POV: Beth
The sea between our ships turns still as polished glass. No wave dares to breathe. Fog curls around the masts like pale fingers reaching to claim us. Alaric stands at the rail with his jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth, and I swear I feel something pulsing like a warning underneath my ribs.
Silas is waiting.
When the boarding plank is lowered between our vessels, nobody moves at first. His crew stands perfectly disciplined, boots aligned, eyes forward. Not like Alaric’s crewmates, loose and loud and drunk on chaos. This is something colder—trained, loyal, dangerous.
Then he steps forward.
Silas descends his stairs with the grace of a king. Coat trailing the deck like a shadow made of midnight. Silver hair braided back, a few strands falling loose around eyes as pale as deep-sea pearls. His smile is soft, polite. Too polite.
When he reaches the railing, he bows—not to Alaric.
To me.
“Saltblood,” he says, voice smooth as warm honey. “It seems the tides wished us to meet again.”
The world narrows to the sound of his voice. My pulse hammers painfully. Behind me, Alaric exhales like a man restraining murder.
“Careful,” Alaric drawls, words sugar-coated poison. “She bites.”
Silas’s eyes flicker to him with a faint, amused tilt of lips. “Good. A queen should have teeth.”
Queen. The word lands like a spark in my bones.
“I’m no queen,” I manage, throat tight.
He holds his hand out to me, palm open. A gesture that feels like invitation and temptation woven into one. “Come aboard. Speak with me as equals.”
Alaric steps closer, blocking me halfway. “She doesn’t step onto your ship, Silas.”
Silas ignores him completely—eyes on me only. It’s like being seen and undressed at once.
“Your choice, Beth,” he murmurs. “Not his.”
Something hot flashes through Alaric’s eyes. Jealousy, ugly and quick.
I inhale. My fingers tremble, but I place my hand in Silas’s. His grip is warm, confident—not forceful. He guides me across the plank with reverence like I’m something sacred.
My boots touch the Bone Fleet’s flagship.
From behind, Alaric’s voice is sharp: “Try not to keep her. I’ll need her back before sunset.”
Silas’s laugh is soft—mocking through silk. “You lost the right to claim her when you let her walk away.”
My breath stutters. Alaric goes still behind us.
Silas leads me toward the captain’s cabin. Doors carved with kraken tentacles curl outward as if welcoming me. Inside, the room glows by lantern-light, shelves full of maps and tomes. No rum stains, no mess—organized power.
He gestures for me to sit at an obsidian table. “Wine?”
I hesitate. “You’re… surprisingly civil.”
“I don’t waste brutality where it’s not needed,” he replies, pouring crimson liquid. “I use it when I must.”
His eyes linger on me as he hands me the cup. “You have questions about your blood. Your mother. Your mark.”
Blood rushes to my ears. “You know something.”
“I know more than Alaric ever will.” His voice lowers, intimate. “You are not merely pirate-born. You are saltborn. The sea moved for you—not once by accident. It recognized its own.”
My hand trembles around the cup.
He steps close—too close—until the heat of him brushes my skin. Fingers lift my chin gently. “You are meant for more than following another man’s shadow.”
My breath stops.
Outside the window, I see Alaric pacing deck like a caged storm, jaw dark, eyes burning holes through the wood.
“He looks ready to kill you,” I whisper.
Silas’s thumb grazes my jaw. “Let him want. Wanting is weakness.”
My heart thunders painfully. “Why did you want to speak with me?”
His gaze deepens, as if searching my thoughts. “Because you are power born of tide and blood. Because I would rather have you beside me than against me. Because the sea bends for you, Beth—and kings should bow to no one else.”
My chest aches. It feels like he’s offering the life the prince stole.
Silas leans closer, voice brushing my ear. “Join me. I will give you truth. Your father’s name. Your destiny. Power without chain.”
Heat. Fear. Temptation.
He steps back, letting words sink sharp.
“Take your time,” he says. “But know this—Alaric cannot give you what you seek. He offers storms, war, pride. I offer knowledge. A throne.”
I swallow hard. “And what do you get, if I say yes?”
His smile curves slow. “You.”
My pulse crashes.
Knock. Door slams open. Alaric strides in uninvited, blade at his hip, eyes blazing jealousy so vivid it almost glows.
“Parley’s over,” he growls.
Silas doesn’t flinch. “Not until she decides.”
Two captains stand on either side of me like wolves fighting over the same throat.
I am the battlefield. And for the first time, I understand—I am not powerless anymore.