POV: Beth
The sea was too quiet when we returned.
Quiet in that wrong way—the kind that makes sailors glance over shoulders and touch knives at their belts. Even the crew’s laughter, usually crude and loud enough to rattle masts, fell into uneasy whispers when Alaric and I climbed back on deck.
Kaine saw the tremor in my hands first.
“Trial hit you hard?” he asked, voice rough but not mocking. The concern was brief—like he regretted feeling it.
I nodded once, not trusting my voice.
Mira leaned lazily against the railing, watching me like a cat studies a wounded bird. Gentle smile. Soft eyes. Not real.
She approached slow—graceful—dripping sympathy.
“You’re shaking,” she murmured, fingers brushing my arm without permission. “Let me help—”
I jerked away. “Don’t.”
Her smile twitched. Only for a heartbeat. Then it returned sweeter.
“As you wish,” she whispered.
The exchange was small—a flicker—but Alaric saw it. His eyes narrowed, cold calculation replacing the brief vulnerability he showed in the boat. He didn’t speak. Didn’t defend me. Didn’t accuse her.
He only observed, jaw clenched like a blade.
And somewhere deep inside, something in me wilted.
We set sail that evening, storm clouds gathering like bruises. The hull groaned from the last battle, patched hastily with boards and tar. Karn and Clove joked loudly about dying at sea if a single wave coughed too hard, laughter forced through fear.
I stood at the prow, wind lashing my wet hair across my face. The ocean felt different—like something underneath was awake and listening. Every ripple crawled across my skin.
Like the water remembered my blood.
The crew avoided looking me in the eyes. Some bowed heads when I passed—others stepped aside like I was contagious myth. I was no longer just a girl who escaped a wedding or fought with words.
I was the girl who returned from the deep alive.
Saltborn. Cursed. Chosen. I couldn’t decide which word tasted more like iron.
Alaric came up beside me, boots silent despite how he carried storms inside him. He leaned his elbows on the railing, gaze fixed on dark horizon.
“You’re quiet,” he said, voice plain but too controlled.
“You’re tense,” I replied.
He huffed. Not a laugh—a warning. “Should I pretend everything is normal? That you didn’t nearly drown and return glowing like you swallowed lightning?”
Lightning. Yes. That’s what it felt like. Still inside me. Restless.
“Would you rather I apologized?” I asked sharply.
His eyes cut to mine, moon washing his features in silver. “I’d rather you didn’t scare me like that again.”
My breath caught. That was close to confession. Too close.
He realized it too—so he hid behind a smirk, nudging my shoulder.
“You’re the worst patient ever,” he said. “No rest. No fear. Stubborn as a starving shark.”
I bit my cheek to stop a smile. “You’re calling me stubborn?”
“Infuriatingly.”
The air between us tightened—warm despite the freezing wind. Our shoulders brushed again. The universe held its breath.
If I turned even slightly—our lips would meet.
I felt it. I think he did too.
But before either of us leaned in—A scream cracked through the night.
“FLEET ON STARBOARD!”
The lookout’s voice shattered the moment like glass.
Boots slammed across deck. Swords drawn. Lanterns flared frantic orange across the black waves. I rushed to the rail, heart kicking my ribs.
On the horizon —Dozens of ships. Black sails. Bone-white sigils.
Silas.
And beneath them…
The water bulged.
Swelled. Something massive moved below.
Kaine cursed. Clove dropped a barrel. Mira smirked—I saw it—just for a second, pride glinting like a blade. Sabotage in her smile. She wanted this.
Alaric stepped forward, voice like thunder.
“Battle stations! ALL HANDS ON DECK—”
The sea erupted.
A gargantuan tentacle, slick and armored in barnacles, speared upward through waves, dripping black seawater like blood. The sky seemed to shrink around it—the Kraken rising in full form, monstrous and breathtaking.
My knees locked. Breath stopped.
I had seen it before—but this was no glimpse. No shadow.
This was the Leviathan of the Deep, eyes wide as moons, mouth lined with spiraled teeth. A god disguised as beast.
The crew froze. Even hardened killers became children before death.
Karn whispered, voice hoarse, “Saints… save us.”
Mira stood at the stern, hair whipping like a banner. She didn’t tremble. She smiled. She knew he’d come. She wanted this chaos.
Silas’ flagship cut through waves like a blade, prow carved like a skull. He stood at the bow—dark coat billowing, hand resting on sword hilt. Moonlight caught the gold ring in his hair.
His gaze locked directly onto me.
My lungs forgot air.
Alaric stepped in front of me, blocking Silas’ line of sight with his body.
Possessive. Defiant. Suicidal.
Silas raised his hand—slow. Command effortless. The Kraken growled—a vibration through the sea itself—deadly promise ready to strike.
If Silas wanted—one word and we’d be dragged screaming into blackness.
My pulse hammered. My father’s voice echoed in my skull.
You were born to wear storms.
Storms do not bow.
My palms burned—heat rising like white fire beneath my skin. Water sloshed around the hull unnaturally fast, reacting to me. Whispering. Wanting.
I stepped forward and Alaric grabbed my wrist.
“Beth— don’t,” he hissed.
I tore free. “If we run, we die. If we freeze, we die. If we kneel—”
“I will never kneel to him,” Alaric snarled.
The Kraken roared—waves towering. The fleet encircled us like a noose tightening.
I raised my chin, heart half fear half iron.
“Then we fight.”
Alaric’s eyes blazed—pride and terror wrapped in one. He turned to the crew.
“ARM THE CANNONS! RAISE BLOOD FLAGS!”
Swords flashed. Gunpowder filled the air. The ship vibrated with war-lust and dread. Mira moved among the crew like a snake among lambs, whispering something to Karn—too quiet, too fast.
I stored that in my chest like a blade. This was no random arrival. This was orchestrated.
The Kraken sank beneath waves—ready to strike from below.
Silas stood unmoving on his deck, watching me like a prize he’d already claimed.
War had begun.
I placed my hand over the railing, magic sparking under skin, sea answering like a heartbeat.
This time—I did not push it away.
Alaric took position beside me, sword drawn.
He didn’t look at me—but his voice low enough to be only for me:
“Don’t you dare die.”
I swallowed. “Not before I kill a prince.”
Our eyes met—fury and fire and something we still refused to name.