Page 87 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

“I’m serious, Trixie.”

“So am I. Go secure your perimeter. I’ll be fine.”

He leaves, and Elodie watches him stride off with open appreciation. “That man would step in front of a harpoon for you. If I were you, I’d invent a small emergency every night just to watch him spring into action.”

“It’s delicious,” I admit.

“It’s wasted on the well-behaved.” She lifts her flute my way. “Promise me you’ll misbehave a little.” She spots one of the cover models and her eyes light up. “Speaking of which, I’m off to snag a Viking or two. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck.”

“True. I have a corset.”

She sashays away, and I’m left standing alone near the buffet table watching the party rage around me. Technically I’ve already violated the Chief’s directive, but I’m within arm’s reach of the meatballs, and I consider the buffet a chaperone. A delicious, well-armed chaperone.

As an added bonus, Magnus has yet to make an appearance tonight, which should relieve me and instead worries me deeply. A quiet ghost is a ghost up to something. Somewhere on this ship, an accountant in a fur cloak is conducting an audit nobody approved.

I spot Marina and Tinsley near an imposing ice sculpture of a Viking warrior, an exact replica of the one that toppled onto poor Astrid the night she died, and a gasp rips loose from me at the sight of it. Scratch what I said earlier. They did not eschew the ice sculpture of an actual Viking, given the deadly circumstances. They leaned in.

They doubled down. In ice.

Someone in event planning clearly skipped the sensitivity seminar. And the empathy workshop. And quite possibly orientation.

Both Tinsley and Marina are frowning at a clipboard as if they’re cramming for a final that starts in the next ten minutes. Marina is a knockout in an ice-blue wench gown laced up the front with silver cording that brings out her eyes, her crimson hair swept into an intricate braid.

Tinsley went full dark prophecy in a black leather shieldmaiden ensemble with a corset that looks painful, raven feathers bristling at the shoulders, and a cape that sweeps the floor. Hand her a murder of crows and an ominous chant and the look is complete.

I make my way over, and Tinsley spots me approaching. Her expression immediately sours.

“Oh good, our resident harbinger of doom has arrived,” she says dryly. “Do try to keep the casualty count at zero tonight. The Emerald Queen is a cruise ship, not a limited-run crime series.”

“Tinsley,” Marina says, her voice strained, shooting her roommate a warning look.

“What? I’m being honest.” Tinsley’s phone buzzes and she glances at it, her mouth curving into something predatory. “Oh, I need to handle this. And Marina, I’ve got dibs on Wes tonight. I didn’t lace myself into this corset for nothing.”

She click-clacks away on heels that could double as weapons, and I turn to Marina, who looks like she just took a punch to the gut.

“Ignore her,” I say immediately. “Wes isn’t interested in her in the least. Not in or out of a corset.”

Marina shudders. “As much as I’d love to ignore her, she’s my boss. And, well, I probably shouldn’t be walking into any romantic entanglements anyway. Besides, he’s the captain. Could you imagine if things went wrong? I’d have to find another job, another ship, another—” She stops herself. “Sorry. I’m spiraling.”

“You’re allowed to spiral. This lounge has clearly been decorated for it.”

She huffs a small laugh despite herself, and I count it as a win. For the record, I’d hand over my entire dessert strategy to see this woman happy, and I do not surrender dessert strategies lightly.

“I really should get back to work. Tinsley will have my head if the DJ plays the wrong song. Given tonight’s decor, she’d probably display it on the buffet.”

“With an apple in it.” I nod toward the boar at the end of the table, carved entirely out of pineapples, apple wedged in his spiky snout. Somebody in the galley spent hours on that thing, and he’s wearing the apple with more grace than I would.

The words have barely left my mouth when someone bumps into me from behind, and I stumble forward slightly.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” Poppy is at my side in an instant, steadying me with one hand while clutching her champagne flute with the other. “I almost spilled my drink right on you!”

She’s stunning in a cream gown threaded with gold embroidery, a fur-lined cloak clasped at one shoulder with an amber brooch, and a delicate gold circlet resting atop her honey-blonde bob. The rest of us came dressed as the hired help. Poppy came dressed as the woman the hired help answers to. Leave it to her to locate the royalty rack in a room full of wenches. The woman even trips gracefully. Some people get all the coordination.

“You look incredible,” she says warmly, taking in my emerald ensemble. “Both of you! Marina, that blue is absolutely your color.”

“Thank you,” Marina says, blushing. “You look beautiful too.”