CHAPTER 81: [81] A TASTE OF UGLY TRUTHS

Pierre’s room was a masterpiece of calculated luxury. Silk curtains filtered the late afternoon light into honeyed streams that painted the marble floor in warm amber patterns. The bed could have housed a small family, draped in linens that probably cost more than most people saw in a year. Fresh flowers—orchids and jasmine—perfumed the air from crystal vases positioned at strategic intervals throughout the space.

It was perfect. It was beautiful.

It was a fucking prison.

Pierre sat on the edge of that magnificent bed, his hands pressed against his knees, fighting the tremor that wanted to run through his fingers. The pain in his ribs had dulled to a constant, nagging ache, but that wasn’t what made his jaw clench until his teeth ground together.

You could have taken it all.

Hardy’s voice whispered through his thoughts like smoke through a crack in the wall. The darkness he’d absorbed from the corrupt Navy captain hadn’t disappeared—it had simply gone quiet, waiting for moments like this when Pierre’s defenses were down.

The amber heart. Moreau’s power. You could have drained them both and walked out of that cave as something more than human.

Pierre’s fists clenched, nails digging crescents into his palms. The sea-blue stone from Mika hung around his neck, a reminder of innocence and hope, but even its gentle weight couldn’t silence the whispers.

"Shut up," he muttered to the empty room.

Look where your noble principles have brought you. Trapped like a pet bird in a gilded cage. Useless. Weak.

The word hit like a physical blow. Weak. That’s exactly what he was. Too injured to fight, too isolated to plan, too dependent on Valerio’s "generosity" to do anything but smile and nod while his host tightened the noose around their necks.

Pierre stood, ignoring the spike of pain that shot through his torso. He walked to the window—bars disguised as decorative ironwork framed the view of Porto Veloce’s pristine harbor. His ship sat at anchor, swarmed by workers who moved with the mechanical efficiency of ants. Every plank they replaced, every rope they rewove, was another day added to their imprisonment.

You know what you have to do.

The darkness pulsed inside him, warm and seductive. He could feel it coiled in his chest like a serpent, patient and hungry. All he had to do was reach for it. Let it flow through him the way it had when he’d faced Saxe in the amber chamber. He could drain Valerio dry, absorb his strength, his knowledge, his connections. Turn this pretty little port into his own personal kingdom.

Pierre’s reflection stared back at him from the window glass—red hair disheveled, sky-blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something darker. He looked like a man on the edge of a choice that would change everything.

The girl and the thief would understand. They’re trapped because of your weakness. Because you refuse to take what’s offered.

"They’re trapped because I made mistakes," Pierre said to his reflection. "Not because I’m weak."

Aren’t they the same thing?

Pierre turned away from the window, away from the sight of his ship being systematically dismantled. He needed to think, to plan, to find a way out that didn’t involve becoming the monster Hardy’s essence wanted him to be.

But the whispers followed him, patient as shadows, reminding him that power was there for the taking.

If only he was strong enough to reach for it.

===

Alyssa’s room was a confection of pale blues and silver, designed to complement her platinum hair and aristocratic bearing. The four-poster bed was draped in silk that whispered when the sea breeze stirred it through the open balcony doors. A vanity table held an array of perfumes and cosmetics that she hadn’t asked for but somehow appeared anyway, along with brushes made from materials she couldn’t identify.

She ignored all of it.

Instead, she sat cross-legged on the Persian rug, a coil of rope spread before her like a challenge. Her fingers worked clumsily at the strands, trying to recreate the bowline knot Raven had shown her during their voyage from Hotaru Town.

"Loop... through... around..." she muttered, her pale green eyes narrowed in concentration.

The rope seemed to mock her efforts, slipping and tangling until what should have been a clean, functional knot looked more like something a drunk sailor might produce during a storm. She pulled it apart and started again.

You’re worth more than this.

Pierre’s words echoed in her mind, the memory of his voice rough with fever and something else she couldn’t name. She touched her lips unconsciously, remembering the kiss—the desperate press of his mouth against hers, the way his hands had trembled when he’d pulled away.

He’d rejected her. Not because he didn’t want her—she’d felt that want in the way his breath had caught, the way his pupils had dilated—but because he thought she deserved better than a moment of weakness and fear.

"Stupid," she said to the rope, though she wasn’t sure if she meant Pierre’s nobility or her own confusion. "Stupid, noble, infuriating..."

The knot came apart in her hands again. She’d been at this for an hour, and her fingers were starting to cramp. Back at the Naval base, she would have thrown the rope across the room and demanded someone else do it for her. Princess Alyssa Hardy didn’t tie her own knots—she had people for that.

But Princess Alyssa Hardy was dead. She’d died in a town square when a red-haired stranger had shown her what real strength looked like.

This version of herself—the one who’d fought pirates with a riding crop, who’d stood between Pierre and certain death—this Alyssa didn’t run from difficult things just because they frustrated her.

"Loop through the hole," she said, guiding the rope with more patience than she’d ever shown anything in her life. "Around the standing line, back through the hole..."

The bowline formed under her fingers, crude but functional. She pulled it tight, testing the strength, and felt a small spark of satisfaction when it held.

"You follow the rabbit up the hole, round the tree, and down the hole again," she recited, remembering Raven’s explanation. The metaphor had seemed silly at the time, but now she understood the wisdom in it. Complex things became simple when you broke them into steps.

She untied the knot and started again. Then again. Each repetition was smoother than the last, her fingers growing more confident with the motions.

You’re worth more.

Maybe Pierre was right. Maybe she was worth more than settling for whatever scraps of affection she could find. But worth was something you earned, not something you were born with. And earning it meant learning to be useful, learning to contribute, learning to be someone her crewmates could depend on.

The thought stopped her cold. Crewmates. When had she started thinking of them that way? When had Pierre and Raven become more than temporary allies or business partners?

The answer came with startling clarity: when she’d watched Raven bleeding on the amber chamber floor, when she’d seen Pierre crumple under Saxe’s assault. The fear she’d felt then wasn’t the fear of losing valuable assets or convenient transportation.

It was the fear of losing family.

She tied another knot, this one coming together almost effortlessly. The rope seemed to understand her intentions now, cooperating instead of fighting. Small victories, but victories nonetheless.

Through the balcony doors, she could hear the sounds of Porto Veloce settling into evening—distant laughter, the clink of glasses, the soft murmur of conversation. It was the sound of a city at peace with itself, content in its routines and certainties.

But Alyssa had grown up in the shadow of a tyrant. She knew how thin the line was between order and oppression, how easily smiles could hide cruelty.

She tied another knot, and another, her fingers growing steady and sure. Whatever game Valerio was playing, whatever trap he’d built around them, she wouldn’t face it as the helpless princess who’d once cowered in her father’s office.

She would face it as someone who could tie her own knots.

===

The Crimson Sparrow’s deck felt different under Raven’s bare feet. The wood, once warm and familiar, now seemed cold despite the lingering heat of the day. Workers had trampled across every inch of her ship, their boots leaving scuff marks and their tools gouging small wounds in the planking. Even the air smelled wrong—sawdust and varnish instead of salt and wind.

Raven stood at the bow, her hands gripping the rail as she stared across Porto Veloce’s harbor. The city spread before her like a jeweled necklace, white stone buildings climbing the hillsides in terraced rows. Lanterns began to flicker to life as dusk settled over the water, turning the scene into something from a fairy tale.

Beautiful. Peaceful. Perfect.

She wanted to burn it all.

The thought came unbidden, surprising her with its vehemence. Raven prided herself on being practical, calculating. Emotions were luxuries she couldn’t afford when every decision carried the weight of her sister’s freedom. But standing here, watching her ship being systematically violated while she smiled and played the grateful guest, she felt something hot and ugly coiling in her chest.

Twenty-five million Cori.

Lily was trapped in the Ember Sea, property of some nobleman whose name Raven had memorized along with his habits, his weaknesses, his schedule. Every day that passed was another day her sister spent in chains, another day closer to the point where rescue became impossible.

"Fuck," she whispered to the harbor lights.

Movement caught her eye—a figure on one of the guest wing balconies. Alyssa sat cross-legged on the floor, hunched over something in her lap. Even from this distance, Raven could see the intensity of her concentration, the way her shoulders curved protectively over whatever held her attention.

Rope. The girl was practicing knots.

Raven’s first instinct was to snort in derision. Princess Alyssa, playing at being a sailor. How adorable. How pathetic.

But the mockery died before it could fully form. The girl had been at it for over an hour, her movements growing more confident with each repetition. She wasn’t giving up, wasn’t calling for help, wasn’t throwing a tantrum when things didn’t come easily.

That took something. Not skill—skill could be taught. It took stubbornness. Grit. The willingness to fail and try again.

She stood between Pierre and certain death, Raven reminded herself.

The memory was complicated, layered with emotions Raven didn’t want to examine too closely. She’d watched from across the amber chamber as Alyssa had positioned herself in front of Pierre’s broken body, her pale green eyes blazing with protective fury. It had been stupid. Suicidal. Completely pointless.

It had also been the bravest thing Raven had ever seen.

And then there was the kiss.

Raven’s jaw tightened as the memory surfaced—standing in the doorway of Pierre’s cabin, watching Alyssa lean into him, watching him respond before pulling away. The conversation that followed had been too quiet to hear, but the body language had been clear enough.

Want. Rejection. Hurt. Comfort.

The whole scene had left Raven with a sour taste in her mouth and a restless energy she couldn’t name. She’d told herself it was irritation at the complication, annoyance at the way personal feelings were muddying their business arrangement.

She’d told herself a lot of things.

The truth was harder to swallow: she’d felt left out. Excluded from a moment of intimacy that, despite everything, she’d wanted to be part of.

Stupid, she thought, echoing Alyssa’s earlier sentiment. Stupid and dangerous and completely irrelevant.

She had Twenty-five million reasons to stay focused, Twenty-fivemillion reasons not to let herself get tangled up in whatever was happening between her and the people who’d somehow become more than temporary allies.

But as she watched Alyssa tie another knot, as she felt the familiar weight of the ship beneath her feet, as she thought about Pierre lying injured and stubborn in his luxurious prison, Raven had to admit the truth:

It was too late. She was already tangled.