which is not what I want, or we are stuck in a situation, teased with a relationship we can't have because of our stations in life!" I let all these words out at him, and I think a few times he tried to interrupt me, but I just spoke over him until I'd said my piece. When I was done I was feeling quite tired, and he was staring at me with an expression I could not read. And I had considered myself quite good at reading faces.

Eventually he muttered something about what I said making sense, but I could tell he was disappointed. To my relief, he did not seem angry with me. But, however, he did seem to mope. And I do not enjoy watching people mope. Especially him. But after a while he sobered up and looked at me.

"I'm not just your master. I am the Governor here. My only equal is Chief Commander Slacht," he began to say. I was getting goosebumps when he started using his authority tone. I had a sinking feeling that despite the remorse he displayed, he was going to throw me over into the fire again for his pride. "I've thought about what you said. And you're right. Hiding won't do any good. Acknowledgement and legitimacy is what you deserve." His voice hitched and he lost some of the poise and confidence he was speaking with. "From now on you will be my... consort."

"Consort? For a governor?" Volente asked, staring at Trosyn before narrowing his eyes at his notes, hand hesitating to write.

"Yes. Is that unusual?" Trosyn asked.

"A consort is usually the title given to people who marry royalty, but were not of royal heritage themselves," Volente explained, licking his lips.

"Oh." Trosyn placed her hands on her lap, ordering her thoughts before launching into an explanation. "In Siperon, consort meant any legally bonded partner. It could include a wife or a concubine, although concubines had all but vanished from Ayokonia before the civil war. But they were still common in the neighbouring Kingdom of Tessra among the wealthy." Trosyn watched Volente closely as he listened, head cocked to the side. He seemed somewhat perplexed at first, but then seemed to shrug with his eyebrows as he wrote something down.

"That's a... very different take. Polygamy was outlawed about two hundred years ago in Lomany," Volente said, raising his eyebrows. "Wait... so are you... a married woman?"

Trosyn looked at Volente a long time, watching his raised eyebrows slowly sink in the silence that followed. She cleared her throat and finally spoke up, "That depends on your definition of marriage," Trosyn finally responded, laying her hands primly in her lap.

"Ah. Hmmm... I guess... maybe I am asking if you would be able to marry once you get to Lomany," Volente asked, quickly looking down at his notes to correct some imagined error.

"That would depend on Lomany's definition of marriage," Trosyn said with a smile. Volente peered up at Trosyn over his spectacles, then muttered something inaudible as he looked back down at his notes.

"I am feeling a little light headed. So I think I will go fix myself a tonic and get on with the rest of today's tasks," Volente said as he began gathering up his things. Trosyn nibbled on her bread.

"Take care of yourself, Volente.' Trosyn said once she had swallowed the small morsel. Volente paused and looked at her, then quietly gathered his things with as little fuss as possible. However, Volente rarely did anything without a little fuss. Trosyn bent down to pick up a piece of parchment which fluttered away, handing it to Volente with a gentle smile. He looked at her a moment, before taking the offered sheet.

"Yes, um, take care." Volente repeated, bowing his head and quickly shuffling out of her room, looking out into the corridor to make sure his departure was not noticed.