The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn
Chapter Fifty-One
Margrete
Margrete’s lidsfluttered open to a room full of shadows. Her head was a pounding mess and every muscle ached and throbbed. She cursed, blinking until her vision cleared, though pinpricks of black continued to dance across her sight.
She scanned her surroundings.
Heavy black covers were draped across her body, and she was carefully positioned in the middle of the softest bed she could imagine. Close by, a weak fire blossomed in a hearth before two high-backed velvet chairs. Smoke and wood and another familiar scent filled her senses.
Bash’s chambers.
With a groan, Margrete propped herself onto her elbows and squinted in the dim light for a sign of the king. The last time she’d seen him was just before she destroyed her father’s ship. After that…
Margrete had no idea how she wound up here.
She was about to open her mouth and call his name when a broad figure emerged from the shadows of the room. Instinctively, she jolted at the sight. Her mind went to Darius, to the god who vowed he’d come for her next, but then the man stepped closer to the fire, revealing the concerned face of her king.
“Bash,” she said, her voice hoarse. “What the hell happened?” She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers going to her temple.
“Hey, it’s all right, princess. You’re all right.” She opened her eyes to find him already at her side.
She realized then that, even with the covers, she was shivering. Her entire body felt like it had been dipped in icy water.
Bash perched beside her and grasped both her hands. The meager flames from the hearth highlighted every twist of emotion he couldn’t mask.
“Everything is fine,” he said, before she could ask. “The captain is gone, and Adrian and Bay took out his mercenaries.”
She relaxed, if only slightly. Adrian and Bay were alive.
“And Birdie? Where’s my sister?” Fear laced her words. She’d left her on the docks, where the serpent—
“She’s safe, I promise,” Bash rushed on to say. “Shade found her hiding beneath a longboat after…after Wood’s ship went down.”
He meant after Margrete killed him.
Her chest squeezed painfully.
A memory of Shade at the feast came back to her, of the jagged burn mark concealed by her hair. Margrete shook off the unease the image conjured. She was being paranoid, but after everything she’d experienced, there was every reason to be.
“Where is Birdie now?”
“Sleeping safely down the hall,” Bash said, cupping her cheek tenderly. “I’m sure she’ll want to see you when she wakes.”
“Darius?” His name was a curse on her lips.
The bastard had vanished before she could face him again.
Bash sighed, moving his hand to the nape of her neck. The solidness of him soothed her frayed nerves. “No one knows. We searched the island for signs of him, but we found nothing…” His brows pinched, and he glanced away, jaw tense.
“What is it?” Sitting upright, she took his chin between her fingers and turned his head to face her. “What else aren’t you saying?”
His throat bobbed. “We found Ortum’s body. He was discovered right before Wood deployed his men.”
“Ortum’s...dead?”
Bash nodded, the movement stiff. “That’s not all that was found.”
Margrete wound her arms around his torso, sensing his pain, even if he tried to temper it. She would be there for him, as he’d been there for her when she needed him.
“There was a brand on his body. Two interwoven circles.” Bash glanced up at that, finally meeting her eye.
The same symbol that haunted her. The one she couldn’t help but believe belonged to a certain vengeful god.
“We’re not sure what to make of it, but his body…Well, it appears as if he’s been dead for weeks.”
She swallowed hard. That was impossible.
If Ortum had been dead for weeks, then who the hell was the man she’d met? Someone pretending to be the advisor as they wore his every feature?
No one had that kind of power, only gods—
Gods.
Only a god could possess such potent magic.
The kind of god cursed to live as a mortal, to hide behind human faces.
Margrete ignored her racing pulse. Until she knew for certain, she wouldn’t voice her thoughts. Bash was already suffering enough.
“We’ll figure out what happened,” she said, though it was a weak comfort. She was drained, both mentally and physically, her body still buzzing with that overwhelming energy she couldn’t name.
Bash drew back the blankets and slipped into the bed beside her. Gently, he eased her head onto his chest and wrapped his thick arms around her. She could hear his heartbeat pounding in her ear.
She held onto that sound, the sound of life, holding its melody close to her own heart.
“You saved us all, princess,” Bash said after many long moments passed. “You…you were magnificent.”
“I didn’t do it. Malum’s heart did.”
It wasn’t her power. Not really.
She shifted to her side, and Bash mirrored her movements. They were nose to nose, his breath fanning across her lips.
Bash took her chin between his fingers. “You saved us. Not a god. Not the Heart. You were brave and daring and raced out to protect this island. That was all you.”
She didn’t feel like it was her, and she certainly didn’t feel brave.
“Bash, I—”
“No doubting yourself. Not anymore,” Bash said, his tone hard. “You were magnificent, princess. A goddess.”
Margrete shivered beneath his piercing gaze. His eyes were full of shadows and the deepest shades of night, but within his irises, stars sparkled. Margrete could get lost in them.
She already was.
She snaked her hand out from below the covers and trailed her finger along the underside of his strong jaw. She’d almost lost him today, and she needed to feel him. To remind herself he was still beside her.
Alive.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she choked out, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the impending tears at bay.
Bash’s face softened, his dark eyes creasing at the corners. He grasped her hips and pulled her impossibly close, her breasts pressed against his muscled chest.
She shuddered at the contact.
“I told you. Not even the gods could stand in my way.” Bash’s hold on her waist tightened. “Not when it comes to you.”
Her heart fluttered, and a single tear escaped.
“You kept your vow,” she said. The one he made to her on the Phaedra. But now, it was so much more than a vow. So much more than a promise.
Bash’s lips grazed hers in a tender caress. “And I intend to keep it.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And I will strike down any god”—his lips moved along the curve of her jaw—“who tries to take you from me.”
Margrete wanted to believe that, she did, but that maniacal look in Darius’s eyes when he promised he’d come for her had been seared into her mind.
“Bash,” she murmured. His mouth drifted to her throat, gently worshipping her skin. His every movement was languid, unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world to be here. Together.
“Kiss me already,” she demanded, grasping his chin and bringing his face to hers. “I need to feel you.”
Right here, with him, Darius wasn’t out there waiting, and the heart of a god didn’t rest within her soul.
It was only them.
“So demanding,” he whispered, just before pressing his lips against hers. The kiss was long and deep and full of fizzling sparks that tickled the inside of her chest. Bash groaned into her mouth, the sound brimming with unspoken need.
He wasn’t holding back anymore, and Margrete refused to either.
They would never pretend with one another again.
She smiled against his mouth.
“What is it?” he asked, drawing back to look at her. He didn’t ease his fierce grip on her waist, though she couldn’t imagine his arms anywhere but wrapped around her.
“Nothing,” she said. “Even with everything we’ve yet to do, I’m just…happy.”
Gods, was she happy.
She thought about tomorrow. About all the tomorrows they would have. How, for the first time in her life, she looked forward to the days ahead. Even with beasts loosed upon the world, and a missing god set on hunting her, Margrete knew she could face it all.
She had the King of Azantian at her side. But more than that, she was powerful in her own right, with or without the heart of a god inside her.
Margrete Wood changed her fate after all.
Gods and men be damned.