Song vibe: Black Swan – BTS

  __________

  NOCTURNE

  Captain's Quarters, The Silver Siren

  At the mention of the vile word, Nocturne’s jaw flexed once. He’s sullied my name—and Saphira’s honour. He’ll pay for it.

  "Crassus has spread his poison fast," Nocturne said coldly. "You know both our characters. I'd never harm a woman. But Crassus?"

  “Lies travel faster than bad winds, and blow over twice as fast." Lorenzo flicked his fingers dismissively. “But truth? Truth doesn’t buy loyalty. What matters is what each of us stands to gain.”

  “Then I’ll speak plain as well,” Nocturne said, voice steady, eyes fixed on the older duke. “Back Crassus, and Edwin falls. Hyland will own your ports before summer’s end.”

  “And if we back Edwin?” Aaliyah leaned back in her chair, cigar balanced between her fingers as she cut and toasted the tip with a match. “War taxes. Burnt ships. Dead men.”

  “If you back Edwin, it won't come to war,” Nocturne replied. “Edwin honours his word; Crassus cannot be trusted.”

  “Honour doesn't fill my coffers, my boy. Coin does." Lorenzo chuckled low, swirling his wine. "Renatus is our biggest trading partner—and Crassus offers more trade with Hyland.” He glanced sidelong at Valentino. “Tell me, Val—has loyalty made Firestone richer?”

  “Stability is key to trade, my lord.” Valentino lifted his glass, amber light cutting across his eyes. “Chaos fattens vultures, not dukedoms. Men like you lose everything to it.”

  “Careful, princeling,” Aaliyah hummed, amused. “I built my fortune on disorder.”

  “And kept it,” Valentino countered smoothly, “because you know when the tide turns—when to trade chaos for power.”

  Aaliyah breathed out the cigar smoke, her eyes sharp and appreciative of Valentino's praise.

  “Then what of you?” Nocturne asked. “Where does Arteaga stand?”

  “Where it always does,” she answered dryly. “At sea—watching which way the wind blows.”

  Silence fell, broken only by the creak of the ship.

  Lorenzo studied the dark tears in the wine. “I don’t lose sleep over right or wrong. Only what keeps Fiorenza standing.”

  “Then your best bet is with Edwin,” Valentino said with diplomatic smoothness. “Tie Fiorenza’s fortunes to the West, not the East. We are the more stable option.”

  “You were always the sensible one, Val.” Lorenzo’s gaze softened. His eyes drifted to Nocturne, observing the Count’s reaction as he spoke next. “My own sons still think with their swords—young men chasing glory and land.”

  “Then hear me clearly.” Nocturne set his untouched goblet aside. “Firestone guards Edwin’s border. If your sons march, they’ll fall at my blade.”

  The words hit like drawn steel.

  Lorenzo’s expression cracked for a heartbeat. His gaze lingered on Nocturne—every bit the former dueler assessing the threat. Then, he conceeded with a slight incline of his head. “You’ve made your point, Count. I’ll speak with my council. We’ll see where profit lies.”

  “And I’ll keep my ships where they are—for now.” Aaliyah flicked ash into a pewter tray. “Don’t mistake that for fealty.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nocturne said.

  Her lips curved faintly, shadowed by smoke.

  Outside, the rigging groaned, and the sea wind pressed against the hull—like the tide itself had taken note.

  “Politics, my boy.” Lorenzo straightened his sea-blue cloak. “Don’t take it personally.” He tipped his goblet in farewell, then drained the last drop. “Ciao, Duchess. Count.” He clasped Valentino by the shoulder. “Come, Val. Do you remember the Count of San Ruvio? His daughter is my wife’s Lady-in-Waiting, here in Lux now. Quite the beauty—you’ll see when I introduce—”

  The door closed behind them with a heavy click, sealing the cabin in silence. The echo lingered. Only the slow roll of the sea and the faint hiss of Aaliyah’s cigar remained.

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  Nocturne turned back to her. Smoke curled around her face, her jewelled rings glinting in the lamplight. She was watching him—amused, assessing, dangerous.

  “Now, sugar, humour me.” Aaliyah extinguished the cigar with the grace of a ship's cat. “Crassus’ daughter is pretty enough, but not your type. Be honest—why cling to something that was never your idea? Loyalty to Edwin? He’d cast you to the maelstrom if it secured my vote.”

  “My marriage is not for discussion,” Nocturne growled, rising slowly. His tone carried warning, but something colder flickered underneath. She knows just how to provoke me. If she were a man, I’d have broken her jaw by now.

  “You don’t deny my words.” She stood, her dark eyes locked on his, her voice lowering to a husky whisper. “You still look at me the same way—like that night in the hold.”

  His hand went to the secret pocket over his heart. Saphira’s letter. The parchment crinkled faintly beneath his glove.

  “You were starved then—” she stepped closer, her breath warm against his collar. “—and you are now. How long have you slept in a cold bed?”

  She reads me too easily—she always did. He smelled her perfume, heavy with spice and salt. The steel in his ear caught the light—an earring binding him to her, and above it, the black pearl for their child: mourning for what we lost, and the promise of our future.

  “What I want—” Nocturne’s hand rose, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, gentle and deliberate. “—is loyalty. That’s why I left you that night.”

  “Is that all you want?” she laughed softly, but the sound faltered as her eyes searched his. “Then you’ll have it. My loyalty. My vote at the Conclave. My discretion.” Her fingers slid down his forearm, a professional caress. “I’ll breathe a word to no one.”

  A shark circling—scenting blood. He steadied his breath. Don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

  Above: The one that got away.

  "Aaliyah..." Slowly, he took her fingers from his arm, then, with the lightest pressure, squeezed them—a warning, not a promise. “I won’t betray my wife. Even if it costs me the Conclave.”

  "Truly?" Aaliyah’s laugh came out quiet and brittle, the mask slipping for a heartbeat. “You’ve... you've really changed.”

  “You haven’t,” Nocturne said. “Still testing.”

  She turned toward the window, the sunlight glancing off her dark hair. “I want to give you my vote, Nocturne. You’re the only man I know who doesn’t flinch from his conviction.” She paused. “But when it comes down to it, keeping the other dukes on my side matters more than pleasing Edwin.”

  “At least you’re honest about it,” he said quietly, inclining his head.

  “Only with you, sugar.” She smiled faintly, her jewels gleaming in the lamplight. “If you ever tire of playing the noble husband—”

  Enough.

  The words died between them as he reached for the door. He gave her a slight bow—more courtesy than warmth—and turned to leave.

  Nocturne paused long enough for the wind outside to press against the hull, the sea groaning like an old memory. Then he opened the door.

  Cool air rushed in, clean and briny, sweeping away the haze of wine and smoke. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp against the hush of the harbour. The Silver Siren rocked gently at anchor, sails flashing white in the sun.

  Nocturne drew a slow breath—the world outside the cabin suddenly wide, bright, and mercilessly clear.

  Beside the gangplank, Lucian sat atop the weathered chest of gold, cloak stirring in the brisk breeze. His green scarf was tied across his forehead to keep his dark hair from his eyes.

  Lucian straightened as Nocturne approached, teal eyes glinting. “About time. Where’s Val?”

  “Let him work on Lorenzo. We’re done here.”

  “Care to share the load?” Lucian tapped the chest. "I checked. Pure gold bars."

  Nocturne picked up one side, the wood groaning beneath the weight. Enough to keep Firestone alive a little longer. His anger burned cold. Edwin said he’d halved my taxes. Quintus. Another stain to wipe away. I can't send a silvark warning them—can't risk Quintus reading the letter and destroying the evidence.

  “I take it your little chat went well,” Lucian commented. “That Duchess of yours... she got a certain… effect on people, doesn’t she?”

  “She’s a whirlpool,” Nocturne said quietly. “The danger is not getting pulled under.”

  “Huh. The real danger is her getting under your skin.” Lucian paused, studying him. “Or her sheets.”

  “She’s dangerous because she remembers what I was.” Nocturne's gaze stayed on the water. “And she still thinks that man exists.”

  “Let’s not pretend, Nox.” Lucian’s tone sharpened, the humour gone. “If we’re talking about danger—it’s you.”

  Nocturne looked up, eyes narrowing.

  “You’re lonely,” Lucian explained. “And a shark like her can smell it a mile away. You’ve been alone so long you don’t know what it is to let anyone in—not even your wife.”

  The muscles in Nocturne’s jaw tightened. “You found Saphira’s maid yet?”

  Lucian ignored the deflection. He stopped, forcing Nocturne to halt beside him. The chest settled heavily between them. His teal eyes were clear, stripped of humour. “Saphira’s in this, whether you like it or not. Keep shutting her out, and you’ll destroy her. She needs you, Nox.” He exhaled, “Trust me.”

  “I do.” Nocturne’s voice came quiet, weighted. After a long moment, he added, “What do you know that I don’t?”

  “I… saw things in her dream,” Lucian said grimly. “Let’s just say this—I wouldn’t hand my worst enemy to Crassus. If he ever gets his hands back on your wife…” He hesitated. “Killing her first would be mercy.”

  What in the Pits did he see? The thought seared through him. Something private, something broken. Something Crassus had done—that pitspawn.

  “Believe me,” Nocturne said, the words like tempered steel. “I’d sooner burn Renatus to the ground than raise a hand against her.”

  Lucian watched him for a long moment as the breeze toyed with his scarf. Then he nodded, slow and sure. “Good. Because that’s the first time I’ve heard you sound like yourself in months.”

  Nocturne’s gaze drifted over the water, the horizon a cold, endless blaze of light. Saphira. She’s made me slower to anger, quicker to think—yet what anger remains burns hotter. Harder to control.