Page 51

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T he golden morning light painted the canvas of the Zephyrus’ sails in hues of amber. The salty breeze carried the promise of a fresh start, filling the air with a sense of renewal.

Vivienne stood at the ship’s railing, her fingers curled around the sun-warmed wood, her gaze fixed on the endless horizon. The rhythmic lap of the waves against the hull echoed the steady drum of her heartbeat—faster now, as footsteps approached behind her.

Cirrus stopped beside her, resting his forearms on the railing, his presence quiet but charged. For a moment, neither of them spoke, simply staring out at the vast, open sea.

"Banns," he murmured, his voice low, careful. "I need to say something, and I don’t want you to brush it off."

Vivienne angled her head in his direction, drawn by the gravity in his tone. His ice-blue eyes reflected something exposed and unguarded, as if he were about to pull apart the stitches of an old wound.

He took a steadying breath, his knuckles tightening against the railing. "I've been a fool," he admitted, his voice teeming with regret, as though the words had been lodged in his throat for years. "For walking away. For not fighting for us. For taking three damn years to tell you what I should have said the moment I saw you on this ship."

The breeze ruffled his blond waves, but he hardly seemed to notice.

"On Verdance, when I told you I couldn’t live without you…" he exhaled sharply, his jaw tensing. "I should have said that I love you. I never stopped loving you. Not for a second."

Her fingers pressed into the wood beneath her palms, holding her breath. She wanted to speak, to say something, anything, but Cirrus wasn’t finished. He turned fully toward her, closing the space between them, his voice dropping lower.

"I know what you’re going to say," he continued, his expression tightening as if bracing for rejection. "That nothing’s changed. That eventually, I’ll have to take my father’s title, and you’ll go back to the Library of Metis. But I don’t care."

Vivienne’s heart clenched, his words unstacking the bricks of her carefully built walls.

"I want whatever time I can have with you," he said, his voice urgent, pleading. "If it’s just today, this voyage, or a few years stolen from fate—I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever future you’re willing to give."

His confession hung between them, fragile. She stared up at him, her mind spinning with a thousand memories—the reckless joy of their youth, the heartbreak of parting, the battles fought side by side. And now, here he was, standing before her, laying himself bare, asking for another chance.

Cirrus’ broad shoulders rose and fell, his breath uneven. His usual cocky bravado unraveled, fraying into uncertainty as he searched her face.

She had once let him go, knowing their relationship couldn’t survive a future prescribed by duty. But this journey had reminded her of everything she’d always known about him—his bravery, his loyalty, his open heart that had only ever belonged to her. What does the future matter when tomorrow is never promised?

Vivienne’s heartbeat rampaged in her throat, her lips parting on a breathless whisper. "I don’t know how long it will take me to catch up to you," she admitted, her voice trembling with truth. "But I’m willing to try again… for whatever time we’re allowed to borrow."

Cirrus froze, his eyes widening, his breath stumbling as if her words had knocked the air from his lungs.

He closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands. His thumb brushed over her cheek, as though he needed to feel she was real—that this wasn’t another dream stolen from the waves.

"Vivienne…" The whisper barely left his lips before his mouth crashed into hers.

The kiss burned with everything unsaid, every regret, every missed moment, every shred of hope wrapped in the promise of now. His fingers tangled in her hair, his other hand splayed against the small of her back, holding her as if he were afraid she might vanish with the tide.

She melted into him, her arms draping around his neck, anchoring herself in the moment. The ship swayed beneath them, but he was steady, and so was she.

When they finally pulled apart, Vivienne let out a breathy, disbelieving chuckle.

"You do realize," she murmured against his lips, her fingers twirling in his hair, "that we’re still going to fight all the time, right?"

Cirrus huffed a quiet laugh, resting his forehead against hers, his smirk curling at the edges. "I'd rather be furious with you than happy with anyone else."

Vivienne smiled, her heart swelling, and this time, she was the one to kiss him.

* * *

The crew bustled across the deck, the crisp sea air thick with the scent of salt and adventure. Boots thudded against the wooden planks, ropes groaned under taut pulls, and the sails flapped like the wings of a restless goddess, eager to take flight.

"Let’s get this ship moving!" Captain Garrett’s gruff voice cut through the din, his sharp gaze sweeping over the deck.

He turned toward Cirrus, who stood near the helm, the sea wind tousling his sun-kissed curls. "Theodosia, the heading?"

Cirrus dipped his chin, his voice steady, sure, the weight of responsibility worn like a second skin. "South by southwest, Captain. 210 degrees."

Garrett gave a curt nod, his expression satisfied. He turned to Owen. "Excellent. Commander—get us underway."

Owen straightened, his broad frame sculpting a silhouette against the morning sun. His dark eyes, still lined with the remnants of exhaustion, burned with renewed resolve. "Aye, Captain."

With a firm nod, he barked orders to the crew, his voice carrying over the creaking masts and snapping rigging.

"Haul in those lines!"

"Loose the topsails!"

"Move like you mean it, or I’ll make you wish you had!"

The crew surged into action, nimbly climbing the rigging, hands rough from years of work tightening ropes and adjusting sails. The sails unfurled, swelling as they captured the sea’s breath, and the Zephyrus groaned forward, slicing through the waves with newfound speed.

Vivienne stood on the quarterdeck at the starboard railing, her fingers trailing over the weathered wood, the rhythmic sway of the ship steady beneath her boots. The vast, endless sea stretched before her, a canvas of uncharted possibility.

Cirrus stepped behind her, his arm slipping around her waist, pulling her against his chest. His warmth in contrast to the cool bite of the breeze, as the horizon beckoned them forward.

She let her gaze sweep across the ship, taking in the faces of the crew who had become more than just shipmates—more than comrades. They were family.

Lewis stood by the rigging, gesturing animatedly as he spoke with Gus, who grinned below his twirled mustache, nodding along to whatever wild theory Lewis was no doubt spinning.

Florence tucked a thick wad of tobacco into her cheek, the hard set of her jaw sharpening her already lethal grace as she issued orders to a few deckhands.

Across the deck, Melodie caught Vivienne’s gaze, the doctor’s radiant smile a silent reassurance that whatever wounds had been suffered—inside and out—would heal in time.

At the helm, Owen and Captain Garrett stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces set in quiet determination. Though their expressions remained stoic, there was an unmistakable sense of triumph in their gazes—the look of men who had battled against impossible odds, not just for themselves, but for something greater—and lived to see another day.

Vivienne inhaled deeply, the scent of salt and sun-warmed wood caressing her lungs. Verdance had tested them, pushed them to their limits, but they had survived. They had fought for their lives, for each other, and for the hope that somewhere beyond the horizon, the keys to breaking the curse awaited.

Her grip on the railing tightened, the familiar fire of purpose flickering to life in her chest. More islands awaited. More dangers lurked in the unknown. More mysteries begged to be unraveled.

The wind tugged at her hair, whispering promises of all the paths she was now free to follow. Vivienne smiled—wide, bright, unafraid.

The adventure had only just begun.

THE END