The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

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 of 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.

“We’ll find out what happened,” Adrian vowed, squeezing Bash’s shoulder. “Right now, we need to hold off Wood’s mercenaries.”

Sensing the impending threat, the shark on his forearm lurched to life, its pectoral fins twitching in warning. The beast unhinged its mighty jaw to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth ready to clamp down on its prey.

Soon, there would be blood in the waters.