They spent the entire day buried in ledgers and parchment, drafting new contracts, tallying provisions, and listing the inventories of what had once been Morozov’s trading fleet. The docks echoed with the clatter of crates and the bark of stevedores as imperial officers verified seals and cargo weights. Somewhere beyond the windows, the pale Ruskan sun sank lower through a haze of smoke and frost, its light turning the papers on Katerina’s desk to sheets of dull gold.

  Alaric leaned back slightly, gloved fingers brushing away a stray fleck of dust from a document that had been signed thrice over. “That should cover the consignments bound for the Twin City,” he murmured. “And the surplus tar and cordage can go to my warehouse.”

  Katerina nodded faintly, her eyes tracing the inked lines though they had long stopped registering their meaning. The warmth from the brazier had faded, leaving the room faintly chilled. Her quill hand trembled once before she set it down.

  They had been at this since morning.

  Outside, the daylight had begun to turn thin and blue — the kind that slips through frost-smeared glass just before dusk. Alaric noticed the way her shoulders sank — not from defeat, but from simple exhaustion.

  “Madame,” he said gently, breaking the silence, “we’ve worked the entire day, and I believe all matters have been sorted. How about we take some rest?”

  Katerina exhaled, the sound somewhere between relief and disbelief. “I could not agree more, Mr. Van Aerden. What time is it, anyway?”

  Alaric smiled, reaching into his coat. The soft click of his pocket watch echoed faintly. “Almost five.”

  “Five?” she blinked, startled. “Oh no, I haven’t told Olga to prepare dinner—”

  “It’s fine, madame.” He raised a gloved hand lightly. “I could eat on my ship… in fact, I would be honored if you’d be willing to come and dine with us.”

  “Mr. Van Aerden, thank you, but you’re my guest. I should be the one to provide dinner, not the other way around.”

  “It’s fine.” His smile deepened — not arrogant, but playfully persuasive. “Besides, think of it as a… trial run.”

  “Trial run?” she repeated, suspicious but amused.

  “Yes,” Alaric said, rising from his chair with the easy grace of a man inviting someone to a dance. “To see whether or not you can stomach our food. And besides…” He glanced toward the window, where the dying light turned the harbor brass to fire. “…I’d like to introduce you to my officers.”

  “Now that is an interesting proposition, Mr. Van Aerden,” Katerina said, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I’ve heard that food aboard ships can be… rather bland.”

  “Oh, I assure you, my ship serves the finest meals the sea can offer,” Alaric replied with an amused glint in his eyes. “It’s only a matter of taste.”

  “Very well,” she conceded, setting aside her quill and rising from her chair. “Let’s dine on your ship then.”

  “Perfect.” Alaric’s smile widened, half satisfaction, half mischief. He turned toward Mila, who stood silently by the door. “My dear, would you send a man to fetch Darian?”

  “I’ll send someone at once, sir,” Mila answered with her usual measured tone, already stepping toward the corridor.

  Mila left with the soft precision of a clock striking the hour — silent, efficient, and certain. The sound of her boots faded down the corridor, swallowed by the hush that follows long work.

  Katerina reached for her coat, shaking off the stiffness of the day. “It’s been years since I last set foot on a ship,” she admitted as she fastened the clasp. “I hope yours doesn’t pitch like the usual Ruskan freighters.”

  “Oh, worry not,” Alaric said, slipping on his gloves with a practiced tug. “The Royale Nocturne glides smoother than most land carriages. Master Bronzebeard would resign in shame if she dared to sway too much.”

  “I will hold you to that promise,” she said, arching a brow.

  Alaric offered his arm with gentlemanly formality, though there was something teasing behind the gesture — the faintest suggestion of play in his posture. Katerina hesitated, then accepted, her hand resting lightly against his sleeve. Together they stepped out into the fading light.

  The harbor was caught between day and night. The sky had turned to copper and ash; the sea reflected both like an old mirror. Steam hissed from the pierworks, and the smell of coal mixed with salt and frost. Out on the water, the Royale Nocturne waited — a dark, graceful silhouette haloed in gold by the sinking sun.

  As they approached, Katerina slowed, her gaze drawn to the lines of the vessel. “Your ship is… larger than I expected,” she said.

  Alaric’s smile softened with pride. “A necessary illusion, madame. She looks like a trader, but she fights like a frigate. Beauty and deception — the twin virtues of survival.”

  At the foot of the gangway, two marines snapped to attention, muskets gleaming in the dim light. “Captain on deck!” one barked as they saluted.

  “Carry on,” Alaric said lightly. “We’re merely hungry souls in search of supper.”

  Katerina’s eyes swept the deck as they ascended — the gleam of brass fittings, the ordered chaos of rigging, the faint rhythmic heartbeat of the ship’s engines deep below. It was not the world she knew, yet it breathed with discipline and quiet life.

  “Welcome aboard, Lady Katerina,” Alaric said as her boots touched the brass-inlaid planks. “Shall we see what the galley has prepared?”

  “Up to you, Mr. Van Aerden,” Katerina replied.

  “Ladies first, then.” Alaric gestured.

  They moved through the dimly lit passageway, the wood and brass of the Nocturne gleaming under the soft glow of gas lamps. The officers’ quarters stood silent for now — empty rooms with maps spread across desks, the scent of ink and tobacco lingering faintly in the air.

  Descending a narrow staircase, the sound of the ship grew louder: the pulse of machinery, the creak of metal ribs shifting with the tide. The air thickened with the smell of oil, coal, and faint ozone.

  They passed through the workshop next, where the heart of the ship’s ingenuity lived. A cascade of hammering filled the air — sharp, rhythmic strikes against brass. Pipwick Emberimp and his small team of mechanics were hunched over an open gearbox, sparks dancing like fireflies around them. The imp’s tail twitched as he barked orders in his gravelly voice, entirely unaware of his captain’s passing.

  “Mr. Van Aerden, is that an imp I see?” Katerina asked curiously.

  “Well, yes — he’s my chief craftsman, or an ‘artificer,’ as he likes to call himself.”

  “I see. Is he that… talented, to hold such a position?”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “He is,” Alaric said with a knowing grin, “but sometimes he gets a little too creative and builds contraptions only he knows the purpose of.”

  “Hmm… fascinating,” Katerina murmured.

  Further down, the passage warmed noticeably. Even separated by a bulkhead, the heat from the boiler room bled into the corridor — the low, steady thrum of the engines like a heartbeat beneath their feet. Steam whispered faintly from the vents, and the smell of iron and coal mingled with something more homely — roasted vegetables, spiced broth, and freshly baked bread drifting up from the galley ahead.

  At last they reached the galley. It wasn’t large, but it was smartly arranged — every corner used, every tool within reach. Six crew members moved through the space with practiced precision, passing pots, knives, and plates between them as if following an unseen rhythm. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, herbs, and baking bread; a comforting contrast to the iron and steam they’d passed through moments ago.

  At the center of it all stood a man with tousled blond hair and rolled sleeves, orchestrating the chaos with effortless grace.

  “Vincent!” Alaric called out over the noise.

  The man didn’t turn. He was in the middle of tasting a soup, expression stern with concentration. He lifted a finger — one moment — then murmured, “Hmm… add a little more salt.”

  “Vincent!” Alaric repeated, louder this time.

  The man spun at once, eyes bright. “Ah, Captain!” he exclaimed, wiping his hands on his apron before offering a lopsided grin. Then his gaze found Katerina, and his smile turned roguish. “And who is this beautiful lady?”

  “This is Lady Katerina Morozova,” Alaric said evenly. “She’ll be dining with us tonight.”

  “I’m Vincent Rinaldi,” the cook introduced himself with a flourishing bow, extending his hand. Katerina hesitated only briefly before offering hers.

  “It would be my pleasure if a lady such as you were to taste my cooking,” he said, pressing a gallant kiss to her knuckles.

  “Oh my,” Katerina replied with amused poise. “Is this the famous Vitalian charm I’ve heard so much about?”

  “Don’t be deceived, madame,” Alaric interjected dryly. “I found him in a brothel, drowning in debt.”

  “Well, at least he didn’t kiss his lover a few seconds after proposing marriage to me,” Katerina shot back, her tone light but laced with mock indignation.

  “Fair statement,” Alaric conceded with a chuckle. He glanced toward the simmering pots. “Anyway… what’s the crew having for dinner tonight?”

  “We’ve cooked salted beef stew with barley and root vegetables,” Vincent replied proudly. “And we’ve baked fresh bread for tonight as well.”

  “Salted beef stew?” Katerina echoed, tilting her head. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “Oh no, madame,” Vincent said quickly, almost offended. “That’s for the crew. The officers — and of course our captain — have an entirely different course of meals.”

  “Oh, that’s only for the crew?” she asked, surprised. “That sounds rather lavish already.”

  Alaric smiled faintly. “Well… this ship alone generates nearly two hundred thousand silvers a year. It would be unfair — and unwise — if I let my crew eat slop.”

  “Two hundred thousand?” Katerina repeated, eyes widening slightly. “The ships you seized this morning were worth only fifty.”

  Alaric’s lips curved in a faint smirk. “Like I said, madame — it’s not about the money. It’s about integrity and reputation.”

  “And that’s only this ship?” she pressed. “I imagine you have more… aside from those you seized today.”

  “Yes,” Alaric said calmly, his tone almost conversational. “Outside my associate vessels — the ones I invest in, like your soon to be late husband did — I also own a few personally managed by my wife.”

  Katerina blinked, caught off guard. The word wife landed heavier than expected. “How wealthy are you, Mr. Van Aerden?”

  He considered the question for a moment, then answered with casual precision, as if reciting figures from memory. “With my trading company, shipyard, and arms factory combined, the average annual revenue sits at about one million and two hundred thousand silvers.”

  “Now I understand why you can afford a personal army — and serve the best food to your crew,” Katerina said with a playful glint in her eyes. “It would be a grave crime if they ate worse than a naval captain, Mr. Van Aerden.”

  “Now you’re speaking my language, madame.” Alaric’s smirk deepened. He turned toward the cook. “Anyway, speaking of food — what’s for dinner, Vincent?”

  Vincent straightened his apron, proud as a maestro about to conduct an orchestra.

  “For the officers, we’ve prepared braised lamb in red wine and juniper, served with buttered turnips and peas. There’s also freshly baked rolls and pickled beets to round the flavor.”

  He motioned toward a second table where another team worked over steaming trays. “And for our herbivorous friend — a roasted root medley glazed with honey, and savory bread pudding with spinach and cheese, served with rye loaves fresh from the oven.”

  Katerina blinked. “Herbivore option?”

  Alaric smiled faintly. “I have a Minotaur for a gunnery officer, and trust me — he has quite the appetite.”

  Vincent chuckled. “A whole roast couldn’t satisfy him on a bad day.”

  “Oh my, I’ve never actually been in the company of a Minotaur before,” Katerina said, intrigued. “What’s he like?”

  “I think it’s best you meet him in person and judge for yourself,” Alaric replied, his tone carrying that familiar trace of amusement.

  “So,” she continued, “you have an Imp and a Minotaur among your officers? That’s… rather peculiar.”

  “Yes,” Alaric said. “And a Dwarf as my chief mechanic. I used to have Elves as well, but they were a bit hard to… feed.”

  “Elves? They’re harder to feed than a Minotaur?”

  “Yes, because they’re carnivores. They can’t even eat salted meat — it must be fresh.”

  “Oh, I was under the impression they were herbivores,” Katerina admitted.

  A calm voice drifted from behind them. “Because of their tree-like appearance?”

  Both turned toward the source.

  “Ah — Miss Veyr,” Alaric said, smiling slightly.

  Vincent immediately straightened, wiping his hands on his apron as he turned toward the new arrival. “Ah, Miss Veyr!” he declared with theatrical flourish. “The most beautiful woman aboard the Nocturne, gracing our humble galley once again.”

  Isolde Veyr paused at the doorway, her posture immaculate even in the dim light. She regarded him with a cool, detached expression — polite but distant. “Mr. Rinaldi,” she said simply, and stepped past him without slowing.

  Katerina caught the flicker of wounded pride on Vincent’s face before he smoothed it over with a grin.

  Alaric leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough for her to hear. “Vincent has a… fling toward her, but as you can see, it’s rather one-sided.”

  “Oh my…” Katerina murmured, a mischievous smile forming. Then she turned to Vincent, feigning mock offense. “Mr. Rinaldi, I thought I was the most beautiful lady aboard right now?”

  Vincent froze mid-motion, eyes wide like a man caught in the act. His mouth opened — then closed again, no sound escaping.

  Katerina couldn’t help a quiet laugh. Even Isolde’s lips curved by the faintest margin before she moved on to inspect a tray of wine glasses.

  Isolde set down the tray she’d been inspecting and turned slightly toward them. “Anyway,” she said evenly, “as I was about to mention — Elves, or at least the Day Elves, are almost strictly carnivorous.”

  “Almost?” Katerina asked, intrigued.

  “They’re technically omnivores, much like us,” Isolde explained, her tone calm and instructive. “But because of their tree-like appendages, their bodies demand an unusually high caloric intake — nearly triple that of a human. Meat simply offers the most efficient balance of energy.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that.” Katerina tilted her head, studying her with interest. “You seem quite well-versed in Elven biology, Miss Veyr.”

  Alaric cleared his throat softly. “Madame, allow me to make a proper introduction. This is Isolde Veyr — the Nocturne’s ship doctor, and a naturalist by passion.”

  Katerina’s expression brightened. “Oh my, a female doctor. I’ve never met one before.”

  Alaric turned toward Isolde. “Miss Veyr, this is Lady Katerina. She’ll be chartering our ship — and tonight, she’ll dine with us.”

  “Pleased to meet you, my lady,” Isolde said, giving a polite bow. “And yes, I graduated from the University of B?renberg. Despite the shortage of men brought by the war — and this so-called rise of social liberty — female doctors remain a rarity, even in my class.”

  “Yes, I thought as much,” Katerina replied, then cast a sidelong glance at Alaric. “So, is the captain of the Nocturne such a proponent of social liberty?” she teased.

  “Oh no,” Isolde said lightly, her tone edged with humor. “He doesn’t care — but fortunately, he doesn’t care at all. The only thing he values is merit. Isn’t that right, Captain?”

  “Why? Isn’t that fair?” Alaric replied, smiling faintly. “I hire a doctor or any other professional based on their skill, not their biological trait… except perhaps Elves — they do make excellent carpenters.”

  Vincent clapped his hands, cutting through the bustle of the galley. “Ladies and gentlemen, to your respective dining halls! The food is about to be served.”

  “Thank you, Vincent,” Alaric said with a nod. “Ladies, let’s head to the officers’ quarters. Everyone should already be there.”

  “Can’t wait to taste the food, Mr. Rinaldi,” Katerina said, her tone teasing yet sincere.

  Vincent flashed a grin and bowed dramatically. “I live to impress, my lady.”

  As they stepped out of the galley, the hum of the ship seemed to deepen — the rhythmic beat of engines, the faint echo of voices, the smell of bread and wine following them down the corridor. Katerina glanced once more over her shoulder, catching the warm, golden light spilling from the kitchen, and for the briefest moment, she smiled.

  It felt different aboard the Nocturne — alive in a way the city was not. Somewhere between iron and velvet, industry and grace, she sensed the pulse of something greater: a world in motion, and a man who commanded it with quiet certainty.

  And so, with the fading clang of cookware behind them and the promise of supper ahead, they made their way toward.