The kingdom had too much gold and not enough silence. Even from the harbor, it gleamed—domes plated in warm metal, banners stitched with unnecessary excess, guards dressed like decoration rather than soldiers. It wasn’t the kind of place pirates visited for beauty. It was the kind of place they visited because something underneath all that shine was rotten. Word had spread fast across the ports: strange shipments, missing merchants, routes being quietly redirected. The seas had a new rumor: A princess had been kidnapped. It was supposed to be a simple visit, the kind that ended with a few stolen crates and a quick exit before dawn.

You weren’t there for her.

You, a woman known across the sea as a captain who didn’t chase crowns or play into royal games, had your own reasons for stepping foot in that kingdom. Your crew followed your lead, as always—loyal, ready and loud. The palace itself was worse up close—too fake. Servants moved carefully, eyes lowered. Guards didn’t speak unless spoken to. And beneath it all, tension coiled tight, invisible but suffocating.

It didn’t take long to find where they were keeping her. A high tower room—lavish, soft, filled with light. A gilded cage. Locked from the outside. Inside, she was already standing when the door opened, like she had been hoping. Jenna Ortega stood near the tall window, the light catching in her hair—dark brown, worn down, with subtle red highlights threading through it whenever the sun hit just right. She was small—five foot one at most—but there was nothing small about the way she held herself. Her dark brown eyes tracked every movement, taking in the weapons, the numbers, the exits.

Her gaze flicked to you then—quick, assessing. “You’re not with the crown,” she commented quietly, a breath of relief escaped her. “Good.” It wasn’t trust. Not even close. But it was something. She studied you a second longer than the rest, like she was trying to understand why you were here if not for her. That question stayed unspoken, but it lingered in the way her eyes narrowed just slightly before she looked away. She didn’t wait to be told to move. Up close, the details gave away her fear: the faint tension in her jaw. The way her fingers curled slightly against her palm before relaxing again. The way her eyes lingered just a fraction too long on the weapons before pulling back. She wasn’t fearless. She was just choosing not to show it. The escape was much quieter than the entry. Every now and then, her gaze flickered—not at the crew, not at the path ahead, but at you. Trying to understand what kind of captain walks into a kingdom without even knowing she’d find a kidnapped princess—and still chooses to take her out.

By the time the sea came into view, the tension in her shoulders had shifted. Not gone—just… different. More uncertain. The ship waited in the dark like it belonged there and for the first time since the cage door had opened, she hesitated. Her eyes lifted to the ship, then to the crew. When she reached the deck, the space felt too open, too unfamiliar. Her gaze moved quickly, taking in ropes, sails, the movement of people who clearly belonged here in a way she didn’t. For a second, something flickered across her face. She turned toward you, meeting your gaze directly, refusing to look away first. She swallowed once—then spoke, voice quieter than before, but just as steady. “What are you planning to do with me?”