#shbto

You didn’t move for a while, staying beneath the linen sheets, your white nightdress loose against your skin, the pale fabric creased from restless hours.

Your chamber was as it always was, orderly and composed, its high ceilings framed with carved wood. The walls were dressed in soft ivory and pale blue, the colors chosen not by you, but for you. A vanity table was near the far wall, its surface neat and polished, a silver brush resting precisely where it had been placed the night before.

A wardrobe stood closed, its contents carefully arranged: corsets, gowns, fabrics chosen more for appearance than comfort, because sometimes a corset meant that even the simplest actions, like walking, breathing, or merely existing, became harder than they should be.

Everything was in its place. Everything was still inside.

But your gaze drifted, slowly, inevitably, toward the window.

The curtains had been left slightly parted, just enough for the morning light to slip through in thin, golden lines. Beyond them, the world stretched open and alive, because the port, that even at this hour, was already awake.

Ships stood anchored in the harbor, their tall masts cutting into the pale sky. Smaller boats moved between them, their oars dipping into the water, carrying goods, messages and people.

You could almost hear all its noise from here. The distant shouts of sailors. The dull thud of crates being unloaded. The call of gulls circling overhead, sharp and a bit annoying. Somewhere, faintly, the clang of metal against wood.

Life.

Messy. Loud. Unpredictable.

Free.

A thin line of sunlight caught the surface of the sea, scattering across it in fractured gold.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the sheet.

From here, it looked so close.

Close enough that you could trace the movement of the ships. Close enough that you could imagine, just for a moment, what it would feel like to stand there instead. To step onto one of the ships to leave.

But distance was a deceptive thing. Because between you and that water stood walls, expectations and promises that had been made long before you had any say in them.

Your eyes lingered on the horizon.

The moment didn't last long because a soft knock sounded at the door, gentle enough, and though it did not startle you, it pulled you back into the room all the same.

You let out a quiet breath before speaking.

“Come in.”

The handle slowly turned, and the door opened just enough to allow Mary to slip inside, closing it behind her with the same quiet precision. She carried a silver tray in both hands, its polished surface catching the morning light as she crossed the room toward you.

Mary had been part of the household for years, long enough that her presence no longer felt like that of a servant but rather part of the family, or at least, a friend. She was composed, always neatly presented, her dark hair pinned back beneath a modest cap, her dress simple yet impeccably kept.

She set the tray carefully on the small table beside your bed before turning to you, her hands folding neatly in front of her.

Breakfast.

It was, as always, more than necessary.

A porcelain teapot was still steaming faintly, accompanied by a matching cup and saucer; slices of fresh bread arranged with care, a small dish of butter set beside them; a pot of jam, and a plate of fruit.

You pushed yourself up slightly against the pillows, moving some stands of hair away from your face with your hand, your gaze flickering from the tray to her.

“Mary,” you began with a little smile, “I’ve told you before, I don’t want breakfast in bed.” There was no sharpness in your tone, “I would rather have it at the table, when I’m ready. With you.”

Mary did not look surprised. If anything, she seemed to have expected it.

“I know, miss,” she replied gently, her hands still clasped together, “you’ve said so many times.”

There was the faintest pause before she continued, choosing her words with care.

“But a maid does not take breakfast with you.”

You exhaled softly, and before you could respond, however, Mary seemed to remember something.

“Oh,” she added, her expression shifting ever so slightly, “a letter arrived for you this morning.”

Your attention returned to her immediately. “From whom?”

Mary smiled, because she knew you were always happy to receive letters from your friend. “From Rosaline.”

The moment the name left her lips, something in you shifted and you immediately felt lighter.

“Rosaline!” you repeated.

Mary gave a small nod, as she reached into the pocket of her apron and carefully retrieved the letter, holding it out toward you.

You took it without hesitation.

The paper was slightly worn at the edges, marked by its journey. You had met Rosaline years ago, during one of your travels with your father, back when the world had still felt wide open, and your life had not yet been confined to the walls of Port Everleigh.

Your father had been an explorer, a man who belonged more to the sea than to any one place, and after your mother’s death, so early that you had no memory of her at all, you had become his only constant companion. Wherever his journeys took him, you followed. You had seen cities that did not sleep, markets overflowing with colors and voices you could barely understand, coastlines untouched and vast, stretching further than the eye could reach. You had learned early how to adapt, how to observe, how to read maps, calculate coordinates, and how to find wonder in the unfamiliar.

And then, there had been Saint Marlowe. It had not been your father’s destination, only a stop along the way, a place to resupply and to rest before continuing further across the sea.

The streets were alive, buildings rose in soft colors sun-faded by years of salt air, their windows open to let in the breeze, their balconies draped with fabrics that moved gently with the wind. Music could be heard at nearly any hour, drifting from open doors and crowded squares, blending with laughter and the murmur of conversation

Small shops lined the streets, like bakeries spilling the scent of fresh bread into the air, stalls crowded with fruit and spices, tailors and craftsmen working with their doors wide open as if inviting the world inside. Beyond the busier roads, nature was never far; narrow paths led to stretches of green, to gardens left to grow a little wild, and to cliffs where the land gave way to the sea, the horizon vast and untouched.

That was where you had met your friend.

Rosaline was your age, she had spoken easily, as though you had known each other for years rather than moments, and before long, she had taken it upon herself to show you the city.

You had stayed only a short time, as you always did, yet it had been enough to appreciate that beautiful land.

When you left, you had not expected to see her again.

But the letters had started not long after.

The letters had begun not long after you left Saint Marlowe, and somehow, despite the distance, despite the years that had passed, the two of you had never truly lost touch.

You unfolded the letter carefully, your eyes moving across the familiar handwriting.

Rosaline told you about a cat she had found wandering into her garden, and then spoke of a man she had met. She had known him for a week, no more, and yet she claimed to be madly in love with him.

You found yourself smiling a little more at that.

It was so like her.

You had not even reached the final lines when Mary’s voice broke gently through your thoughts.

“You are to meet Sir Whitmore today, are you not?”

The words were not sharp, nor unkind, and yet you felt the warmth of the letter slipping through your fingers.

Your smile faded, though slowly, as your gaze lingered on the page for just a moment longer before you finally lowered it.

“Yes,” you answered, your voice quieter now, more distant than before. “I am to go to him this afternoon.”

Mary watched you carefully, her expression unreadable for a brief second before she tilted her head slightly.

“And you are not pleased?”

You let out a breath that felt heavier than it should have, your fingers folding the letter with more care than necessary before setting it down beside you.

“Pleased?” you repeated, you tone sharper now. “For what, exactly?”

There was a pause, and then, more plainly...

“For the prospect of marrying a man I do not love?” you continued, meeting her gaze now. “No, Mary. I am not.”

Mary hesitated, as though weighing her response, before speaking again, her voice still gentle, though more insistent this time.

“But he is the governor,” she said. “Sir Whitmore is a man of standing, of wealth… of power. There are many who would consider such a match—”

“A privilege?” you finished for her, a faint, humorless smile touching your lips.

She did not deny it.

You shook your head slightly, looking away for a moment, your gaze drifting back toward the window, toward the distant line of the sea that still called to you in ways you could not quite explain. You wanted to leave, you wanted to travel, to see the world again, to live.

“It does not matter what he is,” you said after a moment, more quietly now, but no less certain. “If I do not love him, I do not love him. And no amount of power or wealth will change that.”

Now, the silence felt heavier.

When Sir Edward Whitmore, the governor of the city, had first declared himself to you, you had not given him the answer everyone had expected. Instead, to the scandal of almost every person present, you had simply said that you would think about it, as though such a proposal could be weighed like any ordinary decision, as though your entire future were not meant to be decided in a single breath.

You had been told, again and again, how fortunate you were, how amazing it was for a man of such wealth and influence to choose you, how foolish it would be to refuse something so advantageous, as if love had ever been part of the equation they cared about. And so, in the days that followed, every voice around you had pressed the same conclusion into your ears, until even your doubts began to sound unreasonable, until refusal itself started to feel like defiance for its own sake. In the end, you had said yes.

And the moment you had, it had not felt like relief, but rather like something quietly closing around you, like a door shutting with no sound at all, leaving you standing on the wrong side of a life you had not chosen.

That afternoon, you prepared yourself with more care than you felt. A dress had been chosen for you in soft tones, neither too loud nor too plain, the fabric falling gracefully on you. The bodice was fitted but not uncomfortably tight, and the skirt flowed around you in gentle layers that moved with each step you took. Your hair had been carefully gathered and pinned back, the strands smoothed and braided before being secured in a simple, refined arrangement that left your neck exposed and your expression more composed than you felt inside.

You did not linger in front of the mirror longer than necessary.

When you arrived at Sir Whitmore’s residence, you immediately recognized it. It stood larger than most, its stone façade was clean and framed by tall windows that reflected the afternoon light. The door was opened after only a brief pause, as though your arrival had been expected long before you reached it.

Then, Sir Whitmore appeared, dressed with precision, every detail of him carefully maintained, as though even a single misplaced thread would be an imperfection too great to allow. His coat was dark and finely tailored, his cravat tied with practiced elegance, and his gloves immaculate, though he removed one as he stepped forward to greet you. His posture was upright and controlled.

“Sir Whitmore,” you greeted him politely, inclining your head.

A faint pause followed, as if he were unused to such formality from you.

“Edward,” he corrected smoothly, though not unkindly. “You will be my wife soon enough. There is no need for titles between us.”

For a fleeting second, something sharp almost rose to your lips, something dangerously close to Don’t remind me, but you swallowed it before it could take shape, the corners of your mouth tightening just slightly instead.

Instead, you only gave a small, controlled nod.

He stepped aside to let you in.

The interior of his home matched its exterior in every way, refined and expensive, filled with polished wood, soft carpets and clean furniture. You were guided into a sitting room where a low table had already been prepared, a fine porcelain tea set arranged neatly upon it.

A maid entered shortly after, carrying a tray, but as she poured the tea, her fingers trembled ever so slightly, the cup clinking faintly against its saucer.

Edward’s gaze sharpened almost immediately.

“Careful,” he said, his tone low and cold, without raising his voice.

The maid flinched.

You, however, offered her a gentle nod as she finished, “Thank you.”

Edward’s attention returned to you as the tea was served properly, the silence between you settling again as the door closed behind the maid.

For a moment, there was only the quiet sound of porcelain.

“Preparations for the wedding will begin soon,” he said at last.

“I’ve heard,” you replied.

His gaze lingered on you.

“Is there anything in particular you would like?” he asked. “For the ceremony, the arrangements… anything at all.”

You hesitated only briefly, though not because you were considering possibilities, but because none of them truly mattered to you.

“No,” you said at last, without much emotion. “I don’t think so.”

Something flickered in his expression, subtle enough that most would not have noticed, but you did. Still, he said nothing.

Instead, your eyes drifted away from him, slowly taking in the room once more. And then your gaze caught on something that interrupted the symmetry of it all.

A large map of the world hung on one of the walls.

It was old enough to feel lived-in, yet carefully preserved, its surface marked with faint lines, ports, and distant lands.

“May I look at it?” you asked, setting your teacup down with care.

Edward seemed momentarily surprised, as though the request were unexpected.

“Mm… of course,” he replied after a brief pause.

You rose from your seat and moved toward the wall. Up close, the map was even more detailed, the continents marked, the seas filled with names and routes.

Edward followed you a few moments later, stopping just behind and slightly to your side, watching as your gaze traced across it.

Without thinking too much about it, you lifted a hand and pointed.

“I would like to go here,” you said, tracing a distant coastline far beyond the familiar routes of Port Everleigh. Then your hand shifted slightly, moving across the painted ocean. “And here.”

Edward’s eyes followed your gesture, though his expression remained carefully neutral, as though he were observing something mildly unusual rather than genuinely intrigued.

You moved again, more certain now, your finger tapping different regions.

“I have been here,” you said, a faint softness entering your voice despite yourself. “It was… very beautiful.” Your hand shifted once more, sliding across the map with less enthusiasm this time. “Here, though, there was not much worth remembering.”

Edward gave a small, almost absent nod.

“Hm,” he murmured. “I suppose that is often the case with distant places. They rarely live up to expectation.”

It was not unkind, but it was detached. Still, you did not stop.

Your finger hovered over another stretch of sea, a place marked with fewer routes, fewer names, the ink lighter as though even the cartographer had been uncertain.

“I have never sailed through these waters,” you said.

“Well, those seas,” he said, after a brief pause, “are known to be infested with pirates.”

There was a quiet finality in his tone, as if that alone should end any further curiosity.

You turned your head slightly toward him.

“Pirates?” you repeated.

A faint, humorless exhale left him.

“Brutal men,” he continued. “Lawless. Violent. They take what they want and leave nothing but ruin behind them.”

You listened, and then, after a brief pause, you said quietly, “Maybe they simply want to be free.”

After a moment of silence, Edward let out a short laugh.

“You think so?” he said, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you properly for the first time since you had begun speaking. “You believe men who burn ships and rob the King just... want to be free?”

There was a faint edge of ridicule beneath his words now, and you decided it was better not to add anything else.

Then he shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly.

“You have spent too much time in the wrong places,” he said at last.

You didn’t speak, and your eyes returned to the map instead, lingering on the sea.

When you got back home, the night came quietly as the hours passed and the last of the daylight faded completely from the sky.

You stood near the bed as Mary moved about the room, finishing the small, familiar tasks that marked the end of your day. The heavier layers of your dress had already been set aside, replaced by your simple nightdress, far more comfortable than anything you had worn that afternoon. Your hair, once carefully pinned and arranged, now fell freely down your back, loose strands brushing gently against your shoulders.

You preferred it this way, there was a relief in it.

Mary adjusted the covers before stepping back, her hands smoothing the fabric with care.

For a moment, she said nothing.

Then, glancing toward you, she asked, “Was it… a pleasant meeting with Sir Whitmore?”

There was something cautious in the way she said it, as though she already suspected the answer and yet hoped to be proven wrong.

You moved toward the bed, slipping beneath the covers without much thought, settling into the familiar space as you reached for the book resting on your bedside table.

“I wouldn't call it pleasant,” you replied.

Mary did not move.

“Be serious,” she said after a moment, her tone gentle but insistent.

You paused only briefly before opening the book, your eyes dropping to the page.

“I am,” you answered, just as simply.

The meeting had been exactly what it was meant to be.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Mary seemed to consider pressing further, but in the end, she did not. Instead, she gave a small nod to herself, as though accepting an answer, before stepping back toward the door.

“Good night, miss.”

“Good night, Mary.”

The door closed softly behind her, leaving you alone once more, and the room returned to silence.

You read for a while, though the words did not hold your attention as firmly as they usually might have. Your thoughts drifted too easily, slipping between the memory of the map, the echo of Edward’s voice, and the letter still resting nearby.

After a few pages, you stopped.

The book lowered slightly in your hands as your gaze unfocused, lingering somewhere beyond the lines.

Then, with a quiet breath, you set it aside, and eventually, sleep came.

When you woke up hours later, you didn’t fully understand what was happening at first.

The room was dark, just as it should have been in the middle of the night, but something felt off. It took you a few seconds to notice the faint light filtering through your curtains, a strange red-orange glow that usually wasn't there.

At first, still half asleep, you thought it might be a lamp left burning somewhere outside.

But then you heard the voices.

Loud, shouting, overlapping and panicked. Then a heavy crash, followed by something that sounded like wood breaking. Another shout, closer this time.

You were fully awake now.

You sat up quickly, pushing the covers aside before getting out of bed, the cold floor making you move faster as you crossed the room. The noise kept growing, clearer with every step and impossible to ignore.

Something was wrong.

You reached the window and pulled the curtains apart.

And froze.

A part of the port was on fire.

Flames spread across the docks, climbing up wooden structures and licking at the sides of some ships. Smoke filled the air, rising into the night sky. The light you had seen was coming from the fire itself, reflecting off the water in uneven, shifting patterns.

People were running everywhere.

Some were trying to carry things, others were just trying to get away. You could hear screams now, clearer than before, mixed with orders being shouted and the constant noise of things breaking, falling and burning.

And among the chaos, you saw men who were not trying to escape.

They moved fast, but not like the others. Not afraid.

Their clothes were rough and worn, nothing like the neat uniforms of guards, and different than merchants' clothes. Long coats, loose shirts, belts with weapons, heavy boots. Some had cloth tied around their heads or necks, others carried blades that caught the firelight as they moved.

And they were stealing.

Barrels passed from one to another, crates dragged away, anything of value grabbed without hesitation. A few of them were fighting, pushing people aside, striking when needed, clearing their way through the chaos.

Your gaze shifted further out, toward the center of the port.

There was a ship. Large, dark and still.

It stood out immediately, its hull almost black, its white sails visible even in the dim orange light, barely moving.

They were pirates. And they were attacking your port.

You remained by the window, unable to sleep after that, while everything outside fell into chaos, your hands resting against the frame.

Soon, you saw the guards arrive.

At first in small numbers, then more, their presence growing as the alarm spread through the city. Their uniforms stood out even in the firelight, their voices cutting through the noise as they tried to regain control.

You saw them fighting. Steel against steel, shouts turning sharper, more ordered, though never fully enough to match the chaos the pirates had brought with them.

And still, the pirates did not scatter immediately.

You watched them move back and forth between the docks and their ship, carrying barrels, crates, anything they could take, passing goods from one to another. They did not push deeper into the city, did not attempt to break past the port itself, and you were so glad of this.

Your home, standing where it did, would have been one of the first they reached.

Eventually, the balance began to shift.

There were too many guards.

You could see it in the way the movement changed, in the way the pirates no longer advanced but began to pull back instead. The last of the stolen goods were loaded onto the ship, ropes thrown, and by one, they began to retreat.

You watched as they made their way back aboard, climbing swiftly, disappearing into the dark shape of the vessel as it prepared to leave.

And then, something caught your attention.

A figure.

At first, you thought it was just another fight, another clash among many, but this one did not end the same way.

He was alone, the last one still on the dock.

Guards surrounded him from all sides, closing in, focused entirely on him. Even from this distance, you could tell he was fighting, holding them off as long as he could, moving with force and making it clear he had no intention of surrendering.

But there were too many.

One strike. Then another.

You saw him stagger.

Still, he did not go down immediately.

It took more, several guards pressing in at once, overwhelming him, forcing him back until finally, he collapsed under the weight of it all.

He stopped moving, and your breath caught slightly.

The ship did not wait.

As the last of the pirates climbed aboard, the ropes were cut loose, sails shifting as the vessel began to move, pulling away from the port.

Leaving him behind.

You watched as the guards approached his unmoving form, one of them crouching briefly before signaling to the others. They grabbed him, not gently, lifting him just enough to drag him across the dock.

Even from this distance, you could tell he was not dead.

Unconscious, perhaps, but alive.

His head fell forward as they moved him, dark hair slipping loose, not long enough to fully hide his face, yet enough, combined with the distance, the darkness, that you could not make out his features clearly.

You remained by the window as the chaos slowly faded, watching people work through the night to put out the fire and restore what they could. Buckets of water were passed, and the port gradually returned to something closer to what it used to look like. You did not move for hours, your gaze fixed outside as darkness gave way to the pale light of dawn, the flames replaced by morning sun. Only then did you realize you had spent the entire night there, standing in silence, watching everything fall apart and come back together again.

You fell asleep that early morning the moment you finally returned to bed, completely drained from the night spent awake at the window, your body giving in.

It did not last long.

A soft knock pulled you back to consciousness, followed almost immediately by Mary’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Miss, I am sorry to wake you, but Sir Whitmore is here and he wishes to see you.”

You sat up slowly, still exhausted. There was no space to refuse, no time to even properly gather your thoughts.

“Come in,” you answered.

Mary entered, closing the door gently behind her. The moment she saw you properly awake, she moved into action without delay, helping you wash and dress. Your hair was brushed and pinned back with care. As she worked, the two of you spoke about the events of the night.

“It was terrifying,” Mary said quietly as she adjusted the fabric at your shoulders. “The fire, the shouting… I thought the whole port would burn down.”

When you were finally ready, there was no time left to rest. Sir Whitmore was already waiting.

You found him in the sitting room, standing by one of the windows as though he had been there for some time. He turned as you entered, composed as always, dressed immaculately despite the early hour, as if nothing in the world could disturb his presentation.

“Good morning,” he said, stepping toward you. “I was passing through and wondered if you would accompany me for a walk.”

You stopped for a fraction of a second.

You were tired. You had not had your breakfast yet, had barely slept, and the last thing you wanted was a walk with him.

For a brief moment, you almost said it.

I would rather rest.

I would rather not see your face today or ever again.

I would rather not leave my bedroom.

But none of it left your lips.

“Of course,” you said instead. “Let’s go.”

Everything in the streets outside looked normal and walked beside him in silence for a while before he spoke again.

“Have you heard about the terrible events of last night?” he asked.

“I saw them,” you replied simply. “From my bedroom window.”

He gave a small, grave nod. “It was fortunate there were no deaths. Considering the damage, we were lucky.”

You did not answer immediately, and he continued.

“Even more fortunate,” he added, “that we managed to capture the captain of Bad Omens.”

You stopped walking for a fraction of a second.

The name struck something faintly familiar, though distant, like something you had heard years ago during one of your travels and never thought about again.

“Bad Omens?” you repeated.

“A pretty.... famous pirate crew,” he said. “They have been responsible for countless attacks along the coast in the last ten years. Ports raided, ships taken, entire cargos stolen. For years, we have tried to stop them.”

He exhaled lightly, almost satisfied.

“They say their captain has escaped capture more times than we can count,” Edward went on. “But not this time. The guards were prepared, and for once, everything went as it should.”

A faint, almost pleased smile touched his expression.

“Noah Sebastian is finally in our custody,” he said. “And he will rot in the prison of Port Everleigh.”

And that was exactly the moment the most reckless, unreasonable idea you had ever had took shape in your mind.

So absurd that, under any other circumstance, you would have dismissed it instantly. No proper young woman of your standing, raised well, promised in marriage to the governor of a city, would even allow herself to think such a thing, not even in jest, not even as a distant possibility.

And yet, the thought remained. And it was impossible to ignore.

Noah Sebastian.

A pirate. A criminal. A man you had never seen, never spoken to, who now sat somewhere in the city's prison, locked behind bars.

And somehow... he felt like your way out.

The idea made no sense. It was dangerous, illogical, and very likely impossible. You had no reason to believe it would work, no proof that he would even listen to you, let alone agree to anything you might offer.

And still, as you walked beside the man you were meant to marry, in a city that no longer resembled anything but a cage, it did not feel impossible.

It felt like an opportunity.

You could free him.

The thought alone should have terrified you.

Instead, you felt quiet sure about it, in that moment.

You could free him… and in return, he could take you away from all of this.

To Saint Marlowe.

To Rosaline.

To a life that had once felt out of reach, but now seemed suddenly and dangerously, possible again.

It was madness, and yet, as you continued walking beside Edward, listening to him speak about the wedding dress he had already chosen, and bought, without once asking for your opinion, it began to feel like the only thing that made sense.

Your responses came automatically, distant and polite, while your mind remained elsewhere, fixed on that single, crazy idea. At that moment, it felt like the closest thing to freedom you had. And if it failed… then it failed. You would die at the hands of a pirate, which did not seem much worse than living a life that was never truly yours. So, perhaps, it was worth trying.

So, that same afternoon, you returned to Edward’s house under the pretense of a sudden idea, one that, under normal circumstances, might have even sounded convincing.

You told him you had seen dahlias at the market that morning, flowers you liked so much you thought they would be perfect for the centerpieces at your wedding, something elegant yet different, something that would make the tables stand out.

Edward had listened, then nodded.

“Yes, that could be arranged,” he had said. “I will make a note of it.”

He mentioned his agenda, something he had been using to organize every detail of the ceremony, and excused himself to retrieve it, leaving you alone in the sitting room.

You smiled. You nodded.

And the moment he was out of sight, you were on your feet instantly, your steps silent against the carpet as you moved toward the cabinet in the corner. You barely hesitated before kneeling, pulling open the lowest drawer.

He had mentioned it once, and you remembered.

You searched quickly, your fingers brushing against papers, and some small objects, then metal.

You froze for half a second before pulling them free.

A heavy ring, holding a number of large, dark keys, cold against your skin.

You had found them.

Your heart was beating faster now, louder than it should have been, but there was no time to think about it. You slipped them beneath your corset, pressing them against your side, adjusting the fabric just enough to keep them hidden.

The pressure was immediate and uncomfortable.

The rigid shape of the keys dug into your skin beneath the already tight corset, making it harder to breathe than it had been before. You could already tell it would leave a bruise.

But it did not matter.

You pushed the drawer closed just as you heard his steps returning.

By the time Edward reentered the room, you were standing where you had been before, your expression composed, as though nothing had changed.

He glanced at you briefly before speaking again, already focused on the matter at hand.

You did not let him continue.

“Edward,” you said, just quickly enough to interrupt, your tone apologetic, “I have just remembered that I promised Mary I would help her with something important this afternoon. I truly must go.”

There was a brief pause, as though he had not expected that, but then he nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “Se you again soon.”

You gave him a small, polite smile, forcing yourself not to move too quickly as you reached for your coat, slipping it on like you usually did, despite the uncomfortable weight hidden beneath your corset.

Then, without giving yourself the chance to hesitate, you left.

You had stopped by home quickly, grabbed a jacket, slipped some gold jewelry into your pockets (things you could trade for money if you ever made it to your destination) and put on a pair of more comfortable boots. You had kept your dress and corset on, the keys still hidden inside, afraid that if anyone saw them, they would start asking questions.

The city’s prison was smaller than you might have expected for a place of such importance, tucked between two older stone buildings. Its walls were thick and dark. There was a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bars, and narrow windows set too high to see through properly.

You reached it quickly, your breath slightly uneven from the pace you had kept, your heart still racing, not just from the run, but from everything you were about to do.

Two guards stood outside, just as expected.

One of them turned at the sound of your approach, confusion already forming on his face as he recognized you.

He was one of Edward’s closest acquaintances, a man you had seen many times, though never for any reason that made him seem particularly competent. If anything, he was known more for his lack of awareness than anything else and he usually struggled with the simplest instructions.

And yet, somehow, he had ended up guarding the prison. Well, good for you.

“Miss?” he said, clearly caught off guard. “What—”

“Have you not heard?” you cut in immediately, as you stepped closer, not giving him time to think.

Both guards straightened.

“Heard what?” the other one asked.

“The port,” you said quickly, breathless just enough to make it convincing. “It has caught fire again.”

“What?” the first guard blinked. “Again?”

You stared at them, as if the answer should have been obvious.

“What is it, is there a law that forbids the port from burning two days in a row?” you snapped, “One of the ships is on fire! They need help!”

That was enough.

They exchanged a quick look, and then, almost at the same time, they moved.

“Come on,” one of them muttered, already turning.

Within seconds, they were gone.

You stood there for only a moment, listening to their footsteps fade, making sure they were far enough.

Then you turned.

Your hand moved quickly to the door, fingers tightening around the handle as you pushed it open and stepped inside before you could stop yourself.

The air felt different inside.

It was colder, heavier and it smelled of damp stone, rust and dirty men. The space was narrow, lit only by a few dim lanterns fixed along the walls.

Cells lined both sides, each one closed off by thick iron bars. Some were empty, others not. Chains hung in places, bolted into the stone, and the floor beneath your feet was uneven, marked by dirt and old stains.

One man was singing, loudly, and terribly off-key, his voice echoing in the place. Somewhere further down, another muttered to himself in a constant stream of words you couldn’t quite make out. A third was asleep, or at least unconscious enough to be snoring heavily, the sound rising and falling in uneven rhythm. And somewhere to your right, two voices argued back and forth, mad and irritated, though neither seemed particularly interested in ending the dispute.

And then they noticed you.

The singing faltered first.

“Well now—” someone drawled from behind the bars, his tone shifting immediately. “What’s a beauty like you doing down here?”

A low chuckle followed from another cell. “Lost your way, sweetheart?”

“Or looking for company?” a third voice added, followed by a few scattered laughs.

“If you’re staying, I’ve got space—”

“Come a little closer, love, don’t be shy—”

“That’s enough,” you said, trying to cut through them.

It didn’t work.

If anything, it encouraged them.

“Listen to that—she’s got a voice too—”

“Fiery one, aren’t you?”

“Careful, I like that—”

“Enough!” you snapped, louder this time, your voice echoing down the corridor.

That did it.

There was a quiet pause and you could finally speak without being immediately talked over.

“I’m looking for Noah Sebastian.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

Then, from somewhere further down talked. “The last cell,” one of the men that was arguing said. “All the way at the end.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You moved forward again, your dress brushing dangerously close to the dirty floor as you passed each cell. You could feel their eyes on you as you walked, following your movement.

A whistle sounded behind you.

“Good luck with that one,” someone muttered.

You ignored them, and you reached the last cell at the end of the corridor.

He was there.

Sitting on the ground, his back resting against the cold stone wall, his head lowered just enough that his face remained hidden in shadow. Strands of dark hair fell forward, obscuring his features, though you could make out the outline of him in the dim, flickering light.

He look too calm for someone who had fought the way you had seen the night before.

A loose black shirt hung from his frame, the fabric worn and slightly open at the collar, revealing the faint lines of ink beneath. His trousers were darker, more fitted, tucked into boots that had clearly seen better days.

For a moment, you simply stood there.

Then...

“Have you come to see a pirate up close?”

His voice broke the silence before you could speak.

It wasn’t what you had expected.

Rough, yes, and also tired, but not as low, not as heavy as you had imagined.

You straightened slightly.

“No,” you said. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

There was a pause.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head.

And for the first time, you saw him.

The light from the corridor caught his face just enough to reveal it in pieces at first, his dark eyes, the shape of his lips softer than you had expected, and features that you had imagined to be much sharper than they actually were.

His expression was unreadable, though not uninterested.

He pushed himself to his feet in one smooth movement, brushing dust from his hands before stepping closer to the bars, his gaze never leaving you.

“Interesting,” he said.

Up close, you could see more.

You noticed the ink along his neck, dark lines disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. More across his hands, stretching over his fingers in patterns you couldn’t fully make out in the dim light.

And something told you that the tattoos didn’t stop there.

You noticed the faint trace of stubble along his jaw, with the slightest hint of a mustache that was almost softening his features.

His eyes moved over you, taking in the fabric of your dress and the small details that set you apart from everything around you.

“Go ahed, princess.”

“I can get you out of here,” you said quickly, “But only if you agree to something for me in return.”

One of his brows lifted slightly.

“Oh?” he said. “And what could you possibly want from me?”

“I want you to take me with you,” you replied. “Out of this city. To Saint Marlowe.”

There was a pause. Then, a quiet, short laugh.

“Saint Marlowe?” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard. “That’s not exactly around the corner.”

“I know.”

“It’s on the other side of the world,” he went on, tilting his head slightly as he studied you, as if trying to understand whether you truly meant it. “That’s not a quick trip. That’s months at sea. Maybe longer.”

You held his gaze.

“Do you want to be free or not?”

That seemed to amuse him more than anything else.

A faint smile touched his lips.

“You’re fortunate,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting slightly. “I was already planning to head in that direction. There are islands not far from there I intend to pass by.”

“Good,” you said, almost immediately. “Then we have a deal. I get you out, and you take me to Saint Marlowe.”

You were expecting a confirmation, but instead he asked for your name. You hesitated for a second, almost thinking of lying, but then decided there was no point and told him. He replied, “Noah, but maybe they’ve already told you.”

After a moment, he spoke again.

“Well, now I’m curious,” he said, leaning slightly closer to the bars. “How exactly were you planning to get me out of here?”

You slipped a hand beneath your corset and pulled, the metal keys finally coming free as you drew them out, allowing yourself a deeper breath now that the pressure against your ribs had eased.

Another quiet laugh.

“Keys,” he murmured. “You came prepared... How does a lady like you get her hands on the keys to a prison?”

“I’m the governor’s fiancée,” you replied.

That earned you a different reaction.

His head tilted slightly, studying you again, more carefully this time, as if reassessing everything he had thought about you.

“Oh,” he said slowly. “We’ve got a rebellious princess, then.”

You frowned slightly at the word, but he didn’t seem particularly concerned whether you liked it or not.

In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.

“A governor’s fiancée,” he repeated. His gaze flicked briefly to the keys in your hand, then back to you. “And here you are, sneaking into a prison to bargain with a pirate, wanting to commit a crime and sail across the world.”

A pause.

“You don’t look like someone who’s ever done anything like this before,” he added. “No offense.”

“None taken. But i have traveled. I know the sea.”

“You’re either very brave,” he said, “or very stupid.”

“Which one do you think?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“A bit of both,” he replied easily.

Despite yourself, something in that almost made you smile.

Almost.

And he noticed.

Of course he did.

“Are you agreeing or not?”

He watched you for a second longer, then exhaled softly, like he had come to a decision.

“Well,” he said, straightening just a little, “I was going to rot in here otherwise, so...”

He gave a small, careless shrug.

“I suppose I can make room on my ship for one very determined princess.”

Then he slipped one hand through the bars, and extended it toward you. A couple of rings caught the dim light on his fingers, metal glinting softly against inked skin.

“Well?” he said quietly.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped closer and took his hand, shaking it for a brief moment.

His grip was firm, fingers rough against yours, his rings pressing lightly into your skin.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, shaking his head slightly as his hand left yours. “You’re definitely going to regret this.”

“Open the door,” he added then, nodding toward the lock. “Let’s find out how long it takes before you change your mind, princess.”

The stolen ship cut through the shallow water before slowing near the shore, the anchor dropping with a heavy splash.

You stepped onto the beach beside Noah and Nick, your boots sinking slightly into warm sand.

The crew had spotted the ship long before you reached shore, and the guys were already running down toward the beach when you arrived, shouting over each other, disbelief written across almost every face.

Because none of them had expected this.

You had gone straight into the king’s territory, and somehow all three of you had come back alive.

“No fucking way—” Someone shouted.

“How the hell did you idiots survive?” Someone else added.

Questions immediately started flying from every direction as the crew crowded around you.

Someone grabbed Nick by the shoulders like they were checking he was real. Someone else was already loudly demanding details while Noah got pulled into rough handshakes and smacks across the back.

Noah laughed as he hugged Jolly back.

Then suddenly Davis appeared out of nowhere at full speed.

“And there she is!”

Before you could even react properly, he wrapped both arms around you and literally lifted you off the ground.

You let out a startled laugh immediately as your feet left the sand.

“Oh my god—”

“You’re alive!” Davis shouted dramatically like he personally couldn’t believe it. “I mean...I knew you would survive because, but still!”

You laughed harder despite yourself, grabbing onto his shoulders before he accidentally dropped you.

“You’re crushing me!”

Eventually he put you down again, still grinning. Then his eyes moved quickly over you, checking for injuries but only finding some stains of blood that were obviously not yours.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Mostly.”

“Great.”

The crew was asking what happened, how you escaped, how you found the keys and anything they could think of.

A few others approached you too. Not just to ask what happened, but to check on you specifically.

Someone handed you a flask with a grin, telling you that after surviving that, you officially deserved the good alcohol they had been hiding from Noah.

“You look terrible,” Folio said cheerfully.

You laughed. “Thank you so much.”

“I'm glad you're back.”

“Of course I'm back. I have to keep beating you at your dice game.”

And for the first time since ending up on the Specter, now gone, something felt different. You really felt like nobody was looking at you like an outsider anymore. Not like the noble girl who accidentally ended up on a pirate ship, and almost not like someone temporary.

You had gone with them into hell and come back alive with them.

And standing there on the beach surrounded by loud voices, laughter, teasing, and relief, you realized that somewhere along the way, without even noticing it, you had become part of them too, and it was the scariest, most unexpected thing that had ever happened to you.

So your journey toward Saint Marlowe, almost like nothing had happened at all, had started again.

The questions had slowly faded over the first days at sea, and the crew had returned to their usual rhythm made of shifting sails, repairing ropes, arguing over food, laughing too loudly when someone lost at some game and pretending to throw them into the ocean. And Noah… Noah had given them just enough of the story to satisfy curiosity, carefully leaving out the parts he clearly didn’t want spoken out loud.

The stole ship had supplies, but not enough to feed everyone comfortably for long. So when a few days into the voyage another vessel appeared on the horizon, tension rippled instantly across the deck.

You were already scared there was another fight coming.

But Noah had barely even looked alarmed.

“That’s fine,” he said calmly.

You turned toward him sharply.

“What do you mean ‘fine’?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the approaching ship, a little smile on his lips.

“I know the captain.”

You looked around, and everyone seemed calm about the situation too, so you decided to believe him.

The two crew chatted like friends for a while, with no unnecessary drama and no drawn blades, but only shouted greetings.

Oliver, the captain, immediately agreed to trade goods.

Your ship received food and Noah's crew gave them some barrels of stuff he probably didn't really need, like wool and pieces of metal.

While the exchange continued between the two crews, your attention drifted for a moment across the other ship.

It was easy to miss things like that in the chaos of ropes being thrown and crates being hauled, but then you saw a woman.

She was beautiful, standing near the railing of Oliver’s ship, watching everything a calm expression. She had dark hair, cut shorter than most women you’d ever seen in your life, and she wore a long skirt that moved slightly in the wind as she shifted her weight.

She looked happy, like she was exactly where she wanted to be.

Her eyes briefly met yours across the distance, and she smiled. You hesitated a second, then returned it instinctively.

Later, when things had calmed slightly and Noah was standing nearby again, you brought it up almost absentmindedly.

“That woman on the other ship” you said. “Who was she?”

“Oliver’s wife.” He answered.

That made you pause. “…His wife?”

“She travels with them,” Noah explained. “She’s part of the crew.”

You blinked, a bit surprised. You had never even imagined that it was possible, that it was an option.

“She met him on one of the islands they stopped at,” he continued. “Then she decided to leave with him.”

You stayed quiet, listening.

“They married on his ship,” Noah added casually. “With a pirate ritual. It's not really official. But it is for us.”

Something about that settled strangely in your chest.

Your thoughts drifted without meaning to.

She was a woman, living on a pirate ship, just like you, but with one big difference. Her permanence was not temporarily, she was not there because she had nowhere else to go.

But because she had chosen it.

Chosen this life.

Chosen the man she loved.

You hadn’t really thought women could chose this life. But that was stupid, you realised.

In just a few months, you’d learned to fight, jumped from a castle window, broken someone out of a royal prison and survived things you never imagined you’d even face.

Of course other women could do this too, of course they could choose it.

You didn’t ask more questions about her, but she stayed in your mind for a while.

Soon, you found out that the new ship was full of supplies, tools, and even wardrobes with some clothing in them.

That was how you ended up in the small, quiet room you had claimed for yourself. The little wardrome inside had turned out to be full of clothes: shirts, trousers, coats, and a few dresses mixed in, all clearly taken from different places over time.

You had been sorting through them with growing determination, Noah looking at you from the door, criticizing your choices from time to time.

“This is way too big,” you said, tossing a shirt onto the growing pile on your bed.

A moment later, another piece followed.

“This one might fit… but it’s horrible.” You held up a brightly colored shirt with a grimace. “Who even wears yellow and orange together? A jester?”

Noah, leaning lazily against the doorframe, let out a short laugh, “The princess is picky.”

You didn’t even look up at first.

“No,” you corrected immediately, continuing to sift through the clothes. “I simply believe that after surviving… everything,” you gestured vaguely at the air, “I have earned the right to refuse wearing absolute garbage. I think that’s the bare minimum, actually.”

You ended up keeping only a few things in the end.

A couple of loose shirts that actually fit you properly, one pair of dark trousers comfortable enough to move in easily, and a long skirt made from lighter fabric, simple but practical, something you thought you might wear once you finally reached Saint Marlowe and stopped looking like you had survived a war.

Everything else stayed piled on the bed for Noah to deal with later.

You held up one last shirt critically before throwing it onto the reject pile too.

“No.”

Noah snorted softly.

“You’re impossible. The blue fits you and it's not ugly.”

“I have standards now,” you informed him. “Near-death experiences change people.”

That earned another quiet laugh from him.

You glanced sideways at him while folding one of the shirts you had decided to keep and you saw him looking at a weird red shirt with missing buttons.

“I swear If you give me another ugly shirt,” you warned, “I’m going to kill you.”

Noah immediately lifted both hands slightly in surrender.

“Alright,” he said tossing it back on your bed.

Then, his expression shifted like he remembered something.

“Hey... by the way... I’ve been so stupid.”

You paused, blinking at the sudden difference in tone.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He rubbed briefly at the back of his neck. “I never asked you how you were doing after... that.”

You frowned slightly.

“After what?”

His eyes met yours.

“Killing.”

Oh.

For a second, the room felt quieter again.

Noah looked genuinely frustrated with himself now.

“I should’ve asked,” he admitted. “You killed people for the first time and I completely forgot to even—” He stopped himself with a quiet exhale. “I don’t know. Check if you were okay.”

You stayed still for a moment, fingers tightening slightly around the fabric in your hands.

The truth was, you had thought about it.

The pirate on the ship. The guard in the corridor at the castle.

Sometimes the memory came back suddenly, sharp and unpleasant, you almost still could feel the adrenaline. The impact. The blood.

But mostly… Mostly you remembered being terrified for your life, and for Noah's and Nicholas'.

You lowered the shirt slowly onto the bed.

“I defended myself,” you said after a moment.

Noah stayed quiet, listening.

“It was not…” You searched for the words. “It was not easy. I don’t think it’ll ever feel normal.”

Your gaze dropped briefly.

“But if I hadn’t done it…” you said softly, “I think I would’ve died.”

Silence settled for a second. Then Noah nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Probably.”

You let out a slow breath.

“I don’t feel... great about it,” you admitted. “But I don’t regret protecting myself either.”

Something in Noah’s expression softened slightly at that.

“I'm glad you did,” he said quietly.

You didn't answer.

The room stayed quiet for another second, the sound of the sea creaking softly around the ship filling the silence instead. Then Noah spoke.

“Alright,” he said, glancing toward the pile of rejected clothes on your bed. “I’m gonna go see if anyone else wants some of these.”

He grabbed the pile into his arms, including the horrible yellow-and-orange shirt. You pointed at it immediately.

“I’d actually pay money to see Folio wearing that.”

Noah looked down at the shirt. “I’m pretty sure this thing is destined to become a cleaning rag.”

You chuckled, and watched Noah has he left the room.

A few days later, sometime in the late afternoon, Noah officially gave the stolen ship a new name.

The entire crew had gathered on deck while the sun burned gold across the ocean, the light reflecting against the waves and the dark wood beneath your feet; someone had dragged crates and barrels closer together to sit on, bottles already being passed around before the speech had even started.

Noah stood near the center of the deck, one hand holding a bottle loosely by the neck while the crew slowly quieted around him.

“Well,” he started, voice carrying easily over the sea breeze, “our old ship got destroyed.”

Someone laughed.

“Too soon,” someone else shouted.

Noah snorted softly, “Yeah, maybe.”

He looked around at all of them again.

“But,” he continued, “we’re still here.”

The mood shifted slightly quieter after that. Noah rested one hand briefly against the railing beside him.

“A ship’s just wood,” he said. “That’s all it is without the crew.”

A few people nodded quietly.

“The Specter mattered because of the idiots standing on it.” That earned another wave of laughter. “And this one’ll be the same.”

He lifted the bottle slightly.

“So,” he said, “to Specter the Second.”

The crew erupted immediately into cheers and bottles lifting into the air from every direction.

“To Specter the Second!”

Glass clinked loudly, someone nearly fell off a barrel, and someone else was already yelling a drinking song before the toast had even fully ended.

You laughed quietly to yourself, leaning back slightly where you sat beside Davis near one of the tables dragged onto the deck.

Noah finally stepped down from the center of the deck while people continued talking loudly around him, moving through the crowd until he reached your table.

He set the bottle down near you and Davis.

Davis looked at it immediately, then back at Noah.

“You’re not drinking?”

Noah’s hand rested briefly against the neck of the bottle before he shrugged, “Maybe sometimes it’s better if I don’t.”

Davis raised an eyebrow slightly but didn’t push.

Noah glanced toward you for just a second before adding more quietly, “Sometimes one drink turns into twenty.”

When you heard that, you felt strangely proud of him for it, even if you didn’t say it out loud and you just gave him a small smile.

But judging by the way Noah’s expression softened slightly in return, he understood it anyway.

Around you, the celebration slowly dissolved back into the crew’s usual chaos.

Some people had already gone back to moving crates around the deck or reorganizing supplies below. Others stayed near the tables, talking loudly over each other while bottles continued passing from hand to hand.

The ocean stretched endlessly around the ship, calm beneath the late afternoon light.

You leaned back slightly in your seat, letting yourself relax for a moment, but soon, a movement near the far side of the deck caught your attention.

Jolly, Jesse, and Michael were gathered near a stack of barrels, laughing quietly about something while Jolly sat balanced on top of one crate with an expression of deep concentration.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. He was juggling.

Three small objects spun through the air between his hands, wobbling dangerously every few seconds as he fought to keep control of them.

One looked like a carved piece of wood, another was a coin catching flashes of sunlight, and the third...

No. It couldn’t be.

It shimmered when the light hit it, reflecting soft changing colors.

You straightened immediately.

The object spun once more through the air, and this time you were almost certain.

It was the shell.

Noah's shell. Your shell.

“Hey!” you blurted out, already moving toward them quickly.

Jolly jumped violently at the sudden sound of your voice, and all three objects immediately flew out of his hands.

“Hey!” he protested as everything clattered loudly across the deck. “I was actually doing great!”

You barely heard him. You crouched immediately, grabbing the shell before it could roll farther across the wood.

The second your fingers closed around it, you knew it was the iridescent shell Noah had given you months ago.

For a second, you just stared at it in disbelief.

“How did you find this?” you asked quickly, looking up at Jolly.

He blinked at you, confused and still a little annoyed.

“Uh… on the beach.”

Your eyebrows pulled together.

“When we were recovering stuff after the Specter blew apart,” he explained. “I saw it in the sand. Thought it looked cool, so I kept it.”

You turned the shell slowly in your hands.

The colors still shifted faintly under the sunlight exactly the same way they had the first day Noah handed it to you.

“That’s impossible,” you whispered before you could stop yourself, being sure that when the ship sank, the shell must have been lost with it.

The three pirates exchanged confused looks immediately.

Michael frowned slightly. “Why?”

You hesitated.

Because it mattered way more than it should have.

Because out of everything that had been lost when the Specter was destroyed, somehow this tiny stupid shell was the most important thing you had. A memory of your journey.

And because Noah had been the one to give it to you.

You looked back down at it quickly before forcing yourself to shrug lightly.

“It’s nothing,” you said. “I just… thought I lost it.”

Jolly tilted his head slightly.

“So...you want it?”

You looked up immediately, “Can I?”

“Yeah, obviously.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve got the coin anyway. The coin’s cooler.”

You laughed softly despite yourself, curling your fingers more securely around the shell.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Jolly grinned.

“No problem. But you interrupted my performance, so I'm still mad.”

You were still smiling by the time you spotted Noah again near the main mast, helping Davis tie down one of the loose ropes that kept slamming against the side of the ship every time the wind shifted.

You walked toward him almost immediately, leaving Jolly, Michael and Jesse behind, and probably still a little confused, the shell still closed tightly in your hand.

“Noah!”

He glanced over distractedly at first. “Hm?”

“Look what I found. It's crazy!”

That got his attention instantly, and you opened your hand.

The iridescent shell rested against your palm, catching the golden light of the late afternoon sun. For a second, Noah just stared at it, then he looked at you.

And the expression on his face changed so subtly you almost would have missed it if you hadn’t been watching him carefully.

Soft. Warm. Something dangerously close to fondness spreading through his eyes so openly that it made feel a weird sensation in the pit of your stomach. But a good one.

It was like seeing you happy over something small mattered more to him than it probably should have.

Davis looked between the two of you immediately.

“I thought I lost it when the Specter sank,” you admitted, still turning it gently between your fingers. “Jolly found it on the beach somehow.”

Noah’s gaze dropped back to the shell for another second before the corner of his mouth lifted faintly.

“Maybe it’s magic.”

You snorted softly.

“Or it was destiny,” he added lightly.

“Oh, shut up.” You laughed under your breath, still unable to stop smiling.

“I just don’t want to lose it again,” you admitted quietly.

Noah tilted his head slightly. “Why’s it so important?”

You immediately shrugged like the answer was obvious.

“I don’t know. I just like it.” Your fingers curled around it again instinctively. “It’s a pretty shell.”

Noah looked extremely unconvinced by that explanation. But thankfully, he didn’t say it out loud. Instead, he held his hand out toward you suddenly.

“Give it to me.”

You blinked. “What? It's my shell. You gave it to me.”

“If you leave it with me for a couple hours,” he said, “I can probably find a way to make sure you don’t lose it again.”

Suspicion crossed your face immediately.

“That sounds suspicious.”

“Relax.”

“Not when you're being suspicious.”

Noah rolled his eyes slightly. “I’m not going to destroy your precious shell, princess.”

You narrowed your eyes at him for another second. Then finally, reluctantly, you placed it into his hand.

He closed his fingers carefully around it.

“Don’t do anything terrible to it,” you warned.

A faint smile pulled at his mouth again.

“I promise.”

Late that evening, after dinner with the crew, you finally escaped the chaos of the deck and returned to your room.

The meal had been loud, messy, and full of arguments that made absolutely no sense. At one point you had physically taken a piece of bread out of Jesse’s hand after he shoved nearly half of it into his mouth at once.

“You eat like a caveman, god,” you had told him in horror.

“I am starving,” he replied immediately.

“You ate two plates already.”

“And I could eat three more.”

Somehow that had started a debate involving Davis defending “efficient eating methods” while Folio nearly choked laughing.

By the time you finally left, your face hurt from smiling too much.

Now, though, the ship had grown quieter, calmer.

You closed the door behind you and struck a match against the wall carefully before lighting the candle resting near your bed.

Warm light slowly filled the small cabin, flickering gold against the wooden walls. You sat down near the edge of the bed after a while, one knee pulled slightly toward your chest as you watched the candlelight move.

The shadows shifted constantly with the movement of the flame. One looked vaguely like a cloud drifting across the wall. Another reminded you of a ship with tall sails.

And one almost like a city skyline.

Your gaze lingered on it a little too long.

You inevitably thought about Saint Marlowe.

Because after everything that had happened, after the prison, the castle, the escape, the destruction of the Specter… you were still getting closer. Closer to a city that had nothing to do with pirates, crimes, pirates and Noah.

You were still staring absently at the shifting shadows when a knock sounded softly against your door.

You blinked, startled slightly out of your thoughts.

For a second you just sat there listening, then you stood and crossed the room.

You were dressed simply, with loose white shirt hanging off one shoulder slightly and dark trousers loose around your legs, comfortable enough to sleep in eventually.

When you opened the door, Noah was standing there.

He looked a little tired, softer somehow, slightly sleepy around the eyes. His dark hair was messy, and he wore a loose black shirt with the first few buttons undone carelessly, exposing the tattoos ok his neck and part of his chest.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “Were you already asleep?”

You shook your head lightly.

“No,” you answered. “I was just… thinking.”

Noah studied you for a second from the doorway, one shoulder leaning lightly against the frame.

“What were you thinking about?”

You hesitated briefly before shaking your head.

“Nothing important.”

His expression made it very clear he did not believe you at all. But thankfully, he let it go.

“Okay,” he said simply.

For a second neither of you moved.

The candle behind you flickered softly, casting warm light across the corridor and catching in Noah’s brown eyes while the ship creaked gently beneath your feet.

Then Noah seemed to remember why he had come in the first place.

“Oh— right.”

He reached into his pocket. Your eyes dropped immediately to his hands as he pulled something out carefully.

It was the shell, but not exactly as it had been before.

A tiny hole had been made near the top, smooth and careful enough not to crack it, and threaded through it was a thin dark cord tied securely around the edges.

He turned it into a necklace.

You stared at it for a second in complete surprise. Noah lifted it slightly between two fingers.

“So you stop losing it,” he said.

The shell caught the candlelight again, shimmering softly with shifting colors as it swung gently from the cord.

You looked back up at him almost immediately.

“You did this?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed briefly at the back of his neck with his free hand, suddenly looking oddly uncertain about it now. “I figured it’d be easier to keep if you could wear it or something.”

He glanced down at the shell again.

“I tried not to ruin it. I hope I didn't.”

Something warm twisted painfully in your chest.

Because somehow the fact that he had taken the time to do this himself felt absurdly important.

You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing briefly against his as he handed it over.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly.

Noah’s eyes lifted back to yours.

“Really?”

“Yes.” You looked down at it again, turning the shell gently between your fingers. “I love it, actually. Thank you so much.”

For a second, Noah just watched you.

And then that softer expression appeared again, quieter this time but impossible to miss.

“I’m glad,” he said quietly. “I was hoping you would.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

The shell rested warm in your palm now, the cord dangling between your fingers, and suddenly it felt even more precious than before.

You looked down at the shell again, still turning it carefully between your fingers for another second before lifting the cord over your head.

The shell settled lightly against your chest as you tied it behind your neck quickly.

It rested just below your collarbone, cool against your skin at first.

You looked back up at Noah almost immediately.

“Well?” you asked. “I don’t exactly have a mirror in here, so you’ll have to tell me.”

Noah’s eyes lifted toward the shell automatically.

Then to you.

For a moment, he just looked, and his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary.

“It looks good on you,” he said quietly.

You smiled faintly, fingers brushing briefly over the shell again, “Thanks.”

A small silence settled afterward. Noah shifted slightly in the doorway like he was debating something internally for a moment.

Then finally he spoke again.

“Can I come in for a second?”

You blinked lightly.

“There’s something I wanted to say,” he explained. “And I’d rather the others didn’t overhear it.”

You hesitated only a second before stepping aside slightly.

“Yeah. Of course.”

Noah stepped into the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

The sound of the latch clicking into place suddenly made the small cabin feel even smaller.

Warmer too.

You crossed back toward the bed and sat down near the edge automatically, one leg folding slightly beneath you.

Noah, meanwhile, stayed standing for a second near the door like he suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

You looked up at him, “You can sit, you know.”

That earned the faintest flicker of amusement from him.

And as he moved toward the bed, you had the strange sudden thought that months ago, before all of this, before pirates and prison breaks and shipwrecks and Noah, you never would have imagined casually inviting a man into your room at night.

Much less onto your bed.

And yet now it felt strangely natural.

Noah sat down carefully beside you, leaving just enough space between you both to be respectful without making the distance awkward.

For a second neither of you spoke. The candle crackled softly nearby while the ship moved gently beneath you.

Then Noah finally exhaled quietly through his nose and rubbed one hand briefly across his jaw.

“When you found out the truth about me…” he started slowly.

You stayed quiet, listening immediately.

“I thought you’d treat me differently afterward.”

You frowned slightly.

“Noah—”

“I mean it,” he interrupted softly. “I expected it. I thought you would have kept your distance.”

His fingers rested loosely against his knees now, but you could still see some tension there.

“But you didn’t. You still talked to me exactly the same way.” A faint breath of disbelief almost escaped him. “You still insulted me exactly the same way, too.”

That finally made you laugh softly.

Noah smiled a little at the sound before his expression softened again.

“And I know it probably doesn’t seem important,” he admitted quietly. “But it was for me.”

You looked at him carefully, feeling a rare honesty in his voice.

“So…” He glanced away briefly before looking back again. “I just wanted to say thank you for that.”

You frowned slightly at him.

“I didn’t have a reason to treat you differently.”

Noah let out a faint breath through his nose, almost like a quiet laugh without humor in it.

“Yeah, you did.”

Your eyebrows pulled together. “Why?”

He leaned back slightly where he sat beside you, gaze drifting toward the floor again.

“Because... I'm fucked up,” he said, “And I was rejected by my own father.” He added quietly.

“But that’s not what defines you.”

He looked at you.

“You’re not what he did to you,” you said softly. “And you’re not less because of what he decided.”

Silence.

Noah held your gaze for a long second, like he didn’t quite know what to do with words like that.

Then eventually he looked away again, rubbing his thumb absently against his palm.

“When we fell onto that balcony…” he said after a moment.

“I thought about killing him. I mean really doing it,” he admitted quietly. “For a second I almost did.”

You stayed silent, letting him continue.

“He was right there.” Noah’s jaw tightened slightly again. “And after everything… after all those years…” He shook his head faintly. “I wanted to see him die.”

The candle flickered softly between you.

“But then I realized if I killed the king, every soldier in the kingdom would spend the rest of their lives hunting me down.” He gave a small humorless laugh. “Even more than they already do.”

His gaze lowered. “And it wouldn’t only affect me.” He swallowed once before continuing more quietly. “I’d be putting the crew at risk too.”

A pause.

“And you. So I stopped.”

For a second the only sound in the room was the distant ocean outside the ship. Then you spoke softly.

“I think it’s normal that you wanted to. And I think your decision to put the people you care about first says a lot about you.”

Noah looked at you immediately.

After everything his father had done, after his mother, after everything... how could he not want that?

Something in Noah’s expression shifted slightly at your words, he let out a quiet breath and shook his head faintly.

“You’re too good to live with pirates.”

A little chuckle escaped you before you could stop it.

“That’s funny,” you said lightly. “Considering I’ve committed several crimes recently.”

“That’s different.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Noah glanced at you with the faintest hint of amusement returning. “You're still a princess.”

You laughed again, quieter this time, and somehow the heaviness in the room eased just slightly.

“And you’re a prince,” you pointed out softly.

Noah let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Something like that...” A faint pause. “Not really.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Does it bother you? Being called that?”

His eyes lifted back to yours.

“No,” he said after a second. “Not if it’s you saying it.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of your mouth.

“Good to know.”

Silence settled again after that. You watched him for a moment, noticing the way his expression drifted slightly, like part of him had disappeared somewhere far away for a second, probably thinking about his past.

“Do you have any good memories from when you were little?” you asked softly.

Noah looked almost surprised by the question.

“…Some.”

You hesitated briefly before asking, “Would you want to tell me about them?”

He studied you for a second, then gave a small shrug.

“Why not.”

And somehow, that was how the night disappeared.

At some point Noah moved closer without either of you really noticing it happening, until you were both sitting with your backs against the wall beside the bed, shoulders almost touching in the dim candlelight.

And while the ship creaked softly around you and the ocean moved somewhere outside the walls, Noah talked.

He told you about sneaking out of the castle as a child, climbing over walls and disappearing into the town to meet his friends. According to Noah, his mother had never been impressed by the fact that he spent most of his childhood returning home dirty, bruised, and carrying things he definitely had not paid for.

“She used to yell at me constantly for stealing,” he admitted with the faintest grin. “Didn’t stop me.”

You laughed quietly, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Shocking.”

“I know. I was a difficult boy.”

“You still are.”

He told you about stealing pieces of expensive food and toys made of wood. Apparently he had once hidden an entire cake under his bed until Helena found it.

“She was furious,” Noah said, laughing under his breath at the memory. “Mostly because ants started invading the room.”

You laughed harder at that.

He talked about Helena too, how she used to patch up his scraped knees, because he always had been a reckless child, and secretly save him food when his mother was working too late.

And as the hours passed, you realized most of Noah’s happiest memories were small ones. Stolen food. Running through crowded streets. Laughing with people who loved him.

Simple things. Things he had almost never been allowed to keep.

But when he spoke about them now, sitting there beside you in the dim light with sleep slowly pulling at both of you, there was warmth in his voice all the same.

You weren’t really sure at what point you had fallen asleep.

You only remembered Noah’s voice growing softer and softer in the darkness, and the warmth of him sitting close beside you.

You had wanted to keep listening. Really.

But it had gotten so late, and his voice started sounding like a lullaby at some point. Your eyes had grown heavier little by little until, somewhere between one of Noah’s stories and the sound of the ocean outside, you had drifted off with your head lightly pressed against his shoulder.

You didn’t know when he had left afterward.

Only that when you woke the next morning, the candle had long since burned out, leaving a faint trail of cooled wax down the table beside the bed.

Soft morning light filtered weakly through the small window of the cabin.

And the warmth beside you was gone.

Noah taglist pt 1: @mushrumink @sullyselena @buttercupbabyyy @pathion @pipidoll @missduffsblog @vibecops @myexistencesucks @overmydeadbodysblog @margocos-blog @heyitsjay316 @sallyba3 @bartxnhood @lacy1986 @iamamatus @dream-machine-love @amoursims @suessmausnici @whimsicaldiamonds @imyourliquor-youremypoison @punkprincess1999 @bored-rato @thepeoplesblog @dxthrone @illmakeyousaywow @xmads-omensx @sikowitzbitch @tosoundlessdarkistare @sadbitchenergy @flowery-mess @anything-morethan-human @lekyswixexx @english-fucker @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

They reached the Eastern Territories, known for their long-standing cultures, structured societies, and skilled populations. They also traveled to the Southern Territories, where the land was rich in natural resources and the populations were spread across different regions, less unified against outside forces.

In the beginning, relationships were built through exchange. Goods, spices, fabrics and metals moved between regions.

But the Central Lands had more power, more ships, more weapons, more coordination. And over time, that imbalance became impossible to ignore to them.

Trade shifted into control. Control turned into occupation.

The Central Lands began placing themselves in positions of authority within these regions. Agreements stopped being mutual. Local leaders were replaced, pressured, or forced into cooperation. Military presence increased, and resistance was met quickly and decisively.

Once control was established, the purpose changed, and they took what they needed.

From the Southern Territories, that meant labor, and large numbers of people were captured, transported across the sea, and used for work, farms, construction, mining, and anything that required physical strength and endurance. Entire communities were broken apart in the process, and who tried to resist, was killed.

From the Eastern Territories, the approach was slightly different, but still rooted in control.

People were taken there as well because they also wanted servants, attendants, workers within noble households that they didn't want to pay. Others were chosen based on appearance, education, or skills. They were brought into the Central Lands and integrated into systems where they had no real control over their own lives.

In both cases, the result was the same.

People became property.

The Central Lands built their wealth on this system. It wasn’t hidden or considered controversial within their own society. It was regulated, structured, and accepted.

Markets existed where people were sold. Laws were written to define ownership, and status determined everything: where you lived, what you could do, and whether you had any rights at all.

Over time, this way of living became normal.

Generations grew up believing that the Central Lands were meant to lead, and the other territories were meant to serve. Differences in culture and origin were used as justification. It wasn’t questioned often, because the system benefited those in power.

At the center of it all were the royal courts.

They held the most influence, the most wealth, and the most control over how this system functioned. Decisions made within those walls affected entire regions, even if the people making them never left their own cities.

Among these courts, one kingdom stood out.

It was known for its wealth, but also for how openly it participated in these practices. Ships arrived regularly at its ports carrying people taken from the Eastern and Southern Territories. Some were sent elsewhere. Some were sold. And some were brought directly to the palace, who always needed workers (slaves) there.

It was in this system that a young woman from the Eastern Territories was taken from her home and brought to the court of a king that just needed to ask what he wanted and obtained it.

Reika had been eighteen when they took her.

Her village stood near the edge of the eastern territories, not very large, not very wealthy, but stable in the way places become when people learn to live with what they have. The houses were built from wood and stone, roofs curved slightly to let rain slide off easily, narrow paths connecting one home to the next.

Life there wasn’t easy, but it was predictable. People worked, ate, slept, and repeated the same rhythm every day.

Reika had grown up in that rhythm.

She helped her mother in the mornings, carried water, prepared food, cleaned. Some days, she had the privilege to go to to the village's school and when she couldn't, she studied at home, because it was something she enjoyed. In the afternoons, she would sometimes walk beyond the edge of the village where the land opened into fields and low hills, where the air felt wider and less confined. She didn’t think much about the outside world. News of distant lands and foreign powers existed, but it always felt far away. Like something that belonged to other people.

Until it didn’t.

The first sign was the sound. And too many horses.

By the time anyone understood what was happening, it was already too late.

They came fast, organized and armed in ways no one in the village could match. Doors were broken open, people dragged outside, voices rising into something panicked and chaotic.

Reika remembered her mother grabbing her wrist.

Running, but not fast enough.

She remembered being pulled away, fingers slipping, the sound of her name shouted behind her. She remembered turning, trying to reach back, and the force that stopped her, hands gripping her arms too tightly, bruising.

After that, everything blurred together.

Rope. Dust. Crying.

They weren’t the only ones. Other villages had been taken too. By the time they were gathered together, there were dozens of them. Maybe more. Men, women, some barely older than children.

No one explained anything.

The journey was long. Days, maybe weeks. Time stopped meaning much when everything felt the same. Food was minimal, and water was rationed. Anyone who slowed too much was dragged, or worse, left behind.

Some people stopped crying after a while.

Reika didn’t remember when she stopped speaking. At some point, the words just… disappeared. There was no one to answer them anyway.

By the time they reached the capital, she barely recognized herself.

The city was overwhelming, large and loud. She saw stone buildings, wide roads and guards everywhere.

They weren’t taken through the main streets, but brought in through the back.

Like cargo.

Eventually, they were herded into a large enclosed space within the castle grounds. Not quite a room, not quite outside, just a place to hold them.

That was where they were sorted.

One by one, they were brought forward.

Inspected.

Not as people.

Reika stood in line, her hands bound in front of her, her body tense. She kept her gaze low because looking up felt dangerous.

She could hear voices ahead of her, of men discussing and deciding.

Some were taken away quickly. Others stayed longer.

When it was her turn, someone grabbed her arm and pulled her forward.

“Look up,” a voice said.

She didn’t.

The grip tightened.

“Look up.”

So slowly, she did.

And that was when she saw the king for the first time in her life.

King Reginald stood slightly apart from the others, dressed in deep colors, fabrics layered and detailed in a way that made it impossible to mistake his status. He didn’t move like the others and didn’t speak like them either.

He just watched.

His gaze settled on her, making her feel uncomfortable and then he stepped closer.

Close enough that she could see the sharpness in his expression, and also to notice he was not much older than her.

“You understand me?” he asked.

She nodded once.

That seemed to satisfy him. His gaze lingered a moment longer.

Then, simply, “This one stays.”

Just like that.

A decision made in a second that would define everything that came after.

Another voice asked something, “what about the rest?”

The king didn’t even look away from her when he answered.

“Sell them.”

She understood that they were being sent somewhere else, somewhere worse, and she didn’t know why she had been chosen.

And just like that, she found herself trapped inside a place that didn’t belong to her.

And somewhere in the castle, beyond walls she would never see again, the rest of the people she had arrived with were being taken away.

Sold. Disappearing into a system that didn’t care if they lived or died.

She never saw any of them again.

---

Reika didn’t fully speak their language.

At least, not the way they did.

She could understand most of what was said around her now, enough to follow instructions, enough to move through the castle without constantly second-guessing herself. But when it came to speaking, something always slowed in her mind before the words could come out properly.

At her home, she had studied.

Not formally like the children of wealthier families in the central regions or the richest parts of her own country, but enough to read, to write, to recognize the structure of the language used by traders and officials who occasionally passed through their land. It had been considered useful and practical, something that might help her find work, or at least avoid being completely dependent on others outside her village.

Back then, it had felt like a small advantage. Something to be proud of, even.

Now, it only meant she wasn’t completely lost.

She understood the essential things, orders, names, basic questions and warnings. Enough to survive.

The days that followed didn’t feel real at first.

Reika moved through them like someone else was living them for her. She was given a place to sleep, small, shared with other workers, nothing more than narrow beds lined against the walls and a single window that barely let in light. She was told when to wake, where to go, what to do.

The work itself wasn’t complicated, but very tiring. Cleaning floors, carrying water, washing linens, assisting in the kitchens when needed. Always moving. Always doing something. The castle never seemed to rest, and neither did the people inside it who weren’t allowed to.

At first, Reika spoke very little.

She kept her head down. Followed instructions. Avoided attention.

The other servants noticed her, of course. New faces always stood out, especially ones like hers. Some looked at her with curiosity, others with quiet pity, a few with something harder to read.

But no one approached her directly.

Not until Helena.

It happened a few days in. Or maybe more. Time still didn’t feel stable enough to measure properly.

Reika had been struggling with a bucket that was too heavy for how exhausted her arms already were. Water sloshed over the edges with every step, soaking into the fabric of her sleeves, making her grip weaker, but she didn’t stop.

Stopping wasn’t allowed unless you were told to.

But then the weight suddenly lifted.

Just slightly. Enough to take the strain off.

She blinked, turning her head.

A woman stood beside her, one hand casually gripping the handle of the bucket.

“You’ll spill half of it before you get there, like that,” she said.

Her voice wasn’t unkind. Reika stared at her for a second before quickly lowering her gaze again.

“Sorry,” she murmured, even though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for.

The woman let out a quiet breath, almost like a small laugh.

“No need to apologize, I was just like you when I started.” she said.

They walked like that for a few steps, sharing the weight.

“I’m Helena,” she added after a moment.

Reika hesitated, then, “…Reika.”

Helena nodded once.

They reached the end of the corridor, setting the bucket down where it was needed. Helena straightened, wiping her hands lightly against her apron before glancing at Reika again.

“You’re new,” she said. “That means no one’s told you anything useful yet.”

Reika stayed quiet. Helena studied her for a second longer, her expression shifting slightly, softer now.

“Alright,” she said. “Listen carefully, then.”

That was how her friendship with Helena started. She was the first kind person she met in the castle.

Soon, reika learned the rhythm of the castle the same way she had once learned the rhythm of her village. Different, harsher, brutal if you didn't follow their orders, but still a rhythm.

Wake before sunrise.

Work until your body ached.

Eat when allowed.

Sleep when you could.

Do all of this again.

There were moments, sometimes, when the past tried to surface, like memories of home, of her mother, and of the life that had been taken from her so quickly it still didn’t feel real.

Those moments were the hardest. Because there was nothing to do with them, no way to go back, no way to change anything.

At first, Reika was only called when there were specific tasks that required attention in the upper parts of the castle, like cleaning private rooms and arranging spaces before meetings.

One day, she was sent for directly.

Not through the usual chain of servants, not through Helena or the kitchen supervisors, but through guards who appeared at the door without explanation and simply said her name.

Reika had learned not to ask questions in those moments.

She would follow. Every time.

The first time she was brought to him alone, she remembered the way her hands felt too aware of themselves. The way she kept them folded in front of her, trying to make herself smaller without drawing attention to the fact that she was trying.

The king’s private chambers were different from the rest of the castle. Quieter and warmer.

The furniture was carefully chosen, the lighting softer, the space larger than necessary. He was already there when she arrived.

Standing near a tall window, his back partially turned, one hand resting against the stone frame as he looked out over the city below.

“Come in,” he said without turning.

Reika stepped inside and stopped a few steps from the door.

She waited, and he didn’t immediately speak again.

Only after a moment did he turn.

His hair was dark, carefully kept, his eyes green. And he was handsome. That was something Reika noticed even the first time she had seen him, even if she didn’t want to.

It didn’t soften anything. It didn’t change what he was. What he allowed people to do.

She quickly bowed and his gaze settled on her fully now.

“You’ve been settling in,” he said.

Reika nodded once. “Yes,” she replied.

He moved a few steps closer. “And how are you finding the castle?” he asked.

The question sounded simple. Almost polite.

Reika hesitated before answering, choosing her words carefully.

“It is… large,” she said. “And busy.”

A faint smile touched his expression at that.

“That it is,” he agreed.

Silence followed for a moment.

Not uncomfortable for him. Only for her.

He studied her the way he had the first time, openly, without hiding the fact that he was looking.

“You’ve adapted quickly,” he said after a moment.

“I am learning,” Reika replied.

“Good,” he said simply.

Then, after another pause, he added, “I like that about you.”

Reika’s fingers tightened slightly behind her back.

She didn’t respond.

Then he added, more quietly, “You’re my favorite.”

The words landed differently than anything else he had said. Reika’s breath slowed slightly, though she didn’t move.

His expression remained unchanged, as if he had simply stated a fact.

“Among all of them,” he clarified, as though it needed context. “You are the most… reliable.”

There was a brief pause.

Then, almost casually, he stepped closer again, just enough that the distance between them narrowed.

Reika resisted the instinct to step back.

She didn’t know if she was allowed to.

Or if it would matter.

“You do not cause problems,” he said. “You do not require correction. And you do not ask for more.”

His eyes stayed on hers.

“That is rare here.”

Reika swallowed once.

“I do my work,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” he replied, almost gently. “You do.”

Another pause.

Then, as if the conversation had already been decided in his mind, he turned slightly away again, looking back toward the window.

“You may go,” he said.

Reika hesitated for half a second.

Then she bowed her head slightly and stepped back.

She didn’t turn until she reached the door.

And when she finally did, she left without looking back, hearth still pounding violently in her chest.

Reika knew he looked at her in a way that was not appropriate. Not given all the circumstances. Not when he had a wife.

Reika saw the queen properly for the first time during court routines, when servants were allowed to remain at the edges of formal gatherings.

The queen had long blonde hair, with a straight posture that never seemed to change regardless of where she stood.

She dressed in very formal clothing most of the time. Long gowns made from high-quality fabric, usually in blue, red or muted tones, with structured designs that emphasized her position.

Reika had never seen her speak to the king and she wasn't sure if they really loved each other.

One night, she had been brought to his chambers again.

The request was simple, and there explanation beyond the usual.

The king wanted to see her, so she followed the guards through the corridors without asking anything. By now, that part of the routine no longer felt unfamiliar.

The king wanted to see her often, sometimes to talk, others just to look at her.

The room was dim, lit by a few lamps and the fire in the hearth. The city outside was quiet. The atmosphere inside the chamber was calm, almost private in a way that felt different from their earlier meetings.

He was not wearing formal court clothing this time. His appearance was simpler, less structured, though still clearly expensive. He was seated at first, looking over documents on a table, then looked up when she entered.

He asked her a few questions, like he sometimes did.

About work and the castle. Reika answered carefully, as she always did.

He listened without interrupting.

At some point, the conversation stopped feeling like work-related questioning.

There was a pause that lasted longer than usual.

He looked at her for a while without speaking.

Then he stood up.

Reika didn’t move back.

Not because she didn’t feel tension, but because she had learned not to react too quickly unless something demanded it.

He stepped closer.

This time, there was no question asked first.

He reached out and touched her face briefly, not forcefully, just enough to turn her slightly toward him. His hand was steady.

Her breathing stayed even, but she was aware of everything, of the distance, the silence, the fact that there were no guards, no servants, no interruptions.

He kissed her.

Reika didn’t resist.

The king was handsome. He was also a monster who let people die and starve and get taken away from their lands.

The two things coexisted. Reika didn't know how to feel. Or maybe she did but didn't want to accept it, because it would have made her feel worse about what was happening.

When he pulled back slightly, he looked at her again.

Waiting.

Reika remained still for a moment, then, without speaking, she did not step away.

That was enough for him.

He led her to the bed without saying much. Reika let herself be guided, she didn’t stop him.

And she didn’t fully understand why.

Maybe it was the way he looked at her, maybe it was the fact that, for once, she was being chosen for something other than labor or obedience. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or confusion. Or the quiet, complicated recognition that she had no real control over the direction any of this could take anyway.

The bed was softer than anything she had known since arriving there.

She kissed him back, multiple times. He whispered to her that she was beautiful, that he wished she was her queen, that he only had eyes for her.

When it was over, Reika laid there for a moment, then sat up slowly, gathering herself without rushing, without looking at him for too long. She adjusted her clothes with steady hands, even if her thoughts weren’t as steady underneath.

Then she stood.

For a second, she hesitated. Then she lowered her gaze and walked toward the door.

She didn’t look back.

And when she stepped out into the corridor again, the castle felt exactly the same as before.

Only she wasn’t.

Days passed. Then weeks.

At first, nothing felt different. The routine stayed the same, the work, the long hours, the constant movement through corridors that had already started to feel too familiar. If anything had changed, it was subtle enough that Reika ignored it.

Or tried to.

It started with small things, like a lingering tiredness that didn’t go away with sleep, moments where her stomach turned unexpectedly, forcing her to pause and steady herself before continuing, food that once felt normal suddenly became difficult to swallow.

She told herself it was nothing.

That it was exhaustion and stress. But the signs didn’t stop.

And slowly, quietly, a thought began to form, one she didn’t want to face.

Reika didn’t speak about it at first but after months, it wasn’t a possibility anymore.

She knew she was pregnant.

With his child.

With time, her body changed slowly, enough that she could still conceal it for a time. Her pregnancy was easier than she had expected, no major complications, no moments that forced attention onto her too early.

It gave her time.

Time to think. Time to adjust. Time to feel something she hadn’t expected.

Because despite everything, despite where she was, despite how this had begun… she didn’t feel only fear. Because she knew she was gonna love her child.

At some point, when her belly was starting to get hard to hide, she had to tell it to someone, and the only person she trusted with the whole story, was Helena.

“…How long?” Helena asked softly.

Reika hesitated. “…A while.”

Helena exhaled slowly, absorbing it.

But she didn’t look angry and she didn’t look shocked either. Just… concerned.

The rest of the castle remained unaware, and if someone suspected she was pregnant, they just thought she had sex with some servantant working there.

The night it happened, it was sudden. Reika had doubled over where she stood, her breath catching as her body tensed in a way she couldn’t control.

Helena understood immediately.

The hours that followed were long, messy and exhausting.

Reika had never experienced pain like that before. It came in waves, each one stronger than the last, tearing through whatever strength she thought she had.

She tried to stay quiet. Tried to keep the sounds contained the same way she always did. But this was different.

Helena stayed with her the entire time. Guiding her, steadying her, speaking when needed, even when Reika barely processed the words.

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

And finally, after what felt like hours, and probably were, it was over.

The room fell into a different kind of silence for a second before a new sound filled the space.

A small and fragile cry.

Reika was exhausted at first, but when Helena placed the child in her arms everything else faded.

Reika looked down.

At him.

He was so small and the cutest thing she had ever seen.

This was hers. Despite everything.

He was hers. And she already loved him.

Helena watched quietly for a moment, something soft in her expression. “…What will you call him?” she asked.

Reika didn’t hesitate.

Her gaze never left the child in her arms.

“Noah,” she said softly.

Helena tilted her head slightly. “Noah?”

Reika nodded faintly.

“I always liked that name.”

She adjusted her hold on him just slightly, closer now.

“Noah,” she repeated, quieter this time.

For the first time since she had been taken from her home, something felt right.

If she was sure of something, it was that she was going to love and protect that child at every cost.

---

Noah grew up inside the castle walls, though “growing up” there looked very different from what it might have been anywhere else.

Reika carried him with her whenever she could, tied close to her body when he was still small enough, his head resting against her chest as she worked. When she couldn’t, Helena would take him, balancing her tasks and finding time to take care of him. Between the two of them, they managed.

It wasn’t easy. There were days when Noah cried and neither of them could immediately go to him. Days when he had to be left in a corner of a room, wrapped in cloth, while floors were scrubbed or linens carried. But he was never neglected, never forgotten.

If anything, he was loved too much for a place like that.

Reika spoke to him in her native language when no one was around. Sometimes she would hum to him, melodies from her village, repetitive and gentle.

As a baby, he was calm more often than not. His big brown eyes watched everything, always observing.

His first steps came earlier than expected.

He had been holding onto the edge of one of the low wooden tables in the servants’ quarters, his small fingers gripping tightly as he pulled himself up. Reika had been nearby, washing something in a basin, while Helena sorted through linens.

“Look,” Helena said suddenly.

Reika turned just in time to see it.

Noah let go.

For a second, he wobbled, unsteady, his balance uncertain. Then he took a small and uneven step.

Then another.

Then he kept walking. And fell a second later.

Helena laughed softly under her breath as Reika rushed forward, kneeling beside him. “He’ll be running in a week at this rate.”

And she wasn’t wrong.

From that moment on, Noah didn’t stay still.

As he grew, the castle became his entire world.

At first it was just the servants’ quarters, the kitchens, the narrow corridors where he was allowed to wander under watch. He learned quickly where he could go and where he couldn’t, not because anyone explained it clearly, but because of how people reacted.

Some places were safe.

Others were not.

He understood that instinctively.

By the time he was three, he started to ask questions.

A lot of them.

“What is that?”

“Why?”

“Where?”

Sometimes Reika answered.

Sometimes Helena did.

Sometimes neither of them had an answer they could give him.

“Why can’t I go there?” he asked once, pointing toward a staircase that led upward, toward the more ornate parts of the castle.

Reika hesitated. “…Because that is not for us.”

Noah frowned slightly. “Why?”

Helena stepped in before Reika could struggle through an answer. “Because people up there don’t like being disturbed.”

That wasn’t the full truth. But it was enough for a child.

As he got older, the looks started.

At first, he didn’t understand them. Nobles passing through the lower corridors would glance at him, their expressions shifting the moment they noticed him standing near Reika or Helena. There was something in their eyes, something cold, something dismissive.

Disgust.

It was the same look they gave Reika.

Noah noticed it before he understood it.

One day, when he was around five, he asked about it.

“Why do they look at me like that?”

“Like what, baby?”

He tried to imitate it, scrunching his face in a way that was almost accurate. “Like they don’t like me.”

Silence followed.

Helena, who had been nearby, didn’t immediately step in this time.

Reika forced a small, careful smile. “They don’t know you.”

Noah tilted his head. “But they don’t want to.”

There wasn’t an easy answer to that.

So Reika said nothing.

By the time Noah turned six, he explored the castle despite all the warnings.

He had learned how to move quietly, how to slip through corridors without drawing attention, how to disappear when he needed to.

Helena had caught him once, coming back from a corridor he definitely wasn’t supposed to be in.

“And where have you been?” she asked, arms crossed.

Noah paused. “…Walking.”

Helena raised an eyebrow. “Walking where?”

He didn’t answer.

She sighed, rubbing her temple slightly. “You’re going to get yourself into trouble.”

He looked at her, unbothered. “I didn’t!”

“Not yet,” she corrected.

Helena was concerned because the castle was not a place where someone like Noah could move freely without consequences forever.

Still, he kept exploring.

Large halls with high ceilings. Rooms filled with things he didn’t understand. Windows that looked out over the city, showing him a world that was starting to interest him.

By the time Noah was eight, the castle was no longer enough for him.

It had become boring. Every corridor memorized. Every routine understood. Every place he was allowed to be had already been explored too many times to still feel interesting. Even the places he wasn’t supposed to go had started to lose their mystery.

So he started looking beyond it.

And he used the door in the kitchens to get out of the castle. The first time he used it, his heart had been pounding so loudly he was sure someone would hear it.

He waited until no one was looking. Slipped through the doorway, and didn’t stop walking until the castle walls were behind him.

And just like that... he was outside.

The air felt different, wider and colder.

He didn’t go far that first time. Just enough to see the streets, the movement of people who didn’t wear uniforms or fine clothes, who spoke louder, laughed more freely, argued openly.

It felt messy.

Alive.

He went back before anyone could notice he was gone.

But after that, he couldn’t stop.

It became a habit. And the town became his second world.

The streets were narrow and crowded, filled with stalls, voices, smells that changed depending on where he walked. Markets stretched across entire roads, merchants calling out to passersby, displaying fabrics, food, tools, things Noah had never seen inside the castle.

He liked the markets the most.

There was always something happening. Always something to look at.

And eventually... something to take.

The first time he stole something, it was small. Just a piece of fruit left too close to the edge of a stall, the merchant distracted, turned away for just a second too long.

Noah saw it. Hesitated. Then took it.

His heart raced the entire time he walked away, expecting someone to shout, to grab him, to stop him.

No one did.

He didn’t even eat it right away. Just held it, staring at it.

After that, it got easier.

Not reckless. Never careless.

He watched. Waited. Learned who paid attention and who didn’t.

Sometimes it was food. Sometimes small objects he didn’t really need.

Of course, he didn’t keep it from Reika for long.

He came back one day with something in his hand, trying to hide it, but she noticed immediately.

“What is that?” she asked.

Noah froze for half a second. “…Nothing.”

Reika stepped closer. “Noah.”

He hesitated, then slowly showed her.

Her expression changed instantly.

“Did you steal this?” she asked.

No answer.

“That means yes,” she said, sharper now. “Noah, you can’t do that.”

“They have a lot,” he replied quickly. “They won’t notice.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Reika said, “You don’t take things that aren’t yours.”

Noah frowned. “Why?”

“Because it’s wrong,” she said.

Noah didn’t look convinced.

He kept leaving. Kept exploring.

Noah loved Helena. To him, she felt like a second mother. He trusted her the same way he trusted Reika, and even though both of them constantly told him not to steal, he kept bringing them small things. A stone, a simple bracelet, food, anything he thought might make them smile.

And over time, he stopped being alone out there.

He met other kids. He liked them. They didn't look at him for too long trying to understand if he was white or not.

Sometimes they met in the same corner of the market, near a broken wall where no adults paid much attention. They would sit on the ground in a loose circle, pulling out worn dice, small stones, or whatever they could use to play. The rules changed depending on who suggested them, sometimes simple games of luck, sometimes bets with whatever little they had. Noah liked those moments the most. There, he wasn’t the servant’s son from the castle. He was just another kid, laughing, arguing, and playing.

One day, Noah stole something that didn’t look valuable, just… strange. Small, round, made of metal, with a tiny moving needle trapped under glass. It caught his attention, and that was enough.

He turned it in his hands for a while before bringing it to the castle.

Reika noticed it almost immediately. “Where did you get that?”

Noah hesitated. “…I found it.”

She gave him a look. Then sighed softly and took it from him, examining it more carefully.

“It’s a compass,” she said.

Noah frowned slightly. “What does it do?”

“It helps people find their way,” she explained. “People who travel. It shows direction, so they don’t get lost.”

He looked at it again, more focused now. The small needle kept moving, always settling in the same direction.

“…So you can go anywhere?” he asked.

Reika’s expression softened just a little. “If you know how to use it… yes.”

Noah stayed quiet after that, staring at the compass in his hands. He thought about it for a long time.

About places beyond the castle. Beyond the town. Places where no one shouted at his mother for doing something wrong. Places where Helena didn’t have to work until her hands hurt. Places where they could all just… exist.

In his mind, it was simple. He would take them with him. His mom, and Helena. All three of them together.

They would travel, eat food from different places, see things no one in the castle had ever seen, and no one would own them. No one would tell them what to do.

They would be free and happy.

At least… that was Noah’s dream.

Some years later, something started changing at court.

Noah didn’t notice it. Reika did. And Helena even more.

“I heard something,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” Reika asked.

“Some of the nobles were talking. Laughing, at first.” She paused. “Chatting about who actually is Noah's father. One of them joked… said maybe he’s the king’s.”

Silence.

“They laughed,” Helena added quickly. “Most of them. But not all.”

Reika looked up.

“One stayed quiet. Then she started whispering with another.”

Reika felt something cold settle in her stomach.

“Do you think…” Helena started, then stopped.

Reika already knew the question.

Do you think someone knows?

She didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t know.

And now she was scared for Noah's safety too.

Days passed by and then, one morning, it happened.

Two guards appeared at the entrance of the servants’ quarters.

“Reika.” They just said her name.

She stood.

Helena stepped slightly closer to her. “…What is it?” she asked under her breath.

Reika just shook her head, but in her heart, she already knew.

The walk through the castle felt longer than usual and then, they brought her directly to the throne room.

The doors opened and she saw that the room was already occupied as nobles stood along the sides, their attention shifting the moment she entered.

At the far end, on the throne, there was the king. Advisors stood near him and other guards were positioned along the walls.

Reika was brought forward, and then stopped.

“Leave her,” the king said.

The guards stepped back.

Reika bowed for a moment.

Silence followed.

She kept her gaze lowered, but she could feel the weight of attention pressing down from every direction.

“You’ve been stealing.”

The words cut through the room. Reika blinked, just once.

“…No, your highness.” she said quietly.

The king stood and the movement alone shifted the atmosphere.

“Do not lie,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Items have gone missing in the rooms where you work. And you expect me to believe you know nothing about it?”

Reika’s heart was beating too fast now.

This wasn’t about theft, she understood that immediately. She hadn’t taken anything that wasn't hers and she knew Noah didn't steal inside the castle.

“I have taken nothing,” she said, a little more firmly this time. “I do my work. I—”

“Enough.”

His voice echoed.

“You were given a place here,” he continued, “You were allowed to remain. To work. To live under this roof.”

Reika felt her hands trembling slightly, but she kept them still.

“And this is how you repay it?”

“I didn’t—”

“You did!”

There was a moment of silence, Reika tried again but she knew everything would have been useless.

“I have not stolen anything,” she said again, quieter now, but steady. “You know that.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression. They both exactly knew what was going on.

And then it was gone.

Replaced by something colder.

“I know enough,” he said. “This kind of behavior cannot be tolerated,” he declared. “Not in this court.”

This was it.

“Effective immediately,” he continued, “she is to be executed.”

Some people behind him nodded, all agreeing.

“As an example for everyone. This afternoon.”

Reika stood there, unmoving. For a moment, everything felt distant, muted.

Then one thought broke through everything else.

Noah.

Her child.

What would happen to him? What would happen to her baby? The baby she was always going to love, no matter how it would end for her.

She turned her head slightly, just enough to look at him again, hoping to see the glimpse of a father in his eyes, or at least of a man.

But she just saw the king. Just a monster.

“Take her away,” he said.

The guards stepped forward again, grabbed her arms and dragged her away as she didn't try to resist.

That afternoon came too quickly.

Reika was sitting in a small, dim room when the door opened again.

Helena stepped in first. And Noah was right behind her. The moment he saw her, he ran.

“Mom!”

Reika smiled despite everything. She held him tightly, more tightly than she ever had before, pressing her face into his hair, breathing him in like she could memorize him.

He always smelled like outside. Like dust, like the streets, like life.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her throat closed. Helena stood a step away, watching them, her eyes already wet.

Reika finally pulled back just enough to look at Noah’s face. She took it in carefully. Every detail. His eyes, his cheeks, the way his hair fell.

“Hey…” she whispered softly, brushing a strand away from his forehead.

Noah frowned slightly. “Where were you?” he asked. “They didn’t let me come earlier.”

“I know.”

He looked around the room, confused. “Why are you here?”

Reika didn’t answer that. Instead, she pulled him closer again, one hand resting against the back of his head.

“I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Noah looked up at her, serious now.

“…Okay.”

Reika swallowed, holding back everything that threatened to break through. “I love you,” she said softly.

Noah blinked. “I know.”

She let out a small breath, something between a laugh and a sob.

“No,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly. “I love you so much. More than anything.”

He didn’t fully understand why she was saying it like that. He just nodded again, a little unsure.

“I love you too.”

Her eyes stung, but she didn’t let the tears fall.

Not now.

Not in front of him.

“You’re brave,” she continued quietly. “And smart. And kind.”

Noah tilted his head slightly. “Why are you saying it like that?”

Reika hesitated.

He was too young, barely twelve. Too young to understand what was about to happen.

“…Because I want you to remember it,” she said gently.

“Where are they taking you?” he asked.

Reika’s fingers tightened slightly against his sleeve.

“…You don’t need to worry about that,” she said softly.

“But—”

“Hey.” She cupped his face again, guiding his gaze back to hers. “Look at me.”

He did.

“I love you,” she repeated, “and remember this is not your fault.”

He frowned, more confused now. “What’s happening?”

Reika took a breath. This was the hardest part.

“I need you to promise me something.”

Noah blinked. “What?”

“When it will happen, don’t look.”

He stared at her.

“What?”

“You don’t look,” she repeated, softer this time. “No matter what you hear. No matter what happens.”

He shook his head slightly. “Why?”

Reika’s voice almost broke.

“Just promise me.”

He hesitated.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know you don’t.”

Her thumb brushed lightly under his eye.

“But you have to trust me. Can you do that?”

Noah looked at her. Something felt wrong.

“…Okay,” he said quietly.

Reika searched his face. “Promise.”

“…I promise.”

That was enough.

She pulled him into one last embrace, holding him as if she could somehow keep him there, frozen in that moment.

“I love you baby,” she whispered into his hair.

Then she let go.

She stood, turning to Helena. Then she stepped forward and hugged her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Helena’s arms tightened around her immediately.

“For everything.”

Helena shook her head, her voice breaking. “No—”

“You are the best friend I could have,” Reika said softly.

Helena didn’t answer, and just held her tighter.

At some point, the guards stepped forward.

It was time.

They took Reika by the arms again.

Noah didn’t stay, and decided to follow them, even if Helena tried to catch him before he ran away after them.

At first slowly, then faster, slipping through people, through corridors, then outside, where the streets were louder than usual, full of people.

He pushed through them, small enough to pass between bodies, his eyes fixed ahead.

Where were they taking her?

He could hear voices overlapped, people talking, whispering. Noah didn’t understand any of it.

He followed them until they reached a large open space.

There was a wooden platform in the center.

People were already gathered around it.

Noah slowed down.

His breathing uneven now, from the run and the fear.

They brought her up there.

Her words came back.

You don’t look.

His body stilled.

He turned his head away.

He forced himself to.

His hands clenched at his sides.

He wouldn’t look.

He promised.

Around him, the noise grew. He could hear voices and feel the movement.

Something heavy was being adjusted.

Don’t look.

Noah squeezed his eyes shut.

Don’t look.

He didn’t understand.

But he listened. Because she told him to.

His heart was beating too fast.

He pressed his lips together.

Don’t look.

Don’t look.

Don’t...

A sudden shift in the crowd.

A sound.

A sharp, collective reaction or people cheering and yelling.

Noah’s breath hitched, and before he could stop himself... he looked.

For a moment, his mind refused to understand what he was seeing.

It was as if his eyes had made a mistake, as if the image in front of him did not belong to reality but to something distant, something unreal that would disappear if he just blinked hard enough. But it didn’t. The longer he looked, the more the details forced themselves into him.

His mother’s body was hanging, suspended in a way that made no sense to him, her feet not touching the ground, her arms still, her head tilted unnaturally. The rope around her neck was tight, cutting into her skin in a way that made his stomach twist violently. There was no movement, no breath, no voice.

No “Noah, be careful.”

No “Noah, don't steal.”

No “Noah, I love you.”

No warmth.

Just stillness.

The noise of the crowd crashed back into him all at once, loud and overwhelming. Some people were cheering, others speaking loudly over each other. It didn’t match what he was seeing. It didn’t match what he was feeling. How could they be so loud when everything inside him had gone completely silent?

His chest tightened painfully, like something was pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. His lungs worked too fast, shallow and uneven, as if they didn’t know how to function anymore. His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes so suddenly he couldn’t stop them.

He turned and ran.

He didn’t think about where he was going, didn’t look at the people he pushed past, didn’t hear the protests or the annoyed voices as he slipped through the crowd again, smaller than them, faster than them, desperate to get away from the square, from the platform, from that image that had already burned itself into him.

His legs moved without stopping, carrying him through the streets, past the market, until the stone gave way to dirt and the noise of the city slowly began to fade behind him.

He didn’t stop when he reached the edge of the woods surrounding the castle.

He kept going.

Branches scratched against his arms as he pushed through them, roots catching under his feet, forcing him to stumble more than once, but he didn’t slow down. The air felt colder there but it didn't help.

Nothing helped.

The image followed him. Every time he blinked, he saw her again.

A sob broke out of him, louder this time, raw and uncontrolled, his small body finally giving in to everything it had been holding back.

He slowed, then stumbled, then stopped entirely, his legs giving out beneath him as he dropped to the ground.

The earth was uneven and cold, damp beneath his hands as he tried to steady himself, but it didn’t matter. Nothing felt real anymore except the pain in his chest and the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

His shoulders shook as he cried, the sound echoing weakly through the trees, swallowed quickly by the vastness of the forest. Time lost meaning as he stayed there, curled in on himself, trying to make sense of something that couldn’t be understood, especially not by a child.

He didn’t know how much time had passed.

The light had shifted, slowly fading through the branches above him, turning everything softer and darker at the same time.

At some point, the sound reached him.

“Noah!”

He didn’t move, he didn't have any strength for it.

“Noah!”

Branches rustled somewhere behind him, footsteps uneven, quick, pushing through the same undergrowth he had run through without thinking.

“There you are.”

Noah lifted his head slightly, his vision still blurred, his face wet and streaked with dirt. For a second, he just looked at Helena.

She rushed forward and dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands immediately reaching for his face, his shoulders, checking him like she needed to be sure he was okay.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she said, “Everywhere…”

She pulled him into her arms, and he didn’t resist.

The moment she held him, something inside him gave in again, his small body collapsing against her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her hand pressing gently against the back of his head, holding him close. “I’m so, so sorry…”

Noah clutched at her clothes weakly.

“…Why?”

Helena froze.

“Why did they do that?” he asked, his voice trembling, barely holding together. “Why did they kill her?”

“Noah…” she started, but her voice caught.

She took a breath.

“You deserve to know,” she said quietly.

He looked at her, eyes red, confused, waiting.

Helena hesitated only a moment longer.

“…Your father,” she said slowly, “is the king.”

Noah blinked. The words didn’t make sense at first.

“What?” he whispered.

“The king,” she repeated softly. “He… he is your father.”

Noah stared at her, trying to understand, trying to fit that into everything he knew, everything he had just seen.

“That’s why…” Helena continued, “That’s why this happened.”

“…Why?” he asked again, but this time it sounded smaller.

Helena’s hands tightened slightly on his arms.

“Because he was afraid,” she said. “Afraid that people would find out. Afraid that your mother would tell the truth. So he got rid of her. People were starting to talk in the castle.”

The forest felt too quiet around them.

Noah looked down, his hands trembling slightly in his lap.

“The king…” he repeated faintly.

Helena watched him carefully.

“Yes.”

A long pause.

“…He’s evil,” Noah said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

Another silence.

Then Noah looked up again, “…Does that mean I’m like him?”

The question broke something in her. Helena’s expression softened immediately, and she reached up, cupping his face gently.

“Oh no,” she said firmly. “Noah, listen to me. You are not like him.”

Her thumb brushed away a tear from his cheek.

“You are like your mother.”

His lips trembled slightly.

“You have her heart,” Helena continued softly. “Her kindness. Her strength.”

She paused, then added, her voice gentler now, “And her eyes.”

Noah blinked, more tears slipping down his face.

“You are nothing like him,” she repeated again and again.

They stayed there for a long time, ane Noah’s uneven breathing began to calm against Helena’s shoulder. She didn’t rush him, but eventually though, she had to pull back to look at him properly when she spoke.

She told him, quietly, that he couldn’t stay. That the castle was no longer safe for him, that after what had happened, it was only a matter of time before someone started asking the wrong questions.

Noah didn’t accept it. He shook his head, tears rising again as he begged her to come with him, his voice small and desperate, asking her not to leave him alone too, not after everything.

She told him she couldn’t. That if she disappeared too, it would draw attention, make everything worse. That she had to stay, at least for now. But him… he had a chance. Out there, beyond the castle, beyond the city, he had a chance to survive.

She told him that other people would find him. That someone would take care of him. That he was stronger than he thought.

He didn’t believe it. Not really. But there was nothing else to hold onto.

So he hugged her again, and told her he loved her.

That was the last time they saw each other for years.

That night, while the castle slept and the city quieted, Noah made his way down to the port. He moved carefully, the way he always had when sneaking out, but this time there was no curiosity driving him forward, no sense of adventure. Only the need to leave.

The harbor was darker than the rest of the city, lit only by scattered lanterns and the low glow of ships anchored in the water. There were more vessels than he had ever really noticed before, their shapes rising against the night.

He didn’t know where any of them were going, but it didn’t matter.

He chose one without thinking too much about it, climbing aboard when no one was looking, his body slipping between ropes and wooden structures until he found a place to hide. There were barrels stacked close together, the scent of alcohol strong enough to sting his nose, but it gave him cover.

He curled up between them, pulling himself in as small as possible.

Exhaustion took him quickly.

When they found him the next morning, he was still asleep, tucked between the rum barrels like something forgotten.

Voices woke him.

Rough ones. Confused at first, then amused.

They decided to keep him.

And soon, Noah found out that of all the ships he could have chosen, he had climbed onto a pirate vessel.

But he was just a child and somehow, that was enough for them to let him stay.

So they kept him, and taught him how to survive in their world.

And that was how his new life began.

Noah taglist pt 1: @mushrumink @sullyselena @buttercupbabyyy @pathion @pipidoll @missduffsblog @vibecops @myexistencesucks @overmydeadbodysblog @margocos-blog @heyitsjay316 @sallyba3 @bartxnhood @lacy1986 @iamamatus @dream-machine-love @amoursims @suessmausnici @whimsicaldiamonds @imyourliquor-youremypoison @punkprincess1999 @bored-rato @thepeoplesblog @dxthrone @illmakeyousaywow @xmads-omensx @sikowitzbitch @tosoundlessdarkistare @sadbitchenergy @flowery-mess @anything-morethan-human @lekyswixexx @english-fucker @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

Son.

You blinked, your gaze snapping toward Noah instinctively. There was no reaction of surprise on his face, no confusion or denial.

The king watched the both of you with quiet amusement, like this wasn’t a confrontation, but something more personal.

He tilted his head slightly, studying Noah’s expression.

“What,” he said smoothly, that faint smirk still resting on his lips, “you don’t say hi to your father?”

Your thoughts stumbled over themselves, trying to make sense of it, trying to fit it into everything you knew about Noah, about the way he carried himself, about the way he reacted to authority, to power... to this place.

You looked at him again.

The resemblance was subtle. It would have been easy to miss. But now that it was there, and now, spoken out loud and undeniable, you couldn’t unsee it.

Noah didn’t move. His jaw tightened slightly.

“I’m not here to say hi,” he said, his voice low, “I’m here to get my friend out.”

His hand shifted slightly at his side, just enough for you to notice the tension in it.

“And I’ll do it,” he added, eyes locked onto the king’s, “the easy way or the hard way.”

The king’s expression didn’t change immediately, but then, slowly, he exhaled through his nose, almost like a quiet laugh, shaking his head just slightly.

“Oh, come now,” he said, tone light, almost indulgent. “There’s no need to turn this into something unpleasant.”

He took a slow step forward, in a controlled movement.

“If you behave,” he continued, “no one has to get hurt.”

You glanced at Noah again. He let out a short, humorless breath, like a scoff of disbelief.

“You,” he said, “talking about people getting hurt?”

The king’s eyes narrowed just slightly, though the faint smile didn’t fully disappear.

“I suggest you watch your tone,” he replied.

“And I suggest you stop pretending to be the good, innocent guy,” Noah shot back immediately.

Silence stretched for a second.

Your mind was still racing.

This is his father.

The king is his father.

Your heart was still pounding, your body tense, your eyes flicking briefly toward the doors behind you.

No guards had entered yet, and you knew the king gave them this exact order. He wanted to be there with Noah.

“And who's your friend here?” He asked after giving you a quick glance.

“You don't care. Touch her and I'll make sure you lose a hand.” Noah quickly answered.

The king sighed.

“You come back here,” he continued, “break into my castle, threaten me—”

“Your castle?” Noah cut in, a sharp edge to his voice. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“You don’t understand the position you’re in,” the king said.

Noah’s lips twitched slightly, something bitter there.

“Oh, I understand it perfectly.”

His hand moved.

Fast enough that it took you a second to register it.

The flash of metal caught the light from the windows as he pulled his knife free.

The king’s gaze dropped to it briefly, then lifted again, still calm and controlled.

Only then did you notice it, subtle and almost hidden beneath the layers of the king's clothing, the hilt of a blade resting at his side.

“Really?” he said, almost disappointed. “Is that what this comes to?”

Noah didn’t answer immediately. His grip on the knife tightened.

“For someone who talks about avoiding violence,” he said quietly, “you sure don’t mind it when it’s not directed at you.”

A beat of silence.

The king’s expression hardened just slightly.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Noah took a small step forward.

“So did you.”

He took another step.

“And you don’t get to walk away from it this time.”

Your pulse was loud in your ears.

This was spiraling too fast.

There was no way this ended cleanly.

“Noah...” you started, your voice lower than you expected, uncertain, trying to calm something that was already slipping out of control.

He didn’t even look at you. His focus was entirely locked on the man in front of him. On his father.

The king straightened slightly, his posture shifting just enough to show that he was no longer treating this like a conversation.

“Put it down,” he said.

Noah didn’t.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then, Noah stepped forward, lunged and closed the distance in a quick movement. The knife in his hand cut through the air, aimed clean and direct without hesitation.

The king reacted a fraction of a second before impact, and steel rang sharply as he drew his own blade, longer, heavier, the sound of it leaving its sheath cutting through the room as he brought it up just in time to block.

The clash echoed.

Noah didn’t stop. He twisted his wrist, redirecting, his movements fast. He struck again, lower this time, forcing the king to step back, the longer blade dragging slightly behind his movements, not slow, but not as fluid.

The difference showed immediately.

The king was trained, but Noah was hardened.

There was another strike. Metal scraped again as the king deflected it, but the angle was off. He adjusted too late, his footing shifting as he gave ground, boots sliding half a step across the polished floor.

Noah pressed forward relentlessly and he didn’t give him space to recover.

The blade in Noah’s hand moved faster than it should have, striking, withdrawing and striking again, the king’s sword was longer but you could see he was less used to this.

The king blocked again, but this time the force drove him back another step, closer to the windows.

Light spilled across them, the glass stretching high behind him.

Noah stepped in again, the king tried to counter, swinging wider this time, using the length of his blade, but Noah ducked into it, the motion sharp and instinctive, the swing passing just above his shoulder as he closed the gap completely.

Now they were nearly chest to chest.

The king’s weapon was suddenly too long. Too slow.

Noah drove forward. His shoulder collided into the king’s chest with brutal force, the impact knocking the air from him as his back slammed against the glass behind.

The window shuddered.

Then cracked.

A sharp, splintering sound tore through the room and you felt like, if for a second, the time stopped.

The glass gave way. And exploded.

A violent burst of shards shattered outward as both of them crashed through, the force of Noah’s momentum carrying them past the threshold, beyond the safety of the room, into open air.

Cold wind hit instantly.

The world dropped out from beneath them.

You saw the light catching on shattered glass, pieces spinning weightlessly for a moment before following them down.

And just like that, a moment before they were there and then they were gone. Falling.

Disappearing below the edge of the broken window in a storm of glittering shards.

For a moment, you couldn’t move.

The sound of shattering glass was still rang in your ears, your mind struggling to process what you had just seen. One second they had been there, fighting, alive, and the next they were gone, swallowed by empty air.

Your stomach dropped.

They fell.

From this height.

“Fuck.”

You stumbled forward, your boots slipping slightly against the polished floor as you rushed toward the broken window. Jagged edges of glass framed the opening now, the wind pushing through violently, tugging at your clothes.

Your hands caught the edge as you leaned out, your breath catching in your throat.

And then you saw them.

Not on the ground.

A wide stone balcony jutted out from the level beneath, partially hidden from above unless you leaned far enough. The drop had obviously been bad, too far to be safe, but not fatal.

Shards of glass were scattered everywhere across the stone. The king lay on his back, unmoving, Noah was next to him.

For a terrifying second, you thought...

Then Noah moved.

Slowly. He rolled onto his side, pushing himself up with one arm, unsteady but very much alive.

Relief hit you so fast it almost hurt.

“Oh my God—” your voice came out more shaky than you expected. “Are you okay?”

He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, though it was strained, his hand coming up to wipe at something on his face.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice rough. “Never been better.”

When his hand pulled away, you saw blood smeared across his face, a shallow but angry cut along his cheekbone where the glass must have caught him.

Your eyes flicked back toward the room behind you.

The doors were opening.

“Shit.”

You turned back, scanning quickly, your mind racing for options.

Just to the side, slightly lower than the broken window, a sloped stone awning, part of the structure below. Not wide, byt stable-looking, or at least close enough.

You had no time to think.

You pulled yourself over the edge.

For a second, your footing slipped as your boots hit the angled surface, your body pitching forward, your heart jumping into your throat, but you caught yourself, hands shooting out to steady against the rough stone.

You froze there for half a second, breath shaky.

You were still alive.

You were still okay.

You looked down again. Noah was below, standing now, his posture slightly off, like he was favoring one side. The distance between you and the balcony beneath him felt… worse from here.

Higher.

More dangerous.

“What do I do now?” you called down.

He looked up at you immediately.

“Jump.”

You stared at him.

“Are you insane?”

There was no time for this.

Behind you, you could hear the guards' voices.

“They’re not here! Find the king!”

Noah’s voice cut through everything.

“You don’t have a choice,” he said, sharper now. “If you want to get out of here, you jump.”

You looked down again.

The drop wasn’t impossible, but it wasn’t safe either. You’d never land it cleanly, you weren't even sure you would land on the balcony.

Your hands tightened slightly against the stone.

“I won’t make it.”

“You will,” he shot back immediately.

Your heart was racing too fast now, your thoughts tripping over themselves.

You were not a pirate, you were not used to this or trained for this.

“I won’t hit the balcony—”

“I know.”

That made you freeze.

“What?”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“I’ll catch you.”

You stared at him.

“That’s not...Noah, that’s not how this works, I...”

“It is right now.”

Voices behind you were getting closer.

“Window’s broken!”

“Check below!”

You could hear armor shifting, boots scraping closer to the edge.

No time.

No time to think.

No time to argue.

Noah took a step closer to the edge of the balcony, positioning himself directly beneath you, ignoring the broken glass under his boots.

“Trust me,” he said.

Just that.

Everything in you screamed that this was a terrible idea, that this could go very wrong.

But staying? That was worse.

You took a breath. Then another.

And before you could stop yourself, you jumped.

The drop hit your stomach instantly, the world lurching as gravity took hold, the distance rushing up too fast,

And then, an impact.

Not the ground.

Arms.

Noah caught you hard, the force of it knocking both of you back a step, his grip tightening instinctively as he absorbed as much of the fall as he could. His boots slid slightly against the stone, glass crunching underfoot, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale as he struggled to stay upright.

But he didn’t let go. Not even for a second.

You felt the jolt, the sudden stop, the way his arms held you firmly, steadying you as your feet found the ground a split second later.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then he let out a quiet breath.

“Told you.”

Above you, the guards reached the broken window.

“They’re below us! Move!”

The sound of boots thundered across the marble floor overhead echoed through the broken remains of the shattered window.

Your eyes dropped toward the king. He still hadn’t moved.

He lay sprawled across the stone near the balcony railing, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him, dark fabric stained with blood where glass had torn through it. Tiny fragments still surrounded him, reflecting pale daylight like ice scattered across the floor.

Noah looked at him too, then stepped forward.

The king’s sword was lying a short distance away, thrown from his grip during the fall. Noah bent slightly and picked it up from the ground.

For a moment, you thought he was going to kill him. He stared down at his father’s unconscious body for a second, gripping the sword tightly in his hand.

Then his jaw tightened.

And instead of turning toward the king, he spun toward the balcony doors.

The sword swung violently.

With another loud crash, the glass doors exploded inward beneath the force of the strike, shards bursting across the luxurious room beyond.

“Move,” Noah ordered.

You didn’t hesitate. You climbed through the broken doorway after him as the sound of approaching guards grew louder overhead.

The room inside looked like some kind of private lounge or receiving chamber, elegant furniture shoved aside in your rush through it. Noah immediately crossed toward the opposite door, moving fast despite the fall.

The keys were still hanging from his belt, clinking with every movement. He shoved the next door open, and both of you burst back into the corridors.

“There!” Someone, somewhere, shouted.

Noah grabbed your wrist again and pulled you hard around a corner just as armored footsteps thundered somewhere behind you. You nearly slipped on the polished floor trying to keep up.

You kept going.

Another corridor.

Another staircase, this one spiraled downward.

The two of you descended rapidly, boots slamming against narrow stone steps as the castle changed around you again.

The higher floors had been filled with gold and marble and light. Down here, everything became colder, darker, and the walls narrowed.

The air smelled damp, heavy with stone and old water.

Your lungs burned from running. You knew they were searching for you above.

But they didn’t know where you were going. That was the only advantage you had.

The castle became narrower the lower you descended. He slowed slightly near the bottom, listening.

You heard a cough somewhere ahead, then chains shifting faintly.

You reached the prison level.

Iron-barred cells lined both sides of the corridor, small lanterns mounted along the walls cast weak orange light that barely reached the far ends of the hall.

Some cells were empty.

Others weren’t.

You caught glimpses as you passed, of faces watching from shadows, of hands wrapped around bars, of eyes following your movement silently.

Noah moved quickly through the corridor, scanning the cells one after another, and finally, you found him.

Nick was sitting against the back wall of a cell on the right side, one arm resting over his bent knee. He looked tired, bruised, and deeply annoyed more than anything else.

The second he noticed Noah, his eyes widened.

“...Holy shit.”

He pushed himself upright immediately, gripping the bars.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Noah didn’t even slow down.

“We came to save your ass,” he said bluntly. “Seems obvious to me.”

Despite everything, Nick let out a short laugh of disbelief.

“You are completely insane.”

“Yeah,” Noah muttered while already reaching for the keys at his belt. “Not really new information.”

The keys clinked loudly in the narrow corridor as he searched through them rapidly.

You heard voices above you.

He tried a key but it wasn't the right one.

“Can you hurry?” you whispered sharply, glancing back toward the staircase.

“I’m trying.”

Another key.

Wrong one.

Another.

Then finally... click.

The cell door swung open and Nick stepped out immediately.

Noah, now in possession of the king's sword, passed a knife to Nick, who was obviously disarmed.

“Let's go”, he said.

You turned to leave, but Noah, despite his words, stopped, and his gaze had shifted toward the other cells, toward the prisoners watching silently from behind the bars.

One older man stared at Noah without speaking, fingers still curled weakly around the bars, and another stepped closer slowly, hope flickering across his face.

Noah hesitated for just a second, then threw the keys hard through the bars of the nearest occupied cell.

The prisoner inside stared at it in shock before quickly grabbing them and chosing the first key to use to try to open the doors.

Noah stepped backward already turning away, and the three of you sprinted back toward the staircase.

Noah stayed in front, the king’s sword still in his hand, blood drying along the shallow cut across his cheek.

You could hear distant shouting. Orders echoing through corridors. The sound of footsteps moving between floors. The castle was searching for you.

As you pushed through another door and into a corridor lined with servants’ quarters, two maids carrying folded linens nearly froze at the sight of you. Their eyes widened immediately at the weapons, the blood, the speed you were moving with.

One stepped quickly aside, the other lowering her gaze as you rushed past.

Then you heard voices ahead.

“There!”

Four guards rounded the corner abruptly, weapons already drawn.

Noah reacted first.

The king’s sword crashed against a guard’s blade with enough force to ring through the corridor, Noah immediately forcing the man backward. Another guard came at him from the side at the same time, and Noah pivoted sharply, blocking the second strike almost effortlessly.

Nick collided with a third guard a second later, knocking him hard against the wall before steel flashed between them.

And then the fourth guard came straight for you.

You barely raised your weapon in time.

The impact slammed through your arms painfully as his sword struck yours, the force nearly knocking you backward. He was bigger than you, stronger too, and he immediately pressed forward aggressively.

You stumbled back a step.

The guard swung again.

You blocked, panic surging through you as metal scraped violently against metal inches from your face.

You could hear Noah fighting nearby and Ruffilo curse as blades clashed against stone walls.

The guard in front of you lunged again, trying to overpower you before you could recover.

But this time, you reacted faster. You twisted away from the next strike and drove your weapon forward hard.

The blade hit.

The guard’s movement stopped instantly, blood dripping down his chin.

His eyes widened in shock as the force of it drove him backward a step.

You didn’t freeze this time. Your heartbeat pounded violently, adrenaline drowning everything else out as you pulled the weapon free and immediately stepped back before he could grab you.

The guard collapsed heavily onto the floor.

Your breathing was rough now, your hands shaking from adrenaline more than guilt.

You turned to the others, Noah looked at you for a second as the guard he was fighting collapsed to the ground.

Then more voices echoed through the corridor nearby.

Noah looked toward the sound immediately.

“We need to go. Now.”

Ruffilo grabbed a fallen blade from the floor and the three of you ran again, your dress whipping around your legs as you moved.

At this point, your lungs burned constantly.

“Left,” Noah ordered quickly.

You turned sharply with him, boots skidding slightly against the stone floor as the three of you pushed into another corridor lined with old wooden tables and iron wall sconces.

Then more guards appeared ahead.

“Shit,” Nick muttered.

Three this time.

Noah rushed the first immediately, the king’s sword flashing in the dim corridor light as steel crashed violently together.

Nick intercepted another near the wall, blades locking with a loud metallic scrape.

The third guard came straight for you and he swung first, aiming high. You barely blocked in time, and he immediately pushed forward, trying to overpower you with strength.

You stumbled backward and the guard attacked again.

You ducked clumsily beneath the strike, panic and adrenaline crashing together inside your chest as the blade cut through the air above your head.

Too close. Way too close.

The guard grabbed at you with his free hand, trying to pin you before you could recover, but instinct kicked in fast. You twisted hard against his grip and drove your knee upward as violently as you could, as your hand came to the back on his head.

You knee connected directly with his face.

You felt the impact through your entire leg.

The guard reeled backward with a choked sound, stunned long enough for you to grab the front of his armor before he could recover balance, and then you slammed his head down hard against the stone floor, the crack echoing through the corridor.

The guard went limp instantly.

You staggered back a step yourself, breathing hard, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

You barely had time to process it before turning toward the others.

Nick was doing fine. Actually, more than fine.

He had backed his guard against the wall already, forcing the man completely defensive as their blades clashed rapidly.

Then your eyes snapped toward Noah.

He was pinned, the guard had forced him hard against the stone wall, one forearm locked across Noah’s chest while the other hand held a blade dangerously close to his throat.

You saw Noah struggling to push it back, muscles tense, the edge of the sword pressing closer inch by inch.

Everything inside you reacted instantly.

You had to think, and fast. Your eyes darted around desperately and you saw an iron candelabrum hanging from the wall nearby.

And suddenly you remembered.

You grabbed the heavy object with both hands, yanking it free from its hook with a violent metallic scrape.

The guard didn’t even notice you coming.

You swung hard.

The iron slammed directly into the side of his head with a metallic crack, and the guard immediately collapsed sideways onto the floor, completely limp.

Noah staggered forward slightly, catching himself against the wall as he sucked in a sharp breath.

For a second, he just stared at you, like he was clearly not expecting that.

You were still gripping the candelabrum tightly, breathing hard. Then you pointed it slightly toward him.

“I learned that from you,” you said between breaths.

For half a second, Noah looked genuinely caught off guard, then a short laugh escaped him despite the situation.

“Remind me to never piss you off.”

Nearby, Ruffilo finally finished his own fight, the guard falling against the wall and staying down.

“Can we continue flirting later?” he called out. “Because more guards are definitely coming.”

Almost immediately, voices echoed somewhere nearby again.

“There!”

Noah straightened quickly. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Time to go.”

And the three of you started running again.

Noah pushed open another heavy door and the three of you burst into a long corridor that smelled sharply of smoke and cooked meat.

You had been there before. You were close to the kitchens.

You opened another door and heat hit you immediately. Massive ovens burned along the walls, servants froze mid-motion at the sight of you, one woman nearly dropping an entire tray of dishes as Noah rushed past with the king’s sword still in his hand.

Nobody tried to stop you. Nobody even spoke.

You probably looked terrifying, or crazy. Or both.

Blood stained parts of your clothes, Noah’s cheek was still bleeding slightly, and Ruffilo looked like he’d crawled out of hell.

One of the cooks instinctively stepped aside as you reached the large wooden door near the far end of the kitchens.

Noah shoved it open without slowing and cold air slammed into you immediately.

You stumbled out after them into the open air behind the castle, boots hitting damp earth instead of polished stone for the first time in what felt like forever.

The woods surrounding the royal grounds stretched ahead in dark green waves beneath the darkening sky.

Branches whipped against your arms as the three of you pushed into the woods, forcing your way through undergrowth and uneven terrain. Behind you, somewhere far back near the castle, voices were still echoing faintly, but already more distant.

The deeper you got into the trees, the quieter it became.

Eventually, Noah slowed first, and finally, he stopped.

You nearly collapsed against a tree trying to catch your breath.

Your lungs burned so badly it hurt to inhale. Your legs felt weak from adrenaline and exhaustion, your hands still shaking faintly from everything that had happened.

For several seconds, nobody spoke. The only sounds were heavy breathing and distant wind moving through the trees.

Then Nick let out a breathless laugh.

“What,” he said between breaths, hands on his knees, “the fuck was that?”

You actually laughed a little too, though it came out exhausted and disbelieving.

“We almost died like…” you tried to breathe properly, “fifteen times.”

“At least,” Ruffilo agreed immediately.

Noah leaned briefly against a tree nearby.

“I think we did great.”

You stared at him.

“You got thrown through a window.”

“And survived.”

“You are literally still bleeding.”

“Minor detail.”

Nick shook his head slowly, still trying to recover his breath.

“You know,” he muttered, “when I got caught, I really thought that was it for me.”

Noah stayed quiet.

Nick looked at him then, the amusement fading slightly.

“You broke the code.”

That made Noah’s expression shift faintly.

You knew enough about it by now to understand what Nick meant. Captured people were supposed to be left behind. No unnecessary risks for one person.

Nick straightened slowly. “You shouldn’t have come back for me.”

Noah looked away for a second toward the trees.

Then shrugged once.

“Couldn’t.”

Simple as that.

But something about the way he said it made the silence afterward feel heavier.

Nick stared at him for a second before a grin slowly appeared despite everything.

“That’s actually insane.”

“Yeah,” Noah muttered. “I’ve heard.”

Nick chuckled. “Thank you so much, man.”

Then he looked toward you.

“And you,” he said, pointing slightly at you, “where the hell did that come from?”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Everything,” he repeated. “You kicked asses.”

You let out a small disbelieving laugh.

“Thanks, I guess.”

Nick nodded immediately. “Seriously. Thank you. You also saved Noah's ass back there.”

Noah rolled his eyes slightly. “I had it handled.”

“You were about to get stabbed.”

“I was figuring it out.”

“You were losing.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were against a wall, Noah.”

“I hate both of you.”

Despite everything, you laughed again, quieter this time.

For a moment, things almost felt normal. But the thought kept returning anyway.

The king was Noah’s father. Even now, after everything else, your brain still couldn’t fully process it.

You looked at Noah briefly while he wiped more dried blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.

You wanted to ask.

How?

Why?

Does the crew know?

Why is the son of a king living like this?

Noah finally pushed himself away from the tree.

“We should move.”

“Let me guess, we're stealing a ship?” You asked.

Noah started walking again through the trees.

“We’re not exactly leaving politely.”

And with guards probably searching half the kingdom for you already, the three of you disappeared deeper into the forest toward the coast.

The port had been quiet when you arrived, the sky was dark, and night had already fallen some time ago.

You saw a ship rocking gently at the edge of the docks, half-loaded, lanterns still burning low along its deck and barely any crew visible, just a few figures moving in the dark.

Noah and Nick didn’t hesitate.

There was a sudden rush forward, brief shouts cutting through the night. Nick went left, knocking one man off balance into the water with a heavy shove. And Noah was already at the ropes.

A blade flashed once and the main mooring line snapped clean.

There was another shout. Someone tried to draw a weapon, and Noah hit him before it cleared the sheath.

Then suddenly there was peace. Movement. The ship shifting as it was freed from the dock.

You stumbled up the gangplank as the ship began to drift, your feet hitting the deck just as Noah kicked the last loose rope away.

A final shove. The ship groaned, turned slightly with the tide… and then began to pull away from the port.

Behind you, distant shouts erupted from the docks, too late, too far.

You were gone. The sea swallowed everything behind you, Valemont soon disappearing into the horizon.

Cold night air and dark water were stretching endlessly in every direction now, the faint outline of the coast shrinking until it was just another shadow in the distance.

You were still standing there when it fully hit you.

You made it.

You were all alive and finally leaving.

You slowly lowered yourself onto a crate near the railing, staring out at the water.

Noah stood a few steps away for a moment longer, still watching the shore disappear, then he finally moved.

He sat down heavily on a coil of rope, one hand dragging down his face, looking more exhausted than ever.

Nick noticed immediately.

“You good?” he asked, leaning against the railing nearby.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… a lot of things.”

His friend gave a small nod like he understood more than he said out loud.

“Yeah,” he replied quietly. “I can imagine.”

A pause.

Only the sound of waves and wood creaking filled the space between you. Then Nick pushed off the railing.

“I’ll take the helm for a while,” he said. “You two look like you’re about to collapse.”

That earned a faint, tired huff from Noah.

“Alright.”

Ruffilo turned toward the wheel without another word, leaving you and Noah in a slightly quieter pocket of the deck.

Noah stood again after a moment, and his eyes flicked toward you. He tilted his head slightly toward the stairs leading below deck in a silent gesture.

Come.

You hesitated only a second before following him.

The stairs creaked softly under your steps as you descended into the lower deck. Noah didn’t stop walking until he found something that looked like a room that could pass for quiet.

He opened the first door and you saw a narrow storage space, with empty hooks along the walls, a few coils of rope, damp wood.

“Not this,” he muttered.

Next door.

Barrels stacked tightly, the smell of tar and salt hitting you instantly. You thought it was the ship’s supply room or something like that.

“Also not this.”

He kept going.

The third door creaked louder when he pushed it open.

Inside there was a bed pushed against one wall and a low shelf. Noah stepped in, looked at it for half a second and then he just walked straight to the bed.

And dropped onto it face-up with a long, exhausted sigh.

Arms spread slightly. One leg still hanging off the edge.

Completely done.

You leaned against the doorframe, and let out a small laugh before you could stop yourself.

He didn’t open his eyes. “I'm tired. Shut up.”

But there was no heat in it, he just sounded exhausted.

You stayed there, still watching him for a moment.

He looked younger like this. Softer.

A long second passed, then his eyes opened and he turned his head slightly toward you.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For not leaving me alone in all of that.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

You shook your head slightly.

“It's okay. I didn't want to leave you.”

You spent another moment in silence.

But your thoughts kept going back to Noah. Being the king's son.

You pushed off the doorframe a little.

“Noah—” you started.

At the exact same time he said, “I think we need to talk.”

You blinked.

“Yeah,” you said immediately. “That’s… actually what I was going to say.”

That got a faint look from him. “Of course it was.”

You stepped fully into the room now.

He sat up slightly on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching you properly again.

The exhaustion was still there but he looked like he’d decided not to run from this conversation anymore.

You sat on the bed next to him, then you asked it.

“Is it true?”

He already knew what you meant. Still, he didn’t answer immediately.

You swallowed. “Are you… the king’s son?”

Noah nodded once.

Having a real confirmation from him felt even crazier.

“So,” you said slowly, trying to process it out loud, “all this time… you called me princess,” you added, a faint, incredulous laugh slipping through, “when you were the actual prince?”

Noah’s mouth tilted slightly.

“It fitted you more.”

You stared at him.

“This... this is crazy,” you said softly. “How is that even possible? Why are you not... there? With them?”

Noah’s gaze dropped for a second. “Because no one would ever want a future king who is a bastard.”

“…Bastard?”

“My mother isn’t the queen.”

Silence.

And so, sitting there in the dim light of a stolen ship’s cabin, with the sea moving quietly beneath you, you listened to Noah tell you the truth.

Some parts came out bitter and angry, like he hated even saying them aloud. Others quieter, rougher, like memories he usually kept buried deep inside him.

He told you about his mother. About how she had worked in the castle years ago, even before Noah was born. About the king noticing her.

And then Noah told you what happened after.

How people started suspecting and how suddenly his mother became dangerous. Not because she had done something wrong, but because she knew the truth. Because she had a child with the king’s.

You barely breathed while he spoke.

Noah’s voice stayed mostly steady, but sometimes you caught the pauses. The moments where his jaw tightened slightly before continuing. Like he was forcing himself through parts he had spent years trying not to remember.

And then he told you about the execution.

About being a child. About watching it and not keeping his promise.

Your stomach twisted so violently you actually felt sick for a second.

“Oh my God...” you whispered.

Noah looked away, dark hair falling over his eyes.

He told you he still remembered everything about that day. The crowd. The ropes. The sound. The way nobody stopped it, because it was normal. Because they didn't know her, but she was immediately guilty to them.

You stared at him in disbelief, horrified.

“That’s...” Your voice cracked slightly. “That’s horrible.”

Noah gave a humorless shrug.

“I learned pretty quickly what I was worth to them.”

You hated how casually he said that.

He told you how he escaped afterward. How he disappeared before they could decide what to do with him too. How he ended up surviving however he could, growing up around thieves, smugglers and pirates who taught him how to survive in their world.

How he kept hating them. The king. The rich. And everything that had to do with those hateful, cruel people.

And suddenly so many things about Noah made sense, like the way he reacted to authority, and the way he hated nobles on instinct.

You sat there quietly for a long moment after he finished, trying to process all of it.

The room felt strangely smaller now.

The sea creaked softly outside the walls of the ship, while Noah sat beside you, leaning forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees.

He still looked exhausted.

Not physically this time.

You swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

Noah didn’t answer.

“I mean it,” you continued softly. “Noah... that’s terrible.”

His eyes stayed lowered for a second before he finally let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

You looked at him carefully.

“And now I understand,” you admitted.

That made him glance at you slightly, moving with his hand some hair from his face.

“Understand what?”

“Why you hate them. Why you think they deserve... to be killed.”

Silence.

“The court. The nobles that have something do to with it. Everything.”

This whole time, you knew Noah was hiding something about his past, but this was something you would have never expected.

He had been a boy forced to watch his mother die because powerful people were afraid of the truth.

A child abandoned by his own father.

A prince they never would have wanted anyway.

“Ruffilo told me once that he thought it was strange you trusted me,” you said quietly.

Noah glanced at you.

“That you kept me on the ship when I came from high society. When I was engaged to a governor. At the time, I hadn’t understood what he meant. Now I do.”

You looked at Noah carefully. “But why did you?”

He stayed silent for a second before shrugging slightly.

“You seemed different.”

“Different how?”

“You didn’t act like them.” A faint smirk appeared briefly. “And you are a little insane.”

You let out a small laugh.

Noah looked at you for another moment before adding more quietly,

“You were trying to escape your old life.” His gaze lowered slightly. “Same as I did years ago.”

Noah stayed quiet for a moment after that, his eyes fixed somewhere on the wooden floorboards beneath you.

Then you found yourself asking softly, “Do the others know?”

His gaze lifted back to yours. “Not really.”

You frowned slightly.

“Nick knows,” he explained. “And Davis. I told them a long time ago because we are very close,” Noah continued. “But that’s it. No one else knows.”

His eyes held yours for a second longer before he added quietly,

“And I’d like to keep it that way, please.”

“I know.” Your voice softened. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks,” he muttered before a moment silence.

“And... thanks for saving my life,” He added.

You looked at him.

A faint smirk pulled briefly at the corner of his mouth.

“At the beach,” he said. “And then again at the castle.” He exhaled quietly through his nose. “You’re apparently developing a habit.”

You stared at him for a second before letting out a small laugh.

“And you’re not even exactly easy to keep alive.”

That earned another quiet huff from him.

“You know, I should probably thank you too.”

Noah glanced at you.

“For what?”

“You protected me when the Specter was falling apart.”

Noah opened his mouth like he was about to dismiss it immediately, but you cut him off first.

“I mean it,” you said. “I’m pretty sure I’d be dead by now if it wasn’t for you.”

Silence settled between you again. Then Noah leaned back slightly, tired eyes still fixed on you.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, “we’ve just been saving each other a lot lately.”

You looked at him for a moment. Then you smiled a little.

“Yeah,” you admitted softly. “Maybe we have.”

After naming it, you found yourself thinking about his ship.

“Speaking of the Specter...” you said softly. “I’m sorry about your ship too.”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Me too. But in the end,” he continued with a small shrug, “everyone made it out alive. So I don’t really care.”

“Really?”

A faint smile appeared briefly.

“I mean, will I miss it? Obviously.” He let out a quiet breath through his nose. “That ship was home for years. But my crew is the most important thing I have.”

You looked at him quietly for a moment after that.

“That’s a nice thing to say,” you murmured.

Noah gave a small shrug like it wasn’t important, but you could tell it was.

“For what it’s worth,” you said softly, “I think you would’ve made a good king.”

Noah looked at you like you had genuinely lost your mind.

“That might be the craziest thing you’ve said so far.”

You smiled faintly. “I’m serious.”

He let out a quiet scoff, leaning back slightly against the wall behind the bed.

“What exactly gives you that idea?”

You studied him for a second before answering.

“I think you’re a good person.”

Noah’s expression shifted immediately into disbelief.

“I thought you knew me.”

“And I do.”

He looked away slightly at that, but you kept going.

“You’re angry,” you admitted. “And sometimes impulsive.” A small smile tugged at your mouth for a second. “And maybe a little violent.”

“A little?”

You ignored that.

“But underneath all of that...” Your voice softened. “You care. You have a good heart.”

Silence filled the room again.

“You went back for Nick even though your own rules said not to. You protected your crew over and over again. You protected me when you really didn’t have to.” You looked at him carefully. “You’ve had terrible things happen to you,” you continued softly. “Things that would’ve made a lot of people way more cruel.”

Your gaze lowered briefly before lifting back to his.

“But somehow you’re still... you.”

He stayed very still now.

“I think you're still a good man, Noah. And I think someone like you would understand suffering better than most kings ever could.”

Noah looked down for a second, almost uncomfortable now in a way fighting never seemed to make him.

“You would actually care about people,” you said softly.

For a moment, you heard only the ocean's sound.

“You really are insane,” he muttered.

But when he looked at you again, something in his expression had changed.

Way softer.

Like maybe no one had ever said something like that to him before.

Silence settled over the room after that and for a while you could just heard the slow creak of wood and the roll of the sea against the hull.

Noah didn’t say anything for a while. You eventually broke the quiet softly.

“I’m going to let you sleep now,” you said. “We both need it.”

A small pause.

“I’ll go find a decent room.”

Noah nodded once.

“Yeah. Sure.”

He pushed himself up almost at the same time you did, like he was going to walk you out, even though you were literally one step away from the door already.

Neither of you commented on it.

The two of you moved and you stopped at the doorway.

There was a second where neither of you moved or spoke, like neither of you was sure how to end the moment.

Then, without really thinking about it, you turned back, stepped forward and just reached for him.

It was instinct more than decision, something quiet and simple after everything that had been loud and violent and overwhelming.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on the tips of your boots.

For a second, Noah didn’t move at all.

He was completely still, almost stiff, like he didn't like it.

Then slowly, carefully, his arms came up and circled you, and he pulled you in properly.

His hand settled at your back, the other slightly higher, holding you close and sure.

You felt him exhale into your hair. Just for a moment.

Then he loosened slightly, not letting go completely right away.

When you finally stepped back, it felt a little too cold. You looked up at him.

“Goodnight, Noah,” you said softly.

He nodded once.

“Goodnight.”

You turned and walked down the corridor.

Behind you, the door stayed open for a second longer than it needed to.

And as you disappeared into the ship’s dim hallway, your heart was beating faster than before, and not from fear this time.

Noah taglist pt 1: @mushrumink @sullyselena @buttercupbabyyy @pathion @pipidoll @missduffsblog @vibecops @myexistencesucks @overmydeadbodysblog @margocos-blog @heyitsjay316 @sallyba3 @bartxnhood @lacy1986 @iamamatus @dream-machine-love @amoursims @suessmausnici @whimsicaldiamonds @imyourliquor-youremypoison @punkprincess1999 @bored-rato @thepeoplesblog @dxthrone @illmakeyousaywow @xmads-omensx @sikowitzbitch @tosoundlessdarkistare @sadbitchenergy @flowery-mess @anything-morethan-human @lekyswixexx @english-fucker @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

The sight of him like that still felt strange in the best possible way. During the day Noah was rarely still. He was always doing something, fixing something, giving orders, arguing with somebody, worrying about something he pretended not to worry about.

Sleep took all of that away.

His dark hair was completely disordered, falling across his forehead in every direction imaginable. It had grown a lot over the last few months, and now it almost touched his shoulders.

The blankets had slipped low during the night, leaving his shoulders and part of his tattooed chest uncovered, and one arm rested lazily across the mattress between you.

You slowly sat up against the headboard, pulling the sheets slightly higher around yourself.

For several minutes, you simply looked at him.

You found yourself studying details of his face once again: the shape of his nose, the way his eyelashes cast shadows against his cheeks, the faint freakles on his skin, the tiny lines near his eyes that were more visible whenever he laughed but still there.

It was almost unfair how beautiful he was. You wondered if he had any idea.

Your fingers absentmindedly found the shell resting against your chest, turning it gently between your fingers while you continued looking at him.

You were so distracted that his voice nearly made you jump.

“I know you're staring.”

You blinked immediately.

His eyes remained closed.

“You were asleep”, you said.

One eye opened, “You've been looking at me for at least five minutes.”

A little laugh escaped you, “Maybe.”

The second eye finally opened as well, and Noah looked up at you with the slightly confused expression of someone who had only just remembered where they were. His voice was still rough with sleep, quiet.

“That's honestly a little scary.”

You tilted your head.

“I was appreciating the view.”

He let out a tired breath and slowly pushed himself upright, rubbing a hand through his already ruined hair and somehow making it significantly worse.

You couldn't help laughing.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

You reached forward before he could object and placed both hands gently against his face.

Noah fell quiet immediately.

His skin was still warm from sleep, and you could feel the slight roughness of his jaw beneath your palms. For a moment you simply looked at him.

“What?” he asked again, although this time his voice had become softer.

You smiled.

“You're very pretty.”

His eyebrows immediately lifted.

“Pretty?”

“Very.”

“I don't think that's the word pirates are supposed to hear.”

“Too bad.”

He looked genuinely offended.

“Handsome. Dangerous. Mysterious. These are acceptable.”

You considered it seriously.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. You're pretty.”

He shook his head slightly.

“I've truly lost all authority.”

“On me? You never had any.”

That made him laugh quietly.

The sound was still soft from sleep, and something about it made you love it even more. He looked younger like this, sitting beside you with messy hair and tired eyes, no captain, no responsibilities, no crew to take care of, simply Noah.

You moved one hand upward, trying to flatten some of the strands of hair falling over his forehead, looking at him for a moment longer after that.

He leaned forward then, resting his forehead briefly against your shoulder. A few seconds later his lips brushed gently against your skin, first your shoulder, then your neck, the kisses soft and absent-minded, as though he simply wanted to be close to you.

You felt his hand find yours beneath the blankets.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Outside, somewhere above the deck, you could hear footsteps and distant voices, someone was already working, someone else was probably arguing over breakfast. Life aboard the ship had started again hours ago, but neither of you seemed particularly interested in joining it yet.

Noah still sat close beside you, his cheek resting against your shoulder, while his fingers remained intertwined with yours beneath the sheet. Every now and then his lips brushed your skin absentmindedly, as though being close to you had become something natural, something he did without thinking.

And as you looked down at him, at his messy hair and his sleepy expression, you suddenly felt something settle quietly inside you.

You were so happy you had stayed.

Not just because of him, although he was certainly part of it, but because you had finally allowed yourself to choose.

You thought back to that night on the beach, to the lights of Saint Marlowe waiting for you only a few steps away. You had truly believed that walking into that city was what you were supposed to do. It had been the sensible decision, the respectable one, the life everyone would have expected you to want.

And yet the moment you had turned around, the moment you had run back toward Noah, something had felt right in a way very few things in your life ever had.

The crew certainly seemed to think so.

When the two of you had returned to the ship together that night, hand in hand and both looking far too happy to hide it, the reactions had ranged from relief to complete lack of surprise.

Davis had looked at both of you for approximately three seconds before announcing, “Finally.”

Jesse had apparently lost money.

Jolly had won money.

And somehow several members of the crew had confessed that they had been betting for months on whether you would eventually kiss each other, without knowing you had already done it.

Nicholas had only shaken his head and said, “This took much longer than I expected anyway.”

You had been horrified.

Noah had looked deeply offended.

The memory still made you smile.

Apparently the two of you had not been subtle at all.

This was your place.

Not because you had nowhere else to go, not because you were trapped, not because of duty, but because this was where you wanted to be.

With Noah.

With the crew.

With the open ocean around you.

You thought about mornings like this one, waking up beside him.

You thought about the mornings when he woke first and disappeared for a while, only to return a short time later and lean over you with a little smile.

“Wake up.”

“No.”

“There are dolphins.”

Your eyes would open immediately.

“There are?”

“Yes.”

“And you waited?”

“No. I knew you'd kill me if you missed them.”

And of course you always followed him onto the deck, still half asleep, while he stood beside you watching the water because he knew exactly how much you loved seeing them.

You thought about the afternoons spent practicing with swords alongside the others until your arms hurt, laughing whenever Noah offered completely useless advice from the sidelines.

You thought about evenings sitting together on deck while the sun disappeared beneath the horizon.

About arriving somewhere new every few weeks.

Seeing new cities, new islands, new markets, new people.

You had loved traveling long before you had met him.

You had loved maps and the ocean and distant places before you had ever stepped onto the Specter. Perhaps that had always been part of you, you simply had not realized that this life could belong to you too.

Noah finally lifted his head slightly, studying your expression.

“What are you thinking about?”

You looked at him.

At his tired eyes.

His cute hair.

The way the morning light touched his skin when he stoop outside.

And you smiled.

“Nothing.”

He narrowed his eyes immediately, “That's usually a lie.”

You laughed softly, “Just that I'm happy.”

Something in his expression softened, he reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Me too.”

Outside, someone shouted Noah's name from somewhere above.

Neither of you moved.

A second later another voice yelled that the captain was being lazy.

Noah closed his eyes.

“I suddenly understand why many people become hermits and not pirates.”

You laughed.

“They'll survive five more minutes.”

“That's what I keep telling them.”

He leaned in again, his lips brushing your shoulder once more in a quiet, lingering touch, before he lifted his gaze to you and kissed you properly on the lips.

It was slow and warm, like you both knew you had all the time. When he pulled back, he moved, guiding you down with him until your back met the bed and the blankets gathered around you in soft folds.

He followed immediately, careful not to put his full weight on you, one arm braced beside your head while the other stayed around your waist, keeping you close.

You let out a small breath of laughter against his shoulder, half surprised, half entirely not, and he gave you that faint, tired smile again, the one that always looked like it belonged to him more than the sarcastic grins ones ever did.

You just stayed there for a moment, feeling his breath against your skin.

Eventually, your hands moved without thinking, sliding up to his shoulders, then to his arms, and then further along his back as he settled more comfortably above you.

Your fingers found his tattoos first, tracing them slowly, following the dark ink as it curved over his skin.

Noah didn’t stop you. He didn’t tense or pull away. If anything, he seemed to relax more, and you loved that.

“You have too many of these,” you murmured after a moment, your fingers pausing briefly over a line of ink near his ribs.

He let out a small, almost sleepy sound. “Not enough. I have some spaces left.”

You shook your head faintly, continuing your slow tracing, moving instead to a faint scar along his side that was partly hidden beneath another tattoo, your fingertips lighter there without you even consciously deciding to be gentle.

“How did you get this?” you asked quietly.

His eyes flicked down for a second before returning to your face. “I remember this one. It's from a fight in a port, around two years ago.”

Then he shifted your hand slightly, guiding it a few centimeters away, to another mark higher up, thinner, older.

“But this one… I don’t,” he admitted after a moment. “I have many, it's hard to remember how I got all of them.”

You didn’t press. You just nodded, your thumb brushing lightly over it once before moving on.

There were others he told you about without hesitation, brief explanations spoken against your shoulder, while some he genuinely seemed to have forgotten how he got.

Your fingers continued wandering slowly across his skin, following the lines of ink and the faint marks hidden beneath them. Most of the scars were small, almost invisible unless you knew where to look, softened by time and partially concealed by tattoos.

Then your fingertips paused.

There was another scar on his chest, slightly higher than the others, close enough to his heart that your hand instinctively became gentler as you traced it. It wasn't particularly large, just a pale line that cut through part of one of his tattoos.

“You remember this one?”

He nodded.

“Yeah.”

For a moment he was quiet, his fingers absentmindedly playing with a strand of your hair while he looked somewhere past you, toward the ceiling.

“We found a slave ship. It was a few years ago,”

You stayed quiet.

“There were dozens of them below deck. Men, women, children. Most of them had been there for weeks. Some were sick. Some couldn't even stand.”

Your hand remained against his chest.

“We attacked them.”

“What happened afterward?”

“We freed all of them. I still remember one little girl stealing food from our kitchen all the time during the travel.”

You smiled faintly.

“I assume Davis cried.”

“He absolutely did.”

You laughed softly.

Noah's eyes lowered for a moment.

“It was one of the few times I felt like we had done something that actually mattered.”

“That was a good thing to do.”

He was quiet, and after several seconds he spoke again.

“I wish we did it more often.”

You looked at him, and he was staring toward the ceiling again, his expression thoughtful.

“There are routes. Ships people know about. Everybody knows some of them exist.”

He swallowed.

“I've always thought about trying to track them down. Find more ships. Stop them.”

His fingers absentmindedly brushed against yours.

You didn't know whether recent events had brought these thoughts back to him or whether he had always carried them with him. Perhaps it had always been there. Perhaps seeing his past so closely again had simply reminded him.

Either way, you understood immediately that this mattered to him.

“We can work on it.”

He blinked.

“What?”

He turned his head slightly toward you.

“We have maps,” you continued. “We could collect information when we stop somewhere, work on it, I don't know.”

Your fingers gently tapped against his chest.

“If these ships follow certain routes, then routes can be found.”

For a moment he simply looked at you.

“You'd help me with that?”

You looked almost offended.

“Obviously.”

He gave you a little smile. “Alright... thank you,” he said quietly.

For a while neither of you said anything else. The sounds above deck had become louder now, footsteps crossed overhead, somebody laughed, and somewhere Davis was almost certainly shouting at someone for eating too much breakfast.

And then something suddenly occurred to you.

“Oh.”

Noah blinked. “What?”

You turned your head toward the small bedside table.

“The drawing.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“What drawing?”

You had almost completely forgotten about it. After returning to the ship that night, after deciding to stay, after the crew nearly celebrating your return, you had unpacked your few belongings inside the cabin that now belonged to both of you. Bryan's drawing had ended up inside the drawer beside the bed and had remained there ever since.

You stretched one arm toward the table, opening the drawer and searching through the small collection of folded clothes, loose papers and random objects that had already somehow become shared possessions.

“There it is.”

You carefully unfolded the paper.

Noah shifted slightly beside you as you held it between both of you.

For a moment he simply looked.

The drawing had survived perfectly. The pencil lines still captured that afternoon on deck, your hand reaching upward to steal his hat while both of you smiled without realizing somebody had been watching.

Noah stared at it for several seconds.

“…Bryan did this?”

You nodded.

“He brought it to me the night before Saint Marlowe.”

His eyes moved slowly across the page, and he seemed genuinely impressed.

“This is awesome.”

“He has an incredible amount of talent.”

Noah nodded slowly.

“I look amazing, I'll have to thank him.”

You immediately pointed toward the hat.

“Except for the hat.”

He looked offended.

“The hat is fine.”

“The hat is terrible.”

He glanced at you.

“You're still doing this?”

“Yes.”

“It has been weeks.”

“And it remains an ugly hat.”

He laughed quietly, shaking his head.

“You are genuinely the only person on this ship who dislikes it.”

“Because apparently I am the only person here with functioning eyes. Or the only one who is not scared to tell you the truth.”

He pointed toward the drawing.

“Look at me. I look like a proper captain.”

You rolled your eyes, and there was a moment of silence before he spoke again.

“It's nice seeing that moment from someone else's perspective.”

“He drew you looking very fond of me.” you said.

Noah glanced at the picture once more.

“That's because I am.”

Before you could answer, voices suddenly echoed from above.

“CAPTAIN!”

Noah closed his eyes.

A second later: “NOAH!”

He sighed.

“I think they might need me.”

“You think?”

You laughed as he finally sat up properly, very reluctantly.

The blankets slipped lower as he stood, revealing his shoulders and the tattoos covering his back and arms, and you found yourself watching him without even trying not to.

He stretched slightly, still waking up, before reaching for his clothes that had been abandoned across various parts of the cabin the previous night. He pulled his shirt on first, slowly fastening the buttons while his hair still fell into his eyes. Then his belt. His coat.

You sat against the pillows simply watching.

He eventually noticed.

“Appreciating the view again?”

“Exactly.”

Noah shook his head, though he was smiling.

Once he had finished dressing, he crossed the room toward you again. He leaned down, one hand resting against your cheek as he kissed you softly, slowly.

When he finally pulled away, another shout came from outside.

“CAPTAIN!”

“I'm coming!” he yelled back.

A pause.

Then quieter, to you: “Unfortunately.”

He turned toward the door, and then stopped, noticing his hat was sitting on the nearby chair.

You watched him look at it, then at you, and you already knew.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

He picked it up and placed it carefully onto his head.

The expression he gave you afterward was almost entirely serious, except for the small smile threatening to appear at the corner of his mouth. He stood there with his hands at his sides as if waiting for your judgment.

“See? It looks good.”

You couldn't help but laugh again.

“I'll convince you eventually.”

“We'll see.”

He opened the door.

Sunlight spilled into the cabin from outside, along with voices, sea air, and the sound of the ship continuing forward toward somewhere far.

“Try not to miss me too much while I'm gone.”

“I'll do my best.”

He grinned, then he disappeared onto the stairs leading to the deck, and the door closed behind him.

For a few moments you remained exactly where you were, the blankets still warm, Bryan's drawing resting beside you, the shell against your chest, and the sound of Noah's voice already carrying faintly from somewhere above.

Your real adventure had only just begun.

Noah taglist pt 1: @mushrumink @sullyselena @buttercupbabyyy @pathion @pipidoll @missduffsblog @vibecops @myexistencesucks @overmydeadbodysblog @margocos-blog @heyitsjay316 @sallyba3 @bartxnhood @lacy1986 @iamamatus @dream-machine-love @amoursims @suessmausnici @whimsicaldiamonds @imyourliquor-youremypoison @punkprincess1999 @bored-rato @thepeoplesblog @dxthrone @illmakeyousaywow @xmads-omensx @sikowitzbitch @tosoundlessdarkistare @sadbitchenergy @flowery-mess @anything-morethan-human @lekyswixexx @english-fucker @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

Another strike.

Then another.

You ducked one, barely avoiding the edge of the practice sword as it swept through the air where your head had been a second earlier.

“Watch out!” someone shouted.

You turned, bringing your sword up again just in time.

Clang.

The impact echoed across the deck.

The sea stretched endlessly around the ship, the afternoon sun high above you, the wind pulling at your hair as you fought to keep your footing.

For one brief moment, with your heartbeat pounding in your ears and your muscles burning, it almost felt like another battle.

Another life-or-death situation.

And then—

“COME ON, KICK HIS ASS!”

You nearly burst out laughing.

Noah was leaning against a barrel a few feet away, one boot resting against the wood, looking far too invested in what was happening.

“Throw him into the ocean!” he shouted.

You stared at him in disbelief.

“Noah!”

Nicholas nearly lost his balance laughing.

“What?!” Noah protested immediately. “I’m supporting you!”

“Well, thank you so much!” Nick laughed.

Davis, sitting nearby with a cup in his hand, pointed toward Nick, “They saved your ass not long ago. Now they're allowed to say what they want.”

“Great to know.” Nick muttered under his breath with a little laugh.

The swords clashed again.

This time you attacked first.

Nick blocked your strike, stepped aside, and you almost managed to catch him with another swing before he knocked your blade away.

“Nice!” Davis shouted.

“You were quicker when they were actually trying to kill you!” Noah added.

You laughed so hard you almost missed the next attack, “Well, no shit.”

Nicholas took advantage of it immediately, hooking his sword against yours and twisting.

The blade slipped from your fingers and clattered loudly across the deck.

For a second, there was silence.

Then the crew who was watching the match clapped and shouted.

“NO!” Noah shouted dramatically.

Nicholas lowered his sword, breathing a little harder and grinning despite himself.

“I believe that makes me the winner.”

You placed your hands on your hips.

“You only won because your supporters are quieter. I was distracted.”

Around you, the crew slowly began returning to whatever they had been doing before, conversations starting up again, ropes being adjusted, someone arguing loudly over cards somewhere near the stern.

Noah finally pushed himself away from the barrel and walked over.

He was wearing the hat he had found somewhere on the ship a few days earlier and seemed to love too much.

It was dark brown, slightly worn at the edges, with one side folded upward and a faded band wrapped around it. It looked like something out of every exaggerated pirate story ever told in noble courts.

It made him look even more like a pirate than he already did. Which should not have been possible.

It looked a bit funny, but he looked good in it anyway. What a surprise.

He stopped beside you.

“I was rooting for you,” he said. “Thought it might help.”

You crossed your arms.

“It would have helped if you'd stayed quiet.”

“I was supporting you.”

“You were telling me to throw yoir friend into the sea.”

“That was tactical advice.”

Nick walked away shaking his head with a grin on his lips.

Noah watched him leave before looking back at you.

“Well, thank you for your very useful contributions. Maybe next time I'll win.”

“You're welcome.”

Your eyes drifted upward again.

“What?” Noah asked immediately.

You pointed.

“That.”

He frowned slightly.

“What about it?”

“You look like someone drew a pirate from memory.”

Davis, still sitting nearby, nearly choked on his drink.

Noah looked offended, “This is a good hat.”

“No, it's a very... pirate hat.”

“We are pirates.”

“Yeah but the hat is... too much.”

He rolled his eyes, “The princess has opinions again.”

You stepped closer before he could react.

Because Noah was unfairly tall, you had to rise onto your toes to reach him.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

Before he could move, you grabbed the hat and pulled it off his head.

Noah blinked, “You just stole my hat.”

“I learned from professionals.”

You placed it carefully onto your own head.

It immediately slipped slightly over your forehead because it was much too large.

You looked toward Noah.

“Well?”

He crossed his arms, “It looks ridiculous.”

“You're just jealous.”

“It looked better on me.”

“I'm not sure.”

You adjusted the hat anyway, trying to make it stay.

Noah finally stepped forward and lifted the hat back off your head, with a smile on his face, the kind that softened his entire expression.

For a second you simply looked at him.

The sunlight caught his hair, the sea moving quietly behind him, his ridiculous pirate hat held between both of your hands.

Then he gently pulled it free one last time and placed it back on his own head.

“There,” he said. “Balance has been restored.”

You folded your arms, and you were about to argue again when a voice suddenly called from the other side of the deck.

“Hey, can you come here a second? I think I recognized one of the islands.”

You turned.

Jolly was standing near one of the tables with Jesse and a few others, waving the map he had been studying with you for the past couple of days. He had found it on a shelf, marked with several islands that did not appear on any of your charts.

“Come look at this!” he shouted, not like an order but more like he was genuinely surprised and excited.

“Well, duty calls.”

You started walking backward toward Jolly, still smiling. But before you got too far, Noah spoke again.

“Hey.”

You looked back.

For a second he looked almost embarrassed, one hand resting against the brim of his ridiculous hat.

“By the way,” he said, quieter this time, “you were right.”

You frowned slightly.

“About what?”

A small smile appeared on his face.

“The hat.”

You blinked.

“It looked good on you.”

For a second, you forgot about Jolly shouting somewhere behind you, the map, the crew, the ocean.

Everything.

You felt that receiving a compliment from Noah was a once-a-year event.

Then Noah cleared his throat lightly and looked away as if he had said it by accident.

“Anyway,” he muttered. “I'll go check on... on something.”

You felt your heart do something very stupid inside your chest. And when you finally turned toward Jolly again, you were still smiling.

That night, you were sitting on your bed with your legs pulled up slightly beneath you, the cabin quiet.

The shell still rested against your chest.

Every now and then your fingers found it automatically, turning it gently between your thumb and forefinger, feeling the smooth surface and the thin cord Noah had tied through it.

A single candle burned beside the bed; you liked keeping one candle lit before sleeping, the soft light it cast across the walls, the moving shadows that made the small cabin feel warmer somehow.

Outside, the ship continued steadily toward Saint Marlowe, closer every day, and unfortunately, your mind refused to forget it.

You thought about the city.

About arriving. About leaving.

About the fact that soon you would no longer be on a pirate ship with nowhere else to go.

Soon you would have choices again.

And somehow, that thought had become far more frightening than it should have been.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the shell.

You thought about Noah, how you really didn't want to leave him, but how you felt that was your only option because staying would have been wrong, judged, unacceptable.

A knock against the door interrupted your thoughts.

For one ridiculous second, your heart jumped.

Noah.

You stood quickly, smoothing your shirt slightly before opening the door.

And immediately felt a little foolish.

Because it wasn't Noah.

It was Bryan.

He stood outside your cabin holding a folded piece of paper.

“Oh,” you said, trying not to sound disappointed.

Bryan seemed completely oblivious.

“Hey,” he said. “I made something this morning.”

You blinked, “What?”

He held out the paper, “I thought maybe you'd want it.”

Confused, you accepted it.

“What is it?”

“Just look.”

You stepped back into the room and grabbed the candle, bringing the flame closer to the page.

The paper unfolded carefully in your hands.

And for a moment, you simply stared.

It was a drawing, done entirely in pencil.

Of you and Noah.

You recognized the exact moment from earlier that day when you had reached upward to steal his hat. Your hand was stretched toward him, the hat halfway between you.

Noah was smiling.

You were smiling too.

The lines were simple but incredibly good. The movement, the light, even the folds of clothing had been captured perfectly.

And somehow Bryan had managed to draw the moment exactly as it had felt.

Warm.

Easy.

Happy.

Your eyes moved slowly across the page.

“Oh my god.”

Bryan shifted awkwardly in the doorway.

“Is it bad?”

“No.”

You looked up immediately.

“No, it's beautiful.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course, look at this. You have so much talent.”

A smile finally appeared on his face.

“I just thought...” he said, shrugging slightly. “It looked nice.”

You looked down at the drawing again, “It does, I love it.”

You thanked him several times before he finally laughed and told you to stop acting like he had painted a royal portrait.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight, Bryan.”

He disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone again. You closed the door behind you and sat back down on your bed.

The candlelight flickered softly across the paper.

For a long while, you simply looked at it.

At yourself. At Noah. At the way he was smiling.

But most of all... at the way he was looking at you.

You had never seen it from the outside before.

That expression. That softness. That affection.

The artist had captured it without even realizing it.

Is that really how the others saw you?

You and Noah.

Because if Bryan had noticed enough to draw it, then maybe the others had noticed too.

Maybe they saw the way your eyes searched for him whenever he walked onto the deck. The way you always looked for him first after something happened. The way you worried when he disappeared for too long, or how relieved you felt whenever he laughed, whenever he smiled, whenever he seemed lighter than usual.

Maybe they saw how much you cared.

How attached you had become.

At some point, without realizing it, Noah had become important.

Far more important than he should have.

You cared whether he slept.

Whether he drank too much.

Whether he was hurting.

You wanted him to be happy.

You wanted him safe.

And after everything he had told you, after everything you now knew about him, you found yourself wanting things for him that went far beyond your own place in his life.

You wanted him to heal.

You wanted him to stop carrying the weight of his past alone.

You wanted him to believe the things you had told him that night in his cabin, and that he was good, that he deserved more than pain, that he deserved to be loved.

Your fingers closed around the shell resting against your chest.

Maybe it was more than affection now.

Maybe it had been for a while.

You weren't entirely sure when it had happened.

Somewhere between learning to fight.

Between surviving together.

Between late-night conversations and stupid jokes and shared secrets and watching him smile when nobody else was looking.

Fuck.

All of this and Saint Marlowe was getting closer every day.

And what happened then?

You looked back down at the drawing one last time. Noah's eyes, even in pencil, were soft.

You carefully folded the drawing one last time.

The paper was slightly warm from the candlelight, and for another moment you simply looked at it before finally opening the small drawer beside your bed and placing it inside.

Somehow it felt too important to leave lying around. You slid the drawer closed, and cabin became quiet again.

The candle still burned softly beside you, shadows moving across the walls while the ship creaked around you. Your fingers found the shell resting against your chest once more.

You tried not to think.

About Saint Marlowe, about Noah, about the drawing, about the way he had looked at you, when another knock interrupted your thoughts.

You blinked.

For a moment you assumed Bryan had forgotten something. Maybe he wanted the drawing back or maybe he had remembered something else he wanted to tell you.

You stood and crossed the room.

When you opened the door, however, your heart stumbled.

Because this time, it actually was Noah.

He looked tired. Not exhausted like he had after the castle, not injured or broken, simply sleepy.

His dark hair was slightly messy, as if he had been laying in his bed trying to sleep for hours, but failed. A few strands had fallen over his forehead, and he hadn't bothered moving them away.

He wore a loose black shirt, several buttons left undone near the collar, the sleeves pushed carelessly toward his elbows. Dark trousers. No boots.

He looked so much softer like this. Less captain. Less pirate. Just Noah.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

His eyes briefly dropped toward the light inside your room.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “Were you already asleep?”

You shook your head, “No.”

A small pause, “I saw the candle under your door, thought you might be awake too.”

You looked down briefly at the thin line of light crossing the floorboards, “Oh. Right.”

He rubbed the back of his neck slightly.

“I just couldn't sleep.”

His voice sounded rough with tiredness.

“And I figured...”He hesitated. “Maybe you couldn't either.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was just... thinking,” you admitted.

For a second he looked almost uncertain.

“I don't want to bother you.”

“You aren't. You can come in for a while.”

Another small silence. Then he looked down the corridor.

“I just thought...” His shoulders lifted slightly. “Maybe we could keep each other company for a while.”

You stepped aside immediately.

“Come in.” You repeated, softly.

He gave you a small grateful smile before entering. The cabin suddenly felt much smaller with him inside, but not in a bad way.

He closed the door behind him.

For a moment neither of you seemed entirely sure what to do.

Then you sat down on the bed, and after a brief hesitation, Noah sat beside you.

Not too close. Not far either.

The candle between you cast warm light across the room, softening the edges of his face. Outside, the ocean moved quietly beneath the ship.

You chatted for a while about silly things, like that strange purple fish Folio had caught the previous week. He had wanted to eat it, but you had convinced him to throw it back into the sea because it looked just like a poisonous mushroom you might find in the woods.

“Hey, you know everything about my childhood now.” He said at some point, leaned back against the wall behind the bed, “But I barely know yours.”

You blinked.

“My childhood?”

He nodded.

“Tell me something nice about it.”

You told him about traveling with your dad when you were younger, the long journeys by carriage and ship, the different cities you had visited.

You told him how you used to stare at the ocean for hours, how you climbed to have a better view, how you always hoped to see dolphins, how you collected small things from places you visited.

How you once got lost in a market because you had followed a musician, how you had always loved maps, the sea, new places, new people.

You talked about wanting to know what existed beyond the places everyone expected you to stay.

And while you spoke, Noah listened.

At some point you realized you were smiling.

“I always loved traveling,” you admitted quietly.

Your fingers played absentmindedly with the shell around your neck.

“I always wanted to see the world.”

The room became quiet again.

Noah looked at you for several seconds.

“So why stop?”

You turned toward him.

“What?”

For a brief moment something passed through his expression, something vulnerable, something that looked dangerously close to hope, but it disappeared almost immediately.

He looked away, “Nothing.”

You frowned, “Noah.”

“It's nothing.”

“You didn't mean nothing.”

He was quiet.

You watched him.

The candlelight moved softly across his face.

“What did you mean?”

He exhaled slowly.

“I don't know.”

“You do.”

Another silence. His jaw tightened slightly.

“I just...” He stopped, and you waited.

Finally he shook his head.

“I don't want to talk about it right now, honestly.”

Your eyebrows pulled together, “Why?”

His eyes finally met yours again.

“I came here because I couldn't sleep,” he said quietly. “Because my head wouldn't shut up.”

His voice softened.

“I wanted to be with you for a while, hear nice stuff.”

He swallowed.

“Not think about what is going on in my head or what happens later.”

The room became very still.

Noah sat beside you, close enough now that you could feel the warmth coming from him.

His eyes dropped briefly toward the shell resting against your chest, then back to your face.

“So we just ignore it?” you asked quietly.

“Ignore what?”

“The fact that Saint Marlowe is close.”

He leaned his head back against the wall.

“I wasn't planning to ignore it forever.”

“But tonight?”

His eyes found yours again.

“Maybe tonight.”

For a moment you thought about pushing anyway. Asking him what he had meant. Asking him why he had asked why you had to stop traveling. Asking him what he wanted.

But you understood him.

There had been nights when your own thoughts had become so loud that speaking them out loud felt impossible.

So instead you smiled a little.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“We don't talk about the future.”

Relief flickered briefly across his face.

“Good.”

“But we'll have to.”

He sighed dramatically.

“That's a problem for future Noah.”

You laughed softly.

“And future me.”

Silence settled again, though it felt lighter now.

Noah looked around your cabin for a moment before his eyes returned to you.

“You know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

“I came here because I couldn't stop thinking. And now it's worse.”

You blinked, “Worse?”

He laughed softly under his breath.

“You sitting here. Looking like that. With my shell around your neck. This is not exactly helping.”

Heat climbed into your face immediately.

You looked down instinctively at the shell.

“I didn't know I was causing problems.”

“Oh, you absolutely are.”

You laughed quietly.

Noah's eyes dropped briefly toward your smile.

Then your lips. Then back to your eyes.

And suddenly neither of you was speaking again.

The room felt very small, the candlelight flickered, and you could hear your own heartbeat.

Noah looked almost uncertain as if he wasn't entirely sure what he was allowed to want.

“If I say something,” he said quietly, “I'm pretty sure everything gets more complicated.”

Your voice came out softer than you intended.

“Maybe everything already is.“

His eyes searched your face.

You didn't move.

Neither did he.

Outside, a wave hit the hull softly.

And then Noah reached up carefully, slowly enough that you could have stopped him at any moment.

His fingers brushed against your cheek. Warm. Gentle.

You leaned into the touch before you could think about it.

His thumb moved slightly against your skin.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Your heart felt painfully loud.

You shook your head.

Very slightly.

The distance between you disappeared little by little, with no rushing and no sudden movement.

Just Noah, looking at you as though he wanted to memorize your face. And then his lips touched yours.

The kiss was soft, almost hesitant.

Your eyes closed. His hand remained against your cheek while yours found the fabric of his black shirt, your fingers curling slightly against it.

When you kissed him back, you felt him exhale quietly.

As though he had been holding his breath under the water for far too long.

The world outside the cabin disappeared.

No Saint Marlowe.

No future.

No questions.

Only the warmth of him sitting beside you.

Only the candlelight.

Only the realization that perhaps this had been happening for months, slowly, quietly, in every conversation and every shared look and every moment neither of you had wanted to examine too closely.

When the kiss finally ended, neither of you moved very far.

For a moment both of you simply breathed.

Noah laughed quietly, almost in disbelief.

“Well.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“Well?”

“I was trying very hard not to do that.”

You looked at him.

“For how long?”

He looked genuinely thoughtful “Honestly?”

You nodded.

“Long enough that I should probably be embarrassed.”

A laugh escaped you.

The tension finally broke, but his hand still rested against your face.

And when he looked at you again, his expression had softened into something you had never seen before.

Something open. Something unguarded. As though, for the first time in a very long time, Noah had stopped trying to protect himself, at least with you.

“So,” you whispered.

“So,” he repeated.

Before you could lose your courage, you leaned forward.

This time it was you. You kissed him softly. For a brief second Noah seemed surprised, and then he kissed you back.

His hand moved into your hair, the kiss lasted longer. Warmer. You could feel his breath against your skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest only inches from yours.

And for one wonderful moment everything felt simple.

Then something changed, you felt it.

Noah suddenly became still, the hand in your hair stopped moving, his shoulders tensed.

The warmth that had been there only seconds before seemed to vanish.

When the kiss ended this time, he didn't stay close.

He pulled back, only slightly at first, then more.

You blinked.

“Noah?”

He wasn't looking at you anymore.

His gaze had dropped somewhere toward the floor.

His breathing had changed, the softness was gone. You frowned.

“What happened?”

He rubbed a hand across his face.

For a second he didn't answer, then he stood up.

The movement was so sudden that it made your stomach drop. “Noah?”

He took a few steps away from the bed.

The candlelight caught his face, and you could see something there now that hadn't been there before.

“I think we should stop.”

You stared at him, “What?”

He shook his head, “This is a bad idea.”

You felt as though the room had suddenly become cold, “A minute ago it wasn't.“

“I know.”

“Then what changed?”

He remained quiet. You stood from the bed.

“Noah.”

He finally looked at you, and somehow that was worse, because he looked miserable now.

“I shouldn't have done that.”

“You kissed me.”

“I know.”

“And I kissed you back.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like—”

“Because you're leaving.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does.”

“Noah–”

“I'm sorry.” Then he opened the door.

“Noah.” You repeated.

He stopped.

You stood in the middle of the room, the shell still resting against your chest, your heart still racing from his kiss.

He didn't turn around immediately.

“I shouldn't have kissed you.”

And before you could answer, he stepped into the corridor.

The door closed quietly behind him.

The bed was still warm where he had been sitting.

Your lips still remembered him.

And none of it made any sense.

You stood there for several long seconds, listening to the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the corridor.

Only when they were completely gone did you sit back down on the bed.

Your fingers found the shell automatically, and you looked toward the closed door, confused and hurt.

The days that followed felt almost normal, but not in a good way.

It reminded you far too much of the first weeks aboard the Specter, after the night you had found Noah drunk and he had lashed out at you, only to spend days avoiding you afterward as if distance could somehow erase what had happened.

Noah wasn't cruel. You thought he wasn't angry either. He simply seemed to disappear whenever you appeared. If you came onto the deck, he found something to do below. If you joined a conversation, he left it a few minutes later.

At meals he sat somewhere else.

During the evenings he vanished entirely.

The few times your eyes met, he looked away first.

At first you had been angry, then confused, then hurt, and eventually you simply became tired.

The shell remained around your neck.

The drawing stayed hidden safely in your drawer.

And Noah became a ghost moving through the same ship.

Davis noticed, of course. One afternoon the two of you sat near the stern, he glanced toward the opposite side of the deck where Noah was speaking with Michael.

Then back at you.

“So.”

You already knew.

“So?”

“What happened?”

You looked out toward the ocean, “Nothing.”

He gave you a look, “That's a terrible lie.”

You smiled faintly, “It's true.”

“It absolutely isn't.”

You remained quiet.

“You two haven't been in the same room for four days.”

“That's not true.”

“It is.”

You shrugged, “He's busy.”

"He is not."

You looked down at your hands as Davis studied you carefully.

“Did you argue?”

“No.”

“Did he do something stupid?”

You considered the question.

Eventually you answered quietly.

“No.”

“Did you?”

You almost laughed.

“I don't think so.”

He waited.

“Nothing happened.” you repeated.

Davis frowned.

You looked back toward the ocean, “And in a few days I'll leave anyway.”

His expression softened, “What does that have to do with anything?”

You swallowed, “It means it doesn't matter.”

The answer felt wrong the second you said it.

Because it mattered very much, but neither of you spoke about it again.

And the days continued.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Until eventually Saint Marlowe appeared.

It happened at night.

The coastline emerged slowly from darkness, distant lights scattered along the shore like fallen stars. The city itself was still mostly hidden, but the glow of it stretched against the horizon. The ship anchored in a quieter part of the coast, away from the harbor and the patrols.

Everyone became quieter after that.

Even the crew.

Because this was the end, at least for you.

You had packed your things earlier, and it had taken almost no time. You just had a few clothes, and Bryan's drawing, carefully folded and tucked safely inside the pocket of one of your trousers.

The room looked strangely empty afterward.

As if you had never been there at all.

Outside, the wind blew softly across the deck, the shore was close enough now that you could hear the waves reaching the sand.

One by one, you said goodbye.

Folio hugged you first. A rough, slightly awkward hug that lasted only a few seconds.

“I'm going to miss beating you at dice.”

You laughed.

“I'm glad you stayed with us.” He added.

“Me too.”

Nicholas hugged you next, short and quiet.

“Try not to get arrested again.” You told him.

“I'll do my best.”

Davis was last.

“You are one of the very few people on this ship who occasionally admits my cooking is good.”

You laughed as he squeezed your shoulders.

“I'm going to think about you.”

The words hurt more than you expected. You nodded.

“I'll think about all of you.”

And then there was only Noah.

He stood a few feet away from the others.

The wind moved through his dark hair.

His hands rested inside the pockets of his coat.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

You had imagined this moment a hundred different ways over the past few days.

None of them had prepared you for how impossible it suddenly felt to say anything.

You opened your mouth, but Noah spoke first.

“I'll walk you.”

His voice was firm, almost cold.

“What?”

"I'll walk you closer to the city."

You looked at him. He wasn't really asking.

And before you could answer, he had already turned toward the ladder leading down.

You stood there for a second.

The crew watched quietly.

Nobody said anything. And eventually, you followed him.

The wind pulled gently at your skirt and your hair as your boots sank into the sand.

Behind you, the ship sat dark against the water.

Ahead, the distant lights of Saint Marlowe flickered softly in the night.

You and Noah walked side by side. Not touching. Not speaking.

Your heart wouldn't slow down.

The two of you kept walking until the lights of Saint Marlowe no longer felt distant.

You could see individual windows now, lanterns hanging outside buildings and the outline of rooftops.

If you walked much farther, someone might notice you, a traveler returning late, a fisherman, a guard.

The world you had come from and the world you were returning to suddenly stood only a few steps apart.

And then Noah stopped. The movement was so small that you almost took another step before realizing he had remained behind.

You turned toward him.

The wind moved quietly between you, carrying the scent of the sea. Behind him was the darkness of the shore. Behind you were the lights of the city.

For a few seconds neither of you spoke.

You had imagined this moment too. You had prepared words, entire conversations, but none of them seemed to exist anymore.

Noah looked toward Saint Marlowe for a moment before finally looking back at you.

“This is far enough.”

You nodded.

The words caught somewhere in your throat.

“Yeah.”

Silence again.

The waves reached the shore behind you and the wind pulled strands of your hair across your face.

Noah lowered his eyes briefly before speaking.

“I want to thank you.”

You blinked.

“What?”

He let out a quiet breath, “For everything.”

You stood perfectly still.

“For changing me.”

The confession was quiet.

“The months you spent on the ship...” He shook his head slightly. “They changed me.”

He looked back at you.

“You taught me things I didn't know about myself.”

His voice remained calm, but there was something fragile beneath it.

“You helped me when I needed it, even when I didn't deserve it.”

You opened your mouth, but he continued.

“You put up with me even when I was terrible to be around.”

You frowned immediately, “You weren't.”

A small, sad smile appeared on his face, “Yes, I was.”

“Noah—”

“I was.”

The wind blew between you again.

He looked away toward the dark ocean.

“You saw me drunk. Angry. Stupid.”

“You were hurting.”

“I still made it your problem.”

You shook your head.

“It never felt like that.”

He laughed quietly, though there was very little humor in it.

“You see? You're so... you. God.”

You felt tears threatening now, though you fought them back.

Noah looked at you again.

“I just...” He swallowed. “I needed you to know that.”

His voice had become softer.

“I'm glad you ended up on our ship. I'm glad it was you.”

You couldn't speak.

“The months I spent with you..."women in alt music i love you” He looked down briefly before continuing. “I'll carry them with me for the rest of my life.”

It all felt unbearable.

Because this really was goodbye.

You stepped toward him before you could think about it, and your arms wrapped around him.

For a brief second he seemed surprised.

Then he held you.

Tightly.

Much tighter than he ever had before.

You buried your face against his shoulder.

His hand rested against the back of your head, the other against your back.

You felt him exhale softly against your hair.

“I won't ever forget you, princess.”

The words nearly broke you.

Your eyes closed, and you held him tighter.

When you finally managed to speak, your voice came out quietly. "For what it's worth..."

He remained still.

“You'll always be my only real king.”

For several seconds he didn't move.

You felt his breathing stop for just a moment.

And when he finally pulled back enough to look at you, it seemed like those words had reached a place inside him that nobody had ever touched before.

You took a step backward, then another.

“Goodbye, Noah.”

The sand shifted beneath your boots, the city lights glowing softly ahead of you, close enough now that you could almost hear distant voices carried by the wind.

Noah remained where he was, dark against the shore.

Still.

You turned and took a couple of steps. You tried to keep walking, you really did.

Because this was what you had spent days convincing yourself would happen. You would leave, would go back to your world. He would return to his.

It was sensible.

It was proper.

It was what everyone would expect.

But with every step, your chest hurt more.

You thought about the first day aboard the Specter, still pretty terrified and furious. You thought about learning to hold a sword. About standing at the bow while the wind tangled your hair. About laughing with Davis. Playing dice with Folio. Watching the stars from the deck.

You thought about jumping from the castle window.

About the shell around your neck.

About Noah teaching you how to fight.

Noah drunk and broken.

Noah laughing.

Noah standing in your doorway.

Noah kissing you.

Noah walking away.

And suddenly, through all the memories, another one appeared.

A tavern, too much alcohol, and a very drunk pirate captain.

You stopped walking.

Your breath caught.

Because months ago, he had asked you a question.

And perhaps, only now, you finally had an answer.

You turned around. Noah had not moved.

The wind pushed your hair across your face.

“Noah.”

He looked up immediately.

“Months ago, you asked me a question that I never answered.”

He frowned slightly, “What question?”

“You were drunk.”

His expression changed instantly.

“Oh no.”

You laughed despite the tears threatening your eyes.

“At your friend's tavern.”

He looked genuinely concerned now.

“You asked me if I'd like being a pirate princess.”

He stared at you.

For a second he looked absolutely horrified.

“Oh, God.”

You laughed harder.

“Your words. Exactly your words.”

“I absolutely did not say that.”

“You did.”

“I don't remember saying that.”

“You didn't remember it the next morning either.”

“I still don't.”

The wind carried your laughter between you.

For the first time that night, something eased.

Noah rubbed a hand over his face.

“That is the worst thing I've ever said.”

“No, it was actually quite sweet.”

“It sounds awful.”

“It was sweet.”

“It's worded very... weirdly.”

You smiled, “But you did ask.”

He became quiet, and his smile faded slightly from his face.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess I did.”

A few seconds passed. And then he said it.

“Because I wanted you to stay.”

You swallowed, “Do you still want that?”

His answer came immediately, “Of course I do.”

The wind moved between both of you.

You looked at him. At the man who had spent days avoiding you because he was afraid, the man who had walked you here anyway, the man who had thanked you like this was already over.

Your voice became quieter.

“Then why did you leave after you kissed me?”

“Because I didn't want you to feel trapped.”

Your eyebrows pulled together.

He looked back at the city.

“You were already going somewhere safe. You have a new life waiting for you. I didn't want...” He swallowed. “I didn't want you to stay because you felt like you had to now. Or because you thought you owed me something.”

“Noah.”

He looked back at you.

“If I stay,” you said carefully, “it would be because I want to.”

The wind caught your skirt.

“Not because a man wants me to.”

A tiny smile appeared.

“You should know me by now.”

He laughed quietly.

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence.

“So... is the offer still valid?”

He blinked.

“The pirate princess one.”

He stared at you for a second, then he laughed.

“Seriously?”

“Very serious.”

He shook his head, almost disbelieving.

“Of course it is.”

Your heart pounded.

“Yeah?”

“Obviously.”

You looked down at the bag in your hand.

The clothes.

The drawing.

Everything you had packed.

Everything you thought you were supposed to become again.

Your fingers loosened, and the bag fell into the sand.

You crossed the distance between you in a few quick steps that became almost a run. Noah barely had time to react before you reached him, your hands grabbing his coat as you pulled him down toward you.

Noah's eyes widened slightly, and then you were moving.

You kissed him. The kind of kiss that answered every question both of you had spent weeks avoiding. He laughed softly against your lips, the sound warm and almost disbelieving, and his arms wrapped around you as he kissed you back.

When you finally separated enough to breathe, both of you were smiling.

Everything disappeared, and you only felt a huge sense of relief. Because this time neither of you was pulling away. This time nobody was running.

“You're crazy.” He whispered.

A small laugh escaped you, “You knew that from the first day we met.”

Noah smiled, “Yeah.”

His thumb brushed softly against your cheek.

“I think that's why I liked you immediately.”

He looked at you for a moment longer, as if he still couldn't quite believe you were standing there, that you had turned around, that you had come back.

Then he leaned down once more and kissed you again.

Noah taglist pt 1: @mushrumink @sullyselena @buttercupbabyyy @pathion @pipidoll @missduffsblog @vibecops @myexistencesucks @overmydeadbodysblog @margocos-blog @heyitsjay316 @sallyba3 @bartxnhood @lacy1986 @iamamatus @dream-machine-love @amoursims @suessmausnici @whimsicaldiamonds @imyourliquor-youremypoison @punkprincess1999 @bored-rato @thepeoplesblog @dxthrone @illmakeyousaywow @xmads-omensx @sikowitzbitch @tosoundlessdarkistare @sadbitchenergy @flowery-mess @anything-morethan-human @lekyswixexx @english-fucker @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

You turned onto your side. Then onto your back. Then again, pulling the blanket up, then pushing it down a few minutes later when it suddenly felt too warm.

It was all useless. So, with a quiet shift, you sat up and decided to go out for a bit.

You slipped your boots on, the wood of the floor cool under your feet for a moment, and stepped out of your cabin, closing the door softly behind you.

The ship was quiet. The sky was clear, scattered with stars, and the moon hung high enough to cast a pale, silvery light over everything.

You walked a few steps forward, wrapping your arms loosely around yourself. The air was a bit colder but not uncomfortable.

You let out a small breath, your gaze drifting out toward the horizon.

For a moment, you just stood there, then something caught your eye.

Near one of the crates, slightly off to the side, something had been left behind. You moved closer, curiosity pulling you forward before you could think too much about it.

When you arrived in front of the object, you realized it was a sword, probably used for those challenges they kept having. It wasn’t tucked away properly, just resting there like someone had forgotten it.

You hesitated for a second, then reached for it.

You adjusted your grip slightly, lifting it just enough to catch the moonlight along the blade.

It was clean and shiny.

Your fingers tightened just slightly around the hilt as you tilted it, watching the pale light slide along the metal, sharp and almost beautiful.

“Planning a mutiny?”

The voice came from behind you, and it was close.

You spun before you could stop yourself.

Your body reacted faster than your mind, instinct taking over in a sharp, sudden motion. The blade lifted, your arm moving without hesitation... and stopped.

The tip of the sword hovered just inches from Noah’s throat.

He didn’t move and didn’t even flinch, but just looked at you.

Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth lifted.

“Hey,” he said lightly, voice calm despite the steel at his neck, “I was joking, but now I’m starting to think you actually might be.”

You blinked.

Then immediately lowered the sword, your grip loosening as the tension snapped out of your arm.

“I—” you exhaled sharply, shaking your head once. “You scared me.”

“That was the idea,” he replied, completely unbothered.

You shot him a look, your heart still not fully settled.

“Well, congratulations,” you muttered. “It worked.”

He let out a quiet huff, something almost like a laugh, his gaze dropping briefly to the sword before returning to you.

“Careful with that,” he added. “Would’ve been a very embarrassing way for me to go.”

You frowned faintly, still holding it. “I didn’t realize I’d react like that,” you said, quieter.

“Yeah, well,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “You did.”

There was a brief pause, his eyes flicked once more to the blade, then back to you.

“…You know how to use it?” he asked.

You glanced down at the sword in your hand, then back at him.

“…No,” you said. “Of course not. Not really.”

One of his brows lifted slightly, like that answer had been expected.

“Not really,” he repeated.

A small pause passed between you, and that could’ve ended the moment entirely if either of you had stepped back. Instead, he nodded once toward the sword.

“I can teach you,” he said.

You blinked, it was the middle of the night and you thought it was a weird offer.

“Now?”

The word slipped out before you could stop it.

He looked at you for a second, then a faint, crooked smirk pulled at his mouth again.

“I like that your concern is the timing,” he said, “and not the fact that you’d be learning how to use a weapon.”

You exhaled lightly through your nose, shifting your grip on the hilt.

“Yeah... that also should be my concern,” you muttered.

“Probably,” he agreed. “And yet.”

You hesitated.

This was a bad idea.

You knew it was.

Everything about this felt like something you shouldn’t be doing, standing here in the middle of the night, holding a sword on a pirate ship, with him of all people offering to teach you how to use it.

And yet…

You didn’t put it down.

“…Fine,” you said after a moment, though it came out more reluctant than convinced.

“Alright,” he said simply.

He stepped a little closer, keeping just enough space between you. “First,” he nodded toward your hands, “you’re holding it wrong.”

You frowned slightly. “I don't think I am.”

“You are.”

“I’m just holding it,” you pointed out.

“Yes. And not in the right way.”

You gave him a look. He ignored it.

“Loosen your grip,” he said, reaching out and lightly tapping your fingers where they were wrapped too tightly around the hilt. “You don’t need to strangle it.”

You adjusted slightly, though not without a small huff.

“Like this?”

“Better,” he said. “Still not great.”

“You are such an encouraging teacher.”

He almost smiled.

“Feet,” he added, glancing down briefly. “You’re standing like you’re about to trip over yourself.”

“I am not—”

“Move.”

There was just enough authority in the word that you did, even if you rolled your eyes while doing it.

He stepped around you slightly, positioning you without touching this time, just guiding.

“One foot back. Balance your weight.”

You shifted.

“Like this?”

“…Close enough.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him. “You’re really a terrible teacher.”

“And you’re a terrible student.”

That pulled a small, unwilling huff of a laugh out of you.

“Alright,” he continued, stepping back again. “Try this.”

He picked up another sword from where it had been leaning nearby, apparently not as forgotten as you thought, and held it loosely, demonstrating.

“Don’t think too much,” he said. “Just follow.”

He moved first.

A simple and controlled motion. Not fast, but precise.

You tried to mirror it, but it wasn’t the same.

Your movement was a little too stiff, a little too unsure, and he watched for a second, then shook his head slightly.

“No. You’re overthinking it.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just... trying not to stab myself.”

“That’s a good start,” he said.

You shot him a look, then tried again and this time, a bit smoother.

He nodded once. “Better.”

You repeated the movement, slower, more deliberate now. The blade caught the moonlight again as it moved, a faint glint with each shift.

“Again,” he said.

You did.

And again.

At some point, it stopped feeling completely foreign in your hand. It wasn’t really natural, but less… wrong.

He stepped closer this time, reaching out without really thinking about it, adjusting your wrist slightly.

“Angle it like this,” he said. “Otherwise you’ll lose control of it.”

You felt the brief pressure of his fingers guiding the movement, then he let go again.

“Try.”

You did.

It worked better.

You exhaled softly, almost surprised.

“…Okay,” you admitted.

“Told you. Now,” he said, lifting his own sword slightly, “I’m going to try something. Don’t panic.”

“That doesn’t make me less likely to panic.”

“Too late.”

He moved.

Not fast enough to be dangerous, but fast enough that you had to react. Your body tensed, your blade lifting instinctively... but too slow.

He tapped your sword aside easily.

“You’re hesitating,” he said.

“Because I don’t want to accidentally kill you.”

“You already almost did, we'll be fine.”

“Very reassuring.”

“Again.”

He moved once more and this time, you reacted quicker.

Your blade met his with a light clink, the sound softer than before, controlled.

You both paused for a second.

“…That was actually decent,” he said.

You blinked. “Was it?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, I said decent.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

You tried again.

And again.

Each time a little better.

Each time a little less tense and more precise.

A laugh slipped out of you without warning when he exaggerated a movement just enough to throw you off and you completely missed it.

“Hey, that was unfair,” you said immediately.

“That was so easy to stop.”

“It was not.”

“It really was.”

You shook your head, lowering the sword slightly.

You glanced at him. He was closer again. You hadn’t noticed when that happened.

The space between you had shortened without either of you acknowledging it. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then you looked away first, clearing your throat slightly as you adjusted your grip again.

“…One more,” you said.

He tilted his head.

“Alright.”

After a while of what was really starting to feel like a training, you realized that you were actually tired. The kind that meant you might actually sleep.

Your gaze drifted to Noah.

You noticed the way he pushed his hair back from his face absentmindedly, fingers brushing through it before falling back to his side. The way his white shirt hung loosely on him, the fabric shifting slightly with every movement.

You blinked, realizing you had been looking for a second too long, and your gaze shifted away quickly.

“Okay,” he said, lowering his sword completely. “Lesson’s over.”

You looked back at him.

“We can do it again,” he added with a small shrug. “If you want.”

You hesitated just a fraction of a second. “Maybe,” you said.

He nodded once. “I might even choose you during one of our fights one day.”

You raised a brow.

“Try it,” you said, a hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. “And I’ll reconsider that mutiny idea.”

That got a quiet huff out of him. “Good to know,” he said.

In the following days, you started asking about the Devil’s Hook because curiosity got the better of you. Even if part of you wasn’t sure you actually wanted the answers.

You found them anyway.

You had been sitting near the railing one afternoon, the sun warm but not unbearable, when Vincent's name came up.

You had asked without thinking too much about it.

“Who is Vincent?”

“He used to sail with us,” Davis said, “Part of the crew for a couple of years.”

“What happened then?” you asked.

Davis shrugged lightly.

“He got hurt,” he said. “Bad enough that he had to stop for a while.”

“‘For a while’?” you repeated.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Turned into longer than that. Then he just… didn’t come back. He realized this life wasn't really for him.”

“He stayed on Devil’s Hook while he was recovering.” Ruffilo added, “Then opened a place there. He has his own tavern there.”

“And you guys are still… friends?”

“Yeah,” Davis said easily. “Absolutely.”

You gave a little smile at that.

“Every time we pass near Devil’s Hook,” Ruffilo added, “we stop and go say hi.”

After some days, land started to appear gradually, the shape of the coast visible against the horizon.

You were sitting near Noah who was at the helm, a worn map spread open in your hands. Someone had left it around and no one had bothered to take it back. Your eyes followed the inked coastline until you understood why it was called like that when you saw an arched curve of land bending inward like a hooked arm reaching into the sea.

Devil’s Hook. The name definitely made sense.

Noah was guiding the ship without looking away from the water ahead.

By the time you reached the harbor, the sun was already lowering, spilling warm orange light over everything.

The docks were crowded and uneven, filled with ships of all kinds, some well-built, others barely holding together. Men moved between them constantly, shouting, laughing, arguing, carrying crates without much care for order. Nothing looked official or regulated.

The smell hit you as soon as you got closer, you recognized salt, smoke, alcohol, fish, tar and sweat.

Beyond the harbor, you could see the island rising inward with tight clusters of buildings, crooked streets, lanterns already flickering to life since the night was close.

Behind you, the royal ship that had been taken finally came to a stop as well, creaking as its sails were lowered.

One by one, they crew began to disembark onto the dock.

The wood beneath your feet felt even compared to the ship, like the whole place wasn't constantly shifting anymore.

“Wow, she's beautiful!” someone shouted from across the harbor, talking about the royal ship.

Noah appeared beside you a moment later. He glanced around once, taking in the chaos of the port, then let out a faint, satisfied breath.

Then he turned his head toward you, and small, almost amused curve touched his mouth. “Welcome to Devil’s Hook, princess.”

For a while, you stood a little to the side, watching as Noah and a few of the others spoke with some men at the port.

It didn’t take much to understand what was happening as they gestured toward the ship and nodded.

“We’ll leave it here,” Noah said. “You handle the rest.”

A pause. Then a nod.

“We’ll get you what you need for this.”

“We need food and water,” Ruffilo added.

“And money. A lot for this,” someone else said.

“Obviously.”

You stayed quiet, arms loosely crossed as you listened.

“Fresh produce too,” one of the dock men added. “Came in this morning.”

You nearly reacted out loud, because it was the best thing anyone had said in days. You were so tired of hardtack, rice and fish.

You said nothing, but your expression must have shifted just enough, because Davis glanced at you from the side, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Excited?” he murmured.

You gave him a flat look.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He snorted quietly.

Around you, the group began to loosen. Some of the crew peeled away almost immediately, disappearing into the docks to greet people, clap shoulders and chat.

“Come on.”

You turned.

Noah had stepped back toward you, already moving like he expected you to follow.

“I’ll take you to Vincent’s place.” He added.

You frowned slightly. “Do I have to?”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“You can either come with me,” he said, “or stay here. Alone. On the ship.”

You glanced back at the docks and at all the unfamiliar faces there.

“…Right,” you muttered.

That answered itself.

“Fine.”

He just turned and started walking, and you followed.

A few others fell in behind you without needing to be asked. The further you moved from the docks, the more the island unfolded around you.

The sun was lower now, the ground beneath your feet shifted from wood to uneven stone and packed dirt, the path winding between buildings that looked like they had been built whenever and however someone felt like it.

You passed a small market first.

There, tables lined with goods, fish laid out on rough boards, their scales catching the last light, baskets of fruit and vegetables that immediately caught your attention, brighter than anything you’d seen in days.

You slowed slightly without meaning to.

The smell shifted as you moved, less of the harbor now, more of food, smoke from cooking fires and something sweet, and more voices filled the space around you.

You passed a group gathered around a man performing in the middle of the street, flames raising in the air as he exhaled, a burst of fire lighting up the dimming space for a second.

You instinctively slowed again.

The streets narrowed a bit as you continued, the buildings closer together now, lanterns glowing softly as night started to settle in properly.

Ahead of you, Noah finally slowed slightly, turning down another street without breaking his stride.

“We’re close,” he said.

You adjusted your pace to match his as the group followed, boots echoing softly against the uneven ground.

The street he led you into was quieter than the others, a little less crowded, though not exactly calmer because you could still hear laughter and voices.

A wooden sign hung slightly crooked above a wide doorway ahead, swaying faintly. The paint was worn, but you could still make out the name.

The Ceremony Inn.

Warm light spilled out from inside, along with the low sound of conversation and the unmistakable sound of glasses clinking together.

Noah stopped just outside, glancing back briefly to make sure you, and the others a bit farer away, were still there.

“This is it,” Noah said simply.

You looked at the place for a moment, taking it in.

Before you could say anything, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The warmth hit you first, then the noise.

The place was busy, filled with people, you thought they must have been pirates mostly, if the weapons, the clothes and the general attitude were anything to go by. Tables were scattered around the room, some occupied by loud groups, others by quieter pairs speaking in low tones. A long counter stretched along one side, bottles lined behind it, and behind that, a man with dark hair looked up.

Then his expression shifted like he didn't fully believe what he was seeing.

“Noah?”

A faint smile pulled at his mouth.

“Vincent!”

The man behind the counter didn’t hesitate. He stepped out from behind it, crossing the room in a few quick strides before stopping right in front of Noah.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

Then Vincent let out a short breath and pulled him into a rough, one-armed embrace, gripping his shoulder tightly.

“You’re still alive, man!” he laughed.

“Definitely,” Noah replied.

Vincent pulled back, “You don’t even look like shit,” he said.

Noah huffed lightly. “Good to see you too.”

That pulled a grin out of Vincent.

Then his eyes shifted to you and he paused.

“…And who’s this?” he asked.

You hesitated only a second before answering, still standing just a step behind Noah.

You gave your name, then added, almost like you felt the need to explain yourself, “They’re taking me to Saint Marlowe. That’s why I’m with them.”

Vincent’s brows lifted slightly, something like interest and mild surprise crossing his face as he took you in a bit more carefully.

“Wow,” he said, tilting his head just a little. “Then you must be tougher than you look.”

You frowned faintly.

“I mean... to live on a ship with them?” he went on, gesturing vaguely toward Noah and the others starting to file in behind you, already chatting with other men they recognized sitting at the tables. “That’s not exactly… easy. I know. I ran away from them myself.”

Noah laughed. “You didn’t run away from us, you love us! Life just got in the way.”

Vincent let out a short laugh at that, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, and that just made Noah laugh again. You knew Vincent was joking.

By then, the rest of the crew had fully come in, the space filling even more with familiar voices greeting Vincent loudly, some clapping him on the back.

“What about food?” he asked after he greeted them all, “You hungry?”

That got an immediate reaction.

“Yes,” came from more than one voice at once, and you didn’t even try to hide your agreement.

“Alright,” he said, raising his hands slightly. “Sit down before you start eating food from other tables.”

You followed the movement as they all began settling along the counter, stools scraping lightly against the wooden floor.

You hesitated only a moment before taking a seat as well. Behind the counter, Vincent was already moving, grabbing bottles, gesturing to someone in the back for food, that arrived faster than you expected.

Vincent set down plates one after another along the counter. There were thick portions of meat, roasted until the edges were just slightly crisp, mixed with vegetables you hadn’t seen in what felt like forever, real vegetables, fresh, colorful, not dried or salted into something. There was bread too, soft, still warm.

For a second, you just stared at it like you were dreaming, then you started eating.

And it was… good. More than good. It was the kind of food that made you realize just how bad everything else had been.

Around you, the others chatted, laughed and someone was already asking for more to drink before even finishing their plate.

You stayed quieter. You listened more than you spoke, your attention drifting between voices as they talked about the past weeks, routes they had taken, ports they had passed through, things that had gone wrong and things that had gone very right.

Glasses kept being filled.

And emptied.

And filled again.

You noticed it more than you expected.

Everyone drank casually, but your gaze flicked, more than once, toward Noah.

You remembered that night and the way you had found him drunk.

You found yourself wondering, without really wanting to, what it meant for him, what kind of relationship had with alcohol.

At some point, his stories got louder, a little less precise, a little more exaggerated. Noah leaned back slightly on his stool, one arm resting loosely against the counter, a half-finished drink in his hand. There was a looseness to him now that hadn’t been there before, something a little less controlled.

“We got attacked,” he said suddenly, cutting into whatever Davis had been saying. “Middle of the night. Out of nowhere.”

A few of the others groaned immediately.

“Don’t—” Ruffilo started, like they had this conversation before.

“—by a kraken,” Noah finished anyway, completely ignoring him.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Vincent slowly turned his head toward you.

“…Is that true?” he asked, one brow lifting slightly.

You blinked, caught off guard.

You glanced at Noah, then back at Vincent.

“I’ve only been on the ship for two months,” you said, a small shrug following, “but I’m pretty sure the kraken isn’t real.”

Noah scoffed under his breath.

“It was real.”

“It was not,” Ruffilo muttered.

“It had tentacles,” Noah insisted, gesturing vaguely with his drink.

“So do a lot of things in the ocean,” Davis added dryly.

Vincent looked between all of them, clearly entertained now.

“So what was it, then?” he asked.

Nicholas, who had been sitting a bit further down the counter, spoke up, shaking his head

“It was a squid,” he said. “A big one.”

Noah turned his head sharply toward him.

“It was not just a squid.”

“It was,” Nicholas replied calmly. “A very large squid.”

There was a pause.

Then Noah let out a short breath, and suddenly he laughed, shaking his head slightly as he looked down at his glass.

“Alright,” he admitted, still grinning faintly. “It might’ve been a very large squid.”

“Thank you,” Nicholas said, completely unimpressed.

Vincent snorted, leaning back slightly.

“A kraken,” he repeated under his breath, amused.

You couldn’t help it, a small laugh slipped out of you too, but then you saw Noah emptying another glass and it quickly faded away.

At some point, the energy around the counter started to shift.

One of the men yawned, stretching his arms with a groan, and mentioned he was exhausted. That seemed to trigger something in the others. Vincent, overhearing, casually mentioned he had more than enough rooms upstairs for all of them, no need to go back to the ship that night.

It didn’t take much convincing. One by one, a few of them stood, still talking, still laughing, but clearly ready to disappear for the night. Boots scraped against the floor, chairs shifted, and the group slowly started thinning out.

You didn’t move. You weren’t entirely sure why.

You told yourself you just weren’t tired yet, that you were enjoying the warmth, the low noise, the feeling of being somewhere that wasn’t constantly moving under your feet.

But your gaze kept drifting back to Noah.

He was still there, still sitting at the counter, another drink in his hand, talking, though at this point it was less of a conversation and more… fragments.

And something in you didn’t like the idea of just… leaving him there like that.

Time passed. More people left. The inn grew quieter, the loud laughter fading into softer conversations, then into scattered voices, until even those started disappearing as the night dragged on.

Eventually, the others followed.

Ruffilo gave you a brief look before heading upstairs, like he noticed you were still there, but said nothing. Davis clapped Noah lightly on the shoulder on his way out, muttering something you didn’t catch.

And then it was just the two of you. And Vincent somewhere in the background, busy with closing things down.

Noah reached for his glass again.

You watched him for a second. Then, without overthinking it, you reached out and took it from his hand.

He blinked, slow, unfocused for a second, then looked at you like you had just committed something deeply offensive.

“Hey—” he started.

“That’s enough,” you said, setting the glass further away from him.

“I wasn’t done.”

“Yes, you were.”

He frowned faintly, leaning forward slightly like he might try to reach it again, but you didn’t move.

“It’s late,” you added. “You should go to sleep.”

He looked at you for a moment longer, like he was deciding whether to argue or not.

“…Fine,” he muttered eventually, though it came with a small, reluctant exhale. You didn’t give him time to change his mind.

“Come on.”

You stood, and after a second, he did too.

The difference was immediate.

On his feet, he was… less steady than he had seemed sitting down and you noticed it right away.

“Careful,” you said instinctively, reaching out slightly as he shifted.

“I’m fine,” he replied, though the way he adjusted his balance said otherwise.

You gave him a look he didn’t fully register and started toward the stairs. He followed.

The climb wasn’t long, but it felt longer. Halfway up, his steps slowed just enough that you glanced back, and that was when he misstepped slightly, his balance tipping just enough, and then his hand landed on your shoulder. Warm.

You froze for half a second at the contact.

Even through the fabric of your shirt, you could feel the heat of his hand. “…Told you,” you muttered under your breath, not really expecting a response.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move his hand either, so you kept going.

Step by step, slower now, adjusting your pace without fully acknowledging it, until you reached the top of the stairs and into the corridor.

The hallway was dimly lit, quiet compared to downstairs, doors closed on either side.

You didn’t even think about where you were going at first.

You just… kept walking and he kept following still leaning slightly into you. Until you reached a door that was not completely closed, showing you there was no one inside. You pushed it open, and stepped inside.

The room was simple, but comfortable.

A bed against one wall, covered in clean sheets. A small wooden table sat near the window, a candle already burned low beside it. There was a chair tucked into the corner, and a faint smell of wood and linen in the air.

You stopped just inside, suddenly very aware of the fact that you hadn’t actually meant to end up there, but you thought that maybe Noah needed supervision until he reached a bed.

You pushed him lightly, more insistently than gently, until he finally dropped back onto the bed with a soft thud.

He let out a breathy laugh, a little uneven, then tilted his head up at you with a crooked grin. “Heyyy,” he muttered, like he was offended and entertained at the same time.

You rolled your eyes immediately. “Don’t even start.”

He lifted a hand lazily, not really in surrender, more like he was drawing shapes in the air without thinking.

There was a pause where he just looked at you.

Too long.

Then his mouth twitched.

“You’re… really pretty tonight,” he said, words slightly slurred at the edges, like they were taking the long way out of his mouth.

You stared at him for a second, then glanced down at yourself.

“…I’ve been wearing this for days,” you said flatly.

He blinked slowly, like that information didn’t fully make it through.

“Mm… still,” he said, dragging the word out. “Maybe it’s like… the atmo... atmosphere.”

“No,” you said immediately. “It’s the alcohol.”

That made him exhale a quiet laugh, shoulders shaking slightly as he shifted on the bed.

He tried to prop himself up a bit more, but it came out slightly off-balance, so he just stayed leaning back, staring at you like he found you extremely interesting and couldn’t remember why.

“Princess?”

You sighed. “Are you still calling me that?”

“Yeah,” he said, way too easily. “Fits you. Kinda.”

“It really doesn’t.”

He ignored that completely, eyes drifting for a second before snapping back to you.

“Would you... would you like to be a pirate princess?”

There was a beat of silence. You blinked at him.

“…Noah.”

“What?” he said quickly, a little too defensively for no reason. “I’m just sayin’. It’s a question. Simple.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

He frowned slightly, like he was trying to keep track of his own thoughts and had already lost them once.

Then, abruptly, he changed direction, or at least, that what it seemed.

“What’s so important about Saint Marlowe anyway?”

That made you pause.

“…What?”

He waved a hand vaguely, like the words were floating somewhere in front of him.

“Saint Marlowe. You keep sayin' it like it’s… like it’s the only place that matters in the world.”

“That’s because it is where I’m supposed to go. You're not making any sense right now, Noah.”

He hummed again, slow and unconvinced. “Mhm.”

“Mhm?”

“It's my response,” he said, then blinked again. “A bad one maybe. But still one.”

You crossed your arms. “What are you even trying to say?”

He stared at you for a moment like the question itself was too complicated.

“I’m not tryna say anything,” he muttered, though it came out more like he was definitely trying to say something and just failing to package it properly.

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not true.”

He gave a lazy, uneven shrug.

“Okay, maybe I am,” he admitted, then frowned slightly at his own honesty like it had betrayed him. “But it’s not like… clear, y’know?”

“Explain?”

“Saint Marlowe,” he said, “It’s like… your thing. It’s where you’re goin’. End of line.”

“Well, yes.”

“But you come on a ship like this,” he muttered, “you think you know what it is. You think it’s just… one thing. Then it turns into somethin’ else without asking you. You make friends. And laugh and stuff.”

“Noah—”

He raised a hand, cutting you off, not harshly, just… like he couldn’t hold the thought and your interruption at the same time.

“I’m not saying you should stay,” he said quickly, words stumbling slightly over each other. “I’m not— I’m not saying that.”

A pause.

Then, softer, “I know you won’t.”

That landed differently. He didn’t look at you when he said it but he just stared at the edge of the bed like it was safer than your face.

“People like you don’t stay,” he added, quieter. “You’ve got places you’re supposed to go. Dreams that don't involve people like me right?”

A small laugh slipped out of him, but it didn’t have much energy behind it.

“So yeah,” he muttered, “you go to Saint Marlowe. That’s what you do.”

You were starting to understand what he meant, but everything was still so confusing in that moment.

“Anyway,” he added, “it’s fine.”

A beat.

“…It’s fine,” he repeated, and closed his eyes.

You stayed there for a moment, just standing and watching him.

The room had gone completely quiet now.

His breathing had evened out, his chest was rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. His head had turned slightly to the side, hair falling loosely across his forehead, more disheveled than usual.

You frowned slightly, your arms still crossed as you stood there.

What the hell had he meant?

His words echoed back in your head. You exhaled slowly, your gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to him.

It didn’t make sense. Why would he want you to stay?

You weren’t part of this. You had never been.

You were there because of a deal. Because of circumstances. Because there had been nowhere else to go at the time.

That was it.

That was all it was supposed to be.

And yeah… maybe sometimes, lately, you had found yourself noticing things you shouldn’t. The way he looked at you sometimes. The way he spoke when he wasn’t trying to be difficult, sarcastic and sharp. The way he—