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Her Majesty the Queen had gone missing overnight.
The King of Paradis sent out search parties, scoured the city, tore apart the taverns and homes of anyone remotely suspicious.
The Queen had been mourning the loss of her pregnancy. The King demanded she be found—she was vulnerable, after all. Grief-stricken. Distraught.
There was no trace of the abductors. No ransom note. No bargaining for riches and gold.
Her window had been opened, and her side of the bed was cold.
In the end, all that was left was a dirty cloth, stamped with a skull and two crossed blades, in place of her crown.
The crew knew who she was.
No one discussed it to her directly.
There were whispers, wondering why she would voluntarily leave.
Months passed.
She proved that despite her life of royalty, she could handle herself. She could help man the ship. She could take on the Captain with a sword.
She may not win against him, but she came close once.
He had smirked at her, pleased.
Porco Galliard was a newer member to the crew.
He followed in his brother’s footsteps, sneaking on after Marcel, and Captain Levi let him join—albeit reluctantly. He complained about the extra brat but he wasn’t one to turn away someone willing to work.
Marcel and Porco recognized Historia, claiming that they had delivered custom-tailored clothes for her and the King that their parents made. Marcel kept tight-lipped, having heard of the stories of the abducted Queen and the pirates who must have taken her, but they never expected to be on the same ship as her.
Porco was the one to ask the question on the crew’s mind, on a calm day at sea, when she was looking over the edge of the hull. She looked contemplative, her mouth twisted into a frown, and while Porco felt guilty to interrupt her, he had to know.
“Why did you leave?”
Historia turned to face him, her oceanic eyes sharp as she regarded him. Even in her brown trousers, scuffed boots, and slightly dirty white shirt, the gaze fixed on Porco is only one a ruler can perfect.
“What do you know of the King?” She asked in return, tilting her chin up at Porco.
At her tone, he swallowed any praise he had for His Majesty.
“We delivered clothes for you both, a few years ago,” Porco told her quietly. “That’s how I knew.”
Historia smiled sadly, and then she turned back to the sea. Porco stood beside her, close enough that their arms touched. For the first time since he came aboard, he realized just how small she was—particularly when she shrunk into herself when she spoke.
“He was a brute,” she muttered, her gaze fixed upon the horizon as the wind blew the loose strands of hair back from her face. When she caught Porco’s concerned expression, she promptly lowered her gaze to the wood beneath her fingers. “When I lost our child, he thought I miscarried intentionally. I couldn’t get pregnant after that. What good is a monarch who can’t produce a son?” She asked quietly, though she already knew the answer.
Porco was silent, and he looked over his shoulder.
At the helm, Captain Levi stood, arms crossed and his dark eyes zeroed in on the pair.
Historia’s voice drew Porco’s golden gaze back to her.
“The Captain saved my life.” Her expression was fierce, not at all the look of a woman who let others lead her the way she said. “I owe him my own.”
Porco swallowed the many questions he still had; he wondered how horrific her life must have been to throw away the endless security of shelter and food and power to live a life at sea.
Sensing his swirl of emotions, Historia placed a hand on his arm. “Porco - I promise, this is the best place for me. I’m safe out here with you all, and with Captain Levi.” She paused, and let out a laugh. “Well. As safe as one can be.”
She squeezed his arm in reassurance before stepping away.
He watched her walk up the steps to the helm, taking her place beside the Captain. They exchanged a few quiet words, Captain Levi’s guarded body language beginning to ebb when she spoke, and he scoffed at her. Even so, he unfolded his arms, and she laughed.
For a fleeting moment, Porco saw Captain Levi’s expression soften, and he understood.
The Queen had indeed found a new life in the sea.
It appeared that she also found love in the most unlikely of places.
That night, as she did every night, she snuck into the Captain’s cabin.
He was already undressing. His vest was on the dresser, and his hands were at his belt. He glanced at Historia, who’s grin was spreading, and he rolled his eyes.
“Oh, Levi, don’t be sore,” Historia teased as she stepped toward him. She swatted away his hands and took the liberty of pulling his belt off for him.
Levi cocked an eyebrow. While she discarded the belt onto the floor and then worked at untucking his shirt.
“I was merely surprised,” Levi remarked as he trailed a hand up her arm. “Talking so openly to Galliard.”
She unfastened the buttons of his shirt, getting on her toes so she could drag her tongue along his throat and press her lips to the underside of his jaw.
“Surprised, Levi,” Historia drawled in a low voice, “or jealous?”
He didn’t dignify her with an answer, which was an answer in itself.
She grinned when she pushed him backward until he sat on his bed, slate eyes fixed on her hungrily.
“Let me remind you who the Queen of the Sea is, Captain Levi.”