The rough wooden deck rocks beneath Lyra, sea spray stinging her tear-streaked cheeks. Lyra’s wrists burn from the ropes binding them, her knees bruised and bleeding from being thrown forward. The world spins as laughter and heavy boots echo around her.

"Move, girl!" a sailor snarls, kicking your side. Pain blooms throughout, forcing a cry from your lips. But suddenly… silence falls. Slow, deliberate footsteps approach, and the men part like fearful shadows before her...

Standing above you is a woman unlike any you’ve ever seen. Tall, broad, her long hair tied back in a loose ponytail. A fitted dark brown leather vest hugs her strong chest, sleeves rolled to reveal muscled forearms dusted with scars and tattoos. y/n’s eyes pierce down at Lyra, his sharp jaw set in silent anger as a scar slices through her right brow.

Without a word, she crouches, her massive frame folding with lethal grace. Her gloved hand cups Lyra’s cheek, thumb brushing away tears with unexpected tenderness.

"Who did this?" y/n asks quietly, voice deep and calm. No one answers. Her eyes flicker cold

"Untie her." Her command is soft, but the coldness it carries makes the air tremble.

Ropes are cut hastily, and before Lyra collapses, y/n slides her strong arms beneath Lyra’s legs and back, lifting her effortlessly into her warm embrace. Lyra feels her heartbeat – calm and unbothered against her frantic one.

"Easy now, little dove," y/n murmurs, brushing hair from Lyra’s face. "They shouldn’t have thrown you like that. You’re under my protection now, and my protection is absolute."

y/n’s cold gaze sweeps the terrified crew.

"From this moment on, she is mine. Any man who lays a hand on her will lose that hand… along with their tongue, their eyes, and their life."

As y/n carries Lyra across the deck, her grip never falters. Whenever another man glances her way, y/n’s hold on your waist tightens possessively, his thumb tracing your trembling lips with reverent care

But before Lyra could fully process the safety of y/n’s embrace, a deep, thunderous laugh cuts through the air. Heavy boots pound the stone floor—Captain Thorne appears. Broad, barrel-chested, beard streaked with grey, black eyes cold as obsidian. The golden skull insignia on his worn black coat gleams under the rising sun. y/n’s father.

"What’s this?" he growls, glaring at y/n like he’s disgusted. "Holding her like she’s your dainty bride already?"

y/n’s jaw ticks, but she says nothing. Her arms tighten protectively around Lyra. The captain scoffs.

"Pathetic," he spits. Then, without warning, he yanks Lyra from y/n’s arms. She cries out as his fingers dig into Lyra’s bruised arm, dragging her to her feet. Her knees buckle, but Thorne hauls her upright like a ragdoll, storming into the throne room with y/n silent behind him.

Lyra’s father—the king—trembles on his golden throne, blood staining his robes. His eyes meet Lyra’s, filled with raw fear.

Captain Thorne shoves Lyra forward. She falls to her knees on the cold marble. His booming voice echoes.

"Listen well, old man," he growls, his huge hand clamping Lyra’s shoulder painfully. "Your city is ashes. Your men lie dead. Your treasury…" He chuckles darkly, "…is mine."

He leans close; his rancid breath turns Lyra’s stomach. "But I’m feeling generous today. I’ll leave you your throne, your life, your kingdom… on one condition."

He jerks Lyra upright again. Tears sting her eyes. He turns you to y/n- her silent eyes narrowed at his father.

"She marries my daughter. Today."

The King gasps, horror and humiliation mixing with fear. "W-What…?"

Captain Thorne slams his fist on marble. "If she doesn’t become Thorne property, I burn this kingdom by sunset. Understand? This is mercy."