Domitian re-entered the room and found Mr. Prewett leaning atop a desk, which looked both uncomfortable and a little precarious — it wasn’t large enough to make a proper seat for him. Uncomfortable and a little precarious were good descriptors for the situation in general, though, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been any different if he’d elected to sit in the chair like a proper gentleman.

“Well?” he prompted, eyebrow raised. If Mr. Prewett had a shred of honor he might make the offer himself, which would be better for Camilla, but Domitian wasn’t holding out much hope.

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“I did nothing for which Miss Zabini was not wholly eager,” Fitz remarked after an awkward pause, hoping to keep his remaining testicle. He would not go as far as to claim she seduced him—he was not that callous—but he would not be made the villain, either.

  

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At this response, Domitian shot an entirely unimpressed glance towards Camilla.

“That is wholly irrelevant,” he pointed out impassively. “As I’m sure you’re aware.”

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“I suppose you’ll want me to marry her now.” It would have been generous to say he was at all delighted by the prospect, though to Fitz’s credit, his author proved unable to have him ‘mutter [it] darkly’, so at least there’s that.

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It was not exactly an offer, but Domitian inclined his head in a vaguely appeased way as though it was. His tone as he continued was light, as though they were discussing nothing more serious than making dinner arrangements. “Either that, or I can tear you into so many pieces they’ll have to recover your body from an entire school of fish.”

(That would be the way to do it, if he was going to murder Mr. Prewett; it would take them so long to recover him that any trace of what had actually happened would be lost, and they might imagine he had gotten drunk and fallen overboard when no one was looking. Surely, it would not be dramatically out of character for Fitzroy Prewett.)

“Whichever you prefer,” he continued, tone almost magnanimous.

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Camilla was trying to create the best impression that she was not invested in this conversation, although she was very invested in this conversation — she wished that Mr. Prewett had not used the word eager, and that Mr. Prewett had actually made an offer of marriage, although perhaps she was expecting too much of him. Domitian would have said she was expecting too much of him, given the circumstances.

Or Domitian would have said something distinctly threatening. Despite her intentions, Camilla could not help but inhale sharply, and her eyebrows arched — she did not hear her brother say things like this often (or: ever) but he certainly did not seem to be joking around.

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Fitz cast the wizard a long, careful look; it did not take long for him to decide that Domitian Zabini’s threat was not entirely an idle one. Not a desirable quality in a brother-in-law, Fitz thought.

“Miss Zabini, you’ll marry me, yes?” he asked without pomp, but with a heavy sigh. There was nothing else for it.

His mother was going to kill him.

  

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It was not exactly the height of romance, but Camilla supposed that she had rather aged past the height of romance. “I will, Mr. Prewett,” she confirmed, with a soft smile. Now — was there anyone on this boat who could officiate a wedding?

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“Then it’s settled,” Domitian said firmly. “Matilda can see to the particulars.” Or he hoped she could, anyway, because he had less than no desire to be involved in the planning of any of this. Besides, it made no difference to him whether they were married in the next five minutes or at the end of the season, except that the longer it took the longer he would have to keep track of Mr. Prewett to ensure he upheld his end of the deal — but since they were all currently interred in a floating prison, there was no immediate danger of escape. And anyway, finding people who were on the run was what Domitian did for a living, so Mr. Prewett wouldn’t get far if he did try to leave.

“Welcome to the family, Mr. Prewett.”

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