Page 5

Esmyra

B eneath the dim candlelight, kohl-lined, sapphire eyes stared back at Esmyra through the mirror. Lifting her hand, she gently placed it on the edge of the once intricate champagne frame, which now more resembled a tarnished piece of rubbish discarded by a king.

Her gaze wandered over every visible aspect of her appearance—from the blue-black hair that fell in waves down to the center of her back, the multiple silver rings that hung from her ears, and the ridiculous layered dress that had a corset cinching her waist into near nothingness.

She pulled on a pair of knee-high leather boots she had swiped from a closet down the hall and worked to lace them up over the hosiery that clung to her legs.

As she stared at the stockings, she thought they appeared to be better suited for fishing than attire, but this was supposedly what men sought when searching for a woman to take into their bed.

Not that she would know, for she hadn’t had a desire for it in centuries.

Any man or male who dared get too close to her found themselves beneath her spell, and their method of approach determined whether she offered them mercy or forced them to fall upon their own blade.

Taking a step back, she stood in the center of a rented room in the Kraken’s Alehouse—a rundown tavern in the center of Anchorage Cove, the boisterous haven for rumrunners and criminals of the sea.

The music and rowdiness of the rooms below shook the floor and rattled the walls as the pub filled with guests.

It sounded like home.

The skirts of her dress flowed down to her feet, and she bunched up one side, tucking it into its belt to show off the fishnets hugging her muscular thighs.

Bending the knee of her exposed leg, she angled it to the side and let out an aggravated huff as she continued to nitpick everything that clung to her curves.

“Well, Esmi, you look like any other brothel’s daughter down there,” Jak joked from where he sat across the room, watching her.

She turned to him, giving him an unamused look, and all he could do was raise a brow at her in challenge.

“Your presence here is hardly necessary. Any of you, for that matter,” she grumbled.

Once The Night Wraith reached Anchorage Cove, they opted to anchor their ship around the bend to avoid being seen by the Phoenix’s crew, who had already disguised themselves to blend with the crowd of the isle.

Esmyra’s plan was to compel Captain Draevyn Rowe for information needed—pry whatever she could from his mind before disposing of him, simultaneously eliminating one of their largest threats.

Jak stood and stalked toward her. “No one should deem themselves able to go up against the Phoenix alone, Esmyra. He’s dangerous. Just as dangerous as you are.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “I’m not afraid to play with a little fire, Jak.” She shot him a malicious grin, to which he rolled his eyes.

Draevyn Rowe wasn’t just any mortal prince—he was a fire-wielder . The only one known to exist in all of Rymelle.

Lephyrin’s king loathed being considered the weakest of all races and kingdoms. Rumors claimed that when his second son, Draevyn, was born, barely a year after his heir, he brought them both to Irah’s temple and bartered for their gifts.

It’s been said that the god’s asking price was to place a piece of his violent soul within the infants.

The king eagerly agreed, anticipating the fear it would instill in other kingdoms.

And it worked.

Atlas, the firstborn and heir, was granted the power of shadows and smoke, renowned for blinding enemies and casting them into darkness. Draevyn, however, received Irah’s raging flames, granting him the renowned name of Lephyrin’s Phoenix.

She’d heard whisperings over the years that Draevyn often took to the sea on voyages to meet with the other kingdoms, likely to ensure they remained in line when it came to their trades.

While Draevyn wasn’t the heir to the kingdom, he was still royalty.

Though kingdom gossip claimed he had no desire for his title and only made appearances in Lephyrin when a threat presented itself.

King Rowe didn’t have hired goons out looking for a lost kingdom of gold.

Esmyra knew that since the king had his own son out searching, he must not trust anyone else to look for answers.

Regardless of the fact that it was forbidden by the gods, he couldn’t have the other kingdoms catching wind of this—it would put them all at even further odds with their struggle for power.

“This isn’t a fucking game.” Jak’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

She stepped up to him, and though she was a foot shorter, she made sure to make him feel significantly smaller by staring at him down the bridge of her nose. “You forget your place, Jak.”

“A bit difficult to do such things. However, I’m the only one ever looking out for you, Esmi. All gods know your father is barely capable of it.”

Her brows furrowed as she stared up at him, her chest heaving. “A foolish waste of time, if you ask me.”

“Well, luckily, I didn’t ask you. Everyone needs help sometimes. Even if they’re too stubborn to admit it.”

She took a step back to get a better view of him, her eyes roaming his body as his stance remained rigid. “Do you truly think there is any scenario where he would have the upper hand on me?”

“Draevyn is the Phoenix . He’s no normal man,” he challenged .

“And this is unknown territory to him and his men,” Esmyra shot back. “In no realm would he win in a fight against me. It also won’t even come to such things. The plan is to compel him for the information the moment he stands before me.”

Jak’s nostrils flared.

“Besides, water beats fire every time.” She winked.

“Aye,” Jak whispered as he rubbed his temples. “The crew should all be in their places by now, scattered about the room and blending in. I’ll go join them so we don’t arrive together.”

“Good riddance,” she growled.

Grinning, he gave her a quick wink. “Try not to kill anyone when they stare at you, gorgeous,” he said before leaving the room.

After one last glance at herself in the mirror, she huffed out a breath and followed Jak’s footsteps toward the door that was nearly falling off its hinges.

Obnoxious, drunken voices and deafening music slammed into her the moment she pulled it open.

Her feet carried her down the rickety, creaking stairs until she halted near the bottom.

Laughter and shouts filled the air of The Kraken’s Alehouse, mingling with the music of a drunken fiddler by the door.

Lanterns hung from iron hooks throughout the room, while the bar itself was a massive slab of dark wood spanning the back wall.

Scattered throughout the room were rough-hewn tables littered with dice, mugs of ale, and the occasional pile of coins or gems gleaming in the lantern light—the pirates of Rymelle filling nearly every seat.

Esmyra’s eyes drifted around the room until they finally landed on the king’s son, huddled in the back corner with a few of his men. She took the last step off the staircase, the untucked edges of her layered dress drifting over the sandy, ale-covered floorboards.

With each step she took into the room, the distinct scent of rum and salty sea air wafted through her nostrils as she surveyed the motley crew of pirates and rogues who occupied the tavern. Some eyed her with curiosity, while others leered with unmistakable desire as she approached the center.

Leaning against the worn wooden bar, she caught the eye of the stout barmaid, who gave her a subtle nod.

Esmyra knew she’d recognize her, even beneath the disguise—the crew of The Night Wraith had been here enough.

Without a word, she reached into a small pouch tied to the belt of her dress and placed a few coins on the counter before her.

The barmaid’s hand swept the coins into the folds of her apron before handing Esmyra a pint of ale, and she took a swig as she turned away from the counter.

A graceful, lethal hum fell from her lips, echoing softly between the rhythms of the playing music.

It was a soft, melodic song that wrapped itself around her victims’ minds and held them hostage until she could strike.

While she could only ever compel her victims with her eyes, her siren’s song would hold them in a lucid trance.

Their movements and breathing slowed, their world would sway, and their wills would be dimmed to a mere flickering candle flame.

A tavern was the perfect place to cast it, where the crowd was already drunk or nearly there, giving the same effect.

Weaving through the crowd, she continued her symphony of manipulation. For in a world where trust was a rarity, Esmyra was more than aware that the greatest power of the realm lay in the art of deception.

Easily slipping into the role, she toyed with a lock of her hair as it cascaded over her shoulder, beckoning to the men who gazed at her with coy grins. With each table she passed, she gave a flirtatious look or playful smile, her humming arousing desire in the eyes of the onlookers.

Her gaze locked on Jak as he played his role with ease on a stool near the tavern’s door, acting as if he were numerous ales deep as his hands trailed up a true courtesan’s skirt.

Esmyra shot him a quick smirk while subtly lifting her mug of ale in approval, and he gave her a dip of his chin before returning his attention to the woman in his lap.

As her gaze wandered about the tavern, she found the stations of most of her crew, knowing they all secretly watched her whereabouts, waiting for an order or the need to strike.

When she turned to aim for Draevyn, a massive hand clamped down on her waist, pulling her forcefully against its owner’s clammy body. Esmyra’s face bounced off his chest, and her eyes instantly shifted as fury surged through her at the unexpected touch of a man.