Margrete touched his cheek, and he leaned into her embrace, eyes fluttering shut. Although she’d never been happier than at this moment, inside a battle still raged. She was falling for this man, so hard and so fast. What they’d done went beyond sex. It was a molding of two souls that called out for the other.
She felt a complete sense of peace and adoration, and, because of that, she refused to think about what she had to do when the sun rose in the morning. Rather than ruining this moment with the truth, Margrete chose to say words that were equally as true.
“You are the freedom I’ve been searching for, Bash.”
He was what she’d sought whenever she hid away in her tower to watch the wild waves play with the sands, dreaming of a life she never thought she’d have. This was it. Bash was her choice.
“Mon shana leandri le voux,” he whispered against her lips. His smile was radiant.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
One word stood out amongst the rest. Shana. The name Malum used for her.
Bash’s smile blossomed. “It means, my heart beats with yours.” He kissed her as deeply and fervently as before.
Margrete felt his smile with every kiss, sensed his unbridled joy with every lash of his tongue. He was hopeful; it was a side of him she’d not seen before.
She shut her eyes as his tender words repeated in her mind. Shana. Heart. It confirmed everything she already knew.
“Where did you just go?” Bash asked, and she willed her eyes open.
“Nowhere.” She flipped Bash onto his back and straddled him. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Margrete
Margrete didn’t sleep, not even as Bash rested peacefully beside her. She merely stared up at the ornate silver ceiling, exploring the fine details and depictions of nymeras and legends.
Her body felt deliciously sore from what they’d done—from what they shared—and while their time together was to come to an end, Margrete would carry this night with her, a final gift before it all came crashing down.
Bash made his choice, too. She knew this the instant he grasped her face and commanded her lips. The King of Azantian knew the dangers they would face should she not relinquish the Heart’s essence, should the beasts straining against their prisons finally burst free.
It would cost lives. Innocent lives. And Margrete simply wouldn’t allow this.
Her mind had been made, but staring at the king, his thick lashes dusting his cheeks and a hint of a smile on his lips, she felt her resolve waver.
Was she not courageous enough to sacrifice herself for so many? Margrete had always believed herself to be a good and decent person with an honest heart—but now, she wasn’t sure at all. She could only see a girl eager to taste her own happily ever after, like some lost princess in a fairy tale from one of her childhood books.
Though she’d found a semblance of a happy ending tonight, it would be as close to it she would allow. How could she hold her head high when her joy cost others their lives?
She ran her hand against Bash’s stubbled cheek, careful not to wake him as she committed his handsome face to memory. Her fingers paused on the curve of his jaw when she heard it.
Margrete.
She flinched, her fingers jerking from Bash’s heated skin.
Come find me, little one, it demanded. The usually deep timbre turned into a near growl.
Darius.
He sounded angry tonight, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, he’d directed his rage at her. She just didn’t know why.
Couldn’t she enjoy her last night a little bit longer? She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the voice and its commands to leave her alone, to allow her to spend just a little more time in Bash’s arms. But he was persistent, and the next time he spoke, there was no mistaking that it wasn’t a request.
Go to where I showed you the truth. To where it all began. Now.
Margrete shuddered at the thought of returning to the cursed throne room. She could still see the blood painting the floor. Because she faltered, the voice—Darius’s voice—delivered one final warning. One she couldn’t ignore.
I will not hesitate to end him.
Margrete’s heart thrummed as dread pooled in her stomach. She didn’t know Darius, not that she claimed to know his twin. Still, whenever Malum spoke to her, she felt only peace.
Now, she felt fear and the poisonous weight of his promise.
Margrete slipped from bed and pulled on her discarded trousers and shirt. Her pulse thundered in her ears, the threat on Bash’s life causing her fingers to tremble.
Good girl, the voice praised, and Margrete grimaced.
She yanked on her boots and took one last look at her slumbering king, then tiptoed to the door. Only one guard had been posted outside, and he was fast asleep. A mug—which no doubt contained wine or ale—sat at a precarious tilt in his hand.
Sneaking past the slumbering soldier, she dashed along the corridor. Her feet were light and nimble as she flew down the staircase.
Soon, the main floor approached. She stepped out, and her boot landed resoundingly on the stone. Tomorrow she would sacrifice herself for an island she’d grown to care about, but tonight, the voice that haunted her demanded an audience.
Padding down the corridor, Margrete kept close to the walls, on alert should one of the midnight patrolmen come near. There was only one close call on her way through the palace. When she heard the sound of heavy boots, Margrete dashed into a shadowy alcove and held her breath as two men marched past. They didn’t spare a look back.
The throne room was coming up on her left. Margrete was about to take that last corner when her feet stilled.
Someone was approaching, frantic footfalls pounding the stones. She sucked in a breath, searching for a place to hide, but there weren’t any alcoves or doors she could slip inside. She twisted around, ready to race back down the hall, when someone called her name.
“Margrete?”
She froze. Turning, she found the last person she’d expected.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed at Casbian.
The count stood before her, his raven hair sticking to his sweat-lined brow, a crazed look widening his blue eyes.
“We don’t have much time, Margrete.” Casbian closed the gap between them and grasped her hands in his. “I was just coming for you. I have a plan to get us out of here tonight, but you have to follow my lead and hurry.”
She resisted the urge to yank her hands out of his grasp. “What do you mean you have a plan? How did you escape your guards?” Bash had him heavily secured. If he’d managed to evade them, he must have had help. Something didn’t feel right.
“I was able to persuade one of the guards to look the other way. I promised he’d be well compensated shortly.”
“I still don’t understand,” she murmured, warning bells ringing in her head. He knew nothing about the Heart or Malum or the transference.
“Your father is coming.” Casbian grinned. “He’ll be here soon, and then you won’t be a prisoner anymore. He’s told me all about the Heart, how it’s trapped inside of you, but he has a plan to free you of that burden. You’ll be able to come back to Cartus with me once this mess is all over.” Casbian’s eyes flashed with a nearly manic delight. He appeared unhinged.
“My father…He’s coming?” She could barely get the words out. They weighed on her tongue as her throat constricted.
“You have to come with me.” Casbian yanked on her hand. “Now.”
Margrete fell forward, unable to free herself of his ironclad grip.
“You...you lied,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I believed you when you said you weren’t working with my father.” He’d appeared so sincere, so raw, when he promised he came for her with honor in his heart.
All lies.
“I had to lie to you in case someone was listening,” he snapped, his patience growing thin. “Come on, we have to run.” Casbian
pulled on her again, but she dug in her heels, putting all of her weight against him.
“I’m not coming with you! Don’t you understand what’s at stake? Whatever my father has told you is a lie. If Bash doesn’t get the Heart back and call forth its missing essence trapped inside of me, then the gates will unleash the sea’s children, and they will be set upon the world. Thousands will die!” She was screaming now, uncaring if they were overheard. In fact, she hoped they were. There was no way she’d be able to fight him off herself.
Margrete hissed as Casbian tightened his hand around her wrist, and pain lanced up her arm. “I told you I’m not coming!” She jerked backward again, but he didn’t release her. “Please, Casbian, you have no idea what my father is capable of, and if you take me to him, you’re just as evil as he is.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she pleaded with the man she almost married. A man she’d been foolish enough to trust. How wrong she’d been.
Casbian’s upper lip curled, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. His tone was lined with gravel. “This. Is. Happening.” He bit out every word. “Now, shut your mouth and come with me before you make me do something I’ll regret.”
Margrete acted without thought, only instinct.
Fashioning her hand into a fist, just as Adrian taught her, she struck him, using all of the force she possessed to punch him square in that perfect jaw of his.
Casbian bellowed, clasping his hands over his wounded face as shock twisted his features.
Margrete didn’t hesitate.
She took off in a sprint, racing down the corridor for the spiral staircase that would lead her back to Bash. She’d warn him, and, hopefully, it would give him enough time to prepare his men for when her father arrived at their shores.
Her legs pumped, burning from the exertion, and sweat pooled down her back, but she didn’t stop. Not when she knew what would happen if she failed to evade Casbian. He’d take her back to the captain, where he would possess both the physical Heart and the magic she carried inside of her. Then, he might be able to reunite the pieces and make Malum’s heart whole again.
Boots sounded behind her, her name a snarled word on Casbian’s lips. He was gaining ground—
One moment she was running and the next, a heavy body pummeled into her, sending her flying through the air. Her hands shot out instinctively to protect her face from colliding with the stones.
Casbian pushed into her back, using his full weight to hold her still. She opened her mouth to scream, but before any sound escaped, a foul-smelling handkerchief was pressed to her lips.
“You shouldn’t have run,” Casbian panted. The weight of his body stole the air from her lungs.
Margrete tried to hold her breath, to not take in whatever poison drenched the handkerchief, but she failed. Her head grew dizzy as she gasped for air.
She was losing consciousness. Drifting away.
The last thing she remembered was being rolled onto her back and the count’s face looming in her vision, a cruel smile on his lips.
Then the world cut to black.
Chapter Forty-Three
Bash
Bash woke with a start. He felt cold; the heat of Margrete’s body was absent. He reached into the darkness to tuck her back where she belonged, but his hands found nothing but empty sheets.
“Princess?” Perhaps she was in the bathing suite.
Bash shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable position until her return, but as the minutes ticked by, knots formed began forming in his stomach.
Something didn’t feel right.
Had their night together been a dream? It couldn’t have been. The scent of her still clung to his skin, and he inhaled it deeply, assuring himself that he indeed made love to Margrete Wood last night. But the knots in his stomach remained and grew in might, and eventually forced him to leave the comfort of the bed.
He searched the bathing suite first but found it empty.
Racing to the balcony and tossing the gauzy curtains aside, he found nothing but the moon and mocking stars staring back at him.
Bash cursed, swiveling about the room, searching for a clue as to Margrete’s whereabouts. Something deep within urged him to hurry. She wouldn’t have abandoned him after their night together.
Tonight had been about more than sex, at least to him. It felt like coming home after years at sea, like he’d found a worthy partner who saw past his crown. Who saw the broken man he was and discovered beauty in the flaws he’d tried so hard to disguise.
And she was gone.
Bash made quick work of dressing, yanking on his discarded trousers. He didn’t brush his hair in place, and the long strands stuck up in every direction.
He marched to the corridor, where he came across the lone guard stationed outside of her room. His mouth was open, and guttural snores escaped from his lips. Kicking at the soldier’s foot, Bash had to remind himself to hold back his simmering anger. The boy snorted, drowsy eyes widening upon finding his king glaring down at him.
“Sir!” He bolted to his feet, a deep red blush painting his cheeks and ears.
“Where is she?” he asked, his tone menacing in its timber. The guard shook his head, clearly uncertain Margrete was missing in the first place. “I—I don’t kn—”
“Alert the others,” Bash barked. “Find her.” The pounding in his chest amplified as he dashed down the stairs. The clatter of waking guards filled the midnight halls. “Check on the count,” Bash snapped at a passing soldier. The man nodded and raced off to fulfill his task.
He didn’t particularly enjoy this new sensation of crushing concern, of overwhelming alarm. It tugged at his heart in ways that caused his breaths to turn ragged. He knew Casbian had to be involved with her disappearance. Bash didn’t believe for one second that Margrete would have left him willingly.
She’d made her choice, as surely as Bash made his.
His men were halfway through their search of the palace when sirens rang out in the early morning light. Three sharp pangs of warning.
The tolling bells of an impending attack.
Bash cursed beneath his breath as he raced to an open balcony overlooking the southern side of the island.
Adrian marched over to his leader and grabbed the railing at his king’s side. It appeared as if the commander had yet to sleep, and dark circles painted below his eyes.
“Margrete’s missing,” Bash said in a rush.
“What about the count—”
“He’s gone!” A guard raced over, interrupting Adrian. “Casbian’s room is empty as well, and his guards are unconscious.”
“Search the grounds!” Adrian barked commands to his men, his voice uncharacteristically severe.
“Here.” Adrian handed over a silver spyglass. Bash nodded his thanks and brought the glass to his eye to scan the horizon.
The sky lit up before Bash’s eyes. The apparatus was one of Azantian’s greatest feats of machinery. Instead of endless black, the instrument painted the world in an amber glow, just bright enough to clearly make out the reason for the alarm bells.
Black sails fluttered in the wind, a red and onyx flag soaring above the crow’s nest, the mighty hawk sigil flying through the skies.
Captain Wood’s flag.
Wood’s grand vessel, the Iron Mast, was anchored about one hundred yards beyond the outer band surrounding the island. The steel barrier would do well to hinder his advance, but Bash knew it wouldn’t stop him for long.
“Are all the bridges drawn up?” Bash asked in a low voice, his rage barely concealed.
“Yes. My men raised them when he was first sighted,” Adrian replied, “but they’ve brought longboats with them. They’re making their way across now.”
Bash let loose a string of colorful curses.
“Is everyone at their stations?” he asked, though his mind was elsewhere. He felt the rush of adrenaline only an impending battle could ignite, and the surge of icy fear brought back the painful memories o
f the night he’d lost his father. The first night the captain raided his home.
He refused to let Wood attack Azantian a second time.
“Yes, we have initiated our contingency plan. Five hundred armed soldiers are manning the southern banks, and the remaining men are preparing the city for a possible ambush should they breach the perimeter.”
There couldn’t be a way for a ship of that size—perhaps carrying two hundred men—to breach their defenses and defeat five hundred Azantian trained soldiers. This was the thought that Bash repeated over and over again until he believed it to be true.
“Good. Bring me updates.” Bash lowered the telescope. “Everyone needs to be on guard.” Captain Wood might very well have something up his sleeve. He’d already proven that he would commit any crime—no matter how heinous—to further his own agenda.
Nothing was out of the question.
He also knew it was no mere coincidence that Margrete vanished just as the captain readied to storm Azantian. Somehow, he’d gotten ahold of her, right out from under Bash’s nose. It was his fault that she was gone, back in the clutches of her despicable father.
“Sire!”
Bash reluctantly turned to find a young soldier sprint into the room, sweat dampening his dark brow. “The advisor…” He panted, trying to catch his breath. “We found him on the beach. His throat—his throat had been cut.”
“What?” Bash shook his head, disbelieving. Black spots fluttered across his vision as his heart squeezed painfully.
“That’s not the most unsettling part, my king.” The young guard swallowed hard. “It appears as though he’s been dead for some time. At least a few weeks. The body shows disturbing signs of decay, and the stench—”
“We’ll discuss this later.” Adrian dismissed the man with a nod and turned to Bash. Their eyes locked.
Bash felt his entire world shift. How could Ortum’s body show signs of decay? It was impossible. He’d only just gone missing, and the gates still held, even if just barely. If Ortum had been dead for so long, the whole island would have known it by now.
The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea Page 29
