“Yes, we will talk later,” she vowed, holding his gaze.
One side of Atlas’s lips twitched before she slunk off into the frenzy of workers, but the look of respect she directed at Margrete wasn’t missed.
Bash’s handsome features twisted. He opened his mouth to say something, but Gius approached, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Sir. Your presence is requested on the quarter deck.”
Margrete glanced around at Bash’s crew. Now was not the time to argue. Not with his men looking on.
Bash spoke in hushed tones to his quartermaster before directing his attention back to her.
He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Remember when I asked you to trust me? Now I truly need you to try. You know me.”
It was those final words that weakened her rising anger, the desperate tone of them that had her nodding her head in agreement. She watched as he struggled to turn away from her, though his steps faltered as he trailed after Gius.
Margrete wanted to trust him. After everything they’d been through, he deserved the chance to explain his actions.
She only hoped she hadn’t signed Casbian’s death warrant in the process.
Chapter Thirty-One
Bash
Bash couldn’t get Margrete’s face out of his mind. The way she’d looked upon the count as he was dragged below deck. She’d nearly married the man, though she claimed she hardly knew him. And yet the sight of her face as Casbian was hauled away had Bash’s heart thumping wildly in his chest. Did she regret not marrying him? Did a part of her wish she’d gone through with the ceremony? That she was far from Azantian and Bash and danger?
Danger he had put her in.
Bash slumped in his chair; the captain’s quarters was finally empty of bodies. Atlas had just left, likely still bristling from their argument. While the warrior was likely too headstrong for her own good, she was a fine soldier. Bash respected the hell out of her, even if she constantly questioned him.
He had to get his head on straight, to focus on the larger picture. Perhaps deep down, they always knew the captain wouldn’t come, even if they skirted around the possibility. However, his absence coming to fruition had Bash feeling all sorts of hopeless.
A failure.
Hours had passed. He needed to speak with Margrete, as he’d promised, but the thought of her looking at him with disappointment was nearly worse than letting down his island.
Bash wasn’t a monster. He wouldn’t torture an innocent man, especially if it was a man Margrete had…feelings for. A man who might be better for her in the long run than Bash would ever be.
He swiped his hands across his desk, sending papers flying to the floor. His stomach twisted into knots as he stood, running his fingers through his hair in an effort to rein in his overwhelming regret.
Bash marched toward her cabin, ignoring how the weight of his emotions, his own damn insecurities, suffocated him. How his chest grew taut with doubt and heavy with fear. Fear that he was right, and that Margrete would be better off without him. It was selfish to wish for anything else.
At her door, he knocked hesitantly.
“Come in.” Bash sensed her frustration, and it caused his steps to falter as he went inside. His eyes drifted immediately to the woman who’d stolen something irreplaceable from him. Something he’d never get back, even if he wanted to.
Not that he did.
He approached slowly. “Princess.”
She sat perched on the side of her cot, her hands placed delicately on her lap, but her eyes were fierce, brimming with distress.
Bash ignored the pang of hurt in his chest and took a seat beside her, his thigh brushing against her warmth. He could smell the lavender in the air, a scent that followed her like a summer breeze. If he could breathe nothing else but her, he gladly would.
“Tell me why you took him.”
He shifted to face her. She didn’t recoil from his nearness, but her features were tight.
“If Casbian is working with your father, then I couldn’t let him go. You know that.”
“But if he isn’t?” she pressed.
“Then I will set him free.”
“You promise?” Her eyes softened.
He had the urge to cup her cheek, to feel the softness of her skin and pull her into his embrace.
He resisted. Bash had to know where her heart lay.
“Yes. I vow it to you.”
She nodded. “I do understand, you know. Why you took him. Just promise me you won’t…torture him. He came for me when no one else did. I couldn’t live with myself should I be the cause of his pain.”
Once again, her goodness floored Bash.
“I would never allow you to carry such a burden.” Bash glanced at his boots. “If his intentions are indeed honorable, then I won’t harm him.” He flinched when she entwined her fingers with his, squeezing tightly.
“Thank you, Bash. I know this wasn’t what you planned, but we will find the Heart and right this wrong. I won’t rest until my father’s crimes have met justice.”
Bash wanted to laugh. What chance did they have now? Even if they managed to locate her father, it was likely too late. Ortum’s time and magic were running out. He wouldn’t be able to hold the gates any longer, and his once vivid coral eyes were clouded with dusk, the exertion taking its toll.
Margrete scooted closer, shifting so her head rested against his shoulder. Without her eyes on him, he had the courage to ask what had plagued his thoughts for hours.
“Is there more to your relationship with Casbian? Do you care for him?” The question came out in a voice he didn’t recognize. It was deep and full of glass.
Margrete craned her head to look at him, eyes narrowed into slits. “If you’re asking me what I think you are, then you’re a fool.”
A rush of relief coursed through him. He tugged her against him and ran his fingers through her hair. “I had to know. Had to hear it from your lips.”
Margrete bristled, but she lifted her palm to his chest and rested it above his heart. “After all we shared, I shouldn’t have to speak the words for you to know,” she said, a hint of hurt in her tone.
But Bash had to make sure. He’d never been in such a predicament.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and then forced himself to stand.
“I need to head up and meet with the crew, but try to get some rest. I’ll see you tonight?”
Because he knew he’d be back once night fell, eager to wrap himself in her warmth where his nightmares couldn’t reach him.
“I’ll be here.” She gave him a wry grin.
It was the sight of that, how her face lit up at his promise of returning, that had Bash believing that the gods weren’t as cruel as he’d believed.
Even with hope in his heart, Bash couldn’t seem to rid himself of the foreboding he felt deep in his marrow.
He knew all too well that hope was a dangerous thing to have.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Margrete
Adrian was waiting for Margrete when they docked.
He was tense, jaw clenched, his hands grasped behind his back.
“Adrian,” she greeted when she reached him, her legs wobbling as she adjusted to solid land.
“My Gods, Margrete, your eyes.”
She’d nearly forgotten. How the hell would she explain this to him?
“Honestly, I have no idea what happened. I fell overboard during the storm that hit us, and after Bash dove in and saved me, they were…different.”
That was putting it mildly.
Adrian lifted his head, finally noticing the many wary stares directed at Margrete’s back. She’d felt those stares since she emerged from below deck. The crew likely wondered if she was blessed or cursed.
“We can talk about this later.” Adrian dipped his chin and held her newly fashioned eyes. “I imagine you need your rest.”
She wanted to be as far away from people as possible. The scrut
iny was unbearable.
Adrian placed an arm around her shoulder, and, thankfully, didn’t ask more questions about the storm or her eyes. As they walked away from the docks, thunderous shouts pierced the air, and without even looking behind her, Margrete knew whose voice rose above all others.
“I had already guessed that the trade didn’t go according to plan when I saw you on deck.” Adrian sighed, drawing them closer to the bridge. “But that”—he jerked his head back to the Phaedra—“just confirmed any doubts I may have had.”
Margrete shook her head. “It all went terribly wrong, Adrian. The count was the one to meet us, not my father, and Bash took him captive.”
Adrian glanced away as they continued their trek across the bridge. They were nearly to the other side. “Yes, the men took him off the Phaedra first. I have yet to speak with Bash and receive a debriefing.”
Margrete pulled him off to the side. “I’d like to see him,” she said. “Please, Adrian. Let me talk to him. Maybe I can get more information before Bash questions him.”
He’d mentioned getting answers in any way necessary.
Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, releasing a disgruntled groan.
“Please, Adrian,” she said again.
He must’ve seen the distress brimming in her eyes, because he relented. “Fine, but no more than a few minutes.” His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Bash isn’t going to be happy, though.”
“Thank you!” Margrete wrapped her arms around his waist. “I promise I’ll be quick, and Bash doesn’t have to know.”
They reached the other side of the bridge and passed through the palace’s grand archway. Adrian led her to a winding corridor she’d never seen where a silver door waited at the end of the hall. A rugged stone staircase lay just beyond, and they walked in silence until they arrived at the entrance of a rank dungeon.
Two soldiers stood guard before the entry, their backs rigid as they bowed their heads to Adrian. Margrete noticed wisps of heavy leaden clouds whirling inside the doorway, trapped inside the steel frame. It was the same type of mystical barrier that had secured her own chambers.
“You have five minutes.” Adrian ushered Margrete forward and nodded to the two soldiers before lifting his hand to the cloudy doorway.
The portal lightened in color, and one of the men grumbled his disapproval as she passed, clearly finding issue with her presence. Margrete grumbled right back, blustering past the sullen guard and down the rocky steps alone. If he had an issue, he could take it up with Adrian.
“Casbian,” she called out to the nothingness.
A hushed groan filled her ears, followed by the whimper of her name. “Margrete?”
“Here!” She picked up her pace, racing to the sound of his voice. He was being kept in the farthest corner, in a cell of iron and rust. Margrete saw the outline of a man on the floor, rising slowly as if it cost him great energy to do so.
“How are you?” She stepped close to the bars and rested her forehead against the iron. “Have they been decent?”
“They’ve been fine.” Casbian grunted, righting himself and standing tall before he ambled closer to the bars. A single sconce flickered weakly on the wall behind her, and as he stepped into the light, it exposed his handsome face.
“How have they treated you?” He scanned her body for any sign of abuse. When his gaze landed on her face, his brow scrunched in confusion. “Have your eyes always been blue?” he asked. “I could’ve sworn they were hazel.”
She sighed, shaking her head. Clearly, there’d be many questions about her recent change in appearance.
“It’s a long story,” she said, “but yes, they used to be hazel. You didn’t imagine it.” She rushed on before he could inquire further. Her eyes were not the greatest issue they had to face. “But don’t worry. I plan on getting you out soon,” she assured him, lifting her hand to his face. A small cut, dried with blood, decorated his chin. It wasn’t deep and had perhaps been inflicted when they threw him down here. “But first, I have to know. Did my father have anything to do with you meeting Bash? Did he send you?”
Her father had caused this mess—he was the one who deserved to be behind bars.
Casbian vehemently shook his head, his dark hair tumbling into his blue eyes. “I went to your father after the attack at the keep. We waited until a scout arrived with a letter. Apparently, whatever these men wanted was more valuable than your life, and your father refused.” He closed his eyes and let out a disgusted scoff. “After he tossed the letter into the fire, I intercepted the scout and sent along my own message on stationery I’d stolen from Wood’s study. I figured it was money they were after, and I couldn’t sit by when I was the reason they had you in the first place. Because I was too weak to defend you.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Even if it wasn’t, I would’ve come.” Casbian gripped the bars, pressing his face against the rusted metal. “My coming for you had nothing to do with your father and everything to do with honor. With doing what was right.”
“I just don’t understand,” she pressed. “It isn’t as if we married. You could’ve easily found another bride.” She motioned to him then, to the striking spectacle that he was. Casbian was the leader of Cartus, and he certainly didn’t have to go through all the trouble of bringing Margrete home.
He bristled. “What kind of man would that have made me? I made a vow, even before that day, and I’m a man of my word.”
“You’re a fool.” She chuckled, and Casbian joined her, his laugh deep and hoarse.
Perhaps she might’ve found happiness with him, but the sight of Count Casbian didn’t send flutters dancing in her stomach or shoot tingles down her arms. She felt nothing when she gazed upon him except appreciation.
“I’ll speak with Bash,” she said, “and I’ll return here first thing in the morning.”
“It seems I didn’t make a mistake coming here,” the count said, snaking a hand through the bars to cup her cheek. His touch felt cold against her skin, wrong.
A sudden pang of searing guilt had her pulling away from his touch. Guilt that didn’t deserve a place in her heart.
“I’ll get you out,” she said again, taking a few steps back. She knew her time was up.
“I know you will,” Casbian said with a sigh. “Until tomorrow.”
Margrete nodded, leaving the prison and the man she’d nearly wed behind.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bash
It was just after midnight when Bash entered the dungeon. Every step he took echoed against the stone walls like a hammer, driving the rodents screeching into the shadows. He breathed in a mouthful of stale air, aiming to calm his racing pulse. He’d interrogated prisoners in the past without a hint of trepidation, but then again, they also hadn’t nearly married the woman he was beginning to care so deeply for. As Bash neared the last cell, Adrian’s voice rang clear.
“Our spies have learned Cartus is all but bankrupt.” His friend’s tone held an uncharacteristic bite. “So please explain to me how you were able to procure a ship full of hired men for this rescue of yours?”
Bash stopped just short of the sconce’s reach, waiting for Casbian to give the same response he’d offered earlier when Adrian first interrogated him.
There was a weak cough, and then, “Like I told you before. I used the last of our treasury. I refused to sit by while Margrete’s father left her to rot.” The count’s words were impassioned, and Bash almost believed him.
Seconds ticked by.
“Nothing new, my king,” Adrian said, not turning around. His commander had the uncanny ability to sense Bash’s presence. Always had, even as children.
Bash stepped fully into the light and took in the humbling sight of Casbian shackled to the wall, the heavy chains lifting his arms above his head. The door to the cell was wide open. Adrian loomed before the count with his broad arms crossed.
“Same story as before,
eh?” Bash sauntered into the space, brushing off an invisible speck of dust on his jacket. He eyed the count with obvious disdain, twisting his features into a smile Adrian often referred to as sinister.
Bash didn’t believe a single word that came out of the bastard’s mouth. Even shackled, Casbian held himself regally, his blue eyes haughty and upper lip curled. Then again, maybe Bash disliked the man for other reasons entirely. But he couldn’t allow his irrational jealousy to cloud his judgment.
“As I’ve told your friend here, I’ve been telling nothing but the truth. I came to rescue Margrete. I made a vow to her, and I am a man of honor. A man of my word.”
Bash swallowed the laughter that bubbled up in his throat. “Not according to the rumors my spies brought back to me.” He took a step closer, shifting his shoulders back and rising to his full height, forcing Casbian to crane his neck to look him in the eye. “No, according to my spies, you’re quite the ladies’ man—even days before your wedding. So that little argument of yours doesn’t seem to hold up so well.”
Casbian scoffed. “You should know not all rumors are true.” He eyed the cell that held him as if to make a point. “Here I am, on an island that shouldn’t exist. I believed it didn’t exist merely because I was told it wasn’t possible.” He shook his head, his dark hair falling across his eyes. “I’ve been called many things in my life, Bash. Any ruler or king, even a count, is often the talk of idle minds. Perhaps when I was younger, I engaged in activities I shouldn’t have, but that was many, many years ago. I am certainly not the same boy I was.”
Bash ground his teeth, taking in every quivering breath the count took. “Why did you want to marry her to begin with?”
The question came out before he could stop himself.
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