POV: Beth
Salt still stings my tongue long after the waves stop crashing. The world sways even when the sea calms—my knees reminding me I nearly drowned, that the Kraken’s eye is burned into the back of my skull. The deck reeks of smoke and blood. Our sails hang torn like wounded wings. Half the crew limps. The other half lies silent beneath soaked tarps awaiting burial.
I try not to look at the bodies. I fail.
A small hand—Clove’s—covers one corpse with trembling respect. “Jeremiah,” he whispers. “He owed me five silver.”
Kaine snorts, but it cracks like something broken. “Still owes you.”
We laugh. It hurts to laugh. My ribs ache as though Kraken’s gaze cracked bone just by looking.
Alaric hasn’t spoken since he dragged me out, since he screamed at Silas with murder in his voice. He stands at helm like a carved figurehead—rigid, drenched, jaw hard enough to cut skin. I can’t read him. Anger? Fear? Disappointment?
The crew works in exhausted silence: tying broken ropes, dragging crates, mopping blood. Karn sharpens blades more aggressive than necessary. Mira leans against rail with a bandage on her thigh, watching me like she’s measuring how much of a threat I’ve become—or how to use it.
When I finally force my legs toward Alaric, every step feels like walking across splinters. He doesn’t look at me until I’m beside him.
“You should’ve stayed below deck,” he says, voice like cold steel.
“You would’ve died without me.”
His eyes snap to mine. Dark. Storm-scarred.
“I didn’t need saving.”
I fold my arms over my bandaged ribs, heartbeat loud enough to drown the ocean. “You froze. Kraken stared at you and you froze like a frightened child.”
A few crew members glance over, holding breath.
Alaric steps closer—too close—voice low. “Be careful, Beth.”
“Or what?” My voice shakes but I don’t lower it. “You’ll throw me overboard like a problem? You don’t want my power, you don’t want my opinions, you don’t want anything except control.”
His jaw clenches. “I want discipline. You acting alone almost cost lives.”
“And you dueling Silas mid-battle didn’t?” I fire back. “How many men died because you needed to feed your pride?”
His eyes flare like lit oil. The wind pauses, sea listening.
“You know nothing about leadership,” he growls.
“Then teach me instead of silencing me,” I whisper, though it sounds like a blade drawn.
He steps away—just enough to feel like abandonment. “You’re not ready.”
“Neither are you.”
Something inside him cracks, quick and sharp. His hand comes up—not to strike, but as if he wants to reach for me—then trembles mid-air and falls.
Mira walks up with a bucket of fresh water, sweat-plastered hair curling at her temples. “Captain, wounds need treating.”
He takes it without looking at her. “See to the crew.”
She smirks, pivots to me. “You look pale, princess. Need help washing? I could scrub behind your ears.”
I inhale, slow. “I’d rather drown again.”
Several pirates stifle laughter. Mira’s eyes flash.
Alaric cuts in, sharp. “Enough. All of you. Below deck—dress wounds. No talk of Kraken. No talk of magic. We move at sunrise.”
Orders, detached and cold.
As if none of us almost died. As if Kraken’s voice isn’t still in my bloodstream.
Night falls heavy. Lanterns flicker like dying souls. Under deck the air tastes of rust, rot, medicine. I sit on a crate while Kaine pours rum over my cuts. I hiss, gripping wooden edge so hard splinters break skin.
“You fought well,” he mutters. “Scared the shit out of me, though.”
“I scared myself,” I admit.
He ties my bandage with surprising gentleness. “Storm Bride, huh?”
The words hit my spine like ice. “Don’t call me that.”
Kaine doesn’t argue—rare for him. He pats my shoulder once and leaves me alone with shadows.
I stare at the floorboards. Water drips rhythmically—drip, drip like an omen. The silence is louder than cannon fire.
My throat tightens. The faces of dead men blur behind my eyes. Could I have done more? If I had used my magic earlier—if I wasn’t scared—if I wasn’t weak—
Footsteps approach. Heavy. Familiar.
Alaric.
He enters without knocking, coat off, shirt clinging to bruised chest. His hair hangs dark and wild. A cut above his brow spills dried blood.
He stops in front of me but doesn’t sit. “You think I don’t care?”
I don’t answer. He breathes once, shaky—the kind of breath someone takes just before admitting something raw.
“You almost died today.” His fist tightens at his side. “I couldn’t…” His voice cracks. “I couldn’t lose you.”
My heart stutters.
“Then why do you treat me like a threat?” I ask, voice breaking softer than I want. “Why does my power scare you more than Kraken?”
He meets my gaze—no armor, just exhaustion and truth. “Because if you rise above me… if you become what Silas wants…” His throat works. “I don’t know if I can follow. And I don’t want to become the man who tries to hold you back.”
Not anger. Not coldness. Fear of losing control. Fear of losing me.
I stand—slowly—ribs screaming—until we breathe the same air. “Alaric, I don’t want a king to rule me. I want someone who stands beside me.”
“You want impossible things,” he whispers.
“You don’t know what I want.”
Fire crackles between us—not sweet, not gentle—violent, hungry.
He leans in like a man at war with himself. I feel his breath on my lips. Salt. Rum. Rage. Broken want.
I close my eyes. He almost kisses me. Almost.
Instead he slams his palm against the wall beside my head and steps back like the touch burned him. “This is madness.”
“You’re the one who came to me,” I shoot back, trembling.
He laughs—bitter, self-loathing—and storms out before I can speak another word.
The door swings shut.
Silence swallows me whole.
***
Later, after crew sleeps, I climb to deck. Moonlight spills silver across wrecked wood and torn sails. The sea glows unnatural green around the Maelstrom’s edge. I grip the railing, feeling small against endless water.
The Kraken’s voice thrums faintly under the waves.
Beth…
No. Not now.
I won’t be claimed. Not by Silas. Not by Kraken. Not even by Alaric unless he meets me as equal.
Salt wind lashes my face. My heart aches like an open wound.
War is coming. And I’m no longer sure who I stand with—the pirate who fears my power, or the monster who covets it. I choose neither. For now.
I stand alone at the prow, hair whipping like a banner of rebellion, and the chapter ends with storm clouds building on horizon—silent promise of hell to come.