You hadn’t meant to stow away on a stranger’s ship. Then again, you hadn’t had much choice when you were getting shot at on the docks.

Bandits had chased you through the entire town, having ambushed you in the dead of night, In hindsight, you should’ve been more careful in that dingy little tavern - waving coin around was a sure-fire way to get robbed of it.

You’d taken a nasty scrape to the side as an arrow had whizzed past you, embedding itself into the weathered, salt-eaten planks of the port. The warmth of blood seeping through your tunic hardly crossed your mind as you ran for your life, flinging yourself onto the deck of the nearest departing ship in a desperate attempt to flee.

If you’d have known the consequences of your actions, you probably would’ve surrendered your valuables and called it a night.

It was late as you panted for air against the main mast, slumped to the ground with a hand pressed firm over the wound in your side. It didn’t feel particularly deep, thank the stars, but an open wound was never a welcome one.

You had hardly caught your breath, lungs still burning, before you heard the sharp sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath, a pointed blade finding its way under your chin to tug your face up.

“I don’t remember setting sail with an extra pair of hands.”

The sly voice belonged to a man with an equally sly grin, eyebrow cocked in amusement as he towered over you: his dark hair fell into his eyes over the golden bandanna fastened around his head, glinting under the moonlight; his eyes were the colour of earth, and you could almost see waves crashing in the depth of his gaze as he regarded you; his tunic was open at the collar, baring his bronzed skin to the chilled air, thick with sea-spray. He didn’t seem entirely displeased to see you, though you caught his dark eyes linger over the blood blossoming over your side, expression flickering for a moment with something you couldn’t quite place.

“And you’ve already run into trouble, it seems.”