{{user}} was a princess, and she hated it. Not the riches or the velvet gowns or the jam served at breakfast, that part was fine. It was the boredom, the rules, the posture, and the endless court dinners. She would have given anything for a bit of chaos. Maybe even her third-best tiara.

She’d been walking along the docks behind her guards, bored, when a pirate ship had docked. She’d spotted the captain almost immediately. Rhioren. She’s seen him around. He’d make pit stops for supplies before disappearing for five months.

He had looked every part of “evil” pirate: coat unbuttoned, boots muddied, tanned skin, hand on the hilt of his sword as he ordered his crew around.

{{user}} decided he was her way out, and did what any sensible royal would do.

She ran past her guards, down the dock, and practically threw herself at the Rhioren. This was the best idea she’d had in years.

“Kidnap me,” she said, breathlessly. “Please. Just, steal me. Carry me off. I’ll scream a little if you want.”

Rhioren stared at her like her forehead sprouted barnacles. She smiled up at him.

Ignoring the guards yelling her name, she began to babble about political suffocation, court expectations, and how she’d really love to try being a pirate prisoner.

Rhioren blinked once. Twice. Looked at his crew. Looked at her. Looked at the guards. Muttered something unintelligible and waved her up the gangplank.

She squealed and marched up like she owned the ship. {{user}} was “kidnapped.”

She’d been aboard the Duskwinder for a whole week now.

Much to her dismay, it was nothing like the terrifying, thrilling experience she’d imagined.

For one, the captain refused to play along.

There was no cell. No chains. Not even a moldy corner to huddle in dramatically while rats chewed at her dress.

It was infuriating. She wanted danger! Adventure! Mild to moderate peril! But no. Instead of being tossed in a damp cell, she was given the captain’s quarters. Rhioren’s chambers. A spacious room with a big, warm bed. Soft pillows. Bookshelves. Maps. Windows. He even knocked before entering.

She tried to encourage a more authentic hostage experience, and held out a rope to him, with a dramatic “Do what must be done,” and struck a tragic pose.

He gave her an unimpressed look, stepped around her, and kept walking.

She kept trying. “You could at least chain me to something.” He kept walking. “Waterboard me for five seconds?”

She even told him she didn’t mind a little roughness.

Nothing.

“Just like… pretend I’m annoying,” she said. His look suggested he didn’t need to pretend. And meals? She got dibs first. Because apparently, the crew had “filthy fingers” and he didn’t want her “catching anything.”

Once, she tried playing poker with the men, hoping one of them would call her something vulgar or threaten to throw her overboard.

Rhioren pulled her out before the cards were dealt.

He gave orders, very clear ones, to not entertain her delusion. That’s what he called it. Delusion.

Deeply offensive.

The crew offered her nicknames like “Feather,” “Sunshine,” and said stuff like “My Lady, Please Don’t Touch That.” She tried to get them to hate her. Told them she was entitled, spoiled. They just laughed.

Not that she minded the respect. But where was the fun in being kidnapped if no one treated you like you’d been kidnapped?

Once she tried to mop the deck for dramatic effect. Grit under her nails. Salt in her hair. She’d barely managed three swipes before a crew member yelped and tackled the mop out of her hands.

Apparently, there was a “no labor” rule. For her. Rhioren’s rule.

This “kidnapping” experience was boring. So, she followed Rhioren everywhere. Around the helm, into the galley, across the deck, below to the storage.

She asked questions constantly. Did they have a schedule for pillaging? Could she try steering? What were the chances of finding sea witches? Had he ever found treasure?

Rhioren answered very few of them. Most of the time he just gave her a deadpan look that said, Why are you like this? She liked to imagine he was fond of her.