POV: Beth
Morning breaks foul.
The port reeks of blood and bilge-water, gulls screaming overhead like dying souls. Rain hasn’t fallen yet, but clouds sit low and heavy, threatening to split open any second. The world feels poised on edge—waiting for something terrible to happen.
I walk with Alaric and a few crew members through the marketplace, newly strapped sword at my hip. People glance at me, at the black blade, whispering behind hands. Some call me witch. Some call me stormborn. Some look at me like they want to carve out my heart for a reward.
The whispers grow louder as we move deeper into the port’s rotten core—taverns, gambling dens, rusted anchors hung like trophies on walls. Sailors push past us, breath stinking of rum and fear.
Fear more than rum, today.
Kaine grabs a man by the collar—a wide-eyed, trembling sailor spilling ale down his beard. “What happened here?” Kaine demands.
The man swallows hard. “Silas happened.”
My stomach knots.
Another pirate joins, voice cracking. “He took two crews last night—Crimson Tide and East Serpents. Not killed—taken.” His eyes find mine. “Rumor says he imprisoned them beneath the trenches. Feeding some to the Kraken. Keeping others as message.”
Beside me, Alaric stiffens. His jaw tightens so sharply I hear teeth grind.
More voices chime in, overlapping like waves slamming rocks.
“He claims the throne.”
“Says Alaric’s the past—a ghost king.”
“Says the sea chose him.”
“Says he’ll take the Stormbride as queen.”
The air punches out of my lungs. “Stormbride.”
They mean me.
A third man leans closer, breathing rum. “Silas wants you, lass. Wants to crown you with bone and sea-weed. Says you’re his fate.”
I step back instinctively.
Alaric’s hand shoots out, gripping the sailor’s wrist hard enough to whiten knuckles. “Speak her name again and I’ll break your tongue.”
The man nods frantically.
Alaric releases him.
But whispers don’t stop—they just slither faster along the port like wildfire.
“Silas wants her.”
“She’s the prize.”
“Witch bride.”
“Kraken’s queen—”
My hands shake. I curl fingers into fists to hide it.
Inside the tavern, the air is thick with smoke and arguments. Chairs scrape. A bottle shatters. Someone yells Silas’ name and a fight breaks instantly—fists hammering flesh, tables flipping as if the port itself wants to tear apart.
I lean close to Alaric, voice rough. “He won’t stop. Silas will come for me again.”
Alaric doesn't respond immediately, eyes scanning the room like a predator calculating every exit. Thunder rolls far out at sea.
“We won’t give you to him,” he says finally—low, steady, immovable.
It’s a promise wrapped in iron.
Something warm flickers traitorously in my chest.
Another brawl erupts near the bar—a man screaming about Kraken-sunk ships, about Silas taking women to his decks. A blade flashes. A man crashes to the floor. Blood spills, mixing with spilled rum.
Chaos detonates.
Men swarm, smashing bottles, crashing chairs. The kind of violence that starts for any reason and ends in bone. Alaric grabs my arm, pulling me close to shield me without thinking—instinct, not strategy.
One pirate lunges for him with a dagger. Alaric twists, slamming his fist into the man's jaw so hard teeth fly. Another swings an axe. Kaine intercepts, elbow to throat, efficient and merciless.
Someone grabs me from behind.
Rancid breath against my ear. “Stormbride,” he growls. “King Silas will pay gold for you.”
Rage burns hot.
I slam my elbow into his ribs, twist, and draw the sword Alaric bought for me. The obsidian blade arcs like lightning.
Steel meets flesh.
The man screams, dropping to knees as blood pours between his fingers. The bar goes still for a moment—all eyes on me, sword dripping.
Silence.
Then slowly—fear crawls back into faces. Not admiration. Not respect. Fear.
“Storm-witch,” someone whispers. “Saltblood murderess.”
My pulse hammers. Alaric stands beside me, chest rising with heavy breath. He looks at the man I cut down—then at me. No mockery. No smirk. Just something dark. Something protective.
He turns to the tavern, voice booming. “Anyone who touches her meets the sea.”
Murmurs ripple. Chairs scrape further away. No one challenges him. No one challenges me.
But they don’t trust me either.
Outside, rain finally breaks, cold needles against skin. We step under the awning while Kaine pays for damages. Water pours off roofs, drumming violently—like war drums.
I stare at the street, soaked through, shaking. Not from cold, but from the truth settling like anchor-weight in my stomach.
Silas wants me—not just as pawn, but as queen.
He won’t stop.
And everyone in this port knows it.
Alaric stands beside me but not touching, both of us silent.
“We’ll have to fight him,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“People will die.”
“Yes.”
I swallow hard. Fear tastes like metal. “Are you afraid?”
He finally looks at me—slow, burning, raw.
“Only of losing you.”
The words hit like thunder—unexpected, violent, undeniable.
For a heartbeat, the world is only rain and his eyes.
Then shouting interrupts—Navy flags sighted offshore.
The sea gives no time for softness.