#lady!reader

You put up a fight.

It doesn’t matter that you lost, you keep telling yourself.

You fought. With everything you had.

You made them work for it.

They hadn’t waltzed into your home unannounced and plucked you like a ripe fruit.

No. They had to chase you. Through your father's grand halls, past portraits of ancestors who surely would have been appalled by the racket.

You had turned over tables, ducked behind curtains, slipped from one room to the next, heart pounding in your throat just like your feet on the floors.

It made them rougher. It made them intimidating. It made them brutal.

But even when they finally cornered you, when their calloused hands aggressively grabbed at your arms and pulled you, you didn’t stop. You thrashed and screamed and kicked and bit and clawed - every inch of your body on high alert and protesting against their strong hold.

They were sweating by the time they bound you, snarling curses and grunts of frustration flying at your face with the spit out of their mouths. They called you names, ugly names, growled at you to stop resisting.

One of the three men even laughed - a low, cruel sound - but it was laced with fury.

You tell yourself it was worth it.

Every bruise, every ache in your body as they now drag you down the manor steps to the waiting ship, every ragged breath you manage to gulp in your struggle - it’s all worth it. Even as your father’s angered voice fades behind you, lost in the salt-stung wind and the distant crash of waves.

Because you didn’t make it easy for them.

You fought back.

And that is something you will forever be proud of.

Although that forever might end sooner than you had envisioned before this day.

Still, you tell yourself you won something - however small.

Maybe you won’t live to see the end of this. Maybe the days ahead hold horrors you couldn’t yet imagine.

But you didn’t go quietly.

The gangplank groans beneath the firm boots of your three kidnappers as they haul you aboard. The salty air stings the cuts on your wrists where the ropes bite into your skin but you refrain from wincing.

The ship rises and falls with the swell of the sea. It’s unfamiliar. So foreign in its feeling, it reminds you just how much you leave behind by stepping foot onto this ship.

The men shove you forward.

Around you, the crew is working. You have no idea why there are so many people needed on a ship but you feel the urge to shrink into yourself at the many stares you receive.

So many men. And none of them say anything. But they smirk and chuckle menacingly and you grow more uneasy with every step you take.

A prize. That’s what you are to them.

“Cap’n’s gonna love this,” one of the men holding you mutters, spitting onto the deck. He smells of sweat and dirt.

Again, you refrain from wincing.

“Aye,” grunts the one behind you, whose arm you had managed to claw so deep, the blood is already drying in ragged streaks. “Feisty little wench. Wonder how long she’ll keep her spirit when the Captain’s done with her.”

You hope there is no fear on your face. But your heart certainly picked up in pace. Your silence seems to irk the men further, and you feel the grip on your arms tighten, yanking you forward. “Come on, girl, move!”

The boards beneath your feet are damp and uneven, smelling of seawater and tar. The crew keeps eying you with varying degrees of interest - some openly leering, others grinning like your presence on the ship is the best to have happened to them all year. A shiver crawls up your spine. Your hands ball to fists.

They part as you are dragged toward the wheel, where a figure stands. His silhouette is tall and commanding against the blood-red sunset.

That must be the captain.

He isn’t barking orders or pacing like you might have expected. Instead, he stands still, one of his arms resting casually on the hilt of a blade strapped to his hip, his other hand tracing lazy circles against the ship’s wooden railing.

His left hand is basically red with scar tissue, though he doesn’t seem to mind it’s on full display.

He looks more put together than some of the others - the three men who captured you especially. The way he carries himself seems almost careless. So nonchalant. Confident, as though he owns not only the ship but the waves themselves. His dark hair is pulled back loosely, strands of it catching the wind.

James Barnes.

It’s not like you haven’t heard the name before.

Of course, you have.

The pirate who had crawled up from the depths after losing everything, carving his name into the bones of the sea. Ruthless. Calculating. Cold.

Your father never said much about the man, but that is part of what unnerves you. He isn’t afraid of anything - at least, not that he lets show. But any time someone dared to bring up Bucky Barnes or his crew, your father’s face would harden in a way that always made your stomach twist.

Now you are standing on the deck of Barnes’s ship, caught in the middle of a vendetta you hadn’t even known existed.

All you know, all you had heard from half-overheard conversations or rumors whispered among the servants in your manor is that Bucky Barnes lost his mother and sister in a raid many years back.

It was brutal you had heard. Indiscriminate. Pirates or mercenaries stormed his village under the cover of darkness and burned torches to the ground.

He was young then, barely a man, but he fought. With everything he had. But it wasn’t enough.

The details are hazy but you heard enough to imagine how awful that must have been.

His father had survived the raid. He was a sailor then. But he joined forces and took his son along, cutting a swath of vengeance across the water. They hunted the men responsible all over the globe. That’s when he became a pirate.

His father’s obsession with vengeance consumed him until it finally cost him his life. Again, you are lost on any details. It might have been a skirmish gone wrong or the grief dragging him under the water. You can’t tell.

All you can tell is that it left Bucky alone. And it made him the cold-blooded pirate he is nowadays.

But nothing could have prepared you for the reality of him.

His eyes are a storm. Wilder than any tornado you had heard stories of. His jawline is sharp, cheekbones high, a handsome face marred only by the thin scar running from his temple to his ear.

The men haul you forward and he watches you with a calmness that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He doesn’t speak right away, just lets his gaze sweep over you slowly, deliberately, intensely, like he is studying something he’s been waiting for a long, long time.

“Cap’n Barnes,” one man says. His lip is split, a crimson smear trailing down to his chin. You did that. “We got her.”

Rough hands shove you forward unceremoniously. You stumble but don’t fall, catching yourself just in time. You keep your expression as blank as it would go.

Bucky’s lips twitch at the corners, but it’s not quite a smile. He steps down from his spot near the wheel, boots hitting the deck with a weight that silences even the wind. He looks at the men then and there is something darkly amused in the way his brow arches.

“This is her?” His voice is smooth but carries an edge, the kind that could cut without raising.

Bucky’s harsh gaze flicks to the scratches on one man’s arms, then to the bruises blooming on another’s jaw, and to the trail of blood on the last man’s neck, still trailing lower, from the chapped lips you had punched open.

You allow yourself a short breath before his attention can switch back to you.

The men shift nervously under his scrutiny and the raised eyebrow. “She fights like a damn wildcat,” defends the one with the open bruises. The captain hadn’t even said anything yet. “Nearly gouged my eye out.”

Bucky barks out a laugh, the sound sharp and unexpected. “Shame it didn’t stick.”

The men grumble in discomfort, looking at each other.

The captain chuckles, though it’s low and humorless and rather terrifying. Your skin prickles.

“You mean to tell me the daughter of a landlubber put you lot on your asses?” he spits out.

You can’t help your reaction.

You are well aware that you are finding yourself in a rather dangerous position. But nobody talks your father down. Nobody gets to walk over his title in such a manner. Nobody gets to derogate your father. Not even a damn pirate captain. Running over your father’s name means running over yours as well.

So, yes, you jerk against the arms that hold you and you let your fury redden your face.

Though you should have known better.

Because Bucky’s attention is now solely focused on you, eyes like steel blazing against your skin.

He steps closer to you, his boots scuffing the wood, and you straighten instinctively, refusing to shrink under the pressure his gaze puts upon you. He stops just short of you, close enough that you can see the faint stubble on his jaw and the cold intrigue in his eyes.

His lips twitch again. This time it’s the shadow of a smirk. It unsettles you.

You shiver.

Bucky’s smirk deepens. He reaches out his scarred hand, tilting your chin upwards with two fingers. His touch isn’t rough, but it isn’t gentle either. More like he’s inspecting a piece of cargo. You try your very best to meet his gaze with eyes burning in defiance.

He looks eager - wickedly so - for something you’re not sure of but the fear you tried to shove to the deepest corners of your body comes creeping up your neck, overshadowing the pride you held for yourself just moments before.

You hate yourself for it. But your heart can’t help but thud violently.

“You’ve got your father’s looks about you,” he murmurs so quietly, you’re not sure anyone but you even heard it. It’s probably not even meant for your ears but he doesn’t seem like a person to care what people think. So why would he care if you heard him.

He sounds dangerous though. Too calm and still lethal. Your fear takes on another shape.

But as his hand moves to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, your head jerks away on its own and your lips form a slight snarl.

Bucky chuckles again. And to your surprise, it actually sounds amused. His hand falls from your face and he takes a step back from you with his wide smirk still plastered on his handsome face. He tilts his head at you slightly, studying you some more.

Pieces click into place. Actually, they’d been there all along, waiting in the corners of your mind, half-formed and heavy with a meaning that makes you shudder. But one you have to acknowledge now since you find yourself in its cause.

This isn’t a random kidnapping. This isn’t about piracy. You’re not just here because your father is able to pay a high ransom for your release.

This is something far older, far darker.

This is vengeance.

The vengeance Bucky Barnes had fought for his whole pirate life.

You don’t know any specifics. Perhaps Bucky doesn’t either. But a pirate doesn’t care for specifics after all.

Your father’s trading empire had always been shadowed by backroom deals, underhanded tactics, and alliances forged in blood. He’d always tried to hide the dark parts from you of course. He was good at hiding things - his anger, his dealings, his sins.

But you always felt like something was wrong with his world. And you were curious, foolishly so. You were a child, and children always want to touch the flame.

You never did well with the path he went down.

The first time you confronted him - clutching letters you weren’t meant to read in your trembling grip and demanding answers - he barely even looked at you as he ordered the guards to lock you in your room.

“This is not your business. And if you want to keep that little head of yours, you will learn to stay where you belong.”

You didn’t learn. You were young and stubborn and naive, so you kept pushing, kept digging into the corners he wanted you to leave untouched.

You spent weeks locked inside your room every time. He taught you lesson after lesson, each one harder than the last. Servants were forbidden to speak to you, the scraping of plates grating on you as they slid your meals through the door. No books. No letters. No glimpse outside. Just silence so suffocating, walls pressing against you from all sides, like they were on your father’s side, conspiring to keep you in.

Your father isn’t a cruel man - not in the way you’d imagine cruelty, all whips and chains and unrestrained fury. His cruelty is colder, quieter, built into the way he looks at you like you are a disappointment for daring to see too much. For daring to want too much.

He wants to protect you is what he told you. He told you it’s dangerous out there.

It is.

But it’s dangerous because of him. He hadn’t locked you away out of protection, he just tried to keep you from looking too closely at the cracks in the foundation of his empire.

And now, because of those cracks, because of his choices, you are here.

It isn’t hard to imagine that your father might have had some hand in whatever led to that fateful raid those years ago that cut down Bucky’s family.

And the pirate had lived his life thereafter chasing the ghost of his family’s ruin.

And that makes you his prize. His weapon. His proof that revenge could be tangible.

He basically lived the last years in pursuit of this moment.

The thought burns in your chest. Low and fierce. But you won’t break under the mistakes of your father’s legacy. Not for him. Not for Bucky. Not for anyone.

You press your lips together and meet Bucky’s gaze again and this time you see it. Sitting just behind his irises.

Hatred.

“Take her below,” he orders gravely. “And keep her in one piece. For now.”

“Lord Berkshire, are you truly implying that I lack the courage to take such a risk?” You raised your eyebrows with a gasp while walking beside your companion. Your hands were clasped over your chest as you scoffed playfully.

He hummed and nodded, “I speak solely in truth, my Lady. Am I not?” A grin appeared on his lips as he continued to walk next to you. His hand brushed against your arm for a short moment – which gave both of you slight goosebumps but neither of you commented on it.

You turned your head towards him and stopped in your tracks, which caused him to stand still as well and look you up and down for a brief moment. This did not go unnoticed by you. A smile graced Lord Berkshire’s lips, prompting you to look down with a small smile of your own. The pearls of your gown sparkled in the moonlight, while a gentle breeze rustled through the trees.

You playfully rolled your eyes and continued to walk on the path of the gardens you walked together. “Well, I do recall that it would be quite improper if we were to be discovered alone in these gardens. Or am I wrong? Should we be seen in this moment, it might already be presumed that we are acting inappropriately. Is that not risk enough, my Lord?” You stepped closer and raised your chin while you let your hands drop to the side of your body. “If I take one more step closer and someone happens to watch us from the wrong perspective…”

“It might be assumed that our lips have touched, though, in truth, they have not,” Lord Berkshire finished your sentence with a sudden hoarse voice, but his confidence and cockiness were still present. His gaze dropped down to your lips before it found your piercing eyes again. “What a scandal it would be.”

“Indeed, it would,” you whispered and parted your lips. A familiar ache between your legs made its presence known. Whenever you were in his presence your thoughts weren’t proper.

With a shaky breath, you stepped away from him, but you wished you could just feel his lips on yours for once. You wished to feel his hands on your body while they caressed your skin. Or to feel his lips travelling down to your jaw and neck. A fantasy that filled your mind too many times, especially at night while you lie wide awake in your bed and hands between your thighs. As you imagined him with you.

Your cheeks grew hot as your mind travelled to those thoughts. With a clearing of your throat, you turned around to continue your walk with the Lord and he immediately followed you. Only if you knew that he had the same thoughts as you.

The music from the ball inside the building became quieter as you continued to walk further away. Your hands brushed against each other as you walked closer to each other the more you walked away. In privacy, you were able to be closer, even if you were still in public. It was still a risk, even more so now that you were completely alone as you walked between the trees at the lake's edge. It may be less likely to get caught by someone else, but the risk was still there.

With every step you took and every brushed hand, your breath caught in your throat even more. Your breaths became deeper as you tried to listen to his words. But the moment you stopped at a gazebo and stood close to each other; all you could focus on was the way his lips moved as he talked. Lord Berkshire looked even more handsome in the mixed light of the moonlight and lanterns of the gazebo. His voice was soft as always, but you wished he’d stop talking and kiss you. He may just be courting you, but you wished for nothing else at that very moment.

“My Lady? Is there any matter that troubles your mind?” His question brought you back to your senses.

You cleared your throat and blinked quickly. “Y-yeah, uhm... No everything is well, my Lord.” You looked away from him for a moment to calm yourself down, but the same thoughts troubled your mind again as soon as your eyes met his.

“What are you thinking about?” Lord Berkshire asked you and stepped closer. He noticed how your breath hitched and how your eyes had been focused on his lips rather than anything else. He tried to bite back a smirk as you shook your head. “I should not tell you, my Lord.”

You gasped lightly when you suddenly felt the pillar at your back. You felt the warmth of his body as he stepped closer – one more step and you would feel his body against yours. You knew you should stop him right away, but you couldn’t.

“My Lord… We…” You shook your head and closed your eyes when he leaned down to your ear. “You may call me Lorenzo, my Lady.”

You inhaled shakily and slowly nodded. “If someone sees us, we…” You placed your gloved hand on his chest and pushed him slightly away from you – unsure if you should let it happen or not.

“I know of the possible consequences, my dear. But would you take the risk?” His question caught you off guard. “Do you wish that we stop or that we continue? The decision is yours. However, I do not believe you would be so bold to take such a risk.”

Lorenzo exactly knew what he was doing, and it seemed to work. Over the time he courted you, he got to know how to get you worked up through little allusions and every time it worked. He may have been already planning to propose but he wanted to feel the thrill. The thrill of possibly getting caught in such an improper situation between two unmarried people who shared such affection.

You narrowed your eyes and looked up to him, you stopped pushing him away and scoffed. “I already told you, I do not shy away from risks, my Lord.” The use of his title rather than his first name was intentional by you.

“Are you speaking the truth, my Lady?” He raised one eyebrow and brushed his hand over your arm.

You had each other where you wanted, but would you truly take the risk to possibly get caught?

Without thinking you pulled him in and kissed his lips. Both of you hummed in sync as you explored each other’s mouths and hands travelled over your bodies. A light moan escaped your lips when he pulled you closer by your waist and deepened the kiss. His lips travelled to your jaw and placed tiny kisses up to your ear. The feelings you felt in that moment were much more exciting than your fantasies.

“Have you ever thought about this? How my lips would feel on your skin?” Lorenzo whispered in your ear and traced his fingers down your arm — leaving you in shivers. Your breath hitched when you felt his hot breath against your skin and kept eye contact with him while he spoke. “How my hands would feel on your exposed skin? Did you ever think about these fantasies?”

You slowly nodded as you let him continue and your mind began to blur slightly – you wanted this. He continued to place kisses on your jaw, and a few landed on the side of your neck. You closed your eyes and wished for more. You slowly grew impatient but appreciated that he took his time. All you wished for was that nobody would see you in the dim light of the gazebo – your life would be over otherwise. Seen with another person? A gentleman? Alone? In such an intimate moment? Yeah, your life would be over immediately. But the thrill only heightened your excitement.

“Do you want me to continue?” Although he may have done it intentionally to provoke you, he didn’t wish to act against your will.

You were unsure if you should continue, as you were still in public, but your mind grew hazier with each kiss and the closer you were to each other. As soon as you nodded slowly, he let one hand glide down your gown and gently pushed up the layers of fabrics of your gown and underclothes. You raised your left leg and shivered at the contrast between the fresh air and his bare hand against the heated skin of your thigh. He gently brushed his fingers over it, teased the hem of your stockings and eventually drew small patterns on your skin that gave you goosebumps.

A soft gasp left your lips when his hand cupped your heat – your arousal coated his palm. You steadied yourself and grabbed one of his arms with one hand and with your other hand, you grabbed the railing of the gazebo while he explored your wet folds and teased your entrance – you only got wetter the more he continued.

Your gaze found his – you shared your breath and dilated pupils met each other while his fingers circled over your clit and brought you close to your climax. You were already familiar with the feeling from past explorations with yourself but feeling this because of him felt even better and you didn’t want him to stop. Even if you weren’t completely sure for how long you should continue. Your gasps grew louder and turned into soft moans and whimpers as he eventually pushed a finger slowly into you. Your head fell back as he started to move his finger inside you – your grip on his arm and railing got tighter. He enjoyed the view of you way too much.

“Oh god,” you gasped softly and quickly removed your hand from the railing to put it over your mouth to quieten yourself. His grip on your waist was tight while he held you close against him. The feeling of his lips against your neck brought you almost over the edge – it was an overwhelming but beautiful feeling.

Lorenzo felt his trousers getting tighter around his cock, he gulped and tried not to moan at your sight and sounds, but you looked and sounded so heavenly. But a moan escaped his lips, nevertheless. You were like an angel brought to him while he pleasured you with his hand. He already loved to hear your voice and even more, to hear you laugh but your gasps and moans were just as beautiful, and he wanted to hear them again all his life. He could only imagine how you would sound like if he could feel your walls around his cock.

“You sound so beautiful, my dear,” he whispered with a hoarse voice in your ear. His breath was hot on your skin.

Lorenzo increased the movements of his hand after he added another finger – stretching you slowly. Your grip on his arm tightened with the increased movements and a soft gasp left your lips while you moved your hips against his hand. Which caused you to whimper as the added friction unknowingly gave you more pleasure.

Lorenzo gently removed your hand from your mouth and placed a kiss on your lips while he circled his thumb over your clit and curled his fingers inside you – hitting the sweet spot inside you that made you arch your back against him. Eventually, his movements made you come around his fingers and moan into his mouth – your legs shook slightly from the intense pleasure. You felt like you were floating while he fingered you through your orgasm. Lorenzo licked his lips as he watched you coming down from it and how your chest moved quickly with every shaky breath you took. The risk was worth any price.

“That was...” You whispered with a shy smile, “Amazing.” Your chest was still heaving from the moment you just shared with Lorenzo.

He smiled in return and placed another small kiss on your lips before he eventually slowly pulled his fingers out of you, which caused another whimper to leave your lips. In the dim light of the moon and lantern, you could see your arousal coating his fingers – the skin of your cheeks heated up again with the sight of it.

“My Lady… You’re indeed full of surprises,” he chuckled, which caused you to playfully hit his chest. “There are many things left to discover. And… You may call me by my first name as well, Lorenzo.”

“As you wish Y/N, it’s an honour for me to call you by your first name,” he smirked before he looked around for a brief moment. “We should head back to the ball,” Lorenzo whispered with a soft voice while he helped to fix your clothes, “Not that anyone misses us,” he grinned mischievously.

the four of you sat down and you picked at your cuticles while you listened to your father and rafe’s talk about imports and exports. when you looked down at your nails, you felt eyes burning into you. but when you looked up, nothing.

“may i be excused? i believe eloise is expecting me-“ your father lightly grabbed your arm as you stood up.

“you may not. the king and his son have traveled a long way to come see us- we mustn’t disrespect them by leaving so early. why don’t you start a game of chess with prince rafael.”

fighting back was useless, so you accepted your fate and led the prince to the other side of the room where you played all your games. you sat on one couch and he sat on the other as you both set up the board.

after a few minutes of awkward silence, you decided to break the ice.

“are you planning to actually do something, your highness, or are you just going to keep moving your pieces from spot to spot?”

“m’lady, i can assure you you do not want me to ‘actually do something.’” rafe smirked at you as your jaw tensed.

“and why not?” you asked.

rafe leaned closer to you before he spoke. “because it might just cost you the game.” you gasped as you looked down to see that he had trapped your king.

“you did not!”

“oh but i did.” the smug look on his face had your head spinning.

“i do not wish to play with you again if you are just going to cheat!” you let out a little ‘hmph’ as you crossed your arms and leaned back.

“cheat?! i have done no such thing.” his fake offended look made you roll your eyes.

“you distracted me! it’s not fair!” you whined.

“i was merely carrying on a conversation that you started, if i remember correctly.” rafe shrugged as he reset his pieces. “and, besides, if a few words is all it takes to ruin your game, then perhaps i am not the one at fault here.”

your jaw dropped as you gasped. “are you always like this, your highness?”

“like what, m’lady?” oh, those blue eyes.

“this insufferable.” you spat, making him laugh.

“i suppose you’ll just have to wait and see”. and with that, rafe stood up and took your hand in his. he held eye contact with you as he placed a kiss on the back of your hand. you tried not to think about how he let his lips linger for a second or two longer than necessary.

On the sixth day of the journey, Lord James, the bannermen, and yourself neared the borders of the neighboring land. Suddenly, a storm swept across the plains, rain lashing down and turning the ground into a quagmire. 

Tents were hastily pitched as everyone sought shelter from the downpour. Huddled under a small canopy with Lord James and a few of his closest advisors, the tension in the air was thick as the storm raged. Illuminating the worried looks of the soldiers and servants, the lightning split the sky, and thunder drummed. 

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of closeness in the discomfort of the situation as you weathered the storm with Lord James. 

“I don’t like the look of this weather,” one of the advisors muttered, their gaze fixed on the sheets of rain outside. 

“It will pass,” Lord James reassured before turning to you, speaking with a hint of concern. “Are you holding up alright, Lady Romanoff?” 

Despite the unease settling in your stomach, you offered a reassuring smile as you nodded. “I’m fine, my lord. It’s just a bit of rain.” 

He glanced down at you, a flicker of something passed through his eyes before he placed another layer of pelt around your shoulders. “Stay wrapped. We’ll resume the journey as soon as it lets up.” 

As the storm continued, raging around you, you felt Lord James’ presence closer to you. His breath was warm against your ear. “Have no fear,” he spoke firmly, his voice steady. “This storm is no stranger. I was born amidst such tempests.” 

Resonating deeply within you, his words carried a weight of resilience. Looking at him in the dim light from the flickering torches, you swore you saw a glimpse of the man behind the titles. His expression softened slightly as he met your gaze. 

“You’ve faced many trials,” you acknowledged, your voice audible to only Lord James over the howling wind.

A faint smile touched his lips. “And, I have survived them all.” 

Hours passed in comfortable silence, only broken by the occasional clap of thunder. Leaving behind a soggy landscape, the storm began to subside. Albeit at a slow pace, the decision was made to press on with cautious optimism due to the muddied roads.

Still guarded, the aftermath of the storm mirrored the newfound shift in your relationship with Lord James as you rode alongside him again. 

~

The sun hung high in the skin, a golden hue over the hills as your entourage continued the journey south. Riding alongside Lord James, Honeybreeze and Alpine trotted gracefully in tandem. The days grew warmer, and a gentle breeze carried the familiar scent of wildflowers through the air. 

Glancing over at Lord James, you noticed his jaw set in determination as his eyes scanned the horizon. His focus mirrored his reputation as the White Wolf. Clearing his throat, he jolted you out of your trance.

Realizing your eyes were locked onto his side profile, you averted your gaze and offered a sheepish smile. “My apologies, my lord,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced over at you briefly, amusement in his eyes before he returned his focus ahead, “No harm done, Lady Romanoff,” there was a hint of a smile in his reply. “Just keep your attention on the road ahead as we enter more contested lands.” 

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. Turning your focus back to the road stretching ahead, the landscape shifted around you. 

“Tell me about your sisters,” Lord James prompted, his voice carrying above the rhythmic sound of hooves against the dirt. 

You faced him, a curious expression on your face. He caught you off guard with his inquiry, but you welcomed the opportunity to share a piece of your world with him.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you began telling him about your sisters. Lord James listened intently, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he took in the details of your sisters’ strengths and characters. Bridging the gap between you both, the conversation flowed easily between you. 

~

As the weeks wore on, the relentless pace began to take its toll as the sun was high overhead. There was a growing weariness in your limbs. Honeybreeze’s usually smooth gait seemed to jar your bones. 

Ever vigilant, Lord James noticed your discomfort. Concern flickering in his gaze as he looked at you, the furrow between his brows deepened. “Lady Romanoff,” he began in a gentle tone. “You appear fatigued. Perhaps riding in the carriage would be best.” 

Shaking your head, you forced a smile. “Just a bit tired, my lord. I’m fine, I can remain here, with Honeybreeze and yourself.” 

His gaze didn’t waver. “I appreciate your desire to ride,” he admitted. “But, I worry about your safety, I would feel more at ease if you traveled in the carriage for a while.” 

You hesitated, his genuine concern tore into your steadfast decision. Your gaze moved down to Honeybreeze. Just say you were about to respond, Lord James continued, his voice gentle yet persuasive. 

“I promise you,” he continued. “I will keep Honeybreeze close to me. She will receive the best care and attention. You have my word… my lady.” 

Resonating with sincerity, his words made it difficult to refute his earnest pleas. Gazing into his eyes, you saw a depth of concern in the ocean color, touching you deeply– a concern that went beyond his obligation.

You relented with a small nod after a moment of internal struggle. “As you wish, my lord,” you acquiesced quietly. “I shall travel by carriage for a while.” 

Relief flickered across Lord James’ features. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, offering an appreciative smile. “Your decision will serve us both well.” 

As you dismounted Honeybreeze, he signaled for the carriage to be prepared. You gave Honeybreeze a reassuring pat before climbing into the waiting vehicle.

Through the window, you watched cautiously as Lord James took the reins of Honeybreeze. He gently guided her alongside Alpine, true to his word, he kept her close. 

You settled onto the cushioned seat, a surprising sense of relief as it offered a respite from the constant jostling. 

As the procession moved forward, the gentle sway of the carriage lulled you into a state of relaxation. Resting your head against the window, you noticed occasional glances from Lord James toward the carriage.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of rest. You were comforted by the knowledge that your lord– your future husband, was looking out and protecting both you and Honeybreeze.

---

Rhea shifted closer to the nightstand on her side of the bed, picking up her phone to check her messages and the time. Still morning, so no need to rush on checking out. Messages from her girlfriend and Damian, but nothing from Dom. She frowned at the screen, trying not to overthink as she opened the texts.

The usual combination “good morning” and “I love you” text from her girlfriend lessened her frown as she responded with the same, then asked how the indie show went.

Damian’s message, on the other hand, was a photo and caption that almost made Rhea laugh loud enough to wake her guest, furious giggles erupting from her chest. Muffling her laughter with her pillow, she waited until the giggle fit was over before looking at the message once again:

Finn Balor - a veritable demon in the ring and always on his guard - dead asleep, ass in the air, and clothes halfway off as he slumped at a 45 degree angle over the armrest of a hotel couch he was drooling all over. It was obvious he had fallen asleep immediately following some sex act or other, and Damian’s attached comment read: “So that’s a “no” on cuddling after?”

“Didn’t know you’d perfected the Go To Sleep during your off hours!” Rhea sent as a reply, smiling at her own joke.

Opening the messages between her and Dom, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to send him a message first; never mind that she’d rarely had to up to this point. While she was typing, Rhea’s phone went off in her hands, heralding Damian’s reply:

“CM Punk is nothing compared to my dick”

Rhea cackled loudly this time, only remembering she was trying to stay quiet once her laughter had already disturbed the calmness of the room. The woman next to her immediately began to stir at the sound, stretching underneath the covers and turning to her other side. Opening her eyes, Thea blinked at her hostess with a slight confusion and curiosity.

“‘Morning,” Rhea said, hitting send on the message to Dom before setting down her phone. “Didn’t mean to wake you. There’s still time if you need to sleep more.”

Hand instinctively reaching for the cut on her head, Thea stopped herself from scratching when she felt the butterfly bandages.

“S’okay,” she mumbled, yawning. “What’s up?”

“Damian is a regular comedian,” Rhea said, shaking her head and watching the blonde grimace as she sat up. “How are you doing?”

Thea stretched cautiously, expression contorting in pain every now and then as she assessed her injuries. The bruises that had blossomed on her arms gave her pause.

“I’ll heal enough in time for the next show,” Thea sighed finally. “I just… I feel so stupid for thinking Jacy ever cared about me” - her voice faltered as she tried to fight back tears - “She threw me out the second I stopped helping her hurt people and now… I have no idea what to do.”

“Hmm,” Rhea hummed, brow knit as she began to think.

Jacy was planning on striking against her and Thea at some point in the nebulous future. Currently, Rhea wasn’t in the best condition to defend the blonde herself, but she was still capable of being a formidable force if necessary; particularly since Jacy had injuries of her own that leveled the playing field.

After a moment of thought, Rhea’s face suddenly relaxed into a smirk.

“I might have an idea.”

-

“Hey there, beautiful,” Rhea greeted you with a smile, her voice emanating from your laptop.

“Hey babe,” you replied, delighted to have an impromptu video chat with your girlfriend. “What’s up?”

“Missing you,” Rhea admitted, licking her lips in a way that made you focus on her tongue. “I would go into more detail, but I don’t want to make my new friend here uncomfortable.”

“New friend?” you asked, curious.

Rhea waved over someone offscreen and a familiar, dirty-blonde curtain of hair entered the frame.

“Thea?!”

You didn’t know who you expected to see, but it wasn’t her.

“What happened?” you asked immediately, noticing the bandages on her head and a few bruises.

“Bad break-up. But I’m okay, thanks to Rhea,” she smiled gratefully at your girlfriend.

“She’s under the protection of the Judgment Day,” Rhea assured you before pausing to consider something for a moment and frowning. “Though I guess this means we’ll have to make JD a real member…”

“Which one is JD again?” Thea asked sheepishly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to everyone when we head out,” Rhea promised.

Seeing Thea happily away from Jacy Jayne relieved a nagging anxiety that had never quite left since the night you’d met her. No one deserved to be stuck in such a manipulative relationship, least of all the sweet ray of sunshine that beamed at you from the screen. Now, with the Judgment Day by her side, Thea was safe - freeing up your anxiety to focus full-force on your lack of a job and tentative living situation.

“You okay, love?” Rhea asked, seeing the worry on your face.

“Just job stuff,” you sighed. “Rent is due soon and I haven’t heard back from anywhere I applied to.”

“That sounds really stressful,” Thea piped up when your girlfriend seemed at a loss for what to say.

“It is,” you admitted, “But I’m not the only one having trouble; even the local indie wrestling scene is struggling to get enough of a following to afford a venue.”

Rhea’s furrowed brow relaxed and you could practically see the lightbulb pop up over her head as she settled into a knowing smile.

“So if someone were to, say, offer her services” - she casually gestured in your direction - “securing a special guest or two” - her hand alighted on her own chest - “they might start making enough to hire her?”

You stared incredulously at your girlfriend’s image on screen, one finger pointing at you.

“Wh- can you even do that?” you squeaked. “The Judgment Day is signed to WWE!”

“So we won’t wrestle and we won’t get paid,” Rhea said casually. “I bet you’ll get droves that come in just to look at us.”

“You really don’t have to. I would never ask-“

“Which is why I offered,” your girlfriend pointed out, smile widening.

All this just to get you a job that didn’t even exist yet? Was that even possible?

And wouldn’t this increase your chances of being in the public eye?

“… Can I think about it?” you asked, on the verge of feeling too overwhelmed to speak.

Rhea’s face fell, though she tried not to let it show. “Of course, love.”

A silence fell over the three of you before Thea piped up, addressing your girlfriend.

“When did you say we needed to check out again?”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Rhea said before looking back at you. “I’ll talk to you later?”

You nodded.

“Love you,” she said with a smile.

“Love you,” you echoed back, waiting until the call ended before scrambling in the direction of Mari’s bong.

[end chapter eighty-six of ?]

-

Tag list (thank you!)

You preferred land. 

The opportunities the sea brought—sure. Those were welcomed any time. Not with open arms, but open ears. A side-eye in the right direction. A coin slipped to the right person, a foot through an unwatched door, an ear to the wall to listen to muffled words and hushed conversations.

The sea brought food. Brought trade. Provided the violet fabric to make the gown wrapped around you. The sea was the means for everything in Eswood. And still…it always brought trouble. 

Staring down at the tracked-in sand crunching beneath your feet, the visitor upstairs meant trouble for your family. They always meant trouble, whether they brought it with them then, by sundown, or days later. Eswood Island would see it. Sometimes, there was shouting. Sometimes, it was pure silence behind those double doors. You heard the collection of four voices grow louder as you passed by it, your own heels masking the distinct sound of your parents' voices. They were locked in yet another argument about the three different shipments that'd gone missing over the last few weeks.

Mother, the brains, throwing out statistics. Father, the muscle, with stronger men to arm the warehouses and routes.

Daughter, the eavesdropper, sitting in the back of the tavern, listening. Two guards who used to be inauspicious, sat away from you, eyes on potential danger. Regular visitors knew Jon and Samual's faces by now. Knew how their fists cracked ribs and bloodied lips. But there were still a few newcomers who looked at you like you were in a brothel, not Sally's Tavern.

Only one was dumb enough to approach.

You had an ear to the harbor. Knew who landed, who deboarded, what goddamn cargo was purposefully made a show of being unloaded, and the cargo that was smuggled in. Coins weighed down your pockets to slip into others. Two scuffed pieces sat on the table as Sally herself brought you another drink, filling you in on the new pirate crew jeering in the corner. Jesting. Looking around like they'd stumbled into some shithole, even with the newly made tables, chairs, and collection of watered-down liquor nicer than half the islands nearby.

Hosting pirates didn't mean Sally didn't take her shit seriously.

And yet, despite knowing the red hand on the new visitor's flag was painted distinctly with human blood, knew of the tobacco they were attempting to smuggle in, the types of guns hidden securely beneath their coats, the blur in your peripherals had been a blindside. A collection of dark leather bleached by the sun. Long hair, equally as dark, turned into a curly mess from the salt air. A blade at his hip that supposedly cut through more bodies than were even in the packed tavern.

You tried to hide your surprise as he put his mug down on the table beside yours, beer spilling from the lip. A cheeky, proud smile turned the corners of his mouth up mockingly. Silver rings on his fingers caught the new installation of lights flickering above you, the knicks and divots deeper than last time. His other hand rested on the handle of his sword as he turned to face you.

"Evening, (Y/N)," he mused, brown eyes falling to you. He tapped his fingers on his sword as his grin simply grew more insufferable. "Miss me?"

"You believe I think about you? Freely?" Your own surprise was a blow to your pride. You glanced back at the newcomer, Captain Freed, sitting across the room, loudly bragging about the haul of cotton they brought in. Only five sacks, yet he brandished it like it was a dozen. According to the warehouse worker Freed thought he’d paid to be in his pocket, that was the amount of tobacco he'd sold them. Freed could've at least pretended to be humble about his ill attempts at telling such a falsity just in order to brag.

The chair moved across from you, and down he went into it, the table jerking a few inches as his legs hit it.

"Would fuckin' hate to find out it's one-sided," he cooed, bringing his mug to his lips.

You jerked your eyes back to him. Jon and Samual already had their eyes on you two. They wouldn't rush in without your signal, thankfully. Not with him.

Well, usually. 

"What the fuck do you want, Captain Munson?"

"Mm. Love the formality. Really. Real fucking professional. But we both know it's not needed." He waved his hand in the air, the other left on the handle of his mug. He ran the tips of his fingers along the side of it slowly, his eyes glued to every swipe he made. His smirk remained. "What do I want?"

Shit. Poor choice of words, considering. You looked back over at Captain Freed, who had one of the more expensive brothel workers on his lap; a red velvet bag of coins was hauled from his coat pocket. A golden emblem of a lion was on the front. A rather familiar golden lion. You sat up straighter.

"You didn't know I was here," Captain Munson said, a little laugh in his voice. Excitement. Mischief.

Gold coins fell into the bosom of the woman on Freed's lap. Pristine, shiny gold coins. Freed shoved his curly blond hair out of his eyes and threw a few more gold coins onto the table. Sally sent a look your way as she plucked them up. Another round was brought their way.

"I don't care about the incessant, pointless nobodies who take up space on my island," you muttered, eyes still on Freed.

"Ouch. You wound me, princess." His boot nudged yours beneath the table, and you jerked your attention back to him. Freed's hand was snaking up the woman's skirt, anyway. No good intel came from simply knowing, like all pirates on Eswood, he liked to fuck.

"Captain Munson, I would be more than preoccupied to discuss anything with you even if I were tasked with nothing to do. If there is something you need, my parents' estate is exactly where you'd left it."

"I know." He tapped his fingers on the table, eyes down, smirk still prominent. The dirt and grime of working on his ship left black smudges on his cheeks. A bit of dried blood stained a bit of his hairline near his temple. His necklace, weighted with a smushed bullet pendant, hung out, the knot around near the front. "Afraid I only remember the route to your bedroom, though."

What the fuck was he doing? What was he thinking?

Your jaw hardened before he even looked up. Ignoring the memories was easy when you knew how much easier it was to not have to deal with him. You kept your leverage that way. If everyone on Eswood found out you'd fucked a pirate captain, not another one would enter a room without talking about it. Let alone with your parents. And when it was considered beneficial to marry you off to the highest bidder across the way, bringing in an influx of cash and new people to network operations with, well…it was a secret best kept as one.

And yet, that was his leverage. It was why you hadn't simply had him thrown out of the chair the second he sat down.

Besides, you could handle your own battles. Usually.

"I need information," he said, pointing two fingers toward the very Captain Freed. "About that prick."

You tipped your chin up. New. Typically, it was the pirates who had the information for you. And Captain Munson wasn't one who pointlessly asked for help, especially as of late.

You flicked your gaze over his shoulder. Over the room. Familiar faces spaced themselves out in the dozens of chairs, but…none of which belonged to his crew. 

A jagged twisting sensation settled in your stomach. Eddie wasn’t one to do it alone, either. 

"And you'll give me?" you said, trying to shake the feeling. Asking meant entertaining the idea, but you wouldn't lie and pretend he didn't usually have a tantalizing trade in the mix. He knew what you liked, unfortunately.

"Information about him," he answered. His cheeky smirk was back. He knew something you didn't yet.

Not good.

"How can I gauge how much your information is worth based on what you want to know about him?"

"Cause I'll tell it to you first, and you'll understand why the fuck I need the information. And why you do, too." He glanced down at the pearl pendant necklace you had on. The familiar feeling of his fingers grazing your chest as he wrapped the chain around his fingers took a second to get squashed. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Know you well enough, princess. You won't hold out on me."

You clenched your jaw again. An uneasiness boiled in your belly when he turned a serious look toward you. Only saw it a few times before, and that was during meetings where bad news was delivered and the one instance he stumbled through the doors of the inn up the road, bloody. Word got to you fast, and you rushed over, making sure he wasn't actively dying. Turned out, his crew's latest attempt at scoring goods had ended with a heavy loss. A third of his crew, gone. Ship in tatters. A bullet that should've gone point-blank into his skull sat inside a sunken misfired pistol on pure luck alone.

You'd spent the night in his room. Neither of you slept.

Damn it.

"I want their inventory log, crew size, itinerary, and who they're dealing with while they're stopped here."

"Fuck, Eddie." You shook your head, laughing. "They just came into port. Do you seriously think I have that kinda shit?"

"I know you do." He gave you a pointed look. "They've been in port more than a few hours. You have half of that and will have the rest before they finish fucking the entire brothel."

The curse of doing business with someone who knew yours. You looked back at Captain Freed. It wouldn't be too hard figuring some of it out by checking with the right people. But there was never a full guarantee that what you found was genuine. But you could try. If his information was really worth all the trouble. Or the trouble it could bring. Which begged the question…

"Why do you want it?"

Eddie followed your eyes over to Captain Freed. His serious expression remained and the tendon in his jaw twitched.

"Just curious."

Nine times out of ten, you would've taken that answer for what it was. If there was going to be any havoc wreaked, it wouldn't happen on the island. If it did, it was in the hands of the bastards who had the info, not yours. You were clean of doing nothing but your job.

This felt different.

"Will you knowing it fuck something up for me?"

Eddie shifted back in his seat and took another swig of his beer. "You this inquisitive with all you do business with? Or just me?"

You pushed back from the table without even a second thought. "Find the information yourself then–"

"He killed Harry."

You didn't even get to put full weight on your feet. A punch to the gut you tried to withstand–ignore. The legs of your chair scraped silently against the floor as you moved back toward the table, watching the expression harden on Eddie's face. That sharp sense in your stomach doubled and was joined by a hearty feeling of guilt.

So…that’s why he was alone. Here. 

Shit.

"Eddie," you said softly. Accidentally.

He shook his head, eyes still glued to Freed.

"We were in Roscoe, following a lead on some fucking tobacco trade bullshit. Some on land, some coming in by sea. Harry was dealing with the shit on land. It was a fucking done deal. Nobody was supposed to be there but a handful of exhausted guards. Told 'em they probably wouldn't even have to fire any pistols; it'd be so easy. But Harry's group missed the expected return time to the ship."

You watched the line of his jaw stay hard. The scar on his brow twitched as his brows furrowed. His leg bounced and fingers tapped on top of the table. He spun a ring with his thumb.

"It was a fucking slaughter when I got there. Not some defensive bullshit. He was fucking gutted and nailed to the wall, (Y/N)." Eddie looked at you again. That uneasiness in your stomach twisted into pain you couldn't pretend you didn't feel. "This was stuffed in his mouth."

Reaching into his pocket, a bloodied handkerchief was thrown across the table. You barely had to nudge it open to see the remnants of a hand etched into it. Nice try was written in thick black ink over it.

You sat back and closed your eyes, a deep breath not doing much to settle the thoughts. You knew what you wanted to say–that was on the tip of your tongue, purely emotionally driven. You'd liked Harry. A lot, really. Did most of your deals with Eddie's crew through his first mate after everything else unfolded. Harry always brought you fruit from the last port they'd been at to sweeten the pot. It worked.

But you couldn't be emotionally driven with shit like this.

"Personal grievances–" You cut yourself off. No point in stating the obvious. It was already written all over Eddie's face. Besides, it was Harry. It was…Eddie. "I'm sorry."

"I lost twenty fucking men to him. Twenty men when I saw no other boat on the harbor except a tradesman ship and the merchant's boat meant to take the tobacco–the one we couldn't risk raiding after that. I went over the plan myself a dozen times after stumbling across the itinerary. We got it during a raid on a small ship a week earlier. A letter noting a change in the fucking schedule. We were the only ones that should've known shit about it, princess."

You took a deep breath, looking back out at the people in the tavern. Anyone else, and you would’ve walked away. Would’ve told him to settle his grievance with Captain Freed himself. 

But you didn’t. 

"So, what? You think someone fed him that information about the tobacco or…?"

Eddie reached back into his coat and out came another piece of cloth. Red. Velvety. A gold lion etched into it.

Fuck. 

"Plucked this up from a lord's cargo ship with food traveling to Roscoe ages ago. Ronnie used it to store extra bullets. When she was grabbing more before rushing outta Roscoe to find that prick's ship, the man selling her the bullets recognized the bag. Asked her if her crew had marooned her since their boat had left the harbor hours earlier."

The sheath of his sword hit the table as he adjusted, once more, how he was sitting.

You looked back down at that familiar lion. A lion that was really fucking shitty to recognize. If Eddie's crew had a bag, it wasn't unheard of that Freed's crew could've gotten one the same way. But Eddie's was dirty, had holes stitched, threads missing from the predator embroidered on it. Even from there, you could see Freed's was pristine.

You said his name slowly, giving him a warning look. He held your gaze with a serious expression that matched your own. 

"Whose tobacco were you trying to take in the first place?"

Your heart sped up in your chest. Roscoe had your parents' trade routes through it. They worked with dozens of local and nearby lords and ladies to work their merchandise, their goods, any and all services they required through them. Stealing from a trade route in Roscoe was risky in itself if they weren't one hundred percent sure they weren't stealing from your parents. And if they were, and they had the audacity to try and sell it back to your parents as if it wasn't theirs?

Jon and Samual weren't just strong arms to keep you safe. There was more blood on their hands than even you could count.

But if a lord wanted their own merchandise stolen and resold…

"Lord Aeron," Eddie said.

You slowly lowered your hand and covered the emblem as Sally came by. She topped Eddie's beer off while you shook your head at her curious look.

There were dozens of letters sitting in your desk back with the same gold lion left on the wax seal. Discussions of dates, meetings, inquiries about you were inked in black on the parchment. Interests in meeting for dinner, parties at his home on Nylla. A stone's throw from Roscoe. His father assisted with your parents' trading routes between there and Roscoe for years until he became too ill to oversee it. Aeron took over the work two years ago.

Why would Lord Aeron steal from his own business partners’ routes?

Whose goods sat marked in Lord Aeron's barrels?

Your next breath came slowly as you watched Freed dance out of the tavern with the woman's tits already out and dress partially off of her. Those of his crew with him followed.

"Heard your parents lost a few hefty pieces of merchandise," Eddie said with an edge to his voice. "Unexpectedly."

No fucking way Lord Aeron's trying to fuck with business. Not when he got a decent cut from the work he did. He'd be an idiot to jeopardize that. Unless…

"Inventory log, crew size, itinerary, and whoever they're dealing with while here." Eddie shoved back in his chair and stood. "Same room I'm always in."

"Eddie," you said as he passed by you. This was a hell of a lot bigger if this wasn't just a coincidence unfolding in front of you. Freed was one thing–pirates getting paid to be pirates was only one issue to handle. But Lord Aeron…if he was purposefully trying to undermine your parents' business…shit. If Eddie got in the middle of that to get revenge on Harry–

"He won't die on the island," he said quietly. His hand rested on the pistol hidden under his thick coat. "His blood'll spill in his quarters and his crew can use it to paint their new flag."

Eddie's boots hit the floor hard as he left, his drink untouched.

"Fuck." You lifted your hand and looked down at the bag.

You were scheduled to have a date with Lord Aeron next week after your father sang his praises for increasing the efficiency of the routes.

Relaying the information to your parents was easy. You walked in after the dinner you'd missed and set the handkerchief and bag down on the table. They didn't know about your colorful history with Eddie, so you had to dance around why he'd shared so much with you and why you trusted him at his word. He was a hotheaded prick at times, but he was one of the higher earners for your family and never made a mess of shit when he was in town. Most of the time.

Your parents were the only lord and lady who liked the pirate captain.

For once, it worked out in both of their favors.

"Did he just give you this of own his own good moral standing?" your mother said with a knowing look. You weren't dumb enough to answer honestly.

They knew what you did–Jon and Samual wouldn't be assigned to you if they didn't. They just didn't know the extent of which you did things. Like sneaking onto ships in the dead of night, listening in through the walls of the brothel as the madam downstairs took some new coins to weigh down her wallet. Your mother was smart enough never to ask. Your father was a little more ignorant in that regard.

Saving your skin here meant fucking Eddie over while still, technically, working in his favor. That was doable. He'd get over it.

"He said he'll discuss apt payment with you both once the issue is resolved." You took a deep breath. The coldness in his voice back at Sally's…even if he killed Freed in his quarters on his ship, if he's docked here, that could still mean trouble. "Should anything happen to Captain Freed prematurely, I ask on Captain Munson's behalf that it gets…overlooked."

They both instantly turned curious expressions. You were ready for that. You going up to bat for a random pirate?

Harry wasn't so random. 

"Of all of those who help fill the warehouses, I have a soft spot for Harry." You cracked a smile. "He was no lord, but I did enjoy the new fruits he always brought me after excursions."

"Freed’s death would be fair," your mother said, eyes narrowing. "But we must get word to Captain Munson to bar some semblance of patience. We cannot simply assume involvement based on this information alone. We need to meet with Captain Freed and Lord Aeron. Do some reconnaissance."

Eddie wasn't going to like that. Not one damn bit.

"Jon, would you be kind enough to track down Captain Munson? We can meet with him come first light," your mother added.

Lord. Eddie was going to like it significantly less coming from them, too. Dressed in their perfectly pressed gowns and coats. Hair slicked back and glinting jewelry untarnished. Not a scar on them, a scuff in their shoes, a thread out of place on their clothing. Only a mind for business that didn't fondly care for a pirate's way unless it suited them.

Jon glanced your way. Neither he nor Samual knew about Eddie beyond the fact that you used to meet with him at the tavern. They kept your extra business a secret as well. Still knew you were softer for him than others hence why you hadn't turned him away earlier. And the times before that.

But they didn’t know. 

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded.

"And Captain Freed? Do we know his current whereabouts?"

"Where all pirates go when they touch land," Samual said.

"Find out all the information they let slip there. Relay it in the morning." Your mother stood. "Your father and I will mull this all over tonight. Figure out the truth and where Lord Aeron lies within it. Greedy prick."

Your father put his hand on your mother's back as she walked towards the door. You listened to your heart race with every step they got closer to it until they finally disappeared. Jon and Samual lingered for a moment as if they were waiting for you to do something rash. You wouldn't. Not until they left.

When they did, you waited an hour. Replayed the necessary information. Set up the dots and tied them together where they came as one. Then, when the house went still and the town was only a hum of the drunks left awake, you slipped from your bedroom window. Down the tree, past the guards that weren't at their posts, and right back into town. Toward the harbor.

There was information to collect and relay.

Nicholas at the blacksmiths, half drunk at Sally's, had a crew size–a hundred weapons purchased in bulk to be ready by the end of the week. Paid extra with gold coins. An estimate, but given the size of Freed's ship, a hundred was a decent assumption. Dahlia, who'd taken over her father's butcher shop, had a high order of meat to fill–again, by the end of the week. Lisa at the brothel, who strutted out after taking care of two of Freed's men, said they were interested in striking up a fantastic deal with your parents while they were there.

And Wilm was passed out at his station at the docks. An eye paid for by some of the visitors to report any wrongdoings that could be done to their ships. He made easy money when he wasn't drunk off his ass. But you liked him drunk. Made it damn easier to strut past him to stare up at the bloody hand splattered on black, hidden in the night sky.

Freed was a braggart. Showed off not just to his crew, but to those around him in Sally's. To those who'd listen. Hadn't changed his story to even bother fitting the details and only seemed to make Eddie's story make more sense. Especially when Freed had loudly boasted about how easy it'd been to cut down the fools opposing them. Like a knife in butter.

He was arrogant and prideful. Unstoppable with a lord in his pocket.

So? Not a soul was left to guard his ship.

The lock going into his quarters was easy to pick.

You just had to make sure everything was left exactly how you'd found it. Including the inventory scroll you copied, and the crew manifesto, which confirmed–by a rough glancing estimate–that the guess of a hundred people was correct. No itinerary was written down. No notes. Not unexpected. Not helpful, though. But you could muster a guess on the basics given other information.

Now, you just had to do something stupid. Not as stupid as breaking into a pirate's ship who brutally gutted another. But still…stupid.

Sneaking into Fiona's Inn was significantly harder than any ship. It wasn't easy bouncing around the different sections to avoid eyes of those who might connect why you were there. But eventually, you made it. Going home would've been the right move, but you couldn't have him hear any of it from your parents. He wouldn't take well to it from them. Probably wouldn't even from you.

Still, you knocked.

Still, you waited for him to open the door, left in nothing but his black pants. Hair wet, shirt discarded, jacket off, weapons on the dresser behind him. A washing basin full of dirty water sat in the center of the room.

Not entirely similar as that night, yet as he stepped aside, it was hard not to think about the last time you'd walked into his room at the inn. You glanced at the bed as he shut the door. Normally, someone like him locking the door behind him would've given you pause. But even through it all, there was still trust.

He crossed his arms, and you tried not to look at the collection of scars and tattoos littering his bare skin.

"You get it all?"

You nodded.

He held out a hand and looked at the small bag hanging from your shoulder.

"I can't give it to you."

The betrayal snapped across his features with just a twitch of his jaw and a narrowing of his eyes. You took a deep breath and held your ground.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because you intend to kill him."

"He fucking butchered Harry," he snapped, taking one step forward. Anger blazed in his eyes.

"He can't die yet, Eddie." You took a step toward him to show you weren't scared. He couldn't intimidate you, whether he was trying to or not. You wouldn't let him. "If the shit about him and Aeron is true, he needs to be alive to corroborate that before my parents act on it."

"We had a fucking deal," he seethed.

You took another step toward him. Your shoulder touched his as you passed him. Staying would do nothing but piss him off more. You'd already told him what he needed to know. Jon would tell him the same thing in the morning, and he'd have to understand.

"You'll get it. Just not tonight." You looked down at the skull tattoo on his bicep. Harry had the same one in the same spot. It was blurry and faded on Eddie. "They're in town for at least a week, so you'd have to wait anyway."

A strong hand landed on your bicep as you took another step toward the door. You ended up staggering back before you could finish it. No, you ended up losing a bit of air from your lungs as your back hit the wall, and you could smell the leathery smell of the soap Eddie used in the bath. His chest moved with every quick breath he took as he stepped close enough to practically pin you in place.

His voice was a whisper as he spoke beside your ear.

"He butchered him, (Y/N). He's gonna see my ship here. He's gonna fucking know. I can't let him walk around fucking, drinking, and goddamn living after doing that."

"And you risk losing another should you kill Freed before we can confront Aeron. He'll just pay another to take Freed's place." You kept your shoulders squared and chin up. Your voice wasn't as steady as it could've been. "All of this risks getting fucked up if we don't take care of Aeron."

Eddie's laugh came out like knives. Breathy, sarcastic, tired.

"Aeron." He tilted his head, his mouth grazing your cheek. "Ain't that one of the pretty boys trying to fucking buy you?"

"I can't be bought," you seethed.

You felt his smile widen against your cheek.

"I know." His hand twitched on your arm. "Does he? Imagine what bullshit he might have a barbarian like Freed do to get you as his prize." His other hand skated down over the strap of your bag, head tilting slightly. His voice fell into a whisper. A softer, warning one. "Don't make me have to take it from you, princess."

"We both know you won't." You glanced down at where his hand rested on your bag. One flick of his wrist, and he'd have it open. But you didn't move. "You wouldn't jeopardize what little good standing you still have left with me."

"I still have some left?" He feigned surprise, fingers playing with the button on your bag. He pulled back just enough to let you see the mocking expression of disbelief.

"Would I be here if there wasn't?" you murmured.

The truth of the matter boiled in your gut.

Eddie's fingers were rough against your neck as they found their way there. There was no stopping the twitch at the sudden sensation. His thumb went along the center, one move away from stealing the life coursing through your body. Yet his palm continued north and laid across your jaw. The calloused pad of his thumb swiped over your bottom lip.

You stared down at his, watching how his mouth parted and half-lidded eyes stayed glued to you. Such a familiar expression. One that sent memories a blaze, old feelings brought anew, and that never-ending feeling of desire that only seemed to boil in your stomach.

He always fucked like he was dying in the morning.

A hard draw to ignore.

Until you remembered Captain Hallen. A newer visitor on the island who'd yet to meet with your parents. Rumored to have information tied to dozens of political figures. Supposedly, he kept a log on his ship with every dirty detail in it. A quick grab from the massive ship–dead of night, nobody would've seen you. Only problem was, you couldn't be the one who delivered the notebook to your parents. You thought Eddie would appreciate that good fortune.

He hadn't.

He told Jon about it in exchange for insider information on where a potential haul was coming in a few islands over. Told Jon before you could even confirm the layout of Hallen's ship.

Jerked it right out from under you like a goddamn rug.

And what'd happened? Your parents talked to Hallen about it in an attempt to strike a mutually beneficial deal, and Hallen responded with a simple I'll think about it before taking off to search for another haul. He hadn't been back since.

"It would've gotten you killed," Eddie had said when you finally confronted him on it. "You seem to fucking forget you're not invincible. Don't fucking make me witness the aftermath of your personal mortality reminder. Not again."

"You undermined me."

Three words. They seethed from you. Settled in that empty room just as they settled in your stomach. Beside that old feeling trickling its way lower. His thumb swiped at your mouth again and drew your lips apart. Same way he'd do it in his bed, his mattress beneath you, bare skin against skin, and legs tangled underneath the covers. You still tingled from head to toe, tired eyes watching the slew of emotions remain subdued on his face before he leaned it.

Leaning in. It'd be so easy to lean in now. So easy to fall back onto the bed with him. So easy to give in to the yearning snaking around in your gut. He'd want to. He'd fucking lavish in it, you wanting him still. You giving into that clawing desire that so many times had you moaning into pillows so nobody else knew.

"What would all those lords pining after you fucking think if they knew how much you enjoyed my cock?" he'd whispered beside your ear mid-grunt, hands on your hips, hips flush against your ass.

"What would your crew think if they knew you're jeopardizing their whole livelihood just to get your dick wet for free?" you'd shot back, fists full of the pillows you'd just been biting down on. Another moan slipped out despite your efforts to keep the room silent.

He'd answered without words, one hand snaking down between your legs. You came again, shuddering and whining. A potency you'd never been able to recreate on your own since. Nor with someone else.

You'd tried, but nobody made your body yearn to be touched quite like he did.

Which was why you held your ground. You couldn't give him the satisfaction of falling onto your back. That wasn't giving him a mere step; that was giving him the length of his ship. And you'd never fucking live it down if you gave in now.

"Why even bother coming if you were just gonna cocktease me with what I need?" he murmured, fingers flicking your bag again.

Well, this wasn't helping your cause with him, was it? Skirting around the truth would work, except he'd see through it when the truth did inevitably come out.

"It…" What? It was complicated? You didn't want him to hear it from someone else and think you'd done the very same thing he'd done to you? Did you really want him to know that? He'd have that stance over you after that–that leverage. If you were considerate here–even after everything–where else would you be considerate toward him and his crew?

Would he start approaching you again with inquiries? Demands? He might expect insider information and leeway during any disputes. More pay, even with damaged goods. Could make you look weak around everyone else who you had to be strong around.

Fuck.

You played yourself.

Unless you could hold it over him, instead.

You tipped up a smile. One that sold the clever gears slowly returning to their duties inside your head. That dastardly feeling remained in your gut as his fingers skimmed across your jaw, but you could ignore it just a little longer.

"Because I–"

Oh, how trust saved you. Anyone else, and you would've been caught red-handed. Although, anyone else and you probably wouldn't have been visiting them in their room, alone, in the dead of night.

What would've been a simple barging in to relay a message let you be spared by the surprisingly sturdy lock on the door. Three loud knocks preceded it, a large fist shaking the wood. Two more followed when the door jerked and didn't open.

Fuck.

Eddie's hands fell as he stepped back, eyeing you as he moved toward the door.

"Oi, Captain Munson. Gotta message. Know you're in there, open the fuck up." Jon's voice carried through. Then, another knock. "Your fist can spare you for a sec. Let's go."

The panic wasn't enough to freeze your legs. There was a stiffness to your knees as you watched Eddie reach for the knob, and he gave you all of one pointed look, a glance at the doors just behind you, and five more seconds to slip through them. Slats on the front left you in a dim closet. You could see out, but they couldn't see in–thankfully. Empty hangers hung beside you, threatening to jostle and give away your position. You held your breath–and held in the curse–as Eddie threw the door open with little care for Jon on the other side.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Jon stepped forward–into the room.

Fuck.

"Lord and Lady (Y/L/N) will see you tomorrow morning. At the break of dawn." Jon looked past the edge of the wall–probably at Eddie's bed–and then did another once over. "About the Freed shit. Got it?"

"Will they?" Eddie asked, arms crossing his chest. He cocked a brow as he sized Jon up. "What–oh, what–could that possibly be about?"

Jon stepped closer–too close if this were anywhere else. Eddie tilted his head as Jon's hand rested lazily on his sword. A threat and nothing more, but one most pirates wouldn't tolerate. Eddie hardened his jaw.

"Next time you happen to stumble across any information like this, you bring it to me or Samual. Understood? Leave her the fuck out of it."

Eddie's mouth twitched.

"I'll bring my information to whoever I fucking want to." Eddie dropped his gaze over Jon's tall frame. "So, if that's all you're here to waste my time with, you can tell the Lord and Lady I'll be there right on time to discuss how exactly I'll get to gut Freed. Now get the fuck out."

Jon didn't move. He ran his hand along the handle of his sword as he looked back around. Back at Eddie's bed. At whatever else was out of sight that made him do a full three-sixty. His hand stayed right where it was.

So did Eddie.

"Do you think it'll work?" Jon asked when he was finally facing Eddie again. A mocking tone settled into his words. Eddie didn't answer him. "Our job's to be observant–Samual and me. We keep an eye on who comes close to Lady (Y/N), when they do, when they don't. Why they do."

Jon looked Eddie over like he was nothing but a piece of moldy bread trying to pass as fresh on a royal man's table. He laughed dryly as Eddie watched, bored.

"If you play the game right, she'll lift her dress for you?" Jon scoffed. "What do you think about while holing yourself up in here alone at night, fucking your fist? You pretend it's her?" Jon stepped closer. Threateningly close. "It's sad watching you try and pretend you could ever fit into her world, Munson."

There was an overwhelming silence. Your heart was loud enough, it was entirely possible they could both hear it. Damn near thought they did when Eddie glanced in your direction. Just a quick look. A look that told every secret you shared behind closed doors. Every whisper, every touch, every whimper for more.

"Is that it?" He stepped aside and held out one hand. Pointed it toward the door. "Because I'd much love to finish what you interrupted." He pursed his lips and cracked a smile. "You think she'd prefer it fast and rough or deep and slow? I go back and forth on it, and I really just can't decide."

Jon's sword glinted in the lighting. Just a mere inch of it. Another thin and sharp line of metal drew through the air. Small, short. It pressed against Jon's throat before he even finished his step forward. He swallowed hard as Eddie closed the gap between them.

"You underestimate her if you think she can't make her own decisions," he muttered. Should he see the irony in his own words, you weren't sure. You clutched the strap of your bag as he looked at Jon as if he were nothing more than a fly buzzing too close to him and had fallen expectedly into the honey trap set out. "Until she tells me to piss off, I'm gonna bring whatever the fuck I want to her. I'm gonna talk, tease, flirt, drink, dance, fuck her if it pleases me. Pleases her–which it damn well will when I'm the one doing it. Now run on back home and tell them I'll be there at dawn before I decide to change my mind and paint the floor with your blood."

He drew the blade along Jon's throat until the tip pressed up into his chin. Jon's hand flinched on his sword. He had no damn chance. One slight move, the blade would press up, and death would be there for yet another visit. He'd do it, too. If Jon aimed to kill him, Eddie would meet him halfway–with you in the closet or not. A threat's a threat.

Neither were stupid enough to do it, though.

You let out a held, burning, painful breath as Jon stepped back and walked out the door. Not another threatening word was said.

It shut hard behind him. Eddie locked it again.

"What the fuck was that?" you asked, slipping out from the closet.

"Hm? He started it." Eddie spun, eyes right back on you. "You should give him a raise for being so magnificent at his job." He walked toward you slowly. "Really. You have the most observant guard on Eswood."

You stared at the knife he still brandished. His footsteps echoed in the small room with every stride that brought him closer. The sharp edge, the pointed tip, the worn black handle, even the ring-covered fingers holding it aloof. He pressed the tip to his finger and spun the knife, eyes up on you.

"You really have some audacity, don't you?" you asked.

"Me?" Eddie laughed and did a dramatic look back at the door. "Was there no air in the closet, princess? Need I point out that he could've said his piece and left?"

"And you could've left it. Let it lie." Eddie stopped spinning the knife.

"Princess," he said quietly. Quieter than a whisper. "You know better than that."

You dared to blink. An unfortunate decision when you opened your eyes; the edge of the knife was pressed to your throat. A surge of adrenaline shot through your veins as you staggered back a step until your back hit something hard. Nothing important. Nothing substantial. Just hard and cold, and there was Eddie's hand, curved against your jaw, tipping your head back. The knife moved, and a flat side was cold against your cheek.

"Eddie," you muttered, losing a grip on a stern tone faster than you could save it.

"You remember the night of the summer solstice festival ages ago?" Your heart ticked faster. Something that wasn't nerves kicked in your stomach. "You had the bravery to try and steal from me–me, princess." He tilted his head and drew the blade lower across your cheek. "Maybe I should've told Jon you weren't out with your parental-approved friends all night."

It was difficult to swallow around the knot in your throat. A glint in Eddie's eyes brought back the night in a flash. It felt like a dream–part of you even wondered if it had been. Some midnight fantasy that broke free from the nets of your mind. But it wasn't.

Eddie had a log of another ship nearby that you needed to obtain for another captain. He refused to give it to you, even when you offered a bribe, so you said fuck it. Went and took care of it yourself. He was supposed to be out drinking on the beach, occupied by his crew, the whores there, the drinks, the food–anything else. But you'd underestimated his own loyalty. Even to what you thought was just a way to pass the time and boost his own ego for him.

You'd gotten into his quarters, cabinet open when you heard the creaking of the floorboards. The knife to your neck came next. It stayed as he hauled you back toward his desk, talking casually about how he finally got to show you his section on his ship. Walked you back until you were against the edge of his desk–until he reached down and gently tugged the page you'd needed from between your fingers.

"What the fuck am I gonna do with you now, princess?" he asked quietly.

The coiling urge that found itself settling where your dress started to bunch wasn't just a surprise to you. Maybe it was the open windows behind him, looking out onto the beach just hundreds of feet away from everyone. Maybe it was the adrenaline and the sultry edge to his voice. Maybe it was the curiosity of what came next–the threat of his words weighing heavier than the blade caressing your cheek.

Alone in his quarters, the page in his hand–no public example needed to be made.

When you should've been out with friends, drinking safely, engaging with potential partners in a perfectly civilized and poised manner, you had your dress hoisted up and legs open as Eddie fucked you on his desk. The mocking in his voice only made it worse when you came, knife at your cheek, the top of your dress pulled down, and hands back to brace yourself against every deep thrust.

The tip slammed down into the desk just beside your head when your elbows gave out, and Eddie had you by the jaw as he fucked you through your climax. His desk creaked under you and your eyes went from the windows framing him, to him, to his unlocked door behind you. You clutched onto the edge behind your head as his fingers found your clit, and a moan slipped out rather loudly as you came again, eyes shutting and legs hugging Eddie closer.

"You don't fucking steal from me," he murmured after he came, hips flush against you, hands skating over your sides and up to your chest. "I'll fuck you against the glass for everyone to see if you even think of trying that again."

Cheekily, you answered with, "Is that a promise?"

He made you cum again, his cock still inside you, one hand on your throat and the other down on your clit.

"Fucking 'course it is." His thumb ran over your mouth. "Show everyone that you're just as big of a degenerate as we all are, princess." He gave you a crooked smirk as he slowly moved his hips. "Let them see how hard you cum 'cause they're watching."

The knife fell and disappeared back into wherever Eddie was hiding it beneath his clothing. You snapped back to reality as his fingers trailed over your bag once more, and you had to, a little embarrassingly, shake off the memory.

"'You underestimate her if you think she can't make her own decisions,'" you spat at him, squaring your shoulders and taking a step forward. "That's what I'm talking about, Eddie."

His eyes flicked up. The smile on his lips wasn't there anymore. Neither was the glint in his eye.

"Maybe you should take your own fucking advice." You shoved past him, going toward the door. You kept a firm hand on your bag as you went. "You'll get the info you asked for if you aid in my family's plans."

Eddie's brow perked up the instant you said aid. New terms. He hadn't agreed to those, and you weren't going to give him a second to argue it. You already had your hand on the doorknob.

"You can act all pissy if you want, but you still came here, so I'd hear it from you." His voice was low and smooth. Confident. Irritatingly. "Didn't want me to think you fucked me over."

You squeezed the knob tighter and jerked the door open.

"See you tomorrow, princess," he said as the door shut behind you.

Your steps were angry as you made a poor attempt at sneaking downstairs.

Bastard. Rotten, dirty, annoying, frustrating bastard. Even with the information in your pocket, the night was not going in the direction you'd hoped for. Quite the damn opposite, in fact.

And tomorrow would be even worse.

*************