Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Eric felt like he was dreaming. It was the best dream he’d ever had. He was floating, weightless, adrift on a sea of warmth and silence. There was nothing to concern himself with. Nothing pulling at him. No burdens pressing on his shoulders.
The kingdom was fine. His mother was alive and nagging at him to finish his lessons. His father was strong, steady, the ruler Eric had once believed him to be, the ruler their people needed.
“Keep your head above the water.”
The voice was not from the waking world. It was not from the dream, either. It was something divine in its clarity.
It was a woman’s voice. Sweet would be the wrong word to describe it. It was more husky. It was commanding, warm like firelight and sharp like steel. He didn’t know if it was memory or magic. But he obeyed.
His muscles screamed in protest as he fought his way upward. His limbs moved as though submerged, and the sea pulled at him. His head broke the surface, and air—blessed, raw, cutting air—filled his lungs in a gasping rush.
That was all he needed to do. Nothing else. Just breathe.
There were no other responsibilities here. No throne to worry about. No arranged marriages. No future looming like a storm on the horizon, ready to consume him whole.
All he had to do was be.
“Breathe,” the voice demanded.
Right, and that. Eric did as he was told. Or he tried to. He wanted to please her. Somehow, he knew that it would please her if he followed her instructions.
He coughed, water pouring from his mouth and nose. He blinked against the sting of salt in his lungs and moonlight in his eyes. Or at least he thought his eyes were open.
Was he still dreaming? It had to be a dream. His mother was no longer on this earth with him. His father was off somewhere in the country, surrounding himself with sycophants and courtesans. His father was the reason Eric was all wet.
Why was Eric in the water? Because he’d gone to sea. Why had he gone to sea?
“Don’t you dare die on me when I took the effort to save you.”
She’d saved him. He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to save her right back. He was good at saving things, good at cleaning up messes. He wanted her to know that. He wanted this angel to come to depend on him. But first he had to get her in his line of sight.
And there she was. She was an angel. An angel with hair that was a wildfire of red, a flame untamed by wind or tide.
Her eyes, impossibly blue, deeper than the sea, pierced through him.
That smile—half amusement, half challenge, all annoyance—it stirred something in him, something restless and unfamiliar.
Because it wasn’t a smile. It was a smirk.
No woman had ever smirked at him like that, as though she expected him to prove himself worthy of her attention.
He liked that. He liked that she would make him work for it. He wanted to work for her attention. Once he caught her attention, he would bask in it forever.
Something shifted. Something burned in his chest. It was slow at first. Then searing, spreading like fire through his ribs.
A need. Desperate. All-consuming. Air. He needed more air.
“Breathe.”
His mouth opened, but instead of a breath, his lungs filled with water, thick and heavy, choking him from the inside out.
The angel’s smile faltered. She was yelling now, but he couldn’t hear her words. Only her tone. She was furious.
Eric wanted to tell her not to frown. He wanted to reach for her, to keep her looking at him like that—not with worry, not with anger, but with that smirk, that spark, that challenge. He wanted her to believe in him again.
Then he heard a song. It was the most beautiful song he’d ever heard. He felt it thrum all through his body. It made him want to dance, to fly, to do everything she told him to do.
Breathe, she wanted him to breathe.
Eric coughed, his body seizing, rejecting the water in his lungs that had nearly claimed him. His chest expanded, air finally filling his reserves. Relief crashed over him. He gasped, drinking in the oxygen like a dying man, like he’d never had enough of it before.
The angel blurred. The warmth faded. This time, when he slipped back into the dream, there was no fire, no sea, no blue-eyed angel smiling at him.
There was only blackness.
Then a prick of light.
Then a raging fire.
The first thing Eric became aware of was the sound of Grimsby’s voice—low, weary, and threaded with something he had never heard before. Worry.
“Come now, Your Highness. Don’t drift away. Open your eyes.”
Eric’s eyelids felt too heavy, like he’d been pulled from somewhere far away, somewhere deeper than sleep. But he wanted to see her. If he opened his eyes, he would see her again. He was sure of it.
He forced them open, blinking against the warm glow of candlelight.
The familiar scent of salt and aged wood filled the air, mixed with the faint traces of smoke from the fireplace and the lingering spice of old parchment.
Thick velvet curtains had been drawn, blocking out the night, but through the small crack between them, he could see the moonlight spilling silver across the balcony.
He wasn’t outside under the moonlight. He was in his bedroom.
The room was grand but not extravagant, much like everything Eric allowed himself to have.
A heavy wooden canopy bed, carved with intricate maritime designs, loomed over him.
Maps and naval charts lined the walls, pinned beneath brass compasses and measuring tools.
A broad desk sat near the window, usually cluttered with ledgers and unfinished notes, but now it held a tray of untouched food, a basin of water, and bloodied bandages.
He groaned, shifting against the crisp linens. There was a dull ache in his ribs. The lingering weight of exhaustion pressed down on him, keeping his back against the mattress.
Grimsby exhaled in relief, rubbing a hand over his lined face. He looked haggard.
Eric had never seen him like this before—always so put together, always so composed. Now his usually neat cravat was askew, and his coat looked like it had been thrown on in a hurry. There was a tightness to his features that made him look older.
“We thought we’d lost you.” Grimsby’s voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the gravity in it.
It all came rushing back. The ship. The sudden churning of waves, as if the sea had turned against them. The monsters rising from the depths, teeth and tentacles and glowing eyes. The ship splitting apart, the sky tilting. The feeling of being dragged under. And then—her.
The red hair like wildfire. The piercing blue eyes. The smirk that dared him to fight. The voice that pulled him back. His chest tightened, his heart hammering with something that had nothing to do with the near-drowning.
“Is everyone safe?”
Grimsby nodded. “No lives were lost. The cutter was lost, but the liner made it out safe.”
Eric let out a slow breath, relief easing some of the tension in his muscles. He closed his eyes for a brief second, but then blinked them open. He needed to know. He pushed himself up, ignoring the way his body protested. “Did you find her?”
Grimsby frowned. “Find who?”
“The girl.” He’d wanted to say angel but thought better of it. “The one who rescued me.”
“Your Highness, there was no one there when we found you. You washed ashore alone. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Alone? Eric’s fingers curled against the sheets. Had he dreamed her?
The memory of her was so vivid, more real than any dream he’d ever had. He could still hear her voice—not words but sound, something deeper, something that had reached through the darkness and commanded him to live.
His mind could have invented that. But her face? That smirk? That wasn’t something a man just imagined. Was it?
“Maybe I am.”
But even as he said it, he wasn’t sure if he meant lucky to be alive… or lucky to have seen her at all.