The door to the captain's cabin was shut tight.
A thick silk carpet covered the floor, muffling footsteps almost completely.
A lamp carved from a single piece of crystal stood in the corner, an old design from the workshops of the Jade Federation, scattering the light into soft, delicate fragments.
A full set of gold drinking vessels sat on the table, their walls absurdly thin, seemingly made for display rather than use.
Agarwood was burning, but far too much had been used.
Its cloying sweetness weighed on the air, so thick and sharp it was almost dizzying.
Even so, a trace of fishy stench lingered deep in the room, like dead fish hauled up from the depths and left to stew below deck for days.
The candle flame flickered.
The bed curtains shook violently, accompanied by a rapid, jumbled rustling, then stopped abruptly. Dead silence followed.
Balk lay on his back, his chest heaving, every breath rasping like a broken bellows.
He was drenched in sweat yet shivering with cold. His soaked back pressed against the bedding as chill seeped into his bones.
He suddenly raised his hand and shoved the woman beside him away. "Get off."
She struck the edge of the bed and let out a muffled cry of pain.
Balk sat up and slammed his fist against the mahogany bed frame.
The dull thud sounded jarringly out of place in the luxurious captain's cabin.
A sluggish ache followed. He stared at his hand as though it belonged to someone else.
Damn it. Failed again.
Even with such a beauty lying beside him, his body refused to respond, like a wreck stranded in rotten mud, utterly motionless.
He looked toward the bedside. Meryl was kneeling there, her loose hair cascading over her shoulders, her skin whiter than snow.