The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bash
It was justafter 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.
Casbian’s gaze grew fierce. “Our letters. The ones we’d been exchanging for months before our wedding.” His head slumped as he continued, the chains rattling. “She was funny and bright. Clever. She made me laugh at the simplest of things.” The corners of his lips quirked. “When I saw her for the first time…” His smile flourished. “I knew she was something to cherish, and I’d be lucky to marry a woman that smart, cunning, and incredibly beautiful.”
Bash’s stomach churned as he took in the way the count’s eyes creased with wonder when he spoke of Margrete. How he couldn’t help but smile when he brought up their letters. It made him nauseous.
There was a moment of silence, and then Adrian cleared his throat, stepping in when Bash remained silent.
“He claims that when the captain turned down the offer for a trade, he stole his stationery. He then wrote the letter agreeing to meet and delivered it to our scout with Wood’s seal. He is adamant that the captain had no idea of his plan. That he acted alone.”
No, that couldn’t possibly be right.
“What did you get out of marrying Wood’s daughter? You can’t have me truly believing you fell in love with her based on a couple of letters and a few minutes in her presence?”
Even as Bash said the words, he realized his mistake.
He was guilty of nearly the same thing. While they hadn’t written one another sentimental love notes, and their time together had been limited, Bash had been under her spell since the moment she opened that wicked mouth of hers and cursed him.
Casbian’s eyes shone as he drank Bash in, a knowing look twisting his features. “I see what’s happening here,” he said, straightening as much as he could. “You care for her, too. That’s why you don’t believe me. Or don’t want to believe me. I’m not the villain she would spurn.”
Bash clenched his fists, attempting to regain his composure.
“That has nothing to do with it,” he snapped. “I don’t trust you, and I will find out why you are truly here.”
Bash made to leave. He didn’t have time for this.
“Wait!” Casbian shouted, and Bash begrudgingly turned. “I see it in your eyes. That you do care. But if that were actually the case, you’d let her leave with me and get as far away from this place as possible.”
“And why is that?” Bash asked, jaw clenched. His patience was running thin.
“You took her as a prisoner for fuck’s sake. Used her.” Casbian shook his head. “You haven’t thought about what’s good for her since you met. You still don’t, and you never will. Not when you wear that crown on your head.”
Bash’s breath caught in his chest. A lump was forming in his throat, and Casbian’s accusations wound around his neck and squeezed—an invisible noose.
“That’s not true at all—”
“Oh, but it is!” Casbian hissed, eyes growing wide. “You will never deserve a woman like that. Not when you will always choose your people over her. Your kingdom. You’re selfish and delusional to think otherwise.”
The noose around his throat tightened. He opened his mouth to argue, to claim he was deserving, but nothing came out. The words simply froze on the tip of his tongue.
Bash was the king of Azantian, protector of its seas. It was his birthright. His life’s mission. He knew then, with a sickening realization, that Casbian was right.
He couldn’t put her first.
“Finish questioning him,” he barked at Adrian in a rush, then twisted on a heel and strode away from the count and away from the truth that fell from his lips. He needed to run, to get as far from that dungeon as possible.
As Bash walked the corridors of the palace, his heart raced and his palms were slick with nerves. Those poisonous words kept looping around his mind. Taunting him.
The more he repeated them, the more he understood what he had to do. What he had to do for her. He may never be able to put her first, but, maybe, if Casbian was truly innocent, Margrete could be someone else’s entire world. When all was said and done, they would survive this disaster with the sea’s children, he would see to it, and Margrete would get her happy ending. She might very well find happiness with Casbian, a man who spoke of her like a treasured gift.
Bash had treated her like a ransom and only recently saw the errors of his ways.
He was at Margrete’s chambers before he realized where his legs had carried him. Where his heart had carried him.
The guard standing outside her rooms eyed him curiously but stayed silent. Bash raised his hand, about to open her portal, when something stopped him. Guilt or shame or some unnamable emotion. He lowered his hand back to his side.
He turned around, the count’s words growing into a sickening chorus. When he entered the privacy of his own chambers, he allowed himself to slide down the back of his door, his body crumbling onto the stones.
Honor would always dictate that Bash should put his island above all else. He’d rather see Margrete leave with the count than be a king’s second choice.
Even if it cleaved him in two.