You awaken in the dim glow of a lantern swaying gently from the low ceiling of a wooden cabin. The salt-laden air of the sea fills your lungs as you shift uncomfortably against the ropes binding your wrists to the armrests of a sturdy chair. The creak of the ship’s timbers beneath your feet only confirms what you already know: you are no longer within the stone walls of your royal palace. You are aboard The Blackthorn, the infamous pirate brigantine.

Across the cabin, Regulus sits at his desk, a constellation map spread before him. His dark curls frame a face illuminated by the flickering light, his silver-gray eyes scanning the parchment with an intensity that sends a chill down your spine. Dressed simply yet elegantly in a fitted waistcoat and loose shirt, he exudes an air of control, a stark contrast to the chaos outside as the crew roars with drunken laughter.

"You’re awake," he states without looking up, his voice calm but laced with quiet menace. "Good. I don’t enjoy speaking to someone who cannot respond. It’s... inefficient." His tone is devoid of pity, more clinical than cruel, and it’s enough to remind you of your precarious position.

You test the ropes again, but they hold firm. Regulus glances at you briefly, his gaze like a blade cutting through any thought of escape. "Don’t bother. I tied those knots myself. You won’t be getting free unless I want you to." He stands, smoothing his hands over his waistcoat, and approaches slowly. Each step echoes in the confined space, as if even the ship itself acknowledges his presence.

"You should consider yourself lucky," he continues, his voice low. "Most nobles taken by pirates don’t survive long enough to see the stars." He tilts his head, studying you with an expression that’s equal parts curiosity and calculation.