POV: Beth
Morning comes like punishment.
The sun is too bright, the wind too gentle, as if the sea mocks me for bleeding emotions last night. I walk onto deck pale and restless. The crew whispers—they heard something. They always hear.
Alaric stands at the wheel, eyes forward, jaw tight as ropes. He doesn’t look at me. Coward. I don’t look at him either. Coward.
We dock midday at a bustling pirate market—noise, chaos, merchants screaming over each other, gold flashing like teeth. Our ship needs repairs. My heart needs more.
Kaine and Clove immediately disappear hunting for food and rum. Mira lingers close to Alaric like perfume that chokes. Her eyes flick to me with smug sweetness.
Alaric clears his throat. “We need supplies,” he announces to crew. Then his gaze flicks to me—brief but electric.
We walk through market side by side yet miles apart. I refuse to speak first. The dream won't leave my chest, tight as waves before a storm.
At a stall, I glance at a dagger with a carved bone handle—Leviathan motifs. I look for one second. Only one.
Alaric buys it instantly.
“I didn’t ask—” I begin.
“You looked,” he interrupts, placing it in my hand. His tone is too casual. “Take it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Buying me things is not an apology.”
He smirks. “Did I say it was?”
Infuriating. Beautiful. Impossible.
We move on. I spot a velvet coat blue as ocean—I imagine wearing it on deck hair whipping wild. I look away before temptation roots.
Alaric buys that too.
Then a compass with cracked glass. A silver hairpin shaped like tidal waves. A map case leather-bound with gilt.
“Stop,” I snap, voice too loud. “You can’t just throw gold at me like I’m—”
“Worth it?” he replies without hesitation.
My heart stutters.
He pays for fresh bandages, extra rations, rum, rope, gunpowder—everything the crew needs. He commands with lazy authority, flipping coins like they're raindrops. Other captains glare with envy. Their women stare at him with hunger.
But he stays near me.
Every time I drift away, he finds me again. Pretends it’s coincidence.
At jewelry stall, pearls spill like moonlight. I don’t touch them. I don’t even pause. Yet Alaric lifts a pearl choker, holds it to my throat briefly, fingers brushing my skin. Heat rushes everywhere.
“You’d look good,” he murmurs.
I shove his hand away. “Apology. Words. Not gifts.”
He exhales, frustrated. “I’m trying.”
“Try with your mouth, not your wallet.”
His brow arches. “Dangerous request, lass.”
I flush—curse him—and storm ahead into the crowd.
He follows.
Eventually we stop at a quiet corner, market noise distant like ocean foam. My hands tremble around all the things he bought. I stare at them—too beautiful, too much. My anger cracks under weight of yearning.
“You think spoiling me erases what happened?” I whisper. “Erase Mira? The kiss? The distrust? The pain?”
Alaric looks at me finally. Really looks. Eyes storm-dark. “I bought them because when you want something your eyes soften,” he says low. “Makes world less ugly.”
The confession hits like wave to ribs.
He takes one small step closer. “You want apology? Fine.” His voice is rough like rope burn. “I was cruel. I was jealous. I pushed you because keeping you close hurts like hell.” His throat works, swallowing pride like poison. “And seeing Mira kiss me—seeing you look at me like I mattered—it made me... stupid.”
My breath catches.
He raises the velvet coat and places it over my shoulders gently. Reverently. “Even if you didn’t become England’s princess,” he murmurs, voice sliding warm through me, “you became something else.”
I lift my eyes, heart trembling.
“What?”
His mouth curves into a wicked soft smile. “Princess of pirates.”
Heat blooms behind my ribs like sunrise.
I want to kiss him. I want to scream at him. Maybe both.
The wind lifts my hair. His fingers twitch—as if he might tuck a strand away. He doesn't. Pride still chains him. Pride still chains me.
So instead I say what hurts. “You don’t get to crown me with pretty words and walk away.”
He steps back, jaw clamped. “Who said I’m walking?”
We stare—tethered, burning, restrained.
No touch. No forgiveness. Not yet. But something broke last night, and something else is cracking today. Not walls. Us.