POV: Beth
Sea wind slapped my face sharp as truth the next morning, but it did nothing to clear the taste of last night. Mira’s laughter still echoed in my skull—loud, triumphant, sweet like poison. And Alaric… drinking beside her like it never mattered. Like I never mattered.
We had stolen a new ship at dawn, sleek and twice the size of the old one—silver-trimmed hull, black sails, cannons polished like obsidian teeth. The crew cheered. Rum splashed from mugs, boots thundered on deck, men sang hoarse pirate shanties. A victory celebration.
And I stayed away from it.
Far at the bow alone, while laughter burned behind me. Salt wind tangled my hair, tugged at my clothes. I stared at the horizon—endless blue—wishing it would swallow the thoughts I couldn’t kill.
Kaine found me first. He leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “You’re brooding,” he observed.
“I’m standing,” I corrected.
“Brooding while standing.”
I exhaled softly. “You don’t need to fix me.”
He gave a half-smile. “Didn’t say I could.” A pause. “Crew’s betting if the captain and the red one are gonna share quarters.”
My chest tightened—uninvited, unwelcome pain twisting beneath ribs. “And what do you bet?”
“I bet he looks at you more than her,” Kaine said simply, and before I could respond, he walked away.
I watched his back disappear into celebration light. Laughter. Clinking mugs. Mira somewhere in the center, sparkling like a ruby dagger.
Alaric approached later, boots slow, cautious. I didn’t look at him at first—I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I did. Hit him. Kiss him. Push him off the damn boat. All seemed valid choices.
He stopped beside me. Silence stretched like rope between us.
“You’re avoiding everyone,” he said.
“I’m avoiding idiots,” I replied. “Sadly, that includes most of the ship.”
He huffed. “You’re angry.”
I turned my head just enough to meet his eyes. “Observant today.”
He frowned like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find footing. Instead, he tried the angle he always used—careless confidence as armor.
“You’re being paranoid about Mira.”
Paranoid. The word hit like cold sea spray. I let out a slow, humorless breath. “You trust pretty smiles too easily.”
His jaw ticked. “She saved my life.”
“For now.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What do you want from me, Beth?”
A million answers clawed in my throat—truth, trust, to be chosen—but I swallowed them with salt.
“Respect,” I said. “Not dismissal.”
He stared at me for a beat, storms moving behind his eyes. Something softened—almost apology—then hardened again. “You think everyone is out to betray you.”
“No,” I said, steady. “Just the ones who smile while sharpening knives.”
He dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re exhausting.”
“You’re blind.”
He laughed—sharp, bitter. “You really believe you see things clearer than I do?”
“Yes,” I said. No hesitation.
The wind whipped between us, tugging at resentment like flags on a battlefield.
He shook his head, stepping back. “This obsession with danger—with betrayal—it’s making you reckless.”
“And trusting blindly is making you stupid,” I shot back.
Crew nearby fell silent, sensing the rising storm. Even music faltered for a breath.
He glared like I’d drawn blood. “Be careful what lines you cross.”
I didn’t flinch. “Be careful what people you trust.”
His eyes flicked toward Mira laughing near the mast, radiant beneath lantern glow.
Something in me cracked. Quietly. Cleanly.
“This isn’t jealousy,” I said, voice low. “This is warning.”
He looked back at me—unreadable. Something wounded flickered, then vanished under pride.
“We have bigger threats than Mira,” he murmured. “Kraken. Silas. Prince Adrian. Execution deadlines. Your father.” Another pause. “Stop looking for enemies where allies stand.”
“Allies don’t smirk every time I bleed,” I said.
He didn’t answer.
I stepped past him, brushing his shoulder. “When she betrays you, remember this moment. Remember I said it plainly.”
He caught my wrist lightly—not forceful, but enough to halt me. “And if she doesn’t?” he asked.
I turned slowly. “Then I’ll admit I was wrong. Will you?”
His grip loosened. “We’ll see,” he said—but it sounded like a lie we both heard.
I pulled free and walked, leaving celebration noise, leaving him. I climbed to the upper deck where only stars and waves stayed faithful. Below, music rose again, drowned by ocean wind. Mira’s laughter sharper now—like glass.
Behind me, Alaric stayed where I left him, shoulders tense, watching too long.
Maybe he doubted me. Maybe himself.
Maybe both.
Either way, the rift deepened—quiet, painful, inevitable—like a hull crack that starts hair-thin but sinks ships in time.
And I knew something then: We weren’t enemies. We weren’t lovers. We were something far more dangerous. Something that could burn the world or drown with it.