Chapter 372:

Caspian

I find it hard to believe Nancy.

She told me this morning, quietly, almost hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure she should say it at all.

I still can’t believe it.

The so-called Devil of the Seas,the terror of Port Vermilion, the man who took the Pirate King’s eye, the man who made me sign a blood contract—is a woman?

I don’t believe it.

She doesn’t even look like a woman. She’s tall. Flat-chested. Her jaw is sharp. Her voice is low. She moves like a soldier, not a lady.

And a woman wouldn’t be so...

I stop the thought.

Nevermind.

I walk across the ship. There’s nothing to do. The sails are set. The course is plotted. The men are working, or drinking, or sleeping. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Which may be why I’ve been spending a little too much time with Marina.

I feel a small amount of guilt for Penelope. She’s at home, waiting for me, wearing my ring, carrying my name. But she understands. I am a man, after all. I have needs.

Besides, noble marriages are not born of love. Everyone knows that. The first wife is for the benefit of the family. The women you actually fancy—they become your other wives.

Marina is a spitfire. So different from the high-class ladies I grew up with. Proactive. Skilled. Alive.

I try not to think about the experience she must have to be that way. She told me not to judge her by the kingdom’s standards. She’s a pirate. She’s lived a different life.

Even if it leaves a sour taste in my mouth...

I am benefiting right now, am I not?

I spot Nancy at the bow, spyglass pressed to her eye, her other hand marking something on her map.

I walk toward her.

"Everything okay?"

She lowers the spyglass. Turns. Her face is calm, composed, unreadable.

"Everything is going just fine, Your Highness." She gives a slight bow.

Nancy was a surprise.

When I began searching for a navigator—most of them are dead, thanks to the monster—I found a man claiming to be the best. Experienced. Reputable. Well-connected.

It turned out her uncle was taking credit for her work. Her maps. Her calculations. Her genius.

After investigating, we discovered the truth. The talented one wasn’t him.

It was her.

It took a great deal of convincing to get her to come aboard. She didn’t trust me at first—didn’t trust anyone, I suspect.

Years of being overlooked, dismissed, erased by the man who was supposed to be her mentor.

But I persisted. And eventually, she gave in.

"You’re doing a great job," I say.

We’re standing at the bow, side by side. The wind is mild. The sun is warm. The ship cuts through the water at a steady pace.

"It’s all thanks to you believing in me," she says.

Then she falls silent.

I’m not offended. She doesn’t speak much either way. Some days, I wonder if she’s spoken more than twenty words to me total. Her maps do the talking. Her calculations. Her quiet, steady presence.

That’s when we hear it.

Music.

Not the shanties my crew sings which are rough, bawdy, full of verses about women and rum nor the military drums that accompany drills and discipline. This is This is different. Livelier. Fiddles and drums and something that sounds like a pipe.

I turn. So does Nancy.

The Bunny is sailing past us.

Its black hull glides through the water, close enough that I can see the individual planks, the carvings on the bow, the lanterns swaying from the rigging.

The crew is dancing—spinning and stomping and clapping in time with the music. They’re not wearing their usual black coats. Some have rolled up their sleeves. Others are barefoot. One man is balancing a tankard on his head while his partner twirls around him.

It’s... lively.

I spot Naia at the center of the deck. Her dark hair is loose, flying around her face. Her beaded jewelry catches the light. She’s twirling, her skirts spinning out around her, her arms raised above her head.

She looks at me. Smiles. Gives a small wave.

Then she spins away, disappearing into the crowd of dancers.

I watch the ship pass.

Their so-called captain is nowhere to be seen. Not on the deck. Not at the helm. Not among the dancers.

In fact, I haven’t seen a glimpse of him—of her—since this journey began.

It concerns me not, I suppose.

I walk to the bow, rest my hands on the railing, and stare at the empty water. The sea stretches before us, endless and blue, the horizon a line where sky meets water.

Somewhere out there, the monster waits. Somewhere out there, my brother died.

I won’t admit I am a little afraid.

But I have to do this.

For my people. For the kingdom that’s been bleeding trade routes and starving citizens. For the sailors who refuse to sail, the merchants who refuse to trade, the families who can’t afford bread.

For Xavier.

To avenge him. To finally move out of my dead brother’s shadow.

Xavier was unfortunately perfect.

While I was just there.

Perfect scholarship. Perfect swordsmanship. Perfect leadership qualities. The perfect life. The perfect crown prince.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

It made it hard not to stand under his shoulder. No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I accomplished, I was always Xavier’s younger brother. The spare. The second-best.

The one who would never be enough.

I grip the railing.

I did not want my brother dead.

The thought is sharp. Ugly. I push it away.

I did not want this mantle.

It’s true. I never wanted to be crown prince. Never wanted the weight of the kingdom on my shoulders, the endless expectations, the constant comparisons to a brother who could never be outshone.

But Xavier is gone. And I am here.

But I will do my best.

The words feel hollow. A promise I’m not sure I can keep.