Casbian’s gaze grew fierce. “Our letters. The ones we’d been exchanging for months before our wedding.” His head slumped as he continued, the chains rattling. “She was funny and bright. Clever. She made me laugh at the simplest of things.” The corners of his lips quirked. “When I saw her for the first time…” His smile flourished. “I knew she was something to cherish, and I’d be lucky to marry a woman that smart, cunning, and incredibly beautiful.”
Bash’s stomach churned as he took in the way the count’s eyes creased with wonder when he spoke of Margrete. How he couldn’t help but smile when he brought up their letters. It made him nauseous.
There was a moment of silence, and then Adrian cleared his throat, stepping in when Bash remained silent.
“He claims that when the captain turned down the offer for a trade, he stole his stationery. He then wrote the letter agreeing to meet and delivered it to our scout with Wood’s seal. He is adamant that the captain had no idea of his plan. That he acted alone.”
No, that couldn’t possibly be right.
“What did you get out of marrying Wood’s daughter? You can’t have me truly believing you fell in love with her based on a couple of letters and a few minutes in her presence?”
Even as Bash said the words, he realized his mistake.
He was guilty of nearly the same thing. While they hadn’t written one another sentimental love notes, and their time together had been limited, Bash had been under her spell since the moment she opened that wicked mouth of hers and cursed him.
Casbian’s eyes shone as he drank Bash in, a knowing look twisting his features. “I see what’s happening here,” he said, straightening as much as he could. “You care for her, too. That’s why you don’t believe me. Or don’t want to believe me. I’m not the villain she would spurn.”
Bash clenched his fists, attempting to regain his composure.
“That has nothing to do with it,” he snapped. “I don’t trust you, and I will find out why you are truly here.”
Bash made to leave. He didn’t have time for this.
“Wait!” Casbian shouted, and Bash begrudgingly turned. “I see it in your eyes. That you do care. But if that were actually the case, you’d let her leave with me and get as far away from this place as possible.”
“And why is that?” Bash asked, jaw clenched. His patience was running thin.
“You took her as a prisoner for fuck’s sake. Used her.” Casbian shook his head. “You haven’t thought about what’s good for her since you met. You still don’t, and you never will. Not when you wear that crown on your head.”
Bash’s breath caught in his chest. A lump was forming in his throat, and Casbian’s accusations wound around his neck and squeezed—an invisible noose.
“That’s not true at all—”
“Oh, but it is!” Casbian hissed, eyes growing wide. “You will never deserve a woman like that. Not when you will always choose your people over her. Your kingdom. You’re selfish and delusional to think otherwise.”
The noose around his throat tightened. He opened his mouth to argue, to claim he was deserving, but nothing came out. The words simply froze on the tip of his tongue.
Bash was the king of Azantian, protector of its seas. It was his birthright. His life’s mission. He knew then, with a sickening realization, that Casbian was right.
He couldn’t put her first.
“Finish questioning him,” he barked at Adrian in a rush, then twisted on a heel and strode away from the count and away from the truth that fell from his lips. He needed to run, to get as far from that dungeon as possible.
As Bash walked the corridors of the palace, his heart raced and his palms were slick with nerves. Those poisonous words kept looping around his mind. Taunting him.
The more he repeated them, the more he understood what he had to do. What he had to do for her. He may never be able to put her first, but, maybe, if Casbian was truly innocent, Margrete could be someone else’s entire world. When all was said and done, they would survive this disaster with the sea’s children, he would see to it, and Margrete would get her happy ending. She might very well find happiness with Casbian, a man who spoke of her like a treasured gift.
Bash had treated her like a ransom and only recently saw the errors of his ways.
He was at Margrete’s chambers before he realized where his legs had carried him. Where his heart had carried him.
The guard standing outside her rooms eyed him curiously but stayed silent. Bash raised his hand, about to open her portal, when something stopped him. Guilt or shame or some unnamable emotion. He lowered his hand back to his side.
He turned around, the count’s words growing into a sickening chorus. When he entered the privacy of his own chambers, he allowed himself to slide down the back of his door, his body crumbling onto the stones.
Honor would always dictate that Bash should put his island above all else. He’d rather see Margrete leave with the count than be a king’s second choice.
Even if it cleaved him in two.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Margrete
“I need to see Bash,” Margrete yelled through the churning mist of her door the following morning. There were two guards posted beyond, and she shouted her demand over and over until she got a response.
After some minutes of grating shrieking on Margarete’s part, one of the guards bellowed, “Stop! I’ll alert his majesty. But please, for the love of the gods, enough with the screaming.”
Margrete smirked, triumphant. Now all she had to do was wait.
It was another hour before Bash emerged through the portal, dark circles bruising the skin below his eyes. Had he lost sleep over the failed trade? Of course, he had. He’d all but told her he hadn’t found another plan to reinforce the gates.
Bash walked closer, and Margrete stood from her bed, a book tumbling from her lap. She’d finally given up and opened the pages of Weaponry and Defense.
His eyes drifted to the stone he’d gifted her, openly displayed against her breastbone. She hadn’t taken it off once.
“I was told you wanted to see me, but I was stuck in a meeting for most of the morning,” he said by way of greeting.
Something between them was off.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, unease snaking around her heart and squeezing. He’d put his walls up again, and it was something she wouldn’t stand for. Not after she’d gotten to know the man behind the mask.
Bash finally met her stare, but the spark was gone from his eyes. He clasped his hands behind his back, his towering frame rigid. “Our scouts have reported no sightings of your father. Not even in Prias. His keep has been turned upside down, and the Heart is still missing.” He sighed, a muscle flickering in his jaw. “But I’m hoping to locate him soon. There are rumors that he’s hiding out in Haldion. We should find him by the week’s end.”
“What if the captain doesn’t have the Heart with him?”
“Then we torture him until he tells us,” Bash replied without a hint of emotion.
Margrete nodded. Unlike with Casbian, she felt nothing at the thought of her father enduring pain.
“Do what you must,” she said, knowing what was at stake. “And please, ask him about Birdie. If he knows she’s safe.”
“I will,” Bash promised.
Hopefully, her sister was under her governess’s watchful eye back at the keep. Margrete couldn’t afford to think otherwise.
“But tell me—” She dared a step forward. “What is it you’re not saying? I know the trade didn’t go according to plan, but something else is bothering you. I know it.”
She stood her ground, crossing her arms.
“I’m worried about the Heart, nothing more,” he replied, inching back toward the portal and away from her.
Margrete wouldn’t let him retreat that easily.
“I recognize a lie when I see one,” she snapped, closing the distance between them and grabbing his arm, forcing him to lo
ok at her. His muscles tensed beneath her fingers. “Bash, what is it?”
A flash of doubt crossed his features, his lips parting, but nothing came out. Even the sea star tattoo on his arm curled in on itself, once again hiding from Margrete’s eyes.
“I see.” She dropped her hand. “Well, at least let me ask about Casbian.”
Bash’s nostrils flared at her ex-fiancé’s name.
“I spoke with him yesterday, and—”
“You spoke with him?” His hands fell to his sides, fists clenching and releasing. “When?”
Her spine stiffened, and she lifted her chin, fighting a grimace of regret. Damn it, she hadn’t meant for that to slip.
“Shortly after we arrived. I needed to question him myself. He seems...sincere.”
Bash let out a mirthless laugh. “And what do you know about honorable men?” The moment the words left his lips, shame twisted his features. He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, I didn’t mean that.”
“Maybe you did,” she muttered, but he shook his head in response.
“He may very well be honorable, but we need to make sure. If he’s working with the captain, then Adrian will know soon enough. He’s nearly done questioning him.”
“What does that mean?” She already suspected the answer, but she had to ask. As she so often did as of late, she reached for Bash’s necklace, the weight of it comforting.
He looked at her from beneath a heavy brow. “If Casbian is telling the truth, then there’s nothing to worry about. Once we locate the Heart, he’ll be free to do as he wishes, and…so will you.”
Margrete took a step back, reading the implication shining in his tone and in his eyes. “Bash. I have no plans on seeing the count after his release, let alone marrying him. Is that what you think I want? Gods, I thought we talked about this yesterday. I made myself rather clear on the subject.”
Bash shook his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Margrete, if Casbian is an honest man who dared defy your father and ventured across the sea to find you, then he is a worthy man. Worthy of you. And I believe…” He took a ragged breath. “If he truly is all you claim him to be, then you should go with him when he leaves. There’s nothing I can offer you here.”
An invisible band wrapped around her throat, cutting off her air as she processed his words. “Y-you want me to leave with him?” Her hand fell from her necklace. “I thought…”
What did she think? That the king of a mystical island would fall in love with her? A man who had the essence of a sea god coursing through his veins? She was a mortal, a human who wasn’t even of noble birth, and he was a damned king.
It was laughable. Truly.
Margrete’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. She turned, giving him her back as she hid her shame. She knew what they shared had been real, but she hadn’t thought about what would happen after they defeated her father and found the Heart.
A chill chased across her skin as he moved closer, until his heat was only inches away.
“Princess,” Bash whispered, his voice cracking.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t. I understand.” After a long moment, she opened her eyes but didn’t dare turn and look at him. Instead, she spoke over her shoulder. “There’s nothing more to say other than to profess my wishes for Casbian to be moved to more appropriate quarters until he can be deemed innocent.”
Silence followed, the air saturated with tension.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Bash had made his intentions clear. He didn’t want her. Or, he did, but he couldn’t.
“Please leave,” she asked when Bash didn’t utter a word. She needed him gone before the tears inevitably fell.
“Margrete—”
He was so close that she bunched her shoulders, trying to avoid the way his voice caressed her neck.
“Please,” she implored. “I need to be alone.”
Seconds later, his boots thudded against the stone floor. Margrete waited for the door to shut before she turned around. A foolish part of her expected to see him still standing there, an apology poised on his tongue.
But she was alone.
And Bash had made his decision.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bash
Bash wanted nothing more than to take back every word he’d spoken. He didn’t want Margrete to leave, and he certainly didn’t want her to leave with the Count.
Hours after he’d left Margrete’s chambers, Bash rounded the corridor leading to the Adiria Cavern. The soldiers he passed avoided his stare. Adrian planned to meet him below the palace soon, but until his friend arrived, Bash would be free to dwell in the darkness and clear his head.
Bash unlocked the door to the cavern, grabbed a torch, and began his descent, the air growing colder with every step he ventured. The light of his flame ate away at the shadows surrounding him, but he didn’t feel an ounce of dread.
There were far worse things to fear than the dark.
He halted right beneath the apex of the vast cavern. A trickle of sunlight filtered through the small chasm in the ceiling but was devoured by the eternal night that thrived in this place. Since he was a child, Bash would come here when he needed to be alone and think. The Soul of Azantian spoke to him, welcomed him into its numbing obscurity with open arms. Here, his mind would go blissfully quiet.
But not even the Adiria Cavern could still his thoughts now.
Bash sat on a stone, his torch flickering as it fought with a gust of cold air. The chilled breeze grew stronger, and his meager flame sparked and popped in response, struggling to reignite.
It lost its battle.
Bash was left alone in utter darkness as his torch fizzled to nothing.
“Of course,” he muttered, cursing, though he wasn’t worried. He knew this place like the back of his hand. Instead of hastening to find his way out, Bash tucked his knees to his chest and breathed in the nothingness that enveloped him. There was the comforting staccato of water as it dripped from the rocky walls. The faint murmur of wind. The smell of salt and the sea.
The smell of home.
Bash shut his eyes, though it hardly mattered, and dropped the useless torch to the ground. His heartbeat, which had thudded in his ears seconds before, quieted to a gentle drumming. Without his sight, Bash was forced to delve within himself, to glimpse a mind that was anything but collected and calm. He certainly wasn’t a man who had control over himself, let alone a kingdom.
A hiss of vicious energy sliced across the rugged stones.
Bash opened his eyes with a start. The flare of violet crashed into the sides of the cavern with the fierceness and strength of lightning, brightening the space with an unnatural glow. Bash sucked in a mouthful of air.
The cavern only came alive two hours before midnight. It had been that way since the beginning of Azantian.
And yet—
Another bolt, this one brighter than the last, fanned across the rock until it collided with the dead center of the cavern floor and crashed into the stone with a fizzle of electricity.
Bash jumped to his feet as chunks of rock loosened, his hand rising protectively to his face. Ignoring his instincts that screamed at him to run, he rose instead and walked toward the center, drawn by the remnants of light that still simmered.
He dropped to a crouch and trailed his fingers across the stone, the ground still warm. Flattening his palm, he pressed it against the hard earth, shivering as tingles raced across his skin. His body seemed to sigh in relief, almost as if the current of energy invigorated him. He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself, but it felt familiar in a way he couldn’t describe.
Bash jerked away with a start, seconds before another round of lightning crashed mere inches from where his hand had rested.
Gods, what was that?
“Bash?”
He twisted his head around at the sound of his name, which seemed to come from everywhere as it echoed off the stones. The voice called his na
me again, though this time, Bash recognized who it belonged to.
The soft glow of a torch came into view, and Adrian’s footsteps were heavy as he exited from the tunnel.
“What are you doing under here without a damned torch?”
Bash was nearly too stunned to reply, but he pushed up from the ground, finding his voice.
“It went out,” he said, warily scanning the walls of the cave as though expecting the shadows to reach out and grab him.
Adrian’s face contorted with concern. “I suspected things were dire when you asked to meet here.”
Those closest to Bash knew he sought out the Adiria Cavern whenever the weight of his crown was too much to bear. Whenever he missed his father or thought of the mother he’d never known. She’d died giving birth to him, but it didn’t stop him from conjuring a vision of what she might have been like.
“I needed the quiet,” he admitted. “I hate waiting for the scouts to return. You know I get restless.”
His friend rubbed a hand across his tight black curls. “They should be back soon, and once we know where Wood is, we can proceed.”
“Let’s just pray the gods have mercy on us, and the scouts deliver good news,” he said, though he didn’t believe it for a second. Mercy wasn’t something the gods bestowed.
Adrian sighed, clearly exhausted from the past few days. “In the meantime, we should continue with the feast this evening. People might suspect the worst should we cancel, and it would be the first time in a thousand years it wasn’t held to honor the moon goddess.”
Adrian was right. If they called the feast off, then his people would worry Bash had already failed. It didn’t help that they were superstitious and feared displeasing any of the gods, especially Selene, who commanded the tides.
“Will you be escorting Margrete?” Adrian asked. The mere sound of her name was devastating.
“I don’t think I should.”
“And why the hell not?” Adrian scoffed. “I’m not blind. I’ve never seen you look at another living soul that way before. Even when you look in a mirror.”
The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea Page 24