POV: Beth
Morning comes wrong.
Not golden, not gentle—but iron-grey and tense like a sword pressed against the throat. The sky is washed in colors too sharp to be comforting, shards of pink breaking against storm-blue clouds. I stand on deck gripping the rail, listening to the hush of waves that sound as if they’re holding their breath. Something in me knows—today will break something. Maybe me. Maybe us all.
Karn hums low while sharpening his spear. Kaine whistles tunelessly, scanning the horizon with narrowed eyes. Clove sleeps upside down in the rigging like a drunk bat. Normal. Ordinary. But my magic hums beneath my skin like wires sparking in seawater. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
And Mira… she is too bright this morning.
Dressed in soft sea-green, hair brushed, cheeks flushed as if she slept without nightmares. She stands near Alaric, smiling—not wide, not too sweet—just perfectly harmless. I watch her slip something into her sleeve while talking with two younger sailors. A gesture so smooth it would look innocent to anyone blind or hopeful.
But I’ve learned to stop being hopeful.
I move casually toward mainmast, pretending to check knots. Voices float from lower deck stairwell—hushed, frantic.
“…tonight,” a young man whispers. “This is madness. If we’re caught—”
Mira’s voice answers like silk laid over a dagger. “The Prince rewards loyalty. We deliver Beth—alive—and Alaric kneels by force or dies like a dog. I become Lady Mira. You get your gold and title. Win-win.”
Blood freezes. Every memory of her smile, every staged kindness, every sweet word clicks into place like teeth.
She betrayed us.
And the coward she’s whispering to trembles like a leaf in hurricane wind. “They’ll kill me if they know.”
“They won’t,” Mira purrs. “Unless you talk.” She pats his cheek like a lover or executioner. Hard to tell which.
Rage floods me vicious and cold.
Rowan chained to execution ground. My mother dead loving a pirate. Silas offering me crown of blood. And now Mira—weaving poison through my crew.
I step quietly backward. My breath is a blade. My heartbeat a war drum.
When I emerge back on deck, the world erupts.
A flag of red and black appears first—like a wound on horizon. Then another. And another. Dozens. British Navy. Thick as plague. Ships closing from both ends of channel—cliffs lock us in like a tomb.
“BATTLE STATIONS!” Kaine bellows.
Drums thunder. Swords flash. Men scream orders. Powder barrels roll. Deck becomes chaos—beautiful, brutal. The kind of chaos pirates breathe.
But my eyes stay on Mira.
She races onto deck with perfect shock on her face—too fast, too prepared. “Alaric— Navy on both sides— we need to steer—”
“No,” I snarl. “You led them.”
Silence hits like cannon slam.
Crew turns. Alaric freezes. Mira’s eyes widen—a fraction too slow. Fear? No. Calculating.
“What?” she whispers small. “Beth— why would you—”
“You traded the map,” I spit. “Offered him me. Promised him Alaric. I heard you plot with that rat you bought. Gold and title, wasn’t it?”
Murmurs ripple through crew like wildfire. Teeth bare. Hands on weapons.
Mira trembles—but in her eyes burns something feral. Hatred. Envy. Hunger. She sees she’s cornered and switches masks so fast it’s art. She gasps dramatically, tears shimmering. “She lies! She wants me gone so she can have him!”
Alaric’s jaw tenses. Hard. Eyes flick between us. Crew trembles—torn between belief and fear. For a blink I fear he’ll doubt me.
Then Alaric speaks, voice low thunder.
“Beth doesn’t lie about something like this.”
Heat stings behind my eyes—relief sharp as pain.
Mira laughs—high, bitter. “Of course you take her word. She has you wrapped around her neck like a rope. You’d burn a kingdom for her.”
Quiet. Deadly.
Her lips twist into mockery. “She thinks herself queen already.”
I step forward, steel to her throat. “Say one more lie.”
She leans closer to blade, unafraid. “Jealous much? He kissed me—”
“He didn’t,” I snap. “You forced it. And he didn’t push you away because he was stunned, not willing.”
Truth shakes her. There—crack in mask.
Alaric moves closer, presence sharp, silent, terrifying. “Mira.”
She smiles at him like a lover, voice dropping to whisper meant only for us three—but crew hears everything.
“You could’ve had power with me, Alaric. Instead you chose… her.”
She spits her like poison.
British ships inch closer, cannons aligned, matchsticks burning slow like countdown to death. Crew shakes but holds position—frozen by betrayal heavier than war.
Mira’s sailor accomplice tries to slip away—Karn grabs him by collar, slams him against mast. Map falls from cloak. Proof. No denial left in this world.
Gasps. Rage. Betrayal thick enough to choke.
Mira’s breath stutters. For the first time, fear cracks through bitterness. Just a shard—but real.
“You snake,” I whisper.
“No,” Alaric says louder. Voice splits silence, hard enough to break bone. Every head snaps to him.
He steps toward Mira—slow, deliberate—ocean storm behind his eyes. He looks like king for first time—cold, cruel, righteous. The kind of king pirates bleed for.
“Mira,” he says, voice as sharp as drawn sword—final, merciless…
“You are a snake.”