He bowed only once, then turned to lead them without another unnecessary word. Through a set of open archways they went, past an evening lounge where low music drifted from somewhere unseen, past a bank of tall windows reflecting the last bruised gold of sunset across the water, and onward toward the western side of the ship.
There, at last, the air changed.
The scent of polished wood and perfume gave way to salt and night breeze. A covered outer deck stretched before them beneath a broad canopy of pale fabric and carved beams, its edges dressed with trailing lanterns whose light had indeed been kept low. Not dark enough to conceal, only dim enough to soften the world. Beyond the railing, the sea rolled in endless shadow-blue, the afterglow of sunset fading at the horizon while the first stars began to gather overhead.
And waiting near the far edge of the canopy, apart from every other table and angled perfectly toward the water, stood the one prepared for them.
It was not ostentatious. That was what made it dangerous.
White linen stirred gently in the breeze. Two place settings gleamed in candlelight. A chilled bottle rested in silver. Flowers, pale and fragrant, had been arranged low enough not to obstruct the view. The whole thing had been set with the precision of romance and the discretion of diplomacy, as if whoever arranged it understood exactly how to make a gesture feel intimate while ensuring it would be talked about later in whispers.
The steward stepped aside again and bowed.
Steward
Should you require anything, someone will be nearby, but out of sight. You will not be disturbed.
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