Page 7 of Slayer

“Well. I don’t go into the sea, and the only way over to his precious Coral Haven would be by ship, wouldn’t it?” Or so everyone thinks. I have my own ways of making it across seas.

Maddoc gives a slight nod, still watching me. He knows I am bound to land, of all the intricacies of the curse of being a Sirenborne. The secret of what I am only strays to the ones who hold titles. It’s not common knowledge. But that means the king knows what I am, and he most likely sees this as some sort of power. Typical, that a man would want something he can’t have. He should know I can’t go overseas.

“I have no interest in royals,” I say defiantly. “Unless they’re being burned to the ground by pirates or slaughtered by my slayers. I would even enjoy watching the sirens lure them to their deaths.” I smile at the thought, returning to puff on the pipe. One day. “He can dream of having me under his control all he wants. But he’ll never have me.” I pause just long enough to let the heat settle. “Besides…” I exhale a curl of smoke in Maddoc’s direction. “If I were him, I wouldn’t trust me.” I meet his gaze, unblinking. “I’d slit his throat in his sleep.”

However, if I were to form an alliance with the king, there would finally be peace between pirates, slayers, and mythical creatures. Safety and stability. Magda would no longer have to live with a blade pressed against its throat.

If the king gets what he wants, my people would be protected.

But I would lose myself in the process.

The idea of becoming a princess makes something violent twist in my stomach. The title feels wrong attached to me, like forcing silk over a sharpened blade. And being tied to a man I do not know—compelled to stand beside him, smile for him, belong to him—is even worse. The thought alone is enough to make me sick.

Maddoc sits there, watching me intently. He can tell I’m calculating, running every scenario through my head. The royals wouldn’t be stupid enough to come here, not to Magda. Especially not for me. But if they did, I could take down a dozen men without breaking a sweat. Without so much as a scratch. And I wouldn’t be the only one fighting. Every single pirate across the seas would return to protect their home. If the king wants a war, moving on Magda will get him one. There’s a reason he’s never tried.

I stand and reach for my pants where they lay half-crumpled on the floor. Slowly, I pull them back on before gathering the daggers that spilled from my belt earlier, fastening each one back into place piece by piece. Then I grab my cutlass, attaching it to my belt near my hip for easy access. None of these weapons matter, when I am the weapon.

My hand reaches for my desk and picks up the dagger Maddoc gave me. The black steel gleams beneath the lantern light as I secure it against my thigh. It settles there perfectly, like the spot was always meant for it.

When I glance up, Maddoc is already watching me. A slow smile pulls at his mouth as his eyes drag over the blade now strapped to my body.

The silence between us is heavy but not uncomfortable. We have never needed to fill it. I tuck in my shirt, then tighten the black leather corset back around my waist, fingers moving with practiced ease.

Then, a knock on the door. And another. I freeze. Who the fuck would be dumb enough to knock on my door? I look at Maddoc, confusion morphing into urgency. “Hide,” I order. He stands.

“Let me open the door,” Maddoc counters.

I shoot him a look sharp enough to draw blood. “I said hide.” There’s no room for argument. I pick up my pipe, give it more flame, and walk slowly toward the door, ready for whoever thought they could interrupt my privacy.

Chapter three

A Quiet Threat

I unlatch the lock with one hand, resting the other on the hilt of my cutlass. My pipe is balanced between my fingers, the embers glowing faintly. I crack the door open, just wide enough to strike if I need to. I’m hit with the scent of lavender and honey—Nyra, my impossibly beautiful friend.

Nyra moves with the kind of confidence that makes people shift out of her way without knowing why. Her skin is a warm golden brown, kissed by the sun and sea. Tight, dark curls sway at the middle of her back, wild and beautiful, just like her. Her hazel eyes can go soft as gold or hard as flint depending on the day, and her curves turn heads in every tavern we walk into. She knows how to use her looks, too, weaponizing charm with a wink and a blade.

I taught her how to fight and she taught me how to laugh. We met when we were seven years old. I remember her playing with a ball, sprinting barefoot through the streets of Magda with a swarm of girls and boys. Their laughter echoed off the stone walls, cutting through me like something foreign. I didn’t know what laughter really was, or what they were even doing.

I hadn’t left the Academy much at that point. Only when Bleu and Sirena were docked at the shore was I allowed to explore the outside. The only happiness I knew was when they came to visit, when Bleu looked at me like I was more than a blade being forged. When he introduced me to his daughter Mira, she was just a baby. I was a child myself, only six years older than her. I don’t know if Bleu knew the extent of what Silas was when he handed me over to the Academy. I refuse to believe that was the childhood he wanted for me.

But watching Nyra play sparked something. I didn’t understand what it was yet, but it stuck with me. She saw me standing alone, tucked back in the alley’s shadow, and she walked right up like she wasn’t afraid of the dark. She was my shining light in a very dreary life.

“Hi!” Nyra chirped, her voice light and airy. Kind of annoying.

“Hello,” I answered stiffly.

Her smile took over her whole face. “Do you want to play ball?”

“I don’t know how,” I admitted, twiddling my thumbs.

“I’ll teach you!” she said, and without hesitation grabbed my wrist and yanked me into the chaos of the crowd.

Just like that, she’d cracked me open. I let a small amount of warmth into my world that day. She taught me a lot about humanity. I think the only reason I have even a fragment of a heart left, after it was butchered out of me, is because of her. Silas never knew of our friendship. It was the one secret I’d been able to hide from him, knowing that if he discovered Nyra he’d surely utilize her in a lesson or a punishment.

Later, I taught her how to hold a sword. How to shoot a gun with her feet steady and her shoulders squared. How to slap as hard as a man. Where to strike if she was ever attacked. I taught her things I swore to never teach another. The Academy teaches skills you aren't allowed to share with another soul. On principle, if someone outside of the Academy’s circle were to witness these skills, they were as good as dead.

But I needed her to survive. If a man tried to take her, steal her, do the kinds of things I’ve seen done… I just can’t imagine any of that happening to her. She’s stunning, always has been, and on an island crawling with pirates, crime lords, slayers, and deadly beings, beauty is a curse. Unless you can weaponize it.