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CHAPTER TWELVE

DAX

D ax awoke to darkness.

The air was heavy, laden with the faint scent of flowers. A cloying sweetness that didn’t belong. Not to him. His wrists were bound, his knees pressing against a cold floor that spoke of power and wealth. The world around him was a mess of whispers and clinking metal. His head throbbed, the sting of the bee’s venom still faint in his blood, but his mind was awake. Too awake.

He inhaled slowly, trying to piece together the fragments of memory. The map. The sting. The collapse.

"Wake him up Keegan," a low voice commanded.

“Not yet Beron,” another replied.

Then, a snap of fingers.

Light flooded his senses, blinding and merciless. Dax squinted as the brightness cut through his skull like a blade. Fingers waved in front of his eyes taunting, but he ignored them. His sharp mind worked quickly, adapting, assessing.

It was much too bright to be the slums, too fragrant to be the Viper’s Guild. No chaos. No roars of laughter. No drunken shouts echoing off the walls. He flexed his hands instinctively and felt the cold bite of iron against his skin. Shackles.

“Lovely,” he muttered to himself.

“That voice,” a woman purred, her tone rich with amusement.

“Enough, Keegan,” a deeper voice interrupted, laced with irritation.

Dax blinked as his vision cleared, revealing two figures before him. The woman was dressed in crimson, her long braids adorned with golden beads that gleamed in the light. Her hands were heavy with rings—so many that the sunlight bouncing off them nearly blinded Dax. "Who even wore that many rings?" he thought bitterly. Beside her stood a broad man in armor, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Am I dead?” Dax drawled, his lips curling into a lazy smirk.

“Not yet,” the woman, Keegan, replied with a smile sharp enough to cut.

“But perhaps soon,” added the armored man.

Dax let his gaze shift between them, his smile unfaltering. A predator’s smile that could unnerve even the boldest fools, yet was so wickedly seductive it dared you to look twice. He wore it like armor.

“You are in the presence of His Majesty, King Ronan,” the man barked, stepping aside to reveal the vast throne room.

Dax’s smirk didn’t falter. Ronan the Dreadlord. So that was the game.

Struggling to his feet, his movements deliberate and slow, he straightened as much as the shackles would allow. He brushed a strand of dark hair from his face with a bound hand and muttered, “I must say, this dream of mine is much fancier than most.”

The slap came fast—a sharp sting across his cheek.

Dax’s head snapped to the side, his lips parting in an almost feral grin. Blood pooled in his mouth, coppery and warm, but he didn’t spit it out. He swallowed it, locking eyes with the armored man.

“You hit like a child,” he said, his voice soft, mocking.

Keegan laughed, a low, throaty sound that only seemed to enrage the man further. But she stepped forward, raising a hand to stop him. “Let him speak,” she murmured. “It’ll be much more entertaining.”

The room was colossal, its gold columns reaching a vaulted ceiling carved with gods and monsters locked in eternal battle. It was unbearably beautiful.

And at its center, seated on a throne was King Ronan.

“Come closer,” the king commanded, his voice low and grating.

Feigning innocence, Dax pointed to himself. “Me?”

“Now,” Ronan snapped.

Dax hesitated, taking a tentative step forward before a guard shoved him hard. He staggered but caught himself as he whispered, “Charming hospitality.”

As he approached the throne, his sharp eyes took in everything: the placement of the guards, the exits, the faint glimmer of a fragment resting on a velvet cushion. The map. His map.

That’s mine!” Dax shouted, lunging forward. But before he could reach it, a guard’s armored fist collided with his stomach.

He doubled over, coughing, blood dripping onto the floor.

“That,” Beron said stepping forward, “belongs to the crown.”

Dax straightened slowly, wiping the blood from his mouth. “The crown, huh?” He chuckled. “Must’ve been a lucky sailor who dropped it, then. Probably drunk. Poor bastard.”

“Silence!” Ronan roared, slamming a fist against the armrest of his throne.

Dax’s eyes narrowed. Beneath the humor, a new thought took root. He’s running out of time.

The king leaned forward. “I should cut you apart for your insolence. But today, I will give you purpose.”

“No,” Dax interrupted, his voice slicing through the room like a blade. His smirk faded, replaced by cold calculation. “I can be useful to you.”

"Oh, but you will... Around me are my most competent counselors and commanders. They were tasked with finding fragments like this one of the divine map for decades, yet?—"

"I did," Dax interrupted smoothly, finishing the king's sentence. His tone dropped, serious now, his sharp eyes narrowing.

The king’s gaze locked on him, cold and cutting, like a blade drawn just beneath the surface. "Indeed, you did. Which makes you a traitor to the crown, but also," his lips curled slightly, a hint of reluctant admiration bleeding through the disdain, "a remarkably sly and skilled thief."

Dax shrugged, "Naturally. I’m a pirate," he said.

But as the king’s words sank in, Dax decided to feign ignorance a little longer. Playing the fool, a little longer to confirm his suspicions, just enough to give meaning to the restless thrill that had burned in his veins ever since he’d found that fragment. He tilted his head, "I might not be as… cultivated as you nobles and scholars," he began, "But I’d wager that piece of the map is old. Very old. Which means it could lead to one of two things: either chaos or loads of gold. And I’d guess it probably belonged to..."

“Nehalennia.” Keegan cut in swiftly, her voice sharp and smooth all at once. "It belonged to the goddess Nehalennia."

The king shot her a withering glare, but Keegan only rolled her eyes, completely unfazed.

"I need fresh blood and spirit," the king growled, turning his attention back to Dax. "And in order to retrieve?—"

"No need for long formalities." Dax’s voice rang out, cutting clean through the room like a whip crack. This was his moment, his way out of the slums and back to the sea. His pulse quickened as he raised his bound hands, his smirk widening. "Free me from these shackles. Give me my compass, my hat, and my sword, and I’ll show you how I did it. Hell, I’ll find the other pieces of your precious map for you—for half the price I usually charge." His grin turned wolfish, his eyes gleaming with that magnetic charm that made men follow him to their graves. "My men are already eager for the sea."

“Untie him,” Ronan ordered.

The guards obeyed, their hands fumbling with the knots. The moment his wrists were free, Dax rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers. He retrieved his sword and hat with deliberate slowness, relishing the feel of freedom.

He took his time adjusting his collar, rolling his shoulders. Blood trickled from his split lip, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, the metallic tang lingering on his tongue.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Keegan striding toward him. Her gaze was fixed on his mouth, on the blood still glistening there. She tilted her head, inhaling faintly, as if his blood carried secrets only she could decipher. Dax’s gaze flicked to her, slow and deliberate, before he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, as he adjusted the cuff of his shirt. Then her eyes fluttered shut, "Your life will be in danger during this quest," she whispered.

Dax barely paused, his smirk cutting across his face. "It'll take more than a few storms at sea to ruin me."

Keegan’s eyes snapped open, her words slicing through the air. “It will only take a few whispers.”

His smirk faltered for the briefest of moments, his jaw tightening just enough to betray a flicker of unease.

Whatever game she was playing, he refused to indulge it. Instead, his thoughts turned to the ships, the gold, the men. All now under his command. Everything he had ever needed.

He strode out of the throne room.

For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of something he hadn’t in a long time.

Hope.

Destiny seemed to finally smile back at him.