SHADOW

Sunset

The sea that evening was calm, and Sha looked at the horizon, wondering how long it would take to reach the shore. These days, when she counted each board of the ship, seemed endless. The Count spent all his days writing in his journal on the deck, leaning against the railing. Sprays of water sometimes dotted his pages, but he did not seem to mind. All this time he was counting and writing notes, not even eating his meals for the entire day. It was one of those days.

"What is he writing there all day?" wondered Sha, and then noticed that he had fallen asleep, his head thrown back against the railing, eyes closed. His beautiful face was lit by the sunset, the golden light glowing on snow‑pale skin and bringing life into his full, soft lips.

He does look like a fallen angel, thought Sha and sighed.

She remembered kissing those full lips that evening after the ball, and it seemed so unreal. A dream. Maybe it had been a dream. She had been tired; perhaps she imagined it. Would Ambrosio really kiss her?

"Is he really sleeping?" whispered Sonya behind her. "Maybe we can peek into his notes."

Sha jumped.

"I caught you staring at him. You do like him a bit too much, don't you, my lady? Ain't like a daughter and her father—stepfather though he may be?" giggled Sonya, looking at Sha blushing.

"Yes, he is a fine stepfather," whispered Sha and giggled. "I like him so much I'd kiss him gladly." She giggled again.

"I think he's sleeping. Let's peek into his notes," replied Sonya, smirking. "See what demonic plans he has. Is he planning to torture us on land...?" laughed Sonya again.

"Shhh! If you want us to peek into his notes, you have to be silent. You'll wake him," replied Sha, stifling a giggle.

The boards of this ship were so old and creaky that there was almost zero chance she would manage to get close enough to see anything in the journal the Count guarded so much. He never left it anywhere, always keeping it on himself no matter how much they tried to spot a moment when he would leave it and let them sneak a peek inside. Now was their only chance.

She took off her shoes, the dark wood hot under the soles of her feet. She prayed she wouldn't step on a splinter or bump her foot on some rusty metal hinges from the traps that led below into various storage chambers.

One foot in front of the other, slow and steady.

Every breath I take seems so loud now, thought Sha, trying to breathe slower. Was she panicking? What would he do to me if he caught me sneaking and checking his notebook—throw me into the ocean?

"Probably not," she grinned and continued walking toward the sleeping Count.

His face was so peaceful. She wondered what she wanted more: to look at the notes or to see him closer, to look at him in peace as much as she wanted, to admire his beautiful face without him catching her, without his cold eyes making her shift her gaze.

I am shameless, thought Sha. Even after all his mean deeds, a pretty face is still buying my heart. I must be stronger than that.

Sha blushed and kneeled near the Count slowly. She looked at him—really looked—and for the first time in her life she saw, in daylight, his hands. The hands that clutched the notebook. They were full of scars, as if he had been tortured by someone or had been in many fights. Such a contrast between his pristine face and always‑neat hairstyle. A few dark curls had escaped the leather tie and now lay over his forehead, and Sha wanted to tuck them behind his ear.

His beautiful eyelashes dusted his sun‑burned cheeks. His face is catching a bronze from the sun, thought Sha, smiling as she looked at the setting sun on the horizon. Maybe this trip over the ocean will bring us peace.

"Why are you smiling like a fool?" A velvety male voice sounded in front of her.

Sha tried to jump to her feet, but the Count caught her hand.