The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Twenty-Four

Margrete

That afternoon,Adrian was kind enough to take Margrete to the training terrace where a welcome breeze battled the scorching sun. Still, she found herself sweating by the time Adrian demonstrated how to get out of a chokehold. It didn’t help that her mind drifted elsewhere—back to all the truths Bash had revealed in the library.

Truth he’d trusted her with.

There wasn’t much time until dinner when she returned to her chambers. She found a cool bath waiting and was about to slip into the bathing suite when a flash of red caught her eye. She stopped in her tracks, zeroing in on a leather-bound book placed on the edge of her dresser.

Margrete moved closer to pick up the tome, its edges rounded and worn. Running a cautious hand across the faded cover, she brought it to her nose, shutting her eyes as she breathed in the familiar scent.

It smelled of him.

Margrete exhaled slowly before setting it back on the dresser. She turned to the bathing suite, forcing the book and the meaning behind it to the back of her thoughts.

But it was when she was sinking into the tub, her aching limbs seeming to sigh in relief, that she felt the crushing weight of reality rob her breath.

If her father didn’t trade her for the Heart, and Ortum couldn’t call forth the missing power—that divine essence bestowed to Azantian by the sea god himself—then what would happen to her world? A world she hadn’t even begun to explore, with people she hadn’t yet met and adventures she longed to be a part of.

Bash opened her eyes in the library, making her appreciate how vital his mission was to the realm. Margrete now understood that she couldn’t hinder his endeavors any longer. She would willingly go back to her father—if he made the trade—and she would do so knowing what was at stake.

This acceptance helped her realize something else. Right now, at this very moment, she wasn’t at the keep. Not under her father’s thumb. No. She was here, in one of the most legendary and stunning places known only through books of lore. And maybe she just wanted to enjoy the time she had left, to indulge for once in her young life.

While shadows of doubt followed her as she dressed for dinner, there was also a lightness in her heart, a feeling of peace that came from letting all else go. She breathed in the wonder she’d previously denied herself, and the crushing weight of the things she couldn’t control tumbled from her shoulders. Even as the sands of time flowed to the bottom of the hourglass, she felt...liberated.

It was minutes after she’d finished dressing and mere seconds after she’d put the last touches on her smoothed hair that a familiar voice startled her.

“I can genuinely say I’m impressed by you.” Bay stood by the portal, his hands shoved into his fine blue trousers, a bored look on his face. “Adrian told me all about your little midnight sail. He saw Bash bring you back into the palace, your clothes all wet and your hand bloody.”

Margrete flushed. She hoped Adrian hadn’t seen what else had conspired on the beach.

“I seem rather terrible at escaping.”

“You truly are,” Bay said. “Possibly the worst displays I’ve ever seen, though one has to admire your determination.”

If they were friends, true friends, she might’ve gently smacked his shoulder. Instead, she shook her head and tried not to roll her eyes.

“Well, shall we?” Bay asked. “I bet you want to eat before you try something else tonight. Bash really has his hands full with you.”

She wanted to tell Bay that she wasn’t a flight risk anymore, that she’d made up her mind to stay, but the words didn’t find their way to her mouth. Instead, she smiled and walked beside him to dinner.

By the time they entered the dining hall, Ortum, Nerissa, and Shade were already present, Nerissa tapping her long nails impatiently on the glass tabletop. Margrete took her seat with Bay at her side. Not long after, Bash and Adrian arrived, the former wearing a scowl.

As he lowered himself into his seat, Bash met her gaze. Gradually, his eyes drifted to her wrapped hand. She saw a hint of concern flash across his stoic features, but then he twisted to Adrian, who sat on his left.

Ortum appeared noticeably drained, his shoulders drooping, coral eyes creased. He caught her stare more than once and held it, bestowing her with knowing smiles. The man was born from a god. He was the reason the gates remained strong after Malum’s heart had been stolen. She’d been wrong to feel uneasy around him, though to be honest, her pulse still raced whenever she locked eyes with the ancient man. Margrete told herself it was merely because of what he was.

Surely that had to be why her stomach churned.

Dinner was served while the king and his commander caught up in deep conversation. Not that it mattered much to her. She endured in silence for most of the meal, occasionally sneaking peeks at the Azantian king. Only once did he catch her, and she quickly averted her eyes to Bay, who proceeded to ask how she liked her fish.

Her mood, the one she fashioned from hope that she was doing the right thing, diminished the longer she was in the king’s presence. He was a living reminder that there were so many things she hadn’t experienced. Whatever was happening between them—the teasing, the flirting, the stolen moments—would come to an end. A week ago, she would’ve laughed at such a thought, that she would possess any sort of remorse over leaving. Now, the idea of never seeing him again left her feeling hollow.

At her side, Bay tried his best to carry their conversation, but she found it too difficult for practiced niceties. While his attention momentarily brought a weak smile to her lips, it faded, replaced with a frown that wouldn’t seem to leave.

Instead, she passed the time by fidgeting with the ring Arabel had given her at the market. The polished band glittered with every rotation, and she thought of the woman and her mysterious words. Maybe Arabel was simply mad, but the ring settled her roiling emotions, and for that, Margrete was thankful.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Bay confessed, his voice hushed so no one else could hear. It seemed he’d forgiven her earlier brusqueness and recognized that her silence signified a greater hopelessness.

Across the table, Bash lifted his head, ears perked as he listened. Shade was speaking animatedly about some new vessel being constructed, but Bash’s focus remained steadily on the captain’s daughter.

Margrete willed her thoughts away from the king and responded to Bay’s declaration with a melancholy smile. “I find myself wishing to be anywhere but back at that keep. However, I do not plan on staying long.”

“Bash doesn’t have a choice.”

In sending her home, he meant. In exchange for the Heart.

“I understand that now. Bash explained the importance of this trade, and while I do not look forward to it, I understand why he’s worked so tirelessly to return order. Something I can’t help but commend him for.” She shot Bay a look and, attempting to lighten the mood, said, “But don’t tell him that. Wouldn’t wish to inflate his ego further.”

Even though freely cooperating in the trade was the right thing to do, panic squeezed her lungs at the thought of returning to her father. The captain’s presence always turned her into a helpless girl. No matter how old she was, he had a way of making her feel so small.

Margrete suddenly pushed up, her chair screeching against the polished marble floors. “I’m tired,” she announced, suddenly the target of every eye in the room. “I’d like to retire for the evening.”

All of those eyes shifted to Bash as if asking his permission for her. He nodded, and their heads dropped in response to refocus their wavering attentions to their full plates. Bash shoved out of his chair, hands smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles of his trousers. “I’ll accompany you back.”

Nerissa’s fork clattered to the plate, the sound echoing.

“Adrian can always do that, Bash,” she chimed, her sing-song voice laced with apprehension.

Bash stiffened. “There’s no need.” He gave Nerissa a nod of dismissal, but the seer wouldn’t be silenced.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea?” The room fell into an uneasy hush. “We all see what’s happening here, and as I’ve told you before—”

“Enough, Nerissa,” Shade said. Nerissa shut her mouth and averted her gaze.

Margrete swallowed hard, ready to flee the tension that had swarmed the room. She was thankful when Bay stood up, gave her a quick peck on her forehead, and wished her a good night. Adrian merely bestowed his usual gentle smile, but his eyes flickered to Nerissa.

“Let’s go.” Bash tilted his head, and she didn’t hesitate to leave.

When they were safely in the main foyer, beyond the hearing of the others, Margrete asked, “What was that all about?”

Bash let out a groan. “Nerissa is very…protective of me. She seems to think that you and I are…” A hint of color entered his cheeks. “That we’re getting closer than we should.”

They were getting closer than they should.

Bash closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of the silence deafening.

“I know this isn’t what you want. Tomorrow, I mean,” Bash began, uncharacteristically tentative, “but I trust you will not let him win ever again.” Bash took her hand in his, his warmth wrapping around her fingers. “You have no idea what I would do for my people and the waters I’ve been entrusted to protect. Without you, my legacy, my sacred duty…”

“You no longer have to convince me, Bash,” she promised. He nodded, yet to release her hand.

A long moment passed between them. As if they couldn’t help themselves, they drifted closer, pulled by that cursed invisible bond. Margrete’s chest filled with heat.

“You didn’t count the cutlery.” The words tumbled from her lips without thought, but they had their desired effect.

Bash took a step back. His eyes slowly lit up, the gold flecks swirling with renewed mischief. “Ahh, yes. It must have slipped my mind.” He squeezed her hand, and she could’ve sworn the smile he wore brightened the entire hall. “How very kind of you to remind me.”

“Just giving you a heads up, is all.” She shrugged, her chest loosening. With the moment shattered, she could breathe again.

“Hmm. Well, if you plan on trying to kill me tonight—again, I might add—then at least do me the kindness of allowing me to show you my favorite place on the island. Though, I might be the only one who holds that opinion.”

Margrete’s lips parted. She was torn. If she went with him now, she might find herself liking him even more. A part of her missed the days when it was easy to hate him.

“And if you could wait to murder me until after we get to our destination, I’d appreciate it. I’d hate for my blood to stain the marble floors. They were just polished.”

“I’ll consider your request.” She smirked, shooting him a shrewd look. She nearly faltered when both dimples popped up on his cheeks.

Bash tugged on her hand, sending her feet into motion. “Come on, princess. Let’s go before you get any more ideas about drugging me again.”

As they walked, the quivering flames of the sconces danced upon the glass walls, highlighting the natural beauty of the palace. They passed countless gilded archways and intricate doors, and Margrete speculated silently as to what each one concealed. She was about to inquire what lay behind a forest-green door with intricate silver spikes when Bash abruptly halted. Margrete collided into his muscular back with a groan.

“Ouch.” She rubbed at her forehead, and Bash twisted around to smirk. But he didn’t apologize, and he didn’t let go of her hand.

They’d just descended a flight of stone steps where a set of iron doors loomed at the end of a stretched hall. With a lightness in his step, Bash pulled her along, closing the gap between them and the approaching doors, each footstep echoing.

“Through here.” Bash waved his hand over the lock. The tarnished metal felt out of place amongst the ethereal silver and delicate sea glass of Azantian.

The lock clicked, and a light flashed. The gates swung open a second later.

“I’d ask how you did that, but I have a feeling it’s similar to the workings of my portal.”

“You’d be correct,” Bash replied, ushering her into the gloom and beyond the dim lighting of the corridor. “The magic responds to those who are granted access, but not many have access to this place.”

“I can’t make out a damn thing.” She swore, stepping deeper into the void.

Bash chuckled, the rich sound of his laughter heightened in the dark. “Patience,” he chided, and clutched her tighter.

After many long moments of silence and darkness, Margrete prepared to hassle him for an explanation, but her open mouth soon closed.

A flicker of purple light shined across the rocky walls. It lasted but a heartbeat.

“Almost there,” Bash assured her, steering them farther into the tunnel’s depths.

If she narrowed her eyes, she could just make out the walkway, but even so, it wasn’t enough to move around without Bash’s assistance. He seemed to know this tunnel as well as he knew himself.

Margrete heard the patter of dripping water, the sound growing louder as they approached. Above, the ceiling rose hundreds of feet high, stalactites pointing threateningly to where Bash and Margrete stood. Every now and again, the ephemeral purple sparks ignited, leaving the jagged walls buzzing with living color. When those playful lights faded, their world was once again cast into obscure darkness.

“Just wait for it.” A beam of light illuminated Bash as he held up a lone finger. His eyes shifted to the center of the cavern’s ceiling, a spiraling roof that escalated to a single apex—much like the inside of a tower.

“What am I waiting for?” she whispered, growing increasingly curious. Something about this place was both familiar and uncomfortably sinister.

“I promise…You won’t regret it.”

Another flicker of violet brightened his emerald eyes which held an unnatural quality. It made him appear wraithlike, a ghost of a soul with a human face.

When nothing happened, she said, “Still waiting, pirate.

“Patience certainly isn’t one of your virtues, princess.” Bash’s face glowed with a boyish smile. Whatever this place was, it meant a lot to the king.

“What is it called?” she asked, her voice low. “It’s…unreal.” That was an understatement for what she was witnessing.

“This is the Adiria Cavern. Roughly translated to the soul,” Bash replied reverently. “Malum stood on these hallowed grounds and forged the island with his lover. Even we Azantians don’t know all the secrets that this place holds.”

Her pulse quickened with anticipation.

“It happens once a day, always at the same time. Most watch it from above, but I like to watch it from down here. It’s like being inside of a starflame.” Bash chuckled. “Just don’t ask Adrian about it. He has way too many theories about this place and will talk about it for hours.”

Margrete smiled at the thought. She could picture Adrian doing just that.

“What’s a starflame?” she asked.

Another flare lit up Bash’s face, and she glimpsed the crookedness of his grin. “Oh, you’ll see.”

Caught up in his excitement, Bash inched behind her until his chest pressed flush against her back. Looming over her with his chin brushing the top of her curls, he trailed his finger against the underside of her jaw.

Tipping her head back, he whispered into the shell of her ear, “Look up.” His breath came out ragged and hot.

She froze, icy adrenaline coiling through her chest. The kind that made her knees weak and her breaths short.

Her swirling thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Bash pushed more firmly into her back, the solidness of him pressing against her. Like a switch, the ability to care that he was touching her in this way vanished.

He dropped his hands to her waist and hooked his thumbs into the thin fabric of her trousers, gently digging them into her hips. Her responding exhale came out shaky and uneven, and Margrete had to bite her lip to contain her trembling.

She mouthed a silent curse.

“Right now,” Bash whispered, “in the dark where it’s only us, I want to pretend. There is no tomorrow. I’m not a king, and you’re simply a woman who drives me insane.” His raspy words tickled her skin. “For once, I don’t want to hold myself back.” He pressed his lips to the side of her neck and drifted down to her collarbone, his mouth warming her flesh. “I don’t want to resist what you do to me. What you’ve been doing to me since the moment I saw you.” His lips brushed the sensitive area below her ear. “Would you like to pretend with me, princess? Give in for just a night?”

She couldn’t breathe properly. Not when he was touching her—kissing her—like this. Instantly, she was transported back to the beach, to the moment she leaned up and pressed her lips against his. How right it had felt. How oddly...natural.

In answer to his question, his plea to simply pretend, Margrete wrapped her hands around his muscled forearms. He let out a hiss when she trailed her fingers across his skin, his nose pressed into her hair.

She imagined it helped being here, secluded in a cavern of wonder, hidden from the eyes of the men and women he ruled. He could simply be…Bash. It had to be why he brought her here, so he didn’t have to think about all the many reasons they shouldn’t be doing this.

As the violet lightning struck the sides of the damp cavern and their combined breaths became their own kind of forbidden melody, Margrete felt drunk off his nearness. Bash was a rush, and she craved the high.

“Margrete.” Bash’s voice cracked with a desperateness that curled her toes. “What have you done to me—”

And then their world exploded.

Violent bursts of light and color erupted, breaking free from their rocky prison. It was startling, the sheer brilliance of it. Blinding and hypnotizing all at once.

Margrete gawked as the cavern danced with life, the violet-blue gems embedded in the walls igniting with life, a thousand flecks of burnished silver captured within their smooth facets. She stood in the center of an enchantment, gaping as resplendent waves of periwinkle and plum crested and fell against the rugged walls. Like an echo, those incandescent ripples pulsed across the stone ceiling, which became a spiked sky of delicate fairy stars.

Back in the center, the lights danced, tinsel sparks of purple frolicking up to the spiraling point. Pirouetting around and around, they erupted into an explosive finale, bolts of lilac and vibrant orchid shattering as they fought to escape through the pinprick of an opening. A single star could be seen from where they stood, and Margrete knew without a doubt it was the same star sailors followed when they lost their way home.

Bash tightened his grip on her waist, sending her jolting back from her dazed trance. The cavern’s roof settled and shook, once again calming to darkness and then on to nothing.

They were left in the pitch black, alone. Without her sight—in this void where reality couldn’t find them—Margrete swung around. Even in the dark, Bash found her face, and he cradled her cheeks in his hands. His touch was tender, and Margrete’s eyes fluttered closed.

His breathing grew closer until she could feel his hot breath tickling her lips. She could do this. Pretend. Give in to the magic and give in to her desires.

“Bash—”

The force of his lips silenced her. He snaked his hand through her curls, fisting her hair at the nape of her neck. She groaned against his mouth, half in surprise and half in blissful relief. In his ironclad hold, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and in the darkness, she could feed her hunger, the fierce longing she was helpless to fight now that she’d tasted him.

His kiss was soft, reverent. Bash took his time, exploring her mouth with his tongue and groaning when she slipped her own past his parted lips.

His hands roamed her body, cupping her backside, her hips. His skillful fingers teased as they grazed the undersides of her breasts. Everywhere he touched she burned. Her own hands explored the rippling muscles of his chest, and she cursed the thin layer of linen that contained his heat.

When his tongue traced along the seam of her lips once more, she began to ache, the throbbing need between her legs the sweetest form of torture. She moaned, pleading, and curved her hips toward him, unable to resist, needing so badly to feel him.

Bash ravished her with renewed hunger, commanding her lips as he teased her tongue in ways she hadn’t thought possible. Even in a world of magic.

But this was an entirely different manner of enchantment.

She arched against him again, her mind lost to wanting, and a low groan rumbled in Bash’s chest.

“Margrete.” He pulled away, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. There was an unspoken question held captive within her name, and when he slowly undid the buttons of her trousers, she understood his need to touch her. He was hesitant as he toyed with the band of her pants, waiting for her permission.

Margrete lifted to her toes and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Yes,” she whispered against his mouth. “Gods, yes.”

He groaned as he slid his fingers between her legs, leisurely moving up and down her silken undergarments. He paused when he felt the evidence of her desire, his chest reverberating with approval.

“You’re so very wet, princess,” he murmured as he ruined her in the most sinful of ways. “Have you fantasized about this? My fingers on your skin, between your legs?” She may have nodded, but everything became a blur. “I know I have. Since the moment I met you, I haven’t thought of anything else. My need only worsened the more you challenged me, the more you surprised me…” He let out a strained exhale. “You’ve thoroughly corrupted me.”

She could feel the smile on his lips when he kissed her, his forehead pressed against hers as he worked his skillful fingers under the silk band separating their skin. She gasped at the contact.

“Tell me what you want, Margrete,” he rasped, his hungry voice sending shivers down her spine. That delicious ache in her core only grew, turning her into a panting mess.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” He glided across her heat, his strokes purposely light as he teased her. “Do you want me inside you?”

She sucked in a breath, and all she could do in reply was nod her head, a sound between a gasp and a groan falling from her mouth.

Bash chuckled darkly. “I see,” he said, and his touch finally drifted to the most sensitive part of her. He worked his thumb in gentle circles. “More?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, her voice airy and wanton as she thrust herself deeper into his palm, shamefully begging.

Another groan escaped him, and she shuddered at the sound.

He nipped at her ear. “I can’t wait to feel you fall apart,” he whispered, before he plunged a finger inside her.

Margrete arched, releasing a frantic cry.

“That’s it,” he coaxed when she began to move with him. A strangled whimper left her as her hips matched his lazy pace, but she needed more. So much more.

“Bash.” His name was a prayer. “Please.”

She had told herself she wouldn’t beg, but she no longer cared. The throbbing ache was almost painful, that coiling heat inside of her tightening. Another finger joined the first, filling and stretching her so completely. She bit her bottom lip when he truly began to move, thrusting his fingers in and out as his thumb pleasured her in ways she had never known.

She clutched his shoulders, her nails biting into the hard muscle. She held on tight, feeling like she might explode, much like the lightning that had erupted in the cave. She was going to—

The world around them ceased to exist. She was plummeting, falling into agonizing bliss. Her body shuddered as Bash held her steady, as sparks flashed behind her closed eyelids.

His movements slowed, milking every ounce of pleasure from her body.

Margrete’s head fell against his chest, her breathing uneven—as was his. “That was…”

She had no words.

“I know, princess.” Bash slipped his hand from her trousers, and she instantly mourned the loss of him. “I only wish I could’ve seen your face.”

A lone bolt of periwinkle sparked, and Margrete’s lids fluttered open, catching a hazy glimpse of him. His hair was tousled, those full lips parted. He looked as undone as she felt.

Darkness filled the cavern once more, and with it, Margrete found the courage to reach for his trousers.

But Bash stopped her, placing a hand over hers.

“No. Tonight was about you.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles sweetly. “I got my wish already, and I fear I’ve taken far more than I deserve.”

“Bash—”

He silenced her with his mouth as his hands once more tangled in her hair. While Margrete’s lips were occupied, her hands were not.

The clang of his belt echoed in the cavern, and before he could pull away and protest, Margrete cupped his hard length in the palm of her hand. Bash groaned into her mouth even as his body went rigid.

Margrete didn’t cease kissing him until she’d freed his velvety smoothness. Cautiously, she began to move her hand. The noises that escaped Bash were the most beautiful sounds she’d ever heard.

“Margrete.” He chanted her name, his hot breath fanning across her parted lips.

“You say you don’t deserve anything in return,” she said, her movements quickening. Bash’s grip on her hair tightened, and she savored the slight sting. “But you didn’t consider what I want, dear pirate.” She could feel him swelling, throbbing in her palm. “And I want to touch you. Make you fall apart by my hand.”

He was nearing release. She could tell by the way his breathing stuttered, the way he gripped her hair even tighter, the way his body trembled. His hips began to move with the rhythm of her touch, and soon, a moan ripped from his chest, echoing off the cavern walls.

Margrete smiled in the dark, relishing the way he lost control. Sucking in a sharp inhale, Bash stiffened, and she swallowed his next moan with a kiss. She devoured the sounds of his pleasure as though they were hers alone.

When he calmed, still pulsing in her palm, Margrete pulled back, allowing him room to breathe.

He let his hands fall from her hair to cup her cheeks and rested his forehead against hers, their noses touching. “That was…Gods.” He sighed. “Never again shall I deny your wishes, princess.” He smiled against her skin as he kissed up and down the column of her throat, only to return to her mouth once more. When he finally pulled away, her lips were swollen and bruised, and he reached for her hand again. Their fingers interlocked. “Thank you,” he said.

Margrete’s brow scrunched. “For what?”

“For pretending with me.”