POV: Beth
By afternoon, the pirate port becomes a living beast—growling, laughing, spitting. The longer we walk its veins, the more I feel like blood that doesn’t belong in it. Men with scars like maps shout obscene jokes. Women roll dice with daggers, wagering fingers. Every alley smells of rum, rot, desperation. Whenever someone recognizes Alaric, reactions split like coin toss—half astonished he lives, half irritated he does.
Most don’t smile, some glare.
A group of women lounging near brothel doors whisper sharply when we pass. One throws a dried fish head that hits Alaric’s shoulder.
“Stormborne returns?” she calls. “Thought you drowned in your own ego, love.”
Another laughs. “Or maybe someone’s husband finally slit your throat.”
Alaric smirks, brushes fish head off cloak. “You missed my heart by miles, ladies.”
Their laughter turns hostile. One spits near his boot. They look at me with pity mixed with disgust. I clutch stolen skirt tighter and lower gaze, cheeks burning.
Alaric doesn’t care. He walks as if insults are wind.
I walk like every eye might become a blade.
We push into a bar heavier with smoke than air. Wooden beams sag overhead. Tankards slam tables in rhythm of old shanty sung off-key. A fight spills near the entrance, two men wrestling while crowd cheers and bets.
I flinch every time fist meets flesh.
Alaric drags me deeper, past gambling tables where gold coins mix with fingers missing knuckles. My breath shortens. I’m a dressed wound walking through sharks.
Alaric stops at the back table.
A man sits alone—massive shoulders, beard braided with shark teeth, one eye clouded and white. He drinks from a barrel-sized mug. The table is scarred by years of blades. Tattoo of a shark biting anchor coils across arm.
Kaine Shark-Tooth. Even hearing his name whispered near docks made sailors pale.
My feet root. “No. Absolutely not.”
Alaric ignores me, takes seat without invitation. “You owe me rum, Kaine.”
Kaine looks up slowly. His good eye narrows, measuring Alaric like meat to price.
“Stormborne,” he rumbles. His voice is gravel dragged over metal. “Alive, after all. Shame.”
Alaric smiles like challenge. “Missed you too.”
Kaine’s gaze slides to me. Hunger? No. Something colder. Distrust. “You bring a noble girl to the lion pit? Hoping she screams for sport?”
I force my voice through my dry throat. “I’m not here for sport.”
“Then for what?” His lip curls. “Another governor’s daughter you plan to ransom when bored?”
Heat spikes across my face. “I am not here willingly.”
Kaine laughs like thunder. “She speaks the truth. She shakes like a lamb in a shark’s belly.”
“I do not shake,” I lie, knees trembling under the table.
Kaine leans forward, a breath of rum and old iron washing over me. “Her brand… she’s marked. Pirate-blood?”
The words strike like blade. My hand flies to wrist instinctively. “I am not—”
“She’s fragile still,” Alaric cuts in, bored. “But she’ll toughen or drown.”
I glare at him. “I resent pirates. All of them.”
Kaine barks laugh. “Good. Hate is honest. Better than pretty words nobles use before hanging man.”
I swallow, throat tight. I do not belong here. Every cracked plank screams it.
Alaric rests arms on table, casual, but tension coils beneath. “I’m putting the crew back together. Black Tide sails again.”
Kaine drinks slow, considering. “Crew scattered when you vanished. Some dead. Some serving Silas. Some think you lost nerve.”
Alaric’s jaw twitches at Silas’s name. I watch curiously. I haven't heard that name, like, ever. Wonder who that is.
Kaine slams the mug down. “You disappear for years—no letters, no rumors, no corpses left behind. King’s Navy brags about breaking you. Why trust you still got spine?”
“Because I’m breathing,” Alaric says. “And breath means unfinished business.”
Kaine snorts. “Talk is cheap. Rum cheaper. Action wins loyalty. What you offer me, Stormborne?”
“A ship,” Alaric says. “One worth following stars for.”
Kaine scoffs. “You have no ship.”
“Not yet.”
“Then you have nothing.”
Alaric grins like a shark. “Except the name that still shakes docks.”
Kaine leans back, eyes sharp as knives. “Name don’t win battles. Blood does. Why should I join ghost king?”
Alaric tilts head toward me. “She needs her father saved. Prince schedules execution. Two weeks.”
Kaine studies me again—one slow cruel sweep. “So that’s it. You want war with crown. Amusing. Stupid, but amusing.”
“It isn’t amusing,” I snap. My fear cracks open, spilling anger. “They will kill him for something he never did. I will drag prince by his hair if I must.”
Kaine’s white eye gleams with something like interest. “Girl got fire hidden deep.”
“She cries while making it,” Alaric says.
I slam elbow into his ribs. He barely reacts, only smirks.
“I don’t have to be pirate to fight,” I say.
Kaine’s laugh shakes table. “Wrong. To fight crown, you need sea. To hold sea, you need teeth.” He bares his own—filed to points.
I swallow bile.
Alaric stretches like a restless predator. “Will you sail or rot here telling stories about what you used to be?”
Kaine’s smile fades. For a moment, silence grows heavy, thick with old memories. Then Kaine leans in, voice low.
“I’ll rejoin—but only if you prove Stormborne still king.” He taps table with shark tooth. “Fight. Win. Bleed if needed. Show us spine. Then I follow.”
Alaric’s eyes flash. Challenge accepted.
“And what of her?” Kaine jerks thumb toward me.
“She’s coming,” Alaric says.
“No.” My pulse spikes. “No, I can’t fight. I can’t even hold the blade straight.”
“You’ll learn,” Alaric replies without looking at me. “The sea doesn’t care about weakness. It swallows it.”
I hate him. I hate that he’s right. I hate that world gives no mercy.
Kaine’s gaze pierces me. “Why keep girl? She slows you.”
“She’s leverage,” Alaric says calmly.
Leverage. Weight. Tool. My stomach knots. Tears threaten again, but I crush them back. No more crying in pirate bars.
“I will not be used,” I say quietly.
“You already are,” Kaine answers.
Alaric rises. “We leave at dawn. Bring blade and proof of spine.”
Kaine nods slowly. “Dawn. I’ll watch king try wear crown again.”
We step back into chaos. Tavern door slams behind. Noise swallows us. Rain begins again—thin, cold drizzle.
My hands tremble. “You told him I’m leverage.”
“If truth hurts, sharpen skin,” Alaric says.
“I am person, not currency!”
“You’re both.”
I stop walking. People shove around us, but I plant feet. “You think I’ll let you use me like a coin? I’ll leave. I’ll find my own path.”
He turns, expression unreadable in lamplight. “Where? Crown hunts you. Pirates smell fear. Forest eats soft meat. You have no ship, no weapon, no allies but one rude bastard.”
My throat burns. “Then teach me. Not to cry. To fight like you. To survive like them.”
A pause. Rain ticks wood like clock counting time I don’t have.
He steps closer, voice low. “Say it without shaking.”
I lift chin though knees wobble. “Teach me to survive.”
His smirk softens into something darker, interested. “That, princess, is where we begin.”
“I am not a—”
“Pirate-blood,” he interrupts. “Whether you like it or not.”
The words slash deeper than blade.
We move through the crowd—two worlds tethered by circumstance, not trust. Lantern light flickers on waves. Distant bells ring from the naval watchtower. Somewhere inland, a crow caws over a rumor of an execution schedule.
Two weeks. My father’s life ticks away.
If I must become pirate-blood to save him, then I will learn. Even if it breaks me.
Alaric looks back once, grin sharp. “Welcome to the Black Tide, Beth.”
I follow—and step further from the girl I used to be.