The freezing Atlantic spray bit into my raw, bleeding wrists as the iron shackles dragged me across the splintered pine decks of the Leviathan, the largest black-sailed warship in the Northern Fleet. I was nothing but a nameless orphan deckhand, a starved wretch whose only purpose was to scrub the blood of conquered men from the timber and survive on the moldy crusts thrown into the bilge.
My knuckles were raw, my stomach was a hollow cavern of agony, and the skin on my back had long since turned into a roadmap of jagged white scars from First Mate Borach’s heavy leather whip. But tonight, the cruelty of the sea empire wasn’t satisfied with mere labor. Tonight, they wanted a show.
First Mate Borach, a mountain of grease, scars, and stolen silver rings, stood above me with a rusted iron poker glowing cherry-red from the galley fires. The entire crew of two hundred hardened raiders and naval warlords circled the main deck, their breath pluming like white smoke in the bitter, freezing night air. They howled like wolves, their wooden flagons slamming against the gunwales as they demanded blood.
“Look at this pathetic little rat,” Borach bellowed, his voice carrying over the crashing waves of the dark ocean. He jammed his heavy leather boot directly into my cracked ribs, sending a bolt of white-hot agony through my chest. I collapsed into the freezing slush on the deck, coughing up dark blood as the crowd roared with laughter. “Caught him sneaking into the officer’s larder, trying to steal a rind of salted beef. A thief on my watch! A nameless piece of harbor filth trying to eat the meat of true warriors!”
I tried to push myself up, my thin, trembling arms shaking violently under the weight of my heavy iron chains. “My mother… she was starving in the lower hold,” I whispered, my voice cracked and raspy from days without fresh water. “She hasn’t eaten in four days… please, Captain Borach… have mercy.”
Borach’s eyes turned malicious. He didn’t just want to punish me; he wanted to destroy the last remaining shred of human dignity I possessed before the entire fleet. He stepped closer, the heat of the glowing iron poker radiating against my frozen face.
“Your mother?” Borach sneered, leaning down so close I could smell the sour ale on his breath. “That weak, dying slave woman in the cargo dark? She’s nothing but ballast for this ship, boy. And your father was probably a nameless coward who drowned in a ditch.”
Before I could even blink, Borach lunged forward. With a vicious, guttural laugh, he ripped my mother’s old, tarnished copper necklace right off my throat, snapping the dirty leather cord. He held it up to the mocking crowd, then dropped it onto the wet deck and crushed it beneath his heavy boot, grinding the delicate metal into the filth.
“Now, let’s see how well a thief can swim in the dark,” Borach shouted, turning toward the center of the deck. He yanked a heavy iron lever, and with a terrifying, screeching sound, the wooden hatch in the middle of the main deck slid open.
Below lay the beast pit—a deep, dark, water-logged iron cage built directly into the belly of the ship, filled with starving, razor-clawed deep-sea crabs and snapping hounds used to clear out the ship’s waste. The skittering sound of hundreds of sharp, chitinous legs against the iron bars echoed up into the cold night air, along with the stench of rot and death.
“Throw the rat to the claws!” the crew chanted, their voices rising in a terrifying crescendo. “Let the crabs have his toes!”
Borach grabbed me by my matted hair, lifting my small body completely off the deck as I screamed in agony. He dragged me to the lip of the gaping black pit, his fingers digging deep into my scalp. The dark water below swirled with pale, hungry eyes and snapping pincers.
“Fight hard, little rat,” Borach whispered in my ear, his grin wide and wicked. “Or don’t. The ocean doesn’t care about your tears.”
With a brutal shove, he threw me into the dark.
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CHAPTER 1
The freezing Atlantic spray bit into my raw, bleeding wrists as the iron shackles dragged me across the splintered pine decks of the Leviathan, the largest black-sailed warship in the Northern Fleet. I was nothing but a nameless orphan deckhand, a starved wretch whose only purpose was to scrub the blood of conquered men from the timber and survive on the moldy crusts thrown into the bilge.
My knuckles were raw, my stomach was a hollow cavern of agony, and the skin on my back had long since turned into a roadmap of jagged white scars from First Mate Borach’s heavy leather whip. But tonight, the cruelty of the sea empire wasn’t satisfied with mere labor. Tonight, they wanted a show.
First Mate Borach, a mountain of grease, scars, and stolen silver rings, stood above me with a rusted iron poker glowing cherry-red from the galley fires. The entire crew of two hundred hardened raiders and naval warlords circled the main deck, their breath pluming like white smoke in the bitter, freezing night air. They howled like wolves, their wooden flagons slamming against the gunwales as they demanded blood.
“Look at this pathetic little rat,” Borach bellowed, his voice carrying over the crashing waves of the dark ocean. He jammed his heavy leather boot directly into my cracked ribs, sending a bolt of white-hot agony through my chest. I collapsed into the freezing slush on the deck, coughing up dark blood as the crowd roared with laughter. “Caught him sneaking into the officer’s larder, trying to steal a rind of salted beef. A thief on my watch! A nameless piece of harbor filth trying to eat the meat of true warriors!”
I tried to push myself up, my thin, trembling arms shaking violently under the weight of my heavy iron chains. “My mother… she was starving in the lower hold,” I whispered, my voice cracked and raspy from days without fresh water. “She hasn’t eaten in four days… please, Captain Borach… have mercy.”
Borach’s eyes turned malicious. He didn’t just want to punish me; he wanted to destroy the last remaining shred of human dignity I possessed before the entire fleet. He stepped closer, the heat of the glowing iron poker radiating against my frozen face.
“Your mother?” Borach sneered, leaning down so close I could smell the sour ale on his breath. “That weak, dying slave woman in the cargo dark? She’s nothing but ballast for this ship, boy. And your father was probably a nameless coward who drowned in a ditch.”
Before I could even blink, Borach lunged forward. With a vicious, guttural laugh, he ripped my mother’s old, tarnished copper necklace right off my throat, snapping the dirty leather cord. He held it up to the mocking crowd, then dropped it onto the wet deck and crushed it beneath his heavy boot, grinding the delicate metal into the filth.
“Now, let’s see how well a thief can swim in the dark,” Borach shouted, turning toward the center of the deck. He yanked a heavy iron lever, and with a terrifying, screeching sound, the wooden hatch in the middle of the main deck slid open.
Below lay the beast pit—a deep, dark, water-logged iron cage built directly into the belly of the ship, filled with starving, razor-clawed deep-sea crabs and snapping hounds used to clear out the ship’s waste. The skittering sound of hundreds of sharp, chitinous legs against the iron bars echoed up into the cold night air, along with the stench of rot and death.
“Throw the rat to the claws!” the crew chanted, their voices rising in a terrifying crescendo. “Let the crabs have his toes!”
Borach grabbed me by my matted hair, lifting my small body completely off the deck as I screamed in agony. He dragged me to the lip of the gaping black pit, his fingers digging deep into my scalp. The dark water below swirled with pale, hungry eyes and snapping pincers.
“Fight hard, little rat,” Borach whispered in my ear, his grin wide and wicked. “Or don’t. The ocean doesn’t care about your tears.”
With a brutal shove, he threw me into the dark.
I fell through the freezing air, my chains rattling wildly, before crashing hard onto the slick, slime-covered iron floor of the pit. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and for a terrifying second, everything went black. But the sound of clicking, armored legs and low, guttural growls immediately dragged me back to reality.
The pit was shallowly flooded with freezing seawater that leaked through the hull. Shadows moved in the darkness. Giant sea crabs, their shells as wide as shields and their claws sharp enough to sever a man’s ankle, began to crawl out from the dark corners. Beside them, two starving, rib-thin hunting hounds, their ears torn and eyes wild with bloodlust, bared their teeth at me.
Up above, around the square opening of the hatch, the faces of the crew looked down, illuminated by the orange glow of ship lanterns. They cheered, pointing and spitting into the pit. Borach leaned over the edge, holding a broken, splintered wooden plank.
“Catch, boy!” he yelled, throwing the heavy piece of wood down. It splashed into the freezing water near my feet. “Defend your royal empire!”
A massive crab lunged forward, its heavy claw snapping closed just inches from my bare foot. The sound of the metal-hard shell cracking together sent a bolt of pure terror through my veins. Survival instinct took over. I scrambled backward, my frozen fingers gripping the splintered wooden plank.
The first hound sprang at me, its jaws snapping for my throat. I swung the wooden plank with all the strength left in my small, starved body. The wood cracked against the hound’s snout, sending it howling back into the shadows, but the force of the blow splintered the plank even further, leaving me with nothing but a short, jagged piece of wood.
The crew above roared with approval, tossing copper coins down that splashed into the dark water. To them, my desperate fight for life was nothing but a cheap game to break the monotony of the long voyage.
“Keep swinging, rat!” one sailor shouted.
“Ten silver pieces says the crabs get his legs before midnight!” another bellowed.
I was shivering violently, the ice-cold seawater soaking through my torn rags. My breath came in ragged, terrified gasps as three more crabs began to circle me, their massive pincers raised high. I backed into the damp iron wall of the hull, my bleeding fingers clawing at the rivets. There was nowhere left to run.
Suddenly, a heavy, booming voice echoed from the quarterdeck, silencing the laughter of the crew instantly.
“What is the meaning of this chaotic display on my deck?”
The crowd parted immediately, their rowdy cheers turning into respectful, fearful silence. A tall, imposing figure stepped into the light of the torches. It was Captain Vance, the ruthless commander of the Leviathan, a man known across the sea empire for hanging traitors from the yardarm without a second thought. Beside him stood an older gentleman wrapped in a heavy, gold-trimmed velvet cloak—Grand Admiral Kaelen, the leader of the entire High King’s naval fleet, who was inspecting the warships before the winter blockade.
Borach quickly bowed, his arrogant sneer twisting into a submissive grin. “Captain! Grand Admiral! Just a small matter of discipline. This worthless deckhand was caught stealing from the officers’ supplies. I was merely teaching him the law of the sea.”
Grand Admiral Kaelen walked slowly toward the edge of the pit, his heavy leather boots clicking rhythmically against the deck. He looked down into the dark hole, his stern, weathered face showing nothing but cold aristocratic indifference. He had seen a thousand slaves die; one more meant nothing to him.
“The law of the sea requires a trial, First Mate,” the Grand Admiral said, his voice deep and smooth like polished stone. “Not a circus for a drunken crew.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Borach stammered, sweating despite the freezing wind. “But the boy is an orphan, a nameless stray we picked up at the southern docks. He has no bloodline, no value. I thought a swift punishment would keep the crew sharp.”
I looked up from the dark pit, the freezing water rising to my knees as the ship rolled heavily against a massive wave. The crabs were closing in again, sensing my weakness.
“Please!” I cried out, staring up at the old Admiral. “Help me!”
The Grand Admiral sighed, turning his back to the pit. “Bring the boy up. Let the ship’s magistrate lock him in the brig until we reach the naval fortress. I will not have my inspections disrupted by low-born thieves.”
Borach nodded quickly to the guards. “You heard the Admiral! Pull the rat out!”
Two burly guards dropped a heavy rope ladder into the pit. My hands were so numb I could barely grip the hemp, but the terror of the clicking claws behind me gave me the strength to climb. As I dragged my shivering body over the lip of the hatch and collapsed onto the main deck, I was shaking so violently I couldn’t stand.
Borach stepped forward, grabbing the collar of my torn, wet shirt to drag me away toward the dark lower decks. But as he violently yanked the fabric, the old, rotten linen tore completely down the middle, ripping away from my left shoulder.
The heavy ship lanterns swung in the wind, casting a harsh, bright light directly across my bare skin.
Grand Admiral Kaelen stopped dead in his tracks. His entire body went rigid, his eyes locking onto my exposed shoulder.
There, etched deeply into my skin, was a massive, jagged scar. But it wasn’t from a whip. It was a pale, raised burn mark shaped perfectly like a double-headed dragon wrapping around a broken trident—the ancient, forbidden crest of the lost Imperial Sea Throne, a bloodline that had been brutally hunted down and slaughtered twenty years ago.
The Grand Admiral’s face went completely pale, the color draining from his lips as he stared at my shoulder. He took a slow, trembling step forward, his golden cloak dragging in the slush.
“Stop,” the Grand Admiral whispered, his voice trembling in a way that terrified every sailor on the deck.
Borach froze, looking confused. “Your Grace? The boy is just a dirty—”
“I said, stop!” Kaelen roared, his voice echoing like a thunderclap across the silent ocean. He shoved Borach aside with a force that sent the massive First Mate stumbling into the gunwale. The old Admiral dropped to his knees right there in the freezing mud, his hands shaking as he reached out toward my torn shoulder.
The entire crew held their breath, a suffocating silence falling over the two hundred men. Nobody moved. Nobody dared to breathe.
The Grand Admiral looked from the mark on my flesh straight into my eyes, his eyes wide with a mixture of profound terror and absolute awe.
“Where did you get this mark, boy?” Kaelen whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion I had never heard in a nobleman before.
I shrank back in fear, pulling my torn rags over my shoulder. “I… I’ve had it since I was a baby, sir. My mother said it was from a fire when our village was burned by the High King’s ships.”
The Grand Admiral slowly reached into his own heavy cloak, his fingers trembling wildly. He pulled out a heavy, ancient silver pocket compass—an heirloom passed down through the highest commanders of the royal fleet. He flipped it open, revealing an intricate engraving on the inside lid.
It was the exact same double-headed dragon. The exact same broken trident.
“It cannot be,” Captain Vance muttered, stepping forward, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword as he stared at my shoulder. “The entire lineage was executed. The High King himself saw to it.”
“The High King was lied to,” Grand Admiral Kaelen whispered, his eyes filling with tears as he looked at my starved, bruised face. He didn’t look like a ruthless warlord anymore; he looked like a man who had just seen a ghost rise from the depths of the ocean. He slowly turned his head to look at the terrified crew, then at First Mate Borach, who was backed against the wooden wall, his face white with sudden dread.
Kaelen stood up slowly, his posture straight as an iron rod, his voice cutting through the freezing wind like a razor blade.
“Seal the gates. Lock down the quarterdeck. Nobody leaves this ship alive if a single word of what happened tonight leaves this harbor.”
CHAPTER 2
The words of the Grand Admiral hung over the freezing deck like a heavy executioner’s axe. The wind howled through the rigging, shaking the massive black sails of the Leviathan, but among the two hundred hardened warriors gathered on the deck, there was only a terrifying, dead silence.
First Mate Borach looked around frantically, his eyes darting from the Grand Admiral to Captain Vance, his large hands twitching against his leather belt. He could feel the sudden shift in the air. He was a man who ruled through terror, but right now, he was surrounded by a power that could crush him like a dry twig.
“Your Grace,” Borach stammered, his voice losing all of its brutal authority, turning thin and desperate. “I… I do not understand. The boy is a slave. A common harbor stray. His mother is a madwoman locked in the cargo hold. Whatever mark is on his skin, it must be a trick. A common brand from a pirate gang or a localized penal colony!”
Grand Admiral Kaelen didn’t even look at Borach. His eyes remained fixed on me, tracking the violent shivering of my small, starved frame. He slowly unbuckled his massive, gold-trimmed velvet cloak—a garment worth more than the entire village I had been stolen from—and stepped toward me.
Before the eyes of his own officers and the stunned crew, the highest official of the naval empire knelt directly into the wet slush of the deck. He gently wrapped the warm, heavy velvet around my freezing shoulders, burying my raw, bleeding chains beneath the royal fabric. The scent of cedar, expensive tobacco, and old parchment washed over me, a stark contrast to the stench of the beast pit I had just crawled out of.
“What is your name, child?” Kaelen asked, his voice incredibly soft, filled with a strange, heavy reverence that made my chest tighten.
“They… they just call me Wren, sir,” I whispered, my teeth clicking together from the cold. “Just Wren.”
“Wren,” the Admiral repeated, the word sounding heavy on his tongue. He looked up at Captain Vance, who was standing frozen, his hand still gripping his sword hilt as if preparing for a war that hadn’t begun yet. “Vance. Look at his eyes. Look at the structure of his jaw. We served the Sea Throne for thirty years before the usurpation. Tell me you do not see the phantom of the Great Admiral Valerius in this boy’s face.”
Captain Vance stepped closer, his boots crunching in the icy snow. He leaned down, his sharp, battle-hardened eyes scanning my face with intense scrutiny. As he gazed into my eyes, I saw a sudden flash of recognition strike him like a physical blow. He took a half-step back, his breath escaping him in a long, white cloud.
“By the old gods,” Vance breathed, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “The eyes of the storm. He has the Admiral’s gaze. But Valerius’s entire family was trapped aboard the Iron Crown when the High King’s dreadnoughts set it ablaze in the Harbor of Solitude. I watched the ship burn to the waterline myself. No one survived.”
“Someone did,” Kaelen said, his voice tightening with a dark, simmering fury. He turned his head slowly toward First Mate Borach, his eyes turning into chips of gray ice. “And this piece of filth has been whipping him like a dog on the deck of my own flagship.”
Borach fell to his knees, his massive body trembling so hard that his silver rings rattled against each other. “I didn’t know! I swear by the sea gods, I didn’t know! He was sold to us by a slave merchant in the southern ports for three silver pieces! They said he was just an orphan from the docks!”
“Silence!” Kaelen barked, and the sound was like a cannon blast. He stood up, his tall frame towering over the kneeling First Mate. “You crushed his mother’s necklace beneath your boot. You mocked his blood. You threw him to the beasts for the amusement of a drunken crew.”
“He stole!” Borach cried, pointing a thick, shaking finger at me. “The law says a thief must be punished! He broke into the officer’s larder!”
“He was starving!” Vance shouted, stepping forward, his composure completely breaking into rage. “While you gorged yourself on the rations meant for the crew, you kept the true blood of the fleet in chains! If the High King learns that the last heir of the Sea Throne is alive, it means war across all seven seas, Borach. And you have treated him like a piece of refuse!”
The crew began to murmur, a low, dangerous rumble rising from the ranks of the sailors. These were men who had been raised on the legends of Great Admiral Valerius—the man who had built the naval empire before the current High King assassinated him in a bloody coup to seize the throne. To the older sailors, Valerius was a god of the sea. To learn that his bloodline survived, and was currently bleeding on their own deck, sent a shockwave of mixed loyalty and terror through their hearts.
“Where is his mother?” Grand Admiral Kaelen demanded, stepping closer to Borach, his hand resting on the pommel of his golden dress sword.
“In… in the lower cargo hold, Your Grace,” Borach whimpered, his head pressed against the wet wood of the deck. “With the other common slaves. She is sick… very sick. We were going to sell her to the mine warlords at the next port.”
Kaelen looked at Captain Vance. “Bring her up. Now. Bring her with the utmost care. If a single hair on her head is harmed by your guards, Vance, I will have every officer on this ship hanged from the mainmast before sunrise.”
“Right away, Admiral,” Vance said, turning instantly and barking orders at his personal guard. A squad of heavily armored soldiers rushed toward the cargo hatch, their iron boots slamming against the stairs as they descended into the dark belly of the ship.
I sat there on the deck, wrapped in the Admiral’s luxurious cloak, completely bewildered. My body was still aching from the beating Borach had given me, and the deep cuts on my legs from the beast pit were stinging fiercely from the salt water. I didn’t understand what they were saying. The Sea Throne? Great Admiral Valerius?
To me, my mother was just a tired, frail woman who wept in the dark and whispered stories of a beautiful golden city by the water before the fire took everything. She had spent her life hiding me, telling me never to show my left shoulder to anyone, never to take off the copper necklace she gave me, and to always keep my head down. Now, the necklace was crushed in the filth, and my secret was bare for the entire world to see.
Grand Admiral Kaelen knelt back down beside me, ignoring the cold and the slush. He reached out with a clean, white linen handkerchief and gently wiped the dark blood from my split lip. His touch was incredibly gentle, a sensation I hadn’t felt from anyone other than my mother in all my twelve years of life.
“Do not fear, Wren,” Kaelen whispered, his eyes filled with a deep, sorrowful loyalty. “The men who wore this crest once ruled the oceans with honor. Your grandfather saved my life when I was a young lieutenant in the Great Coral Wars. I swore an oath to his bloodline. An oath I thought died in the fires of Solitude. I will not break that oath tonight.”
Before I could answer, a commotion arose from the cargo hatch.
The guards emerged from the dark hole, carrying a frail, thin woman wrapped in a dirty, tattered grey blanket. It was my mother. Her face was pale and hollow from starvation, her long, silver-streaked hair tangled and damp with bilge water. Her hands were bound in rusted iron cuffs that looked far too heavy for her thin wrists.
“Wren!” she gasped, her voice weak but filled with absolute terror as she saw me surrounded by the highest officers of the fleet. She tried to lung forward, but her weak legs gave out, and she fell to her knees on the deck. “Wren! Please, don’t hurt him! He’s just a boy! Take me instead! Punish me!”
“Mother!” I cried, trying to stand up, but the weight of my own chains threw me back down.
Grand Admiral Kaelen stood up slowly, turning to face my mother. As his eyes fell upon her face, his breath caught in his throat. He took a sharp step forward, his jaw dropping in utter disbelief.
“Lady Elena?” Kaelen whispered, his voice trembling.
My mother froze. She slowly raised her head, her dark, sunken eyes locking onto the Grand Admiral’s face. The moment she recognized his gold-trimmed uniform and the ancient silver compass still held in his hand, a look of profound, devastating realization washed over her features. She realized that the secret she had spent twelve years hiding in the dark corners of the world had finally been brought into the light.
“Kaelen,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind.
The crew gasped. A common slave woman had just addressed the supreme leader of the High King’s navy by his first name, without a title, as if speaking to an old friend.
Kaelen didn’t hesitate. He rushed across the deck, pushing past his own guards, and dropped to his knees before my mother. With his own hands, he took the heavy iron keys from a guard’s belt and unlocked the rusted cuffs around her wrists, throwing the iron chains across the deck with a loud, ringing clatter.
“Forgive me, my Lady,” Kaelen choked out, bowing his head deeply before her. “Forgive me for not finding you sooner. Forgive me for allowing the scum of this fleet to treat you like a beast of burden.”
My mother looked past him, her eyes finding me wrapped in the Admiral’s cloak, my torn shirt revealing the glowing dragon brand on my shoulder. She closed her eyes, a single, heavy tear cutting a clean path through the dirt on her cheek.
“The fire didn’t take him, Kaelen,” she whispered softly. “He is the true son of the Sea Throne. The last living seed of Valerius.”
The low murmuring of the crew instantly died out, replaced by a cold, terrified realization. The sailors looked at each other, their faces filled with shock. They weren’t just looking at an orphan deckhand anymore. They were looking at the true heir to the maritime empire—the boy whose family had been betrayed by the tyrant currently sitting on the High Throne in the capital.
First Mate Borach saw his life flashing before his eyes. He knew what happened to men who committed treason against the true lords of the sea. He slowly began to slide backward along the deck, trying to blend into the shadows of the crew, his hand creeping toward a small dagger hidden in his boot.
But Captain Vance noticed the movement. With a swift, brutal motion, Vance drew his heavy steel cutlass. The blade flashed in the lantern light as he brought the flat of the heavy sword down directly across Borach’s face, breaking his nose with a loud crack.
Borach screamed, collapsing into the slush, clutching his bloody face as Vance pressed the tip of the sharp steel directly against his throat.
“Move a single muscle, Borach, and I will gut you like a dog,” Vance growled, his eyes burning with absolute disgust.
Grand Admiral Kaelen stood up, his face hardening into an expression of absolute, unyielding authority. He looked at the two hundred sailors standing on the main deck of the Leviathan.
“Listen to me, men of the Northern Fleet,” Kaelen’s voice boomed, carrying across the dark water to the other warships sailing in our formation. “The High King told us that the House of Valerius was extinct. He told us that the true blood of the sea was gone, and demanded our allegiance under the threat of death. But the sea does not forget its true masters. The sea has brought the true heir back to us.”
He pointed a long, steady finger down at me.
“This boy is Wren Valerius. The true Lord of the Sea Throne. The blood of your old commander.”
One by one, the older sailors in the front rank began to lower their heads. Then, a massive, bearded warrior covered in battle scars dropped to one knee, slamming his fist against his iron breastplate in a traditional naval salute. Within seconds, a ripple effect washed across the entire main deck. Two hundred hardened raiders, pirates, and naval soldiers dropped to their knees in the freezing snow, their heads bowed low in absolute submission to a twelve-year-old boy covered in dirt and blood.
Only First Mate Borach remained pinned to the deck by Vance’s sword, weeping in terror as he realized the entire world had just turned upside down.
Grand Admiral Kaelen turned back to me, his face grim but filled with a terrifying resolve. “My Lord Wren, the fleet is yours. But the High King’s scouts are waiting at the naval fortress of Oakhaven, just twelve leagues away. When we drop anchor, the trap will close. The High King’s personal guard will board this vessel to verify my allegiance.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping low, his eyes locking into mine with a fierce, desperate intensity that made my heart race.
“If they see you, they will kill you and your mother where you stand. We have less than five hours before we reach the harbor, and the High King’s dreadnoughts are already waiting in the bay with their cannons primed.”
