CHAPTER ONE
ALARIC
They say the sea is cruel, so I learned to be crueler.
The sailor flinched as the hot iron touched his forearm, but I pressed harder. “You steal from my hold, you wear my mark.”
He gritted his teeth, and I saw the fury behind his pain.
Good. Let him remember it.
This wasn’t punishment. It was justice. A lesson.
Sure, he stole only a little salve for his new, un-trained hands.
But all whalers’ hands burned and stained from doing the work we did.
And now, this man would burn for his thievery.
He finally broke, and tears streamed down his face. He had to be about nineteen years of age.
Young, but never too young to avoid accountability.
I threw the brand onto the deck, finding the rest of the whalers still as statues.
They stared wide-eyed.
It’d been a while since I branded a sailor with the “AG” initials of my whaling empire.
“Get back to work,” I barked.
No hesitations.
My men flensed the whale, their blades flashing in the moonlight, red and silver. Sharks thrashed near the stern, drawn to the feast. The sea tonight was not blue… but black and crimson with greed.
With five fleets, an empire built on blood and blubber, and enough barrels of whale oil to burn through kingdoms, I had done the unthinkable.
Crowned rulers flinched when they saw my sails on the horizon.
People at every bay and port bowed to my whims.
I had enough gold and treasure to fill all the mansions and palaces in the Tempest Seas.
I should’ve felt triumphant.
Victorious.
Invincible.
Instead, I stood on the deck and stared into the boiling dark, the scent of burning flesh curling through the salt-drenched air like a ghost.
In the thick of the grime and gore, emptiness.
“That was a fine day,” said Destin, my first mate and cousin. He folded his arms, his expression sober. “When they’re done, we’ll get over three thousand barrels out of all this, Captain.”
I nodded, rubbing my jaw.
Three thousand barrels. The yield most men would kill for.
