POV: Beth
By midmorning, the market roared like a storm.
Vendors shouted over each other, selling bruised fruit and stolen spices. Children darted under carts, hands fast at pockets. Fish guts slicked the cobblestones, and the air was thick with salt and smoke and too many bodies. I walked in the middle of it all with Rhea and Cass, cloak hood low, fingers brushing the hidden knife at my belt.
“Keep your head down, but not too low,” Rhea murmured beside me. “Look like you belong. People who don’t belong stand out.”
“I’m invisible,” I said.
Lotti snorted from behind us. “You? Invisible? That’ll be the day.”
We wove through a cluster of sailors arguing about rigging. My eyes flicked habitually toward every alley, every soldier’s coat, every polished boot that could mean trouble. Weeks of smuggling jobs and back-alley deals had taught me the rhythm of danger in this port. Today, something felt… off. Tighter. Like the market itself was holding its breath.
We reached the central square, where a cracked fountain trickled half-heartedly and a wooden post stood near the town hall wall. Notices cluttered it—tax decrees, ship arrivals, the occasional faded wanted poster.
Today, a new sheet of parchment hung dead center, edges still crisp.
The crowd around it was thicker than usual.
My stomach dropped. “Something’s wrong,” I whispered.
Rhea’s jaw tightened. “Keep walking. Don’t stare.”
But I couldn’t help it. Neither could half the market. A murmur ran through the crowd like wind through sails.
“Triple reward—”
“Alive—alive, can you imagine—”
“Prince himself signed it—”
My heart thudded. I slowed. Rhea’s hand clamped around my wrist. “Beth,” she said under her breath. “Don’t.”
Too late.
Someone shifted just enough, and I saw it.
My face stared back from the parchment.
The artist had made my eyes too big, my jaw sharper, my hair a little wilder—but it was me. The girl from the church, from the dungeon, from the prince’s public humiliation. There, in heavy ink, under my sketched features:
WANTED ALIVE
BETHANY HADLEY
Also known as Saltborn, Pirate-Spawn, Tainted Bride.
By order of Prince Adrian of England.
Reward: Ten thousand gold crowns for capture alive.
Alive.
Not dead. Not executed on sight. Alive meant he wanted something from me—wanted to parade me, maybe, drag me in chains through the streets, hang me slow instead of fast. My skin crawled.
Someone behind us whistled low. “Ten thousand… I’d sell my own mother for half that.”
“Who’d pay that much for one girl?” another scoffed.
“The prince,” a third voice answered. “He wants her blood at his feet while her father swings.”
The world tunnelled. Sound warped. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I was suddenly aware of everything—the weight of my hood, the sweat on my palms, the burn of the brand on my wrist, as if it had heard its new title.
Saltborn. Pirate-Spawn. Tainted Bride.
Rhea’s fingers dug into my arm. “We need to go. Now.”
We turned as casually as we could manage. Each step felt like walking through syrup. My mind screamed at my body to move faster while my legs refused to run and draw attention.
“Rhea,” Cass murmured, low. “Left side. Navy coats.”
Three men in neat blue uniforms pushed through the crowd from the left, eyes sharp, hands resting too easily on sword hilts. On the right, two more appeared at the mouth of a side street, scanning faces.
They’d hung the poster this morning, and they hadn’t gone far.
“They’ll be looking for reaction,” Rhea said. “Beth, you breathe. Do not bolt. Not yet.”
The square seemed smaller by the second. A child ran past me, nearly knocking me off balance. I steadied myself against a barrel, forced my hands to unclench.
One of the navy officers pointed back at the notice. “Show that to every stall owner,” he barked. “She’s worth more than any haul you’ve got rotting in these alleys.”
“Think they’ve seen her?” another asked.
“Prince thinks she’ll come crawling back for the father,” the first snorted. “So we keep nets around every dock and market. She steps wrong, we own her.”
The crowd snickered nervously. My lungs felt too small.
We slipped into a narrower lane, away from the square. Rhea kept her voice barely above a breath. “We split. Lotti, with me. Cass, take Beth.”
“I can walk alone,” I hissed.
Rhea’s eyes flashed. “Not with ten thousand on your head. Too many idiots willing to try their luck. Cass, north alleys. Dockside. Don’t touch the main roads. Regroup at the safehouse if you lose them.”
Cass grabbed my elbow. “Come on.”
We cut left into a crowded alley lined with fabric stalls. Bright cloth hung overhead, dripping in the wet air. I tried to match Cass’s casual pace, but my heart was sprinting. Every glance felt suspicious. Every hand near my cloak made my skin jump.
“Don’t look like prey,” Cass murmured. “You look like you’re about to bite someone. That’s good. Prey gets chased fastest.”
“How many saw my face?” I asked.
“Enough,” she said.
We slipped out near the fishmongers. The stink of raw fish and salt nearly knocked me over. Cass veered close to a cart, snatching a dirty cap from a hook and cramming it onto my head.
“Better,” she said. “Now you look like a soggy boy instead of a prince’s nightmare.”
“Comforting,” I muttered.
We moved with the flow toward the outer streets. That’s when I heard it.
“Hey!” a voice yelled behind us. “Stop, you there! Hood and cap!”
Cass hissed. “Don’t run.”
Two more steps.
“By order of the prince!” the voice shouted. “Girl, turn around!”
The word girl hit like a hammer. Heads turned. Faces turned. Cass swore.
“New plan,” she breathed. “Run.”
We bolted.
The market erupted into chaos instantly. Vendors cursed as we knocked into baskets and barrels. Someone grabbed at my cloak; I twisted free, nearly losing my footing on a patch of fish scales. Navy boots pounded behind us, heavy and relentless.
“Stop them!” a soldier shouted. “Ten thousand for whoever helps!”
That did it. Half the alley lunged.
Hands reached for me like the whole port had grown claws. One man snagged my sleeve; I slashed my wrist away, the fabric tearing with a ripping sound. Cass threw an elbow into someone’s jaw, sending him sprawling.
We shoved around a cart and ducked under a hanging net. I heard a sword hiss from its sheath close enough that I felt the wind of it near my back. Someone tried to tackle me; I vaulted a crate on pure panic, almost eating pavement on the landing.
“Roof!” Cass gasped. “Ladder—there!”
A half-rotten ladder leaned against a low stone building, likely used for repairs no one had gotten around to. Cass grabbed the rungs and scrambled. I followed, legs burning.
A hand grabbed my ankle.
I shrieked, kicked back blindly. My boot connected with something soft; the grip loosened with a curse. I climbed faster, lungs on fire.
We hauled ourselves onto the flat roof and ran. Below us, the alley narrowed, blue coats pushing through like wolves through brush. Rooftops here were close enough to jump from one to the next if you didn’t mind breaking something. At this point, broken bones were better than chains.
“Don’t look down,” Cass shouted.
“I wasn’t planning to!” I yelled back.
We leapt the first gap. My feet hit, slid on wet stone—I windmilled my arms and barely caught myself. The second gap was farther; I almost didn’t make it, fingers scraping the edge before I dragged myself up.
Behind us, a navy man tried to follow. He misjudged the jump. His scream cut off with a nasty crunch. I swallowed bile and kept moving.
We reached the end of the run of buildings and skidded to a stop. Below, a wider street stretched, crowded with carts and people. No easy ladder this time. No obvious path.
Cass cursed. “Dead end.”
Shouts rose behind us. More boots. More steel.
My chest heaved. My mind raced. Ten thousand gold. Alive. Adrian’s cold eyes.
“I’m not going back,” I panted. “I’m not walking into his hands again.”
Cass scanned the street. “We jump. Roll when you hit. Pray no cart rolls over your head.”
“It’s too high,” I said. “We’ll break—”
“Then break,” she snapped. “Better broken than owned.”
Voices drew closer. I could hear them now, clear. “She’s on the roofs! Surround the block!”
“Beth,” Cass said, eyes fierce. “Choose.”
The last time someone had forced me to choose in a place like this, I’d picked the wrong thing and ended up in chains. Not this time.
I stepped to the edge.
“I hate this,” I muttered.
“Good,” Cass said. “Hate makes you move.”
We jumped together.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but air and roaring in my ears. Then the street rushed up. I hit hard, pain exploding in my shoulder and hip as I rolled. Someone shouted. A horse reared, nearly trampling Cass as she scrambled to her feet.
“Run!” she yelled.
I staggered up and dove between two carts, ignoring the white-hot ache in my side. People cursed as we shoved past. Behind us, navy whistles shrilled.
This time, there were too many streets. Too many soldiers. Too many wanted posters with my face. I could hear them calling directions, cutting off exits. Herding us.
“We’re not going to make it,” I gasped.
Cass’s jaw clenched. “We will. Or we’ll die trying.”
I didn’t get a chance to answer.
We rounded a corner—
—and ran straight into a wall of blue coats.
Swords unsheathed in unison. The officer at the front grinned, recognition flaring in his eyes as they flicked from the poster clutched in his fist to my face.
“Bethany Hadley,” he said, voice smug. “By order of Prince Adrian, you’re coming with us.”
My mark burned. My knife felt suddenly too small at my side.
I have nowhere to run.