The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Twenty-Five

Margrete

Dawn came too soon.

Margrete dressed in pants and a lightweight navy shirt, the sleeves rolled up and secured with pearl buttons. The linen trousers hung loosely on her hips, so she fastened them in place with a belt made of crushed opals.

If she wasn’t set to meet her fate, she might’ve admired how she looked in the mirror—not like herself. Not the Margrete from Prias. This would have even brought a smile to her lips, but she knew better than to smile. She knew better than to hope or to wonder what if.

That hadn’t worked out so well thus far.

Last night came back in a rush. She could still feel Bash inside of her, his lips against hers as she pressed against his body. Gods, she could still hear his groan as he came undone.

Margrete cursed, shutting her eyes and willing away thoughts of Bash and what they shared. She told herself they’d only been pretending, that it wasn’t real.

But she also knew a lie when she heard one, even if she was only lying to herself.

“Good morning.”

Margrete’s lids jolted open, and the man she’d been fantasizing about stood before her like some chiseled god. The breeze from the balcony ruffled his hair, sending it flying into his piercing stare, the green in his irises vibrant in the rising sun.

“Bash,” she greeted, trying to regain her composure. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I knocked,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Had she been that consumed by her carnal thoughts that she hadn’t heard his approach? Apparently so.

He swallowed hard as he took a hesitant step closer. “I wanted you to know that…last night meant something to me,” he began, staring at her lips. “I wish today didn’t have to happen.” His throat bobbed, the muscles in his jaw impossibly tight.

Margrete knew he was attempting to present a strong facade, but it took only one look into his eyes for her to feel the crushing weight of his regret.

“It’s all right, Bash,” she said, taking both of his hands from his pockets and squeezing them. He cursed beneath his breath, but she squeezed him even tighter.

Bash threaded his fingers through hers, holding her steady as her pulse fluttered.

She was physically unable to speak when he looked at her that way.

He freed one of his hands and placed it on her cheek. “I’d forgotten what it was like to feel, Margrete Wood.” His thumb rubbed soothing circles into her skin. “But my heart has never beat as fast and sure as it has when I’m in your presence.”

“Bash.” Her voice trembled as she said his name.

She wanted him to close the gap between them, to kiss her and weave his fingers through her hair again, to hold her against his solid body. Margrete wanted all of him.

Instead, he rested his forehead against hers, his warm breath tickling her nose. She inhaled his air, tasting a life she would be a fool to believe she could have. She tasted freedom, adventure, and nights spent with a rogue who might steal her heart if she wasn’t careful.

He laid his chin atop her curls, and she wound her arms around his torso without thought. For minutes they stood like this, a frozen portrait of remorse and farewell. Finally, Bash spoke into her hair, barely above a whisper.

“It’s time, princess.”

Margrete pulled back abruptly, leaving the warmth he offered, abandoning what was had never truly been hers to begin with.

Bash stiffened, a statue of a man conflicted. At his sides, his hands rose as if to cup her cheeks once more, only to lower and curl into fists instead.

“Let’s go, then.” She broke the silence that had descended. “We can’t delay the inevitable much longer.”

As Margrete walkedacross the glass bridge leading to the docks, she thought about how the waters appeared duller than when she’d arrived. The sky was overcast and dreary, and the bleakness of this new day matched her emotions.

Margrete tried not to think about the perilous journey ahead. Of what seeing her father would do to her. But her reality refused to be ignored.

In the distance, the wharf teemed with sailors bustling to finish fitting the vessel before the fateful voyage. A few smaller boats rocked on the waves, but the ship’s cobalt beauty stole all the focus.

“It seems you’ve made quite the lasting impression,” Bash murmured in her ear as they stepped onto the ever-changing planks leading to the Phaedra. Neither of them had spoken a word since they’d left her chambers.

Before she had time to wonder who he was talking about, a familiar voice drifted over her shoulder, deep and kind.

“Margrete,” Adrian said.

She turned around to find him and Bay standing there, worry etching every line of their handsome faces. They each held out an arm, and she went to them, allowing them to fold her up in an embrace. She would miss these two unlikely friends more than she cared to admit.

“We had to say goodbye.” Bay sighed, squeezing and then releasing her shoulders. Adrian stepped back, eyes downcast.

“You’ve brought more excitement to this island than I’ve seen in a long time.” When she shot him a look, Bay added, “And I get attached rather quickly to cunning women who scale palaces and wield words like knives. Especially ones who can make our brooding king smile. Gods know he’s been in a better mood since you arrived—”

“Bay.” Adrian’s lips stretched thin in warning.

“Fine, fine.” Bay waved him off. “But you know it’s true.”

Margrete glanced at her boots as heat crept up her neck. “Well, I’ll miss you both,” she said, suddenly feeling vulnerable. It wasn’t a feeling she relished. “Perhaps we might meet again. In this world or the next.”

“Margrete,” Bash said from behind her. “We need to leave before the winds change.”

Both Bay and Adrian bowed their heads, almost as if in respect. It warmed her heart and filled her with the strength she would need for her journey.

“Goodbye, Adrian. Bay.” She nodded at them both.

Adrian dipped his chin while Bay pulled her to his chest for one final hug.

“Be good, Margrete.” He waved as he backed away. “Oh, and Bash?” Bay raised a brow. “Take care of her, will you? She deserves better.”

Adrian’s eyes widened, and then he dragged his boyfriend behind him and far away from their king.

“He’s right,” Bash said after a moment, attempting a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He held out his arm for her to grasp, and she noticed how that smile wavered. She moved to him without hesitation.

Bash gently guided her up the gangway and onto the expansive deck. Not once did his grip loosen, but his features transformed into stone with every step they took.

“Gius.” Bash tilted his head in greeting to a stout man with graying blonde hair and deep blue eyes.

The older man gave a slight bow. “Everything is set to go, sir. On your command.” Bash gave a brusque nod of approval, and Gius scrambled off toward his gathering men.

“He’s the quartermaster,” Bash murmured, answering Margrete’s unspoken question.

“Why does he address you so casually?”

“I don’t believe in titles when they aren’t necessary. Especially out here.” He jerked his head to the open waters. “No man is a king. There is only family.”

An abundance of churning emotion swirled in his emerald eyes, and his jaw clenched as he avoided her gaze.

“You’ll be safe on this vessel. It was built from the wood of the Soliana Forest.” When she raised her brow, he explained. “It’s where the first tree grew on our island and is considered a sacred site. Any ship constructed from its wood has known only safe passage and swift winds.”

There was so much she didn’t know about Azantian.

She wished she had more time.

“I’d still suggest you remain below deck in case of unpleasant weather,” he added, “but I suspect you won’t heed my wishes.” She detected the tiniest bit of playfulness in his tone.

“You’d suspect correctly,” she countered, enjoying how he fought not to smile. It seemed she had a talent for loosening his mask, even if only slightly.

“Go below with me anyway? If only to humor me.”

She smiled and nodded as she slipped her arm through his; he knew her well.

Bash steered her around his busy men and below deck to the same cabin she’d arrived in. She wandered over to the cot and took a seat, her limbs suddenly as exhausted as her mind.

“Margrete?”

She stilled at the use of her full name. Bash so rarely ever called her anything other than princess, a term she was beginning to see as an endearment. He stood tall, an arm resting casually against the cabin’s doorframe. It might have appeared a relaxed stance, but the sea star tattoo on his arm curled in on itself, hiding.

Margrete swallowed the lump in her throat when he crossed the short distance between them and went to his knees, hands splayed on either side of her on the cot.

“Maybe after all of this—” his hands drifted closer, grazing the sides of her thighs “—you can find a way out of there and make your own path.” His fingers inched higher, causing her breath to catch. “If I didn’t have faith that you could do that, then I might not be going through with this now.”

Those wicked hands remained on her thighs, her skin boiling beneath the thin barrier of her trousers. She watched as Bash slowly, painstakingly so, slid his hands to her hips, his searing touch a brand.

“I will not stay there.” The words were fire in her throat. “Do not worry about that.”

He nodded and tilted his face to meet her eyes from where he kneeled.

A king on his knees.

The sight would’ve sent her reeling if she wasn’t already teetering on the edge of reason.

“I have every confidence that you won’t.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes never leaving hers. “Maybe we will even meet again one of these days, Miss Wood.”

Margrete’s heart thundered at the promise.

“If we do, then I can assure you that I will certainly be equipped with something far deadlier than a dinner knife.”

Bash’s stoic face morphed, his eyes crinkling as he fought a grin.

“And I look forward to that day, princess.” He trailed a knuckle down her cheek.

Margrete’s eyes fluttered shut. But then his hand fell from her face, and coldness replaced his warmth.

By the time Margrete opened her eyes, he was gone.