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Summary
If she hadn't known it was him, she would have thought it was an impostor, or someone wearing his face―a shapeshifter whose glamour might have fooled those who didn't know him, because beyond his appearance, there was no trace of the captain she loved, who laughed and sang and filled the room like the horizon, and who was many things, but indifferent had never been one of them.
In the maelstrom of her feelings, a single word resurfaced, flotsam from the sinking wreck of her realisation, spoken in his voice, and that cold, unfeeling cadence.
Property.
The noble had addressed him as Saint.
Series
- Part 28 of Shanties for the Weary Voyager