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July 13, 2026.

It was a day you'll never forget.

Whatever remained of your innocence died that day.

And that night, you were devirginized into a new fandom—no thanks to the availability of edits, fanart, and fanfiction created by the denizens of Tumblr, X, AO3, and Rule34(?).

Somehow, your PTO was approved immediately. This was supposed to be a two-week respite to heal your weary soul from the clutches of the corporate overlords. But alas, you were ultimately faced with yet another seemingly insurmountable battle.

You were doomscrolling (surprise, surprise). It was on Tumblr this time. You came across a certain GIF that altered the chemistry of your already Internet-poisoned brain: a muscular, silky-haired man with the grumpiest eyes, wearing a strappy, fetish harness bodysuit that bared his chiseled pectorals in sight while he flipped a knife. The visual assault did not end there, for his abs and everything else that mattered too were in full view, along with the faintest of happy trails, and finally, the very edge of an anatomical feature that had absolutely no business making a guest appearance. (TL;DR: You experienced an unexpected near-sighting of The Kennedy Cock™.)

You were trapped. These savages had you at gunpoint. A little clickety-click against your better judgment, and lo and behold—you have availed a lifetime membership of virtual gun violence, badassery, and the most powerful of all: modding rights.

You had every choice to say no; the right to resist this infection. You pretended you didn’t have one, for the sake of the plot.

The edits, the literotica, the thirst—God, it nearly killed you.

But at least you were sated. On the other hand, you were once again on the brink of insanity—not because of peak fictional male anatomy (a blessing unto mankind), but because of this fucking game.

If you could just clear this goddamned area without dying halfway for one fucking time, the pain—the excruciating pain of being a blithering idiot in the last two hours—will be worth it.

This time, it can be different.

It has to—

YOU ARE DEAD.

“Aw, come on!” you cried out, tossing your controller with an indignant pout at the nearby beanbag. Goddamn, you despised this part of the game: the island. This was already a rerun on a harder level, and you’ve never failed to get fucked six ways to Sunday.

Every.

Single.

Time.

The council has spoken. Spain is now temporarily taken out of your travel bucket list for its heinous crimes specifically against your dignity. You’ve lost count of how many attempts you made, but then again, you stopped counting after that stupid cabin fight back in the village. Leon S. Kennedy might’ve taken the visceral hits in battle, but it was you who took the worst damage of all—and it was right in the fucking ego.

Again, this was all your fault.

You didn’t even like horror games. Not initially, at least.

It was supposed to be either Stardew Valley, Graveyard Keeper, or RimWorld, not Resident Evil. And you derailed your plans of blissful zen all because of what? A GIF? Disappointing. Management should’ve taught you better. But then again, that 75% sale enticed you like a snake being hypnotized by its charmer (no wiggly dance there because the world has had enough catastrophes).

Jokes aside, it was a surplus. Wallet happy, you happy. An excellent use of free will. For that, you reward yourself with the last dino nuggie from your nearby plate before you resume playing.

And boy, did the hours zip past again like Ada Wong’s grapple gun escape maneuvers.

You hadn’t realized that the day was over until you looked at the clock: 8:38PM. Way past dinner time and a travesty to your already abysmal gut biome, but since when did the concept of time matter whenever you were on vacation anyway? Medical issues can wait; your brainrot can’t—and that thought is exactly why you need help. Spiritually, maybe. The medical professional you choose to consult can decide what category you fall under (because this narrator doesn’t have the professional rights to administer a diagnosis).

You could feel your conscience chuckling at you right now. Not in amusement but in a God-why-the-fuck-am-I-like-this manner. But that’s okay. You may be cringeworthy, but you are free. 

Still, you hoped your father would never hear about this.

The thought made you shudder, so your knee-jerk reaction was to resort to escapism once again. But before you could pick the controller back up, your stomach let out a loud grumble.

…

Oh, right. Mandatory human sustenance.

How could you possibly forget?

Maybe it was time to unapologetically commit to the entire bit of being a reclusive, modern-day goblin. Which meant pizza rolls. Pizza rolls would be the answer to your hunger. Unfortunately, the moment you opened the freezer door, you were only met with a blast of icy air and no rolls in sight, except one single slice of bacon.

…Fuck.

Even your in-real-life inventory management is horrendous.

Side quest accepted (begrudgingly).

You prepare to embark on your 0.3-mile journey to the nearest gas station. Wallet, phone, keys, taser, and pepper spray. Pants, jacket, and Chucks that had seen better days. Rinse your mouth at the nearest sink and splash your face before giving yourself one final look in the mirror.

Yep. Good to go.

The night air nipped onto your skin the moment you stepped out of your unit. It was quiet and cool in the best way, and your earlier reluctance for human interaction almost instantly melted away. You’ve always liked these nightly runs to the nearby shops on foot. It was one of the better ways to decompress instead of coop yourself up entirely. You lived in a fairly decent area in town—the kind that doesn’t have much going on other than functioning to keep things running. Predictable and mundane, just the way you liked it. Even if predictable and mundane has seeped a bit too deep into your life that you’re one step away from doing something completely insane—

“HEY, WATCH IT!” someone yelled as you were crossing the road before they zipped past you. You were snapped out of your thoughts and quickly turned to glare at the person—an asshole riding an Aventon.

You could only dumbly stare at their back.

…

This is a trope, right?

Usually it’s a truck.

…

Not today, universe. Not today.

Not when you still had to clear Resident Evil 4 Remake in Professional Mode.

But seriously though. Imagine dying because you got run over by an e-bike. And imagine explaining that to St. Peter if the pearly gates really do exist.

“How did you die, my child?” “…An Aventon.” “...”

Thank God you were going to hell instead.

Suffice to say, your supply run was an astounding success. S+ rank alongside some other goodies. You have managed to snag the pizza rolls and secured a packet of bacon so that the last one remaining in your freezer would finally have its own friends. Plus, the cashier tonight was Pedro instead of his pre-menopausal wife, Margaret. One wink and some small talk about the day and his children in college, and the man typically offers a 10% discount and a packet of Skittles. In this economy? A win. Bless his soul. 10/10 would recommend. A retail legend.

And of course, you made your way back home safely with no diesel-powered bastard deciding to ram your existence into another dimension. Also, another win. This evening is proving to be a pleasant breeze with how astoundingly well the events have been going. Normally, it goes pretty stupid—like you tripping on a pebble or an aluminum roofing sheet nearly slamming itself on your head on a very windy day. It really was that bad—like the universe itself orchestrates an unknown personal vendetta against you whenever it’s in its time of the month. Unfortunately, you knew that won’t be the last of whatever crap it had in store for you.

One pizza roll preparation and a bath later, you feel absolutely resplendent. As you plop down on your chair, steaming pizza rolls on a plate nearby for easy access, your gaze eventually drifts back to the coin that you had acquired a couple of days back from that seedy, purple hoodie guy from the commercial strip.

You've done your research on this item ever since the day you acquired it. Brass with engraved runes and a smiling hooded figure on the other side—still the same appearance the day you received it. There were no specifics on whether this came from an existing set of artifacts or if it was ever used in any religious or spiritual practice. The only possible conclusion you could gather was that this was a wishing token of some sort based on the runes that had been etched on one of its faces.

It was whimsical. Intriguing. But fucking hell, it was also ridiculous.

A wishing coin? Really? You were a grown adult with a 9-to-5 job, religiously filed your taxes, had an ongoing beef with your employment contract, and constantly compared grocery prices between Walmart and Costco. None of the aforementioned traits screamed ‘whimsy’ in the slightest. Frankly speaking, you operated like an adult who’s had that whimsy beaten out of you with a hypothetical bat. And yet here you are, turning the patina-stained trinket over like a child inspecting a lucky pebble.

You were no expert on such novelties, you’ll admit. As far as you were concerned, getting what you wanted involved years of hard work and a stupidly absurd amount of patience. Such is the nature of delayed gratification. You’re aware it’s almost always the most reasonable and safest route, but you couldn’t exactly deny that you too had your tendencies of wanting things to materialize with a snap of a finger—especially in times of uncertainty.

Maybe that’s why people reach for improbable things. Manifestations, subliminals, spells, lucky charms, or whatever promise that they happen to come across. Not because they were incapable of reason, but because reason wasn’t exactly the most comforting when all hope is lost.

But who were you to talk, really? You’ve never reached that point quite yet—at least, you’d like to think you haven’t. They'd never managed to tempt you enough for you to actually try.

But almost every now and then…every now and then, there was a quiet part of you that wondered what it might feel like if something just…happened.

You glanced at your device screens—computer, phone, tablet, and even the tiny one on your mechanical keyboard all having the same fictional man as a wallpaper. Less than a week ago, Leon S. Kennedy had been a stranger. Now he occupied every screen you owned. It wasn’t only because he was dashing—although that bit was extremely true—but because somewhere between the monsters, the exhaustion, and the endless self-sacrifice, you found someone who valiantly kept choosing to keep going regardless.

Your gaze landed at your reflection in the nearby full-height mirror before naturally drifting back to the coin on your palm. You thought about the fairy tale-like concept of willing a fictional crush into existence for a moment before letting a wry smile curl upon your lips.

You already knew the kind of person your heart truly gravitated toward.

You silently took in his image—one that showed his vivid blue eyes and stoic expression, hair framing his frustratingly good looks despite the unimpressed, seemingly permanent frown on his lips.

Go on. Not like anyone’s around.

And in that moment, you allowed your heart to be fully, unapologetically honest with its deepest desire, your hand instinctively tightening around the coin and placing it close to your chest.

“I wish Leon Kennedy was my boyfriend.”

A gentle breeze from the slightly open window made your curtains flutter with the softest of whooshes.

Silence.

Non-hypothetical crickets (since it was actually nightfall this time).

You pursed your lips for a moment before erupting into a tiny, audible snort followed by a light-hearted giggle.

Jesus Christ. That was fucking embarrassing.

Oh well. It was worth a shot. And honestly, it made your chest feel a bit lighter. Better than nothing.

You grabbed the controller and resumed the game from where you last left off, stuffing a now slightly cooled pizza roll into your mouth.

A few more hours into the game, and you finally decided to retire when it was past midnight, but not before heading out to the balcony for a little stretch. It was a nightly routine you did before ending the day—a lungful of crisp air and a gaze up at the night sky before heading back in and changing into your pajamas.

The moment you slid the door open, however, you were not met with the usual sight of your neighborhood, but with a scene that was unsettlingly horrifying.

Ruins.

Apocalyptic desolation.

Buildings that were clearly abandoned and left to rot after mass destruction.

Your eyes widened out of reflex, taken aback by the scene before you. And when you turned, your apartment unit was gone. You felt your blood run cold, your eyes trying their hardest to adjust to the sudden shift. Your breathing spiked, your knees buckling with every encroaching sliver of fright.

No. No, no.

What the actual fuck happened?

Have you finally lost it completely?

A pinch on your arm. Pain. And with that, you came to the realization that this was not a hallucination nor a simple nightmare. Instinctively, you shakily fished your phone out from your pocket.

93% battery.

Good.

No signal.

Shit.

12:49AM.

Also, shit.

You needed to get out of here. Fast.

You swallowed thickly and turned your phone’s flashlight on after setting it to low power, dialing the brightness down to a reasonable intensity. Best to move through this place as quietly as you could in all possible ways. Perhaps find a makeshift weapon too if you could. Just in case things get ugly. Or a fireman’s axe, maybe. There’s bound to be one you might find along the corridor if your luck hasn’t run out yet.

If you’re going to traverse this clearly horror-like place, you were determined to at least not end up like the dumbest character who dies first in every Scary Movie installment.

You crept along the nearest wall through the corridor, using it as another means of navigation through touch. You were closing in on the stairwell, and just as you surmised, there was a firehose cabinet mounted on the wall near it, and conveniently, the glass door was already shattered. A lone axe sat within it, and you pried it out, only for a yelp to escape you as you finally felt the weight of it on your palms.

Shit, this thing was heavier than your weekly groceries. Immediate regret. Still, maybe it would increase your survivability rate from five seconds to at least eight. You secured your phone strap around your wrist, trying to carry both weapon and device at once, and proceeded down the stairwell.

Successful. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for rubble here and there. Slowly but surely, you finally arrived at the ground floor. The main entrance would be in sight soon, and you could figure out your plans from there, at least.

Footsteps. Yours, specifically.

The dripping of water. Somewhere down the blackened corridor.

A wet, raspy growl.

…What?

Another.

Nails clicking against concrete.

The sound of open-mouthed chewing—like molars grinding raw meat, and occasionally cartilage being crushed between powerful jaws.

You immediately took cover at the nearest wall, peeking from the corner, and instinctively turning your light away. The silhouette was all you could see beneath the thankfully bright moonlight.

Low to the ground, four-legged, and a tail.

Dogs, maybe. Strays? Perhaps someone has decided to feed them?

You didn’t take any chances.

You tiptoed away, trying to reach the glass doors to the outside. The doors were open. Good. You would’ve been screwed if they weren’t. Against your better judgment, however, your eyes decided to flick behind your shoulder for a moment out of curiosity—just to see what you could’ve been up against.

Exposed ribs. Bloodied patches of open muscle. Milky eyes. Flesh hanging off its muzzle.

…No.

No fucking way.

That’s not just a fucking dog.

One… Two…

More than two.

…Yeah.

You’re definitely sneaking out—and pretending you didn’t just see what you fucking saw with your own eyes.

You tightened your grip on the axe, inching your way forward. All was going fine and dandy, and you were about to slip out successfully, until the local architecture decided not to cooperate at the very last minute.

CRACK.

You froze. Your eyes darted to the now broken ceramic tile beneath your feet. The clicking of nails abruptly ended, and you could feel each of their predatory gazes snap at your direction one by one, followed by silence. Your head immediately turned forward, futilely attempting to blend into the background, but it was already too late.

It started with sniffs. Then raspy breaths slowly rumbling back into growls as they abandoned their meal for another—you.

One snarl, and another. And another.

Getting closer, and closer.

Run.

You bolted for the doors, and the moment you did, their snarls became frenzied, feral barks flooding your ears alongside the frantic scraping of their claws as they barreled toward you. Your heartbeat lurched at your throat, eyes actually beginning to well up out of sheer fright as you crossed the desolated streets.

Too close. Too fucking close.

Fuck, you didn’t want to die. Not yet.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—!” you panickedly choked out, forcing yourself to run faster and taking a sharp turn. You nearly tripped at the corner of the street, but you kept sprinting anyway. You heard one of them crash somewhere, followed by a pained whimper. At least, that bought you a few seconds. But the others were still hot on your heels.

Fucking hell, you knew you were excellent at running away from your problems. But not like this. Never like this. This was a night terror made into a reality, and you couldn’t find a way out. And as if you weren’t already utterly screwed, gravity and misfortune apparently decided to join in the fun of making your night even more miserable.

You cried out all of a sudden, your foot snagging on a stray piece of concrete debris. Your body slammed onto the ground, the wind knocked out of your lungs. They were closing in, and you attempted to hoist yourself up to no avail. Your legs refused to budge—not out of injury but out of fear.

This was it.

You could practically feel its breath on you now. Vile and decayed.

You tightly squeezed your eyes, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you braced for the inevitable pain of being mangled to death.

BANG.

Your ears rang, a high pitch filling your senses.

BANG.

You felt the slight tremor of something heavy landing beside you.

Your eyes snapped open. Another Cerberus emerged from the misty dark, launching itself toward you. Out of adrenaline-fueled desperation, you swung the axe without thinking. You didn’t care where it landed. You didn’t even care about the crimson mess it would make on you either. As soon as the head embedded itself in flesh, that was it. You immediately let go and scrambled back up, a ragged breath escaping your lips.

“Move! Keep running!” the stranger barked before gunfire erupted again.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You didn’t know how long it had passed, nor did you bother to gauge how far you’d gone, letting your legs carry you until it finally gave way. As soon as your knees hit the asphalt, you doubled over, clutching your chest while your lungs burned for air.

You were in the middle of a junction now, the surrounding buildings still reduced to the same apocalyptic ruin. Abandoned cars. Empty storefronts. Streets swallowed by darkness, except for the stretch under the nearest lamppost, which somehow still worked albeit dimly.

You huddled beside a car and made yourself as small as possible, wrapping your jacket tighter around you.

Too much.

Fuck, this was all too much.

You let out a sob, then another, until your shoulders shook with each uneven breath.  

You were tired. Cold. Disgustingly sticky with sweat and the rancid blood of a bio-organic weapon. One moment, you were at home—warm, fed, and about to freshen up and retire for the night. And in a blink of an eye, you were in the middle of nowhere.

How did it even turn out like this?

Karma?

A divine punishment?

Fuck, do you even want to know?

You let yourself cry quietly until it dulled into sniffles. Then you wiped your face on your sleeve and stared into the dark.

What now? Where would you go?

Then another voice cut through the fog—young, sharp, and unmistakably alarmed.

“Hey! Is anyone there?!”

The beam of a flashlight swept across the street. You nearly sobbed with relief. Another person.

You sucked in a ragged breath and raised a hand weakly from where you were crouched. “Y-yeah—over here!”

Boots thudded over the asphalt. The figure emerged from the mist at a brisk jog, handgun held low but ready. The beam of light bounced across the cracked ground until it found you.

“Hey. Easy,” he said gently as he crouched in front of you. “Are you hurt?”

Your throat tightened. Relief hit so hard it almost hurt.

“No, I—just scratches. I think. I don’t know—I—”

“Can you stand?”

You nodded too quickly. He moved to help you up.

Until a second voice sliced through the fog, the sound of a mechanical click making your blood run cold.

“Don’t move. Hands where I can see them.”

Another beam cut in from the opposite side, brighter and harsher than the first. A person emerged through the mist, gun leveled with practiced steadiness.

The first man’s posture changed instantly. He immediately raised his gun.

“Whoa, hey!” He shifted just enough to put himself half in front of you. “She’s hurt—”

“—or infected,” the second interrupted. “Step away.”

Your rescuer tightened his grip on his weapon.

“You’re pointing a gun at a civilian!”

“I’m pointing a gun at a possible infection risk.” The muzzle of his gun didn’t move from you. “Same way you should be.”

“She was on the ground and shaking!”

“And she’s covered in blood.”

“I-it’s not—I’m not—” you started, voice cracking, but got cut off again.

Another one came from the mist, rougher and older than the others.

“Lower the gun.”

A third one stepped into the light, weapon lowered but ready, his attention going straight to you. His gaze flicked over your hands, your posture, the blood on your clothes, and the way the first was already standing in front of you like a shield.

“Ma’am,” he said, calm but firm. “Were you bitten? Any injuries?”

You let out a ragged exhale.

“No bites,” you managed. “Just scrapes from falling.”

You held your hand up, showing the minor wounds above the creases of your wrists from the fall. The light lingered over your palms, then your forearms, then the rest of you for any punctures or lacerations.

Nothing.

He let out a slow breath before backing away.

Silence settled over the junction. Then boots crunched somewhere beyond the drifting fog, a familiar gravelly tone breaking the quiet—the same person who told you to run.

“She alright?”

All heads snapped to his direction.

“No bites,” the third man confirmed with no hesitation. “Just abrasions.”

“Good.” He continued walking. “At ease. She’s with me.”

Every weapon lowered in an instant.

A cold wind swept through the intersection, tearing apart the blanket of mist that had hidden everyone moments before. And for the first time, all of you finally saw each other.

Different shades of the same unmistakable hair. Blue eyes. Variations of leather jackets with a fitted shirt underneath. Tactical pants. Utility belt. Shoulder holster. Combat boots.

No… It can’t be…

All four of them shared a similar style of preferred clothing. Nearly the same height. Similar hair. Yet their ages varied. You had to take another closer look at them with a squint before your breath finally hitched in recognition.

The tarot reading. That man from the shop. The words swirled in your mind as you put two and two together in this increasingly impossible situation.

“Four masculine energies.” “Life-changing.” “Be careful what you wish for.” “From one traveler to another.” … “I wish Leon Kennedy was my boyfriend.”

You paled, slowly backing away. A tiny, nervous laugh escaped you—one that sounded increasingly hysterical at first before slowly getting weaker as everything finally settled into your mind.

“Hey… are you…”

“...ma’am…”

“...shock…”

“...she’s…”

Their words began to fade. Your vision was getting fuzzier with every passing second.

And before you knew it, everything faded to black.

< previous chapter || next chapter >

taglist:

comment, ask, or message to be included

arms sprawled, a leg off the couch, and his mouth slightly open and breathing heavily. he looked so… cute.

so you walked up to him, took a picture of his snoring face, before placing your phone face down on the coffee table. you placed your knees just on the side of his thighs, the cushions dipping under pressure, essentially straddling him.

hot, but you didn’t know if leon was into somno. that would be for another time.

you placed your whole weight on top of him and tucked an arm under him. a little 'oof' could be heard when you plopped.

"[name]…? jesus you scared me…" he groaned sleepily. his arms instinctively wrapped around you, keeping you warm and close. "don’t worry about it… tired, sweet boy?" you whispered close to his ear, he could feel the warmth of your breath hitting his neck, and his hitched a little. "yeah… work’s been getting hectic. people are crazy during rush hour." he mumbled.

leon was so adorable, you were actually getting cuteness aggression. "sucks. hope you’re okay." you told him and kissed his cheek. he laughed softly. "thanks. it really helps knowing that you’re here with me."

you continued to lay in silence. leon fell back asleep fast, but he was leaning closer to you each time, searching for your comfort like a blind puppy.

puppy.

yeah, that was exactly him. he could deny it as many times as he wanted, he was still a puppy. no wonder you got cuteness aggression.

you ended up softly biting his cheek. leon woke up again at the sudden stretch of his cheek.

"oww, what was that for…?" he grumbled, brows furrowed and confused, but you just smiled. "you’re so cute, leon. you don’t understand." you reasoned.

poor baby, you were making it feel like he was in a fever dream. the only thing in his head was "why did you bite me?"

though in the end, leon always let you have it your way. "m’kay…" he nuzzled his face into your neck, breathing you in and placing his hand under your shirt while the other stayed on the back of your head.

you ended up biting his neck too. it left a hickey, but you didn’t tell him.

07.12.26 , 23:44

taglist : @aerisellesuchi , @animegamerfox , @girlwithadragonheart , @princesssugarplumm

As though you could summon the feeling of his lips all over again, your fingertips brushed over the spot where they had touched your own. Where he had whispered the promise of a free future. 

Would he truly be able to leave his station and duty behind? What had changed his mind so suddenly? Your tale of magical artifacts and shared adventures? 

It had never been your imagination – that Leon felt something for you. The realization filled your stomach with both excited butterflies and an inexplicably heavy ache. Could you really be the one to pull him away from the very thing that had anchored him all these years?  

You felt like crying. You had fought for your life – but in doing so, you had placed both Leon and yourself in an impossible situation. What were you supposed to do from here? Would you sail the seas and eventually die upon them – without him? 

Better that than remaining chained to the land, with him forever within reach and no chance at a life of your own. 

A long breath escaped through your nose as you stretched out your legs and pushed yourself from the bed. There was no point spending hours alone with your thoughts in the gently rocking bow of the ship. 

Uneven wooden planks met your bare feet, not cold thanks to the warm summer air surrounding the vessel. Even so, you draped a newly acquired scarf around your shoulders before slipping out of your cabin. 

Only the sky outside your window revealed that it was still the middle of the night. Beyond the sounds of a typical ship, the Nemesis rested in silence – no danger, no whispers, only the ship and the sea. 

Past the cabins of the others, up one deck and beyond the storage hold, fresh, mild sea air greeted you on deck. 

There was something magical about it. The way she cut gently through the waves, carrying you safely across the water beneath a sky filled with stars. You never grew tired of admiring that black curtain above -  unbroken by houses or lights. Only the Nemesis and the vast darkness above and below her.

With the clear air came clearer thoughts. The wind played softly with your hair as you stood by the railing, letting yourself be enchanted by the view. This felt more like home than the grand palace ever had.

“Can't sleep, princesa?” 

His voice should not have surprised you, and yet it pulled you from your thoughts enough to make you jump. 

The captain of the Nemesis stood upon the quarterdeck at the helm, his figure softly illuminated by the moon. His eyes were fixed not on you, but on the black horizon ahead. One hand rested loosely on the wheel – there was no need to steer in a night this calm.

“Looks like you can't either, Captain,” you replied, amusement soft in your voice. “Shouldn't Jill be at the helm right now?” 

The smile on Carlos's face stretched a little wider. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. 

“Told her to get some sleep. Wanted to have a moment with my ship. But, uh –,” before you could tell him you would leave the two of them alone, his gaze shifted toward you, “ – this is even better company.” He spoke the words quietly, almost affectionately. Maybe even a little shyly. Unusual enough for him that a quiet laugh escaped you.

“Come on, I wanna show you something.” Carlos motioned for you to join him atop the quarterdeck. Not that there were many boundaries aboard Carlos Oliveira's ship – but somehow the path to the helm always felt special. Usually only Jill and Carlos stood there.

From this vantage point, the view of the ship and her path through the water was perfect. You felt one with her. With her gentle movements, her wooden groans, the whistle of the wind through the sails – as though she were speaking to you.

“What is it?” you asked through the peaceful atmosphere. 

“Ever wanted to hold her?” He nodded toward the wheel. “The helm, I mean.” 

Surprised, you looked over at Carlos. He smiled at you, one side of his body open toward you, one hand resting upon the wheel. 

“You sure?” you asked, though you were already moving closer. Never in your life had you imagined steering a ship. Simply steering wherever you wished. Complete control over your course.

“Wouldn't have offered otherwise. Here.” 

Carlos took your hand and gave it a gentle tug, positioning you in front of him. You held your scarf firmly around your shoulders while his fingertips slid over the fabric, down your forearm and toward your other hand. Hopefully he couldn't feel the goosebumps spreading across your skin.

You had never truly been alone with him before. Never in such silence. Never so free beneath an ocean of stars. It did something to the air between you. Something that made you swallow.

Your eyes followed his hand as it guided yours upward and settled it upon the wheel, connecting you to the Nemesis in a way usually reserved only for great captains and sailors. 

The nervousness faded into the background the moment you touched the smooth wood. A content sound vibrated softly in your throat. You were steering a vessel.

Carlos remained behind you, both hands now resting on the wheel as well, enveloping you within his space the way he so often did. It felt like a symbiosis only possible at sea. The two of you at the helm, the Nemesis beneath your feet. You suddenly understood so much better why sailors loved the ocean.

Moonlight fell across the barely moving wheel just perfectly enough for you to notice the letters carved into the wood. 

“Pursuer of Stars,” you read in a whisper. Your fingers drifted from the soft fabric of your scarf to the uneven wood of the helm, tracing the carved words, understanding their meaning – and somehow not understanding it at all. 

“The stars – ” Carlos began behind you, “ – have always been my most trusted companions. More so than for many sailors, I'd like to think. Do you know much about their ways?” 

As he spoke, he shifted slightly closer. Only a little. But enough for your scarf to lose its hold around your shoulders and slip down with the softest swoosh. Gone was that last protective barrier of distance between you. Never before had you stood before a man like this – wearing nothing but your nightclothes, a long white shirt with short sleeves. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was simply different, realizing how completely yourself you could be. Even dressed like this, you felt no danger.

“Only a little,” you answered calmly, keeping your hands on the wheel as your gaze lifted toward the sky. The stars glittered above you. You stretched a hand upward as though you might pluck one from the heavens, but instead pointed toward the nearest constellation that caught your eye. “I know the Great and Little Bear. Ursa Major. And Polaris.”

“The most important star there is. Always points north.” Carlos's voice dropped lower as he gazed at the stars alongside you. Peace settled over you – and hopefully over him as well. “Do you know your zodiac constellation?”

You shook your head. “I taught myself astrology. Not exactly proper for a princess to study the stars.” You offered a rueful smile.

“When's your birthday? I'll show you your constellation.” Carlos immediately put words into action. He leaned farther forward, his broad chest brushing lightly against your back. You did your best not to shiver. There it was again – that strange vibration in the air. Was it familiar? It hummed and shimmered as you felt his warm breath near your ear. You held your own breath.

“T-That's nice,” you managed after he pointed out your constellation among the stars. 

“What?” Carlos chuckled softly. “Did I finally manage to distract you, princesa?” 

The words were almost purring, though they carried the same amused warmth as always.

“You? Distracting me? Never.” You somehow managed to keep hold of your thoughts. But with him still standing so close, his torso against your back, his arms on either side of you, the humming in the air refused to stop. And a warm feeling had begun to spread through your stomach, one you really shouldn't have been feeling. Not here. Not with him.

“Wanna bet?” Before your eyes, Carlos produced the closed compass.

You knew that if you took it now, it would lead you anywhere except the island holding the treasure you sought. That was a wager you could only lose.

The compass felt heavier than it should in your hand as curiosity convinced you to take it anyway. You knew you should want it to guide you toward the freedom waiting for you. But – 

When you opened it, the needle spun briefly in a circle. You had to know, had to know what was happening to you. Carlos remained close at your side, his gaze fixed upon the compass as well. The needle adjusted itself, then pointed directly ahead – along the very course you were already sailing. Relief escaped you in a slow breath.

“Hm,” Carlos murmured. “Looks like I owe you one after all. You really are incredibly good at focusing.”

“Seems so...” you answered quietly, disbelieving, but mostly proud. Your desire for freedom had not been overshadowed – by nothing and by no one.

At the same time, a strange urge bubbled up inside you – the urge to apologize to Carlos. To the man who had saved you from a life chosen by others. Shouldn't you be grateful to him? You didn't voice the thought. You could decide for yourself how to feel about all of this, always – you knew that now.

Carlos startled slightly when you turned toward him with a liberated smile, your hands clasped behind your back instead of resting on the wheel. 

“Am I still distracting you?” Amusement sparkled in your eyes as you looked up at him.

He blinked, as though uncertain what he was supposed to do next – also unusual for him. For a moment he simply stared, caught like a startled deer in lantern light, before finally collecting himself and lowering his shoulders. The easy smile returned to his face. He bent his elbows and stepped back into your space, forcing you to take a small step backward until the wooden wheel met your back.

“Maybe a little,” he hummed. He was close, but his body no longer touched yours. He was a gentleman like that – and you knew exactly why.

“You know what?” he asked, his dark gaze steady on yours. You held it, even as gentle warmth blossomed across your cheeks despite yourself.

“I lied,” he confessed.

Your eyebrows shot upward in surprise. “Isn't that what we pirates usually do?” 

His more serious expression immediately broke again and he let out a quiet laugh. “Stop distracting me. I said – I lied. I am a mighty jealous fella.”

Your stomach flipped. “Well, uh, technically you never said you weren't jealous,” you countered nonetheless.

“I see how they had their hands full with you,” he shot back playfully. “Having fun twisting people's tongues?” 

“On occasion.” You shrugged. “But I know.” 

He looked at you questioningly. 

“I know that you are jealous. I can see it in the way you look at us. I mean, the way you watch over us whenever strangers are around.” The realization became clearer as you spoke. “It's not about other men, not about some chasing Commander. It's about us, your crew.”

You watched his gaze melt. His wild black hair shifted with the tilt of his head. His lips parted slightly as he drew a sharper breath. Rough fingertips hesitantly touched the base of your neck – not bold at all this time – and a spark of electricity raced down your spine.

For a second Carlos inhaled, intending to start a sentence – then he stopped himself and settled on different words:

“It's different with you.” 

You sucked in the smallest gasp. Ashley had been right. And Carlos's fingers closed gently around your chin, his gaze resting on you, soft and restrained and forward all at once. This couldn't possibly be happening – and yet it did as Carlos pressed his lips to yours.

Contrary to everything you had come to expect from Carlos Oliveira, the way he kissed was gentle. Warm. Passionate in a way only he could be. The man who had rescued you. The man burning with a love of freedom. The man beside whom you could be anything you wanted to be. There was a familiarity to him, a goodness so pure that you never doubted the sincerity of his heart.

As you closed your eyes and leaned into the kiss, silently giving him permission, Carlos leaned into you as well. Your bodies touched, yet one of his hands remained on the Nemesis – even though your combined weight already kept the wheel steady.

His lips grew bolder, his hand slid into the nape of your neck, fingers slipping into your hair, keeping it from blowing between you in the rising breeze. Again and again he found you. For a moment you thought he might pull away – but then his mouth sought yours once more.

The taste of rum tingled on your tongue before his ever touched it. And when it finally did, his hand guiding you deeper into a consuming connection, it felt as though you could become intoxicated on it. The scent of cedarwood rushed into your nose, the pirate filled your senses. 

It was almost instinctive when your arms rose around his neck and your heels lifted from the deck, pressing yourself closer to him. He held you securely, an arm wrapped around your waist, his lips never leaving yours, breaths stolen somewhere in between.

A huff escaped through his nose as something untamed surfaced within him. Once more his larger body maneuvered you backward until the wheel pressed against your back. Through your thin clothes, you could feel every shift of muscle beneath him, every tension, every release. The movement sent tingles racing across your skin and curling low in your stomach. It wanted more, but another voice remained.

The same voice that seemed to be singing through Carlos's mind as well, because he murmured against your lips: “Wait, wait –”

Losing his warmth was disappointingly unpleasant, you had to admit. He pulled away, lips and body – putting a little distance between you. His eyes were full of scattered thoughts and primal instinct, his breathing coming in short pulls. He swallowed.

“I don’t – usually get involved with my crewmates. Not a good idea.” 

Your own breaths came just as unevenly, excitement flickering through every part of you. Carlos's restraint only convinced you further. He was right.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” 

A hint of embarrassment joined the warmth in your cheeks. You broke eye contact, but no matter where you looked, you only saw him. Wild hair, a well-kept beard, a sailor's shirt fluttering in the sea breeze, loosely laced, revealing the strong lines of his chest and the soft dusting of hair beneath.

“But –,” he gently tilted your head back toward his intense gaze, “– you would make the best Pirate Queen, eh?”

A little bit of joy returned to your system and you laughed softly. “The runaway Princess turned Pirate Queen. I like that.”

You would never have become a queen anyway. Here, as a freebooter, you might actually have a chance. What a thought.

“You remind me of someone I once knew. Very much like you.” 

Carlos studied your face, his gaze wandering here and there, a faint smile lingering on his lips. 

“Another princess?” 

At those words, his eyes widened. 

“Maybe the one you were guarding back when you were a soldier?” 

It was painfully obvious. You and Ashley had been right about that too.

Carlos straightened, contemplating his words for a moment. Then he let out a snorting laugh. Running a hand through his hair, he let it settle at the back of his neck.

“Mhm. The queen, actually.” 

There was no trace of anger or disappointment in his eyes, nor a sign that he was trying to lead you down the wrong path. You relaxed. He wasn't playing games with you, he trusted you, just as he trusted his entire crew.

“Great woman,” Carlos continued. “Very open-minded. Liberal, if you want to call it that. Loved the sea. Took me in when I had nowhere else to go.” His gaze drifted away as though he were remembering better days. He smiled. “I suspected her of being a mermaid at one point.” His smile turned wistful. “Didn't save her from what came.” His eyes found yours again. “How did you know?”

You let out a breath and lifted your shoulders. “A princess knows her soldier. I'd wager the others have suspected it too.”

“You girls are something else.” He smiled softly. “Only makes you more lovable.” 

He took a moment to glance at the compass and make a slight adjustment to the course. 

“So what happened?” you asked curiously. 

Carlos's jaw worked as he stared ahead. 

“Sorry, I just –” you began, uncertain whether you wanted to force him to revisit a painful memory. “It's strange, a soldier turned pirate. Especially if you liked your queen that much. Was it the king?” 

“Damn right it was the king,” Carlos confirmed. “It's not a particularly long story. Happened within a matter of days.” 

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” you said carefully. 

“It's fine.” His gaze drifted back to you. “It's nice having someone know me. Should we take a walk?”

He secured the wheel with a rope so it wouldn't drift off course on its own, then made his way down from the quarterdeck and onto the main deck with easy steps. The Nemesis wasn't enormous, but she was large enough for a quiet stroll through the night, the calm atmosphere softening the edges of the story Carlos was about to tell.

“It was a disease like any other – or so we thought. It spread through the townsfolk first. People started dropping like flies. We were sent to help – or so we believed. But then –,” he absently touched the rigging, “the order came. We were supposed to kill them all. Every man, every woman, every child – until the disease was gone. And I –,” his fingers tightened around the rope, “ – I couldn't follow this. I went to see the king and stop the madness. But by the time I returned to the palace, it was already too late. The disease had reached there as well.”

By now you had reached the bow, standing by the railing and looking out across the sea. 

“It wiped out the kingdom faster than we could comprehend. That's how the city I once called home died. Its king fled like the coward he is. How I survived, only Poseidon himself knows.” 

“But now you're searching for a scepter that makes people forget,” you mused aloud. “Not to get revenge?” 

Carlos shook his head. 

“To forget myself. I just want to forget. The suffering, the screams, the bodies, my survival.” 

You placed your hand over his. He didn't pull away. And so you stood there together in the middle of the night, aboard his ship, sailing toward a chance to erase the weight you both carried. 

“Ship approaching from starboard!” The call echoed down from the crow's nest.

Leon immediately looked to the right, expecting – and somehow not expecting – to spot the vessel with red and white sails upon the horizon. 

He and his men had been following it for days. The last they'd seen of the ship, it had been cruising comfortably along the horizon, faster than the Nightingale and seemingly unconcerned by the fact that half the world was searching for it. A ship carrying princesses and noblewomen – all of them sailing toward a way to make the world forget.

If he captured this pirate and got his hands on that artifact, what would he do? Would he let the world forget both of you and spend the rest of his life crossing the seas at your side? It was a ridiculous dream you'd painted for him. Too beautiful to be real. Almost more beautiful than your lips. Almost.

How could he possibly return to a life that forbade him from having you? He had to catch up to you – and perhaps have a word with this Carlos.

Brown's boots thundered up the stairs to the quarterdeck beside him. 

“Sir. It's the Admiral's ship.” 

“I can see that, Mister Brown. Let's make sure the Admiral receives a proper welcome.” 

Leon felt his stomach tighten. The Admiral's appearance could only mean one thing: A direct order from the king he could not anticipate.

The flagship of the fleet labeled Tyrant of the Sea, sailed alongside the Nightingale. Leon's men lined up on the main deck, standing straight and saluting as the gangplank was lowered. Leon and Brown joined the formation.

Across the planks strode the Admiral of the Royal Fleet – long white coat, meticulous grooming, perfection. Compared to him, Leon felt like a vagabond after weeks at sea.

“Admiral Wesker,” he greeted him with a salute. “What brings us the honor of your visit?” 

Admiral Wesker, the highest-ranking and most respected man in the Royal Fleet, took his time answering. He drew on his pipe and lazily released the smoke into the air, letting it drift around his face before gesturing toward Leon with the stem.

“As you can imagine, Commander Kennedy, I am here on the king's orders.” 

The heavy steps of expensive boots crossed the deck with ominous precision, stopping directly in front of Leon and Brown. The atmosphere tightened – something dangerous hung in the air.

Wesker halted directly before Leon, took another pull from his pipe, and deliberately exhaled the smoke straight into his face. Leon forced himself not to react, not even to flinch. He merely closed his eyes briefly against the foul-smelling smoke.

“The king has serious doubts that you are fulfilling your duty, Commander.” 

Leon followed the Admiral's movements with narrowed eyes and a carefully maintained poker face. 

“On what grounds has the king reached that conclusion?” he asked evenly. “We are close on the heels of the pirate ship that abducted the Princess.” 

“Oh, we know.” Wesker's voice was calm, slick, cold. “We know you were already close. So very close.” He held two fingers a small distance apart, illustrating exactly how close Leon and his men had come to Carlos Oliveira's ship. “But you let her slip through your fingers, didn't you, Commander? Back in Port Nesta?” 

Leon's heart dropped into his stomach, though nothing showed on his face. How did the Admiral know about Port Nesta – how much did he know? Had one of his own men talked, or had Wesker gathered the information on his way here? Leon prayed it was the latter. He had to trust his men.

“There was a storm,” Leon explained evenly. “We were forced to seek shelter in Port Nesta. If the Princess was there, we never saw her. We had to be careful not to expose ourselves.” 

Wesker didn't buy a word of it, that much was obvious. Still, all he had were his suspicions and whatever testimony he'd gathered. Leon had been disguised. Anyone questioned could have seen a man – or not seen one at all.

The Admiral chuckled quietly. “If you say so, Commander. But we both know you're holding back.” Another pull from his pipe. “We will be joining the chase from this point forward, Commander. To ensure...that no further mishaps occur.” A thin smile touched his lips. “Consider it an opportunity to see the Princess returned to safety more quickly.”

Leon had no choice but to watch as the Admiral turned away and crossed back onto his own ship, his men saluting as Wesker departed. Leon clenched his fist so tightly it trembled.

“Your orders, sir?” Brown looked at him expectantly.

With superhuman effort, Leon pressed his lips into a thin line and looked from Brown to the rest of his men. 

“Follow the Admiral's ship,” he answered stiffly, already heading toward his cabin. Just before entering, he stopped. Without turning around, he added, “If I discover that any of you are responsible for this situation, I'll personally make sure you're forgotten by the world and swallowed by the sea.”

Inside his cabin, Leon paced restlessly, frustrated, desperate. Now that the Admiral was involved, there was no decision left to make. No ending where you got your freedom and he got his peace. Wesker's ship would outrun the Nightingale and find you first.

Leon stared down at the map spread across his desk, tracing the rough course of the pirate vessel. Carlos, you, the all-female crew took a straight path toward the southeast. Was that where you would find the artifact you had spoken about? Something capable of making people forget? “

Curse it all,” Leon sighed.

“We got company! Two ships from the south! Looks like Navy!” 

Claire stood high in the crow's nest, telescope pressed to her eye. 

Every head on deck turned toward the horizon. Two ships; one large and imposing, the other behind it, visibly struggling to keep pace. Two rows of oars jutted from the larger vessel's hull, driving rhythmically through the rough sea.

“The Nightingale,” you recognized immediately. And ahead of it – “The Tyrant of the Sea...”

“Say what?” Carlos turned toward you.

“That's the fleet flagship.” Your stomach tightened. “We're in trouble.” 

You pushed away from the railing and looked around frantically for an escape route. A sudden spark shot through your system as you spotted the shallower waters ahead.

There!” You pointed forward. “We can lose them there, near the reef. She's much larger than we are and won't follow us through those waters. The Nightingale –” You trailed off. The Nightingale might make it through, but you weren't worried about that. Leon commanded that ship.

“Why the panic?” Ada asked thoughtfully, studying the approaching vessels. “Is the crew really that dangerous?” 

You looked around at the questioning faces. “Think of the most dangerous person you've ever met.” Your expression grew even more serious. “Admiral Wesker is worse.”

Every encounter you'd ever had with the Admiral had terrified you. And the stories were worse – how he relentlessly hunted pirates and criminals across the oceans and sank every ship he pursued, never leaving survivors – never taking prisoners, ever. Your father had never exaggerated those stories. Hopefully Leon was alright.

“I've never had much interest in meeting someone more dangerous than my mother,” Jill commented dryly as she headed for the quarterdeck. 

“Aye. Or my mother,” Carlos agreed. 

“You don't know your mother,” Jill shot back. 

“Imagine how very dangerous she could be.” Carlos nodded with complete seriousness, mouth turned downward and eyes widened dramatically. 

Jill, pausing on the bottom step leading to the helm, snorted briefly, gave her captain the attention he was demanding – and after rolling her eyes, she sprinted upstairs. 

Carlos watched her go before turning toward Grace, who had been observing the entire exchange. He pointed after Jill. “Maybe I should use her as the benchmark instead.”

Grace rewarded him with a small smile. 

Apparently that was all the validation Carlos needed, as a moment later he barked loud enough to make you, Ashley, and Grace jump.

“To your stations, ladies! Full sails into the wind and head for shallower waters! Let’s outrun them.” 

Just as he pulled out the compass to study the course and everyone frantically began to get the ship moving, a cannon shot rang out from far away. 

Leon was hit by a surge of alarm so strong he wanted to shake himself. 

“Is he crazy?” he muttered from the forecastle. Only Brown heard the bewildered words. How could the Admiral order a cannon fired? “That’s our Princess on that ship.” 

“I imagine he intends to sink the Nemesis and fish the Princess out of the sea,” his First Officer guessed. 

“And the other noble daughters, they –” Leon snapped his mouth shut. 

Admiral Wesker could not find out who else was aboard that ship. If he learned which daughters were there, he would hunt you forever, eager for the glory that would come with capturing the pirate and “rescuing” the women aboard. Only that wasn't what any of you wanted. 

“Commander,” Brown pulled Leon from his thoughts. “The Admiral is signaling for us to sink the ship.” 

Leon looked toward Brown, past him to the Admiral’s vessel where flags relayed the order. Then he folded his arms and faced forward again. 

“Prepare the cannons, then.” 

Another cannonball slammed into the water beside the ship. So far none had hit you – but it was only a matter of time. 

“Why is your pretty Commander shooting at us?!” Jill called while maneuvering the ship as straight as possible, weaving just enough to throw off the enemy's aim. 

“He has to!” You secured a line with a sailor’s knot – the same pretty Commander had taught you how to tie it. “It’s an order from Admiral Wesker.” 

“Looks like his men are terrible shots, though,” Claire observed. “The cannonballs from the Nightingale keep landing nowhere near us.” 

“We can make it!” Carlos shouted, helping with the sails himself. “Keep heading for the reef!” 

Your gaze drifted toward the pursuing ships. You could only make out tiny figures, but you were certain you could see Leon aboard one vessel and Wesker standing at the bow of the other. Did Wesker’s presence change anything about the plan? 

One cannonball finally found its mark, tearing away part of the railing and made Ashley, Grace, and you yelp in alarm. 

“Ey, my ship!” Carlos protested. “’m gonna kill at least one of them.” 

“Let’s reach the reef first and then we’ll see,” Jill replied. 

By some stroke of supernatural luck, you managed to escape without taking any further damage. As expected, the Tyrant of the Sea couldn't follow you into the shallower waters – at the same time, the Nightingale made no move to pursue you there either, apparently operating under very specific orders. 

“Drop anchor, we're far enough away from the cannons now,” Carlos ordered while checking the compass. A satisfied grin stole across his face. Then he looked up at his crew and raised the compass into the air. “Actually, we seem to be exactly where we want to be.” 

“You mean –?” 

Followed by the others, you moved closer to study the compass. The needle spun wildly in circles. 

“W-Wait –” Grace spoke up. “We’re actually here?” 

“And right on time,” Ada chimed in. “It’s a blood moon tonight.” 

Amid all the chaos, Carlos had been watching the compass. Had he really been keeping track of your course the entire time? Had he known you were headed exactly where you needed to be? Or was it simply Carlos’s absurd luck once again – being in the right place, at the right time, under the right circumstances? 

“We are so close.” Claire’s voice was barely more than a whisper carried by the wind, awestruck.

You understood her completely – as did everyone else who now exchanged looks filled with conflicting emotions – excitement, uncertainty, determination. 

Tonight would decide your fate. 

For the rest of the day, you kept watch on the Nightingale and its larger counterpart. Neither vessel attempted to move closer or fire at you again. It seemed they intended to wait until thirst and dwindling supplies forced you out of the safety of the reef. 

Little did they know you were exactly where you wanted to be. The only problem? They would see wherever you chose to make landfall. 

You stood beside Ashley at the railing as the moon slowly rose overhead. Together you gazed into the darkening sky while its color gradually deepened into something darker, redder.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Ashley remarked in awe. 

“Neither have I.” 

The blood moon seemed to possess the same pull as the ordinary moon, only amplified a hundredfold. Its steadily deepening crimson hue felt like proof of the magic hidden within the world – if only one knew where to look.  

“I just wonder what's supposed to happen –”, you mused, followed closely by a startled gasp as the ship suddenly vibrated beneath your feet and waves began to rise, rocking the vessel violently. 

“Hold on!” Carlos’s voice rang out from the quarterdeck as the swaying grew stronger, threatening to throw everyone off their feet. 

Ashley and you grabbed onto the rigging. From the corner of your eye, you saw Jill clutching the wooden railing of the quarterdeck, and behind her Carlos, both hands firmly on the wheel, determination written across his face. You could only hope Grace and Ada had found something solid to hold onto as well. 

Groans and moans rippled through the ship as the sea opened up before your eyes, bathed in the blood-red glow of the moon. 

Suppressing the rising panic – what if you all sank into the endless sea and ended up on the ocean floor? – you watched as land emerged directly beneath and in front of you. First came stone; then the mouth of a cavern appeared; and finally, a stretch of pale sand rose into view, forming a sandbar upon which – thankfully, as you quickly realized – the Nemesis had come to rest.  

“We're running aground!” Claire called down from the crow's nest. 

“At least not on the rocks!” Ada remarked from somewhere near the forecastle. 

And she was right – you could just as easily have been skewered on the jagged stone formations surrounding you. 

Instead, the wood settled, the waves stopped crashing – and the Nemesis came to rest atop the sandbar. Ahead stretched a long, narrow path leading all the way to the massive, ominous cavern. The blood-red light reflected off slick algae, scattered shells, and a few unfortunate fish flopping helplessly where they had failed to escape before the island rose from the sea. Together it all blended into a breathtaking golden glow. 

The entire crew moved to the railing, before them the thing they had been searching for. 

“We have to be quick now,” Ada remarked, glancing over her shoulder. “Our friends are going to get curious about whatever just appeared in front of them.” 

Carlos nodded. “You're right. Let's get our hands on the scepter and then we can lose them. And then…” His words trailed off as he – as you knew – thought about how he might soon forget his terrible past. The thought made your stomach ache; that he wanted to erase the very things that had made him who he was. 

The others merely wanted the world to forget them. Then again, you couldn't truly understand what he had endured – perhaps starting over without the memories of a former life was sometimes the kinder option. 

“Grace, Ashley, Claire – you stay on the ship,” Carlos ordered. “The rest of us are going searching.” 

Claire was the only one who looked ready to protest, but Carlos cut her off with a raised hand and a gentler voice. “Claire, I need you to bring the others to safety if we don't come back.” 

It was obvious that he trusted her and wanted Ashley and Grace to be safe. For a brief moment you wondered why he was bringing you,but quickly realized you were probably the only one who knew his secret. 

Claire closed her mouth and nodded silently. 

“Be careful.” Ashley pulled you into a tight hug. 

“You too,” you murmured, savoring the closeness while feeling a strange sadness, as though saying goodbye to a sister. 

“When we come back, you'll all be free women.” Carlos flashed a confident thumbs-up and motioned for Ada, Jill, and you to follow. 

You had expected many things – deadly traps, the sea collapsing back over your heads, even the possibility that the entire story – the myth, the legend – would prove to be a dud and that beyond the magically appearing island there would be nothing more than an empty cavern.  

But you had not expected what awaited you inside. 

The trek across the sand was long and exhausting, inside the cave a short dark passage. Then it opened into a vast chamber, crimson light bleeding in through an opening high above. 

“Hm.” Ada sounded genuinely impressed. “Not even my family's vault holds this much gold and treasure.” 

She was right. You had never seen anything like it. Gold stretched as far as the eye could see, a pirate treasure hoard drenched in crimson light. Crowns, coins, jewels, everything glittered around you so magnificently that, for a moment, you were speechless. 

“Who would hide this much treasure in a cave that only appears beneath a blood moon?” Jill wondered aloud as she looked around. 

“A very smart pirate, I'd wager.” Carlos gestured ahead. “He takes as much gold as he needs – and then his treasure stays hidden and he gets to keep plundering in peace.” His finger pointed forward. “Eyes on the prize, ladies.” 

In your awe, you hadn't noticed the raised platform at the center of the cavern. But there it was, upon a small golden hill – a pedestal – and resting atop it, a scepter.

Your heart skipped, your throat tightened. None of it had been a false pirate tale. 

You walked between mountains of wealth, past more gold than anyone could spend in a hundred lifetimes, ignoring everything except the thing you wanted most. Freedom. 

The scepter was illuminated from above, covered in markings you didn't recognize – engravings from another language nestled between gold and diamonds. 

Carlos stared at the artifact in reverent awe, his hand already reaching towards it – but he stopped. His gaze shifted toward the three of you. 

“Who wants to do the honours?” A mischievous smile tugged at his lips as he lowered his hand. 

The three of you – Ada, Jill, and you – exchanged glances. As the newest member of the crew, it didn't feel right for you to claim what Jill and Ada had spent so much longer searching for. 

“Should be Jill,” Ada said, crossing her arms as a small smile appeared. “You've put up with our Captain the longest.” 

“Love you too, Ada.” Carlos snorted and nudged her shoulder. 

A quiet chuckle escaped her. 

“Go on, Jill,” you encouraged the First Mate. 

Jill hesitated for a moment, glancing between all of you before her attention finally settled on the scepter. She raised a hand – tentative, perhaps a little fearful, but hopeful. Her fingers wrapped around the handle with a level of focus you had rarely seen from her. 

She exhaled. “I can feel that there's something there. That we can do something with it.” 

With a soft sound, the scepter lifted free of its stand. 

“But how do we use it?” you asked. “Just... wish?” 

“We could always try it on our friends right away,” Carlos suggested. 

Jill, Ada, and you struggled to tear your eyes away from the artifact. Carlos seemed to have a slightly easier time doing so and turned back toward the entrance. 

“Ruh-roh,” you heard him say. 

You followed his gaze. The joy that had been filling your chest instantly shot into your throat, flooding your body with adrenaline. Albert Wesker stood at the mouth of the cavern, one arm raised, pistol aimed directly at you. 

“Nice little cave you've found yourselves here,” he said in the same emotionless tone you remembered from every previous encounter. 

His piercing gaze landed on you. “Princess. I did not expect to find you making common cause with pirates. That is –,” his eyes shifted toward Ada, Jill, and Carlos, “ – a pirate and a crew full of noblewomen, it would seem. I recognize at least three faces.” 

His pistol hovered toward Ada. “Ada Wong.” Then toward you. “Our beloved Princess.” Then Carlos. “And Ashley Graham aboard your merry little boat.” 

Carlos’s eyes narrowed, his brows drew together, and Ada, Jill, and you grew equally serious. 

“What did you do to my crew?” Carlos asked, his voice carrying a sharp edge you had never heard before. 

“They are well cared for, don't worry,” Wesker replied. “I will have to have a discussion with Commander Kennedy regarding loyalty after you follow me outside. My men are waiting directly beyond the cavern. Escape is pointless.” 

So Leon hadn't told him about the people aboard the Nemesis. Unfortunately, that only made it harder for you to stay calm. 

“Admiral Wesker,” you spoke up, though your voice came out closer to a squeak than intended. “Commander Kennedy has nothing to do with this, nor does the rest of the crew. What concerns you is solely my doing. Let everyone go and I will come with you without resistance.” 

“We can't allow that.” Carlos immediately stepped in front of you, arm outstretched. 

Ada and Jill moved in as well, shielding you from Wesker's gaze. 

“Please. You can't put yourselves in danger for me. My dream of freedom ends here.” 

“You're one of us now.” Jill looked at you with a crooked smile. “Part of the ship, part of the crew. We're not letting them take you that easily.” 

Tears stung your eyes. You would not allow anything to happen to this family because of you. 

“And yet you're the ones who took the Princess away,” Wesker's voice echoed through the cavern. “Never mind that. I'm not interested in your heroics. What I am interested in is the artifact.” 

He gestured with his pistol toward the scepter, drawing all of your attention back to it. The golden staff still rested securely in Jill's hands.

“I've heard of it,” Wesker continued, “but I never believed it could actually be found.” He came closer and closer – too close – and Carlos, Ada, and you all reached for your swords. He could shoot one of you. After that, he would have to draw steel.

“Hand me the scepter,” he ordered in an icy sing-song voice. “I will simply make you forget you were ever here, all of you. Then it will be as though none of you ever searched for something that does not exist.” 

“How do you know what we're searching for?” Jill hissed through clenched teeth. 

Wesker laughed, short and mocking. “I know your kind. Rebellious daughters searching for meaning and freedom – until they realize freedom comes with a cost. Sometimes, it’s simply the price of failure.” 

His pistol pointed more sharply at your group. “Hand me the artifact and I'll let you live. We will sail back, and I will deliver you to your households. Then there will be only the world left for me.” 

“What kind of sicko is that?” Jill asked you, bewildered. 

You raised your shoulders just as flabbergasted. “Knew he was a little crazy, but that crazy?” 

Carlos and Ada both let out amused snorts. 

“It’s four against one, what can you do?” Carlos challenged. 

Wesker's eyebrows twitched upward. “I think you're wildly underestimating what I'm capable of.” 

“Well, we're about to find out!” Carlos shouted the words – and then everything happened at once. 

You drew your sword, Jill raised the scepter, Carlos launched himself toward the enemy. A gunshot rang out, followed by a cry of “No!” , the clatter of gold echoing through the chamber and then the clash of steel. Carlos hit the ground and rolled down the small golden mound where all of you had been standing. With a startled scream, Jill dropped the scepter and sprinted to his side. 

You scrambled to pick up the artifact again so it wouldn't get lost in the ensuing chaos before you could use it the way Jill had intended to. The moment your fingers closed around the golden staff, energy surged through you – mystical, powerful, a force Wesker intended to use for anything but freedom. It told you exactly what needed to be done to make people forget. It was unbelievable, and yet undeniably real. 

Only then did your gaze lift toward the fight ahead, where Wesker was dueling the newcomer who had managed to sneak up on all of you amidst the tension. 

You gasped, nearly calling his name before catching yourself at the last second, unwilling to distract him. Leon had arrived. He and Wesker were locked in a duel unlike anything you had ever seen. Both opponents were so skilled with a sword that it was impossible to tell who held the advantage – or if either of them did. 

A force as powerful as the earth itself pulled at you, urging you to run between them and protect Leon from Wesker. 

“It’s a lie!” Leon shouted, his focus locked stubbornly on Wesker. “He’s here alone. Use the artifact!” 

Ada was crouched beside Jill and Carlos, and from where you stood, you couldn't even tell whether he was still alive. 

Only a few steps away stood the two Navy officers. 

You were caught in the middle, panicked and torn apart. How were you supposed to use the scepter now? If you pointed it forward, you would set yourself free. But Leon would forget you. Or should you make the crew forget they had ever searched for a way out – but that would be insane... wouldn't it?

In a death-defying maneuver, Leon seized Wesker's arm and somehow twisted both their bodies until they were facing you. Time froze, only for seconds, yet it felt like an eternity.

Leon’s sea-blue eyes drilled into yours as he held the struggling Wesker in place, just long enough to say with absolute conviction: “Use the scepter. Let him forget, run – don't look back.” He said your name. “I will follow.”

Your breath came in frantic bursts. You shook your head. “You will not! You'll forget all of this too!”

You couldn't. You couldn't do that. He had kept his word. He had risked everything and attacked his superior officer to protect you. Always to protect you. And to be free with you.

“I can’t leave you behind, Leon!” 

“You can. You must. It’s all right. You're meant to be free, my Princess.” 

“You do NOT use this!” Wesker snarled, struggling furiously against Leon’s grip. 

“Do it now!” Leon shouted and you cried out as your arm shot forward, the scepter clutched in your hand. It didn't charge. It simply unleashed itself in a flash.

The next moment you were already at Jill and Ada's side. Carlos was clutching his shoulder in agony. He was alive.

“Can you stand? We need to go, now!” 

Ada and Jill hauled Carlos back to his feet. He let out a pained sound but managed to stumble forward with you past the two men.

Leon and Wesker stared blankly ahead, pressing hands to their heads as they struggled to find their bearings. 

“We can’t just leave them here. What about the blood moon?” you asked, panic flooding your voice as fear for Leon gripped your chest. 

“We have to go. Their crews will get them out,” Ada urged, pushing you onward. And in your fear and regret over what you had done, you didn't have the strength to resist her.

Without their captains, the Navy ships and their crews were powerless, directionless, leaderless. They didn't even seem to know what had happened to the two men and made no move to stop you as you climbed back aboard the Nemesis.

Leon had told the truth. No one had been waiting at the cavern entrance, no one had tried to stop you – but Ada had been right – the crews were already running toward the cave. Straight past the Nemesis, where Claire, Grace, and Ashley had been digging away at the sand beneath her hull to get her back into the water.

“What happened in there?!” Claire cried at the sight of Carlos, covered in blood. 

“Will tell you all about it later. Let’s get to open sea and bandage up our captain,” Jill ordered with the same practiced authority Carlos usually carried. By now he was hanging like a wet sack between Jill and Ada. 

“'m fine. 'm fine,” he muttered weakly as you hauled him aboard. “Set sail and raise anchor, ladies...” 

He lost consciousness just as Ashley rushed over with bandages. 

“First stop,” Jill stated as you lowered the flag while setting course for her hometown. She stood on deck with a serious expression, arms crossed, the scepter resting in one hand. 

“You ready to let them forget?” you asked with a broad smile. “You deserve it, Jill. The first one of us to be free of everything.” 

“Can’t wait to see how it feels for you,” Ashley said eagerly, excited for whatever was about to happen. 

“It’s harder than I thought,” Jill admitted, staring thoughtfully at the scepter. “But I’m ready.” 

She walked up to the bow from where she would make the whole city before her forget.

“P-Please just make sure you don't accidentally erase their entire lives,” Grace cautioned. 

“I'll try,” Jill replied. “Not exactly easy to control. I don't even know if I can control it.” 

That statement brought back memories of when you had used the scepter yourself – uncontrolled, without intention. To this day, you still didn't know whether Leon was alright. Or whether he had forgotten his entire existence. Or perhaps nothing at all, and you had merely blinded him and Wesker. 

By now, you understood the scepter much better, and Jill intended to try controlling both the artifact and its effects. Emphasis on try. 

While Jill prepared herself, you made your way up to the quarterdeck. 

There stood your ever-cheerful, steadfast captain. Carlos looked proudly toward Jill, one hand resting on the ship’s wheel, body stretched comfortably, hair caught by the wind. 

He beamed when you approached. 

“Sure am glad you all convinced me my plan to forget myself was kinda dumb,” he said. “Otherwise I wouldn't get to watch you all finally gain your freedom.” 

“Only kinda dumb?” you replied, amused by the softness in his gaze. 

He laughed. “Alright: Very, very dumb.” His fist lifted and nudged your shoulder. 

You smiled broadly. “We couldn't let you forget the things that made you who you are. The man who freed the daughters of the sea.” 

“Your eternal protector, milady.” Carlos gave you a playful bow. 

“One hell of a savior, too.” You nodded happily. Just then, a flash brighter than the blue sky illuminated the world around you. Like a wave, it raced through the air toward the harbor ahead and out across the open sea until the eye could no longer follow the magic. 

Carlos and you watched the golden, radiant, almost gentle magic travel into the distance. 

“You ever think about your pretty Commander anymore?” Carlos asked, gaze fixed on the sea even though he already knew the answer. You weren't his Pirate Queen, and that was fine.

A bittersweet smile touched your lips. “All the time.” 

Your boots struck the wooden docks of Port Raccoon with a loud thud. In ten years, the city hadn't changed much. Still the same bright, welcoming town you remembered from back then – before you ran away, before you made everyone forget who you were.

Port Raccoon no longer had a princess. The king had a new heir with a new queen. No daughter. Only an empty space in the kingdom's history. 

For ten years, you had never stepped foot in this city, even though it no longer knew you. But now, finally, the thought of something important had been enough to bring you back. The sea and all its adventures had shaped you into the person you were today – but your heart had never belonged to it. Not the way it belonged to those who were now part of the crew. Not the way it belonged to all those people you'd met throughout your voyage.

“So that is it then?” 

You looked up toward the deck of the ship that had been your home for so long. There stood Carlos – your captain, your protector, your savior – and beside him his first mate, Jill Valentine, the strongest and bravest of all of you. You had already said your goodbyes. The tears had already fallen, the promises that you would see each other again had already been spoken.

But you'd suspected Carlos and Jill wouldn't pass up the chance to say farewell in private. 

“Yes,” you answered firmly. “I have to know. If I'm not back within a day, keep sailing.” You grinned up at them. “A pirate's life.” 

Oh, how you had loved the pirate life. Under the flag of Captain Carlos Oliveira, the Nemesis had grown larger and more luxurious, her captain famous and infamous alike for his all-female crew. You had been chased here and there over the years – but never because of noble titles. Only because of the reputation you'd chosen for yourselves.

Carlos grinned right back. The years had barely touched his sun-kissed face. A few more laugh lines here and there, but nothing more. Only evidence of a life well lived. The same was true for Jill. You'd never figured out how she managed to keep her alabaster skin exactly the same.

“Aye, and a bottle of rum.” He mimed nudging you. 

“We'll miss you,” Jill said, smiling sadly and encouragingly at the same time. 

“And I will never forget you.” 

To keep things from becoming even harder for all of you, you turned away and started walking toward town. You didn't look back, only forward, eager to ask about one very specific man.

Your path led you straight out of town, across meadows and fields, until you reached a farm. Someone had told you Leon Kennedy ran it. Leon, a farmer. Not only had he returned to Port Raccoon, he was no longer a soldier. Most importantly of all – he was alive.

Your heart hammered harder and harder the closer you came to the scent of fresh hay, the stables, and the distant whinnying of horses. Closer to the small house beside the barn – a modest but beautiful stone cottage. Oh dear, what if he was married? Or worse, what if he didn't want to see you at all? You were only a stranger.

Your stomach followed with a somersault when you spotted someone standing by the pasture. The man could have been a complete stranger, if only you didn't know his features as well as the back of your hand.

Leon stood beside a black stallion, holding the horse by its halter while inspecting its coat, long fingers brushing through the sleek fur. There was gentleness in his gaze. The same gentleness he had once looked at you with all those years ago. You had never forgotten it.

The years had changed Leon more noticeably. Fine, unmistakable lines crossed his face – the closer you came, the more you saw. The streaks of silver woven through his dark blond hair and the salt-and-pepper beard shadowing his jaw. He was a different Leon – and yet he was still your Leon. The same man who had sacrificed himself for you. If anything, he looked better now – more at peace with the world. More at peace with life.

When you reached the fence surrounding the pasture, he finally noticed you over the stallion's back. His eyes fixed on you, still as blue as the sea. If you ever missed the ocean, all you would have to do was look into them.

Your fluttering heart made one final leap when he spoke – the first time you had heard that beautiful voice in ten years. “Can I help you?”

It was rougher somehow. But still him.

“Uh – yes, I think,” you answered, carefully removing your hat so he could see your face more clearly. 

When you looked up at him again, his brows had drawn together. His gaze sharpened, the hand resting in the horse's mane went still. His lips parted slightly as something visibly worked its way through his mind.

“I – I…” You didn't quite know what to say. You had practiced this moment. Thought through every word. But now none of them would come. What if he thought you were crazy?

Slowly, he stepped around the horse, eyes never leaving yours. No longer dressed in a commander's uniform but in worn trousers and a simple shirt, he looked as free as Carlos had on the day you first met the captain. The day your path had led you away from Leon.

You fidgeted nervously with the brim of your hat as he came closer and closer, half tempted to turn around and run back to the Nemesis and sink this entire idea and yourself right along with it.

Only the fence separated you when Leon's furrowed brow suddenly relaxed. His expression shifted. First surprise, eyes widening, mouth falling open. Then it melted into something utterly reverent. Something you recognized. From Port Nesta.

“Oh my God,” he breathed. His hands shot up to cradle your cheeks, then his lips were on yours.

Your hat slipped from your fingers – no longer important – and you wrapped your arms around his neck as you leaned into him – into his rough hands and his soft lips. They were exactly as you remembered. Tucked away in your memories for the difficult days at sea.

And yet his kiss was different. Even deeper, all consuming this time. It left no room for clear thoughts, only feeling. His mouth moved against yours with effortless certainty, as though ten years had never passed – as though he had never forgotten you. Strong arms wrapped around your body and lifted you effortlessly over the fence, drawing you closer. Body to body. Soul to soul. Lips to lips.

You let yourself be swept away by him, your mind blank and unwilling to question any of it. Your knees weakened, but he held you. Held you so tightly it stole your breath.

He pulled back only slightly, just enough to speak between heavy breaths against your lips while looking deeply into your eyes.

“You –” It was the only stunned word he managed. 

Beneath your own ragged breathing, you found a whisper. “Do you know who I am?” 

For a moment, Leon's eyes darted between yours as though he were trying with all his strength to remember your face. Then he shook his head ever so slightly. 

“I don't, but…" His voice softened. “I know you're the greatest treasure. I know I've been waiting for you.” 

His words broke your heart and mended it all at once. Whatever you had made him forget all those years ago – he had never forgotten you, or what you were to him.

The next syllables slipped from his lips as naturally as breathing, as though they had been waiting there for years:

“I know I love you.” 

“Leon.” Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes, paired with the happiest smile you had ever worn. “I came to tell you a tale. Interested?”

He blinked himself free of the trance, loosening his hold on you ever so slightly. His initial confusion gave way to joy, and a contented, even amused smile played across his features. 

“What is it about?” 

“It’s about a princess and her pretty commander.”

End Note: Because of the Veronica announcement I will disclose that I thought about adding Chris as another Commander personally searching for his sister but that plotline got cut out by my editors (me) haha.

The reaction that washed over you was contradictory. Heat rushed into your face and your skin tingled. At the same time, your mouth curled into an incredulous grin of your own, surprised and already a little impatient with him – which was probably why the others treated him the way they did. 

There wasn’t much time to think. 

“Ready to run?” Carlos asked, guiding both your feet firmly back onto solid ground. 

“That’s what I do best,” you answered confidently. “Think you can keep up?” 

His dark eyes sparkled playfully. “We’re about to find out, princesa.” He offered you his hand. You took it again without hesitation. “Whatever you do, don’t let me go.” 

Your feet flew across uneven streets, kicking up dust beneath your shoes as you fled from your pursuers. 

All those years of sneaking out were finally paying off. 

“This way.” You pulled Carlos through narrow alleyways, across backyards, even through shops to gain the advantage. After all, you knew the city like the back of your hand. 

And so you managed to slip past the royal guard again and again, all the way down to the harbor. 

You had just stepped onto the street leading toward the pier when your name was called. 

As if he hadn’t let you go only moments earlier, Leon was chasing after you with six men behind him. Of course he was – he still had a duty to fulfill. In the darkness of the night, you could barely make out his face, only the furrow of his brows and the hard line of his mouth in the torchlight. 

“Run!” Carlos snapped you out of your frozen stare at your commander, urgency sharp in his voice as his hand tightened around yours and pulled. 

You allowed yourself only one final second – a silent goodbye you hoped Leon would understand. One second of regret, because you wished things could have been different for him. In another world, at another time, maybe the two of you could have had a chance. 

You raced across the wooden planks of the pier toward the very same ship you had stood before only hours earlier, full of wonder and more than a healthy amount of skepticism. 

The same ship that was already raising its sails and beginning to move. From the pier below, you could only make out shadowy figures hurrying back and forth across the deck. 

“We gotta jump,” Carlos explained, squeezing your hand tighter, as if making sure you wouldn’t try to pull away from him. 

“What?!” 

You didn’t stop running. No matter how much fear shot through your veins, you couldn’t. If you stopped now, everything would have been for nothing. 

“You can do it, I’ll help you.” 

Carlos glanced at you, confident and certain in the way only someone could be who did this regularly. 

Determination settled inside you. You nodded, squeezed his hand back, and together you practically flew over the wooden boards of the dock, the bow of the ship moving faster and faster beside you as it pulled away from the harbor. 

“Grab the rigging, don’t let go!” Carlos shouted, yanking you forward before grabbing your waist and launching you into the air. 

You couldn’t suppress the startled scream that tore from you as you sailed through the air longer than you would’ve liked. Even so, you kept your gaze fixed straight ahead: on the ropes hanging along the side of the ship, knotted together into a practical climbing net. 

Your stomach dropped when, for one terrible second, you thought the ship was faster than you. You resisted the urge to squeeze your eyes shut – then a violent jerk shot through you and the ropes stopped your flight. Sudden pain stung your palms as the rough material scraped through them, but you held on, because nothing less than your life depended on it. 

So you dangled there for a moment in disbelief, searching desperately for footing. 

“You did it!” 

Carlos hung beside you, far more practiced than you, one foot hooked into the ropes, one hand gripping the rigging, body upright as though he belonged to the ship itself. He beamed at you, not a trace of amusement in his eyes despite the way you clung to the ropes in wide-eyed shock. 

“Look. Your friends are getting ready to follow us.” 

He nodded toward the harbor. Already, your former home – which had never truly been home – looked distant. The pier below had erupted into chaos. Over the crashing waves against the hull, you could hear scattered shouts, barked orders, and through the sea spray you spotted the fastest ship in the royal fleet – the Nightingale – being prepared to set sail. 

They weren’t giving you any head start. 

Although wild adrenaline raced through your veins, the steadily shrinking harbor didn’t scare you. With every bit of distance between you and it, relief grew stronger. You were free. 

“Come on, let’s make ‘em watch us leave them behind in the night.” 

Carlos climbed upward ahead of you toward the deck. A little unsteady, you followed after him, but more and more a strange lightness settled inside you, carrying you safely upward. 

The planks of the deck creaked as Carlos and you swung yourselves over the railing. 

“Let’s move, ladies! Set the foresails, drive her into the wind, go go go!” Carlos slipped into a voice only a captain could possess – loud, commanding, inspiring. He disappeared from your side on his way toward the quarterdeck and the wheel. 

Thankfully, Leon had taught you a thing or two about sailing. 

The commotion on the main deck was new and exhilarating and intimidating all at once. The figures in the night stole your sense of orientation, but among the unfamiliar faces you spotted Claire, Jill – and finally, standing near the main mast, Ashley. 

She lit up the moment she saw you, arms already stretched toward you – and greeted you with bright, joyful laughter as you threw yourself into them. 

“You came!” she shouted between crashing waves and flying orders, holding you tightly against her. “I’m so glad you came.” 

She looked different now that you saw her up close. Freedom sparkled in her eyes. Her hair was wilder, untamed, her beautiful dresses replaced by blouse, corset, trousers, and coat, belts and studs – a new Ashley. 

“Time for heartfelt reunions comes later,” a calm, firm voice cut in beside you. Another young woman, black hair, beautiful face, red attire. “First, we should find our way into safer waters.” 

“Yeah,” Ashley agreed. “Let’s go.” 

She grabbed your hand and pulled you along toward the bow to help. 

You didn’t exactly know what you were doing, but thanks to everything Leon had shown you on your voyages together, you knew enough not to become dead weight in the middle of an escape. 

Did he regret teaching you all those lessons now? 

Once all the sails had been raised and you’d made it out of the bay and into open sea, a brief stillness settled over everything. Ahead of you stretched the ocean, the moon shining bright over the endless expanse. 

Behind you lay the harbor of Port Raccoon – gone, far away now – its few lights dwarfed by the shadow before them: the Nightingale, large and imposing as she carved through the waves, your lead owed only to the pirate crew’s preparation. 

The entire ship of the pirate Carlos Oliveira – a name you knew you would remember forever – lay before you in the blackness of the night. A mid-sized sailing vessel, well-kept, agile, and, probably, faster than the Nightingale. You had a real chance. 

Carlos stood on the quarterdeck, one hand on the wheel, gaze fixed ahead, confident and reassuring. 

His voice carried all the way to the front of the ship, his joy audible within it: 

“Hoist the colors.” 

Your eyes shot upward, and you were certain Ashley’s did too, as it rose: the pirate flag.

The Jolly Roger unfurled above the ship’s white and red sails, fluttering in the wind, granting you a new identity, severing you – from law, and from duty.  

“Welcome!” Carlos’ voice echoed out. “To the Nemesis.” 

The ship’s pirate flag billowed in the wind – that quiet, perfect threat that whoever captained this crew lived for plunder. 

Leon stood at the bow of the Nightingale, eyes fixed on the foreign ship. He couldn’t stop replaying the scene in his head. Your arm in his hand, your beautiful eyes more pleading than he had ever seen them before, your soft lips so close to his – and the man, the pirate, holding your hand. 

For one brief moment, his and Leon’s gazes had crossed. While Leon had radiated grim determination toward the man stealing you away, the pirate had merely…nodded. Before climbing down with you and catching you in his arms. 

What kind of game was he playing? 

How had he convinced you to go with him so willingly that Leon had been left with no choice but to let you go? 

He was only grateful he had taught you the things needed at sea. Sailing rules, some sword fighting, how to fire a pistol – at least in theory. 

Rare moments when it had only been the two of you. You and him, and his desire to protect you. Now you would be able to stand up for yourself. And if he had to, he would follow you to the ends of the earth. To bring you back to him. He couldn’t lose you. 

“Mister Brown,” Leon called to his first officer. 

“Yes, Commander.” 

“I want to know everything about that pirate.” Leon already knew the smaller ship on the horizon would shake off the Nightingale. They hadn’t been fast enough. “We need to anticipate where that ship will make harbor next.” 

“Yes, Commander.” Brown hurried off. 

Leon remained at the bow, hands clasped behind his back, coat fluttering in the rising wind. 

What would he do once he had you back in his arms? 

“Oooh, I like this one!” 

“You sure that’s her color palette?” 

“She should wear something cream-colored, not too dark.” 

“Agreed.” 

The crew members stood around you with thoughtful expressions, inspecting what was now the third outfit. 

“The fitted look suits you,” Ashley remarked. “And then a long vest like this –” she rummaged through the chest standing on deck and produced the matching piece. “ – and then I’d say a corset and a belt.” 

The pieces found their way onto your body, and you had to admit, you really liked it. A light blouse similar to the ones Claire and Jill wore, combined with tight leather trousers flexible enough to move in, boots, and the pieces Ashley had handed you – the vest and corset. 

“Now you look like one of us.” Claire winked approvingly. 

You looked yourself over, smoothing the fabrics against your skin. They were high quality, honestly just as luxurious as what you’d always been used to. This crew truly was something special. 

The few weeks at sea had blended smoothly into one another. After successfully shaking off the royal fleet with surprisingly little stress, the initial rush of excitement had quickly given way to exhaustion, and then, reorientation. 

The crew had introduced themselves properly. Jill had shown you around the ship. Smaller than the Navy’s vessels, yes, but agile and cozy. 

Even the interior of the Nemesis was furnished to standards so high you could hardly believe it. Real, luxurious beds instead of hammocks, everything organized, clean, separated into proper quarters – the battle against dampness clearly fought hard, even if not entirely won for obvious reasons. 

Claire had refreshed some sailing knowledge Leon had already taught you, which you were more than happy to revisit. In the process, you learned she had a brother in the Navy. 

Ashley had been the one to offer you access to her trunk of clothes until you could dock at the next harbor and get your own things. 

Then there were the others completing the crew: Ada, rather cool and reserved. Didn’t speak much, but seemed kind enough. 

And Grace, probably the youngest among them, shy by nature – if Ashley and you were already less resolute than Jill, Claire, and Ada, then Grace truly was the little dove of the group. 

“Is it really okay that I’m taking your things?” you asked Ashley carefully. 

She answered with nothing but the warmest smile aboard the ship. “Of course! You’re one of us now, and we like sharing.” 

The others wore the same openness on their faces, a few nodding in agreement, and gratitude welled up inside you. It filled you with a lightness, the gentle rocking of the ship on the calm sea feeling almost like floating through open air. 

“Thank you. Thank you all for welcoming me like this. It’s…” You struggled to find the right word. “Incredible.” 

Jill smirked. “Trust us, we get it. Now we just have to find what we needed the compass for in the first place.”

“Oh right.” In all the excitement and all the new impressions of the last weeks, you had completely forgotten to ask where you were even headed. “What is it for? Treasure?” 

Jill opened her mouth, but Carlos beat her to it, descending from the quarterdeck above his own cabin where all of you had gathered: 

“You could say that.” 

He had respectfully kept his distance while steering the ship as the others helped put together your outfit. Now he approached, eyes immediately searching for you and your new look. 

Those same eyes sparkled approvingly the second he saw you, followed by a nod and a whistle he apparently couldn’t help himself from making – though it earned him a collective groan from the crew. 

“Well excuse me, ladies, I shall cease these improper attitudes,” he joked dramatically, hands raised in exaggerated apology. 

“At least for the next ten minutes,” Ada commented in her soft but always cutting voice. 

“Touché,” Carlos grinned. “Then I better use those ten minutes to show our newest crew member the crow’s nest.” 

“You mean –” you swallowed, glancing upward, “up there?” 

The crow’s nest sat imposingly at the very top of the main mast, inviting to explore – and impossibly high up. 

Carlos followed your nervous gaze upward before your eyes locked again. He offered you an encouraging thumbs-up. 

“Don’t worry. Looks higher than it actually is. And every new crew member has to go up there at least once.” 

He stepped closer, hand extended invitingly toward you. 

You glanced around at the others – your gaze lingering on Grace. 

She nodded with a gentle, careful smile. “I-I did it too. It’s a nice view.” 

“See? Nothing to be afraid of.” Carlos nodded toward the rigging designed for climbing the mast. 

You swallowed once more, but still took his hand and let him guide you toward the ropes. 

The moment you started climbing, you realized several things in quick succession: for the first time in your life, your clothes weren’t restricting you – they were made exactly for what you were doing now. No wide skirts limiting your movement. No tight shoes hurting your feet. Your corset not laced so tightly you could barely breathe. 

Contrary to all expectations, you didn’t seem to have a fear of heights. Even though Carlos told you not to look down, you did exactly that several times. Little by little, the crew below you grew smaller; the sea drifted farther away and wider at the same time; the sky drew closer and closer. 

The wind driving the ship forward made the ropes you clung to, and the entire mast around them, sway gently along with the vessel. You didn’t mind at all. It felt as though it were playing with you, tugging at your new clothes this way and that, brushing through your hair, making it fly, making you fly. 

The realization that this was what had always been missing struck you as you and Carlos climbed over the edge of the crow’s nest and an indescribable sight opened before you: the vast, untamed sea stretched endlessly around you. There was only the two of you, only your ship, and the ocean. 

No one in sight to tell you where to go or what to say to whom. 

“It’s beautiful, aye?” Carlos stepped shamelessly close behind you, framing your body with his own, both hands resting against the wood on either side of you. Though he leaned his torso back slightly, keeping some distance, his presence was so striking you could feel it vibrating against your spine. 

It didn’t make you nearly as nervous anymore. Not only were you familiar with this kind of latent physical closeness by now, but it was also the case that…with every day Carlos spent around you, you grew calmer around him at an alarming speed. 

“Mhm,” you answered with a soft sound of agreement instead. A feeling of peace spread through you, bringing a gentle smile to your face – one as sincere as you rarely managed to produce. 

“Carlos?” Saying his name like you had known him for years came easily. 

“Hm?” 

“Why are you always in my space?” 

There was an amused undertone to your voice as you asked it. Like you said, you knew this type. That was probably one of the reasons why you could be so unapologetically yourself around Carlos. 

In a way, he reminded you of Leon. 

Leon had always sought your proximity too. Always wanted to exist within your orbit – close, but never touching. Carlos did it in a completely different way: light, effortless. Finally someone you could simply allow close naturally, without worrying someone would turn it into the next scandal. All the crew treated their captain with the same easy familiarity. 

Carlos huffed out a laugh behind you. “Because I like your space, princesa. It’s a nice space.” A moment of silence passed before he added, “And in case you haven’t noticed, I am in everybody’s space.” 

That was true. He was always seeking some kind of physical contact – always perfectly harmless, but always in a way that built connection and… 

“Is it because you want to protect all of us?” 

The suspicion had grown in you during the short but intense time you had now spent with Carlos and the crew you belonged to. Day and night you had watched the captain, noticing the parallels to your commander – Carlos was undoubtedly a very similar kind of person. 

On either side of you, Carlos’ hands curled into fists, though he didn’t move away. 

Carefully, you turned around between his arms so you could look at him properly. He was a little taller than you, chin tilted downward so he could keep eye contact with you. 

None of the nervous reaction from his hands showed on his face. There was only what you always saw there – openness, a spark in his eyes, and that playful smile tugging at his lips. 

“Trying to figure me out, princesa?” He leaned down even further, bringing his face level with yours. “You wouldn’t be the first.” 

Like so often, his manner drew a bright little laugh from you, maybe now laced with a touch of nervousness too, with his dark eyes close – so close you searched for the line between iris and pupil and failed entirely. 

“Hm,” you hummed, unwilling to let yourself get swept away by him. “Maybe you’re just falling in love with me.” 

The fact that you, with absolutely no romantic experience, could say something that bold surprised even yourself – but maybe that was exactly why. 

Your captain’s eyebrows lifted, fine lines forming around his eyes as his grin widened. 

“If you keep looking at me like that, might just happen,” he answered before straightening again, finally releasing you from the cage of his large body and pulling out the compass. 

Instantly, the playful impulse inside you vanished, replaced by serious curiosity. The reason you were here – and why your paths had crossed at all. 

“I actually brought you up here to tell you about this,” Carlos said. 

Now the two of you stood side by side at the edge, your attention no longer on the sea, or each other, but on the compass in his hand. Its needle spun wildly in every direction, finding neither north nor any other point at all. 

“What is it for?”, you asked, hungry for the truth behind the compass, but well-mannered enough to wait. 

Carlos studied the small, unassuming thing in his hand for a long moment, eyebrows knitted together intently. 

You leaned a little closer toward him, trying to see where the needle would finally settle – where Carlos wanted to go more than anywhere else in the world. 

Your arms brushed. Suddenly, the needle chose a general direction. It swayed gently back and forth to Carlos’ right – where you were standing. 

Carlos tilted his gaze toward you. 

“You’re distracting me,” he said, his smile softer now – soft like the moments he had been proud of you, when no one else could see the way he looked at you. That gentle expression held so much, and you trusted him. 

“My bad.” You offered him a smile and took a step back. 

The needle immediately began swinging from one direction to the other again. 

“Do you ever think about what it would be like if the world simply forgot you existed?” 

“What?” 

The question came out of nowhere, so suddenly you couldn’t answer right away. 

“What would you do if you had something that could make the world forget you?” Carlos snapped the compass shut and looked at you expectantly. “What would you do?” 

“Uh –” You felt compelled to really think about it. Truly think about it, and take the question seriously. 

Would you be capable of making people forget? Would you take the opportunity? Could you make them all forget and keep only the people around you whom you actually wanted to truly know you? 

And really, the answer was simple. 

“I would make the whole kingdom forget and sail with all of you.” 

“Even your pretty Commander?” 

You paused. 

Leon was a topic for Carlos? 

The way he asked the question – serious, like he genuinely wanted to understand something about you – made you answer honestly: 

“Yeah, even him. He let me go, but he doesn’t want my freedom. Even now, he’s chasing us to fulfill his duty.” 

At that very moment, Leon was probably sitting at the desk inside the Nightingale’s grand cabin, trying to figure out where you were sailing so he could capture you and bring you back – hoping that after your little adventure, you’d be ready to fulfill your own duty again. 

The faint spark returned to Carlos’ eyes. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” 

He flipped the compass open again. “As you know, this compass points toward what our hearts desire most. We need it.” 

He gestured downward, where all the other young women in Carlos’ crew were going about their tasks – or simply sitting on deck with dice in hand, reading something – doing whatever they wanted. 

“You need it. We’ve been searching for a while now for a treasure on an island that doesn’t exist on any map.” 

His gaze drifted toward the horizon. 

“An island that only appears beneath a blood moon.” 

You snorted, though you immediately looked apologetic when Carlos shot you a stern side glance. 

“By now, you should know that pirate tales are true, princesa,” he cautioned, reminding you to take pirates seriously. 

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “What kind of treasure are we searching for?” 

“A scepter that makes people forget.” 

This time, you didn’t laugh. Carlos said the words with such conviction it was impossible not to believe him. 

“You mean…” 

Carlos nodded. “We–you all could make the world forget. Your deeds, your duties, yourselves. You’d be free forever.” 

An artifact that erased memory, hidden on an island found only by compass beneath a blood moon. It sounded like a tale straight from the nearest tavern, told somewhere between rum and beer – and yet you wanted to believe it. Believe that out there existed something that could truly set you free. 

“Why do you want to find this treasure?”, you asked curiously. “I mean, you personally.” 

Carlos smirked, his gaze drifting back down toward his crew on deck. “Altruism?” 

This time, you didn’t believe Carlos. But you also chose not to pressure your captain – especially because there was something more important than peeling back Carlos Oliveira’s inner workings. 

“Can I try it?” You held out your hand, gesturing toward the compass. 

“Be my guest.” 

He placed the compass into your hand. The needle wobbled back and forth several times. You stared down at it, imagining freedom with the crew – the freedom all of you could have if only you found this treasure. 

Then the needle stilled decisively somewhere toward the horizon – southeast. 

Carlos whistled appreciatively. “Looks like we’ve got our course.” He leaned over the edge of the crow’s nest. “Jill! Hard starboard! Set course southeast!” 

“Aye aye, Captain!” 

A moment later, the wood of the ship groaned, the mast tilting along with the basket as the course shifted. You couldn’t stop the brief dizziness that swept over you, forcing you to steady yourself against Carlos’ broad upper arm. 

“Careful.” Carlos’ roguish grin returned. “Wouldn’t want me distracting you from our course.” 

“Don’t worry, Captain,” you replied with a grin. “I am incredibly good at focusing.” 

“Shame.” 

Carlos, meanwhile, seemed all too easily distracted. He looked up toward the nearly cloudless blue sky, studying something invisible with intense focus. 

“Storm’s coming,” he said matter-of-factly. 

You followed his gaze in confusion. “How do you know?” 

“It’s in the air. We should make a stop.” 

Once again, he leaned over the edge of the basket. 

“Jill! Set course for Port Nesta!” 

“Make up your mind, Captain!” 

Sure enough, the experienced captain had been right. The rain came – and with it violent wind, lightning, thunder, and your first real struggle at sea. 

Carlos shouted commands from the helm down to the main deck while all of you, the crew, carried them out as fast as humanly possible, working together to maneuver the ship through the dangers of the rough waters. 

The wind screamed in your ears, salty seawater burning your eyes whenever massive waves crashed over the railing and tried to knock you off your feet. Your hands ached beneath the brutal pull of the drenched ropes fighting to tear themselves free. 

“Port Nesta is not far!”, Claire shouted to you while the two of you adjusted the sail together. It billowed violently, caught by the wind, threatening to rip loose. “We will make it!” 

The irony of it all? Not for a second did you doubt that you would make it through the storm. Everyone around you looked confident and steady. Sometimes you even spotted grins laced with exhilaration. 

All of you loved freedom – even when it picked a fight with you. 

By the time you sailed into the harbor of Port Nesta and dropped anchor, the storm had faded from furious to merely mildly annoyed. 

Far less glamorous than the harbors you were used to, this one consisted mostly of roughly hammered-together planks made from mismatched woods, crates and barrels stacked everywhere. 

The wood groaned beneath your footsteps as though it might collapse at any moment and throw all of you into another bath, yet somehow it held. 

Countless pirate ships were docked nearby. How could you tell? Their flags fluttered proudly in the stormy wind – here, no pirate cared about being recognized. 

“So this is a freebooter harbor?”, you asked aloud as you walked over the planks toward the city without paying a single thing. 

“Yes,” Ada answered. She seemed to enjoy explaining things. “Though Port Nesta is one of the more refined freebooter ports, believe it or not. The highest-ranking pirates dock here. The ones with the largest bounties. The richest and most influential.” 

“And we belong to those people?”, you asked in surprise. 

The Nemesis was a beautiful ship, but so far the journey hadn’t exactly screamed wealthy pirates. 

The crew smirked in unison. 

“Not really,” Claire said.

“But people know and appreciate each other here,” Carlos finished for her, an arm slung around Claire’s shoulders. 

“I-It’s because we’re all influential people of higher standing,” Grace chimed in quietly. 

You let out a sound of realization. That made sense. None of the other pirates turned Carlos Oliveira and his crew in – in exchange for favors down the line, most likely. 

“Exactly,” Carlos confirmed. “Besides, pirates here usually mind their own business. That’s why this is our favorite freebooter harbor.” 

The others nodded in agreement as you walked through the broad, bustling streets. 

You had always imagined freebooter cities as lawless and chaotic – fights on every street corner and a harsh stench hanging in the air. Instead, you found yourself surrounded by houses that, while not built to the standards of lawful cities, also weren’t completely run-down. 

Lively chatter echoed around you, but no shouting, no brawling – only laughter, easy conversations, and music as far as your ears could reach. 

Apparently, you knew absolutely nothing about pirates. Or perhaps you were simply lucky enough to have joined one of the special crews.

The tavern you entered to warm up and dry off resembled the one you already knew on the inside – soft candlelight, cheerful music, crowded with people. Only this time, they weren’t dressed like respectable townsfolk, but looser, freer, like freebooters naturally were. 

“Jill!”, the woman behind the bar called the moment she spotted your group. “And the crew. It’s so good to see you.” 

“Helena,” Jill greeted her with a smile. 

Helena looked to be around Jill’s age – beautiful long brown hair wrapped beneath a very sailor-like tied headscarf, a warm smile, striking attire made up of bright colors: a red long-sleeved dress paired with a black corset belt. 

Her gaze landed on you. “Oh –,” she said, “new crew member?” 

Jill nodded and gestured for you to introduce yourself. 

“Pleasure. If Jill vouches for you, you’re always welcome in my tavern.” 

“Helena used to be part of the crew too,” Carlos chimed in. He stood between you, leaning forward against the counter with his forearms resting atop it. “And she’s always been very good at ignoring me.” 

He did what he always did with his people – nudging Helena’s shoulder affectionately, earning an equally warm smile in return. 

“And now this tavern belongs to you?”, you asked Helena curiously. 

She nodded. “Carlos got me out, but the sea isn’t for me – or for my sister. So Deborah and I opened this tavern here instead. The Navy barely ever comes through. They don’t dare enter Port Nesta. And if someone does wander in here once in a while, they don’t recognize me among all the other wanted faces.” 

“Where is Debbie anyway?”, Carlos asked, his gaze searching for Helena’s sister. 

“Doing bookkeeping,” Helena answered shortly. “She actually wanted to head over to the market today, but with the storm…” She tilted her head. “Which begs the question, do you need towels to dry off and some good rum to warm yourselves up? Deborah’s stew?” 

“Oh, how we miss Debbie’s stew,” Carlos answered with a grin. 

You had dried yourselves off as best as possible with the things offered to you and now sat gathered around a table crowded with as many heat-giving candles as possible, eating and drinking. 

The atmosphere was so alive. And yet there was also something strangely untethered about it. Even more than the tavern back in Port Raccoon. It was the louder laughter, the sailors’ tales, and above all the way the pirates existed completely unapologetically as themselves. 

You recognized several familiar faces – supposedly the worst villains of the seven seas. Yet here they were, simply men enjoying drinks. You never would have expected these high-ranking pirates to seem so…tame? 

Some of them even greeted your crew. In many cases, they addressed Jill first, then Carlos. 

“Eeeey, Jill Valentine and her token Captain!” 

“Jill Valentine, a sight for sore eyes!” 

Occasionally Carlos received some comments too. 

“Carlos, the Captain with the worst luck in the world!” 

“Captain Carlos Oliveira, which princess are you rescuing today?” 

All in all, your crew was shockingly accepted within these circles – another surprise, considering women were usually unwelcome at sea. How had Carlos managed to establish his concept of a pirate crew so successfully among fellow pirates? 

And more importantly: how was it possible that Jill seemed more popular than him? First mates were usually expected to stand very clearly beneath their captain to avoid rumors of mutiny. 

Fascinated, you observed every encounter, your surroundings, letting it all sink in. 

“Hey, how come everyone here is so fine with us being an all-female crew?”, you whispered to Ashley while the conversations carried on around you. 

“I think it’s partly because of our status,” Ashley answered, “and partly because Jill and Ada established very early on that they aren’t damsels in distress, from what I heard.” 

“Ah.” You made a sound of understanding. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to duel one of these pirates yourself. You could handle a sword – and during the days at sea, Ashley and you had practiced a little – but it definitely wouldn’t be enough for a duel against an infamous pirate. 

“And what about Carlos? Why did he hire all of us?” 

Your gaze drifted toward your captain. He sat three chairs away beside Ada, quietly talking to her, a faint grin on his face but his eyes focused. 

“I don’t know.” Ashley followed your gaze. “He doesn’t really talk about his reasons. But doesn’t he kind of remind you of a soldier?” 

While you answered excitedly, the music suddenly swelled louder – more instruments joining the fiddle already playing, drowning out the conversations in a lively tune. 

“I noticed that too! Maybe he used to be one before he became a pirate.” 

“You should ask him.” Ashley’s eyes found yours again. “He seems to like you especially much.” 

You looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean by that?” 

Before Ashley could answer, Carlos leaned across the table, over Ada – who had to lean back with practiced ease so he wouldn’t accidentally shove her along with him – and toward the two of you, his grin widening. 

“You’re gonna love this.” 

While Ashley and you stared at him in confusion, the music swelled even more. Jill and Claire wore expressions just as roguish as their captain’s as they both stood.  

“Let’s dance.” Jill held her hand out toward you expectantly while Claire did the same with Ashley. 

The two of you exchanged a glance, as did Grace, who looked even less enthusiastic about the dance floor than either of you. 

“We don’t know the steps,” you said on behalf of the three of you.

“Trust us, you know ’em,” Claire assured you. “It’s pretty much the same as all those boring dance lessons you learned. But this – this is fun.” 

Ashley was the first to decide she was done hesitating or holding herself back. 

She took Claire’s hand, and together they stepped into the center of the room, where other people were already beginning to gather – pirates, barmaids, women from the city. 

All of them standing together like they belonged to one another. 

Making the same decision, you first grabbed Grace’s hand, then Jill’s, so the three of you could join the other two. 

Grace muttered a few protests under her breath, but she stood no chance against the force the two of you represented together. 

“You can do it, Grace,” you encouraged her, squeezing her hand – even though you weren’t entirely sure you could pull this off yourself. 

All those worries vaporized the moment Jill and Claire showed you the first steps. 

They really were the same as the ones from your lessons, only altered slightly. Less stiff. 

Two steps back, a clap, two steps forward, turns – you knew the sequence, but quickly realized that rules here existed to be broken. 

The longer you danced back and forth, the more the actual steps were ignored. At first, it confused you. You stumbled over your own feet trying not to crash into anyone, caught yourself, tried again – and little by little, you discovered how to find genuine joy inside the chaos. 

Not the kind of joy that came from performing a sequence correctly, from a successful lesson, from earning your father’s pride. The kind of joy that spread a huge, truly happy smile across your face and allowed you to let go. 

You jumped, you laughed, you clapped, you grabbed Ashley’s hands and the two of you spun around each other, nobody leading, nobody being led, just the two of you circling one another. Grace joined in – and for the first time, you saw her smile so openly and happily that you instantly wanted to see the others too.

All the crew members – aside from Ada and Carlos, who had stayed seated to watch you – laughed and swayed together, hair flying, carrying the very lightness all of you had searched for your entire lives. 

Briefly, only briefly, the sight brought tears to your eyes. You hadn’t known these people for long. But they might have been the family you had always searched for. 

No judgment. Just happiness. 

Ashley noticed it – that emotional moment – even though you wiped the tears away quickly. 

She held both your hands, her sweet smile balm for your soul. 

“I never thought we’d find something like this either,” she said, and somehow you heard the words despite the music and the laughter and the life surrounding you. 

You let out a happy little sob. Then the two of you fell into each other’s arms. 

All because of one man’s decision. 

Your eyes searched for – and found – Carlos over Ashley’s shoulder. 

Carlos watched the commotion of his crew with satisfaction. He would join you eventually. But first he wanted to enjoy this moment – his girls, the best out there, enjoying their freedom. 

It wasn’t entirely what he had imagined when he first began searching for the scepter. But it was what he had needed. 

This little group of misfits who wanted more from life. No cage. No making choices that weren’t their own. Never again.

“Aren’t you all the cutest?”, he called out loudly, to no one in particular, though Ada answered with a snort. 

“Don’t talk about me,” she deadpanned. 

“I know, Ada, you’re way too casual for this.” Carlos lifted his rum toward her, but Ada had already been distracted. 

“Look who’s there.” She nodded past Carlos, eyes narrowed, focused and far more serious than usual. 

Carlos followed her gaze toward the table directly beside them. 

Instantly, he set his mug down, senses sharpening as his body tensed. It was the well-trained dog. The Royal Navy had dared venture into Port Nesta. 

You probably hadn’t noticed him because until a few seconds ago, he’d been wearing a hat. He had changed all of his clothes. The dark-blue commander’s colors were gone, replaced entirely by brown. No fancy buttons anymore, no gold. Instead, he had gone completely incognito: brown hat over dark blond hair, dark shirt, brown coat. 

He could easily pass for a pirate. If he hadn’t taken off the hat, none of you might have noticed him all evening. Where were his soldiers? Hidden among the crowd too, waiting for the moment to grab you? 

Carlos couldn’t cause a scene now. It would alarm you too. 

Besides, the man with whom he had exchanged only a single glance so far didn’t look like someone about to bark an order. 

That one look back on your windowsill had been determined, unwilling to simply let you go – even though, to Carlos’ great surprise, he ultimately had. 

Seeing him now, Carlos wasn’t surprised anymore. His expression was no longer determined. In his entire life, Carlos had never seen a man yearning for a woman this much. Like a sad dog standing in the rain, he watched you dance – eyes glassy, slumped back in his chair, nervously turning the discarded hat around in his hands. 

It was pathetic…and understandable. 

As if the commander could feel Carlos’ and Ada’s eyes on him, he tilted his head – and once more, their gazes crossed. 

What was that man’s name again? Carlos was sure you had mentioned it multiple times. He just hadn’t bothered to remember it. 

The very same man furrowed his brows once he realized he’d been recognized – which shouldn’t have been surprising, considering his unnecessarily handsome face was out in the open. 

He placed the hat down on the table. Carlos heard Ada setting her pistol onto the tabletop beside him. Without question, she had his back. 

If things came down to it, Carlos would fight. He wouldn’t let the man take you. 

The commander reached down toward the holder of his sword, his pistol. 

Carlos mirrored the movement, slowly reaching for his own sword without breaking eye contact. Helena would raise absolute hell if a fight broke out inside her tavern. 

To Carlos’ and Ada’s surprise – and yes, relief – the commander instead unclasped his belt with pointed intensity and laid it demonstratively slowly onto the table, his eyes drilling into Carlos’. 

Without further ado, the commander turned away again and resumed watching you. 

It was a small miracle you didn’t notice how his gaze followed your every movement – even when you approached the table with the widest smile Carlos had seen from you so far, a light, almost floating gait to your steps, your hand stretched out toward him. 

Inside Leon, a storm raged fiercer than the one he and his men had sailed through while pursuing you and that pirate, Carlos Oliveira. 

Brown had uncovered this much about the captain: He usually kept a low profile; Very little was known about his crew; His name; He had never once been captured. 

Mysteries surrounded the pirate – mysteries Leon intended to uncover only if necessary to reach you. 

It had almost been luck that the storm had risen, forcing Leon and his crew toward Port Nesta. They had taken down their flag – this harbor wasn’t exactly safe territory for members of the Royal Navy. 

Then Leon had stepped onto the sloppily constructed docks, looked around – and noticed the ship. The pirate and his crew had fled here too, escaping the storm. 

Determined to at least get you aboard the Nightingale, Leon had disguised himself and left his men on the ship. Better alone and unnoticed. Besides, you didn’t deserve to be dragged away with drums and trumpets sounding behind you. 

You were searching for an escape that didn’t exist. Not as long as people would keep searching for you. Not as long as you remained the Crown Princess. 

And yet now, here inside this tavern, Leon’s resolve wavered. He had found you – you and the other women. He swore he recognized at least one of them: the blonde girl who seemed especially close to you. 

He had never, never seen you like this before, so completely carefree and laughing. Over the years there had been hints and traces of the beautiful girl before him now – the one who utterly enchanted him. A wider smile whenever he taught you about sailing or fencing. Those tiny, stolen moments where the two of you forgot your duties. 

But he had never seen you this happy before. You danced freely with these other women. It seemed impossible that no one had ever heard of it, but apparently all of you belonged to the same crew – to that pirate’s crew. Carlos’. 

The very same pirate you were currently dragging onto the dance floor with you. Leon’s hands clenched into fists in his lap as he watched you, the girl who should have been his, being guided in wide circles across the floor by this unfamiliar man. 

Wild jealousy seized him, and it took all of his willpower not to get up and step between you. 

Carlos spun you through pirouettes, your melodic laughter the only thing Leon could hear – or wanted to hear – through the crowd and music. 

It should have been him dancing with you like that. 

But you looked too happy. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to you. Throughout the entire pursuit, Leon had kept asking himself what he would do. You had begged him to let you go. But how could he let you go forever? And even if he wanted to – what would he tell the King? 

Torn apart inside, all Leon could do was allow you your happiness while searching for an escape that didn’t exist. 

“You know –” A calm voice suddenly sounded beside him. “ – you should just forget about her.” The dark-haired woman – another member of the crew, apparently – slid gracefully into the chair across from Leon’s table. 

She looked at him with a mysterious expression, as though she knew the answers to the world’s greatest questions. 

“Would be better for her,” she continued. 

Leon said nothing. But this woman knew you. All of them did. They knew who you were – and who was searching for you. 

His brows drew together, jaw tense. 

For the moment, all he could do was be your shadow and make sure he would be there if you needed him. 

Bitter over the impossible situation, Leon put the very pirate-like hat back on, grabbed his weapons, and left the dark-haired woman, you, and this entire unorthodox crew behind. His men would stand behind him if he ordered them to keep watch over you. 

The music faded, even though you weren’t ready to feel any less alive than you did here and now. 

Between the people, here inside the warm tavern, in motion and spun around by Carlos in uncoordinated turns, you had grown warm and dizzy all at once. 

Carlos really hadn’t needed to be asked twice to dance. And he was a good dancer. 

The dampness from the rain had given way to a light sheen of sweat. Carlos was breathing as heavily as you were, grinning broadly – just as broadly as you. His hands rested on your hips, keeping you gently in place while you laughed happily, and realized the warmth wasn’t entirely from dancing. 

He was too close again. His damp hair fell wildly into his face, a droplet slipping from one strand between the two of you. His large hands squeezed lightly, making your skin tingle softly. 

“Hey.” His face moved even closer, so close now that the heat radiating from his skin reached your own and your foreheads nearly touched. 

“You ever think about your pretty Commander anymore?” 

The question earned an eye roll and a groan from you, the same kind you had already picked up from the others. 

“Why do you keep bringing him up?” you asked, mildly annoyed. “Jealous?” You looked at him as challengingly as you could. 

Carlos answered with an amused snort. “You know, for a princess, you’re a pretty little minx.” 

“As any of my fellow crewmates, I’m sure,” you shot back. “It’s something I learned from dealing with my pretty Commander.” 

Carlos leaned back, putting a little more distance between you again. 

“Why are you asking?” you wanted to know. 

“He’s here.” 

“What?” 

Your stomach flipped as you immediately turned away, your gaze frantically searching for Leon and the soldiers who would surely try to take you away. 

“Oh, look at that,” Carlos commented, following your gaze. “Seems like he left.” 

Left? He hadn’t grabbed you and dragged you away? 

Your searching gaze found Ada. She rested her face against her palm, tracing the rim of her mug with her index finger, a faint smile on her lips – and nodded toward the door outside. 

You understood instantly. 

“I’ll be back. I need to talk to him.” 

Carlos let you go without hesitation as you hurried outside. 

The air was cold and unwelcoming compared to the warmth inside the tavern. A light drizzle still lingered, but the worst of the storm had passed. 

Would you even be able to find him? Suddenly everyone looked the same – long heavy coats, featherless hats, pirates. 

The only logical direction he could have gone was toward the harbor. The Nightingale had to be docked there somewhere. 

As you hurried that way, you couldn’t help yourself. 

“Leon!” 

To your relief, someone on the not-too-crowded street turned around. In the glow spilling from the tavern windows, you saw the face of your Commander, your confidant, the one who had almost never left your side before. 

Suddenly, guilt washed over you. Guilt for leaving him behind there. 

He looked at you the way he so often did – as though he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. 

You walked toward him quickly. Thankfully, you knew exactly what you wanted to do. 

“Leon,” you repeated his name once you were close enough – and wrapped your arms around his strong torso. 

For a moment, he went completely stiff in your embrace. A long overdue hug in public – and it felt so much better than you had ever imagined. 

Stolen glances, touches, and every tenderness disguised as duty couldn’t compare to this. Freedom had given you so much. And now, it had also given you the ability to touch him the way you had always wanted to. 

“It’s okay, Leon.” Saying his name out loud felt so good on your tongue that you had to say it again. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Finally, his muscles relaxed beneath your hands and against your body. Finally, he wrapped his arms around you – large, strong arms that enveloped you like a safe harbor. 

Leon felt so much bigger than you remembered – hard and soft at the same time, muscles forged strong but movements pliant as he rested his forehead against your shoulder and held you. He held you tightly and purposefully, as though he wanted to feel this moment with everything he had. 

“I followed, Princess,” he murmured against your shoulder. A moment of silence. Then he added: “You look beautiful.” 

His words washed over you, turning the drizzle warm against your skin. Your heart tightened before beating a little faster. 

“What are you going to do now?” you asked him anyway. 

He hesitated before answering, only tightening his hold around you. 

“I don’t know.” Leon lifted his forehead from your shoulder to look at you. Soft orange and golden tones accented the line of his jaw from the side, making his face look sharp and defined – while his expression at the same time held nothing but softness. Concern. Affection. 

“I only know that I’ve never seen you this happy before.” 

He said nothing more after that, only looked deeply into your eyes. The orange light flickered through his sea-blue gaze, ignoring the world around you, focused only on you. 

A careful smile touched your lips as you lifted one hand to his stubble. For the first time, you felt what you had always wondered how it would feel like. The rough texture tickled your fingertips, the closeness feeling so good it sent a small shiver down your spine. 

Leon didn’t stop you – He simply kept looking at you, eyes lowered toward you, his head leaning the slightest bit into your touch. 

“Out here, we could both be,” you said softly, quietly enough that only he could hear. Your fingers continued their path, over his chin, his temple, tangling gently in his damp hair. 

“We’re searching for a treasure. It sounds crazy, but apparently there’s an artifact that can make people forget – everything. Who you are. Who you were.” 

Your gaze drifted from your fingers back to his eyes. 

“The two of us could be free – forever. You could come with us. And then we could be whoever we wanted.” 

Leon listened attentively, his hands firm on your hips, unwilling to let you go for even a second. How was he supposed to let you go again now? 

Even so, a faintly amused sound escaped him. “That sounds –” 

“Mad?” you asked, your smile growing more entertained. “Like some insane pirate tale? Believe me, that was my reaction too. But I believe it’s real. We have a compass that points toward the place your heart wants most in the world. It was just sitting in my father’s treasure chamber.” 

Leon didn’t argue with you again. Why would he? You were in his arms, telling him about freedom and a shared life together. You were somewhere that demanded nothing else from either of you. You had hope – and that was all he needed to believe you. 

For a brief moment, a thought crossed his mind – if this story were true, would every princess and noblewoman inside that tavern be forgotten all at once? Did all of them want the same thing? 

“I believe you, Princess.” His voice was deep and soothing. Finally, a more relaxed smile appeared on his face too. 

“You can call me by my name, you know?” 

The words were followed by a soft laugh and a reflex you couldn’t resist. 

Both your hands settled gently against his jaw as you leaned forward – and pressed your lips to his. This time properly, not like back at the window. Bold, eager to give him a piece of the freedom you yourself had gained. 

At first, it was only your lips against his, nothing more, nothing less. You almost feared you had gone too far when Leon finally released a long breath through his nose and melted into it, returning the kiss with a soft, small movement. 

Carefully, slowly, he pulled his lips away from yours again – far too quickly for your liking. 

His gaze held complete devotion, touched by something else too – what was that spark in his eyes? Something lighter, happier. Something you had seen far too rarely in him. 

Then he said your name. Quietly, so quietly, the moment belonging only to the two of you. It seemed to loosen something inside him, because his smile returned – broader now, happier.

He said your name again – and this time, his hands settled against your neck, tilting your face toward him.  

Wild butterflies erupted in your stomach, the music from the taverns and the voices of the people around you blurring into meaningless noise – only Leon’s content expression mattered. 

He stole another kiss. Then another. And another. The fourth lingered. Leon captured your lips so expertly it felt as though this was all the two of you had done for years. 

Your hands remained on each other, feeling every bit of skin possible – but it wasn’t enough. Leon pressed you backward, his lips never leaving yours, crowding against you like he was trying to make up for every moment the two of you had never dared to take. 

Your back hit the wall of a house beneath the shelter of the roof. For a moment it was cold, until the warmth radiating from your stomach quickly replaced it. Leon’s entire body pressed against yours, taking as much closeness as physically possible, sheltering you from the wind and weather alike. 

His kiss deepened – he breathed into you while stealing your own breath away. Your tongues brushed together, blood rushing in your ears, your knees weakening. At the same time, your stomach tightened. You had dreamed of this too often. 

Reality was better than the dream. 

You couldn’t stop the small sound escaping your throat, and Leon immediately stilled. He remained very close, breathing heavily against your lips, though his voice was steady and determined: 

“I can’t leave my post.” 

Your disappointment was short-lived. Quickly, he added: “Not yet.” 

Another kiss landed on your lips. 

“We’ll find a way out of this. I promise I’ll always stay close to you.” 

“You really believe me?” you whispered against his lips, breathless and intoxicated by the way he had kissed you – stormy, starved. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time an old pirate legend turned out to be true.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “And now you’ve done it. I’ll never be able to stop thinking about your lips again.” 

The comment surprised you so much that you laughed out loud. After everything – his endless speeches about duty and responsibility and whatnot – you had somehow ended up here. 

“Look at you, Commander, getting all cocky. The open sea seems good for you,” you teased. 

“You’re good for me,” he answered lovingly, his thumb stroking across your cheek. “You always have been.” His lips found yours once more. “You’re my Princess. I’ll do anything for you.” 

You could only hope that scepter truly existed.

The king, whom Leon had served all his life, just as his father had before him, had grown older, yet remained the same steadfast ruler he had always been. There was no word more important than his.

“It seems to me –” the king said, now with a faint hint of amusement in his voice, “ – that your adamant plea not to have the princess guarded day and night has proven most convenient for said princess.”

The faintest smile flickered across his face. “We really should have known better.”

Leon knew his king well enough to understand he was never truly angry with his daughter. You reminded him far too much of your late mother, may she rest in peace.

Even so, Leon couldn’t help the tension settling in his shoulders at the remark. He had hoped you might be grateful for the respite he had negotiated. That you would seize the very next opportunity to slip away from court…He should have known better.

“Indeed, Your Highness,” Leon replied.

“Find her,” the king ordered. “She has etiquette lessons this afternoon – badly needed ones, before she frightens off yet another potential match. We are running out of princes.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Leon turned, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from commenting that this would very much be to your liking. Not appropriate. Especially not with the many figures gathered in the throne room – advisors, economists, an ambassador.

His heavy, booted steps were softened by the ornate carpet beneath him. Sunlight streamed in through the near floor-to-ceiling windows, blinding him each time he passed through its beams, forcing him to squint as he was already unbuttoning his dark blue coat. He knew it now, he would have to run.

At the entrance, the guards, his men, received a sharp look. Amusement sparkled in their eyes; they were barely holding back laughter.

The cat-and-mouse game between the royal guard – admittedly, mostly himself – and the princess had become something of a palace favorite, well loved as you were.

His men quickly schooled their expressions back into seriousness.

“As you were, gentlemen,” Leon muttered with quiet satisfaction as he passed them.

You always found yourself surprised by how long the road to the harbor felt. How far the palace stood from real life. How vast the gulf between your carefully orchestrated existence and that of the people upon whose shoulders your kingdom truly rested.

As you moved through the narrow streets, weaving among your hard-working people, you repeatedly adjusted your clothing – tugging at the simple maid’s uniform, straightening the cap that concealed your hair.

Your father would never discover which maid had helped you, you would make certain of that. You had written her name on your hand. The letters had already begun to smudge from your nervous, sweaty palms – but you would recognize her, should it come to it.

For now, you had made it beyond the palace – and all the way to the harbor. Sooner or later, he would catch up to you…

The same thought always took hold of you here – whenever you stood at the docks, your gaze fixed on the horizon. At sunset, you searched for that elusive green flash from the old pirate tales – and even when you never saw it, the line where sky met sea called to you all the same.

To simply sail away. To a place where expectations would not crush you. Where you could discover who you truly wished to be – a princess, a queen… or something else entirely.

That choice was not yours to make, never.

And so you stood here on the pier, longing for something forever out of reach.

Your father meant well, you knew that. He wanted a stable future for you. But it was not enough. It had never been enough.

Softly, you began to hum – a sea shanty your mother had once taught you.

“An unexpected tune on the lips of such a fair lady from the grand city.”

The dark, amused voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you sharply from your fixation on the sea.

Surprised to be addressed so directly, you glanced left and right. A few dockworkers moved some distance away, loading ships with barrels and chests, preparing one or two vessels – but no one paid you much attention… just another maid among many. 

A whistle drew your attention upward instead. 

On the deck of the ship anchored beside you, someone had appeared – a man, perhaps a little older than yourself, your port no doubt just one stop on a long sea voyage. 

Dark curls framed his face in untamed waves, stubble shadowing his jaw. His skin was sun-kissed from days, weeks, months at sea. A white – surprisingly white – shirt fluttered loosely around his body in the harbor breeze, the neckline unbuttoned far too low – so low you had to make a conscious effort not to stare.

Instead, you caught yourself and quickly searched for the ship’s flag... without success.

Pirate? was your first, instinctive thought.

It should have frightened you – God knew your father had tried often enough to instill that fear in you. Instead, it sparked a keen curiosity.

Your eyes found his, black as the deepest sea.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“I’m not allowed to speak to strangers – especially those who don’t fly a flag,” you replied, your voice sharp, challenging.

His gaze flicked up toward the main mast, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. He leaned forward against the railing, forearms resting on it, sleeves rolled high enough to reveal the muscle beneath.

“I like to think a stranger is a friend I haven’t met.”

His open, easy grin only made you more curious, drew you in so completely that for a fleeting moment you doubted he was a pirate at all. Perhaps a merchant? A simple sailor?

You couldn’t quite suppress your smile getting wider.

Something flickered in his eyes. “But –” he added, letting out another sharp whistle, “ – I understand your hesitation. So allow me to introduce you to my crew… and perhaps we may speak more after that.”

Alright – definitely a captain. And likely a pirate.

“Aye, Captain?”

To your surprise, a young woman appeared at his side. Your thoughts scattered like two inexperienced duelists crossing blades. She was beautiful – her short hair neat, almost silky, her features a striking contrast to the man beside her. Her skin was pale, as though this might have been her first time at sea.

Her eyes were so bright you could make out their blue-grey shimmer even from the pier as she took notice of you.

“And who might this little dove be?” she asked, a soft, inviting smile playing on her lips.

“This is Jill,” the captain introduced. “My first mate.”

The woman, Jill, nodded, adding a small gesture in your direction.

You found yourself at a loss for words.A woman on a ship. You had rarely – no, never – seen such a thing.

“I know, right? Woman on a ship,” the sailor caught your thoughts as if you had spoken them aloud, gesturing toward Jill with his thumb.

“Uh, but how – ”

“Your mouth’s hanging open.”

Your teeth clicked together as you snapped your jaw shut.

“Don’t worry.” He folded his arms. “We get that a lot.”

“And his name is Carlos, in case you were wondering,” Jill added, presenting her captain with a graceful motion.

She could not possibly be a pirate.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he grinned.

Jill and Carlos turned at the sound of approaching footsteps on the wooden deck.

“Ah, perfect timing.”

Carlos reached for something just out of your line of sight – but you heard the startled squeak as he caught whatever had tried to slip past him.

Your eyes widened further as he turned back toward you – lifting another young woman into view. By the shoulders. Into the air. As though she weighed nothing at all.

Perhaps she didn’t – she was small, fragile-looking, letting out a quiet protest as Carlos set her down on the deck before him, resting his hand on her head in a protective gesture – though a mischievous grin still played across his face.

“This is our newest crew member, Ashley,” he introduced, not giving either of you time to react before continuing, “Want to know what kind of pirate crew we are? You should meet us at the tavern near the town square. What was it called again? Claire!”

“It’s Raccoon’s Rest!” another voice called from somewhere deeper on the ship.

By now, not only had you lost your words – you couldn’t even form new ones. Your head was spinning.

But most of all, you and Ashley Graham stared at one another, wide-eyed and stunned.

“Wh–Wha–” Ashley stammered.

“I–I–” you stammered right back.

Carlos and Jill didn’t miss the exchange.

The pirate captain ruffled the blonde princess’s hair – the very same princess you had sat beside at dinner only months ago, discussing your shared lack of enthusiasm for arranged marriages. The very same princess who had disappeared shortly after.

“You know each other?” Carlos asked innocently – as though he weren’t the pirate who had kidnapped her… or had he? She didn’t seem particularly frightened – not beyond what might be expected, at least.

You opened your mouth, finally ready to form actual words –

“Princess!”

The shout from further down the pier tore through the moment, snapping all of you out of it. Your heads turned in unison toward the source. Had someone recognized Ashley?

“Oh no.”

Someone had recognized you.

The Commander of the Royal Guard, Leon S. Kennedy – your ever-honorable, ever-duty-bound protector – was striding straight toward you, brows drawn tight, blue eyes locked onto you. Tall. Imposing. In no mood for games.

Good thing you had no intention of being caught without a fight.

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you all –” his arrival snapped you fully out of your daze, even eased you slightly, because now you knew exactly what to do, “ – but I really must be going. It seems I’ve been spotted.”

And just like that, you gathered your skirts and took off – running in the opposite direction of Commander Kennedy, naturally.

“No! Princess!” you heard him call after you, louder now.

“Will you meet us at the tavern!?” Carlos’ voice carried after you as well, laughter woven into it.

A glance over your shoulder revealed that the Commander had begun running too, and a mischievous grin crept onto your lips. By now, you almost enjoyed being chased down by him – he always caught you eventually, but never without effort.

You pulled the maid’s cap from your head as you ran, releasing your hair from its confinement, the feeling of it flying around in the air the closest you knew of freedom.

“Catch!”

Leon had just passed the ship where you’d been standing moments before, sparing only a brief glance for the man and two women aboard, when your bright, laughing voice reached him again and snapped his focus back to you – or so it should have.

Instead, a maid’s cap smacked straight into his face, robbing him of his orientation. Behind him, two of the three on deck burst into laughter.

Leon had no time to concern himself with whatever unusual gathering that was. Tearing the fabric from his face, he caught only the last glimpse of your skirts disappearing around a corner, into the city.

“Hell…” he muttered, and resumed the chase.

One day, you would be the death of him.

Your feet flew over the uneven cobblestones of harbor and lower town, swift and practiced. You slipped agilely between people, using their numbers as cover from the searching gaze behind you. Some exclaimed when you bumped into them, others recognized you outright – calling your name, or simply, “Oh – it’s the Princess.”

The townspeople knew you well. Some were more sympathetic to your little escapades than others – laughing when they saw you, hiding you, clearly fond of you.

You only smiled at them in passing as you darted by, turning sharply around a narrow corner – and came to an abrupt halt.

A cart.

You tried to skid to a stop, but it was no use, you landed straight into a heap of vegetables.

“Oh, Princess, not my cabbages again!” the owner lamented as he turned from the front of his cart and took in the damage you had caused.

Meanwhile, you lay there, slightly winded and thoroughly stuck.

You really should have known the vegetable vendor would be transporting his goods to storage at this hour. In the thrill of the chase, you had simply forgotten.

“I am terribly sorry, Master –” you began, offering both sincere remorse and your most apologetic eyes.

“It’s Spee,” the man supplied once more – surely not the first time he had told you his name. You had sworn each time to remember the names of your people better. Perhaps you truly ought to keep a notebook.

Master Spee seemed to accept your apology. The look behind his bushy brows and full grey beard softened as he reached out a hand and helped you out of the cart.

“Master Spee,” came a voice from behind him, just as breathless as your own.

Commander Kennedy had stayed right on your heels. He leaned against the stone wall beside the cart, catching his breath, though still remarkably composed. No surprise, he was likely the most well-trained man in the entire royal force, on land and sea alike.

Leon pressed a hand to his side, swallowed once, then continued, “The royal guard thanks you… for your assistance in apprehending the fugitive.”

“You know –” Spee did not release your hand, despite your attempts to slip free. You could already feel it – that this was the end of the chase. “You ought to put a collar with a bell on her.”

That earned a small smile from the Commander – and an annoyed eye roll from you.

“Believe me, I’ve considered it.” He reached into his pocket and produced a few coins. “For your trouble.”

“Thank ye kindly,” Spee rumbled, finally letting go of your hand.

You wouldn’t go down without a fight.

You pivoted instantly on your heel, making to run in the opposite direction – but strong, familiar arms wrapped around you before you could take more than a step, lifting you clear off the ground.

You let out a cry – but there was laughter woven into it.

Perhaps you would visit that tavern tonight.

Carlos watched you for a while longer, even after you and the unmistakable commander had long disappeared from sight.

“A princesa, aye?” he murmured, intrigued.

“How convenient,” Jill replied. “Do you think she’ll come?”

With a confident grin, Carlos tapped the wood of his ship’s railing.

“They always come, Jill.”

Murmurs followed you as the two of you moved through the streets – whispered behind hands at the sight of Commander Kennedy carrying you as he did.

“You could put me down, you know,” you grumbled. “This isn’t exactly good for my reputation.”

The city had long fallen behind you, the sun nearly set. Its last golden rays set the sea aglow, casting the harbor in a serene, almost otherworldly light.

A child skipped into the middle of the wide road ahead, eyes wide with delight as she took in your predicament. You smiled back instantly, lifting a hand to wave. Her eyes grew even wider as she waved back enthusiastically, giggling.

“What reputation?” the Commander countered calmly. “The one of the fleeing princess brought down by a vegetable cart?”

“Exactly,” you shot back without hesitation, striving for cool, royal composure. “In case you haven’t noticed, our people love me.”

Still annoyed that Master Spee’s – oh, good, this time the name had stuck – vegetables had once again cut your time in the city short, you rested your elbow against the Commander’s broad back and propped your chin in your hand.

There you hung, like a sack of grain slung over his shoulder, his hand firm against your lower back. You knew no amount of struggling would free you from his iron grip. You’d only make a fool of yourself trying.

Not once did he have to adjust his grip. Not once did he need to shift your weight. Commander Kennedy was such a strong man that you weren’t surprised in the slightest by the story that he had once singlehandedly stopped an entire pirate crew from robbing the bank – simply ordering his men to stand down and protect the townspeople while he subdued the marauders himself and even captured one of the most dangerous pirate captains in the process.

At least, that was how the story went. And you had watched that very captain hang. So there had to be at least some truth to it.

A quiet laugh drifted through the air, reaching your ear. “That they do, Princess.” He paused briefly, glancing left and right before adding, “Though they might love you even more if you didn’t insist on getting caught every single time.”

“Hey.” Your hand landed squarely in the middle of his back with a mock-offended smack.

He laughed louder this time. The deep, warm sound brought a soft heat to your cheeks, and suddenly you found yourself oddly content with your situation. This man would always carry you back home himself. If only home didn’t feel so much like a gilded cage.

Without your loyal Commander, perhaps you would have sailed the seas long ago, just as your mother once advised.

“I will outsmart you yet, Leon.”

You said his name quietly, meant only for the two of you. It earned you the smallest reaction, his fingers twitching ever so slightly against your back.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he murmured in return.

The incline of the road ahead told you the palace was near, its gates only a few steps away. The city lay far beneath you now, life already distant.

Still, you could make out the town square, and the tavern the pirates had mentioned. Would they really be there And more importantly: why was a pirate crew in Port Raccoon? Should you tell someone?

“Commander Kennedy approaching. Open the gates!” The call rang out ahead of you.

You were still undecided as he carried you through the opening gates. The guards’ faces lit up with open amusement as they came into your line of sight. Bold men, considering you had slipped right past them earlier and fully intended to do so again.

Really, they should thank you. You had perfected the art of escape so thoroughly that no one could blame the guards when it happened anymore. The two of them managed cheerful nods as you waved back just as brightly.

The gates shut behind you. Captured once more.

There was one advantage, at least. Leon’s arm tightened around you before he effortlessly lifted you forward. In a dizzying motion, the stone ground vanished from your view, replaced by a brief brush of familiar hair against your cheek, the embroidered detail of a high-ranking vest sliding past your gaze, followed by a fleeting glimpse of stubble framing a striking face.

The moment passed far too quickly for your liking as your feet touched solid ground again.

After the excitement of the day – your escape, the chase, the entirely ceremonial return behind palace walls – you finally had the chance to properly look at the Commander’s face again. You never tired of it.

Leon Kennedy was a handsome man – ash-blond hair falling softly into his eyes, eyes as deep blue as the open sea, their expression most often gentle when turned toward you. At least when you weren’t actively running from him.

Here, within the confines of the palace, where he could see you clearly, Leon relaxed – and you knew it. He only ever wanted to protect you. It was simply the only way he knew how.

Leon didn’t care much for appearances. He refused the cumbersome hats or even wigs the navy favored for uniformity. His neck was always free of cravats, his attire the only concession to his rank – and even now, his rich coat was missing, his vest slightly too undone, the shirt beneath worn loose.

But he cared about his duty. His duty to the king even more than his duty to you – and that was something you were painfully aware of.

You had known him for as long as you could remember, your earliest memories of him little more than a wobbly image of musket training in his youth.

Somehow, the stars had aligned so that the two of you had simply… begun spending time together. You could hardly recall how it started – perhaps with one of your father’s orders for him to watch over you during a voyage, on your way to yet another suitor you had successfully driven off shortly after the fact.

And now he was simply the default soldier whenever it came to matters involving you. Your father trusted Leon with his life. And with yours. And you would trust Leon with yours just as readily.

You watched his shoulders drop ever so slightly in relief, a quiet breath escaping him before he straightened again into the rigid posture of the Commander of the Royal Guard, his gaze shifting past you.

“Ah, here we have our runaway,” your father’s unmistakable voice rang out behind you.

Accompanied by a visibly flustered court secretary, he approached through the grand double doors, his expression practiced and unreadable.

“Hello, Father.”

You greeted him as though this were any ordinary day – and in a way, it was. You smiled, carrying yourself with all the grace and composure expected of a princess.

“Hello, Mister Daveson,” you added, turning to the secretary as well. He adjusted his round spectacles and offered a brief, almost imperceptible smile.

The King raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by your performance. “I am late for a meeting with the chamberlain. Commander Kennedy will escort you to your chambers so you may change for your lesson.”

Before he and his secretary could pass you, your father placed a hand on your shoulder and leaned in close, as though to greet you warmly.

Instead, he whispered into your ear: “We will speak about this later. This cannot continue.”

The words were spoken neutrally, no anger in his tone – but you knew he meant them. You swallowed hard. In what he said, you understood that you wouldn’t be able to keep living like this for much longer.

When your father pulled away again, his smile was warm, affectionate. With a heavy heart, you mirrored it – graceful, practiced, exactly as you had been taught.

“Let’s go, Princess,” you heard Leon say behind you, a firm edge to his voice.

With a small nudge from your father, you had to catch yourself from stumbling forward before you started walking. You didn’t look back toward the gates – to freedom. Only the sound of the Commander’s footsteps beside you grounded you as you stepped through the palace entrance.

The noble halls of your home felt dull. They had, ever since your mother passed. As Queen, she had brought life into these marble corridors, into the tapestry-draped walls and the gardens beyond. With her, everything had been full of color – bright, radiant.

Without her, those colors had faded. You had tried your best to fill that void, but you had always failed.

And now, it seemed your father was giving up on you entirely. Never listening to your pleas not to be married off to a stranger. You fought against the weight building in your chest.

“You worry him,” Leon’s voice broke the silence between you.

At first, you didn’t respond. He defended the King too often – reasoned his way out of every moment where he had looked at you a little too long… just as you had looked at him. Every moment where you had been something close to carefree.

Your gaze stayed fixed ahead, passing door after door leading into the countless salons, heading toward your quarters – and your lady-in-waiting’s. She hadn’t helped you this time. But the maid who had – Marie. You remembered now. And you would remember her.

“He only wants what’s best for you,” Leon continued, making it worse.

“I know!” you snapped, quieter than your tone suggested – low, sharp, meant for him alone. A tone you could only ever use with Leon. “But what’s best for me is certainly not… this.”

You gestured vaguely around you. He understood.

“He wants you safe.”

“Please, stop.”

You had reached your chamber doors when you turned to face him. His eyes were already on you, concern flickering within them as he waited for what you would say. You made sure no one was nearby before speaking again, your voice steady.

“Leon.”

His lips thinned. “Don’t call me that in the open,” he muttered, glancing around. “Walls have ears here.”

“There’s no one here,” you countered, though your voice dropped anyway. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Without giving yourself time to reconsider, you grabbed his hand and pulled him inside your chambers. He didn’t resist, following you into the antechamber as you shut the door behind you and locked it.

Leon looked around as though he’d never been here before, before his deep blue eyes returned to you, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and unmistakable unease.

The way he stood there – so dutiful, so loyal, and yet so… conflicted – you exhaled slowly, letting some of the tension slip away before facing him fully again. You knew him well enough. His words came from reason. From something meant to make this easier to bear.

“I don’t want to be safe, Leon,” you said quietly. “Not if it means marrying a stranger. Not if it means spending the rest of my life surrounded by walls. Not if it means –” you swallowed, “ – never knowing love.”

Leon struggled. You could see it in the way he stood there amidst the soft tones of your chamber, starting one sentence, then another, stopping, searching.

In the end, he settled on, “You have the love of your people.”

Even he didn’t believe it.

You scoffed. “Yes, the people I’m forbidden to see.”

When you stepped toward him, he stepped back.

“Why doesn’t he want for me what he had with my mother, Leon? Why won’t anyone give me the chance to choose my own path?”

Something in him snapped tight.

This time, he stepped forward instead, as though your words had cut through whatever restraint he held. You didn’t move. Didn’t retreat.

“No, you don’t understand.” He lifted a hand toward you – but it hovered there, suspended between you instead of touching. “I would do anything for you.” The same hand dropped sharply, coming to rest near the hilt of his sword. “He is my King. But you are my Princess.”

Your chest rose and fell with a heavy breath. “Then why –”

“If I could,” he interrupted, his voice quieter now. Resigned. He stepped back again. “I swore an oath. To serve the King. To carry out his will, no matter the cost.” His jaw tightened. “Even if that means…” The words didn’t come. “Even if that means setting aside my own interests. After all – I am only the Commander.”

The disappointment hit, familiar and sharp. His duty came before everything. It was something you loved about him – and something you hated.

A princess and a commander. In your world, that wasn’t a story that existed. No matter the affection between you. No matter the trust.

“Out there,” you said anyway, quieter now, “it doesn’t matter who you are.” You met his gaze. “You’re more than a Commander.”

This time, you closed the distance, and he didn’t stop you. You stepped into his space, his expression softening as he looked down at you.

Your hand found the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing the fabric, lingering – your eyes dropping to his throat, watching the subtle movement as he swallowed.

“We were carefree out there,” you reminded him softly, thinking of the city, the harbor, the world beyond these walls. “We could –”

Your name left his lips, sharp and quiet all at once. “Stop.”

His hand closed around yours, gently but firmly pulling it away from his collar, that softness in his gaze now threaded with the faintest hint of steel.

“We cannot. I will not let you ruin yourself for me. You are far too precious for that.”

And yet, his lips brushed over your knuckles in quiet reverence.

You knew it had been a stretch. Maybe even foolish. You had known what he would say. Still, it made you angry.

“Instead, you’d rather let me be sold off to some stranger,” you said quietly, sadness slipping into your voice, watching how his lips lingered a second too long against your fingers before he finally pulled away. “Worst case, an old, brutal man.”

The Commander himself was older than you, too. But age had never mattered, not in your world. So why did it now? Because of constructs like rank and title?

“If it means you can live a life of safety and prosperity, then yes.”

More than the words, it was the conviction in his voice that cut.

“I see.” Bitterness crept into your own tone. You pulled your hand back, brushing over the place his lips had been. “In the end, you just want to control me.” That cool, composed façade returned. “It’s easier for you if you can see what happens to me.”

“It’s not like that,” Leon tried, his voice softer now. “Wherever you are sent, I will make sure to follow. To stand by your side through all of it.”

A sad smile curved your lips. “Even if the King allowed it – I don’t want you at my side, tending to wounds you helped cause.”

Leon’s brows drew together, helplessness flickering across his face. “You have to understand.”

“I do.”

You turned on your heel, pushing open the double doors to your bedroom. “Not even my protector truly wants my security.”

You glanced back at him over your shoulder, just once. Whatever might have been, he refused it.

“You can go, Commander Kennedy.”

As the doors shut behind you, Leon dragged a hand over his face. His heart was hammering, his throat tight and dry. What in God’s name had he been thinking? Saying that – to you? Like that?

“Damn.”

Dressed in a simple dress from the hidden compartment in your wardrobe, a cloak draped over your figure, hood pulled low over your face, you stepped into the tavern. The contrast hit you like a wave.

This place – warm, alive, loud – collided violently with the cold, rigid reality of the palace. For a moment, it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

Back there, you had cried. Had been paralyzed. Ignored your lessons. Refused to speak to anyone. Your father had postponed your conversation until morning – and without a doubt stationed guards at your door.

And yet, the thought of the pirate, Carlos, had lingered.

If no one else was on your side, you had nothing left to lose.

You had climbed out the window, knotted bedsheets lowering you down the palace wall, fully aware you could have fallen. Still, anything was better than the fate waiting for you.

Ashley Graham had been on that ship. What did that mean? Had he taken her? Or… had he saved her?

It was a fragile, almost foolish hope – but it was enough to carry you into this unfamiliar world.

You had never stepped into a tavern this late before. It was everything and more than you had imagined. Voices layered over one another, laughter ringing out, a lively band playing fiddle tunes, people dancing, candlelight flickering, mugs clashing together. For one night, everyone here was carefree. You wanted that, too.

Carefully, a little unsure, you pushed your hood back and loosened the clasp of your cloak, your gaze sweeping over the crowd in search of the people you had met at the harbor.

“You came!”

The man with the shaggy dark hair and bright grin spotted you first. Carlos pushed his way through the crowd between the entrance and the bar, making his way toward you.

For a moment, doubt crept in. Had you really chosen to accept a pirate’s invitation – to a place you didn’t know?

His hand was calloused, but gentle, as it closed around yours, giving a light, inviting pull – not dragging you, but waiting for you to take that step yourself.

And he smiled at you in a way that made his words almost unnecessary. “Don’t worry. The others are just ahead.”

You took a small breath, trying to steady yourself, and followed him. 

The mystery of his crew still lingered. Jill – his first mate, apparently – stood at the bar with a mug in hand, talking to another woman. Red hair, freckles, an open, easy smile. She nodded at something Jill had just said.

Neither of them wore dresses. Loose trousers, boots instead of heels, belts, simple shirts – white on Jill, black on the other. They looked… put together. Not at all like you would have imagined pirates.

Both turned as Carlos approached with you in tow, their smiles widening.

“That’s Claire, the one you heard shouting,” Carlos said, gesturing toward the redhead. “Loudest one of us all.”

“Nice to meet you,” Claire smiled warmly, completely ignoring Carlos.

“I’m surprised you came,” Jill added, studying you.

“Are you, though?” Carlos shot back with a grin, nudging her shoulder affectionately. 

Jill rolled her eyes, amused.

“You ever had a good, cold beer?” Carlos asked, turning back to you.

“Uh –” You cleared your throat, still not entirely ready to speak. “I usually drink port.”

“Well, then, it’s your lucky day.”

Carlos ordered at the bar and moments later slid a mug of golden liquid into your hands. You eyed the foam on top with mild suspicion.

“To brave princesas!”

Jill and Claire exchanged amused looks before accepting the toast, raising their mugs toward you as well. The wood smashed together a little too forcefully, the vibration traveling through your hand. Before the tremor could make you drop your mug, you took a large sip.

The drink rolled malty over your tongue, different from wine, but just as sharp in your throat. Somehow, the burn steadied you, sparked a sense of belonging – especially when Carlos laughed.

“Ah – guess I meant hard-drinking princesas.”

With a heavy breath, you lowered the mug again and finally introduced yourself, your name, until now, unspoken.

“We know,” Jill said matter-of-factly. “If not from the pretty Commander, then definitely from Ashley.”

“Aw, don’t make me jealous, Jill.” Carlos grinned at his first mate, leaning casually against the bar, looking like a mildly offended puppy.

“Who are you all?” The question had been burning on your tongue. Loosened by the alcohol, it came easier now. “You don’t seem like a typical pirate crew.”

The three of them exchanged a glance, some silent conversation passing between them.

“That’s because they won’t let me be a proper, drunken, filthy pirate,” Carlos joked, nodding toward his crew.

“You’re damn right we won’t,” Claire confirmed, her tone strict but amused.

“Let me ask you something first,” Carlos cut in, his tone shifting slightly. His expression grew more serious as he leaned toward you. “Why were you running from the pretty –” he emphasized the word deliberately, shooting Jill a sidelong glance as she raised her mug to him “ – Commander?”

Your last conversation with Leon flooded your mind, pulling a sigh from your lips.

“Uh-oh. That bad?” Carlos turned fully toward you, elbows resting on the counter, posture relaxed but attention sharp.

You had no reason to hide it, so you were about to explain when suddenly, a hand landed on your shoulder from somewhere in the crowd. Too fast for any of you to react.

“Sh-she’sh the Princessh again!” a familiar voice slurred.

Spee.

The vegetable vendor dug his fingers into your shoulder even as you tried to shake him off.

“Master Spee,” you identified him aloud. “You must be mistaken. How many fingers am I holding up?”

The man swayed dangerously from side to side, perhaps using you to stay upright. It almost amused you; you knew him well enough to know he meant no harm. So you played along, raising three fingers.

“D-don’t shstart with me, missy,” he mumbled, his grip still firm. “Alwaysh runnin’ through de shtreets like a madwoman… alwaysh with my cabbbbages…”

He wobbled hard to the right, then steadied himself with a shake of his head.

“Fff I bring yous back to se plalace, might ern me some more coin...”

His grip tightened. It stung. You didn’t move.

“You don’t want to do that right now, Master Spee,” you warned, your tone firm.

“Yeh, yeh,” he dismissed, already tugging at you. “Not supposed to be ‘ere…”

What happened next unfolded too fast to stop.

“Hey, let the lady go,” you heard Carlos step in, but your fist was already clenched.

All the frustration, all the anger – at being controlled, told where to go, what to do, how to live – found its outlet in that moment.

Your arm shot up. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for impact. Your fist connected with an audible smack, right into Spee’s face.

Pain shot sharply through your fingers. You recoiled, hissing between clenched teeth, shaking out your hand.

Spee staggered backward. For a second, he stared at you in disbelief.

You braced yourself to run.

Instead, his eyes rolled back. And slowly, almost gently, he tipped backward, until gravity took over and he crashed onto the wooden floor with a heavy thud.

You blinked, looking down at him. Then at your throbbing hand. Instead of shock, something else crept in: Satisfaction.

A small, almost casual shrug followed.

Only then did you notice the silence. The tavern had gone quiet. Eyes rested on you, or on Spee sprawled across the floor. Apparently, the good people of Port Raccoon didn’t make a habit of tavern brawls.

“No fighting in my tavern!” the barkeep barked.

You turned toward him, your expression as steady as you could manage. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Carlos’ wide grin – he wasn’t stepping in. He was letting you handle this.

The tavern owner – a broad man with a shaved head – raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, polishing a glass like something straight out of a story.

“That goes for little princesses, too,” he added, clearly recognizing you.

You said nothing. Just held his gaze.

His other eyebrow joined the first.

Around you, the murmur of conversation slowly returned.

“Knocked him clean out,” Carlos commented behind you, eyeing Spee. “Someone get that man a bucket of cold water!”

His voice cut through the tension, breaking the spell.

“It was clearly self-defense,” you added, still looking at the barkeep.

His brows lowered again, and he sighed. “Suppose it was. Mister Spee could use some fresh air anyway.”

Just like that, you were free.

Two strong men dragged Spee outside. The music picked back up. Laughter returned. The warmth of the tavern settled in again – only now, there was something new in the air.

Respect. You could see it in the glances. In the nods sent your way.

Carlos let out a deep, loud laugh.

“Feel better now?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” you replied, strengthened by your little victory.

“Friendly tip.” Without hesitation, Carlos took your hand – his rough, calloused fingers contrasting sharply with your own, untouched by physical labor. The difference sent a shiver down your spine as he ran his hands over yours surprisingly gentle – back of your hand, palm, thumb.

“Next time, don’t tuck your thumb. That’s what breaks your hand if you punch hard enough.”

He was close. Too close. You wanted to pull your hand away – but you didn’t.

Someone bumped into you, forcing you a step forward, your forearm brushing against his.

Dark, deep eyes lifted from your hand to your face. His grin softened, lips curving into something more sincere, calm, while you were certain you looked like a startled deer. This was no ordinary pirate.

“Or –” his voice dropped lower, “ – just use those lethal eyes of yours.”

Your mind scrambled for something clever to say. With Leon, this would have been easier.

“Okay, that’s enough now, old charmer,” Claire cut in. “He does that to everyone. You’ll get used to it.” She nudged Carlos away from you with a crooked smile. “I think she’s earned an answer to her question, aye, Captain?”

“Good job using the pirate language.” Carlos nudged Claire’s arm before nodding, turning back to you.

“You know Ashley,” he said, his tone more serious now.

You nodded, waiting.

“You probably thought we kidnapped her.”

“Eh… didn’t get that feeling,” you shrugged.

Carlos smirked. “Because we didn’t. All of my crew are princesses, royals, high-born daughters from near and distant lands. Ashley’s from nearby, so she stayed on the ship for now.”

You blinked, trying very hard not to let your mouth fall open again.

“Honestly?”

Your gaze flicked to Jill and Claire, who seemed thoroughly entertained by your reaction. They nodded – composed, elegant… but with bright, happy eyes.

“W-wait, so –” you tried to piece it together, “ – you go with him for… what? Lawlessness? Gold? Or…” You barely dared to finish the thought.

“It’s freedom,” Jill said, looking out over the crowd, clearly soaking it in.

Claire nodded. “Freedom to make our own choices.”

“Not being sold off to the highest bidder.”

“Living a life we actually chose.”

The two of them looked at you knowingly.

“Not being chased through the city by the Commander of the Guard,” Jill added.

Your eyes widened. They knew everything you’d been about to say. Was this… your way out?

“There’s still room on the ship,” Carlos’ voice came from beside you – warm, inviting. “With Ashley. You could join us. Just imagine.”

He stepped behind you, hands settling on your shoulders. His dark hair brushed your cheek as he leaned in close again, his breath warm against your ear as he painted the picture:

“The endless sea. No rules. Adventure.”

He shifted to your other side.

“No one telling you what to do. Well, except me. I’m Captain Carlos Oliveira.” He chuckled. “No laws. Going wherever you want, doing whatever you want.”

His words echoed in your mind as you saw Jill and Claire nodding.

“I…” you whispered.

You could rewrite your fate. What was the alternative? Never making a choice of your own? Marrying someone you didn’t want? Living a life that slowly broke you?

“I want to be free,” you said, voice steadier now. You turned to Carlos, fighting back tears. “But I don’t know if I can.”

Carlos looked at you with understanding. “Ashley said the same thing. You two are alike.” His voice lifted, brighter now. “Luckily – this city has something Ashley didn’t have.”

“What’s that?” you asked.

“It’s a compass.” He raised his hands apologetically – and immediately gave you a reason. “Before you get skeptical: yes, we originally planned to use you to get it. Buuut –” He placed a finger lightly against your lips before you could protest.

Pirates.

“After seeing your pretty – ” quick glance to Jill, “ – Commander chasing you, and the way you knocked that guy out… safe to say we changed our minds. You’re like the crew.” He lowered his hand when he saw you’d calmed. “You could have a place with us. But we need that compass. That’s why we’re here.”

“What’s so special about it?” you asked, still hesitant.

Carlos’ chest rose slightly, excitement flashing across his face.

“It shows you what you desire most.”

You were already about to scoff – another pirate tale – but he cut you off again.

“It’s real. And your King keeps it in his treasury. Think about it. You just help us get the compass. It tells you if you should come with us. If not – ” he lifted one hand, like weighing scales, “ – you expose us. Send your Royal Navy after us.” His other hand rose. “But if it’s real… you find out what your heart truly wants.”

You looked between his hands. On one side – expectation. On the other – truth.

The choice suddenly felt simple. And you weren’t going to let them decide your life for you.

“Let’s do it.”

Carlos grinned, triumphant.

“Jill, Claire, make the ship ready to sail.”

“That’s quite the contraption you built there. Bold, too,” Carlos remarked as he climbed before you.

Together, you scaled the palace wall you had escaped earlier. No one had come looking for you, your makeshift rope of knotted sheets still dangling from the window, the palace resting in quiet summer stillness.

Only the sound of the sea and the occasional cry of a gull filled the air. Back here, near your chambers, no guards patrolled.

Reaching the top, Carlos leaned in through the window, then offered you his hand, pulling you inside.

“Nice decor,” he commented casually.

“Shh.” You raised a finger to your lips, urging him to stay quiet. “After today, they definitely have guards posted outside my door.”

Carlos’ voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe even that pretty Commander?”

“Can be as pretty as he wants – he didn’t exactly cover himself in glory today,” you shot back under your breath.

If that compass was real – and if it showed you what you suspected – even Leon wouldn’t be able to stop you.

“Good girl. Standing up to your oppressors, no exceptions for the pretty ones, eh?”

Carlos stayed right behind you as you crossed the room toward the wall opposite your bed.

“He’s just following orders like a well-trained dog,” you explained, feeling along the wall. “I don’t think he actually wants to be like that.” You pressed lightly. “There we go.”

“Oh, neat. One of those secret passages.” Carlos leaned past you, peering into the dark corridor. “You don’t suppose the dog posted guards there too?”

You shook your head, suppressing a small laugh at his wording – and at how easily he seemed to encourage you.

“I don’t think so. But you should wait here. If they catch me alone, they’ll just bring me back here.” You glanced over your shoulder. “Close it behind me, alright?”

“Hey.” Carlos stopped you just before you could step into the darkness.

You turned to him.

In the dim light of your chamber, illuminated only by the moon slipping through the window, there was something… familiar in the way he looked at you. Exciting – but steady, too. Calm in the face of a storm.

As if this man, this pirate, was what you’d been searching for, without ever quite knowing it.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “for indulging me.” He smiled and nudged your shoulder, just like he had with the others. “I swear on my life, and the graves of my friends, that I’m telling the truth. This will change our lives. Trust me?”

Warmth spread through you as you returned his open smile. “Yes.”

His grew wider, satisfied. “Off you go then, Princesa Pirata.”

You kept to the shadows, avoiding the soldiers patrolling the halls, anything to remain unseen. If you were caught, you’d say you’d been allowed out for a walk to calm your sleeplessness. It was the best excuse you could come up with. Luckily, you knew the palace like the back of your hand and found your way to the treasury with ease.

Getting inside, however – that was the real challenge. It was, naturally, guarded. By two soldiers you knew well. The very same ones who had opened the gates earlier, after Leon had caught you.

You couldn’t have asked for better. A plan formed quickly – risky, maybe a little cruel – but effective. You’d have to be fast.

From behind the corner, you started breathing erratically, then hurried toward them.

“Thank God I found you,” you gasped, voice low and urgent.

They snapped out of their routine instantly, alarmed by your presence.

“Princess?” one asked. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s pirates,” you whimpered. Finally, your acting lessons proved useful for something other than reciting poetry for nobles.

“Pirates?!” they echoed in unison.

“I didn’t know where to go. The guards outside my chambers told me to stay, but I’m so scared…”

“Why haven’t they sounded the alarm yet?” the one on the right asked frantically, glancing toward the stairs.

“I think they killed the others,” you added, laying it on thick and hoping they’d believe you. They did.

“Stay here, Princess. This time, truly. We’ll raise the alarm and deal with the pirates.”

You nodded quickly, hands clasped tightly together, making yourself as small as possible while they rushed past you.

You watched them disappear up the stairs before relaxing, straightening, letting your hands fall loosely at your sides.

“Huh,” you muttered. “That was easy.”

Maybe you would make a decent pirate.

Now you just had to be quick – before Carlos thought you’d betrayed him. If the compass turned out to be a lie, you’d let him go anyway. Then this would simply be your last great adventure.

In their haste, the guards had left the keys right on their small table.

For once, things were simple.

Just as you unlocked the door, the alarm bell rang out. Adrenaline surged through your veins, your stomach dropping.

“Quick, quick,” you urged yourself.

The treasury overflowed with gold, jewels, everything your father and his navy had gathered over the years, through taxes and seized pirate ships.

You searched frantically. If you didn’t find the compass within three minutes, you’d turn back. You didn’t know this place well enough, so you dug through drawers, boxes, piles of coins – until your eyes landed on a small, unremarkable case sitting between a golden goblet and some sort of trophy.

It didn’t even rattle when you picked it up, the alarm still ringing, footsteps echoing somewhere nearby. Inside, wrapped in cloth: A compass.

“I’ll be damned,” you murmured, already practicing your pirate curses.

You opened it. The needle trembled. Shook. Spun wildly – no north, no direction. Then it stilled. Pointing straight out of the chamber.

You looked toward the exit – and followed it without hesitation, leaving the door open behind you as you ran. Through shadows again, stopping only when necessary, letting searching soldiers pass.

“What is all this chaos about!?” your father’s voice rang out somewhere in the distance.

“Pirates have infiltrated the palace, Your Majesty!”

“What?! That is impossible. Who told you that?”

“The Princess came running and –”

“The Princess?” That voice belonged to Leon. Not as loud as your father’s. Not as frantic as the others. But threaded with something between surprise… and inevitability.

They were on your trail. You sprinted back through the hidden passage into your room.

The chamber itself remained untouched, by whatever stroke of supernatural luck had been watching over you, and Carlos was still there, exactly where you had left him.

“What happened?” he asked, eyes wide, though his posture remained disturbingly relaxed.

“Had to do some improv theater,” you replied, opening the compass again.

You needed to know.

From Carlos’ amused grin, your gaze dropped to the compass.

You exhaled.

Then looked back up at him, his hand already extended toward you.

“You coming?”

You stepped forward, following the direction the compass had shown you.

Your hand found his.

Amid the pounding of boots, the shouting voices, the sound of doors being thrown open, he guided you toward the window.

Your eyes fell on the sea.

“Princess!”

The voice alone wouldn’t have stopped you.

But the hand that caught your arm, still inside the room, did.

One foot already on the windowsill, you turned, your hand still firmly in Carlos’, to face Leon.

The Commander’s eyes were wide with shock, lips parted as he struggled to breathe, hair disheveled from being torn out of sleep.

“Leon,” you said softly, gently, understanding. Of course he would try to stop you. “Let me go.”

The emotions overwhelmed you. You were so close to the sky – he only had to let you.

“Let me go, Leon,” you repeated, tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t want this life.”

“How…? I–I can’t –” Leon tried to make sense of it, of how everything had spiraled within mere hours. “I should’ve looked out for you, I–”

“No.”

More footsteps. More voices calling your name.

“Look out for me now, Leon. Let me go. Please.”

You leaned forward slightly. His gaze flickered briefly from your eyes to your lips, before they settled on the corner of his mouth, that spot in between his lips and cheek. Too much and not enough.

In the moonlight, his blue eyes softened, just as his grip on your arm did.

“I will follow.” His voice was barely more than a breath. Was it a threat or a promise?

“You do that, Commander.”

The door burst open again – just as your arm slipped free from Leon’s grasp.

He hadn't even noticed them, and the next morning he walked straight out of home and into a meeting wearing one of his usual low-cut shirts, the top button left undone, unknowingly displaying every faint bruise you left on him— for the world to see.

After all, he had absolutely no idea they were there, and before leaving that morning, Leon had asked if you'd be coming with him, but you'd simply smiled and told him you'd join him a little later since there were a few things you still had to take care of.

And of course your sweetest—completely oblivious boyfriend agreed.

You, however, knew, the reason.

Truth was you wanted him to go first— to walk into that damn DSO meeting completely oblivious, letting everyone know exactly who Leon belonged to. That ridiculously handsome, unfairly charming pookie of a man was taken, and unconditionally content in his love life.

Though you also knew that if Leon had caught on to what you were doing, he would've turned the tables on you in a heartbeat. He'd have left far more than a couple of 'love bite' marks, making sure you were the one walking around flustered instead. But today wasn't about you. It was about him.

So well here you were. Also— you did agree it wasn't the right thing to do, and of course it wasn't exactly your proudest moment, to be honest.

But at the party the night before, you'd caught far too many women staring at him, their gaze lingering on him just a second too long. God, you hated it. You hated them.

But you also knew there was no reason to feel that way. Leon had never given you a single reason to doubt him. He was loyal without a question, never hid your relationship, and made it clear to anyone who asked that he was yours.

But jealousy always seeped in like a seed that was planted unknowingly, and grew far more worse: with every rain of trigger.

So you did what you thought was best and if you were being truthful, it would be a lie to pretend you hadn't wanted to leave those marks behind— just a quiet, possessive reminder that the man everyone couldn't stop looking at was already deeply loved.

By you.

...

Later at the office, Leon had arrived a good thirty minutes early, and only a handful of agents had made it to the meeting room so far, along with his good old friend, Chris. Not that Leon paid them much mind to anyone except chris.

Though he noticed everyone was giving him looks that said "we know something, you don't," but of course he didnt give a shit about it.

Instead, he absentmindedly swiveled back and forth in his chair, because well...sometimes you just had to let your inner child out.

"Seems like someone had a good time," Chris teased, pulling him out of his thoughts, and raising a brow at Leon as chris absentmindedly played with the coffee mug resting in his hand.

"What—?" Leon blinked, and stopped altogether swiveling on the chair and immediately looked at the big buff man sitting in the chair across him and turned crimson at the thought that someone somehow knew what might've happened the night before.

But...wait. How would they know?

Chris had to be messing with him.

"Don't act coy, Agent Kennedy," Chris quipped, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, as he rested his mug gently on the table in front of him while leaning forward on the table until his chest brushed the edge of the wooden desk before him, and his gaze lingered on the bruises on the man in front of him.

Leon frowned before instinctively reaching for his neck, and the moment his fingers brushed over the tender spots, realization hit him, that you had— marked him as yours.

Not that he complained.

Then a sheepish smile appeared at the corner of his mouth and he smirks, "well..." and instead of buttoning up his shirt or trying to hide the scattered bruises, Leon simply leaned back in his chair, a smug smile spreading across his face and if anything, he tugged his collar just enough that they were even more obvious.

Chris snorted, shaking his head. "Showing them off now?"

"Dunno what you're talking about," Leon replied far too innocently, though the proud grin on his face definitely said otherwise.

Slowly, the meeting room filled with chatter as more agents filtered in. You, however, were still nowhere to be seen— you were late, just as you'd told Leon you would be, knowing you'd be arriving later, he didn't think much of it.

and now he understood why everyone was giving him 'that look', or those lingering glances. But none of it bothered him in the slightest and all of it made him smile even harder.

After all, if people knew he belonged to you, that was only a good thing.

The meeting ran for another twenty minutes and the second it ended, Leon found you almost immediately, and gently he backed you into the nearest quiet hallway with a grin that said he almost amused at your little sneaky attempt.

You didn't even get the chance to catch your breath. Instead, his hands came down on either side of you, boxing you in, feeling a little cornered, or a little shy, you didnt know your gaze instantly dropped to the floor below, because you already knew exactly what he wanted to, "confront" you about.

not that you were scared actually far from it--

"So..." he murmured, fingers brushing lightly beneath your chin and tipping it upwards until your 'shy' gaze met with his darkened orbs. "Thought you'd leave me walking around like that all day, huh?" He quipped running his tongue over his bottom lip before giving it a seductive bite.

You tried to hide the 'I should probably feel guilty,' but soon 'I absolutely don't' smile tugs at your lips, and exactly you failed miserably.

Because well...you'd already dug yourself into the hole, so you might as well own it. "It worked, didn't it?" you asked with a shameless little grin.

"Careful, amore," he said, leaning in to you until his slightly parted lips breathed into the shell of your ear. "Because tonight..." he pauses, before giving your earlobe a little nibble, which makes you gasp his name like a soft prayer.

He grins at your reaction, then pulling himself back a little, he whispers in his deep husky voice "I'll be the one marking you."

and definitely you melted right there and then on the floor like a ice-cream on a summer afternoon.

That was probably why you’d gone all out tonight. Or maybe because a date night like this was rare. Full glam. The most expensive version of yourself. Your best makeup skills, your favorite dress, the sexiest lingerie you owned. You only hoped you looked as much like a million dollars as you felt. If only you could decide on a hairstyle.

You blew a raspberry and let your hair fall loose. Maybe just taming it a little would be enough. It would have to be enough. He surely liked you even without an elaborate hairstyle – the rest was elaborate enough already.

You were just putting on the final touch in the form of jewelry – also courtesy of him – when the doorbell rang. Both of you right on time, as you always seemed to manage.

“Coming!”

Still fastening your last earring, you hurried as fast as you could in your black heels, adorned with golden details, toward the apartment door. You opened it with a bright smile – only to be greeted not by his face, but by a bouquet of flowers. Your heart made a small, happy leap. You hadn’t been together all that long, but he clearly knew you well enough not to buy cliché roses. No – this was a bouquet of wildflowers, not too big, perfectly suited for your living room.

The bouquet shifted to the side, revealing a softly smiling Leon Kennedy – that endlessly attractive man who, through an almost impossible chain of events involving the White House, the FBI, bureaucracy, and finally, a question from Ingrid Hunnigan, had crossed your path and stayed there ever since.

You’d never thought that an agent his age – well-traveled without a doubt, and so easy on the eyes – wouldn’t be married with a family, or at least in a long-term relationship. In any case, you hadn't believed a word he said when he’d told you on your first date in an upscale wine bar that he was in his late forties. Born in 1977. You’d quickly swallowed your sip of wine just to ask, “Beg your pardon?” Not because he was too old for you – but because he was far too well-built, moved far too agilely.

You’d studied him more closely then: the broad shoulders beneath a long-sleeved, comfortable-looking cotton sweater, the way the fabric stretched lightly over his upper arms, hugging his body, his shape unmistakable – because it was hard to hide even under a sweater. The only thing that could have given away his age were the lines on his face, the darker skin beneath his rare blue eyes – like snow falling from the sky on a warm summer day.

“Deal breaker?” Leon had asked with a smirk into his wine glass.

You’d blinked, snapping yourself out of the spell of his appearance, and shaken your head a little too vehemently. “N-No. No!” 

Quite the opposite – from that moment on, you’d needed more liquid courage, so you took another sip of wine and ordered a fresh glass. Leon had noticed, judging by the raised eyebrows and the self-satisfied grin forming on his face.

That night, both of you had thrown your good intentions of courtship out the window – and Leon had shown you exactly what a man his age had up his sleeve.

“Wow, those are beautiful,” you said now, accepting the wildflowers from him.

“They try,” Leon replied, “but they’re not as beautiful as you.”

He leaned casually against your doorframe, arms crossed. He, too, had dressed up – uncharacteristically so – wearing a tailored suit, his dark-blond hair neatly styled, his face clean-shaven. As so often, the clothes fit him perfectly: not too loose, not too tight, accentuating exactly the right parts of his body. He really didn’t look as old as he claimed to be. In his eyes sparkled a rare mix of affection and appreciation as he studied you in return.

“You look incredible.”

His gaze drifted over your lightly styled hair, your accentuated eyes, lingered for a few seconds on your lips before continuing – over the elegant sway of the off-the-shoulder black dress that reached just below your knees, the sheer black nylon on your legs – keen to figure out whether those were stockings, maybe even with lace – all the way down to your black heels. His lips parted slightly, a soft breath escaping them.

“Incredible…” he repeated, letting the word fade into the room.

“Likewise, Mr. Kennedy.” 

Your sugar-sweet words were followed by a step forward and a gentle brush of your lips against his – the lipstick was expensive, but you weren’t quite sure how kiss-proof it was. Leon’s mouth curved even further into a satisfied smile. You couldn’t resist adding, “Better not get used to it”, with a mischievous glint.

“Ah,” Leon waved it off. His arms untangled themselves, fingers finding your chin to keep your eyes on him. “You know I much prefer you in my sweatpants. They suit you much better than me.” He seemed to understand your earlier gesture, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“They really do, don’t they?” you replied with a shy smile, turning away to quickly put the flowers in a vase. They smelled like meadow, fields, open land. “Do you want to come in for just a moment?” You opened a kitchen cabinet and produced a suitable vessel.

“Better we leave so we’re on time for our reservation,” came from the apartment door.

“Okay! Just a moment. Let me get my purse.” The flowers found their place on your kitchen counter between kitchen and living room. On your way to the door, you grabbed your clutch and a shawl for your shoulders. Leon’s hand settled between your shoulder blades as you walked down the hallway toward the elevator.

“How did you even manage to get such a last-minute reservation at such an exclusive restaurant?”

Ever the gentleman, Leon had opened the door to his Porsche – another clear hint at just how much he must earn – helping you into the passenger seat before the engine roared to life. Now you sat comfortably in the spacious, cozy car with its passenger console, tuning the radio.

“Had Hunnigan call for me.”

Your head snapped toward Leon, who was wearing a mischievous grin.

“You’re kidding?” Did government dispatchers make restaurant reservations now?

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, I’m kidding.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes playfully.

“Some guy on Hunnigan’s team couldn’t make his reservation and asked around if anyone wanted to take his place. She told me and… here we are.”

“Lucky coincidence, I’d say.” You sank deeper into the upholstery. You’d already looked at the menu beforehand and had deliberately not eaten much today – hopefully you wouldn’t order too much, given the prices.

Leon hummed in agreement. “You deserve a nice evening.” His right hand left the steering wheel and settled on your thigh, over the soft fabric of your dress. Your own hand covered his, skin rough and marked by years of service to his country. He’d have to tell you sometime what exactly it was he did. It had to be something important – Secret Service, probably. And likely not something he was even allowed to talk about.

“You do too,” you murmured. Leon traveled a lot. Was gone a lot. Sometimes you wouldn’t hear from him for days while he was away. Then he’d suddenly knock on your door as if nothing had happened, mumbling something about bad reception. But in the short time you’d spent together, you’d seen them – the cuts scattered across his body, fresh and old alike. His work was dangerous – and one day, he’d have to tell you about it.

His hand lay flat against you, moving in slow, calming circles over the fabric of your dress, messing it up where it rested. The silky material shifted back and forth, revealing more of the dark nylon, more of your leg. A change Leon could only feel – his eyes firmly fixed on the road.

“I’m already having a nice evening,” he chuckled. His hand traced wider paths over your dress, messing up the fabric even more as he subtly tried to feel what lay beneath. He thought he could make out the lace he was hoping for at your thigh, and drew in a heavier breath. “You look incredibly sexy in this.”

You watched his hand roam over an ever-growing stretch of your leg, and you’d be lying if the way he moved it wasn’t enticing – or if you hadn’t noticed the hunger behind it. It tugged at you, around you and inside you, and your hand slid off his, letting him have his way. Leon shifted in his seat noticeably.

“Thought you preferred me in your sweatpants?” you countered with a challenging grin he could only hear in your voice.

Another soft chuckle. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it when my girlfriend dresses up for me.”

“You can’t even see,” you teased, a soft giggle slipping out.

“Doesn’t matter,” came the retort. “I prefer to feel anyway. You know that.”

Oh yes, you knew. Leon was a man who acted on instinct. It was evident in the way he explored your needs instead of asking about them. It often felt like he interpreted every hitch of your breath, every ripple of goosebumps, every one of your touches perfectly – translating them into exactly what you needed in that moment: his tongue, his fingers, his cock. All of it delivered with such devotion and understanding of your body, as if you were the long-married wife he knew by heart. 

And even now, you knew he noticed – the way his hand moved, the careful tug upward at the hem of your dress, made the heat rising inside you, your knees drifting apart without conscious thought. You knew he noticed… because that same hand slid from the fabric of your dress down onto your nylon stockings, just shy above your knee.

Tension built in your body as you braced your hands on either side of the wide seat, shifting in it, not quite sure where to put yourself.

“Eyes on the road, Leon…” You meant for the words to come out firm – he was still driving an expensive, fast car, after all – but they slipped from your lips more like a mumble as his fingers slowly but steadily glided under the hem of your dress and up your nylon-clad thigh.

“I have my eyes on the road, baby,” he assured you. And the way he said it – low and coaxing, paired with the pet name – lit a small fire inside you. You were torn between his calloused fingers, the tingling touches, and the fact that you were speeding down the highway. At least there wasn’t much traffic.

Leon’s fingers finally found what they were searching for, grazing the lace at the top of your stockings. He made an approving sound. Just a few inches higher, and he unexpectedly felt a clip. Another heavy breath escaped his lips.

“You’re wearing garters?”

You lifted your shoulders innocently. “Maybe.” All out meant all out.

The advantage of the situation was that you could watch him – while he couldn’t watch you. That’s why you saw how he adjusted himself in his seat just like you had, how his chest rose and fell a little more noticeably, how his hand gripped the steering wheel a few times. If that hadn’t already been proof enough that he was riling himself up, his next weighted words were: “God, you’re so hot.”

Pride bloomed inside you at how thoroughly you’d caught him off guard – usually, he was so composed, both in himself and in his touch. Maybe you should wear expensive lingerie for him more often. The cocky thought evaporated quickly, though, when Leon’s hand didn’t retreat but instead slid along the lace band to the inside of your thigh.

His fingers were so close to your panties now that you could feel their presence at your core. Your head tilted down, aligning your gaze with your lap – with where Leon’s hand was buried beneath your dress. Your breath rushed hot past your lips – damn it, you wanted him to touch you.

“What else does my hot girl have in store for me?”

Damn him. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He didn’t tease you. He never had been that kind of man. His fingers found the fabric of your panties and you gasped sharply. It throbbed between your legs, the pull growing firmer, more demanding, urging you to spread your legs wider for his exploring fingers.

“More lace,” Leon noted casually, masking the fact that his cock was pressing hard against the fabric of his suit pants – turned on beyond reason by your entire outfit, and this close to steering the Porsche off the highway and dragging you into the backseat. With his thumb, he applied gentle pressure to your clothed clit and was rewarded not only with a small, sweet sound slipping from your tongue, but also with the way your hips tilted forward, granting him even more access.

His hand cupped your pussy, prodding at the fabric at your entrance, feeling how much wetter you were getting – and with every passing second of this delicious torture (for him, probably even more than for you), it became harder for Leon to focus on the road. 

He wasn’t done yet. He needed to feel you properly, no matter what it did to him. He had to ignore the hard-on straining in his pants, the demanding pull low in his belly, the light sheen of sweat forming in his palm from sheer effort to control. He could do this. Age came with patience, after all. Or so people claimed.

“Legs wide, baby,” he instructed softly, not yet satisfied with the position you’d taken – somewhere between lying and sitting, your legs spread only as far as the seat allowed.

You breathed heavily under his touch, your panties practically ruined for the rest of the evening, your body flooded with need – not quite how you’d imagined the night beginning.

“Wh–what if someone sees?” you asked between uneven breaths, your gaze flicking forward, eyeing the other cars on the highway.

Leon clicked his tongue. “You know the windows are tinted.”

Of course you knew. You’d just… forgotten, caught up in the embarrassment of the situation.

“No one can see. Now, legs wide.”

You did your best not to rub your head too hard against the seatback – you didn’t want to mess up your hair – as you braced yourself, shifted your weight, and carefully let your knee slide over the left edge of the seat toward the center console, hoping you wouldn’t accidentally hit any important buttons. Did this ridiculously expensive sports car have an eject button?

Your dress slipped down all on its own, the fabric pooling at your hips, and for a brief moment you felt far less glamorous than you had half an hour ago. But Leon let out a deep, appreciative sound from his throat, and all embarrassment vanished when his fingers moved from above the lace of your panties to the waistband – and underneath.

The moment his index finger brushed your clit with the lightest touch, electric currents shot through your body and straight between your legs. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, unable to stop your head from knocking back against the headrest. 

How did he do that? How did he make you ache for every touch, craving him the instant he so much as nudged you? Like wax in his hands, he always made you reach for him – even in a situation like this – the fact that you were in a moving vehicle barely registering anymore.

You’d actually planned all of this as a surprise for after dinner – the whole look, all of it – but now it was far too late for that, and you yearned for his touch.

“You can open them,” you sighed, while his finger traced lazy circles over your steadily swelling clit.

“Hm?” Leon asked, his gaze locked firmly on the road. At least he took the driving seriously.

Even though – for a man who preferred feeling – he’d very much like to see just how aroused you were from this little bit of touching. By now, he doubted he’d even make it to the restaurant.

“The –” you swallowed, “the panties. They have clips. Because of the garters.”

You nearly protested when the stimulation from his fingers stopped.

Leon shot you a brief, surprised glance. Just two seconds before his eyes returned to the road – but long enough to catch a glimpse of what you’d become. His cock twitched hard in his pants as the image burned itself into his retina: you draped across the seat, one leg spread as wide as possible for him, hands braced at your sides, glassy eyes fixed on him.

“You serious?” he asked, fingers probing the side of your underwear – only to find the clips you’d mentioned.

He chuckled, but the little surprise – you, laid out like a gift just waiting to be unwrapped – was almost too much. His cock was no longer merely suggesting anything.

It was demanding your pussy.

So much for wise patience.

“You really went all out,” Leon remarked, wasting no time freeing your heated core from the confines of lace underwear. The soaked fabric slid down your thighs. Leon grabbed the panties and pulled them out from beneath your dress.

“Well, look at that.” For a brief moment, he inspected the mechanics of the garment before slipping it into his pocket – which, for some reason, only turned you on more, already anticipating his touch returning. How far away was the restaurant, anyway?

Leon didn’t make you wait long. His hand slid right back between your legs. You drew in a sharp breath. His fingers, no longer restricted by fabric around your core, spread your lips, granting themselves better access to your hard, throbbing nub. A moan finally escaped you as he rolled his index finger firmly over you. Your hips lifted automatically into his touch, your body held up only by your hands braced against the seat.

“Leon…” you whimpered, his name followed by a soft “oh God” as he slid two fingers into you, coating them with your arousal. Your eyes fluttered shut, the sensation unbearably delicious.

Despite the task at hand – finding the next exit – and the unfortunate angle, Leon’s practiced precision led him straight to the spot inside your cunt that made you roll your hips into his hand, just as receptive to him as ever. You’d planned this whole evening, poor thing – and he couldn’t even keep his greedy fingers off you for two hours.

With his knuckles buried deep inside you, massaging your sweet spot and coaxing increasingly louder, shriller sounds from you, Leon finally hit the indicator and guided the car off onto a rest stop.

It probably shouldn’t have surprised him – he’d handled far more dangerous maneuvers with much heavier machinery – but still. As turned on as he was by you, with blood roaring in his ears and heat rushing through his body, it was impressive that he managed to park the car in a dark, unlit corner of the lot – all one-handed.

You only realized the car was slowing right before it came to a stop. Leon’s fingers had stripped you of any sense of reality – but when he withdrew them, leaving you with a strange emptiness, your eyes flew open in panicked belief that you’d arrived at the restaurant.

Mid-motion, pulling your dress back down, you quickly realized you were on a deserted rest stop. You gasped, disoriented, searching for something – anything – to ground yourself: the car door, the console, it didn’t matter.

“Wh–where are we?” you asked, confused, gently shaking your head to regain your composure.

Leon didn’t answer – you were smart enough to connect the dots yourself. Instead, he focused on pushing the driver’s seat as far back as possible, reclining it slightly, and undoing his belt.

You heard the mechanical whirr of the seat first, and as your attention drifted back to Leon – through a haze of lust – the metallic click of the buckle. The prospect of what he was offering sent another wave of tingling excitement through your body.

Wide-eyed and still a little breathless, you watched in the darkness as he freed his hard cock from his trousers. It practically sprang free, the tip coated in a glossy sheen of his own arousal, the shaft ready for you to just sit on it – sink down on it and fill yourself with the incredible feeling of him.

“Wanna hop on?” he asked, eyes hopeful as he looked at you. This hadn’t been your plan – he’d understand if you wanted to go to the restaurant and continue this later. Still, he was far too worked up not to at least try.

Luckily for both of you, you didn’t need to be asked twice. Carefully – so as not to kneel on your dress or hit any buttons – you climbed from your seat over the center console, straddling Leon’s lap. The black fabric spread over both of you, your heat and breath mingling together. The overwhelming urge to connect with him in every possible way gripped you fiercely – but you managed to resist at least one of them.

“Can’t ruin the make-up,” you breathed against his parted lips, right next to yours.

His mouth curved into a gentle grin. “Of course.” Instead of claiming your lips, Leon chose the next best alternative – tenderly nibbling at the skin of your neck while one hand slid beneath your dress and between you, guiding his cock into alignment with you. You let him catch your entrance and slowly sank down onto him. You fit together perfectly, and he’d prepared you so well that it only took a brief slide before his full length was buried inside you – a fact Leon responded to with a soft groan and a small love bite at the hollow of your neck.

He gathered the fabric of your long dress with both hands to give you the freedom of movement you needed, his lips never leaving whatever skin they could reach. Your hands found purchase on the seatback as your hips rolled forward, Leon’s tip gliding straight along the spot he’d teased and penetrated with his fingers earlier. You sighed, rolled your hips into him a second time, then a third – and Leon’s groans against your skin urged you to pick up the pace.

With every movement of your hips and every graze of his teeth, the pressure built – more heat, more boiling blood. You chased everything he had to offer, bouncing along his entire length, your breath soon ragged and uncoordinated from the effort and the stimulation of having sex in Leon’s Porsche, the rustling fabric quickly becoming more irritating than erotic.

Leon pulled back from your neck – from the feel of your pounding pulse – just to look at you. A sight for sore eyes: you, eyes closed, mouth open, riding him. Your sounds rang in his buzzing ears, your deliciously wet cunt wrapped around his cock feeling like a gift from the universe – or whatever higher power might exist – a reward for the life he’d lived so far.

“Wish I could suck on those tits,” he growled, the clothing a frustrating obstacle for him too.

“Wish you would fuck me,” you moaned back, your thighs straining against the restrictive situation you were in, your whole body desperate for release.

Leon grabbed your hips and forced you to slow your pace. He snorted, followed by a sympathetic sound.

“I spoil you too much.” A light kiss landed on your dark red lips. “I’ll fuck you later, princess. Promise.”

Really, it was his own fault. He loved fucking you – hard, deep, fast, slow, exactly how you needed it – until you forgot your own name and the two of you were slick with sweat, only to continue in the shower. In fact, he loved it so much that you’d never had to do the work yourself. He hadn’t thought about that when he started this little stunt. You needed some help.

“But right now,” he said, shifting his weight and sliding a hand between you, “I need you to be a good girl and get off like this. Right here, against my hand. Can you do that?”

You pouted – actually pouted – but you knew there was no other option in this car than to follow his instructions. So you nodded, grabbed his shoulders, and focused on moving precisely against his hand, his fingers finding your nub and pressing into you, moving with you.

You hadn’t expected it to work, but Leon surprised you once again, proving how well he knew you and just how expertly he could push you. With the new position – one hand on your clit, the other applying supportive pressure to your hip – your entire body relaxed, and the tension that had been scattered everywhere else pooled between your legs, sparking there.

There was less speed, less bouncing – more precision, more guidance from Leon’s skilled hands, the contrast of his calloused fingertips against your clit exactly what you needed alongside the slick heat of your shared connection.

At the first flutter of your walls, Leon groaned softly, satisfied. “There we go, baby. Take your time.”

If there was one thing he loved more than pounding into you, it was the feel of your clenching cunt around his cock – especially when you came and he got the best of both worlds. Fucking you senseless, buried deep in your pulsing pussy. Shit – this was the life. Just the thought sent a storm of searing fire through his body, his cock throbbing hard against your wonderfully spongy walls.

He helped guide your movements, his fingers taking thorough care of you, coaxing your pleasure to swell, your stomach to tighten, your skin to tingle. Your body bent forward, arching to where you needed his cock to hit, and Leon followed, his mouth returning to the tempting skin of your neck. He groaned against you, deep and rough every time your walls contracted and your hips stuttered.

You lost coordination the closer you came – still unbelievably so – to your orgasm, despite the rising high with the desperate wish for Leon to just take you already. And somehow, by whatever stroke of fate, Leon found some kind of leverage inside the Porsche to meet you halfway. His hips snapped against your ass and you fell forward with a sound somewhere between a yelp and a moan, crashing against his strong chest.

No wise patience here. He couldn’t stand making you do all the work anymore and simply found a way to press himself into you. Not the way he usually would – but enough to call it a fuck.

“Fuck, Leon,” you moaned into the back of the car.

Leon wrapped an arm around you, no longer caring about things like your styling, tangling his fingers into your hair and pulling just enough to make it sting. His hot, panting breath spilled into your ear as he pumped into you with every bit of leverage the Porsche’s interior would allow. Your entire lower half flushed against his, the stimulation of his pelvis against your clit making it draw tight, pleasantly – announcing your imminent climax between your blissed-out sounds.

“I can feel you,” Leon’s voice rushed through your head. “Come for me. Come with me.”

More deep moans slipped from your throat – and then, with the final throb of your clit and the clench of your walls, a tingling rush tore through your body. It gathered in your stomach, bridged between your legs, and exploded in a flood of fire and ecstasy. You found purchase on Leon’s shoulders as you cried out into the Porsche, your orgasm so welcome you didn’t care about the overstimulation – you just wanted Leon not to stop.

“Leon – fuck – yes – don’t stop,” the words tumbled out of your throat airily and straight into Leon’s ear, and he answered with more of the delicious torture of his cock.

“Kiss me, baby. Kiss me,” he demanded, grabbing a fistful of hair, guiding your head and pressing his lips to yours, completely unconcerned about the fate of your makeup – and you couldn’t and wouldn’t object. The feeling of his lips on yours, the way you could moan against them and feel his hot tongue in your mouth, topped everything else.

You moved on him completely automatically now, and as your walls contracted around him, your bodies connected everywhere, Leon groaned against your lips as the rush hit him too. A searing heat shot through his body and down his cock before he spilled inside you – the sensation of shooting into you perhaps the best thing of all. He savored it for as long as he could, lips still tender against yours, giving as many small thrusts as possible, stretching out every second he could steal just to have those few extra moments.

And even as both of your orgasms slowly ebbed, as you came down from the shared high, you lingered in the aftershocks – ragged breaths, the buzzing air around you, bodies spent and minds satisfied.

Leon’s beautiful blue eyes, barely visible in the darkness of the rest stop, looked at you with open affection, and you smiled back just as warmly. Gently – as if you hadn’t just tested the Porsche’s shock absorbers for durability – you stroked his cheek, earning a contented sound from him. He pressed a kiss into your palm.

“Okay,” you began once you’d regained at least some of your senses, “how do I look?”

He made a thoughtful sound, pursed his lips, and tilted your chin left and right with two fingers.

“Incredible,” he concluded with a smile and a wink. He reached to the right toward the console, produced a tissue, and offered it to you.

You did your best to catch his spend with it to avoid stains. As you awkwardly climbed back into your seat, you said with a grin, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Once seated, you flipped the mirror down to inspect the damage.

“Oh, look at that!” you exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. “The lipstick is kiss-proof.”

Bastard.

You can’t help your smile, glancing at him sidelong and drumming your fingers along your keyboard.

“Don’t you have something to do?”

He rolls the chair forward, bringing an elbow to your desk to rest his chin atop a fist.

“Stopping by in the middle of you reaming into everyone's favorite was on my to-do list.”

You flick him on the nose.

He snatches your hand, trapping it against his cheek.

“Wanna make out?”

You snort and yank your hand back. “You’re three seconds from Mike part two if you don’t leave me alone.”

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Oh no, can't have that.”

He stands and meanders around the desk, slow, deliberate—giving you plenty of time to glare at him.

Never mind the twitch of your lips betraying you completely.

He drops to his knees in front of you, hands coming to your waist to stroke gingerly up and down.

Your brow hikes upward.

His grin widens.

“Leon,” you mutter, pushing loosely against his chest.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Stop. We’re at work.”

He hums. “I’m not doing anything.”

He edges a finger into your waistband and snaps it against your hip. You huff, planting your palms on his cheeks, smushing them once.

“Leon Scott.”

His brows lift at the middle name. You ignore them.

“I’m busy, you’re supposed to be busy…”

God, his stupid eyes.

You bite your lip at the softness in them, too close now to resist. He takes it as an invitation, closing the distance and capturing your mouth with his. His arms snake around your waist, scooting you forward so that he’s between your knees.

You sigh into the kiss. Involuntary.

He matches it, his tongue edging into your mouth.

“Okay.” You push a finger against his lips. “That's enough.”

He only stares, amused and slightly miffed.

You roll your eyes again, shaking your head, and bring your forehead to his.

“We. Are. At. Work.” Each syllable accompanies a light bump of your head against his.

“I’m aware.” He kneads the curve of your ass, aiming for your lips again.

You smile and lean back despite his arms heeling you. Your fingers walk under his chin, edging the stubble there.

“Look. The sooner we finish here—“

“Yeah, I’d like to finish here,” he interrupts, deadpan.

You slap his shoulder. “Listen. I was going to say, the sooner we finish here, the sooner we can continue this,” you run your thumb along his lower lip, “at home.”

He groans, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Oh god. Where’s my camera. The Leon Kennedy on his knees, begging? Nobody’ll believe me.”

He only plunks facedown into your lap, grumbling something that vibrates against your skin.

Your fingers comb through his hair, twisting the strands into small ringlets. “What? Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

He turns just enough to free his mouth from the fold of your thigh.