POV: Beth
Mira settles into the ship like a cat on a throne. She speaks, men listen. She laughs, men melt. She fights, men cheer. By noon the next day she’s sharing rum with half the crew and calling the other half “darling.”
And I hate how effortless it is.
She slices bread with the same casual grace she’d slice a throat. “Kaine, love, pass me the salt?”
He does. Without hesitation.
I grit my teeth. “Can’t believe she’s back.”
Kaine shrugs. “She’s useful.”
“Useful like a venomous snake?”
He smirks. “If you know how to hold it.”
Annoying man.
After training, I catch Mira teaching sailors how to knot rigging faster. She moves like wind through silk, never breaking a sweat. She notices me watching, winks.
“You staring to admire or to judge?”
“Both,” I reply, refusing to look away.
Her smile sharpens. “Good. Jealousy becomes you.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Oh, but your eyes say you wish you were me.”
She steps close—too close—perfume like rum and roses. “Men adore power, you know. Not just purity.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t want men to adore me.”
She laughs softly. “Then why do you look every time Alaric breathes?”
Heat rushes through my face. I step back. “Stay out of my head.”
“Too late, darling.”
I storm off. Coward. Why does she burrow under skin so easily? Why does her presence twist something ugly inside me?
By evening, Mira approaches Alaric with folded parchment—aged, sealed with black wax. My pulse hammers.
“What is that?” I demand.
“Navy route map,” Mira answers smoothly. “Intercept patterns, supply lines, execution transports.”
Execution.
Rowan.
My heart plunges.
Alaric opens parchment. Eyes sharpen. “Where did you get this?”
She tilts her head coyly. “A girl has her ways.”
Kaine mutters, “Meaning she seduced someone and slit his throat.”
Mira winks. “Maybe.”
The map reveals English supply ships near Blackwater—including prison transfer routes. My breath stutters.
“This could lead us to my father,” I whisper.
Mira nods. “If we’re fast.”
I search her expression for a lie. I find nothing clear. Just mystery wrapped in amusement. Dangerous beauty. Poisonous charm. And maybe—maybe a shard of truth.
Why would she help me? Help us?
Because chaos suits her. Because loyalty is foreign to her. Because snakes enjoy watching kingdoms burn.
Still… we need this.
Alaric studies me as if waiting. “You trust her?”
“No.” My voice is steady. “But I trust opportunity.”
Mira smiles, pleased. “Good answer.”
Later on deck, crew drinks around lanterns. Mira sits among them like queen of thieves—telling stories of dead men laughing, kraken teeth bigger than masts, curses that make men salt statues. They hang onto every word.
She glances at me across firelight. Holds my gaze. Challenge. Invitation. I don’t look away.
She stands once more. “Tomorrow we move east. British fleet is gathering. Choose sides wisely.”
Crew nods, murmuring, swayed by her confidence.
I step forward. “Side is already chosen. Rowan lives. The Prince dies.”
Mira’s eyes gleam. “Spoken like a pirate.”
Something inside me snaps—not fear, not shame—something darker.
I did speak like one.
After midnight, I can’t sleep. I lean over railing, staring into black water. Moon ripples over waves like a blade. Everything feels fragile—trust, fate, identity.
Alaric joins quietly, movements soft for once. Not captain. Just man.
“She’s warming them.”
“I noticed.”
“And you’re cold today,” he says.
“I’m thinking.”
“Thinking scares me more than any kraken.”
I snort. “Coward.”
He almost smiles. Almost. “What worries you?”
“Mira.” The word leaves bitter. “She saved a sailor today. Why? For loyalty? Strategy? Show?”
Alaric exhales slow. “Mira is a serpent. She coils where warmth is. She strikes when she’s hungry.”
“And you keep serpents on deck?”
He leans closer, voice low. “You keep daggers in boots. Doesn’t mean they won’t cut you.”
Somehow comforting. Somehow not.
I meet his eyes. “Do you trust her?”
“No.”
“Then why allow it?”
He pauses. Moonlight carves silver over scars on his face. “Because war is coming. And I would rather the serpent bite my enemies first.”
Goosebumps crawl my arms.
“And me?” I ask quietly. “Do you trust me?”
Alaric’s eyes flicker—heat, fear, longing. Then he looks away.
“I don’t know.”
It hurts even though it shouldn’t.
I turn back to sea. “One day you’ll have to choose.”
His voice almost breaks. “I know.”
We stand beside each other, not touching, but tied by invisible rope pulling tighter every chapter that passes. Mira’s laughter rings faint across deck. War brews on the horizon.
Trust is a fragile thing.
And someone is going to shatter it.