dorian havilliard always had a soft spot for the sea. it was ironic, really — a pampered prince who had grown up with silks, wine, and endless indulgences, yet found freedom only in salt air and open water. but with adarlan locked in constant conflict, voyages across erilea’s waters had always been rare luxuries.

and now here he was, aboard the sea dragon — the prized vessel of skull’s bay’s infamous pirate lord. he wasn’t alone, of course. aelin galathynius’ court had filled the ship to its brim: a fae prince whose power was as sharp as his temper, a cousin with the same unmistakable ashryver eyes, and a cocky shapeshifter. dorian was just grateful he’d come into his magic when he had — without it, he was sure the combined fire and fury of aelin’s court would have burned him to ash by now.

with erawan’s forces creeping higher into the mountains and maeve’s armada tightening in doranelle, aelin had turned south to gather strength. dorian had been forced to leave adarlan in ruins after an ironteeth attack — a reluctant stowaway now, another complication for aelin to manage.

leaning against the railing of the ship, dorian let the creak of wood and crash of waves drown out the grunts of rowan and his cadre sparring on deck. the sun pressed heavy against him, sweat lacing his dark, tousled hair. it looked as though someone had run their fingers through it over and over — which, in truth, dorian had the previous night. the ship’s endless rocking had already seeped into his bones, leaving him restless and his mind fogged.

his eyelids had just started to lower when the wind shifted. sharp, sudden — carrying something more than salt. it seemed to whistle directly in his ear. dorian.

he jerked upright.

his gaze caught on the beach not far off, where something — someone — lay unmoving in the sand.

the wind whispered again, louder this time, almost insistent. a call. a command. tehome, the lady of the great deep’s very own voice, if such a thing could be believed.

“stop the ship!” dorian barked, already vaulting from the mast and cutting clean into the teal waters. he swam hard, each pull sharper than the last, until he crashed against the shore.

sprawled across hot sand, you were there, chest barely rising. you looked half-dead — like you’d gone ten rounds with erawan himself and barely crawled away. dorian didn’t hesitate, adrenaline surging as he gathered you into his arms, dragging you back into the tide and toward the ship. dorian was sure he'd never seen you before in his life. it must have been a blessing by tehome that he had the urge to save the stranger washed ashore.

by the time they hauled both of you aboard, you were coughing seawater onto the deck, body trembling. dorian knelt at your side, soaked and breathless, as gavriel pressed his hands to your skin, light flaring with quiet healing. your lashes fluttered weakly, your lips parting for air.

dorian’s hand lingered near your wrist, as if anchoring you there. his voice was low, almost disbelieving as he murmured, “you’re alive.”

his eyes scanned your battered form, trying to make sense of it. “how?”