POV: Beth
Morning bites colder than usual. Mira’s shadow lingers on deck like curse. The crew whispers about her still—stories of throats slit mid-kiss, kings bribed, fleets burned for sport.
And how she once sailed beside Alaric.
The thought tastes like salt and iron.
Training begins before sunrise. My arms ache from storm work. Palms raw. But I drag myself up because strength is the only currency here.
Alaric tosses me a practice sword. Wooden, heavy, unforgiving. “Again.”
“We trained for six hours yesterday,” I say, breath misting in cold air.
“And you still move like drunk goat,” he replies pleasantly. “Again.”
Heat pricks my eyes—not tears, just frustration. I lunge, swing awkwardly. He dodges without effort, taps my ribs with flat blade. Pain blooms. Crew chuckles.
“See?” he says. “Weak.”
My grip tightens. “Stop calling me weak.”
“Stop being weak then.”
I swing harder—rage-fueled. He bats blade aside like it weighs nothing. I stumble. He knocks sword from my hand. It clatters across deck. Laughter erupts.
“Pick it up,” he orders.
“No.”
His brow lifts. “No?”
“I’m tired of being mocked like entertainment,” I hiss. “You humiliate me on purpose.”
“Correct.” He steps closer. “Pain teaches faster than praise. Mockery sharpens pride. Want comfort? Return to your prince.”
My voice cracks. “I can’t. He ruined my life.”
“Then stand. Fight.”
I lunge again, reckless. He sidesteps. I crash into him. For a moment we’re chest-to-chest—breath mixing, sweat and sea between words.
Crew whistles.
Heat flashes through me—fury or something else, I refuse to know.
He leans down, voice low. “Anger is good. Use it. Control it. Don’t let it control you.”
I shove him back. “You enjoy breaking me.”
He smirks. “No. Watching you refuse to break—that I enjoy.”
The words catch me off guard—a spark of something dangerously like respect. I crush it.
“You’re not king anymore,” I snap. “Stop acting like one.”
Crew gasps. Riva mutters, “Gods help her.”
Alaric’s eyes harden. Storm-dark. “Careful, Beth.”
“No,” I push forward, trembling. “You order everyone like they’re pawns. You drink while my father faces death. You let Mira touch you like— like she owns you!”
Silence slams deck.
Alaric studies my face—jealousy laid bare, humiliation raw. Something shifts in his gaze.
Slow. Heated. Dangerous.
He steps close—close enough I feel heartbeat through chest. “Does it bother you? That she touched me?”
I swallow. Words stick like hooks. “You’re… reckless. Careless. You treat everything like game.”
“And you want it not to be?” he asks softly.
I look away, ashamed. “I want… something real.”
Wind catches sails. Crew waits like wolves watching two lions fight.
Alaric’s voice softens unexpectedly. “If I’ve been too cruel—”
“You have,” I snap.
He raises brow. “Good. Kindness makes weak pirates. Weak pirates die.”
Frustration explodes. I throw my sword at his feet. “If you want me strong, then teach me. Not mock me like circus act!”
To my shock—he smiles slowly.
“Finally,” he murmurs. “Fire.”
He pushes me back by shoulder—not gentle. I stumble. Fury ignites. I tackle him with raw instinct. He lets me hit him. Lets me push. Lets me fight.
Crew hoots. Bets exchange. Rope slaps deck as Bram laughs, “She might actually bite!”
We wrestle—messy, undignified. He catches my wrist, spins me, pins me with arm across collarbone. My breath hitsched—trapped, furious, alive.
His lips near my ear. “Good. Again tomorrow. Harder.”
“I hate you.”
“A beautiful start.”
He releases me abruptly. I fall to knees—breath ragged, heart bruising ribs.
Crew’s laughter stings—sharp and cruel—but beneath it something else simmers.
I didn’t back down.
Even Alaric looks… impressed.
Just a fraction.
He tosses sword back into my lap. “Pick it up. Lesson isn’t over.”
I grip it, knuckles white. “One day, I’ll beat you.”
He grins wolfishly. “I look forward to bleeding for you.”
Heat flares traitorously under skin.
I push up—shaking, furious, determined. I swing until shoulders burn and lungs ache and laughter grows less mocking, more watchful.
By sunset, I’m covered in sweat, bruises, rope burns—and pride.
As stars rise, I whisper toward sea:
“I won’t be Mira. I won’t be broken. I’ll become something different.”
Something feared. Something powerful. Somewhere behind me, Alaric watches—unreadable.
I sense he doesn’t just train me to survive.
He trains me to become.