POV: Beth
Morning burns bright after the storm—clouds torn apart like scars healing. The pirate port smells of salt, smoke, and wet earth. Alaric stands with arms crossed as I step down the gangplank wearing a dark hood, wrists wrapped, knife hidden at my thigh.
Kaine hands me a tiny bundle. “Hide this in your boot. Backup blade.”
I blink. “Why help me?”
He smirks. “If you die, it ruins breakfast.”
I roll my eyes, but warmth stirs where fear once lived. “If I return successful?”
“Then you’re one of us.” He pauses. “Maybe.”
Alaric approaches. His voice is flat command. “Remember—silence listens better than words. Bring back rumors. Guard numbers. Names. Anything useful.”
“And Varrick?” I ask.
“Lies,” he says simply. “Make him believe you have what he wants. Fear or greed will do the rest.”
My heartbeat drums painfully. “Do you think I can?”
“I think you can fail,” he answers. “But I also think you won’t.”
My stomach flips. Is that faith? Or just pressure?
His gaze holds mine one moment too long—then he steps back. Leaving me to walk into danger alone.
Inside the tavern, chaos breathes. Rum, sweat, laughter. Dice clatter, knives flash, women drag drunk men by hair. A shiver crawls down my spine—but I move forward anyway.
First—listening.
I slide onto a corner stool and keep my head down. Voices swarm:
“Silas’s fleet grew last moon—” “Kraken dragged three ships—” “British navy coming to hunt someone— governor prisoner execution near—”
My blood freezes—Rowan.
I lean closer, pretend to sip stale ale. Two men argue nearby.
“Heard the Prince wants the pirate-bride back,” one grunts. “Big coin for her return.”
My hands shake under the table. Deep breath. Control.
This is information. Not fear.
Next part—Varrick.
I spot him counting coins: crooked hat, gold rings, greedy eyes. Just as Alaric said. I walk over, heart pounding.
He looks up with bored disdain. “Girl? Speak quickly.”
I summon the tone I practiced all night—confident, cold. “I’m here for business.”
He laughs. “You look like business would eat you alive.”
“Only if business is stupid,” I reply calmly.
He stops counting.
I continue, voice measured. “My captain sails in two days. He pays well. Wants medicine, powder, rope. But he’ll only buy from someone who respects storms.”
Varrick narrows his eyes. “Storms?”
Think. Lie. Control breath. I channel Alaric’s confidence like a cloak.
“He commands them,” I whisper. “Like a man commands fear.”
Rumors do the rest. Tavern noise softens around us.
He leans closer. “Which captain?”
If I say Alaric, panic follows. So I gamble.
“A king the sea remembers,” I say quietly. “And if you refuse to trade, maybe the sea remembers you instead.”
His face drains. Kraken legends haunt men like him.
“You— you dare threaten—?”
I smile softly. “No threat. Just possibility.”
Something clicks in him—fear or greed—and he signals his worker. A crate is pushed toward me.
“Take it,” he snaps. “Tell your captain Varrick respects storms.”
I grab the crate—shock, disbelief, victory swirling—and walk straight out before courage cracks.
Outside, wind cools my burning cheeks. My legs shake—but I’m smiling. Actually smiling.
The crew sees me returning. Whispers rise.
“She did it?”
“No stutter?”
“She walked into Varrick’s den alone?!”
Alaric waits at the dock post, unreadable. I lift the crate in proof.
A slow, dangerous smile curves his lips. Not mocking—impressed.
“You lied,” he says.
“Yes.”
“You manipulated.”
“Yes.”
“You enjoyed it.”
“…I did.”
He steps close—too close—ocean reflected in his eyes.
“Say it then,” he murmurs. “Say what you are.”
My heart gallops. Words tremble at the edge of my tongue—truth I never thought I’d speak.
“I’m not prey,” I whisper.
He leans nearer, breath brushing mine. “Then what?”
I stare right back. “A predator.”
Kaine barks a laugh in disbelief. The crew looks at me differently—not pity, not mockery.
Something like wariness.
Power tastes like salt and forbidden sweetness.
And I think —
fear feels better when others feel it for me.