Chapter 51 Ashes of a Dream
Chapter fifty-one
Ashes of a Dream
-Maris-
She awoke to warmth, decadence that filled every inch of her, as if someone had poured sunlight into her veins.
No nightmares. No gods whispering from the dark corners of her mind. No veiled terrors clawing their way into her chest.
Just… peace.
For a moment, Maris laid still, tangled in the crisp sheets of her bed, staring at the grain of the wooden ceiling overhead. The ship rocked gently beneath her, slow and steady, like a lullaby that had never quite ended.
She felt sick.
The dream. Gods. It came rushing back to her in waves of heated breath. The teasing hands, that unraveled her from the inside out with gentle caresses.
And it hadn’t been imagined.
It had been him.
Alarik.
He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t broken the spell, but she had known. And worse she let him. Let herself pretend it didn’t count because it was a dream. Because they hadn’t spoken aloud. Because she hadn’t screamed his name.
But she had called him there.
And he had come.
A dull ache bloomed in her chest, half frustration, half shame. Her hand drifted to the ring still wrapped around her finger. Cold. Heavy. Suffocating.
A promise.
Broken.
She rolled onto her side, burying her face into the pillow.
The scent of sea salt and lavender oil clung to the fabric, but it only made her stomach turn.
Her thoughts wandered to Kael’s silver eyes, the bond that once tethered them like thread and flame.
The engagement she hadn’t fully accepted but hadn’t fully refused either.
Now there was only silence between them. She had not even realized it had faded until the quiet was so complete, it echoed.
But Alarik…
Alarik was not quiet. Not even in sleep. His magic lingered like smoke. His presence pressed against her without even entering the room. And now, she felt the shift between them.
She didn’t want to see him.
Didn’t want to look into those eyes and feel the memory crackle beneath her skin. Didn’t want to wonder if he’d bring it up. If he’d smirk. If he’d confront her with the truth of it.
No.
Let it die.
Let it rot like salt on a wound.
Let it be one last indulgent fantasy that meant nothing beyond the veil of sleep.
She sat up slowly, pressing her palms into her eyes. Her body thrummed. Her magic still hummed like a song barely caged. She whispered a curse and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
But she didn’t stand.
Not while she felt him moving above deck like a pull in her blood.
Please, she thought bitterly. Let him pretend it never happened.
Let it simmer. Let it fade.
She prayed to be strong enough to pretend she never wanted him at all.
A knock rattled the wood, soft but persistent.
Maris jolted, her heart a startled drum in her chest.
“Maris?” Serenya’s voice, muffled through the door but unmistakable. Calm. Warm. Unassuming.
She hesitated, swallowing down the thrum of shame still coating her skin. “Yes?”
“Thought you might want to come spar. We’ve got sun, space, and I’m feeling cocky.”
Maris exhaled shakily and stared at the door. For a moment, she considered pretending she hadn’t heard. Letting the silence answer for her. Letting the dream stay tucked away beneath her skin, safe and unsaid.
But no.
Running wouldn’t erase what had happened. It never did.
“Sure, I’ll be up in a moment,” she called back.
She waited until Serenya's footsteps retreating, and then she stood. Her knees ached slightly, whether from the ships constant motion or dream-wrought exhaustion, she didn’t know.
Her hand brushed the ring again. She pulled it off this time, placing it into pillow.
Just for now. Just until she could breathe again with on without feeling like a liar.
She dressed slowly.
Her sparring leathers clung too tightly.
They always did, but this morning… gods.
Every cinch and strap, every sleek line of black leather hugging her thighs and chest, reminded her far too much of that dream.
Of the way Alarik’s eyes had roamed her as if he’d stitched every inch of her body into memory.
Of the way he’d worshiped her skin with his lips, and not once rushed her.
He hadn’t taken.
He’d waited.
Her hands trembled as she smoothed the buckles down. “Pull yourself together,” she muttered under her breath.
The ship creaked gently around her as she approached the narrow stairs leading above deck. A burnished gold light spilled in through the cracked hatch that should’ve felt warm but it felt like a spotlight.
She could already sense him. Alarik. Not close, but aware. Like the thread between them had grown taut overnight and refused to release its tension.
She paused just beneath the ladder.
This is fine. He won’t say anything. You won’t say anything. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just a —
She climbed above deck, repeating the farce with each step. The sun kissed her skin like an apology.
Maris squinted against the brightness, wind tugging at the loose tendrils of her hair. The Argo groaned beneath her, slicing through calm seas. Crew moved efficiently about, the scent of new wood thick in the air as her eyes landed on Serenya first.
Her friend stood near fresh railing, already rolling her shoulders and twirling a short blade between her fingers like it was a natural extension of her arm. Her braid was wind-tossed, her grin feral.
“Took you long enough,” she called, tossing the extra practice blade her way.
Maris caught it, letting the solid weight ground her.
“I had to mentally prepare,” she said dryly. “You fight like Yseron in the flesh.”
Serenya laughed. “And you? Like something that relishes in chaos.”
Maris quirked a brow. “Relishes?”
“After yesterday?” Serenya’s grinned cocking her head to the side with a raised brow. “Please. You glowed like a second moon. And snapped your fingers like a goddess with an attitude.”
Maris fought the heat that threatened her cheeks. “Don’t let that go to your head.”
“Oh, it won’t.” Serenya stepped into the center of the deck, slicing the air in a low arch with her blade. “But it’s not leaving mine either.”
They circled each other.
The rhythm came easily. Feet steady. Wrists fluid. Maris had always been quick, but now there was something more — anticipation, almost premonition. She could read Serenya’s movements like lines in a book, lean just far enough to dodge a blow, pivot just right to strike without truly landing a hit.
“Careful,” Serenya said between steps. “I might start getting jealous.”
Maris narrowed her eyes. “Of?”
Serenya smirked. “Whoever taught you to move like this.”
The jab nearly made her falter. She covered it with a sharp twist and riposte, blade ringing as it met Serenya’s in a clean clash.
“You mean the ancient goddess’ magic, the shadow or the blonde prick?” she asked.
Serenya gave her a look, lifting her hand up in denfense. “You said it, not me.”
A laugh slipped past Maris’s lips short, sharp, honest.
Gods, it felt good to laugh. To move. To not think about the dream or what came after. But even now, her senses remained attuned. Searching.
She felt him before she saw him.
The air shifted, warmth prickled across her skin, like the sun catching too long on bare shoulders.
She didn’t look. Not right away.
But she knew.
Alarik.
He was watching and suddenly, the blade in her hand felt heavy. The leather restricting.
Serenya straightened, blade lowered. “You’re distracted.”
“No.”
“You are.” Serenya stepped close, speaking softer now. “Whatever it is, whoever it is, you need to face it or … them. Cough. Cough. ” She winked.
Maris didn’t respond.
She didn’t need to.
Because behind her, a footstep sounded on deck and his presence wrapped around her like a storm-wind just waiting for her to turn. The air practically crackled between them.
Alarik said nothing at first. His footsteps halted somewhere near the helm, pretending as much she was, that there wasn’t a current pulling them toward each other.
Maris blew out a slow breath, stepping back into position opposite Serenya. She rolled her wrist once. “Again?”
Serenya smirked knowingly but raised her blade. “You sure you’re not too… whats the word … overheated?”
Maris narrowed her eyes. “I’m fine.”
Liar.
Their blades met again in a flurry of motion clashing, sweeping, spinning, but it wasn’t the same. Not with him so near. Not with his eyes searing into her. She was burning beneath it.
She lunged, and missed. Serenya parried and spun behind her. “You should talk to him.”
Maris stiffened, then pivoted sharply. “I don’t want to.”
Serenya raised a brow mid-step. “ I'm not sure I believe that.”
Their blades sang again, but even that couldn’t drown out her own heartbeat, climbing up her throat. The dream echoed behind her eyes, Alarik’s hands, his wicked mouth, the way he looked at her as she came undone.
Maris gritted her teeth and stepped back.
“I. said. I’m. fine.,” she hissed, not sure if she meant it for Serenya or herself.
Serenya didn’t push. She only gave a small, knowing nod, backing away.
And that’s when Maris turned.
Alarik was at the railing now, one hand braced on the wood, his face unreadable in the afternoon light. Wind pulled through his hair, the fabric of his white tunic rippling in waves.
He looked every bit the king. One who had touched her like she was both sacred and dangerous.
Their eyes met.
Neither of them looked away.
But still, no words passed between them.
Just silence and tension.
The memories echoing between them.
Serenya didn’t miss the opportunity, with a swift pivot, she twisted inside Maris’s guard, ducked low, and in one smooth move swept Maris’s legs from beneath her.
The deck tilted. Maris landed on her back with a grunt, her sword clattering from her fingers.
Serenya stood over her, brow raised, sword tip pointed playfully at Maris’s throat. Her blue eyes danced. A stupid smile plastered across her face.
Maris exhaled sharply, closing her eyes. “Gods, just run me through.”