Her hand hovered over the latch. Whatever lay beyond that door—be it Flavian, or the vipers who had stolen him—she would face it. And this time, there would be no mercy.
"It is time now," muttered the one with long braided hair.
"Yes, finally," the scarred man chuckled. "We killed all the crew and tossed them into the sea. All that's left is to burn the ship."
"The plan was flawless," Morbbish added with a wicked grin. "Bring the Crown Prince here, make it look like a trade vessel… then, an unfortunate fire in the middle of the sea. Who would question it?" He laughed low, triumphant, and cursed.
"Morbbish, Mussel—enough. Start the fire," the third man, Norrier, snapped. "We've tarried for too long."
"Come now, Norrier," Mussel said lazily, "who could possibly stop us now?"
Leesa pushed the door open with a crash. The heavy wood struck the wall with the force of a cannon shot, the echo roared through the hall like thunder. They never saw her coming. She moved like a tempest. "I could." Her voice cut through the air, cold and clear. All three turned, stunned.
Mussel lunged first, swinging a heavy fist wide. Leesa ducked, her body fluid with the grace of long training. "Ugh, how did you get here?" he snarled.
"Brains," she said with a smirk. "You muscle-headed fool."
She hurled a dagger mid-spin, the blade grazing Mussel's cheek, drawing blood and rage.
Mussel's eyes widened. "Wait… you—"
"The same passerby," she finished, stepping forward. "The one who killed your companions during the royal carriage ambush."
"The one who slaughtered them all…" Norrier whispered, recognising her at last.
"And I suppose you three are the cowards who fled with your tails tucked when the fight turned against you."
Morbbish scoffed. "We retreated to strategise. Unlike you, we think before we fight."
"Then you ought to have thought better."
With a cry of fury, Leesa lashed out, catching Morbbish squarely in the ribs with a savage kick. His body flew backwards, colliding with the iron bars of the far wall. The sound of splintering wood and clanging metal filled the air. In the chaos, the torch in Morbbish's hand fell—its burning tip landing upon a loose netting soaked faintly with oil.
Flames sparked instantly. Leesa's eyes darted across the room. The torches—there were three, no other light. The entire glow that had drawn her down here came from these makeshift fires, now threatening to consume the ship from within.
And then she saw it. Behind Morbbish, beyond the iron bars—a cell. Within it, a shadow lingered. She stepped closer, drawn as if by fate. Her heart thudded like a war drum. Smoke curled around the floor. Her boots struck the boards hard. Her breath caught. She reached the cell. Behind the bars, slumped against the wall, lay a figure. A familiar outline. Ragged. Barely conscious but unmistakable. Her hands trembled as she gripped the iron. "Sire…" she breathed, her voice crackling.
Flavian lay crumpled in the farthest corner of the iron cell—blindfolded, gagged, and bound like a hunted beast. Even the flickering firelight seemed afraid to touch him. He did not move. He could not.
Leesa took one step forward—but then pain cracked her skull. The world tilted. Mussel's torch-rod struck her temple with brutal force, the wood splitting slightly on impact. She stumbled, blood trickling down the side of her face, warm and thick. A gasp left her lips—not of fear, but rage. She fell to one knee, her vision swimming, her ears ringing. The copper sting of blood filled her mouth. And through it all, she saw him. Flavian. Her prince. Her purpose. Everything she had endured—every night without sleep, every lead chased through shadows, every lie endured—had brought her here. To this cell. To this moment.
But her body was beginning to betray her. Her limbs trembled with exhaustion, her breaths coming shallow and sharp. Days of restless searching. A day and a half rowing through a rough sea alone. And now this blow to her head. The pain pulsed violently, echoing through her skull like a war drum. And yet… she rose. Slowly, deliberately, like a blade being drawn from its sheath. The fire had spread to the walls. The wood groaned under its heat. Smoke curled and licked at the corners of the room.
Before her stood three men—Morbbish, Mussel, and Norrier—no longer mocking, no longer amused. Now they understood. They had struck a lioness who had nothing left to lose.
Leesa's fingers curled tightly around her knives, the hilts pressing hard into her palms. Her eyes burned—not from the smoke, but from the weight of her resolve. Fury, grief, love, exhaustion—they all surged within her, colliding like crashing tides. She did not care if she lived through this night. She only cared that Flavian did.
"You can't even stand straight," Morbbish sneered, his blade glinting. "And you think you can beat all of us?"
Leesa exhaled, long and slow. "I don't need to beat you," she said. "I just need to end you."
And with that, she charged.
Morbbish roared as he lunged forward, both hands gripping the hilt of his sword in a desperate, clumsy arc. It was brute strength—unrefined, overconfident, and slow. Leesa saw it before he even moved.
One step. One breath. Her blade flashed—a silver streak through the smoke-filled air—and his head rolled clean from his shoulders, hair still tied in its proud braids. The body collapsed an instant later, a thunderous thud shaking the ship's floorboards.
The other two froze for a heartbeat. Mussel snarled, blood still streaming from the cut she'd left earlier, his cheek already swelling grotesquely. He looked deranged, eager for revenge, towering behind Norrier like a starving bear. Norrier himself was still as stone, his eyes flicking over Leesa's stance, calculating, his axe in one hand, the other gripping the burning rod like a second blade. He did not charge. He was the thinker among the three, waiting for her to stumble, to bleed out, to fall just a little more.
But Leesa didn't fall. She stood above Morbbish's headless corpse like a ghost risen for vengeance, her own blood glistening against the dying light of the torches. The fire on the far side of the room crackled louder now, devouring, licking up the walls, turning this tomb into an inferno.
"You're next," she said hoarsely, eyes locked on Norrier.