POV: Beth
War never arrives with thunder first. It arrives with silence.
The sky over Redwater Strait was washed pale like breath before a scream, wind cold enough to taste metal. I stood at the bow, fingers wrapped around the railing so tightly splinters bit my skin. Two weeks until Rowan’s execution. Two weeks until the Prince cut his throat in front of cheering nobles. Two weeks—unless we ended the empire first.
My pulse matched the distant drum of waves. My sword—the bone of Leviathan—rested across my back like a promise.
Alaric came to stand beside me, not touching, but near enough I felt his warmth. He watched the horizon like it insulted him. “When this is over,” he murmured, voice low, “we burn the crown into ash.”
“When,” not if.
My chest clenched. I nodded once.
Karn shouted from the upper deck, voice deep as cannon fire. “Sails ahead!”
The world seemed to inhale.
Through lifting fog, black-on-white sails emerged, hundreds of them, row after row—British warships stretching farther than horizon, iron cannons glinting like shark teeth. My throat tightened.
“They came prepared,” Kaine muttered beside me. “Too prepared.”
No one answered.
Because we all knew what stood before us.
A war no pirate fleet could win.
Unless I became something even the sea feared.
Alaric’s voice cracked through the tension. “All crews—battle order!”
Chaos erupted. Pirates ran for cannons, powder horns sloshing. Grapples sharpened. Rum flasks thrown aside. Sails hauled tight. A fever of motion overtook the deck—fear and loyalty braided together.
Smoke curled around the fleet as Alaric lifted his sword skyward. “NO QUARTER!”
A roar answered him.
Cannon thunder rolled like the sky collapsing.
The British fired first.
Black iron screamed through the air— BOOM—CRASH—SPLINTERING WOOD—SCREAMS.
The ship beside us exploded into shards, mast snapping like bone. Men flew across waves. Water churned red.
Our cannons answered—BOOM!
One British ship caught fire. Another turned broadside, blasting our stern apart. The deck shook so hard I fell to my knee. Blood slicked planks under my palms.
Clove appeared beside me like he was born in chaos, grin feral. “Morning walk, princess?”
“I’m not a princess,” I hissed, slashing a boarding soldier open.
Clove laughed. “You’re worse.”
We fought back-to-back, blades singing. Karn tore through marines like wrath made flesh. Kaine barked orders, keeping men alive through pure fury. Grappling hooks rained, soldiers swarming like ants.
A musket cracked near my ear—heat sliced past my cheek. Another shot buried itself into Kaine’s shoulder, sending him crashing against rail. He roared, tore it out, kept fighting.
Fire climbed the mainsail. Smoke choked breath. Blood streaked my hands, not sure if mine.
The British tried to flank us—Alaric swung from rigging, cutting three in one motion, coat whipping like black wings. Men followed him with crazed devotion.
Still—they kept coming.
Dozens. Hundreds.
“Beth! Left!” Clove shouted.
I spun, blade catching steel, sparks flying. Pain shot up my arm. I ducked, kicked, slashed. Bodies fell. Powder burned my lungs.
Another volley—BOOM BOOM BOOM.
Cannons ripped the sea open. Our hull groaned. A mast crashed down, crushing two men. The deck pitched— waves swallowing corpses whole.
We were losing ground.
Badly.
But I could not stop. Not until Rowan was free. Not until the Prince bled.
Soldiers surged toward me in formation. I cut one down, ducked under another’s strike, but one musket rose, barrel aimed between my eyes. Too close. Too fast.
My heart froze.
Time slowed—breath, heartbeat, smoke swirling like ghosts—
Then Clove slammed into me, shoving me sideways.
Gunfire split the air.
He gasped—not startled, but wounded.
The bullet punched through his chest.
“No—” my voice cracked raw.
He fell into my arms, blood warm and flooding color into my fingers. His grin trembled, more pain than humor now.
“Princess… don’t look like that,” he rasped.
“Clove—stay with me,” I begged, pressing my hand over the wound like I could hold life inside him by sheer will.
He coughed, red streaking his lips. The battle thundered around us, muffled like we were underwater. Karn’s voice roared somewhere, distant.
Clove’s eyes softened as if recognizing me more clearly than ever. “Worth it,” he breathed. “Better story this way.”
Tears blurred the burning deck. “Don’t—”
“Tell Karn…” his voice thinned like thread pulling apart, “I kept… my promise.”
His hand slipped from mine.
His chest stilled.
Clove smiled one last broken, brave smile—and went still forever.
My breath shattered. Sound returned brutal and loud.
Karn screamed—an animal sound that split the world. Pirates fought harder, but brittleness hung over us like doom-smoke. Cannon fire rattled bones. Ships burned like funeral pyres.
I held Clove against my legs, hands shaking, sword slipping from grip slick with his blood.
No prayer. No peace. Only war. The battle roared on.