The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 114

Chapter 114: One Hundred & Fourteen

I’ve never been on a ship before.

Neither have I seen waters so vast, so blue, it stretched so far across the horizon, farther than eyes can see, disappearing into a heavily veiled mist. I feel like a child holding her first toy, my hands gripping the railing hard as I stare into the waters, gasping every time I see fins and sharp teeth. "Did you see that?! What type of fish is that?"

Lucien laughs beside me. "It’s a shark. And they like to eat pretty things like you." He presses his hand to the small of my back, steering me away from the railing slick with salt. "Come. Let’s find our place below."

The deck smells of rust and old blood. A few passengers glance our way, their faces hollowed by sleepless nights, eyes sharp with hunger and suspicion. Their eyes brighten at the sight of our attires, completely ordinary, and drab, yet so out of place in a place surrounded by rags and filth. A part of me wants to rip the pouch from my belt and hand them all the money they need to feed themselves.

Most of them are humans. And those who aren’t, are wolves. Rogues.

And I wonder if Cyrus knows what the effect of this war is on his people. I wonder if he knows joining forces with Rafael is endangering them. Wolves and humans may know how to co-exist, but it didn’t make them any more friendly. The larger part of Silvermoor’s population is drowning in poverty since the wealthy hoarded more wealth, and with this new alliance, Voss has opened it’s borders to most of that population.

"Don’t," Lucien warns, and I catch myself inching for the purse anyway. "You feed one, and ten more will follow. And when the gold runs out, they’ll remember you still have blood and bones to trade. Worse yet if they discover what we are. Keep it hidden. Until we reach the shore."

The gangplank groans underfoot as we step aboard. Cracked lanterns sway, spilling dull light over the packed room. The Deckhand is a small, wiry man with a scar running across his forehead with mangled stitches and three missing digits. Smoke curls from his mouth as he regards us. "You Marlow’s?"

His brogue is thick, rolling with Rs.

Lucien nods, handing him a scroll.

The man skims the note for half a second before shoving it into the hands of another. "Payment." He grunts in approval when Lucien reaches into his pocket and drops a pouch into his palm. "Cabin’s below, third hatch to your right."

His gaze drifts to me, and his lip curls. "Fine bit o’ meat. She don’t talk? We like ’em better when they don’t talk."

It’s not many times I get objectified, not even to my face, but he speaks to Lucien like he owns me. I start to respond, but Lucien’s hand finds my hip, curving possessively. "She doesn’t talk to men who smell like rat’s piss."

The deckhand’s grin falters. Lucien doesn’t look away. He just keeps that lazy, amused stare until the man erupts into nervous laughter. "Just a jest, mate."

"Of course," Lucien murmurs, smiling. His thumb presses into my hipbone before he steers me past the man, his gaze flicking briefly to the knife at the deckhand’s belt. "But I’d be wary of those, sailor. Keep your jokes close, sailor. They might earn you a trip overboard before dawn."

I keep my laughter hidden, only because I can feel Lucien genuinely contemplating throwing the sailor over board down the bond. He is usually unruffled by these things, but nothing quite prickles his feathers like someone looking or speaking to me wrong.

"Hey," I say softly when we reach the cabin--a run down room with one bunk, a bucket in the corner to take a leak and reeks of piss and puke. "You can’t go about threatening everyone who looks at me."

He makes a funny sound in his throat, scanning every corner of the room. "Watch me."

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