Page 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

DAX

" I f we combine the searing pain of lightning, the burn of fire, the sting of salt on a fresh wound, and the bite of a sharp blade, it still wouldn’t come close to the torment that woman puts me through," Dax growled through clenched teeth. He exhaled slowly, knotting the strings of his shirt with a restless tension he no longer bothered to hide. A distant crash echoed from the main deck, making him flinch. “I’m sick of her. It’s all her fault… again. Can you believe it?”

No answer. Of course not. He shot an exasperated glance at the crab-shaped plush toy. Irene’s. Dax rolled his eyes. That damn crab toy was mocking him. Of all the things he could have taken, why in hell had he taken that? Dax approached the toy slowly, irritation swelling with each step. He snatched it up with a sharp, almost desperate motion, fingers digging into the soft fabric as if crushing it might crush the part of her still lodged in his mind.

But that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close. He hurled it across the cabin, watching it hit the far wall and drop to the floor.

Dax couldn’t help but run his fingers over the scar on his neck. Irene had cut him. She had made him bleed. And in that moment, Dax had completely lost control—mentally, physically, emotionally. A low unhinged giggle slipped past his lips at the thought.

She could have just ignored him. But no. She had taken the time to lift her knife and slice him, to mark him. To hurt him. She thrived on violence. He knew that. And he was certain, damn certain, his little siren had taken pleasure in seeing him in pain, drenched in blood.

He shook his head, hating himself almost as much as he hated her. He'd had her. Right there, within his grasp. His fingers grazed her skin. Her scent had hit him like a familiar poison.

He'd felt her throat, her pulse under his touch, her body molding against his in that treacherous dance. There was nothing sane in wanting to possess a woman he also wanted to ruin.

And yet, he'd let her go.

Weak .

The word cracked through his mind like a whip.

He should've tied her to his bed, made her pay. Extracted the venom from that viper the only way he knew how. After all, they were both serpents, weren't they? Forged by the same hand.

“Glory, wealth… an eternal life at sea,” he murmured like a prayer, as if those words could hold him together. But the chaos outside shattered the illusion. A heavier crash followed, more menacing than before, rattling the ship to its core. He stormed out of his cabin, fed up with the endless days spent circling on this cursed ship, surrounded by incompetents. The sea mocked him with every wave, as if taunting him for the crew of clumsy fools he had.

Dax’s eyes snapped open. Enough. Reaching the main deck, he took in the disorder. Eldorian soldiers scrambled like panicked ants, their polished gold armor gleaming uselessly. They were merely playing at being sailors—nothing like the hardened Vipers he had once commanded. Men forged by storms and blood. “Fools…” Dax muttered.

At the front of the ship, Keegan stood over a stone basin filled with water, her hands submerged, whispers spilling from her lips. Her long braids swayed in the wind, and her eyes were distant, lost in a vision only she could see.

Dax eyed her warily, impatience gnawing at him. He didn’t doubt her abilities, but days had passed, and they’d been sailing blindly, following nothing but this witch’s cryptic visions. Until he saw the StormBreaker with his own eyes, he wouldn’t trust anything.

“So, witch, are we moving forward, or just spinning in circles again?” he snapped.

Keegan didn’t respond immediately. Her lips curved in a faint smile, her eyes still shut. “I feel it… The prince’s blood is calling me,” she murmured.

Dax’s jaw tightened. “Of course. And who’s to say it’s not just some poor sailor bleeding nearby?” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Keegan opened her eyes slowly, meeting his gaze with a knowing glint. “Because he carries divine blood, Captain. I know its essence… its scent.” Her smile widened, revealing sharp teeth, as if she had tasted that blood before.

A chill swept over Dax. He shoved it aside, fixing his stare on the horizon.

“Irene won’t be able to keep her ship hidden for long…” Keegan added in a sing-song voice, her tone mocking.

At the mention of Irene’s name, Dax turned abruptly—too fast to mask his reaction.

Keegan’s soft chuckle followed. “Your heart sings her name with such venom, Captain…”

He hated how easily she read him, hated the way her words slithered under his skin.

Without a word, he struck the chained ball at her ankle with a brutal swing, silencing her laughter. "Keep whispering over your waters, witch. Let’s hope they show you how I’ll toss you overboard if your visions fail me." He said, before he turned on his heel.

Dax approached the large cabin, the sound of Roderick’s furious barking bursting through the door.

“Follow the cursed map! Does anyone here even know how to read a damned compass?!” The commander’s fist slammed onto the table, the wood groaning under the force. “Those sea rats slipped through our fingers! They’re out there—somewhere on the horizon!” His voice cracked under the strain of barely contained rage. “Find me a way through! A faster route—anything! Or we’ll all be hanging from ropes." Ever since Irene had thrown Eldoria into chaos, Roderick had been crumbling under the king’s pressure. Soldiers had torn apart every home in the city, hunting for the stolen maps—and the prince.

Dax recalled the moment they boarded the ship. On the opposite pier, a woman and a little girl had been disembarking, their hands shackled in heavy chains. He had noticed Commander Roderick freeze. His face had twisted in anguish. “Sophia…” he had whispered. His wife and daughter. The message from the king had been brutally clear—fail to find the prince, and they would all pay the price.

Dax threw open the cabin doors. The men seated around the long table turned toward him. He raised his arms, a mocking grin on his face. “Please, don’t stop for me.” “Captain,” began the old royal cartographer. With a self-important air, the navigator spread out the large map across the table, as though unveiling a sacred relic. “I was explaining to the commander that continuing straight ahead in these waters or attempting the strait would be suicide. The area ahead is littered with reefs, and some of the nearby islands remain beyond Eldorian control. It’s far too dangerous.”

Dax’s eyes flicked to Roderick, who stood stiff and furious, his face glistening with sweat. He narrowed his gaze, irritation clawing at him. “And how exactly do you plan on catching up with our enemies, sir?” Dax asked, his tone dripping with insolence.

The navigator straightened, clearing his throat as though it might give him some weight. “Well, I believe—no, I’m half certain—that our enemies must have reached the same conclusion. They’ve likely chosen to skirt around the waters of L’Amorria. A much longer route, yes, but far safer.” His voice wavered under the strain of assumed authority.

Dax moved closer, every step deliberate, his boots thudding against the wooden floor. With an air of casual menace, he leaned in, locking eyes with the navigator, whose false confidence seemed to shrink under the captain’s cold stare.

“You don’t win battles by sailing around storms. You go through them,” Dax said, his voice low and biting. His lips curled into a dangerous smirk. “But then again, I suppose it’s too much to expect bold decisions from someone who steers by dusty charts and calculations made by an old man who hasn’t seen the deck of a ship since before The Great War.”

Dax turned to Roderick. “If I were you, Commander, I’d start praying to one of your old gods. Beg them to spare the souls of your wife and daughter. Because with a crew that drags itself around in silk and golden robes, doom is already breathing down our necks,” Dax said, his head tilted slightly.

“Listen to me, pirate…” Roderick growled. “Save your low-life sermons for your drunks. What I need is a plan. A real one. If you claim to have something better, then prove it.”

Dax exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if brushing off the tension. His fingers traced the back of his neck, but his eyes remained locked on Roderick’s, cold and calculating. A flicker of exasperation crossed his features, but when he spoke, his voice was icy and precise, cutting through the thick air like a blade.

“We need to catch the StormBreaker before it slips out of range.” He gestured at the map spread out on the table, tapping a point where the currents twisted into the wind. “We cut through the strait, near the islands of Eredorn. If we keep trailing behind like obedient dogs, we’ll never catch them.”

One of the men, bolder than the rest, hesitated before asking, “How do we know they’ll be heading that way?”

Dax’s lips curled into a cold smile, but before he could answer, Roderick stepped in, his tone hard.

“The witch,” he said, voice low but sure. “Her last vision placed the prince not far from Hallowed Bay. Just before the Serpent Reefs.”

“Which means our enemies took the fastest yet riskiest route. The only way to catch them is by cutting through the Eredorn Strait. The south wind will carry us. Yes, it’ll be rough, might even toss some of you overboard if you aren’t ready to face a real storm, but we’ll gain a full day easily.” He let the words hang in the salty air, tension crackling as he continued, his voice low and sharp. “As long as we stay clear of the Serpent Isles, we’ll be fine. And make no mistake, they took the same gamble. They know it’s the quickest path.”

He paused, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint as he scanned the crew. “They won’t see us coming. They’ll think they’ve outrun us, but we’ll be on them before they even realize it.”

The commander nodded at Dax’s words, then turned to the men. “You heard!” he barked, his voice booming like cannon fire through the cabin. “No mistakes. I swear, I’ll sink this ship with my own hands before I return to Eldoria empty-handed! Might as well drown here and pray our bodies vanish with the waves!” Dax gave a curt nod. If the plan failed, none of them would see the sunrise. Whether by the king’s wrath or the sea’s bite, they were doomed either way.

Suddenly, the cabin doors burst open with a deafening crash, driven by a violent gust of wind. All eyes snapped toward the entrance. Standing in the doorway was Keegan.

Roderick wiped the sweat from his forehead, scowling. “Just what we needed—the blood-drinking madwoman.” he muttered.

Keegan took a step forward, her voice low but cutting. “Sail through the Eredorn Strait. Follow the wind. The prince will be waiting, right ahead.”

Without another word, she turned and disappeared into the shadows.

…

The acrid stench of vomit clung to the deck, a nauseating blend of bile and seawater biting at his nostrils. Dax, stationed behind the helm, clenched his teeth. He was a breath away from steering the ship just enough for the waves to wash away the mess—and maybe take a few of those fools with it. It still baffled him how those idiots had survived the Eredorn Strait. The storm should have sent them to the depths, swallowed whole by the sea. Yet somehow, The Cordelia still floated, carried forward by the waves.

His hand gripped the rough wood of the wheel, knuckles white with pressure. In the other, his compass trembled, the needle stubbornly pointing north. He felt tired.

Dax cast a grim glance at the crew, dragging themselves across the deck like half-dead corpses. Several were still vomiting their guts out, even though the sky had cleared and the waters had calmed. Pathetic. He should’ve tossed them overboard during the storm. It would've solved the stench problem. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. His eyelids felt heavy. How long had it been since he last slept? Three days? More, maybe. Sleep escaped him, like everything else he wanted these days. At any moment, the StormBreaker could appear on the horizon, and Dax refused to be caught off guard.

They had cut through the Eredorn Strait, which meant they could be dangerously close to the Serpent Isles, a labyrinth of jagged reefs and cursed islands that only madmen dared approach. No one left unscathed. He had to make sure they steered clear of it, if they hadn’t already passed it.

Dax’s exhaustion pressed down on him. "I have to stay awake..." he thought, but his eyes were already betraying him.

The islands loomed closer. Or... had they already passed them? The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine.

That would be one hell of a mistake.

Dax staggered back, eyes heavy with fatigue. Turning to the soldiers, he growled, “If you see anything on the horizon, alert me, or I’ll feed you to the sharks.” Without waiting for a response, he headed for his cabin.

Suddenly, his knees buckled. Instinctively, he froze. “No…” he muttered, frustration boiling in his voice. His eyes snapped open, seized by spasms. “Fuck… not the shakes again,” he spat through clenched teeth. Forcing himself to move, he walked toward his cabin. Once inside, he slammed the door. He began tearing through the clutter—maps, books, weapons—all sent flying with careless sweeps of his hands. Objects crashed to the floor in a chaotic mess. “Where is it?” he growled. With a violent sweep of his arm, he sent everything on the wooden dresser to the floor. The noise was chaos, but it didn’t silence the storm raging inside him. Panting, Dax straightened, his body taut with tension, sweat. Pain crackled like electricity through his fingers, surging up his arm, threatening to fold him in two.

Then he saw it—a small vial, half-filled with grayish powder. Skelvorn powder. Moving slowly, he grasped it. With a precise flick, he uncorked the vial and poured the grayish powder onto the back of his hand. His breath came ragged, nostrils flaring from the strain, but he didn’t hesitate. Leaning forward, he pressed his trembling hand to his nose and inhaled sharply. The powder burned like fire, but it was a pain he knew well—a pain he welcomed. His muscles tightened, veins bulging as if his body strained against invisible chains. He was Dax, the damned Viper.

The walls seemed to shift, the cabin closing in, the world tilting around him. He sniffed again, lips curling from the harsh sting, and slipped the vial away. Slowly, the storm in him began to settle.

Suddenly, a shout split the air. “StormBreaker!”

Dax’s eyes widened, adrenaline surging through his veins. The cry rose again, spreading like wildfire across the deck, each sailor repeating it with growing frenzy. StormBreaker. The hunt was on. He grabbed his sword and yanked the cabin door open. Roderick stood in the doorway.

“Sailors!” Dax’s voice cracked like a whip over the chaos.

“Soldiers!” Roderick barked back.

“To the sails! Fill those damn sails, or I’ll string you up by the halyards myself!” Dax shouted. “Hard to port! Haul in the sheets! Brace the yards!”

“Yes, Captain!”

The sails snapped taut, seizing the gusts with a force that made the mainmast groan in protest. Dax didn’t flinch. He knew that sound—it wasn’t failure. It was the ship answering. Every plank, every rope, every nail bent to his will, as if the vessel itself shared his hunger.

His hands tightened on the helm, his calloused palms reading every tremor through the wood. The slightest shift of his grip sent the ship gliding over the swells like an unchained beast. Here, amid wind, salt, and fury, Dax ruled.

But Irene was still out there. They’d learned the ways of the sea together, after all—reading the currents side by side, feeling the exact moment the sea shifted and turned against them, stealing every breath of wind before it slipped away. Irene was always the fastest, bending the wind to her will with impossible ease. She danced with the ocean the way she toyed with men—effortlessly, dangerously, always just out of reach.

But Dax—if Irene’s gift was speed, his was patience and instinct. He knew how to wait—coiled, silent—until the perfect moment revealed itself like a viper.

“Steady on the helm,” Dax muttered under his breath, shifting the wheel with slow precision. He could already picture her next move. Irene would feint—hard to port, just enough to throw him off course. Then she’d run with the wind, vanishing over the horizon.

But not this time.

He adjusted the helm again, setting the ship on course to cut off her next move. But something was off. The way the StormBreaker moved—wild, erratic, jerking against the waves without rhythm—wasn’t Irene’s style. She didn’t fight the sea. She commanded it, flowed with it, always one step ahead, always in control. This wasn’t a dance. This was chaos.

“What in all the hells is she playing at?” Dax growled. He ripped the spyglass from his belt, raising it to his eye. The StormBreaker pitched violently, and Dax scanned the deck, searching for the silhouette that haunted both his nights and his waking moments.

But as the spyglass locked on the figure at the helm, something colder than disappointment twisted in his gut. That wasn’t Irene.

A broad-shouldered figure gripped the wheel, his posture maddeningly relaxed, like he had all the time in the world. Too calm. Dax knew that slouch, that infuriating lack of urgency, as if the world could burn around and it wouldn't matter.

Javier.

“By all the hells…” Dax hissed under his breath. Irene had played him again. Pulled his strings, fed his impatience, made a fool of him, just like before, every time she made him lose. But this time, there was no father to beat him senseless till dawn, no fire to sear his skin. This time, he would be the one to deliver the punishment—and Irene would be the one to pay.

Dax spun the wheel hard, the ship lurching beneath his hands as it surged toward the StormBreaker. “Brace yourselves!” Behind him, the commander shouted, “Soldiers! In position! Pikes! Ready the cannons!” Gunners rushed to the cannons, slamming powder and shot into place. Dax allowed himself a brief, grim grin—despite the storm, they’d kept the powder dry. One victory, at least.

Dax spun the wheel hard, the ship lurching beneath his hands as it surged toward the StormBreaker. “Brace yourselves!” Behind him, the commander shouted, “Soldiers! In position! Pikes! Ready the cannons!” Gunners rushed to the cannons, slamming powder and shot into place. Dax allowed himself a brief, grim grin—despite the storm, they’d kept the powder dry. One victory, at least. Dax angled the ship to cut across the StormBreaker’s path. The hull groaned beneath him, wood grinding against wood as the two ships scraped together in a deadly dance. The StormBreaker shuddered, its sails slack, trapped between the wind and Dax’s relentless pursuit. The moment stretched, heavy and breathless, as if the ocean itself paused to watch. Dax eased his grip on the helm, savoring the stillness. The hunt was over. “Got you.”

Then, suddenly, silence fell over the deck. Everything stilled. Dax could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heartbeat, a heavy rhythm thudding in his chest. The StormBreaker drifted lifeless on the water, caught, trapped, unable to move. Dax could feel the weight of the soldiers’ and sailors’ stares pressing on him. They waited for his signal. Only the captain could call the order to board.

And yet, Dax hesitated.

A tingling sensation ran through his limbs, like the buzzing one feels before making a choice that had the chance it could ruin everything.

“Wait for my signal…” he whispered under his breath.

He stepped down from the helm platform, shoving aside the sailors in his path without a second glance. His eyes scanned the deck of the StormBreaker, searching for something wrong.

Irene was the most deranged person he’d ever met, unpredictable to the bone. That was what made her truly dangerous. If she had been on board, she would have shown her face by now—just to taunt him.

So either a miracle had descended from the heavens and cleansed her soul of malice, or Dax was about to walk straight into the most elaborate trap. Again.

“Captain?” Roderick’s voice called out, tense with impatience. But Dax ignored him.

He pulled out his spyglass again, and he scoured the StormBreaker’s deck. Where was she?

As Dax scanned every corner of the StormBreaker, his frustration deepened. They didn’t look like fighters nor pirates. They were the least intimidating lot he had ever seen.

In battle, timing was everything. You had to strike first—and fast. And Dax knew—he had already wasted enough time to be sure that, whatever trap Irene had set, they were already halfway in it. Trap or not, he had to give the order to board.

“Damn it…” Dax cursed under his breath, his brows furrowing. She wasn’t there.

A flood of thoughts raced through his mind. Had he overlooked something? Was he too exhausted to notice the detail that could cost them everything? Why was the StormBreaker adrift, its crew standing calm like sheep? Why had they stopped so easily?

His thoughts scrambled, trying to piece together the plan—they had cut through the strait, caught the wind?—

“Captain!” Roderick’s shout cut through his thoughts like a knife, as the man seized Dax’s arm in a harsh grip.

Dax slipped the spyglass back into his coat, pushing the chaos from his mind as he regained control over his thoughts. He descended the deck slowly.

He walked past the line of soldiers with their pikes aimed at the StormBreaker’s crew. They didn’t look like fighters nor pirates. They were the least intimidating lot he had ever seen.

But Dax knew better. He knew Irene.

He had spent more time with her than he ever had with his own father. He knew the little patterns she unconsciously followed. And every time she broke those patterns, it meant trouble—for her, and for everyone unfortunate enough to cross her path.

He had already made the mistake of letting his guard down once. He wouldn’t make it again.

“Board them! Lock onto that damn ship—and don’t let a single rat slip away!” Dax ordered.

The soldiers moved as one. Pikes raised. Grappling hooks flew across the gap, biting deep into the wood of the StormBreaker with a grinding groan. With a vicious pull, the ropes tightened, dragging the two ships together. The hulls collided with a thunderous crash, the sound tearing across the sea like a storm breaking overhead.

Before the shuddering impact had even settled, Dax was already in motion. He gripped a rope and leapt, adrenaline surging through his veins as the wind whipped against his face. He landed hard on the enemy deck, boots skidding slightly on the wet planks.

Behind him, Roderick landed with less grace but more force, the groan of age barely masking the fury in his eyes. His soldiers followed in a relentless wave—boots pounding, pikes bristling, their presence buzzing with the sharp clang of steel and the promise of blood. The boarding had begun.

Wood creaked under the weight of men, and the StormBreaker groaned in protest. Pikes clashed, and weapons clicked into place. The air thickened with the scent of salt, sweat, and the iron tang of impending violence.

Dax stood at the heart of the chaos, eyes narrowing as he took in the ship he had chased for so long. This wasn’t just another prize. This was personal.

“Round them up!” Roderick barked, his voice cutting through the noise like a whip. The soldiers forced them all to the center of the deck, pikes aimed at their hearts.

The prisoners stood with their hands raised. Dax’s gaze flicked across the captives. Javier was dragged from behind the helm, his usual smirk replaced by grim defiance. Blade stumbled out next, his eyes blazing with frustration. The rest of the crew fared no better—a girl murmured desperate prayers under her breath, while another shouted at a soldier for stepping on her dress. And the last one was a young man who surrendered way too easily.

"Bill, read out these idiots’ endless list of crimes before I lose what little patience I have left," Commander Roderick hissed.

He began to read: “By order of the Crown of Eldoria, in the name of King Ronan the Conqueror, these criminals are hereby charged with grave and irrevocable offenses: The abduction of Prince Jace, heir to the throne; pillaging of the royal palace; destruction of a public; theft of a vessel from the imperial fleet; flagrant insubordination toward royal authorities, murder of royal guards and soldiers…” The list dragged on, each offense stacking higher. “What does this mean?” one of them whispered. “It means,” Roderick snapped, “that even if, by some miracle, you’re granted a trial and face the most merciful judge alive, you’ll still rot in prison for three centuries to come!” Roderick hissed.

“Well… guilty, I suppose.” Javier scoffed. "Where is the prince?" the commander demanded. Javier ignored him.

“So, what do we call you now, Dax? Dax the Bee?” Javier laughed mockingly. “Are you even still a pirate?”

“See that ship?” Dax said, pointing to The Cordelia . “The one you forgot to steal, along with everything else?” A smug smile slid onto his face. “It may not be as fast as the StormBreaker, but it’s armed with triple fire cannons. So either you hand over the maps and the prince, or I'll order you dead.”

Javier raised his hand. “No need to. Your wish is my command…” he said, stepping aside.

Silence fell over the deck. Everyone held their breath.

And then, she appeared. Irene stepped forward with slow, deliberate grace, as if each step commanded the weight of the moment. Time seemed to slow. In her arms, she held Prince Jace like a trophy: his wrists bound tight, his arms pinned to his chest, and a thick rope coiled around him. His back was pressed against Irene as she dragged him forward, her arm locked around his neck.

Jace’s face was pale, his eyes wide with exhaustion and fear, bruises mottling his skin. His soaked clothes clung to his trembling frame, and his disheveled hair plastered to his forehead. A clean cut ran across his cheek.

But it wasn’t Jace who held Dax’s attention. No. It was her. She wore that smirk. The one he loathed as much as it fascinated him. The kind that made his blood boil, that made him want to grab her, shake her until that damn smile vanished from her lips. His breath grew heavier, fists clenching at his sides.

Behind the gag, Prince Jace let out a muffled groan, writhing uselessly against his bonds. Irene, unfazed, held him steady as she strode forward. Around Dax, soldiers stood rigid, eyes wide, pikes raised.

“Well, well, Commander… fancy meeting you here,” Irene said, a mocking smile on her lips.

Roderick shook with rage, his face flushed with barely contained fury, a vein throbbed at his temple. He was on the brink of exploding.

“You filthy rat, worthless scum! You and your wretched scoundrel of a crew are dead?—”

"Tut, tut, tut…" Irene cut him off, clicking her tongue like she was scolding a naughty child. "Commander, mind your tongue. You wouldn’t want to upset me while I have your precious prince in my hands, would you?"

“Enough! This vile comedy is over! Attack! Fire! Strike them! Cut out their tongues! I care not—bring me their heads!” The commander’s words tumbled out in a frantic torrent, his voice twisted by sheer, hysterical rage. But no one moved.

“O-o-o-oh, look what I have here…” Irene purred, raising a flintlock pistol and pressing it against the prince’s temple. Jace trembled, while Irene’s eyes gleamed with something dangerously close to joy.

The soldiers stood frozen, hands hovering over swords and pikes, unwilling to act. It was as if their bodies no longer obeyed the fury of their commander. Doubt drowned the deck. Irene hadn’t even needed to raise her voice.

Breathless and desperate, Roderick spun in place, trying to understand why his men defied him. Irene gave Prince Jace a shove, sending him stumbling to his knees. The prince broke into sudden, violent sobs.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, Commander.” Irene’s voice dropped to something colder, her pistol still aimed at Jace’s head.

Roderick’s face twisted in fury, foam practically forming at the corners of his mouth. “Or what? There are six of you! And we’re dozens!”

Irene’s eyebrow arched, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side. “Or… I paint the deck of this ship with his royal brains. So? What’s it going to be?” she whispered, her voice like a dagger slipping between his ribs.

Roderick’s bloodshot eyes bulged.

“Commander, give the order!” Dax barked sharply “The longer you let her talk, the deeper she gets into your head.”

“I don’t negotiate with women. And certainly not with a pirate,” Commander Roderick sneered.

Irene’s gaze locked onto him. She spat back, “Good. I’m not negotiating. I haven’t even started.” She took a step forward, the pistol steady in her grip. “So now, tell your foolish soldiers to lower their weapons—or I’ll decorate his majesty’s precious ship with his son’s blood and brains.”

“Damn it... lower your weapons,” Roderick ordered with frustration. Dax closed his eyes for a second, irritated by the commander’s surrender. Irene was completely mad. How was she even capable of pulling this off…? Gods, he had never wanted anything so badly in his life. But how exactly did he want her? Dead? On her knees? Or perhaps at his mercy, breathless and broken.

"Rule number one, Commander, it's too late. From now on, we either win together or lose together. You don’t get to be the only winner anymore," Irene said, her voice calm. Dax opened his eyes, frowning. Irene caught the flicker of confusion on his face, and smiled, pleased with herself.

The commander’s eyes darted frantically around, scanning the surroundings. Dax turned, his gaze narrowing as he tried to make out the distant silhouettes of islands. Islands he hadn’t taken the time to properly chart in his haste—a mistake no pirate should ever make.

Blade broke the silence, his tone dripping with mock gratitude. “Thank you, Commander, for rushing to save the prince and cutting your course short just to capture us sooner. Truly, we couldn’t have asked for better.”

“They say hatred and worry blind even the sharpest eyes,” Irene said as she threw a wink at Dax.

Dax felt his heart clench. “No…” he breathed, almost to himself, as if saying it aloud might somehow undo the reality before him.

Irene nodded. “Yes.”

The commander, visibly rattled, wiped his sweat-drenched forehead with a cloth. “Someone tell me what the hell is going on here!”

Blade handed him a spyglass. “Look at the islands, Commander. They’re not as far as they seem.”

Roderick snatched it hastily, stepping to the edge of the deck to scan the horizon. Dax, suppressing a growing sense of dread, grabbed his own spyglass and joined him. The instant his gaze locked on the distant silhouettes, his heart dropped, and a cold, unforgiving truth cut through him.

There, looming before them, were The Serpent Islands . Majestic. Terrible.

The mistake was clear now: speed. His greatest weapon had turned into his downfall. By racing through the Strait of Eredorn in pursuit of the StormBreaker, he had sealed their fate.

Dax’s mouth went dry. Misfortune was upon them.

The strait—what he had thought would be their perfect shortcut—had led them straight into a trap. The islands, which should have been far behind them, were now dead ahead, their jagged spines rising like the fangs of a waiting beast. He had been so sure Irene wouldn’t dare approach these cursed waters. That was why he’d gambled on this course.

But he had underestimated one thing: Irene’s madness.

"The Serpent Islands..." the commander whispered, swaying on his feet.

Dax’s chest tightened, his heart growing leaden. Irene had trapped them. Too late, he realized he had gambled his crew’s lives, and his own, for a head start that meant nothing.

There was no escape, now. The commander’s breathing turned frantic, his broad hand clutching his chest as if to keep his heart from bursting. His gaze darted from the prince, still kneeling, to Dax, then to the looming islands.

Only those cursed with too much intelligence—or blessed with complete ignorance—dared to ignore the whispered horrors of the Serpent Isles. But Dax was neither a fool nor a scholar; he was a pirate. He knew the tales well, for he had passed these waters many times, always steering clear. Each time, he’d heard it—the groan of ships splitting apart beneath unseen forces, the screams of men carried on the wind, as if something in the depths was devouring them alive. And the worst of it was that the people of the Serpent Isles never forgave those who ventured too close. And rightly so. They defended their lands with ruthless honor against men exactly like Commander Roderick. That’s why no army, no king, had ever managed to occupy them.

“The terror of the Serpent Isles is nothing but legend! Stories pirates and drunkards tell to scare each other!”

“Who are you trying to convince, Commander? Me… or yourself? The stories of the Serkos people are real.” Irene paused. “Here’s your problem, Eldorians: you conquered the world, and now you believe you created it. But long before your armies stained the seas, other creatures, other peoples, roamed these waters and lands… and not all of them have vanished.”

Dax looked through the spyglass again. In the distance, the shores of the Serpent Isles loomed—a mountainous archipelago, dark and green, exuding an aura of foreboding. Twisted trees lined the shore, and between them, strange totems carved from wood and stone swayed faintly in the wind. They were warnings—ancient symbols left by the Serkos people to ward off intruders, bold or foolish enough to approach. Their message was clear: This is sacred land, and it will be defended. On the sand of the beach lay the remains of those who had dared to come too close, spat back by the creature that guarded these waters.

Dax had no desire to provoke their hidden customs, nor any intention of confronting them. Suddenly, in the distance, his gaze locked onto the shadows of towering flags mounted on long masts. The sails, dark as if stained by dried blood or midnight itself, hung eerily in the still air. Silent. Waiting. Hunters lying in ambush. A shiver rippled down Dax’s spine. The sight confirmed a fear he had never dared voice aloud: the Serkos weren’t isolated. They had ships.

Irene broke the silence, her voice cold and deliberate. “They guard their islands fiercely. Anyone who strays too close is crushed by the creature that defends their sacred waters: the Scarlet Serpent, former companion of the Serkos gods.” She stepped forward, her gaze unyielding. The commander shook his head, clinging to his doubt like a lifeline.

“Legends and myths! Superstitions!” yelled the commander.

Bill, pale and shaking, muttered, “They say… they’re blind. That their gods took their sight to preserve the purity of their souls. But they hear everything…”

Fury sparked in the commander’s eyes. “They won’t dare attack a royal ship! I’ll hand you over to them myself if it means safe passage!”

“Commander,” Irene said, her tone sharp as a blade, “whether we are pirates or nobles, it’s all the same to them. They want flesh and screams. We are invaders in their eyes, and the Scarlet Serpent will drag us to the depths.”

“Are you insane? Why did you lead us here?” Roderick screamed. Dax’s gaze shifted to the StormBreaker’s flag—the golden bee of Eldoria, the same as the Cordelia . He knew, in that moment, that if they didn’t find a way to get away from there, they were as good as dead. Noble or pirate, it wouldn’t matter. These waters had their own laws, and survival demanded respect for them.

Then, something clicked in Dax’s mind. The Serkos were blind—a gift from their gods, meant to shield them from the world’s cruelty. Their creature, the Scarlet Serpent, also didn’t hunt with sight. It hunted with sound, with movement.

If only he could—but the commander snapped, “You’re bluffing…” A dangerous smile curved on Irene’s lips. “You’ll learn soon enough, Commander… that doubting me is a terrible mistake.” Without lowering her gaze, she raised the pistol still aimed at the prince’s head, tilted it slightly, and fired—twice—into the water. The sharp cracks of the shots echoed across the deck like thunder.

Dax’s gut clenched as a low, guttural growl rose from the depths—a sound not of this world, like something ancient and furious stirred from a long slumber. The ship lurched violently. A heavy blow struck from beneath the hull, then another, harder this time. The Scarlet Serpent was toying with them, as if savoring its prey before the kill.

Waves crashed over the deck, each jolt sending soldiers sprawling. Shouts of panic filled the air. Dax barely had time to steady himself before something massive lashed out of the water. A slick, crimson-scaled tentacle, grotesquely large, slapped onto the deck with a wet, glutinous thud. The thing reeked of brine and decay, leaving a slimy, shimmering trail in its wake. It coiled, twitching, sensing. Searching. The air thickened with tension, everyone on deck froze, even Irene and her crew. Their breath caught in their throats.

“Shut up,” Dax hissed through clenched teeth, his hand raised in a silent command. “Stay quiet,” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or it’ll take us all.” His voice was low. He knew the beast wasn’t hunting with its eyes—it was following sound, every splash, every creak of the ship, every terrified heartbeat. Silence was their only hope.

But silence was a fragile thing, easily shattered by fear.

The tentacle slithered closer, curling toward a trembling soldier. Beads of sweat rolled down the man’s pale face, his eyes wide with terror. His breath hitched, too loud.

The slimy tentacle stopped, as if sensing the fear radiating from him. Dax’s heart pounded in his chest, but he didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just a little longer…

The soldier broke. A scream tore from his lips, splitting the tense silence.

Too late.

The tentacle struck with lightning speed, coiling around the man’s body. He was yanked off the deck with brutal force, his scream cut off as he was jerked high into the air. For a brief, agonizing moment, he hung there, thrashing wildly. Then, with a final, vicious pull, the tentacle dragged him beneath the waves, disappearing into the depths with a sickening splash.

A stunned silence followed, broken only by the sound of the ocean lapping against the hull.

The others were gasping for air, fear simmering in their eyes despite their futile attempts to keep quiet. Panic swelled beneath the surface. Dax couldn’t take it anymore. Every fiber of his being burned with rage. Without thinking, he stormed toward Irene, shoving her so hard she stumbled back. “What the hell have you done?” he growled.

But her infuriating smile never left her face. It twisted something inside him, snapping what little control he had left. His hands shot out, gripping her shoulders with bruising force, shaking her violently.

“Are you insane?!” he snarled, his voice a harsh whisper barely audible over the muffled cries around them. His forehead crashed against hers, pressing hard, forcing her backward, but Irene didn’t yield. She shoved back, their foreheads locked in a brutal contest of wills, their breaths mingling, hot and ragged.

“Don’t touch her!” Javier said.

Dax didn’t even blink. Irene was a demon, a storm wrapped in human skin, and in that moment, nothing else existed. The world around them faded, leaving only the heat, the fury, the bitter history tangled between them.

“You dare pull this madness here, now?” he hissed, his words searing against her lips, so close they almost touched. “You’ll get us all killed.”

Her dark eyes gleamed with something dangerously close to triumph. Lifting her chin defiantly, she whispered, her lips brushing dangerously close to his, “Sometimes, you have to lose everything to gain something…” Her voice was soft, venomous. Her breath clung to his mouth, daring him, taunting him. “And you’re the one who taught me that.”

Before he could react, Irene shoved him with all her strength, sending him staggering back.

With the weight of inevitable defeat pressing on him, the commander turned to Irene, his expression carved in reluctant desperation. “What do you want?”

Irene, still catching her breath, wiped the sweat from her brow and smiled—a slow, calculating curve of her lips. “Finally, the right question. Took you long enough,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them. “It’s too late to run, Commander. The Scarlet Serpent will crush you before you’ve made it out of these cursed waters. And if by some miracle you escape that beast, the Serkos will sense us. They’ll hunt us down until there’s nothing left but scraps of wood and bone.”

The Commander’s jaw tightened, but he couldn’t hide the flicker of fear in his eyes. He turned sharply to his navigator. “How long before they reach us?”

Lord Eryn, pale and trembling, struggled to find his voice. His hands shook as he clutched the edges of the map spread before him. “Based on everything we’ve known from their famous encounters… three days, at most. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Roderick barked.

But Irene cut him off sharply, her voice slicing through the growing tension like a blade. “Unless we stay exactly where we are—without running, without provoking—and do nothing. Our fate is tied together now, whether you like it or not. So don’t risk his life.” She pointed at Jace, who was still on his knees, breathless.

Roderick ran a hand over his face, exasperated, frustration radiating from every tense muscle. Before he could argue, Irene pressed on, her tone steady but carrying the weight of finality. “I want a three-day truce. You caught me off guard, I’ll admit it. But now, I demand time to think of my next move, and time for the Serkos and the beast to lose our scent. If you try to take the prince back by force, I swear to you, we’ll attack. And that will doom us all.”

Beside her, Dax bristled, fury burning in his eyes as he massaged his temples, muttering under his breath in disbelief. He could feel the situation slipping out of control. “Don’t listen to her,” he sneered. “She’s playing you!”

The commander hesitated, torn between his instincts and the suffocating reality Irene had just laid before him. His gaze flicked between Irene and Dax, his distress evident.

Irene stepped forward with a cold, deliberate stride, snapping her fingers in front of the commander’s face, forcing his attention on her. “Wake up, Commander.” Her voice was low, but every word struck like a hammer. “It’s too late for you to dream of victory on your own. Either we win together, or we lose together. Those are your only options.”

"Survive or drown together. Irene really did trap them," Dax thought.

“Good. Three days of truce—no attacks, both ships dead in the water, and on the fourth, before dawn, I’ll personally drag you back to Eldoria and tighten the noose around your neck,” the commander growled. Irene held his gaze, unflinching, and murmured in a defiant tone, “You have my word.”

Roderick moved to approach the prince, but Blade stepped in front of him. One by one, the soldiers lowered their weapons. The commander and his men left the ship in tense silence. Dax remained still, his gaze fixed on Irene. She stood there, looking so proud of herself, her crew smiling behind her. Dax hated her for it.

He grabbed her arm, yanking her away from the crew and dragging her into a corner. His fingers tightened with a possessive force as he pulled her against him, pressing her closer, his breath teasing her ear. "You're no survivor, love. You're a thief. My thief. My chaos. My sweet, intoxicating headache."

Irene tried to kick him, but he didn’t let her. His lips grazed her jawline as he whispered, "And if you push me over the edge, trust me... I'll drag you down with me."

He let her go, his voice low and threatening. "You might have won this time, but I'll find a way to ruin you."

He turned, ready to leave, but Irene’s voice followed him. “You’re completely insane. Wake up—everyone sees the truth but you. It’s getting embarrassing.”

“I won,” she added.

“Gentlemen… welcome to hell.” Dax’s smirk lingered as he strode past the soldiers.