Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Marianne, what happened?”

Dawn wasn’t even through the doors of the bed chamber before she was freezing on the threshold, gasping at the state of her sister’s room that looked nothing like the typical neat and tidy space she typically kept it in. Bits and pieces of white fabric, cold and pale on the dark stone floor shone in the weak light of the moon spilling through the open doors of the balcony. Marianne was standing with a knife in hand that she hastily jammed back into its sheath and dropped to the floor with a clatter as it joined the remains of what was once her wedding dress. Dawn picked up a piece of the ripped fabric, saddened by the state of it after it had been such an elegant creation but the elder princess plucked it back out of her fingers. She intended to throw it back down to the floor but both of them were left to watch it flutter harmlessly to the ground with none of Marianne’s anger in its descent. Glaring down at the piece as if the gentle glide had been done merely out of spite, the eldest princess stamped her foot down upon the shred of gossamer fabric, giving it a little grind with her heel before she went back to work.

Coming back to her senses after taking in the ruined state of the bedroom, Dawn ignored the mess and hurried after Marianne instead, taken aback when she realized that while Marianne had changed, it hadn’t been back into her typical silken skirts and elegant dresses. Instead, she wore a loose blouse and vest cinched up with a worn leather belt that she wondered how she had even gotten her hands on in the first place. Marianne also wore a hat pulled down low on her head, tuffs of her hair hanging out that she tried to prod back in while checking the contents of a satchel on the end of her bed.

Dawn may have been ignorant of many things but she could tell what was beginning to unfold in front of her.

She reached out to touch her sister, to stop her before she began what she was preparing to do but the moment her fingers touched the material of her sleeve, Marianne abruptly pulled away.

“Don’t—” Marianne held out a hand, freezing in the moonlight and glancing back over her shoulder at the younger princess. The sight of Dawn’s worry softened her expression, Marianne turning back to her and extending her arms, embracing her sister to her chest in apology for her crude withdraw. Dawn returned the hug, her fingers so gentle against her back that the princess nearly wept all over again at the loving gesture that stung as much as it was meant to comfort.
Love was what got her into this mess and even the gentle warmth and comfort of a sibling’s love seemed to burn like acid being touched to her skin. Her heart clenched with the want to accept it but couldn’t beat past the gaping hole torn through it by the knife of Roland’s betrayal. The man not only crushed her dreams and her heart but managed to ruin it for the rest of her emotions at the same time.

It was almost as vague as a dream when it replayed through her thoughts, eyes staring absently at the carnage of her wedding dress over Dawn’s shoulder. She could see it all over again. Golden hair in the shadows, perfectly maintained with the exception of the pale fingers slowly threading in through the strands and grasping tight in a passionate hold, soft pants and the filthy sound of open-mouthed kisses echoing off of stone walls of the chamber. The image called forth a new shudder that shook her from head to toe before she abruptly held herself away from Dawn, hands still on her shoulders as she tried to get a grip on herself once more.

Moving away, she occupied herself with snatching up the parcel from the floor and slinging the makeshift strap over her head. She had checked and rechecked the contents since she first hastily began to throw it all together. The clothes, the items, she threw it all together with shaking fingers as the dread of facing her father, the disappointed court, and eventually Roland himself rattled her to the core. She chose fear and anger to fuel her motions but Dawn’s presence was rapidly starting to extinguish her fury, leaving her feeling raw and scared of what was to come if she didn’t keep moving. If she went down there now…she wouldn’t have been strong enough.

“Where are you going?” Dawn’s innocent voice was almost like a solemn child’s when she spoke now, her desperate questions replaced by a sort of grim acceptance of what they both knew was going to happen.

“To sea,” Marianne murmured, clenching the strap of the bag tightly in her fist.

Dawn swallowed audibly and Marianne understood her hesitation at the news.

The sea was a dangerous place. It was uncomfortable, unpredictable and if the whim of nature didn’t get you first, the constant threat of pirates would. Even so, the sea also offered something that Marianne had been craving since childhood, the promise of an adventure and the hope of finding a strength she never mustered before. The idea of being far and away from the castle and the festering presence of Roland was only an added bonus to the prospect of getting away from the pomp and circumstance of explaining to the kingdom her reason behind the abrupt cancellation of her wedding on the very day it was supposed to occur.
“Do you have to go?” Dawn asked, “We could talk to dad…sort this out?”

“I can’t.” Marianne shook her head. She was a coward and so she was going to take the coward’s way out. It was the first step she would take in the process of hopefully remedying the crippling fear, strengthen her from her weakness and perhaps she would return with a heart much stronger than the one she would leave with. They say that the heart is only as strong as the environment it is nurtured in and the cruelty of the sea seemed the perfect conditioning she needed if she wanted to return to the castle as a princess worthy of being queen. A queen the people could respect and not merely see as a pretty accessory on the arm of her king. Like what she would have been if she hadn’t seen the things she had that afternoon.

“Dawn,” she hesitated before facing her again. “We both know what dad will do when I go. He’ll look for me and I…I don’t want him to find me. Not right away if I can help it.”
Dawn’s eyes were glassy in the light of the moon when she nodded and Marianne’s chest ached at the hurt she was causing her little sister by running away without her. She turned to the railing, testing the knot of her rope and blinking back the tears that were already welling up into her vision. The first to escape were hot on her cheeks but fewer than the flood she had unleashed the first time that day.

“I’ll keep him off of your trail the best I can,” Dawn promised. Marianne glanced over at her to thank her but upon the first sight of the tears spilling down her innocent face, she was lost. The eldest princess practically fell into her sister’s arms, clinging to her as she wept and felt Dawn’s body shaking with her own sobbing.

Since Dawn was born, Marianne had been close to her. They had their typical sibling spats but always bested those petty arguments in favor of their friendship that always held them together in the end. No one else in Lumine knew the lives they lived. There were nobles and other girls that could understand bits and pieces but none of them were princesses with the responsibility of a kingdom on their shoulders whenever they faced the outside world. How many days did they confide in one another, hands clasped together while they silently sought strength in one another through the contact. But now, Marianne was suffering a hurt that Dawn didn’t know and she prayed she never would. She couldn’t curl up in her sister’s embrace and just cry it out this time. She needed to become stronger on her own.

With a trembling sigh, Marianne forced herself away from her sister again, her hands clapping over Dawn’s cheeks and holding her face close. “Tell dad that I love him and please, please don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone!” She begged, kissing her forehead before releasing her and climbing onto the rail. Dawn gave a little nod, sniffling and rubbing at her eyes as Marianne grasped the rope and lowered herself over the edge of the balcony, fingers clinging for dear life.

Resisting the fear that made her want to scramble right back up the rope, Marianne closed her eyes and dug deep for the courage she wanted so desperately to find. When she opened her eyes again, her brows knit together, eyes still glistening from her tears but no more fell as she fixed her sister with a strong, determined stare that her sibling had never seen before if the look of awe that crossed her face had anything to say about it.

“I’ll come back, Dawn. I promise.”

Chapter Text

“It’s been six months since Marianne left, huh?” Sunny asked, glancing over at Princess Dawn as she nodded her head in confirmation.

They had taken a seat on the cargo boxes and barrels reserved to be taken onto the Morning Glory prior to their departure for the open sea, Dawn on a squat box while Sunny needed to sit on an upright barrel in order to sit shoulder to shoulder with his best friend. His shorter stature was often the butt of many jokes in the harbor but Sunny always managed to laugh it off in the end, too good-natured to be offended as long as people were laughing, even at his own expense. However, Dawn certainly wasn’t laughing now when he nudged her arm with his elbow, trying to pass a smile of his own on to her but her mouth barely even lifted at one corner.

Marianne’s absence was a hard blow to Dawn’s spirit even though she managed to keep up appearances up until this point. Dawn was normally bright and cheerful like her namesake but recently Sunny was experiencing a more solemn side of his best friend. He spent a few nights sitting with her in the castle garden, letting her rest her head upon his shoulder while he rest a hand against her back to comfort her and more than once he felt tears seep into his shirt. Yet, Sunny never asked what the matter was. He already knew.

Dawn missed Marianne.

Ever since Marianne had run away, the whole kingdom had been in a constant state of unease at the idea that their heir apparent had been lost to the wilderness. Without any news on her whereabouts, rumors were beginning to spread that Dawn would soon have to take over the position, the people giving up hope that Marianne would one day return home. If that was the case, she wasn’t ready for such a large responsibility. Dawn still hadn’t come of age by their kingdom’s traditional standards, still considered a child in the eyes of the public. It was when her father began to seriously consider making the rumors into a reality that Dawn caved in and told the truth. That Marianne had actually gone to sea rather than running away further inland as Dawn had initially told him the night she had run away. Her father was outraged that she had kept something so important a secret for so long. Sunny felt Dawn was still stinging from his original outburst, hence her quiet behavior that carried even into the afternoon of the ship’s departure.

The king was speaking to the captain of the Morning Glory, an experienced naval officer with more than a couple decades behind his station. The king himself had journeyed down from the castle to brief him on the finer details on the search for Marianne and the monarch never left his castle for anything. Of course, Dawn told him stories of him traveling in the past but after the passing of the queen, the king had grown disinterested in journeying out into the world, keeping to his castle where he would be able to watch over his people and, more importantly, his daughters. The two princesses were all he really had and the king had been devastated when Marianne had run away. The fact that he had come out to personally speak to the captain was enough of a rarity that all of the officers and crewmen of the Morning Glory were crowding the deck to catch a glimpse of the visiting royalty.

He tried to ignore the eyes focusing upon the princess, hunching his shoulders while he felt the stares and resisted shielding her with himself from their gaze. He knew how quickly a man’s thoughts could turn impure and he hated the idea of that being exposed to his innocent best friend. Dawn was many things but she was also a little ignorant to what was going on around her sometimes. Itching to scoot over and put a protective hand over her, he slowly extended his arm across her back, wary of touching her when she spoke up and his hand immediately snatched back.

“Sunny,” Dawn glanced up at him, her hand reaching out and touching at his shoulder instead and he melted under her fingers until he felt them squeeze his arm remarkably tight. “You’ll be able to find her, right?”

Well, he honestly couldn’t tell her that he would. Of course, Sunny wanted to reassure her that it was all going to be alright in the end and Marianne would be brought home safely within a week. He really did. But it had been a long time since she left, there were countless ships she could have boarded and it was the ocean. No one finds anything on the ocean! He had been a sailor for roughly eight years and still barely even touched the distance the seas can reach beyond the remote safety of coastline. The chances were slim that he would even hear of Marianne being seen anywhere out there, let alone actually find her. Sunny may as well have been looking in a murky pond for a specific tadpole.

“Of course!” he grinned at her, the white lie making his smile waver but he forced it to remain in place. He refused to make Dawn look any sadder than she already did. “All we gotta do is figure out where she’s hiding out and everything will be okay! Come on, Dawn, this is the Morning Glory, remember! It’s a miracle worker!”

They both craned to look over their shoulders at the great hull of the ship in question. It was a first-rate ship, armed to the teeth with a staggering one hundred and forty guns while being crewed by some of the most apt members of the navy that the kingdom ever had the pleasure of sponsoring, even if they did gawk a little too much. If anything could handle the dangers of the high seas, it would be the legendary Morning Glory. Nations revered its name ever since the War of the Isles, a rebellion in an archipelago several days east of Lumine that rose up against the allied countries of the mainland. Lumine’s neighbor to the south, Eventide, requested their help in meeting the resistance and so the king sent the Morning Glory to their aid, which would prove to be their upper hand against the rebels. The archipelago was eventually exiled from the alliance and the Morning Glory would be revered well over the next twenty-some-odd years, still the jewel of Lumine’s navy to this day.

Dawn’s smile was a ghost of what it used to be capable of. It only made him feel worse for lying to her. She twisted back around, her fingers releasing his arm and settling over the other still resting in her lap. Her shoulders hunched and he wondered if his lie had actually been taken in as a hopeful possibility or if she caw right past it and began to feel sad again. Sunny fidgeted on the barrel, biting at his lower lip while he tried to think of something to reassure her but her thoughtful face left him at a loss.

“I wish I could go with you.” She finally murmured, glancing up at him then back to the weathered dock beneath them.

Sunny smiled, nudging her arm with his elbow. “Why don’t you?”

Her eyes widened and for a moment the old Dawn was back with a roll of her eyes. “You know I can’t.” She indicated her father still with the captain with an open handed wave, “Dad would kill me if I asked to go along on this search!”

Sunny glanced over at the king. He looked unassuming enough with his rounded belly and kindly features but Sunny had been subject to more than one scornful lecture from the man. There was some temper buried in all that fatherly concern and he cringed at the thought of it. However, he cared about Dawn more than the king’s wrath. He twisted around to look upon the Morning Glory once more, fingers lightly tapping against his chin as he contemplated the structure looming over them. He would be a crew member, no title or rank behind his name but it was still enough access aboard to not raise any questions from the officers. The idea began to sink in with a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he finally leaned in to Dawn and while the next words would undoubtedly get him into a heap of trouble, he raised his hand to his mouth and whispered, “Who says you have to ask?”

Her eyes lit up and she grinned, biting her own lower lip to conceal the delighted squeal that nearly escaped her throat. Sunny waved her on and slid down from his spot on the barrel, he eased past her, catching her wrist and gently tugging her to her feet. Dawn followed him, hesitating a moment when they started to sneak towards the stern gangway, her fingers going to her lips, nearly biting her nails. She bent down to him, whispering for him to wait and slipped away from his hold, his fingers immediately feeling the loss of her warmth but he waited steadfast beside the base of the plank.

Dawn jogged over to her father, fingers on his arm and interrupting him from speaking to the captain and the two older men looked down on her with indulgent expressions as she spoke to the king. Sunny marveled at her charm when she spoke to them, her body language spunky and light when she gestured with her hand one way then waved about the other in her habit of speaking with her hands. He smiled at the back of her golden head, snapping out of it when she broke away from the two and returned to him. The amount of times she checked over her shoulder when she approached, however, she was waiting for them to start talking again. Once the men were speaking once more, she snuck back to Sunny and winked down at him, his heart fluttering at the signal. With a finger to his lips and a careful wave, he slowly led her up the gangplank, all the while keeping his eyes peeled for any potential onlookers from the soldiers above.

It was Sunny’s poor decision to follow his heart over his head that would eventually set into motion something that neither party expected when he stowed Dawn away in the cargo hold of the Morning Glory. He hid her away between a stack of crates and the back wall where no one would think to check once they were underway. If they could just get out of the harbor before the captain noticed or even the king, there would be no risk of the ship immediately coming about.

What he hadn’t counted on when he snuck Dawn on board, however, was that someone was watching them board the ship. Poor souls had no idea that they were not being as subtle as Sunny thought they were when he snuck her up the stern gangway. The naval officers didn’t notice, which was what Sunny has been hopeful fore but he didn’t consider the rest of the people making their way to and fro on the docks. Someone had saw them disappear over the bulwark.

At first glance no one would have noticed the person witnessing the stowaway. He blended in with a group of fisherman working over barrels of their recent catch, his hands frozen in mid-toss with a fish slipping from his fingers after he had been distracted by the events unfolding in front of him. Checking the ship the two had disappeared aboard, excitement rushed through him even though he continued the charade of prepping the fish, eyes on the vessel as the king and captain finished talking, shaking hands before the king departed and the captain boarded to the customary whistle made by an on-looking officer. He handled the fish deftly in his hands, passing them along to the iced barrel while the cargo was loaded, the sails were being loosened, and orders were being shouted over the bustle of the harbor.

The gangplanks were lowered from the vessel and the mooring lines were untied. The Morning Glory was beginning to slide out of the safety of the docks, nothing but the fjord and the open ocean standing in her way. That was when he abandoned the fish, his anticipation fueling his sprinting through the crowded streets. He wasted no time in worrying about a lost job with the irritable fishermen or the offended villagers he had bumped into in his haste to get back to his nook for he had a note to write! A very important note that would eventually find its way to a very impatient captain.

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“Is that—“

“Is what?”

Thang didn’t let go of the rag he had been using to rub at the king spoke on the helm, using the other to point down at the main deck. Stuff had been sitting at the base of the wheel, her own hands busy with another spoke until Thang had interrupted her progress. Slapping the rag onto the deck, she hauled herself up on the balustrade, leaning over the top to see what it was the other crewman had noticed. After a brief glance, she raised an eyebrow at Thang, skeptical he had even seen anything at all.

“Unless you’ve become fascinated in Brutus trimming the foresail, I see nothing worth looking at.” She deadpanned, earning a nervous twitch in Thang’s pointed finger.

Stuff was allowed to look all she wanted at the crewman but the captain was strict on her doing any more than that. It was a pity because while she was mostly disinterested in anything of the like, she could imagine getting a good handful of Brutus’ muscles at least once before she died. She smirked at the thought but Thang knocked her out of it when he barreled over her and scrambled down the ladder to the main deck. Groaning, she looked at their abandoned task, nearly reaching down to resume the job but Thang’s sudden determination to look at whatever it was he saw left her too curious for her own good. She huffed and then followed him. If anything, it was a brief distraction from working on the helm and she never got into too much trouble when indulging Thang’s innocent diversions. The captain was either cruel or passive when it came to Thang’s ignorance; she just had to stay out of the way when either happened.

Running after him across the deck, she staggered to a halt when he stopped, holding his arm out and she caught herself upon the thin limb, looking up to what he was jabbing his finger eagerly at the starboard bulwark where a particularly out of place pidgin was strutting along the top.

“It’s a messenger pidgin!” Stuff gasped, looking to her companion and he grinned that cocky little grin he got whenever he had been right about something. It didn’t happen very often. She rolled her eyes at the smirk, “Yeah, yeah, well done you for spotting it. Now, who’s going to grab it?”
That knocked the smirk off of his face quick enough.

Other sailors were starting to notice it now, eyes drawn to the oblivious bird still walking along the weathered wall, a small note strapped to its scaly leg for all to see like a scandalously exposed garter. Thang stiffened at the increasing interest in the pidgin, his eyes darting to the feet slowly easing closer and began matching the footsteps one after another in his own attempt to get closer. Stuff looked on, eyebrows high and arms soon crossing over her chest while she observed crew members beginning to stalk the pidgin as it walked along. She held back in spite of her own eagerness to know what news would have come across the sea for them after hitting a rough patch in their dishonest line of work. Any kind of news from the scouts planted in port villages throughout the mainland would be better than the bleak waiting period between heists.

The crew members had collected around the pidgin, hands beginning to rise to catch the bird but no one took the risk of moving any closer to it. Stuff cleared her throat, stepping up behind her crew mate. Lifting her foot, she kicked Thang in the rump, sending the sailor pitching forward with a yelp that startled the bird and spurred the rest of the crew into motion. One by one the dominoes fell. Bodies immediately began diving and lurching for the bird, hands snatching and grabbing as it squawked, alighting off of the bulwark but only fluttering to a new spot a foot or two away. Stuff chortled to herself at the sight unfolding before her, bodies clambering over one another just to get at the little note and the crew was in an uproar. Elbows were jabbed into sides; fingers yanking at shirt sleeves, even a few punches were thrown before Stuff was left nearly breathless with laughter.

She had been enjoying the spectacle for so long; she almost didn’t notice the signs of life coming from the captain’s cabin behind her. The sudden slamming of the door opening and bouncing off of the wall startled her into a tight-lipped silence and her eyes darted to the cabin as he emerged from the darkened depths, squinting into the sunlight with a sneer before his eyes darted to the commotion.

“What’s going on out here?” he demanded, though he hadn’t raised his voice enough yet to really catch anyone’s attention. Stuff hurried over to him, schooling herself to keep a calm façade and clearing her throat as she stood before him.

“News from the mushrooms, captain.” She stated, recalling the nickname that the crew liked to use for their scouts on the mainland. They were dropped off on the continent years ago, seeking out little dark corners to hide in every port city, settling into the cracks and waiting in the shadows until something of note would reach their ears. Perhaps it was just a poor sense of humor, but the crew came up with the nickname and the captain hadn’t exactly told them to stop using it. That alone was enough permission to continue on with it and even Stuff was falling into the habit of using the nickname now.

“What?” his eyebrows lifted in a mild display of his surprise, the captain jerking his head around and watching the crew continue to clamber after the evasive bird now making little fluttering hops across the deck. It was dodging the reaching fingers left and right until it finally flew up into the rigging. The sudden height advantage left the crew members hesitating; some of the smaller ones were beginning to climb up the cordage, unwilling to give up just yet. The heavier men lingered on the deck, moaning and groaning at their lost chance.

The display of desperation in catching the bird only seemed to irritate the captain even more. Stuff fidgeted a bit at the unnatural snarl that came through his throat as he witnessed the pathetic attempts to catch it. A hand went to his face, covering it while he tried to contain his irritation.

“Well, it might take a minute before we can read it…” Stuff contributed weakly, her confidence fading in the presence of her captain’s temper.

“I’ll---DEAL WITH IT!” She recoiled from his sudden outburst, the captain a sudden blur of movement that darted up the nearest ladder and into the rigging. She marveled at the speed he reached the yardarm, snatching up the pidgin before Thang could even try to reach out for it. The captain stood upon the yard, holding the pidgin in his fist as he turned the bird over, retrieving the note from its curled up leg. Ever-present sneer still twisting his lips into a scowl, he threw the bird down to the crew members. “Get it in the cage!”

Frond caught the bird and clutched it close as he rushed below deck to carry out the captain’s order, the rest of the crew dispersing in a panic to get back to work before he could come back down. Stuff retreated back to the bridge deck, snatching up her rag to get back to polishing, Thang still in the process of climbing back down as the captain came down from the rigging. He dropped heavily to his feet upon the boards of the deck, the close proximity of his landing startling Grouse into working harder at greasing his canon’s wheels. The captain ignored him, stalking away from his landing point and focusing on the small piece of paper he had been holding in his fist. He was uncoiling the note, his lips pressing together thoughtfully as he read the contents. Stuff peeked down at him though the balusters as he paused just in front of the captain’s cabin, head just barely visible from her vantage point.

A slow smirk curled up the corner of his mouth and he clenched the note into his fist again. With a sudden twist, he faced the crew again, Thang the unfortunate man nearest to him in his route back to the helm as he snatched him up by the collar of his shirt. Thang simpered a little, feet dangling uselessly in the air while the captain brought him close to his face, the wicked smirk not leaving his lips as he spoke to him.

“Make sure the brig is cleared out of any junk you lot might have stashed down there.” He dropped him back to the deck, Thang wobbling in place as he recovered from the drop, soon scrambling below with a new grin splitting his lips open wide.

The crew was beginning to grow interested in their captain’s shift in attitude now, heads popping up form their work as he approached the base of the main mast, peering around the interested faces. “We have word on the Morning Glory! The jewel of Lumine’s navy is finally stretching her legs again and this time, she carries something of great value with her!” The snide grin on his face was catching on like an illness and multiple smiles were beginning to form, excitement filling the afternoon’s formerly stagnant air. “Set course southeast!” a shout of confirmation rose from the crew as he turned back to the cabin, Stuff backing away from the helm as Fang appeared to reclaim his position. She leaned against the railing, peering down at the captain and jumped when he turned his head up and met her eye with a wicked smirk. “We are going to have company.”

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Captain Rodgers wasn’t pleased when Dawn was brought up onto the main deck of the Morning Glory, a guilty Sunny trudging along at her side and two equally displeased soldiers holding them by their arms standing at attention behind them. Sunny was dancing back and forth from one foot to the other, hands wringing together as he regarded the different officers standing around them, a few others collecting to see what was unfolding on the deck. A few of the naval men looked more shocked than angry at the sight of their princess’s presence on board and she silently hoped it was a perk of being their monarch’s daughter. Maybe she wouldn’t be in as much trouble as she feared? She peered into the captain’s tight-lipped face, trying to offer up a smile through her guilt but only received a scowl in return. Dawn stopped smiling. No, she was still in trouble.

“Your highness,” he sighed, the firm set to his shoulders drooping a bit as he observed her, “What were you thinking?”

Dawn twisted her fingers together thoughtfully. “I wanted to help find my sister, sir.”

“Well, that’s very brave of you, miss, but you know it’s too dangerous for someone like you to be sneaking off like this.” He wasn’t shouting like she had expected him to and silently counted her blessings, considering she would probably not get off so lucky with her father once she saw him again. “You realize I have to bring her around and take you back, otherwise the king will have my head before I could ever set foot on shore again.”

“I understand.” She murmured, giving a little nod even though a part of her felt a touch of irritation that he wouldn’t let her help. Her sister would have argued and Dawn wished she could have done the same but the words failed to string together. Still, it seemed unfair that she was being told off for wanting to help. Marianne ran off to the sea on her own, surely Dawn could manage to take care of herself in the company of an entire boat full of soldiers!

“Bring her around, Mr. Roberts!” the captain shouted up towards the sailor behind the helm, the man immediately working to turn the ship around, arching the ship in a wide turn to keep from nearly knocking all of them off their feet. Dawn groaned at the sight of the ship coming about after barely being at sail for three days and now they had to go back to deposit her back home.

“This is going to set back the search by another three days,” Captain Rodgers muttered, shaking his head before glancing over at Sunny. “You!”

“Y-Yes?” he jumped at the sharp address.

“I’m very disappointed in you, boy! Bringing a member of the royal family aboard a military vessel when you knew that her life would be in danger, not to mention putting the entire crew in jeopardy should anything have happened to her!”

“I’m sorry! I-I know I messed up!” he held his hands up, trying to stay off the captain’s anger while Dawn cringed, realizing just what kind of trouble she had just gotten her friend into at this point. “But captain, Dawn just wanted to help find Princess Marianne! No one knows her better than our princess and a familiar face would probably be just what she needs when we do find her!”

The captain crossed his arms over his chest, his anger ebbing the longer he looked between Dawn and Sunny. For a moment she thought he would reconsider his decision to turn the ship around, her heart swelling with hope. He must have noticed the way her face brightened because his expression hardened immediately upon meeting her wide-eyed gaze. “I have made my decision. I’m sorry but Princess Dawn must be returned home immediately. It’s not safe.”

“We’re aboard the Morning Glory!” Dawn burst out, her hands gesturing wildly around the very ship they were standing on. “It’s the ship with the most guns in our navy! How is that unsafe for me?”

“Your highness,” the captain’s tone firmed up once more and she clammed up. “As confident as I am in my ship and crew’s capabilities, your stowing away is all you have to blame for my decision to return you home. Had this little endeavor of yours been approved by his majesty the king, I would have no dispute in allowing you to come along. Now I’ve said all I care to on the matter and I will insist that you retire for the time being until we can get you safely back home!”

“But—” she was cut off by Sunny holding up his hands, his eyes pleading and she shut her mouth again. The captain stepped aside and indicated the door to his cabin, Dawn frowning at the ornately carved door. She balled her hands into fists, making a frustrated noise in her throat as she stamped a foot down on the deck then proceeded to stride for the captain’s cabin, taking care in slamming the door after her.

Dawn released a frustrated scream as soon as the door was shut behind her, clutching her hair and nearly pulling on it until she forced herself to calm down. Smoothing the ruffled strands out again, she strode across the spacious cabin, ignoring the nautical furnishings in favor of the narrow bed cradled in a heavy wooden frame attached to the hull. She flung herself onto it, balling herself up while she glared at a knot in the wood, focusing all of her anger on it. If she wanted to focus her anger on anything, it would be that knot for the time being.

Sunny had risked a lot in sneaking her aboard the Morning Glory and she had been grateful for his bravery. She hid away in the cargo hold as he instructed, keeping quiet amidst the barrels and crates while listening to the distant voices of the sailors overhead. She had been down there almost a full day, dozing on a sack of flour when she grew bored in between sailors walking through to retrieve items. Sunny brought her something to eat and water during his meal times, sitting with her as long as he could and keeping her entertained with news on where they were or any other tidbits of information he could glean.

She thought she did rather well in keeping out of sight if that officer hadn’t found them when Sunny had cracked one particularly funny joke that left both of them laughing a little too loud. Now she was responsible for the ship being turned around and putting off the search for Marianne even longer. That alone made her stomach knot up with guilt. They were going to find her sister and hopefully bring her home and she wanted to help make that happen. Now she was delaying them and every moment wasted on her was another one lost for hunting down Marianne.

Dawn’s glare lost its heat and the knot was given a break as she rolled onto her back, hands over her eyes as she thought back to the night Marianne had left. Not a single detail had faded from her memory since Marianne had clung to her, shaking with fear and yet so fiercely determined when she finally lowered herself over the balcony. Her sister was being braver than either of them had ever been before and Dawn felt she almost needed to thank Roland for whatever it was he did to make Marianne cancel the wedding so abruptly. Whatever he did had spurred Marianne into a sort of metamorphosis and something told her that once she saw her again, it would be a beautiful change. It was unfortunate Dawn couldn’t undergo such a change herself. Instead, she had to return home and face her father’s wrath.

Rodgers didn’t disturb her, even after she noticed the windows had gone dark, the swaying of the ship almost soothing now that it was night and her eyes were growing heavy. She had been fretting all afternoon, running over ever scenario of her reunion with her father through her head while lying there on the captain’s bed. Once in a while she would wander around the cabin; twiddling with a few of the instruments she couldn’t even name sitting on his desk and squinting at the map, trying to make sense of which location was which. There were no names given to the land masses like she had been taught back home but there was a series of numbers written out on a grid made with light lines across the surface. It was all utterly foreign to her and she eventually gave up on figuring it out.

By now she was starting to feel sleepy again, already having dozed off more than once previously on the bed. She closed her eyes and let herself begin to drift off, the captain’s bed smelled of old man and aftershave but it was oddly reminiscent of her father. Dawn was barely drifting off only to be startled awake by the sudden barrage of orders being shouted on deck. Now that it was after dark, they wouldn’t have so much to do right now, right? Not much should be accomplished on a ship after dark. Dawn settled into the cot again, puzzled but closing her eyes to the darkened cabin. She tried to relax again. She had spent enough time worrying and now it was time to sleep. They still had a long trip before reaching Lumine and there was plenty of time to be frustrated all over again once she got some sleep.

No sooner had she taken a relaxing breath that she opened her eyes again at the sound of more shouting on deck. With a groan, she sat upright, ready to give up on the idea of rest all together but more shouts followed, this time more frantic than casual orders she heard prior. Dawn crept out of the bed and went to the door, putting her ear to it as she heard running feet and more orders being shouted, followed by the chilling sound of a scream that made her flinch away from the door. There shouldn’t have been screaming if that was just a routine evening for them. Fear coursed through her, cold and unsettling, leaving her wrapping her arms around herself and shrinking away from the door at the sound of another scream and a loud cracking sound she didn’t recognize.

More cracks shot through the night, reminiscent of distant thunder but without the familiar echo following its initial rumble. There was an acrid smell of something smoky and she wrinkled her nose the cracks coming on more frequently and the ring of steel blades being struck. That she could recognize because of one too many days indulging her guilty pleasure of watching the soldiers back home practicing in the training arena. She went back to the door, fingers carefully reaching out to touch the handle but she recoiled back when something struck the wood hard enough that it rattled on its hinges.

Gasping, Dawn ran away from the door, searching for a hiding place to wait out the danger until it potentially passed and eventually crawled under the desk, clutching her legs close while the sounds of battle continued outside of the cabin. Her whole body was trembling, flinching at every scream or another one of those strange cracks that only seemed to get louder the longer time went on. Her hands clapped over her ears, eyes shutting in hopes it would somehow all go away as long as she couldn’t see or hear anything but even her palms couldn’t spare her the awful sounds from the deck.

The door to the captain’s cabin swung inwards, banging against the wall. Dawn resisted making a sound, glancing down at the floor where firelight illuminated a vague path from the doorway. She could make out shadows moving about, one stretching under the desk to reveal one body standing in the doorway and she cringed at the skeletal shape of one hand extending out from the body, her heart pounding at the sound of a blade being drawn, the long shape casting a new shadow on the floorboards. Heavy footsteps thudded across the cabin floor, two more shadows crowding the doorway in its wake, one large, almost overpowering the other smaller one.

“I told you to check the captain’s cabin first!” a dry voice snapped, “Who told you to check in the brig?”

“It was Thang’s idea, sir.” A gruff voice huffed, “I told him they wouldn’t be stashing royalty down there.”

Dawn’s body tensed as the footsteps came closer, a sudden thud over her head startled her and an undesired squeak erupted from her mouth. Her hand clapped over her lips but it was too late, her eyes slowly going to the opening of the desk and a face suddenly appeared, leaning into her space.

“Found you!”

She cringed back from a woman’s rounded face staring back at her, another, meatier hand reaching under the desk and she yelped when it snatched her ankle. She screamed when it stated dragging her out from under her hiding place. She desperately tried to grab something, hands clawing uselessly for something to prevent the inevitable capture. The thick hand suspended her upside down as soon as she was out from under the desk. her head nearly brushing the floor before she looked up at a broad creature of a man, effortlessly dangling her in the air while the woman crouched down beside her, peering into her face with a little sneer crossing her lips.

“I get dibs on her earrings!” the woman croaked and Dawn’s hands flew to her ears instinctively.

“I wonder what princess tastes like…” the brute’s other hand reached for her and she cringed away, terrified by the teasing words. Did pirates eat princesses? She didn’t want to find out! The blade of a sword appeared, slapping the side of it against the brute’s reaching hand.

“No eating!” the dry voice from before snapped. The blade shifted to point at the squat woman beside her. “And back off, we have plenty of jewelry for you to fawn over back home. The princess stays untouched!”

Dawn wasn’t sure if she should be grateful for the dry voice’s demand that she be kept intact or if she should still be terrified because that meant she really was being kidnapped right now. The captain had been worried about this, which was why he was turning the ship around! Dawn shuddered, admitting that he had been right but they had turned around too late.

“Brutus!”

“What?” the brute whined but Dawn saw his hand drop down again dejectedly before the short woman dragged a sack over, dropping it to the floor and scooting it over beneath her.

“Just get her in the bag and get her out of here!” the third voice snarled, the two suddenly rushing into action and Dawn was immediately lowered while the woman picked up the edges of the bag. Once the sides were drawn far enough up around her, Brutus let go of her ankle and Dawn dropped inside, knocking her head painfully against the floor. Groaning, she clutched her head, blearily blinking at the dark fabric all around her. The hard ground underneath her disappeared and she sagged against the cloth, her alertness slipping as she heard the dry voice one last time. “The rest of you, make sure you leave at least six alive! Someone has to bring the king his precious Morning Glory back in one piece after all!”

Chapter Text

Captain Wade was an old man in many ways. He had seen more than forty years at sea and should have retired a decade ago if his aching joints had anything to say about it. Wade lived too long to be surprised by much of anything these days, though he could admit the sudden appearance of a slight youth asking to join his crew certainly came close. This youth was desperate for a way out and he gave it to them, unknowing of exactly he was getting himself into when he picked them up. The kid was green in every way, their knots pathetic, fighting skills non-existent, and he found himself schooling them on everything from the anatomy of his ship to the terms used to describe her.

Who would have thought six months later this lad would have been flooring a man nearly twice his size to the rambunctious cheers of the crowded tavern. The fight had begun simply enough. His little recruit Marne was sitting in the corner of the tavern, sipping at water while everyone else preferred their ale, the captain himself included. The brute of a sailor from another vessel had tried to call him over and grew angry when Marne didn’t listen, provoking the kid and earning a blade being pointed in his face for his trouble. Wade gave a heavy sigh upon seeing the thin blade of the sword, not so much because the other sailor’s was a heavier make, but because he knew what was about to follow.

It had turned into a sword fight that was all rather one-sided because the offending sailor had been limbered up by the drink too much to give much of a resistance when the kid was laying into him, blow by blow in quick slashes of steel that only bore a few sloppy and heavy-handed returns. The men of the tavern were getting excited at the display, rising from their chairs to cheer on the skirmish while the barkeep hastily snatched up glasses and mugs to keep anymore from being broken upon the floor. The shards of the unsalvageable glasses were crushed under booted feet as the scrap wore on.

The red-faced sailor scrambled up off of the floor where he had been forced down just moments before, facing down the youth with a murderous glare in his eye. For a moment Wade worried for Marne’s safety but if the toothy smile appearing under the brim of their hat had anything to say about it, the challenge was thoroughly accepted and met with pure glee. The sailor launched himself, sword jabbing out towards them and the kid leapt away, alighting onto the top of a table and kicking a glass at him with a calculated boot. He managed to block it with his blade, flinging dregs of the brew off of it before he swiped at their legs. The youth jumped up, landing back on top of the table and with a flourish of the blade, cocked their hip with one hand resting upon it in wait for him to recover from his violent swing.

“You miserable wretch!” the sailor ran for the table, hand grabbing for Marne’s ankle but they leapt back, dropping down from the table to a cheer, maneuvering around it while his opponent corrected himself, leveling his blade as he pointed it at them. Marne came first, clean flicks blocked by the heavy sword but the sailor found himself being backed into a corner with every clash between their blades. Eventually his heel struck it and the kid stopped, holding their arms out at their sides, swinging the blade in a circle then resting the tip to the floor. The cocky move spurred on the sailor like an angered bull and he charged, using the wall as leverage. Shoving himself away from it, he ran at Marne with both hands on the hilt of his sword, ready to skewer the cocky brat. As the tip drew near, they sprung up onto the nearest table, startling its occupants before they laughed and clapped heartily at the easy evasion of the opponent. The sailor was left running right into the bar where the keeper shouted at him for putting a gash in the woodwork but he was more concerned about the fact that he couldn’t withdraw his sword back out of it.

“Doing his old man proud that boy is!” Captain Wade exclaimed, pointing out the lad on the table with a toothy grin.

“Aye, he’s improved a lot since we picked him up in that old harbor.” Another agreed with a shove at his companion’s shoulder. “Couldn’t even hold a sword two inches off the deck and now look at him!”

With a little smile crossing their face, Marne jumped down from the table and sheathed the sword with a flourish, hand still braced on the hilt as other patrons helped the floored sailor to his feet, his weapon still embedded in the bar. He shrugged them off with a growl and thumbed his nose at the boy, striding out of the tavern before he could suffer further embarrassment. Those remaining men in the tavern cheered, coins discreetly passed between those who had the foresight to cast a few bets in the beginning of the fight.

Hearty hands clapped upon Marne’s back and shoulders, a wry smile on his lips while he squirmed under all of the attention. The captain rose from his chair, catching their eye as he approached, their shoulders tensing at his presence. “Good footwork tonight. I’m proud of you, boy.” He smiled warmly down at them, who smirked back now at the secret that they both knew but wouldn’t speak out loud in front of the others in the tavern. “Now, walk your old captain back to the Quelling like a good lad, will ya?”

With an eager nod, Marne walked with him through the tavern, the captain stopping by the barkeep and offering him a small bag of coins. He apologized for the damage and placed a hand on the back of the boy’s head, forcing him to bow his head and apologize as well. The owner accepted the money but frowned pointedly at the sword still embedded in the wood of his bar when they made their way outside, the men’s voices settling down now that the fight had ended. Without the energy of the rambunctious men around him, Captain Wade began to feel his age again when he walked down the road with the youth, waving Marne over who immediately took his arm, slinging it over their shoulders and he chuckled at the small feat of strength the slight creature could muster now.

“So, Marne, what say you take a moment to cool off before we face the rest of the crew?” the captain asked, reaching up and knocking the hat askew, a fiery brown eye looking back at him from underneath as he came to a stop. Reaching up, Marne removed the hat and dug her fingers though her rumpled hair, groaning at the luxurious feel after being stifled by the hat for so long. “It’s a real shame you won’t let them know you’re a woman. The lads might feel a little less lonely with that knowledge.”
She scoffed at the idea, “We both know what will happen if the truth came out.”

“Well, one of the truths. You’re so filled with secrets after all and I am only privy to one of them.” Captain Wade reminded her, putting a hand to her back and walking on while she kept at pace beside him. “It is a small detail that they would accept in time. None of them would dare harm you since they all know how dangerous you can be with that blade, which you still need to return to my cabin once we return.”

Marianne groaned, her hand touching the hilt of the sword with a pout.

“You’ll earn a sword of your own one day,” he comforted her. “Six months of training and you’re the master of my vessel, but we are mere merchants my dear, hardly much competition to set as the foundation of what earns you a weapon. No, I think that you need some more experience with more skilled opponents before you grow too confident.”

Marianne groaned at the idea of having to wait for a sword of her own but she continued to carefully walk with Captain Wade. He smiled affectionately over at her while she inched her fingers around the brim of her hat, circling it between them absently. They continued to cross through the town, following the slope of the hill that would bring them back to the docks where the Quelling lie in wait for their return. The moonlight was waning; pale light illuminating the cobbled stones and Captain Wade congratulated himself for hurrying her away as soon as he did from the sight of the men back in the tavern.

The old captain knew he was carrying precious cargo when he accepted her onto his vessel, the first hint of it exposed when he found her on the main deck the first night she had joined them. He heard stories of the mystical qualities of the people of Lumine, tales of the royal family carrying the blood of the fae in their veins. Most of the time people who heard such things scoffed at the idea. The fae were nothing more than legends these days, stories to bride children to bed at night and nothing more. But in the light of the moon, he had seen with his own eyes that her pale skin had practically glowed in the darkness. She had been ethereal even in her shirt and trousers, skin radiant and beautiful. Such a gift wasn’t going to help the woman maintain a low profile if she wanted to keep her identity as secret as she desired. Even now, after months of her skin drinking in the sunlight, her face and body sporting the same grime the rest of the crew had the bane of wearing at sea, he could still see it luminescent in the weakening moonlight, weaker but still easily noticeable.

The skin was not all that gave her away. Whenever they were alone, she bore herself with a regal set to her shoulders, the posture of a woman raised to feel the weight of an incredible responsibility upon herself. Wade was not stupid, even with her casual manner of speaking he still did not believe she had just been a regular village girl off in search of adventure. This was royalty and he was making it sleep on a dirty hammock every night because any kind of special treatment would have been brought up too many questions from the crew. For now, he would have to keep what he knew to himself.

Marianne escorted the old captain past the town’s square, his attention caught by the notice post erected in the center of the town. A single lamp was hanging from a nail above the patchwork of notices, announcements, and sketches of wanted criminals nailed to the weathered wood. Marianne indulged the captain when he changed their course, going to the post so that he could take a moment to read over the contents.

Marianne browsed through the papers, some of the older ones faded and simply posted over instead of being taken down. One piece of parchment was faded like the older wanted posts but it had been moved and re-nailed just over the edge of a more recent notification. The script written out on the paper caught her eye and she gasped, hands jumping up to the notice to hold the flapping edges down, eyes eagerly drinking in the handwriting. She knew that handwriting well. She spent afternoons as a child peering over a great desk, watching a hearty but gentle hand moving smoothly across documents. The same hand that would rest over her head in an affectionate caress over her hair, the warmth of a father’s love seeping its way through time and memory to find its way into her heart, a few unwanted tears welling in her eyes the longer she stared at the words. She blinked them away and began to read the words now, curious to know what kind of notice her father had written out by hand himself and thirsty for any kind of news from her homeland. What she got was the last thing she wanted to hear, the loving warmth of her memory suddenly becoming cold dread as she ripped the paper off of its nail. Marianne had to read it again, gawking at what was beginning to look like a request for any information on the location of her sister Dawn.

Since she had left home, she had seen letters in every port she had ever entered, begging for information on her own whereabouts. It touched her that her father was so desperate to find her and Dawn had kept true to her word, the letters all saying she was heading inland and not out to sea as she originally revealed. However, when she had walked away from those notices, she always had the comforting knowledge that her sister was safe back in Lumine. What had Dawn been thinking, sneaking onto the Morning Glory as her father’s note described! He wrote about the vessel that, for years, had been seen as formidable and untouchable by any pirate force and yet there it was in black and white. The Morning Glory had been attacked. During the attack, Dawn, who had snuck onto the ship before its departure a few days prior, was kidnapped and taken back to the harassing ship. A ship called the Fenland.

“Marne, what is it?” Captain Wade’s hand reached for the paper but she held it away from him, looking for the wanted poster that had been attached and saw that it was no longer on the post. She searched the ground, spotting it being blown across the cobblestones in the evening breeze. Jumping after it, she chased after the parchment, snatching it up and shaking it out to look hard at the sketch it bore. Through the rips and wrinkles worn into it by time, she made out a gaunt face with a sharp chin that looked almost as lethal as the pointed nose on his face, lips curled back in a permanent sneer for whoever looked upon the poster but after that the artist seemed to run out of traits, the eyes shadowed by the brim of a hastily drawn hat.

Flipping the sketch around, she thrust it into the captain’s face, “Do you know who this is?!”

Blinking at the close proximity of the drawing, he took it from her trembling fingers and squinted at the face in the lamplight. Marianne couldn’t find a name or anything, the parchment too faded, his name obscured with only a few patches of ink where letters used to be. She looked to her captain’s face again, hoping that he would give her some kind of clue to the man’s identity. If his poster was included with her sister’s kidnapping notice, he had to be the one responsible!

Captain Wade’s face went pale as recognition finally dawned on him, his eyes lifting to Marianne. “Captain King…”

“Captain King?” she pointed at the face over the top of the paper, “Captain of the Fenland, right?”

“The Fenland…what in heaven’s name made you think of that ship?” He looked down at the picture, holding it further from himself as if the paper alone might be hazardous to be near to.

“They kidnapped one of the princesses of Lumine!” she handed him the notice, her words frantic as that cold fear she had worked so hard to overpower came crashing back down upon her. While the captain read the notice, Marianne found herself beginning to pace back and forth. Her hands itched for something to do with them but she could only wave them about or wring them together. She clapped them to her face, fingers pressing firmly against her forehead while she tried to think of what Dawn was doing on the Morning Glory and why she had snuck on in the first place. She had no business down at the docks, neither of them ventured down from the castle for as far back as she could remember until...“Sunny!” she cried out, fingers clawing down her face, curling into fists and she threw them up into the air. “That little—he snuck her onto the ship!”

She paced more viciously to a fro but a firm hand caught her at the elbow, forcing her to stop at last and she shot a glare at whoever was bold enough to make her pause. The sight of the captain holding onto her made her tone down her glare but her whole body felt frantic, hands reaching for him and holding onto his shoulders. “You don’t understand, sir, she’s the only princess they have left!”

“It’s more than that, Marne.” Captain Wade frowned, passing the notice and poster back to her. “You wouldn’t be this upset if it was just your country’s princess you were worried about.” Marianne took the papers back, looking down at them as her mind raced. She focused on the wanted poster, sorting through her fears and finding her anger, aiming it directly at the sketch. This was the man that took her sister from the safety of her people, who made her little mistake into something much bigger. Her father was probably sending out an entire fleet to try and find her sister now, his defenses limited thanks to the soldiers scouring the mainlands and now his navy dispatched to hunt down the Fenland. If that was the case, this would take forever and any potential rivals of her family’s kingdom would take the opportunity to swoop in for an attack of their own.

“I have to find her…” she said quietly, looking up at her captain. “Sir, we have to track down the Fenland and get her back!”

The old man sighed, “We have a job to do, Marne. My ship is half the size of the Fenland and my men are no match for her crew.” He held his hands out at his sides. “I can’t help you.”

“Please, Wade.” She dropped the formality but while he appeared to hesitate, he did not agree either.

Growing irritated that he was going to stand there and do nothing for her, Marianne’s hand grasped at her sword hilt and pulled it free. She aimed the blade at her captain, the only man she had ever dared to trust since she had run away. Her heart felt heavy when she turned her blade on the very man that gave it to her but her resolve would not crumble. Marianne leveled the blade at his throat. “I have to save my sister!”

The revelation seemed to barely stir his expression a ripple, his eyes staring over the sword and right into hers, gray and weary but resonating with a naval man’s pride. He was an old sailor but he was once a fighter, his skills had been the food for her lessons for months until she knew everything he had to throw at her. Captain Wade had discovered and kept her secret, defended her from the crew when they asked too many questions, taught her everything that made her capable of living this life at sea when she started out with nothing but a hastily scrapped together identity and a fierce determination she never knew herself capable of before. That same drive kept her going now, her grip tightening on the handle and her eyes narrowing at his stoic face until he sighed, lowering his head.

“I knew you had secrets, even figured a few out for myself.” He gave a dry laugh, Marianne’s blade lowering as hope built up in her chest. “I suppose I just held onto the hope that you being the runaway princess of Lumine wasn’t one of them.”

------------

“She’s cute.”

“She’s not an option.”

Griselda grinned at him through the gloom of the brig. The lantern in her hand was hardly enough light to see more than a few shapes in the darkness and it made her dark eyes look beady in the shadow of her ratty hair. She gave a little gasp, hand going to her chest as she regarded him with mock-scandalized look. “I wasn’t going to suggest anything of the like!”

He strongly doubted that and let it show on his face while she snickered.

“She’s not your type anyway.” Griselda waved it off once she recovered. “Pretty little princesses are high maintenance. Trust me, I worked with one and it was hell on earth trying to make that little priss happy.”

“So you’ve told me,” Bog muttered, glancing up at the beam and side-stepping carefully under it to ensure he wouldn’t strike his head on it when he moved. One thing about the Fenland was that he was too tall below deck and once they could retire the old war horse, he would make sure their next flagship would keep enough room for him to at least stand up straight for a change. “She’s a means to an end, nothing more.”

“Sure, sure,” Griselda hung the lantern up on the hook suspended from the ceiling, grunting when she had to stand on her toes. “We’ll try again in Tinder next time you sail by there.”

“No, we won’t!” he snapped, clenching his hand into a fist and striking the beam overhead with a growl.

Griselda was hardly fazed by his anger. Of all his crew his mother was the one person he couldn’t seem to intimidate unless he was genuinely angry about something and not just in his permanent state of grouchiness that he seemed to inherit from his father. He spread his fingers out over the wood of the beam, drumming them over the surface ahile he tried to calm himself, glancing over at their prisoner to make sure she hadn’t woken up. He wasn’t ready to deal with his first official prisoner yet and she looked like she was practically a child in the light of the lantern.

“I’m not giving up on you, sweetie!” Griselda practically sang as she patted his shoulder and slipped out of the brig.

“I wish you would,” he growled to himself, ignoring her touch and silently feeling grateful for finally being left alone.

Without his mother hovering around like an irritating fly, Bog could take a moment to breathe, covering his face with a hand and slowly dragging it down in exasperation. Stepping in closer to the cell, he squinted through the grated bars, staring down at his prisoner in the grid-shaped shadow cast by the lantern. The younger princess of Lumine, and she was locked up in the brig of the Fenland at last.

She was a slim little thing, all slender lines and no real curves to speak of. She had to be young, probably barely of age by her country’s standards but he couldn’t remember the exact age they had deemed appropriate. Her hair was the color of morning sunlight, shorter than he would have expected a princess to wear but oddly suiting to her childish face. Her pale blue gown was of fine material, silken and carrying a shine that Stuff had pined after more than once since they locked her up. Were it just a dress and didn’t have a princess in it, he would have sold it off for a pretty penny himself. Fabric like that was rare in certain circles and they would have leapt at the chance for such a fine garment, were he in the mood to sell. Even in the lantern light there was a trace of the fabled glow in her pale skin, the solitary candle making it a mere sheen on her flesh than a true luminescence, one needed moonlight if they wanted to see the full effect. He heard the stories. This little glimmer was proof that he had collected the right girl.

He was right to look in the captain’s cabin first for their prize. The royal navy always kept anyone of importance stashed away in there, granting them whatever luxury they could give them in an effort to make them comfortable. Even now he rolled his eyes at Thang’s idea to search the brig of the Morning Glory for her. No captain of the king’s navy would be foolish enough to lock up their own princess in a cell. To Bog, however, she was no princess of his.

The king of Lumine loved his daughters, the scouts from the mainland sent him plenty of notes stating this over the years, fueling his irritation when neither one was sent off on some kind of diplomatic act so he could put this same plan in motion. He could have exacted his revenge ages ago if that were the case. He could have had a chance of getting his hands on the elder princess when reports of her missing were first spread, but she had gone further inland and that was not his territory. Had she come to sea, he would have snatched her up just as he had her little sister. Not as fine a prize as an heir apparent would have been, but still a beloved princess that the king would undoubtedly pay good money for just to get her back in one piece.

The little creature murmured, drawing Bog’s attention back to her, his shoulders tensing as he waited for her to wake. She didn’t move, merely continued to lay there on the cot. Well, perhaps calling it a cot was too generous a word. He didn’t believe in giving prisoners small comforts so the “cot” was more of a plank that had been bolted to the wall. The princess would probably wake up with a crick in her neck and he had no qualms with that. The king would still pay even if she did still have a few aches and pains. Bruises, however, would probably push it. Negotiations always went sour where there was damage done to hostages and Bog just wanted to get his money and get rid of her. He was plenty satisfied with storming the almighty Morning Glory with practically no effort and that alone was enough to put a dent in the country’s ego after relying on its reputation for most of his life.

The ship rocked and he reached up, clutching the beam above him to make sure he wouldn’t fall backwards but at the same time the princess made another sound with an oddly peaceful smile crossing her lips as she stretched out and rolled over. Without thinking, Bog released the beam and lunged forward, jamming his arm through the bars and bracing her before she could tumble to the floor. She rolled into his arm, arm falling over his and hanging limply to the floor. He sighed, silently cursing himself for his precautionary steps to keep her in one piece. The princess curled onto her side, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she curled into a ball, her hand resting upon his arm. The touch on his limb startled him, his eyes widening when her fingers lightly ran up a small patch of his sleeve then rested near his elbow.

He snatched his arm back through the bars, clutching at his arm where she had touched him as if the mere brush had burned him. His fingers massaged the spot, swallowing then catching himself in his moment of weakness. His face fell back into a sneer as he cursed himself. It was just a touch and an unconscious one at that. Bog dropped his arm, giving his neck a sharp jerk, the snap of his vertebrae cracking eased his former discomfort with the sharp snap. Putting his back to the princess, he stalked out of the brig, dipping through the doorway and directing Hanger to go keep an eye on the prisoner.

“If she falls off the bed…just leave her there!”

“Aye, captain!”

-----------

“When I showed you this drawing, you looked like you recognized his face.” Marianne withdrew the rolled up parchment from her vest. She pointed the poster across the desk at him and Captain Wade pressed his lips together then gave a reluctant nod. “Do you know him? Well, at least know more than what the posters say, anyway?”

The captain drummed his fingers over the chart on his desk thoughtfully, slowly reaching over and opening one of the narrow drawers. Marianne noticed the hilt of a blade, raising an eyebrow as he withdrew it from the drawer and she followed the length of it until the steel abruptly ended where the weapon had been broken. Wade laid it upon his desk, the rounded guard making it wobble after he took his fingers away. He leaned back in his chair then, staring down at the blade and flicking a finger in its direction.

“Every sailor knows of Captain King and his flagship, the Fenland.” He said, his gaze solely fixed on the broken sword. “I was on my last leg in the Eventide’s royal navy, on a patrol down the southern coast of the peninsula. We had to keep our distance from the shoreline because there are countless rocks tucked away under the surface there. It was just before dawn when a mist rolled in from the east. We thought it was just a morning fog at the time, a common enough occurrence that we could maneuver through with caution.”

“The lads and I were suddenly attacked, not by canon fire or sword, but something unseen in the mists. It came almost out of nowhere; the first officer was suddenly dragged from the deck and thrown overboard. The men immediately launched into action but they were overpowered by pirates, blindly fighting them in the fog. I tried to fight back but I could barely even see my hand holding the sword, let alone any opponent that might have been in front of me.” He lowered his gaze to his hands, Marianne patiently waiting for him to continue but she couldn’t help the gradual scooting to the edge of her seat while she listened to his tale. “I was cornered on the quarterdeck when he appeared, dropping down from the rigging. I barely managed to block him, he was younger and stronger and his techniques were foreign to me, I could hardly keep up. We ended up locked together, his sword and mine, my weight bearing down on his but he was overpowering even that. For one terrible moment I was looking this man in the eye and only saw anger there. I never saw a man filled with so much fury than in that moment.”

“Then what happened?” Marianne’s feet shifted on the floor, her fingers dancing on her knees.

He reached over and picked up the sword again, tilting it to the side and smiling solemnly at the steel. “He broke my sword with one hard blow and tossed me over the side to join the rest of the crew that had been cast over during the battle. We could only look on as our ship was ransacked and then burned, the pirates disappearing with the mists at the first touch of dawn on the horizon.” Captain Wade sighed, “I was given this the day I was officiated as an officer of the king’s navy. A military-grade weapon of folded steel, and he had broken it in half as if it were nothing more than a stick.”

With a huff he tossed the broken blade back onto the desk, startling Marianne from her fascination. She straightened up in her chair, collecting herself after sitting in rapt attention for so long, her childish love of stories still getting the best of her even after all these years. She picked up the sword hilt, testing the weight of it in her hands, turning it over and marveling at the thickness of the blade, the sight of where it snapped, and the gold filigree that decorated the handle. It would have been a beautiful sword, if not a strong one since the military’s weapons were always of the finest make.

“You’re desperate to find your sister, and I understand your determination, but I want you to look at that sword, look hard at it, because that is the strength that you are up against, no matter how skilled you feel you are.” He pointed at it, rising from his chair. “Captain King might be scrawled upon wanted posters, but his face is all that the people know outside of the stories that follow his name. Even the brothels of Tinder, a place all pirate scum manage to find their way to in the end, have no information they can offer up to the authorities on him. He’s more like a ghost than a man as far as the authorities are concerned.”

Was it possible for such a man to exist?

“I’m not afraid of him.” she wrapped her fingers around the grip of the sword.

“You’re young and foolish,” he sighed but when she looked up at him, ready to argue, he was smiling. “It’s because of that that I am doing this for you. Not because you tried to threaten me at sword point.”

When the rest of the crew had returned from their escapades in the town, Captain Wade and Marianne were already aboard, waiting for them. They were to go through with their original route, taking their shipment to its destination but on a different route, one through the territory the Fenland had been spotted frequenting the most. The crew was left unaware of the captain’s plan, his navigator the only one privy to the desired route, though he was wary of it at first glance. Now they were underway, eyes open for any signs of ships on the horizon. Wade insisted to his spotter that he needed to inform him of any fog in the area as well, not wanting to take any chances on a surprise visit from the very ship they were trying to find.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you, sir.” Marianne rose from her chair, flipping the sword over and extending the hilt to him.

He scoffed, “You shouldn’t be so grateful to the man who is potentially taking you to your death. I still hate this plan with every fiber of my being. If you were anyone else but a princess, I assure you this ship would have stayed on its safer course and I wouldn’t have to worry about getting an ulcer over this whole ordeal.”

A part of Marianne wanted to embrace him, this man that was like the indulgent grandfather she had never known. Her firm rule on affections and how to express them, however, prevented her from such things, especially since she still had a façade as a boy to keep up. She settled for the friendly gesture of shaking his hand, the old captain giving her a strong shake before dismissing her to go back to her duties. She tugged her hat on, smiling as she exited the cabin and strolled out on the deck.

The afternoon sun was brutal but felt good after being hauled up in the captain’s cabin since dawn, discussing the finer details of their plan to get her aboard the Fenland, should they find it in the end. Marianne’s approach was brash, the captain arguing over the finer points of it over and over again.

The captain wanted her to climb in through a gun port in the hull, she was small enough to fit and because the merchant vessel was so small, the pirates wouldn’t waste their time on the lower canons, favoring those on the main deck to take on such a small target. Marianne, however, wanted to keep the attention off of the Quelling, not wanting to risk any damage to her companions after they had been so good to her for the past six months. She planned to get aboard and find her sister, taking out anyone who tried to get in her way. Crossing paths with the captain would have been the pinnacle of her rescue attempt. If she could fight him and even beat him, she could avenge Captain Wade, not to mention any other sailor the man wronged over the years.

“Marne, get over here and help raise the mizzen sail! The wind is finally in our favor!.” One of the men snapped back at her upon spotting her savoring the sunlight and she immediately darted off to get to work.

The sea breeze felt good against what minimal skin she could bare, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows while she joined the others in hauling up the heavy sail. All around her she was surrounded by sweaty men that often had a laugh at the slight state of her but always included her in all of their tasks, never giving her any leniency because of her meager size. Marianne worked hard and that was why she felt she had improved so much in so short a time away from home. Still, she wished that after all her hard work; she could have had a little more muscle to show for it.

They tied down the lines, Marianne deftly wrapping it around the belaying pin and giving it a tug to check on its security. Thomas tested the freedom of the boom, giving it a careful push and looking up at the sail while it billowed, catching the wind just after they had everything in place, which was lucky since sails already being pushed by the wind were always harder to secure down . Marianne admired the strain of the fabric against the wind pushing the vessel along, the wind buffeting her hat, which she held securely down on her head. Her eyes turned on the horizon.

Somewhere out there, there was a pirate ship with her sister held captive on board. Also out there was the Lumine Royal Navy trying to find her at the same time. Her father didn’t think things through when it came to his daughters, though he could consider more serious matters with a clear head. Marianne could imagine him dropping everything and sending out his entire fleet just to find Dawn. As endearing a thought it was, she was worried that the ships would hunt in groups and if that were the case, they would be spotted leagues away by the pirates before they could even get close! A cluster of ships would be too risky. The element of surprise was all she could afford.

I’m going to get my sister back. She thought, clenching her hands tightly into fists. I’m the only one who can.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?”

Marianne flinched, glancing back over her shoulder as Thomas crossed his arms over his chest. She looked down at the bowsprit, her foot still braced upon the wood where she had been leaning out to stare into the gloom of the early morning. She hadn’t slept a wink all night and had given it up for keeping an indirect lookout through the night. She must have painted a more convincing picture this morning because even Thomas looked a little sympathetic to the bags undoubtedly forming under her eyes.

“Keeping watch, sir.” She explained, keeping her words lower to slip into the persona of Marne.

“John handles the lookout just fine.” Thomas indicated the Jacob’s ladder where the man was already leaning into the rope rungs, arm looped through and face turned towards the horizon.

“I was just trying to help.” She grumbled through tense lips.

Thomas hooked a finger in the back of her collar and tugged her away from the bowsprit, shoving her along. “Go on, you have an hour before I wake the others. At least shut your eyes for that long, boy.”

Staggering across the deck, she frowned at the boards but obediently began trudging below and seeking out a corner where she could at least sit down for the time being. The sensation of finally sitting made her weariness all the more acute and she blinked at her knees when she pulled them in, her lids feeling heavy. Leaning her head down against her knees, her stomach burning from the effort to keep curled up; she let them drift shut, sighing against her trousers and feeling the warmth of her own breath rise back into her face.

In the back of her mind she saw the wanted poster again. More than once through the day she had pulled it out and glared down at the offending face, memorizing whatever detail the lazy sketch artist provided in the rendition. The lines on his chin had to have been scars, two big ones maybe, and what pirate wouldn’t have some kind of beard growing? They weren’t exactly known for being clean-shaven after all. He had no real flesh to him, his cheek bones were painfully jutting out, leaving the rest of his face gaunt. You could put an eye out with that nose if the chin didn’t beat it to the point. Stick a sword in him and the tip would already be jutting out of the other side with barely a push if he was as thin as the face appeared to be.

Still, if he had posters that had been up long enough to be as worn and faded as the one in her vest, she felt that he wasn’t something so slight that would be blown over at the first gust of wind. If Captain Wade’s story meant anything, this pirate captain would be strong and she could feel a little shudder shake through her at the idea of facing that beast on her own. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she would do it for Dawn. Besides, she bested anyone she came across, whether or not they might have been drunk at the time in most of the taverns meant nothing. It still counted! With her luck he would be inebriated like every pirate tale made them out to be and she could easily overpower him and take Dawn back before he was competent enough to attempt to give orders.

“…off the port bow!”

Marianne twitched, raising her head at the distant shout.

“Do you see a flag?”

“No, sir!”

She launched herself from her corner, staggering to her feet and took the stairs two at a time to return to the main deck, catching herself on the port rail to see what John had spotted. It was so far away she couldn’t make out anything but a mere speck on the horizon. She needed a glass! Gripping the wood, she twisted back to find John, hoping he would be able to give more information but so far he was quiet, squinting through the spyglass in his hand. She glanced back at the quarterdeck, noticing Thomas giving her a look of disapproval before he descended the stairs and knocked upon the captain’s door.

Marianne looked back out at the sea again and banged her fist upon the rail, pushing off to run over to John. She clambered up the ladder and nearly shook him off of his spot in her haste to get up to him. “Steady on, Marne!” he snapped, hands grasping the ropes to keep himself from being bucked off of the ladder, nearly dropping the spyglass in the process.

“I want to see!” she held out her hand insistently, John merely raising an eyebrow at her. “I want to see the ship you saw!” He hesitated and that hesitation brought her hope. “Please, John!”

He slapped the spyglass into her hand at last and she looped her arm through the ladder to secure herself, raising the glass to her eye. It was blurry no matter how much she tried to focus it, her face twisting in concentration as she got a shaky view of the ship ahead. It was still small thanks to the distance between them but as John had said, there was no noticeable flag. This also brought on a fresh wave of hope. The chances had been slim that they would even spot the Fenland, the ocean being so big a place it was hard to imagine two ships crossing paths like this. Luck was on her side!

“Give it here, Marne! I need to keep an eye on her so we don’t lose her!” John snatched it back and Marianne grinned, staring at the speck on the horizon.

“Is it The Fenland?” she asked, tapping at his arm with eager fingers.

“Hard to say at this distance,” he shrugged her off and held the glass back to his eye, frowning when he needed to adjust it again. “Though for our sakes, I hope it isn’t.”

“Marne! What’s in your head boy? Come down here!” Captain Wade shouted, Marianne climbing back down to the deck and going to the captain while he braced a hand upon his hip, squinting into her face.

“Captain Wade, there’s a ship off the port bow, it can’t be more than one or two leagues off!” Marianne burst, her hands becoming animated as she spoke but her words seemed to be ignored when the captain pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, twisting her face one way and then another under a scrupulous stare.

“You haven’t slept at all, have you?” he frowned, Marianne pushing his hand away with a roll of her eyes.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Of course I did! It’s all I’ve been hearing about since John first saw it!” he shouted back, Marianne immediately clamming up now that she saw he was growing irritated. The captain cupped his hand against the back of her neck, firmly steering her towards the cabin as he strode inside. “Keep her in your sights, John! Should she change course or you can identify her, inform me at once!”

“Yes, sir!”

Captain Wade pulled her into the cabin with him, shutting the door and releasing her neck as he heaved another sigh, bracing his hands on his hips. Marianne turned to face him, desperate for him to say something but he held a hand up, silencing her even though she wanted to ignore the gesture and try to reason with him. The old captain went to his desk, sinking into his chair and leaning heavily upon the armrest. Marianne followed him, pausing at the other end of the table, her fingers flexing in and out while she waited for him to speak.

“I shouldn’t have indulged you.” He shook his head, covering his face with a hand. “I’m putting not only your life in danger but the lives of my men as well in doing this.”

“Captain King has his prize! He won’t attack you!”

“Pirates are greedy bastards, Marne!” he snapped, picking his head back up and fixing her with a stern look. “They are unpredictable and while my ship is small, they could still be curious enough to want to take a peek at what we may have.”

“If that were the case, wouldn’t they come in with that fog everyone talks about? Captain—they haven’t spotted us yet! Why else would we be able to see them so clearly?” Marianne thrust out a hand to indicate the direction of the ship in question.

“And what if it isn’t the Fenland?” he raised an eyebrow. “You are getting your hopes up when you can’t even identify her because you don’t even know what she looks like. The state you are now, you would mistake a dingy as the Fenland just because you are wishing so hard that any ship out there would be her. Don’t let your anger cloud your judgment, Marne.”

“I’m not, captain.” She forced herself to relax, closing her eyes and spreading her fingers as she took a deep breath and let it out. “I just…I feel like it really could be the Fenland. It might come on stories of fog and mysterious noises but surely the fog doesn’t always follow it around. There has to be times when it is just a normal ship, otherwise no one would think it was even real and just claim it as a ghost ship.”

Captain Wade massaged his temples, glancing down at his chart, “We are in her territory. That is all that is certain. If you can prove to me that the ship John has spotted is her, we will try to follow. If not, we stay the course. No arguments!”

“Fine, but tell me something that can help me tell her apart from other ships!” Marianne leaned upon the desk, staring him down.

The captain pressed his lips together, probably trying to recall anything that might have stood out in his memory. “She’s older, patched up on more than one occasion I’ll wager. Square-rigged, only seventy-four guns, probably an old naval vessel in her heyday before the pirates got to her. I haven’t seen it myself, but the figurehead has been said to be a goblin clinging to the bow of the ship.” She stepped back, dragging her fingers off of the desk but the captain shifted, catching her wrist before she could go too far. Stopping, she looked down at her wrist and he let go, extending a finger to signal she wait. “If you’re right and that is the Fenland out there, I want you to report back here immediately before you go gallivanting off fighting pirates, understood?”

“Yes, captain.” She smiled.

When she returned to the deck, Marianne went to the port side, hauling herself up onto the top of the bulwark and watching the distant ship. In the early morning light, Marianne could still see the speck in the distance, though it was still too far to tell just what she was seeing. John was still monitoring it, though he had gone to the top and seated himself, probably tired of merely clinging to the ladder the whole while and she couldn’t blame him for the change of scenery. Until someone tried to drag her away, however, Marianne intended to stay right where she was to watch the ship and hope that they could catch up with it.

For hours Marianne sat at attention, watching the little speck slowly grow into something that actually looked like a ship and not just a mere speck on the horizon. The sunlight was getting stronger and her eyes strained at the brightness after a sleepless night. Her determination was what kept her going, desperate to see if this was the Fenland and put her plan into motion to get her sister back. Still, she didn’t deny that a little sleep would have been useful when she was preparing to launch into a rescue mission.

Thomas dragged her away from her watch more than once, sending her to work down below but she always managed to find a gun port to stare out of in between duties. More than once she was scolded by another worker for being so distracted but after a spell, more and more sailors were growing distracted by the other ship themselves. It wasn’t until midday that John finally shouted down something from above and Marianne’s heart sank at the revelation that it was just another merchant vessel, raising its flag at the sight of their own vessel marking them from the distant island of Terra, a tropical region across the sea that often brought in shipments of sugar and other exotic cargo.

Marianne slumped against the foremast, sinking down to the deck as disappointment overtook her.

All that time, feeling her anxiety and excitement rising with the sun…and it wasn’t even what she was looking for. Marianne rubbed at her bleary eyes, her exhaustion catching up to her without the adrenaline keeping her going anymore. She leaned her head back against the mast, shutting her eyes to the afternoon sun. It was already hot on her skin, her clothes soaking in the heat and she probably reeked of sweat more than she probably had already. Any moment now, the captain would probably come to her and try to cheer her up but she wasn’t in the mood to be cheered up. It was hot, she was irritated, and now she was thwarted. The last thing she needed was him coddling her dampened spirits.

With her eyes still closed, Marianne refused to move from her spot, keeping still as the warm southern breeze started to shift, a cooler wind from the west slipping into its place. The cool touch against her sweaty skin was welcome, feeling it ruffle her clothing. The sun’s strength seemed to ease, the bright burn through her eyelids suddenly weakening. She felt something curling against her skin, kissing at the sweat then slinking away and she finally opened her eyes, giving a start at the sight of mist drifting over the deck, spilling over the bulkhead in rolling fog and floating skyward in a thick cloud that began to obscure the sunlight.

Marianne scrambled to her feet, staggering over to the port hull. She ignored the fog curling around her legs, cool on her ankles but out of place on what was once a hot and sunny afternoon. The merchant ship was also suffering the grip of the strange mists, but while the Quelling was drifting into it, the fog seemed to be intent on consuming the larger of the two. They were only meters away from the merchant ship lost in the patch of thick fog, its masts still jutting out of the mist but Marianne wasn’t blind, she could make out the vague form of another vessel in the haze.

Her hope was rekindled, her eyes darting to see Captain Wade suddenly at her side, grim-faced and quiet. Marianne braced herself. “Is that—“

“Aye,” he gave a stiff nod. “It seems she has found her target in those poor souls but there’s nothing to say we won’t be next if we’re not careful.”

“This is perfect. I can get over there while they are busy with the other ship!” she gasped.

“Keep calm, Marne.” He ordered, a hand reaching out as if to hold her back from practically launching herself over the side. “You’ll need a weapon if you fully intend to go on with this. Go and wait for me in the cabin, I need to do my job before I meet with you and make sure my men don’t panic.”

Marianne didn’t waste a moment, darting away from the captain, her feet practically flying across the deck to the great cabin. Her fingers slipped on the handle at first in her hurry to get inside, impatient to arm herself and her nerves were rising up in her throat when she finally grasped it. Slipping inside, she shut the door after her, cutting off the fog that was slowly trying to seep in after her and watching it dissipate at her feet. Alone in his cabin, Marianne danced from one foot to the other, removing her hat and tossing it blindly to the side while she went to the captain’s cabinet to begin looking for one of the swords she had used to train.

Her fingers loosened and shook out her chopped hair, Marianne bending over to shake it out then whipping back upright, a hand passing over the loosened strands. In the captain’s looking glass she could see it sticking out in little tufts, uneven and untamable thanks to her hasty cut she had given it the night she ran away. It had grown out over the past few months but barely enough to tickle her neck when it was free of her stifling hat. She waved off the fidgety primping, turning to get her hands on the weapon stock waiting for her. She reached the doors but was distracted by what was sitting on top of the captain’s armoire.

There was a small picture of a woman roughly held in place by nails and a tray bearing what looked like an old bottle of perfume just out of her line of sight. She plucked it down from its spot, sniffing at the fragrance and wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of lilies. She never liked the smell of lilies, always thought they smelled rancid. Putting it back, she stood on her toes, noticing that there were a few other items on the tray, moved about from the rocking of the ship but also dusty from years of being untouched. Her fingers brushed the metal lid of a tin and she pulled it down. Prying it open, the contents were as dark as iris petals, resembling a paste she hadn’t seen in months. Ladies’ product that she remembered spending hours trying to use on herself in front of the mirror when she was younger. Experimenting with every shade she could find until she gave up when she never found a color she liked. This, however, was different than the pastels she had originally seen. Marianne almost envied the woman who had the fortune of finding it.

“That was my wife’s.” She jumped, trying to put the lid back on but the blasted thing slid around on the mouth of the tin, useless in her hands. The captain chuckled, her hands relaxing once she saw that he wasn’t angry but amused as she turned to look at him. He indicated it with a flick of his finger. “She loved to make her own colors. Painted her face with it every chance she got. Lips, eyes, even her cheeks at one point.” She glanced up at the portrait and noticed the woman did indeed have darkened eyelids and lips in her sketched likeness.

“I’m sorry I was prying, sir.” She reached up to put it back but he waved his hand.

“No, you keep it. What does an old man have use for such things? I held onto it long enough and it’s time another young lady find some use out of it.” He covered the tin in her hand with his, smiling softly down at it. After a pause, his eyes raised to her and he chuckled. “I believe the time of pretense is over, Marne.”

As if this was some kind of blessing to abandon her façade, Marianne leaned over the captain’s mirror, contemplating the rock of the ship as she slowly dipped her fingers in and proceeded to smooth the paste over her eyelid, watching the dark shade smear across her skin. When she finished one eye, she paused, observing the suddenly feminine characteristic after trying so hard to appear male for months. She applied the paste to her other eye and fastened the lid with a snap, wiping her fingers on her old jacket before she pulled it off and dropped it to the floor. In her shirt and vest, she unlaced the neckline until the v hung open for the first time in months, evidence of her collarbone visible with an unfortunate tan-line also flashing pale flesh at the same time.

She unlaced her boots, tucking the lengthy breeches down into the tops and synching them back up tight, turning to face her captain as he nodded in approval, going to the armoire and opening the doors, revealing the rack of swords kept inside. “You may find a better blade in time, but for now, I believe this one will do.” He plucked a sword free and passed it to her. “It’s broader than you are used to, but it might have a better chance of standing up against that captain, should you encounter him.”

Marianne accepted the sword, wrapping her fingers around the handle and giving it an experimental wave. Satisfied with it, she slipped it into the baldric she had fastened about her torso. Now armed, Marianne went to the windows of the great cabin and pushed one of the panes open, leaning her head out into the mists and checking for the position of the other vessels. Thankfully they hadn’t sailed past yet, neither of them in sight so they were probably forerd. If she timed it right, jumped at the right moment, she could still make the swim up behind the Fenland if she paced herself. Pulling herself back inside, she faced the old captain, who stood watching her with a troubled pinch to his brow.

“I can admire a princess who will do whatever it takes to save her own kin.” He mused, though his face was still grim. He approached her and giving her quick once-over. “That being said, if I had a daughter, I would have prayed to the heavens she wouldn’t be like you. This is a fool’s errand, your highness.”

They both laughed, nervous but no less genuine. She stared at the man she had sailed under for the past several months, an old man who kept her secret and watched over her as if she were one of his own and not just some stowaway to be deposited on the nearest shore. Marianne was grateful to the kindly captain; her affection for him was gentle warmth that was safe on her battered heart. Once again, there was a desire in her to reach out and hug the man but her hands trembled at the slightest nudge to do so. She almost preferred he would have tried to stop her to show his affection than accept a hug but it appeared he would do neither.

“Best you go now before I try and stop you, your highness.” He sighed, pressing his lips together firmly as he nodded to the window. “Remember, get the princess and get out. We can use the cover of this ungodly fog only for so long and I can’t help you once we are out of range, not without putting my men at risk.”

“I understand.” She nodded, though there was a knot forming in her stomach at the grim warning that if things did not go as planned, she was on her own. Marianne knew this when she first dedicated herself to saving Dawn, the crew would have no idea she had gone until it was too late and if she didn’t get her sister out fast enough, she would have to find a way to take her home on her own. Even with that in mind, Marianne turned about and climbed up into the window, balancing on the edge and staring down at the ocean below. In the wake of the ship, she was met with the hard fact that the water was a long drop and it would probably be a painful impact.

With that in mind, she closed her eyes and jumped free of the window, nearly screaming when the wind began to rush past her, her legs trying to straighten before she crashed through the surface, a sharp pain jolting through her limbs. The water was colder than she expected, chilling her down to the bone and she balled up into herself at first, shuddering in the depths until the burn of her lungs reminded her of her poor breath. Spreading her limbs out, she started kicking, clawing her way to the surface with desperate paddles until she popped free of the waves. Jerking one way then the other, Marianne finally spotted the stern of the Quelling still drifting on without her, the face of the captain still at the open window, looking to make sure she had surfaced.

Gritting her teeth at the cold bite of the water, she propelled herself around, squinting through the fog at the two ships that were her next target and began to swim toward them. The waves were pushy, tossing her back every few inches she managed to propel herself forward, knocking her off course until she had to correct herself. She had managed to gain on the ships when the first gunshots suddenly cracked through the haze, an ear-shattering boom nearly sending her sinking back the waves from her recoil when canon fire followed. Collecting herself, Marianne swam onward, coming about aft of the merchant vessel and making an arch around the area she feared the rudder would be waiting for her. The last thing she needed was to strike a limb on it by mistake in her blind swim for the pirate ship.

At water level, she could make out the warped hull of the Fenland when she came around the stern of the other vessel, its details vague in the haze of its own fog but swimming along its hull she saw that the wood had gone pale in color from sun exposure, traces of brine and even barnacles clinging to the surface. She kicked past it, rolling onto her back as she spotted the ornamental taffrail covering the ship’s stern in what looked like hanging moss and limbs from trees interlocking over the latticed windows of the great cabin.

With a burst of speed, Marianne kicked her way to it, her fingers reaching out and grasping at a handful of barnacles. The little parasites held steadfast to the ship while she craned her head back, huffing out panting breaths while taking in the layout of the back, observing the ornamental carvings that dripped down the stern almost to the water, a perfect method to climb up and get to the great cabin. She grinned, using the barnacles as leverage to haul herself up and jab her hand over the top of a carved detail, clinging to it right when the shelled creatures broke off of the hull in her other hand. She shook them out of her fingers, reaching up to get another handhold, her fingers still coated in the muck from the algae growing along the waterline and slipping the first few tries she tried to hold on.

Overhead the pirates were still battling with the other ship, her eyes darting over to find the Quelling and seeing the smaller vessel slowly drift out of sight behind the merchant ship, slipping further into the foggy gloom. That should provide it some cover as long as the pirates were busy with their original choice. Hopefully the pirates didn’t have some sort of mystical ability to see through the fog, because that would have just been unfair. It was already an upper hand to have such an inconvenient mist at their beckon call. She dangled from the carving, legs still in the water while focusing back on the task of trying to climb up. Risking more breaking off, she raised her foot and braced it on another cluster of barnacles, eying her targeted handhold and with a lunge, pulled herself out of the water and grasped the new spot, her foot slipping off and she was left hanging again but with her improved vantage, she managed to wriggle her foot onto a bit of the drooping moss decal.

It was a painfully slow process in climbing up the carving, her heart thundering in her chest the higher she got, the vessel under her hands rocking with the waves and every time the cannons fired. The merchant vessel was practically helpless at the barrage of weapons against them and Marianne pitied them, guilty for finding her window of opportunity at their expense. The canons continued to fire and she leaned into the carving with a gasp when the ship rocked from the force of the explosion, her forehead pressing painfully against a branch while she waited for her nerves to settle enough to keep climbing.

She climbed over the great cabin, finding a ledge just above the windows where more moss carvings seemed to be lining the top of the windows, dripping down over the glass which looked cracked and fragile enough to shatter with one go if she could get a good enough vantage to do it. Hauling herself onto the ledge, she finally sat down, her arms burning from the climb and she laid her head back, catching her breath a moment. Checking that her sword was still there, she drew it out, one hand finding a spot to steady herself while she pulled up her legs and slowly stood on the ledge, peering over the top onto the stern deck. The fog made it hard but she couldn’t see anyone there, the gunshots and cannon fire, however, was starting to go eerily quiet. Shouting and what sounded like cheering slowly started rising over the fog, growing louder with every voice that joined in. Marianne paled at the wicked chuckling overhead, hearing heavy footsteps of men back on deck and then loud thuds of cargo being dropped unceremoniously upon the deck. The poor merchant ship had been taken.

Clutching the hilt of the sword, she clenched her teeth and snarled, ready to practically throw herself over the top of the taffrail just to extract some kind of revenge on the unfortunate vessel but the windows of the captain’s cabin rattled and she halted herself. Someone was in the cabin. If she could just bide her time and get to the captain. With the captain handled, the rest of the crew would be easy, right?

“Cut us loose!” a voice snarled from the deck, Marianne peering over at the merchant ship. “We got all we could out of that waste of time!”

The Fenland must have caught the wind because she noticed it starting to drift ahead of the other ship, the acrid smell of smoke rising in the air and Marianne’s eyes widened when she saw that the other vessel was now on fire, the flames growing higher and smoke nearly overpowering the fog in thickness as it coiled to the sky in a great black plume. Below she spotted chunks of wood, debris floating about in the waves with sailors clambering onto them, trying to find something to hold onto once their ship was visibly compromised. The flames continued to crawl across the ship, the wooden structure helpless against the fire and succumbing to its mercy, the sails practically nothing but flames that crawled up to the yards and spread like a plague through the rigging, spurred on undoubtedly by the same oils used to treat the ropes from the weather damage.

She waited long enough!

------------

Bog shrugged his coat back on, stalking through the welcome darkness of his cabin to his desk where he leaned over his chart, picking up the granite stick and marking their location with a small circle. Another mark among the several others scattered across the map. He kept track of all of them, every victory at sea be it merchant, military, or another pirate crew, he made sure all of them would be marked with another circle on the map. Dropping the marker down, he leaned his hip into the desk, a hand absently rubbing at his shoulder. It was pulling more than usual; probably another unfortunate side effect of the change but it had been worth it. Exotic goods were always a crowd-pleaser and it would keep his crew content for a while in matters of supplies and a few comforts as well.

Like any ship they did not find any use in, they made sure to burn it before they abandoned the crew to the mercy of the ocean, though he had noticed another, smaller vessel close by that would probably attempt to rescue them once they felt the Fenland was far enough away. Let them. He had what he wanted. The attack on the merchant vessel was more for sport than anything, a little game for the crew to enjoy after the successful kidnapping of the princess warmed them up a few days prior.

Bog already had to deal with princess waking up, the little blond screaming at the sight of him when he came in at Stuff’s announcement that she had woken up. All of them had to clap their hands over their ears in that moment. Princess had a real set of lungs on her. He had to shout at her to get her to stop screaming and it only turned into her crying and Bog immediately regretted trying to spare her rolling off the bed in that one moment, the force of the fall might have kept her out longer and spared him the headache that she soon became. After she wouldn’t stop crying, he left her to the others to keep track of, unwilling to stick around and deal with a woman’s tears. He hated it when women cried.
With them back underway, he was sure she would be down there asking questions if not crying some more and silently hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with her again, massaging his temples as the vivid memory of her scream came back to haunt him. Fear he was familiar with but did she really have to scream at the mere sight of him? After all, it had only been his face. She hadn’t seen the things that really made him scream-worthy.

Looking down at his gloved hands, he growled low in his throat, slamming a fist upon his desk but as soon as it struck, he lost his anger to the dreadful feeling of utter failure. Even with his reputation, his victories, his splendid haul back home, there was always the weight of the sad truth hanging over him, the brief elation with his blackened career success could only appease him for so long.

A shadow moving over his hand on the desk caught his attention and he paused in his self-loathing, lifting his gaze and making out a more definite shape to the shadow spread across his desk. His hand went to his sword just as something came crashing through his windows on the back of a banshee’s scream. Glass rained down on him and his chair was knocked over as something thudded upon his desk. He recoiled from the glass, shielding his eyes as he backed away from the desk, barely making out something fumbling about on top of it and then the captain hastily threw up his blade and blocked the angry swing of another sword that came crashing down on him.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, one foot jutting out behind to steady himself from the weight of the person leaning down upon the sword locked against his. Crouching on top of his desk was a woman bearing down on him, her arms shaking from the effort to push at his blade while she glared at him, still barely taller than him even with the advantage of his desk. Beyond the point where their blades were locked he saw brown eyes that were practically amber, burning beyond oddly smudged purple lids and that was all he could really catch before he came to his senses and forced her back with a shove.

The push made her wobble and she nearly toppled backwards off of the desk but corrected herself and struck out at him again with another grunt to fuel the thrust. He parried with a casual wave of his blade, raising his eyebrow at the angry wench in front of him. She was wearing boy’s clothes but they were damp, so she was probably someone from the merchant ship that climbed on board while no one noticed. Bog rolled his eyes, fending off another blow she tried to land. Batting the sword away, he took the time in her fumble to swing, the woman blocking with a bitten curse.

“Where is the princess?” she demanded, rotating the sword to break the lock. Bog jumped back from her blade when she countered with a horizontal slice at his belly.

He sneered, “Is that what you broke my window for?” he fended her back, the two rotating around in a quick circle before she made another jab he batted away. “You’re here to get the princess?”

“I am here for my sister!” she shouted, delivering a vertical strike that he blocked again. Glancing behind her at the doorway, he pulled his weapon back to his side before kicking her square in the belly. She toppled backwards, falling through the doorway and out onto the deck. It was satisfying seeing her practically fly backwards, striking the deck. What wasn’t satisfying was seeing her roll across the boards and back onto her feet, a hand at her stomach but eyes and blade as focused as before. He came out of the shelter of the cabin and her eyes widened briefly before they narrowed back to their previous glare.

“Sister?” he lowered his sword, bracing a hand upon his hip. “So this is what became of Lumine’s runaway princess?”

Looking at her in the light of day with the last wisps of their fog dissipating in the sunlight, he could see similarities between her and the princess locked up below but aside from facial structure, that was where the similarities ended. This princess was brown as a nut from sun exposure, her hair dark and roughly cut compared to the deliberate length of her sister’s locks. She was just as slight in shape but had more generous hips than her sibling with long, shapely legs but her clothing made it hard to tell if she was just as lacking in curves up top as her beloved sister.

“Ran off to play sailor, have you?” he asked and she charged with a furious cry, striking at him over and over. Even though she didn’t seem to be very experienced, her rage was enough to fuel her on blow by blow. He understood more than anyone else the strength one could harbor from anger alone and almost admired her fury while they fought.

All around him he could feel the eyes of his crew as they fought, a few of them looking utterly lost while others were fidgeting with the urge to join in. Forcing her back again, he actually needed a moment to catch his breath, the princess charging at him again and he blocked, dropping to a knee as he panted. Cockiness curled the corner of her mouth in what was going to be a smirk but the sight of her pleasure at his sign of weakness fueled his rage. He shifted his sword under hers and batted it up, reaching out and grasping her boot. He gave her just enough time to gasp at his trick before giving it a yank that sent her falling backward onto the deck with a heavy thud.

Getting to his feet, he held his sword over his head to strike but she kicked at his shin, making him cringe while she scrambled back to her feet. Shaking off the pain shooting through his leg, they entered the dance again, blades ringing out with every clash and neither of them was above underhanded gestures to get the upper hand, more than once she had kicked him and he had tripped her. Unfortunately, neither of them seemed to be at their full strength because the longer they fought the more sluggish both of them seemed to get. He managed to knock her sword away one more time before they suddenly sagged to the deck in a heap, heaving for breath. He jabbed his sword into the wood, leaning upon it while he caught his breath, the princess on one knee across from him fairing no better. Her hands twitched, shakily trying to raise it up again.

“Even if you keep trying, princess” he had to take another breath, “You won’t get your sister back in one piece.”

That seemed to be all it took because she dropped the sword and sank lower on her knees, hands flat on the deck while she continued to try to catch her breath. He swallowed, trying to soothe his dry throat as he kept a wary eye on the little fireball princess. While she was still trying to gulp down air, he extended a hand out toward his crew and gave a tired wave towards her. Brutus and Daunt came forward at his beckon and stood on either side of her, grasping her arms and hauling her to her feet.

“What are you doing?” she jerked at the restraining hands while he slowly rose up from the deck, plucking the sword from the boards and approaching her.

“Two princesses are better than one.” He stated, sneering down at her. “A king will sacrifice half of his treasury for one…imagine what he will do for two.”

With a sharp tug, she freed her arm from Daunt’s hold and Bog barely managed to register the surprise at the feat when her fist was suddenly slamming into his jaw. The punch caught him off guard and his hand jumped to the sting in his jaw. Clenching her sword in his hand, he prepared to make quick work of the new pain in his neck. He only needed one after all! He barely managed to raise his arm when Thang stumbled into him, hands catching his limb and he growled at the audacity of the bilge rat.

“Captain, you said so yourself! The king would offer more if we had both of the princesses!”

Shaking off Thang’s hands, he turned away, switching his grip on the sword and threw it overboard. She cried out in a frustrated yell, and Bog twisted around to cast another glare at her, seeing she had sagged almost weightless into their hands but her eyes were cast out on the ocean, not the deck. Was the sword so important she would be so devastated by its disposal? He followed her gaze to the burning wreck that was the ship they had just attacked, the smaller ship he had seen earlier bobbing beside it with the vague shapes of sailors casting lines and a longboat being lowered in the process of beginning to rescue those still in the ocean. When he looked back at her, he saw her fury break into something that looked like hurt. She caught his eye and the pain was replaced by the same anger he had seen before. Anger was more useful than despair.

“Sir, what of the other ship?” Stuff pointed out at the aiding vessel.

“Leave it.” He grumbled, starting to head back to his cabin. “Just keep heading southeast until I give the order.”

“Aye, sir.”

“AND GET HER BELOW!” he shouted when Brutus and Daunt still hadn’t moved from their spot, the two immediately jumping into action and finally hauling her down below.

Chapter Text

“Dawn—DAWN!” Marianne gasped at the sight of the cage-like cell.

Inside was Dawn sitting on a wooden slab, her arms around her knees and head bowed into them until she had heard her calling. The moment she saw her she was on her feet and at the bars and Marianne found the two holding onto her weren’t taking her there fast enough. With a grunt, she wrenched an arm free, elbowing one of them beneath the jaw and kicking the other in the shin, a move which had done wonders with their boss earlier before she was tearing through the portal and stumbling over her own feet to get to the cell. Dawn thrust her arms through the grating for her and she fell into them, her cheek pressing painfully into a metal rung but her arms threaded through the openings, wrapping around her sister as tightly as she could muster with what was almost practically a wall between them.

“Marianne!” Dawn’s voice was raw, her fingers clutching handfuls of her shirt in her hands where she held her close. “You’re here! You’re here…”

Marianne nearly lost it when she heard Dawn’s voice break from the emotion, struggling to keep it together while they hugged.

“I found out about your kidnapping. I had to try to save you.” She said, fingers pressing her in closer. Even though she had been so happy to see her alive, Marianne couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that even though she came to save her sister, she ended up being capture herself in the end. Captain King’s brutes confirmed this when they snatched at her clothing, yanking her back from the bars with sharp tugs that left Marianne hissing between her teeth when her arms scraped along the sharp metal. With one of them wrapping his arms around her and hoisting her off of the floor, she tried to turn her head, snarling at them like a feral cat in her anger. The other unlocked the cell door and wrenched it open for her captor to deposit her onto the floor.

The cell door had barely shut after the two when Dawn was coming to her, getting to her knees and draping her arms around Marianne. The aches and pains were temporarily forgotten when she returned her sister’s embrace, smiling to herself at the familiar presence nearly forgotten in the time they had been apart from one another. The last time she held onto her sister, she had wanted to push her away, her heart having been too raw at the time to support such affection, even if it was her own family. Now, all bets were off. Dawn was alive, she was remotely safe and she would hug her as much as she damn well please!

Parting enough to get her arms in between them, she clapped her hands on her sister’s cheeks, twisting her face one way then another, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I just got a bump on my head.” Dawn shrugged her shoulders. “One of those guys who brought you in dropped me on my head when they grabbed me.”

“Sons of—” Marianne started to curse until she caught sight of Dawn’s innocent stare, forcing her to censor herself. She had spent too much time in the company of men. After reassuring herself that Dawn was in one piece, she grasped her face in her hands again. “What on earth were you doing sneaking onto a ship?!”

Dawn’s eyes turned upward and she made a hesitant sound that was traditional of her whenever she knew she was in trouble. Marianne smoothed her thumbs over her cheeks affectionately even though she was thoroughly intending to scold her for her poor decision any minute now. Dawn shook her head, shrugging her shoulders up while she tried to think of what to say, searching Marianne’s face.

“I wanted to help.” She finally murmured, “You ran off so suddenly after the whole Roland thing and I wasn’t able to help you at all then. When Dad said he was going to send out the Morning Glory…I wanted to go too. Sunny helped me sneak on board so that whenever we got out there, I would be able to help look.”

“The sea is a big place, Dawn.” Marianne sighed, letting her hands drop from her face.

“I know that,” Dawn frowned, “I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks I am.”

Marianne shook her head, “No, you’re not stupid! I just…even if you had the entire navy looking for me, the ocean is a big place and it’s hard to find anything out there. I shouldn’t have been able to find you today and the fact that I did is just amazing to me!”

Dawn nodded; staring down at their hands, grasping Marianne’s tight in her own. “I missed you…and people were starting to say you might not come back. A lot of people thought you were dead and I couldn’t bear hearing that they were thinking that.”

“Oh—” She squeezed her sister’s hands tightly.

Of course people would talk. Marianne was going to be married and then, at the last minute, cancelled the wedding and ran away that same night. She fled the country without any word on where she would be heading. Dawn had been her only ally that night and Marianne couldn’t even guarantee she would make it back safely. A promise to return wasn’t the same coming from a weak princess with a broken heart but Marianne had changed. She was stronger now, she was ready to return back to Lumine and face what would lie before her once she arrived.

If she could even make it back, that is.

Her attention trailed off to their surroundings. There was only one cell, the reputation for no prisoners finally making sense and Marianne cringed at the strange substance growing through the cracks of the hull. The brig was damp and dark, one solitary lantern hanging from a hook in the ceiling but the candle in it had already begun to burn low, the wick nearly gone and wax pooling in the bottom of the chamber, hardening against the glass. Once the candle would go out, Marianne felt the only light they would get would be from whatever source might have been outside of the brig and even that seemed unlikely. This ship seemed to practically run on darkness.

“I’m sorry, Marianne.” Dawn’s voice drew her back to her sister and she saw tears starting to slip down her pale cheeks. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“It’ll be alright, Dawn.” She smiled at her as gently as she could, though the expression felt foreign on her lips. “I’ll figure a way out of this.”

Of course, when Marianne said she would figure a way out of the predicament they were in, she didn’t take into account that there would be practically no way for them to escape their little cage. In the dim light of their dying candle she had searched every nook and cranny for a weak spot. The cage itself was fastened by crossing bars of iron and wood, the brackets secure whenever she tested them, trying everything from shoving her shoulder into one and kicking another but nothing gave way. Of all the things that could have been falling apart in the place, it looked like the unused cell wasn’t one of them.

The plank jutting out from the wall wouldn’t budge no matter how many times they tried to jump on the thing. Marianne hoped that their combined weight would break it or at least dislodge it from the wall but the stubborn piece of wood held fast and they were left slumping upon it in defeat on more than one occasion. Marianne’s sword was gone, probably at the bottom of the ocean by now so there was no chance of her hacking through pieces of wood and she didn’t have anything small enough to attempt to pick the lock of the cell. Even if they did get out, she still had the problem of making her way through a ship full of pirates. Then there was the fact they were out on the open sea. That definitely was a set-back to the idea of trying to break out of the cell.

Marianne could still see Captain Wade’s ship beside the blazing merchant ship in her memory. He hadn’t abandoned her, it was understood that she would have to find her own way out once she was off of his ship. Still, it hadn’t hurt any less when she watched it growing further away as the Fenland had sailed on, her last source of a safe return to Lumine and it had been left behind. It was unlikely she would ever see the Quelling again if this was to be her fate. Locked up in the brig of a mad pirate crew with her only hope of freedom coming in the form of negotiations with her father for whatever fortune the captain fancied himself getting his hands on.

Marvelous.

------------

Dawn had been trying to keep track of how many days she had been on board the Fenland since she had been kidnapped, though her true estimate was fuzzy because no one had told her how long she had been unconscious when she woke up. By Dawn’s calculations, it had been about a week since her capture, Marianne being with her to see the completion of it, which she tallied off on the wall with the post of her ruined earring. Marianne would never live it down that she had destroyed the piece of jewelry in her stubborn attempt to make it useful as a lock pick. Now the diamonds had fallen out and the wire was bent in an odd angle that she could not straighten out for the life of her.

Marianne even tried to annoy the guards posted either inside or out of the brig with them, shouting at them and demanding to speak to the captain even though she had no intention of actually saying anything to him. She still remembered how easily he batted her sword away and she wondered where it was she had gone wrong to make her fencing so poor in comparison. Captain King’s style was, as Wade said, different than she had seen before. His moves were chaotic, not clumsy or fueled by drunken rage. He was nearly unpredictable and any blow he dealt was all she could do to deflect. Her ego had suffered under the fight but she meant to reclaim her undefeated record from the draw as soon as she got her hands on another blade.

For now, she would have to figure out a plan that resulted in her and Dawn off of the ship without drowning in the middle of the ocean or at the mercy of a ship full of pirates. There was plenty of time to do it after all, while being locked up in a cell. As it were, the crew wasn’t starving them at least. In fact, they were being rather generous, oddly enough. The princesses were brought bread and cheese with remarkably clean water, which surprised Marianne since she expected the pirate captain to have them handed smelly cups of sewage before he would try to give them decent provisions. Instead it was a small roll the size of her fist that tasted like it had been sweetened with sugar when it was baked. Dawn loved them and savored every bite of the bread but only nibbled on her cheese stubbornly. She never did like cheese by itself but with their situation, she was at least trying to work past it. The cheese was fresh and savory but it was always partially buried under the sweet roll. It made her wonder if the person who brought them the food was trying to hide it when she brought it down to them.

The woman who brought them their meals was older than she expected anyone on a ship of this nature to be. She was short in stature with graying red hair but her face was open and friendly with a wide mouth that always split into the biggest grin every time she appeared with the day’s ration. She would pass it to the hungry princesses through the bars but never spoke, merely watching them from a stool in the corner while they chewed away. Whenever they finished, she would take the plates and cups then scamper away.

She only came near the cell once, Dawn greeting her with a smile even though she had no name to call her by. Apparently it was always the same woman who brought rations and Dawn had grown attached to her since her kidnapping but Marianne watched the woman with the same caution she expressed towards the rest of the crew aboard. She had been observing the wanted poster, trying to think of ways to knock that sneer off the curr’s face when the redhead had appeared, Dawn’s enthusiastic greeting startling Marianne out of her thoughts and she tossed the poster aside for the food being offered to them. The woman lingered near the bars when they ate, Marianne watching her while she chewed and Dawn complimenting the sweet roll in between bites. At least her sister was swallowing before she spoke, unlike Marianne who had tried to question her with masticated cheese still rolling around in her mouth more than once.

Their rations came towards the end of the day, otherwise things would not have gotten so quiet shortly afterward and made way for them to attempt to sleep. The princesses were working on their ninth day in the cell together, Marianne letting Dawn sleep on the cot with her vest as a pillow. Marianne preferred to sleep sitting up. It kept her alert but during the long hours they figured to be night when she tried to sleep, she let herself imagine having a bed. Her bed back home had been soft and inviting whenever she climbed into it at the end of the day, her pillowcase always clean and smelling of rose perfume water whenever she buried her nose into it. Marianne often dozed still vaguely remembering the smell as her final comforting thought whenever she slept and that night was no different.

She was imagining the pillow under her head, a soft blanket surrounding her in gentle warmth instead of the hard wooden flooring under her tailbone when she heard footsteps coming towards their cell. Picking her head up, she blinked away the visions of smooth sheets and squinted through the darkness, their candle long-since burnt out and spotted a lantern swinging in the darkness, fresh candle casting a warm glow in its path. It almost seemed to be floating on mid air until she could see a shape supporting it, the light wavering over a familiar silhouette and bringing a scowl across her face.

Marianne was on her feet and at the cell door in seconds, glaring at Captain King as he stooped under the doorway and again under the beam before he stood before her, holding the lantern aloft and sneering at her when he saw her standing there. He looked sickly in the light of the lantern when he reached up with the other hand and removed the spent chamber, replacing it with the new one. He lowered the other to the floor, his eyes not leaving her through the whole process before setting it down. Marianne continued to stare him down, daring him to gloat on a victory he didn’t earn or to try and scare her but he merely stared back, his expression hardly phased by her glowering. The longer they stared, the more she realized that he wasn’t blinking and she resisted the instinctual act as well. It was silly to enter into this little stare off but his lack of blinking felt almost like a challenge and she never backed down from a challenge! Unfortunately, the combination of fatigue and the fresh light of the lantern made her eyes weak, watering from the effort to keep them open. Captain King’s eyebrows rose but he still didn’t blink and she could make out his arms folding through her peripheral vision. The moment she broke and blinked, a smirk curled the corner of his mouth and she heard a quiet exhale that almost resembled a laugh before he was turning and maneuvering his way back out of the brig.

“What, no scary pirate warnings about walking the plank or having our guts for garters if we cause any trouble?” she quipped and he paused in the doorway.

“Do you honestly think I would say something so foolish?” he scoffed.

“You’re certainly foolish enough to think you’ll get away with kidnapping two princesses.” She smirked over at him, finally earning a glance over his shoulder. “What makes you think you will get what you want, let alone survive once they find us?”

He shook his head, returning to the cell and standing before her, Marianne getting an eyeful of his gaunt features in the yellow light of the lamp. She had noticed his blue eyes during their impromptu staring contest but everything had sort of blurred over during the ongoing stare down. Now, with his face suddenly much closer to hers, she could really see the color of his iris, though she didn’t want to dignify the scoundrel’s eyes by trying to think of something to compare them to.

“My crew bested your precious Morning Glory, princess. I have no doubt we could handle whatever else your little navy might try to throw at us.” His words carried an accent that she couldn’t place the origin of, which was unusual, considering the amount of accents she typically encountered during both her years at court and in the company of hundreds of sailors. “You have it easy, so why complain? All you have to do is sit and wait. When the time comes for them to pay the ransom, I will let you both go.”

“And what if the king doesn’t pay your ridiculous ransom?” she challenged.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he was suddenly right up against the bars of the cell, his hands striking the metal with jarring clangs that shook them on their very bolts. Marianne held her ground even though she had felt genuine fear shoot through her in that brief moment, meeting his gaze straight on when he leaned in close to the bars.

“Then I have no use for you, or your sister.”

Her hands went to the bars, fingers lightly resting on the wood and his eyes flicked down to them briefly, alert of her actions but not moving out of her face. Trying to hold his gaze, she balled one into a fist and gauged the distance before she thrust her fist through the opening to punch that sneering face in the jaw again but his hand caught it so suddenly she had wondered when he even had the time to bring it down from where he had braced it before. The fingers practically swallowed up her fist when he closed them around it, something pricking the back of her hand through the worn leather of his glove until he thrust her arm back through the opening. Tossing her hand free of his, he withdrew.

“And when I have no use for something,” he turned away, ducking back through the doorway and out of the light of the lamp but Marianne didn’t miss his final cold words that rasped through the darkness in his wake. “I get rid of it.”

------------

Bog tossed his coat over the back of his chair, facing the shattered windows of his cabin, now mostly boarded up and useless thanks to the very soul that had left his patience hanging by a thread. He was used to being irritated, angry at himself or his crew, it was a part of life for him to seethe but if he let it continue on the rate it was going, he wasn’t going to get any reward money for his trouble because one of his hostages would be dead. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he braced the other hand upon his hip, closing his eyes and taking a moment to compose himself in the quiet of his cabin. All he needed was a chance to breathe, to calm down.

“Honestly, would it kill you to let some light in here every once in a while?”

Or not.

“I know she broke your windows but at least it ventilated this room out a little in the process.” Griselda waved about the cabin with her hand, walking in without closing the door after her. Bog shook his head, coming around and sitting in his chair to prepare himself to face his mother. She wouldn’t have come into his cabin unless she wanted something, be it to lament him not going to the galley to see her more often or how he was living his life, there was always something she had to pester him about.

“I’ve opened the windows plenty, mother. In fact the last one intact is open as we speak.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Griselda nudged a piece of glass with the toe of her boot, giving him a pointed look and he ignored her. It wasn’t his fault the crew hadn’t found all of the glass shards when they boarded up his windows. He was too busy trying to keep an eye out for a response that would tell him what the king decided on the ransom of both his beloved daughters to care about a few odd bits and pieces of glass. A part of him hoped that he wouldn’t get anything and therefore render the princesses useless. It would be so easy to throw them both over the side and never think about them again. It would be a quick and easy resolution to his grudge. However, then his crew wouldn’t get a proper payoff for all of their efforts in kidnapping the younger princess and he knew he owed them for the injuries accumulated in the struggle against the Morning Glory. Without some kind of recompense, he would be left with an irritable crew and while they wouldn’t dare try to harm him, dealing with their childish whining wouldn’t have been much better.

“I won’t nag.” She finally sighed, standing beside his chair and leaning a hip against his deck. “I just hate to see you locking yourself up all the time. They all know what’s happening to you and no one has run screaming overboard yet.”

Bog twitched but she didn’t falter.

“I want you to live, son.” Her words softened as much as her shrill voice was capable of doing. “You have so much but no one to share—“

“No.” he cut her off. “For years you sang the same old song and I refuse to listen to it anymore.”

Ever since he had the ability to call himself a man he had to endure his mother pestering him about finding the same happiness she found with his father. He tried to make it happen but they both knew where that got him. Bog decided then that “finding someone” was no longer an option. What she failed to realize was that not everyone found happiness in a wife and children. Bog had found happiness in his captaincy, his responsibility back home, and the wealth he amassed at the expense of others combined. If money made a man happy, he was absolutely jovial!

“Bog,” she wasn’t put off by his dismissal, her hand reaching for his and he frowned when it rest over his glove. “I know you think that you’re happy. Money certainly helps, but tell me something. If you’re happy, then why do you hide it from everyone?”

Her fingers tugged on the glove with a small twitch and Bog cringed, pulling his hand out from under hers. Jumping to his feet, he drug the coat off of the back of the chair and pulled it on with firm tugs until it was settled comfortably around him again. He brushed a sleeve free of a crease then glanced over his shoulder at his mother while she pressed her lips together, shaking her head at his stubborn gesture. Even so, he had a feeling that he had just proved her point and his shoulders drooped a little at his own idiocy for letting her get to him.

“My point is,” Griselda folded her arms again, “If you really were happy, you wouldn’t hide what has happened to you from anyone beyond this floating wreck because you wouldn’t care what anyone thought of you. If you were happy as you are, you would join your men in Tinder on their wild escapades, meet a girl, fool around a little even. You know, maybe even be a pirate with an accurate wanted poster for once.”

She held up a worn, creased bit of parchment and he raised an eyebrow at the vague depiction of himself that looked to have suffered water damage among other things if the faded patches on it had anything to say about it. He took it from her fingers, scanning over the sneering face and shadowed eyes, even his scars had been depicted but in the wrong places. Touching at the marks on his own chin, he gave a humorless laugh at the inaccuracy.

“Where did you scrounge this up?”

“One of your prisoners had it.” Griselda smiled, “I found her looking at it the other day and thought she was going to burn holes into it with her eyes, she was staring hard enough.”

The verbal reminder of the princesses knocked what humor he mustered out of his system and he growled, tossing the poster onto the desk. Griselda picked it back up and folded it, smiling to herself as if enjoying a private joke.

“What’s so funny?”

She held the parchment square up between her fingers, “I just think it’s interesting that she would be so fixated on this. If she wanted to look at you, I’m sure your real face would be even more satisfactory than this little paper.”

Bog’s blood ran cold and he warily looked upon his mother. He was starting to feel a bit terrified by what his mother could be concocting in that chaotic mind of hers. “Mother, tell me you’re not suggesting…”

“Oh, I might just be.” She grinned from ear to ear, confirming his fears.

“They are a means to an end!” he hissed, “Nothing more!”

Rolling her eyes, Griselda held up her hands in mock surrender. “I was just saying…”

“You want to say something? Very well then, why don’t you tell me how they have access to cheese?”

Griselda’s arms dropped from their surrender and joined together with a little fidgeting gesture that proved to Bog she was indeed trying to have kept that a secret from him. Revealing he knew what she was up to had certainly shut her up. Her eyes trailed to the floor and he slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat while he waited for her to explain herself. Naturally, she was trying to figure out how to tell him because now she had been caught but he wondered if there would be some kind of excuse or maybe just the simple truth. That would have been best, considering he was already annoyed enough.

“You could tell?” she asked, glancing up from her fidgeting hands, trying an innocent smile.

“Yes.”

“How?” He lightly tapped his nose and her eyes widened. “Are you telling me you could smell it on them?”

“Yes, it is one of my new gifts.” He slathered his words with bitter sarcasm. A gift was the last thing he would call whatever was happening to him.
Putting himself face to face with the eldest had tipped him off to her last meal thanks to a lack of hygienic items to help her tone down the scent of her breath. There was nothing sweet about it aside from a lingering sugary smell from his mother’s sweet rolls she baked for the crew as a potential treat. The cheese was the other stand-alone smell that she couldn’t rinse out of her mouth with the provided water even if she tried. Her breath so near to his face was enough to tell him what his mother had been feeding them, which wasn’t a part of his original menu for the two.

“I ordered for them to be given enough to keep them alive until we hear word from Lumine.”

“Keep them alive, yes, but they’ll be half starved by the time their father pays you off. Surely you can spare a few bits of cheese for two more mouths. I have plenty of sugar after you ransacked that merchant vessel the other day, enough to supply the crew with rolls for months at this rate!” Griselda was making a point that he didn’t want to admit she had made. He stubbornly avoided making eye contact with her, favoring a swinging rope hanging beyond his door rather than facing her common sense. “Just let me keep giving them what I have been. It’s only once a day after all.”

“Fine,” he massaged his temples, his patience almost completely spent if she didn’t leave soon. “Do what you want!”He continued to rub at his aching head, the sound of running feet stilling his fingers and he looked up in time to see two familiar crew members rushing towards his door.

“Captain!” Stuff elbowed Thang out of her way and braced herself against the door frame when she came to a stop. He waited for her to catch her breath, though his foot was beginning to tap the longer she had made him do so. Thang was just as winded, otherwise he would have ordered him to say what was happening in her stead. “Captain, there’s a ship heading our way. It’s coming from the northeast and closing fast!”

“Colors?!” Bog demanded, his eyes darting to Thang as his hand jumped up behind Stuff, practically begging for a turn to speak. He piped it up before Stuff could interrupt him in an excited squeak of a voice.

“Lumine, sir!”

His mother forgotten, Bog darted out of the cabin and onto the deck, ignoring the startled crew rushing to get out of his way as he ran starboard side, jumping onto the bulwark. He could hear Stuff and Thang running up after him but ignored them, squinting at the incoming ship that was too close to have been just spotted now. Even in the growing light of the morning sun the ship indicated was painfully obvious against the horizon. How oblivious had his crew been until this point? Clenching his teeth, he focused his anger on Thang, who shuddered and backed up a step.

“Glass!” he snapped, Stuff immediately snatching one from their nervous navigator and passing it to him. Holding it to his eye, he focused on the ship and sure enough, spotted the ostentatious golden flag of the country of Lumine fluttering atop pure white sails. Surveying the ship, it was facing them dead on but he could guess it was heavily armed. No king would be foolish enough to send out an unarmed vessel. Still, he hadn’t received any word from the king on his demands involving two princesses. Had this ship been at sea before the messenger pidgin reached its destination? Collapsing the spyglass, he tossed it into Stuff’s hands, dropping down from the wall and striding towards the ladder to the bridge.

“Orders, captain?” Brutus asked, elbowing his way to the front of the gathering crew.

“Prepare the starboard guns above and below.” If the ship was there for the exchange, he knew exactly what he would do. Once they had the ransom money and the princesses were on the other ship, the deal would be complete and all bets would be off. Bog would be free to unleash hell upon the Lumine ship as soon as the ships had separated from the transaction. He did promise to let the princesses go, that was true enough, but he never said he would let them go far. “Short sail until they catch up to us, then bring them to but keep the ropes taught in case we need a quick release and then keep out of sight until I tell you otherwise!”

Brutus nodded and headed below, Thang rushed over to join the others beginning to work on preparing the canons on the main deck, keeping themselves crouched low to their tasks to stay out of view from their incoming company. Bog climbed up to the bridge, looking at the helmsman as he kept her steady, eyes trailing to the sails, watching them being shortened to half capacity and felt the ship grow sluggish under his feet. He turned his attention back to the Lumine ship closing in on them, still a league away at best, and the sails were clearer than they had been upon his first sighting of its approach.

Whether or not this ship would be here for the princesses or just the first one, he didn’t know. Either way, he was going to end this day with one less headache and one more mark on his map. The time for revenge was nearly over if this was what he had been waiting for. The Morning Glory was justice for his people, now it simply came down to the personal vendetta between him and the people of Lumine. One where they lost something as precious to them as what they had taken from him over twenty years ago.

Chapter Text

“Something’s going on up there.” Marianne murmured, her eyes trailing along the deckhead as she tried to strain her hearing. Whatever it was, the crew was practically tip-toeing around compared to how they usually thundered along above their heads. Dawn’s stomach was rumbling with hunger and had been since she woke and it was distracting her from trying to listen. At first Dawn tried to apologize when her stomach gurgled but after Marianne shushed her for the third time, she finally stopped and simply curled into a ball as if it would stifle the noise somehow.

“Do you think a ship has come?” Dawn finally asked, Marianne sighing in surrender and giving up on her eavesdropping.

“I wouldn’t count on it.” She retreated from the bars and joined Dawn on the bench as she sat upright. She dug her fingers into her hair, tugging at the strands. “I hate just sitting around like this!”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

Marianne picked her head up from her hands and frowned at Dawn’s obvious sarcasm. The smug smile Dawn gave her looked more solemn than she wanted to let on and Marianne’s ire deflated. She reached over and pulled her near, tapping her forehead against her sister’s. “Okay, I deserved that.”

Running feet drew their attention up, Marianne spotting a familiar woman rushing into the brig with three other crew members on her heels, two of them being the brutes that had handled her the first day she was brought down to the cell. She narrowed her eyes at them, glancing over at the woman while she caught her breath. Marianne thought she had seen her before when she was on deck. She was short in stature and plump with dirty blond hair beneath a pale green bandana, rather unassuming in appearance but she bore a sword at her hip, which Marianne marveled at since she had seen so few women bearing arms while she had been at sea. Finding a woman capable of wielding a sword aboard Captain King’s ship was even more surprising.

“Make sure you bind their hands before you take them up top.” The woman instructed; knocking down Marianne’s opinion a notch as the two brutes moved past her. The third man was just as short if not even more so with a scrawny frame that bore long arms and short legs, hardly as well proportioned as the woman but when he brought the key over to unlock the cell, Marianne thought his face was almost like Dawn’s, bearing innocence and an eagerness to please. However, he was still a pirate and she was still a prisoner. This was an opportunity to get out and she was going to take it.

Marianne stood up from the board, watching him unlock the cell door, the two larger crewmen suddenly brushing past him and lunging at her. Thick, meaty hands were on her in mere moments, forcing her down to the ground before she could even raise an arm to defend herself. Shouting at them, she tried to kick and elbow out from under their massive forms but one of the brutes simply sat upon her legs, pinning them to the floor under his weight. Marianne groaned at the pain of her knees being forced into the boards, wrenching her arm out of the other’s grasp but he caught it again, forcing it behind her back. The third, smaller man went to Dawn while she was being held to the floor and Marianne’s irritated struggles turned into worry when Dawn was easily overpowered and her hands soon bound in front of her.

Even though he had tied her up, the shorter man seemed to be more careful when he led her past the pile of Marianne and the muscle men, leading her by her hands as he backed out of the cell and then steered her forward with a guiding hand against her back. The woman eyed Marianne for a moment, her arms still crossed over her chest as she observed her silently with a risen eyebrow. After Dawn had been led past her, she followed after them with a distasteful sniff in Marianne’s direction. Dawn peered back at her over her shoulder, stupidly compliant with the pirates taking her away compared to Marianne’s struggles. With evident fear in her sister’s eyes, Marianne ground her teeth, jerking and growling while they trapped her arms and forced them behind her back. Apparently they were not going to give her the luxury of keeping her hands in front of her where she could use them.

Once she was tied up, the two climbed off of her and with them supporting each arm, they hauled her to her feet and followed after Dawn. If they were being retrieved from the cells, Dawn’s assumption might have been right. Maybe there was a ship that had come to rescue Dawn or both of them even and it was time to finally get away from the Fenland. Or, she could be wrong and the captain was simply tired of waiting for the money that would never come. If that was the case, it would be a cold day in hell if he thought he was going to dispose of her sister and herself easily.

The two shoved her along through the passageways, eventually reaching the stairs to the decks and she was nearly carried between the two up the steps, her feet touching down on the deck with her eyes immediately shutting at the brightness of a mid-morning sun. After days of the dim lighting in the brig, the sudden abundance of light was practically blinding and she cringed back from it, the hands on her arms tugging her forward instead of letting her retreat back into the comfort of shadow. She tried to open her eyes, squinting through the light and started to make out the shapes of other people surrounding her throughout the main deck, some of them were scattered, probably the pirate crew. There was also a line of attentive individuals standing along the starboard side of the vessel that Marianne immediately realized were naval officers.

“It’s Princess Marianne!” a relieved voice called out, Marianne blinking rapidly and finally seeing clearly in time to spot Sunny coming forward from behind the men but an officer held him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Sunny!” Dawn’s voice piped up and Marianne’s head snapped around to spot her standing across from the plank bridging the two ships together. There was also a hand on her shoulder, holding her back from going to Sunny but this one belonged to Captain King. He stood beside Dawn, holding her firmly in place but she didn’t resist, her eyes on her friend still trying to tug himself free to get to her while the soldiers remained stationary, looking on with faces a mixture between stoic and relieved at the sight of them unharmed.

“I asked for your commanding officer.” The captain said with a growl, his fingers squeezing Dawn’s shoulder tighter.

“I will be speaking for Captain Edwards!”

Marianne’s whole body froze at the familiar drawl, her eyes slowly crawling away from Dawn to the officers, who parted to reveal Roland strolling across the plank. It had been months since she had seen him and he looked practically the same he had the night she ran off. His hair was still a perfect wave of gold, one tuft of his bangs curling to his forehead that he gave a quick twirl as he stopped on the end of the bridge. He wore a naval officer’s uniform even though the last she had seen him he was dressed from head to toe in his knight’s armor but there wasn’t a hat in sight. Of course.

He was pure afternoon sunlight, brilliant and shining. He disgusted her.

“Roland, what are you doing here?” she demanded, finally taking a step forward, the hands on her arms tensing but she moved no nearer. Images of that night were rushing back as fresh as if she had just witnessed it and she felt the urge to retch creeping up in her throat.

“I set off to find you the moment news spread that you had gone to sea and not further inland as originally claimed.” He said with a smile, dropping down upon the deck and she saw his smile falter at the sight of the weathered boards under his booted feet. “I was on the first ship out to find you when your father told us of Princess Dawn’s kidnapping. Naturally I had to find her as well as you and the fact that both of you are here together—“

He indicated the both of them with his hands and she rolled her eyes. The odd thing that followed was catching Captain King doing the same thing, his face having been schooled into a mask of tolerance up until that moment and now he wrinkled his nose the longer he waited for Roland to wrap up his explanation. For a moment she could agree with him on something, Roland’s ridiculousness, but that was the only time she was going to admit it! Roland approached Dawn and her captor, laying his hands upon his hips in what he probably thought to be a heroic pose when he faced the “scary” pirate captain. The fact that he had to tilt his head back a bit in order to look him in the eye left Marianne feeling a little tug at the corner of her mouth when she saw the difference in height so glaringly obvious.

“You’re experienced enough to speak for the captain?” King sounded skeptical.

Another thing she could silently agree with, considering Roland originally had no naval experience what-so-ever. The man had grown sea sick when they took a rowboat across the lake, Marianne spending the rest of the afternoon with him moaning and groaning on the grass. Of course, her mirth at the memory turned into self-loathing when she recalled spending the rest of the day coddling Roland and catering to his every whim until he finally recovered the color back in his face. She tasted something foul on her tongue and gagged, wishing she could get it out.

“I’ve come to take back the princesses in exchange for the requested bounty.” He ignored the captain’s taunt in favor of signaling back towards the ship. Two officers carried a small chest across the plank, carefully climbing down and setting it before the captain’s feet. He glanced to the short woman standing at his left and nodded towards it. She moved forward, Roland wincing at the sight of her as she lowered herself to a knee and opened the lid.

Inside of the chest was a mound of gold coins stamped with the Lumine seal, they clicked and clattered when the woman raked her fingers through the pile, letting them spill through them and back into the chest. Captain King did not take his eyes off of Roland, a sneer twisting his lips and Marianne briefly wondered if this woman had been his lover, judging by the clear distaste in his face after seeing Roland’s reaction to her appearance. It was rather protective of a gesture from someone like him. Maybe she was special?

He held his hand out and the woman automatically dropped a coin into it. His eyes flicked down to it and he rolled it between his gloved fingers. For a moment she thought he would try to bite down on it, which was a common method to test a coin’s authenticity, but he surprised her again, leaving Marianne’s mouth slackening and drooping open when he bent it between his thumb and index finger with barely a twitch. Her eyes darted to his deceptively thin frame then back to the bent coin, which he dropped back into the chest with a dismissive flick.

“You only brought enough for one.” He stated, shifting his hand from Dawn’s shoulder to her back and shoving her to Roland but he didn’t take her. Sunny was breaking out of the officer’s grasp and rushing to her side, Dawn nearly in tears when he came to her, slicing her bound hands free with a knife followed by a thousand apologies pouring from his lips. Marianne caught Sunny’s eye when Dawn had grasped his hands and she nodded towards the other ship insistently. He caught her gesture and nodded in return. With his hands still in Dawn’s he backed up towards the gangplank slowly, drawing her away from the pirates and towards the safety of the officers.

“We weren’t aware you had both of them.” Roland stated, folding his arms. “I wasn’t told Marianne had been kidnapped by you as well.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Well now you know.” Captain King interrupted as he mimicked Roland and crossed his arms. “Can you compensate for the difference?”

Roland’s golden eyebrows rose almost as high as his hairline, “You expect us to be carting around that much money by chance? How greedy can you get?”

“Oh, I can be very greedy. I am, after all, a pirate.” Chuckles broke out across the Fenland's deck, low and unsettling after the eerie silence that they had stood under until that moment. “So, do you have something to exchange for your heir apparent, or do you not?”

Roland grew flustered, his smile gone and replaced by anger but he could hardly do more than glare at the very tall, very armed pirate captain. All Marianne could see at Roland’s side was a sword and nothing more. Typical knight, relying on honorable opponents and not considering there were guns with bullets in them out there, more lethal than any blade. Captain King appeared to have at least two such pistols at his disposal, his sword a backup plan in case those didn’t do the job.

“I have a thought,” Roland held up a finger, “If I can beat you in a duel, I take both of the princesses back with me.”

The chuckle that rumbled in the captain’s throat sounded low and almost menacing, the smile that split his lips even more so. “And if I win, your heir apparent stays until your king sends us the proper amount, which, by the way, has doubled now since you had the audacity to challenge me.” Bog lifted a leg and shut the lid of the chest with his foot, bracing it on the top as he leaned forward, extending his hand towards Roland with a smirk. “Do we have a deal?”

Roland’s eyes went to the gloved hand and hesitantly reached out; shaking it weakly. His disgust at the contact with the captain was obvious and Marianne scoffed. It wasn’t like his hand was that unpleasant. Sure it was big but it was warm and—hold on now! Her eyes widened at the direction her train of thought had been going and she immediately shook her head, hoping to knock whatever that had just been out of it as soon as possible.

Captain King abruptly released the hand and stepped back from the chest, bringing his foot back down to the ground. Roland squared his shoulders, the two of them beginning a slow circle around the chest of gold, Roland drawing his sword and flicking it in a quick circle. His eyes slid to her with a confident wink and she resisted the urge to vomit again. King scoffed, fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword and sliding it free with a slow glide until he held it out at his side, no fancy tricks, just him and the blade. A very unusual blade, considering it was bronze in color. She had been too busy deflecting and striking it the first time she had seen the weapon to realize it was different from typical blades of silver steel.

Odd swords aside, Marianne was left wondering whose skill would win over whom.

Roland was a knight. He had been training since he was twelve years old and he was good. Good enough to win a few tournaments and be next in line to be captain of the guard back at the castle. Had she married him that day, it would have been the very position he would have been in now. On the other side, Marianne had fought Captain King herself and while she was probably still learning, she managed to match him a little too well. Did that mean he wasn’t as skilled as Captain Wade’s story made him out to be? Roland was experienced and she had to admit it. Whoever was the better swordsman was beyond her, she just hoped they would get it over with soon because Sunny finally managed to get Dawn onto the other ship. It would only be a matter of time before the pirates would catch on that she had been taken to relative safety.

The first clash of the blades came suddenly, Roland charging with his sword held high, the captain blocking his swing with a smooth parry that sent Roland’s blade jumping back. Staggered by the block, Roland shook it off and prepared himself when King came forward, executing a slanted swing, Roland blocking but the blade slid down to the hilt, knocking against the hand guard with a clack and Roland jumped at its closeness while the captain smirked behind the blade. They separated, standing back from one another to put some distance between them.

Charging the pirate, Roland managed to beat him into the mainmast, the captain’s back striking against the post and his eyes narrowing at his opponent’s improving odds. All traces of that previous cockiness were gone when he kicked Roland in the gut, shrugging his shoulders and giving his neck a jerk that produced an audible crack as Roland recovered. Straightening out, he strode forward where Roland had collected himself, flipping the blade over in his hand and knocking him across his chiseled jaw with the pommel. Marianne’s lips split into a grin against her better judgment when she saw Roland staggering back, hand to his jaw with a painful moan into his fingers. Captain King corrected his sword in his hand when a gunshot shattered the tension, all eyes turning to an officer who had fired the pistol, his eyes wide and face pale when he realized what he had just done. Roland charged King in that moment of distraction but he managed to raise his blade in time, pushing back against the locked weapons and glaring down at Roland.

“The deal’s off!” he snarled, pushing him back and putting two fingers to his mouth, whistling through them with a high-pitched sound that pierced Marianne’s ears. She was roughly tugged aside as pirates began streaming out from below, swords drawn and battle cries rising to the afternoon sky and those who had been standing idly around the deck were now springing into action.

All at once the officers broke formation, meeting the pirates at the ready. The deck of the Fenland suddenly became a battle zone and the two brutes at her sides released her, eagerly joining the fray. Marianne looked at her free arms but her hands were still tied behind her back. She silently cursed the predicament. There was finally a fight breaking out for her freedom and she was standing there with her hands literally tied. She started trying to seek out a soldier that wasn’t busy fighting to pull aside long enough to untie her but so far all of them had been engaged.

Once again, Marianne couldn’t count on a man for anything!

She pinpointed one of King’s crew members and decided he was the nearest option. Crouching a little and bracing herself, Marianne charged into them, sending them crashing to the deck with her unfortunately falling on top of them in the process. Rolling over, she snatched up their discarded blade as she moved, struggling to her knees and dropping the sword between her feet, bracing them as tightly together as she could while sawing through the bonds. Her eyes followed the now unarmed pirate, who didn’t seem to realize who had been the one to knock them over because he blindly charged an officer, jumping onto the poor man’s back and beating his fists over his head with a shrill battle cry. Marianne raised an eyebrow at the gumption the sailor had but she was on a mission! Once she felt the first sign of the rope slackening, she pulled until the braiding snapped and her arms sprang apart. Snatching up the blade from between her feet, she jumped up and began searching the skirmish for Roland and Captain King.

Marianne found them on the steps to the bridge. Darting around those fighting, she had to twist and bend to avoid swinging blades and pray that none of the discharging pistols now joining the fray would strike her in the process. Even if they did, she wouldn’t let it stop her from settling the score she had wanted to settle for days. Taking the steps two at a time, she jumped onto the bridge and right when Roland was beginning to swing at the captain again, she blocked his blade herself and knocked it away. The captain’s own sword froze mid-swing only to draw back and protect himself as Marianne inserted herself into Roland’s place and attacked.

“If anyone is fighting for me, I’m the one that is going to do it!” she shouted over the ring of their blades, much to Roland’s surprise.

“Have it your way, princess!” Captain King spat, locking blades with her again and for a moment, she thought that she saw that smirk form on his lips. “Let’s finish what you started!”

“Don’t Buttercup, it’s too dangerous!” Roland’s hand was suddenly there tugging at her shoulder but she shrugged him off with a shudder.

“Back off!” Marianne practically screamed, her anger directed at Roland but her sword aimed for the captain as she was rushing forward in a barrage of swings. Their swords rang out above the conflict as clear as bells and her right arm was burning after the days of idle sitting about but it was a good ache. In fact, it was more than just the delight of wielding a sword again that got to her. The resistance, the footwork, and the strange smile that seemed to find her lips every time she landed a strike…she was finding it all remarkably enjoyable!

Marianne was caught in an unusual choreography when they exchanged blows, dancing around one another with quick footsteps and clashing blades that never seemed to miss one or the other. At one point they maneuvered around the helm, Marianne trying to hack at him and accidentally striking the wheel, wriggling the blade free just in time to block his vertical swing. She hurried around the helm, startled when he jumped up onto the balustrade but seeing an opportunity and swiping at his feet. He jumped over the blade, disappearing over the railing and Marianne cried out in frustration, clambering up onto it herself to follow after him. He had disappeared among the melee, Marianne straining to find him again but hands seized her around the waist, hauling her back off of the railing.

“Marianne! You need to be careful!” Roland shouted over the din, holding her tightly to him, his arms locked around her belly even though she began kicking and screaming. He caught her wrist with the sword and shook it from her fingers, wrapping his arms more securely around her and carrying her with him down the steps. “I’ll get you out of here!”

“ROLAND!” she roared, trying to elbow him. Her skin was crawling from the feeling of him touching her and she howled as if it pained her. For one thing, she didn’t want him to touch her, for another, he had interrupted her fight and she hadn’t finished it yet! “LET GO OF ME!”

That was when she heard screaming and it wasn’t her own.

It wasn’t a woman’s scream but the scream of a man that slowly turned into multiple men as it spread across the deck like a wave. Marianne stopped struggling; trying to see what had spooked the officers so badly. The fog was starting to appear, almost materializing from the deck itself but it wasn’t enough to hide away what had disturbed the officers. Marianne’s eyes widened at the sight of the captain’s coat falling to the deck in tatters, the man himself falling from the rigging. For a moment she felt a pang of worry that he had been thrown down by another opponent but his body suddenly corrected itself before he had even fallen past the topsail and her blood ran cold at the sight of four insect-like wings suddenly spreading wide and practically vibrating by how fast they moved, carrying the captain out of his fall and through the swirling mists, his sword in hand.

Roland now screamed his arms dropping her to the ground and Marianne was too stunned to feel the sting from her tailbone hitting the deck. She was more focused on the man flying overhead. Flying. He was flying!

Captain King chased Roland across the plank, tucking his sword away and grasping him by the back of his jacket, yanking him up from the wood and dropping him over the edge into the water below. He swept into a high arc that carried him back into the shelter of the thickening fog. Marianne could hear running feet, looking one way and the other as men were scrambling to get back to the other ship, weapons abandoned to the deck of the Fenland in favor of a faster getaway.

A low hum passed over her head as Captain King appeared again, shoving an officer over the side of the bulwark before he could climb onto the gangway, dragging another over the edge with frantic fingers trying to save himself when the other one tried to crawl past him on all fours. The pirates continued to force the officers back onto the ship, cheering when their captain landed upon the wall, pointing his sword at the naval ship. Crew members immediately flocked to the canons and Marianne realized the order he was about to give before his mouth even opened.

He was going to fire upon the ship with Dawn aboard! Wings aside, Marianne wasn’t going to stand by in shock while her sister was fired upon by canons! She snatched up one of the abandoned swords and charged at him. His mouth froze half-open in the command as he spotted her coming and swung the sword back to block her blade. He jumped off the wall when she tried to lash out at his legs to which he hovered over her blade in a whir of wings and relocated to the deck, eyes wide when she continued to chase him.

After the next few attempts she tried to make at him, his bewildered gaze hardened and they seemed to enter into the same dance as before, Marianne forcing herself to ignore the wings that flickered out at his sides with an odd rattling noise when he jeered at her. Their blades locked, the force of Marianne’s lunge forcing her right up into his face where he was partially leaning into her sword. She was almost nose to nose with him and while she should have been revolted by the close proximity to such an odd creature, she felt the odd thrum of excitement still in her veins. An excitement that flared when he met her gaze and she saw the exact same elation staring right back. Marianne’s limbs were shaking in her effort to keep pushing against his sword. Neither of them was breaking the lock. He gave a dry laugh and she grimaced, pushing him away and breaking the spell of whatever had just passed between them.

The captain’s blade blocked her next blow, his attention caught by something else, brow furrowing before facing her again. Marianne would have tried to see what had distracted him but his face changed again, reverting to his previous irritation as when he had been fighting Roland and she staggered back when he struck her blade with a heavy hit, sending her knocking into a canon. He flew over her head as she twisted around to see where he had gone but instead saw what had caught his attention.

The ships had been separated. They were drifting apart!

Clambering to her feet, she ran to the bulwark, colliding with the rail and gasping for air as she watched the naval ship drifting farther away. In her fight with the captain, she had completely forgotten about her surroundings and the blasted cowards that called themselves naval officers had managed to separate the ships and they drifted apart without her! It was already too far to reach if she had tried to jump for it now. Not even a rope from the rigging would aid her in swinging across at this point. A heavy thud behind her snapped her attention back to the pirate captain and she swung around, ready to strike but he caught the blade with his hand, wrapping his gloved fingers around it tight.

“Enough!” he huffed, his shoulders heaving with the effort to breathe. Marianne tried to jerk the blade away but he pulled it from her hand, throwing it to the deck with a clatter. “I said, enough!”

“You have to take me to the ship!” she lunged forward and grasped a handful of his shirt to shake him into some form of submission to her will. His hands automatically came around her wrists, pulling them free of his clothing. “You have wings—I don’t know how but you do! So get them flapping and fly me over there right now!”

“I don’t have to do anything for you!” He hissed, tugging her arms higher while she wriggled against the crushing grip around her wrists. “As far as I am concerned, I’m stuck with you until he comes back with what he owes me.”

“You said the deal was off!” she continued to struggle but he barely budged.

“Yes, because one of his lackeys shot at me!” He opened his fingers and dropped her arms, “If you want to return to the ship so badly, you’re welcome to try swimming for it.”

Marianne seriously considered doing so, even if it was just out of spite. Her eyes trailed to the ocean that was only increasing in distance between the Fenland and the ship that now held Dawn. Her resolve crumbled under her own fatigue, Marianne staggering back to the edge, leaning into the bulwark and watching the ship drift farther away with a dejected huff. At least Dawn would be safe. Sure she was stuck with Roland, but she was still safer than she had been with a bunch of pirates. She heard the sails rustle, flapping free to full sail and the wind eagerly filled them, pushing the ship along with a favorable breeze. The fog was still curling about them, hovering thick across the deck and Marianne continued to watch until even the golden flag disappeared into the mist. Her chance to try and swim for it was lost and even if she threw herself over now, her exhausted limbs wouldn’t hold her up for long in the fathomless water below.

Turning around, she expected the captain to be gone by now, back to the hole he crawled out of, but he was still lurking. He bent down, picking up his coat off of the deck with a thoughtful hand trailing over the ruined fabric. His head lifted, glancing back at her and she stubbornly averted her eyes, waiting for him to turn away again when she risked a look at his back. There was a slash through his shirt, the fabric hanging limp aside from where it parted for the wings to protrude through. She grimaced at the sight of the odd appendages that had been hidden away on the captain’s back. They were insect-like in shape, numbering four like a dragonfly but as angular as a wasp’s, hanging just past his knees when they were at rest.

“Sir, what do we do with the princess?” the woman from before approached him as he balled up the useless coat in his hands. His eyes landed on her with a tired sigh.

“If she jumps overboard, leave her. If she stays…” he nodded to the hatch leading below. “You know what to do.”

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Dawn tried to climb back onto the plank, Sunny’s hands grasping at her to keep her from running right back across. He pulled her back down, sending her stumbling backwards and back onto the deck, with a strangled noise in her throat as she reached her hand out towards her trapped sister. Her fingers stretched and she almost wished she could just grab her and pull her over onto the other ship but she was too far away and Sunny, while fumbling just to hold on, held her back.

“Dawn, she wanted me to get you to safety!” Sunny cried; grasping her hand and pulling her back a few more steps.

“Well what about hers?” Dawn frowned, her brow furrowing at Sunny’s resistance.

“I—uh—think she can take care of herself?” he nodded back across and Dawn jerked her head back around.

Aboard the pirate ship her sister was left alone by the pirates and with a sword positioned uncomfortably close to her back; she was sawing her bonds on the blade. Dawn cringed every time she nearly scraped herself on the sword but Marianne’s face was too twisted in determination to care for cuts and scrapes. Her eyes were focused, narrowed with anger and the purple color smudged across her eyes only seemed to highlight it, the iris nearly glowing in her drive to be freed. It was completely different from the Marianne she had known back home.

Wrenching her arms apart, she snatched up her sword and charged into the fray, Dawn straining on her toes to see her again. She couldn’t make her out through the bodies, swords swinging and guns smoking with every discharge. She could smell the smoke; hear the battle cries and agonized screams on the sea air. The sounds nauseated her and she put a hand to her stomach, her frantic attempt to reboard the Fenland turning into a further retreat with Sunny carefully edging her further back past the useless canons lining the deck. All of the officers from their ship had boarded the Fenland with only a handful staying behind, though when she looked at them, they were practically dancing in place, fingers clutching swords as if they wanted to join in the skirmish.

“Sunny, can you see Marianne?” she distracted herself from the bloodlust, turning her face away from the other ship to recollect her nerve.

He reluctantly released her hand and went to the side, using a rope from the sails to aid in his climb on top of it. She watched him clamber onto the edge, leaning over the open water with the rope tight in his fist while he scanned over the deck of the opposite ship, a hand shielding his eyes from the strengthening morning sun. Eventually he made a thrilled exclamation, pointing back across and Dawn rushed over to his side. In her eagerness to see where he had found her, Dawn didn’t realize she was knocking into his legs and he screamed as he slipped over the side, clutching at the rope to catch himself while Dawn ignored him, pinpointing Marianne at last and her jaw dropped at the sight of her sister fighting the captain of the pirate ship.

Marianne had changed, she had seen plenty of it when they were locked away in the belly of the ship, but this was the first time that all of Marianne’s newfound violence seemed to have a target to aim it at. Sword in hand, she was fencing with him back and forth, their bodies twisting in what practically looked like a dance that both awed and almost amused her to see. Marianne was a clumsy dancer, she spent many dances back home tripping over her partners’ or her own feet, leaving her complaining about aches and pains the rest of the night and no more offers to dance until the next ball. Now, however, this wasn’t supposed to be a dance but from how she moved, it might as well have been. Dawn marveled at the footwork involved in the fight, her eyes trailing to the pirate captain as he fended her off, a foot moving forward, Marianne’s moving back. He turned, she followed.

“Sunny—” she reached out to him, ignorant of his previous struggle to climb back onto the ship after she had knocked him off. Her fingers brushed his arm and she grasped the fabric she found. “Are you seeing this?”

“Yeah,” he huffed, “She’s fighting the captain. Pretty crazy if you ask me, considering he could, I don’t know, kill her?!”

“No, no, no!” Dawn shook her head, “Really look at them! She’s following him!”

If she would have looked away from the pair, she would have seen the utterly confounded expression twisting her best friend’s face in that moment. He joined her in watching the two fight. A princess having a scrap with a pirate and while she was defending herself, she was following his lead and it looked like Marianne didn’t even realize it. Dawn marveled at the grace of her sister’s movements as they fought around the ship’s wheel, flinching when Marianne had accidentally struck it instead of her opponent. Her pride in Marianne flickered but it was short-lived for she pulled it free and continued her attack. The captain was on the railing, Marianne swung, he jumped but it looked like he lost his balance and Dawn gasped when he fell down into the pit of battling sailors.

Marianne was climbing up to follow but then Roland was there, hauling her away from the edge. The sight of him carrying her down the stairs brought a sense of relief. Dawn’s tensed shoulders relaxed as she saw that Marianne would finally be brought to the other ship. She maneuvered her way around the canons to go to the plank to meet them, Sunny close at her heels while she stopped, hands restless and fidgeting with her skirt as Roland drew nearer to the bridge between the vessels, Marianne kicking and screaming in his arms, angry but safe at last.

Dawn’s relief at their return, however, started to deflate as she saw a strange mist begin to rise from between the ships. The mysterious fog she had seen the night she was captured was back and she shuddered at the sight of it, staggering away from the haze when it began to pour over the edge of the boat and pool at her ankles. Sunny was just as disquieted by the sight of it, his hand grasping hers and tugging her back while they climbed up onto higher ground by the ship’s helm.

Dawn went to the edge, watching the fog swallow up the pirate ship, mists swimming about the fight and reaching for the sails. She craned her head back, spotting the captain climbing up the rope ladder hanging from the large mast in the center of the ship; his coat was practically in tatters, hanging from his arms when he hauled himself onto the pole the sail had been suspended from. He shed the coat, letting it fall back to the deck, switching his sword from hand to hand and peering down at the struggle below.

Through the haze she saw him set his shoulders, her eyes widening as she saw four wings slowly spread from behind him, stretching out at his sides then sliding back into place behind his back. Her fingers gripped the railing as he pitched forward, letting his weight carry him down into the murk and she lost sight of him. She gasped; an almost delayed reaction to the strange sight she had just seen unfolding in front of her. Turning away, she went to Sunny, hands dropping to his shoulders and squeezing hard, eyes staring blindly into the deck under their feet.

“W-Wings!” She managed to breathe.

“How is that possible?” Sunny asked, her gaze trailing to his face and seeing the same shock.

They cringed at the screams that followed shortly after the pirate’s drop from the sail and Sunny ushered her away from the helm as sailors suddenly clambered back onto the ship, one running up the steps to where they stood and hastily grasping the wheel, spinning it away and Dawn snapped to her senses. She dove for the officer at the wheel, knocking her hand against a spoke but she managed to catch it and stop the turning.

“What are you doing?! My sister is still over there!” she shouted, anger fueling her hands as she fought over the wheel with the petrified sailor.

“She’s lost to us now!” he screamed back at her, wrenching the wheel from her hands but she fumbled to find purchase again.

“You’re going to abandon your princess?” Dawn braced a foot against the stand and pushed all her weight into trying to turn it back towards the pirate ship.

Behind her there were more screams and Sunny was soon at her side, trying to help her wrestle over the wheel. With his help, they managed to pull it free of the other sailor and Dawn spun it back in the direction of the other ship. She twisted to see them gain on the ship but the plank had already fallen out from between the separating vessels, sailors were crowding the side and throwing ropes over the edge for sailors that had been pushed overboard. Dawn’s anger fizzled as she realized the two had already drifted apart and there was no sign of Marianne in the thick fog. She leaned over the side to see if she might have been one of the people in the water but only spotted Roland as the only familiar face. Straightening back up, Dawn stared at the drifting ship carrying her sister further away from her.

“Marianne!”

Chapter Text

Marianne fumed while she sat in the familiar cell once again, her fingers drumming upon her knee while her dominant arm lay practically useless at her side. She had been dragged back to the brig kicking and screaming the day Dawn had managed to escape but now she was at a point of pure exhaustion. Her body was practically melting against the plank that served as her bedding, her heels propped upon the edge while she stared up at the warped deckhead. So far there had been plenty of activity above her for the last couple of days, ranging from shouting to footsteps but no one had bothered with keeping an eye on her.

She looked down at her sword arm lying useless by her side, experimentally flexing her fingers and feeling the uncomfortable pull in her muscles that still turned into a painful burn when she attempted to lift it. Dropping it back down, she grit her teeth at the lingering throb. She knew she had been out of practice for a couple of days before picking up a sword again but this prolonged pain was ridiculous! It wasn’t the stretch of time without a sword that left her feeling like this, moping in her aches and pains. Marianne had fought a man with incredible strength if that bent coin in the reward chest had anything to say about it. He used two fingers and bent it into a ninety degree angle for heaven’s sake! The constant blows of their fight spanning almost from one end of the ship to the other. Her blocks where her arms had trembled under the strength behind his sword hand; she could contribute her soreness as the consequences to facing such an opponent.

Thinking back to that time, everything around them had been a blur. Dawn being aboard the other ship, pirates and officers fighting left and right, none of it seemed to register past her sword clashing against Captain King’s. Fighting him had been fueled by more than just her desire for freedom. It was more than her anger at Roland’s gall in trying to “rescue” her from the pirates, though it had been a very prominent reason at the time. Marianne admitted that at the time, in spite of everything, she had enjoyed fighting him. She knew she did the moment she saw he had smirked. That confidence that should have made her only angrier only made her realize that she had been bearing the same expression at the time. Even in the gloom of the brig, she could still remember his face near hers, his gaze filled with amusement instead of the legendary anger Captain Wade had warned her of. The fight had thrilled her down to her toes, the first real challenge she ever faced since she could wield a sword.

“Here, I think you would appreciate this.” Marianne snapped out of her thoughts, sitting upright at the sight of the redheaded woman standing on the other side of the cell, extending a steaming cloth through the bars. . “It’s nice and hot. Good for sore muscles and I know you have some by now.”

Slowly sitting up, she approached the bars and tentatively reached for it but her muscles practically screamed in resistance. Wincing, Marianne dropped her arm back down. It had been days since she woke up to the price of her fight and she was still practically useless at this point; she couldn’t even laugh at herself. The woman seemed to notice her discomfort and her toothy grin spread impossibly wider. Beckoning her over, she draped the cloth over her arm and wiggled her fingers through the bars insistently. At first she flinched away from the hands and the woman stopped reaching, her smile softening.

“I’m not going to eat it. I just thought I’d help you, considering Captain Stubborn won’t do anything about it himself.”

Marianne couldn’t help the snicker that slipped through at the jab, lifting her arm enough for the woman to roll her sleeve up to her shoulder, fingers gentle against her upper arm while she slowly extended it, much to her discomfort. Once it was extended, she plucked the cloth up and wrapped it about her arm. Once it was covered, Marianne tilted her head back with a groan of relief at the soothing heat finally easing the pain. She peered through half-lidded eyes at the woman through the grate, holding her arm close while she returned to her seat on the plank.

“Thank you,” she managed in a mumble and the woman smiled again. She dragged the stool from the corner over and sat herself down across from Marianne, looking through the bars at her with that same big grin on her face that she had seen many timed before. This was the first time she had spoken though. What brought that on?

“Nothing to it, I know how frustrating a sore arm can be. Takes days to recover after the kind of beating those muscles got the other day.” She pointed towards Marianne’s arm. “Once you let it soak up some of that heat, you should get some of the motility back.”

Marianne nodded, lightly kneading her arm over the top of the cloth, hoping to rub some of the warmth deeper into her skin. She glanced back up at the woman and she nodded, seeming to catch on to her curiosity because she straightened a little on the stool, a hand going to her chest.

“Griselda, ship’s cook for the time being but I’ve been Captain King’s mother for much longer.”

“His mother?” Marianne gawked at the little thing sitting across from her.

She laughed, slapping a hand upon her thigh as she shook her head. “Yes! Not much of a family resemblance, I know.” Recovering from her laugh, she took a settling breath. “The genes were always more dominant on his father’s side of the family. If you squint, you might see that he’s got my skin tone, though you wouldn’t know it, he’s so pale now.”

Yes, she had noticed that for a naval captain, he had been remarkably pale. In her handful of experiences with him, she could recall his face so clearly now compared to the wanted poster that had once been in her pocket. It had disappeared a few days ago but she hardly needed it with the real thing being in close proximity now. Close enough to punch at least once. However, his face wasn’t what came to mind in spite of trying to look for similarities between him and the woman before her. One thing, however, was glaringly obvious that Griselda didn’t have.

“And the wings?”

“Ah, those…well, dear…” she scratched the back of her neck, hesitating. Marianne wondered if she even knew why the wings were there herself. Or she knew exactly why they were there and just didn’t want to tell her. Captain Wade has said nothing about them so this must have been the first anyone had seen them in person. He must have been trying to keep them hidden but when his coat was destroyed, he had no choice and used them to his advantage. That must have been how all of those men ended up being pulled overboard without being able to explain how it happened. The captain himself had been plucking them up from the air.

“He wasn’t born with those, was he?” she tried again. “Could his father have—”

“Oh no!” She waved her hands back and forth, dismissing the idea entirely. “No, no, no, my boy was born perfect in every way! He didn’t inherit those from any natural means. It’s just…there’s consequences to every action, dear. I can’t tell you the details. He hates it when I bring it up and dealing with him in a foul mood is hard even for me.” Marianne was surprised that this man would not be soothed even by his own mother. Griselda lightly scratched at her neck and her eyes trailed to a scar peeking from the woman’s collar. Upon seeing that she had noticed, she put her hand to it with a wry smile. Instead of explaining it, she suddenly got to her feet and brushed off her skirts. “Well, I’d better be getting back to work. These boys won’t feed themselves after all! You keep that arm wrapped up until the heat is all gone!”

“Wait—” Marianne jumped up but Griselda scurried back out of the room, ignoring her outcry.

Groaning, she slumped back down upon the wood. She ran a hand over her wrapped arm, the heat of the cloth beginning to seep away the longer it was there but she savored the relaxing warmth as long as she could, twisting about and lying down again. Griselda didn’t give her much information but she had certainly spoken more now than she ever did with Dawn around. Why that was left Marianne puzzling over it as she absently plucked at the cloth still soothing her arm.

While her fingers continued to worry the fabric, her eyes trailed to the door of the cell. She had spent countless hours staring at the make of this cell within the brig. It was the only one that had been built and it was solid with the exception from the captain’s rattling it that one night. Days had piled up while staring at the bars, memorizing the gaps between the frame and the door, the number of horizontal wooden slats and the vertical iron bars, track marks scratched against the floor from where the door sagged inward. Her eyes trailed back to the hinges, the rather simple shapes interlocking with only the weight of the door holding it down through the barrel. The moment that simple fact crossed her mind for what was probably the thousandth time, something clicked and Marianne jerked upright. Her hand went to the cooling cloth, gaze on the gap between frame and door.

“Of course,” She slapped a palm to her forehead. “Why didn’t I see it earlier?!”

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“I sent you out to find my daughters. You, who have had no prior naval experience but I trusted your determination to find Marianne would be enough to get her back. And while you did bring Dawn home, to which I am grateful beyond measure for, you failed to bring Marianne home!” King Dagda stood before his throne after furiously pacing back and forth in his frustration, pointing an accusing finger down upon Roland and his hands raised up to defend himself from the king’s anger. “Now, you come to me saying she is still in Captain King’s custody and his ransom is now double what he had originally asked for?!”

Dawn cringed back a bit at her father’s anger.

She remembered coming off of the ship after it had finally moored in the harbor, her father waiting on the docks with a company of guards flanking his sides as he waited for the gangplank to be lowered. Weary from the days at sea, Dawn felt practically drunk when she had staggered down the platform, the sudden presence of dry land underfoot after days of endless swaying left her partially disoriented. The sight of her father below coaxed her on and she practically ran the rest of the way to close the distance between them until she was colliding with his armor and her arms wrapped as far around his generous girth as she could possibly reach. He had been relieved to have her back, enveloping her in a strong hug that steadied her wobbling word. Dawn basked in the fatherly embrace for as long as she could until she felt his hands tense the longer they stood there without a sign of Marianne following after her.

When she drew back from him, his hands held her steady and his gaze turned questioning. Dawn solemnly shook her head to silently pass on the news and his face fell, brows knitting together with worry and he held her close again, a hand smoothing over her hair. She had nearly been crushed in his hugs since then and each one she savored because there had been a time in that cell where Dawn dreaded that she never would have been able to have them again. However, once he had gotten his reassurance that she was alive and standing before him again, his anger had resurfaced in the wake of the loving embraces. Hugs turned into lectures and Dawn was practically ripped apart by guilt at the amount of worry she had put him through when she had tried to sneak off.

To Dagda it had been like both daughters had run away and she could admit it was very close to being true. However, Dawn tried to justify her decision over and over again, telling him of her reunion with Marianne and giving hope at the news she was alive. She had been alive and thriving out there on the ocean! Still, when he saw that Marianne was not back with her, King Dagda was filled with worry and a dread that Dawn recognized all too well on his face.

They spoke with Roland and the crew in the throne room to debrief the men that had been involved in the rescue attempt to bring the princesses back. Dawn had been given time to bathe and change, the smooth silk of one of her favorite gowns giving her comfort when she went down to join her father. When she maneuvered through the familiar passages of the castle, however, Dawn couldn’t help but worry about Sunny. Since they had been separated at the docks, she hadn’t been able to see him and she worried her father might have enforced it because of his involvement with her sneaking off. She would speak to him about it once the interviews were finished. For now, she would stand beside him and give her father the comfort he needed of knowing at least one of his daughters were home.

The officers collected below the base of the stairs that bore the thrones of the king and his daughters. Dawn ignored hers completely; standing steadfast beside her father’s when they were brought in. The moment they kneeled before him, he rose and asked them to explain themselves. Dawn listened along with him, hearing details she had missed whenever she had been either on the pirate ship or numbly sitting in the captain’s cabin on the return journey home. They spoke of the fight with the pirates, Dawn confirming the account when her father looked to her for her confirmation. However, the stories failed to mention one thing. Why Marianne was still aboard the Fenland.

Even though Roland had tried to drag Marianne back by force, he still failed to bring her home and that didn’t redeem him at all in her or her father’s eyes. Whatever Roland had done to Marianne to cause the cancellation of the wedding was enough to begin the sudden change in Marianne’s vision of herself. She seemed to have changed for the better but at the same time there was a coldness to her that was evident during their stay in the cell. She never sat next to her for long even though she soothed her and comforted her whenever she grew scared. It was indulgent, affectionate but not the sisterly warmth she remembered. Marianne was distancing herself even from her, though she was trying to cover up the change the best she could with her relief in their reunion. It had to have been bad and even now, after six months, Marianne could barely even stand the sight of Roland, let alone him trying to physically carry her off. Dawn hoped that if her father intended to try and get her back again, Roland would not be sent along this time. Judging by the fear the crew had expressed at the unusual trait of the pirate captain, she felt that none of them should have been sent back.

“Understand, your majesty.” Roland lowered his head, his tone contrite. Behind him several other soldiers fell to their knees as well, adding to the humbling quality of Roland’s words when he continued to speak up to her father. “Our officers were overpowered by the pirates, the captain himself was among those fighting and we all know of his reputation for being a strong opponent! He wasn’t human sire, that man, that creature, had wings growing from his back.” Roland held his hands out at his sides and gave them little flaps, peering up at the king while he puzzled at the information.

“Wings?” Dagda looked to Dawn and she took a steadying breath, nodding her head.

“He’s telling the truth, father. Captain King had wings that were concealed beneath his coat until it had been destroyed during the fighting.” Dawn explained, feeling more confused by the sight of the wings now than the shock she had first felt at sea. Even though she had confirmed it, the king still looked skeptical and shook his head. He dismissed the description with a wave of his hand and impatiently indicated for Roland to continue his account of the event.

“I did what I could to ensure the crew got to safety but I was knocked overboard in the struggle!” Roland indicated the men behind them and while some appeared to contradict his account, others nodded their head in compliance. Roland finally rose to his feet even though Dagda hadn’t given him permission to rise yet. Dawn puzzled at the shift in his attitude from worry at the king’s fury to that same confidence he was practically famous for across the kingdom. “However, if you give me another chance, your majesty, I will not only bring beloved Marianne home to you. I will also bring to justice the pirates who dared to kidnap both the princesses-es back here in chains.”

He seemed sincere enough and she hadn’t witnessed exactly what had transpired between him and Marianne. The exposure of the captain having wings had been so startling that she had forgotten all about Roland and Marianne’s encounter for a moment. The next she had seen of the knight, he was in the process of being hauled onto the deck after officers and crew members had tossed lines down below to help those who had been tossed over the side of the pirate ship. Sunny had gone to help and Dawn lost track of the actions below when her attention was fixed on the fog that carried away her sister with it. If only she had paid more attention, perhaps she wouldn’t have felt like she had missed something. Something important…

Her heart was oddly doubtful of Roland’s motives. If Marianne didn’t trust him, she wondered if she should have felt the same way as well. Dawn went to her father as he stood there, hands clenched at his sides and gaze turning towards the floor, searching the stones for some sort of answer. She laid her hands upon his arm, his blue-green gaze turning upon her and softening at the sight of her trying to smile up at him. Drawing in a deep breath, he looked to Roland again, his hand resting over one of Dawn’s while she followed his gaze to Roland, who directly sank to a knee again.

“Roland, you are assigned to the Morning Glory under Captain Sawyer’s command as soon as she's capable of setting sail. You will direct him to where you had last seen the Fenland and search from there while I attempt to discern a meeting place with Captain King. We won’t risk another failure, do you understand me? I want my daughter safe at home by the end of the Summer Solstice!”

Roland’s previous contrition became that glowing confidence that nearly blinded Dawn when she saw it spread across his face. With that same grin, he bowed his head. “Understood! I assure you, Princess Marianne’s safety is my primary concern! I already know a way we can overtake the pirate scourge this time if you’ll just grant me a few requests to set my plan into motion.”

Dawn’s shoulders tensed and she shook her head but Dagda didn’t see her, his focus purely on the safe return of his other daughter. “What do you need?”

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It had been quiet since the princess had been locked away again. Bog stayed away from the brig. It was safer that way. Stuff reported to him that she had been yelling and screaming at his crew whenever they had been near enough for her to hear them. The commotion was practically driving them mad down below and so he ordered them to keep away from the princess. Complaints went away in the span of one evening and he basked in the long-lost peace that the royal had robbed from him until that moment. Even now, he was able to sleep at night knowing she was locked away, a mere afterthought while the Fenland could continue on with her work.

What he didn’t count on was his mother’s tendency to be a bleeding heart to the wrong people. He should have figured it out himself the day that she even imagined the princess for him that she would try and show her a bit of kindness. Undoubtedly a method in trying to warm her up to at least one of his crew but Bog learned of it soon enough when he had been interrupted on the fourth day of their sailing for the middle-ground between the Mainlands and Eileanach de Lónach. The plan was to wait there for word from the king and if none was received, he would toss the princess over and abandon the plan entirely.

Stuff and Thang had knocked at the same time, the thumping upon his door distracting him from his chart where he had been mapping the course. After they persistently continued drumming on his door, he finally spared them a grunt of admittance to enter. The door swung open and Stuff was the first to appear before his desk, Thang coming up to stand at her right and Bog waited for them to speak up. Instead, what unfolded in front of him was an argument. Nervous words were shot back and forth between them, Stuff insisting Thang tell him while he asked why she couldn’t do it.

“I’m listening,” he stated impatiently, eyes still on the chart as he checked the longitude, following the line with his finger.

“Just tell him!” Stuff finally hissed, Bog catching sight of her elbowing Thang just out of his peripheral vision.

“Ah—okay…” Thang’s voice grew quieter.

“Now I’m waiting.” He clenched his fingers into a tight fist, lifting his head from his work.

“It’s the princess, captain! She—well she’s—she’s gone, sir!”

“What?” Bog’s body tensed, his hands splaying over the map and pushing himself up from his chair.

“I went into the brig and the door was found hanging off of its hinges.” Thang explained, his fingers fidgeting in front of him as he spoke.

Bog’s fingers dragged over the chart, wrinkling the paper under his gloves until he completely ignored his desk, bracing a foot on top of it and launching himself in one large step up then down off of the piece of furniture. He darted out of the doorway, ignoring the members of his crew who recoiled from him rushing past, rounding on the hatch and dropping down below, ignoring the steps and hitting the planks. More crew members were startled at his presence and he saw some of them had been lounging in their hammocks, others fiddling away at projects, general lazing about that infuriated him at their placid state that only rippled into motion at the sight of him. He knocked Fern out of his hammock, ignoring his groan while he hit Grouse upside the head with a measured slap, sailors jumping to their feet as he strode through, grabbing those who didn’t move fast enough and shoving them out of his way followed by hastily barked orders that only made everyone rush to move all the quicker at the heat in his voice.

“FIND HER!” he roared, “SEARCH EVERYWHERE!”

He had men in the cargo hold, the gun deck, galley, the main deck, longboats, rigging, sails, even had a few follow him to the ballast where they dug through the dusty rocks and boulders until they were satisfied she hadn’t slipped away down there. Everywhere was filled with the sound of panicked, scurrying feet up and down from port to stern. Bog seethed the longer they searched without finding his prisoner. He returned to the brig to observe how she had escaped and found just as Thang described.

The cell door had been moved, the pins lifted out of their barrels by a cloth tied between the door frame and a grate in the top of the cell door. She had used that as leverage to haul the door out of its hinges and then simply needed to push it aside to walk right out of the cell. He tore the cloth from its place, ignoring the clang of the door striking the floor and sagging into the frame, fingers balling the fabric in his fist and taking it with him as he left the brig, sending Daunt to fix the door as he strode past him.

Carrying the fabric, he made a beeline for the galley, shoving the door aside to find his mother in the process of looking through the cabinets, her face peering out from behind a door and breaking into a smile. At least she was happy to see him compared to the rest of the crew. Even so, she was the one person who should have been the most worried he would find at that moment. She climbed down from the counter she had been standing on and Bog held up the ripped fabric, throwing it down onto the roughly carved table in between them.

“There is only one place she could have gotten her hands on this, mother.” He growled.

Griselda stared at the cloth for a moment as if she didn’t know where it had come from but after a pause, her eyes lit up with the realization and her smile faltered. Picking it up, she observed the rip he had made in it when he pulled it down, fingers touching the knot still intact and cautiously looking up at him while he continued to stare at her, waiting for an explanation. She laid the cloth back onto the table, scratching at the top of her head and fidgeting in about six different ways that involved scratching, shifting, and folding her arms before she finally opened her mouth.

“I gave her a hot towel for her sore muscles the other day,” she finally admitted, hands settling upon the table and leaning her weight into them. “After the number you two did on one another, I thought she would be smarting and would appreciate a little relief. I guess I forgot to take it back with me when I left but I was trying to dodge all the questions she kept asking me.”

Bog’s anger receded enough for him to raise an eyebrow, “Questions? What kind of questions?”

She scoffed, “What do you think?”

Griselda waved her arm at him and the wings hanging down his back suddenly felt a little heavier as he realized what she had been talking about. They jittered in a nervous tick behind him. “She wanted to know where the wings came from. Curious little thing, she is.”

“It’s none of her business where they came from.” Bog let his anger seep back into his blood again, wings stiffening and flaring a bit behind him while Griselda rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t tell her a thing about the curse, relax.” She dismissed, “I’m not stupid.” He didn’t answer and she seemed to catch on, a blush creeping into her cheeks. “Oh—one mistake! Just find her and get her back in the cell and all will go back to normal, right?”

Bog felt taking her back to the cell would be easier said than done, shuddering at the memory of her practically howling when the men had dragged her down to the brig the last time he sent her down there. This time she would probably make sure whoever was taking her down there would be unwillingly leaving a limb behind for her to gnaw on in the process. He was almost impressed by how she turned her anger into a weapon much as he had done for years now. The princess was dangerous to those who couldn’t handle her and she kept coming back for more. If she was still loose on the ship, she undoubtedly would go for the first weapon she could get her hands on.

“I can’t even look at her without some kind of blade being pointed at me.” He grumbled, stalking out of the galley to go back to the search.

The rest of his afternoon had become dedicated to searching the ship, heading up then down and up again, poking his head into rooms and pestering his crew for any sign of her but always being responded to in the negative. The princess was a crafty little thing if she had gone so long without them finding her and he had even double-checked his cabin between every pass between the main deck and the hold. There wasn’t a trace of her and he was growing tired of looking when the afternoon sun was already beginning to turn into the first signs of evening, the horizon warning him of its impending arrival with a fine hue of orange coloring the western sky.

Tired, cranky, and no where nearer to finding the lost prisoner, he climbed up the steps to the bridge to get their bearings. Fang was diligently standing at the helm, shaking his head when Bog looked at him and he growled, his jaw aching from clenching so many times during the course of the day. Giving his neck a jerk, a satisfying crack momentarily relieved his tension and he sighed, fingers rubbing at it soothingly while he observed Thang climbing up to join them.

“Still no sign of her, captain.” He admitted timidly.

“WE’RE ON A BLASTED SHIP! HOW CAN SHE JUST DISSAPEAR?” Bog shouted towards the rigging, clawing his fingers down his face in his exasperation.

Thang recoiled back from him, hands gripping one another until he shook it off with a fidgety dance. “You don’t think she might have jumped ship, do you?”

He scoffed, “Doubtful.”

Thang approached the stern, his hands reaching up to the taffyrail and he stood on his toes to peer over the back of the ship as if to check for her in the waters below but when Bog watched him lean over the edge, a familiar bronze blade appeared, pointing directly in Thang’s face. Dropping back from the stern, Thang tripped over his own feet in an effort to back away from the sword point as the princess appeared, climbing smoothly over the rail and standing before them on the deck with a smug smirk.

Bog stared at the familiar sword in her hand, his hand absently going to his side but finding no trace of his sword or its sheath because, in his anger, he had forgotten to grab the blasted thing from where it was hanging over the back of his chair! The woman had managed to sneak into his cabin during all of the searching and not a soul had known about it! He snarled between his teeth, eyes following the carefully polished bronze reflect the fading sunlight. Her hand looked tiny holding the handle beneath the intricate wiring that created the hand guard, all coming to a gnarled point at the pommel where the amber stone of his people shone with a fire that matched her eyes as they focused on Thang.

The blade followed the little seaman wherever he tried to go to get away; eventually crawling backwards on his hands and heels until he bumped into Bog’s legs. The sudden presence against his limbs made him step back and he looked up in time to once again find himself having a blade pointing his way with her on the other end. His hands rose slightly in a gesture of surrender even though he had no intention of doing so to a princess of all creatures. Bog rolled his eyes. He was right. Every time they met, she pointed another weapon at him. It was best to play along for the time being, indulging in her assumption that she was victorious because she caught him unarmed.

“There are plenty of places to hide on a ship without actually being on it.” She smirked.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He stepped to the side, away from the stairs and she began to walk in a wide arc around him, sword following him like the needle of a compass followed north. He observed her hand out at her side, a familiar stance she always fell into whenever she held the blade level to her opponent, eyes trailing to her feet. She had similar footwork to the naval officers of Eventide, if he recalled correctly. They always taught their military the same footwork.

She might have been good at fending him off in the heat of a battle, but when it was just a standstill and only one person was armed? Not so much. The princess was cocky and that was where she would find her problem. She relied too much on the sword to do all the work and the arm to propel it forward. Bog could almost feel sorry for her lack of awareness for the rest of her limbs, let alone where her feet were moving outside of their schooled pattern.

As if on cue, her foot suddenly missed the deck and dropped to a stair, her balance compromised as she flailed her arms to steady herself. Bog dropped his arms and snatched her wrist, pulling her back onto the deck. She fixed her glare upon him, armed hand twisting to jab but he struck her wrist with the side of his hand, the princess hissing at the sharp slam into her wrist and she dropped his sword, Bog let it fall down the stairs while he hooked a leg around hers, twisting her around and using her momentum to pull him down to the deck as she fell.

With a heavy thud, she slammed upon the boards, Bog forcing her onto her belly and pinning her arms behind her back. With a knee pressing into her mid-back, he held her to the deck, fingers biting into her wrists while she squirmed, bucking under his weight.

“Pirate scum! Backstabbing, deceptive, son of a—“

“Whoa, whoa, princess.” He leaned over her, letting his knee dig into her back a little more as he smirked and continued in a mocking tone. “Even we ‘pirate scum’ have a limit to such language.”

“Stop calling me princess!” she snapped over her shoulder and he chortled. He would call her whatever he pleased.

“My name—” Bog suddenly felt her heel striking him in the back, leaving him cringing, his little flinch giving her the opening she needed to lurch under him and throw him off balance, rolling off of her and winding up lying on his back. His wings were pinned beneath him now, the princess now having the upper hand with her straddling his stomach, knees on his arms after a quick shift and one arm bent against his chest, the other hand brandishing a knife that pressed into his throat. Where on earth did that come from? Putting her face close to his, she managed a quick breath before she finished with a growl “—is Marianne!”

Bog’s wings were crushed under their combined weight against the unforgiving wood of the deck, even if he tried to sit up, he would have been sitting on them and practically rip them out of his back if he moved too suddenly. For a gruesome minute, he considered it, but then he would have been left in pain and at Marianne’s mercy. He sagged into the planks, letting her continue to dig the knife into his flesh while he tried to find Thang, relieved to see that he had snuck away while she had been fighting with him and Fang was still near, hand on his sword and ready to attack. While she still had him pinned, he carefully raised his hand, a simple bending at the wrist to signal him to stand his ground.

“I’m curious,” he stared up at her, the corner of his mouth lifting as she blinked down at him, eyes dropping to his smirk and narrowing even more at his sign of amusement. The knife’s pressure increased but she didn’t slit his throat yet. “If killing me is what you’re after now…what will you do next?”

Her knifepoint twitched and he saw the hesitation in her eyes.

She hadn’t thought that far yet, had she?

“I’m not afraid of taking on an entire ship. I only need a few of them to get this crate back to Lumine and I know how flexible a pirate’s loyalty is once their captain is dispatched.”

“Oh, Marianne,” he sighed. Her eyes widened at the use of her name and for a moment he could have sworn her cheeks had darkened. Bog lifted his head up, letting the knife dig deeper and felt a trickle of warmth slipping down his skin as he gave her a wicked smirk. “That is where you are wrong.”

All at once Marianne was being plucked off of him from above, the knife dropping from her hand and her legs dangling as she was suspended above him by Brutus holding her by her shirt. Bog turned himself over and put a hand to his neck as he climbed to his feet. He removed his hand and saw smears of his blood on his glove. He kicked the floored dagger aside as Fang came over, unsheathing his sword and training it on Marianne while Stuff appeared bearing manacles. She wrangled the princess’s hands together with Thang’s help and they clapped her in irons, Marianne’s fire flickering out when she saw her hands bound by the metal. She wouldn’t be able to cut her way out of those anytime soon.

“What are we going to do with her now, captain?” Stuff asked, poking at Marianne’s arm and the princess frowned down at her.

“Take her back to the brig. Make sure you search her for anymore surprises she might be hiding before you lock her up this time.” He wiped away another trace of blood from his throat. “Just get her out of my sight!”

“When I get out of there I’m going to rip your wings off!” she shouted at him, fire suddenly rekindled as she was carried back down the stairs.

Bog stood at the top of them, placing a hand on the railing. “Go ahead, princess. I’d thank you for it!”

------------

“What just happened?” Marianne asked the cell door, her words not really meant for anyone but she was facing that direction at the time. The pirate sitting on the stool in the corner looked up from whatever he had been doing with his hands but once he saw she wasn’t speaking to him, he turned away again, hands going back to work with what sounded almost like a knife being sharpened.

Marianne resumed her pacing, hands clutching at her stomach where she still felt those infernal butterflies that fluttered about inside and tickled at her ribs the more she thought about the events that had just unfolded on deck. Yes, she had escaped from the brig on her own, using the cloth that was intended to help her sore arm and lifting the door free of the hinges. After getting the door open, Marianne had been quick to slip out of the brig and managed to get to the gun deck, keeping near to the canons and ammunition until she found a chance to climb out of a gun portal. From there it had been a matter of sneaking around and keeping out of sight.

She had a hard time getting past the sailors on navigation but eventually she found her hiding place in the same spot on the taffyrail she had climbed onto the first day she boarded the vessel. Apparently the pirates had no idea they had such a place accessible because in all of the scrambling to find her, not one had thought to look over the side. Marianne heard the captain’s furious shouting, signaling when he was above or below, the moment he was out of earshot, she took the chance to use the window that hadn’t been boarded up and slipped into his cabin.

At first she was going to check on the bearings of the Fenland, leaning over his map still lying open on his desk when she had noticed something glinting on the back of his vacant chair. The captain’s sword! Marianne sat in the chair, seeing how large it was compared to her meager frame but still practical for the limited cabin space. She allowed herself a little recline, fitting her back between the corner where armrest and back met and slinging a leg over the opposite arm. Oh it felt good to sit in an actual seat again and his even had a padded cushion. She stretched out her arms with a content sigh, fingers reaching out and touching the back of the chair then grazing the handle of the sword. Pulling it free from its sheath, she held the weapon out in front of her, twisting it one way then another, observing the peculiar bronze coloring to the metal and a spider web-like design that wove the hand guard over the owner’s fingers. The handle was worn smooth from countless uses but she was drawn to the amber stone lodged into the pommel, the same bronze material securing it into place. It was a beautiful sword for a pirate cutlass but it was also heavy!

Marianne savored a few more seconds in the comfortable chair before she climbed back out of it, observing the great cabin as she tucked the blade into her belt. It was sparsely furnished but there was an armoire and lipped shelves bearing various nautical instruments, books, maps, and charts. On one of them was a collection of crystal decanters filled with what looked like different wines and liquors but one bore a milky white substance. She marveled at the odd coloration of the liquid, nudging the bottle and watching the contents waver like water. She moved on to the armoire .The cabinet bore a collection of pistols and knives but no other swords to take. No matter, she had the one that would probably do the most damage on the entirety of the ship anyway. For good measure she plucked two small knives from inside, slipping them into her boots for the time being and shutting the doors.

On the other side of the cabin was the bed. It looked like it had been practically grown out of the hull of the ship, smooth dark wood like tree roots cradling the feather mattress and a jumble of blankets still tussled from what looked like a restless night’s sleep. She pressed her hand into the bedding, inwardly groaning at the luxury of a real mattress after sleeping on a hard floor and then a piece of wood for over a week. She tallied the bed up as another reason to hate the captain.

There was more commotion out on the deck, forcing Marianne to retreat back to the window. She struggled with the sword when she tried to climb out again, wriggling it into her belt after seeing she had no time to grab the sheath. She barely managed to get the window shut and swing her legs out of sight when more crew members reappeared in the cabin to search it again. Marianne had to hand it to the pirates; they were thorough in their searches so long as it was on the ship and not outside of it. It was because of that she found herself practically relaxing on the ledge through the rest of the afternoon, fiddling with the sword and trying to familiarize herself with the weight the longer she waited.

The sudden sound of the captain’s voice on the bridge at the first touch of twilight prepared her to confront him but oddly enough, it wasn’t him who looked over the edge but just another one of his lackeys. It was the same man who had bound Dawn the day the navy saved her and she tried to fuel her hand with that knowledge when she pointed the blade at him and slowly climbed over the taffyrail, revealing herself at last. The sailor’s scramble to get away from her was amusing but she almost pitied him when his captain moved away so sharply from him once he ran into his legs. She focused her attention on Captain King instead, his recognition of the sword in her hand making her confidence swell as she goaded him in his failure to find her. Instead of showing more of that fury he bore previously, the captain seemed to be more snarky than anything. It wasn’t anger; it was more coolness when he spoke back to her. The change from snarls and bearing teeth surprised her and she should have known better than to let it distract her because the moment she blindly missed a step, he gained the upper hand over her.

Marianne clawed her fingers into her shirt over her fluttering stomach, recalling how painful it was having her chin ground into the wood of the deck, his sharp knee digging into her spine and hands swallowing up her wrists, pinning them high enough against her back that her arms screamed for mercy even though her mouth stubbornly did not. She admitted she messed up but what he didn’t count on was her retaliation and she turned the tables in her favor.

She couldn’t even savor her victory in trapping him to the deck, pulling the knife she had stolen from his cabin to his. Something had distracted her from enjoying her triumph and it had started with the odd warmth that spread through her skin wherever it touched his body. It had been so long since she had her body making contact with a man, she forgot how warm a person could really be. With Dawn she had assumed she was warm from the sunlight she had been practically crafted from. It was familiar and she had missed it terribly. Touching another body, a stranger’s body, however, was warmer than she remembered. With Roland she had been too busy struggling to get away from him to notice at the time. His body heat was more of an afterthought and Captain King, she half expected to be cold-blooded and clammy to the touch. She had been wrong and she was paying for it now.

She cursed to herself, fingers jumping from her stomach to her head, digging hard into her hair, hoping to distract herself from the lingering thoughts. Instead she remembered the flex of his throat under her knife, his mirth when he smiled at her, and then those dreaded eyes. She knew exactly what to compare them to now and the fact that it was a calling forth thoughts of gemstones and images of the sea only irritated her more, shutting it out with another round of pacing.

“I’m going to kill him before he even has a chance to get to the rope!” she hissed through her teeth, trying to focus on her previous accomplishment of the blade’s lethal position rather than the way his throat moved up and down, his pale skin bathed in orange from the setting sun.

Wow, it really has been a long time if she was so fixated on Captain King of all people. At the very least she should have swooned over one of the brutes with big muscles and half-way decent facial features. Not a walking fishing pole. Did that man even eat? She could feel his collarbone through his shirt when she had pressed her arm against his chest to hold him down and it was painfully prominent.

You’re thinking about him again. Her conscience chimed in.

“No!” she growled, throwing her arms out at her sides. “I’m done!”

"Oh Marianne, that is where you are wrong."

Marianne froze, her arms sinking and slowly wrapping around herself as the same chill ran down her spine that she had felt the moment he spoken those words to her. Captain King was only contradicting her but did he have to sigh her name like that? It was like he had trailed a finger down her spine so slowly she could feel it in every vertebra, pleasant tremors shaking her and forcing her to half melt into him. That voice was enough to hold against him at trial alone and she made a mental note to add that to the list of charges when she delivered him to the authorities.

She peered down at her arms hugging about herself, fingers clenching hard on her upper arms as she ground a curse between her teeth, forcing her arms down and kicking at the base of the door. However long it has been, she was not going to let it turn her into mush. Marianne was stronger than a couple of fleeting smiles, a wicked sword arm, and an untraceable accent. She needed to get out again and this time, kill the captain then take control of his ship. He might have hinted that their loyalty was not so easily broken but that could be fixed with a sword and a few empty promises of clemency, right? Pirates would do anything to get out of the noose, even follow a runaway princess so long as there was no equal or greater opponent to challenge her.

Good, old-fashioned intimidation. That was all she needed.

Chapter Text

The sunlight between morning and afternoon was always the brightest. It was also the most maddeningly hot; almost blood boiling heat without a shadow to give the slightest hint of comfort. Bog practically sagged on the stairs in the unforgiving glare of the summer sun shining relentlessly down upon him and his crew. Many of them tried to find relief below but unless they were under the waterline, the ship was a floating furnace and he took his chances in the open air where the stench of sweat could at least be wiped away in the heaven-sent breeze. He had originally walked out on deck in his repaired coat but now it was cast over the railing of the stairs, his wings spread out to give him room to sit, lying slack against the stairs while he leaned back upon an elbow and tilted his hat down low to avoid the unforgiving light.

“Captain, we’re losing the wind.” Thang informed, pointing up and his eyes darted to the slackening sails.

He groaned as he felt the very same wind begin to die. The little tickle at his neck that had been his only comfort now spent, Bog had to follow its course and with that, came disputes with the navigator. Scully always carped about his spontaneous changes in their destinations whenever they lost the wind and didn’t consult with him first but Bog needed to find the wind again if they didn’t want to enter into a stalemate. Hauling himself up from the steps, Bog ascended to the bridge and waved Fang away from the helm the man had been practically draped over in his heat-induced exhaustion. Taking hold, he checked the weather gage, finding that they lost the southern push and now the wind was coming from the west.

“Thang, get back to your post and keep watch.” He jabbed a finger forerd, sending him off and hauling the wheel to port. If they could at least catch a breath of the wind, they could stay the course but Bog learned from a young age to be wary of winds from the west. It didn’t just carry exotic merchandise from the realm of the west, but it also carried along the buccaneers on the backs of those vessels and they were just as blood thirsty as any pirates from the east. Comestores Solis may have been a younger territory than the Mainlands in what was considered “civilized” occupation, but they had no shortage in their own breed of savage, black-hearted scoundrels of their own.

Dealing with Marianne escaping yesterday was enough excitement to last him for another week. He already had a hard enough time trying to push the impromptu adventure out of his mind last night when he was trying to sleep. Unfortunately his mind would not shut it out and sleep turned into him locking his last working window and the door to his cabin as a precaution while he poured over charts and logs to distract himself. There was a touch of sleep in time but it wasn’t a restful one. He had only slept long enough to dream of fiery eyes and familiar fingers threading through his hair with unusually gentle ministrations that eventually startled him awake at first morning’s light to find himself sleeping in a puddle of his own drool. His door and window were still locked, one map ruined and a god-awful crick in his neck. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had inspired the dreams.

Needless to say, he spent the rest of his morning decidedly not thinking about Marianne.

Unfortunately, one problem being ignored provided leeway for another one to come drifting into their sights. Thang came to him with the news, Bog’s focus turning portside at the incoming vessel that was riding on the back of the western breeze. He beckoned Thang over and held out his hand, the crew man slapping the spyglass into his waiting fingers and he tapped the helm, indicating Fang take over again while he moved to port, stopping at the edge and raising the glass to his eye. His gut twisted when he focused upon the incoming vessel, the image clearing the more he adjusted the view until he caught an eyeful of a blackwood-crafted hull and sails the color of slate. The flashy buccaneers of the west always chose darker colors for their ship’s wood and sailed with colorful sails to announce their approach from leagues away. Show ponies the lot of them but that didn’t mean they were any less challenging.

“We have a brigantine,” he muttered, taking in the two sails and remotely small size but he was not so thick as to not spot the open doors of the gun portals flanking her sides. Raising the glass higher, he saw the colors rising in the glare of the punishing sun and bit back a curse at the familiar insignia all pirates knew as well as their own ships. Seeing the Jolly Roger flapping free from the jackstaff was practically insulting when displayed before another pirate vessel. Bog growled in his throat at their audacity, drawing the spyglass away from his eye. “Colors have been raised, they spotted us.”

He collapsed the glass, shoving it into Thang’s chest. Climbing onto the balustrade, he jumped down to the main deck, snatching up his coat from the rail as he went to the hatch. Pulling his coat on in spite of the blistering sun, he picked up his foot and slammed it hard upon the hatch cover. The flap was flung back and the open portal soon spilled scrambling sailors rushing to their posts, Bog stepping out of their way through the initial rush, watching them automatically fall into position, ready for orders. He didn’t make them wait long, walking across the main deck and following through with a barrage of commands, fingers pointing out each task and ducking under swinging booms when they slackened the port lines and belayed the starboard in order to begin the turn. The distant ship had the advantage of being upwind, closing in fast on them and judging by how fidgety Thang was getting on the bridge, it was coming straight for them.

Well, so much for having enough on his plate. Now he was just going to have to take care of the overconfident bilge rats as well. Resting his hand upon the hilt of his sword, he approached the port bulwark, his fingers trailing to the amber and giving the stone a gentle caress with his thumb. He could feel the warm thrum of it against his glove before moving his fingers away and pulling his coat over the blade. His eyes traveled to the worn boards under his boots expectantly, smoky trails of mist beginning to seep through the cracks. It took to the air, rising past his men’s feet and slowly consuming the Fenland in her protective blanket.

“Are we to attack, captain?” Brutus asked, coming up beside him, the fogs curling around him and drifting out of his wake as he walked through it.

Bog smirked. “I need to let off a little steam.”

------------

She was boiling!

Marianne half expected her skin to be melting off of her bones when she shifted on the board. At this point she had shed her shirt, wearing her vest and savoring the freedom of bare arms but even the lack of long sleeves and folds of loose fabric didn’t offer much relief in the belly of the ship. Griselda had come down to unlock the manacles while she tried to get more comfortable but after the next guard came in to see her arms free, he called in the two muscle men to help contain her until they could clap her in irons again, much to her annoyance.

It certainly felt like summer now and she was miserable, even the pirate sitting outside of her cell looked half dead while he leaned his head into the dingy wood. She could relate to his suffering and while she should have been doing everything in her power to make her watchman annoyed, she just didn’t have the energy to do it. Plucking at the vest to try and let some air circulate under the fabric, she groaned at the ceiling, shutting her eyes and trying to imagine something, anything that would give her relief. If the hull had sprung a leak in that moment, she would have gladly drowned in it for the sake of cooling off. Unfortunately, there was no such leak and she was left to suffer in her own sweat. She raised a hand and looked at the dirty trails that were forming on her palm from her sweat disturbing the permanent grime that had claimed her skin since she had run off to sea. Baths had been few and far between and while she could bear with it, Marianne would have killed for a vat of water and a bar of soap. Just water in general would have been enough.

The ship suddenly shuddered, Marianne toppling off of her bed and onto the floor with a grunt. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, looking at the pirate for an explanation. He jerked his head up, blinking around his surroundings but appeared no more informed of the happenings than she was. His hand rubbed over his face, wiping away sweat as he tried to stand up but the Fenland rocked so violently in that moment, he crashed to the boards and Marianne rolled into the bars of her cell. The Fenland groaned all around her, distant booms of canon fire shaking her to the keel and Marianne struggled to sit up.

If the ship was being fired upon, did that mean that they had come back for her? No, she couldn’t think that. Lumine’s navy would never fire upon a ship whenever there was an important individual on board. They would have known not to fire upon this ship if it was her country’s navy. Perhaps another country had crossed paths with the Fenland and it was trying to take the ship into custody? All of the speculation didn’t answer a damn thing and she squirmed with the need to know what was happening out there.

More canon fire rocked her hard and she could have sworn she heard cracking and snapping of timber being broken through, eyes trailing to her guard as he clambered to his feet, looking at her then the doorway. He was torn on whether to stay or go see what was happening. Marianne wanted to insist he go but she was beaten to the punch when another sailor ran into the brig, dancing form one foot to the other and pointing back out the doorway.

“Captain calls for all hands!” the sailor said quickly, darting back out of sight with her guard following close at his heels.

Marianne ground her teeth together when she couldn’t even try to ask what was going on, hands grasping the bars as more canon fire echoed through the ship, shouting and pistols discharging with evidence of a boarding in progress. She wondered how frequently this ship endured attacks because the sounds of battle were becoming almost common place during her stay on the Fenland. It was almost ridiculous at this point and even more so that she wasn’t up there being a part of it! She wriggled her fingers into her boot and fished out the other knife she had snuck out of the captain’s quarters. The crew had been so wary of her when they hauled her back down below that they barely even searched her when they were about to put her back into the cell. They made a mistake when they didn’t check and it was going to cost them another escape.

Marianne wriggled the blade of the knife under the hinge pin, pushing down on the hilt to lever the door out of the barrels and hissing a curse when the knife slipped more than once. She was lucky she hadn’t cut herself when she finally lifted the door free of the hinges for a second time, the heavy door poorly handled with her bound hands and she flinched back when it crashed to the floor, Marianne jumping out of the way as it struck the dust out of the planks. Plucking the knife off the ground, she held it in her hand and stepped around the door, making her way out of the brig with a steadying hand against the hull to ease her way.

The ship was shaking with every fire of the canons and Marianne could have sworn she heard water trickling somewhere, the smell of sea brine filling the hold and she realized that all of the swaying and kicking was because the canons of the ship broadside to the Fenland had managed to break through her hull. She clambered up the levels to the gun deck, finding a gaping hole on the port side, one of the canons dangerously hanging out of the opening while crew members were in a flurry of activity to prep and fire the remaining canons.

Across the water was a ship of blackwood bobbing in view, canons parallel to the Fenland’s but the vessel was much smaller than King’s. She puzzled at it, climbing up the stairs to the main deck but hesitating at the hatch, peering over the edge and seeing a battle still progressing on the deck. The fog was thick and the few faces she could make out in the gloom were frightened but they continued to fight. She twisted around, spotting a man in a red shirt in the middle of a fight with Captain King, a large blade in hand being deflected by an angry slash as King forced him back a step.

“I was expecting more of a challenge from the infamous Captain King of the Fenland!” The man goaded, “The name hardly lives up to the reputation and yet you keep fighting. All my men have found was a measly chest of gold.” The man asked, thrusting at the captain, who batted it away with a snarl. “What have you got on this wreck that is so damned important?”

Marianne lifted an eyebrow at this. So it was another pirate crew attacking the Fenland and from the looks of things, something had tipped the odds out of King’s favor. The same man that had effortlessly fended her off time and time again, who bent coins in half at the twitch of his fingers, and commanded a fog at will was looking practically exhausted where he was standing. She spotted blood on the deck, following its trail to the men and realized someone had landed a blow to the captain. His mended coat hung open over his frame and she spotted a dark patch of blood soaking through his shirt, hand going to it as his teeth clenched, sword arm rising to parry another strike.

She bristled where she stood; climbing out of the hatch even though she only had a knife at her disposal. No one was allowed to injure the infuriating man but her, she had first claim on his life and first blood as well! Knife in hand, she went right to the culprit for robbing her of the injury she hadn’t been able to inflict. As the man in red continued to fight King, he had been blind to her approach and for a moment she thought the captain had noticed her, his gaze flicking to her and widening in surprise before he shifted his focus. Marianne flipped the knife over in her fingers and after barely breaking stride; she leapt up onto the red-shirted man’s back, jamming the knife into his shoulder in the process to an anguished cry. Grasping a handful of his hair, she jerked his head back.

“He’s MY opponent!” she snarled in his ear, yanking him down to the deck in a furious tug and snatching his sword out of his hand.

“You wench!” the man cried out, pushing himself up to sit and reaching over his shoulder to pull the knife out. Marianne didn’t even spare him a look, turning the sword in her hands and smacking him across the face with the flat of the blade.

Captain King looked on in shock, his hand over his wound and sword point lowered to the deck. Marianne looked to the weapon then back to his face and wrinkled her nose. “You had to be injured by someone else first, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know there was a queue.” He replied with a heavy breath but she saw the corner of his mouth lift.

Marianne felt her own mouth twitch with the desire to smile back but his eyes snapped over her shoulder and she jumped when he came forward, his hand reaching out. She prepared to swing but his hand went past her, pushing her aside by her shoulder and she heard the ring of metal clashing in her ear, twisting her head to see that he had saved her from another attacker. Surprised by the gesture, she sidled away from his touch, watching him fend off the other pirate and grimacing when he ran the man through with a clean thrust through his stomach.

“We’ll continue this later.” He huffed over his shoulder. “Right now, I have a ship to defend.”

“Sure…” the word slipped through more dazed than she wanted it to be.

Establishing friend from foe was hard to do when all of the pirates were supposed to be foes to her and yet there she was, exchanging blows with pirates from another ship. All the while there was the lingering thought on what the man in red had been talking about when he asked King what he was trying so hard to defend. For her it was just her life. If the Fenland was captured, she would end up with another pirate crew trying to take her hostage all over again. She had enough with being bait for one crew, another one was just pushing it. Besides, King was hers, she wasn’t going to let anyone else damage him until she could get her chance to do it herself and he was going to concede to it whether he wanted to or not!

That determination was probably why she found herself fighting near him more than once, keeping him in her peripheral vision while he took out his challengers with the same ease she had expected him to do. The man in red must have been skilled to have landed a blow, or was King just seething after being called weak and was trying to prove a point? Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to let anyone get the jump on him, that was her job.

The skirmish was suddenly reliant upon hand to hand combat, the canons finally silent and more crew from the opposing ship swung across on lines to join their brethren. Marianne’s blood was singing with the thrill of the fight, nearly being struck by crew of the Fenland until she fended them off with snarls that she was trying to help them for a change. The woman she had encountered several times over was fighting with a fury she didn’t expect out of such a small creature, her own blade connecting with Marianne’s and the two stared at one another for a heartbeat, her eyebrows rising skyward at the sight of her before the disconnected to find other opponents.
“I thought you were locked up!” she shouted.

“I still am!” she snapped back, holding up her still cuffed hands with a jangle before charging off again.

The numbers were dwindling and Marianne stepped over more than one body splayed across the deck, none of the men having the decency to try and avoid killing their challengers like the officers had done in the previous battle. That was where the difference was between pirate combat and officers, they killed to keep their rivals from getting back up again. You only fell once if they did it right.

Marianne’s bound hands were starting to become more of a hindrance, sweat slipping the manacles up and down her arms and throwing off her swing. The disorienting weight sent her staggering back after a particularly hard blow that struck the sword nearly clear from her hands. She bumped into someone, giving them no time to strike by swinging at them first, finding it clashing with a blade. The familiar bronze color caught her attention and she realized it was the captain, the two of them standing back to back, him holding his sword behind him to block her blind swing. He gave a dry laugh and she disengaged, her previous foe coming back for her while he went back to his own antagonist.

She fought with his back pressing partially against her own, his heel nudging against hers until she shifted her stance and she effectively knocked the pirate back on his rear, much to her surprise. A quick look revealed he was peeking over his shoulder at her and gave a slight affirming nod to the unanswered question then looked away. Even though the man was occupied with fights of his own, he had managed to direct her foot into a more powerful stance to put more force into her swing. Multitasking at its finest and she was beginning to wonder just how much of his potential was being hindered by that injury alone.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if I wasn’t in irons!” She called over her shoulder.

“I don’t have the key!” he snapped back.

“What?” she spun around, deflecting his opponent’s blade before he could do it himself. “You’re the captain! How in the hell do you not have a key?”

He snarled, raising his sword and bringing it down on the chains between her wrists. With a clank, the chain broke and her arms jolted apart to her surprise. “I don’t always carry them with me!” He shouted over the din, reaching out and grabbing a hold of her wrist, tugging her out of the way to stop yet another incoming blow. “That’s what drawers are for!”

“What if I dug around in your desk after I got out this time?” she asked, wrapping her fingers around the wrist of the hand still grasping her own. When he looked down at the gesture, she gave him a tug and swung him around out of her way, knocking back another sailor.

“Right, because you would have gotten that far this time.” He scoffed, ignoring the pirate trying to hack at him, tilting and twisting his sword to block his swings.

“I did it before! I even managed to sit in your chair for a little while!” Marianne grinned. “That seat’s pretty comfortable.”

“You were in my chair?” he pulled her closer; glaring at her while she nearly broke into a fit of giggles.

“Yep.” She popped the ‘p’ and he growled.

King shook off her hold on him and charged back into the fray. Marianne felt rather smug when she returned to the fight, her mouth resisting the urge to smile as she fought her challengers with a new vigor after seeing his rather childish reaction. She had merely perused his cabin, poked around his weapon supply and maps and then took a load off in his chair. It amused her that this “fearsome” pirate captain was so offended at the idea of her sitting in his chair and puzzled over whether or not he might have been rather possessive of all his things. Even though she was a prisoner with a ransom under her name so long as her father agreed to pay it, Marianne toyed with the idea of finding out just how selfish he truly was of his things. Maybe she should tell him she touched his bedding as well.

What would the almighty Captain King do then?

------------

Marianne felt that it was peculiar enough to be fighting off one band of pirates in the favor of another but if that was strange, then what word would best describe her fighting off said pirates while smiling the entire time? Crazy sounded a bit too hard of a word but it might not have been far off from the minds of others once they saw her coming. Zipping between opponents back and forth, sword in hand and wiping out her enemies with maddened battle cries that mixed between roars of determination and blood-chilling banshee screaming that scared more men off than her skills alone. She was a terror with sword in hand, broken manacles hanging from her wrists like she was an escaped wild animal unleashing its fury upon all those in her path.

She had broken away from Captain King shortly after she had revealed her turn in his chair, the man shaking off her hand with a scowl and striding into the fray. Marianne was left smiling after him, the first little twitch on her lips a meager expression that only seemed to spread the more she was drawn into the fight. Her sword moved almost as if it had a mind of its own, her own thoughts trailing beyond parry, thrust, riposte to simpler, more amusing ones.

Captain King had reacted so childishly to her being in his chair. It wasn’t the kind of behavior she expected out of a “terrifying pirate captain” whose name left many a sailor looking pale at the mere mention of it. She had seen a man who could be intimidating, yes, but she also saw a snarky side, mockish and almost playful. The last thing she thought him capable of was the juvenile exclamation that revealed a hidden possessive side to the captain when it came to his things. His sword, his chair, it made her curious to see what else she could touch to set his teeth on edge. She would have to find out once this pirate problem was taken care of.

The crew of the Fenland began to collect portside, herding in those who remained that either tried to run or had to be forced back. The pirates were forced to climb up onto the bulwark, balancing precariously on the edge while hands reached to steady themselves or tried to grasp ropes that were knocked from their reach. Marianne joined the crew, pulling a straggler by his collar towards the group then pushing into the masses, stepping back to stay out of the way of the reaching and grasping hands that forced the offending men to the edge.

Backing away from the mob, she glanced aft of the main mast and spotted Captain King hauling the man in red up off of the deck. He didn’t let him get to his feet, forcing him roughly back down to his knees with a hard push upon his shoulder. Stepping behind him, Marianne’s previous mirth at the captain hitched, her smile fading when he snarled the man’s hair into a fist, jerking his head back with a sharp tug and put the blade to his throat. It wasn’t the violent gesture that startled so much as the face of the captain when he glared down at the man in red. His features were twisted, brow furrowed low, lips drawn back from uneven teeth in a snarl and his eyes were darker than they had been when she fought alongside him only a short while earlier.

“Captain, you flouted the code and hoisted your colors unprovoked against a fellow member of the corrupt brethren, to which we both belong. Therefore, I will take your ship and your crew as payment for your impudence.” His voice was dry and harsh, the voice of the captain who threatened her in the brig and not the playful brogue of a few minutes ago. The blade pressed further to the man’s throat and the captain’s voice quieted but Marianne was not so far away she could not hear it. “Also, your life is now forfeit.” As he said this, the blade slowly drew along the other captain’s throat, blood trickling from the cut he made and the man stiffened in terror, eyes wild and darting everywhere, seeking aid in his misery. All the while he pulled the sword along, the captain spoke with quiet malice that betrayed the fury in his face. “For you had the audacity to threaten a man’s mother in front of him.”

Marianne’s eyes widened, her gaze darting to see where Griselda might have been and spotted the woman standing in the doorway of the captain’s cabin, a hand to her throat and eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of her. She turned to the captain again, watching the man put his hands to his throat but the cut didn’t seem deep enough to have been lethal. Was he sparing his life after all, as long as he had a mark to remind him of his mistake? She puzzled at the sight until the captain lifted his head from where he stood over the man, Marianne’s gaze suddenly meeting his in that moment. For a moment the darkness in his eyes flickered, his brow relaxing minisculy only to furrow deeper after the span of a heartbeat and he moved around the man, putting his back to Marianne, blocking the man from view with his body and long coat.

The captain’s arm moved, the amber pommel glinting in the vague fog and then he thrusted, a fleshy glide that resulted in a breathless gasp for air and then strangled words but Marianne could not see what had happened. Her curiosity was unfortunately sated when she heard a heavy thud and the Captain straightened back up, sword at his side with an eerie red gleam along the blade. Jerking his shoulders with a crack of his neck, he stepped over, his coat dragging across the man’s body in his wake until he was exposed to the eerily silent crew still on the bulwark. The other captain lay motionless on the deck, his red shirt now staining with a darker crimson, vacant eyes staring skyward.

Marianne shuddered, turning her gaze back to the captain as he stalked towards his mother still standing in the cabin doorway, fingers extending and touching just beneath her chin. A wide smile split across her face at the touch, eyes squinted and Marianne could have sworn she saw tears even through the fog but then the captain moved away from her and back to the gathered crew. He didn’t look at her as he walked past, face still gnarled in anger as he passed and Marianne took a miniscule step back out of his way, following him with her eyes as he approached the bow and stepped up onto the wall. He pointed his sword towards the ship still floating beside theirs, snared to the Fenland by grappling hooks and impromptu bridges of ladders and ropes cut from the rigging.

“TO THE DEPTHS!” he roared and the crew answered in compliant shouts and yells as they forced the men over the edge. Marianne’s throat felt dry watching them disappearing over the edge of the ship, a chorus of splashes following every disappearing head. If they weren’t careful, the two ships drifting in and out of each other could have potentially crushed them between the hulls. She tried to swallow but her throat only felt constricted instead of soothed.

With the last man overboard, Captain King sent his men across to the other vessel to ransack the ship. He joined them for a moment, walking around the perimeter of the ship while eyeing ropes and pulleys, checking up and down and surveying the damage done by their canons in the fray. He stopped Stuff and Thang, giving them instructions that they eagerly followed, darting off to spread the word but Marianne was left oblivious to what he had told them. She could have used this opportunity to escape if she wanted to but she was transfixed, watching the captain as he approached the port of the other vessel and observed a rope, fingers trailing down the chord and then glancing at a twin half-suspended over the edge. Raising his sword, he cut the two ropes; head dipping to follow whatever it was that had dropped into the waters below and then turning away to continue his supervision.

Marianne moved aside again, startled by the sudden income of crewmembers hauling over crates and barrels but hardly enough to have been the ship’s entire supply. More of the crew was starting to observe the layout of the deck, flocking to their captain and he directed him back and forth while he walked, climbing up to the bridge and making more directions that left men climbing over the stern of the vessel or descending down below and out of sight. The short woman crossed back over to the Fenland with a bolt of fabric under her arm that she patted with a victorious smirk shot Marianne’s way when she passed.

More fabrics were carried over, along with chests and bags that smelled of spices. She began to realize that this the spoils the pirates had taken from other ships before coming across the Fenland and from the type of cargo, it was a mixture of the exotic ships from the west and a few familiar items of trade from the Mainlands. Marianne saw flour, wheat, barley, cinnamon, textiles, gold, silver, jewelry and plenty of black powder. There was salt and oils and other items hidden away in their unmarked cargo boxes. Whoever these pirates had been, they had certainly been prosperous in their voyages.

“Brutus, dispose of this.” The captain had come aboard again and waved towards the body of the captain still lying on the deck. One of the men that had been in charge of restraining her gave a nod. Once the man left to do his task, Marianne watched the indicating hand go to the steps to the bridge, sinking down upon them heavily. His hand went to his wound with a grimace and the other jabbed the tip of the sword into the bottom step, free one touching his forehead as he leaned into a drawn up knee.

For a moment she thought to go to him. Why, she didn’t know. She didn’t know why she wanted to go to him. Be it to kill him or see if he would survive his injury…she just didn’t know. Marianne’s body felt utterly numb compared to the thrill she had felt earlier, the amusement gone in place of a dullness that left her looking blanky down to the sword in her hand and refusing to look at the body of the previous owner being thrown to the ocean. The cries of the overboard sailors were distant on her ears, the fog concealing the source from her eyes as it thickened around her, obscuring the activities of the crew and the captain, leaving her to its concealing mercy.

The mists cooled the sweat that had beaded on her arms and neck, wicking it away in her stillness and soothing her even though she could still hear the movements of the crew all around her. Vague shapes darted back and forth while she observed the haze, feeling its kiss on her cheeks and then it was slipping away, dissipating into the afternoon air and exposing the Fenland to the sunlight once again. With the crew now visible, she kept the sword close and finally moved from her spot, slowly making her way through the others, feeling their eyes beginning to train on her and feeling tension rise in her shoulders and back the further she went through them.

Coming to the steps to the bridge, her fingers tightened around her sword but the captain hadn’t noticed her. He was pushing his mother’s fussing hands away. He had removed his coat and his wings were spread out at his sides, stiff and shaking in his irritation at his mother’s persistence in wanting to see his injury. Marianne raised an eyebrow at his dismissal, the previous blackness of his face was more irritable than furious and his eyes were light again. Her previous numbness was coaxed into something more familiar, her stubbornness and determination reclaiming their place in her heart and kicking her forward rather than standing back and watching. Striding forward, she startled the captain at her sudden presence, hand reaching for his sword but she pointedly struck hers into the wood beside his with a firm throw, his fingers twitching away from it and eyes widening when she was suddenly planting a foot between his legs and reaching down.

“You stubborn jackass, just let them take a look at it already!” she snapped, grasping a handful of his shirt where it was tucked into his pants and giving it a sharp tug to pull it free. Marianne barely had the front loose, nearly exposing his belly when his hand closed around her wrist and forced her to stop.

“Whoa!” he scooted up a few steps, using his other hand to pull his shirt back down. “What are you doing?!”

“Stop being such an infant and show it to me!” she stepped up again, shaking off his hand and grabbing at his shirt again, pulling it up a smidge before he was pushing it down.

“Blast it woman, stop trying to take my clothes off!” he snarled, fending off her hands.

A soft snickering escaped Griselda’s lips and Marianne paused in her struggle, looking down at her still standing at the base of the steps with her fingers pressing to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the giggles. Captain King groaned, shaking his head and used his arm to push her away. She resisted the push and his palm smacked to her forehead, attempting to hold her at bay while she made another snatch but her arm was too short to do more than just graze the fabric.

“Will someone get this crazy wench away from me?!”

Marianne rolled her eyes as she was once again seized by Brutus and his twin, letting them haul her back down the steps and firmly plant her back onto the deck. Captain King stood up, smoothing his shirt down and concealing what he could of the blood staining the wound with his palm once more while at the same time trying to put on his “scary pirate” face that surprisingly had no effect on her this time around. The man had gone from frightening to ridiculous in a manner of minutes and she found it remarkably easy to not take this side of him seriously compared to the other one.

“What are we going to do with her now, captain? She’s escaped twice now and—“

“Do whatever you want with her! Let her roam around free, toss her overboard, lock her up again, I don’t care!” he snapped, stomping down the steps and snatching his sword from the step, sheathing it while barely breaking stride back to his cabin. “Mother, if you’re so damn keen on looking at it, come with me!” Griselda wasted no time in following him after grabbing up his coat he had left behind. Marianne glowered after him, not noticing the wink that his mother had given the crew before she slipped inside after him. It was only a moment later that the door hesitated in shutting and his voice roared back out towards the deck. “STUFF, THANG, YOU COME TOO!”

The woman and her short companion sprang into a sprint after him as well, darting inside and slamming the door in their wake. Marianne was now left alone, her gaze darting between Brutus and the other man, the two exchanging wary looks before they slowly released her and stepped back. She started at the crew parting from her, all of them looking uncertain on their actions but not moving to capture her again. The sword was still in the step and she should have gone to get it but she had a feeling any move to defend herself would be met with an unpleasant consequence. This crew was loyal to their captain after all, if what he said was true, they followed his every order without hesitation and now he had given no clear task for them to obey.

The captain’s door swung inward, Stuff and Thang emerging from the shadows and carefully shutting it after them again before they came out onto the deck and faced their companions. Marianne inched a little closer to the steps to get her sword but Brutus gave a low growl at her side forcing her to still again.
“Split between the Fenland and the Tormenta, half of us stay aboard and the other will crew the other ship. We set a new course northwest, captain’s orders.” Stuff explained with an air of authority that once again reminded Marianne of her previous assumption there was something between the captain and herself. She seemed to be one of the higher-ranking officers of the crew compared to the rest of them. Unfortunately it was clear Stuff also enjoyed her rank above the rest because she was awfully haughty about giving the orders.

“Destination, Stuff?” one of the sailors asked, peering around Brutus.

“We’re going home, boys.” She smiled, immediately met with a thunderous round of cheers that nearly deafened Marianne to the point of clapping her hands over her ears. Their elation suddenly turned into scrambling when she screamed for them to get to work, bodies suddenly darting in all directions, some of them clambering onto the confiscated ship, others manning their posts but all of them were still bearing toothy grins. Apparently the prospect of “home” was a long-desired outcome to this journey of theirs but that also left Marianne being hauled along with them and now the pirates had two vessels at their disposal!

She groaned, fingers going to her temples. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening, your majesty.” Stuff chimed in, folding her arms and smirking at her. “You’re coming along for the ride until we figure out what to do with you once and for all.”

Marianne lowered her hands to her hips, meeting the woman’s confident pose with one of her own. “Is that what happened to you?”

“Me?” Stuff plucked Marianne’s sword from the stair. Flipping it over in her hand, she extended the handle to her. “I volunteered.”

------------

“DAMNIT!”

Bog ground his teeth together with a sharp hiss sucked in between them when his mother pressed her thumb into his flesh as a silent scold for his language. He tried to lift his head up from the pillow to see what kind of mess she was making with his side but Thang immediately held his head back down with a shove that left him groaning and cringing at the sharp prick of the needle then the drag of thread in his tender flesh. Normally he wouldn’t have been so receptive to the pain but with his combination of sore muscles from surviving what was supposed to be his prisoner along with the multitude of other sailors after his head that day; he was too battered to tough out so many aches and pains at once.

It would have helped if his mother hadn’t used up the last of his rum supply trying to hastily disinfect his stab wound. He could have used it now but all that Thang could pass him was the weak wine from the Mainlands that he could barely even call alcohol. The stuff went down like water but it was better than nothing, the bottle clutched in his hand close to his chest as he jolted at another pass of the needle.

“Should have had Daunt in here, he’s the one deft with the thread on this barge.” Griselda sighed, finishing off her stitches and Bog risked lifting his head to see the stitch work in question. He wrinkled his nose at his mother’s poor sewing skills, eyeing the crooked and uneven stitches with a critical glare. At least they were better than nothing. It still knitted the skin together to prevent further bleeding but they were too tight, the thread pulling on his raw flesh with every move. Hardly able to move yet with Thang soon at his side pushing his head down again, Bog let his head drop back to the pillow, wings twitching irritably at his back, exposing his ire to his mother, who pointed a warning finger at him that he ignored, gulping down another messy mouthful of the wine.

“I need him on the Tormenta.” He huffed, looking at the useless bottle in his hand and flinging the alcohol to the wall. The fragile glass shattered, spraying the wood with the dark vintage and he gave a smirk at his mother who frowned down at him and his dramatic display. She jabbed her finger into his wound, knocking the smile off his face with a snarl and he writhed under her punishing digit until she finally picked it back up. Griselda then dressed the wound with clean bandages, trying a knot to secure them in place.

“You’re lucky that didn’t damage anything important.” She sighed, her previous censure gone in favor of a softer, more thoughtful expression. Bog stopped his squirming, eyeing his mother’s sudden seriousness, her fingers at her throat that Thang had bandaged for her before Bog would allow anyone to look at his own wound. His gaze lingered on the clean linen bandages, the bloom of red at her thin throat called back into memory and drawing a flare of anger crossing his features.

The captain of the Tormenta had come aboard after his men had crossed between their broadside, leading the charge against him. His men had swarmed the decks before Bog could even collect enough of his men to the main deck, most of them still hidden away below to conceal his numbers. He couldn’t count on them, the lackeys hiding too far below before the enemy crew found his mother, dragging her back to the main deck under the misassumption that she was someone’s woman and not his own mother. That had been their first mistake.

He had challenged the captain when he saw him holding Griselda captive, his blade at her throat when he first approached until he threatened to do further damage if he didn’t stop drawing near. Bog had frozen then, unwilling to risk his mother’s life for his fury. The captain then got greedy, he demanded that he drop his sword and then gave the dishonest promise to release her for him. Griselda had been pale-faced and trembling, fingers at her throat and eyes wide in fear, an expression Bog hadn’t seen for years and had hoped at the time he never would have had to witness again. Foolishly, he dropped his sword, only for the man to stab him for his trouble.

At least the man had terrible aim.

Bog wasted no time in retrieving his sword and freeing his mother before he went after the captain seeing red in more places than just his ostentatious shirt. He fought back with as much ferocity as he was capable of but the wound was disorienting and he was not at his full strength with the distracting pain hindering his movements. The first sign of relief turned abruptly into exasperation at the sight of Marianne attacking the other captain. She had subdued him well enough to impress him in the brief moment she did not attack him. Bog admitted his awe to himself more than once when she fought alongside him instead of against him, scolding him for his injury and then turning to almost playful banter that he reacted to so naturally in the midst of a fight it was as if they had rehearsed the whole thing. It had been a good fight. It was always a good fight whenever she was involved.

Bog shook off the memory of smoky eyes, smirking violet lips and the deadly sword arm.

“I told you it was just a flesh wound.” He sighed, dragging himself to the edge of the bed and slowly pulling himself into sitting upright. “Most of my pain is from trying not to die three times prior to today.”

Griselda smirked at this when she stood and picked up the bloody rags she had been using to keep his blood from staining the bedding. Bog went to his liquor supply safely tucked on a custom-built shelf, searching through the bottles and plucking the lunectar out of the back, pouring its milky contents into a cup. Once the bottle was securely back in its nook on the shelf, he tossed the liquor back, savoring the warm relief slipping down his throat. He lowered the cup from his lips with a satisfied sigh of relief, clopping the cup onto his deck as he walked past it. Lunectar was always strong enough to carry him through anything that ailed him.

“That princess certainly has it out for you, doesn’t she?” Griselda asked, looking to Thang and pointing at the wine mess still dripping down the wood and into the floor. Thang obediently went over to start attempting to clean it up with a rag, Bog ignoring him in favor of his mother’s sly grin currently spreading across her lips.

He held out a hand as if to fend her off, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“What?” Griselda’s feigned innocence wasn’t fooling anyone. “She keeps trying to kill you but then turns around and helps you out today. Why do you think that is?”

“Self preservation.” Bog stated blatantly as he crouched before his storage chest. Tossing the heavy lid back with a flick of his fingers, he started sifting through its contents for a new shirt. It didn’t have to be clean but it definitely needed to be less…bloody. There was a variety of modified clothing to accommodate his wings in this chest, the previous stock of common clothing long since disposed of in an angry rage to make room for the new supply. They were all practically of the same make and color, bland but practical. He dragged one out of the jumble of clothing, turning it over to unbutton the back. The flaps free, he slipped it on one arm after the other, his side pulling uncomfortably when he reached back behind him to fasten the buttons into place and tucking the modified hem of the shirt into his trousers. “No one wants to be kidnapped twice, Mother, especially someone like Marianne.”

The moment her name left his mouth he froze mid-tuck, eyes darting to his mother in hopes of her not catching his mistake but it was too late. Griselda’s eyes had lit up, wide and bright with an equally luminous smile breaking across her features. Her hands clutched the bloody rags to her chest in excitement and he knew he had well and truly dug himself into a hole. His hands clutched at the front hem of his shirt for a moment as he contemplated how to take it back, something, anything to knock that expression off her face but came up with nothing. Facing the inevitable words that would follow, he turned away from her and irritably stuffed the front half of his shirt into place.

“So it’s Marianne, is it?” her tone was sly and teasing.

Shit.

“Just—go below.” He grumbled, giving his shirt one final adjustment and slumping into his chair, flinching at the sting in his side from the sudden drop but the alcohol helped ebb its sting to tolerable. Griselda waved a dismissive hand at him, scoffing and heading for the door while he sulked over his folly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he pointed with his other hand at Thang where he was finishing up his cleaning. “Thang, go get our bearings and tell me the progress of the Tormenta.”

“Aye, captain!” Thang gave an eager salute and followed a grinning Griselda back out of his cabin.

“And tell Stuff I need a damage report!” he shouted after him before he could shut the door, leaning into his armrest and slipping his hand over his face with a sigh.

Somehow he felt that he had entered into a string of bad luck and if that were so, he knew just who to blame it on.

Kidnapping the princesses of Lumine had been a mistake after all. The idea of getting a ransom had been brilliant enough at the time when he only had the younger one to deal with but what he thought would be double the reward turned into all the trouble the blond hadn’t given him before and even more. Marianne brought destruction and left chaos in her wake, like an infernal typhoon that no sailor could survive through. She disrupted his life, his reputation even, by being aboard his ship.

Before he had the princesses aboard the Fenland, he was a notorious pirate who could intimidate any man just by sneering at them. Then the princesses came along. Three fights with Marianne and she now looked at him like he was some sort of child playing pretend at pirate. She goaded him, teased him and even revealed that she had snuck around in his cabin without a hint of trepidation in his reaction. Wench even sat in his blasted chair!

Twitching at the recollection of her having sat in it, he glanced warily down at his seat, hoping that the piece of furniture hadn’t become infused with any of her wickedness and planned to collapse under him at that very moment. The last thing he needed was a posessed chair trying to injure him. There were enough living creatures trying to do that on a daily basis. Now he harbored one of them on his very ship and he made the mistake of potentially letting her roam free about the vessel. His crew knew what she was capable of. They would be fools not to fear her.

Chapter Text

The crew was in a frenzy that was an entirely different tempo from that of the previous battle. They were rushing to and fro in order to repair the damage with whatever wood they had in stock, check the canons, replace snapped chording and one sailor was even hanging from a rope while working on the torn topgallant sail on the main mast. Marianne had to dodge out of the way more than once, mostly ignored by the others while they worked with only a few gruff words tossed her way. It felt almost like she was being blamed for their predicament when as far as she knew, she hadn’t been the cause but she had certainly helped in its solution! One would expect them to be more grateful that she had helped and didn’t try to distract them by attempting some hare-brained escape at the same time.

If anything, they should probably be blaming their captain for the shenanigans right now. If he had been a better captain, they might not have entered into such a situation! Pirates were such ignorant people, charging into things without thinking them through. Well, she couldn’t isolate such behavior to them alone; Marianne herself was guilty of rather sporadic thinking herself. Even so, she stubbornly blamed Captain King for everything. At least there was someone to point her finger at. Bloody pirate captains getting injured by a weaker opponent. That was supposed to have been her privilege! It irritated her to have been beaten to the punch and she let herself seethe rather than dwell on the unsettling memory of the opposing captain’s death. She used that same disappointment fuel her glare when she saw Captain King finally emerging from his cabin again later that afternoon. He had changed out of his bloodied shirt and donned his coat again when she saw him step through the crew, brushing past them with his permanent scowl twisting his lips. He cast one glance her way, eyes trailing to her broken manacles with an expression that clearly read: “You’re still here” before he followed his crew’s lead and ignored her in favor of the more demanding repairs.

No worries, she didn’t feel ready to press her luck just yet. If he wasn’t barking orders for them to attempt to lock her up in the brig again, he must have accepted that she would behave herself for the most part. It felt like an unspoken agreement that had passed between the ship and herself. If she didn’t try to swing her sword around, she would be allowed to roam free. However, the fact was that this was, after all, a ship. Meaning, she had nowhere to go but drown.

With that in mind, Marianne strayed through the ship, a ghost among the working bodies, observing but unable to really jump in and help. She owed these pirates nothing. They held her prisoner after all, none of them doing a damn thing to help her when she was sitting uncomfortable and alone in her cell. They hadn’t mocked her or spat at her though the bars, their behavior as passive as it was now. Supposedly she could be grateful for that. It was as if all the malice and unsavory pirate behavior left them once their captain wasn’t around to give an order. They followed his word and while there were some watchful eyes, she was granted a semblance of freedom.

The crew may have been loyal to their captain, according to him, but she couldn’t have been too far off on the assumption that they would change their tune if she could just dispatch the man. Even if they loved their captain, it didn’t look like there would be a first mate to replace him. They would be leaderless and large groups always caved without a leader. Marianne was almost convinced taking over could become a reality. It wouldn’t have been too hard to kill him now that she was out of the brig. He was injured. Marianne had fought with him; she knew what had been limited because of this in spite of how impressive he had performed despite his disadvantage. Even she had to admit that he was still dangerous when hurt. The moment he killed that other captain was proof of that.

Marianne remembered the dark demeanor, jeering expression and his cold gaze catching hers. She couldn’t look away. For a moment the coldness faltered when their eyes had met, as if that alone had almost stopped him from his determination. Even though he carried on with his execution, he turned his back on her and blocked the kill from her sight, as if he was trying to hide it from her. Why though? Why hide it from her of all people when he should have shown it proudly as some kind of power play to prove that he was everything the stories said about him? The questions were endless and left her head aching when she took refuge on the mess deck, commandeering a hammock and tucking into it to keep out of the way while the repairs and work continued all around her.

Whatever his reason, he still killed a man and it hadn’t been in the spirit of self preservation. King had run him through after slitting his throat, speaking of the man threatening his mother in the process. Griselda’s hand had been to her neck but Marianne hadn’t seen if that was somehow related the cut. If so, it might have been justifiable to him, but to her, he still executed a man for a mere threat even though his mother survived. He also sent the remaining crew overboard without giving them quarter or letting them take their ship and flee. Captain King had given them no chance of survival. Lumine’s justice system would never have convicted a man so seriously for such an act as he had done. Neither would she.

Of course, she admitted bitterly in the back of her mind. He’s a pirate. Mercy is a foreign concept to a man with no honor.

Suddenly the time she spent bantering with him, fighting and enjoying it all the while had felt wrong. Marianne was a princess of Lumine, heir to the throne and one day queen. She couldn’t make such mistakes as to assume a pirate could have redeeming qualities. She couldn’t even off-handedly think there was something “cute” or “endearing” as she had foolishly thought some of his reactions had been. Whatever trickery that was, Marianne would take care in not falling for it again. No more fights. No more challenges. She would do what she planned to do since seeing the man’s sketched face on that wanted poster.

She would kill Captain King.

------------

The night provided just the right amount of cover she needed. Sneaking through the slumbering crew had been no picnic and her feet were stinging from the contact of the weathered deck. She missed her boots. Marianne wished she hadn’t needed to leave them behind but the hard soles always announced her every move in a room full of restless pirates who twitched at every creak and sway. Abandoning her boots was all she could do to keep her footfalls silent as she crept through the sleeping bodies, ducking under hammocks and avoiding treading on those who had taken up spots on the floor.

More than once she had to jump over a spare body, wincing at the dull thuds of her feet hitting the boards. It was a miracle she had even managed to get to the gaping canon hole hastily patched with a spare canvas for the night, wriggling between the fabric and the splintered wood to climb up to the bulwark, peering warily through the drain portal of the waterway. There were a few members of the crew still on the deck; lanterns close by while they worked on smaller repairs that didn’t require the light of day. With them distracted by their labor, Marianne hoisted herself over the rail, slipping her legs over the side and dropping to the deck, keeping close to a canon for cover in case someone might have seen.

Getting to her previous spot on the taffyrail proved tricky with the helmsman present, watchful eyes darting every which way to monitor the waters spread before them. The navigator had distracted him with a comment on his course, the man’s attention pulled away long enough for her to dart up the steps and past them. She had nearly lost her grip and pitched herself over the stern of the ship in her haste to get out of sight before they noticed. Clinging to the carvings, her fingers practically screamed in pain, nearly wishing she had claws to dig into the wood to hold her secure. Her feet eventually found purchase and she swung onto her ledge, slumping back with a sigh of relief at the feeling of something solid beneath her again.

What wasn’t a relief was the glow streaming from the captain’s cabin. The light from the remaining window cast a golden square of light upon the waters below, signaling the man hadn’t gone to bed yet in spite of the rest of the crew having done so. She moved to strike her fist against the wood but stopped herself, easing it down to touch the wood with a defeated huff. Glowering down at the light on the water, she saw a silhouette pass through, briefly obscuring the glow. Well, at least she knew someone was in there. Now she just needed to wait until they were asleep.

In time Marianne’s patience would be worn thinner than a piece of cheesecloth but the light from within eventually extinguished, leaving the waters dark once more. Giving him time to fall asleep, she shifted onto her side on the ledge, resting her head against her knuckles while letting her other arm curl against her waist, fingers trailing over the hilt of the sword. She would wait a few minutes. He fought hard today and he was injured on top of it. If she had the chance to sleep in a bed as soft as what he had, it certainly wouldn’t have taken her long to fall asleep herself. Unfortunately, thoughts of soft beds and pillows accompanied by the gentle brush of the night wind against her hair was lulling and Marianne allowed herself a moment to shut her eyes to enjoy the sensation brought on by her own imagination. Unfortunately, that moment of weakness left her nearly falling asleep more than once.

Jerking her head upright, Marianne blinked over the side, shaking her head and swinging herself into a sitting position to stop herself from drifting off again. She had been fighting off the urge to sleep for a while now, though she could not see the moon to tell just how long she had been near passed out. The thought of it drew a shiver through her, longing to just take a peek at it nearly manipulating her into climbing back up to do just that. She shifted on the ledge, peering down at the moonlight cast over the ocean. Its pale light turned every miniscule ripple silver on the black waters below. It was utterly beautiful, just as it had been every night she looked upon it before. Marianne never missed a night under the moon while on the Quelling. She had to ignore it while being locked away in the brig but it called to her from beyond the shadows after days of having been caged within. However, she couldn’t answer it yet.

Desires be damned, she had a job to do!

She wasted no more time as she eased herself over the shelf, the tips of her toes touching the wood of the window ledge. Gently edging them further onto the sill to secure her footing, she guided herself down with her hands to make sure she still had a hold of something until she was crouching on the sill. Fingers feeling along the seam, she gave the window an experimental push, smirking when it swung inward easily. It was amusing that he had taken the time to bolt his door, the lock clearly visible in the sliver of moonlight through the window but he had ignored his window. Even after she had told him she found her way into his cabin before. Apparently he didn’t learn his lesson on her methods of breaking and entering, though in this case, it was merely entering.

Marianne slipped inside, dropping to the floor just under the broken windows and glancing around the darkened cabin. The candles that had been collected along the corners of his desk were extinguished, melted wax hardened around their bases and half spread on the surface. His maps and charts were still spread across it, pale in the glow of the moon but everything else was cast in shadow. Her gaze turned onto the bed cradled by the complicated woodwork she had seen the other day and sure enough she could make out a form beneath the blankets.

Rising from her crouch, Marianne began tip-toeing across the boards to the bed with cautious steps. She eased around one of the root-like structures then sidled into the gap to stand beside the bed, fingers on the hilt of her sword, at the ready in case he might have been faking. It was too dark to make out any definite shapes, the moonlight was only angled at the door, his bedding left in shadow but she could still hear his breath. His breathing hitched, Marianne tensing up in that same moment but then it grew steady again. Well, as steady as a painful sleep could be, in any case. Every breath sounded almost like a struggle, pained even at respite. When he didn’t stir again, she squinted through the darkness at her target, getting the layout she needed to work with.

He was lying on his side, facing the room but aside from the vague shape of his silhouette, Marianne was left with little to go on thanks to the lack of illumination. Perhaps breaking through the windows like that in her haste that day had been a mistake after all. At least she would have been able to see better if they hadn’t been boarded up. She stood in the sliver of moonlight, letting it guide her as she slid the sword from her belt. She couldn’t see a target with the cover in the way but if she tried to touch it, she risked waking him. Marianne fidgeted a little, the sword tip angling one way then the other until she mentally scolded herself for stalling and settling for the easiest approach. Just have his head and be done with it! It would be barbaric and bloody but not entirely unheard of. There were beheadings performed within the last twenty years before her father withdrew them from the sentences. She nodded at this, adjusting her angle and used both hands to grasp the hilt, raising it over her head. She needed to put enough force in this swing to make a clean cut. There was nothing worse in a beheading than having to use multiple swings to hack a head off. Marianne had just gotten it into position, ready to send down the blow when even in the shadows, she saw his eye open.

Marianne stepped back, lowering the sword to chin-level and drawing her arm back, one hand against the pommel and the other shifting on the handle, ready to thrust at him if he tried anything but he didn’t move. He wasn’t frozen by fear but simply watched her, eyes blinking slowly from the obvious lethargic state he was still in from slumber. Even though he had just woken up, his eyes were clear and alert in the moonlight when he slowly lifted his head from the pillow.

“You’re hesitating.” He stated.

“I am not.” She countered. “I was going to try to end it quickly for you.”

“If that were true, wouldn’t I be dead already?” he raised an eyebrow.

The man was entirely too unfazed by the fact that someone had entered his cabin with the intention of killing him. She glowered at him and nearly screamed in frustration when his mouth opened wide in a yawn. Did this man have no self-preservation at all? She was the one that was armed here! Stepping forward she prepared to plunge but his hand raised and fingers wrapped around the blade. It wasn’t the angry grab he had done the first time such a thing happened but a careful one with a slow wrapping of his fingers that didn’t risk the sharpness of the blade with too tight a hold.

“I’ll make it easy for you, princess.” Brushing the blanket aside, he uncurled his legs and lowered them to the floor as he sat up on the edge, guiding the tip to his chest and leveling it over his heart. “It’s better than having you hack away at my neck.”

Marianne should have taken advantage of the gesture but her eyes betrayed her, drawn more to the fact he was shirtless than her sword being pointed right at his heart. He sat there on the bedding in his trousers, the white bandages over his wound were wrapped snugly around his torso, concealing the damage but leaving the expanse of his pale chest in plain sight. He was lean, border-lining too skinny to be considered healthy with broader shoulders than she expected but where his chest was paler than the moon filtering through his window, his arms seemed to be lost to the shadows. They were too dark to be the same pallor of his chest but even the darkness of the night shouldn’t have rendered a skin tone so altered. Her eyes turned onto the fingers around her sword and a small gasp betrayed her previous determination. Her brow creased more in confusion than anger, eyes straining to see through the dark. If the moonlight hadn’t caught on the sword, she might not have even noticed what she was seeing on the blade in that moment.

He wasn’t wearing his gloves for the first time since she had met him. His fingers were long with gnarled knuckles that reminded her of dead tree limbs more than digits but that wasn’t what had surprised her. There were claws, long and black growing from the tips of his fingers where nails normally would have sprouted. They looked sharper than thorns and clicked against the steel with tiny taps as he waited for her to make her move. Her surprise must have finally struck him because his fingers stilled and she finally looked up into his face again.

“You’ve seen it then,” he gave a dry, humorless laugh, releasing the sword by spreading his fingers open wide.

“Seen what?” She hated the tremor in her voice, her feet betraying her when she stepped back the moment he shifted.

He rose up from the bed, Marianne scooting back another step even though her sword was still pointing at him without his hand around it. The man loomed over her for a moment, his expression lost to the darkness and she realized that this pause was meant for something. Was it a chance to escape? She resolutely held her ground, narrowing her eyes where she believed his to be and heard a quiet chuckle before he stepped away, heading to his desk. She followed him with the sword, cringing at the sudden flare of light when he made up a flame and lit the candles set across his desk. He tossed the flint to the desk and looked up at her with a risen eyebrow, Marianne glaring at him then forcing herself to look down.

With the warm glow of the candlelight she could see his previously shadowed body, her eyes still resolutely avoiding his bare chest even though she should have been used to half-naked men by now. Plenty of pirates and respectable sailors stripped their shirts in the midst of working on a hot day after all. This scrawny man shouldn’t have been an exception! With that in mind, she forced herself to look, eyes still trailing to his arms more out of realization than embarrassment.

King’s hands were ashen gray, the strange coloring spreading from the tips of his fingers and up the rest of his arm, to just above his elbows. His skin there was mottled with the same gray color mixing with the paleness of his upper arm as if the gray was spreading up his limbs. His chest bore evidence of this same effect, though natural pallor seemed to reign supreme for the most part on his torso. Thin to thick tendrils of the neutral shade seemed to come from around his back and extending to his front, more traces of this transition probably hidden by the bandages wrapping his middle. Against his shoulders were rounded marks that were oddly reminiscent of palm prints, the marks a nearly black shade and looking almost they had been seared into his skin compared to the mere discoloration of the rest of his flesh.

“Your window of opportunity is shutting, princess.” He reminded her, Marianne’s gaze darting back into his face. He slowly slipped behind his chair, fingers resting on the back of it. She didn’t miss the pinky of his right hand nearly touching the hilt of his sword where it hung at the ready. Her eyes drifted to her own sword still feebly pointing his way and then she sighed. He might have been injured but he was near his sword now. The window of opportunity he mentioned was well and thoroughly shut.

Her sword felt heavy in her hands, her body rigid even after he had spoken. Even though she should have been considering the danger in dropping her guard in favor of fear, she couldn’t shake it. The odd coloring wasn’t as scary as the odd claws were, accompanied by the memory of the insect-like wings grown from his back. It wasn’t natural and Marianne wasn’t expecting this odd mixture of coloring in his skin that didn’t belong there if his mother’s statement of him being normal had anything to say about it. She was unable to look away from the gray flesh even though he had partially hidden himself behind the chair, watching the knuckles flex beneath the skin and feeling a shudder run through her.

“What are you?” the words were lost, breathless when she finally lifted her gaze to meet his.

His shoulders lifted in a shrug, his smile small and humorless. “I don’t know.”

Marianne shook her head, “No, you know something. What is happening to you?”

Captain King’s smile only seemed to fill with more mirth. “A curse, that’s what is happening to me.”

“A curse, what curse?” the more she looked on, the more the fear seemed to be misplaced. His claws looked lethal but they were contained and not ripping the life out of her. His skin was morbid and gray like ash but it was just that. Skin. Her alarm was gradually being replaced by something more innocent. She was growing curious. That curiosity moved her feet forward and he twitched back from the chair a step, fingers still gripping the top of the seat.

“It’s none of your business!” he finally spat, Marianne jumping at the sudden flare of his wings snapping out at his sides, the appendages making a strange hissing noise when they trembled in his ire. He took the sword and baldric from his chair, moving to the front of his chair while fastening it snug around his hips.

Marianne flicked the sword up at him with a challenging glare. “I’m not afraid of your scary wing trick!”

“It’s not a trick!” he snapped back, banging his fist upon the desk with an unsettling crack that sounded as if it something had broke on the piece of furniture. “It’s an involuntary response so you might as well get used to them, princess!”

Both brows rose high when she thought she saw a blush color his cheeks in that moment, his eyes dropping to his fist and expression frozen in anger even though he slowly uncurled his fingers and inspected the damage he had done. He pushed the maps aside, running his fingers over a dip in the wood with a fine crack running through the center. King heaved a sigh, dragging the map back over it and sinking into his chair, wings spread and draping over the armrests. His elbow braced on the arm, fingers pressing into his temple then spreading across his face with a soft groan filled with self-loathing.

For a moment, Marianne felt that she pitied the captain. It was hard not to feel some semblance of it when the man said he had been cursed but at the same time, this was supposed to be the man she was going to behead just a few moments ago. She grumbled to herself, lowering her weapon and roughly shoving it back into its loop. Captain King lifted his head, raising an eyebrow at her gesture but didn’t move much further; watching her as she folded her arms and let her eyes trail down to his claws hovering near his face. When he saw where she was looking; he slipped his hands out of sight again with an abrupt clearing of his throat. She snapped to attention in that moment, both of them suddenly trapped in an awkward moment that left her nearly fidgeting and him pointedly looking away from her.

“What changed your mind?”

She nearly told him the honest truth. That she didn’t have a clue why she didn’t just kill him and mount his head on a stick for all to see like some heathen warrior goddess from the stories of old. Marianne had her chance and she passed it up, distracted by the odd coloration of his skin and the clawed fingers now tucked away out of sight behind a piece of furniture. Honestly telling him she didn’t know, however, would have betrayed her pride and she settled for something else. Marianne took the stubborn route that sounded more like herself and less like who she used to be. Keeping her arms folded, she nodded her head at him.

“You’re injured. Why kill you now when you’re wounded and half asleep, not even at your full strength? I’m not a coward anymore.” She shrugged her shoulders coolly. It was best to continue on with the charade of confidence even when she had given up a golden opportunity to rid the world of one more pirate in the name of honor. “When I kill you, you’re going to be healthy as a horse and wide awake when I do it.”

“Ah, so you prefer a challenge.” His laugh was unexpected, nearly startling her but the low, dryness of it was soft enough to prevent her from being too stunned. “Very well, Marianne, I will do my best to please you and heal quickly.”

There it was again.

He said her name so casually and yet it pulled at her heart with a sudden tug that unnerved her and left her fumbling for something to distract her from the feeling. She settled for putting some distance between them. A desk wasn’t enough anymore, Marianne making sure to cross the room to throw in some more air between them. She trailed her fingers on the odd bit of furnishing through the room to appease a curiosity she didn’t really feel. At least not in the furniture, anyway…

“You know, I should lock you up again after this stunt you tried to pull.” He stated, Marianne looking up from a faded map nailed to the bulkhead to see him dragging his gloves from the desk and proceeding to pull them on.

“You did. Three times and I escaped twice.” She reminded him with a touch of pride, holding up two fingers.

“Only because of my crew’s incompetence,” He grumbled, tugging the other glove on snugly with a frown. “I instructed them to search you before locking you in the brig.”

Marianne remembered the “search” and it hadn’t been a very thorough. She wasn’t sure if it was because they were lost as to how to search of it was something more innocent, like not wanting to touch her without seeming invasive. If that were the case, her respect for the crew just increased a degree and she smiled to herself thoughtfully at the unexpected endearing quality. She turned back to the map, squinting at the cluster of islands depicted across it. There was a seal she didn’t recognize on the lower corner of the map that was flanked by those of the Mainlands, Lumine’s among them. While she could recognize every country’s seal in the corner, the one in the center evaded her.

“Your crew needs to learn how to search a prisoner properly.” She scoffed, counting out the number of islands but still failing to recognize them. “In any case, wasn’t it you who had left the final decision on my incarceration up to them today? You could have had me back in the brig as soon as the other ship was commandeered and yet you left the order open to debate among them. Hardly seems like the kind of decision a captain would make with a prisoner he didn’t trust.”

“I don’t trust you.” Captain King glowered at her, his wings flaring again. She puzzled at the unusual appendages again, veins catching the glow of the candlelight and turning them gold. It shouldn’t have looked as fascinating as it did.

“The feeling is mutual.” Marianne frowned at him, returning to the desk. “So, what are you going to do about me then, Captain King? Clap me in irons, lock me in the brig again…tie me to the mizzenmast?”

He scoffed, “You would gnaw through the lines before daybreak if I did that. I also happen to find myself lacking in manacles at the moment.”

Marianne smiled. Well, he was catching on quick. Yes, that would be exactly what would have happened. Marianne hated to be bound by anything and be it manacles or ropes; she was going to find a way out of them no matter what. Of course, she would have preferred to avoid being tied up all together. She held up her wrists, revealing the cuffs still fastened about her wrists, the broken chain links clinking against the iron casing. He nodded, confirming that those were indeed his only pair. His eyes dropped to the manacles and King heaved a sigh as he leaned forward and opened a drawer in the desk. The jangling within said all she needed to know of its contents for soon a key was removed. King observed the teeth a moment, twisting the key between his fingertips then glanced up at her.

“Here,” he tossed it onto the desk.

Marianne stared down at the black key, gaze flicking from it to his face, checking to make sure this wasn’t a trick but he made no move to snatch it back. Her fingers rested over it, the words absently slipping out as she met his gaze.

“Thank you…”

Captain King shifted a little in his seat but said nothing. Marianne picked up the key and unlocked the irons, the locks clicking and the cuffs falling to the floor one by one as she freed her wrists. Freed from the shackles, she set the key back down and rubbed the freshly exposed skin of her wrists. When she looked up, his face abruptly turned away, though she didn’t know what it was he had been looking at.

“So…what happens now?” she asked, still cupping a wrist with soothing fingers.

“I don’t know. How does one move on after a horribly failed assassination attempt?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and while she should have been offended, Marianne laughed. The sound was so foreign from her mouth that she clapped a hand over it, stifling herself back into silence while looking at him wide-eyed. He smiled at her, the gesture soft and amused more than the cocky smirks and sneers she was used to. Perhaps she could allow herself to think that he was capable of thinking he might have some redeeming qualities to his twisted reputation after all.

“Well…” she lowered her fingers from her mouth, “Maybe…we go on with the original plan?”

“Oh?” his eyebrow quirked.

“I keep my sword away from you and the crew long enough to let you recover and you let me roam around free.”

“Hardly fitting for a kidnapper to let his hostage roam free.” He murmured, fingers rubbing at his chin. “However, this is a ship and while you might be a stubborn woman, you are not so foolish to attempt to escape in the middle of the ocean.”

“I wouldn’t last very long out there.” She admitted with a reluctant nod. “What about this ‘home’ of yours? Once you make berth, would I still be able to roam free? Odds are I could escape once we were on land…”

He smirked, the softness gone in place of that former cockiness. “That won’t be a problem.”

Marianne braced a hand upon the desk, “How so? Do you doubt my ability to adapt to a situation?”

“I didn’t say that, but you will find it hard to escape by foot when it is an island we’re sailing to.”

Her face fell.

“What island?”

“To be more specific, it is a cluster of islands.” Captain King shrugged his shoulders, “Have you heard of the archipelago Eileanach de Lónach?”

Marianne’s mouth felt oddly dry when he spoke the name, his accent flowing remarkably smooth around it but once she muddled past the flow of the title, she was still left unable to conjure up a memory of such a group of islands. It wasn’t just the months at sea with Captain Wade showing her how to read charts but it extended all the way into her childhood, leaning around her father and tutors trying to cram the borders and countries that lay beyond into her memory. There was an occasion when she couldn’t remember the country of Sol to their eastern border and was forced to stare at maps until she fell asleep with the images burned into her mind. Marianne saw every map as clearly in her memory as any she had ever been show and yet the mentioned archipelago escaped her. She shook her head, admitting her ignorance and he nodded to the map she had previously observed on the wall.

“You know of it, just not the name.” he explained, rising from the seat. “As of twenty-so years ago, it has not been marked on any chart. Those of which it had been depicted, were destroyed or archived so deep even the librarians couldn’t find them anymore.”

As he spoke, King moved around his desk and approached the map. His attention was focused more on the islands drawn out on the parchment than on Marianne, his guard must be dropping but hers stood strong. The moment he walked past her, her eyes caught his back and she couldn’t help the little jolt that struck her when she saw the extent of the mentioned curse’s damage.

His back was the same gray as his arms, splotches of it on the backs of his shoulders mixing with his pale skin but not quite reaching around the front of his body yet. It covered him from the nape of his neck to the top of his trousers but the hue was not the only oddity to be found there. While she had seen his wings over and over again, she hadn’t expected the strange protrusions following the alignment of his spine. There were growths that looked almost like scales, large and slanting over one another down his back until it reached the small of it, the strange segmentations disappearing into his flesh as if they hadn’t fully emerged from it yet. If they were scales, they were larger than any snake or lizard she had seen before and nowhere near as beautiful .These were roughly shaped and stippled with mixtures of tan, gray, and brown that looked almost textured in the candlelight. At the head of the plates was an unusual structure that had grown between his shoulder blades where the wings were apparently attached much like an insect’s. All of it looked like it had grown through his skin and not something merely slapped onto it. Marianne began to wonder if they had been painful when he suddenly turned around, noticing her staring at him.

Captain King cleared his throat with a frown and she snapped out of it, innocently looking off at the ceiling. Growling to himself, he left the map and strode to his bed, snatching up his black coat from the foot of it. With a few quick tugs, he pulled it on and concealed his oddities from her sight, holding the front closed in a fist when he turned to face her again. He gave an impatient wave back at the map, to which she obediently looked at, hearing his footsteps when he came back.

“This chart is one of the few copies left.” He finally stated, tapping a finger upon one of the islands, “That is home.”

Marianne’s thoughts on possibly escaping were dashed upon the rocks when she saw that there was nothing but that cluster of islands in the area. No chance of running away again when there was nothing but ocean on all sides, no matter what spot of land she might have tried to hop onto. Captain King’s statement that it was not on any modern chart didn’t give her any hopes either. However, he did also mention a timeline…twenty years ago was when it wasn’t drawn out anymore. So, what happened twenty years ago that wiped the maps clean of this archipelago’s existence?

Twenty years ago she was still a child, Dawn was a baby in her mother’s arms as well and her father had been more involved in the alliance of the Mainlands. Not that he wasn’t now, but there was no real need for alliances because there was nothing but peace as far as land was concerned. The oceans were the battleground and had been for ages. She looked at the crests of the Mainlands collected on the corner and then the one she did not recognize. It was bronze in color with a three-fingered, clawed hand holding a thistle by a withering stem but the bloom looked to still be thriving.

“Resistance…” she murmured noticing the statement of the crest and gasped as the memory struck her so suddenly she nearly staggered, finger jabbing at the crest and eyes turning to the captain wide and alert now. “That is the archipelago that rebelled against the Mainlands!”

Captain King clapped his hands together in three slow strikes and she glowered at him, her ire only making him smile instead of cower. Her fingers itched to grasp her sword but the reminder of him being armed himself hung heavy over her head, forcing her to simply glare at the man. She heard the same condescending laugh he had done back in the brig then, the sting of her slowness feeling all the more acute but he soon made up for it by focusing on her previous questions.

“Eileanach de Lónach, the Islands of the Marshes.” He confirmed with a nod. “A kingdom the Mainlands never accepted as an independent monarchy and when they were confronted for it, sent warships out to silence them.”

“That’s not what happened!” she balled her hands into fists, turning her full glare back onto him. “They rebelled against the alliance and declared war upon them!”

Captain King’s humor fled him in favor of the all-too-familiar anger. “They led an armada of ships into our lands and slaughtered hundreds because they were too mule-headed to accept us as an equal power!”

Marianne faltered, seeing the anger rooted deep in his gaze when he shouted at her, their little awkward exchanges and banter lost to the vendetta he bore. It felt too real to have been a simple act of defense for the islands. Captain King spoke as if he had personally seen it himself but Marianne’s stubbornness won over her hesitation. Even if it was true, the Mainlands would not have attacked another country, no matter how small, if they hadn’t provoked them to do it first! Her father had been told of the violence in the archipelago and dispatched the Morning Glory to their aid. It was in the history books, her lessons, stories told by villagers in the streets. The archipelago had been at fault for the War of the Isles!

“Well if they had attacked, your people must have given them a damn good reason to!” she shouted back at him.

“So says a little princess who only read about in a book somewhere! You weren’t there, you didn’t see them!”

“Oh and you did? Just how old are you anyway?!”

His mouth snapped shut before he could reply, his brows rising high and eyes widening a little at the random question after their growing argument. Marianne bit her lower lip, trying to keep her eyes narrowed at him but it was getting harder to hold onto her anger when he was bringing up valid points. Yes, she had only learned about it but if he had seen it in person, he had to have been old enough to be fighting and not hidden away from the battle like how most children were handled in times of war. In a poor attempt to keep up with his argument, she had shouted out something completely different and unwittingly caused an abrupt end to their quarrel.

“I—” his eyes dropped and he abruptly straightened up. Marianne’s eyes fell to herself and she forced her back straight as well. Neither of them had noticed it but they had been leaning in closer to one another during the exchange this while time, nearly face to face for the first time in days. He gave his shoulder a jerk, that familiar neck crack following as he avoided looking at her. “I don’t have to give a history lesson to a prisoner.”

Captain King’s hand snatched at her and she felt a hard pinch on her ear that left her nearly yelling but clenched it off between her teeth. He tugged her away from the map and towards the door to the cabin. He unbolted it and kicked it open, using the pinching hold on her ear to half-drag her out of the cabin and into the night air that breathed a fresh breath of wind on her skin she couldn’t savor when she was too busy cringing from the unforgiving pinch on her earlobe.

“Get out!” he released her ear and slammed the door after him. Marianne could hear him lock it behind her before she could scream at the wooden portal, kicking at the base of the door only to jump back on one foot, holding her tender toes in her hands. She completely forgot that she had been barefoot!

“Don’t forget to lock your window this time, old man!” she shouted into the wood through her pain. For a moment she thought she heard a chuckle on the other side but it was lost to the night wind.

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Bog locked his window and made sure to drop the ransom chest of gold down on the sill for good measure. He wasn’t taking any chances of the assassin princess sneaking in on him again. At the time he had been half-awake and feeling particularly unfazed by the concept of dying. Of course, death sounded easier than living, it was a more appealing thought the longer the days wore, but he had a crew to watch out for and there was no chance in hell he was going to let those fools suffer Marianne. His rather bleak outlook on his own life was a bit depressing, yes, but he wouldn’t let himself be killed off before seeing that princess off his ship and her reward money in his hands. Once the threat was gone and his crew compensated, he could sink whatever ship came to save her and be on his way, curse or no curse, at least his vendetta would be resolved knowing Lumine lost their heir.

The thought of her disappearing in fire and water, however, didn’t have the same appeal as it did before. The image more troubled him than pleased him now, fingers tense when he tried to remove the baldric. Now that she wasn’t there to threaten him, he could go back to bed but not without keeping the sword next to him, just in case. That woman would hack through his door without a second thought if provoked but at least he managed one consolation prize for his trouble.

While escorting her out of the cabin, he had managed to extract the sword from her belt and toss it back into his room before she could notice. It would only be a matter of time before she would realize he had taken it from her but at least she was unarmed and couldn’t come bursting back in anytime soon. His night watchmen might have missed her creeping along earlier, but with that shouting and noise she made earlier, they would have noticed by now.

Bog counted on her stubbornness to let him live the night, removing his coat and returning to his bed with a heavy sigh. He sat down and laid the sword aside, tossing his coat back across the foot and letting his wings rest on the mattress. His fingers laced together, elbows on his knees and he leaned his chin into the digits, closing his eyes and taking a moment to calm himself down before he would try to sleep again. It was hard to dismiss the events of the evening going from her trying to kill him to them simply talking and then arguing again, to which he immediately kicked her out afterward. It all unfolded rather unexpectedly compared to what he anticipated when she noticed the changes made by his curse.

The first time anyone had seen his wings, the crew was wary of him for weeks before they finally adjusted to the change. The claws were another matter that they danced around until he wore gloves to conceal them and it eased their nerves. Any changes he noticed in himself, he took precautions to hide them away. The wings were the only thing he could not obscure without his coat and if the reactions of all those naval officers had anything to say about it, people would not easily accept the appendages without a touch of fear in the mix. Which was why it was strange when Marianne had caught him unprepared and hadn’t run away screaming. Granted, there was really nowhere to run but she had certainly seen him in all of his transitioned state. She saw his claws, his discolored skin, and the marks of the curse forever burned into his shoulders but didn’t scream.

Whatever fear there might have been, was gone too quickly and it arose suspicion in him. She looked more curious than anything and that alone should have tipped him off to not trust the woman.

No one would look at him and not be disturbed by his appearance.

“I don’t like where this is going,” he murmured to himself, lowering his head and pressing it into his fingers.

The sword should have been the first thing that registered in his mind when he woke up. A threat on his life held above his head and ready to strike. Instead he had been left in awe of the creature standing in the sliver of moonlight. It was only a small beam that slipped into his cabin but she had stood right in its way and the result was nearly dazzling. The soft glimmer of the younger princess’ skin that he had seen in the brig in what felt like ages ago paled in comparison to the pure luminescence of Marianne’s skin in the moonlight. She radiated a soft glow wherever it touched her exposed flesh left untouched by the vest, pale and haunting…ethereal.

“Shit,” he breathed, unlacing his fingers in favor of digging them into his hair, claws nearly pricking through the leather into his scalp. His blood was singing, his heart clenching against his will. The attraction was there, he felt it when she had fought with him against the western pirates only hours ago. It had seeded and threatened to take root if he didn’t dig it out as soon as possible. She was beautiful, he would have been blind not to have noticed it, but she was also the princess of Lumine, a country he despised along with all the others forming the Mainlands alliance. His fury was justifiable, even she couldn’t fault him that if she knew the truth. With that in mind, Bog refused to indulge the affection. It was safer just to call it admiration for her spirit and just leave it at that. One could always function with admiration. It was affection that was dangerous, because that always led to something even more chaotic. “I hate princesses.”

Chapter Text

“Isn’t she supposed to be keeping out of trouble?”

“Well, yes, but it doesn’t look like it now, does it?”

“Should we tell him?”

“Sure, you go tell him!”

“What? M-Me?! Why can’t you do it?”

“I have a bet I need to see through.”

Thang fidgeted at her side; Stuff ignoring him and looking on with the rest of the crew as the princess faced off Brutus, the two of them rotating in a slow circle around one another with hands up and stances low. She didn’t even know how it started aside from following a crowd of the crew to the deck where they formed a ring around the two already at it, though it didn’t look like a serious fight. If it had been serious, there would have been more blood by now because Brutus was not named for his size alone when it came to how he handled his fights. Betting pools were being started through a chain of whispers, murmured between one seaman after another as they speculated and made their choices on the victor in either their friend’s favor or the princesses’.

Stuff had an entire bag of gold on Brutus. He might have been at a disadvantage in speed because of his bulk and height but he was strong and the princess might have been able to stand up to the captain’s blade but how was she without a weapon? Rules changed with hand to hand combat and Stuff was eager to see how far it would go before the captain would find out about his prisoner causing a ruckus again. She hoped it would reach a conclusion because that would have been a chance at easy money should Brutus win.

She elbowed her way through the others and stood in front, fists clenching with excitement as Brutus lunged for the princess, the little thing stepping out of his way and nearly staggering into the on-looking crowd when she corrected herself. Hands reached out to grab her, pushing her back onto her feet with a few rambunctious chuckles and she flinched away from their touch, sneering at them. Brutus plowed a few men over in his failure to stop in time after she had evaded him. He clambered back to his feet from the pile of moaning crewmembers, eager to get back into the reforming ring. There were no real rules discussed since no one knew what the goal of the fight was but Stuff was willing to bet more money that the first one down for longer than a few seconds would be the loser. Brutus had pinned this woman down few times before while she had been held captive. He had this in the bag.

“He’s not going to like this.” Thang tugged at her sleeve nervously, long fingers grasping and prodding while she shoved him back with a dismissive hand. “What if she gets hurt?”

“The ransom will be knocked back a few coins.” Stuff scoffed, “Hardly anything to worry about.”

Thang still shifted uneasily beside her but he fell into watching the fight with the rest of them, joining in the rowdy noise and laughter whenever the princess ducked another blow and tried to deliver one of her own. They were dancing around one another with shoddy footwork but no one had really landed a blow yet. The constant bob and weave was beginning to get boring as they hit another standstill, the princess crouching low and staring down her opponent, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched through a scowl. Stuff watched her, folding her arms and waiting for her to find a way out of the predicament of Brutus’s next charge when the circle was slowly getting smaller with the number of bodies pressing around them increasing.

The princess’s eyes flicked upward into the rigging and then back down to Brutus, a smirk twisting the sneer into a sly smile that egged the man on and triggered him into making his move. He came for her but she leapt up, grasping a mizzen bracer and swinging up out of his way, leaving Brutus to charge right into the onlookers once again, knocking them over into piles of disgruntled seamen than pushed and shoved at one another until they were rolling and crawling apart at last. The princess dropped down from the chord and braced her hands on her hips with a proud smirk flashed in his direction.

Stuff frowned, feeling that she might have made a poor betting choice because of her favoritism towards Brutus. Thang was cheering for the princess if his grin and eagerly waving fists had anything to say about it. She rolled her eyes at him, leaning her weight to one side while observing the princess make a show of dusting off her sleeves. Brutus went for her again, this time properly considering how fast and how far to go before he was upon her and she balked, barely ducking under his fist as it swung for her. She dropped to the deck but misjudged her footing and toppled over onto her back. Brutus spotted her and rose a foot over her head, preparing to stomp down and she rolled away, propping herself on her knees and lifting a booted foot to the deck, ready to jump back onto her feet.

She took the turn and charged this time, slamming her fist into his jaw with a hard right-hook that left his head and part of his upper body swaying back. With his center of gravity off, she dropped down and grasped his ankle, tugging it out from under him and he collapsed backwards against the deck this time. Before he could roll over, she was jumping onto him, pressing her knee into his neck. Stuff shifted a little from side to side, her attention suddenly pulled away when she felt a hand wrenching her shoulder back and the captain appeared, pushing through the others and glaring down at the scene in front of him.

“What the devil’s going on here?!” he shouted, the roaring and encouragement immediately cutting off as the majority of the crew turned sheepish in the presence of Captain King.

“It’s a spar, captain.” Thang pointed out.

He looked down at the two on the deck, the princess still on top of Brutus, trying to maintain her balance with her knee still in his throat. His anger turned into puzzlement then, his tense stance suddenly shifting into something that was strikingly casual for him as he straightened up and folded his arms. The captain started a slow circle around the two until he was standing nearly at Brutus’ head. With arms still crossed, he regarded the princess then his crew member, bending at the waist just enough to make eye contact with Brutus.

“Having trouble, Brutus?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, sir!” he gasped, hands grasping at the knee still digging into his neck.

He glanced up at the princess and she glared up at him, seeming to dare him to say anything about her practically besting one of his strongest crewmen. She blew a stray lock of hair out of her face and cocked an eyebrow at him, the captain’s mouth twitching into a smirk of his own that left not only Stuff at a loss for words but the rest of the crew as well. When in the hell had they gotten along to the point of smiling at one another like they were enjoying some private joke?

“Carry on, then.” He held his arms out at his sides with a mock bow before backing away from the two and joining the rest of the crew, who warily formed the circle again, all eyes nervously shifting between the captain and the two fighters.

Brutus finally found his strength, hands grasping the princess and pushing her off of him with a firm shove. He stood up, rubbing at his throat but did not reengage with her, instead holding up a hand to stay her off and caught his breath. She waited for him, tapping her foot with hands upon her hips until he was ready and the fight began again with some rough and tumble moves, more serious than they had been previously after she had effectively pinned him down before. If there were any rules at all, she would have won for that one pin alone because he had been floored for too long to consider not a winning take-down by a creature half his size.

The crew continued to watch but they were not as rowdy as before in the presence of the captain. He looked on from the port bulwark, sitting upon the rail with his wings and coat hanging over the side and arms still crossed as he looked on. Stuff was surprised that he was interested in letting the princess continue fighting. It wasn’t the first time he allowed them to have scraps to keep themselves entertained but this was the first time a hostage had ever been involved and he was completely unfazed by the sight of her potentially being injured. Did that mean he was encouraging her win?

It was getting harder to focus on the fight and more on the oddity that was the captain’s behavior as of late. Stuff had been under his captaincy for years and under his leadership for even longer but she had never seen him look at someone as he had the princess in that moment. The silent exchange between them, unspoken words and yet completely understood without even needing to acknowledge in any verbal form. No one had that kind of connection in a handful of encounters. She was beginning to wonder if he had spent more time in her company than she or the others had found out about. There were plenty of hours where she could have missed it but if that were the case, Griselda would have been over the moon by now.

Griselda hadn’t said anything to her about Captain King possibly having some kind of attachment with the princess of Lumine but she knew she considered it an option. The woman was so desperate for her son to find someone to marry him off to that she had originally tried to put the two of them together on her first day of sailing under his command. The prospect appalled him but not because of her homeliness, it was because he didn’t want anyone. He apologized to her in gruff words before the matter was finally dropped. Stuff could admit she admired him as her captain but he wasn’t her type in the end. Brutus in all his muscular glory was more her type and while she couldn’t act on it because of his rule on keeping romance off his ship, it didn’t hurt to look.

The princess was smacked back with a blow to her cheek, Brutus immediately stiffening when she put her hand to her face with a painful groan. He froze, eyes darting to the captain but he did not move from the bulwark. In his shock, Brutus didn’t realize she was coming right for him and in a spry leap; she swung out her leg and kicked the man right in the jaw, his head snapping back and sending him toppling into the crew behind him. They struggled to catch him, some being bowled over but others managed to secure him before he could hit the deck too hard again. He slumped through their fingers as dead weight and sagged to the weather deck, those who had favored the princess immediately bursting into cheers while Stuff cursed under her breath, joining the other disappointed men as they fished out their funds and paid what they owed to their opponents. Stuff noticed Scully begrudgingly throwing a small pouch at the captain, who caught it easily in his hand with a little smirk before tucking it away in his coat.

Thang rushed forward and for a moment the princess looked as if she were prepared to strike him when he got close. The sight made Stuff’s shoulders tense and her fingers twitch against herself where they were tucked into her folded arms at the thought of Thang being attacked next but his jubilant expression seemed to convince the royal to relax and allow him to hold her arm aloft over her head as she was swamped by cheering crew members. Hands patted at her shoulders, congratulating her and she was jostled from side to side, eyes darting around their faces but her confusion quickly melted into a grin that split her face wide. Stuff sighed at their sudden eagerness to cheer her on now, looking to the captain and seeing he was slowly clapping his hands behind the backs of the other crew members, slipping off of the rail and heading to the bridge without a word.

One glance back at the princess and she noticed that she wasn’t paying attention to the praise anymore. Her eyes were following him, smile faltering when she realized he was leaving. That one look was all she needed to understand what it was she was seeing. Needless to say, she shouldn’t have been surprised. A part of her was ready to be excited by the sudden twist of fate but she needed to give herself a moment of pure exasperation first. If things were being set into motion like she was seeing it happen…this whole kidnapping plot of Captain King’s was about to become much more complicated.

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Marianne didn’t know if it was the fight with Brutus or the general knowledge that she was allowed to roam free about the ship but somehow in the oncoming days, she had apparently begun to be accepted by the members of the crew. They were all developing a fondness for her that she found herself returning while she began to forget the grudges of being held prisoner by them and begin to aid them in their tasks and repairs being made to the Fenland’s battered body. It had been a cure for boredom at first but then it turned into a genuine desire to be of use.

Suddenly her days were no longer spent brooding over her captivity while being ignored by said captors. It was now filled with hours of pulling, hauling, pushing, hammering, and climbing. Marianne had been accepted as an honorary member of the crew whether the captain approved or not. She was given lengths of line to help move yardarms, handed tools to help with repairing the planking, and included among them at meal time where they laughed and ate hearty compared to the rations she endured in the brig. As nice as the bread and cheese had been, full meals of stew and even offers of ale were welcome changes to her diet and she found it easier to sleep at night when her limbs were thoroughly worn out and her belly satisfied.

Of course, no one would sacrifice a hammock to her just because they started to like her. Acceptance only got a person so far after all and she had to suffer a hard floor more than once until she gave up the cramped quarters below deck in favor of the open summer night air. She tucked herself into the longboat more than once and even trusted herself to the netting of the bowsprit a few times. It was rather comfortable if she laid a bit of the stored jib sail over it before lying down; the ropes didn’t dig as much that way. As long as she had the sail properly stowed away by morning, no one seemed to mind.

It was her sleeping outside at night that the captain had come across her more than once. He had only found her in the longboat those few times and they ended up talking, or more bantering than anything. She almost wished she could return to the longboat as a sleeping spot again if it meant they would cross paths again. Every time he approached, she asked him how his wound was. It was understood between them that once it was heeled, she would have no further qualms with killing him but that motive seemed to fizzle with every passing night. In the end it was more of a way to break the ice where a strange tension had begun to form between them. He told her the progress and she would mention something about her day, the conversation making progress before the late hour drew him away from her company. Before he left, she reminded him to tell her the moment it was completely healed and he always said he would before they would part ways.

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The journey to Eileanach de Lónach was carrying them northwest, Marianne prodding the navigator, Scully, for information every chance she got. With her keeping so busy with the rest of the crew, she hardly noticed the time passing until the nights when things quieted down and she was able to talk to Captain King. Time seemed to slow during those talks and she wondered how it was that they could find so many things to talk about when weeks ago they had been spouting death threats back and forth like two broadsided ships. Not that they hadn’t remembered to do so every now and then, it just wasn’t filled with bitter heat as it used to be.

Those little arguments and conversations eventually found their way into her afternoons as well when the repair jobs had been handled to an extent that the immediate dangers were all taken care of. With more spare time, they seemed to meet more upon the deck, Captain King supervising as usual and sometimes catching her in the midst of another sparring match with a brave crew member. The sword King had stolen from her was still in his possession but the crew permitted her a spare during the practice fights. Even with borrowed blades, Marianne was conditioned by the constant change in weapons from her time aboard the Quelling and surprised her opponents with her ease in adjusting to each different blade handed to her.

For days, whenever there was time to spare, Marianne would practice, falling into a sort of routine that left her spent but content by the time the last challenger was dropped. Eventually Captain King was watching the fights and Marianne finally discovered the source behind her increasing loses to the captain. He knew her footwork. Annoyed by his upper hand, she demanded he tell her how to adjust it into something not so predictable and that was how he suddenly began to oversee every sparring session with the crew. Every now and then he would stop the fight and approach her, using his sword and tapping the flat of the blade against her feet, the number of taps telling her the measurement of how far she should move that specific foot, the location of the tap indicating which direction to move.

It wasn’t until her first rain aboard the Fenland that Marianne would find herself back in the captain’s cabin. She hadn’t set foot inside since the night she tried to kill him and it was remarkable how much things had changed in the span of a few days. She rustled her fingers in her hair, shaking water from the strands while he removed his coat and shook it out, droplets pattering across the floor. Marianne shut the door to keep the rain out at the same time the hatch of the portal below was closed, poor Fang still left with only a handful of grouchy sailors manning the deck without their company. If the weather took a turn for the worse, Captain King intended to return to the bridge but as far as they could tell, it was a mere shower that they would drift out of in time.

Marianne finger-combed her hair back from her face while Captain King took to his chair, removing his gloves and tossing them onto the desk with a wet slap before he was wiping a trickle of water from where it was trying to drip off of the end of his pointed nose. She stood in front of his desk, remembering that the man had no other chairs in the cabin and blatantly ignored his wary gaze in favor of sitting down on his desk, wriggling onto it and pushing some items aside to make way for herself. Her feet dangled over the edge and he eyed her for a moment with a risen eyebrow.

“What?” she asked innocently, “If you had another chair, I would have used one of them. I could always sit on your bed if this is—”

“There’s fine!” he snapped when she moved to push herself down and she grinned down at him.

Marianne laughed while leaning back a bit, tucking her legs up and folding them upon the desk with her while she held onto her ankles. She had been working hard that day and mastered all of his crew with the sword. Of course, when he came over with a gruff correction that thoroughly insulted her poor stance, she charged him in a moment of weakness which resulted in him easily knocking her back despite his injury. She blamed it on the other spars she had managed that day before he got to her and then the rain had begun.

King rolled his eyes at her smug laughter at his expense, leaning back a little in the chair and stretching his arms out over his head with a contented sigh, his wings involuntarily joining in the stretch and extending out at his sides. Marianne watched him stretch, his sigh and utter pleasure at the sweetness of the extending of his limbs creating a strange flutter in her belly that left her face feeling a touch warmer and she was soon averting her eyes. The moment she heard the soft scrape of the wings slipping across the floor, she snapped back to attention, hoping he hadn’t noticed her moment of silliness.

“Your progress is impressive,” he complimented, glancing up at her still perched upon his desk.

“I’ve been training hard,” she confirmed proudly. “My arms are getting stronger every day!”

“Is that so?” he smiled, humoring her preening as she ran a hand over one of the mentioned limbs. “Let’s see it then.”

The princess pushed up her sleeve, wriggling it up until her arm was exposed. Since her gender was widely known across the ship, Marianne had no need to worry about concealing herself as much as she had on the Quelling. Her arms were starting to color from the exposure to the sun and while they were not as dark as her face and neck, she was proud of the healthy glow in her skin under the common grime of sea living. She flexed her arm experimentally until the muscle swelled enough to mark its improvement and she looked up to Captain King, displaying it proudly for him. He chuckled at the small rise of muscle in her arm she so proudly displayed, Marianne’s pride soon mixing with a touch of frustration once she heard his little chortle.

“What? I worked hard for this!” Marianne impatiently tapped her fingers upon the muscle, relaxing her arm to slam a frustrated hand down upon the desk.

“Yes, yes, just as you say.” He chuckled, holding up his hands to stay off her anger.

“Feel this and tell me it is not impressive!” she challenged, unfolding her legs so that they hung over the edge of the desk, her toe bumping his leg but neither of them spared it any thought as the captain indulged her. He scooted forward in his chair, lightly resting his fingers over the gentle swell in her skin and feeling the firmness underneath when he wrapped them around it. He could still enclose his whole hand around her upper arm and her breath caught at the rough graze of his skin on hers, too quiet to be caught by him but she held still, silently praying he hadn’t noticed.

“Yes, there is definitely some improvement.” King allowed, lightly squeezing at the muscle but after the brief constriction, his fingers abruptly froze. She watched his face and his eyes had gone wide, her eyes trailing to the hand on her arm and she realized why he had been so startled. He had forgotten that he wasn’t wearing his gloves. The sight of his ashen-colored flesh wrapped around the soft tan of hers sent a jolt of intrigue through her veins but his hand sprung open, abruptly releasing her arm. He clenched his hand into a fist, leaning back into the chair to put a little distance between them once more and Marianne watched him curiously, pushing her sleeve back down her arm.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked; her words soft as a whisper in the suddenly tense air.

“Nothing,” he lied. “I have to be careful how much I squeeze that muscle of yours; it might deflate.”

The immediate flush of outrage and following rant immediately broke the previous tension and Captain King seemed to find it easier to poke and prod at what she had been so proud of. Marianne also tried to find other ways to distract them from the previous rigidity that had filled the air so suddenly after he had felt her muscle. She allowed him time to recover from his surprise, his fingers slipping to the armrests and keeping them safely out of her range while they bantered.

“So, how much further to those islands of yours?” she asked, surveying the chart she was half sitting on. “It can’t be more than a few days away, right?”

He nodded, careful not to get to close when he extended his hand and tapped the location on the map. “Two days due north of our current position.”

“What was it called again? The archipelago?”

“Eileanach de Lónach.” The fact that the name flowed so easily off his tongue left her irritated and when he glanced up at her from the map, she wrinkled her nose.

“I still couldn’t pronounce that if I tried.” She huffed and he snickered, Marianne tilting it to the side a bit as she dragged out another chart and checking the one on the wall. “This is of the same area.”

“My great grandfather drew this one during his reign,” he explained, “It’s more detailed than the one you see over there.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. This map of the islands was drawn in painful detail, down to every jagged edge of the shorelines and what were marked as cliffs to the western edge of the largest one. There was a cove sketched out in the southeast with jagged rocks mapped out with small numbers noted beside them that she didn’t understand. Inside of their main cove there was also an X marking one spot in the rocks but the captain laid his hand over it, right when he spotted her trying to look at it closer, giving her a stern glare until he pulled over another document to cover the spot.

“The largest island is where we live, a sort of capital city for the rest of the islands. The smaller ones around it are all inhabited but they still fall under my rule.”

“I see, so all of them form one nation and…wait…” Marianne paused, raising an eyebrow at him. “Your rule?”

“Yes, my rule.” He spread his fingers over the map, Marianne’s throat tightening a bit at the sight of his hand practically capable of covering the whole archipelago with the stretch of his long fingers. “This island in particular has been under my family’s watch for centuries.”

“Whoah—” she stood up suddenly and he pulled his foot away before she could stand on it. “You mean you’re—”

He raised an eyebrow at her peculiar behavior. “They don’t call me ‘Captain King’ simply to indulge me.”

“Then you are actually a king and it isn’t just a name you gave yourself?” she pointed at Eileanach de Lónach. “If that’s the case…then that War of the Isles…was against an actual monarchy?”

King sneered, drawing his hand away from the map and clenching it into a fist upon the desk. “Few take an island nation seriously. No military threat, no tradable goods, nothing to make it a viable partnership for any nation in the Mainlands. I grew up hearing the sad truth in the tales of my kingdom’s inadequacy to the rest of the world. So…” a smirk curled at his lips, “I found a way to remedy that.”

“That’s why you became a pirate.” She murmured. “You wanted to prove that your kingdom was a force to be reckoned with after all.”

He pulled his hand from the table, not confirming her words but his silence was not a denial either. Her eyes rose to him as he stood up and walked away from the desk to the decanter on the shelf, snatching it up and pouring himself a glass of the milky white substance. He kept his back to her while he leaned against the shelf, tossing it back then holding the empty glass in his hand but not moving to pour another.

He was a king cursed to become something completely alien to the world, a pirate with the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. Marianne left the desk, approaching Captain King cautiously, her fingers lightly touching at his sleeve. The moment she touched him, his eyes darted to her with a wary expression but she moved her hand down to the glass and took it from his slackened fingers. Twisting to the shelf she retrieved the decanter again, filling the glass with the same portion of the strange liquid he had poured previously. She held it up to him, Captain King taking it and drinking it down but his eyes still watching her over the rim of the glass.

“Should I address you as ‘your majesty’ then?” she asked, pouring one more portion while still in his hand and setting the bottle back onto the shelf. Her tone was mildly teasing, eyes lowering to the strange liquid he held in his hand. He held the glass out to her and she accepted it, looking down into the contents, smelling a honeyed scent just under her nose.

“Only if you don’t expect me to answer.” His voice was warmer and she could see that he was giving her something of a smile. She smiled back and raised the glass in a silent salute, taking a careful sip of the contents and tasting something sweet but also deceptively warm on her tongue. Blinking at the glass, she looked up at him, puzzled.

“It is a drink that was made back home,” Captain King explained, trying to retrieve the glass but she pulled it back, draining the contents before he could take it away from her with that condescending expression on his face. He was acting as if she could not handle her liquor and it irritated her but amused him if the smirk had anything to say about it when she set the glass down. “It took some time to perfect the recipe but it is stronger than that juice you call wine back in the Mainlands.”

It had to have been strong if the warmth in her belly had anything to say about it.

“So…what should I call you? You’re not my captain and you don’t want me to call you ‘your majesty’…what is your name then?”

He shook his head, “I’ve heard it is dangerous to give your name to a fairy.” Marianne smiled, amused that he even knew of the legends in Lumine. He really must have travelled far and wide to hear those tall tales about the royal family, though she supposed they weren’t entirely false in the end. It was documented in the history books, brought up in her studies. Some of it must have been true. Even so, she hardly doubted she had any dangerous fae magic in her blood to potentially cause any magical threat to his well-being. “If you absolutely must call me something, Bog will do.”

“Bog?” she scoffed. It wasn’t so odd of a word but it certainly didn’t belong as someone’s name. Still, she nodded her head in acceptance of the title before he could grow too irritated by her initial reaction to the name. Marianne was feeling oddly relaxed and rather giddy anyway, she’d call him whatever he wanted without much of a fuss at this point. The room felt lighter than before and she had an urge to smile much more than was probably necessary. A soft pressure appeared against her back and she glanced back for the source, finding Bog’s hand against her spine, bringing her to the awareness that she had been gradually leaning back and forth with the gentle rock of the ship this whole time.

“You should go below.” His voice was softer than before or perhaps it was just the alcohol that made her think that.

“Let me stay here, I just need to sit down.” She waved off the idea of letting the crew see her stumble about like some lightweight.

“I—don’t think that is a good idea.” Bog cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Oh, I’ll be fine up here.” She pushed his arm away and went to the desk, dropping into his chair. “Hey, looks like I get to sit in your chair again!”

Bog went to her, arms crossing over his chest. When he spoke, the softness of his words was gone. Instead they were replaced by an irritated huff. “Marianne, get out of my chair.”

“It’s here or your bed, your royal highness,” She beamed, shaking her finger up at him and he heaved another sigh. Finding victory in the chair being hers to sit in, she proceeded in spreading her arms out and leaning into the armrest, slinging a leg over the other and slouching comfortably into the cushion. “I like that drink of yours! I never felt more comfortable!”

“You shouldn’t have drunk the whole glass. You weren’t ready for more than a sip.” Bog said as he leaned into the desk. “Go below and sleep it off.”

“No.”

“Marianne,” his voice was warning now.

“Bog.”

“Just do as I say!”

“Princess, remember? I don’t have to do anything you say!” she grinned, “Diplomatic immunity from the Eil--an de Lone ackh…hehehe! I still can’t pronounce that gibberish.”

“Eileanach de Lónach—and its king as well as ‘pirate scum kidnapper,’ remember?” he shot back, leaning down to glare into her face. “Who is the actual monarch here, princess?”

------------

There was sunlight. She could see it by the red glow where it shone through her eyelids that it was morning now and her head gave a little throb now that she was starting to wake up. However, Marianne wasn’t ready to wake up yet. She hadn’t slept this good in months and she wasn’t about to surrender it to the morning now! Rolling over and stubbornly putting her back to the light, she thanked the sails for their shade; otherwise she should have been practically baking in the sun at that moment. It was a side-effect of sleeping outside, worrying about being roasted in your sleep if you didn’t wake up before the sun could rise too high.

Somehow it didn’t feel like her typical bedding choice though. The sail was too soft, not the weathered canvas she typically made her bedding from. Nothing was digging into her back and there wasn’t a stray limb stuck in the netting when she turned over. With that in mind, Marianne’s eyes popped open, the immediate sight of a wall revealing that no, she hadn’t gone back to her usual sleeping spot last night. Well, if that were the case, where was she and where could she find this bedding again later?

Marianne rolled onto her stomach, dragging the convenient pillow down and dropping her face into it with a deep inhale. She could smell herself on it and the unfortunate reminder she really needed a bath but it wasn’t only her scent on the pillowcase. Freezing in the middle of her luxuriating, she lifted her head back up and took in her surroundings, seeing the familiar paneling of the captain’s cabin all around her and one glance down revealed the bed she had found herself in was Captain King—well—Bog’s. Of course it was his, where else was there such a soft bed on this old barge?

The man himself was still in the room, sitting at his desk with half his body slumped on top of it, his head pillowed by his arms. Apparently, he had fallen asleep there last night. Odd, Marianne remembered sitting there the night before. She had felt a little buzzed by the strange alcohol Bog let her take a sip of and she had thoughtlessly tossed back the rest of before he could take it away from her. That may have been a mistake because she felt utterly lost on how she ended up on his bed with Bog sleeping at his desk.

They had argued last night over her sitting in his chair and the fact she stubbornly wouldn’t leave because the crew would have never let her live it down if they saw her so fluttery as she had felt last night. Maybe she moved over there so he could work on something and then they both fell asleep as the night wore on? No, Bog would have kicked her off his bed; he was too stingy to let her have it all to herself, wasn’t he?

Dragging herself into rolling over and sitting upright, Marianne glanced up at the window, the amount of light pouring through marked it to be well into the morning at this point and there was clearly activity on the deck. If that was the case, Marianne would probably look suspicious walking out of the great cabin in the middle of everyone’s morning routine. She needed to create an excuse for being in there so early but first, she had to make sure she didn’t look like she had slept in there.

Apparently Bog never heard of a mirror because he didn’t have one mounted anywhere, no matter how hard she looked without risking waking him up. She was certain her colors were smeared again, the little habit of darkening her eyelids with Captain Wade’s gift the only luxury she gave herself during her stay on the Fenland. Her hair was always a mess in the morning and it had been wet last night as an added bonus. She tried to comb it out a little with her fingers, smoothing the parts she could feel jutting out back down until she couldn’t feel them defying gravity anymore. She straightened her clothes that had been bed rumpled, her left sleeve had three large creases in it but no one would derive much from a crease in a shirt unless they were just over-thinking it.

Once she had her boots on—though she had no idea when she had even taken them off—Marianne felt ready to face the masses. However, the captain was still sleeping. If she didn’t wake him up, her alibi for being in his cabin would hold no water with the crew because he wouldn’t have been able to back up her story if she just walked out of there on her own. Marianne approached the desk, not sure how to wake him when he had done it on his own the last time she was in such a situation, though this time she wasn’t trying to kill him. Maybe that time he had woken purely because he felt threatened?

Marianne stood beside his chair, eyes falling to the wings draped over the tops of the armrests and lightly touching the floor. He was still fully dressed, his coat where he left it the night before. She could see the structure of his shirt, how it had been modified to fit around the wings with buttons to secure it closed. It was the most she had been able to observe of him since she had snuck into his cabin and he had made sure he didn’t stay still long enough for her to take a good look at the strange effects of his curse. Bog certainly wasn’t moving anywhere now. With a quick glance to ensure he still slept, Marianne scooted in a little closer, leaning over and peering down at the junctions where the wings met their attachment points, the structures looking more and more insect-like the longer she looked.

Bog sighed in his sleep, his wings shivering then settling back down and Marianne saw how the shift had caught the light from the window. The clear membrane over the lattice work of veins turned iridescent in the morning sun, rainbows of color that glossed over the wings and made colorful splotches upon the floorboards where the light shone through them. It was surprisingly beautiful and Marianne stared at the sheen in awe, her fingers itching to touch. She wanted to touch them. It hadn’t crossed her mind to do so before in spite of all her curiosity, he wouldn’t have let her because he was so damn defensive of his transformation. Bog tried to hide every part of it from people, even his own crew sometimes. She wouldn’t have another chance.

Worrying her lower lip, Marianne crouched beside his chair, putting herself face to wing with one of the four appendages. As lightly as she could, she grazed her fingertips over the shimmering membrane, the substance feeling rigid but dipping a little under the touch. It was rigid, flexible, and fragile all at the same time if the small tears throughout each wing had anything to say about it. Marianne traced the network of veins running through the wings with the tip of her finger, trailing it up to the costa where it turned rough with a bumpy texture that reminded her of the branch of a tree.

The wing shuddered beneath her fingers. His breath was soft with a sigh and his wings shivering with each upward stroke when she felt along the structure. Marianne rose an eyebrow at his reaction to the touch, experimentally brushing her fingers back down the wing and his body relaxed but when she changed the direction and moved up until she felt the joint of the wing and his back, his body seemed to shake with a chill that made him tense, his breath hitching and then exhaling with such bliss it made her flush bright red. She let him relax again, focusing on the colors shimmering under the light until she heard a sharp gasp. The wings were suddenly ripped from her hands and the chair toppled backwards to the floor as Bog jumped up from it. He hovered off the floor and struck his head on the deckhead, his hands jumping to his skull as he dropped back to the floor and into the bulkhead. It was the most uncoordinated she had ever seen him move! His wings tucked securely behind him as he stared at her, pressing into the wall while trying to shake the sleep off with a few rapid blinks and a hard shake of his head.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded, recovering from the shock enough to let anger take its place.

Marianne was still crouched on the floor, hesitantly straightening out of it. “I wanted to know what they felt like…”

“Why?” the pure shock and disgust in that one word stung but not because he was angry at her, she had a feeling it had to do with him being repulsed by himself more than her.

“They were…well, they were beautiful.” She was suddenly feeling sheepish now that she had been caught but also at how easily the words had spilled from her lips. It was true, the colors they cast had been beautiful and yet he looked so shocked to find her wanting to touch them. Marianne could only imagine waking up and finding someone touching her like she had been touching his wings. To him it might have been as scandalous as if she were petting his leg or something. Marianne knew she wouldn’t have taken that too kindly if it had happened to her.

A cautious glance up at him revealed he looked utterly dumbfounded by her words. A hand went to his head, thoughtfully running over his hair. “Don’t…don’t do that again.”

Marianne picked his chair up, correcting it back onto all four legs and pushing it into place. She didn’t let go of it yet, glancing over at him while he finally eased away from the wall but the wings didn’t relax, they still overlapped and hung straight down in a point behind him like they were hiding from her, her suspicions confirmed when he retrieved his coat and slung it on again. She let him have his security blanket, silently watching him collect himself and eventually look her way. He looked flustered and she resisted a smile at the obvious color in his face. He was embarrassed by his overeating and it was cute…for a notorious pirate captain.

“W-We’re going to have to come up with a story behind why I’m in here.” She stated, fingers still clinging to the chair. Even though he was the one who had panicked the most, Marianne felt that the moment she let go of that chair, her composure would crumble to pieces. It was all she could do not to break out into the same flustered state because of the previous situation she had gotten herself into. Touching his wings, realizing it was really him she was touching and not just some random item sitting around his cabin. Marianne had basically been caressing him the whole time and the truth of it nearly floored her. Her face burned even brighter and she focused on the seat of the chair, defeated by her own embarrassment.

“Good idea,” he eagerly agreed with her proposition, clearing his throat in an effort to compose himself. “Good idea...”

Chapter Text

The crew was starting to notice the change in him. He could sense it whenever he worked among them, feeling their eyes on him even though no one had the brass to speak up. After he had walked out of his cabin with Marianne, the two of them making up an argument to be in the middle of and falling through with a sort of performance where he slammed his door open and she strode out upon the deck, livid and calling him several colorful words before disappearing below. The argument had been convincing because everyone stayed out of their way but he had a feeling that in spite of that, they would still have been watching him suspiciously the rest of the afternoon. Nothing was said about the shift in his behavior towards Marianne or the truce they seemed to have concerning her trying to take his life multiple times past but his mother said plenty on the subject whenever she had the chance. It was exhausting trying to silence her before anything too damning could be revealed that would make anyone think their captain had been compromised by his captive. Once his mother was taken care of, he buried himself in work. The hard labor of working the lines and helping with further repairs kept his head clear and his hands busy. Bog was less-likely to think about what he had done the night before if he kept busy and if anything else, he needed to forget.

Bog strung a repair line to the mizzen royal where the original line had been snapped during the cannon fire from the Tormenta. Fastening it taught and tossing the rest of the chord to the crew below, who worked to fasten it to the belay pin. He checked the remaining ropes with firm tugs, half-walking, half-hovering along the yard in between each line, putting his cursed wings to good use after their dormancy the past few days. The majority of the rigging seemed to be intact, those that hadn’t made it were replaced but the hull of the Fenland was suffering. There were still reports of water leaking in down below and he would have to look for the source but Marianne was currently down below and he felt an infantile desire to avoid her just a little longer for the sake of saving face among his crew.

There was no doubt anymore that Marianne was influencing him. It had been gradual, yes, but Bog wasn’t so blind that he didn’t realize what was happening to him. He admitted the admiration, that was confirmed and in the past. Now he was dealing with whether or not to believe he might have become fond of the princess as more of a member of his crew than his hostage. He watched her spar with them, helped her correct her stances and decrease her predictability that had been so obvious through their last few fights, the man was essentially grooming her to become one of his own, perhaps even better without even realizing it until it was too late.

Seeing her as a crewman would have been more acceptable than the troubling sensation he felt when he was with her in his cabin that night. It started out as taking shelter from the rain, the two of them ducking inside and continuing their previous conversation while he allowed the crew to handle the Fenland in the rain. He had given his orders and they knew to grab him if the weather took a turn for the worse but no word came and they had been left alone to talk that night. It was the most he had disclosed about himself to her, the small details they exchanged over their prior chats over time were miniscule, impersonal facts that were more general knowledge to those around them but not to one another.

They talked about his kingdom, his monarchy and briefly touched on the War of the Isles from his memories but nothing too detailed. It was too soon to discuss such personal experiences with Marianne, who was still supposed to be a hostage and not privy to such information in the first place. Then again, he hardly treated her as one anymore. Last night was proof of that. The two of them discussed her form, her improvements, and then what had been originally a little jest at her small muscle turned into one of his biggest mistakes.

Bog hadn’t touched a woman’s skin in years and even though it was just her arm, the feel of smooth flesh to his fingertips felt practically sinful after so long. That hadn’t been the worst of it though. Marianne managed to toss back that entire glass of lunectar before he could take it away from her and being unused to its potency, she was nearly intoxicated after one serving. The Mainlands had wine and ale, a few other choice liquors that had some kick but nothing compared to their distilled alcohol of choice and she paid for it by losing some of her sense to the haze it had so clearly cast over her mind.

They argued over his chair, trying to outrank one another and he won in every respect but the heat behind her words fizzled out not long afterward, blatantly ignoring him while he resisted the urge to just dump her out of the chair to the floor. He distracted himself with his books, leaning against the windowsill and attempting to read while she continued to fume, legs kicking over the armrest against the side of the chair with a constant tap that made his eye twitch with every strike. Eventually he realized she stopped, risking a peek over the top of the chair and finding her asleep, her head dropping back over the other armrest, the bar jabbing into her neck while her legs were still hung over the opposite rest. If he had left her there, she would have gotten what she deserved and would have woken with a crick in her neck for her trouble.

He had half a mind to leave her there and nearly did when the night grew older and he contemplated going to bed. Unfortunately he kept getting distracted by her still sprawled there, head painfully hanging back, neck arched with a tanned throat and collarbone that was starting to see sunlight like the rest of her previously sheltered skin. Eventually he wondered if the moonlight would no longer illuminate her anymore with the darkening of the sun’s light so deeply saturated in her skin. It was almost a shame.

Bog debated over hauling her down below several times, pacing his cabin while she remained blissfully unconscious, completely trusting of him not to do her any harm in spite of her constant alertness the majority of her time aboard. Eventually he agreed to take her below, wriggling between his chair and the desk and scooping her up into his arms to carry her below and drop her with the rest of the crew. He barely made it three paces around his desk when her sleepy murmur and the dip of her head into his chest startled him into stillness again.

Why he laid her on his bed he had no idea. He should have dumped her down below, not laid her out upon his mattress with gentle arms, easing away from her in hopes to not wake her and removing the boots from her feet to keep them off of his blanket. Bog saw them in his hands and promptly dropped them noisily to the flooring beside the bed out of spite to himself and his pathetic behavior just then. Bog slept in his chair that night, half folded over his desk and the strain in his neck and shoulders was proof of it. He only wished he hadn’t woken up the way he did.

Bog’s face felt warmer when he remembered sensing the glide of fingers, hands stroking along the length of his wing, then another one. It was gentle, curious, and he could have sworn he had been dreaming. He wanted to be dreaming, because dreams weren’t as dangerous as reality could be. In a dream it was alright to see vague images of Marianne caressing him, hands confident and unhindered by the oddity that was his altering appearance. She wasn’t disgusted or frightened, merely touching him for the sake of just feeling him there. A dream was not real, but when he felt the strokes and the warmth of a breath, his consciousness seemed to realize it hadn’t been a subconscious conjuring and he woke to find her there, touching, stroking, and crouching eye-level with his wings, so close he could have reached out to her and felt her hair with his hand if he wanted to.

Growing flustered at the sheer bliss he had felt when he first stirred into awareness that morning, Bog forced himself to continue working harder even though no one expected him to. He was captain, he was king. He could have slacked off all day and left the crew to fend for themselves while he drank himself into a stupor just to forget what had occurred in the last two days. Forgetting was much better than falling into the same pit that put him in this situation in the first place.

------------

“I appreciate you coming down here and helping an old woman out with keeping these louses fed.” Griselda gushed while carefully pushing the pot of water over the contained fire in its small stone hearth.

“I don’t mind. I’ve been helping everyone else, after all.” Marianne shrugged her shoulders, returning to the vegetables Griselda had left her in charge of chopping up. They were starting to spoil, unfortunately, an old stock that had seen too many days at sea so they needed to be cooked up before risking a ruined ration. The knife Griselda had given her was the first weapon she had been able to hold onto all day and, yes, it wasn’t the same as a sword but she handled it well enough. Peeling potatoes and carrots weren’t difficult tasks, just daunting and with the potatoes turning soft from age, the skins were stubborn. “I’m amazed they get away with not trying to help you though.”

“Why is that?” she glanced up as she set the heavy lid down over the pot.

“Well, you’re their queen, aren’t you?” Marianne cocked an eyebrow, waving the knife a bit to indicate the obviousness behind her words.

Griselda smiled, laying her hands upon her hips and tilting her head to the side. “So he finally told you?”

“Last night,” Marianne confirmed, focusing more on peeling the rubbery skin off of her new potato than the widening grin still spreading across the woman’s lips. “Even if I didn’t know about it, shouldn’t they be punished for making you work on everything by yourself?”

“Nah,” Griselda waved it off, pulling out a stool and sitting down with her to begin chopping up the cleaned potatoes. “I’m the queen mother, sure, but things are run a bit differently back home compared to how they do things in the Mainlands. I had a bit of pull back in the day, a few cases of pomp and circumstance but now that my Bog is king, I’m going back to my roots. It was easy to simply fall back into old habits and I’m happy to be getting my hands dirty again.”

“You married into the royal family then?” Marianne asked conversationally, glancing up after finishing off another long peel and flicking it into the bucket while rolling the potato over to Griselda.

“I did, though it wasn’t a royal family as you would think of it to be.” she said, catching the spud and dipping it into another bucket of water to clean if off then cutting it over a bowl in her lap. She paused after a moment and leaned across the table, bracing her elbow upon the wood. “Want to hear about it?”

Marianne’s hand froze mid-slice and she bit her lower lip, her eyes rose back up to her with a guilty smile finally spreading across her lips. Princess, sailor, or prisoner, Marianne’s love for a good story shone through and she nodded, much to Griselda’s delight. She tried to keep working, peeling more potatoes as Griselda deftly cut up what she passed her, leaning back in her chair to get comfortable as she began.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Griselda felt that she was going to go from the position of nanny to prisoner fairly quickly if she didn’t find that child soon. She hiked up her skirts a little higher huffing up the steps from the first floor to the next, dodging other servants dashing about. The entire castle was in an uproar that day as it had been three days now. Queen Eleanor was responsible for hosting the council for the Alliance of the Mainlands this time around. A different kingdom was picked to support it at least once every year and now it was her turn. Griselda had no interest in the number of royals slowly arriving throughout the afternoon from land and sea. She needed to find young Prince George and try not to throttle him before returning him to the safety of the nursery with the rest of his brothers and sisters. The boy had been practically useless all morning, ignoring his lessons and running wild through the halls before his tutors could catch him. Naturally they thought of her when he scrambled off again, sending her off to find him and bring him back because she was on the wrong rung of the social ladder to be able to refuse.

She had been born a servant’s daughter; therefore she would be a servant the rest of her life. It was how it was and how it always would be. A servant did not work their way up the ranks. Their position was determined by a higher power and their authority alone would determine her fate. She had passed unnoticed in her childhood under the rule of a strict king and his pompous queen, her only comfort being that the princess seemed a more decent breed than the parents who sired her. By the time the princess became queen; the woman had bore five children and was pregnant with her sixth on the day of her coronation as queen. Her king died three days after his rise to power and the queen assumed her role as monarch without a king by her side for as many years as she had children with her first husband.

Griselda played with the children while working in their rooms, preparing bedding and striking dust from drapes. They adored her crass behavior and how she did not look down upon them because they were young like most adults had done so. Naturally, when the queen saw this affection towards her brood, she elevated her from a maid to their nanny after they had chased the other one off in a fit of madness. Griselda seemed to be the only one capable of keeping them compliant enough to be passed as royal children, By the time young George was six, Queen Eleanor had married again and Griselda was considered an old maid as far as her courting years were concerned. She was kept far too busy with growing princes and princesses to think about finding a suitable husband for herself in the endless hours ahead of her. The fact that the queen was pregnant once again meant that Griselda’s work load was about to increase by one more.

Her best guess for where George would have been would be wherever his mother was. Little George was noticing the shift in attention with word of his mother’s pregnancy spreading like wildfire and Griselda spent evenings in the nursery trying to reassure him that he would not be loved any less because of a new baby. Even with that encouragement, the boy would still follow his mother around like a puppy if he had the chance. A child needed their mother and Prince George was no exception. The only thing left to do was just find out where Queen Eleanor was hiding in all of the castle’s chaos!

Striding through the corridor, Griselda brushed past a few more servants, heading for the chamber where the council would be meeting. Royals had been arriving all morning; surely she was trying to receive them all in there while their trunks and such were sorted out. She came to the doors, seeing that they were shut and could hear the murmurs of voices on the other side of the door. If the doors were shut, that meant that all of the representatives were accounted for and present, right? It was impressive how quickly they had all gathered. Turning about, she looked to the guards.

“Is he in there?” she asked, folding her arms sternly across her chest.

Garret, one of the younger guards smiled knowingly, “Yes, he snuck in there before the doors closed but her highness said he could stay since it was just a formality that they gather today.”

“Thank you,” she nodded her head, twisting around and leaning against the wall between the two guards to wait out the pleasantries being exchanged in the chamber behind them. “I’ll snag him when they wrap it up.”

The guards were friendly; passing chit-chat with her while they waited. It was highly unlikely anything particularly interesting would happen in the span of time all of the representatives finished greeting one another and got the pleasantries out of the way. The official meeting would be two days from now after giving the guests time to rest from their journeys, hardly anything to stand guard over as far as she was concerned.

Thunderous footsteps interrupted their talking, all three of them turning and peering up the passage in time to see a man striding up the hallway. He was tall and lean in build but bore a roughly made hood drooping low over his head. The man wore a brigandine of worn brown leather riveted with small bronze plates that looked like it had actually seen battle compared to the gleaming full-bodied suits of armor the kings, guards, and knights wore in the Mainlands. He had bracers on each arm that looked scratched and dented but his lower half was surprisingly unprotected, only a pair of worn trousers and heavy boots that bore traces of dried mud on the soles and up to the calf. There was a bow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows along with a sword at his hip. He was a man who looked thoroughly out of place in the castle. Outdated in clothing, armor, and more suited to be a ranger traipsing through the woods.

“Who goes there?” The guards leapt to attention at the sight of him and the weapons he bore, moving to flank either side of the door and Griselda remained quiet against the wall, watching him stop before the doors and raise his head to glare through the shadow of the hood at the two when they crossed their spears over the doors.

“Let me pass.” He commanded. Griselda squinted at him, puzzled by his strange, heavy accent.

“State your business.” The other guard ordered, glaring up at the stranger.

Griselda noticed his hand resting upon the hilt of a sword at his hip. The other pushed the hood back, exposing his sharp features and unkempt brown hair. “I have business with all of the alliance yeh fools! I’m supposed to be in there!”

“All of the members of the alliance are accounted for!” Garret countered, puffing up his chest in defiance of the taller man still standing before him. “You cannot pass!”

A piece of parchment slapped into Garret’s face then, Griselda nearly snickering when she saw it. She had been so focused on the hand at the sword that she didn’t even realize the other one was retrieving the document. Garret snatched it away and squinted down at it, struggling to read the contents quickly enough for the man still standing there. He pushed past them while they had been distracted and shoved the doors open to a chorus of gasps that rose to the high ceiling of the council chamber. His footsteps echoed ominously when he entered, the guards hesitating now that he had gotten past and not wanting to suffer further embarrassment. Griselda followed, keeping just beside the door as he stepped up onto the risen platform bearing the long table with all representatives of the twelve allied kingdoms of the Mainlands seated together. Faces both young and old gawked at the strange man as he stood at the end of the table where one small seat had been left empty to the right of the king of Noct.

“Aye see aye have been forgotten.” He said, his low voice rumbling dark off of the walls and bouncing back off the ceiling, sending chills down Griselda’s spine. “Again...”

“Laird.” Dagda, the prince of Lumine stood up from his chair at the right of Queen Eleanor, Griselda finally spotting George where he was sitting on his mother’s lap, her arm draped around his shoulders.

“A fine welcome as always, my lords.” He sneered, giving a mocking bow before he went to the empty seat. Dragging it back, he sat down and shot a glare at the monarch to his left, who flinched away at the sight of him.

“We didn’t think you would come, Laird.” Queen Eleanor said, drawing his attention to the head of the table. “It is a long journey from the archipelago to Eventide. It was understood that you desired not to come.”

“Aye sent no letters declaring my refusal to come to the council meeting.” He snapped. “The reply must have been lost between here and Lumine’s borders.”

“The fault doesn’t lie in my father’s kingdom for a lost courier!” Prince Dagda snapped, glowering at Laird.

“Oh, and when did Lumine begin sending in children to handle their politics?” he smirked, Dagda flushing and sinking back into his chair. As far as Griselda remembered, Prince Dagda was nearly of age to become king himself in his country but by Lumine’s customs, anyone not of age by their tradition, was always considered an adolescent until then.

“Enough, Laird.” The queen glowered, looking down at her son and softening her features for his sake when she addressed the rest of the council. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

“Yes,” Laird slouched low in his chair, “lets.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Griselda had to wait outside again once the guards had composed themselves to shut the doors again. Both of them were stone silent now, the previous ease from earlier gone because of their nerves after the unexpected encounter with this “Laird” man. Apparently he was from the archipelago that was some handful of weeks north, northwest of Eventide. Griselda had never seen anyone from the archipelago before but she heard of them in passing a few times. They talked of it being home to a leaderless legion of people who scrounged a living from the festering marshes they lived in. It was unorganized and chaotic, nowhere anyone one would dream to see in their lifetime. She wasn’t sure if it was true or not but servant gossip was all she really had to go on.

Laird looked nothing like a lord but he carried himself so proudly, she wondered if they did have some sort of leader at the archipelago and if he had been it. If that were the case, the royals collected in the council chamber had been very rude to him in not giving him a title but only spoke his name when addressing him. There was no guarantee he had a position of power. The man could have just been full of himself. In any case, he seemed rather isolated from the rest of the alliance when he sat with them. A dirty fork left among sparkling silver.

When the doors would eventually open again, a handful of royals leaving to retire for the day, Griselda slipped inside again to collect her charge, ignoring propriety and calling for him. Queen Eleanor spoke with a few others, letting George get down from her lap and run to meet Griselda now that he had satisfied himself with plenty of his mother’s attention. She almost melted at the boy’s grin splitting his face as he ran to her, the glee short-lived when he suddenly tripped over the long legs of Laird, who had been sitting pushed away from the table with his legs sprawled out right in the way up until that moment.

The moment he tripped, Griselda expected him to crash to the disgruntled stranger’s feet but Laird moved faster. The man gasped the moment George struck his leg, lurching forward in the chair and catching the boy by the back of his shirt, stopping him from hitting the floor. He lifted him up, dangling him in the air and raising an inquisitive eyebrow at the boy, who stared back at him wide-eyed. After the stunned child blinked back at him, his face blank, Laird lowered him down to the floor again, letting him get his feet sorted out on the stones. Large hands laid on tiny shoulders as Laird pulled his legs in close to avoid a repeat of the incident. Griselda marched up to them then, catching George’s eye and he ran to her.

“You know it’s not proper to sit like a whore on a tavern stoop.” Griselda said crassly, feeling George’s arms wrapping tight around her waist as she laid a hand over his head.

Laird looked at her and she saw his eyes widen at the sight of her before his face returned to the same glower he had bore since she first saw him in the hallway. “What do you know about being proper?”

“Enough to know a man should sit up when he is at a table.” She countered, bracing a hand on her hip, still caressing the boy’s hair and hoping he wouldn’t pick up on her more choice words in the exchange.

“Then you lived a sheltered life if you think all men sit the same way.” He growled, standing up. She craned her head back a bit to continue staring at him when he stepped down and directly in front of her. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Griselda,” she tilted her chin up. “Now I should say the same thing to you.”

He pressed his lips together his face puffing a bit before he heaved a sigh, releasing the air from his cheeks along with his pent-up anger. “I am King Laird of Eileanach de Lónach.”

“Oh…you’re a king?” Her courage fizzled in the presence of a man of power and the knowledge of what he could do to her in retaliation for her insolence if he wanted to. Griselda hesitated a bit now, regretting her previous brash behavior. She nervously tried to busy her hands by stroking at George’s hiar, who mussed it back up shortly afterward with a frown.

“Yes,” his tone softened when he saw her unease. “Just not an acknowledged one.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” She tilted her head to the side, puzzled.

“No, it’s not.”

They both fell silent then. Griselda pointedly focusing on George, who was growing curious as to why they hadn’t left yet but she also felt Laird’s eyes on her. She felt a little flushed under his scrutiny, glancing up through her lashes at him and seeing his cheeks suddenly color, averting his eyes. Didn’t expect to see a man who had forced himself into a meeting moments earlier go from brooding and irritated to suddenly awkward in a matter of seconds. It was almost sweet and she smiled at the awkward king. Look at him! Blushing before a servant of all people.

“Well…I better get him back to the nursery.” She took George’s hand and began to take him through the doorway.

“Right aye have to—uh—speak with the queen.” He glanced over his shoulder at Queen Eleanor then back at her. “Goodbye.”

Laird turned away from her and stalked off towards Queen Eleanor and Griselda marveled at the change in him whenever he wasn’t facing a chamber full of pompous royals.

“Goodbye…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through the weeks that followed with the visiting foreigners, Griselda dealt with unruly children curious about their visitors. She herded them through the corridors, scolded them in corners, and dragged them to their tutors to ensure they went to their lessons rather than pester their mother’s guests. She was run off her feet in the daytime, as was any other servant trying to be hospitable to the company in the castle, but Griselda had one consultation prize for her suffering. She had formed an unexpected friendship with Laird, who was rapidly becoming something even more dear than she originally expected when they first started talking.

Laird was a man with a short fuse when it came to the Mainlands’ rulers excluding him from their business as if he had nothing to contribute to the alliance. Yet at the same time he was warm and patient with the curious children who poked and prodded at his aged but experienced armor. He was a warrior, cunning and dangerous when he practically took over the guards on their training grounds during his free time, taking them on one by one with goading remarks and nearly lethal movements that made Griselda feel oddly warm and flustered by the end of it all.

Then there was the Laird only she had come to know.

He told her of his home, a cluster of islands consisting of fresh water bogs covered in heather and peat, as well as caves, forests, and hidden away coves. The islands were wild with untouched plant life, the inhabitants even more so. For years he and his father before him fought to unite the islands as one nation and while it had taken decades, it was now all united under one king and his father passed before he could see it all happen. Laird was a king by his own hand. His family lorded over tribes for centuries but this was the first time in their history that they were united under a monarchy and he assumed that might have been why the Mainlands do not consider him a true king.

“A king by his own hand,” Griselda murmured, leaning back on her hands while looking up at the waxing moon. It was one of their night talks, the only time of day when she wasn’t up to her elbows in children and he wasn’t intimidating the staff with his mere presence in the castle halls. They met outside of the castle walls, enjoying walks and conversation. Laird would always be the one to end it, insisting she go rest before it got too late and Griselda always left feeling all the more reluctant to go. Tonight just like all of their other talks, they had settled into the grass, observing the lay of Eventide beneath the star-riddled night. The grass felt cool on her palms while Laird’s body was warm at her side, her heart thrumming in her chest as she imagined this very man fighting to unite a scattered people. “It sounds more impressive than just being born into the role, in my opinion.”

“Thank you,” he inclined his head, with a chuckle but his eyes were distant when he looked away again, his next words a mere murmur that she barely understood. “Aye wish they felt the same...”

“Maybe they will in time.” She reached up and patted his arm. “Just imagine! One day, if not you, then it will be your children! They will be able to face these royals as equals because you fought to make your kingdom happen and they damned well better respect that determination when they see that it prospered without needing generations of titles leading up to it.”

He laughed at her spunk . “Aye have no children to speak of.” He reminded her, “Spent the majority of my youth fighting, the last thing aye thought of was finding a wife, let alone heirs to take my place.”

She snickered, “That sounds like me, though not by something as noble, I’m afraid.” Griselda laid back on the grass, stretching languidly on the soft blades and grinning at the tickle of it on her arms and ankles. “My life has been servitude and my marriageable years were spent in the company of her majesty’s children. I help raise her brood and I love them but it’s hard to appeal to many men when you’re already bouncing babies on your knee or chasing them through the gardens looking a fright.”

His fingers gently brushed a strand of her red hair from her face, “You don’t look a fright.”

Griselda flushed at his touch, feeling the scrape of his calloused fingers trailing against the skin of her forehead. He swallowed, letting the digits drift to the side of her head before they spread and his palm cupped her cheek with an affectionate caress. She leaned into his fingers, shutting her eyes and savoring the heat of his palm. It was probably inappropriate for her to be sprawled on the grass before him like this but if that were true, he didn’t seem to mind. She felt the brush of his lips on her temple, opening her eyes and staring up at him where he leaned over her, thoughtful eyes blue as the sea but full of hidden pains concealed beneath them just like the jagged rocks of the Eventide coastline in the waters of the ocean. Beautiful but deadly if not carefully navigated. He kissed her cheek, lips dry but tender when he leaned over her, kissing the other with a whisper of a touch. His nose trailed across hers in an affectionate brush that left her smiling, tilting her head back, lips parting, expecting. Laird regarded them with a thoughtful gaze, his thumb trailing her cheekbone before he bent down and met them with a slow drag that manipulated hers into a kiss that tingled right down to her toes.

---------------------------

Marianne swallowed, staring across the table at Griselda while she sat with her chin in her palms, staring dreamily up at the deckhead. She had finished peeling potatoes and carrots while Griselda chopped everything up to add to the stew during the stories of her meeting Laird and the water in the pot was beginning to boil over under the lid. Griselda appeared to be completely lost in her imagination after trailing off the moment she told her that she and Laird, the king of the isles fell in love during his stay in Eventide. She snapped her fingers near her face and Griselda blinked rapidly, focusing on her at last.

“Oh! Sorry about that.” She smiled, her expression turning to shock when the cauldron bubbled and hissed behind her. Griselda jumped to her feet and rushed to it, swinging it off of the fire and tilting the lid to let the steam escape through the narrow chimney.

“What happened when he had to return to the isles?” Marianne asked as Griselda worked to begin making the stew now that the water was boiling.

“Oh, he asked me to come with him.” she grinned over her shoulder at her. “He’d never have admitted it but my Laird was a real romantic, he was. I was going to miss the kids but I had dedicated most of my life to that castle and then I was suddenly given a chance to go live a new one. I have been responsible for so many people but myself up until that time and I didn’t care about what I was getting into. I just wanted to go where I could freely love him and he could love me and believe you-me, we certainly didn’t waste any time on that.”

The wink that she gave Marianne made her feel a little uncomfortable, her cheeks growing warm at the statement. It was a little more information than she cared to hear but at the same time she shouldn’t have been so flustered when it was a natural part of life. Maybe it was because this was the woman who bore the same man she had both hated and then admired at the same time. He was born; she knew this, but…

“You’re blushing, my dear.” Griselda teased, poking her in the shoulder with a spoon.

Marianne’s face only burned even more as she flinched away, rubbing at her arm absently even though it hadn’t hurt. Griselda chuckled, returning to her cooking and nudging the contents about the pot with the spoon then leaning into her table as she let it stew. Marianne brushed peelings into a bucket, trying to look busy while she avoided thinking about what might have led up to the conception of Bog. It would take a bit before she would be able to look him in the eye again, that was for sure.

“When Bog was born, Laird was so nervous at first.” Griselda smiled, “Imagine this intimidating warrior being nervous every time I tried to hand him his infant son but at the same time the man would practically patrol the hallway outside of his room through the first few weeks after he had been born to make sure he was safe.”

Marianne snickered, though she didn’t know what Laird looked like. He must have looked just like Bog, considering she couldn’t see much of Griselda in his pointed features and her eyes were brown, not blue like his. She imagined a man much like Bog looming over a cradle, hands clutching the sides in sheer terror at the sight of a baby lying inside. She giggled at the image but then her mind’s eye took a dangerous turn, conjuring him up standing in the light of the moon, babe cradled close to his chest. He was completely ignorant of the moonlight, the scenery, all that mattered was the child sleeping against him, eyes gentle and loving instead of the wary gaze she knew today. Clawed fingers caressing the tiny head with such tenderness…

She snapped out of the image, scaring herself half to death when she realized how her mind had drifted to such strange images. Bog wouldn’t live long enough to see a child of his own! That was her goal, wasn’t it? To ensure that he would be hanged back in Lumine for his crimes before such a thing could come true. He didn’t have a woman to have child with unless her previous suspicions about Stuff were correct. It seemed unlikely by his behavior when it came to touch. Marianne’s palms tingled with the memory of the wings and their veined membranes, her fingers twitching on the table when his shocked expression flashed before her eyes.

“I can only imagine.” Marianne managed to say, her words weak. She shakily got to her feet, “Um, I’m going to go help set up the mess deck for supper.”

“Alright, dear, make sure some of those clot-heads help you out, okay!”

Chapter Text

The crew gathered below for supper not long after the table had been prepared. Barrels from their stores were rolled out and set up at the make-shift table to give them places to sit where the number of real chairs fell short. Marianne had been given one as a courtesy but she opted for a barrel, sitting proudly on top of one beside the empty space reserved for Griselda. She preened at the height advantage it gave her compared to the chairs that were lower to the boards, some of the crew grousing over her smugness but she merely folded her arms and bore herself proudly right back in their faces. The spots filled up quickly with pewter bowls waiting for the meal to be served, spoons scattered by impatient hands, some drumming, others tapping on the wood with musical clinks. Marianne had been in the middle of being taught how to hang hers off of the tip of her nose by Thang when Bog appeared from the gloom. She fumbled the utensil, nearly losing it to the floor but she saved it in her lap from a dirty fate before glancing back up the table at him as he came in to join the others. All of the lantern light was concentrated on the table, leaving the rest of the mess deck covered in shadow, making it very easy to have lost him in the dark and unable to pinpoint his arrival. Marianne offered him a smile of greeting as he passed her, the captain catching her eye and giving her a nod before sitting down at the head of the table in the seat reserved for him alone.

Griselda appeared at last, hauling the pot of stew with Frond’s help, the two of them setting it down heavily upon the table. The remaining silverware rattled from the impact on the wood, Stuff’s hand slapping over her handle to keep it from dancing off the side of the table. Frond rushed to a spot and Griselda proceeding to ladle out to the eager bowls being shoved in her face. Most mealtimes were like this. Hungry men that worked hard always scrambled to eat by the evening meal, even Marianne herself half-battled for a turn. She found herself entering an impromptu fight with Scully, the two of them exchanging blows with their bowls and spoons until Thang broke in between them with his own, Griselda giving him a generous portion before they finally got their share. Marianne plopped back down on her barrel while Stuff raised a water cup in salute to her, praising the little battle.

Once the immediate demands for portions were met, the crew entered into their typical banter during their meals. Marianne overheard them discussing stories of their past experiences both at sea and during brief interludes on land. She heard of their excitement to return home again, however brief. Whatever home was to them in this wild island nation, it must have been an experience for them to speak of it with such longing to return. While listening, Marianne couldn’t help but realize that the crew would not be able to really stay long on this return journey. Once the Fenland was completely sea worthy again, they were to return to the neutral waters where her ransom was to be paid if her father agreed to pay it. She still was the kidnapped victim of their captain after all. No matter how much she had learned to enjoy the crew’s company in the past several days. The navy had to have returned to Lumine by now and it was only a matter of time before they would be prepared head out again to find her and bring her home.

The prospect of going home left Marianne feeling awfully numb when she thought about it, thoughtfully chewing on a piece of carrot while mulling over the prospect. On one hand, she could be reunited with Dawn and her father again and after nearly seven months away, it should have been all she wanted. On the other, she would have to confront the Roland situation all over again because even after all this time, he had still behaved as if nothing had happened between them. She felt she was strong enough to handle him now, yes, but that wasn’t why she felt reluctant to return home. Why she did, however, involved the very crew she was eating with and the captain overseeing them at the head of the table.

Marianne found it a little harder to swallow the overly masticated bite. Her eyes trailed along the tabletop over candles and half-eaten rolls along with sloshing soup bowls and further up to Bog, who was leaning into the table and talking to Brutus. He hadn’t noticed her yet, his stew spoon in his hand and suspended over his bowl with bits of broth dripping back into, currently distracted from eating the contents. He was engrossed in the conversation, face relaxed from his permanent scowl and more conversational than she had seen in days even when he was in her company. Recently, it felt like their talking had taken on a hard edge towards her, not with anger or spite but there was a tension there ever since she had given into her inquisitiveness and touched his wings.

He wasn’t as relaxed with her as he used to be.

The sparring session she had with the crew that afternoon was proof of this.

Marianne had been fighting Stuff, the two of them nearly matched but Stuff had the disadvantage of a shorter build than her. While she was skilled and her gestures were almost graceful in her fighting, she was also a little slower and Marianne disarmed her after five minutes into the fight. She followed up with another crew member, Hawthorn shortly afterward. Hawthorn was a spry older man who favored a cutlass and trained in Nox in his youth, his movements fluid but his arthritis made him have to constantly switch hands. She confronted him while balancing on two upright barrels under Bog’s supervision. Her footwork was still shoddy when it came to uneven surfaces and it had been her idea to use the barrels. If she fell off of them, she would lose by default. Once she managed to wear out Hawthorn to the point of slapping the flat of her blade upon his wrist and forcing him into dropping the cutlass, Bog’s hand held up to stay off the next opponent

She caught her breath as the crew held back from sending another challenger her way and she looked to the captain, curious why he had stopped them. His reason became clear when he stood up from his usual observer’s spot on top of the bulwark. It had been nearly a week since his injury and while it didn’t keep him confined to his bed or from working on repairs with the rest of the crew, he hadn’t drawn his sword since the day it happened. Apparently he had healed enough to break the weapons fast at last.

The sight of him standing up in one smooth motion, coming toward her while sliding the sword from the scabbard at his side made Marianne’s knees feel oddly weak. She gawked at him as he came closer, standing before her with the sword out low at his side. For a heartbeat she waited for him to give her an instruction, to guide her with the flat of the sword as he had done so many times over these lessons in the past. She wanted him to. But the guiding blade never came. Instead, the sword slashed at her feet so suddenly she had to jump over it, landing with a wobble on the barrels where they jostled from her displaced feet as he began to stalk in a circle around them.

“Very good.” He stated, looking down at her boots. “You need to keep your guard up.”

Reassuring her footing once the barrels stilled, she followed him with her eyes and he continued to look at her feet. Whatever he saw displeased him because he slashed at her left foot, Marianne hastily raising it but having to slam it back down before she lost her balance. His lips curled in a sneer, eyes darting up to her and she raised an eyebrow at his frustration.

“You need to move your feet and your body! Just lifting one leg after the other isn’t enough!”

Before this could even register he proved his point by jabbing at her right foot, the blade freezing so suddenly in mid-thrust she thought he had struck something before he was swinging the rest of the arc at her left foot where all of her weight was focused. Marianne jumped off of the barrel with a gasp, landing on her right foot on the same barrel the left had been on. He swung at that same foot and she fell back onto her left on the other barrel. Bog kept up an irregular pattern she could not predict, forcing her to twist and turn, jump and switch her feet from one surface to the other until she felt like a dancing monkey at his mercy. The more he trusted and slashed, the more irritated she was becoming and eventually she completely ignored the rules about dismounting the barrels all together.

With an angry cry she jumped down from them, ready to slam her blade into his skull in her anger but he blocked it, the swords clashing almost painfully in her ears. She landed on the deck, her legs jarred from the impact but she was entirely focused in the push of her arms and how his barely budged under the force of her blade. His height advantage forced her arms over her head while he was easily able to peer down at her in between the bridge of their weapons. The position was familiar, their swords locked and arms over their heads, putting them nearly face to face with one another. She huffed at her bangs, blowing them from her face while he stared back at her, teeth clenching at her challenging him so abruptly. Marianne continued to hold his gaze, the sea blue darkening with something she hadn’t seen there before and it intrigued her. It was drawing her in closer to see what it was filling his expression with an unspoken desire that she didn’t understand but felt compelled to learn what it was.

For a moment, however brief it might have been, she nearly wanted to drop the resistance in her arms so that his weight would force him into her. It was a dangerous impulse that fueled this thought, images of his body pressing into hers triggering a slow burn in her belly that was new and unexpected ache. What was this man stirring up inside of her? She shook it off, putting more effort into trying to push his blade away but the arms barely even moved. She narrowed her gaze and he mirrored it but her increasing closeness distracted her once again. The way his eyes had grown dark, his breath catching even though he shouldn’t have been winded…she couldn’t have been the only one feeling this odd pull.

Bog’s eyes dropped to her lips and she swallowed when she realized their sudden focus. Her foot shifted forward and her arms weakened. The smallest shift in her resistance triggered him into a sudden rapid blink, his head shaking and breaking the contact. He forced her away at last, sheathing his sword and abruptly leaving while she shook her arms out at her sides, watching him push past the crew until she heard Stuff bluntly remind her that she had lost the challenge because she got down from the barrels.

Marianne groaned over her loss caused by her giving into her own anger but the disappointment was only skin deep compared to the utter confusion that plagued her over her strange sensations that had befell her when she was face to face with Bog. They didn’t speak at all that day even though she had spotted him more than once on the deck while he worked with his men. By their seventh encounter he shut himself up in his cabin and Marianne sought out peace in the galley with Griselda.

“You’re getting better at your foot work, Miss Marianne!” Thang complimented, raising his tankard to her across the table, pulling her from her reminiscing. Marianne smiled gratefully with a little laugh, lifting her own in return.

“Thank you, Thang. I have you and the others to thank for helping me hone it.”

“The captain was even praising your progress earlier.” Stuff chimed in, not hesitating to chew around a bit of meat from her stew while she spoke.

“He was?” she raised an eyebrow but she secretly felt flattered.

“Aye, he asked where you had gone earlier and I told him you were helping Griselda. Naturally, we talked about how far you’ve come along. If I wasn’t afraid he’d skin me alive for thinking so, I’d say you were almost as good as he is by now.”

Stuff explained, indicating up the table at her captain before taking a deep pull out of her mug. She hummed in appreciation for the drink, setting it back down and digging into her stew again. Marianne spooned a little more stew into her mouth but it was starting to cool and she worked the meat around with a little grimace. Perhaps she was still a little spoiled when it came to meat and how she typically dodged consumption of it but she didn’t want to look like a priss to the others by avoiding the meat just because she was picky about it.

Swallowing it down she thought about Stuff’s praise and even though she had smiled at it before, she puzzled over the fact she had said “almost” when comparing her skill to Bog’s.

“I thought I was before.” She was feeling a little lost now and even more so when Stuff suddenly burst into laughter.

“Have you paid attention to how he holds the sword at all?” she asked, Thang joining her in some unknown joke because they were both laughing now. The two watched her as she shook her head and burst into another round at her expense. She pressed her lips together, huffing through her nose and shoving another spoonful of stew into her mouth in irritation. Chewing around the vegetables, she glared at Stuff, who was catching her breath quicker than Thang at this rate.

“Alright, enough! What’s so important about his hand?” she demanded, jabbing the handle of her spoon down into the table with a clack.

“He’s not left handed.” Stuff pointed out with a smile, wiggling the fingers of her own left hand. “Whenever he fights, he uses his left hand whenever he feels he needs to dumb down his skills. Used to fight with his right all the time in the beginning but after so many people lost to him at his best, he started using the left hand so that it wasn’t over as quickly. Now, if he switches to his right hand and you still hold up against him, that’s when you’ll find out if you are good or better than he is.”

She gawked at the two. “You mean—he’s been holding back this entire time?”

“Aye, he has!” Thang grinned, “I’m surprised you didn’t know!”

Marianne glared at the two while they finished off their fit of chuckles before she snapped her attention up at Bog where he was still talking with Brutus, completely oblivious that she was mentally burning holes through his head. Though he did stiffen a little during his talk, his wings betraying his discomfort by shivering on either side of the chair, the move so subtle she could only tell by the way the lantern light reflected off of the membrane. He must have sensed her anger. She had a mind to pick up her bowl and throw it at his head in a fit of fury but that would have wasted hers and Griselda’s hard work on that stew. She slumped over her bowl and ate the rest without really tasting it, slurping the broth down and dropping her spoon inside before crossing her arms fitfully over her chest. Sulking was supposed to be beneath her but she still fumed, fixing him with disapproving stares as the rest of the meal went on.

Conversations began to merge among the crew until one topic was reigning supreme, the subject of families left behind on their voyages. Griselda was keen on the talk but Marianne felt almost nauseous. Several of the men actually had family back home, which was surprising, considering pirates were not typically considered men that would desire such commitments. Marianne was raised on tales of pirates being adulterous lechers who fooled around with women of ill repute on the small island of Tinder. They paid for their pleasure with other people’s hard-earned money and never sought out a long-term relationship because of their crass nature. Apparently that wasn’t the case with the crew of the Fenland.

Most of the pirates loved what they did but they did it to bring wealth back to the isles and not just to themselves. They did go to Tinder and celebrated their conquests with the loose women but those with wives often accompanied the captain in keeping watch over the ship during those trips. He never went ashore when they were simply making port to let the men have their fun and Marianne could understand why. Perhaps the captain was more soft-hearted than she gave him credit to be. He might have avoided going to shore because he didn’t want the women to see what his curse had done to him.

Her anger softened a little after that.

“Does…the captain have anyone waiting for him?” she asked, glancing at Stuff to gauge her reaction but the woman barely batted an eye at the question. If not her then surely there would be a woman back on the isles that knew what was happening to him. Someone that didn’t mind the wings, claws and the odd coloration of his skin among the other abnormalities transfiguring him. Thang grew nervous then, glancing up the table then back at her. Stuff watched him with disinterest until a started look just as uneasy crossed her face. She put a hand over Thang’s mouth even though he didn’t try to speak but another man, who had been drinking ale much like a fish up until that point, heard what she had asked and butted into the conversation with a chuckle.

“Captain King doesn’t have a woman.” He slurred, slamming his cup upon the table and reaching for a spare roll knocked off a platter. “Hasn’t touched one since that devil woman laid the ol’ curse on him!”

A woman cursed him?

A bang shattered the atmosphere and the entire crew fell silent, wary eyes cast up to the head of the table where Bog was standing, a fist clenched on the table where he had obviously struck it. The man who had spoken suddenly realized he had crossed some unseen line and looked up at his king with a nervous smile fueled by the alcohol. Bog’s expression did not cool and the man’s shoulders sagged the longer he was pinned by the man’s unforgiving stare. He abruptly stood up from his chair and went to the man, who scrambled to run away but his liquored up limbs sent him toppling over, crew members cringing away when Bog came close, snatching him up off the floor by the collar of his shirt clenched tight in his fist.

“I told you to never speak of her!” He snarled down at him coldly, giving him a furious shake that left his fumbling apologies even more rattled before he was dragging him into the shadows, away from the light of the table. Marianne jumped up, clambering over the top of the table and running after them along with a handful of other sailors brave enough to follow.

“Marianne, don’t—”Griselda called after her but she ignored her, tearing blindly into the dark and relying purely on her memory of the lower deck’s to guide her way.

Bog strode quickly on long legs; leaving his crew trailing behind even though they rushed to catch up. He hauled the sailor up the steps to the main deck and went right to the port bulwark, shoving the man into the wall. The man cowered against the wood, hands up with pleading palms for forgiveness but he slammed his fist into his gut, stifling his words on a hoarse gasp for air where the wind had been knocked right out of him. His pleads fell in whispers when Bog snatched a hold of his shirt again and pushed him up onto the top and further over the rail. Frantic fingers clawed at his wrist, the lifeline that kept him on the vessel and not in the waters below. Marianne barely made out the apologies and promises never to disobey again spilling from the terrified seaman before Bog choked off his words by grasping his throat in a tight-fingered grip to silence him. The man desperately hooked his knees on the rail in a last attempt to keep aboard but he was disappearing further over the edge.

“STOP!” Marianne slammed into Bog’s side, reaching out to drag the other sailor back over the edge but the captain forced her back with a painful jab of his elbow. Cringing at the sharp pain from the bony appendage, Marianne grit her teeth, fingers snatching at the victim’s clothing to try and pull him back on and jumping when Bog suddenly snarled at her like a feral creature that startled her hands away from his prey. Paling at his ferocity, she fought past the fear and seized his arm in a death grip.

“He brought it up because of me! It was my fault!” Marianne cried to the wind and the roar of the waters the Fenland plowed through below. “BOG!”

He suddenly shuddered, shutting his eyes. She could hear growling in his throat, escaping between his clenched teeth but they slowly relaxed. Groaning out the remains of his anger, he dragged the man back over and threw him to the deck. The crew members who had followed hastily collected him.

“Take him!” he hissed with a sharp wave of his arm before putting a hand over his eyes, fingers stiff and wings spreading with a rattling hiss to match the malice in his voice. They immediately hauled him off, Marianne releasing his other arm and hovering with empty hands near his side as he tried to calm himself down. He slammed a fist against the bulwark with a curse before he twisted into it, bracing his hands on top and squeezing the wood with tense fingers. His eyes opened only barely as he stared down at the waters below, his wings finally slackening and laying limply down his back again. Marianne watched his fury turn to something more painful when he met her gaze at last. Bog blinked the last of the blind fury away, lifting his hands from the rail. Peering down into the gloves, he closed his fingers, the leather squeaking where the gesture pulled on the material.

“That’s where the curse came from.” She murmured at last, his eyes flicking back to her with a silent warning. “It was a woman.”

“Love is dangerous.” He said at last with lingering heat in his words. “It corrupts a man’s soul more cruelly than any curse.”

“It weakens a person’s sense.” she agreed softly, hands slowly lowering but Marianne’s senses were still on high alert as she watched him.
“Aye,” he breathed, “that it does.”

He turned away then, heading for the sanctuary of his cabin.

Marianne followed whether he wanted her to or not. She was afraid of what he would do with this lingering anger still poisoning him if she left him alone. He had nearly thrown one of his own crew overboard in that haze of fury and now there was no telling what he could do next. Her heart was still pounding with the after-effects of his rage but she still trailed after him, silently stepping into the room and easing the door shut in his wake. The sound of the latch catching drew him to look back at her over his shoulder. If he didn’t want her there, he was more than welcome to tell her to go.

Instead, he silently lowered himself to sit upon the edge of his bed, digging trembling fingers into his hair and Marianne heard a rattled breath that made his body shake before he exhaled it in what sounded almost like relief and his limbs seemed to relax a little with that one stammering intake and exhale. His elbows braced upon his thighs, head bowed and eyes on the floor, shrouded by his dislodged dark hair hanging partially into his face. Marianne lingered by the door, her hand still on the handle behind her but she had no intention of leaving him yet.

“I remember the reports of Lumine’s heir apparent running away on the day of her wedding.” He said suddenly, evidence of a dry laugh fringing his words when he lifted his head and peered across the cabin at her. “You didn’t tell your father why you cancelled the engagement. You simply…disappeared.”

“I did.” She nodded, approaching the bed and carefully sat near the foot of it, giving him plenty of space.

“Was it at the fault of your fiancé?” Bog asked, not saying anything about her presence on his bedding. Marianne ran a hand through her hair, the ghost of a memory of longer strands slipping through her fingers haunting her digits and she looked down at her open palm with a wry smile.

“I was ready to be married, you know. I was in my wedding dress even though I still had hours to prepare for the ceremony. I was too excited not to be wearing it and practically drove the staff insane by my flitting about the castle grounds all morning, singing and dancing like a fool.” She shuddered at the memory of her blissful ignorance, wrapping her arms around herself to hold the shivers at bay. His hand shifted on his leg where it lay as if to move towards her but he changed his mind, leaving it where it sat. “I made him a boutonniere for our wedding. It is traditional for Lumine brides to make them for their grooms and I wanted to give him mine after Dawn helped me make it. I am utterly useless with my hands when it comes to anything creative.”

She noticed the slightly curling of his lips and she relaxed a bit at the sight of it. If he was smiling, however little it was, he was recovering from the anger. Marianne’s nerves eased and she laced her fingers together in her lap while she dug into her past to conjure up her story. Talking about the cause for her running away should have felt so much harder than this but it came up so lackluster compared to the utter pain she had seen in Bog’s face moments ago. She was spared marrying a frivolous knight. Bog…suffered a curse.

“I brought it down to the guards’ lodgings because I knew that would be where he was getting ready.” Marianne continued, pressing her palms together and straitening her fingers against one another. “I expected him to be primping in front of a mirror in his chamber and just as happy as I was. Instead, I found him with another woman. He didn’t even have the foresight to take her into his room where he might have kept the rendezvous a secret. He was kissing her in the shadow of an archway.” Bog’s expression fell at this, the smile gone in favor of disapproving frown. Marianne shrugged her shoulders, lips twisting in displeasure at the memory she had tried too hard to forget. The fingers twining through golden hair, breathless kissing, wet noises. It sounded filthy but Marianne was unfamiliar with the technique he was using on the woman. She bit her lower lip, shaking her head at the boards under her feet. “What surprised me the most…was that he was kissing her in ways he never tried to…well, with me.”

Bog appeared puzzled this for a moment but seemed to think better because he settled for something more natural when he spoke up again. “So you called off the wedding after seeing he betrayed you. That is understandable. But…what I don’t understand is why you ran away that night. You could have cancelled the wedding then moved on. What possessed you to want to run away? To go to sea.”

“I was a coward,” she admitted, shaking her head at herself. “I was too scared to face my father or even Roland for that matter after he had betrayed me. I ran off without confronting him when I caught him, and it was after doing that, that I realized just how weak I really was. I wanted to do something that would help me grow stronger, to not be a wilting violet in the eyes of my people anymore. As charming as Roland had been when we courted, I felt that I was missing something from myself whenever I simply obeyed him out of blind love for him. After cancelling the wedding, I thought of the ocean and how dangerous everyone said it was, ever since I was little and I thought if I could survive a life at sea, I could handle anything! As it turns out, if I hadn’t run away, I don’t think I would have found the courage that I have now.”

“You would have found it.” Bog said thoughtfully, glancing pointedly over at the boarded windows and Marianne blushed a bit at the obvious indication to their unconventional first meeting. That had certainly been a bold entrance, if not a dangerous one. They shared a weak laugh, neither of them feeling secure enough to let it develop into a true one just yet. Bog joined his hands together in his lap, a little fidget between his fingers revealing the more endearing side of him coming through again at last.“I don’t believe that you would never have found that courage on your own. It was already there, Marianne. You just discovered it under better circumstances than when it would have been too late to use it to your advantage.”

She smiled at him, her face feeling hotter at his praise.

It was scary how her opinion of him had changed in a matter of weeks. Marianne felt utter contempt for him in the beginning for kidnapping Dawn. It was justified because he had stolen her little sister, whom she would have moved heaven and earth for if she needed to. Shortly after her anger, she was frightened by him and his raw power hidden beneath his façade of appearing to be nothing but skin and bones. Then she was curious about his curse and the circumstances behind it. All the while she admired him for his skill, eventually managing a sort of friendship with him that took them both by surprise. It had been so easy once she stopped trying to kill the man.

Bog drew one of his gloves off, Marianne’s eyes following the drag of it over the cuff of his sleeve and then the grey sliver of skin at his wrist. The glove slipped free and his hand was exposed, the black claws gleaming wicked in the light of the desk’s candles. He flexed his fingers, traces of sweat on the digits from the long confinement in the leather. He glanced warily over at her and she waved him on with a little gesture of her hand. Surely he understood by now that she was not bothered by the appearance of his curse. Bog swallowed, lips pressing together as he tugged the other free and draped them over his thigh. He wiped his sweaty palms across his breeches, rubbing his fingers together in an attempt to dry the perspiration.

“May I ask about the curse?” she asked, reaching over to him, her fingers hovering near the back of one hand when it rest on his leg again.

“I’d prefer you didn’t.” he murmured, slipping his hand away from her reach. She raised an eyebrow at him and he met her gaze, puzzled by the change in her expression when she scooped his hand up into hers and guided it closer. Bog flinched at her touch but she held fast, gaze dropping down to observe her captured prize.

“Then I won’t.” she stated with a shrug of her shoulders, observing the dreary color of his skin. It felt like normal skin on the back of his hand when she experimentally drew her fingertips along the evident bones beneath it. The hand jumped under her touch, startled by her immodest curiosity but he didn’t pull away. She felt the wrinkles of his knuckles, smiled at a freckle on the little web of skin between his thumb and forefinger, almost black compared to the rest of his skin but it was one of those human imperfections that seemed to survive the alterations of the curse. He must have had similar marks elsewhere on him then. She turned his hand over and felt the calluses on his fingertips then the pads further down each digit, evidence of decades of hard labor and craft that she never would have seen on any other king’s hands back in the Mainlands. He cleared his throat, halting her investigation by slowly drawing his hand away from her inquisitive fingers. Marianne let him, lowering her own hands to rest on the bedding on either side of her. “Will you ever tell me about it?”

“You mean before I send you back to your father?” he asked while observing the hand she had just observed, quirking an eyebrow. His face was closed off and he didn’t look at her this time but there was an edge to his words she almost hoped was sadness. Sadness felt at the thought of her leaving. Why she felt so hopeful that was the reason, she dare not think about. “Yes, one day…I will.”

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The waters were starting to get a little rougher. He could feel it in the increasing rock of the Fenland on the waves. They were getting closer to shore and closer to shore meant she was coming closer to home. He felt her sway, taking in a sharp breath as awareness finally hit him through the haze of slumber and he lifted his head from where it had been pillowed upon his arm, cracking his eyes open just enough to see the vague shapes of his darkened cabin.

The room was still mostly in shadow, the candles having burnt out long ago (an unfortunate waste of resources) and the solitary window was filling with sunlight that painted the bulkhead with a pale golden glow. He rubbed at his eyes, pushing himself up on his elbow and frowning at his odd position of half lying on his bed while his legs had sagged out over the side with his heels braced on the floor. His hip was sore from lying on the edge of the framework and his arm still felt the ghost weight of his own head, a touch of numbness in his fingers thanks to his thick skull mildly cutting off his circulation. The oddest thing, however, was when he blinked down at the bedding and found a head of dark hair directly in his line of sight.

Bog’s hand dropped heavily to the bedding, his typical drowsiness interrupted by the shock of seeing Marianne lying there beside him. While he had been mostly on the bed with his legs hanging uncomfortably over the edge, Marianne was curled into a taught ball on the mattress, legs tucked in close and at some point she had managed to steal his pillow from the head of the bed because her own head was nestled into its softness while her arm clutched it close. And she called him possessive? It wasn’t the fact that she was sleeping that startled him. It was the fact that she had slept beside him completely at ease in his presence even after his tirade last night that left him in this state of shock.

They had talked well into the night, mentioning the most arbitrary subjects to fill the evening with words instead of the awkward silence they both felt would fall between them. He must have fallen asleep not long after Marianne had in the middle of a story about his father’s training him when he was a child. Apparently his mother had been speaking out of turn again and Marianne already knew his father’s accomplishments but nothing of how Bog grew into what he was before the curse. She had been a rapt audience until he noticed her eyes drooping and the yawns that came more and more frequently through the accounts of sparring sessions and understanding the world he was to grow up in. Eventually she had laid her head down and he accommodatingly softened his words into hushed tones until she finally drifted off. After that, Bog intended to go to his desk and spend another rough night slumped over the top; instead, he managed to fall asleep right next to her.

The Fenland swayed with more evidence of their approach and he carefully pushed himself to sit upright, twisting the most he could until his spine gave a crack, easing the tension that had built up through his awkward sleeping position. Marianne murmured beside him and he froze, hands lifting from the bed and hovering mid-torso as if they had been the cause for disturbing her but she didn’t waken. She sighed into the pillow, nuzzling her face into it with a trace of a smile on her lips and fell still again, much to his relief. He wasn’t sure how she would react to waking up beside him after all.

Easing himself from the mattress, Bog stretched his arms out and over his head, savoring the sweet stretch in his limbs and back, the wings flaring out to enjoy the same pull until he let himself fall slack and go to his desk. He retrieved his sword from the back of his chair, grateful that Marianne hadn’t commandeered it again in his sleep while fastening the baldric in place. Pulling his coat off of the other side of the seat, Bog swung it around himself, forcing his arms through the sleeves and tugging it to lay flat, eyes straying back to where Marianne was still sleeping.

Carefully nearing the bed, he lowered himself to a knee to pick up his gloves where they had slipped free from his leg to the floor last night. He barely brushed them off with his fingertips when her soft breathing caught his ear and he permitted himself another look. Marianne’s face was relaxed, not a single trace of irritation or suspicion narrowing her brows or wrinkling her forehead. She had been completely at ease beside him all that time. He carefully brushed the fringe from her purple eyelids, dark and unlike any woman’s choice in coloring he had ever seen. Her parted lips bore traces of the same hue, mostly rubbed off by now but still clinging to them with a trace of violet that left him licking his own lips.

Clearing his throat and giving his head a firm shake, he stood up and hurried to the door, snatching his hat from the hook as he passed. Bog slipped out of the cabin, shutting the portal firmly behind him before he placed his hat atop his head and proceeded to pull on his gloves just as the lookout made the expected call. He could heard the outcry of land being spotted from up in the rigging and went forerd to the bow, stepping up onto the rail and snagging a hold of a line while the bowsprit pointed in the direction of the distant islands.

“We’re on the last leg, captain.” Scully appeared at his elbow and Bog nodded.

“I’ll be taking the helm,” Bog extended a foot behind him and dropped back onto the deck. Scully followed when he came about and lead the way to the bridge. “Fang hasn’t mastered the combination of the rocks yet and I’d rather we not lose anymore pieces of her before we reach the harbor.”

“Aye, sir.” Scully rushed ahead of him to inform Fang the change in position to make way for the captain and Bog pointedly avoided looking at the door to his cabin when he climbed up the steps.

Chapter Text

Marianne was more than disoriented when she came out of Bog’s cabin, squinting at the sunlight and nearly jumping back inside when a looming rock to the port side startled the life out of her. After the initial surprise at the sudden presence of a rock at sea, she ran to the edge, gawking at the sight of more towering rocks scattered around the ship and yet the Fenland was slipping right past them. A jagged path was laid out before them when she craned over the edge to look ahead at the rocks forerd of the ship, all of them big, broad, and hazardous if the Fenland should strike one of them in her battered condition. The vessel groaned with the insistent direction of the rudder and the angling of the booms to force her to sail in between two narrow-set structures, barely making it through.

Crew members were scrambling to match the orders being shouted from the bridge, the sails directed on a moment’s notice so that the wind couldn’t pull the ship too far where they didn’t want to go. The wind fought against them, urging the Fenland to pick up speed faster than the men could belay, the low scrape of wood on stone muffled by the water was testament to their lack of perfection and the instructor snarled at them for their tardiness. Marianne knew the source of the shouting, turning and spotting Bog at the helm, his face focused and mouth set in fierce concentration that only opened to give an order or rip into those who didn’t move fast enough. Her instinct kicked in and Marianne rushed to join in with the work, though she was a bit distracted by the unfamiliar surroundings breaking up the once empty horizon with evidence of a long-lost land mass.

If she remembered correctly, Eventide had a notorious coastline filled with jagged rocks that were the bane of every ship’s existence but these rocks towered over the water, their bases worn smooth from years of battering waves. They had traveled too far Northwest for it to have been Eventide, this must have been the isles. Marianne struggled to keep up with Bog’s abrupt shouts, growing irritated by his constant switching of directions but the crew didn’t seem to question it. She managed to carry out a starboard swing of the boom and the sails strained on the wind when she managed to catch a glimpse ahead of the bow. Beyond the rocks there was no trace of water, only varying shades of green. Dark and rich greenery that finally marked land after what felt like a lifetime of water. The homesickness in her was elated at the promise of solid ground but her new side, the one steadfastly crafted by the sea, felt the same sadness any sailor always managed to feel whenever it was time to leave a ship. Even if she was a captive of the Fenland, she had grown rather attached to her warped hull and splintered weather deck, not to mention the crew that handled her.

“How does he even get through these?” Marianne gasped in the middle of helping haul on the chord for the foresail, swinging the boom to port after another order.

“The captain’s father planned the combination to make it through the rocks.” Thang said quickly, his arms straining with the effort to hold the line tight. Marianne groaned when the wind tried to pull the rope from their hands but they couldn’t belay them until they were through the rocks. “It’s safer docking through these rocks than it had been at the old harbor.”

“What’s wrong with the old harbor?” She raised an eyebrow. Wherever it was, it had to be easier than snaking through these narrow pathways with the bulk of the Fenland as well as the other ship that Bog had captured that was probably not far behind them. She had to time the slackening of her hold with Thang and Stuff when another order was given for more dominance on the starboard side, Bog’s voice echoing off of the rocks with irritated urgency.

“It’s not there anymore.” Stuff said, Marianne peering back over her shoulder at her and seeing that she looked rather perturbed. “The Mainlands burned the place to ash during the war.”

“They---what?” Marianne paled, cold realization making her heart drop into her stomach like a stone. “They destroyed an entire harbor?”

“Aye, they did.” Stuff sighed, “I was barely walking at the time so I don’t remember much about it, but it was our only outlet to the outside world until the war. Without it, we were pretty much told we were on our own.”

Marianne’s fingers faltered on holding onto the line, she felt it slip through a bit while Thang, Stuff, and the other helper Kiel continued to work with the slack of the chord. She tried to renew her hold but it was hard to focus when she was still trying to digest the bit of information they had just given her. She had grown up under the impression that the Mainlands were a strong and fair union of peaceful countries. To hear that their combined naval force had obliterated the main harbor of Eileanach de Lónach was a complete shock! Bog had mentioned seeing the War of the Isles, did that mean he had seen the attack in person?

Her father had sent out the Morning Glory to help massacre an island nation without even realizing it and she had been just as ignorant of it as he had apparently been. How greedy had the Mainlands become to wipe out something as vital to an isolated nation as it’s only harbor? Her heart clenched when she rejoined the others in the work again, glancing over her shoulder towards the bridge at Bog as he gave the helm a quarter turn, leaning to the side and checking the rocks ahead around the hang of the sails.

“Reduce the sails and belay the bracers!” he shouted, the order traveling from sailor to sailor in a chorus of shouting. The men shifted the lines to their belay pins, Marianne held on fast as Thang rushed to tie their own off. He looped it around the rod then coiled it in figure eights around until the line was secure. Sailors were rushing aloft into the rigging to begin stowing away the sails to the yardarms before the wind could haul them any faster. The spanker was still down at the stern, guiding the Fenland through the last of the rocks. With her hands now free, Marianne crossed over to the bow, laying her hands on the top of the bulwark to take in their surroundings as the ship drifted past the parting rocks and further inland.

Beyond the obstacles lay a cove of dark waters sheltered by the rocks they had just navigated through along with a natural wall of stone to the Southwest that loomed tall over the ship and sheltered the inlet from prying eyes. Sloping up from the shallower waters was a shoreline of sienna-colored sand that was soon overtaken by grass with tall trees that looked nothing like the tropical vegetation she had seen on small islands to the far West. These trees were hearty and old with dark trunks and rich green leaves fed by an abundance of moisture. The rattle and clank of the heavy anchor chain distracted her from the view, the spanker sail now being stored, port and starboard anchors dropping with weighted splashes into the water below. The Fenland groaned, resisting the catch of her weights but she soon stilled with a tired bob in the bay, swaging gently with the broken waves filtering through the rocks.

Bog left the helm, Marianne rushing to get back to work wherever the crew could use her in preparing to go ashore. She watched him from the corner of her eye when he stalked down the stairs and headed below without a glance her way. It was either because he was irritated she had stolen his bed again or he didn’t even know she had come out from the cabin already. Either way, she didn’t fail to notice he had taken great care in concealing himself today. On the open sea he had grown comfortable enough to roam the deck without his coat and hat but now he was fully concealed. The only skin he bore to the elements was his pale face and throat accompanied by that patch of skin bared by the collar of his shirt.

Was Bog really so concerned about the effects of his curse that he would trust it to his crew but not the people of his own realm?
Marianne chewed on the thought when the men readied the longboats for transition of the ship’s cargo and crew to the shore. She helped dislodge them from their resting points, turning them over and emptying out the extra bits that had been stored away in them before they were attached to the lines to be lowered to the water. What with the nature of how their supplies were obtained, Marianne was certain that there would be little crates and even fewer barrels. Pirates had no real cargo aside from what they took and even then they didn’t snatch up anything particularly large to ensure a quick getaway.

Parcels, bolts of fabric from their spoils, boxes and various other goods were passed between hands from below and loaded onto one boat while the other was to hold crew members when they took the first load ashore. The rest would be loaded up as soon as there were men able to handle those good sent ashore. Marianne had no qualms in working with the crew but she did feel a little uncomfortable handling the items obviously taken from cargo ships both with and without her aboard.

She found a happy medium if she kept her hands busy and her eyes averted.

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The room hadn’t changed in the small amount of time Dawn had been gone. The walls still bore their soft colors of gold and sky blue. Her furniture, painted white since as far back as she could remember was still in the exact order she had left it in. She still possessed the same bed, white cotton sheets still cool when the maids turned them down every night, pillow still plush after what felt like an eternity of a wooden plank as a resting place. Her small vanity still sat near the window, angled conveniently so that she could turn and look out on a passing fancy. The heavy drapes that accommodated lazy days of sleeping in before age and the pressures of royal responsibilities were drawn back and tied fast with their braided chords. The glass was left bare and exposed the room to the steady glow of moonlight spilling through the panes and pooling on the stone floor. The candles still lit here and there in her chamber seemed to waver in its presence, golden light incapable of combating the overpowering coolness of the moon’s glow.

Dawn ran her fingers over the smooth surface of her vanity, ignoring the collection of make-up and crystal bottles of perfumes for the mere furniture itself. The beauty products held little interest tonight, though she could vaguely remember days fretting over the proper combination to apply to her face every morning since her father permitted her to wear them. Now, it all felt oddly numb to her, distant memories that were only two weeks old. Instead, her attention was fixed to the empty space of her bed chamber filled with nothing but the smell of flowers. Her handmaidens had brought them in for her every morning since she had been returned home. It had been her father’s request, in order to cheer her up, but it only seemed to leave her melancholy knowing Marianne wasn’t there to teasingly scoff at the sheer number of them like she used to.

Slipping away from the cushioned stool, Dawn sought the comfort of the moon’s glow. Perhaps somewhere on the endless sea, Marianne would be able to see this same moonlight somehow. It didn’t hurt to hope that she would not be confined to the cell as she had been that long week in the company of the pirates. In that time, she had tried to be positive, to let all of her inner light shine through the darkness of the ship’s belly. All of her hope had been spent on the optimism that she would be rescued, keeping a cheery disposition ever constant even in the face of strangers peeking through the doorway at her. Only Griselda was a reassurance until Marianne had been brought down to her. Returning to Lumine, however, uncertain of Marianne’s well-being and Roland’s role in trying to get her back, it felt as if the last rays of sunshine were slipping out of her.

Dawn opened the doors to the small balcony, walking out into the open arms of the moon’s waiting light and closing her eyes. The sunlight was supposed to be where she belonged, it had been in her name the day she was born. Her mother had held her up in the warm rays on bright mornings, bathed her in shallow sun-warmed baths. Dawn knew the sun. Tonight, however, the watchful moon and its association with Marianne the night she left gave her some semblance of comfort. Her arms crossed over her chest, hands grasping her upper arms and turning her face to the light, taking a deep breath and letting the tingle of its effect prickle over her skin. It tickled little goosebumps along her arms despite the lingering warmth of the summer night.

“I wish you could see it, Marianne.” She sighed, opening her eyes to the silent moon. She wasn’t sure if it was the fae blood speaking or her own sentiment, but the words slipped out and the moon did not judge her for speaking to no one.

“Dawn?”

The princess jumped at the sudden whisper, eyes searching the balcony for the source of the voice then cautiously raising to the moon but saw nothing. The voice eventually spoke again and she turned to the edge of the balcony, slowly approaching the railing. “Dawn, are you awake?”

“Sunny?” She puzzled, peering over the rail and into the dark rose garden below. The bushes and vines were painted silver with dark blossoms in the moon’s glow but aside from the colored garden, there was nothing to see but shadow until a head popped out from behind the double delight roses. “Sunny! What are you doing here?”

He hastily put a finger to his lips, shushing her and she covered her mouth with her hands, whispering an apology past her fingers while he surveyed the area. The guards had been placed under strict order to keep their eyes open these days after both princesses had managed to run away without incident so it wasn’t surprising to see two of them pass by, Sunny dropping back out of sight as they passed in quiet clinks from their jostling armor. Dawn half crouched behind the balustrade, peering over the stone as they walked by with a cautious gaze until they passed beneath the arch leading out of the gardens.

The coast being clear, Dawn popped back up and waved her hand, Sunny emerging from hiding while slipping a rope that had been coiled around his shoulder free. The sailor crept through the grass until he was just below the balcony and revealed an iron hook tied to the end of the rope. Sunny then gestured for her to move back and she nodded, retreating to the safety of her room but lingered near the doorway to keep watch. After a few tries, the hook appeared over the ledge and caught on the rail with a clank, Sunny tugging on the rope’s fastness before it grew taught from his weight below. Without the danger of the projectile, Dawn returned to the ledge and watched as Sunny climbed his way up the rope. It was strangely reminiscent of another night where she watched someone climbing a rope, but it was in reverse and the figure was disappearing into the night, not coming to her out of it.

“I thought you were supposed to be restricted to the harbor.” She whispered as he clambered over the top of the rail and dropped behind it, keeping low. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to see him. Dawn was happy to have her friend back after he had been forced to stay away, but she didn’t expect him to disobey her father’s orders and come to her in the middle of the night.

“The repairs are complete, they are loading it for the return to sea but I had to see you, Dawn. I wanted to make sure you were alright.” Sunny explained as she lowered herself to her knees in a puff of cornflower blue skirts in the same moment he sat down, crossing his legs.

Dawn reached out, her pale skin radiant in the moonlight when she scooped the dark hand of her friend into hers. Encasing his hand in between hers, she felt the first trace of a smile that evening, peering into her friend’s face as he met her gaze with concern. His hands were around the same size as hers but the color of the coco beans from the West. They were stout hands, roughened by his labor in the harbor and the sea beyond since childhood. Dry skin scraped on her own flesh when he shifted his hand, wrapping his fingers around hers tenderly and she squeezed hers a little more snugly around it.

“I haven’t seen you since you were dismissed by my dad.” Dawn sighed, feeling relieved at the gentle stroke of his thumb on the back of her hand.

“The king forbid me from seeing you.” He reminded her solemnly, “He’d probably lock me up if he knew I was here.”

It had been hard watching her father practically banish Sunny from entering the castle grounds again. Dawn had been unable to argue with him, her father’s stifling relief in her return had overpowered her into a sense of compliancy for his sake. King Dagda had a daughter back but the other was still missing, she couldn’t risk hurting him by angering him so soon after coming home. Still, she felt that she was to blame. Sunny had obviously been worked hard since he had been restricted to the shipyard and the seemingly endless list of repairs for the Morning Glory that only now reached completion weeks after the attack. Sunny’s hands seemed raw and his posture was tense from soreness, the cruelty of constant labor taking its toll and yet he had come to see her through it all.

“It’s my fault you’ve been worked so hard.” Dawn shook her head.

“Hey now,” Sunny’s other hand lightly touched beneath her chin and she lifted her gaze. “I’m the one who snuck you onto that ship. Then, I couldn’t keep you safe when those pirates attacked.”

She saw the regret immediately cloud his expression then and leaned into him, releasing his hands for the sake of embracing him. “No, Sunny. It was my fault. I wasn’t thinking of anything but trying to find Marianne and a part of me was just so excited to have an opportunity for a little adventure of my own. I was being selfish. It wasn’t you at all.”

His hands patted against her back, settling flat on the fabric of her dress while she laid her head over his shoulder, catching the smell of sweat and oils from wood treatment on the worn linen of his shirt. Somehow it was more comforting than the flowers in her room and she lingered there, arms tight around his form while he didn’t question her, his hands still on her back. One slipped to her arm, stroking it before he eased her away from him and she felt oddly sad at the distance increasing between them when she sat back on her heels but he let her hold his hands again.

“Tomorrow they are sending out the Morning Glory to pay the last of the ransom to the pirates. Roland already assembled the men he wanted to accompany him but I’ve been left out because of the trouble I caused.” Sunny explained, Dawn nodding thoughtfully as he told her of Roland’s seemingly limited options in the crew he selected without the captain’s input. “I don’t think Roland is out to hurt Marianne, but something’s off about how he’s handling this rescue mission.”

“Marianne doesn’t want Roland to rescue her.” Dawn shook her head, “She hates him. She has hated him since the day she called off the wedding. I think that him being the only one she would really know on this journey is a bad idea. Marianne might not even want to be rescued if it’s just him and I’m scared she’ll never come back because of him.”

“Of course Marianne would come back! Even if it is Roland, she would want to come home again!” Sunny insisted, hands jumping to her shoulders.

“You saw the same thing I did, Sunny.” Dawn indicated towards the sea with her hand, nearly wanting to cry at the sheer pain of the thought of Marianne not coming back but at the same time, she smiled through the threat of tears. “She was enjoying the fight with him, just as much as he was with her. That might have started something, Sunny.”

“Hold on—“ Sunny released her shoulders, hands aloft and palms out. “Are you trying to say you think that Marianne and Captain King might be…”

“I’m not sure yet,” Dawn mumbled, blinking the moisture from her eyes as her grin widened. “I only saw the captain twice while I was on the ship. The first time when I woke up and the second when he was beside me on the deck the day you came to get me. Both times, he wasn’t really cruel to me at all for being a pirate. When I first saw him, I was scared and I kind of overreacted. And—oh Sunny—if you saw the look in his eyes in that moment…I felt horrible after that.”

“He’s the man who kidnapped you, Dawn!” Sunny cried out, his hands immediately clapping over his mouth and the two of them sat in silence, listening for any sign of alert below. The ongoing silence reassured them and Sunny lowered his hands at last but his face was still incredulous. “He nearly obliterated the Morning Glory in the process of trying to find you and had most of the crew killed before they disembarked. I only survived because one of the pirates thought it was funny to drop me in a barrel and kick me across the deck!”

“You never looked him in the eye, Sunny.” Dawn stated, looking up at the moon. “I’m not justifying what he did. I just think that…I don’t know…he might have been lonely through it all.”

“You’re being too generous, Dawn. He nearly gave the order to fire on us when we had you aboard.” Sunny frowned, “If Marianne hadn’t attacked him, we might be dead right now.”

Marianne slashing at the pirate through the fog, her sword determined but her face betraying the wicked enjoyment she was feeling with every parry of his blade to her thrust or slash. Captain King mirrored that dark pleasure at her tenacity and Dawn was too far to tell but she felt it in her heart that in that fight with Marianne, he was purely happy. Call her optimistic but that was what the people of the kingdom loved about her. It had been hard to remain so on her own but the presence of Sunny and speaking to him again seemed to fill her with that sense of confidence she had felt slipping away from her.

“I can’t explain it, Sunny.” Dawn smiled softly, rising to her feet. “I just feel like…something is happening between them and it’s something good.”

Sunny shook his head, clambering to his feet and dusting his hands off on his trousers before he peered up at her. Heaving a sigh, he slowly smiled. “Is this a fairy feeling?” he wiggled his fingers.

Dawn giggled at the reminder of their childhood nickname for the odd sense of positivity that formed in Dawn’s belly whenever she felt like something good was going to happen. As a child she had been fascinated by the tales of her family being descendants of fairies and so she attributed the warmth to magic. Telling Sunny about it over games of marbles and drawing pictures by scraping certain rocks on the castle walls, they had eventually began to call it her “fairy feeling” and the name stuck but it had been so long since she felt it that it was amazing Sunny remembered the name so readily off the top of his head.

“I think it is, Sunny.” She confirmed, lacing her fingers together in front of her and raising them excitedly to her cheek. “It’s a fairy feeling.”

Sunny shook his head but he was smiling so it must have been an affectionate gesture, his shoulders shrugging as he regarded her and Dawn went to him, hands laying on his shoulders and feeling them tense under her fingers. She didn’t understand why he seemed to be completely at ease with her on some occasions but on others, like the times she touched him that he grew stiff as a board. It happened sporadically since her twelfth year, Sunny growing awkward but always hiding it with abrupt changes in conversation or silly actions in hopes of distracting her from the oddity.

What was it?

“What are we going to do about Roland?” Sunny finally asked. “You’re sure Marianne won’t trust him. Is there anyone else that can go?”

Dawn’s hand touched her chin, fingers slipping up and thoughtfully drumming against her lower lip. If she could go, Marianne might have no qualms with the rescue mission but her father would never let her go to sea again if she asked. Not unless he was certain of her safety himself and that was what spurred the idea that slowly dawned on her face, Sunny growing concerned as she brightened up, eyes dropping to him again and hands eagerly shaking his shoulders.

“I know what to do, Sunny!” she gasped, his hands jumping to her wrist in hopes of stopping her from shaking him.

“What?” he asked, blinking away the shakes after she released him and hurried into her room. She went straight for the door of her bedchamber and wrenched it open, ignoring Sunny at her heels. “Dawn? Wait—Dawn hold on!”

Spinning around, she put a finger to her lips and wrapped her fingers around the doorknob ready to pull it shut. “Stay here and wait for me to come back. I have to go talk to my dad.”

He stammered a protest but Dawn shut the door before he could talk her out of it, spinning away from the portal and hurrying up the hallway to find her father. Her hands snatched up folds of her skirts to give her room to nearly run up the stone passageway, her form slipping in and out of patches of moonlight from windows and open walkways. She knew exactly where to find him, her feet automatically carrying her on the route through each maze-like floor. Servants puzzled at the sight of her in the late hour and guards fumbled to collect themselves in her presence but she strode right past them until she finally reached the eastern wing and the desired corridor where her father’s chambers were kept.

Dawn ignored the bed chambers, she knew he would not be sleeping though it drew concern when she knew this to be a fact by now. The light under his study’s door was confirmation of her accuracy and she stopped in front of it. Smoothing out her skirts and combing her fingers thorugh her hair, she shook out any lingering nerves at the proposal she was about to make that had been brewing in her mind the entirety of her walk. Raising her hand, she knocked on the heavy wood and pressed her ear to it, listening for his response. The muffled confirmation on the other side directed her hand to the latch and she slowly opened the study door.

“Dad,” Dawn hesitated in the doorway, bracing the door open while peeking through to where he sat at his desk even when the lanterns were burning low where they hung on their iron pegs. The king’s study was a room of stone and dark-stained woods. There were a few shelves laden with scrolls, another one occupied by books but aside from the large desk and chairs beside the fire, his study was sparsely furnished with only a few tapestries draped over the barren stone. He had found a lot of solace in this study the past several days. Whenever he wasn’t working, he was with her and she was grateful for the attention and time he gave her but they both knew she was safe from any harm now but Marianne’s captivity still hung over both of their heads.

“Dawn, come in.” he pushed a piece of parchment aside and rose from the desk the moment he saw it was her.

She slipped through the opening and shut it behind her, going to him and his open hand that was waiting for her in a half run. Dawn took it and he patted hers affectionately, guiding her away from the laden desk and to the low-banked fireplace that was subdued to a mere glow for the sake of light more than heat. The summer air could be stifling with humidity in Lumine so the castle bore all of its windows open for the sake of a cross breeze but her father’s study faced the sea and caught the coolest air that she could feel on her neck and against her ankles under the hem of her skirt when they sat down across from one another.

“What’s wrong?” he noticed the general way her eyebrows were pinching together, lips pressed and twisted with indecision and his curiosity turned to concern, reaching across and laying his other hand over where theirs were still joined.

“Dad…are you sure we should be sending Roland back for her?” Dawn finally asked, peeking up at him. “Marianne wasn’t exactly happy to see him when they came for us the first time.”

“Roland has searched tirelessly for her across the Mainlands for weeks when she first ran away and insists to do so again. He’s dedicated to bring her back safely from the pirates after he failed the last time.” he explained.

“Yes, but he failed once, do you trust him to do it this time?” she indicated the sea behind her through his windows with her remaining free hand. Dagda raised his gaze to follow her gesture out the windows and he sighed at the view of the harbor in the distance and the open sea beyond the fjord. Dawn knew he was worried about her still. Her father was a good man who worried over his daughters in spite of some of his more foolish decisions during his reign. Dawn didn’t know much, but her tutors often remarked that her father was once a skilled fighter before he became king. As good a man as he was, Dagda held to tradition a little too tightly and Dawn knew that it was hard to reassure him that her sister was safe when he barely registered that she could fight for herself now. “Marianne fought more than he did from what I saw, Dad.”

“You told me that Marianne has learned to fight,” Dagda murmured thoughtfully, fingers absently brushing his beard. “I’m still amazed by this. My Marianne fighting pirates…it’s hard to imagine it. Marianne hated swords when she was little, she flinched at the sight of them but I will admit that her opinion apparently shifted when she grew up.”

“She is a good fighter, Dad.” Dawn smiled, watching his face pale a little but she continued, grasping at his hands in both of hers again and scooting to the edge of her seat, smiling as she continued. “She was fighting Captain King the last I saw her and she was holding up beautifully!”

“What? Marianne was fighting King?” Dagda’s eyes widened and his face went white in the blink of an eye.

“Yes!” Dawn nodded eagerly. “I wish you could have seen her! She was matching every swing and following his lead around the deck, it was almost like watching a dance it was so coordinated between them!”

Her wistful memory didn’t affect her father’s disposition. In fact, he looked even more irritated the further she went and Dawn cut off her words, wondering what had made him so displeased to hear of Marianne’s fighting. Dagda leaned back into his chair with a sigh, hands curling around the armrests of his chair as he regarded the floor at Dawn’s feet, eyes hard on the stone. Dawn prepared to plead with him for Marianne’s sake but he held up his hand and stayed it off.

“If not Roland, then who should I send?” he finally asked.

“Dad, I think Marianne would be happier to see you than anyone else.” She smiled and his eyebrows shot up.

“Me?” he sat upright. “Dawn, I don’t think—“

“It’s been nearly seven months since she went to sea. Marianne misses you, she told me so herself when we shared that cell on the ship.” Dawn smiled, though her father seemed a bit irritated at the mentioning of her time locked up in the Fenland.

“We should go and get her back ourselves, Dad.” Dawn urged, rising from the chair and going to his knee, kneeling upon the stone in a whisper of skirts. He hesitated and she held his hand tighter. “I know you’re worried about my safety, but I’d be with you and you would never let anything happen to me or her once we got her back. I want to be there, Dad, but I won’t run off without you this time.”

“Dawn,” he touched her chin with the tips of his fingers, peering into her innocent face. Her eyes pleaded and his refusal died on his tongue. He shook his head, affectionately brushing his knuckles across her pale cheek. “I’ll speak to the captain…but I make no promises, Dawn.”

Squealing in excitement, she flopped into his lap, digging her arms around his girth and the back of the chair to embrace him and his hand brushed over her hair and his belly rumbled with a low laugh. She picked her head up and smiled up at him, “Oh—Dad, one more thing…”

“What else would you have me do, Dawn?” he arched an eyebrow.

“Can Sunny come too?”

Chapter Text

The crew unloaded the boats after making half a dozen trips drifting to and fro from the Fenland. Marianne had helped with the others, hands exchanging items until the supplies and spoils were forming rather organized piles in two places on the beach. Each new piece was meticulously sorted by a very picky Scully, who directed them where to place supplies or plunder in an assorted number of gestures from pointing and shouting that left most of the crew willingly clambering back into the boats to make the return trips to the ship just for the sake of getting away from his bossiness. Bog had remained back on the Fenland while they unloaded her, Marianne choosing to keep to the shore where she stacked and shifted, shoved and hauled until Scully was eventually satisfied by the arrangement of their haul.

Halfway through the unloading, Marianne noticed the appearance of the brigantine that had been manned by some of Bog’s crew after the other pirates had attacked. It drifted in past the rocks as silently as the Fenland’s fog, bobbing along until they dropped anchor and it floated out of range from the battered Fenland with noticeably less damage done to her hull compared to Bog’s beloved vessel. The other ship’s appearance only seemed to draw forth moans from the crew, having to unload her goods as well. Daunt was on the first longboat that came ashore with a haul of fabrics dyed a variety of beautiful colors that he hauled to the spoils stacks while eyeing Marianne with a curious expression in passing. Similar looks were sent her way as others from the brigantine—which was apparently called the Tormenta—went about their work. They were undoubtedly concerned by the fact that she was standing among the rest of the crew with not a binding rope in sight, or a guard at her side. Even more so when she took items and carried them to the piles without a word, smiling smugly at them over a crate when they realized they had been caught in their staring and scrambled to get back to work.

It took most of the morning to unload the Fenland and the Tormenta but eventually the stock was accounted for and the spoils of their piracy created a sizable mound on the sand, dwarfing the remaining food and water supply. Marianne was winded from the manual labor and her legs felt weak on dry land, shaking from the urge to correct herself by a learned instinct to match the rocking of a ship the past several days. Land sickness was always a pain to pass through, something she learned quickly while travelling with Captain Wade.

More than once she was left staggering into other sailors, corrective hands helping her but everyone suffered the same ailment, leaving none of them any better off. She found herself collapsing into the sand with a cluster of other land sick sailors, laughing over their disorientated state. Marianne dug her fingers into the inconstant grains, letting it run through her digits in tiny granules and small pebbles. The sand was coarse and rocky, nothing like the white shores of the southern islands she had glimpsed but it was oddly fitting for the deeply forested isle.

Some of the crew were beginning to make their way up a small footpath into the trees beyond the cove, others were still accounting for the cargo with Scully as the last boat dragged to the shoreline. Marianne tried to get to her feet with Stuff’s help and Thang struggling to steady her shortly afterward as more men came splashing into the shallow water from the boat, Bog stepping out among them with a heavy plunk and giving one of his crew hearty slap on the back met by a yellow-toothed grin at the silent compliment given by his captain. Marianne smiled to herself, witnessing another trace of that camaraderie Bog had with his crew that carried through his scowls and scathing orders. He turned about and hauled his mother out of the boat beneath her arms with careful hands. Bog then carried her to the damp sand, setting her onto her feet while she affectionately patted his cheek much to his embarrassment and the great entertainment of the crew.

Marianne hid a giggle at the affectionate son and his mother as he snarled at the on looking lackeys but her smile stiffened when he looked directly up at her with a frown. Her hands joined in front of her with fidgeting fingers the moment she saw his displeasure at the sight of her smile but once she had grown stiff under his gaze, the sneer turned to a smirk, silent amusement clear in his gaze when he came to her. Marianne only felt herself grow stiffer the nearer he came, her shoulders drawing back taught as the memory of that stalking presence looming near reminded her of the stuff her recent dreams were made of. The image immediately flushed her redder than the garnet stones tucked away in the horde.

“Still with us, I see.” He mused, a hand going to his sword hilt and resting over the pommel. “I half expected my men to be chasing you through the forest by now.”

“Yes, well, there is still time for that.” Her words were as tense as her body felt and the dreaded burn in her face that marked a blush left her silently fuming over her own weakness for this man. “Maybe later…”

“I’ll make sure they’re ready for you.” He chuckled, “Until then, would you care to see more of Keyll an Rίgh?”

“Sure,” she might have answered a little too quickly, influenced by the flow of the foreign words on his tongue but he didn’t seem to notice.
Turning back to the others still working on the shore, Bog indicated the piles on the sand. “Store the spoils and bring the remaining supplies back to the village. Make sure you sort through it before you hand over the supplies, I don’t want them complaining over spoiled food again. As for the Fenland, I don’t want you lot thinking you’re off the hook yet because we have another vessel at our disposal now. She’s still our lady and we begin repairs at first light the next morning! Spread the word!”

“Aye, captain!” the crew cried out in confirmation, Marianne tried to loosen herself up but it nearly resulted in her knees caving from the wretched land sickness and she teetered until Griselda came to her, a friendly hand against the small of her back. Glancing over at her, she smiled weakly over at the woman as she started to escort her to the footpath with Bog following close behind them, leaving Stuff and Thang with Scully in charge of overseeing the handling of the items.

They slipped into the forest, Marianne’s eyes trailing over the tightly packed trees with dark trunks and low hanging branches that she sometimes had to brush aside just to make it under them without foliage in her face. Every once in a while some brushed against her hair or a stray twig caught her sleeve but other times Bog’s long arms brushed the branches aside over their heads, the presence of him so close behind her making Marianne’s heart pound against her breastbone with renewed vigor. She wobbled along; convinced it was a mere bout of land sickness after so long at sea and not the silliness of limerence that made her feel this silly. Griselda’s hand continued to steady her the further they walked and Marianne tried to keep her head up with dignity through the off-center steps and disturbed equilibrium. How was it that neither Griselda nor Bog suffered the same problem?

The further they walked through the trees, stepping over and completely through underbrush where it grew into the footpath, Marianne could hear voices. They carried on the soft breezes in the trees sounding both near and far. Laughter and the familiarity of conversation drifted through the leaves all around them but mostly straight on through the forest. The trees gave way to a thicket of young saplings stretching high with thin branches reaching for sunlight. Griselda moved ahead for a bit, nudging the spry younglings aside and eventually parting them to reveal great trees, ancient and towering over even the surrounding woods with broad limbs thicker than six men could wrap their arms around comfortably. Marianne staggered to a stop, feeling the toes of Bog’s boots knock into her heels but he managed to stop himself from crashing into her and Griselda practically beamed when Marianne cautiously moved forward, peering past the saplings and into the grove of ancient trees. There had to be dozens of the old trees, the soft earth under their feet supplying them with abundant sustenance but amidst the trees was even more astounding than the trees themselves.

Constructed among the limbs and up along the mighty trunks was an entire village. Homes crafted from the debris of old ships and scrap lumber were built from the ground up into the very branches of the trees, stairs and rope ladders suspended or partially carved into the old bark to create access to higher levels. There were rough chimneys, some that even smoked and she thought she heard the giggle of children somewhere nearby, marking the village as not just a home for the pirates but the families some of them had reportedly left behind as well. There was not a scrap of stone in the structures among the trees, all wood both repurposed and nature’s hand put to good use with a family’s creativity. Moss hung from roves of thatch and clay shingles alike, no two homes were the same and all of them a reprocessed marvel.

“What do you think?” Griselda nudged her with her elbow after giving her what must have been plenty of time to gawk at the village. “It’s not as fancy as Eventide’s capital or anything you might have in Lumine but we certainly call it home!”

“It’s remarkable,” she murmured, catching onto the pride in Griselda’s voice. This was what she must have been brought to see after Laird had whisked her away from her home and that affectionate tone was all it took to see she had loved it as much as the very man who ruled over it must have. Craning her head back, she looked up at the network of rope bridges leading from platforms that opened up to the houses in the trees above along with swinging ropes that were used for climbing where stairs could not be assembled. “You built around and into the existing trees.”

“The trees were here long before any of us were. We try to respect that.” Bog stated, stepping around her and heading into the village. Marianne waddled after him with Griselda close by, her eyes raking over everything from the buildings to the cleared patches of earth that marked paths for the people to use but there was one more that led through the village and continued back into the forest again. It was more cleared than the one they had taken to the village. There were also a few rocks but the ground was otherwise remarkably soft and any was easily trampled by passing feet.

“The islanders lived like this for years,” Griselda explained as they walked, “They made their homes in the trees on several of the islands because most of them are marshes, the ground being too soft and wet to really build anything upon. These trees have been this family’s domain even before my Laird became king but it was Bog that brought in the supplies for the people to rebuild their homes after the war tore apart the originals in the old harbor. It’s a little sad knowing that most of it came from the expense of a few ships…but I think it went to a good cause in the end.”

Marianne eyed the houses they passed that were crafted from pieces of old hull, some of them bearing marks where barnacles used to attach themselves or faded paint and she tried not to dwell on how many vessels must have been taken in order to be broken down for scrap like this. She forced her gaze forward, Bog stalking ahead of them now and she could see a few of the people in the village past the spectacle that was their home. Familiar crew members and some of the locals were watching him pass with quiet reverence that didn’t seem to break their daily routines for most hands stayed busy and conversations quieted from distraction but did not entirely stop.

From what she could see, his people respected him but they didn’t go out of their way to grovel before or praise him like she had witnessed back in the Mainlands. The people of Lumine practically worshipped the ground Dawn, her father and herself walked on as if they had been something divine rather than a mere monarchy and she silently wondered if it was just the legends of the fae blood that left them reacting in such a way. The way Bog’s people reacted to him felt more personal than the typical fervent adoration she witnessed. Marianne found she preferred it this way.

“Come this way, you still have to see where we live!” Griselda urged, coming up behind her and eagerly pushing against her back to spur her on. “You’re gonna love it!”

The physical push at her back and Griselda’s excitement left her smiling, staggering up the path after Bog who glanced back at them. The sight of her being pushed along by his mother seemed to amuse him because she caught him snickering before he turned away again, Marianne wrinkling her nose at him but unable to scowl for the sake of her smile. The village stretched back into the woods, branching off at a fork in the path but they continued to walk straight where the trees grew even closer together flanked by younger trees that only came up to mid-trunk on the ancient ones. The branches craned for sunlight beneath the old canopy, causing the trees to bend into one another with interlacing limbs in a natural arch that flanked them on either side of the path.

Through the arching trees Marianne saw the first trace of stone she had seen in the village, carved boulders and smaller rocks stacked and piled uniformly upon one another to create a structure but whatever it had once formed was toppled over and half consumed by the great gnarled roots of two more ancient trees. The stones themselves oddly resembled the architecture of the Mainlands’ structures but they were clearly old and left to ruin in the pass of time. Bog’s people had let the trees claim their land back from the rock and it was a fascinating result that Bog walked up as easily as a flight of stairs, following a natural rise in the roots of the trees onto a stretch of stones before disappearing beneath a great arching root that seemed to form an entrance.

Marianne followed the same route but with more difficulty thanks to the state of her weary legs. Griselda took her beneath the root and down a tunnel where there were torches in the walls and the floor had been compacted to a nearly flat surface then laid with flat stones that resembled thousands of the little rocks from the cove. The tunnel opened up into a cave with a rounded opening in the ceiling where plants craned down into the hole, as if curios of the interior and tree roots suspended in drooping, trailing curtains where they couldn’t find soil in the rock. The walls bore more torches that licked black marks on the stone, illuminating the gloom and revealing shallow pools of water created by runoff trickling down the walls. The steady dripping sound of water was rather comforting and when she glanced into one of the pools, it was crystal clear and it must have been drinkable if the collection of goblets and mugs of various makes and materials stood around the edge had anything to say about it.

“This place is amazing,” she whispered, looking around the cavern. They had truly crafted a kingdom from the wilds of their own world, creating a castle without all of the pomp and circumstance Marianne knew back home.

“We’re very proud of it!” Griselda beamed, “Got a throne room fit for a king in this old cave here!”

“This is the throne room?” Marianne pointed toward the ceiling, circling her finger and looking to Bog, who had been standing silently off to the side, watching them while they had observed the cave. He nodded and beckoned her over to the shadows where a throne was formed from stone and wood, much like the opening structure of the underground castle. The seat and back were of wood while the armrests and the legs were stones naturally bulging from the cavern wall. She pointed at it with a risen eyebrow and he smiled, indicating it with his hand. Apparently he was willing to share this, more so than his furniture on the Fenland, that was for sure. She went to the throne, squinting at the back of the seat. It was made of a solid piece of wood with knots and whorls but it had also been burned with etchings that she tried to make out in the dark.

“What are those?” She pointed up at the dark depictions.

“Come here, get a closer look.” Bog’s hand hovered behind her back, guiding her closer to it. His hand soon disappeared before it could touch her and her heart ached for it even though she maintained her curiosity for the throne on her face as he soon returned with a torch. “My ancestors depicted goblins that were said to inhabit the islands long ago on a piece of the oldest tree on this island, that was used to create the throne after my father joined the islands.” He explained, holding the torch near the back of the throne. “It is said that we are descended from the goblins themselves, not unlike your own people in Lumine, only our ancestors weren’t quite as…fair.”

Marianne saw the lift at the corner of his mouth at the statement, the fire casting shadows across his features when he looked away again, holding the light to the burnt etchings. There were goblins of all shapes and sizes clawing their way down the back of the throne, all of them seeming to turn away from one spot in the wood where a hole had been gouged into the head of the seat. Glancing back at him, she raised a knee up and he gave a slight nod to signal his permission. She knelt on the cushion, hoisting herself up closer to observe the hollow point, fingertips tracing the splintered exterior of the hole before she looked down at Bog inquiringly.

“What used to be up here?” she stuck her finger into the hole again but Bog didn’t need to look twice at the mentioned spot.

“That is where the Goblin King was once depicted. Legend is that the goblins were all ruled by one king and they were prosperous until strangers came to the archipelago. They tried to bring their culture to the islands, building their stone structures and trying to plant their crops in the soil.” He pressed his lips together and lowered the torch, Marianne watching the shadows swallow up the vacant spot and slowly climbed down to the stone floor again. “The strangers questioned the Goblin King’s methods in ruling his people and began to plant seeds of doubt in their minds. Eventually, the king was killed by the very creatures he vowed to protect and the goblins scattered over the islands, eventually creating the nine clans. After the death of the king, the strangers left the islands, cutting their losses when they saw that the ground could not support their stone buildings and their crops drowned in the marshes.”

“So these strangers had not only disturbed the peace of the isles, but they abandoned them in their hour of need as well?” Marianne asked, frowning at the thought of such selfish creatures.

“Yes,” he carried the torch back to its brace anchored into the stone wall of the cave. Marianne glanced at the throne cast in shadow again then went to stand with Bog the glow of the torch light, his hand still partially braced on the handle. “It took centuries for the islands to be reunited under one crown again, but you already know about that from my mother, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Marianne admitted, watching the fondness warm his own smile as he turned around to seek out the woman mentioned but when they looked, Griselda had disappeared. Puzzled, Marianne scanned over the empty cavern for a sign of the woman but it was utterly vacant aside from the two of them and Bog made a growling noise that rumbled low in the vacant air. She glanced back at him and he caught her eye, grit teeth unclenching as he shook his head, wishing for her to disregard it. “Where did she go?”

“Probably reporting to Aura, as always.” He sighed, slipping a hand over his eyes.

“Who?” Marianne arched an eyebrow.

“Aura,” Bog muttered, “she is something I—uh—acquired many years ago.”

“Something? You mean it is an object?” Marianne was even more confused now.

“Maybe it would be best just to show you,” he lowered his hand, “but not today. We have a lot to take care of before nightfall.”

“Alright,” she conceded, though her curiosity was certainly peaked at what this ‘Aura’ was. “What can I do?”

“Not run away.” He stated, turning away and heading back to the entrance of the cave.

“Hey, I want to help!” she called after him, hurrying to catch up.

Bog chuckled, waving her on and led the way back out of the cavern and into the rock-paved tunnel. She faltered at the mesh work of roots and stone outside of the archway and he paused, glancing back at her while she tried to make out where to put her foot first. She frowned at the uncertainly she was feeling mixed with her own useless legs and bit her lower lip in concentration as she stepped down, getting her footing. With the first step handled, she smiled up at him proudly, looking down to find her next step when her foot slid right through and she dropped heavier than a sack of potatoes, Bog’s hand snatching her wrist up before she fell. He pulled her upright and she gave a shaken laugh.

“Dry land…it doesn’t agree with my legs like it used to.” She muttered, tucking a stray hair nervously behind her ear.

“You’ll get your land legs back in time.” He comforted with a little chuckle, his fingers slackening and he held his open palm under the curled fingers of her hand. She looked at the open hand, slowly uncurling her fingers and laying them in his waiting palm. Bog helped her down the roots and stones, pointing out the stronger from the thinner ones then the rocks that were firmly lodged into place. They reached the soft earth and he released her hand, tucking both of them away into his coat pockets. “I have to oversee the supplies being taken back to the village. Otherwise the louts will forget to sort through the good and bad product again. I can never trust them with it completely.”

“Do you have so little faith in your crew?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Most of them have been itching to be reunited with their families for months. I wouldn’t be surprised if we found the beach utterly vacant and my crew already having gone home when we got out there.” He frowned as he began to walk back to the path for the village. “There will be a celebration for their return tonight. The villagers always throw one for them and they completely lose their heads before the work is done to get to it.”

“Are you sure it’s just for them?” Marianne asked, thinking about the quiet reverence his people exerted towards him as they had walked through the village.

“Who else would it be for?” Bog arched an eyebrow.

Marianne held out her hand, stopping him on the path while his eyes lingered on her obstruction then trailed back to her face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” he appeared puzzled by her words and actions.

“Bog, your people aren’t just celebrating the return of the crew. They’re celebrating the return of their king as well.” She explained, incredulous that he hadn’t realized this simple fact. Did he truly think so little of himself that he didn’t consider his people being happy to have him home safe as well as the crew? Marianne didn’t want to pity him but she certainly could justify it if this was how he was even at home. His confidence and coolness rang true for the most part; he didn’t seem to be shy or particularly grim over the revelation of the people’s celebration. He had truly accepted it as simple fact his own survival hadn’t been celebrated for what must have been years by now. “Do you ever attend these celebrations?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Not for very long, though. I’m not exactly keen on the idea of parties.”

They started to walk again as she lowered her arm, looking at the path ahead of them and listening to the soft sounds of their mismatched footsteps. His stride had been measured, accommodating her shorter one and she felt both touched and a bit annoyed by his consideration. She could handle his long limbs just fine but the pace made it easier to talk and attempt to return to their previous comfort with one another after the tension that seemed to follow them everywhere else. Marianne could look at the forest, take in the smells, the sounds, and just get a feel of how utterly wild and untouched his world seemed to be in the safety of the trees.

“I’m not really fond of them either,” she admitted with a breathless laugh at her own expense.

“A princess of Lumine who dislikes festivities? The scandal!” he teased and she elbowed his side, immediately realizing the location of her strike and checking where she had hit him with worried eyes. Bog held up a hand with a reassuring smile. “It’s on the other side. I’m fine.”

Marianne sighed in relief. The last thing she needed was to cause more injury to his still healing wound, though he didn’t seem to be bothered by it much these days. It must have been healing well for being cared for at sea. They resumed the walk, Bog brushing a low branch aside for her and she moved ahead a few paces before he caught up after letting the branch swing back into place.

“You noticed my footwork,” she commented, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she returned to their previous conversation. “Since I was young, I’ve never been much of a dancer. It shows in my fencing as well. I can improvise just fine but when it comes to a structured bit of footwork, I’m lost.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” she laughed softly, looking up at the homes of his people beginning to emerge from the trees again. She marveled at the structures both above and below, everything just as amazing as it had been when she first walked through. “Every ball I ever attended, I trod all over my partner’s feet because I didn’t understand the concept of him needing to be the lead.”

He chuckled, “So even at a young age, you refused to let someone control you.”

“I guess so,” she shrugged her shoulders, but knowing her own past self, Marianne would have to contradict him in her heart. She refused to speak out loud just how foolish of a princess she had been before Roland's betrayal and her running away. “Roland was the first person patient enough to dance with me. I stepped on his feet so many times and yet he endured it.” Her face darkened as she thought back on Roland guiding her through the steps; trying to count them out for her while they moved about the empty ballroom, trying to practice before the next ball. Frowning, Marianne glowered at the ground, “I guess you can endure anything when you have a consolation prize as grand as a kingdom.”

His hand hovered over her shoulder, Marianne glancing down at his fingers and realizing his arm had extended behind her back to do so. She felt his limb so near but resisting touching her again and her previous irritation was slowly replaced by a tinge of hope that she resisted exposing. He slowly laid his hand upon her shoulder and the gesture drew up the corner of her mouth in pleasure. The comforting gesture wasn’t anything particularly grand but she appreciated it all the same.

“I tell you what,” he leaned down a little. “I will attend this celebration since you say it is in honor of my return as well as the crew’s as long as you will bear it along with me.”

“Why Bog, are you asking me to the festivities tonight?” she made a mock gasp, her hand going to her heart as if to hold it in shock.

“It appears that way,” he chuckled, his blue eyes sincere.

“Very well, since you asked so nicely.” Marianne inclined her head and giving him a dip of a curtsy while smiling to herself after his soft snicker at the mocking courtly tone she adopted when she spoke. “It would be my pleasure to attend the festival with you, your highness.”

Chapter Text

Here be the fearsome Captain King…in all of his spineless glory, Bog thought bitterly as he sat heavily upon his throne.

The fingers of his left hand grasped the edge of the roughly constructed armrest, the wood creaking and beginning to splinter under his claws, buckling under the blind strength he obliviously exerted. His elbow braced on the other rest, his palm open and cradling his face as he inwardly cringed at the fate he had intentionally lay before himself. Normally he would have expected this from his mother. She was capable of a clever plot or at least something as underhanded as forcing he and Marianne to meet at the festivities in some attempt to see something happen between them. Yet this was a foolishness all his own. Lowering his hand a little, he stared into his gray palm, claws curling in and lightly pricking the flesh the longer he stared at the misshapening of his own limb. Releasing his other hand, he raised it up, startled when he finally realized how hard he had been squeezing when he saw tiny slivers of wood fall that had been loosened by his claws.

The tiny splinters on the stone by his feet lay in waning sunlight and his eye caught the dimming light cast upon the cavern floor by the aging evening. Bog peered up towards the hole in the cavern’s ceiling where the dangling roots cast long shadows over the rock seemingly slither towards the wall. If he watched long enough he was certain he could almost see them move. The patch of sky beyond rock and tree was orange with traces of rosy and royal hues in the east, marking the blurring line between night and day. It wouldn’t be long now until the festivities began.

After the work had been done for the day, most of the crew would disperse for an opportunity to head to the springs to bathe before they attended the bonfire that night. Some waited until they had a chance to rest before they worried about cleanliness but most would be bathing by now. His own mother had taken Marianne with her to wash as well, which was one of the reasons he had decidedly remained behind. The spring was a common bathing place for many of his people and he had used it plenty of times himself, the men and women figuring it out amongst themselves a proper barrier to which one or the other should not cross. Of course, he has dealt with complaints of men and women bending the rules more than once in his time. There was no stopping curiosity or perversion, no matter what the consequences could have been.

Bog stayed behind while the others went; spending his solitude wondering what stopped him from going. There seemed to be many sides of him conflicted over the reason and they argued in his head, his hands sometimes clasping over his ears but they continued to rage in his skull without hindrance. The pirate in him jumped at the opportunity to sneak a peek, the king in him scolded the rowdy buccaneer. Then the curse in him reared its ugly head, bestial instincts conjuring visions of wading through the cold waters, hunting down his prize until he had her in his hands. The images were shaken from his eyes by the one part of him he felt he could trust, himself. Through the ever constant war between the pirate, the king, and his curse, his own sense of self somehow managed to keep the winning odds in his favor.

“I can bathe in my room whenever I please.” He growled to himself, digging his claws into the throne for leverage and pulling himself up to his feet.

“I certainly wish you would do it sooner rather than later.” A chipper voice echoed through the tunnel and Bog’s head snapped around at the sound. A blue glow illuminated the passageway and he stiffened as Aura appeared in a whirlwind of giggles and cornflower blue light. She corkscrewed through the open air of the cavern before she finally came to a halt in front of him, arms out at her sides and hair rippling around her face, casting its blue glow across the stone surrounding her.

“Aura…” he sighed, frowning up at the floating entity before him. Today she had chosen her human guise but even that was tainted by the constant blue glow that radiated from her being. She brushed her floating hair away from her face with a sniff before she reclined back in the air, arms crossed over her chest while regarding him.

“You reek of brine and your own filth, hardly fit for a king, don’t you think?” Aura tutted, shaking a finger at him. “What will that princess think of you if you go to the bonfire like this?”

“I see my mother has already filled you in.” Bog sighed, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Griselda had found a companion in Aura since he had brought her back to the island. At the time his mother had remained behind in the archipelago to keep an eye on things in the young kingdom and after they returned from sea, Aura’s similar taste and views won her over almost instantly. The only thing they did not agree on was when it came to the details on his curse.

“I can’t wait to meet her!” Aura grinned, excited little fists dancing in front of her and she kicked her feet. She hovered so close to him so quickly that it startled him into taking a step back and practically falling back into the throne. “Do you know how long it has been since I saw anyone that might have fae blood? I can’t even remember! It’s been ages!” she threw her arms out and did a little summersault to emphasize her point.

“I never said you were going to meet the princess.” Bog sneered, earning an immediate pout from the glowing creature.

“I’ve been stuck in this cave for so long and you won’t even let me see her?” Aura whined, drifting closer to him again. “I’m not going to bite her! I just want to see what fae blood does to a human descendant is all. It might come in handy you know.”

Bog scoffed, propping his elbow upon the armrest and resting his chin in his palm. “Just how would that be of any significance to you?”

“Fairy magic does not go away just because it’s been diluted by human blood.” Aura explained, sweeping her hand up and down her arm, the veins glowing brighter briefly beneath her dark flesh. “If the legends are true and she does have heritage with the fae, I might be able to use it to help you.”

Bog stiffened, glancing up at her a little more intently, “You might be able to lift it?”

“Lift it?” Aura recoiled back from him, “Oh no!”

The hope instantly died just as quickly as it had arisen.

“No, no, no—I can’t lift the curse off of you no matter what! You know that!” It was the same old song and Bog loathed hearing it again, his fingers concealing his face as he contained the urge to growl. “Even if that princess of yours is part fae, there’s not enough magic to undue a curse sparked by that much fear and loathing. Ten full blooded fairies couldn’t handle that monster!”

His lips contorted into a snarl at the reminder and Bog jumped up from the throne, going to the drinking pool and scooping up some water with one of the goblets. He distracted himself with the icy water, drinking it down with heavy gulps that nearly choked him but he forced them down. His throat burned as he took a breath, firmly slamming the cup back down upon the wet stone and Aura flinched, fingers fidgeting together before she forced them behind her back.

The light continued to fade, the chamber darkening until Aura looked to the cold torches and waved her hand towards them, bright flames bursting to life and casting their warm glow across the cavern walls. In the shadows Bog looked to the far wall, the hanging weapons gleaming cold in the torch light, begging for a chance to be used but he resisted the siren’s call for a good practice, favoring cupping a handful of water and splashing it unto his face. He rubbed the excess off his skin, the scratch of his stubble on his palm nearly burning his chilled flesh and Aura appeared at his side, inquisitive while he wiped his brow with his sleeve.

“They should be lighting the fires soon. Are you going to go this time?” Aura asked, her previous topic forgotten.

“Yes,” he groused, “Go back to your room. I’m sure my mother will bring you some of the spoils later tonight.”

Bog didn’t linger to watch if she obeyed him or not. The shrill squeal of delight at the promise of food and drink from the festival echoed off the stone, his hands cupping over his ears to block the ringing that inevitably would follow as he hastily retreated down the tunnel to his chamber again. He shut the door firmly after him, latching it through the hollowed stone that created its lock before he sighed in relief to find peace again. It was always exhausting dealing with Aura. She was practically insane and he had thought he had done a small mercy when he stole her from the Nox naval vessel all those years ago.

Unfastening the buttons around his wings, he wriggled out of the shirt and wadded it between his hands, tossing it aside as he approached the far side of the naturally hollowed chamber. The runoff of the cavern’s dying stream trickled through from one outlet near the door of his chamber to a shallow pool that slowly drained through tiny holes deeper into the cave that none of his men could ever explore. With the convenient water, he might not have been able to immerse himself like the rest of the crew at the natural springs but it was enough to make himself a little less sea-worn.

With a cake of soap he scrubbed up his arms and neck, rubbing his fingers into the back of his neck where tension threatened to give him a screaming ache if he didn’t relax. He washed his face, scratching his claws carefully through the stubble to loosen any lingering dirt and rinsing himself off with handfuls of bone-chilling water. His trousers were soaked by the end of his rough bathing but at least he felt improved. Later he would worry about getting a full bath, for now this would do.

The gathering had probably started up by now, they always started after nightfall and he had seen the evening fall in the throne room. When he changed his clothes, pulling a gray linen shirt on, he expected Marianne would have already been brought to the village by now. His mother could have been showing her around in his absence. Would she be impressed? Was she wondering where he was?

Bog scoffed at the former thought, raking his hair back with his fingers and setting his hat upon his head, striking it down with a tap of his fingers to secure it in place. He retrieved a coat, sling it on and fixing the flipped cuff with jittery fingers than he paused and looked down upon as they trembled. The water had been cold but he didn’t think that it would still affect him with its chill at this point. He clenched them shut then released them again but the long digits continued to tremor before his eyes. It wasn’t from the cold, he admitted bitterly to himself.

He was nervous.

------------

When Bog said that there would be a celebration, Marianne was amazed by what it entailed when she entered the center of the village with Griselda holding her arm linked with hers, grinning from ear to ear as they arrived. A large fire was blazing, surrounded by a barrier of pale, round stones. Men, women and children of all ages were dancing around the flames in unstructured movements. They weren’t dressed in finery as would have been considered by the Mainlands but the women wore colorful skirts that billowed and flared when they moved, hands to the sky and joyful cries echoing through the canopy of the trees. Those who didn’t dance, clapped and stomped their feet to the tune of the music being played and others were eating and drinking merrily. Stuff and Thang seemed to have a drinking contest between them, several goblets and clay cups scattered around them while they leaned into one another in fits of giggles.

The air was cooling with the absence of the summer sun, the warmth not lingering like Marianne experienced back home or on the ship. The trees seemed to have sheltered them from the heat aside from that created by the flames of the bonfire. She absently rubbed at one of her arms as Griselda guided her to a log and urged her to sit down, Marianne plopping onto the wood and looking around at the familiar members of the crew seated around her. They eagerly greeted her, passing her food and drink and she accepted it graciously but soon became distracted by the dancing. It was wild, free, unrestricted by social decorum and she was mesmerized by it, smiling thoughtfully at the children weaving between the men and women, their steps chaotic but fueled by pure enjoyment.

Marianne nibbled at familiar and foreign foods alike but she was particularly fond of some berries that had been called “brambles”, the juices staining her fingers in a color that reminded her of the eye coloring paste Captain Wade had given her. She marveled at the steadfast color that didn’t fade when she licked juice from her skin, finding it no fainter than it had been before and wondered if this was one of the secrets behind the color of the make-up. She ate a few more, catching snippets of conversation here and there with the crew or watching the dancers.

The bonfire was radiant in the night, shadows cast over the village long and flickering as if they were dancing independently of their casters. Marianne set the cloth of berries down in her lap, peering around the crew and the villagers, her eyes scanning their forms, expecting to find Bog somewhere among them. There was no sign of him ever since she had parted from his side to board the longboats heading back to the Fenland to help with further repairs. She didn’t see him when the crew returned to shore, Griselda appearing with a bundle of clothing under her arm and eagerly leading her off into the forest.

They had passed through the marshes on soft but firm patches on land before they came across several cold springs where other crew members had appeared to bathe. Griselda pushed her along until they passed a few large stones where another spring was waiting, Stuff already sinking into the water with a shudder at the temperature of the water. Marianne took full advantage of the promise of a bath, eagerly stripping her sailors garb and dunking herself into the water, forsaking the cold and laughing in delight as soon as she surfaced, shaking her hair out of her face while Griselda cackled at her elation.

It felt good to be clean again, she had been deprived of a true bath for months, a few handfuls of water and a bit of soap under her pits didn’t freshen a girl up as much as a full soak could accomplish. Griselda and Stuff washed with her, the women tuning in to the rambunctious activity of the men on the other side of the stones where they were playing around in the water more than actually washing themselves. More than once Griselda chucked a stone towards the bushes where Marianne eventually discovered there were crew members trying to take a peek. Marianne derived a sort of wicked pleasure at helping in chasing off the peeping sailors, striking some with stones and shouting after them when they howled in pain and ran away. Perhaps it was a little cruel to throw rocks but Griselda insisted it was the only way to effectively chase them off.

You know there are only this many because they want to get an eye full of a naked princess. Griselda had chortled, Stuff rolling her eyes with a knowing nod of her own.

Marianne had dressed in a fresh shirt and breeches, a black waistcoat included that she fastened around herself, marveling at its flattering fit compared to the men’s waistcoat she had been wearing previously. Her hair was still a little damp but the heat of the fire was helping it along, though when she brushed a hand over it, she could feel the ends flipping and must have looked a sight. If that were so, none of the villagers or crewmen seemed to take notice.

Still, during the entire time they had bathed in the springs, Marianne heard no sign of Bog possibly being among the men bathing on the other side of the stones. She didn’t understand the strange thrill that went through her while sitting in the spring, imagining him possibly being on the other side, washing with the rest of the men. A part of her became the hypocrite to chasing off the peeping seamen when she herself contemplated sneaking a look…just to see if he was there with them.

Flushing at the boldness of her previous thoughts, Marianne stuffed another handful of berries into her mouth, shoulders hunching a bit while she scanned the dancers again, peering through the roaring flames of the bonfire. A vague form on the other side made her perk up a little more on the log, squinting through the fire and pausing mid-chew when she spotted Bog at last. He seemed to keep to the shadows of the trees, a ghostly presence lingering on the fringe of the festivities. She wasn’t particularly surprised to see that he bore his captain’s demeanor, stoic and on the brink of brooding while he watched them celebrate. Marianne wanted to go to him, wiping her fingers on her pants and setting the plate aside to get up but she was barely on her feet when Griselda was suddenly standing before her.

“Marianne!” she grinned, throwing her arms out wide, barring her from leaving. “We have something for you!”

“Something…for me?” she asked, puzzled.

“It’s a little something we’ve been working on.” She held her arm out and Brutus approached from the crowd, Stuff and Thang staggering away from their drinks to come in closer. The dancers were still dancing and the music still played but she felt eyes on her and she nearly fidgeted until she mentally scolded herself and kept still as Brutus revealed a brown parcel in his hands. He stopped in front of her, passing the present to her and she accepted it with stiff fingers, tilting her head to the side and eyeing it.

The packaging was sack cloth with a bit of rope securing it shut. A crude gift wrap but she felt a swell of admiration when she looked up at him and then the other crew members who eagerly encouraged her to open it with a series of shouts and whistles. She pulled the rope free and unwrapped the fabric, her fingers stilling when she saw cloth the color of salvia petals beneath. Warily removing the rest of the sack cloth, she found it was a garment of sorts, shaking it open in her hands and gasping at the deeply violet coat she bore by the shoulder seams. It was flared; the front cut shorter than the back and the golden buttons bore the seal of Lumine. She fretted over where they had managed to get the buttons for only a moment before she was slinging it around herself, slipping her arms through the sleeves and tugging it straight with eager hands.

She spun in a circle, the coat flaring out around her and she felt a sort of giddiness welling up inside of her when she stopped, watching the fabric sway around her legs then settle. It hung just above her knees in the front and to her ankles in the back and it fit her marvelously! She looked to Griselda, who opened her arms expectantly with a pleased smile. Marianne’s first instinct spurred her into the woman’s arms, holding her tightly even though there was a mental protest in the back of her mind. She should have flinched at the thought of being held, she who could barely even hold her own sister months ago, yet the affection was warm and her heart nearly burst at the onslaught of emotion that filled it until it swelled.

“It’s perfect!” she nearly squealed, collecting herself immediately but unable to resist the smile when she drew back, grasping the woman by her shoulders. “When did you—”

“The boys and I put it together while you were spending all your time training.” Griselda laughed, “We didn’t have Daunt to help with the stitching but a sailor needs a proper coat if they’re going to face the open sea on those cold nights! I think we did a pretty good job on such short notice and I wanted to give it a touch of class fit for a princess.”

Marianne ran her hands over the sleeves, appreciating the feel of the material and turning to face the rest of the crew. They were all smiling, pleased that she had enjoyed the gift and her heart once again swelled with affection the more faces she looked over. Tears threatened to sting her eyes. This band of pirates, men and women who had once thrown her in a cell, she now respected and admired for their acceptance of her as one of their own. Cheers broke out, glasses raised and Marianne spotted Bog again, looming behind them. She met his gaze and he gave a nod, an evident smile on his lips that shot straight to her heart, exciting her as she threw her fist in the air, joining in the revelry.

Sprouting thanks to all of them over and over again, they gradually returned to the festivities. Marianne clapped her hands and stomped her feet to the music, she cheered with the people, she ate a few more things from her plate, but her eyes continuously looked out for Bog, who seemed to be evasive even though he had invited her to the bonfire. She caught him every now and again, standing beneath a tree here, talking with someone there, he was moving constantly and Marianne eventually abandoned her plate in favor of trying to fine him. She kept to the fringes of the party, scanning over them until she spotted him slipping away from the light of the bonfire and onto the path leading back to the castle cavern.

She put the party behind her in favor of following him, traipsing through the darkness after him but without any light after the fire had been consumed by the trees and the clawing limbs in her way, she was beginning to dread not being able to find her way back. Movement in the darkness startled her and she turned, ready to strike out at the incoming threat but a familiar hand caught her fist and she gave a breathless laugh as Bog appeared in the darkness, his form looming over hers and holding up a small lantern to illuminate the night.

“Had enough?” he asked, lowering the lantern and releasing her hand.

“Surprisingly, it’s not as unbearable as the parties back home.” She breathed, smiling up at him. “Your people have no formalities to worry about, it’s raw, pure enjoyment and that was much more fun than trying to hold proper decorum among a crowd of stingy noblemen.”

“Are you sure you are ready to leave it so soon?” he asked, raising the lantern higher to illuminate the path she had just taken.

“Yes, I think your mother was going to turn me into a stuffed pig if I continued to let her pass me food much longer.” She explained, massaging a shoulder and rotating her arm where the muscles ached from the task of helping the crew. The villagers had set up for the bonfire while they had worked, surprising them with it when they trudged through, exhausted and seeking comfort in the cooling evening.

“She has a habit of doing that, I’m afraid.” He admitted, “I don’t suppose anyone has tried to find you a place to stay tonight?” He murmured, scratching at his stubble thoughtfully. “We expected you to have tried to escape by now, after all.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” She smiled, watching his claws gleam in the lantern light before his hand dropped to his side, his teeth flashing in a brief smile down at her. “I think you’re safe from any escape attempts tonight. Besides, I still have to explore these islands before I plan on how to get off of them.”

Joking about escaping left them both laughing in the night, Marianne silently admitting to herself that she doubted she would try to escape at all. The archipelago had many secrets that she had only touched the surface of and Bog seemed willing to show them to her as long as she asked. Running away barely registered when she walked with him, the music of the party dying away to make room for nocturnal sounds to permeate the night air. She could hear frogs and crickets, the shuffle of little feet in the underbrush and the rustle of unseen birds and squirrels in the canopy over their heads. The trees pressed in on them, she could feel the closeness in the dark. It forced Bog closer to her side, lantern illuminating the dark shapes around them and reflecting in the eyes of passing creatures that scampered off back into the shadows as soon as they drew near.

When they came back to the entrance of the tunnel to the underground palace, Bog’s hand extended out to her and she accepted it, savoring the feel of his fingers wrapped around hers when he helped her navigate the tree roots and stones in the dark. Her thumb absently ran over the back of his hand when they reached the entrance and he released it, eyes averted and abruptly leading the way into the tunnel without a word. Wrapping her arms around her, Marianne mentally scolded herself for making him uncomfortable but when they reached the open air of the cavern, he extinguished the lantern, no longer needing it because of the burning torches.

“Before you start your grand master plan to escape our clutches, would you like to stay in one of the chambers here for the night?” he offered, indicating the tunnel leaving deeper into the cave past the throne room. “There is plenty of room and not enough souls willing to use it.”

“You’re not trying to con me into a cell in the dungeon, are you?” she teased and he smirked.

“Whatever gave you such an idea?” he mused, “I suppose you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest.”

“Dishonest, you mean like concealing you’ve been holding back on me this entire time?”

“What do you mean?” he arched an eyebrow.

“I talked to Stuff and Thang the other night and they told me that you aren’t left handed!” she pointed at his left arm and he glanced down into the accused hand, fingers curling in and out uncomfortably and his guilt revealed it had been true. “You’ve been holding back! Bog, you could have killed me five times over by now if you used your right hand!”

“I never wanted to kill you!” Bog bit out, “You were a hostage, not a victim.”

“Then why hold back? Are you afraid I would still beat you if you used your dominant hand?”

The irritation turned to bemusement and she smirked when his eyebrow rose in interest. “Is that a challenge I’m hearing, princess?”

“Get me a sword and we’ll find out, your majesty.” She crossed her arms.

He walked away from her then, setting the lantern aside and plucking a sword from where it had been displayed on the cave’s stone wall. He flicked it around experimentally in his fingers before glancing back at her and hefting it to her in a toss, the handle aimed at her while it arched in the air and she snatched it free, swinging it in a circle before falling into her battle stance. Bog slid his sword free of the sheath, holding it in his left hand a moment before tossing it into his other hand and she noticed the immediate change in his grip, the blade keen in his hand when he held it out to his side.

Marianne charged first with an outcry that echoed off of the towering cavern walls, Bog laughing as he blocked the blow and swung at her feet, to which she dodged with a graceful leap, landing and bracing her sword up behind her to block his next blow that he tried to land during her jump. She peered over her shoulder smugly at him and his smile turned genuine.

“Not bad,” he complimented, forcing her blade away and she spun about on the ball of her foot, the coat flaring around her in the spin, Marianne swinging a horizontal cut at his side that he blocked with a chortle. The first hits turned into a flurry of movements, blades ringing out to the fencer’s song that played off the ceiling and walls and fell back on their ears like a tune only they could dance to in the solitude of the throne room.

“Have you ever tried to fight while using your wings?” she asked, swatting his next hit away.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to.” He admitted and she held her sword up vertical in front of her face, signaling a pause. “I’ve always used the element of surprise and then let the sea do the rest of the work.”

Marianne swallowed a little thickly at the off-handed comment towards the lives of who knows how many seamen he had killed. She forced the uneasiness down in favor of her prior attitude. “What say you to trying it now?”

“Is this some ploy for you to see them again?” he asked, holding the sword at his side again.

“Maybe,” she grinned. “Also, I think that flying would give you a great advantage over your opponents. You spent so much time hiding it when you could have been using it.”

“Am I receiving combat tips from someone that was supposed to be my prisoner not so long ago?” Bog appeared surprised, but he started to shrug out of the coat, pulling an arm free and switching the blade between hands to free his other arm.

“Merely making a statement,” she shrugged and he nodded but caught her off guard when he suddenly threw his coat at her and she instinctively swatted it away with a startled gasp just as she heard the rattle of his wings. She blindly swung over her head and barely managed to block his sword before she spotted him, turning around and holding her weapon at the ready.

Bog hovered well over her head now, his wings a mere blur behind him as they propelled him aloft, the rattling hiss of them turning into a low hum and the previous hesitation he bore in revealing his wings completely gone in favor of a smug expression that reeked of superiority. The confidence soured her expression and it only seemed to make him beam all the more. His body twisted and moved through the air, wings slanting back as he dove for her, Marianne raising the blade and shuddering at the impact of the blow that struck against her weapon.

He flew over her head, Marianne wobbling to regain her footing while marveling how he moved with such ease for someone that didn’t want to use his wings often. The way he moved like a fish in the sea was not something any human was naturally capable of mastering without practice. She envied him that freedom of movement, though it took almost everything she had to fend him off whenever he swept down for another go.

Bog barraged her with a series of strikes and she retreated back step by step, barely able to keep up thanks to his advantage along with the apparent strength in his dominant hand. She gasped when he knocked the sword out of her hand, her back colliding with the wall of displayed weapons, knocking a few loose from her abrupt impact. She threw her hands over her head when they rattled on their stands and threatened to fall. The loud clatter of one hitting the floor forced her to duck her head down, hands clapping over the top and bracing for the strike of one of the weapons when the hum of Bog’s wings suddenly ceased. A heavy thud in front of her sounded too dull to be a blade striking the stone but she dared not to look up. More blades struck the floor in a rain of clanks and clatters. It wasn’t until it stopped and she jolted out of her protective stance to see what had become of Bog but was startled to find that he hadn’t been taken out by the falling danger but he was standing over her, hands braced against the wall and head ducked down over hers, the weapons that had been knocked loose lay around them, cold blades gleaming along with the warm sheen of his bronze sword lying amidst the disarray.

Slowly unfurling further from her cringe, she peered up into his face and he opened his eyes, glancing over her head at the rest of the mounted weapons that had stayed fast to their stands before dropping his gaze back down at her, the concern turning to surprise as their eyes met. He huffed from the exertion of their fight and her own breath matched, practically winded in her fear inspired by the potential of harm from the rain of weapons. He had protected her though, risking himself to injury and she was left dumbstruck by the gesture.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his hands sliding down the wall to grasp her shoulders.

“I’m fine…are you?” she reached up to his face, her palms grazing over the roughness of stubble when she tried to hold his face in her hands, prepared to check for any injury. The touch of her hands on his skin startled him and his concern melted to uncertainty, hands jumping from her shoulders and pushing hers away from his face.

“I’m fine,” The words came out extremely cold compared to the playful warmth he had displayed before, his expression closed off and Marianne’s heart constricted when he turned away from her, picking up his sword from the ground and sheathing it. “That’s enough foolishness, it’s getting late.”

Glancing back at her, his features softened just enough for her to see something vulnerable, almost fearful in his gaze before they hardened again and he put his back to her. “I’ll show you a place where you can rest.”

“Bog…”

“Marianne,” he tensed up, his wings spread with a hissing rattle, exposing his irritation before they slowly slackened. The appendages slid over one another, layering down his back in expression of vulnerability that only made Marianne’s chest ache even more as he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t.”

He strode towards the tunnel and she followed him, the previous light-hearted words and the playful spar forgotten and leaving them once more back in the clutches of the awkward atmosphere that always settled over them in moments like this. Bog always closed up when she touched him and now she had been as bold as to touch his face without thinking. She clutched her new coat tighter around her, ashamed of her own unfamiliar desire to touch this man before her.

Touch had come so easily with Roland, pure, innocent touches where she caressed his cheek and held his hands in the warm glow of sunlight. This sensation, this want to touch Bog, however, it didn’t feel as pure as her ignorant romance with Roland had been. There was something to it that was almost like feeling hungry but she was too full from the festival to believe it was a necessity. No, this was out of place. It was located lower and more like a craving that she didn’t know how to satisfy. Those brief touches were the closest she came to appeasing it but the lingering prickle from the scrape of his facial hair lingering on her fingertips only seemed to make the yearning worse.

The floor of the tunnel bore water from the throne room running in a constant stream down the stone. Boards had been brought down and constructed into a narrow walkway that suspended them over the flowing water and the air smelled damp the further they went but there were also smaller openings leading off of the tunnel, some bearing crude wooden doors, others left open for free entry. Bog didn’t stop until he was in front of one crafted from driftwood bound together tightly with rope and cut to settle over the mouth of another chamber. He snagged his fingers on the pale handle and pushed it inward, nodding his head inside.

“You can rest in there tonight.” He grumbled, averting his eyes as she stepped over the lip of the rock opening and into the chamber beyond.

It was a small, rounded hollow with smooth rock walls containing mismatched wooden furnishings and a lantern hanging from where it was chained to a jutting rock in the back wall. A small bed was nestled to one side along with a wardrobe and a writing desk on the other, a crate was pulled up to it to act as a seat. It was small but practical for a sleeping space. Marianne turned to thank him but he was gone, probably having made a quick escape as soon as she was occupied with the room itself. She sighed, pushing the door shut and straying further into the natural room. She didn’t bother removing her coat when she went to the bed, sitting on the edge of the thin mattress. It was better than netting but she bitterly thought of waking up in the softness of the captain’s bed and this was decidedly nothing like it.

“It’s getting serious...” She murmured, closing her eyes and remembering the concern in his eyes, the hold of his hands on her shoulders, his breathless pants so near to her, stimulating her senses. Her body ached at the memory, a hot pulse running through her and leaving her nearly whimpering when she slumped upon the bed, curling her body into a tight ball. The strange pining seemed to be stemming from the unspoken pull between them that both parties had obviously been resisting since Marianne had come face to face with her captor in a tiny brig’s cell. Blue eyes glaring at her in the darkness, snarling words challenging her in the rasp of an alien accent. Marianne loathed admitting it, but she had been compromised in her bleak outlook on the feeling of attraction. Oh no…

Chapter Text

Her sleep had been fitful at best. Her dreams were a tangled knot of snarling teeth and gnarled fingers clawing desperately for a starry sky through a horde of infuriated goblins biting, clawing, and wrenching at the poor creature. Blood was flowing and guttural cries shook the very earth in his agony but it wasn’t just pain that filled the cry, it was the wail of heartbroken betrayal. For a moment she thought she saw Bog trying to fight his way through the creatures, clambering out of the reaching claws with a bloodied hand outstretched as if reaching for her to grasp and pull him free but the dream shifted too quickly for her to save him.

She woke heaving, his name on her lips but whatever syllables had been there were choked off through her panting breaths. Marianne’s hands raked through her hair, trying to catch her breath while staring down between her legs at the sheets beneath them. Slipping her hands free, she looked down at them, imagining Bog’s bloody fingers reaching out, the image still burned in her mind.

By the time she finally left the chamber Bog had shown her to and made her way out of the cave, Griselda was waiting for her. She was looking fresh-faced and bright for a woman that had been celebrating just as heartily as the rest of the crew last night. Perhaps it was a talent honed by age to sleep off a rambunctious evening like that. If not, then it must have just been a strictly Griselda trait. Marianne felt a bit bleary-eyed still when she reached her, trying her best to smile while Griselda greeted her.

“Everyone else is already working on the Fenland. With the number of hands, she should be back in order in a few days.” Griselda explained, nodded over her shoulder. Marianne’s smile was weak at best and there was no stopping her noticing the dark circles under her eyes were the smudged purple coloring did not conceal it. Marianne immediately mourned the loss of the smile when it faded to concern. “Did you not get enough sleep last night?”

“Not used to a bed that doesn’t move yet,” Marianne wearily chortled, pressing the heels of her hands into her lower back and arching her spine. She made a show of stretching out her limbs, glancing around the throne room. The swords had been collected and moved elsewhere, only two weapons still displayed on the far wall. Bog must have had some of the crew help him move it or maybe he did it on his own. She sighed at the empty stone, trailing over the rough cavern floor until she recognized the shadowed throne with the depiction of the goblins. The gouged out hole in the head reminded her of the story Bog had told her of the Goblin King being killed by his subjects. Perhaps it was the story that had fueled her imagination to conjure up such a dream.

“Marianne, is everything alright?” Griselda laid a hand over her shoulder and Marianne nodded, pushing away the lingering thoughts on the dream.

“I’m fine.” She quipped, Griselda frowning but Marianne hastily grasped for something to distract her from her state. “Is…is the captain with the others?”

“As always,” Griselda sighed with a shrug of her narrow shoulders, “He was pretty wound up last night so I think he didn’t sleep much himself. I couldn’t get a word out of him on what’s going on in that thick skull of his but he was up and out of here at the first sign of daylight.”

“I see,” she thoughtfully scratched at the back of her neck. “Well, I’d like to help with the repairs if that’s alright.”

“Of course! The boys will be happy to have the extra help!” Griselda gave a throaty laugh as she waved her on and they made their way out of the cave, Marianne casting one last look back at the throne before she hurried after Griselda. They followed the tunnel into the morning sun and Marianne turned her face to it, shutting her eyes when she felt its cheerful glow. It was almost like having Dawn back in that moment and she held onto it while navigating down the roots and stones, trying to keep up with Griselda’s ease until they were back on solid ground and heading into the forest. “I thought you would want to, by the way. You’re not the type who just sits on their hands, I could tell. Maybe you can cheer my boy up; he’s been making the crew miserable.”

Somehow she doubted she would do much to improve Bog’s mood since it might have been her fault he was angry in the first place. They enjoyed the fight last night but after she had coaxed him into trying it with his wings, the atmosphere had taken that strange weight to it. Marianne could barely keep up with him and yet she still found time to marvel at how he moved when he was flying. It was stupid of her to stand there gawking at him but the smooth glide and twist of his body was oddly appealing, sensual in a way and she couldn’t find the strength to avert her eyes. Then he forced her into the weapon display and everything had abruptly turned to chaos when the swords fell.

Marianne thought plenty last night on her looking up to find him hovering over her, feet braced apart, arms forming a protective cage around her without actually making contact. He lifted his head from sheltering her, only to look her right in the eye. One look said it all. It had been silent between them, both breathless from the fight and still shaken from the weapons falling down but neither of them looked away. She spotted the realization in his eyes, the slight parting of his lips as his gaze lowered to her mouth. He knew what was happening between them just as much as she did.

And it was a horrible thing at that.

She was a princess of Lumine, the next in line for a throne that was leagues away from here, where Bog reigned his infant kingdom. If they were to act on this feeling, eventually, they would have to face the day when duty would force them to part ways. Running away for a second time for something as foolish as love was not feasible. Marianne had promised Dawn that she would return home when she was ready. Now that she had the experience, the courage, and the skill she needed to face her fate, she was feeling even more unprepared now than when she had first left. Besides, this was the man who kidnapped her sister, even held her prisoner as well. It wasn’t a very firm foundation on which to build a connection as strong and damning as love upon. Much like the marshes were not fit for the stone architecture of the Mainlands, Marianne was unfit for a man like Bog.

Not to mention her father would think she had gone mad if he found out.

“Griselda,” Marianne reached out, stopping her before they reached the edge of the village.

“What is it dear?”

“When you left Eventide, was it hard for you to go?” she asked hesitantly, the woman blinking up at her puzzled.

“Yes, it was hard.” She said thoughtfully, her gaze distant when she looked down the footpath they were about to follow back to the hidden port. “I was just a servant when I lived there, but that castle was all I ever really knew before Laird. I worried over it for two nights after Laird revealed he would be leaving and it wasn’t until the last minute when I gave it all up and chased after him.”

“Why?”

Griselda’s pensive stare grew warm, peering up at her. “Because falling in love is always worth living for and I didn’t want to go back to a life without it.” Marianne nodded thoughtfully and Griselda tilted her head to the side, fingers tapping her chin. “Why the interest, if I may ask?”

“Oh—no reason!” Marianne held up her hands. “You know, I ran off from Lumine, and I just wondered if everyone had the same trepidation I did when I left.”

“It’s always hard to leave home.” Griselda agreed, the two of them walking again, “but if you stay home, nestled in your comfort zone, you risk never really living.”

------------

The gaping hole on the port hull yawned wide before him, Bog thoughtfully observing the damage as hammers pounded away above and below deck in an uneven percussion. He plucked a splinter from the weathered wood, flicking it out of his fingers into the water below. He sneered, glancing off to the Tormenta where she bobbed in the cove not far from where the Fenland was moored. It wasn’t the first time he had captured a ship but it was certainly the most recent. Scowling at the brigantine responsible for the damage his crew still repaired, he tried to determine its fate as he helped Fang with a line to determine the measurements of the hole. His wings gave him the advantage of an outside angle, flitting side to side and bracing the knotted rope until Fang signaled he had it down, marking the measurements with a graphite stick on a scrap of parchment to bring back to the deck where they assembled the wood for the patch.

Flying up alongside her belly, Bog drew his claws along the wood until he came to the stern and hovered before the windows of the great cabin. Brutus was hauling a new latticed window into place while Thang hurried to secure it. The woodwork was mismatched and some of the glass was bubbled as was the style in Eventide ships but they would do fine for his already patchwork project of a vessel. There were two vacant spots that still needed to be replaced but all of the boards had been taken down from Marianne’s break in. The last original window hung open and he crouched inside of the sill, fingers on the latch while he watched the others work.

Children from the islands were helping with menial tasks like removing the sheets from his bed for washing and the empty liquor bottles from their shelves. His maps and documents were carefully stored away in the desk and his ink pot was being replaced by a small girl sitting atop it. He lowered a foot into the cabin and slowly uncurled himself from the window, the children suddenly pausing and looking on in awe as he straightened to his full height. His wings twitched and folded tightly behind him, clawed fingers holding onto each other behind his back as he walked through, meeting their wide-eyed gazes and feeling his nerves rise the longer they stared. This must have been the first time these children had gotten a good look at him. He scowled at their curious faces but none of them seemed frightened.

“Do your wings hurt?” the little girl with the ink pot asked, shifting her little form on the desk so that she tucked her legs underneath her skirt. Bog glanced over at her while she fiddled with the empty bottle in her tiny fingers.

“They did once,” he answered, “When they first grew out.”

“How are they attached?” a little boy asked, dropping the wad of laundry he had been carrying to the waiting basket in favor of the far more interesting topic at hand.

Bog’s head snapped around to focus on the source of another question and his sneer faltered, lips pressing together over his teeth thoughtfully before he glanced back at Thang and Brutus. They were still working on the windows, unbothered by the conversation between their king and the children so he deemed it safe to continue speaking. He crooked a finger towards him and the boy sprang forward, stopping in front of him, staring up expectantly at his king. Bog fidgeted a little, rolling his shoulders before he slowly lowered himself to one knee, resting his arm across his thigh.

Peering into the boy’s face, he raised an eyebrow at the lad. “Have you ever tried to catch the dragonflies in the mire?”

“He does it all the time.” The girl still sitting on his desk giggled.

“Does he now?” the corner of his mouth rose a bit as he looked back to the boy, who nodded even though the girl had confirmed it. “You’ve seen their wings when they rest in your palms.” He cupped his hands together before opening them and the boy marveled at the jeweled brooch laying in Bog’s hands he had seemingly conjured from the air. Of course, it was just a simple trick but he let the boy hold on to his wonder. “The structure is the same, from the tip of the wing to the very point where they attach.”

Bog indicated the delicate structure with his fingertip and the boy nodded before he closed his hands over the brooch again and slipped it away, opening empty hands once more to the pleasure of the on looking children. He cast one more glance over his shoulder but Brutus was in the process of grunting at Thang to move faster while he struggled to keep the window in place.

“Can I see?” the boy asked, drawing his attention back and Bog’s eyes widened at the inquiry.

“I—ah—” he hesitated but the large eyes staring back at him were practically impossible to refuse. He sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. “Okay…” He lowered himself to sit upon the floorboards, noticing Thang suddenly watching and he sneered with a low growl that startled the little man. “Not a word of this to the others!”

Thang yelped and nodded immediately, turning back to his work while Bog sniffed, reaching back to unfasten one of the buttons of the shirt, pulling the strip of fabric out from between his wings and letting it hang over his shoulder. The boy immediately ran around him to see them up close, the other children also abandoned their tasks in favor of hurrying over to see as well. One of them knocked into a wing, tripping and nearly trampling another when he lifted them up off the floor abruptly, his body tensing as the child froze, gawking at the spread limbs, eyes trailing back to Bog’s warning stare.

“Careful now.”

The first boy tapped his finger on the structure where the wings attached, fingers feeling along the joint. More hands poked and prodded at him from the scales exposed by the missing flap to the mottled patches of gray flesh of his back. He kept his wings spread out to keep them off of the floor for risk of tottering children feet trodding all over them, his attention drifting to the little girl on his desk as she scooted off and dropped to the floor. She was no taller than his knee if he were standing and she still rolled the empty ink pot between her fingers, eyeing the wings as she came closer. Grasping the vial in one hand, she pinched experimentally at the membrane of one of the four, grasping at the tip of the structure and pulling it up then pushing it down as if to see it in motion. Bog snickered and fanned them in a quick jitter that made the children jump back, startled by the motion of what had been mostly stationary in their presence. Once he relaxed, the children closed in again, whispers and giggles drifting around him. Glancing over his shoulder at the curious children, he saw their inquisitive faces. Innocent, young minds that questioned everything and found nothing frightening until someone told them it was. The lack of fear amazed him, his face slackening a bit in awe of their ease in his presence, the beginning twitch of a smile curling his lips.

“Well isn’t this a fine picture!”

Bog’s face immediately fell at the sound of his mother’s voice and the children broke apart, rushing back to their chores in fits of giggles. Without his captive audience, Bog dragged himself to his feet once more, brushing off his trousers. Griselda chortled to herself, stepping into the cabin, casting tender glances over the children as they got back to work, her gaze raising pointedly his way and he rolled his eyes. She was getting ideas of grandchildren again. He brushed the linen back over his shoulder and fastened it between his wings once more.

“They were curious.” Bog muttered, averting his eyes.

“Children always are.” Griselda went to his chair and sat herself down while he leaned into his desk, watching Brutus pick up another frame from where it had leaned against the bulkhead. “I brought Marianne over on one of the boats.”

Bog froze, his throat constricting around a hard swallow at the mentioning of Marianne.

“She’s helping out below for the time being, unless you have a problem with me putting her to work.”

“If she’s working it is because she wanted to.” He dismissed gruffly, his heart clenching at the memory of large honey eyes filled with concern over him last night. Eyes that once burned with hatred and now he feared what had been set ablaze in them now. Not wanting to indulge his mother’s amusement with any hints at his trepidation concerning Marianne, he set off to head back to the main deck, pausing to let the child bearing his sheets rush out in front of him before he ducked out of the doorway and back into the sunlight. “I don’t have to keep an eye on her all the time!”

“No, but you want to!” Griselda called back and shot him a sly grin. He froze, shutting his eyes and grimacing towards the heavens. “I saw how you watched her last night, even if she didn’t. Why you asked her to come to the bonfire and then didn’t even sit next to her through the whole evening I just don’t understand.”

“Mother—”

“You listen to me, Bog.” She cut him off abruptly as she got out of the chair and went over to him. “I know you’re sore over the last time you fell in love. It was terrible what she did to you, I know, but you need to let that go. The curse is done, there is nothing we can do to fix it, but that princess there has seen it and I don’t see her running away.”

“Mother, it’s not going to stop here.” He held up his hands, revealing the gray coloring that had begun to darken to a grimmer shade at the tips of his fingers. The worry in her eyes was brief and forced back down stubbornly but he saw it in plenty of time to know he had struck a chord. “Aura’s recipes aren’t working anymore. Eventually, I will be something else entirely.”

Bog waved his fingers around his face, curling them into a fist and striking it against the frame of the doorway. His mother’s hand slipped around his other hand, her fingers smoothing over the back of it with a comforting touch. He glowered down at her but Griselda was unbothered by the familiar expression. The scar peeking out from her dress that slowly climbed up her neck reminded him of her determination to never let him feel alone. She was unflinching in her self-made task to see him happy and his thought of slipping out of her touch died, leaving him standing still while his mother held his hand. She patted it gently, fingers small but warm with maternal affection.

“You don’t deserve this, Bog.” Griselda whispered. The sorrow in her words was foreign to her typically bright, rasping voice.

“We both know that’s not true,” he sighed, pulling his hand free and leaving her in the cabin to rejoin his crew.

How could you?!

Bog’s wings twitched at the scream in his head and he covered the painful memory with another sneer, snapping at the nearest crew member who tottered in his way before he took to the air again. He startled the men in the rigging when he zipped by them, nearly knocking one off a yardarm when he caught the end and swung himself up onto it, standing over the fumbling crewmember—Rey was his name—while he tried to knot the bracer line that had to be replaced due to the former one unraveling. He crouched and tested the security with a firm tug and the knot came loose in his fingers. Hissing a curse, he shot a glare at Rey before he tied another knot for him, wrenching on the chord and revealing the fastness of the knot. With a pointed look, Rey nodded his head quickly and Bog dove off of the yard arm. Flitting his wings, he evened out in the air nearly level to the bulwark before he swept down a bit lower, going back to the hole in the portside hull.

Flying alongside it, he peered inside only to spot Marianne where she was sawing off the splintered wood to make a clean edge for the patch. Their eyes met and both of them faltered, Bog stopping mid-flight and hovering beside the hole. His hands suddenly felt very empty again and his fingers curled in and out at his sides as she stopped sawing, her throat constricting with a swallow as she pulled the saw free and held it behind her back with a slightly nervous laugh. Bog should have just kept flying, but now he was left face to face with the very person that called out the coward in him.

“You really know how to wield every blade, don’t you?” he mused, ignoring how the words caught in his throat. Marianne withdrew it from behind her and held it up by the handle with a smile.

“Almost every one. This is my first time using one that was serrated and this thin. Unfortunately, my cuts are coming out uneven.” She frowned at the thin blade and he chuckled, drifting in closer and checking the cut she had made before he had discovered her. He felt the exposed grain of the wood, rubbing his fingers together to free them of transferred dust.

“It is a clean cut. You should be proud.”

“You think so?” she leaned in and tested the surface herself, Bog’s fingers so near to hers he nearly reached out to touch them but withdrew his hand before he could be tempted.

“Yes,” he eased away from the hull. “Go ahead… keep at it.”

“Alright, I will.” She moved on to the next board that needed evening out. He noticed how she appeared a bit distracted when she tried to work on the board, hand faltering in beginning the cut and brows wrinkled in more thought than needed for such a task.

Perhaps he had unnerved her last night in his abrupt behavior after their spar. She had done nothing wrong; it was his fault she was forced back into the weapons display. Then after shielding her, what did he do? He turned the cold shoulder on her, bitterly leaving her alone in one of the spare chambers and yet he couldn’t bring himself to put her as far from him as possible. She was only doors away from his own bedchamber, her presence separated by stone a few feet away leaving him restless all night. He hadn’t slept a wink and took his irritation out on the crew that morning as a result of it. Bog had unleashed hell over his crew that morning, frightening them into motion. He had never seen the longboats row so fast as when he had chased them over the water to the Fenland that morning.

In spite of the feeling of utter fatigue still lingering in his bones, Bog had managed to make himself useful in the repairs. Over the lengthening morning he worked out the kinks in his neck, busied his hands with work and eventually sweated enough of the ill tempter out of his system to become somewhat himself again. The encounter with the children seemed to only make him feel a bit more at ease but his mother’s prodding at his relations with Marianne left him bristling all over again. Even so, it wasn’t Marianne’s fault he was slowly going mad. He needed to do something to apologize, but the thought of straight out saying it was as appealing as a sword through the gut. There had to be another way to go about it.

“You know…”

Her hand stilled and she looked up, her expression suddenly brightening. “Yes?”

“You’ve been helping us a lot the past several days even though you don’t have to.” He scratched the back of his neck with shaking fingers, glancing back towards the island. “How about a little incentive for keeping up the good work?”

“What is it?” She looked eager, her brows relaxing and eyes nearly innocent when she looked up at him still hovering outside of the hull.
“Now, I can’t tell you.” He smiled, holding up his hands and she frowned immediately. “You will have to wait until the work today is done so that it can be used to induce your labors for tomorrow.”

She looked at the saw blade and he swallowed at the way her eyes lingered on the teeth as if contemplating in using it against him but she eventually lowered it again, bracing the other hand upon her hip. She leaned closer to him, elbow propping upon a piece of the hull. Bog let his wings carry him a little further out of her reach, hesitant to the proximity after the rather close position she had been in with him the night before. Marianne seemed to notice his retreat because she straightened back up, dangling the saw beside her while fingers drummed over her hip bone.

“Fine then.” Her lips twitched at one corner. “Where should I meet you so that you could show me this ‘incentive’?”

“On the southern edge of the village,” he instructed, “before nightfall.”

------------

The hour was growing late but there was still enough sunlight to illuminate the forest path when the crew trudged back from their laboring over the ship’s repairs. The patch had been constructed, the tar laid and smoothed between the cracks to seal the boards from water and Marianne was certain the Fenland was going to bear another discoloration in her belly but it was almost an endearing trait to her bulk by now. Marianne felt proud of the work she did on helping that day. The ship was looking better every hour that passed and while there were still a few things left to take care of, it was all small and easily accomplished since most of the work had been handled at sea.

Marianne’s shoulders were sore and her arm ached from the jarring pass of the saw. She massaged her muscles with weary fingers while following Thang up the path among the rest of the men and Stuff, smiling and laughing with them as they spoke of their plans for either sleep or another good drink. They spoke of the celebration the night before with fondness and Marianne affectionately remembered her coat, wishing she had it with her in that moment but she had left it behind due to the heat of the day.

Once they had come upon the village, she broke away from the others, leaving them to carry out their promises to drink and sleep until dawn while she wondered into the village in search of Bog. He said she needed to meet him before dark and she made well on her promise to do so but so far she couldn’t see him among the villagers, though there were some knowing looks sent her way that left her puzzled. It was like everyone knew something she didn’t and it left her nearly flustered with wanting to know what she had missed.

Bog suddenly dropped down from one of the ropes suspended in the trees, nearly startling her half to death but she tensely contained her gasp by striking him in the shoulder with her fist. He straightened up rubbing at his arm, his gaze unconvinced of her expression. Chuckling, he indicated with his hand the direction in which they were to head and she walked with him into the trees, Marianne noticing a very vague footpath as they passed through the underbrush and the soft ground eventually turned to mush under her boots the further they went.

“The ground is very soft here.” She wrinkled her nose when she picked up her foot and heard a wet squelch follow the motion. There was a vague flowery scent that she caught; inhaling in an attempt to find it again but the smell had gone as quickly as it came.

“We’re entering the marshes,” he explained, glancing up at the trees and she noticed the trunks of trees weren’t so tightly packed as the forest had been when they first started walking. Ferns unfurled where their boots brushed their coiled stalks and Marianne stopped, marveling at the living action of the previously stationary plants. Bog was patient while she brushed another curl, gasping in awe as it unfurled and spread its leaves to the early evening air. In time they continued walking, Bog keeping her clear of the watery marsh by pointing out the peat that marked where water stood in the softened earth. They ducked under low-hanging moss from the branches of the trees, looking more like scraps of fabric draped over limbs compared to the spongy consistency of typical moss. Bog brushed another branch away and she stepped under it, looking up and noticing that they had found a clearing.

The last rays of the day’s sun shone upon the clearing, mere slips of light through the surrounding trees casting orange patterns on a strange collection of flowers that spanned from one end of the opening to the other. Marianne thought she had smelled flowers during their walk before but didn’t expect the plum-colored beauties sprouting around their feet. She was careful not to step on one when she eased in and lowered into a crouch. She curiously observed a bobbing bloom wavering just shy of a patch of light. It resembled a rose but the coloring was too dark compared to the reds and pinks she knew back home in Lumine.

“What are these?” she peered over her shoulder at Bog and he knelt down beside her, fingers slipping to cup beneath a small blossom. The contrast between his gray hand and the darkness of the flower drew her eyes to the claws softly brushing the flower’s petals and the caress of his thumb against the swell of the bud felt remarkably intimate even though it had been a plant.

“These are Ebb Tide Roses.” He explained, fingers trailing down the stem of the blossom and snapping it free. “This is the only place in the islands where they grow this dark. The moist earth and shade from the trees keep them cool enough that they turn this color.”

He stood up and Marianne straightened out of her crouch, turning to look at the flower in his hand. Bog rolled the stem between his fingers thoughtfully, glancing up at her and shifting his hold on the bloom. Marianne thought he was going to give it to her a moment but he reached past her and slipped it behind her ear instead. The stem threaded behind the shell of it and into her hair, catching on the strands to hold it steady while the petals were velveteen against her temple. Bog removed his hand and she lowered her gaze to his fingers as they slipped away.

“The color suits you,” he complimented.

“Thank you,” she blushed a bit at his praise, fingers going to the flower and trailing along the curve of the open blossom, remembering the graze of his thumb over it. “I like it.”

“Well that’s good to hear, but this isn’t exactly what I planned to give you.” He smirked. “We should keep moving. After we’re finished I’ll show you back to the village.”

“Um, do you mind if I ask you something?”

Bog paused in stepping back from the flowers. His eyebrow rose while she resisted the urge to shift her weight from side to side in a useless fidget. She shook her hands at her sides, blowing a frustrated breath through pursed lips as she regretted wanting to question him. She slapped her palms against her legs with a quiet curse while Bog continued to watch her, eventually his smirk only grew. A fist rested upon his hip while he regarded her thoughtfully.

“You never needed to ask before.”

“The village…I know this is entirely off the subject, but I’ve been thinking about the structures of the homes. I know they are mostly crafted from pieces salvaged from ships.”

His good humor died a little as she spoke.

“I just mean…surely you’ve made enough in gold and other precious items to buy decent materials for your people to craft their homes from.” Marianne said, indicating back behind them in the direction of the village. Bog was quiet and she faltered, fingers going to the flower then dropping down again. No more fidgeting! “I know, it’s very random to ask and I’m not saying that I disagree with your people’s methods of using what you have—”

“Having enough is not the problem,” Bog said at last, Marianne spotting a small smile. She found herself sighing in relief that he wasn’t angry. Instead, he indicated they keep walking. “I’ll show you.’”

He led the way again, the two of them walking around the flowers before Bog stepped back into the trees just as the last slip of sunlight faded from the sky and the path became even harder to see. It didn’t seem to hinder him at all to walk through the meager light between day’s end and night’s beginning. They walked on; the marshy consistency of the earth changing into a stony path with coarse sand evident under her boots. They broke free of the trees and plant life at last and Marianne saw a small beach, much smaller than the mooring cove where the Fenland and Tormenta were resting.

The moon was beginning to rise over the great wall of rock that bore the same outcropping they must have sailed past the day before, pale light casting an eerie glow over pristine waters of the hidden cove. Bog walked down the rough sand to the water’s edge, stopping short of the dampened ground where waves still tried to lap at the dry particles and proceeded to remove his boots, kicking them further up the shore. Marianne’s eyes were drawn to his transforming feet, not entirely inhumane in form but even his toes were clawed and skin the same gray as his hands and the majority of his back. He shucked his coat and shirt, abandoning them near his boots and Marianne finally began to see what was happening.

“It’s underwater?” she asked, pointing out towards the cove.

“Yes,” he treaded into the water, pausing when it reached his calves and twisting to look back at her expectantly. “Well?”

Marianne hesitated, watching the water lick at his limbs gently as he shifted his weight, resting a hand upon his hip with a risen eyebrow. She sighed, kicking off her boots beside his and removing her vest, half folding it and laying it on her boots to keep it mostly off the sand. She was keeping her shirt, rolling the large sleeves up to her elbows as she trudged through the sand. Her tender feet stung at the prick of hidden stones when she came to a halt just ankle-deep in the cool water; Bog still a few paces ahead of her.

She never swam underwater; she always kept herself to the surface and never tried to swim where the air couldn’t be reached quickly enough. Sure, she had jumped from a ship into the sea and swam to the Fenland but that had been different, she was on top of the water, not swimming underneath it. She remembered scrambling for the surface the moment she had her wits about her and that hadn’t changed in the span of a few weeks. The water before her, while innocent in appearance aside from the glow of the moonlight, sent a discontented chill down her spine. The princess looked up at Bog with a hesitant expression, one foot moving back as her resolution lost its motivation but the captain smiled. Twisting about and stepping a bit higher up the sand, he held out his hand to her.

“Come on,” his words were soft and didn’t tease her as she expected. Taking a breath, she looked to the offered hand and took it, the fingers curling around hers until there was nothing left aside from the gentle pull that drew her closer to him. Nearly knee deep now, she froze, staring down at the water wavering around her limbs. He waded around behind her and put a hand to her back. “One step at a time, princess.”

She felt his clawed toes brush the back of her heel, giving it a nudge and she lifted it, taking a step further into the water. They slowly waded further in, Bog directing her in the way they were supposed to go. Marianne felt the unpleasant wetness of her clothing beginning to stick then billow out from her skin the deeper they went, gasping when the coolness touched her belly then her ribs, chilling her and her nerves clenched her chest in a tight grip. The presence of his body slowly settling against her back startled her, his arm wrapping around her belly until he leaned over, peering into her peripheral vision.

“Take a deep breath when it reaches your chin, I’ll handle the rest.” He instructed and she nodded, wading further in until her weight became almost nothing at all, her toes struggling to touch the bottom but feeling his secure hold around her, keeping her from drifting away. She gasped for a breath and he pulled her down, her hand clenching the one that held hers while her other went for the arm holding her down. Her instinct kicked in, her body wriggling to free herself from his hold and swim for the surface again but he held her firmly to his chest. Eventually she stiffly held her limbs still as he manipulated them through the water, her body drifting horizontally, weightless under the sea. She could feel them passing through the water, the pull of its resistance and Bog’s legs kicking, occasionally brushing against her useless limbs.

Marianne couldn’t count the seconds they were under but before she could even think to worry about the growing burn in her lungs, they were breaking the surface again and she drank down the first new breath, nearly choking on water that streamed down from her sodden hair. Bog hauled her along while she spluttered until her feet felt solid ground and she secured her footing, brushing her hair out of her eyes and blinking through the moisture to see where they had surfaced.

They had come into a cavern with a monstrous roof that held thousands of pale green specks that illuminated the space in a dim but sufficient glow. She marveled at the peculiar light, feeling Bog draw away from her and immediately missing the loss of his body heat at her back. The cold water seemed to cut that much deeper when he wasn’t shielding her from it as he had been before and she shuddered, folding her arms around herself. Bog heaved himself up onto a rock, offering her a hand and she took it, letting him help her up out of the water. Once she was free, she stood trembling upon the rocks while he eased his way further up the makeshift bank. Holding herself, she tip-toed after him, eyes dropping down to check for any smaller rocks that may find their way into her path until she saw that he had come to a stop.

“Behold,” he waved his hand out in a mockish grand gesture. “The treasure room of Eileanach de Lónach.”

Marianne had seen her father’s treasury many times in her life and while it was by no means meager, she felt a small stab at her previous pride at the sight of the riches scattered in vast piles throughout the cavern. They were not so tall as the ceiling as most stories would probably have made it out to be but the mounds of coins sprinkled with odd goods also horded from innocent ships were nothing to turn one’s nose up at. Bog wandered into the midst of the treasure, looking around and picking up an emerald brooch, holding it up to the vague lighting and a cold gleam reflected off of the faceted gem.

“You’re free to look around.” He tossed it back into the pile, “I would warn you not to take anything, but there would be no point, considering my crew takes things from here all the time.”

“There’s so much...why is it just hidden away down here?” She asked, holding out her hands to indicate the treasure then bringing them back in to hold herself and attempt to trap in some form of warmth again.

“I have plans for it,” Bog said cryptically, surveying the hoard. “There might come a day when a vast fortune may be necessary.” She frowned and he sighed. “I don’t horde it to myself if that is what you are thinking. My people have access to it whenever they want but they choose not to.”

“Why is that?” She raised an eyebrow, “Surely you could have used this wealth to build a hundred cities for your people by now, even a castle the Mainlands would envy!”

He frowned, turning away and wandering among the piles. Marianne followed, letting her eyes trail over mounds of gold, silver, and even useless copper coins most people turned their noses up at. There were jewels, necklaces tangled into great knots of chain, pearls, and heavy-looking pendants. Boxes of more goods, barrels stacked against one wall of wine, some of them bearing Lumine’s seal to which she abruptly walked away from. Bog kicked stray items back into the piles and checked a few things that caught his eye before tossing them back in.

“Bog,” she reminded him he hadn’t answered her, reaching out and touching his arm.

Sighing, he stopped walking and turned to her again. “It is hard to find a use for gold and gems when you cannot exchange them for the things you need.”
“What do you mean?”

“The Mainlands will not trade with us because we are not a part of the alliance.” He growled, Marianne’s heart aching as she realized another fault in the alliance of the Mainlands. “I have tried to be diplomatic once, before the curse, before the piracy. I was younger, more ignorant then. They formed a paper thin connection with the West, surely they could have permitted my kingdom a fair shot at trade as well! I should have known that they wouldn’t have taken me seriously, much like my father before me.”

“Bog, I can help you change that.” She stood in front of him, both of her hands reaching for his shoulders and clutching at his arms just beneath them. “Whenever I return to Lumine, I can talk to them—”

“Do you think they are going to listen to a girl who has been kidnapped by the very person they are trying to appeal to them for?” his chuckle was dark, bitter. “No, Marianne. We survive just fine without their help.”

She wanted to argue but the words couldn’t surface when she saw the bitterness in his expression. Bog didn’t discuss the matter further, turning back to his treasure while she watched him pick through the pieces until he paused and a wry smile finally curled his lips. He reached out and grasped something jutting out of the coins and slid it free, dislodged currency tinkling and clinking down to the ground as Bog held up the sword he had found in the midst of the gold. He flipped it over, catching it by the blade before turning and extending the handle to her.

“I believe this would be enough to secure a little more work out of you.” He smiled, covering the previous hitch in their conversation by the distraction of finding the sword.

She accepted it, balancing it in her hands. It was light but sturdy, the handle bearing silver filigree that coiled through the binding. The hand guard was a silvery cage of vine-like shapes supporting the pommel but the tip was empty of decoration as if whatever had been mounted there had been dislodged since its theft. Marianne tested the weight of it, swinging it about and smiling at how easily it followed her movements. Bog dug his hand into the coins again and pulled the sheath free. Marianne eagerly accepted it and fastened it into place around herself, sliding the sword inside until it made a soft snap to signal its security.

She grinned up at him, “You’re giving this to me?”

“A sailor needs a sword of their own.” He smiled, nodding to it. “Consider this my gift to you in gratitude for your help and incentive to keep doing so while in our care.”

Her hand rest over the hilt fondly. For months she had been craving a sword of her own without someone prompting her to give it back by the end of the day or taking it away from her whenever she wasn’t prepared for it. Captain Wade had promised to give her a sword and even succeeded in handing her a blade before she first climbed aboard Captain King’s vessel. Then it had been thrown overboard and she had no fixed weapon ever since. To have the very man who deprived her of most of these weapons to suddenly hand her a sword all her own, almost felt comical. Surely this had to be some kind of trick. She glanced up at him again, arching an eyebrow.

“You’re not going to take this one away from me like all the others have, are you?”

“No,” he chuckled, “This one is yours to keep. Should anyone take it from you, it will be by disarming you in a fight…or prying it from your cold, dead fingers.”

Chapter Text

The Morning Glory’s departure had been postponed by the sudden decision of the king to join them on their return to sea. Perhaps she should have regretted the deferral but Dawn found it hard to feel so when she was preoccupied by the rather inane response of the young captain. She remembered the utter shock on the captain’s face when he had been brought before her father in his study, a servant knocking his head off of his head and into his hands when he forgot to remove it in her father’s presence. Dawn resisted the urge to giggle, clearing her throat and holding her head high and keeping her hands together in front of her. King Dagda had invited her inside to be there for the exchange and she had promised to behave herself. It was a struggle to contain her excitement that this was all beginning to unfold as she had wanted it to but she remained resolute, standing quietly at the left of the king’s chair as the captain listened to her father’s proclamation.

He must have been snagged in mid-preparation to be underway, judging by the state of him. The man was already dressed in his captain’s uniform, Lumine’s traditional golden trim hemming the sleeves and lining his coat collar. His Lumine crested buttons shined to near mirror-like clarity that she squinted at, spotting her father’s face reflected back in their shine. He was younger than most captains she had seen and his uniform was remarkably pressed, crisp lines and edges giving him a sharpness that did not match the young face associated with it. He looked nothing like the weather-beaten Captain King or the authorative Captain Rodgers she remembered. This captain seemed too fresh-faced, too clean. Perhaps he wasn’t as seasoned as Rodgers and that was why Roland had requested him for the captaincy? Her suspicion towards Roland might have been all that fueled the speculation but whether he was ordered by Roland or someone else didn’t matter. Even a more experienced sailor would still gawk at her father the way this one had the moment he declared they would be accompanying the retrieval crew.

“Your majesty,” the captain began, fiddling with his hat between his fingers. “We were moments away from departure until your man came aboard the gangplank. This is a very sudden and—dare I say—irrational decision.”

“I’m well aware of the impulsiveness of my decision, Captain Evans.” King Dagda stated, casting a knowing look upon his daughter and she smiled, shrugging up her shoulders slightly with a guilty expression looking no more apologetic than it did mischievous before he faced the captain again. “We are not trying to delay your departure on a whim, I assure you. It has just come to my attention that, should King suddenly change his mind again, it would be better for me to be present to meet his requirements in person than risk any chance of him harming Marianne if we can’t meet his demands a second time. If everything goes well, I feel it would do her good to see some familiar faces once she is returned to Lumine’s custody again.”

Dawn had watched Captain Evans stammer with fumbling words that tried to convince them that their plan was not necessary and that Roland and his crew would know how to handle Captain King but her father had stood firm. Marianne might not have appreciated the comparison, but Dawn believed that some of that stubbornness of hers might have come—in part—from their father. Normally their father took the more peaceful route, complying with the opinions of others as if he was uncomfortable with the thought of making any waves but since her kidnapping, Dawn had seen a change in him. A determination that matched Marianne’s the night of her debouched wedding. One that made her proud and hopefully Marianne would feel the same when she saw it herself.

Captain Evans’ protest did little to sway the plan. King Dagda accompanied him back to the Morning Glory to ensure everything was settled for their boarding. By the morning after the conference, the freshly repaired Morning Glory was departing from the harbor, carrying the rescue party and the majority of the royal family upon her. It had been a scenic change from the first time she had been aboard the ship. This time Dawn had been free to wonder the ship, not confined in a small hiding spot with Sunny as her only visitor. This time, her father walked with her on the deck or she talked with the soldiers and seamen alike, giggling and smiling in their company until her father shooed her away from her flirtatious companions.

Unfortunately, not long after the initial departure, King Dagda was beginning to feel his lack of experience with the sea. He took ill not long after the sun had passed noon and Dawn was soon fast at his side, escorting him to his quarters where he tried to lay down but his sea sickness left him restless. The recent repairs done to the Morning Glory had been remarkably seamless, the hull appearing as if there had never been a pirate attack in the first place while the sails were new and whiter than the clouds in the sky. However, with the new woodwork, came the acrid lingering smell of lacquer used to preserve the wood as well as a burning stench of water-proofing pitch that was warmed over by the sunlight. The smells overwhelmed her poor father, the odor causing him to feel even more squeamish than before and she had to hastily take him to the main deck more than once where he lingered over the edge of the ship, face pale with a clammy sweat. By the mid afternoon, Dawn had to call for the ship’s doctor, who escorted him back to his cabin and hastily told her to give her father some peace.

After King Dagda was taken below, Dawn returned to her exploration of the Morning Glory. She revisited the store room in the hold where Sunny had hidden her away before. She traipsed through the lower levels of the ship, peeking into the galley where the cook and two teens were working to prepare the men’s supper before nightfall. She encountered many of the sailors both above and below. Men from the navy and foot soldiers for their army recruited by Roland wondered the vessel. Most of the military men seemed bored while the sailors were hard at work. Dawn crossed the paths of foot soldiers idly passing their time. Some occupied with card games, others cleaning guns with oily cloths and chuckling warnings for her to watch how close she came to them.

More than once she felt eyes on her in her lazy wandering. She felt them lingering upon her when she passed the canons, curiously observing the square windows cut from the hull where the mouths of the canons were meant to stick out. They followed her above deck as well when she investigated the network of ropes stretched and tied throughout the entire boat. There were so many of them that she wondered how they didn’t become tangled together with how often they intersected one another in the air, let alone one man knowing where each one led.

Dawn appreciated the lingering looks she received; they were rather flattering since she hadn’t been able to bask in a man’s attention for quite some time. Ever since she was rescued, she had been confined to the castle back in Lumine and it left little time to go into the public eye. It felt nice to be admired again, though the appreciation was rather empty after a time, each little smile and wink her way passed soon met with disinterest on her part. She began to look for Sunny, scanning the sails and masts, wondering where he could have been stationed. Her father had told her that he managed to get Sunny aboard the ship as one of the crew but since they departed she hadn’t see him.

Eventually she spotted him at last, watching him carefully walking along the pole holding the sail aloft. He was checking the ropes attached, balancing on the edge with a practiced ease. He walked to and fro on each sail, climbing through the ropes and swinging between them with scarce a moment of hesitation. Sunny was in his element when he was working on the ship, his body knew the rigs and could match the sway of the vessel when a wave knocked it a little rougher than the previous swells. She regretted missing seeing him like this before. It was methodical and almost mesmerizing to watch.

However, the longer she watched, the more she realized that he was working on the orders of an officer standing on the deck. He shouted up at him with a new task every moment he could, barely giving Sunny a moment to pause just to collect himself. She could make out a fine sweat on her friend’s brow when he scrambled down from the third mast, scrambling past her to haul a coil of rope in the direction the officer had pointed. The rather chaotic tasks surprised her and with every new chore she bristled. No other sailor seemed to endure such a number of orders.

Anger swelled within her breast when Sunny was now cleaning a canon, his hands working so quickly under the officer’s goading that he dropped the rag and snatched it back up with barely a breath in between beats of his movements. Striding forward, Dawn fully intended to give the uncouth man a piece of her mind when Sunny looked up right in that moment and his eyes went wide. Dawn stopped, watching his expression as he shook his head minisculy, his eyes keeping her at bay.

Don’t interfere.

Even though he didn’t say anything, she understood the stare and it left her stunned. She stepped closer but he shot her another warning glance before he went back to work and she was left standing stark still, hands useless at her sides while the officer continued to jab at Sunny, pointing at odd places on the canon where Sunny darted towards to take care of without a word of protest. He looked up at her briefly, flashing a small but reassuring smile her way. The fact that he was trying to silently relay it was alright left her fuming. She stomped her foot on the deck with a little grunt before spinning on her heel and walking away before she could witness anymore of his poor treatment.

I want to help. Why won’t anyone let me help? She thought solemnly, standing at the bow and leaning into the wall. The stretch of the ocean before her was nothing but deep blue meeting a pale blue sky that was already beginning to see traces of yellow in the distance where the sun was starting to set. She didn’t realize so much time had passed in the first day, her irritation blinding her from the descent of the sun from the afternoon to nearly evening. Coming to her senses, she scanned the horizon as it started to turn gold, squinting at the sinking sun that still had plenty of time before it would drown in the ocean for another night.

“Princess Dawn.”

Dawn wrinkled her nose a moment at the familiar voice behind her. Swallowing down her discomfort at the approach of Marianne’s former fiancé, she turned to face him, one hand still clutching at the rail for some sort of anchor to her calm façade. Roland strode towards her, dressed in a bottle green coat and sweeping his similarly colored tricorn hat from his head. She gave him a moment to brush a curl from his forehead that had been displaced by the hat before he tucked it beneath his arm and gave her a stiff military bow. She gave a quick dip of a routine curtsey before he straightened and joined her at the bow rail.

“I hope you and your father fond your quarters comfortable.” He smiled as she turned back to the sunset, joining her hands together while leaning into the rail again. “We want to make sure you two are nice and cozy for the long journey ahead.”

“They’re fine, but I’m sorry we had to misplace some of the officers for them.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. They’re happy to accommodate the royal family!” he beamed, waving away her apology with a toothy grin that she couldn’t quite return even though she maintained something of a smile in return. “I imagine Marianne would be pleased to have a room of her own when we get her back. This whole pirate thing has been ugly business, I’ll be happy to escort her to one when we get her back.”

“I think the last thing Marianne would want is to be confined to a room right after being a prisoner for the past several weeks. I know I didn’t like to be kept inside for long after I was rescued.” Dawn frowned at the sea below, watching it break against the bow of the ship. Marianne had been frantic to find some means of escape the last time she had seen her, nearly hurting herself in her constant attempts to break free during the many hours spent in the cell. The mere memory of the bars drew her to cross her arms over herself, thoughtfully rubbing at them as if cold in spite of the warm summer air.

“Trust me, your highness, when we have your sister back, I will make sure she will never fear a pirate again in her life.” Dawn glanced at Roland then, noticing a smirk on his lips before he looked her way and she quickly averted her eyes. “You may want to head below soon. It is nearly dark and a ship is no place for a lady to be wondering around at night.”

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Dawn did eventually go back to the cabin not long after speaking to Roland. If only to avoid further conversations or witness Sunny’s mistreatment again. The empty room she had been given was once a general’s quarters. The smelled of black powder and sawdust from the repair work. The gunpowder must have been due to the fact it was a military vessel and this was once a high ranking officer’s quarters after all.

She changed for bed, digging through her things and slipping into her nightgown. The soft material felt out of place, powder blue surrounded by walnut-colored wood and modest furnishings. She felt overdressed for bed and fidgeted uncomfortably where she stood until she dug her hands back into her trunk and pulled out a white shawl, slinging it around herself while slipping her feet into her shoes she had been wearing all day. The little bed looked little more comfortable than the wooden plank she had to use for a sleeping surface in the pirates’ cell. Her hand pressed into the thin mattress, feeling the dip and the eventual hard spot of a rope tied to create a frame for the mattress. She tried to sit on it, bouncing up and down contemplatively. There was not much give to the mat but even if it had some, Dawn didn’t feel she would have been able to sleep right away.

There were no windows in her cabin, no way to know if the night had grown darker or if the moon had risen. The endless feeling of not-knowing anything was making her restless. She didn’t know where Marianne was, where they were on the sea or how far they still had to go for the middle ground the pirates were known to sail. She didn’t know what time it was and however simple that was, she felt like it was the last straw. Dawn had fiddled and paced about her cabin for an indeterminable amount of time and her patience was broken, the young princess darting for the door and wrenching it open, nearly startling one of the passing officers off his feet at the sudden activity.

“I’m so sorry!” she gasped, hands reaching out to help steady him but he fended her off with rapid reassurance in his wellbeing before scrambling off into the darkness of the interior of the ship. His abrupt departure left Dawn frowning, huffing a tuft of hair out of her face before she wrapped her shawl closer around her and made her way towards the portal leading to the deck. Her slippers made little noise when she walked, slowly climbing the steps while pinching up a bit of fabric from the nightgown to avoid stepping on the hem and emerging outside where night had indeed fallen over the world.

There were countless stars where she looked, glittering souls that shivered in the dark and the wind blew the skirt of her nightdress angrily around her ankles, her hand reaching up to keep her hair from flying into her face the best she could. There were lanterns flanking both sides of the ship, swaying in the wing and casting brief glows over the two soldiers keeping watch of the deck that looked at one another when she passed them but neither seemed to know what to make of her presence outside. She smiled at them, putting a finger to her lips and they made slight nods but still appeared at odds when they settled back down where they had been sitting upon the stairs for the upper deck.

The wind pulled at her shawl and she clutched it close, squinting up at the sky and spotting the moon still rising in the sky. She stood in the silvery glow of it, looking thoughtfully at her hands as they reflected the light with familiar soft radiance. The moon was the only constancy in this environment of strangers and even stranger places and she traced her fingers over the back of her hand, watching the glow of her skin showing in between of them.

“Marianne, my skin is glowing.”

Dawn smiled thoughtfully at the memory conjured by the combination of the moon and the missing of her sister. She could remember being barely five years old, standing on the balcony while her sister came out to call her back inside before their maid caught her out there. Dawn wasn’t supposed to be on the balcony at that age because of the danger it could have been to her young age but Marianne hadn’t scolded her. She took her hands in hers, standing with her in the moon’s light and she remembered how Marianne had shown in that pale light, so pretty. To Dawn, Marianne had always been beautiful, even before she understood what the word could even mean.

“Don’t be scared. See, mine does it too.”

She wasn’t scared of it. Not anymore. What she was scared of was what her sister could have been going through in that very moment. Was she scared? Was she defiant? Were the pirates feeding her well? Did Griselda bring her good things to eat then sit and talk to her? There were too many questions and no answers, this fact inspiring another chill that left Dawn wrapping herself tighter in the shawl, eyes rising to the moon.

Everyone always told her that she was sunshine. She was the sun, Marianne was the moon. Well, even if the moon was not what she was associated with, it still touched the fairy blood that she shared with her sister and therefore she could justify her silent prayer to the lady moon, hoping she would hear her.

If I can ask anything from you, please, keep Marianne safe.

Closing her eyes, she let the request go in hopes that the moon had listened. With her prayer made, she returned to the stairs leading back below. When she came to the first level where her cabin was, however, she hesitated, glancing towards the darkness where she could hear snores and breaths filling the shadows. Many of the sailors were asleep to be up early with the sun in the morning, their beds being hammocks hung throughout the levels where they were kept off of the floor and swayed with the ship rather than risk rolling off of beds like she had to worry about along with her father. Somewhere in those hammocks, she hoped that Sunny would finally be getting his rest as well.

Dawn didn’t consider what she was doing when she lit a candle in her room, carrying the little flame with her back out into the belly of the ship where the sleeping dark shapes lingered all around her. She carefully checked the hammocks, recognizing sailors and soldiers but none of them were Sunny. She had to go to a lower deck, her footsteps growing more hesitant the further she went when she started to feel a certain chill in the air the further below she went. Maybe she was below the water now and that was what produced the cooler air that was so different from the summer night she had just stood in.

Sunny’s hammock was towards the back of the ship, hanging just low enough for him to climb into but still swaying well off the floor. Dawn brought her candle closer to peer into his face. The man was truly sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted, his mouth hanging open but his snores were quiet, his face weary even in sleep. She hadn’t spoken to him at all that day, the moment she had seen him working being the only moment they had met one another’s gaze and she berated herself for not trying to help him when she could have. Instead of walking around like a spoiled little girl, flirting with sailors and just wasting time while her friend had been working himself half to death.

Glancing back into the darkness, listening for signs of life among the snores and snorts of the other men; she found no hint of speculators to her presence. She blew her candle out, crouching down to set it upon the floor and with no regard for the occupant; she grasped the edge of the hammock and clumsily climbed into it. She pitched forward inside when it shifted from her weight, her face pressing into his belly before she could correct herself and Sunny started awake, gasping at the disturbance of his rest and his hands grasping at the sides of the hammock to keep it from pitching completely over as she settled herself beside him.

“Whoa-” he jolted upright at the presence of her form against his but she shushed him, the sound of her voice startling him back into silence. “Dawn? Is that you? What are you doing down here?”

The hammock slowly started to even out from its uneven swing and she laid her head down, staring into the blackness where she had heard his voice. It felt cramped in the narrow hammock, her knees against his legs and her body tucked impossibly close to him. It was improper for her to be so close to a man, her father would have been furious if he saw her doing such a thing, but this was Sunny, it wasn’t the first time she had lain beside him in her life. Naps in the sun when they were children, falling asleep during his tales spun from his months at sea when he first started sailing. It was nothing unusual for them. She focused on the dip where his elbow was propping him up in the fabric, the material taught from the strain on his weight.

With the effort to climb into the sling, Dawn’s nightgown had become partially bunched around her legs, the folds uneven under her limbs and her exposed legs touching his felt that they were cold where his lower legs were not covered by his ratty trousers. She reached in the dark, hand finding his arm that had frozen in mid-raise in his surprise and his skin was chilled there as well.

“Dawn, you really shouldn’t be down here!” He whispered his voice filled with uncertainty even though he let her fingers feel along the skin of his arm then find his hand. Sunny didn’t protest when she laced her fingers with his, frowning at how cold he was here in the gloom of the belly of the ship. Huffing through her nose, she shook their fingers free, tugging her wrap open and slinging what she could over him where the rest wasn’t pinned down by her own body.

“You’re cold, Sunny. Let me help you with this at least.” She whispered, wrapping her arm around him under the shawl, her hand to his back and she nestled into him, feeling the softness of worn linen against her forehead. Sunny was stiff under her arm but he slowly relaxed with a sigh until he lay back down, his hand finding her cheek in the dark.

“Just for a little while.”

He smelled of sweat and something that reminded her of the warmth of daylight in spite of the cool atmosphere. If sunlight had a smell, it would be what he smelled like to her right in that moment. His hand on her cheek was rough, hardened by work and Dawn knew his hands almost as well as she knew her own, feeling the vague rise of a scar across his palm. As children those hands had played tag with her, they crafted little toys for her from the simplest of items, they held her when she was sad and joined with hers when she danced in jubilant circles. She knew his hands when they were small and soft as all children’s hands start out to be. But now they were bigger hands. They were a man’s hands.

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and slowly breathing in his scent before nestling closer into her friend, feeling his hand shift to hold her shoulder and he let her lay there. Even though he had been startled and clearly wanted her to go for the sake of sparing them the trouble that would find them if they were caught, he let her stay with him. Dawn shouldn’t have let him coddle her like this anymore, to cave to her every whim with only a weak protest before following whatever she desired, but she needed it now. One day she would tell him off for bowing to her demands but tonight was not that night. For now, she wanted his embrace. She needed it.

“Are you worried about Marianne?” he asked, Dawn opening her eyes and just barely making out his shape in the darkness as her eyes finally began to adjust.

“Yes,” she whispered, peering into his face and imagining the understanding expression possibly hovering near.

“Now, weren’t you the one who felt something might be happening between Marianne and Captain King?” he asked, his fingers lifting in a shrugging gesture. “You second-guessed that pretty fast.”

“It’s just a feeling, Sunny. It doesn’t mean its right.” She muttered, almost seeing the smile he gave her in the dark.

“Dawn, you’ve never doubted a “fairy feeling” before.” He reminded her, his tone softening even more than just for the sake of keeping quiet. She sighed, shutting her eyes again but he propped himself up on his elbow again and she opened them, peering up at his vague shape. “I don’t know what’s made you so nervous, but I had learned to always trust your “fairy feeling.” It hasn’t steered us wrong before, right?”

Dawn sighed, “No.”

“Everything is gonna be alright,” he lay down again, “Marianne will be fine. Hey, she’s probably somewhere driving that Captain King up the wall!”

The smile in his voice inspired one of her own. “Do you think so?”

“What does the ‘fairy feeling’ tell you?”

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, closing her eyes when he laid his arm over her again and she could feel the warmth of their shared body heat covered by her shawl begin to remedy the cold to his skin. She carefully moved her leg closer to his and he cleared his throat. She felt his fingers feeling between them, his body curling in until she felt him tugging the hem of her nightgown down her limbs until they were covered and a fabric barrier shielded their skin from touching again. Even though she noticed a disappointment at the rejection of her touch she could feel the soft glow of that optimism growing in her belly and she gave a relieved sigh at the return of the reassuring hope there. Even though the sensation was comforting, Dawn felt that she wouldn’t have felt it again if Sunny hadn’t been there to call it back for her again.

“Wherever she is…Marianne is alright.” Dawn whispered in confirmation.

“You see?” he wriggled to get comfortable and she squeezed her arm around him, trying to draw herself nearer to him and eventually felt his cheek against her temple. The shared warmth beneath her shawl was beginning to lull her, the frazzled nerves no longer spurring her wakened state and she felt the heaviness of sleep creeping in on her. Each breath between Sunny’s lips seemed to call it closer. Dawn couldn’t hold back the yawn that stretched her mouth wide and she hummed in content, smiling to herself when Sunny caught it and she felt his body rise with the swell of his own yawn. Drawing her arm away, she carefully laid her hand against his chest, making out the shape of a roughly carved button under her ring finger.

“Why wouldn’t you let me stop him?”

He twitched before he sighed, his breath warm against her forehead. “Dawn…”

“I could have helped you.” Her voice broke a little, though she was caught completely by surprise when it did, her fingers moving to her face when her eyes stung with the threat of tears. An unconscious reaction to the memory of standing there once again helpless to do anything because, once again, no one would let her try.

“I didn’t want any special treatment.” He admitted, “You’re my friend but you’re also a princess. I can’t let you or your father help me out of a little discrimination, besides, this is what I get for putting you in danger.”

“Are you still blaming yourself?” she sighed, thumping her fist into his chest though she knew she didn’t have the strength to make it hurt. “It was my decision. I talked you into it. Whatever penance you think you owe, it’s paid, Sunny. Please, let it go.”

“Alright, alright.” He covered her mouth with his hand, “You need to keep quiet if you’re going to stay here much longer.”

She nodded a little and he removed his hand, letting it drape over her shoulder again.

“Sunny?”

“Yeah?”

“If they do it again, I’m going to say something.”

He didn’t say anything.

They lay there in silence for a while, Dawn drawing dangerously close to nodding off wrapped up in the shawl with him. Her eyes blinked lazily, her eyelids heavy when she sighed, surrendering the fight to stay awake. She should return to the cabin, give Sunny his hammock back so he may be able to rest for the next day. However, she didn’t find the willpower to move. Dawn remained curled up into Sunny’s smaller frame, his knees against her thighs, his head resting against hers and arm limp over her shoulder and curled against her back. On the fringe of sleep, she could have sworn she heard a quiet laugh near her ear. Warm and yet strained, like the motivation behind it was painful as well as endearing. She let it slip away into the dark, letting sleep finally take hold but not before she felt something soft and slightly tacky brushing against her temple.

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Marianne’s clothes both hung off of and clung to her when she sloshed onto the shore after Bog. Her hands clutched at her shirt hem and wrung out the material. Water spattered into the sand and stones, creating a small mud puddle at her feet that was only further contributed to by the rest of the runoff that streamed down her legs and dripped out of her hair. Undoubtedly she looked like a drowned rat, judging by the state of her, but at least she finally had her sword. Shaking the wet fabric out of her fingers when the last of the water dripped from the twisted material, she checked at her side for the sheath and found the sword still locked in place. She traced the fine hand guard with an affectionate caress before she reached up to brush her dripping hair out of her face with a sniffle. She could smell the brine of the sea but also the perfume of the Ebb Tide Rose. Puzzled by the scent of the flower she thought had long gone in the sea, her hand went to her ear and she gasped a breathless laugh to find it still safely tucked away behind her ear even after the swim. Touching the soft petals thoughtfully, she looked up the shoreline to point it out to Bog but he hadn’t noticed her discovery.

Bog returned to his coat, stooping over it and hooking his fingers through one of the folds in a brief swipe to pluck it back up from the sand. As he was still leaning over to reach for it, Marianne’s eyes trailed along his spine where mid back it transitioned from his skin to the strange scale-like ridges meeting his wings. The appendages flicked out at his sides, drops of water shaken free with a low hum until they fell slack down his back again. He straightened from his stoop, brushing bits of sand from the heavy material with quick flicks of his fingers, still unaware that she was watching him. Marianne’s hand was still absently touching at the rose, feeling the petals while her eyes followed shape of his wings, appreciating the gleam of the moonlight reflecting off of the iridescent membranes.

For a man with such a thin frame, Marianne was surprised to see traces of muscle in his broad back, half obscured by the curse’s growths. There were small impressions curled over his shoulders in the same area as the black marks on the front of them that strongly reminded her of fingers until Bog slung his coat over his back, concealing them from her gaze. Marianne huffed at his unconscious gesture to conceal himself, her fingers jumping when she realized she had been touching the flower this entire time and she forced her hand down to her side with a nervous fidget.

“You don’t have to hide them, you know.” She called up the beach up to him, leaning over when he hadn’t turned to face her. “I know what they look like, just like everyone else on these islands.”

“It’s cold after being in that water then coming straight into the air like that.” He answered, wriggling a dampened arm into one of the sleeves with apparent difficulty. His wet skin catching on the fabric and making the sleeve stick to him, hindering his actions. She smiled at the disgruntled growl he made between his teeth while fighting the coat, snickering the longer he struggled until he heard her. He fell silent, turning about with a grimace in her direction while still in the process of trying to right his arm in the stubborn sleeve. Marianne placed her hands upon her hips, amused by his difficulty when she noticed the downward slant of his gaze that immediately shot sky high directly afterward. He pulled the coat off, ignoring the sleeve turning inside out as he came back down the slope of the stony beach towards her.

“What’s the matter?” she arched an eyebrow at him as he flung the coat around her, settling it over her shoulders and tugging it shut with a firm jerk that nearly jostled her. The large garment sagged to the ground around her but the thick material was an improvement compared to the evident chill on her skin brought on by the night air. Summer may have kept its evenings warm but dampness was always meant to create a chill in the end.

“You need it more than I do.” He muttered. His eyes averted to the tree line up the shore. “There’re some things you might want to keep hidden of your own.”

“What do you mean?” she pulled the coat open and looked down to see what on earth he could have been referring to and gasped, immediately clutching the coat closed again. “OH!”

“Yes,” Bog’s voice sounded oddly dry in that moment, eyes still averted.

Marianne failed to remember that her linen shirt was practically useless when wet. That one glance down had revealed the wet material choosing to plaster to random spots on her breasts and stomach. One patch was practically molded to the inner curve of her left breast, evidence of her chilled state plain as day where her nipples had pebbled beneath the fabric. Mortified by the glaring indecency she unwittingly allowed herself to be in, she quickly overlapped the coat and wrapped her arms around herself to firmly hold it shut. Her face burned with hot embarrassment when she finally glanced up at the captain, who cleared his throat as he shuffled from one foot to the other. The disquieted expression on his face betrayed his own flustered state at the unintentional exposure and Marianne couldn’t help but feel the little touch of respect for his kind gesture to keep her covered.

He was a pirate after all.

Pirates were scallywags, lecherous fiends who dabbled with loose women on a regular basis. Marianne heard tales of them stealing the virtues of noblemen’s daughters in many a seaside town as well. Normally they wouldn’t worry about being proper and would take the chance to freely stare in such circumstances, right? A tremor shook through her at the idea of Bog being like the stories. Bog snatching up vulnerable young women without a second thought, ravaging them behind the locked door of his cabin. Impossible. Not when the man had been so adverse to touch. Even now, tonight was the most he had touched her. He had held her to his chest with more ease tonight than she had ever encountered with him in the weeks she had known him. He had changed his outlook on his closeness with her completely since the night before. Touching was getting easier, but she supposed he still had his limits.

How…sweet…

“Thank you,” she smiled up at him and his eyes darted back at her, puzzled by the gratitude but after she offered no further explanation behind her thanks, he massaged the back of his neck with the tips of his fingers, slowly nodding his head to finally acknowledge her.

She almost suggested walking back. They needed to get their things together and wedge their boots back on. Griselda was probably waiting for their return and who knew what rumors she might be spreading at the length of their absence from the village or the cave castle. Marianne opened her mouth to speak but the suggestion broke, falling off her tongue when she noticed that he was looking at her again but not exactly at her. His eyes lingered just past her face and she realized that the focus was on the flower behind her ear. Marianne lightly touched at it again; smiling to herself when she saw that he had finally caught on that the Ebb Tide Rose hadn’t fallen out.

“It didn’t come out in the water.” She flashed a toothy smile up at him. Bog finally met her gaze, his ease settling in once again and the formerly awkward air replaced with an amused smile. He raised his hand, his bro arching to silently ask for permission before nodding towards the flower. She nodded, lowering her own touch so that he may see it. The casualness of her allowance for his closeness shattered, however, the moment he drew in closer.

One step and he was suddenly so much closer than she predicted him to be, nearly looming over her like he had the night before, his hand hovering near the side of her head. Her mouth dried up when she risked looking into this face, seeing the softened expression looking thoughtfully at the simple gift he had given her compared to the sword at her side. Even she felt like the sword didn’t carry the same weight at the flower behind her ear did in that moment. When his hand was near her head, she could have sworn all of her senses fired all at once, focusing on the single moment when his fingers carefully touched the rose. She heard the soft brush of his claws, felt the flick of water droplets springing off of the displaced petals against her cheek, smelled the swell of perfume when they shifted and, saw the softest smile on his lips...

He gently caressed the rose’s petals, clearly just as amused at the fact it had lingered behind her ear this whole time as she had been before he was drawing his hand back. The smile, however, began to fade as his fingers caught against the collar of the coat, his retraction slowing and his claws dragging gently against the shape of the lapel. His touch was so close to her neck; she silently craved some part of it to brush her skin, eyes trailing to the hand as it suddenly pulled away. Bog’s expression clouded again, something dark had crossed his mind.

She was losing him again.

Marianne stepped forward quickly, ignoring the pressure of a stone against the ball of her foot in favor of her hands freeing from the coat as she grasped at his hand before he could second-guess himself again. Her touch stopped his retreat, his gaze lingering on her touch and for a moment, he leaned back towards her. She could see his face drawing nearer, sensing the propinquity of his body and she wriggled her toes, anticipation swelling in her chest. She parted her lips, watching the bob of his throat as he swallowed, his breath growing a bit quicker while her eyes sunk to half-lidded, her heart thrumming in her chest when the tip of his sharp nose barely touched hers.

And then he was gone.

Marianne’s eyes shot back open in time to see him shake his head with a frown, forcing distance between them when he straightened back up from his stoop. He was hesitating, his eyes full of a hidden struggle she felt she had barely touched on in her short time of knowing him. Was he scared of what was happening? The unspoken shift in their already fragile friendship came so suddenly, Marianne couldn’t even pinpoint when it happened after all. Perhaps it had been underlying their relationship all along, the moment she saw him smirking over the cold steel of her blade on the Fenland’s deck. Maybe when they had the stare down in the brig or the morning she touched his wings and stroked the scale plates of his back. Whenever it happened, she felt that he was resisting it for more reasons than just the effects of his curse. When he spoke to break the silence, his words were tentative, the beginnings of an excuse building up the more he searched the growing space he was putting in between them.

“I don’t think—”

Before he could continue, before he could drive the wedge between then once more, Marianne reached up, placing her hands on either side of his head. Her fingers pressed partially over his ears and threaded into the damp hair and firmly pulling him down to her as she slanted her mouth over his startled lips, claiming the kiss he was about to deprive her of.

At first she was afraid he would push her away. That he would be angry with her for forcing herself upon him so suddenly. Marianne slung her arm around his neck to lock her to him while letting the fingers of her other hand hold his face close. His hands suddenly found her, abruptly grasping at her sides just below her ribs with startled fingers that threatened to shove her back, her arm tensing behind his neck to resist but then they wrapped tightly around her instead.

The sudden pull against her body that followed lifted her right off of her feet and she hung from his hands, a muffled cry of distress uttered between their lips when she felt herself sagging useless in his hold. Her legs clambered up his frame in a clumsy climb until she wrapped them around his waist, one of his hands grasping at her leg to hold her there, the coat falling off her shoulders while his other arm protectively secured around her back. With her clutched to him so tightly her limbs ached. He freed a hand and dug it into her hair, fingers spanning the entire back of her head. He cradled the curve of her skull in his palm, startling her when he urged her to turn her head with a somewhat rough twist of his wrist. With her mouth slipping into a new angle over his, she felt the parting of his lips and the rush of a hot breath against her mouth. She understood the gesture and this time they met halfway. Their mouths molded together, teeth nearly striking in her inexperience. Roland had never kissed her like this. He treated her too gently for that, saving his passions for other women behind her back instead but Bog was letting her have what Roland didn’t. Marianne had the freedom to kiss him however she pleased and the newfound freedom inspired the desire to try what she had never done before. She cautiously sought out his tongue with a timid lick before it was replaced with a more brazen stroke that he met in earnest. Bog’s tongue was smooth and it felt more angular than the bluntness of her own but it was accommodating, letting her taste him and then savoring it in her memory when they abruptly parted, struggling to manage the simple act of breathing again. How could she have forgotten the need to breathe?

He continued to hold her aloft even after she had stopped kissing him. Her legs remained locked around him, arm still around his neck and her free hand moving to his jaw and chin, tracing the scars with her fingertips, gaze holding his and silently daring him to deny what had just happened. It wasn’t the careful first kiss she had with Roland in the middle of a spring afternoon. No. This kiss didn’t have the same innocence even though both of their emotions were so fragile in this stage that it should have been. They should have taken it slow, Marianne containing her unusual greed and left it to one gentle peck upon his lip. Her kiss had been hungry, starved for the affection she had so vehemently denied herself since her mutilated wedding day and Bog’s had been just as unapologetically ravenous. He returned it in an unspoken confirmation that her desire had been his as well, though perhaps better hidden until that moment.

Marianne’s breath was still ragged even though the kiss had been brief. She dropped her head down upon his shoulder and after an erratic beat of her heart; she felt the weight of his cheek against her hair. He cradled her to him, fingers still in her hair, holding her to his shoulder while she turned her face into his neck and breathed him in. Her own fingers lightly ran over the nape of his neck, curling into the strands of hair she found there.

“We have to go back.”

She nodded but didn’t move.

“Marianne…” He sighed, reluctantly releasing her leg where he had been holding her secure to his body and touching at her shoulder. “We need to return to the village.”

Picking her head up, she peered into his face. “If we go back, you’ll pretend this never happened.” She frowned; tugging on his hair and watching him flinch. “I’m not letting you.”

His fingers trailed over her back, claws tracing through the wet shirt, stirring up a shudder than left her arching into his palm as he spread it over her spine, keeping her steady. He chuckled softly, the low sound vibrating in his chest and she could feel it between them when he touched his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.

“I couldn’t even if I tried to fight you over this; you’re clearly wearing me down.”

“We’ve done nothing but fight since we met.” Marianne snickered, watching her fingers when they thoughtfully traced the line of his collarbone. “If not by sword then by will power.”

“I didn't want to feel this way again, Marianne.” He sighed, his breath hitching at the feel of her touch on his bare skin. “I never did.”

“Neither did I,” she bit her lower lip, laying her palm against his chest. Lifting her head, she craned her neck until she pressed her lips to his forehead, her kiss lingering there while he held his breath until she finally parted.

Marianne stiffly unlocked her legs, her limbs falling heavily down from his hips and she felt a cruel thrill run through her when he eased her down, her body still so close to his that it dragged down against his long frame until her feet touched the ground. His hands slipped away once she was steady on her feet, Marianne crossing her arms over her chest as an afterthought and peering up into his gaze in time to catch a flicker of something that spoke of a hunger that had not been sated. She arched an eyebrow at the unfamiliar expression, noticing how his fingers rubbed together at his sides before he looked away, bending over and retrieving the coat back from the ground where it had slipped off. He draped it over her again and she offered him a grateful smile, holding it shut with her fingertips. His wings rattled with a tremor but he didn’t say another word, merely returned to their things and pulled his shirt on again.

Slipping her arms through the sleeves of the coat after some fixing of the previously turned-out sleeve, she helped him refasten the buttons securing his shirt without asking if he even needed the help. His hands that had been reaching for them fell to his sides, letting her work. She didn’t mind when he didn’t thank her, focusing on picking up her vest where she had left it on the sand. Shaking it out, she rolled it into a tight ball and stuck it into one of the coat’s deep pockets. Bog didn’t speak when he pulled his boots back on and she her own, their eyes meeting now and again during their silent redress but neither speaking past the secretive smiles that neither could keep off their faces. Eventually he was ready, rising and returning to the trees and Marianne followed after him. Her fingers trailed through her hair to the rose one more time, thankful that it had lingered as long as it had. Then they moved down to her lips, still feeling the ghostly caress of his own.

Chapter Text

When they began the walk back to the village, Bog imagined it would unfold much like it had when they had first walked though. Side by side with barely a hint of what was transpiring between them for any wondering eyes to see. That, however, wasn’t how it happened after the coarse sands of the cove were behind them and the forest swallowed them whole once more. In the shelter of the trees, his hands found their courage again. It had to be thirteen years to the day that he had numbed his desires, innocent or otherwise. Years of flinching from outreaching hands, afraid of the past that had transfigured him into what he was becoming. Yet, there he was, his hands suddenly feeling as if life had been returned to them and they were eager to reach, to grasp, to feel. His fingertips touched at the pommel of the gifted sword at Marianne’s hip, pretending to admire the blade again when she twisted to look at him. He covered his fidgety touch by pulling the coat the weapon to better conceal her when the edge of the garment had previously caught on the handle.

The best thing was that Marianne did not question his hesitant touches. He could see her fond smile cast to the ground, secretive and knowing any time he glanced at her face in silent permission. It felt like a special kind of insanity how much he wanted to keep in contact with her. When he turned his hand and carefully cupped it around the sleeve of the coat in a moment of fondness for how it hid away her hand with its length, trusting his fingers to go no farther than following the fabric down to its cuff. Marianne startled him when she wriggled her hand free from inside and took his before he could draw away again.

“Got you,” the sly grin she flashed him around the collar of his coat left him faltering in his steps, tripping over the twisted root of an oak and nearly falling flat on his face. She tugged on his hand, all smiles when he collected himself, embarrassed and probably redder than the rubies of the treasure horde beneath their feet. As he recovered, Marianne snickered in the dark, her laugh warming from its malice and turning soft as she reached up and brushed a strand of hair from where it hung in his eyes after his trip. Her fingers were still chilled from the water and the night air, cool on his skin but he couldn’t look away from the tender gaze shining through the lingering slyness of her smirk. “The infamous Captain King, falling all over himself ‘cause of a girl!”

Her tease drew him to her, ready to defend himself from his fumble only to freeze the moment he heard Marianne gasping at his sudden proximity. Her hand drew back from his face, hovering warily between them until it closed into a fist and she pulled it to her chest. Tense with dread that may have frightened her, he searched her face, an apology rapidly stitching itself together in his head until he noticed she didn’t seem afraid. For a moment she almost looked as if she was waiting for him to kiss her again, her eyes on his mouth. The stare left his mouth feeling dry and tongue nervously flicking at his lips but he resisted the hooded gaze she gave him, tempting him to follow through with her expectations. Swallowing hard, he mentally checked himself and kept his face schooled when he lingered over her, his thumb giving the hand still clasped in his a careful stroke.

“A girl?” he asked, managing a swallow to soothe his parched throat and peering down at the inviting stretch of her tanned neck where her head was still tilted back to look up at him. “No.” He shook his head, fingers hesitant a moment but then raising and brushing along the fine shape of her cheekbone. “This is a woman and she can bring him to his knees.”

“O-Oh,” she breathed, her throat constricting in a swallow of her own. He started walking again and her moment of breathlessness passed when she realized he wasn’t going to kiss her again. Bog resisted the urge to laugh when he heard a disappointed huff behind him. Marianne regained her place beside him, her hand still in his but that fire of her spirit still burning bright when she punched his arm with her free hand to punish him for his sleight. “You scoundrel.”

“Pirate,” Bog quipped, his footsteps slowing as he found himself savoring the constant warmth of Marianne’s hand intertwined with his. It was an innocent touch, something no different than a child walking with an adult, but it was a kind of connection he hadn’t felt in years. Not since he was a boy, tottering after his mother. Those were simpler times but could he say better? His father was alive, that was the only allure aside from a life before a curse. Much of the past held pain, hardship and misery. The future was uncertain. What it would hold was beyond his comprehension, but the present…he wanted to cling to it. Here, now, he felt like it was possible that Marianne truly cared for him. That she could even want to stay beside him. It was a hope so strong; he wanted to prolong the feeling and nearly dragged his feet just to hold onto it.

Still, even if he had followed in the footsteps of a turtle, there was no avoiding the eventual flickers of lighted torches between the trees. It was late but even after the festivities of the evening prior, the men would still be about, celebrating their long-awaited return with their families or those who were single would drink and rough house until their fellow villagers would eventually cart their drunken carcasses home. There would be no less life in those earthen streets now than there had been before and Bog knew he was going to have to face them. He felt the turmoil of uncertainty seep into his bones the nearer they drew to the firelight, robbing him of his newfound comfort in Marianne’s touch the more he focused on the taunting flames peering in between the foliage.

“Should I let go before they see?”

Her questioning broke through the haze of his inner struggle and Bog blinked away the glare of the flame that chased away the former magic of the moonlight. Her voice had almost sounded hollow when she spoke, her eyes lingering on their hands.

“Don’t you dare.” He growled, pulling her arm closer to him, re-adjusting his grip so that he held it close to his chest, her arm looped under his so that she was partially pressed into his side. “I have nothing to hide from them that they haven’t seen. You are no exception…well…within limits that is.”

She pressed her lips together, hiding something of a smile while holding his coat shut over her chest again. His eyes dipped down to the action and even though she was thoroughly concealed…he remembered all too well what he had unintentionally seen beneath it. The memory poisoned his mind with a dark thought that he immediately dismissed, clearing his throat and shoving more brush aside.

“Let’s go.”

“After you, your majesty.” She teased quietly, the warmth back in her words, much to his relief. Marianne leaned into him, her forehead against his shoulder and he huffed a dry laugh, digging a hand through his damp hair while turning his head away to hide the ridiculous smile that broke his attempt at a stoic mask.

Striding on, Bog escorted her out of the sheltering trees and right onto the footpath leading into the village. They walked together past the torches and through the center of the make-shift town. He smiled to himself when he saw that same fascination cross her face as it had when his mother had first brought her through two days prior. Her head tilting back to observe the town built from the spoils of past excursions, the purple stain of her lips parting in awe, eyes everywhere the further along they went until she trailed away from his body and practically walked a circle around him, taking in the fire-lit center of town. He had no choice but to follow her, their fingers refusing to release. It was amazing how something could catch her attention so well even though she had seen it all before. Was his way of life truly so wondrous to an outsider?

Maybe to a Mainlander…

“Marianne,” he beckoned to her with a soft address of her name and she snapped her head around to look at him. “It’s late…”

“Right!” she breathed, shaking her head and tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. “Right.”

Bog’s eyes narrowed straight again and his face set into his typical frown when he began to see faces peering out of doorways or heads peeking up from their work to catch a glimpse of the obvious spectacle the pair of them had to be. It was no secret where they had been with their wet clothes and Marianne’s obvious new trinket that clacked against her thigh when she walked with a larger stride to keep up with his.

“Well, you certainly have their attention,” she commented in a whisper.

“Only because they’re shocked to see me with a woman.”

“Has it really been so long?” Marianne arched an eyebrow up at him.

“More like…they have never seen it before.”

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When they returned to the cave, Marianne released his hand as she descended down the passage and into the great cavern. Bog trailed along after her, keeping a fair distance while he observed her surveying the empty chamber of the throne room. Her head turned to the far wall and he followed it, seeing how she lingered on the weapons display that had been repaired and set to right by his men since the night before. Marianne stopped walking and he slowly came to a halt behind her, wondering if the weapons display conjured forth the same memory it did for him when he looked upon it. His question was suddenly answered when she turned to him and pushed herself into his chest, her face burying into his shirt while she seized handfuls of the still damp material. Her abruptness caught him off guard and he wavered on his boots before placing his hands on her shoulders, correcting his stance.

“Remember your words on the beach!” She hissed into his chest, startling him. Bog swallowed when he realized just how close she had pressed into him in that moment. He could feel the movement of her lips as she spoke, whispering against the bit of skin his worn shirt exposed. She lifted her head back up, eyes bearing that determined fire he had been gripped by since what must have been day one. “If you take it back I…I really will kill you!”

Somehow her threat held less promise tonight than it did when he was fending off her enraged sword on the decks of the Fenland. It was empty and forced due to her own discomfort. He understood it all too well. His fingers tightened on her shoulders but he could not determine the emotion that inspired the tremor. Bog shook his head and shifted a hand to the small of her back. With his other hand, his fingers touched at her jaw line until he brushed his knuckles against the apple of her cheek, soothing away her weak threat with the reassuring caress. That one stroke softened her eyes and she tried to rise on her toes, craning for him again until he leaned away from her impending kiss. Bog bent low, nestling against the top of the collar of the coat and finding the flesh of her neck beneath it. He slowly nuzzled the skin, taking a slow breath in time with her short gasp at the intimate brush before he shifted to her ear.

“A king’s word is law.”

“But you’re also a pirate. How can I trust you?”

For a moment he wanted to promise her with everything he had…but they would have been as empty as her threat. He wasn’t confident enough, neither in this emotion, nor himself in general.

“You can’t...” he admitted hoarsely near the shell of her ear. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head over her shoulder as he embraced her. Her hands began to cling tighter…

“Sire!”

Bog’s head snapped up and Marianne staggered back from him as suddenly as if he had pushed her himself. It was entirely her own doing and the moment he felt her move he spun around to face the entrance where Stuff was hurrying down the passage. She was gasping for air, winded but still maintaining a chase after Thang, who he hadn’t noticed until he was already nearly reaching them. Thang had always been the faster runner of the two of them. He couldn’t help the urge to roll his eyes at the interruption as he folded his arms and glowered at the two.

But—in a way—he supposed he was also grateful to them for the distraction. He always trusted his own self loathing to save him from ever being in such a predicament that would be a threat to a woman’s virtue but, then again, he never predicted Marianne, did he? If things had continued…

“What is it?” he snapped, the harshness of his captain’s voice righting his racing heart with its cold bite that echoed menacingly off of the cavern walls.

“The stock is ready for Fìor-charaid, sire.” Thang announced with a big grin, clearly pleased with himself when he spoke. “Repairs on the Fenland are on schedule and so some of the villagers worked on preparing the annual distribution. It only awaits your approval before we take it over to the first drop off in the morning.”

Stuff finally caught up and nearly collapsed when she came to a stop beside her companion. She clung to a stitch in her side as she gasped for air, Thang glancing at her with concern but she slapped away his reaching hand and he flinched back with a tiny squeak. Bog sighed. The call of diplomatic obligations was bringing him further back to reality from the rather romantic spell of the evening.

“Will the rest be ready in the next three days?” he asked, looking between the two as Stuff brushed her sweaty bangs out of her face.

“Yes, sire.” Stuff confirmed, elbowing Thang out of the way. “We can get everything to the other islands within the next few days. The repairs should be finished by then.”

“Good,” Bog glanced back at Marianne, who was still standing nearby. A hand clutched at her arm, eyes averted to anywhere else in the cavern until she noticed he was watching her. She lifted her head and offered a wry smile, embarrassed but keeping it contained in the presence of his two lackeys. He turned back to his crew members, more than ready to chase them back out again but even if he did, the mood had already been spoiled. This may have been a good thing. “Gather enough men that can be spared for the transport and tell them to be ready by dawn.”

“Yes sir,” Stuff gave a slight bow, twisting around but not without grabbing Thang by the collar of his shirt and hauling him along with her back the way they had come. She hissed something into her companion’s ear that was obscured by the general grunt of her own voice but he had a feeling she knew exactly what it was they had interrupted even if Thang had been oblivious. Bog kept an eye on their departure, keeping his stance firmly in place until he felt Marianne’s presence at his side. Neither of them moved to touch or attempt to continue where they had left off after the other two made their way out of the throne room.

“What are you planning?” she asked, shifting his coat a bit around herself and slipping her hands into the deep pockets.

“Every time we come home, I bring some of the remaining stock and goods we’ve accumulated to the other islands.” Bog explained, nodding after Stuff and Thang. “I’ll be accompanying the delivery tomorrow but they can handle the rest for the remaining destinations.”

“Why only the first time?”

“Because the lord of the clan on Fìor-charaid has a very particular way of greeting visitors.” Bog smiled to himself, recalling the last time he had been on the smaller island alongside Keyll an Rìgh. He was putting it mildly when he said Meall was ‘particular.’

“May I come along?”

“You’re asking?”

He supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised to hear that she wanted to come. In fact, he would have been disappointed if she didn’t. Chuckling at the request, he nodded as he turned towards the tunnel descending further into the cave, holding out an arm to indicate they walk together down the passage

“I thought you would want to. Always curious, aren’t you, Tough Girl?”

Marianne’s smile was sly. “I have to make sure you don’t run away, remember? I have claim on your life after all.”

Marianne withdrew her sword and flicked the tip of the blade up towards him, lightly tapping the flat of it against his chin and he chuckled at the touch of cold metal. That certainly had nothing to do with why he had given her the sword to begin with but Marianne was not a woman that did as others expected her to do. He clicked his claws on the blade and the steel rang almost like a bell when he flicked it away from his face. Marianne sheathed it with a snicker, looking up ahead of their path. Her smile faded when he came to a stop beside her door. A frown pulled at her lips in its stead, Bog glancing at the door and back to her before he reached out and touched her shoulder.

“What is it? Do you not like the room?”

Her head snapped up, “Oh no! No, the room’s fine!” her hands rose up, waving away the idea, the cuffs of his sleeves flapping about her fingers. “I just…I don’t think I am ready.”

“R-Ready?” Bog balked at her words, his whole body stiffening at her suddenly coy mannerism. What did she think was going to happen that she would have to be ready for? Oh. Panic began to rise a bit in his chest as he stared down at her. “Ready for what?”

“For you to leave.”

“Marianne…” he heaved a sigh of relief, Shutting his eyes, he placed a hand on stone above her door, letting his head hang. This woman was going to be the death of him! “We both need to rest…and I can’t do that if you stay with me.”

“What?” He could hear offense in her tone and could just imagine the face she made in that moment. “Why not?”

He clenched his fingers into a fist against the stone. Curse her ignorance!

“I am very tired.” He lied, lifting his head back up and looking upon her imploringly. “Just—go to sleep.”

Marianne sighed, bracing her hands upon her hips as she rolled her eyes, “Very well, your infernal-majesty.”

“Princess.” He shifted away from the wall and bowed low to her, hands out at his sides. When he straightened back up, Marianne still appeared to be quite irritated with his begging out of lingering together with her. His face softened, “Please understand, Marianne. It is for your own good.”

Somehow his meaning must have gotten though because he noticed a fine coloring beginning to bloom in her cheeks and spreading fast. Even though she seemed embarrassed, Marianne’s brow also began to furrow as if she didn’t understand her own embarrassment. Marianne hunched her shoulders, turning and opening up her door before looking up at him again. When he spotted that dangerous curiosity in her gaze, he nodded towards the room, insisting she continue to go in while he stepped back another step, hands joining behind his back and under his wings to keep from trying to reach for her again.

“Goodnight, Marianne.” He bid softly, turning away from her and beginning the solitary walk back to his chambers. “I will come for you in the morning.”

“You better,” she called after him and he chuckled to the scrape of her door shutting on his retreat.

------------

“Have a nice swim?”

Bog nearly had a heart attack when he had pushed the door to his bedchamber open, only to find his mother right on the other side, arms folded and eyebrows arched expectantly.

“Mother—” Bog growled as he slipped past her and into his chamber. Sneering at her meddling presence, he shoved the door and it slammed shut while his mother hovered just beside the wall, still waiting for him to tell her exactly what he didn’t want to speak about.

“I saw the two of you coming out of those woods and Marianne was just as soaked as you were!” Griselda nagged with a wide grin. “Did you show her the treasury?”

“Yes,” he sat upon the foot of his bed, his damp trousers probably leaving a watermark on his sheets. Instead of worrying about that, he focused on removing his boot and shook sand from the inside to the floor. “I wanted to give her something to thank her for her help with the ship’s repairs. There’s nothing unusual about showing some gratitude, is there?”

“No,” Griselda shrugged her shoulders then observed his face with a tilt of her head. “But what about that stain on your lips?” she grinned and his hand flew to his mouth.
“I thought that didn’t come off!” he wiped at his lips a moment, checking the back of his hand.

Griselda broke into a cackling laugh that reverberated off the stone walls the moment he saw it was clean. Groaning towards the ceiling at his own stupidity and dropping his hand into his lap when he realized she had been playing him. His embarrassment grew as she laughed even louder at his flustered state. Trying to ignore her rather than give her the satisfaction of admitting it aloud what he had done, Bog focused stubbornly on removing his other boot to scrape more sand out of the interior. He should have known she would have devised a way to find out what she wanted to know.

“Sneaking kisses in the secret cove, how sweet.” She sighed as she settled down at last, clasping her hands together near her cheek. “You remind me so much of your father.”

There was nothing sweet about it, he thought with a dry laugh that he concealed from her when he turned away, brushing a clump of sand free of where it had clung to his ankle.

Back in that moment of holding Marianne in his arms, her legs wrapped snug around his hips and arm looped behind his neck to hold him close, he had felt those old, dangerous stirrings inside of him. Not only that but with it came the rousing heat that made his skin feel flushed and certain parts of his body threatening a resurrection from years of dormancy. He had kissed Marianne back with only half the need he had been feeling in that moment. Any more than that and, well…one step at a time.

Marianne was an innocent when it came to physical relations. He knew it when she told him of Roland’s betrayal and how the knight’s manner was like speaking to an ignorant child whenever he was near Marianne. He never kissed her the way she wanted to be kissed, even if she didn’t know she wanted it at the time. Marianne was a very curious woman and she would have at least wanted to try what Roland denied her, had he only known her well enough to attempt it. Now Marianne had unwittingly gotten a taste of what desire is with him of all men! The funny thing about it all, was that that knowledge pleased him and he inwardly enjoyed every moment of it.

Even after the walk back and the spoiling of the evening with his mother’s nagging he found that he was imagining himself back on the sands of the cove. He remembered Marianne’s pull, forcing him to her and the crush of her mouth against his when she took the kiss they had been denying themselves of for weeks. She had been bold and did not flinch when he hoisted her up just to cling to that experience a little longer. He parted his lips to her to see what she would do. What she wanted to do. Her response was the bold graze of her tongue on his the moment he gave her the opening and that was when he truly tasted her. It was a damning taste of euphoria.

He hated stopping but he hated how she fit against him even more. His body still burned where he had felt her sliding down his form, the effort of trying to ignore it exhausting him the longer he fought it. And he had thought it was hard getting over just feeling the skin of her arm before! Now he knew the feel of her body and sweet mercy, he had a forbidden glimpse of how it looked as well! That linen shirt had been useless! He shut his eyes with a frustrated sight when practically felt the press of her breasts on his chest, saw the dark shapes of her nipples through damp fabric before he had the presence of mind to shake the memory out of his head.

His mother was present!

Still…how Marianne could have hidden herself from the crew of the Quelling for six months was beyond him. Even fully concealed by clothing he was aware of her feminine curves, her elegant features, perhaps it was the fierceness in her gaze that misdirected them. Had she tried that stunt on him, her generous hips certainly would have given her away.

“It must have been quite an evening.” Griselda observed. Her arms were still crossed as she raised a smug eyebrow at her son. “You’ve been out of it since you sat down.”
Clearing his throat he looked pointedly at his mother and then the door rather than giving her an answer. There was no knocking that smile off of her face even at the blatant dismissal when he further tried to shoo her away with a wave of his hand. She held her hands up with a chuckle and headed for the opening again but paused just short of the handle.

“Aura is going to love hearing about this!” Griselda laughed before seeming to remember something, cutting it off rather abruptly. She glanced back his way, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Are you going to introduce them?”

“Not if I can help it.” He groused, tossing the boots against the base of the rock wall with a heavy thud each. The sounds echoed off the rock and made his head ache but not nearly as much as having his mother in the room did. “She can’t keep her mouth shut and I know the exact subject all of her conversation will be about if I introduce them.”

“No, but I think Marianne should have an opportunity to meet her. She’s been stuck here for so long, Bog. A little interaction with someone new would do her some good.”

Bog shuddered at what he expected would happen but he had to appease his mother if he wanted any peace for the rest of the night. “I will think about it.”

“Wonderful!” Griselda trilled, throwing her hands up in the air with a broad grin. “I’ll be sure to fill her in and tell her to expect you two soon!”

Bog held up a hand, “Ah—Mother, I said I would think about it! Even if I do agree to this, which I won’t, I already said I would take Marianne to Fìor-charaid tomorrow.”

“That’s a good idea, show her around the islands! Let her get a feel for how things run here. It’ll come in handy in the long run!” Griselda encouraged, opening the door and slipping back into the hall. “Especially if she becomes a permanent resident!”

“Mother, no—“

“Let me know when you can bring her down to meet Aura! Goodnight!” Bog buried his head in his hands with a long suffering groan as his mother shut the door. Once she left he lay back upon his bed, wings spread to avoid the crush of his body and eyes staring at the rough ceiling of the cave.

There was no doubt that his mother fully intended for Marianne to be the solution to his years of loneliness. He saw it coming as soon as he discovered that she was helping Marianne back on the ship and his mother hadn’t given up on it since. Now, after the events of the night washed back over him in full force, he knew that her hopes were not unsupported now. He and his former prisoner had well abandoned the roles of captor and captive. Marianne was now his guest, his friend, and now he feared she was nearly his lover after kissing him on the beach.

A lover? He hesitated to hope. Could it really be possible?

No!

The sudden shriek of the past extinguished the spark of hope before it could even become a flame.

Bog’s hands clapped over his ears as the voice echoed in his head as if it had been shouted down into the walls of the very cave. Gritting his teeth and cursing her memory, he raised his hands and stared at the darkening gray skin still plaguing them. He hardly recognized his own fingers and palms anymore. The bitter memory of screams and wails filling the night sky threatened to frighten away the warmth of Marianne, cold dread settling in his stomach as heavy as a stone. Bog pushed himself upright on the edge of his bed, covering his face then trying to stand when she assaulted him again.

Get away from me!

Barely two steps forward, he threw his hands down in a fit of anger and launched himself at the door. His wings carrying him off the stone in one leap he barely broke his flight as he tore the door open and zipped back up the tunnel through which he had just came. Blinding himself from Marianne’s door, he increased his speed until the cavern walls were nothing but dark blurs. The throne room cavern opened up before him and he altered his path, shooting through the opening in the cave ceiling, the roots and greenery spilling into the hole wavering from the wind of his wings.

How could you?!

“Enough!” he shouted, trying to muffle his ears even though the words were internal.

The night air felt warm when he broke free from underground, folding his wings abruptly behind him and landing upon the ground outside of his cavern home. The moonlight welcomed him back into its gaze, the silvery light trying to soothe him with its soft glow, remind him of what he had just savored moments earlier but he was oblivious to its comfort. The past held on too tight, the curse throbbing in him stronger than his own heartbeat. Bog stumbled barefoot through the brush and much of the nearby marsh, deaf to the wet plunks and squelching caused by his own feet. He roared out his anger into the night as he took flight again and rammed his body into the carcass of a dead tree. The once mighty tree groaned from his violent impact, creaking and snapping before falling over, brittle roots snapping as it pulled from the earth and fell to the ground.

You disgust me!

Landing beside the tree, Bog stood before the dead giant, the light now gone from his eyes. He stared down at the old bark that had dislodged from it, gray and rough on the ground like the very skin on his own body. Darkness crept into his gaze, his hands tensing, fingers clawing and with a snarl that rumbled low in his chest then roaring from his throat, the beast descended upon it.

You monster…

------------

While the accommodations were just as comfortable as they had been the night before, there was restlessness in Marianne that left her unable to sleep in her little bed. She tossed and turned, the nightgown that Griselda had left her felt confining and she tugged and pulled at the collar while pushing the long sleeves up to her elbows. The skirt of it bound her legs and she kicked at it as well as her blankets until she nearly abandoned the article all together. Not wanting to insult Griselda’s kindness, however, she kept it on and eventually forced herself to find an alternative.

Marianne made her bed back up to the light of a small candle that had melted onto a notch in the stone wall. She smoothed out her sheets and laid herself out, keeping her nightgown straight as possible and ignoring the odd burn in the pit of her stomach. She laced her fingers together over her belly and stared up at the flickering light wavering over the ceiling. Even though she was still and not nearly as confined, there was still that odd discomfort that made her feel uncomfortable in her own skin, which alone was enough to leave her nearly writhing all over again. However, her stubbornness was stronger than that and she remained flat upon the bed, focusing on the dark overhead lantern and its shadow stretched out by her solitary candle.

Tonight she had done something she could not take back. Nor did she want to. She kissed a pirate. Not only that, she had felt his eager return and the two of them implied to one another the unwanted emotions that inspired such a moment. She had run away from this feeling, intending to never feel it again as well as developing a way to never have to when she returned to Lumine. Now, however, Marianne was caught up in a strange tide that pulled her away from her original intentions, leading her on to something that felt much more dangerous but also exhilarating.

Turning her head, she regarded the sword where it was propped against the wall beside her bed. The silver pommel glinted and winked at her and she smiled, fondly reaching out and touching at the hand guard. The touch of metal reminded her of the water-cooled temperature of Bog’s skin when she had embraced him, her thighs clenched at the memory of feeling the hard bones of his hips pressing into them and she trembled, alarmed by her own body’s reactions. As far as she remembered, she never felt like this when Roland was courting her. It was unusual and…thrilling…but mostly unfamiliar. The newness of it all forced her to turn to her side and curl into herself, covering her face with her hands and groaning into her palms.

“What’s wrong with me?” She peeked through her fingers at the sword once more, wishing it would have an answer. It didn’t, of course. It only stood steadfast against the wall, a ready weapon should she feel the need to use it and yet entirely unnecessary. Had he given it to her weeks ago, Marianne would have very likely killed him by now and tried to escape back to Lumine. However, now that she had fallen in…adoration with not only the captain but his crew and his very way of life, there was no danger for her now. Only the distant threat of the unknown consequences for her actions could bring her any unease in his island home. And she felt it. Repercussions would unfold after the events of this evening. She only hoped she would be ready when they came.

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His hands ached, small scratches marring the skin with tiny beads of fresh blood seeping through. Bog flexed his fingers, hissing at the sting in them as he checked for any serious damage. The old scratch in his palm caught his attention, scabbed over and nearly healed with a pale line just at the edge where the scar had begun to form at the shallowest point. It was the remains of the cut that had sliced through his glove after catching Marianne’s blade back on the Fenland. The day her sister had been rescued by the soldiers of Lumine and they had fought to the point of near exhaustion.

How long had it been since that day? How long since he cared how much time had passed?

Clenching his teeth, he straightened up from his crouch. Splinters of wood and bits of bark fell from his shirt and dislodged from wrinkles in his trousers. He brushed more from his sleeve, taking in the damage he had inflicted on the downed tree. There was little structure left to the old carcass, broken pieces of wood lay in chunks at his feet with shattered branches crushed into the dirt. There were claw marks gouged into what remained of the trunk, his fingers remembering the drag of the wood’s resistance against his nails.

Grinding his heels in the dust of debris, Bog pivoted and regarded the yawning opening of the cave behind him. He could just see into his throne room, little glimmers of light refracted from wet stone and torches flickering, creating dancing shadows. He spotted his throne still mostly in darkness and the mouth of the tunnel leading deeper into the depths of his cave-born castle. He had led Marianne down that tunnel moments ago and left her to rest in her room.

Marianne.

Bog closed his eyes and sighed, recalling her troubled expression when she dreaded him taking back what had passed between them. Her painful eyes stabbed him with all the sharpness of a cutlass. What would she think if she had seen him now? The curse was not only the modification of his body but a creature born of his anger and self-loathing. He felt that she had seen it before, though not what it was capable of. If she did, though, if she knew why he had the reputation he did at sea, would she still want him to never take back what had happened on the beach?

Even so, Bog knew he couldn’t take it back. She already knew the truth anyway. She knew that he loved her even if he never said the direct words. Marianne knew that he, a cursed pirate and a king with no recognized title to his name, loved her and she had accepted him. Where he was met with refusal and a cringing gaze the first time he said that he loved a girl, Marianne was the contrary. She had smiled at him, caressing his ugly face with gentle fingers, stroking his disfiguring wings and kissing his scarred lips. When her warmth had lingered at his side, he had been happy. The ghost of the past couldn’t haunt him when she was near.

He paced in the moonlight, letting it finally reach him. He tried to preserve the memory of Marianne’s hands against his face, her pull and the comforting kiss that turned hot with her ignorant longing. Hold on to that moment of happiness; cling to it if he had to. Anything to keep that anger at bay. It would probably be all that he would have when it all came to an end anyway.

“You’re a fool.” He whispered to himself. It was true enough.

Had she been some lord’s daughter or a peasant girl, hell, even a servant like his mother had been, he could have offered for her to stay with them. To live this life with him, sail and fight at his side, even if the illusion of love faded, at least he could hope to call her a friend in the end. But she wasn’t.

That weary fact that Marianne was heir apparent threatened him all over again. She was the future queen of Lumine and even with a sibling as a possible candidate; he doubted Marianne would abdicate the throne for him. She was too strong to give in to such a frivolous idea now. It was why she ran in the first place, to gain strength for facing her fears and preparing herself for the burden of leading a country without relying on a man to do it for her. She was going to be a powerful queen one day and he was far from worthy of the sacrifice. He would be damn proud of her though, no mistake.

Bog kicked another chunk of wood away from himself, disregarding its path where it struck another tree out of his sight. He brought this upon himself. The king didn’t want to fall in love, neither did Marianne, yet there they both were with the same predicament. He had managed to steer the monster into taking his anger out on the dead tree but his self loathing still burned strong the longer he thought about what he had done. What they had done.

It was all for nothing, for when the day comes and Marianne is left with a choice between her loyalty to Lumine or her feelings for Bog; he knew which she would choose. It was only a matter of time before she would come to realize this herself and until that time came, there was nothing he could do but wait. Wait and try to treasure the time he had left with her until that dreaded day arrived.

------------

Meanwhile, far across the sea…

It was hard to get used to the constant swaying of the Morning Glory as the ship sailed well into the night. Roland staggered a bit with the rocking of the floor beneath him, trying to regain his footing before he stood in front of the door to the captain’s cabin. It was the only part of the ship where he wanted to go, the floors below the least of his concerns since he had no business with the men who worked down there. The lower levels had storage, the kitchen—or whatever it was called on a ship—and then there were the quarters of the sailors but they didn’t even have their own rooms down below. He disliked the idea of sharing his sleeping space with another man so nearby and was grateful he was given a place in an officer’s cabin thanks to his position of heading the search for Marianne.

The ship leaned again, forcing him to angle himself the other way compensate for the shift before he tugged his uniform jacket straight and opened the door to the captain’s cabin without knocking. He stepped inside and shut the door, keeping his fingers on the latch to steady himself against another wave while covering his instability by greeting the men who were gathered before him.

“Gentlemen.”

All the murmurs of conversation died at the sound of his voice, the six men gathered at the table looking up to him. Jacob Ross, the captain’s first mate, paused in the middle of refilling his glass of wine, the dark beverage still trickling from the bottle lip until he set it down and returned the stopper. Captain Evans took a careful sip out of a pewter cup, clinking it back upon the table when it was empty. Even though Roland smiled, each man appeared ill at ease with him standing in their presence. They were all wary of him calling this late night meeting long after the royal family and most of the men had gone to bed.

“Are you certain the King should not be involved in this meeting, Roland?” Captain Evans asked at last, his fingers toying with his cup and twisting it in a circle.

“Don’t worry, captain,” Roland waved off the man’s concern as he walked around the table and stood beside the only empty chair left. “This is an informal meeting so we have no need to involve the king. I merely wanted to discuss the plan on how we intend to rescue Marianne. I am, after all, her fiancé and I want her to be brought home safe, alive and most of all, secure in the knowledge she will never be hunted down by these pirates again.”

“About that,” Higgins, another man at the table who was in the blue, white and gold of the Lumine’s naval uniform but Roland couldn’t remember what his station was, spoke up. He was all at sea when it came to things nautical after all. Ranks hardly mattered to him when he was a knight and Marianne’s fiancé. His rank was one higher than any of the men in the tight little cabin. That was all he needed to know.

“What is it?” Roland pulled his chair out and lowered himself into it. “I’m all ears.”

Higgins shifted in his chair, leaning back into it and casting a weary look at the captain across the table. Evans nodded his head to give him leave to speak and he took a deep breath. He collected his thoughts before finally looking to Roland again.

“Back in Lumine, you said that you wanted to eliminate these pirates once and for all.”

“I did, yes.” Roland leaned back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“If that is the case…that would require a full scale attack on the Fenland, Sir Roland. Is that to be considered safe when the royal family is aboard the Morning Glory? Any sort of attack would be a danger to not only them but to Princess Marianne as well. Not to mention the rest of us would all be at risk. The Fenland has a very nasty reputation for overpowering many vessels over the years under the captaincy of King. The Morning Glory herself was nearly sank by him upon their last meeting. It was a miracle she survived the voyage back to Lumine!”

“Higgins is right, Roland.” Evans tapped the bottom of his cup upon the table thoughtfully. “Are you willing to put the lives of us, the royal family, and your own fiancé’s at risk?”

Roland saw the other men nodding their heads, clearly concerned about the safety of their monarchy and the crew sailing along with them. He understood the worry they must have felt. They must keep the royal family safe at all costs now that the king had made the decision to come with them out to sea. Without them, the country would fall into chaos in the pursuit of another ruler. With no surviving heirs, the neighboring countries would soon attempt to make their claim upon it and when no one could make a decision, war would break out to determine who would win Lumine over. No one in this room wanted their beloved country to fall into a war over such a reason.

Had Marianne married Roland on the actual day of their wedding, this dread would have been unnecessary. As husband to Marianne, should anything have happened to the royal family, the rule would have passed down to him. There would have been no fuss over who would lead the people and keep Lumine safe. It was ideal at the time that such circumstances would be in his favor but now, without his marriage to the crown princess, he had no hope to become king. That, however, would change once he rescued Marianne from Captain King. Just the simple fact he had come to her rescue twice should have been enough to convince her that he still loved her and wanted to marry her. Women loved it when you showed loyalty like that.

“Trust me; I understand you’re all concerned about King Dagda and his family.” Roland said indulgingly, waving a hand without realizing it looked as if he were dismissing the safety of the royal family entirely. The gesture drew a deep frown across Jacob’s face but another sailor put a hand to his arm to stay off whatever it was he intended to say. Roland continued on, oblivious. “Rest assured, gentlemen, the pirates will present no threat when we find them.”

“What proof do you have of this?” Captain Evans asked, straightening up slightly. “You have seen firsthand what those pirates are capable of!”

Roland held up a finger with a confident smile.

“I have it on good authority that Captain King will soon know that we are coming to reclaim Marianne.” He glanced around the table, spotting the confusion now written on the faces around him, “King keeps an eye on the sea. He has a network of spies scattered through the Mainlands, hiding in plain sight to keep him informed. No doubt they have already attempted to communicate with him that we have left Lumine to head to the middle ground in order to pay Marianne’s ransom. He should know we are coming and if not now, he will know soon. Remember on our rescue mission for Princess Dawn, they were prepared for us. I have no doubt they will be ready to receive us again and in a very similar way when we come for Marianne. They will not attack us when King knows there is ransom money aboard.”

“We have reports of King nearly opening fire on the Clear Bell until he was stopped by Princess Marianne herself!” George Alden, another naval man, finally spoke. Roland recognized him as being on the Clear Bell when they went to save Dawn. “Several of my men witnessed her attacking him before he could give the command to open fire. How do you know he will not do it again?”

“You can’t trust a pirate to be honorable, Sir Roland.” Higgins said grimly.

With that said, Captain Evans remained quiet and now he crossed his own arms. Roland saw he was beginning to close himself off to the plan he had originally spoken to him about back in Lumine and Roland sighed, tilting his head back to the ceiling. Fine then. He knew what to do.

Rising to his feet, Roland left the table and went to the door, standing just beside it before wrapping the wood with two knuckles. The door immediately opened and a man was suddenly pushed inside, stumbling and falling to the floor in a cloud of dust left over from the warehouse in which his men had originally obtained him back in Lumine. Ian, one of his more trusted me, gave him a brief nod before he pulled the door shut again, leaving Roland to face the table of naval men and the smelly lump still lying on the floor.
He was a dirty, scrawny little thing with matted hair tanned skin that was still red from sunburn on his neck and ears when. Roland remembered when he was first arrested that the man looked like he could barely even support the weight of his own restraints. Now, he didn’t seem to be handling it any better. Roland wrinkled his nose at the unkempt smell of him, nudging him forward with his boot until the man finally managed to get to his feet and stand in front of those still seated at the table. Clapping a gloved hand on the man’s shoulder, he felt him nearly buckle under the force of the strike.

“Meet Gus.” Roland presented him to the men. “An informant of Captain King’s.”

“Captain King truly has informants?” Higgins asked, rising slowly from the table.

“Indeed, sir, he does.” Roland confirmed, releasing Gus. “Clearly anyone can buy loyalty as long as they have the coin for it...even a filthy pirate.”

Gus suddenly turned on Roland with an almost feral hiss, startling him into stumbling back a few steps to avoid the nasty breath blasted his way. George jumped up from his seat and detained Gus with firm hands seizing his arms before he could get too close to Roland. The moment he was there, however, Gus didn’t resist him. He stood perfectly still and only glared at Roland.

“I am only loyal to my king!” He spoke with a dry voice but it held plenty of spirit in spite of his weary appearance.
“You are a traitor to your king.” Roland countered, tugging at his jacket again and brushing his vest off with the sweep of his hand. “Why else would you commit treason by sending off information to a dangerous criminal?”

“Dagda is no king of mine!” Gus scoffed before spitting at Roland’s boots. He jumped away from the saliva before it could strike them. “I only serve the King of Eìleanch de Lόnach!”

“What was that now?” Roland asked, squinting at the guttural words coming out of Gus’s mouth.

“The Islands of the Marshes?” Captain Evans was suddenly on his feet. “I thought everyone had forgotten about that place!”

Gus threw his head back with a dry laugh, turning to look at the captain and ignoring George when he tightened his grip on his arms. “You were still nursing off your mum’s teet when your War of the Isles took place, pup.” He mused before his cocky smile turned to suspicion and he tilted his head to the side. “What do you know of it?”

“Enough to know that the Mainlands eradicated their rebellion twenty years ago,” Captain Evans glowered at Gus.

“Rebellion?” Gus arched a dusty eyebrow. “Is that what your people call it?”

Roland remembered learning about War of the Isles. Something about a union of islands that thought they should have been on equal terms with the Mainlands just because they thought they had a king of their own. This “king” Whatever-his-name-was, supposedly appealed to the Mainlands to have his archipelago be joined in with their alliance but with the islands far outside of their normal trade routes, none of the monarchs of the united countries saw fit to extend them to a patched up nation of small islands with nothing to offer. He also remembered that the islands had no real monarchy until recently (at the time, anyway) and there was no history of nobility in those wild lands to support the idea that a true king could even come from there.

He heard that not long after the king was not recognized by the Mainlands, he tried to summon up some kind of army to attack the Mainlands in revenge for their rebuttal. However, the king of Nox got wind of the planned attack and the Mainlands dispatched their ships to nip the rebellion in the bud. There are no real accounts of the attacks that happened across the sea but it wasn’t until Lumine sent the Morning Glory that the war ended and the Islands of the Marshes faded into distant memory. It was only a mentioning in a child’s history lesson now.

He was impressed that he even remembered it, to be honest.

“Many sailors lost their lives to the wild men of the isles.” Jacob said reverently. “On land and sea, those people attacked them without mercy.”

“So says you.” Gus shook his head slowly. “I was there. I saw what your sailors did my people. We were an infant nation finally at peace with ourselves, united under one banner after centuries of being apart. The royal family I knew got their hands dirty with the rest of us, breaking their backs to make sure our people were taken care of and had a nation that we and our children after us could be proud of. Then…this boat, this ship of death descended upon us.”

“Spare us your propaganda.” Roland groaned, reaching over and grabbing up a length of some of the chain binding Gus’s legs and arms to the irons.

“Wait.”

Gus looked to Evans and Roland peered around his head, seeing that the captain didn’t seem to be offended like the others in the room. His face was conflicted, warring over his thoughts when he came around the table and Gus twisted to face him, ignoring George’s hand grasping his arm for extra measure. Evans stood boot to bare toe with the man and Gus tilted his head back to maintain eye contact with a steadfast gaze.

“Why do you call the Morning Glory a ship of death?”

Roland rolled his eyes. He didn’t bring Gus in here to spin tales of his perception of the past. He brought him in here to prove a point but Captain Evans was young and he was curious. He decided to let the young man hear what Gus had to say but hoped that he kept it brief.

“Because, captain, your ship here was the one who led the armada that killed over eight hundred innocent men, women, and children.” Gus explained, stepping forward and putting himself in the captain’s face. “Your fine lady here? She’s the flagship in the massacre of Dùil Acarsaid.”

Evans’s face paled.

“Captain Evans,” Roland released the chain when moved to stand beside Gus, shifting his grip so that he only held onto one of his arms. “With your permission I would like to remove this man back to the brig.”

Evans snatched up Jacob’s wine, downing it in one go before he dropped the cup back upon the table.

“Permission granted.” He gurgled before clearing his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Alden.”

“Deny it all you like, captain. It’s all true.” Gus chuckled. George then proceeded to escort him back to the door and yanked it open. Ian was still waiting on the other side, his body stiffening in the presence of an officer as George passed him over to him.

“Take him away.” Roland instructed and Ian obeyed, hauling Gus away. George shut the door again and the two of them returned to the table. Evans hadn’t returned to his seat yet but Roland sat himself down easily. “So, back to what we were originally discussing then?”

“You were making your point that Captain King knows we are underway.” Jacob sighed, glancing at Captain Evans who had gone to the window, pushing it open and taking a deep breath of the sea air. Clearly something had affected him since Gus had been in the room. That or he just wanted to air the cabin out of the smell that seemed to linger even without Gus in the room. In that case, Roland couldn’t have agreed more with a little ventilation.

“Indeed he does, thanks to his little network of informants.”

“Does that not mean that he could know we carry the royal family with us as well?”

“According to Gus, that’s very likely. King’s spies are very thorough in what they send to him.”

“How do you know he will not attack then? What pirate could resist the amount of coin he could receive in having a country’s king and heirs at his mercy?”

“He won’t attack until we separate the ships after the exchange, if he even plans to at all.” Roland explained. “We simply need to make sure he doesn’t have the chance to make that happen.”

“Tell them, Roland!” All eyes darted to the window where the captain still stood, taking in the air. Captain Evans didn’t turn away from the window but Roland clearly heard the resignation thinly veiled in his words. “Tell them the plan.”

I knew he would eventually see it my way in the end…

“Well then, gentlemen!” he spread his arms out wide, trying to dispel the unease still hanging heavily over them in the room with the promise of a brilliant solution for the demise of the dreaded pirate Captain King. “Let me tell you exactly what I have planned for Captain King and his dear little boat the Fenland.”

Chapter Text

Bog came for her just as he said he would.

Marianne was dressed and she was unnecessarily armed and ready before she even heard the soft tapping on her door. Having had enough time to wake herself up from the groggy state she had been in as well as aided by the natural sweetness of a fruit Griselda brought her for breakfast, Marianne found herself rather...perky this morning. She practically flew to the portal at the sound of Bog’s presence, eager to open the door and smiling when she found him on the other side, his head ducked down to peek under the low lip of the opening.

For a moment he looked weary, almost like she felt whenever confronted by a cheerful Dawn early in the morning. Had she really looked so different in the course of a few hours? Her chest was immediately tight with dread that last night’s events had undone the past months she had spent steeling herself to love and reverted her back into the silly lovesick girl she had been before. The thought made her inwardly cringe at herself and she tried to tamp down the overeager smile that probably made her look ridiculous. When she met his gaze after controlling herself, he looked thoughtful at first, his lips working together then slowly drawing back into a warm smile that softened his sharp features. The sight of that smile was enough to contradict that dread that had settled heavy in her stomach and her heart practically burst through her own control and plaster that silly grin on her face all over again. She walked into him, her hands seeking out his embrace and heard the soft gasp of his breath when she finally had her arms around him before his hand settled against the small of her back.

“I’m sorry, I was beginning to think that you-”

“No,” he interrupted as he withdrew his hand, pulling the brim of his hat a little lower over his eyes when they parted. “I did not.”

“Good.” She reached up and prodded the brim back up with her fingertip. “Because I would have hated to start my morning off with a murder.”

He chuckled at that.

Marianne brought his other coat back to him before they set off, Bog running his hand over the material a moment as they walked through the tunnel. She walked beside him, listening to the rush of the little stream under their feet while letting her arm brush against his as they went. He was in full gear this morning, wearing another coat and his familiar hat down to his gloves, he looked every bit the pirate she had first met on the Fenland with the exception of a much gentler expression that he bore whenever she peered into his face. It was an expression she felt would harden once they left the safety of his caves and entered into the company of his crew. For now she savored the timid glances he cast towards her, the jittery fidget of his fingers as he continued to fiddle with the coat and the occasional clearing of his throat to try and settle his clearly risen nerves.

Neither of them were very good with this affection in the light of day, it seemed.

Griselda was in the throne room, sipping from a goblet while they passed by and Marianne could see her eyes glinting over the rim. It was obvious she was smiling at them behind the glass and Bog must have noticed it too. He grumbled something too low for Marianne to hear before tossing his coat to his mother. Griselda’s head tilted back in a cackle as she slung the fabric over her shoulder, the dry sound of it almost malicious as it echoed off of the cavern walls and followed them out the mouth before it finally faded into the morning air.

The walk through the forest to the village only saw a few awkward bits of conversation that sounded as dull as afternoon tea and left both of them laughing at themselves for their rigid behavior by the time Bog indicated another route on the path that she hadn’t been taken through before. This one led north compared to the other routes, away from the cove where the ships were anchored but not much farther from the archipelago’s treasure hold. This direction led them through more marsh, the two of them slogging through until they emerged on a wide stretch of path where a couple of men from the Fenland were gathered.

“We will be heading to the nearest island today,” Bog finally explained, seeming to find his courage in the presence of his men again.

Marianne spotted Stuff pushing Thang in the same direction they were headed while the man staggered with his thin arms full of boxes. Stuff soon stood back watching him with her arms folded, head shaking but Marianne could have sworn she saw a hint of an affectionate smile. When she tried to look again, however, Stuff’s disapproving expression reigned supreme once more. Brutus hoisted a large barrel up onto his shoulder, two children at his feet looking up in awe while he smirked and made a point to only support it with one hand when he carried it off. He clearly reveled in their admiration but kept his expression schooled as he fell in step with other crew members that were carrying crates and barrels of varying sizes up the same pathway.

“What is this island called?” Marianne asked; cringing when Thang tripped over a root and the little crates he had been carrying scattered across the ground in heavy, scraping thuds. Bog rolled his eyes at the fumble, shaking his head as Thang scrambled to his feet to pick them up again.

“They’re ok!” he called out to no one in particular as they passed him.

“Fior-charaid,” Bog finally answered once Thang had his items in order. A boy helped him by picking up a small crate, eagerly chasing after Brutus into the brush.

“Feeor…” Marianne tried to repeat the name but paused, glancing up at him and frowning the moment she saw that conniving smile on his face that told her she was already saying it wrong.

“Are any of these islands called something a Mainland person could pronounce?” She huffed. “What does that even mean?”

“Sire,” Stuff interrupted him before he could say and he turned to her, the openness of his expression closing off once more. Marianne glanced around his form at Stuff, sharing some of that ire while she handed him a piece of parchment. “Everything has been equally divided and is ready to be transported.”

“Good,” Bog folded up the sheet and slid it into an inner pocket of his coat. “I’ll go there now and—help Thang with those, will you? He’s going to break something at this rate!”

“Yes, sire.” Stuff sighed, glancing at Marianne and then her king with a knowing look before turning away to go do as she was told. She would have been a simpleton to miss the specific look the woman gave her before heading out. Marianne felt the urge to squirm and shuffled her feet a bit in the dirt. Stuff really was very perceptive.

They continued up the same path that the others had taken with the cargo. She could still hear their footsteps ahead of them and wondered how far they would be walking across the island to get to their predicted point. Marianne still had no conception of just how big the King’s Island really was after all. They had strayed rather far from the village last night to get to the treasure cove and this direction seemed to have a rather lengthy walk of its own. They passed a man taking a breather, leaning his weight upon the small barrel he had been rolling along but snapped back to work the moment he saw his king approaching.

“So, how are you going to get everything to the next island?” Marianne asked, joining her hands together behind her back but she let her shoulder graze his arm. There was a flash of blue beneath his hat and she knew he had looked at her after the touch but feigned innocence. Eventually his hand rest over her head and she smiled a little wider when it trailed down to cup the back of her neck, thumb brushing aside the straggled strands of her hair and created little circles against her skin while they walked.

It was a surprisingly intimate gesture that she hadn’t expected from him. The sensation of his thumb pushing down the collar of her shirt to rub a little lower made her grin lazily, turning her face to the morning sun filtering through the trees. Had she been a cat, she could have purred if only they hadn’t been walking.

“There are boats for the supplies to be taken across,” he explained, his thumb trailing back up to a safer spot to still against her neck. She missed the caress of it immediately.

“I have a different option.” She gazed up at him saw the look he gave her through the shadow of his hat’s brim. “This curse has its uses aside from intimidating Mainland sailors, you know.”

A little zing of anticipation lanced through her and she grinned at his vague words, already translating their meaning. Bog intended to fly over there! Childish giddiness accompanied her anticipation to see him fly again. The thought of flying had always been fascinating to her after all. As a child she dreamed of it. With all of the stories of the royal family being the descendants of fairies, little Marianne expected to grow wings and fly off of her balcony daily. Unfortunately, fairy blood or none, she had been left grounded for life and had been very disappointed. Now, however, now there was a chance to satisfy that girlhood longing if he would just take her with him.

“Getting excited?”

“Is it that obvious?” she self consciously touched at her face, feeling her lips and discovering just how much she was smiling.

“Subtlety is not one of your strong points,” he chuckled, his hand moved up, fingers combing through her hair once more before dropping away.

“I don’t think I need to hide my excitement. I haven’t had a chance to fly with you before.”

“Whoa, with me?” he paused, staring down at her.

“Of course!” Marianne crossed her arms, cocking an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m going to let you fly over there without me, do you?”

“Well,” Bog’s hand found its way to the back of his neck. “Flying might not be as enjoyable as you think it is.”

“No?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to take one of the boats with the rest of the crew?”

Marianne reached out and grabbed his arm with firm fingers. “You can’t be serious!”

Bog surprised her when he laughed rather than argued, the sudden dry bark of it reminding her of Griselda’s laugh. Marianne couldn’t help grinning even though she was supposed to be persuading him. Bog laid his gloved hand over the one grasping his arm.

“Remember what I told you last night?”

She couldn’t help the heat that warmed her cheeks in that moment as she remembered exactly what happened last night. He leaned in closer to her and she lifted her gaze to meet his while he lingered near, the brim of his hat now grazing the top of her head when he came nearly nose to nose with her. It wasn’t the first time he had been this close but it didn’t stop the thundering of her heart at his proximity.

“I can deny you nothing,” he whispered before drawing back and she caught his hand in hers before he could slip too far out of her reach. She held fast to his hand, unwilling to let it go for the next several paces. When caught up with the group again, however, Marianne reluctantly released him to allow him some distance while he checked in with the men on the supplies.

I am being ridiculous…

Marianne looked down at her traitorous hand. She clenched it into a fist and forced it to her side, her face clouding as she mentally ridiculed herself. Was six months at sea, masqueraded as a man and hating men in general not enough to shake the silly, love struck little princess out of her? That same poisoning giddiness had plagued her all morning since Bog had come to find her. Now, in the presence of the same men that had once jeered at her through the bars of a brig’s cell, self respect called her to her senses. She steeped in her own thoughts, glancing at Bog where he was still talking to Daunt and Scully, other men beginning to load the cargo into one of the three boats dragged partially onto the shore. Without him looking her way she found it easier to push aside that girlish longing to be beside him and instead let her mind wander.

Before her was a beach with pulverized rocks half buried in the same coarse sands like that of the treasure cove. The ocean was shockingly blue, even more so than Bog’s eyes and she took comfort in being able to flatter the sea’s more brilliant shade in that moment.

Striding down the shore she stopped just shy of the lapping waves, checking the toes of her muddy boots where they rest just short of the wet glisten of the water-licked rocks. With dryness assured she raised her head and regarded the sea before them. Out beyond the shallows she saw that there were three islands within sight of the some-what narrow channel. Out of the three, she could only catch a partial view of two but there was another directly across from where they now stood. It was of much smaller size than that of the King’s Island but intimidating cliffs barred any sign of immediate entry onto its land. The water had eroded away at the stubborn rock but the island remained mostly aloft over its persistence as if it was set upon a pillar.

“Enjoying the view?”

The low pitch of Stuff’s voice drew her attention and she twisted around in time to see her setting down the crate she had been carrying under Bog’s previous orders. She brushed off her shirt a moment before waddling over to her side, indicating the water-beaten island. “That is Fior-charaid. In their language it means ‘a true friend’. It’s also the island we’re heading to today.”

“That’s the island?” she raised an eyebrow before looking back at the intimidating cliff. “I don’t see anywhere you can haul in the boats.”

“We have to row around to the Northwestern part of the island around the main ledge you see there.” She pointed it out to Marianne as she spoke, guiding her eyesight by leaning in close so she could see down the length of her arm to the exact spots she mentioned. “You can’t see if from here but once you round the cliffs you can see where the island slopes down to the sea. It’s a little slippery on that side because of the algae growth in the shade but it doesn’t take as long as it would if we went the other way. Besides, the leader of the clan on that island doesn’t like it when visitors get the drop on him.”

“Not a big fan of surprises, is he?”

“Only if he’s the one doing the surprising.” Stuff chuckled, her eyes darting back to Thang as he wobbled from side to side, his boots slipping on the uneven rocks underfoot.

“The first king found out the hard way that you don’t surprise their people. It ends up with a lot of broken bones.”

“What?” Marianne balked.

“They’re a very physical clan.”

“Stuff!” Bog’s voice shot over the sound of the waves almost as sudden as a gunshot and in the blink of an eye the savvy woman was hurrying off to him. Marianne watched her go to Bog, tilting her head to the side as they spoke. Now that he had her attention, Bog’s sharpness seemed to ebb and he was talking to her calmly now that they were face to face. It looked conversational even if Stuff was inclining her head a little more towards him than she had to anyone else. Maybe it was just because she was mindful of his authority.

Now that she thought about it, the people of Bog’s crew seemed a bit more skittish around him than the people living on his island. She had seen a bit of a contrast in how one interacted with the other and it left her wondering what created the difference. Bog seemed to be a rather benevolent ruler to his people. A man who protected them and gifted them with whatever they wanted in exchange for nothing but their loyalty. His crew, however…they were witness to what lengths this man would go to in order to ensure his kingdom survived. They knew he was capable of cruelty just as the rest of the world beyond these islands. She should have known it as well. He did, after all, kidnap her sister and nearly sank the Morning Glory.

Her hand rubbed uncomfortably at her arm. Her thoughts clouded from the morning sun by the fog of past encounters with the man she held such…affection for. She could overlook the fight for the Tormenta and even almost forgave him for kidnapping Dawn but what of the night he nearly threw one of his men overboard? She still remembered how frantically the man had begged for him not to do it, his crew standing by in silent anguish and then her hands grasping at him, words seeming to fall on deaf ears for almost too long. It was that moment she thought someone else had been standing there. Someone else that had been controlling Bog’s actions. His eyes had gone dark, as if devoid of any feeling.

Would he have drowned that man if she didn’t stop him?

“You’re second-guessing something.”

Marianne felt a hand at her shoulder, glancing at the gloved fingers cupped over it. The sight of it chased away the memory and her hand betrayed her will. She reached for it, grasping it and removed it from her shoulder but only to turn and face Bog. He looked down at her but even the brim of his hat could not hide his eyes from her when she looked up into his face. They were light and filled with wariness, his lips pressing together with that same reservation that he tried to hide as a scowl. This was Bog. This was the man she let herself gravitate to and not the cold, unfeeling creature that seemingly possessed him that night. Her hidden anguish melted and she smiled up at him, watching his face relax with relief.

“I’m doing no such thing.” She said primly, squeezing his hand. “Now, are you going to fly me with you to that island willingly or am I going to have to make you?”

“I’d love to see you try.” Bog’s crooked grin made her heart sing all over again and she nearly gagged on the rush of emotion. Still, as long as there was banter like this…feeling this way wasn’t so bad.

“You would, wouldn’t you?”

He swallowed hard then cleared his throat. “Well, no need for that today, I already decided I would do this. Whenever you’re ready that is.”

Marianne saluted him. “Ready whenever you are, captain.”

They rejoined the rest of the group and Bog proceeded to assign men to the three boats. Thang appeared a little distressed to be on board with Scully, who gave him an impish grin before slapping him on the back. Stuff had no complaints going with Brutus and Fang, appearing quite satisfied when Brutus picked her up and set her into the boat, sparing her from getting her feet wet or even having to step inside herself. Marianne couldn’t help but notice that Thang appeared a little sullen at the sight of it before Scully hauled him off with an arm locked around his neck.

Crates, barrels, bags and boxes were stacked into the center of each longboat and the sailors boarded, the little boy who had followed Brutus earlier was eagerly watching from the rocks as they readied their oars to begin their excursion. With the boats scraping down the rocks and into the waves, Bog now turned to Marianne once more.

She looked up at him, his hands touching at her face a moment before she looked down at his coat. She raised her eyes back to him, reaching out and hooking her thumbs beneath the lapels of the coat. Pushing it open, Bog’s eyes dropped to her hands, brows rising but he lowered his arms while she spread it wide. He let her press it over his shoulders and shrugged it down his arms for her while she held onto it before it could fall to the sand and rocks. She held it behind him, her arms braced around his own and leaving little space left between them.

Her smile grew impish as a faint color rose into his cheeks at the position they now stood in but she broke him of the discomfort. Stepping away, she flapped out his coat and folded it in half before draping it over her arm. With a sigh, Bog rolled his shoulders, stretching out his neck and angling his head a bit as his wings shuddered to life from their dormancy down his back. They slowly lifted and stretched out to their full length before he gave them a quick shake to warm them up.

“I haven’t really flown anyone before…at least not for more than a few seconds.” He reminded her as she came back to him, “I know I can’t talk you out of this, but you will not hold it against me if I’m terrible at it.”

“Actually, I’m flattered that I get to be your first for something.” Marianne looked down at his boots then up into his face. “How should we do this?”

“Well,” she heard the falter in his voice that often accompanied his more awkward moments and it left her rolling her eyes but only because if she didn’t she would have felt giddy all over again. “When I first started, I had to work on keeping my legs up, otherwise they would dangle and it threw off my balance. Maybe, for now, I could just carry you.”

“That sounds like a plan. I’d hate for you to have me hang onto your ankles or something silly like that.”

He rolled his eyes now before leaning into her and she let him wrap an arm behind her back, bending down and using his other arm to lift her behind her knees. She tried not to grow stiff when he held her in his arms, holding his coat to her chest and unable to look away from his face wrapped up in concentration. There was no effort in lifting her, merely the focus to keep her secure and she was grateful for his consideration.

Giving his shoulders one more roll, Bog’s wings began to flap. The frequency of the flapping increased until she heard the familiar hum they created once they were at full speed. Bog raised a foot and pushed off of a rock, alighting into the air. The moment he was off the ground, Marianne suddenly felt the entirety of her own weight sagging into his arms. He didn’t even seem to notice it but she was left stiffening, her eyes darting down to watch as the ground suddenly shrank away and the once clear rocks of the beach became smudges on a tan shoreline. Bog angled himself toward the other island and she felt herself tilt forward in his arms but his fingers tightened, caging her to his chest before she even remotely felt like she could have been slipping.

Wind and the constant hum of his wings roared in her ears and she marveled at how fast they seemed to be moving over the channel below. The longboats, even with their head start, were still barely yards from the shore where they had pushed off and Bog was already gaining ground on their destination. He flew over the waters with all the ease of a bird in the sky, his attention solely on his destination but Marianne could feel how his fingers tensed and relaxed where they were settled against her body. To be honest, she was probably just as aware of his touch as he was.

Remnants of that odd restlessness from last night threatened to make her squirm. She shut her eyes, tucking her head into his shoulder while willing the odd sensation away. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling but the unfamiliarity of it had left her without a good night’s sleep and feeling it seemed inappropriate. Still, Marianne couldn’t deny that she liked the feeling of being cradled in Bog’s arms. Keeping her head tucked against him, she allowed herself one more taste of that silly giddiness and she almost wished the island was farther away…

------------

The flight had been easy but the landing had left her rattled thanks to his sudden drop from the sky and down through a patch of rather prickly looking trees. Her hands forgot holding onto his coat for the sake of clutching to his shirt during the barrage of branches enclosing and brushing against them. It was the only thing attached to something solid she could hang on to and she silently promised to punch him if he dared laugh at her in her moment of weakness.

He landed heavily on the limb of a tree; the branch shuddering under his feet then grew still once his weight settled. Bog eventually caught on to why she wasn’t trying to get down yet, peeking down at her and she glared at him when he eventually chuckled. She slugged him in the shoulder but her fingers ached from how tightly she had been clinging to him, the impact making her hiss between her teeth. She eased her fingers open, her joints stiff and protesting the simple act of stretching them out. He let her get down, keeping a hand under her arm while she balanced on the branch beneath them. Marianne focused on the fingers of her hand still locked around that handful of Bog’s shirt. Once he realized this, Bog helped in prying her fingers open until he held her hand between his, carefully rubbing at her knuckles one by one until she could flex them easier.

“Thanks,” she watched his fingers work over hers as he switched to her other hand. Damn him…he just cared so much. Damn her for feeling the same. He shifted back a step and she handed him his coat, to which he pulled on with a grateful smile. Once he had it on, he glanced below and then back at her.

“Why did we land in a tree?”

“I need you to stay up here for now,” he insisted, “I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

“Safe?” she deadpanned, cocking her brow. “I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Bog gave her a knowing look, putting a hand on top of her head. “But you’ll kill him if I let you down there and I would prefer he be kept alive.”

“Him? Him who?”

“Just—wait here.” He pointed down at the branch. “It will just be a moment.”

“Just tell me what you’re doing then!” she persisted.

“Greeting Meall.”

“What?”

Bog didn’t answer; instead, he lowered himself to another branch before dropping down to the ground through the remaining limbs below. Marianne steadied herself with a hand against the trunk of the tree, peering down at him as he started to walk across what almost looked like brown needles coating the ground between the sharp trees of which they landed among. There were others trees crowding the pointed ones but the strange needles on the branches seemed to overpower the more familiar flat leaves of their fellow trees. She shifted a bit, seeing pieces of the jagged bark flake off and fall below into some underbrush from his descent.

Bog was walking into a clearing just below her tree but it was a slow, alert pace. He seemed to be waiting for something. His hands were open at his sides, arms stiff but he didn’t reach for his sword even though it was there at his hip. She nearly called out to him to ask what he was doing when she heard a rustle, Bog pausing in the center of the clearing and glancing around the trees.

He shouted something but it was in his language and therefore, lost to her on its meaning. Bog didn’t use it often in her presence but when he did, it sounded like a gargled snarl more than actual words. Whatever it was, however, someone out there seemed to understand it. Not long after he had shouted into the forest, some of the yellowing grasses and underbrush began to shiver and Bog swung around to face it as a man sprung out from within with a battle cry so powerful it rang in Marianne’s ears.

She clapped her hands over her ears but without her grip on the trunk she nearly lost her footing. Toppling over, her arms instinctively clutched the limb, heart racing in her chest as she forced her legs to latch around it for security. Her safety temporarily guaranteed, Marianne strained to keep watching what was happening below, gawking at Bog still standing there as this man charged full speed at him. He had to have been Bog’s height, yes, but twice his breadth! He had long, wild hair and an auburn beard that swallowed most of his face. The man looked more like a wild beast than a human when he charged at Bog, who braced himself just as he sprang at him.

Marianne gasped when he slammed into Bog, knocking him back into the grass before they rolled over one another and Bog tore himself away from the man. He was soon back on his feet with his hands at the ready and body crouched low just as the stranger collected himself and came about on all fours with an animalistic snarl before he was lunging at Bog again. Their hands scrambled, the man’s trying to find purchase on his bony limbs while Bog fended them away until their fingers caught one another but the man shook his hand free and pushed at Bog’s face, forcing his head to turn sharply to the left. Growling, he shoved the meaty paw off and ducked down, hauling the man over himself and slamming him into the ground.

The other man gasped when he landed on his back, heaving for air a moment as he rolled onto all fours again, throwing himself at Bog without even catching his breath completely and latching his arms around him. He pulled him down but Bog braced his legs and matched his gesture, one arm around his back, the other wrapping around behind his opponent’s head. Their feet stomped and staggered in the grass, each one trying to pull down the other.

Marianne saw Bog’s legs trembling with the effort. His knees nearly buckled, betraying a moment of weakness and then she was off. Clambering along the branch she had once been practically attached to and climbing down the tree even though he had insisted she wait there for him. Dropping down the rest of the way, she rolled out of the impact with the earth and came to her feet at a run. She drew her sword and with both hands clasping the hilt, she charged out into the clearing with a scream that nearly rivaled the day she had crashed through the windows of the Fenland.

Bog’s head snapped up in her direction.

“No!” he snarled through the strain against the man. “Don’t!”

Ignoring him, she ran full speed at his attacker when Bog suddenly threw the man off, twisting about sharply and caught her about the waist. With her momentum from her run suddenly halted by Bog catching her, Marianne’s legs flew out in front of her and she felt the wind being forced out of her at the impact into his immovable arm slamming into her ribs. Bog flung her forcefully away from the fight. She tumbled into the long grass, her sword falling from her hand as she rolled across the jabbing needles and hidden rocks beneath.

Coming to a stop at the base of one of the trees, she heaved for breath, trying to force air back into her lungs. Her hands went to her belly, trying to remind herself how to breathe. She managed a few tiny breaths until she began to cough and her lungs finally expanded again, letting her get a full breath. Full enough to shout at him as she pushed herself up onto her elbows.

“What—the hell?!”

By then, however, Bog was already facing his original opponent just as the man recovered, shoving at him a bit before latching his leg around the other man’s meatier one. He wrenched the leg out from beneath him, suddenly throwing his balance off and the pair of them fell to the ground in a heavy heap. Bog wrestled himself on top and snarled something in his native tongue to the man before he rose back on his feet. This time the man stayed down, his great chest heaving for breath and letting his head fall back onto the ground.

For a moment she saw them stare at one another. The wild man still heaving before he suddenly started laughing, loud and hearty even though he was still breathless. Marianne gawked at him as he guffawed towards the early morning sky, sitting up and brushing his bushy hair out of his face and plucking out a few of the needles before he climbed to his feet to approach Bog, the two of them embracing with hearty pats upon one another’s backs, though the wild man’s was more calculated…probably due to Bog’s wings.

The man heaved as he spoke, still winded from the fight and now his laugh. It was the same language Bog had spoken. Words that rolled and caught on strange throaty noises that enunciated certain syllables and Bog spoke it right back with responses of his own, the man grasping his shoulder and giving him an affectionate jostle. Marianne watched them as she slowly pushed herself off the ground, brushing bits of leaves, needles and dirt from her clothing and retrieving her sword. She sheathed it but kept her hand on the pommel while the other hand tenderly rubbed at the spot where Bog’s arm had clothes-lined her. Running right into his arm was almost as bad as running straight into a tree limb.

“It’s alright, Marianne. He’s not a threat.”

“Not a threat?” she balked, slowly approaching him while picking needles from her hair and noticing how the wild man’s bushy eyebrows rose at the sight of her, his eyes darting to Bog then back to her. His eyes crinkled and his beard shifted with an obvious smile hidden away in the hair. “Would you mind telling me…what just happened then?”

“This is Meall, the leader of the clan who occupies this island.” Bog clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, “He was the first to accept my father’s rule as king.”

“So…if he accepts you as king, why were you fighting?” she pointed in between the two of them.

“It’s tradition in their tribe. They accept visitors only after they had been beaten in a fair fight. It is how they learn to respect the visitor and trust them to enter their territory.”

“Oh…” Marianne glanced at Meall and then back to Bog. What an unusual custom. She hated to know what would happen if the visitor lost. “What language are you two speaking?”

“Because of their methods…you could understand why they never really interacted with anyone from the outside world. Meall’s clan does not speak in the common tongue, but the native language that has been used on these islands since the reign of the Goblin King. There is no name for it because there was never a need to give it one.”

“I see.” Even after the simple words she couldn’t betray her fascination with the ancient language so easily spoken right in front of her.

“Eh,” the man grunted, nudging Bog and then indicating her with a gesture of his hand.

The man’s eyebrows rose up and down to which Bog grit his teeth and punched his arm. The man only laughed at the jab, Marianne laughing a little breathlessly before her hand went to her stomach again. Just the little huff was enough to make her sore belly ache and Bog was there by her side in a moment, his hand hovering near her arm.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Just a little sore from running into that tree branch you call an arm.” She smiled wryly, waving off his concern. “I’ve felt worse after a training session, trust me.”

Bog nodded but still cast an apologetic look upon her before the man insisted on being included in the conversation, brushing past Bog and standing before Marianne. She stood up straight at the presence of him but her height felt even more inadequate with this man’s bulk. Bog came to her side as he spoke to Meall, apparently introducing them. She thought she could make out “Lumine” in his words but that was all she could pluck free.

Meall looked down at Marianne after he finished and suddenly made a bow that had the air of mockery to it. She looked to Bog as Meall said something.

“What did he say?” she demanded.

“He’s honored to meet you.” Bog translated but glared at the clan leader. “He…thinks that you’re beautiful.”

“Oh,” she folded her arms. “Does he now…”

------------

Bog had to admit that he was slipping a bit when it came to wrestling Meall.

Maybe it was because his mind was elsewhere during a lot of the ritual greeting. He knew that Marianne would be confused by the tradition but instead of explaining it to her, he made the mistake of just assuming she would let him handle it. It had been a stupid idea on his part. Had he forgotten that she never listened? She fought the captain of the Tormenta with nothing more than a knife when she was supposed to be locked up in the brig, in which—even in his pain and anger—something in him thrilled at the revelation that she had become possessive of his life.

Even so, he made a mistake in thinking that she would sit idly by and let him fight Meall on his own. The moment he was distracted with hoping she wouldn’t do anything reckless was the very moment she came tearing out of the trees, sword drawn and ready to help him. A fond smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he walked with her and Meall through the towering pine trees and over the rocky earth beneath their feet towards the clan leader’s village.

“My men are not far behind.” Bog explained to Meall in their native tongue, “We brought a few trinkets from the last voyage and I know how fond you are of Eventide’s confections.”

“You tempt me with their sweets.” Meall chuckled heartily. “What is it that you want in return, my king?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head, stepping over the rough protrusion of a large rock jutting out of the footpath. “It is a gift. We have access to more material back on the King’s Island if you or your people require anything.”

“My people are content with your gifts. It is you they wish they could see more of.”

“I am sorry.” He grumbled, glancing at Marianne, who was picking her way around the remains of a fallen tree and oblivious to the conversation passing between Meall and himself. His friend followed his gaze to her and Bog knew he had looked a moment too long when he felt the nudge of Meall’s arm.

“You like this woman.”

“I do.”

“Strange. I thought you swore off women.”

“I did.” He nodded “…she changed my mind.”

“I want to congratulate you, king.” Meall was still smiling, almost looking like a proud father even though he was only a handful of years older than Bog. “She is a beautiful woman and seems a fighter as well! She would make a good wife.”

“No.” Bog uttered harshly, glancing up at Meall, whose bushy eyebrows rose in confusion. “She is next in line for Lumine’s throne. Not a good choice for a bride…not for me.”

Meall’s eyes lit up with understanding before he bowed his head. He understood the problem without Bog even having to elaborate further and that was something he liked about Meall. The mighty leader was a strong opponent to his father when he assumed leadership of his clan after his father died but once Laird beat him in a weaponless match witnessed by his people, he agreed to hear him out and soon allied to the King’s Island. It had been almost too easy compared to the other islands, though many of them eventually came around and joined Laird in the end. Only Ailis gave them the most grief but it was only because they were a stubborn group of thick-headed warriors.

Marianne slipped in between them, reaching up to push his hat back with a stubborn set to her lip until he looked down at her without a bunch of brim in her face. He rolled his eyes at her silent insistence that he not hide his face and rustled her hair. She pushed his hand away, smoothing it back out while Meall chuckled at their childish exchange.

“So, what are you two talking about?” She asked.

“Just letting him know that the others are coming.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Why did you look irritated a moment ago?”

Damn it.

“He likes to tease me about how pretty he thinks you are.”

Well, it wasn’t a lie.

“Wait until he sees me with a sword.” She grinned. “We’ll see how pretty I am then.”

“Well, I would hate to disappoint you, Marianne, but you’re beautiful even with a sword.” He reminded her with a mock sigh of pity. “You just can’t avoid it.”

“Oh, so you think I’m beautiful?” she countered, putting on an air of sweetness and batting her eyelashes up at him.

Bog shoved her away from him, dispelling the farce and she laughed. Then they broke through the trees and Marianne stopped just within the shadows, suddenly falling silent. Meall continued to wonder down the path through the rocky ground to the village before them but Bog stopped and let her have a moment to take it in. He already knew the layout of Meall’s village but to Marianne, everything here was new to her. Bog needed to just stop and let Marianne see what it was that was life outside of the stone halls of Mainlands’s castles.

Just outside of the forest was a grassy field with half-concealed boulders jutting up stubbornly through the wind-swept blades. The summer air made everything green and vibrant, the pale grey of the stones a sharp contrast and made them stick out even more. Nestled among the grass and rocks were dwellings constructed from the land around them, some built into hills and others shaped in the ground where large boulders were once extracted from dirt, creating footprints ideal for living quarters. There was no structure here that was not created from the very rocks and brush from the forest and it gave a new meaning to constructing with stones. To Marianne, it may have looked primitive compared to the masonry of the Mainlands but to Meall and his clan, this was home.

Rocks that were once buried in the earth had been moved further down the hill to create a sort of barricade to the ocean down below. The clan had made sure that no boats could easily moor near their village and the large boulders that took dozens of men to move, cradled the outer edge of their village in a protective wall. It was among those rocks where Meall trained his people to know how to fight with their hands and using their surroundings. They did not believe in the use of swords or firearms. In this clan, you need only your hands to survive.

“This is very different from the dwellings on your island. Are all of the islands so varied?” Marianne asked when she finally came out of the forest and joined him further down the path.

“Each clan has their own traditions, their own way of life.” Bog confirmed as he escorted her into the village. “Some of Meall’s clan came to live on Keyll an Rìgh back when my father became king. However…after the war, many of them returned here and did not come back.”

“Why?” Marianne trailed her hand over the blades of the long grasses they walked through.

Bog frowned, staring at the rocks barring them from the ocean.

“It wasn’t safe.”

------------

The arrival of the rest of the crew seemed to call out the rest of the people of Meall’s village. Curious children peeked out of the dark holes of the half-buried mounds and came rushing out to see what it was that the king had brought them. Men and women alike were gathering just beyond the homes in a patch of grasses that seemed to have been pushed down flat by hundreds of feet and bodies. A sort of training area, according to Bog. Marianne helped the crew in spreading out the cargo and used a bar to pry open the once nailed-shut lids. She watched Brutus approach Meall and the two embraced, the clan leader looking fondly upon him and Marianne realized she was seeing something of a family resemblance between the two.

Stuff handed out jewelry to anyone who wanted to look at it. The children liked to hold it up to the sun and watch the gems wink in its rays while a woman donned a gold necklace like a headband and waved at Daunt. Marianne saw that he appeared uninterested in her, going back to handing out provisions to a couple of older men who talked to him in the native language as he worked. She was in the middle of showing a bolt of white linen to one of the women that she realized she was feeling eyes on her.

Twisting around, she noticed that there were children watching her. She tried to ignore them, handing the bolt to the woman and going back to dig around in the next crate when she heard a sudden scream rip through the cluster of kids. Swinging back around she saw Bog suddenly pushed down into the grass, a pile of children forcing him into submission. He cried out in mock fury at being defeated but laid unmoving in the grass while they flopped on top of him to weigh him down. None of the villagers seemed to even notice it happening. Apparently this was nothing unusual to them.

Did Bog normally play with the children on the islands? She would have liked to see it.

He sat up suddenly, hoisting one of the children up in the air over him and the small boy squealed so high that even the child himself cringed at it. Bog stood up and tucked the kid under his arm before snatching up another one and doing the same with her. The others followed him as he carried them over to the crates and dumped them into an empty one, removing his hat and wiping at his brow while the others protested at his moment of not giving them attention. Bog fended off grabbing hands with more words in his native tongue, snapping his teeth at a little girl and grinning when she squealed and backed away. Two boys latched onto his legs in an attempt to wrestle him down again but he merely started to trudge forward, dragging them along through the grass.

Marianne’s heart clenched…and so did something in her lower abdomen.

Putting her back to the playful scene, she returned to handing out goods. The number of curious glances her way was starting to get on her nerves though. So many people just watched her, like they thought she was some kind of oddity among the other crew members. Meall said something to a few of them that made them eventually take their items and go but others still watched her…even smiled at her. The smiles wouldn’t have bothered her so much if they just stopped looking so damn secretive. Like they knew something she didn’t. That seemed to be common among the people of these isles.

The remains of the goods were spread among the villagers and the containers of which they had been delivered in were carried off as well to be used as further storage or to be broken down for other uses. The crew sat with other members of the clan and some of them told stories while a native of the islands translated for them. Marianne could hear the retelling of the capture of the Tormenta and was even surprised to hear that they made sure to elaborate how she had a hand in it. Scully told a few others of the kidnapping of Dawn, which Marianne distanced herself from, seeking a spot beside Meall as he dug his hand through a decorated box of Eventide confections. She eyed the familiar wrapping, the blue box and silvery tissue concealing the candied fruit and chocolates looking out of place in the primitive surroundings of the village.

Picking up the discarded lid, Marianne saw the hand-painted depiction of a view of the Eventide capital city. She had only seen it once when she was a child but she remembered the beauty of the seaside town. Eventide had the finest architecture in the Mainlands, delicate and beautiful while at the same time hiding the grim reputation of the treacherous coastline surrounding their seaside border. Her fingers ran over the painting. Childhood memories conflicted with the new ones she was making here on the islands and for the first time in who knows how long, Marianne began to feel homesick. Perhaps she should be grateful that this was a depiction of a city in Eventide. She hated to know how she would feel if it were a drawing of Lumine.

Just one glimpse of something familiar and she was left wondering what Dawn was up to. She thought about her father and how worried he probably was since she still hadn’t come home. She fidgeted with the lid, discomforted with the knowledge that she was sure she drove her father up the wall with worry over her. He was a good man and didn’t deserve her running off without a word like she did. She thought about the handwritten note announcing Dawn’s kidnapping and wished she had managed to keep it when she had the chance.

Bog said that he would release her back to him one day but how long would that be? And now, with what was happening between them, what would she do when that day came? She hadn’t thought about what would happen after she kissed Bog. Since she ran away, everything she did had been in preparation for facing her fate when she returned to Lumine but since that kiss with only the moon as her witness, Marianne admitted she didn’t think her actions through. Yes, admitting her affection was hard but now that she had taken that leap, there was now the matter of maintaining that feeling. Adoring someone needed maintenance as her previous clinging has shown her since last night.

She worried her lower lip between her teeth thoughtfully, looking up towards the boulders creating the barrier between the village and the sea. Among them were clan members climbing up the rough surfaces. Some of them sat on top; others found ways to jump down, tucking into rolls to protect themselves from injury after falling from such heights. Boys and girls did this as well, some sprawling in the grass and soaking in the sun after their successful attempts while others scrambled to do it again.

What a simple life these people live…

The people of The Islands of the Marshes had no political turmoil or repercussions to worry about if you said the wrong thing to the wrong country. Perhaps if there were lands like this back in the Mainlands, there wouldn’t have been so much political pressure. There were no politics here. Only people who didn’t need a king but saw no harm in uniting under one so long as he promised to keep them safe.

There was no such purity back in the Mainlands. While they were united and peaceful, there were always threats of outside countries wanting to invade their alliance and break them apart. Spies came to plant seeds of doubt in the heads of the nobility and poisoned advisors into thinking that their own allies were against them and tried to pass on that paranoia to their kings and queens. It wasn’t only outside influence though. The people of the Mainlands were just as guilty of bringing turmoil to their own cities. Taxes and unjust laws caused unrest among the people who had to pay and obey them. Those in Lumine were reasonable enough but you can never make everyone happy. There were always grumbles about an extra coin here or a snide remark on the level of severity for certain crimes there.

Then there were the political marriages. Unions between countries that were said to be advantageous but in the end it just left most of the couples miserable. That misery was passed down to their children and they would grow up to suffer the same fate, all for the sake of keeping the noble bloodlines noble and the common ones common. She never wanted that for her or Dawn and neither did her father. However, she had made the mistake of thinking she was in love with Roland and proved that one couldn’t rely on their heart to lead them into a promising future either.

“I am never getting married.” Marianne muttered to herself, dropping the lid into the grass.

Why worry about marriage? There was no benefit to tempt her into a political marriage back home. No law saying the queen required a king to rule Lumine or the other way around. She didn’t have anyone she wanted to marry anymore, especially now that Roland was out of the picture. Of course, she did like Bog but it’s not like she wanted to marry him or anything. Come on, they only kissed last night and, well, yes he did stir up some pretty chaotic feelings within her that she still didn’t understand. He was a good man when he wasn’t focused on being a pirate but she only just met him a few weeks ago and it was not under the best circumstances. Still, she liked him and he clearly liked her as well. That did not mean that she was thinking about marrying Bog though!

Surely not!

Was she?

Marianne flushed so quickly she almost felt dizzy. She jumped from her spot and stepped over the lid, striding across the grass to go join the people at the rocks. If she busied herself with something, anything, she might have time to shake off such ridiculous thoughts that danced about in her head. Dawn would probably be elated if she could have heard the thoughts that she had been thinking in those moments.

I need a distraction. Something…anything!

Some of the young men and women were still wrestling, much like Bog had been with Meall in the forest but these moves were much clumsier. She pushed up the sleeves of her shirt as she walked, unbuckling her belt and setting her sword down in the grass before Brutus noticed her approach. Apparently he had been practicing or even training some of them after the goods had been distributed and as far as she knew, he was the only one among the villagers in the rocks that could understand her. He nudged his opponent and indicated her before they stopped trying to grab him and jumped away to make room.

“Can you show me how they fight with their hands?”

“I could but…” Brutus looked back at the village.

“What, are you afraid they’ll see me whip you like I did back on the ship?” she teased, bracing her hands on her hips.

“That was very different, princess and you know it.” He buckled a bit under his own wounded pride before Marianne threw her head back and laughed.

“Come on, Brutus! Show me how it’s done!” She urged, holding up her hands. “I’ll go easy on you.”

Brutus sighed, glancing at the village again before he lowered his gaze to Marianne and finally submitted to her will. He swung his arms back and forth a moment, limbering up and she shook her arms out at her sides while waiting for him to start. He crouched a little, sticking one foot out behind himself and partially wedging the toe of his boot into the grass. Marianne observed his posture, wondering if she needed to mirror it when he suddenly charged at her and she barely managed a gasp when he hauled her up by her waist and threw her over his shoulder.

“Brutus!” she shrieked, outraged when he started laughing, twirling her in a circle as she beat a fist on his back. “You cheat! You didn’t tell me we were jumping right into it!”

“That’s how we do it, your highness!” Brutus laughed deeply, his arm holding her by barring the backs of her knees. “You need to have the element of surprise. It is the first rule of my people’s traditions.”

“Your people?” she paused, one fist still raised in the air. “Then this is your village?”

Brutus nodded and dumped her to the ground. She rolled over, her sore belly throbbing a bit from where she had been thrown over his shoulder. Maybe she was developing a bruise since she had been stopped by Bog’s arm? Grunting at the effort of getting up, Brutus grasped her arm and pulled her upright the rest of the way, her feet momentarily leaving the ground before he let her drop down.

“Meall is my uncle. He raised me when my mother and father were killed during the war. This has been my village ever since.” Brutus indicated the man-made huts up the slope. Marianne wondered if the war he spoke of was Bog’s father’s war or if it was the War of the Isles. She wished it had been neither but something in her gut told her that the only war Brutus could be talking about, was the one with the Mainlands. She didn’t ask, instead she looked up at Brutus with hesitation. What could she say to him on behalf of the people that caused him such a loss? Brutus’s typically intimidating features warmed the longer she stared until he nudged at her jaw with a knuckle.

That one gesture was all it took to tell her she didn’t have to say anything.

“Now, are we going to try this again…or have you had enough?”

------------

Marianne helped Scully drag the longboat onto the shore, the wood scraping heavily against the rocks until it tilted to the side just as it finally rested on the land. She groaned at the soreness in her arms from wrestling with Brutus well into the afternoon, much to the enjoyment of the locals. It had been embarrassing being thrown to the ground repeatedly by him. The man took too much joy in his victories ever since she had bested him on the Fenland but now that they were on solid ground with no rigging to aid her, she was left with nothing but her own strength. Brutus had the upper hand in the match and Marianne’s thoughts had been so clouded that she was left flat on her back more than once. Eventually Bog came and stopped them after she had jumped on Brutus’s back and tried to choke him in a fury-induced arm-lock about his neck. Apparently the “element of surprise” only counted when they had the upper hand.

Scully patted Marianne’s arm in passing as he finished tying off the boat. Bog had touched down from the sky further up the path and was waiting for them as the others secured the remaining longboats. Now he was standing and talking with Brutus, Scully, Daunt and Thang. Almost like he sensed her watching, he raised his gaze and looked over the top of Fang’s head. Her chest tightened the moment he met her eyes and averted them quickly, pretending to be busy with a rock in her boot that wasn’t actually there.

Sure, she could have flown back with Bog from the islands but…she wanted a moment to think about what had crossed her mind back with Meall’s people. Being in Bog’s arms would have been preferable but it would also leave her in that giddy haze of being close to him. As good as it felt to bask in that sensation, Marianne wanted to keep her wits about her after the startling thought she had back on the other island. She assumed that keeping her hands busy with rowing back across the channel would be a good distraction at the time. Thang appreciated her taking over one of the oars rather than him having to use both of them. With the repetitive motion, it burned in her arms and made them scream but it also left Marianne able to mull over her thoughts. Unfortunately, she found no answers by the time they were back on the King’s Island.

Ahead of her, she could just hear that Bog was telling Brutus he could have stayed behind for a few days in order to spend time with his people. Brutus, however, assured him that he would return to see them before long. At the moment, he preferred to help with the rest of the distribution to the other isles unless Bog commanded him otherwise. Marianne took a chance at looking their way again. It was a casual enough exchange, Brutus shrugging his large shoulders when Bog asked him what he preferred then dismissing him when no true opinion was revealed, sending him back up the pathway.

The others slowly began to make their way back to the village, Thang teetering after Stuff now that they were no-longer split up. With no one left but her still standing there wriggling her boot back on, Marianne knew that it was time to suck it up and just go. Bog waited for her at the mouth of the path, his hands in his pockets while she finally got her footwear in order. She took one more look back at the island across the channel. If she returned to Lumine, this would probably be the last she would see of that island. If she ever came back, would she be able to greet them as Bog had done?

She doubted it. Brutus proved that she wasn’t strong enough…yet.

“Your islands…they are so confusing at first but in the end the people seem so peaceful.” Marianne finally joined Bog on the path with a wry smile, the captain falling in step with her as she put the waves of the channel behind her and once again entered into the forest.

“It wasn’t always this way.” He didn’t question her for not flying back with him and she was relieved they found a different subject without any protest. “But I’m glad that things have settled down.”

“I can only imagine what it must have been like living through the struggles. A newly created monarchy and then suffering through a war not long after?” Marianne rubbed at her arm thoughtfully, watching her step as she followed the foot path.

“I didn’t see the battles that united the islands. My father had accomplished the alliance just before he met my mother. It was still a struggle to keep them together when I was born. The clans were unsettled by the idea of a monarchy being continued through bloodlines like the world outside but my father promised them I would not be a spoiled prince and he would give them an heir they would be proud to call their future king.” Bog smiled fondly in memory of his father before he started to chuckle. “My mother said he promised them a warrior with all the confidence of a warlord but the entire time she had been pregnant he fussed over her excessively. I think he was terrified of me when I was a babe.”

Marianne grinned as she imagined Griselda’s description of Laird. He was so strong and skilled in battle but as convinced he had his people and the people of the Mainlands convinced of this, behind closed doors he must have followed his wife everywhere like some overprotective mother hen to make sure she was safe and comfortable throughout her pregnancy. That man really did love his wife and it seemed unfair to Griselda that he was no longer around. She pitied the queen mother’s loss but it was also the son’s as well. She knew he didn’t want her pity but the sympathy softened her previous tension. Her hand sought out Bog’s and he accepted it without question.

Their pace was slow, neither of them in a rush to return to the company of others. Marianne didn’t mind hanging back, hearing the voices of the others tapering off in the distance. She had her time to worry but now that he was with her, his hand secure around hers, he helped her almost forget any other troubles she had on her mind. He didn’t seem to catch on to them, thankfully, probably too tired from the morning fight as well as the children and locals who would not give him a moment’s peace.

“Do you miss your father?” She finally asked.

“Yes.” Bog nodded his head before wiping at a bit of sweat at his neck with his other hand. “Sometimes I think that things would have been different, had he been alive.”

Marianne looked up at the afternoon sun and the cloudless sky surrounding it. Bog had to be miserable in his long sleeves and gloves, the coat had to be stifling.

“You wouldn’t have become a pirate then?” she asked, stopping on the trail. She needed to get him out of the sun. Using the hand already in hers, Marianne gently pulled him off of the path and beneath the shade of the trees in the thicket.

“No,” he released her hand when he saw what she was doing and lowered himself to sit on a risen root. “I don’t think I would have had to if he were still king.”

Marianne sat across from him, shifting her sword so that the tip of the sheath didn’t dig into the dirt. Bog removed his hat, raking his fingers through his hair as he set it in his lap. He shrugged out of his coat and lay it on the ground, taking his rest at last and she swiped his hat from his lap, looking it over in her hands. He watched her circle the brim about her fingers, Marianne glancing up at him and flipping it about, slapping it onto her own head. The moment it settled, however, she wrinkled her nose at the dampness of sweat on the band. She tilted it back on her head, her hair thankfully hiding the sensation from her skin.

“If he survived the war,” Bog continued as he looked down at his gloved hands. “This might not have happened either.”

“Your curse?”

He nodded but did not elaborate further on the curse. “My father was everything our kingdom needed.”

“I don’t see your people complaining about you.” She reminded him, nudging his foot with her boot. “You’re a good leader to them.”

“They may think so, but what do they know of what I really am?” he looked off down the path to the village then back down at his gloves. “Laird was quick to anger but at least he knew how to control his temper. He could have taught me how to control mine.”

“Well, it is very easy to make you angry.” She admitted, folding her arms against her belly but avoided leaning into them for the pressure hurt her sore flesh.

“True enough.” He agreed, sighing. “I wanted to be as strong as my father, as intelligent and just as capable of being in control of my emotions. But…” Bog hesitated, glancing at her then his hands before twisting on the root and leaning his back into the trunk of the great tree behind him. He watched her as he settled, Marianne shifting a little on the root she had sat upon but she would not fidget. He took a steady breath and sighed it out, resigning to what it was he was going to say. “When I was young, I wanted to be in love.”

Marianne stiffened at the word but she remained silent. He watched her reaction but continued.

“I wanted to feel what he felt for my mother. I wanted that companionship, the easiness they possessed in one another’s company. They had no secrets from one another and they were very affectionate even when others were watching them. My father sometimes grew embarrassed but my mother was always open with her affection. It was a silly idea at the time but I craved that kind of love and when the time came…I really thought I had found that in someone.”

“Oh?” Marianne’s throat tightened when she spoke and the word sounded choked.

Bog had been in love once.

She knew that. The crew had told her so and he even said so as well. The same woman that cursed him was the person had had fallen in love with but he never did tell her why she cursed him. Even with his reputation now, if he had it back then, was that enough to curse a man to look the way he did?

“This is ridiculous,” Bog faltered now, closing his eyes and lightly thumping his head against the bark of the tree.

“No, it’s not.” She scolded him when he began to shut down again. She kicked at his boot, knocking it off of a root he had braced it against. “I told you everything about Roland and how much he made me detest the idea of falling in love once. You know about my heartbreak, my determination to not let it happen again and you have clearly made me botch that up.”

He grinned, flashing his uneven teeth a moment before it settled back into his previous thoughtfulness.

“Tell me about her.” She insisted.

He grimaced at her words. “Must I?”

“Yes, you must.” Marianne scooted off of her root and moved to his side, carefully kneeling between the roots and putting her hand upon his arm where it was still folded over his abdomen. “Why is it so hard for you to tell me?”

“Because when I was in love, it weakened me. It ruined me.” He growled, his fingers tensing and clawing across his shirt as they balled into fists. “I was weak and so my anger was all I had to fall back on. It was because of that anger that I am now cursed.”

“Bog.” She laid her hands over his fists. “You promised me you would tell me about it one day. I think now is the time. This…thing…that we have between us? It’s not going to go away because of your curse. You have to know that by now.”

He unclenched his fists, easing his hands open so that hers fell into his palms she laid hers into his palms. Bog shut his eyes again, taking a deep breath before his head bowed in one reluctant nod. Standing up, he pulled her to her feet with him. She watched his face as he mulled it over even more, releasing her and retrieving his coat. Coiling it around his arm, he glanced back at her. She waited for him to speak when he reached out and pushed the brim of his hat down over her face.

“Let’s go back to the castle first. I’ll tell you about it there.”

“You’re really going to tell me?” she asked, pushing the hat back again, her heart practically skipping in her chest to hear that he intended to tell her about his curse now.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” he asked but his words sounded heavy and her excitement suddenly felt out of place in light of his own resignation. She tried to hide her anticipation when they returned to the path to go back to the village.

The footpath was not as worn as the one from the natural harbor to the village, grass still trying to grow where not enough feet had trod but there were several other spots on the way with taller grasses shooting up between the trunks of the trees. She could hear birds chirping a dozen different songs all around them outside of their own footfalls and the distant roar of the ocean. The scent of the sea air lingered in the trees and she took a deep breath of it as they moved on. Bog kept his pace slow, probably to prevent getting back to the cave any faster but Marianne let him take his time. She pushed him enough after all.

Coming around a bend, she remembered this spot where the path had originally begun to narrow on their way through that morning. Now it started to widen, signaling the village was not far off. There Marianne plodded through the marsh, stopping to shake out her feet on the other side when she noticed that there were some divots in the ground that angled off of the original path. Her eyes trailed after the worn grooves in the over growth, her hand brushing grass and brush aside to check if they continued. They looked like the tracks left behind by carriage wheels only these had to be very old. The trees were spread out enough ahead that there was certainly room for carts to be pulled through but the passage was overgrown and long unused.

“Bog, where does this lead? I didn’t notice it this morning.”

He followed her pointed finger, his face grim when he stared down the path.

“The Old Harbor.”

“The Old Harbor—Stuff and Thang mentioned something about it before.” She murmured, trying to see how far the old carriage road stretched off into the forest.

“Do you want to see it?” he asked but Marianne saw how tense he looked and thought that now was probably not the best time. He already didn’t want to tell her about his curse and this path seemed to give him no more pleasure to go down than the one back to the village. What was it about the old harbor that brought him as much pain as the idea of telling her the story about his curse?

“Maybe another time,” She touched his arm and he nodded, looking almost relieved. “Let’s go back now.”