POV: Beth
The tension on ship swells like humidity before storm-break. Everyone feels it—hears it—the silence between me and Alaric thick enough to suffocate. Since the Kraken, since Silas, since Alaric looked at me like something he couldn’t decide to fear or worship… we haven’t spoken properly.
He’s on deck now, barking orders. I grip rail and watch him, fury simmering in my chest. The way he commands—as if he alone bears every weight. As if he’s the only one allowed to break.
I approach, footsteps hard, heart harder.
“Alaric,” I call. He doesn’t turn. “We need to talk.”
“Unless this is about sails or spilled blood, no,” he mutters.
It’s like throwing flint on dry leaves.
“You want loyalty,” I say louder. “But you give none.”
That stops him. Slowly, he pivots—eyes sharp.
“You think loyalty is something handed out like rum?” he says. “It’s earned.”
“I saved your crew!” I snap. “I saved you.”
He laughs—cruel, brittle. “And now you think that makes you queen?”
Murmurs ripple through crew. They watch—fascinated—vultures circling a battlefield of two.
I step closer, chest heaving. “I don’t want a crown. I wanted trust.”
“Then you’re a fool,” he says—too fast, too cold—and I know even he hears the crack in it.
My voice breaks to steel. “You don’t trust anyone. Not your men. Not me. Maybe not even yourself.”
Something shatters in his stare.
He strides toward me—slow, predatory—but I don’t move. We meet in the middle of deck like two storms crashing.
“You don’t get to lecture me,” he says low, voice shaking beneath rage. “You left. You chose land. You chose survival without me.”
“I left because you pushed me away!” I throw back. “Because you made me feel small. Weak. Like a passenger, not a partner.”
Crew members lean in, motionless. Even the sea seems to hush.
He bares his teeth in a humorless smile. “Better small than dead.”
“And you’d rather die than admit you need someone!” I shout.
His expression goes blank—the worst kind of hurt. He looks like I shot an arrow straight through his ribs but he refuses to bleed where anyone can see.
Then he snaps.
“You think I need you?” His voice booms across deck. “I don’t need anyone.”
Lie. I hear it. He hears it.
Heat floods my face—anger, heartache.
“You’re a coward,” I whisper.
And that lands deeper than anything yelled.
His chest rises sharply—wounded animal. He grabs my wrist suddenly, dragging me off deck past crew’s wide eyes. They part like water. Kaine mutters “oh gods” under breath.
He pulls me down to lower hold—slams the door behind us. The space feels too small. Air too thin.
We stand inches apart—breathing like we just fought waves.
“You enjoy humiliating me in front of them?” he growls.
“You humiliated yourself,” I fire back.
Silence crackles. We stare like magnets forced too close—repelling and wanting in the same breath.
“You terrify them,” he says, voice lower. “And you terrify me.”
I flinch. He sees it.
He steps closer—slow—every move trembling with something bigger than anger. “You’re power I can’t control. Fire I can’t hold. You make decisions that get you killed. You walk into storms smiling.”
“And you walk into them alone,” I breathe.
He exhales like I punched him.
My voice softens despite myself. “You don’t have to.”
He laughs—sharp, broken. “You think I don’t want to? You think it’s easy to—” He cuts himself before words betray him.
I take a step closer, desperate and furious at once. “Then say it.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Say you need someone.”
“No.”
He looks away—jaw tight, hands fisted like he’s fighting a war inside himself.
I shove his chest—once—hard. “Say you’re afraid.”
He catches my wrist mid-swing—grip bruising. “I fear nothing.”
His eyes betray him—fear swirling dark as tide.
We stand breathing against each other—hot, ragged—like argument is foreplay neither of us knows how to escape.
Our foreheads nearly touch.
He whispers, voice shaking: “You will be my ruin.”
I swallow. “And you’ll be mine.”
His breath hits my mouth. Our noses brush. Heat surges under skin—electricity begging to ignite. We hover there—lips a breath apart—both refusing to be first.
Then—
He jerks away like burned. “Get out.”
Pain stabs sharp. “Gladly.”
I storm past him, shoving door open. When I step back onto deck, crew scatters like fish fleeing a hook.
But I don’t look back.
Because if I do—I might stay.