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I poke my head out cautiously, heart hammering against my ribs. The corridor stretches in both directions, high walls but narrow, with lights shining at regular intervals. Several guards move about farther down, their voices echoing as they rush back and forth, carrying crates and shouting orders to one another.

I hold my breath, shrinking against the doorframe. None of them glance my way, too focused on their tasks. Whatever is happening must be significant, or perhaps docking in a new kingdom is always this chaotic.

Minutes tick by as I wait, muscles tense and ready. Finally, the guards move out of sight, their footsteps fading into the distance.

It’s now or never.

I slip into the corridor, walking in the opposite direction from where the guards had gone. My bare feet make no sound against the wooden planks, but every creak of the ship seems thunderous to my ears. I keep my pace quick and deliberate, knowing that hesitation will get me caught.

The corridor ends at a junction. To my relief, I find two sets of stairs, one leading deeper into the ship’s belly, where I imagine the servant quarters might be, and another leading upward toward what looks like a trapdoor to the deck.

If I can get off the ship, I might be able to search for my sister.

I choose up.

The wooden steps creak under my weight, and I wince at each sound, continuing my ascent. The trapdoor above is heavy oak, reinforced with metal bands—built to withstand storms and sea spray, not to facilitate easy escape.

I reach up, pushing against it with both hands. It doesn’t budge. Gritting my teeth, I push harder, muscles straining. The trapdoor groans in protest, as though it hasn’t been opened in years. Rust flakes down from its hinges, dusting my upturned face.

Panic flutters in my chest. What if I can’t open it? What if someone hears me trying? I glance back down the stairs, expecting to see guards rushing toward me.

With a desperate surge of strength, I shove upward again. The trapdoor lifts slightly, just enough for a sliver of daylight to peek through. I push it higher, my arms burning with the effort, until I create a gap large enough to peek through.

Blinding light floods my vision, and I squint through watering eyes as they struggle to adjust after the dim corridor below. Salt-laden air rushes into my lungs, the first truly fresh breath I’ve had since boarding this cursed ship. The deck is alive with activity, sailors securing lines and guards patrolling the perimeter, all of them focused on their tasks rather than the trapdoor slowly opening beneath their notice. My heart thunders so loudly I am certain everyone must hear it, but no heads turn my way as I take in my surroundings, searching for the path to freedom.

Men shout orders across the deck, their voices carrying on the wind. Two sailors argue near the mast, gesturing wildly about something I can’t discern. A group of guards stand in a tight circle near the bow, their hushed conversation punctuated by occasional laughter.

I have precious little time before my absence will be discovered, before those hunger-mad eyes and clawed fingertips come looking for me.

I scan the ship’s perimeter, looking for any possible exit. The main gangplank is visible on the far side, heavily guarded and clearly not an option. But as I peer toward the starboard side, I spot my chance. The ship is docked close enough to the pier that I might be able to climb down using the netting along the hull.

With a final push that sends pain shooting through my bruised wrists, I open the trapdoor wide enough to slip my entire body through. I crawl onto the deck and carefully lower the heavy wooden door behind me, wincing at the soft thud as it settles back into place.

Staying low, I creep behind a stack of wooden crates, making myself as small as possible in King Kylian’s oversized jacket. The black fabric helps me blend into the shadows cast by the cargo. I move slowly, pausing whenever a sailor moves in my direction, my breath held until they move away again.

When I reach the ship’s edge, I risk peering over the railing. My stomach lurches at the distance to the wooden pier below. It isn’t impossibly far, perhaps fifteen feet, but enough to break bones if I fall wrong. Thick ropes and netting hang from the side of the ship, used for loading cargo and climbing. If I can reach them, I might be able to climb down unnoticed.

I glance over my shoulder. With the deck crew still occupied by their duties, now is my chance.

In one fluid movement, I swing my legs over the railing and grip the edge with white-knuckled hands. For a terrifying moment, I dangle there, suspended between ship and ocean, the water slapping against the hull far below. My heart lurches as I reach for the netting with one hand, finding purchase in the coarse rope.

I pull myself fully onto the net, clinging to it like a spider on a web. The rough fibers bite into my palms as I descend, moving one limb at a time carefully. Don’t look down, I tell myself. Just keep moving.

The wind tugs at Kylian’s jacket, threatening to pull me off-balance. I am halfway down when the netting shifts beneath me. I look up, and my blood freezes in my veins.

A lycan soldier leans over the railing, his startled eyes meeting mine as he grips the very net I’m clinging to. For a suspended moment, we stare at each other, equally shocked. Then his face hardens. “Oi! We have a runner!” he bellows, his voice carrying across the dock.

Panic explodes in my chest as he begins hauling the net upward with inhuman speed and strength. Footsteps thunder in my direction on the deck above, shouts of alarm spreading like wildfire. I have seconds.

“Stop her!”

“Guard the gangplank!”

“Get the king!”

That last command decides for me. I can’t go back up, and I can’t stay where I am. I let go.

The fall lasts both an eternity and no time at all. The wind rushes past my ears, my stomach left somewhere above me, before I hit the wooden pier with a bone-jarring thud. Pain shoots up through my ankles and knees, but nothing seems broken.