Alaric’s fingers rubbed my shoulder and I wished we could stay like this forever. I clutched his shirt even more tightly and drew closer to him, smelling his sandalwood and fresh sea scent.
“You’re the best kind of witch,” he said, almost playfully, and I was glad he believed me. A moment of silence passed before he asked, “Have your eyes always been like that?”
“Ever since I was younger.” More tears welled up in my eyes.
“It seems hardest for you to see at night, is that right?” he asked.
I nodded. “Any kind of dark spaces… I can’t see anything.” And that was when the memory resurfaced. “My sister locked me in a root cellar once,” I said. I had never shared it with anyone, but somehow I justwantedsomeone to understand. To know what it felt like to not be able to see, and to have compassion on the little girl who was so terrified.
Who is still terrified.I shivered.
“Your sister?”
“My stepsister,” I corrected. “I was always shy, slow to speak, and had difficulty reading or catching visual cues because of… this.” I motioned to my eyes. “I was always small. Invisible, even in my own home.”
“Even to your mother?”
“Especially to my mother. I think the reason she remarried is because the man had a beautiful daughter. She was perfect.” A lump formed in my throat. “Meanwhile, my eyes began to fail me more severely. I struggled to keep up with my studies. I failed in dance lessons. I often fumbled or dropped things. And one day, when we were playing hide-and-seek, my sister locked me in the root cellar.” I shuddered. “I was terrified, disoriented. I couldn’t see anything. I hurt myself trying to escape and no one believed me when I said my sister did it on purpose.”
Alaric’s arm slipped away and he rested his elbows on his knees so he could face me, his gaze intent. Serious. Maybe even… angry?
“That’s when I learned…” I shook my head, knowing it sounded silly when said out loud. “Hiding is safer, and when one tries to speak up, it does no good. People will never believe me.”
“I believe you.” Alaric took my hands in his and kissed my knuckles. I wished he would kiss me again, but I knewhe was holding himself back. He already said goodbye once, and he was only here because I was injured.
He sat back again and placed his arm around me. We were both quiet for a long time, but his words played over and over in my mind.I believe you.When did anyone ever believe me?
He gently spoke after a while. “Want to hear some tales of the sea?”
I nodded, eager to know more about him.
After sharing my own past, I felt vulnerable. And that’s when I rested my face on his chest, distracted by his husky voice, his warmth, his genuineness. His stories took me away from my own pain–the present and the past. He told stories of the sea, his childhood, his regrets. The moment was so cozy, like warm tea steeped with wild lemongrass and honey. I fell asleep listening to him, wishing we could do this every night.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALARIC
Curse this woman. She was slipping into my heart like seawater through the cracks of a ship—and it was driving me mad.
I told myself I wouldn’t kiss her again. Once was enough.
I laid her gently in bed and pulled the blanket over her. She looked so peaceful, so soft, it made my chest ache.
This is ridiculous.I was a whaler, forged by storms and salt and solitude. Not someone who sat on settees and whispered sea tales to a woman he shouldn’t want.
But I couldn’t help it.
When she told me about the rumors, the way people treated her, especially what happened with her sister, I saw her clearly for the first time.
Malia was lonely. Deeply, achingly lonely.
And something inside me tugged like a net caught on coral.
Whaling could be lonely too, sure. But at least we had each other out there.
She had no one. Even Noni kept her distance.
Her only real friend here seemed to be Prince Elias, and that made me jealous with rage.
