POV: Beth
Night falls heavy, smothering the deck in cold black silence. Lanterns sway like dying suns along the railings, shadows dancing across faces that no longer look at me the same way. Conversations quiet whenever I draw near. Laughter shrivels. Even ocean waves seem to hush to listen to me breathing.
I sit alone on the lower deck stairs, knees to chest, the taste of brine and blood still clinging to my tongue. The magic I used in the chamber hasn’t left—it hums beneath my skin like trapped thunder begging for release.
Every heartbeat reminds me I changed something today. In myself. In them.
Footsteps approach—graceful, too gentle to belong to any of the men. Mira settles beside me, silk hair falling over one shoulder, smelling faintly of sea-rose oil and danger.
“Rough day?” she asks lightly, as if we’re two girls gossiping by a garden fountain instead of feared pirates drifting above abyssal waters.
I don’t answer. My voice might crack. She waits anyway, a patient serpent.
“I’m not proud of what happened,” I murmur eventually. “I didn’t mean to frighten them. I just… didn’t want anyone to die.”
Mira hums thoughtfully. “You saved us. Many wouldn't show gratitude if their lives depended on it.” She glances at the men whispering by the mast. “Fear makes people cruel.”
Her gaze softens—a performance so delicate it almost feels real. She reaches out and gently tucks a strand of wet hair behind my ear.
Her hand lingers too long.
“You’re stronger than them,” she whispers. “Soon they’ll kneel. Whether from admiration… or terror.”
A chill ripples under my skin. I pull back slightly. “I don’t want anyone kneeling to me.”
“Everyone wants it,” she says sweetly. “Some just don’t admit it yet.”
She rises smoothly, skirts brushing my arm like a warning. As she steps away, she casts one last look over her shoulder.
“Oh—and don’t let Alaric’s coldness fool you,” she says, voice dripping honey. “He protects what he fears losing.”
My heart stumbles. “He doesn’t fear losing me.”
Her smile twists sharp. “He did once. Before you arrived, there was no power on these seas that frightened him. Except love.” She laughs quietly. “He was mine, you know. Before you.”
The words sink like heavy stones.
She leaves, humming softly, as if she didn't just shove a dagger under my ribs.
I sit frozen for minutes, knuckles white on the wooden step. Jealousy burns my throat—stupid, useless, humiliating. Why do I care who he touched? Why does it matter if he once whispered to her, if he kissed her, if she knows where that scar on his shoulder came from?
I shake the thought away. Focus. Rowan. The sword. Silas. My magic. My father dying slowly in chains.
Alaric is not supposed to matter more.
But he does.
Voices rise near the helm. A group of crewmen gather around Alaric, speaking low, urgent.
“She could sink us with a thought, Captain.”
“What if she calls storms?”
“She killed wraiths like flies—no human can.”
Alaric’s voice cuts sharp. “She saved you. That should be enough.”
“Or she’ll doom us later,” someone spits. “Witches always turn.”
My chest tightens.
Before I think, I move toward them. Lantern light paints Alaric in gold and shadow—tall, broad, bruised, jaw set like stone against the sea breeze.
He sees me first. His expression flickers—unreadable, guarded.
“We need to talk,” I say quietly.
The men disperse slowly under his glare. Alaric steps toward me, footsteps measured. He stops an arm’s reach away, voice low.
“How are you feeling?”
I almost laugh. “Like half the crew wants me drowned.”
He exhales, a rough sound. “They’re afraid. Of what they don’t understand.”
“And you?” I meet his eyes. He looks away too slow.
His silence answers more honestly than words. He is afraid of me too.
Hurt pricks sharp beneath my ribs. I swallow painfully. “You think I’m a monster.”
“I think you have power you can’t control,” he says, jaw tight. “Power that could kill us all if it snaps wrong.”
“So do you,” I snap back. “Just with steel instead of storms.”
His eyes flash. “I was ready to die for you today.”
My breath stops.
He gestures at the deck, the sea, the world. “Silas could’ve taken you. You could’ve gone with him. You didn’t. That matters.”
A strange warmth battles ice in my chest. “Then why keep distance?”
He glances toward Mira—unaware I notice. Or maybe he wants me to.
“She says you two were lovers,” I say before I can stop myself. The words taste like rust.
Alaric stiffens. “She says many things.”
“So it’s true.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Once. Not now.”
Jealousy flares hot—ugly, unwanted. My heart is disgraceful.
“Why tell me?” he asks softly. “Do you care?”
Lightning crashes between us in the silence.
I refuse to answer. Not with words. Not with the truth I don’t understand myself.
He steps closer. inches away. His voice drops rough like a storm-torn sail.
“You changed, Beth.”
“So did you,” I whisper.
His eyes fall to my mouth, just for a second.
I step back. If I stay, I will break. Or he will. I don't know which terrifies me more.
“I’m going to rest,” I murmur and turn away.
But before I reach the stairs, his voice catches me like a hook.
“You should know something,” he says quietly. “Mira isn’t what she appears.”
I blink. “Then why trust her?”
Golden eyes harden. “Because sometimes you must stand beside a snake to see who it plans to bite.”
My lungs hesitate.
He’s suspicious. He just hides it better than me.
I nod once and descend into the dim belly of the ship, heart pounding like a trapped bird. My hammock sways with the waves as I lie down, staring into shadows.
Tomorrow will demand answers. Decisions. Power.
Tonight—there is only turmoil.