I look up at the water as it falls from the shower, splashing all over me, and think about the new feelings I’m having for all these pirates. I mean they are pirates, and I’m in here wishing Everly was here, so I could ask her questions about men.

Questions about what I’m feeling for them all and how I’m drawn to each of them.

I turn off the shower and dry myself off with one of Chaz’s towels. I pull the new, tight, black trousers on, and they stick to my legs and stop around my waist. I tuck the simple, blue shirt into them, then pull my thick socks on and love how they feel. Then I pull on the knee-high leather boots that I’m surprised are my size. Did he measure my feet when I was out cold? I pull my hair up in a band, leaving the braids out to shape my face. I don’t know why, but I find myself wanting to look nice for these pirates.

I look over at myself in the small mirror inside Chaz’s bathroom. My brown eyes are bright today, and I feel strangely content with everything in my life. I’m on a pirate ship, and I’m, I’m happy.

“They look . . . you look–” Chaz mumbles out when I come out of the bathroom. I know I’m not sleeping in his room tonight, and we have spent the whole day reading in here. Chaz explained earlier that he isn’t one of them that are running the ship tonight. We found a lot of information about dragons in the books. Like how they need warmth when they first hatch and how they grow to five times the size of when they are born in a couple of weeks. Unfortunately, there weren’t any drawings in the books of ice dragons. We found interesting drawings of some fire dragons, but Chaz thinks they will be very different.

“Thank you,” I say and he nods. Chaz’s door is opened, and Zach walks in, stopping in his tracks as he looks me over.

“You look older, more . . . beautiful,” Zach says, the word ‘beautiful’ is said slowly like he doesn’t want to say it. Zack look over at Chaz as he stands and moves next to me, his arm brushing against mine.

“Cassandra, you’re staying in my room tonight,” Zach says, and I nod. I started to realise that there is no point trying to argue with them about staying in their rooms. It’s not like I’m sharing a bed with them, not exactly.

“Okay, thanks. I need to get my egg from Dante’s room,” I say, and he nods, offering me a glove-covered hand. I let my hand brush Chaz’s fingers as I walk past him and towards Zach, sliding my hand into his and he walks out.

“I already got it and placed it in a box with a blanket, in my room,” he says, and I smile widely up at him.

“Thank you,” I say, and he nods, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away.

“Night, Cass,” Chaz says behind me, and I turn to nod at him, my eyes wandering over him before I let Zach pull me into the corridor.

“I made you some food, as you missed dinner,” he says as we walk down the corridor. His blond hair is wavy today, looking soft and newly washed. Zach smells like cooked food, but then I wouldn’t expect much less from someone who spends most of the day in the kitchen. It’s comforting.

He leads me down the corridor and opens the door nearest the kitchens. The room is larger than I expected, with a long, flat bed on one wall and two small windows. There is a desk in the one corner with a lantern on it, flooding the room in a soft-yellow light. There is also a guitar resting against the bed, sheets of paper on the bed next to it. I go over to it, running my fingers across the wire strings.

“I have only seen guitars in books, I’ve never heard one played before,” I say to myself more than Zack, but he hears me anyway.

“Can I play for you?” he asks me, I turn my head slightly and catch his eyes.

“You don’t have to,” I say.

“I want to,” he chuckles, moving over to me. I sit on the bed, picking up the plate of food and start eating. Zack chooses to sit on the chair by the desk. He places the guitar on the floor between his legs as he pulls his gloves off. I can’t see them too much in the dim light but what I can see makes me stand up and walk over, leaving my food on the bed.

“What happened?” I ask as I pick his hand up in my own. I know it’s rude to ask, and we don’t know each other well, but I feel like I want to know. I feel like I want to know everything about these pirates.

“I told you once that I paid a price for killing my parents, and the price wasn’t just what is on my back,” he says softly as I run my fingers over the dozens of little white scars all over his hands.

“This is why you wear gloves all the time,” I say in a whisper.

“They are not a nice sight, neither are the lashes I received on my back,” Zach tells me, and I let go of his hands to tuck his hair behind his ears as it falls around his face. He catches my hand with his and holds it over his face as his head rises to watch me.

“You didn’t deserve what they did to you,” I say softly, and he moves his head slightly to the side, to press a kiss into the middle of my hand.

“Cassandra, you should be careful with your words. Men will fall in love with you for your sweet words,” he says and lets my hand go.

“They are not sweet, just true.” I say, brushing my fingers across his hand once more, and he looks down at his hand.

“My little fighter. You are going to fight a way into my heart, and I hope I get yours in return,” he says with a crooked smile as he looks up at me. I don’t reply, feeling my cheeks blushing, and the room feels like it’s getting warmer.

“Go and sit,” he says softly and with a small smile on his face.

I sit on the bed and start eating my food again as Zach picks up the guitar and starts playing. The tune is slow, each note feeling like it’s drawing you into the song more. Zach hums along with the song, his eyes watching the strings as his fingers move effortlessly across the string.

Zach plays like someone who was born to, every note is perfect and makes me want to cry with how deep the song is. I wonder if it hurts his hands to use them like that. From the scars, I believe they must have broken more than once and cut many, many times. My mark starts burning a little as I stare at his hands.

When Zach stops playing, his eyes meet mine, and my lips part open. I miss the sound of his song and the soft hum of his voice.

“What did you think?” he asks, his tone gruffer than I’m used to hearing from him.

“It was flawless,” I whisper, and I don’t just mean the song.