POV: Beth
Silas doesn’t leave immediately.
He stands there on Alaric’s deck like he owns the tide itself, rain darkening his coat while Kraken coils beneath him like living shadow. The crew stands frozen—no one breathes wrong. Every man knows one twitch could wake a massacre.
My heart still hasn’t slowed since I said no.
Silas’s gaze lingers on me—not angrily, not defeated, but with something chillingly patient. A man who loses nothing by waiting.
“Storm Bride,” he says softly, like it’s a promise, not a title. “When the sea calls for you again… answer.”
The Kraken shifts, massive tentacles slicing water like blades. Crew men flinch back. I don’t. I force myself to hold its gaze. My pulse howls through my ears, but something inside me refuses to kneel.
Silas notices. His lips curve.
“Even monsters bow to blood,” he murmurs.
Then he steps backward—off the rail, into the sea.
He doesn’t fall—he descends, the ocean parting like it accepts him. Kraken glides after him soundless as a nightmare returning home.
The moment they disappear beneath the surface, the deck explodes in panic.
Men collapse. Someone sobs. Another vomits over the side.
Kaine presses a shaking hand to his heart. “Saints preserve us… we lived.”
Alaric stands still as carved ice, sword still raised though the enemy is gone. His eyes burn on the black water long after Silas is swallowed by the deep.
He isn’t relieved. He’s furious.
At me.
A cold wind rolls over the deck. Thunder growls in distant clouds.
Alaric finally lowers his blade, jaw rigid. “You almost went with him.”
It’s not a question. It’s an accusation.
My voice is raw. “I didn’t.”
“You thought about it.”
His tone cuts like broken glass.
I step toward him, wet boards cold beneath my bare feet. “I was choosing between saving my father and… being loyal to you.”
“Loyal?” Alaric laughs once—no humor, only pain buried sharp. “You think this is about loyalty? You would’ve traded yourself to a monster because he spoke sweet promises.”
“He offered answers!” My voice cracks. “He could free Rowan. What do you offer, Alaric? Pride? War? Pain? I’m supposed to choose you with nothing but bruises and mockery to hold on to?”
His eyes flare, then shutter into stone. “You chose.”
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
I expect him to say thank you or I’m glad you stayed or I’m scared of losing you.
Anything.
Instead he turns away. Walks toward the helm without another word.
Something inside me tears in two.
Crew begins shouting orders—fixing sails, patching holes, scraping blood from wood. The battle with Kraken left the ship wounded, masts cracked, ropes torn. Our bright new vessel looks like it barely survived a war—charred burns across the deck where lightning hit, half-broken railing, gashes deeper than bone.
A man kneels beside me, trembling. “We need the pumps running or she’ll sink.”
Right. We are still alive. Still moving.
I swallow my heartbreak and work—hauling buckets, tying spare lines, stitching torn canvas with shaking fingers. Salt stings my cuts. My arms burn. My mind won’t stop replaying the sound of Alaric’s voice.
You chose.
The sky clouds over, bruised and heavy. Evening turns the waves black. The ship limp-limps like a wounded beast toward the nearest island—only a jagged shape on the horizon.
By dusk, men raise battered black flags—stained with salt and dried blood. Kaine nails one to the stern himself. He meets my eyes once, unreadable.
“Blood flags,” he mutters. “Means war.”
War with Silas.
War with the British.
War with my own blood.
Crew gathers around the mast as torches are lit. Faces hollow with exhaustion and fear. Mira stands among them acting innocent, eyes shining like she enjoys the chaos far too much.
Alaric climbs a crate and looks down upon us all—Captain again, but carved colder than before.
“We sail at dawn,” he announces, voice iron. “Silas wants battle—he’ll have it. Navy wants the Sea Daughter dead—they’ll bleed before they touch one hair.” His gaze flicks to me, unreadable. “No one leaves the crew. No one questions command. We move as one.”
No one breathes.
“Do you understand?” Alaric demands.
A chorus of weary voices answers, “Aye, Captain.”
I stare at him, searching for the man who once called me princess bride with a smirk, who tossed insults like coins in taverns, who held me in storms and bandaged my wounds with trembling fingers. He stands there scarred and burning with something vicious.
Fear. Love. Rage. Resentment.
I don’t know which.
When the meeting ends, men disperse to work or sleep where they collapse. I wander to the bow, alone beneath the bleeding sunset. Salt wind tangles my hair. The horizon burns red like the future.
Someone steps behind me quietly.
I don’t turn—I know the weight of his presence without seeing.
Alaric. He stands a step too far to touch, a universe too far to feel safe.
His voice is low. “You made your choice.”
I exhale. “And you made yours.”
He flinches—barely noticeable, but I see it.
Thunder rumbles above us. A storm approaches again—fitting. It always does.
He speaks without looking at me. “If Silas comes for you again, I will not let him take you.”
A promise born of pride, not tenderness.
“But you won’t forgive me either,” I whisper.
Silence. He leaves without answering.
His back is the last thing I see as rain starts—cold drops on my face, indistinguishable from tears I refuse to shed.
Below deck, lanterns sway with each crash of waves. I lie awake long into the night, hearing Kraken in my dreams, Silas in my thoughts, Alaric in my heartbeat. War brews in every horizon, and I am the match waiting to fall.
I press my hand to the pirate mark on my wrist—the symbol of the life I never wanted, now carved into the woman I’m becoming.
Sea Daughter. Storm Bride. Maybe I am all of them. Maybe I’m none.
But dawn will come—and with it, war.