POV Beth
The ship was quiet when Clove and I returned—too quiet. A dead kind of quiet, like the sea holding breath before a storm tears open sky. Lanterns swung low, shadows slicing across deck. I could feel eyes before I saw them.
Boots thundered. Someone shouted. Then he appeared at the rail.
Alaric.
Sword drawn. Jaw set like carved iron. Hair wild from sleepless pacing. He looked like every nightmare I used to fear and every dream I refused to admit wanting.
When his eyes landed on me, something violent flickered through him—relief first, then fury, then something darker. He came down the steps like a storm with legs.
“Where,” he growled, voice low enough to shake bone, “did you go?”
My throat tightened, but I stood straight. “To bring him back.”
Clove collapsed onto the deck behind me, Kaine rushing to cut his bindings. The crew crowded close, whispering like vultures at a feast. Karn stared wide-eyed. Mira leaned casually on the mast like she’d been waiting for fireworks.
“You disobeyed me.” Alaric’s voice was cold steel, but his eyes—those golden, furious eyes—burned like betrayal. “You left this ship. You left me blind.”
“You don’t own me,” I shot back, stepping into his space instead of backing away. “I went to save him. Someone had to.”
His hand tightened on the sword. “You think I wouldn’t have saved him?”
“You didn’t try.”
That hit him like a blade between ribs. He froze. Just for a heartbeat. Just enough for guilt to flash, raw and human.
“I was planning a rescue,” he hissed. “A smart one. Not a suicidal stunt.”
“He could’ve died while you planned.” My voice cracked. “You were pacing here doing nothing—”
“I was thinking!” he roared. “Because if I lose you, Beth—”
He stopped. Too late. Words hung between us like blood in water.
I swallowed. Hard. “If you lose me what?”
Silence.
Wind tugged at his coat. Crew leaned in. Mira’s smirk sharpened like a knife.
“Finish the sentence,” I breathed, chest heaving. “If you lose me, then what?”
He looked at me like he hated me for asking. Hated himself for caring.
“I shouldn’t have to say it,” he said, voice lower now, broken at the edges. “You should know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
We stood nose-to-nose, anger trembling like a match near oil. We were one push away from kissing or killing—maybe both.
He stepped closer, breath hot against my mouth. “Tell me what happened on his ship.”
A test. A demand. A plea.
I could lie.
Pretend Silas was a monster.
Pretend I felt nothing.
But lies rot slowly—and I was done rotting.
“He confessed love,” I said.
Alaric went perfectly still. Like a statue carved from rage and disbelief.
“And you?” His voice was barely sound. “Did you answer him with pity?”
I exhaled. “I told him no.”
His lashes lowered. Pain flickered deep. “But you hesitated first.”
Gods. He saw right through me.
“I didn’t hesitate,” I tried, but even I heard the crack.
He stepped even closer—no space left at all. “You feel guilty for hurting him. And that kills me more than any blade Silas could press to my throat.”
His jealousy was raw, ugly, painfully human.
A lump formed at the base of my throat. “He’s broken. He’s tragic. He’s—”
“He’s not your king,” Alaric snarled.
“He offered answers!” My voice cracked high. “Answers about who I am. About my father. About the mark on my wrist that ruined my life. What have you offered me, Alaric? Danger? Chaos? Pride? You want loyalty but you give nothing back!”
His chest rose sharply. “I’ve protected you. Trained you. Fed you. Bled for you.”
“And never once apologized.”
He flinched.
For a moment neither of us spoke. Just breathing. Just breaking. The whole universe existed in the two feet of space between us.
I hated him. I needed him. God help me, I wanted him.
But pride is a vicious deity.
“If this is war,” he whispered, “then say it.”
My heart trembled. “Maybe it is.”
The crew stiffened behind us, sensing something terrible shifting like plates beneath the sea. Mira’s hand curled on her sword. Kaine looked ready to intervene and terrified to try.
Alaric’s knuckles whitened on his blade. “So you choose him.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“And you think choosing you is easy?” I snapped. “You mock me. You toy with me. You push until I bleed and then laugh when I stand up.”
“Because you always stand up,” he said, voice half-broken. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”
Something in me cracked open. Vulnerable. Dangerous. “Then learn.”
He opened his mouth to answer—
—but the sea answered first.
A horn blasted through the fog.
Low. Deep. Ancient.
The crew moved as one, weapons drawn, terror cutting through the night sharper than blades. Clove, still shaking, whispered a curse. Karn dropped his rum. Mira’s eyes glittered like jewels in a grave.
Boots pounded on deck.
From the mist, dark sails unfurled like wings. Ropes whipped onto our rails. Shadows climbed silently aboard.
And then—
Silas stepped out of the fog.
Cloak dripping sea-salt. Sword at hip. Eyes fixed on me.
Not Alaric. Not the crew. Me.
“Beth.”
Just my name. Soft. Devastating.
Alaric moved in front of me instantly, sword raised. “Step back.”
Silas’s gaze slid to him—slow, amused, frozen fire. “Move, Alaric.”
“No.”
They stood as two storms facing each other—one cold and proud, the other tragic and obsessive. I felt the world tilt on its axis.
Silas’s voice dropped like anchor metal. “She came to me tonight. She spoke to me. She chose to come.”
Alaric’s teeth bared in something not entirely human. “She came for Clove. Not you.”
Silas smiled—sad, hungry. “That’s what you want to believe.”
My breathing turned sharp.
This was the moment everything would break.
Me between two kings. One that wanted power with me. One that wanted power over me. And the one I was terrified to want at all.
Steel hissed from scabbards around us. Crew braced. Fog thickened like breath of gods.
Silas took one slow step forward.
Alaric stepped forward to meet him.
I stood between storms.