Page 70 of Claimed By the Depths

Peering down at her in a mix of shock and awe, I willed myself to let her presence and offered comfort ground me. With an intentional inhale, I unclenched my jaw before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into me.

“Thank you.”

“What?” Genuine confusion wove through the single word.

“Thank you, Rohen. For extending me a graciousness I likely don’t deserve.”

“You act as if I’m a saint,” she grumbled, but sank into me further. “For the gods’ sakes, Alastair, I butchered half of his crew.”

“I’m sure the ways they looked at you, and even touched you, warranted it.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Is it?”

Her knuckles greeted my side. “Yes, asshole.”

A genuine laugh served as my reply. “Okay, okay, whatever you say, Ro.”

“Ro?” Turning, she gazed up at me. “Since when did I earn a nickname?”

My thoughts roamed, hunting for a specific moment I could provide as an answer to her query, but there wasn’t one. The two letters had joined naturally, similar to our relationship with one another. That was the beauty of it, of Rohen; she was unapologetic and rare in that magnitude. A woman most men took for granted and used solely for her body. But I didn’t see her like that. The person I bore witness to was one fumbling with becoming herself, someone so used to obeying others’ orders that she hadn’t yet tasted freedom.

But if there was one who could grant her just that, alongside the healing she deserved, it was Caspian Vayne.

“You know. I’m not sure.” Shrugging indifferently as she tossed me an incredulous look, I grinned. “And while I would love to continue entertaining your interrogation, you and I have somewhere to be.”

“Somewhere to be? I’m not leaving Cas⁠—”

“Temporarily,” I reiterated. “Just jumping ships. Syoran has a plan, and, as a valued woman of my crew, I would like you to be present.”

“That sounds a whole lot like an obligation and not an option.”

Ruffling her hair, I said, “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Hands swatted at mine, a handful of curses thrown my way as she worked to fend me off. “Fuck. Fine, I will come to your little meeting. When is it?”

My lips parted in reply, but Jaskor’s utterance swept through my mind, partially broken as he spoke through anguish, “There are sacred texts. Journals. A summoning. All five artifacts. Caspian has them. Look.”

A newfound protectiveness washed over me, my anger spiking at having to hear my own father’s affliction—a pain I could not prevent. Nostrils flaring, I locked eyes with Rohen, and hers flared in understanding before I even extended the command.

“Now.”

CHAPTER 38

Waters of Cynicism

ROHEN

Standing on the main deck of the Bloodmarked, the expansion of our group became evident. Not too long ago, I had only been familiar with the broody captain who purchased me from Seirdra’s Veil, alongside his right hand, but now there were eight of us.

Leilani remained to my right, Alastair to hers. The stern expressions they wore warned the crewmates responsible for shifting the sails. Looks that pinned others with the fact that, while alliances had started to form, trust remained minimal. They were a couple capable of reckoning, carrying the strength of an army and the deadliness of the most potent poison.

Arms folded across his chest, Syoran held his place on my left. The breeze caught his light linen shirt, revealing the varying pommels of the swords he showcased on his hip. Upturned eyes squinted because of the vibrant rays overhead, and he looked at the woman who had willingly betrayed the entire crew. Sapphira dipped her chin as if in silent understanding, the inked swirls on her arms seeming to glow with hidden meaning.

Blowing out a breath, I glanced over briefly at Parran and Ignis. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, forearms resting on the gunwale I’d tumbled over what felt like a century ago. They’d served as our ferry to the other ship, but there was something about the way Ignis’ body tensed that hinted his preference, should opposition arise, had settled with Syoran.

Booted foot propped against the mast, Kael stood in observation for a breath longer before nudging himself from his post. Clad in a fresh shirt, unbuttoned to his mid-chest, he no longer appeared the frightened man I had hugged in the palace's ballroom. Five o’clock shadow thicker, its dark hue painted him in a new light—one that stressed all he’d lost, yet all he had become. He wasn’t merely an obedient heir elected to straddle a throne. No, he was the king of Serevalen, someone who demanded respect and could command continents if he wished.