POV: Beth
The tavern smelled like rum, sweat, and something metallic lurking underneath—blood maybe, or violence waiting to happen.
Music screeched from a broken fiddle in the corner while pirates shouted, gambled, and shoved each other over spilled tankards. I stayed close to the wall as Mira prowled through the room like a queen returning to her throne, crimson coat hugging her waist, dark curls wild as ocean storms. She didn’t walk—she claimed space.
Men parted without being told to. Women stared as if they wanted to be her or drown under her boots.
And she wanted everyone to see that she stood beside Alaric.
Arm hooked into his. Laugh sharp, mocking. Her lips stained red like fresh kills.
I hated the heat that crawled into my chest at the sight. Hate, jealousy, humiliation—everything tangled, choking.
She leaned forward, whispering something into Alaric’s ear, and he actually smirked. That stupid, infuriating smirk. The one that said nothing in the world could possibly touch him. Not storms. Not prisons. Not heartbreak.
And certainly not me.
“Careful not to stare too hard, little dove,” Mira purred when she caught my gaze. “You might burn those pretty eyes.”
“I’m not staring,” I snapped too quickly.
Mira’s smile widened like she fed on the lie. “Of course not. After all, he was mine long before you washed into his shadow.”
Alaric didn’t deny it. Why would he? He lived to provoke.
She stepped closer—boot heels clicking slow and cruel—until she stood inches from me. Her perfume was sharp and sweet, like roses crushed under steel. “Tell me, governor’s girl… is it true your dear father is rotting in a cell? Tortured? They say he screams for mercy every night.”
My blood went cold.
She knew. She wanted the reaction.
“Mira.” Alaric warned her lazily, but that was all—no defense, no shield. Just amusement flickering in his eyes.
She tilted her head. “Or maybe he begs for death. Men like him break quickly. Soft hands, silk collars—”
“Shut up,” I whispered.
She leaned in, voice like a blade against my throat. “Or perhaps… he already died. Alone. Forgotten. Because of you.”
Something snapped. A dam. A lifetime of held-back dignity and fear.
Before I could think, my fist swung forward.
It landed.
A sick, satisfying crack burst through the tavern as my knuckles struck her jaw. Pain jolted up my arm. Mira staggered back, surprise flashing across her face—then fury.
“Oh, you little—!”
She lunged. We collided. Chairs toppled. A table shattered as we crashed into it. Someone cheered. Another threw dice into the air like confetti. Then hands grabbed us—no, grabbed each other—hair, clothes, skin.
Mira slammed my back against the bar. Bottles shattered around us, ale raining down like sticky thunder. She reached for a shard of glass; I lunged and tackled her before she could stab. We rolled across the floor, skirts torn, boots scraping wood. My pulse roared like waves in storm. She was stronger. Trained. A pirate.
But rage made me reckless.
She swung. I ducked. My fist found her stomach. She gasped—and smiled through it like pain was entertainment.
“Finally showing some pirate blood,” she hissed.
“I. Am. Not. A pirate!”
I grabbed a bottle from the floor and smashed it across the table beside her head—not her, but close enough to spray splinters. Men hollered. The tavern exploded.
Fists flew everywhere. Someone smashed a chair on someone else’s back. Two drunks bit each other. A man jumped off a table screaming “FOR RUM!” and disappeared into the crowd.
Alaric didn’t help.
He laughed.
He leaned against a post, arms crossed, watching like this was a personal holiday. Pride glinted in his eyes—dark, amused, dangerous pride.
That somehow infuriated me more.
Mira grabbed my hair and yanked me back. Pain shot across scalp. I elbowed her ribs. She cursed and knee-kicked my thigh hard enough to bruise. I stumbled. She swung at my face—I blocked clumsily like Kaine taught, though she still grazed my cheek, skin splitting hot.
We were both panting now. Wild. Animal.
“I’ll enjoy gutting you one day,” she whispered.
“I’ll enjoy watching you try.”
We lunged again—
—but arms wrapped around my waist, dragging me off the floor like I weighed nothing.
“No more fun for you tonight, princess,” Alaric drawled against my ear. “You’ll break something expensive.”
I kicked, blood boiling. “Put me down!”
He didn’t. He carried me out through the door while the tavern kept burning behind us—chairs, fists, curses. Mira stood in the wreckage, hair wild, lip bleeding, eyes promising war.
She spit blood onto the floor and smirked at me like she wanted to kill me and kiss Alaric in front of me at the same time.
Alaric only laughed louder.
When the doors slammed shut behind us, I finally collapsed breathless onto the dock, shaking with adrenaline. My knuckles were cut and bruised. My cheek stung. My heart felt like a burning drum.
Alaric crouched in front of me, holding my jaw lightly between his fingers to examine the cut. His eyes glowed with wicked approval.
“I’ve never seen you fight like that,” he said with a grin. “About damn time.”
I slapped his hand away and stood shakily. “Don’t touch me.”
He raised his brows. “You punched Mira like she owed you money. I am impressed.”
“I’m not here to impress you.”
“Oh, but you did,” he said, voice low, teasing, infuriatingly soft. “Maybe there’s a pirate beneath all that silk after all.”
I wished I could deny it.
I wished the thought didn’t thrill me.
The moon shivered across the water, silver rippling over dark waves. My chest heaved with leftover violence and shame and something new—dangerous, exhilarating.
Maybe power tasted like blood and broken glass.
Maybe part of me liked it.
Alaric noticed something change in my eyes—just a flicker—but his smirk sharpened as if he recognized the seed forming.
His voice rolled like a promise, or a curse.
“Welcome to the sea, Beth.”
And for the first time…
I didn’t feel like the girl from the golden church aisle anymore.
I felt like something being born from the ocean.
Something sharp.
Something hungry.