The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea

by Katherine Quinn

  “I missed you, too.” Adrian bent over so that he no longer towered over the man he kissed back with tender affection. “I was just training Margrete here.”

  “She certainly is slippery. With enough training, she might surpass you.” The sincerity in Bay’s smile both warmed and surprised her, like she hadn’t only recently caused him to be the target of his king’s wrath. “Don’t let him push you too hard,” he warned, wagging his finger Adrian’s way.

  Adrian rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he was grinning from ear to ear. “You’re ridiculous, Bay.”

  “I know this well,” he replied on the coattails of a sigh, then looked at Margrete again. “Well, I’ll be around for dinner tonight if you’d like better company. But I’m not escorting you anymore.” He gave a mock shudder.

  Margrete bit the inside of her lips to keep from smiling. “Probably a smart decision.”

  Bay pecked Adrian’s lips one last time and gave a playful wave to Margrete. In a blur of smooth steps, he was gone.

  “I like him,” she decided out loud, much to Adrian’s delight. He radiated the sort of happiness Margrete hadn’t believed possible. She doubted she would ever find such joy or companionship in another. For her, it was as unobtainable as freedom appeared to be. “I’m surprised he isn’t…”

  “Upset that you duped him?” Adrian laughed. “Oh, he was impressed by you, though he’d never admit it. Bay admires those who don’t back down when cornered, and he’s particularly fascinated by the human female who knows how to get under the king’s skin.”

  Margrete bristled. “Hardly,” she retorted. If anything were true, it was the king who got under her skin.

  Not that she would admit it.

  Adrian’s lips curled into a knowing smile, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he said, “I’ll bring you back for a bath, if you’d like. I’m sure your muscles would welcome it after today.”

  She nodded, eager to get out of her sweaty clothes and away from Adrian’s perceptive eyes.

  They were nearly to the doors when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Slowing her steps, she scanned the palace windows until she halted on a handsome face framed by auburn strands.

  Bash.

  A heartbeat later, he was gone, the curtains falling back into place where he’d stood.

  The King of Azantian had been watching her train, and Margrete didn’t know how to feel about that. All she knew was that her pulse picked up the moment their eyes locked.

  He’d given her the chance to train, telling her no woman—no person—should ever be defenseless. And because of him, Margrete realized she wanted to learn how to defend herself, if only so she’d never feel so helpless again.

  For the first time, she didn’t think of Bash as her enemy, and that was a frightening thought.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Margrete

  Margrete dripped with sweat all the way back to her chambers. Adrian explained there were servants available should she need assistance with her bath. She assured him she did not. Margrete didn’t need any more eyes on her, not with the extra guards already posted on her balcony. Bash should’ve known their presence was useless. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  Snatching up the first outfit she could find, she brought the folded clothing into the bathing suite with her. With delight, she found the copper tub already filled, steam rising from the water. Adrian must’ve sent someone to tend to it. After shutting the door from any prying eyes, she peeled off her sweat-soaked garments and flung them into the corner.

  The water was the perfect temperature, right between scalding and warm. Her aching muscles sighed as she sank further, muscles she hadn’t known she possessed.

  An hour passed and Margrete still soaked, the waters long since turned cold. She thought of her sister and her father, and how much she’d seen in only three days. Margrete felt as if she’d endured a whole lifetime since her wedding, a day she wasn’t keen on repeating…even without the deadly attack and kidnapping.

  When her fingers were nothing but prunes, she rose from the tub, quickly drying herself and toweling her hair. She meant to change into fresh clothing, but the pieces she’d gathered were both too large. Thankfully, a silky robe hung near the door. She tugged it on and entered her bedroom.

  A cough broke the silence. Margrete jumped at the sight of her unexpected visitor, leaning against her dresser with his arms crossed.

  “Sorry to disturb you.”

  She tightened the sash at her waist. “I highly doubt it.”

  Bash shoved off from the dresser and strode closer.

  Why did her breath seize up at his approach? And why did her traitorous eyes drink in the way his white shirt clung to his strong chest? Gods, even the way his damned trousers hugged his lower body caused tension to build low in her belly.

  A wolfish grin spread across his full lips, one that indicated he was far from sorry for disturbing her. In fact, he made no attempt to hide his roving stare. She felt that green gaze everywhere. Drifting over her mouth. Lingering on her breasts. Dancing down to her bare feet and then back up her entire body in a long, lazy drag.

  Heat warmed her cheeks—and other places—as his eyes grew stormy and hooded.

  Breathing harder than she should’ve been, she said, “You know you can remove…them.” She tilted her head toward the guards on her balcony. “I’m not stupid enough to try that again, and I’d prefer not to have an audience when I wish to undress.” She didn’t care for men’s eyes on her all the time. Well. Not most men, anyway. She shoved that thought to the back of her mind. “It’s also rather unnerving having someone watching over you whilst you sleep,” she added.

  Something dark flickered across his features. “Have they bothered you?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She understood exactly what he meant. “I’m just not comfortable with them right outside my chambers.”

  His gaze floated to the balcony, and then he was suddenly moving in long strides, swinging the doors open and hissing demands. Seconds later, the guards rushed past her, escaping through the portal and out of sight.

  Bash returned, the clouds that had darkened his eyes dissipating. She was about to open her mouth and thank him before she remembered it was his fault the guards had been there to begin with.

  “So.” He cleared his throat. “I came here to tell you that we seem to be ahead of schedule.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning, your father has consented to our terms. We set sail to the agreed-upon location in five days.”

  She was to leave. Already. Go back home and to her father. To the count, if he still lived and wanted to marry her.

  She’d failed to escape. Failed at finding a way to liberate herself from her father’s reach. She hadn’t planned on going back to Prias, or even Cartus, but now there wasn’t any choice. Her thoughts left her feeling as if she were stranded in between worlds, something she should’ve been used to at this point in her life.

  Margrete wanted to tell Bash all of this, to ask for his help, but she didn’t trust him not to betray her, and she was too prideful to seek aid when she surmised he’d only deny her. Bash had made his priorities very clear, and she was not one of them.

  “Why not tomorrow then?” If her father agreed, why not set sail right away? The sooner she got it over with, the better. She couldn’t afford to daydream any further.

  Bash shifted on his feet. “That was what our scouts were told. That the captain requested time to prepare.” His hands fisted at his sides, his jaw tense.

  “I see.” It made sense. Fitting a vessel was no easy task. “Well, great then.” She swallowed, eyes drifting to the floor where she scrutinized Bash’s scuffed boots. It was easier to silently berate his appearance than it was to deal with her emotions.

  “In the meantime,” Bash said, “I’ve agreed to allow Adrian to escort you through the city.”

  Her eyes lifted. Why in the world would he do that? She wante
d to ask but thought better of it. This was an opportunity. Clear and simple.

  “I’m trusting you to follow his orders,” he added, seeing the smile that graced her lips. “I shouldn’t permit such a thing,” he said, as though reading her thoughts, “but perhaps I’m not the bastard pirate you believe me to be.”

  And just like that, his face morphed into stone, the reminder of what they were to one another weighing down the very air in the room. His eyes went dull, lacking their typical gleam, those playful sparks that flared whenever he took her in. Whenever he teased.

  For some inane reason, she wished to coax that side out of him now, if only to destroy the apathetic façade he currently wore.

  “I’ll, uh, leave you to dress, then.” The barest hint of regret laced his tone, turning it into a tentative whisper.

  Margrete folded her arms beneath her breasts, unsure how to react. The sight of his throat bobbing caused her brows to furrow. There was something he wasn’t saying, something he was hiding. Whatever it was, it was twisting him up inside.

  “Fine,” she said. She could ask what bothered him, but she had a good feeling that he wouldn’t tell her what was on his mind. They didn’t know one another that way, and they definitely didn’t owe each other anything.

  “Good,” he said.

  “Great,” she added.

  They seemed to be alternating different words with the same meaning. It didn’t all seem fine, or good, and certainly not great.

  “Anything else, Bash?” A slow smirk crept to her lips. Come on, fight with me.

  “No,” he barked, a little too forcefully. “Nothing else. Enjoy your time in the city. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Margrete shouldn’t have been disappointed when Bash twisted on a heel and left—but not before glancing back at her one last time.

  Something about that final look, the way his eyes searched hers, indicated it was so much more than a backward glance.

  Once the swirling mist of the portal engulfed him, Margrete gripped the edges of the dresser, her knuckles turning white.

  The idea of home was more paralyzing than the idea of kidnappings and ransoms. Home meant the iron box. Commitment. Marriage. An unwanted fate she couldn’t outrun.

  But Margrete no longer wished to play the role fate had chosen her.

  She had to make her own magic. Carve her own destiny.

  She would not be handed over like a prize.

  There had to be a way off this island.

  And she meant to find it.

  Adrian emerged through the portal later that afternoon, his eyes crinkled with excitement. “Ready?” he asked, seemingly eager to play tour guide.

  Margrete imagined that Bay would argue he was the better choice; she could sense Adrian’s spirited boyfriend owned a competitive nature. The corners of her mouth tugged up at the thought of Bay, who’d left quite the impression on her during training.

  “Yes, all set.” She took Adrian’s offered arm. “Where to first?”

  “That’s a surprise,” he whispered, adding to the suspense.

  Margrete rolled her eyes but grinned back at the stunning Azantian. She hadn’t imagined finding herself in such lovely company, given that she was a prisoner and all. But then again, nothing here was how she pictured it.

  Azantian consisted of high sea glass buildings and, among them, lively markets thrived. The roads were crafted from the same material as the docks, and the gleaming metal flecks captured the sun’s brilliance, their golden rays dancing up and down Margrete’s frame with every step. At her side, Adrian escorted her into the chaos of an open market. The symphony of voices made her head swim with excitement.

  She spotted the intricately woven tapestries and multi-colored ribbons that she’d seen the night she fled through the garden. In the light of day, the colors dazzled.

  “Our people add a ribbon to the post to represent every loved one they’ve lost,” Adrian said, in answer to her unspoken question. “But it’s the color of the ribbon that’s important. Each color represents the dominant trait of the individual. For example, red is for those who are full of passion and determination. Blue, those loyal and wise. Yellow—well, Bay would be yellow.” Adrian’s lips formed a carefree smile. “He’s definitely spirited and too brave for his own good.”

  Margrete tilted her head back to look at the ribbons fluttering above the streets, all representing a person who’d left this world. She found it beautiful that, even in death, those souls still added light and color to the island.

  “There are five distinct bazaars,” Adrian continued, lowering his head to murmur into her ear above the roar of patrons. “One trades in fresh seafood, fruits, and vegetables. Another, one we’ve fondly named the Reef, specializes in colorful fabrics, gauzy linens, and luxurious clothing.” Adrian grew animated as he described his home. “My favorite is Quill Row, though. You can find all sorts of inks, parchment, and leatherbound books. I get in trouble with Bay weekly for spending too much coin there.”

  He gave a mischievous grin, and Margrete wondered if he was as fond of books as she was.

  “Oh, and the final two markets specialize in hearty land animals and handcrafted weapons. Azantian has the finest blades known in existence,” he said with pride.

  “I can’t wait to visit all of them.” It was the truth, even if this tour held the greater incentive of familiarizing herself with her surroundings. She paused. A thought had scratched at her mind ever since her time with Bash that morning. “Adrian, I have to ask…” She came to a halt, and the commander stilled at her side. “I can’t understand why Bash is allowing this. I’m his ransom, and yet he’s letting me walk Azantian’s streets, even placing weapons in my hands and a fighter’s skill in my bones. He hopes that if he fails, I’ll kill my father for him, but he can’t know what I might do once I’m returned to Captain Wood. It just all seems rather…foolish.”

  This was what she’d wanted to say to Bash earlier, but that would’ve been the wrong move. Adrian felt safer, like he would hear the inquiry as curiosity, not a threat.

  Adrian laughed and pointed to a rugged man watching from a balcony above the streets. While the man’s hands were hidden from sight, his steely gaze felt as heavy as a touch. Adrian motioned to the other end of the street, where another unassuming man leaned against one of the stalls, alert as he observed Margrete from the corner of his eye.

  “Bash is anything but foolish,” Adrian said. “I think a part of him desires for you to see how beautiful our island and our people are, so that if you do return to the outside, you might be inclined to protect our secret.” He glanced at the man at the end of the stall again and back to Margrete. “But have no doubt, he’s always watching. If you did anything stupid, his men would have you locked in your rooms before you could so much as curse our king.”

  Adrian moved forward, taking Margrete with him into the throng of bustling customers. She should’ve known that Bash would assign guards to trail them, and she took it as a challenge. He didn’t trust her not to run.

  And he shouldn’t.

  In the meantime, she’d get a better feel of the island’s layout.

  While she would soon leave, it was a sight she wouldn’t forget, and being amongst the bedlam of the thriving markets heated her blood in the most thrilling of ways. The spirited people of Azantian matched the pastels of their homes—blues, greens, purples, and coral pinks the most prominent colors. Their clothing was billowing and loose and, often, more revealing than Margrete was accustomed. Women proudly wore dresses featuring deep necklines that went to their navels, and the men went about their business without shirts, the sun tanning their backs.

  Margrete had to avert her wandering gaze, especially when a dashing vendor in the weapons market approached her and Adrian. “We have the finest spears! This one would be perfect for you!” he shouted at Adrian who waved him away. The shirtless man had rippling stomach muscles, a deep vee leading—

  She looked at anything but the hal
f-naked man who, thankfully, dashed off to another customer. Gods, why was she remembering the way Bash had looked the night before in his room? That curved, glistening chest. That hard body looming over her. His mouth so—

  “I don’t blame you,” Adrian said, jolting her from her thoughts. “That vendor was exceptionally attractive.” He began to continue, then he halted and whispered, “Don’t tell Bay I said that.”

  Margrete chuckled, imagining the trouble he’d get into if she did mention it to Bay. Based on the fearful look in Adrian’s eyes, she surmised his boyfriend might be the jealous type. “Your secret is safe with me,” she promised, pausing a moment to take in the splendidly chaotic market around them.

  This market was the closest to the palace, with all manner of weapons and defenses proudly displayed. The streets here were a deep amber color, and the doors of homes painted a luscious cream. As they neared the Reef, the avenues morphed into a divine peach tone, with the doors and shutters dyed bright turquoise.

  A breeze rustled the palm trees that lined the avenues, making the coconuts hanging beneath the massive fronds sway. It wafted hints of citrus to her nostrils, an airy scent that reminded her of long summer days.

  Adrian nudged her into a quaint shop selling brilliantly crafted gowns and fine apparel, where he pressured her into letting him purchase her a flowing cobalt dress, one with a daring neckline. Her father would thoroughly disapprove, and as tempted as she was to wear such a scandalous garment, she’d grown rather attached to trousers.

  They’d just exited the shop and were passing a stall full of silver rings and other assorted jewelry when an icy hand gripped her wrist.