POV: Beth
By noon the repairs were done. Supplies loaded. Sails dried and re-tied. The storm outside had eased enough for departure—not calm, but manageable.
Two ships ready. Two captains unwilling to bow.
The merchant crew voted quickly—fear overruled pride. They didn’t want to risk sailing with me again. One muttered, “She draws storms.” Another crossed himself.
Fine. They could sail home and we would part paths.
Except fate—or foolishness—had other plans.
I stood beside the gangplank as the decision formed like thunder. Alaric leaned against the railing of the Black Tide, arms crossed, tattoos on display like war paint. He didn’t look at me—not directly. But his awareness pressed against me like a tide.
Kaine walked between us, observing with too much satisfaction.
“So,” he said casually, “two ships leave this cove. One hunted by Navy and Silas. One full of pirates who’ll slit each other’s throats if left bored. Smart to separate, right?”
“You enjoy stirring trouble,” I muttered.
“I enjoy preventing funerals,” he corrected. “Sometimes same thing.”
The merchant captain approached me nervously. “We’ll take half supplies and sail east. We… we wish you luck, girl. You’ve got spine.”
I nodded.
Then Alaric’s voice cut across the cove.
“She’s not sailing alone.”
Silence.
I turned slowly. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged one shoulder, forcing casualness. “Didn’t like how you handled the last storm. Was messy. Off tempo.”
“My tempo saved your ass,” I snapped.
“Saved your own,” he corrected. “Barely.”
My jaw clenched. “I don’t need your permission to breathe, Alaric.”
“Good thing I’m not giving it,” he said. “I’m giving you a berth.”
My breath hitched.
A berth.
On his ship.
Again.
Crew members exchanged sharp looks, excitement sparking. Tammers whispered something that made Finn smirk. Mira was nowhere in sight—good. I didn’t need her smirk carved into my skull today.
“You want me back?” I asked, voice too steady for how my stomach twisted.
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I want someone who can steer through death traps without crying about it.”
I scoffed. “I didn’t cry.”
“You drowned in tears for three chapters straight,” he said, deadpan.
Heat flared in my cheeks. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Barely.”
I stepped closer, until only one plank between us. “Say what you mean.”
His gaze locked onto mine. No smirk this time. No jokes. Just truth, raw and irritating.
“You’re useful,” he said. “And stubborn. And the sea listens to you. And I’d rather have you where I can keep an eye on you than find out later you’re dead and my conscience is louder again.”
My heart stuttered. “You have a conscience?”
“Occasionally. When drunk.”
We stared at each other, wind pulling hair into chaos, the smell of salt thick between us. The cove felt too small for both our egos.
Kaine cleared his throat. “If you two start kissing or killing, warn us. We’ll get snacks.”
I wanted to laugh. Instead, I clenched my jaw. “Fine. I’ll sail with you.”
Alaric blinked—surprised he won that easily.
“But on my terms,” I added.
He arched a brow. “Of course. Princess terms. What are they? You get the biggest pillow?”
“One,” I said, raising a finger. “No orders barked at me like I’m a slave.”
He tilted his head. “Reasonable.”
“Two. If you insult me, I insult you back.”
“Impossible to stop you anyway.”
“Three. If you try to control my decisions, I leave again.”
His jaw flexed.
Silence. Tense. Electric.
Then—“Deal.”
My breath left my lungs in a rush I pretended wasn’t relief.
“And four,” I added.
He groaned. “There’s another?”
“Yes.” I lifted my chin. “You admit you care.”
Crew fell silent like a dropped anchor.
Kaine choked on his drink. Finn’s eyebrows hit his hairline. Even the gulls seemed to pause mid-screech.
Alaric stared. For a heartbeat, vulnerable. Then—
He smirked. “I care,” he said. “That you don’t sink my ship.”
I shoved him with one finger—not enough to move him but enough to challenge. “Pathetic.”
“Honest,” he countered.
Tension tightened between us—invisible rope, pulling.
A moment too close to something neither of us was willing to name.
“Get on deck,” he said finally, voice low. “Before I rethink my generosity.”
I stepped onto the gangplank, then onto the Black Tide board. The wood felt familiar under my boots—rough, stained, alive. Crew watched, some curious, some wary, some grinning like they’d won bets.
The sea stretched beyond the cove, wild and patient.
As the anchor lifted and sails unfurled, I took my place on deck—not as a prisoner, not as dead weight, but as someone who had survived on land alone and returned sharpened.
Kaine passed by me, clapping my shoulder once. “Welcome back, Beth.”
“Don’t expect hugs,” I said.
He laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I glanced toward the helm.
Alaric was already there, one hand on the wheel, jaw set against the wind. His eyes flicked to me—fleeting, unreadable.
Two storms on one deck again.
No peace.
No surrender.
But no distance.
We sailed out together, back into open waters where fate waited hungry.
The Leviathan Bone Sword was whispered between shadows.
Silas hunted the horizon.
The Prince sharpened his execution blade.
The Kraken slept—for now.
And Alaric and I stood side by side, pretending we weren’t afraid to drown in each other.