PROLOGUE

Six years ago…

Genevieve's laughter, as light and melodious as the spring breeze, intertwined with Harry's youthful giggles. Their playful banter echoed near the stables of Graftonshire, a world of innocence and wonder where everything felt right, light, and blissful. The sun, radiant and benevolent, bathed the sprawling North Eastern estate in golden warmth, making both the children happy and extremely carefree.

At fourteen years of age, Genevieve felt the weight of responsibility for her younger brother, Harry. It rested heavily on her shoulders. It had been four years since their mother had succumbed to tuberculosis, leaving a void that could never truly be filled. Her love for Harry was unwavering, and she would do anything to protect him and ensure his happiness, despite this magnificent loss in their lives.

She watched with awe, knowing her mother would be happy to see them both right now, enjoying their time together. Harry, with his eyes filled with wonder, was chasing a butterfly with all the enthusiasm of a child who saw magic in the simplest of things. His giggles filled the air, a melody of happiness, making Genevieve smile too.

"Do not trip over," she called out as she watched Harry race off. He could be a little clumsy, often tripping over his feet. But Genevieve did not wish to hold him back. She wanted Harry to flourish and learn what he could and could not do. If she did not teach him that lesson, she was not sure who would. Their father was a seasoned diplomat and a revered figure in the British court. He loved his children greatly, they both knew that, but his work kept him away from home a lot of the time.

Genevieve inhaled deeply, breathing in the fragrant blooms. The gardeners made sure that there was always a vibrant scene outside of their manor, and Genevieve loved that. She glanced around the land, allowing a particularly beautiful flower to distract her, pulling her away from her brother for just a brief moment.

She knelt down beside the flower, her fingers delicately brushing its soft petals. It was a moment of reflection, a memory that her mother's stories often stirred within her. The tale her mother used to read to her was one of a handsome prince who showed his love for a princess by giving her a flower very much like this one. It was a simple gesture, but it held great significance. The story had always filled her young heart with dreams of love, adventure, and the possibility of a prince of her own.

As she gazed at the flower, a wistful smile graced her lips. The expectations of her prominent family and their societal status were never far from her mind. Marriage was inevitable one day, but she could not help but yearn for a love that transcended duty and social obligation. She wanted to find a love as genuine and heartfelt as the one her mother had read to her in those cherished stories. She day dreamed often about a love of her own…

"Genie, look!" Harry called out, using the sweet little nickname that only he had for her. "Look at this butterfly."

Oh no! Horror struck Genevieve as she followed her brother's voice to see him standing far closer to the stables than he should be. The stable men were currently breaking in a new horse, Midnight, who had a very excitable temperament. Trying her hardest not to panic, Genevieve slowly rose to her feet, swallowing hard so the nerves did not overwhelm her completely.

"That is wonderful, Harry," she said quietly, slightly trembling as she thought about the warnings the stable boys had given her. "But I think you should come here now."

Unfortunately Harry was not listening to her, he was far too consumed by whatever creature he was currently following. Genevieve's heart pounded as she heard a rustling in the stables. It might have been nothing, and she tried to convince herself that it absolutely was nothing, but she could not switch off the panic.

"Harry, please!" she yelled a little louder this time around. "Come back here."

But still he did not seem to hear her. Harry did not even hear the hooves crashing against the stables wall. He was so consumed with the butterfly that nothing else mattered. Genevieve could only watch in horror as the wild horse broke free from its tether. The majestic beast, fueled by fear, reared up and bolted with explosive force, its eyes wild and frenzied, its hooves thundering like a relentless storm.

Genevieve's heart clenched as alarm surged within her. She knew the danger that loomed, the impending catastrophe that was unfolding before her eyes. Her protective instincts roared to the surface. She no longer cared about being quiet and careful, that was the least of her issues.

"Harry! Look out!" she screamed, her voice carrying the urgency of impending peril.

Her desperate cry, intended to be a life line, drew her brother's innocent gaze. Startled by her shout, Harry turned towards the commotion, his innocent eyes widening in surprise. Unbeknownst to him, he had stepped right into the path of the rampaging horse, a calamity he was unaware of. The butterfly had flown away, but Harry was no longer watching it.

In that heart wrenching moment, time seemed to stretch, the world blurring into a whirl wind of chaos and fear. Genevieve watched in horror as her brother, her responsibility, stepped directly into the charging animal's trajectory.

"No!" she cried out in agony as the collision happened right before her very eyes. It killed her to see the horse trample right over her brother as if he were not even there. "No, Harry."

She raced towards him, her heart threatening to explode from her rib cage because she was so anxious. Her eyes blurred with panic, this was a nightmare. But soon, after what felt like the longest run of her life, Genevieve reached her brother. Harry, miraculously alive, lay on the ground, his small frame bruised and battered. His leg was twisted at a terrible looking angle, but Genevieve was trying not to focus on that, because she was so grateful to see her brother breathing.

"Oh, Harry," she gasped as she brushed her fingers through her hair. "I will get a doctor immediately. You are going to be fine."

Genevieve's heart pounded, her breath caught in her throat, and she was eclipsed by guilt. She had tried to save her brother, but her shout had unwittingly drawn his attention to the approaching danger. The crushing weight of her unintended role in the accident burrowed deep within her, influencing every subsequent decision and emotion, and shaping her determination to protect Harry from harm's way at all costs.

Thankfully others inside the home, the manor's staff, had heard the commotion and raced outside to help Genevieve with her brother. Much as she wanted to be his soul protector, she was in too deep, drowning under the pressure of this. It was beyond her abilities. For now, other people were going to have to step in.

***

Jonathan stood at the helm of the ship, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. The once soothing lull of the waves had transformed in to a relentless, growing menace. The decision he had made, one he had believed to be sound, now gnawed at him with relentless doubt. Others had warned him of an upcoming storm, but he had heard that warning before and it was all for nothing. The weather stayed calm, and the water barely moved.

Jonathan trusted his gut, and now he was starting to see that perhaps he should not have.

The ship groaned, a wounded creature in the grip of a merciless tempest. Water lashed the deck like a furious beast, showing no mercy to the vessel or its crew. Fear, like an icy vice, tightened in his chest as the cries of his crew rose around him. Each desperate voice felt like a blade, cutting deeper in to his resolve.

What am I doing? He thought sadly to himself. What have I done?

It was as if his whole life had started flashing before his very eyes as he tried to keep the ship steady, but the relentless roar of the tempestuous sea surrounding him seemed to mirror the tumultuous journey of his own life. As the waves crashed against the sides of the ship, threatening to overwhelm it, Jonathan's thoughts drifted back to the unexpected twist of fate that had brought him to this perilous position.

Jonathan Grantham had not been born with the weight of the dukedom upon his shoulders. It was his elder cousin who had been destined to inherit the title and the accompanying responsibilities. While his family held an esteemed place in the aristocracy, they were several steps removed from the direct line of succession, which afforded them a bit more freedom in their choices and pursuits.

Given this liberty, Jonathan's father had encouraged his son to follow a family tradition that was cherished for generations on his side — the tradition of the sea. Tales of naval adventures passed down through the generations had a profound impact on young Jonathan, instilling in him a deep sense of duty and a deep love for the vast, unpredictable ocean.

The sea had become his realm of adventure, where the ebb and flow of the tides matched the rhythm of his own life. But on this fateful voyage, as the ship moaned and the water lashed the deck, he could not help but question the decisions that had led him to this moment. At three and twenty years of age, he had ruined everything.

He felt like a fool, and he did not know how to make things right.

The weight of his command, the lives of his crew, and the decisions he had made gnawed at him with doubt and regret. Each desperate voice raised in cries for help felt like a dagger, slicing deeper into his resolve. The ship seemed to be cracking around him, mirroring the fragments of his own confidence that were falling apart.

"Get to safety!" someone yelled as the ship began to really splinter, and with it, fragments of Jonathan's once unwavering confidence shattered. Jonathan was not even sure who it was speaking, which made his chest ache. He knew all of these men well, they were his team and his confidants. Now he had no idea what on earth was happening around him. Nothing could be more terrifying to a ship's captain than that. "Abandon ship. It is every man for himself."

Those few who managed to scramble to safety were blurred figures in the chaos, but Jonathan's focus was consumed by the haunting echo of those he could not save. Not everyone managed to climb off the boat, the waves claimed them before they could save themselves. The sea, once his realm of adventure and exploration, now felt like a vast expanse of judgment. It offered no solace, only relentless retribution. The waves, which had once been his companions, now seemed determined to engulf him in their dark depths.

Amidst the chaos, one thought persisted, unrelenting in its torment: his role in this tragedy and whether he would ever find redemption. Guilt weighed down on him like a leaden anchor, and regret filled his lungs, making every breath a painful reminder of his choices. He did not even know if he would survive this, but one thing was for sure. If he did, it would be a day that haunted him for the rest of his existence. He would never be able to shake off what he had done here.

The tempest raged on, the ship continued to break apart, and the sea seemed insatiable in its fury. Jonathan clung to the wheel, a captain with a sinking vessel, haunted by his decisions, and tormented by the question of whether he could ever make amends for the lives lost on this tumultuous voyage.