POV: Beth
Night falls thick and heavy. My chest still burns from our argument—words replaying like waves crashing against docks.
I don’t need anyone. Coward and truth tangled into one wound.
I sit in my cabin, staring at dim lantern flame until it blurs. The ship creaks like an old memory. Everything feels too loud and too empty.
I pack slowly.
Not to run forever—just to breathe without him crushing me. Just one night away. Shore is near; we’ll dock soon for repairs. I’ll take a rowboat. Find space to think.
Silas’ offer still echoes like poisoned honey:
I offer power. Truth. A throne.
Alaric offered nothing but storms—and somehow that hurt more than being abandoned by the prince ever did.
I close my bag and force myself onto deck. Moonlight pours over ship in silver sheets. Alaric is there by railing, alone—shoulders heavy under sky.
He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t stop me.
Good.
I tell myself good.
I walk past him without a word. His voice stops me—so quiet I almost think I imagined it.
“I wanted you to stay.”
I freeze. His back remains turned. Fists clenched. Wind hissing through silence.
He whispers again, bitterly—like truth dragged out against its will:
“I wanted you to stay.”
My throat tightens painfully. I don’t move. Because if I do—I’ll break.
He adds, voice fraying at edges:
“But wanting never mattered. Not for people like us.”
People like us. Broken. Pride-scarred. Hungry for love and terrified of it.
He doesn’t say “don’t go.”
Doesn’t step closer.
He just watches the ocean like it might swallow what he can’t say aloud.
I turn away, climbing down ladder to rowboat. Every step shreds something in my chest. Once inside boat, I release grip only when oars tremble in my hands.
Above, I hear footsteps—but none come for me.
He let me leave. Or couldn’t bear to ask me not to.
Water ripples as I push away from ship—one stroke, then another. Moonlight cuts silver across waves. The ship slowly shrinks behind me.
I pause halfway.
A single tear slides down my cheek, infuriating.
“I hate that I care,” I whisper into night.
Wind answers nothing.
I keep rowing—slow, steady—toward shore lights ahead. The world feels too big and I feel too small and too powerful at once.
My heart aches like a bruise pressed too hard.
The kind of pain only love shapes.
So slow-burn it burns.