Page 46 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Agown of deep royal-blue caressed Kora’s body. Its sweetheart neckline swept across her chest, exposing her shoulders as sheer fabric circled around her upper arms. Tendrils of sparkling silver coated the corset, dripping down into the flowing skirts. This gown had been designed for her; it fitted her body like a second skin. She stared at herself in the tall mirror, unable to recognise the person she’d become.

Her white hair was slicked back, and various silver charms adorned her rounded ears. A line of black kohl circled her eyes, making them burn a fiery blue, and glittered silver had been dusted across her lids and shoulders. The servants even added some to her scar, and she turned her head, gazing in wonder as it sparkled against the moonlight bleeding through the bay window.

She was . . . pretty.

A secret smile played with her lips as she cocked her head. She felt powerful. In a different kind of way. She removed her talisman—it was too risky to wear it—and stuffed it into one of the many throw pillows clustering the grand, four-poster bed in the chamber.

Since her little spat at South Wharf Station, its shaped had changed again, and she now realised it was evolving into an eight-pointed star, with a glowing, diamond heart encased in an intricate swirling cage.

She cased the room. Large armoires lined one wall, along with a dressing partition, and a doorway to private bathing chambers. Every wall was the same solid, large stone, lined with gold and moss. The furniture was various shades of green, and white rugs with golden tassels lined the stoned floor.

A white oak desk in the corner had pristine thick paper atop it, along with a quill and ink. Beside it were empire wax seals, identical to her own onboard Hell’s Serpent, with lumps of gold wax. Her lips pursed as a calm coolness settled from the talisman’s absence, dampening her temperamental water beast. Good, she needed calm right now.

“Well,”

Kora gulped.

“I guess this is happening.”

She hadn’t worn a gown since the night she’d met Bree. As she left her room, navigating the winding hallways towards a large, sweeping marble staircase, she focused on staying upright in the ridiculous shoes the servants insisted she wore.

She decided she liked dresses. Heels, not so much.

As she descended the staircase, she faltered at her crew waiting at the bottom. Samuel turned first, his jaw gaping. His unruly blonde locks were swept back and tied at the back of his head. His suit was of the deepest violet, the lapels a shimmering black, with a violet cravat and black waistcoat.

“Captain,”

he whistled, and she smiled shyly.

Aryn flicked his head, his golden eyes widening as Kora descended the final steps. His floppy brown hair had been smoothed out and tucked gracefully behind his ears. His attire was like Samuel’s, in shades of dark burgundy, with a golden sash snaking across his chest. His quiver and longbow were absent, no longer attached to him, and he grinned sheepishly, his dual tattoo crinkling.

“You . . . you’re,”

Samuel stuttered as she joined them.

“you’re a girl.”

Aryn and Kora glanced at him, taken aback. Then slowly, she beamed at Samuel, a laugh escaping her lips.

“What did you think she was all this time? A dog?”

Aryn shook his head.

“Well, no. But . . .”

Samuel’s eyes roved over her body.

“Look at you.”

“Easy there,”

she snapped her fingers at his wandering gaze.

“I’m not another barmaid you can charm.”

“No,”

he murmured.

“You’re certainly not.”

“You look stunning.”

She stiffened as Erick descended the staircase. Clad in attire fit for a king, the commodore unhurriedly approached, his stance tall in his forest-green velvet suit. Adorned with a golden waistcoat and a black cravat, he strode with a royal’s grace, his fingers sweeping against the marble balustrade in a gentle caress.

As if he knew this castle intimately. As if he’d been here all his life. Big, fat, liar.

Kora narrowed her eyes as he cleared the final steps, and Aryn shifted away, tugging at his collar.

“Shall we?”

Erick held out his arm, his voice tentative.

She could tell he knew something was wrong, and didn’t want to test the waters between them just yet. Not in front of the admiral. But their awkwardness was affecting her crew. Samuel and Aryn’s gazes averted, their hands wringing. So, she took Erick’s arm, and the four of them strolled to the towering set of gilded marble doors leading to the ballroom.

The size of a capital vessel, it spanned for hundreds of yards in every direction. The ceiling was at least three floors high, and a skylight window dominated the centre, casting beams of moonlight into the marbled room.

Endless dancers graced the floor, twirling and spinning along to music played by a string orchestra at the rear. Large marble tables lined each side of the room, filled to the brim with exotic spiced meats, seafood, herbal rice, and boar stew. Lemons, oranges, and melons as large as her head were fanned on silver platters—enough to feed an entire kingdom. Crystal bowls were filled with enough grog to kill Samuel. Rum, ale, and wine, along with punch for little lads and lassies.

Golden-paned glass windows exposed the left side, and a large roaring fireplace, as big as her chambers back home, took up the right side. Her vision swirled along with the endless dancers in an array of colours.

“Erick,”

a raking voice appeared beside them.

“Barron,”

Erick replied, his grip tightening on Kora ever so slightly.

“Captain Cadell,”

Barron bowed gracefully in his black suit. It hugged his muscles and accented the darkness of his hair and eyes. She eyed him curiously, casting her stare over the black waistcoat, cravat, and shirt. It was unusual attire.

It reminded her of Hell’s Serpent.

“Would you honour me with your first dance?”

Barron smiled.

“I don’t think that’s wise. I was hoping for some time with Kora,”

Erick answered before she could, and she cut him a glare.

“I’m sure you have plenty of time to spend with your . . . daughter,”

Barron spoke smoothly.

“I’d like to get to know your protegee. After all, she is the only female captain in my fleet.”

At last, someone who could acknowledge and respect her.

Erick’s mouth thinned as she untangled from his grip, placing her hand into Barron’s icy one. He guided Kora towards the dancefloor and whispers followed, the crowd parting for them like a wave. She averted her gaze from watchful eyes surrounding them, as Barron placed a hand on her waist, the other taking her left hand. Every muscle within her tensed.

As the music swelled, he took off, and she concentrated on keeping up with his steps, stumbling in the awful footwear she’d been forced to wear. After a few beats, he slowed, a wry smile on his lips.

“Not a dancer then?”

“No,”

she replied breathlessly. Had she always been this unfit.

“Dancing isn’t a required skill when you’re sailing a ship.”

He laughed, the sound causing her muscles to tense so much she thought she'd snap in two. Why was she so nervous? A gentle puff of air circled her, and she tried to force herself to relax as Barron spun her across the dancefloor, their steps in time with the string notes.

“I understand you want to become admiral,”

Barron murmured, his mouth too close to her ear for her liking.

“I-er, yes. I do. Not that I aim to replace you, of course,”

Kora swallowed her anxiety. Gods, what was wrong with her?

A chuckle rippled from his broad chest. She felt so tiny in his arms.

“Don’t let go of that ambition. You will progress, as long as you know where to remain loyal. It will serve you well. I made a good choice in who to escort the sentinel. Pity Theron hasn’t shown his face tonight. I’ve been eager to make this next step with him.”

Kora’s brows flew so high they nearly faded into her hairline. Barron had requested them for the escort? He must’ve known of her and Blake’s achievements via Erick, believing they’d be most appropriate for the job.

Good gods. It’d ended in a massacre. They had been the worst decision. It made sense to an extent. Her and Blake had achieved their careers through a deadly contest designed to create killing machines. And that’s exactly what the empire received.

He leaned closer.

“Besides, I have my heart set on a far greater goal now.”

Before she could enquire, he spun her again, and pulled her back close enough she could hear his steady, slow heartbeat. His fingers splayed on the small of her back, and his thunderous gaze dipped down to her lips, tracing the sharpness of her jaw. The music swelled, the notes cresting and rising like a wave.

“Unfortunately, I’ve decided to focus my efforts on my position as viceroy for the Citadel,”

Barron rumbled into her ear. The proximity caused every hair to prickle across her skin, and her shimmering scar to scream.

“Which means . . . you have a chance to step up.”

Her eyes widened as reality slammed in. Almighty Thanos. She was dancing with a viceroy—with a leader of their lands. Her grip slackened as she craned her head, trying to create space between their bodies. She glimpsed Erick standing at the edge of the ballroom, his brown eyes transfixed on every single movement they made. His mouth was so thin, his lips had practically disappeared.

As they twirled again, she saw Blake standing on the opposite side by the windows, his face glowering with rage as he, too, watched them waltz across the sleek marble floor. Another twirl, and Bree came into focus, her face poised in restrained shock as she lingered at the entrance to the ballroom with the Hydrafort family. Kora glanced away, shame oozing from every pore.

“I-I didn’t know,”

she stammered.

Dancing with a viceroy was a bold move—a dangerous one. It pulled her into the public eye. Not only that, but she knew all viceroys were married. All had established homes, families, or wives.

And here one was—the one who lived in the gods-damned castle, dancing with a single, lone female that wasn’t his wife. The whispers surrounding them surged, and Kora’s cheeks burned as her ears picked up on the accusations.

On the scandal.

“I wouldn’t listen to them,”

Barron spoke quietly.

“My wife is not well. She is in our chambers resting, tonight. I just had to experience you for myself. Erick has kept you hidden away for far too long.”

What?

“I-I’m sorry,”

Kora withdrew from his grip, unable to bear the wave of rumours and gossip encircling them. Barron paused.

“This isn’t right. I will earn admiral, not cheat my way to it.”

“Very well.”

His dark eyes scanned the ballroom and the whispering faded instantly.

“I must say though . . . you are stunning, Kora Cadell.”

He glanced at her gown, and she clasped her arms around her body.

“As stunning as the ocean. The gown was a good choice. I’m glad it fits.”

His words were gentle, like a caress, but her heart hammered. He had chosen the dress. She no longer felt pretty, but like the puppet he’d made her feel when they’d met earlier. Dressed up and wheeled out for him to display to the courtiers.

Barron sauntered off into the throng of dancers, black hair glistening in the moonlight. Kora hurried to the edge of the crowd, sucking in deep breaths as she steadied herself against the marble feast table.

What was she doing? What were any of them doing? This whole thing was ridiculous. War was coming. Shifting uncomfortably in her gown, she shakily poured a goblet of what she hoped was strong wine.