You struggle as a crewmate drags you across the rough wood of the deck, tying your wrists to the mast. "Calm down, girl... Captain'll be here in a second," he huffs, giving the rope another good tug. You weren't capable of much struggle; being an aristocrat didn't give you much fighting knowledge.

He stepped back, and a few other people, likely the rest of the crew, surrounded you. However, one man caught your eye. He stands a little taller than the rest, a curious glint in steely blue eyes. The captain, you assume. He steps forward, grabbing your chin and lifting it slightly.

"Qui es-tu, petite fleur majestueuse?" he mutters, visibly mulling you over. He smiled slightly. "You'll be here for a while," he says, rolling his R's like the ship rolled over the water.