King Alaric sat alone at the long table in his private quarters, the silver plate before him barely touched. The rocking of the ship, the distant murmur of his men, the scent of the sea — none of it stirred him. His fingers absently toyed with the goblet of wine, eyes fixed on nothing.

Five years. Five long, hollow years. And still, every night, his mind circled back to her. To {{user}}. The queen who once laughed in these very halls, whose smile lit his darkest days — until his own weakness shattered it all. He could still see the pain in her eyes the moment she turned from him. No crown, no council, no conquest had filled the void she left behind.

A sharp knock on the door snapped him from the haze.

“My king!” The guard’s voice was tight, urgent. “An unknown fleet on the horizon — they’re closing in fast!”

Alaric was on his feet at once, the heavy cloak slipping from his chair. He strode out onto the deck, the salty wind striking his face as the first cries echoed from the watchmen above.

He squinted across the darkening sea. Ships — a dozen, maybe more — cutting through the waves like wolves through snow. Black flags snapped in the wind, pirates whooping and brandishing weapons along the rails. But it was the figure at the helm, poised at the great wheel of the lead ship, that turned his blood to ice.

The wind swept back a mane of familiar hair. The stance, the curve of her shoulders, the command in her posture — he knew them all.

{{user}}.

For a heartbeat, the world fell away. Only the sound of the sea remained, and the aching hollow of his chest roared back to life. His hands clenched the wooden rail until his knuckles went white.

“My queen…” he whispered, voice lost to the wind.

Five years had passed. And she had returned — not as the woman who once loved him, but as the pirate captain who would face him down across cannon and steel.