Page 85 of Claimed By the Depths

What had started as a rarity transformed into serenity, like a gathering of friends who had awaited one another for decades. Each creak from the galley’s long table acted as a cry of joy, a valiant cheer for all that came with once-opposing forces joining in arms. It was as if the universe had been awaiting this conversation, one aimed at discussing the summoning of five gods to dismantle the corruption that the Others and the King of Serevalen had bathed our lands in.

War was on the horizon, but together, we stood a chance.

As he’d always commanded attention, Caspian settled at the head, his shadow cast across the dark oak with a promise of destruction. Revenge cloaked him with its potency, his olive complexion seeming to challenge all that darkness meant. Tied to the God of Death, with his dark curls combed behind his ears and his watchful eyes roaming between us, there was something enchantingly ethereal about him.

It was as if he were crafted for the implications of leadership long before I had even realized it.

Briefly, he flashed his crimson gaze at me, a smirk quick to follow. But, without missing a beat, and with an attentiveness molded by the fates, he glanced at the woman beside him. The only person who would ever be capable of making a man as spontaneous and unruly as him obey with a single utterance.

Rohen.

Lips upturned in a way I hadn’t experienced until now, she leaned forward to bat Syoran’s hands away before he had the chance to flick her forehead. Her copper waves tumbled freely to her waist, framing her features with an innocence I knew as lethality. Emerald irises raked between us as a newfound power emanated from her. It was a strength she’d always carried, but with Caspian beside her, it seemed to stir from its deep rest even more.

As if to confirm my observation, she peered up at the man beside her, a clash of fire and water. Holding his stare, I didn’t miss the way her entire essence shifted, just as I didn’t overlook the way he melted to all she was.

He had fallen.

“Well,” Leilani chimed in from across from me, her cadence carrying a liveliness I’d always clung to. “Should we dive in?”

I had seen women draped in silk and glittering beneath jewels, beauties who knew every practiced trick for stealing a man’s attention, but none of them had prepared me for her.

She was wrapped in soft ivory linen, the fabric gathered in generous folds around her shoulders and wrists. The billowed sleeves gathered like clouds caught in a warm morning breeze, while the delicate ruffles framed her throat and collarbones with the elegant strength she commanded.

Sculpting every graceful curve, the corset embraced her figure as I always had, outlining a woman so fierce yet so feminine. I hadn’t missed the dark leather straps before she sat down, crossing her hips and fastening with polished brass buckles and rings that caught the golden rays in fleeting flashes. Fine chains draped lazily across her hips, and every chime they’d sung when she approached the table came courtesy of measured steps filled with whispered promises only meant for me.

There was nothing fragile about the way she dressed, as clothing did not tame her; it surrendered to her. Every accent, each stitch, and the weathered leather adorning her emphasized the fact that she did not, and would never, belong to anyone. Yet she had graced me with her heart and all she was.

My little fang.

My breathtaking wonder.

“In what context?” Syoran’s joke broke me from my trance, and I transitioned my attention just in time to catch his gesture toward the deck. “I mean, I’m confident in my ability to swim, but someone⁠—”

Before he could finish, a balled piece of the fresh loaf the chef had made for us collided with the side of his head. He swiveled, and the man he sat by, the same one who was responsible, flicked the center of his forehead hard enough that we all heard it.

“Unnecessary, asshole,” Caspian grumbled, though his timbre lacked annoyance.

Rubbing the reddened spot, Syoran looked at him beneath hooded brows. “Fucking, ow, prick.”

Wearing a plain black linen, the material was loose enough to move with ease, yet fitted enough to hint at Syoran’s refined build beneath. Braided back on both sides, his dark hair sat in a band, its length cascading down his spine. There was no extravagance about his attire, and when he arrived on the Scarlet Tempest, his usual steels were absent.

A man extending a fraction of his trust to a crew once deemed an enemy.

Leaning back in his chair, the former Prince of Serevalen folded his bracer-laden forearms over his chest. His navy vest accented his vibrant eyes; the cream linen, with rolled sleeves, added a tinge of the ocean to a man once confined by palace walls and regal expectations. Seated across from Caspian, at the table’s other end, he carried the air of one bountiful in knowledge—a knowingness he once hadn’t harbored.

I combed my fingers through my hair, winking at Leilani as my booted foot brushed hers beneath the table. “Kael, would you like to say something?”

Glancing at Syoran, the Bloodmarked’s second waved him off, the two of them more than familiar with whatever information Kael had. The soon-to-be king scratched at his stubble before saying, “I might have uncovered pieces of the puzzle that is the prophecy, as well as how to summon the gods once we obtain all five artifacts.”

“And,” Caspian’s second glanced to his right, meeting his captain’s gaze. “We deciphered the one responsible for writing the passages.”

My best friend’s brows furrowed. “Why the fuck are you so pointedly addressing⁠—”

“The witch.”

“The bitch?” Rohen questioned, looking between them for confirmation. “Wait, what?”

“Witch,” Syoran articulated for a second time before adding, “Morwenna.”