POV: Beth
Clouds hang thick over the horizon like bruises in the sky, heavy and swollen, promising rain. Our ship cuts through black water toward the port, weary sails flapping with a tired rhythm. No one laughs today. No songs. No dice games. No swearing contests. Just tension—thick enough to strangle.
I lean against the railing, fingers stiff around the wood. Salt wind burns my eyes. Or maybe that’s everything else burning.
I hear Mira before I see her—soft, sweet laughter like she’s never tasted blood. She’s beside Alaric again, talking too close, touching his sleeve, brushing fingers against his arm like she owns the right. I watch them from across the deck, stomach clenched tight.
“Stormborn,” someone whispers behind me. “Sorceress.”
I ignore it. I’ve learned to wear fear like a cloak.
But Mira wears beauty like a blade.
Her voice rings clear across the deck. “You can’t keep pretending you don’t miss what we had, Alaric.” She says it loudly—enough for others to hear. Enough for me to hear.
Alaric doesn’t respond. He stands with that effortless carelessness, leaning against the mast, arms crossed, golden eyes shaded. He doesn’t push her away. He doesn’t step back. He just lets her be close.
Too close.
I turn to leave, jaw tight. I refuse to watch this.
Then—like fate savoring cruelty—Mira grabs Alaric’s jaw, pulls his face toward hers, and kisses him.
Not soft. Not shy. Bold—like a woman claiming a throne that was once hers.
Alaric freezes.
He doesn’t kiss her back. But he doesn’t shove her off either. Not fast enough. Not like I wished he would.
My heart punches my ribs. Heat roars through me—fury, jealousy, humiliation, something wild and bleeding. I step forward without thinking, voice cutting out like a whip.
“What is this?”
Mira pulls back, lips curved—wicked satisfaction flashing in her eyes. “Oh,” she purrs, licking the corner of her mouth as if she wants me to see. “Did we interrupt something you imagined belonged to you?”
Alaric’s eyes snap to me. His expression—shock first, then something like guilt, then quickly smothered by pride. Mira keeps her hand on his chest, claiming space that isn’t hers.
I feel like I might vomit.
“Get your hands off him,” I say, low and lethal.
Mira tilts her head. “Why? He doesn’t seem to mind.”
Alaric finally steps back—too late. “Enough, Mira.”
“Enough?” My voice cracks with something raw. “You let her kiss you.”
“She kissed me,” he snaps. “I didn’t invite—”
“You didn’t push her away.” My voice shakes. “You didn’t even look angry.”
The crew slows work, heads turning, sensing wildfire. Kaine mutters something under his breath. Karn watches from the stairs with unease.
Alaric raises a brow—mocking, defensive, ugly. “Why do you care, princess?”
Princess. The word hits like a blade.
“I don’t.” My voice lies stiff. “I just thought you weren't stupid enough to trust anyone who wants you dead.”
Mira smirks. “He trusted me once. Perhaps he remembers why.”
Something snaps inside me.
“You think I’m blind?” I spit at Alaric. “You treat me like a weapon one moment, a burden the next. You glance at me like I’m everything, and then you stand with her like I’m nothing.”
A muscle twitches in his jaw.
“Perhaps you misread everything,” he bites.
My heart slams against bone. “No,” I whisper. “Perhaps you’re just too much of a coward to admit you feel anything at all.”
The deck goes still. Even the wind holds breath.
Alaric laughs.
Cruel. Sharp. Defensive. “Oh, Beth. You think this world bends for feelings? Grow up.”
I step back like he struck me. Mira watches hungrily.
“You think you’re owed answers?” he continues, voice rising. “You think you can walk on my deck, wield storms, and demand honesty when you run at the first discomfort?”
I stare at him, chest burning. “I left because you pushed me away first.”
He scoffs. “You left because you wanted independence. So go be independent.”
Pain clears like broken glass. I lift my chin. “Fine. But don’t pretend you didn’t care.”
He looks away.
That hurts more than a blade.
My voice falls ice-cold. “I hope she keeps kissing you. I hope your pride keeps you warm at night.”
His eyes snap to mine—wounded for a heartbeat—then shuttered. “Maybe it will.”
I turn and walk off the deck before my legs give out. I don’t cry until I reach my cabin. And even then, I bite my lip bloody to keep quiet.
He regrets. I know he does. But his pride is an iron wall—and mine is a locked gate.
No apology. No chase. No words.
The ship sails in silence toward port. Two people standing inches apart but miles away.