POV: Beth
The celebration lasted long into the night, the kind of reckless joy pirates chase after death brushes their throat. Rum sloshed, laughter cracked the air like musket fire, and someone dragged out a battered fiddle. Lanterns flickered over sweating bodies as men sang off-key, tankards clashing like steel in mock battles.
I stood apart—close enough to watch, far enough not to be swallowed by it.
Mira danced at the center of it all.
Her hips swayed like temptation itself. She pressed coins onto Karn’s palm when he joked about losing all his wages to her smile, kissed Clove’s cheek quick enough to draw a blush, then spun into Kaine’s orbit with feline ease. Every compliment rolled off her lips like honeyed rum.
She was a fire in the middle of the deck.
Beautiful. Bright. Dangerous enough to burn anyone who got too close.
And the crew—starved for relief after war and storms—adored her for it.
I sipped my drink. It tasted sour.
Alaric noticed.
He stood beside me again—at the railing, not among the revelers—shoulder brushing mine like gravity kept pulling him near without thought. His eyes tracked Mira too, unreadable as dark water.
“She fits back in easily,” he said.
“She practiced her smile every night waiting for this moment,” I replied.
His mouth twitched—amusement or bitterness, I couldn’t tell.
“You still don’t believe her story,” he murmured.
I turned to him fully, voice low. “Do you?”
Wind tugged at his hair. Lantern light softened his hardened jaw. For once, Alaric didn’t give me bravado—he gave me truth.
“No,” he admitted. “But caution is better than paranoia. Watching her is smarter than accusing without proof.”
Something warm loosened inside me—not trust, but respect.
“And you’ll watch her with me?” I asked.
He didn’t hesitate. “Always.”
Always.
The word hit harder than rum. Harder than cannon fire. I looked away before my heart did something reckless like forgive him completely.
The fiddle shrieked into a new tune. Crew roared. Mira twirled, skirts spinning like storm clouds around her ankles. Her eyes kept slipping to me—sharp, measuring, waiting.
She wasn’t celebrating. She was testing.
Later, when the moon climbed high and laughter slurred into tired sighs, bodies began to drop where they stood—sprawled on crates, rope coils, against each other like pups after hunt. The deck softened into snores and mumbled dreams.
Mira slipped away.
Quiet as a knife.
My pulse clenched, cold and certain.
I followed.
Bare feet silent on planks, sword weight comforting at my hip. Lanterns flickered low behind me as I slipped down toward lower deck, where shadows thickened like secrets. Storm smell hung in the air—metallic, electric—though the night was clear.
Voices murmured ahead. Not loud. Not careless.
Enough to make me slow my breath, step lighter.
“…tonight,” Mira whispered, voice sharp now without honey. “He’ll be drunk enough not to notice.”
My skin prickled.
Another voice—rough, low, unmistakably one of ours. The red-haired deckhand who flirted with every girl and cheated at cards.
“I don’t like this,” he muttered. “They saved us, Mira. Beth saved us. Twice.”
Mira scoffed softly. “And what has it brought you? Glory? Gold? Or more storms? More curses? You want safety? Wealth? A future not spent rotting on deck like barnacle? Then listen.”
Paper rustled.
The sailor swore under breath. “That’s… that’s the Prince’s seal.”
A chill crawled down my spine.
Mira continued, tone silk-smooth. “Beth is a threat as long as she breathes. Leviathan follows her. British want her. Silas wanted her. Everyone wants her. We hand her over, they spare the rest of us. We’ll be rewarded. I’ll be given title and lands. You… whatever you ask.”
He hesitated.
She stepped closer—I could hear smile in her voice. “She’s blinded by hero dreams. She’s turning Alaric soft. He’ll drag us into war again for her pride. We deliver them both, and we never fear ropes or gallows again.”
Silence. A heartbeat. Two. My fingers tightened around wooden rail.
Mira’s voice dropped darker. “You swore you'd help. Don’t tell me you’ve grown a conscience.”
He exhaled shakily. “I… I’ll send the signal at dawn.”
Signal.
To the Prince.
My breath froze—moment stretched thin as blade.
Mira whispered, lower, venom pressing through sweetness. “Good boy.”
I didn’t realize I had moved until I was already stepping backward—silent retreat through shadow—heart pounding like war drums against ribs.
Every thought tangled—betrayal, fury, cold betrayal ripping old wounds open. Not shock—confirmation. Proof. Her mask came off and underneath was exactly what I always sensed:
Ambition sharp enough to cut throats.
On deck, lanterns swayed in wind like tired stars. The crew slept in careless piles, innocent in their trust. Alaric above—leaning on railing, eyes toward horizon that held no idea of dagger aimed at his back.
I reached top deck trembling.
Sword heavy. Chest tight. Vision blurring with molten anger.
I wanted to storm to him. Shake him awake. Drag the words out like cannon blast:
Mira betrayed us. She planned to hand us to the Prince. She will sell us all for a crown made of blood.
But something stopped me. Not fear. Instinct.
If I told him now—half drunk, exhausted, wounded—he might kill Mira where she stood. Or confront her loudly, waking crew, sparking chaos before dawn.
Better to gather proof. To watch. To wait one night more.
To strike when her escape route was closed.
I stepped to rail, gripping wood hard enough to splinter. Salt wind whipped hair into my eyes. Below, ocean breathed slow and endless—but beneath surface something darker stirred. Like Leviathan itself listened with ancient patience.
Alaric turned his head slightly, sensing me without looking. “You disappeared.”
He didn’t ask why. He didn’t press.
I answered with silence—the only safe truth.
His eyes studied ocean like it might swallow him. “Storm feels near,” he murmured.
“It’s already here,” I whispered.
He glanced at me—really looked.
Something in my face must have betrayed everything I didn’t say, because Alaric’s expression sharpened—concern, suspicion, heat simmering under calm.
“What happened, Beth?”
My breath hitched.
Not yet. Not until I had more than overheard whispers.
“Nothing,” I lied softly. “Just thinking about tomorrow.”
He didn’t believe it fully—but he let it stand. For now. His gaze lingered on me half a second too long before he nodded once and returned his eyes to waves.
Mira slipped back onto deck behind us minutes later, smile flawless again. No one noticed her absence except me.
She walked to Alaric, offered rum with bright grin like she hadn’t just sold his life for a title.
He didn’t take it.
Instead, Alaric stepped subtly closer to me—a silent choice—leaving Mira’s hand hanging in air for a breath too long.
Her smile cracked for one heartbeat.
Tiny. Precious.
I memorized it like loading a bullet.
She glanced at me then—and I knew she knew.
I was watching. Waiting. Ready. Tomorrow, everything would break.
And I would be the one to decide how.