Max’s lips tightened. “And what if she’s hiding because she doesn’t want to be found?”
Leaning against a barrel, one of the pirates spoke, cutting through the tension. “If she’s hiding, then that’s implied.”
Wolcott was fighting a smile at Johnny’s disrespect towards Max, who simply nodded while biting out a begrudging thanks.
“Then we make her want to be,” Wolcott said simply, his eyes glinting like the edge of a blade.
Max studied him, his unease growing. Wolcott was a master of navigating chaos, a man who could charm even the mosthardened pirates, but there was always something guarded in his tone. As if his loyalty was a currency to be spent only when it suited him.
“You’ll handle it, then,” Max said, keeping his voice steady.
“Who else?” Wolcott smirked, rolling up the map. “You’ve got bigger things to worry about—like making it out of this alive.”
Wolcott leaned back, his gloved fingers drumming on the table. “And let’s not forget why I’m here, Max. That bastard sitting on the pirate throne isn’t just bleeding my people dry—he’s turning them into beggars and slaves. My people have suffered enough under his taxes and raids.”
Max nodded stiffly, his own frustrations echoing Wolcott’s. “We all know you want the Pirate King gone, Wolcott, but he doesn’t move without Triton’s and my father’s leash. As long as my father stays on the throne, Othilia keeps feeding him power and protection.”
Wolcott’s smile didn’t waver, though his eyes glinted with sharp intent. “And that’s why your father has to go first. Only then can we cut the strings and deal with the pirate king like the dog he is.”
Max tilted his head. “What happens after? You take the Pirate King’s throne for yourself?”
Wolcott didn’t hesitate. “Someone has to. Someone who knows the sea and its people better than that landlocked tyrant ever could.”
Max studied him, his unease growing. “This rebellion is meant to free people—not replace one throne with another.”
“And you think freedom comes without someone steering the ship?” Wolcott’s tone hardened, his voice as sharp as the blades hidden beneath his coat. “The pirate throne isn’t just power—it’s control. If I don’t take it, someone worse will.”
Wolcott nodded at the other pirates to leave them alone. As their footsteps grew far away, his gaze locked on Max.
“You want me to risk everything for your rebellion,” Wolcott said, his voice low and edged with a quiet venom. “But let’s get one thing straight—you’re not my king.”
The words struck with a force Max didn’t want to acknowledge, but his face remained impassive, his jaw tightening as he met Wolcott’s stare. “I never asked to be your king.”
The faint humor drained from Wolcott’s expression, leaving behind a cold edge. He leaned closer, his voice soft but no less cutting. “No. You didn’t. You had the chance to be something more, and you threw it away.”
Max’s throat tightened as the serpent shifter blood coiled beneath his skin. “This isn’t the time for your bitterness, Wolcott,” he snapped, his words more forceful than he intended.
Wolcott let out a dry, humorless laugh, straightening. “Call it whatever you like, Max. Just don’t mistake my loyalty to this cause for loyalty to you.”
Magic tightened around Max, pulling him from the salt-stained docks and Wolcott’s cutting words. The rebellion’s weight didn’t dissolve in the shift—it lingered, a shadow clinging to his thoughts.
The chaotic, perfumed pulse of the palace ballroom crashed over him like a breaking wave, its noise and heat an unwelcome assault.
The massive room throbbed with life, its air heavy with the mingling scents of wine, sweat, and smoke. Wild music filled the halls, accompanied by the sharp crack of a whip and a low groan of pleasure. Bodies twisted together in a fevered dance, the rhythm pulsing like a heartbeat.
Max moved through the crowd, his presence commanding nods and whispers but never breaking the flow of the revelry. Once, these parties had been his escape—a fleeting thrill to drown out the weight of expectation. Now, they felt hollow,the indulgence a mockery of the rebellion clawing for survival beyond these walls.
Wolcott’s voice echoed in his mind.The sooner your father’s off the throne, the sooner you’re on it.
The thought tightened in his chest, suffocating. He didn’t want the throne. He wanted freedom—for his mother, for Iostra, and for himself.
Wolcott’s words haunted Max as he navigated the fevered revelry of the ballroom.
The Pirate King’s cruelty was a cancer on the seas, but his power was rooted in Othilia’s court. His father’s alliance with that tyrant had been solidified through blood and gold—an unholy marriage of land and sea that had driven the rebellion to the brink.
Wolcott’s infiltration mission wasn’t just about gaining allies; it was about dismantling the throne’s influence from the inside. Max couldn’t decide if the pirate captain’s ambition was a blessing or a curse. Wolcott wanted freedom for his people, yes—but what kind of ruler would he become if he succeeded?
Max’s father had to fall first. There was no other way. Until then, the Pirate King would remain untouchable, feeding off Othilia’s wealth and starving the seas.
