POV: Beth
They took Clove at sunset.
One moment he was laughing on deck, sharpening his rusted cutlass while teasing Karn for losing at dice—and the next, Silas’s black-sailed ships swallowed the horizon like ghosts rising from sea-grave. The night fell too fast, too still. No wind. No sound. Only the creak of our wounded masts and the distant rumble of Kraken beneath the waves.
We tried to raise anchor. Too late.
A shadow swooped overhead, ropes dropped, claws of iron hooked Clove by the waist, and he screamed as they dragged him across the gap like a helpless bird. We reached for him—Kaine nearly threw himself overboard—but Silas’s men were already retreating, silent as a funeral.
And then a horn blew once.
A message. A threat.
A promise.
Clove’s terrified shouts echoed across the sea long after the ships vanished into fog.
Alaric cursed loud enough to shake the deck. “He wants you. He’ll bleed us one by one until you stand on your knees before him.”
His voice cracked—fury or fear, I couldn’t tell. No one spoke. Even the waves seemed to hold breath.
I swallowed hard. “Then let me go.”
He spun so fast his coat whipped the wind. “Absolutely not.”
“We don’t have time—”
“We will find another way—”
“He’ll kill Clove!”
“And he’ll take you!” he growled, stepping closer until his breath hit my lips. “Do you think I’ll let him lay a finger on you, Beth?”
The way he said my name—like prayer, like blasphemy—nearly broke something inside me.
But this war was not about feelings.
Not anymore.
I left at midnight.
I waited until the crew slept in exhaustion, until Alaric’s anger burned itself quiet. He stood on deck alone for hours, staring at the black water as if trying to intimidate the entire sea. I watched from shadows—one last look—then climbed into a small rowboat.
My heart trembled, but my hands didn’t.
For Clove. For Rowan. For the sword. For the truth.
Fog swallowed me.
Silas's ship appeared like a cathedral of bones, lanterns dim like dying hearts. I climbed aboard with shaking knees, blade hidden under cloak. Pirates watched silently—no jeers, no laughter—only the cold curiosity of wolves scenting fresh blood.
Silas stepped from the quarterdeck with slow grace, coat dripping silver chains, hair wild like storms. His eyes—sea-green, ancient, unbearably sad—found mine instantly.
“You came.” His voice was soft. Dangerous. “I hoped you would.”
“I came for Clove.” I kept my chin high. “Release him.”
He walked closer, footsteps echoing like church bells.
“Always straight to sacrifice,” he murmured, as if amused. “You bruise easily, Beth, but you do not break. I admire that.”
My throat tightened. “Where is he?”
Silas lifted one hand. Crew parted. Clove knelt bound at mast, alive, terrified, but breathing.
I exhaled shakily.
“Now,” Silas continued, eyes never leaving me, “let’s talk.”
He dismissed his men with a flick. They faded like shadows until only we remained under moon’s cruel silver. Silence pressed hot against my ears.
“Why me?” I whispered.
Silas stepped closer—slow, reverent—as if approaching an altar. “Because I know what you are.”
Salt stung my eyes. “I’m nothing but a mistake. A governor’s false daughter. A runaway bride.”
He touched my cheek with knuckles light as breath—no force, just sorrow.
“You’re Saltborn,” he whispered. “Daughter of sea and storm. Blood of the drowned king. You could command oceans, Beth. Command Kraken. Command me.”
My lips parted—not for desire, but for disbelief and guilt.
He lowered his gaze, voice nearly breaking. “I was cursed to the beast beneath us—bound by power I cannot refuse. Years lost. Dreams drowned. And then you came like moonlight on grave-tide.”
He looked up—raw and unguarded.
“Let me love you.”
My heart stuttered painfully.
Not because I wanted him—I didn’t—but because I saw him then. Truly saw him. A man carved from tragedy, wanting something soft to anchor him. Wanting me.
And I felt cruel for turning away.
“Silas…” my voice trembled, “…I can’t.”
He smiled—fragile, hopeful—like he expected another word after it.
“But I won’t.”
Silence.
His jaw tightened—only a flicker—pain buried so deep it echoed like a ship sinking far below. He dropped his hand.
“I thought so,” he breathed. “You always choose pride over power.”
I swallowed guilt that tasted like blood. “You deserve someone who chooses you willingly.”
“And you deserve a crown,” he answered.
I flinched at the echo of my wedding day—the crown I never wore. He noticed. Of course he did.
He stepped aside. “Clove is free. For now. But hear me, Storm Bride— the sea will demand you return. When you do… I will not share you.”
The words shattered through me with terror and strange sorrow.
He released Clove’s bindings. The man collapsed into my arms shaking, sobbing thanks. Silas watched quietly—heartbreak carved into stone.
When we reached the rowboat, Silas spoke one last time:
“You will return to Alaric tonight, and he will choose pride instead of peace. War is inevitable. And love…” His gaze pierced mine. “Love will be your downfall.”
The moon swallowed his ship whole.
And I rowed back with Clove, not knowing whether I saved him…
…or doomed us all.