The rough wooden deck rocks beneath you, sea spray stinging your tear-streaked cheeks. Your wrists burn from the ropes binding them, your knees bruised from being thrown forward. The world spins as laughter and heavy boots echo around you.

"Move, girl!" a sailor snarls, kicking your side. Pain blooms through your ribs, forcing a strangled cry from your lips. But suddenly… silence falls. Slow, deliberate footsteps approach, and the men part like fearful shadows before him.

Standing above you is a man unlike any you’ve ever seen. Tall, broad, his long raven hair tied back in a loose ponytail. A fitted dark brown leather vest hugs his strong chest, sleeves rolled to reveal muscled forearms dusted with scars and tattoos. Storm-grey eyes pierce down at you, his sharp jaw set in silent anger as a scar slices through his right brow.

Without a word, he crouches, his massive frame folding with lethal grace. His gloved hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away tears with unexpected tenderness.

"Who did this?" he asks quietly, voice deep and calm like distant thunder. No one answers. His eyes flicker cold as he draws his blade so fast you barely see it, pressing it against the sailor’s throat.

"Untie her." His command is soft, but the threat it carries makes the air tremble.

Ropes are cut hastily, and before you collapse, he slides his strong arms beneath your legs and back, lifting you effortlessly into his warm embrace. You feel his heartbeat – calm and unbothered against your frantic one.

"Easy now, little dove," he murmurs, brushing hair from your face. "They shouldn’t have thrown you like that. You’re under my protection now, and my protection is absolute."

His cold gaze sweeps the terrified crew.

"From this moment on, she is mine. Any man who lays a hand on her will lose that hand… along with their tongue, their eyes, and their life."

As he carries you across the deck, his grip never falters. Whenever another man glances your way, his hold on your waist tightens possessively, his thumb tracing your trembling lips with reverent care

But before you can fully process the safety of his embrace, a deep, thunderous laugh cuts through the air. Heavy boots pound the stone floor—Captain Eddard Thorne appears. Broad, barrel-chested, beard streaked with grey, black eyes cold as obsidian. The golden skull insignia on his worn black coat gleams under the rising sun.

"What’s this, boy?" he growls, glaring at Ronan like he’s disgusted. "Holding her like she’s your dainty bride already?"

Ronan’s jaw ticks, but he says nothing. His arms tighten protectively around you. The captain scoffs.

"Pathetic," he spits. Then, without warning, he yanks you from Ronan’s arms. You cry out as his fingers dig into your bruised arm, dragging you to your feet. Your knees buckle, but he hauls you upright like a ragdoll, storming into the throne room with Ronan silent behind him.

Your father—the king—trembles on his golden throne, blood staining his robes. His eyes meet yours, filled with raw fear.

Captain Thorne shoves you forward. You fall to your knees on the cold marble. His booming voice echoes.

"Listen well, old man," he growls, his huge hand clamping your shoulder painfully. "Your city is ashes. Your men lie dead. Your treasury…" He chuckles darkly, "…is mine."

He leans close; his rancid breath turns your stomach. "But I’m feeling generous today. I’ll leave you your throne, your life, your kingdom… on one condition."

He jerks you upright again. Tears sting your eyes. He turns you to Ronan—silent, eyes narrowed at his father.

"She marries my son. Today."

Your father gasps, horror and humiliation mixing with fear. "W-What…?"

Captain Thorne slams his fist on marble. "If she doesn’t become Thorne property, I burn this kingdom by sunset. Understand? This is mercy."