“Be good, Margrete.” He waved as he backed away. “Oh, and Bash?” Bay raised a brow. “Take care of her, will you? She deserves better.”
Adrian’s eyes widened, and then he dragged his boyfriend behind him and far away from their king.
“He’s right,” Bash said after a moment, attempting a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He held out his arm for her to grasp, and she noticed how that smile wavered. She moved to him without hesitation.
Bash gently guided her up the gangway and onto the expansive deck. Not once did his grip loosen, but his features transformed into stone with every step they took.
“Gius.” Bash tilted his head in greeting to a stout man with graying blonde hair and deep blue eyes.
The older man gave a slight bow. “Everything is set to go, sir. On your command.” Bash gave a brusque nod of approval, and Gius scrambled off toward his gathering men.
“He’s the quartermaster,” Bash murmured, answering Margrete’s unspoken question.
“Why does he address you so casually?”
“I don’t believe in titles when they aren’t necessary. Especially out here.” He jerked his head to the open waters. “No man is a king. There is only family.”
An abundance of churning emotion swirled in his emerald eyes, and his jaw clenched as he avoided her gaze.
“You’ll be safe on this vessel. It was built from the wood of the Soliana Forest.” When she raised her brow, he explained. “It’s where the first tree grew on our island and is considered a sacred site. Any ship constructed from its wood has known only safe passage and swift winds.”
There was so much she didn’t know about Azantian.
She wished she had more time.
“I’d still suggest you remain below deck in case of unpleasant weather,” he added, “but I suspect you won’t heed my wishes.” She detected the tiniest bit of playfulness in his tone.
“You’d suspect correctly,” she countered, enjoying how he fought not to smile. It seemed she had a talent for loosening his mask, even if only slightly.
“Go below with me anyway? If only to humor me.”
She smiled and nodded as she slipped her arm through his; he knew her well.
Bash steered her around his busy men and below deck to the same cabin she’d arrived in. She wandered over to the cot and took a seat, her limbs suddenly as exhausted as her mind.
“Margrete?”
She stilled at the use of her full name. Bash so rarely ever called her anything other than princess, a term she was beginning to see as an endearment. He stood tall, an arm resting casually against the cabin’s doorframe. It might have appeared a relaxed stance, but the sea star tattoo on his arm curled in on itself, hiding.
Margrete swallowed the lump in her throat when he crossed the short distance between them and went to his knees, hands splayed on either side of her on the cot.
“Maybe after all of this—” his hands drifted closer, grazing the sides of her thighs “—you can find a way out of there and make your own path.” His fingers inched higher, causing her breath to catch. “If I didn’t have faith that you could do that, then I might not be going through with this now.”
Those wicked hands remained on her thighs, her skin boiling beneath the thin barrier of her trousers. She watched as Bash slowly, painstakingly so, slid his hands to her hips, his searing touch a brand.
“I will not stay there.” The words were fire in her throat. “Do not worry about that.”
He nodded and tilted his face to meet her eyes from where he kneeled.
A king on his knees.
The sight would’ve sent her reeling if she wasn’t already teetering on the edge of reason.
“I have every confidence that you won’t.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes never leaving hers. “Maybe we will even meet again one of these days, Miss Wood.”
Margrete’s heart thundered at the promise.
“If we do, then I can assure you that I will certainly be equipped with something far deadlier than a dinner knife.”
Bash’s stoic face morphed, his eyes crinkling as he fought a grin.
“And I look forward to that day, princess.” He trailed a knuckle down her cheek.
Margrete’s eyes fluttered shut. But then his hand fell from her face, and coldness replaced his warmth.
By the time Margrete opened her eyes, he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Margrete
Margrete leaned over the bow, watching as the setting sun gilded the waves thrashing against the sides of the Phaedra.
Slow us down, she urged the waters. Cease your blowing, she asked of the wind.
Time was moving too quickly, when all she wanted was for it to stop altogether.
The thudding of boots sounded at Margrete’s back. She cast a glance over her shoulder to find Bash leisurely wandering over to rest beside her. He propped his elbows on the railing and gazed into the distance.
“Tell me what he does to you.”
She took in the way the sunlight limned his strong profile, his hair like burnished copper. He squinted at the sea and tightened his hands around the ship’s rail. He didn’t have to say more. The pained look twisting his features told her all she needed to know.
When he’d first asked her why she hated her father, she refused to answer. But now...
“He’s—cruel.” She’d been tempted to lie, as lying about the kindness of her father had been ingrained in her since she was a child, but she didn’t feel as if she needed to with Bash.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and her throat constricted. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, unable to look at him.
“I’ve already spent too many nights assuming the worst, and I might be a bastard for asking this of you, but I need to know exactly what he does or I’ll lose myself to my own wicked imagination. Margrete, I’m asking you to trust me enough to let me in. Please.”
That one word broke her.
“He locks me in an iron box,” she said, her voice steely, and her resolve strong. “He takes delight in the pain of others. In my pain.” Margrete’s nails bit into her palms. “He threatens to put my little sister in my place should I fight him. She’s the only reason I would allow him such control.”
Margrete would never forget the first time she’d been shut away. She’d just turned eight and wandered into her father’s study uninvited. She came across him at his desk, his eyes trained to some object concealed in his hands. She recalled how those eyes had gleamed, and the sinister way they shined should have been enough of a warning.
But then he’d lifted that maniacal gaze, and that spark flared, a twisted look crossing his features as his lips curled upward. That was the day he began his ‘punishments.’ Her first offence, coming into his study without permission.
“How many times?” Bash’s voice freed her from the unsettling memory. Gone was the stoicism—his ire had turned to a new mark, and the fierce look that sharpened his eyes spoke of a protectiveness she’d not known before.
Margrete shivered, even in the warm breeze. “He’s put me in there too many times to count.”
They remained in an uneasy silence that ate away at her skin. Her flesh prickled and her bones itched to move. To run.
“You shouldn’t have had to go through that,” Bash remarked icily. “No one should. I may have thought him cruel but never like…that.” He ran an uneasy hand through his hair, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “When we attacked the keep, I assumed I would encounter some spoiled woman, one who had lived in luxury as her father stole and pillaged. That is why you surprised me, even on that first day. I suppose I’ve been denying the truth ever since, if only to ease my own conscience. It’s why I didn’t push you for answers.”
“I knew,” Margrete said, surprising herself. “I knew you were fighting to make me into a villain. But I was also aware that, somewhere along the way, you ceased to gaze upon me as such.”
Bash too
k in a heavy breath, opening his mouth before promptly shutting it again. He couldn’t seem to find the words, the response that might set them both free.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. He tensed.
“I don’t hold it against you,” she said. “Not anymore.”
His throat bobbed with emotion, but he didn’t seem to find relief from her admission. Instead, his eyes met hers, darkening with lethal promise. “Gods, if you don’t kill him, then know that I will. Have faith in that.”
The vow hung between them. An oath spoken before the waters the king revered.
“I believe you,” she said.
Margrete had known many broken promises in her life, had collected lies like grains of sand, but she believed him. Bash once told her that the eyes held the truths of the soul, and his eyes spoke to her in ways words never could.
Bash shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and Margrete’s hand fell from his shoulder.
“If only you had been some spoiled brat, everything would’ve been easier. Now, I just find myself in awe of you. Truly.” His smile went tight. “It is because I find myself drawn to you that I curse you.”
“I wish I still despised you too, pirate,” she said, returning his grim smile. She wondered what truths he saw in her own eyes. If he might glimpse the soul that wept within.
She gripped his arm as he turned to go. He looked back and covered her hand with his.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I just need time to think.”
“There’s no other way, Bash. If my father cooperates and arrives with the Heart, you must let him have me. You cannot risk it falling into the wrong hands.”
He shifted closer, looming over her in a way that made her remember being lost in his arms the night before.
“I know the risk, princess.” His eyes drifted over her face as though memorizing every line and curve. “I also know that Captain Wood has taken enough from me already.”
She swallowed the knot in her throat as he lifted her hand and kissed her palm, his sharp gaze holding her stare all the while. “I’m anything but foolish,” he said. “Know that. Trust me.”
“I do,” she said without hesitation. The desire to trust him began the night she tumbled into his chambers, when she saw the man beneath the mask. It only grew more potent as the days progressed, and the morning he shared his island’s secrets, he earned the trust she guarded.
All at once, Bash lowered himself to one knee, grasping her hand in his and forming a fist above his heart with the other.
“I’ve sworn fealty to two things in my lifetime,” he began, his chin lifted so he could gaze into her eyes. “To my island, and to the Gods of the Sea.”
Margrete’s heart hammered as she awaited his next words, his hold anchoring her in place.
“Now, I vow to you, Margrete Wood of Prias, that my sword is yours. No man or god will stop me from keeping this promise to you. You shall know the freedom you crave. Even if I have to part the seas to find you. Battle beasts and ruthless men. I will even endure the wrath of the gods themselves.”
Her hands trembled, and his oath nearly sent her to her knees. “I pray it will never come to that, Bash,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of his stare.
A muscle in Bash’s jaw feathered, his eyes fierce. “Oh, Margrete. The gods are cruel and seldom kind. And fate? Fate laughs at us all.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Margrete
The storm came out of nowhere.
One moment the sky was clear and full of light, and the next, gray steel washed across the world as rain pelted the Phaedra and its crew.
Bash found Margrete on the quarterdeck just as a massive wave struck the hull, sending the vessel rocking precariously to the side. He took her hand in his and wordlessly guided them below, his hold the only thing keeping her from tumbling down the stairs. Once they were in the safety of her cabin, Bash turned to her, his face pinched.
“It’s too dangerous for you to be up there,” he said. “We’ll get out of this, but it won’t be easy.” He ran a hand through his hair as he turned for the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder and met her stare. “I need you to stay here, please. I need you to be safe, princess.” His voice was coated with glass, the desperation in his tone nearly tangible.
“I will,” she promised. “But you better be safe as well.” The ship gave a violent lurch and she stumbled into the vanity. The thought of him going up into that hellish nightmare made her nauseous.
Bash lingered for a heartbeat longer, his eyes locked on her face, almost as though he wanted to memorize every detail. She did the same.
Then he nodded and closed the door.
If the storm continued into the evening, then they might miss the time set for the exchange. Margrete told herself that this was why she was pacing the cabin and not because a small part of her worried for a certain rogue on deck.
After wearing a path into the planks, a bolt of lightning pierced the skies. She staggered to her cabin’s porthole to peer into the gray pandemonium. This was no ordinary storm. Not the kind that many survived, at least.
Gazing at the thrashing waters, Margrete pleaded with the sea, a recent, pacifying habit. As if in response, she was sent hurtling backward, her back colliding painfully with the sharp edge of the vanity. Cursing, she lurched back into place and grabbed hold of the wooden chair for support.
Margrete pressed her hand to the porthole, her ring clinking against the glass. She twirled the ring on her finger, thoughts drifting. I see it in you, girl, something dark and old. That’s what the madwoman had said, almost like she believed Margrete carried something ancient inside of her.
Gods, Margrete wished that were true. That she possessed some power that could persuade the waves to calm and the skies to clear, power that could get the Phaedra and her crew out of this thing alive. Bash promised that the ship could weather any storm, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Please, she pleaded. Please, please, please…
The graying depths swirled and screamed its reply, and for a moment, all Margrete knew was defeat. She’d foolishly thought that the ocean might listen to her—
Stupid, stupid girl.
A shock raced from her finger and up her arm. Margrete glanced down to find her ring glowing in the dim lighting. Her skin burned icy hot where the metal rested, but she didn’t dare take the ring off. A burst of heat coiled inside her chest and her vision sharpened on a cresting wave.
She gazed through the porthole as a chorus of ethereal voices and the pulsating heartbeat of every wave consumed all that she was. For a moment, she could hear what the waters urged her to hear—and she answered back. But not with words.
Narrowing in on the roiling violence beyond the portal, she fixated on a wave the height of ten men. As heat blossomed within her chest, and the eerie whispers of the sea came to a crescendo, the swell before her rose and crashed harmlessly, sucked back into the ocean that had birthed it.
Yes! More sparks pricked her insides with every frantic exhale. The heat within didn’t come from nerves or simple human fear. No. Margrete could taste the electricity in the air, an ancient sort of enchantment woven with a fragile thread.
This inner fire—crafted from all things unseen and unknown—escalated like the waves beyond her portal. Margrete shut her eyes and focused on calming the waters within herself even as the music of the untamable sea whooshed in her ears.
Control, a gentle voice whispered. It was the one she’d heard in the Kardias Cave, welcoming her home. Control them.
There was no time to wonder why she heard the otherworldly voice or why it had chosen to call out to her now. Not when the Phaedra was near destruction.
Instead, she shut her eyes and allowed images of still waters and crystal-clear skies to crush all other thoughts. She glimpsed the world through the eyes of another, her view high above the sea like she was some bird gliding overhead.
Yes, the foreign voice urged
. Control them.
Margrete opened her eyes as her vision of serene waters dissipated. Beyond the porthole, the sky was a shade brighter. The waves were still angry, but not bloodthirsty. Her heart pumped in her chest. She couldn’t possibly have been the one to do that—
A piercing scream penetrated the air, the sound like a dagger to her calm.
She knew that scream, would recognize it anywhere. Bash was in trouble.
Stumbling with every rocking wave, Margrete hurried to the main deck. The rain had picked up, the drops violent in their descent. Within seconds, she was drenched.
Bash called out again. A groan of pain. A growl of frustration and distress.
Grasping the railing, Margrete scanned the deck. If the crew were fearful, none of them showed it. They were seasoned sailors, borne from the sea itself. She, on the other hand, was not. She couldn’t even swim. There was no doubt that these waters would swallow her whole if she wasn’t careful, but she had to know if Bash was safe.
A thunderclap was the only warning before lightning struck the mizzen sail, leaving the nearly translucent linen a mess of smoking shreds. Margrete lurched forward, narrowly missing the plummeting wood and burning sail as they crashed to the quarter deck.
The impact sent her sliding across the slick planks, barely holding to the starboard railing as a tumultuous wave crested, battering mercilessly against the hull.
The downpour pummeled the crew, savage raindrops flying from every direction, making it difficult to see more than ten feet ahead. Margrete wrapped both arms about the rail. The squall was relentless.
But it was his voice that was isolated amongst the many. His voice alone that wafted to her ears and took up residence in her tumultuous heart.
She spotted him across the deck. A cannon had gotten loose and pinned three men, Bash among them. His men worked to free him, but the turbulent waters made it challenging.
She had to get to him.
The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea Page 20