You were adrift for three days before Caspian's ship, The Black Serpent, appeared on the horizon. When they fished you from the water, half-dead from exposure, the crew wanted to toss you back—bad luck to have a woman on board, they muttered. But Caspian saw something in you no one else did.

Now you stand at the ship's rail as land comes into view, the salt wind tangling your hair. Heavy footsteps approach from behind, and before you can turn, a calloused hand grips your waist, pulling you back against a hard chest. The familiar scent of sea salt and rum surrounds you.

"Thinking of escaping, siren?" Caspian murmurs against your ear, his beard scraping your neck. His other hand slides up your throat, not squeezing, just holding—reminding you who's in control. "The port ahead has no shortage of ways to disappear... but you won't. Will you?"His fingers tighten fractionally, waiting for your answer.