Chapter 388:

Caspian

I groan and wake up.

The ceiling above me is unfamiliar—dark wood, low beams, a lantern swinging gently from a hook. I’m in some kind of cabin. Small. Cramped. Four other beds line the walls.

My hand is being held.

I look to my side.

She’s there. Sleeping. Her dark hair spills across the pillow, her lips are slightly parted, her chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths.

She’s incredibly beautiful.

It’s her. The woman from the island. The one who saved me from drowning.

The mermaid.

Did she save me again?

Gratitude that’s warm and overwhelming and humbling floods through me.

I sit up.

She wakes immediately. Her eyes flutter open—those deep blue eyes, dark as the sea at midnight. They find mine. Hold them.

She looks relieved.

I try to move. My abdomen screams in protest—a sharp, burning pain that steals my breath and clouds my vision. I look down. Bandages wrap around my torso, white stained with red.

Someone tended to my wound.

"Okay?" Her voice is soft. Hesitant. The first time I’ve ever heard her speak.

"I’m okay." I try to smile. Reassure her.

She doesn’t look convinced.

"It’s fine." I push myself to my feet. The room spins. I grab the edge of the bed, wait for the world to steady.

My shirt is folded on a nearby chair. I grab it, pull it over my head, wince as the fabric rubs against the bandages.

I walk toward the door.

A small hand slips into mine.

I look down. She’s beside me, her fingers intertwined with mine, her expression unreadable.

I squeeze her hand back.

We walk.

The stairs are narrow and barely wide enough for one person. I climb first. She follows. The wood creaks beneath our feet. Light grows brighter above us.

I push open the door.

Sunlight floods my vision it’s blinding, golden, warm. I blink, squint, wait for my eyes to adjust.

When they do, I freeze.

I’m on the deck of The Bunny.

Injured men lie on mats, scattered across the wood. Dozens of them. Groaning. Bleeding. Dying. Crew members move between them, offering water, bandages, comfort.

I turn toward the water.

Wreckage.

Massive wreckage. Wood and sails and bodies, floating across the waves as far as I can see. Pieces of ships—my ship included—bobbing in the current. Men scavenge among the debris, pulling supplies, pulling bodies, pulling anything that might be useful.

My ship is gone.

***

Daphne

Boo.

The prince and his men...his surviving men have dampened the mood on my ship.

No laughter. No music. No dancing. Just groaning and weeping and the slow, heavy footsteps of men carrying the dead.

And I can’t even complain. It was technically my fault. All those pirates showed up because I sent word. The battle happened because I wanted to accelerate events. Their ship sank because I underestimated how many pirates would actually come.

I didn’t expect their ship to actually sink so easily though.

The Bunny did just fine, though.

[Host. Your ship is from the System store.]

Oh yeah. That’s right.

I lean against the railing, watching the prince’s surviving men mill about the deck. They look lost. Broken. Defeated.

The Bunny has enough space, but it’s a tight fit with all these extra people. My crew is crammed into every available corner—sleeping in hammocks, on the floor, in the storage hold. And my dear chef has to cook for twice as many mouths now.

I should give him a raise.

We’ve moved from two meals a day to one.

Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten all those pirates here.

I shake my head. Push off the railing. Grab the rope and swing down to the deck, landing silently on my feet.

"Captain."

Naia appears at my side, a blindfold covering her eyes. It’s been on her face since that day. She reaches for my arm. I take a step back.

"You break my heart, Captain." She pouts.

"Well." I fold my arms. "If you desire companionship, I’m sure there are many others who would be willing."

"Unfortunately, no one is brave enough to go against my father." She sighs dramatically.

"Try the prince."

She tilts her head. "Hmmmnn." A pause. "On his hip, there’s been the fish."

I raise an eyebrow. "Is that going to stop you?"

"No." She grins a sharp, mischievous, knowing and sways away. Her beads click. Her accessories clink. The sound of her lingers long after she’s gone.

I hope she causes chaos in the harem.

I walk to my cabin.

The door creaks as I push it open. I step inside and close it behind me, leaning against the wood for a moment, just breathing.

I remove my boots. Set them by the door.

My coat follows it’s heavy, salt-stiff, smelling of gunpowder and sea. I hang it on the hook beside the hat.

I walk to the basin.

The water is cold. It’s always cold. I wash my face, my hands, the back of my neck. The water turns gray. Then pink. Then red.

I fall onto the bed.

Onto the luxurious beddings,silk sheets, soft pillows, blankets that cost more than most pirates make in a year. I turn onto my side, and there it is.

The unfinished painting.

The mermaid in the sea, her tail disappearing beneath the waves, her dark hair floating around her face, her eyes still empty because I don’t know what they look like now.

I sigh.

When I’m left with my thoughts alone, I get really, really sad.

There’s scratching at the small window. I open it, and the System flies in—purple feathers, beady eyes, that familiar smug tilt of its head.

"How’s it going?" I ask.

[The mermaid and the main character have not left each other’s side.] The parrot settles on the foot of the bed.

[This is making the Pirate King’s daughter uncomfortable.]

I raise an eyebrow. "What about Nancy?"

[She is currently engrossed with your crew’s navigator. She is not paying attention to the main character.] The parrot pauses.

[From my observations, I do not believe a romantic relationship will ever develop between the two.]

A holographic screen flickers before my eyes.

[Harem breakdown: 30.15% complete.]

Nice.

I lean back against the pillows. "Do I always have to break down the harem to one hundred percent?"

[No. As long as world destruction is avoided, any percentage can be sufficient.]

I stare at the ceiling. The wood is dark, stained, scarred by years of salt and storm.

"Yeah." I sigh. "Because I don’t think the little mermaid princess will ever leave him alone. And his wife back home?" I shake my head. "I don’t think she’ll leave him either."

The parrot tilts its head but doesn’t say anymore, instead I just keep looking at the painting.