POV: Beth
The sun rose gray and pale over the harbor, smeared across the water like an ink stain. My knuckles throbbed from last night’s tavern fight, skin torn where Mira’s rings had caught flesh. The memory of her words—about my father screaming—echoed like rotting wood inside my ribs. I barely slept. The world felt heavier. Sharper. Less forgiving.
By morning, Alaric was already on deck, boots on railing, biting into an apple like it offended him. His posture relaxed, expression smug, as if tavern brawls were morning exercise. He didn’t look at me when I climbed up the gangplank, but his voice carried across the deck without effort.
“Princess finally wakes.” He tossed the apple core over his shoulder. “Thought you died. Would’ve been tragic—no one left to complain in my ear.”
I glared, jaw still sore. “I’m not your princess.”
He turned, grin slow and cruel. “Last night said otherwise.”
Heat crawled up my neck as the crew snickered. Kaine leaned against a post, sharpening a dagger, eyes flicking between us with amusement. They’d all heard the fight. Seen it. Mira humiliated, blood on my fist. No one said it aloud, but something shifted in how they looked at me. Less prey. Not equal—but not porcelain either.
Alaric clapped his hands once. “We dock in a British port today. No flags. No swagger. You’ll keep your head down and your mouth shut unless I tell you otherwise.”
My pulse jumped. “British port? You want us killed?”
“We’re not boarding with the ship,” he said, stepping close enough to smell rum on his breath. “We row in quietly. Two people won’t draw navy eyes.”
“Two?” I blinked. “Me and you?”
His smirk widened. “You jealous Mira’s not invited?”
I shoved past him, refusing to let him see my flinch.
The boat ride to shore was silent except for oars slicing water. The closer we got to land, the more the smell of bread and smoke reached us—civilization layered over rot. Once the boat scraped sand, Alaric offered his hand. I ignored it and climbed out myself, slipping once. He laughed.
“Graceful as a newborn deer.”
“Shut up.”
We moved through narrow streets disguised as common traders. Alaric tied his hair back, covering most tattoos with a coat. I tucked my hands into sleeves, hiding the cursed mark that ruined everything. Markets roared alive around us—vendors shouting prices, children darting between carts, women rocking babies while gossip moved like currency.
Then I heard it.
Two men by a fish stall, speaking in low voices.
“Governor Rowan,” one muttered, slicing scales. “Still alive. They keep him in the Red Bastion now—heard the prince wants a grand execution. Public. Three months from now.”
Three months.
My heart stopped.
Three months until I lost him forever.
I stepped closer, too fast. Alaric grabbed my elbow but I yanked free.
“Is it true?” My voice cracked. “He’s alive?”
Both men turned. One frowned. The other laughed.
“Course alive. Prince Adrian enjoys dragging death slow. Man’s screams echo through the whole damn cell block. Some bet he’ll beg for mercy on execution day.”
My spine turned to ice.
Screams. Torture. Because of me.
I barely felt Alaric pull me away until my feet stumbled under cobblestones. My breath came short and broken. Tears threatened—but I refused. I would not fall apart in front of him. Not again.
“Beth.” Alaric stopped us in an alley, gripping my chin so I’d look at him. “Listen.”
“My father is suffering—”
“I know.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand rage better than anyone.” His tone lost its laziness for a heartbeat—real steel showing beneath. “But if you run blindly, you’ll die. And he dies with you.”
Pain twisted into something colder.
Determination.
“I will save him.”
Alaric’s gaze lingered like he was reading a page only he could see. Then the mask slid back—cocky, careless, infuriating as ever.
“Good.” He stepped back. “You’ll need the right clothes first.”
“What?” I blinked, startled.
“You look like a torn wedding scrap.” He flicked my sleeve. “Silks stained with blood and rum. Pitiful. If you want to move through pirate waters, you need to look like you belong.”
Before I could answer, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me down the street. I stumbled after him into a clothing shop run by a broad woman with missing teeth and a shark tattoo on her throat. She eyed Alaric, then me, then grinned like she knew too much.
“What brings the Black Tide here?” she purred.
He winked. “My bride needs a wardrobe.”
“I am NOT—” I started, but was drowned out as the woman threw fabrics at me. Dark trousers. Leather boots. A corset reinforced with metal bones. A coat black as midnight with silver buttons shaped like anchors.
Every piece felt… powerful.
“Try it,” Alaric said, leaning against a beam, arms crossed.
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you enjoying this?”
“Immensely.”
In the changing booth, my hands trembled as I pulled off torn dress layers. Silk slid away like shedding old skin. I stepped into pirate clothes—rough, heavy, alive. When I looked in the cracked mirror, a stranger stared back.
Not a bride. Not a governor’s daughter. Not a victim. Something sharper—something hidden beneath salt and blood.
I stepped out.
Alaric’s smirk faltered.
Just half a second—but I saw it.
He stepped around me slowly, circling like a predator acknowledging another. Fingers brushed the coat collar lightly, adjusting it with annoying tenderness.
“You wear rebellion well,” he murmured. “Careful, princess. You’ll start to believe you’re one of us.”
“I’m nothing like you.”
He chuckled. “Keep saying that. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
I turned away before my face betrayed heat. We paid with coins Alaric tossed like nothing mattered. His arrogance made shopkeepers bend like grass under storm. Power was currency—and he carried it casually.
Back outside, my new boots hit ground differently. I no longer felt like prey. Still fragile, still burning, but walking straighter. Alaric noticed.
“Head high,” he said behind me. “Pirates smell fear like sharks smell blood.”
“They don’t scare me.”
“Liar.” He grinned. “But you’re learning to hide it. That’s enough.”
For now.
The bell tower in the distance rang noon—sharp, cold, like execution clocks ticking.
Three months. Three months to break an empire. Three months to tear the prince from his throne. Three months to rebuild myself into something fearsome enough to win.
As we walked back toward the hidden boat, passing soldiers unaware of the fugitives at their side, something shifted inside my ribs. A seed. A promise.
I would not cry anymore.
The world took too much from me. Now I would take back.
Alaric rowed us away, waves rising behind like whispers of fate. Wind tangled my hair, coat snapping like a black banner.
He glanced at me sideways, smirk carved like a moonlit blade.
“You planning murder, princess?”
“Yes,” I whispered without hesitation.
He laughed—not mocking this time but delighted. Dangerous. Proud.
“Good. Murder looks good on you.”
The wind carried our future across the sea like a warning.
The prince would fall. My father would live. And I… I would become something no kingdom could cage.