POV: Beth
The port felt strangely alive that morning—the kind of alive that shakes like a carnival before a funeral.
Sunlight bounced off wet stone, gulls screamed above rotting fish crates, and the smell of rum and saltwater wrapped around the air as if daring me to breathe it.
The crew walked ahead of me through the crowded market, laughing, knocking elbows, tossing coins for cheap fruit.
I kept a step behind, bandaged ribs aching beneath the new clothes Alaric bought me—too fine for a runaway pirate, too rough for the princess I once thought I’d become.
I didn’t expect anyone to notice me—but she did.
Mira.
Silky red hair gleaming like a knife. Smile soft as butter, eyes sharp as hooks.
She walked beside Alaric like she belonged there—hip brushing his every few steps, her laugh warming his air like she had every right to breathe it.
I hated myself for noticing how easily her hand found his arm at a joke I didn’t hear.
The crew adored her already—she bought them drinks, called them by name, remembered their victories and scars like she’d been here for years instead of weeks. Kaine even laughed with her.
Kaine.
The brute who thought crying was weakness and empathy was death.
And then it happened.
A horse-cart barreled down the street when I stepped aside to let the boys haul crates toward the docks. I was thinking, stupidly, about Rowan. His execution date inching closer. Thirty days. Every step of mine felt like sand sinking around my ankles.
Then a shout tore across the port.
“BETH— LOOK OUT!”
A blur of red hair—a shove—my shoulder slammed against the stone wall so hard my breath left me. The cart wheels scraped past where I had stood. Wooden spokes spun inches from my knees.
Mira wrapped her arms around me as if she were saving a child.
“She almost died,” she gasped loudly, theatrically. “Poor thing didn’t even see it. My god, Beth—you could’ve been crushed.”
Her voice shook at just the right volume to draw attention—not panic, but pity. Eyes turned toward us one by one. Alaric moved through the crowd, hand on sword, face twisted with something like fear until he saw her holding me.
Then it melted—confusion replaced with relief.
“Mira saved her life!” Clove shouted, loud enough for the market to hear.
The cheering began.
Hands clapped Mira’s back. Someone bought her rum. Another called her a blessing from the sea herself. Karn raised her arm like she was captain. I stood like a stunned statue in the shadow of her heroism—when all she really did was push me aside. A gentle tug would’ve done.
But this was a stage. And I was the prop.
I tasted humiliation like copper.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” a sailor said beside me. “Not afraid of death itself.”
“She could be Queen of Pirates one day,” another joked, not joking at all.
Queen. My chest tightened.
Mira leaned in and whispered so only I could hear—sugar-venom dripping off her tongue.
“Careful where you walk, Beth. Someone might think you enjoy needing rescue.”
I stiffened. “You staged it.”
She smiled sweetly. “Maybe. Maybe not. The world remembers who saves them—not who stands alone.”
And then she kissed Alaric’s cheek.
He blinked in surprise—he didn’t expect it. But he didn’t pull away, either. The crew roared approval. Something inside me cracked like glass left in frost. I stepped back, unsteady. I could feel eyes sliding past me, through me. I wasn’t hated—that would at least make me real.
I was forgotten.
I walked until the noise faded behind me and the sea swallowed the sound. I sat at the edge of the dock, toes dangling above cold black water. The tide lapped at the wood like a heartbeat. My heartbeat. My magic. My curse.
I felt small again—like those first days on the run.
I didn’t hear him approach—but I felt him.
Boots stopped behind me. A shadow fell over my hands. He didn’t speak at first. He just stood there, breathing as if words burned his lungs.
“You alright?” Alaric asked.
Simple question. Too late.
I kept my eyes on the waves. “Fine.”
“Beth—”
“You should go back. They’re celebrating your hero.” I tried to say it casually. It came out cracked.
He exhaled slowly. “She saved you.”
“She staged it,” I bit back.
Silence. Then his boots moved, and suddenly he sat beside me. Not close enough to touch—close enough that if I leaned wrong, our shoulders would meet. His voice lowered, rougher.
“I wasn’t laughing.”
I swallowed. “You didn’t stop her either.”
His jaw ticked, guilt flickering in his eyes before he hid it. “I didn’t know what happened.”
But he didn’t deny the kiss. Didn’t explain. Didn’t promise anything.
He just… stayed.
Quiet. Still. Present.
The night draped over us, soft and bitter. Lantern light painted gold across his cheekbones. The same cheek Mira kissed. I looked away.
He noticed.
He didn’t touch me—but his presence felt like a hand hovering over my heart. And that was almost worse.
Maybe love isn't fireworks. Maybe it’s a wound that refuses to close.
We sat there long after the crew’s cheering faded. Neither spoke of Mira. Or jealousy. Or pride. We just listened to the ocean breathing beneath us—and for the first time, he didn’t feel like my captor, or my rival, or my ruin.
He felt like the person I wished he could be.
He left only when lanterns burned low. But not before he whispered—barely audible.
“You weren’t alone.”
I didn’t reply. Couldn’t. My throat was full of every word I never said.
I stared at the water until dawn kissed the horizon—wondering why being saved felt like being stabbed.