The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea Read online

  The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea

  Katherine Quinn

  THE GIRL WHO BELONGED TO THE SEA

  By

  Katherine Quinn

  Copyright © 2021 Katherine Quinn

  * * *

  Edited by Charissa Weaks

  Cover Design by MiblArt.

  All stock photos licensed appropriately.

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  Published in the United States by City Owl Press.

  www.cityowlpress.com

  * * *

  For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and permission of the publisher.

  To my husband Joshua, who fell in love with the darkest parts of me and painted my world with stars.

  Contents

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  The Exile

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of The Night’s Chosen

  Find Your Next Read

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  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Additional Titles

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  Don’t miss more of the The Azantian Trilogy coming soon, and find more from Katherine Quinn at katherinequinnauthor.weebly.com

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  Until then, discover THE NIGHT’S CHOSEN, by City Owl Author, E. E. Hornburg!

  For the past five years Princess Eira has run from her impending wedding. As much as she loves her goddess and kingdom, she’s searched the kingdoms for another way to rule as queen someday while also choosing her own husband.

  Yet, Eira’s claim to the crown falls into jeopardy when her father, King Brennus, is poisoned and fated to a sleep of living death and Eira is next on the assassin’s hit list – who happens to be her stepmother, Queen Amelia.

  After Eira escapes Queen Amelia’s clutches she journeys to the northern Paravian mountains in search of an enchanted cup to save her father.

  Her quest is more than she anticipated with evading Queen Amelia’s guards, traveling with the one man she shouldn’t be with, and having to bargain with the ancient dragon guarding the enchanted cup.

  She’ll have to decide how to save her family and kingdom, even if it means sacrificing her heart and all she’s wanted her whole life.

  GET IT NOW!

  The Exile

  For the first time in a thousand years, the man crafted of neither flesh nor bone heard a voice—a prayer cast to the seas.

  It carried on an impatient breeze, muffled yet brimming with urgency, the speaker’s sweet timbre awakening a heart that had long since ceased to beat. The plea was so passionate that it jolted the man from bed, his silk coverlet pooling at his waist in a puddle of ivory.

  A prayer.

  The man couldn’t remember the last time he’d been gifted with such a delicate thing, not since...

  Well, not since he’d been stripped of all that he was.

  The man had endured countless solitary years hiding behind the faces of others, and now he hardly remembered what his true face looked like.

  His brother was to blame for that.

  It wasn’t the man’s fault he wanted the sea for himself, that he desired to be its only ruler. He wanted his name whispered on sailors’ lips, their lovers murmuring his name as they prayed for their husbands and wives to return to them safe and whole.

  He hadn’t wished to share the throne, and his greed had been his downfall. His punishment? For his memory to be wiped from the earth.

  That was no matter now. The man—the god who’d been imprisoned in the body of a mortal—felt the stirrings of hope. If this prayer had reached him, then that would mean the person he’d waited patiently for had finally come. That, soon, he’d be released from his captivity.

  Please, the voice whispered, I cannot bear the thought of staying with my father any longer. Cannot fathom being under his cruel thumb for another moment.

  A wicked smile quirked the man’s lips. He shut his eyes, indulging in the desperate melody of her voice.

  I want so much more than this life.

  As the woman spoke, her voice soft and full of dulcet lilts, an image began to form behind his closed lids. He glimpsed a rocky cliff shrouded in haze. A towering keep of impenetrable stone. An island of bronze and industry.

  And amidst the distorted vision, the man saw her.

  The woman who had reached him when no others had been able. A woman who was so much more than she seemed behind that innocent beauty.

  He could see what she hid beneath her flesh, what was invisible to any who did not know what to look for. What he saw set fire to his blood.

  So the man got to work, turning the knob of his lantern and fumbling for the red tome scattered amidst the chaos of papers and crudely drawn sketches, years of ideas and failed plans.

  Flipping through the worn and stained pages of the ancient text, he landed upon an image of the island that had haunted him for centuries. An island that, up until a couple decades ago, protected a dangerous relic that could turn the tide in the man’s favor.

  And fate had just shown him the mortal woman who would help him find it.

  I long to be free, the voice begged in the distance, and the man’s smile flourished, a plan forming in his mind. All he had to do was align the right pieces and play the pawns already on the board.

  And then he would have not only his vengeance but a fierce weapo
n to command. A weapon his brother would never see coming.

  He would finish what he started over a thousand years ago. Though, this time, it would end with him sitting on the one true throne, his brother’s blood spilled at his feet.

  Oh, I hear your prayers, little one. And soon you will get your wish.

  Chapter One

  Margrete

  Margrete Wood had been locked inside her father’s iron contraption so many times that she should have been used to its rusted spikes, pungent rot, and the absence of light once he shut the door. It was her penance for misbehaving, he claimed. A way to cleanse her soul. But it was no more than a coffin. A vicious device he used for control.

  When her father slammed the door, trapping her where dreams went to die, Margrete prayed to all the gods she could think of. Arios, the God of Spring and New Beginnings, and Delia, Goddess of Wisdom and Protector of the Pure of Heart. She even prayed to the wrathful God of War and Vengeance, Charion.

  Yet only when she envisioned the sea, wild and unapologetically savage, did she receive any kind of answer at all. Trapped in the dark with nothing but her sinking hope, she chased after the elusive sound of the waves. It was soft at first, nothing but the gentle thrum of the waters meeting the shore.

  Margrete closed her eyes and held on to that melody like a lifeline. Soon her body trembled and her heartbeat slowed, and then the song swelled.

  The moment the waves became a roar in her ears, she released her prayers with a heart-wrenching hope. She wished to be far from her father. Begged for a life that was not her own. Pleaded to be free.

  When the door to her box opened hours later, her father’s wicked face staring back at her, the ethereal song came to an abrupt end. While he’d done his best to weaken her, to rob her of her courage, Margrete left that day clinging to a scrap of hope her father couldn’t touch.

  The sea had whispered a reply, a single, haunting word.

  Soon.

  It had been five days since Margrete emerged from the box and left her father’s study. Five long days and still her body buzzed with apprehension and promise.

  Almost as if the God of the Sea had truly heeded her prayers.

  Now, she was being called back to the study, urged on by Adina, her lady’s maid, who snapped at her heels like an anxious hound. And hurry she did, for every wrong Margrete committed, each act of rebellion, would not only be her punishment to bear. Not since her father turned his attention to her younger sister, Bridget, or Birdie, as Margrete fondly nicknamed her.

  A thin layer of perspiration dampened her skin by the time she arrived. Lifting a closed fist, she knocked on the heavy wooden door, biting her lower lip as she awaited a reply.

  “Come.”

  Margrete flinched, her father’s voice unusually light. Pushing inside, she found the notorious sea captain of Prias lounging in his chair, his booted feet propped against the mahogany desk littered with maps and trade records. His short, flaxen hair and matching beard were sprinkled with age, white streaks interwoven throughout the strands, his square jaw prominent and masculine.

  But it was the cutting edge of his gaze that could fell a man with one look.

  “Daughter, sit.” He waved her over to one of two plush blue seats before him. A devilish smile curled his thin lips, a malicious twinkle sparkling in his steel-gray eyes that promised nothing but torment.

  Margrete had always been told that her hazel eyes and golden skin came from her mother. If only she could have met her.

  Hesitantly, she slid onto the cushion, her muscles tensing as her father’s gaze swept across her body from behind his desk, his forefinger and thumb pinching his graying beard in thought. Uneasy moments ticked by before he spoke, but when he did, she had to grab hold of her chair to keep from falling over.

  “You’re to be married here, at the keep, in two months’ time.”

  Margrete couldn’t help it when a small gasp left her lips, her mouth parting as though a silent scream wished to escape. It was her only reaction, the obedient words she usually reserved for the captain dissipating like dust in a windstorm.

  “I see you’re quite thrilled with the news, then?” He leaned back in his seat, pulling his muscled legs from the polished wood. “I’ll give you a moment to process.”

  Tiny beads of sweat formed along her brow, the air in the room suddenly too hot, too stuffy. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a tumultuous staccato that sounded like angry raindrops during a squall.

  “W-who?” she managed to ask, fearful of the answer. Knowing her father, her marriage was to procure some elusive business deal. She would be used for his purposes, however vile they may be, and her opinion on the matter was irrelevant.

  “Count Casbian,” he said.

  “Of Cartus?”

  “One and the same.” The captain grinned, enjoying the obvious discomfort playing across her features. “Cartus is Marionette’s greatest asset for defense, and the count’s military position will do well for us. I’m told he’s also a favorite amongst the king and queen.”

  This was about influence. As if conquering the seas wasn’t enough, the captain now wished to gain the favor of Marionette’s rulers through the count.

  “And he is quite young,” he added, “which is lucky for you. Meaning you won’t soon be made a widow.”

  She didn’t allow her bewilderment to show, but the truth was that she’d believed her reputation suffered too great a blow for any man to look her way after what happened two years ago. Then again, her substantial dowry might persuade suitors to overlook her past indiscretions.

  She swallowed down the tears at the memory of her father’s young guard, Jacob, who’d been foolish enough to fall in love with her. They’d been caught in the act by the captain himself, and to her horror, her father had thrust his dagger into the very heart that had once belonged to her. She was to remain pure until the captain found a match for his daughter that suited his needs, but thanks to Jacob, any purity vanished.

  And yet now, none of that seemed to matter.

  Pulling herself together, forcing her chin to lift, Margrete addressed the man who relished in misery with an icy calm. “I see,” she began, sitting up straighter in her chair. “And this has already been decided? The count has agreed to this as well?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t hesitate.

  “And you didn’t consult me.” The words were out before she had a chance to rein them in.

  Storm clouds brewed in his eyes. “Consult you?” He let out a mirthless laugh, his eyes drifting to the corner of the study where his sick contraption hid behind a silk screen. The unspoken threat was obvious. “You should consider yourself lucky I’ve given you this opportunity.” He seethed. “I was never awarded such a thing.”

  The captain didn’t speak of his past, of his parents, except for once, five years ago. Margrete woke in the middle of the night and crept down the stairs, only to overhear him arguing with a man. She hadn’t recognized the voice, but before he kicked the stranger out of the keep, her father had told him, ‘You can slither back into your hovel and tell our dearest parents I’m merely showing them the same kindness they did me.’

  The captain caught Margrete that night, and without a word, dragged her to the box and shoved her inside. Only when dawn came did he open the door.

  They never spoke of the man again.

  “Don’t make this hard on yourself, daughter,” her father said, shaking the memory from her thoughts. “I’d hate for you to receive another lesson so soon after the last.”

  Margrete shut her eyes, and just like that, she was back inside the confines of the box. Its metal spikes poked at her skin, the smell of her blood fresh in the air. Her breaths quickened as shadows closed in on all sides. Sometimes he’d leave her in there for hours. After Jacob, she’d been trapped for a full day.

  What would he do if she refused him now?

  Margrete cleared her throat and opened her eyes, willing away the images that haunted her every wak
ing moment. So many thoughts rushed into her mind that she couldn’t think clearly, but one stood out amongst the rest.

  Perhaps she didn’t need to refuse her father. Marriage to the Count of Cartus would change her life, change everything. For better or worse, she couldn’t say, but it was a way out of this keep and a way to flee her father’s control.

  There was just one problem.

  “If I’m to marry Casbian, who will watch over Birdie? You’re frequently gone, and the keep is no place for a young lady to live alone.”

  Birdie’s mother, Margrete’s stepmother, had died four years past, and the poor girl still suffered the loss. She needed her older sister now more than ever. Birdie’s sweet disposition would never endure under their father’s merciless thumb.

  “Bridget will remain here,” he said. “Under her governess’s supervision.”