The wood of the flagship The Iron Leviathan was always cold, but tonight, it felt like ice against my bleeding cheek. The freezing salt spray of the northern sea stung the open cuts on my back, a brutal reminder of the twenty lashes I had just received for a crime I did not commit.
I was just an orphan deckhand. To the five hundred hardened killers who manned this massive warship, I was less than the barnacles scraping against the hull. They called me “Ratsbane” because I slept in the dark, damp belly of the cargo hold where the rodents ruled the night.
“Stand up, you miserable little thief!” First Mate Vance bellowed, his heavy leather boot slamming directly into my ribs. The force of the kick sent me sliding across the slick, rain-drenched deck, my heavy iron chains rattling loudly against the timber.
The entire crew stood in a massive circle around the quarterdeck, their faces lit by the eerie, flickering orange glow of swaying storm lanterns. They cheered and jeered, holding up their wooden tankards of cheap ale, eager to see a public execution. To them, a dead boy was just another body to be tossed to the sharks before the nightly rations were served.
“Please,” I gasped, spitting out a mouthful of blood and salty water. “I didn’t touch the Commander’s rations. I was clearing the barnacles from the rudder lines just like you ordered. I swear by the sea throne, I am innocent!”
Vance chuckled, a low, wet sound that made my stomach twist with pure dread. He stepped closer, his heavy, grease-stained fingers wrapping tightly around the hilt of his rusted cutlass. He looked up toward the high balcony of the aft castle, where the high and mighty of the Naval Empire sat watching.
“The boy lies!” Vance shouted to the crowd, his voice carrying over the roaring wind and the crashing waves. “He was caught red-handed in the dry-stores hold. In the Grand Fleet of the Sea Warlords, the penalty for a thief is death by the plank! We do not feed parasites!”
The crowd roared in approval, slamming their fists against the wooden railings. I looked up, my vision blurry from the pain and the stinging salt air. Sitting on a massive, high-backed chair carved from the bones of a leviathan was Fleet Commander Kraven. He was a terrifying man, covered in dark iron armor, his face permanently twisted into a sneer of absolute authority. Next to him sat the tribal council and the wealthy merchants who funded our brutal raids across the northern kingdoms.
And beside Kraven sat old Admiral Thorne. Thorne was a legendary figure, a man who had fought in the great naval wars thirty years ago, though he now looked tired, his grey beard long and his eyes always staring blankly into the horizon as if mourning a lost world.
“Bring the boy closer,” Commander Kraven ordered, his deep voice cutting through the noise like a heavy foghorn.
Vance grabbed the heavy iron collar around my neck, dragging me roughly up the wooden steps toward the high council table. My knees scraped against the splinters, leaving a trail of dark blood behind me. I was thrown onto the floor right in front of Kraven’s heavy, fur-lined boots.
“Look at me, rat,” Kraven sneered, leaning forward. “You have eaten food meant for the men who bleed for this empire. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t let Vance cut your throat right here in front of the men.”
I couldn’t speak. The fear was a cold lump in my throat. I knew that no matter what I said, I was a dead man. I was just an anonymous orphan picked up from a burning coastal village ten years ago. I had no name, no family, and no future.
Vance stepped up behind me, raising his heavy cutlass high above his head, the cold steel catching the flickering lantern light. “Let me rid the ship of this filth, Commander. It will teach the other deckhands what happens when you steal from the masters of the sea.”
I closed my eyes, bracing for the cold bite of the steel against my neck. I pulled my torn, ragged shirt tight around myself, a subconscious instinct to protect my fragile body.
But as Vance yanked my collar back to expose my throat, the rotting, salt-encrusted fabric of my shirt tore completely open from my collarbone down to my waist.
A heavy piece of metal, hidden for a decade beneath the filth and grime of my skin, swung out wildly from around my neck, clinking loudly against the heavy iron chains binding my wrists.
It was an old, blackened silver medallion, carved with the image of a three-headed sea serpent wrapping around a crown—the forbidden crest of the lost Sea Throne.
First Mate Vance didn’t even notice it. He raised his blade higher, a cruel grin spreading across his ugly face. “Die, rat!”
“HOLD YOUR BLADE!”
The roar did not come from Commander Kraven. It came from old Admiral Thorne.
The legendary warrior suddenly leaped out of his high chair, his old knees cracking as he violently overturned the heavy oak table in front of him. Plates of roasted meat and silver chalices of wine crashed to the deck, scattering everywhere.
The entire quarterdeck went dead silent. The wind seemed to howl louder in the sudden quiet of five hundred men holding their breath. Vance froze, his cutlass stopping mere inches from my hair, his jaw dropping in complete confusion.
Admiral Thorne stepped forward, his breathing heavy, his face completely pale as if he had just seen a ghost from the deepest trenches of the ocean. He didn’t look at Kraven. He didn’t look at Vance. His trembling, scarred hands were pointing directly at my chest.
“Where… where did you get that?” Thorne whispered, his voice shaking with an emotion I had never heard in a grown man before.
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CHAPTER 1
The wood of the flagship The Iron Leviathan was always cold, but tonight, it felt like ice against my bleeding cheek. The freezing salt spray of the northern sea stung the open cuts on my back, a brutal reminder of the twenty lashes I had just received for a crime I did not commit.
I was just an orphan deckhand. To the five hundred hardened killers who manned this massive warship, I was less than the barnacles scraping against the hull. They called me “Ratsbane” because I slept in the dark, damp belly of the cargo hold where the rodents ruled the night.
“Stand up, you miserable little thief!” First Mate Vance bellowed, his heavy leather boot slamming directly into my ribs. The force of the kick sent me sliding across the slick, rain-drenched deck, my heavy iron chains rattling loudly against the timber.
The entire crew stood in a massive circle around the quarterdeck, their faces lit by the eerie, flickering orange glow of swaying storm lanterns. They cheered and jeered, holding up their wooden tankards of cheap ale, eager to see a public execution. To them, a dead boy was just another body to be tossed to the sharks before the nightly rations were served.
“Please,” I gasped, spitting out a mouthful of blood and salty water. “I didn’t touch the Commander’s rations. I was clearing the barnacles from the rudder lines just like you ordered. I swear by the sea throne, I am innocent!”
Vance chuckled, a low, wet sound that made my stomach twist with pure dread. He stepped closer, his heavy, grease-stained fingers wrapping tightly around the hilt of his rusted cutlass. He looked up toward the high balcony of the aft castle, where the high and mighty of the Naval Empire sat watching.
“The boy lies!” Vance shouted to the crowd, his voice carrying over the roaring wind and the crashing waves. “He was caught red-handed in the dry-stores hold. In the Grand Fleet of the Sea Warlords, the penalty for a thief is death by the plank! We do not feed parasites!”
The crowd roared in approval, slamming their fists against the wooden railings. I looked up, my vision blurry from the pain and the stinging salt air. Sitting on a massive, high-backed chair carved from the bones of a leviathan was Fleet Commander Kraven. He was a terrifying man, covered in dark iron armor, his face permanently twisted into a sneer of absolute authority. Next to him sat the tribal council and the wealthy merchants who funded our brutal raids across the northern kingdoms.
And beside Kraven sat old Admiral Thorne. Thorne was a legendary figure, a man who had fought in the great naval wars thirty years ago, though he now looked tired, his grey beard long and his eyes always staring blankly into the horizon as if mourning a lost world.
“Bring the boy closer,” Commander Kraven ordered, his deep voice cutting through the noise like a heavy foghorn.
Vance grabbed the heavy iron collar around my neck, dragging me roughly up the wooden steps toward the high council table. My knees scraped against the splinters, leaving a trail of dark blood behind me. I was thrown onto the floor right in front of Kraven’s heavy, fur-lined boots.
“Look at me, rat,” Kraven sneered, leaning forward. “You have eaten food meant for the men who bleed for this empire. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t let Vance cut your throat right here in front of the men.”
I couldn’t speak. The fear was a cold lump in my throat. I knew that no matter what I said, I was a dead man. I was just an anonymous orphan picked up from a burning coastal village ten years ago. I had no name, no family, and no future.
Vance stepped up behind me, raising his heavy cutlass high above his head, the cold steel catching the flickering lantern light. “Let me rid the ship of this filth, Commander. It will teach the other deckhands what happens when you steal from the masters of the sea.”
I closed my eyes, bracing for the cold bite of the steel against my neck. I pulled my torn, ragged shirt tight around myself, a subconscious instinct to protect my fragile body.
But as Vance yanked my collar back to expose my throat, the rotting, salt-encrusted fabric of my shirt tore completely open from my collarbone down to my waist.
A heavy piece of metal, hidden for a decade beneath the filth and grime of my skin, swung out wildly from around my neck, clinking loudly against the heavy iron chains binding my wrists.
It was an old, blackened silver medallion, carved with the image of a three-headed sea serpent wrapping around a crown—the forbidden crest of the lost Sea Throne.
First Mate Vance didn’t even notice it. He raised his blade higher, a cruel grin spreading across his ugly face. “Die, rat!”
“HOLD YOUR BLADE!”
The roar did not come from Commander Kraven. It came from old Admiral Thorne.
The legendary warrior suddenly leaped out of his high chair, his old knees cracking as he violently overturned the heavy oak table in front of him. Plates of roasted meat and silver chalices of wine crashed to the deck, scattering everywhere.
The entire quarterdeck went dead silent. The wind seemed to howl louder in the sudden quiet of five hundred men holding their breath. Vance froze, his cutlass stopping mere inches from my hair, his jaw dropping in complete confusion.
Admiral Thorne stepped forward, his breathing heavy, his face completely pale as if he had just seen a ghost from the deepest trenches of the ocean. He didn’t look at Kraven. He didn’t look at Vance. His trembling, scarred hands were pointing directly at my chest.
“Where… where did you get that?” Thorne whispered, his voice shaking with an emotion I had never heard in a grown man before.
Kraven frowned, his heavy eyebrows knitting together in annoyance. “Thorne, what is the meaning of this outburst? It’s just a starving deckhand. Let Vance finish the chore so we can return to our council.”
But Thorne didn’t hear him. The old admiral walked down the steps toward me, his eyes entirely locked onto the blackened piece of silver resting against my bruised chest. The hardness in his legendary eyes had completely vanished, replaced by a sudden, terrifying realization. He fell to his knees right there in the pooling rainwater, his heavy, scarred hands reaching out toward me, trembling like dry leaves in a winter storm.
“Admiral?” Vance asked, his voice losing its confident edge, his cutlass lowering slightly. “It’s just a worthless piece of junk the boy probably stole from a dead man’s pocket.”
“Shut your mouth, Vance,” Thorne hissed, a deadly venom in his tone that made the massive First Mate step back a foot. Thorne reached out, his thick fingers gently lifting the silver medallion from my skin as if it were made of fragile glass. He wiped away the layer of dark grease and dried blood covering its face, exposing the intricate, deep-sea engravings underneath.
The old man gasps, his eyes welling up with tears that mixed with the rain rolling down his weather-beaten face. He looked into my eyes, searching my features, looking past the dirt, the scars, and the malnutrition.
“The eyes…” Thorne whispered to himself, his voice echoing in the dead silence of the ship. “The ice-blue eyes of the western line. It cannot be. We searched for you for ten long years.”
“Thorne!” Commander Kraven barked, standing up from his bone throne, his hand resting angrily on the pommel of his broadsword. “Explain yourself. You are making a fool of yourself in front of the entire fleet council. What is that useless trinket?”
Thorne slowly stood up, turning around to face the Commander, his posture straight and rigid, regaining the terrifying presence of the warlord he used to be. He held the medallion high above his head so that the flickering light of the lanterns caught every single ridge of the silver crest.
“This is no trinket, Kraven,” Thorne announced, his voice booming across the entire deck, reaching every sailor from the mainmast to the bow. “This is the Sovereign Medallion of the Royal Crest of Eldoria. The bloodline of High Admiral Valerius, the true master of the Sea Throne, whom you claimed died without an heir!”
A collective gasp rippled through the five hundred sailors. Men began to whisper frantically, their eyes shifting from the medallion to me, then back to the Commander. The name Valerius was legend—he was the righteous ruler who had unified the sea kingdoms before he was mysteriously betrayed and murdered on a stormy night ten years ago.
Kraven’s face turned from irritated to a deep, dark crimson. The veins in his neck bulged as he gripped his sword. “Valerius is dead! His entire household was wiped out by the northern fires! That boy is a nameless rat, nothing more! Vance, execute the thief now! That is an order!”
Vance hesitated, his eyes darting between his Commander and the legendary Admiral. He raised his cutlass again, his muscles tensing, but before he could swing, Thorne’s hand flew to his own scabbard.
With a blinding flash of steel, Thorne drew his heavy broadsword and struck Vance’s cutlass with such immense power that the First Mate’s weapon was sent flying out of his hand, spinning across the deck before plunging into the dark ocean below.
“Touch him,” Thorne growled, his blade resting directly against Vance’s throat, drawing a thin line of red, “and I will feed your entrails to the gulls before the sun rises.”
The entire council of merchants stood up in absolute panic. Kraven’s personal bodyguards drew their weapons, their heavy iron shields locking together as they surrounded the Commander. The atmosphere on the ship became a powder keg, ready to explode into a bloody civil war right there on the open sea.
I sat on the cold wood, completely bewildered, my chest heaving as I looked at the old man defending me. My mind raced back to the faint, blurry memories of my early childhood—the smell of burning cedar, a beautiful woman whispering a lullaby in a room filled with silk, and a tall man with ice-blue eyes hanging a heavy silver chain around my neck, telling me to never, ever let anyone see it.
“Thorne, you are committing treason!” Kraven roared, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and a sudden, deeply hidden fear. “You would mutiny against the Grand Fleet for a lying orphan boy?”
“This is not mutiny, Kraven,” Thorne said, his voice dropping into a chilling, calm register that terrified everyone who heard it. He slowly turned his back on Vance, keeping his eyes locked onto the Commander. He then did something that caused the entire fleet council to lose their minds.
The legendary, undefeated Admiral Thorne lowered his sword, placed it flat on the wet deck, and sank down to both knees right in front of me, bowing his head until his forehead touched my bare, frozen feet.
“My prince,” Thorne said, his voice echoing with absolute loyalty. “The true King of the Sea Throne has returned.”
CHAPTER 2
The silence that followed Thorne’s words was heavy, suffocating, broken only by the violent creaking of the ship’s massive wooden masts and the relentless crashing of the black ocean waves against the hull. Five hundred hardened sailors, men who had slaughtered and plundered across a dozen kingdoms, stood frozen like statues.
I stared down at the old Admiral bowing before me. My mind refused to process what was happening. A prince? Me? I was the boy who cleaned the grease from the galley stoves. I was the boy who was kicked into the bilge water when the sailors were drunk. My ribs still throbbed from Vance’s heavy boot, and my back was a roadmap of fresh, burning pain from the whip.
“Get up, Thorne!” Kraven shouted, stepping down from the high balcony, his heavy iron boots stamping loudly on the steps. His guards moved with him, a wall of bristling steel and dark iron shields. “You have lost your mind to old age and rot! You bow to a thief! A boy who belongs to the mud!”
“He belongs to the High Throne of the Western Seas, Kraven,” Thorne said, slowly rising to his feet, though he kept his body positioned firmly between me and the Commander’s guards. “Look at him! Look past the starvation you inflicted upon him. Look at his face. He carries the exact features of his father, High Admiral Valerius. The same jawline. The same ice-blue eyes that could read a storm before it even formed on the horizon.”
One of the older tribal chieftains sitting at the council table, a man with a deeply scarred face named Jarl Brandon, leaned forward. He squinted through the dim lantern light, his eyes scanning my face. His breath hitched in his throat.
“By the gods,” Brandon whispered, his hand trembling as he touched the silver wolf-skin cloak around his shoulders. “I stood beside Valerius at the Siege of the Black Crest. The boy… the boy has his eyes. When Valerius’s estate was burned, we were told the entire bloodline was extinguished. We were told the boy was consumed by the flames.”
“That is what Kraven wanted you to believe!” Thorne roared, turning his fierce gaze toward the Commander. “Who was the first to arrive at the estate that night? Who claimed to find only ashes? It was Kraven! He murdered the High Admiral in his sleep to usurp control of the Grand Fleet, but he missed the boy. The boy’s mother must have smuggled him out into the coastal villages before the assassins could find him!”
“Lies and slander!” Kraven bellowed, his face twisting into a mask of pure, murderous desperation. He knew that if the crew believed Thorne, his decade-long reign of terror would crumble in a matter of minutes. “I built this fleet! I made us wealthy! I gave you gold and land! Are you going to cast all that away for a fairy tale invented by a senile old man and a mute deckhand?”
The sailors began to murmur, a dark, chaotic rumble rising from the crowd. Some looked at Kraven with anger, remembering the harsh taxes and the brutal executions he had ordered over the years. Others looked at me with confusion and skepticism. To them, a king was a man of power, muscle, and steel—not a broken, bleeding boy wrapped in rags and bound by iron chains.
First Mate Vance, seeing an opportunity to regain his master’s favor, quietly stepped toward a rack of boarding axes hooked to the mainmast. His hand crept toward a heavy iron-headed axe, his eyes fixed on the back of my head.
“Watch out!” I tried to scream, but my voice was weak, nothing more than a raspy cough.
Thorne didn’t need my warning. Without even turning around, the old warrior spun on his heel, his heavy boot catching Vance squarely in the groin. As the First Mate doubled over in agony, Thorne grabbed him by the hair, smashing his face violently against the iron capstan. The sound of breaking bone echoed across the deck, and Vance collapsed into a heap of unconscious, bleeding flesh.
“The next man who moves without permission will join Vance in the deep!” Thorne declared, his bloody sword pointed toward the council. He turned back to me, his expression softening into one of deep reverence. He reached into his belt and drew a small, intricate iron key.
He knelt beside me once more, gently taking my chained wrists. With a quick twist of his hand, the heavy iron locks clicked open. The heavy chains clattered to the deck, leaving raw, bleeding rings around my skin. For the first time in three years, my hands were free.
“Speak to them, my prince,” Thorne whispered to me, his eyes pleading. “Tell them who you are. Tell them what you remember of the night the fires took your home.”
I looked at the sea of faces staring down at me. Fear gripped my heart, tighter than any iron chain. I was terrified of Kraven, terrified of the guards, terrified of the five hundred men who had laughed at my torment just moments ago. But as I looked at the blackened silver medallion in my hand, something broke inside me. The years of abuse, the starvation, the cold nights sleeping in the rat-infested hold—it all transformed into a burning, white-hot rage.
I slowly stood up. My legs shook, and my vision swam, but I forced myself to stand tall. I wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand, staring directly into the eyes of Commander Kraven.
“I remember the smell of smoke,” I said, my voice shaking at first, but growing stronger with every word. “I remember a woman with golden hair wrapping this medallion around my neck. She told me to run into the sea caves and never look back. She told me that the man with the black iron armor and the broken nose was a traitor.”
The crowd gasped. Every eye immediately darted to Kraven’s face. Right across the bridge of his nose was a thick, crooked scar—the result of a broken bone that had never healed properly.
“He lies!” Kraven roared, drawing his massive broadsword, his armor clanking loudly. “I will personally rip the tongue from his mouth!”
“You will have to go through me first, usurper,” Thorne growled, stepping in front of me, his blade held high in a perfect combat stance.
But Kraven didn’t move alone. He raised his left hand, signaling his elite personal guard. “Kill them both! Kill anyone who stands with them! A thousand silver pieces to the man who brings me the boy’s head!”
The guards moved forward, their heavy iron shields forming a wall of death. The air grew thick with the promise of slaughter. I looked around, realizing that despite Thorne’s bravery, we were completely outnumbered. Kraven’s loyalists were moving in, and the rest of the crew was too paralyzed by fear to intervene.
Just as the first guard raised his spear to thrust at Thorne’s chest, a massive, thunderous roar echoed from the dark waters surrounding the ship. A rogue wave, larger than any before, slammed into the side of The Iron Leviathan, tilting the massive warship violently to the port side.
Men screamed as they lost their footing, sliding across the wet, slick wood. The heavy storm lanterns swung wildly, one of them snapping from its chain and crashing onto the deck, igniting a pool of spilled whale oil into a wall of roaring orange fire right between us and Kraven’s men.
Through the smoke and the flames, I saw Kraven’s furious face, his eyes wild with hatred. He knew the storm had bought us time, but he also knew we were trapped on a ship in the middle of the ocean. There was nowhere to run.
Thorne grabbed my arm with an iron grip, pulling me toward the dark, narrow steps leading down into the bowels of the ship. “We must go, my prince! We cannot fight them all on the open deck! We must secure the lower decks before Kraven can rally the entire fleet!”
As we plunged into the darkness of the lower decks, leaving the roaring fire and the screaming crew behind us, I knew that the hunt had begun. We were deep in the belly of the beast, and the man who had murdered my father was coming to finish the job.
