POV: Beth
The days after Morwenna’s appearance felt like walking across cracked ice—one wrong step and everything would drown beneath us.
The crew wasn’t the same with me anymore.
Whispers slithered behind my back like eels. When I passed, conversations cut like knives. Even Kaine, who usually barked laughter like a drunk storm god, looked at me differently—not afraid exactly, but uncertain, wary, calculating.
Clove and Karn, who used to throw fish guts at each other and recite bad poetry, now hushed when I entered. Clove stared at my hands as if waiting for them to glow. Karn gave polite nods but stepped farther away than needed.
They weren’t cruel.
Just cautious.
As if I carried lightning beneath skin.
I could hardly blame them—I felt it too.
Waves leaned closer when I walked near the rail. The sea breathed with me. I could feel currents ripple through my bones like a second heartbeat.
Magic. Blood. Destiny. Words that tasted like salt and danger.
But it was Alaric who changed most.
He didn’t mock me with easy grins. Didn’t nudge my shoulder passing by the helm. Didn’t offer rum with cocky smirk like before. Instead—silence. Hard eyes. Jaw locked so tight muscle ticked like heartbeat.
He wasn’t just afraid.
He was jealous.
We were on deck tightening ropes when the tension finally snapped.
Kaine handed me a length of rope. “Tie starboard knot, Beth.”
I worked silently, fingers moving with muscle memory I didn’t know I had anymore—strange how even mundane tasks felt sharper now.
Clove pointed. “She knots faster than me!”
Karn nodded gravely. “Everyone knots faster than you.”
But instead of laughter, Kaine only watched me with weight – like evaluating weapon.
Alaric’s voice cut the air sharply. “Don’t hover. She doesn’t need praise for knowing left from right.”
Heat flared through me. “I didn’t ask for praise.”
His gaze was a storm. “You didn’t need to. The world already worships you now, doesn’t it? Sea singing your name—Queen of Waves, Storm Bride, Drowned King’s daughter—”
“Stop,” I snapped.
He stalked closer, voice rising. “Why? Uncomfortable hearing you’re more important than all of us?”
“That’s not—”
“Because that’s what you want, isn’t it?” His smile was sharp glass. “Power. Destiny. A sword made of leviathan bone to prove you’re special.”
“You think I wanted this?” I stepped forward, fury boiling like tide. Crew froze around us. “You think I asked for ghosts to name me? For magic to burn my skin? For sirens to die by my voice—”
“No,” he hissed, stepping so close I smelled salt and rum and sleepless nights. “But you like it.”
My chest heaved. “Better than being afraid of it.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m not afraid.”
“Yes, you are.” I didn’t soften. Couldn’t. “You’re afraid that I’ll stand beside you—not beneath you.”
Lightning cracked behind his eyes.
He shoved the rope into my hands. “Tie it then. If you’re so divine.”
My grip tightened. “You want a test? Fine.”
I tied the knot harder, faster. Pulled until it groaned, wood creaking under strain. Crew watched like spectators at execution.
Alaric leaned in, low voice like blade scraping bone. “You think magic makes you untouchable. But power without discipline gets men killed.”
“And arrogance without respect gets captains dethroned.”
His breath hitched. Pride wounded deep.
“Say that again,” he said quietly—too quiet.
So I did. “Maybe you’re not afraid of me. Maybe you’re afraid I’ll become something you can’t control.”
He moved fast—hand slamming against rail beside my head, trapping me without touch. His eyes burned into mine. Heat everywhere. Rage. Electricity. No love. Only fire that could kill or melt.
“You think you can replace me?” he growled. “You think destiny makes you captain?”
“No,” I breathed, refusing to look away. “But maybe I don’t need you to lead me.”
For a second—just one—something flickered in him like hurt.
Then it was gone.
He stepped back sharply. “Crew break. Get below deck unless you want to taste the ocean.”
Men scattered. We stood alone.
Wind whipped hair across my face like storm banners. My pulse crashed like waves. Alaric stared at horizon—jaw grinding.
“You’re not taking the lead,” he said without turning. “Not while I breathe.”
“And I’m not your shadow,” I replied. “Not anymore.”
He finally looked at me—eyes dark storms, pride and fear drowning together. “Beth… you’re becoming something I can’t predict. I don’t know if that saves us or kills us.”
“I don’t know either.” My voice wavered. “But I won’t shrink to make you comfortable.”
Silence. Thick. Raw.
Finally he spoke, low. “Then we sail together anyway. Into hell if we must.”
Side by side.
Enemies. Allies. Maybe both.
But neither of us looked away.