The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea

by Katherine Quinn

  Margrete smiled at the thought. She could picture Adrian doing just that.

  “What’s a starflame?” she asked.

  Another flare lit up Bash’s face, and she glimpsed the crookedness of his grin. “Oh, you’ll see.”

  Caught up in his excitement, Bash inched behind her until his chest pressed flush against her back. Looming over her with his chin brushing the top of her curls, he trailed his finger against the underside of her jaw.

  Tipping her head back, he whispered into the shell of her ear, “Look up.” His breath came out ragged and hot.

  She froze, icy adrenaline coiling through her chest. The kind that made her knees weak and her breaths short.

  Her swirling thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Bash pushed more firmly into her back, the solidness of him pressing against her. Like a switch, the ability to care that he was touching her in this way vanished.

  He dropped his hands to her waist and hooked his thumbs into the thin fabric of her trousers, gently digging them into her hips. Her responding exhale came out shaky and uneven, and Margrete had to bite her lip to contain her trembling.

  She mouthed a silent curse.

  “Right now,” Bash whispered, “in the dark where it’s only us, I want to pretend. There is no tomorrow. I’m not a king, and you’re simply a woman who drives me insane.” His raspy words tickled her skin. “For once, I don’t want to hold myself back.” He pressed his lips to the side of her neck and drifted down to her collarbone, his mouth warming her flesh. “I don’t want to resist what you do to me. What you’ve been doing to me since the moment I saw you.” His lips brushed the sensitive area below her ear. “Would you like to pretend with me, princess? Give in for just a night?”

  She couldn’t breathe properly. Not when he was touching her—kissing her—like this. Instantly, she was transported back to the beach, to the moment she leaned up and pressed her lips against his. How right it had felt. How oddly...natural.

  In answer to his question, his plea to simply pretend, Margrete wrapped her hands around his muscled forearms. He let out a hiss when she trailed her fingers across his skin, his nose pressed into her hair.

  She imagined it helped being here, secluded in a cavern of wonder, hidden from the eyes of the men and women he ruled. He could simply be…Bash. It had to be why he brought her here, so he didn’t have to think about all the many reasons they shouldn’t be doing this.

  As the violet lightning struck the sides of the damp cavern and their combined breaths became their own kind of forbidden melody, Margrete felt drunk off his nearness. Bash was a rush, and she craved the high.

  “Margrete.” Bash’s voice cracked with a desperateness that curled her toes. “What have you done to me—”

  And then their world exploded.

  Violent bursts of light and color erupted, breaking free from their rocky prison. It was startling, the sheer brilliance of it. Blinding and hypnotizing all at once.

  Margrete gawked as the cavern danced with life, the violet-blue gems embedded in the walls igniting with life, a thousand flecks of burnished silver captured within their smooth facets. She stood in the center of an enchantment, gaping as resplendent waves of periwinkle and plum crested and fell against the rugged walls. Like an echo, those incandescent ripples pulsed across the stone ceiling, which became a spiked sky of delicate fairy stars.

  Back in the center, the lights danced, tinsel sparks of purple frolicking up to the spiraling point. Pirouetting around and around, they erupted into an explosive finale, bolts of lilac and vibrant orchid shattering as they fought to escape through the pinprick of an opening. A single star could be seen from where they stood, and Margrete knew without a doubt it was the same star sailors followed when they lost their way home.

  Bash tightened his grip on her waist, sending her jolting back from her dazed trance. The cavern’s roof settled and shook, once again calming to darkness and then on to nothing.

  They were left in the pitch black, alone. Without her sight—in this void where reality couldn’t find them—Margrete swung around. Even in the dark, Bash found her face, and he cradled her cheeks in his hands. His touch was tender, and Margrete’s eyes fluttered closed.

  His breathing grew closer until she could feel his hot breath tickling her lips. She could do this. Pretend. Give in to the magic and give in to her desires.

  “Bash—”

  The force of his lips silenced her. He snaked his hand through her curls, fisting her hair at the nape of her neck. She groaned against his mouth, half in surprise and half in blissful relief. In his ironclad hold, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and in the darkness, she could feed her hunger, the fierce longing she was helpless to fight now that she’d tasted him.

  His kiss was soft, reverent. Bash took his time, exploring her mouth with his tongue and groaning when she slipped her own past his parted lips.

  His hands roamed her body, cupping her backside, her hips. His skillful fingers teased as they grazed the undersides of her breasts. Everywhere he touched she burned. Her own hands explored the rippling muscles of his chest, and she cursed the thin layer of linen that contained his heat.

  When his tongue traced along the seam of her lips once more, she began to ache, the throbbing need between her legs the sweetest form of torture. She moaned, pleading, and curved her hips toward him, unable to resist, needing so badly to feel him.

  Bash ravished her with renewed hunger, commanding her lips as he teased her tongue in ways she hadn’t thought possible. Even in a world of magic.

  But this was an entirely different manner of enchantment.

  She arched against him again, her mind lost to wanting, and a low groan rumbled in Bash’s chest.

  “Margrete.” He pulled away, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. There was an unspoken question held captive within her name, and when he slowly undid the buttons of her trousers, she understood his need to touch her. He was hesitant as he toyed with the band of her pants, waiting for her permission.

  Margrete lifted to her toes and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

  “Yes,” she whispered against his mouth. “Gods, yes.”

  He groaned as he slid his fingers between her legs, leisurely moving up and down her silken undergarments. He paused when he felt the evidence of her desire, his chest reverberating with approval.

  “You’re so very wet, princess,” he murmured as he ruined her in the most sinful of ways. “Have you fantasized about this? My fingers on your skin, between your legs?” She may have nodded, but everything became a blur. “I know I have. Since the moment I met you, I haven’t thought of anything else. My need only worsened the more you challenged me, the more you surprised me…” He let out a strained exhale. “You’ve thoroughly corrupted me.”

  She could feel the smile on his lips when he kissed her, his forehead pressed against hers as he worked his skillful fingers under the silk band separating their skin. She gasped at the contact.

  “Tell me what you want, Margrete,” he rasped, his hungry voice sending shivers down her spine. That delicious ache in her core only grew, turning her into a panting mess.

  “Do you want me to touch you here?” He glided across her heat, his strokes purposely light as he teased her. “Do you want me inside you?”

  She sucked in a breath, and all she could do in reply was nod her head, a sound between a gasp and a groan falling from her mouth.

  Bash chuckled darkly. “I see,” he said, and his touch finally drifted to the most sensitive part of her. He worked his thumb in gentle circles. “More?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice airy and wanton as she thrust herself deeper into his palm, shamefully begging.

  Another groan escaped him, and she shuddered at the sound.

  He nipped at her ear. “I can’t wait to feel you fall apart,” he whispered, before he plunged a finger inside her.

  Margrete arched, releasing a frantic cry.

  “That’s it,” he coax
ed when she began to move with him. A strangled whimper left her as her hips matched his lazy pace, but she needed more. So much more.

  “Bash.” His name was a prayer. “Please.”

  She had told herself she wouldn’t beg, but she no longer cared. The throbbing ache was almost painful, that coiling heat inside of her tightening. Another finger joined the first, filling and stretching her so completely. She bit her bottom lip when he truly began to move, thrusting his fingers in and out as his thumb pleasured her in ways she had never known.

  She clutched his shoulders, her nails biting into the hard muscle. She held on tight, feeling like she might explode, much like the lightning that had erupted in the cave. She was going to—

  The world around them ceased to exist. She was plummeting, falling into agonizing bliss. Her body shuddered as Bash held her steady, as sparks flashed behind her closed eyelids.

  His movements slowed, milking every ounce of pleasure from her body.

  Margrete’s head fell against his chest, her breathing uneven—as was his. “That was…”

  She had no words.

  “I know, princess.” Bash slipped his hand from her trousers, and she instantly mourned the loss of him. “I only wish I could’ve seen your face.”

  A lone bolt of periwinkle sparked, and Margrete’s lids fluttered open, catching a hazy glimpse of him. His hair was tousled, those full lips parted. He looked as undone as she felt.

  Darkness filled the cavern once more, and with it, Margrete found the courage to reach for his trousers.

  But Bash stopped her, placing a hand over hers.

  “No. Tonight was about you.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles sweetly. “I got my wish already, and I fear I’ve taken far more than I deserve.”

  “Bash—”

  He silenced her with his mouth as his hands once more tangled in her hair. While Margrete’s lips were occupied, her hands were not.

  The clang of his belt echoed in the cavern, and before he could pull away and protest, Margrete cupped his hard length in the palm of her hand. Bash groaned into her mouth even as his body went rigid.

  Margrete didn’t cease kissing him until she’d freed his velvety smoothness. Cautiously, she began to move her hand. The noises that escaped Bash were the most beautiful sounds she’d ever heard.

  “Margrete.” He chanted her name, his hot breath fanning across her parted lips.

  “You say you don’t deserve anything in return,” she said, her movements quickening. Bash’s grip on her hair tightened, and she savored the slight sting. “But you didn’t consider what I want, dear pirate.” She could feel him swelling, throbbing in her palm. “And I want to touch you. Make you fall apart by my hand.”

  He was nearing release. She could tell by the way his breathing stuttered, the way he gripped her hair even tighter, the way his body trembled. His hips began to move with the rhythm of her touch, and soon, a moan ripped from his chest, echoing off the cavern walls.

  Margrete smiled in the dark, relishing the way he lost control. Sucking in a sharp inhale, Bash stiffened, and she swallowed his next moan with a kiss. She devoured the sounds of his pleasure as though they were hers alone.

  When he calmed, still pulsing in her palm, Margrete pulled back, allowing him room to breathe.

  He let his hands fall from her hair to cup her cheeks and rested his forehead against hers, their noses touching. “That was…Gods.” He sighed. “Never again shall I deny your wishes, princess.” He smiled against her skin as he kissed up and down the column of her throat, only to return to her mouth once more. When he finally pulled away, her lips were swollen and bruised, and he reached for her hand again. Their fingers interlocked. “Thank you,” he said.

  Margrete’s brow scrunched. “For what?”

  “For pretending with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Margrete

  Dawn came too soon.

  Margrete dressed in pants and a lightweight navy shirt, the sleeves rolled up and secured with pearl buttons. The linen trousers hung loosely on her hips, so she fastened them in place with a belt made of crushed opals.

  If she wasn’t set to meet her fate, she might’ve admired how she looked in the mirror—not like herself. Not the Margrete from Prias. This would have even brought a smile to her lips, but she knew better than to smile. She knew better than to hope or to wonder what if.

  That hadn’t worked out so well thus far.

  Last night came back in a rush. She could still feel Bash inside of her, his lips against hers as she pressed against his body. Gods, she could still hear his groan as he came undone.

  Margrete cursed, shutting her eyes and willing away thoughts of Bash and what they shared. She told herself they’d only been pretending, that it wasn’t real.

  But she also knew a lie when she heard one, even if she was only lying to herself.

  “Good morning.”

  Margrete’s lids jolted open, and the man she’d been fantasizing about stood before her like some chiseled god. The breeze from the balcony ruffled his hair, sending it flying into his piercing stare, the green in his irises vibrant in the rising sun.

  “Bash,” she greeted, trying to regain her composure. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I knocked,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  Had she been that consumed by her carnal thoughts that she hadn’t heard his approach? Apparently so.

  He swallowed hard as he took a hesitant step closer. “I wanted you to know that…last night meant something to me,” he began, staring at her lips. “I wish today didn’t have to happen.” His throat bobbed, the muscles in his jaw impossibly tight.

  Margrete knew he was attempting to present a strong facade, but it took only one look into his eyes for her to feel the crushing weight of his regret.

  “It’s all right, Bash,” she said, taking both of his hands from his pockets and squeezing them. He cursed beneath his breath, but she squeezed him even tighter.

  Bash threaded his fingers through hers, holding her steady as her pulse fluttered.

  She was physically unable to speak when he looked at her that way.

  He freed one of his hands and placed it on her cheek. “I’d forgotten what it was like to feel, Margrete Wood.” His thumb rubbed soothing circles into her skin. “But my heart has never beat as fast and sure as it has when I’m in your presence.”

  “Bash.” Her voice trembled as she said his name.

  She wanted him to close the gap between them, to kiss her and weave his fingers through her hair again, to hold her against his solid body. Margrete wanted all of him.

  Instead, he rested his forehead against hers, his warm breath tickling her nose. She inhaled his air, tasting a life she would be a fool to believe she could have. She tasted freedom, adventure, and nights spent with a rogue who might steal her heart if she wasn’t careful.

  He laid his chin atop her curls, and she wound her arms around his torso without thought. For minutes they stood like this, a frozen portrait of remorse and farewell. Finally, Bash spoke into her hair, barely above a whisper.

  “It’s time, princess.”

  Margrete pulled back abruptly, leaving the warmth he offered, abandoning what was had never truly been hers to begin with.

  Bash stiffened, a statue of a man conflicted. At his sides, his hands rose as if to cup her cheeks once more, only to lower and curl into fists instead.

  “Let’s go, then.” She broke the silence that had descended. “We can’t delay the inevitable much longer.”

  As Margrete walked across the glass bridge leading to the docks, she thought about how the waters appeared duller than when she’d arrived. The sky was overcast and dreary, and the bleakness of this new day matched her emotions.

  Margrete tried not to think about the perilous journey ahead. Of what seeing her father would do to her. But her reality refused to be ignored.

  In the distance, the wharf teemed wit
h sailors bustling to finish fitting the vessel before the fateful voyage. A few smaller boats rocked on the waves, but the ship’s cobalt beauty stole all the focus.

  “It seems you’ve made quite the lasting impression,” Bash murmured in her ear as they stepped onto the ever-changing planks leading to the Phaedra. Neither of them had spoken a word since they’d left her chambers.

  Before she had time to wonder who he was talking about, a familiar voice drifted over her shoulder, deep and kind.

  “Margrete,” Adrian said.

  She turned around to find him and Bay standing there, worry etching every line of their handsome faces. They each held out an arm, and she went to them, allowing them to fold her up in an embrace. She would miss these two unlikely friends more than she cared to admit.

  “We had to say goodbye.” Bay sighed, squeezing and then releasing her shoulders. Adrian stepped back, eyes downcast.

  “You’ve brought more excitement to this island than I’ve seen in a long time.” When she shot him a look, Bay added, “And I get attached rather quickly to cunning women who scale palaces and wield words like knives. Especially ones who can make our brooding king smile. Gods know he’s been in a better mood since you arrived—”

  “Bay.” Adrian’s lips stretched thin in warning.

  “Fine, fine.” Bay waved him off. “But you know it’s true.”

  Margrete glanced at her boots as heat crept up her neck. “Well, I’ll miss you both,” she said, suddenly feeling vulnerable. It wasn’t a feeling she relished. “Perhaps we might meet again. In this world or the next.”

  “Margrete,” Bash said from behind her. “We need to leave before the winds change.”

  Both Bay and Adrian bowed their heads, almost as if in respect. It warmed her heart and filled her with the strength she would need for her journey.

  “Goodbye, Adrian. Bay.” She nodded at them both.

  Adrian dipped his chin while Bay pulled her to his chest for one final hug.