Chapter Text

Prologue: Mav

“Captain!” 

Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell looks up, happy at the interruption. If anyone had told him taking command of the Hornet for a royal diplomatic mission meant this much paperwork, he might have tried to convince the king to appoint someone else. “What is it, Hondo?” he asks, trying not to sound as eager for a distraction as he feels. 

“Smoke to our port side, can’t quite make out the details from here but–”

“Pirates,” Mav finishes for him, dread settling low in his gut. There were times in his career when Maverick sought out pirates; the danger of facing an unknown adversary who didn’t play by any king’s rule made him feel alive and the opportunity for recovered treasure was irresistible. This voyage though, pirates are the last thing they need. 

He promised King Nicholas and Queen Carole that Bradley would be entirely safe in his care as the prince undertook his first diplomatic mission. Regardless, he can’t leave a ship in distress. They’ll just have to keep an eye out and hope Mav’s luck holds.

He rises to his feet, shutting the ledger and shoving it along with the half written letter he’d been drafting into the top drawer of his desk and securing the stopper on his ink bottle. “Show me what we’re looking at,” he says as he gestures for Hondo to precede him onto deck. 

It’s late afternoon and the light has gone golden as the sun dips towards the horizon. The winds that have been so favorable to this point in their journey have stilled to the slightest whisper that barely seems enough to catch the sails. A scan of the deck tells Mav everything is as it should be. 

“I don’t like that look, Captain,” Hondo says, looking resigned. 

Mav bites back a smile. Hondo has been his right hand for a decade now and this has become a well worn pattern. “It’s the only one I’ve got,” he says with a helpless little shrug.

The sigh that earns him is deep and heartfelt but he knows Hondo will follow orders even if he has his misgivings.  

“Set a course for the wreckage. Trap or not, there might be survivors.” He peels off and heads for the port side of the ship. 

Bradley is standing at the rail, Bob on one side, Phoenix on the other, one spyglass between them, taking turns peering towards an undeniable plume of smoke rising to the sky. Mav joins them, resting his elbows against the railing. “What do you reckon?” he asks. 

“If anyone’s on board they don’t have long,” Bradley says, cutting directly to the most important point. 

Bob passes the spyglass down to Mav. “No other ships on the horizon.” 

Mav takes it and does a slow scan, skipping over the ship in distress at first, eyes straining as if squinting down the sight of the spyglass might let him see just over the curve of the earth to ensure there isn’t danger lurking out of view. Seeing nothing, he focuses on the ship. It doesn’t look good. The steady curl of smoke is coming from the mainmast where he can see the blackened remains of the mainsail. Tattered canvas flaps in the wind off the remains of a fractured mizzenmast. From this distance it appears the hull is intact, but that ship is going nowhere without significant repairs. If there’s anyone still on board they are stranded days from port, much too far to row even if he couldn’t see what look like the shattered remains of the ship’s boat tossing in the waves not far from the stranded ship. 

The sun is nearly touching the sea on the western horizon when they finally pull alongside the wreck. This close it’s clear the ship is taking on water, listing slowly to starboard as the bilge fills. There are no bodies in the water or visible on the deck. Still, there’s no telling what they’ll find below decks. “Bradley, you’re with Hondo. Bob, Phoenix, with me.” 

He shoots Bradley a quelling look before his godson can voice the complaint already gathering on his tongue. “I made a promise to your mother,” he adds. “Don’t worry, there will be plenty of opportunities for adventure before I return you to your gilded cage.” 

“Tyrant,” Bradley mutters. 

Bob and Phoenix make quick work sliding a gangplank across the gap between the ships. Phoenix swings across, agile as ever and catches a line from Mickey, tying it off to help keep either ship from drifting too far. Mav waits only until a single line is secured before crossing the gangplank in quick, bounding steps. 

The derelict feels unsteady beneath his feet. “Let’s make this quick,” he says as Bob and Phoenix join him. 

“Survivors and treasure only, sir, we got it.” Phoenix and Bob grin at each other and head for the captain’s quarters. 

Mav watches them go and shakes his head. He’s never met anyone with such a determined nose for treasure as Phoenix and ever since he took on Bob the two have been tied at the hip. If there’s anything of value to be found, he can be pretty sure they’ll have it squirreled away in the Hornet’s hold before Mav is done checking for survivors. 

He moves quickly, leaving the captain’s quarters for his crew to loot, descending down beneath decks. It’s dark and still. His breaths seem to echo off the wood as he moves quickly but carefully from room to room. He’s almost convinced the ship is abandoned when he hears it, a muted moan and a thunk of something solid striking wood from the brig. 

Mav curses under his breath. Of course they wouldn’t have freed a prisoner before jumping ship. Assholes. 

He yanks off the board barring the door and tosses it aside before wrenching it open. Water splashes over his boots, washing down the floor, leaving the formerly dry wood an inch deep in ocean. Mav curses again and pushes forward. 

There’s a single cage-like enclosure bolted to the hull of the ship. Inside stands a tall man with dirty blond hair and wild green eyes. Mav can see iron shackles around the man’s wrists and ankles, and a gag is stuffed in his throat. Seawater rushes in through an elbow-high hole in the hull. It’s not enough to sink a ship of this size under normal circumstances. Mav could probably patch the hole easily and dredge out the seawater by himself if he had the supplies, but the ship was already listing when they boarded, this definitely isn’t the only hole. He looks around, hoping in vain that whoever left this man to drown at least had the courtesy to leave keys behind. 

Nothing. 

“Get back,” he says, eyeing the cage. The hole in the hull should have weakened the connection on the side, if he can just... He puts his whole weight into the first kick. The force of the impact reverberates up to his knee and he bites back a hiss of pain. The cage shifts, but not far enough to break.

The blond man backs into the opposite corner, irons clinking, watching Mav with wary eyes as he lines up the next kick. 

It takes almost a minute and enough kicks Mav’s going to walk with a limp for days, but at last the bolts tear free. Between Mav yanking from the outside and the prisoner pushing from within, they manage to make an opening. The two new holes Mav made in the hull stream water into the hold. It’s over Mav’s foot now and rising fast enough to see. 

“Sorry about this,” he says to the blonde man as he steps closer. He takes a moment to yank the gag free and then stoops, using all his strength to hoist him over one shoulder. “We’ll get the irons off, but not here.” 

“Trap,” the man croaks in a voice that’s brittle from disuse. 

Mav swallows against a nauseating wave of adrenaline. “All the more reason to run.” 

He wraps one arm around the man’s thighs, holding him in place and heads for the upper decks as quickly as he can. He’s calling for Bob and Phoenix as soon as he steps into the open air. The whole ship is listing strongly enough that it’s like running uphill on an icy morning trying to get to the starboard side. 

Somehow they manage, Payback holding the plank firmly on one side, Bob on the other, Phoenix helping support the prisoner’s head while Mav takes his legs. Bradley steps up as soon as they’re on the deck of the Hornet, scooping the prisoner up in his arms, biceps and neck bulging with effort. 

“Take him to my quarters,” Mav says. “See if you can get those irons off.” 

Bradley for once doesn’t look immediately mutinous at an order. Thank the gods. 

“Black sails, due west,” Hondo says quietly enough only Mav will hear. They exchange a significant look and then Hondo peels off towards the Captain’s quarters while Mav makes straight for the helm shouting orders as he goes. 

The Hornet is quick, but she’s not the fastest ship on the sea even when they don’t have to break away from a rapidly sinking wreckage. 

Out of the corner of his eye Mav sees Hondo slide the bar into place across the door to his quarters and lets out a breath. At least, whatever happens in the next couple of hours, Bradley is safe in Mav’s quarters. His godson is brave and a decent fighter, but no one on the crew will be able to focus on defending the ship if they’re also worried about the heir to the throne being gutted by some miserable pirate. Better to hide Bradley away until the danger passes and then deal with the inevitable anger that will follow. 

At least, Mav thinks as he pulls out a spyglass and focuses on the approaching ship, the prisoner will keep Bradley occupied until the cannons start to fire. 

“Continue south, get as much speed as you can. Let’s try to lose them in the Golden Shoals,” he tells Mickey, eyes glued to the horizon. The ship is definitely gaining, heading at a slight angle, trying, Mav suspects, to trick them into a southeast trajectory. Mav knows the Red Rip just well enough to know the currents mean almost certain wreck for a ship their size. If these pirates are trying to dash them against the rocky shores of the Sidewinder Isles that can only mean one person: Cain. 

Mav grinds his teeth and wishes, not for the first time, he’d killed Cain when he had the chance. The mercy of leaving him stranded had done nothing but ensure that Mav would be hunted until one of them was dead. 

“Is that…?” Hondo doesn’t finish the question. He wasn’t with Mav on Darkstar when she captured the Bogey, and Pete earned his moniker. It was for the fateful journey that followed, when Mav learned to truly respect the Red Rip, that Hondo joined the crew. 

Losing the Darkstar had been hard. He’d taken that ship on her maiden voyage and her last, and every one in between. Still, Mav gained a second mate and a best friend on that final trip. The Hornet was fair compensation as well. Not his in the way Darkstar had been, but he knows he’s lucky to have any ship at all. Fifty isn’t old, exactly, but he’s hardly a young man, and with the price Cain has placed on his head, he’s heard more than once that he should retire somewhere inland where the pirates have no cause to chase him.

Maverick has never been one to back down from a fight. 

“One of his,” Mav confirms, passing over the spy glass. “Get the cannons ready, we might need them.”

“Yes, Captain.” 

He should feel afraid. The pirate ship is gaining fast and this is one voyage that cannot end up dashed amongst the Sidewinder Isles. Still, Mav can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. If Cain thinks this is going to be easy, Mav is going to enjoy proving him very wrong. 

They make good time. The winds are with them and they’re traveling light on cargo. Still, the black sails grow larger as the pirates gain steadily. 

Mav can see the bright turquoise water that marks the Golden Shoals ahead, but it’s too late. They’ll never make it there on time, and from the speed of the ship pursuing them, even if they did they’d run a good risk of trapping themselves in the shallows rather than leaving the pirates behind. 

“Cut east, head for open waters,” Mav tells Mickey, clapping him on the shoulder before heading down the short flight of stairs to the quarterdeck. It’s not much of a chance, but contingencies are already forming in his head as he commands his crew to prepare the starboard cannons. 

The next twenty minutes are tense. It’s inevitable this is going to end in combat, but neither ship is close enough to land a hit. When the Bandit, close enough now Mav can read the ship’s name, fires its first volley it feels almost like a relief.

The Hornet returns fire, two cannonballs plunging into the sea just shy of the hull, but the third strikes true, splintering wood just above the water line. They get off one more round each, neither side doing catastrophic damage, before the Bandit pulls alongside. 

A half dozen pirates, typically ratty and vicious looking, swing across the gap between their boats, cutlasses in hand and the air fills with the clash of metal on metal. Mav shoots one quick look at the door to his cabin, relieved to see the heavy oak board still in place across it. He hopes, but doesn’t expect, Bradley will have the presence of mind to hunker down with the prisoner until everything is over. More likely he’ll have to deal with bloodied fists and cutting words when the board is finally removed - if Mav is here to see it. 

He sees no one familiar among the pirates attacking his crew, but when he looks across at the Bandit’s poop deck, his vision tunnels until all he sees is the one man he had hoped never to see again. Cain, a growl forms deep in his throat. Time to end this once and for all. 

Mav grabs a length of rope and with a final glance back at his crew swings across, landing with a thud three feet from Cain. “Didn’t I tell you I never wanted to see you on the sea again?” Mav asks, pulling the sword from his belt. 

Cain shows his yellowed teeth in a snarl. “The seas don’t belong to your kind anymore, Pete. Shame your crew will have to pay for your mistakes… again.” 

Their swords meet with a clang. Cain has height and reach, but Mav is fast and strong. Everything fades but the rage bubbling in Mav’s blood and the arc of his sword as he blocks, parries and slices. There’s a sharp sting on his cheek as he’s a moment late pushing Cain’s cutlass aside. 

Cain’s smug satisfaction at seeing his enemy bleed gives Mav just the opportunity he needs to step into Cain’s space and kick him hard in the gut. It catches Cain off guard, knocking the wind out of him and Mav slashes Cain’s sword arm. Blood wells up as his blade slices through and Mav grabs the wound with one hand. He twists and Cain’s sword falls to the deck. 

Mav kicks the sword away and brings his own to Cain’s throat. 

“Go ahead!” Cain says. 

Mav pauses. He’s got Cain at his mercy, but there’s no fear in the old man’s eyes, only deep cruel satisfaction. He twists Cain’s arm and uses it to push the man to the deck. His eyes dart to the Hornet and his heart sinks. Phoenix is pinned against the mainmast, a cutlass at her throat, blood seeping from her nose, her daggers nowhere to be seen. Hondo is standing firm in front of the door to the captain’s quarters, sword in one hand, dagger in another, holding his own against two pirates but Mav can see the sweat on his brow and knows he won’t be able to keep it up for long. The rest of his crew is similarly pressed. This is not a fight they are going to win. 

“Let them go and I won’t kill you,” Mav says, voice tight. He pushes the sword against Cain’s throat until a small line of blood blooms under the tempered steel. 

“Try again.” 

He should have known. It was always going to end this way. “Take me instead.”

“And what promise do I have you won’t try to escape, or kill me once my men are back on board?” 

Mav lets out a slow breath, giving himself one final moment of freedom, one moment to imagine this isn’t how his life ends. “I swear on the sea, if you let my ship and crew go free and do not pursue them, I am yours and I will not fight it.” He feels the words take root, the latent magics no one but sailors believe in anymore settling in his very soul. The power is like kelp, strong, wet, and cold wrapping around something vital deep inside. 

“I agree to your bargain,” Cain says, pushing Mav’s sword away from his throat with two fingers. 

Mav watches as Cain whistles shrilly and the pirates as one, stop fighting and turn back to the ship. His own sailors are left stunned. Hondo takes a step as if to pursue, eyes locked on where Mav stands, sword arm dangling by his side, but Mav shakes his head. Hondo’s eyes widen and then close, acceptance and sorrow painting their way across his face. 

Hondo knows more of the sea and its magic than Maverick ever will. He’s glad at least that Hondo will be the one to explain to Bradley what happened. At least his godson and friends won’t be left forever wondering if Mav is coming home. He can see in the creases around Hondo’s mouth that his first mate knows: this is goodbye. 

🏴‍☠️

Chapter Text

Part 1: Bradley

Bradley stares at the ship smoldering in the distance, a feeling of foreboding forming deep in his gut. They’ve been at sea for a week and this is the most exciting thing that has happened so far - even though he’s already certain he won’t actually be allowed within twenty feet of the derelict. He knows he’s the heir to the throne, but what is the point of leaving the palace if no one will let him do anything?

When his father was twenty five he sailed for six months with a much younger Pete Mitchell and the stories Bradley was raised on absolutely did not involve being kept safely hidden below decks any time there was the slightest risk. Bradley is never going to meet the love of his life, let alone be rescued by them from pirates, if he’s stuck inside his quarters. Maybe he’s just not meant to have the life his parents did, but he’d at least expected Mav to let him try.

“You really think anyone is still alive on that thing?” he asks, handing off the spyglass to Phoenix. 

Phoenix darts a look at him out of the corner of her eye. Bradley’s not sure what the crew were told about him, but he’s rapidly come to appreciate Phoenix’s bluntness and Bob’s complete lack of subterfuge. Of all the crew they’re the ones he most trusts to actually tell him what is going on. 

“If it’s pirates there’s a chance,” she says after a pause. ”Sometimes they’ll leave a survivor or two, just to tell the tale.” 

Bob shoots Phoenix a disbelieving look. “We don’t know it was pirates.” 

“I said ‘if,’” Phoenix replies, rolling her eyes. “I suppose they could have started their own ship on fire and then tried to row to the Sidewinder Islands in the ship’s boat. If that’s the case, it’s probably empty of people, but they may have left supplies behind.” 

“Nothing Phoenix here likes more than a treasure hunt,” Bob says, leaning around Bradley to snag the spyglass from Phoenix’s hands. 

“Well, whatever is on board we better get there soon. It’s listing pretty hard already,” Bradley says, leaning against the rail, squinting at the still distant ship. 

“What do you reckon?” Mav asks, coming to lean next to Bob. 

Bradley sighs inwardly. He loves his godfather, he does, but sometimes he wishes he’d been sent with any other captain in the Royal Navy. On any other ship, Bradley could assert his royal status and push his way into a place on the expedition team. The only special privilege Bradley’s birth gets him with Mav is an extra layer of cotton wool between him and every foreseeable risk or hint of excitement. 

“If anyone’s on board they don’t have long,” Bradley says, not tearing his eyes away. He hopes there’s no one on board. To be left on a sinking ship, hoping for rescue and knowing it’s unlikely to come, or be the only survivor, knowing you live only to spread fear of the people who killed your crew, your family, it doesn’t bear thinking about. 

He tunes out the conversation after that. It’s not like he will need to know the strategy to watch it unfold from here on the deck. 

By the time Mickey pulls them alongside the ship, the fire that first drew their attention has burned out leaving the smell of smoke more than the sight of it. Bradley watches as the crew moves in a well coordinated dance, securing lines and setting up a gangplank between the Hornet and the damaged vessel. Mav takes Phoenix and Bob and soon they’ve all disappeared from view, leaving the rest of the crew to wait. 

“You know he’s only trying to keep you safe.” Hondo leans against the rail beside him. 

“That’s the problem,” Bradley says. “I’m not a kid anymore, but he doesn’t see that.” 

“Maybe if you ask him to ride you around on his shoulders like he used to do when you were five he’ll have to realize you’re all grown up.” Hondo’s chuckle rumbles up through his chest and Bradley can’t help smiling at him. 

“You know him, Hondo. Can’t you convince him to let me do something?”

Hondo looks up at the blackened remnants of the mainsail. “Your father didn’t ever tell you about the last time he sailed with Maverick, did he?”  

Bradley has heard so many stories of Nick and Pete that they’ve blended with the fairy stories his mother used to tell him. He can just as easily imagine them swimming with mermaids as capturing pirates on the high seas. It would be nearly impossible for him to tell which of the remembered stories are real and which are fantastical hybrids fuelled by his mother’s love of stories and his own overactive imagination. “I don’t know,” he answers at last. 

“I wasn’t with the crew yet, but I’d heard of Pete Mitchell,” Hondo begins. 

Part of Bradley’s mind knows he’s being placated, given a story of adventure to distract from the actual adventure he’s missing, but he can’t help but be swept away by Hondo’s deep voice telling him a story every bit as far fetched as any in his mother’s story books. 

Back then kraken were more common than they are now. Some said it was the warm tides bringing them north, others thought they were a punishment from the warlock of the sea. Either way, they were a menace. This kraken was, by all accounts, juvenile—eighteen feet at most but clever enough to know fishing nets made easy eating and large enough not to care if it capsized a few fishing boats along the way. 

When the Darkstar pulled into port, still glistening and new, only a month into her maiden voyage, it was natural for the mayor to ask the prince for help. No one expected the prince himself to buy a boat and head out into the bay with only his best friend for protection, but he was the prince so they let him do what he wanted. 

Bradley snorts at this. Figures that his father could use his title to take on a kraken almost single handedly where Bradley hadn’t even been allowed on the ocean until his twenty-fifth birthday and was constantly being told to wait behind while Mav and the crew got to have the kind of adventures Bradley had always dreamed of. 

Hondo ignores him, continuing his story. 

They spent nearly two days on that little fishing boat before the kraken showed up to get more fish. When it found only the lone fishing boat and no convenient net filled with fish, you might say it took that lack of easy food personally. Before they could throw a single spear, that damn kraken wrapped one of its tentacles around your father’s foot and yanked him into the water. Mav managed to stab a spear through the beast’s eye, but not before it smashed their boat and tossed your father around like a baby’s rattle. 

When it finally stopped thrashing, Mav couldn’t see your father anywhere. He dove into the water, searching and searching through the ink that turned the ocean black as night. He dove so deep his lungs burned and he didn’t know if he would make it to the surface in time, but he couldn’t find your father anywhere. He kept searching long after he stopped hoping he’d find him alive, and then a pair of strong hands grabbed him and hauled him to the surface. 

I was raised on stories of magic and the sea. Kraken are meant to be the last remnant, but if Mav can be believed, he wasn’t rescued by a human. The creature that pulled him to the surface had the face and torso of a man, and the tail of a fish. 

“A merman?” Bradley interrupts, voice heavy with skepticism. Everyone knows that if there was magic in the sea once, it died long ago leaving only the sharks and kraken to remind humans of the old powers and the fear they inspired. 

 Hondo shrugs. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story, or not?”

Bradley gestures for him to continue. At least listening to the story of Mav nearly getting his dad killed is helping distract him from the way the ship they’re tied to is steadily tilting as it takes on more and more water. 

Mav fought the merman with all his might. He thought your father was still under the water and he wasn’t about to abandon him. Finally, the merman released him and shouted, “Fine! If you want to die so badly, I won’t try to stop you, but your friend probably won’t like it.”

Mav looked to where the merman was pointing and there was your father, half draped across a piece of their destroyed boat. He looked like a drowned rat, but he was alive. Mav turned back to thank the merman, but he had slipped back beneath the waves. Mav swears he saw him one more time as the Darkstar pulled out of the harbor two days later, but he hasn’t seen him again. Doesn’t stop him from looking though. 

Hondo pats Bradley on his shoulder. “Chin up, your highness. Mav almost lost your father that day, it’s just going to take him a little while to remember you’re not him.” 

Bradley doesn’t get a chance to respond. They both turn as Mav’s voice rings out from the boat, calling for Bob and Phoenix, and then Mav is bursting out on the quarterdeck with a person tossed over his shoulder. 

Everyone jumps into action to ensure that they all make it across. Bradley steps in, reaching for the survivor. The man is almost as tall as Bradley from the look of how he’s draped over Mav’s shoulder, well muscled and manacled tightly, hand and foot. Bradley slides an arm under his back and another under his knees and lifts him against his chest. He’s heavier than he looks. 

“Take him to my quarters,” Mav pants, “see if you can get those irons off.” 

Bradley nods, tightening his grip on the man and turning towards the captain’s quarters. He hasn’t picked a lock in years, but surely the basics haven’t changed. Picking the shackles off a rescued prisoner may not be the most exciting work, but at least it’s something. 

In Mav’s quarters he sets the man on the bed so he can be somewhat comfortable while Bradley searches the drawers to see if Mav still keeps a lock pick handy. He can feel the prisoner’s gaze on his back as he kneels to search the lowest drawers first but neither of them speaks. For his part, Bradley doesn’t know what to say. There’s no explanation for the man being the sole survivor that isn't horrific and Bradley’s never been great at difficult conversations. For now, he focuses on what matters—getting the shackles off the prisoner’s hands and feet so the man can safely walk the deck. He’ll leave the interrogation to the rest of the crew. 

He finds a set of lock picks in the third drawer he opens. The leather case is well oiled and smooth under his fingers. He flips it open revealing a neat array of polished picks and turning tools. He runs his fingers across them and sends up a prayer to whatever gods or magic still linger on the sea that he remembers how to do this. 

The prisoner’s eyes watch him with an unblinking stare as Bradley turns to face him with what he hopes is a reassuring smile on his face and the picks held tightly in one hand. Everything about the prisoner’s face is unsettling from the almost perfect symmetry of his features to the pale green of his eyes and the smirk raising one corner of his pink lips like he knows something Bradley doesn’t. He wishes he were quicker on his feet and could think of something to say that would unbalance the man the way he unbalances Bradley. Sitting shackled on a bed on a ship in the middle of the sea crewed by strangers, he has no right to look so damn cocky. 

“I’ll do your feet first,” Bradley says, in lieu of anything wittier. He pulls a pick and a turning tool from the case and then tucks it into his pocket. He takes a moment to look at the locks holding each of the shackles closed. There’s no possibility of just breaking the lock off, he’ll have to actually trick the lock open unless the man wants to walk around with iron anklets until they can get a blacksmith to help cut them off. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly, willing his fingers to be steady despite the way his heart rabbits against his ribs. The turning tool slides into the base of the lock easily, only to clatter to the floor as soon as he releases it to slide in the pick. He can feel heat blooming in his cheek as his fingers scrabble across the wood to grab it. 

“First time?” The prisoner asks, voice mocking. 

Bradley glares up at him, fingers closing around the narrow metal tool. “Most people I know are smart enough not to get captured.”  

The prisoner lets out a low laugh that prickles across Bradley’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Doesn’t seem like much of an accomplishment when you’re crewing the jewel of the Royal fleet.” 

“What do you know about the Navy?” It comes out more snappish than he meant it to. He can’t help it, everything about the man sets him on edge. He sets the turning tool in place again, this time keeping pressure on it with one hand while the other works the pick into the top of the keyhole. 

“I know enough,” the prisoner replies, irritatingly vague. 

Bradley clenches his jaw and focuses on testing each pin in the lock, nothing catches on the first two pins, it’s not until the fourth pin he hits real resistance. He wiggles the pick applying steadily increasing pressure until the pin clicks into place. He pulls the pick back to the first pin and starts again, testing until the third pin sticks for a moment before clicking up. He gives an experimental twist and is rewarded by the face of the lock turning and the sound of the lock disengaging. 

The iron shackle loosens and Bradley pulls it away. Above him the prisoner lets out an audible sigh of pleasure as he rolls his ankle, flexing and bending his foot like he’s trying to will the blood back into it after sitting in an awkward position too long. 

Bradley moves on to the second lock. It opens even more easily than the first and he finds himself grinning triumphantly at the prisoner as he pulls the second shackle off and throws the set onto the floor for good measure. 

“You’re more useful than you look, Princeling,” the prisoner says, as Bradley helps him sit on the edge of the bed so Bradley can get at the shackles still binding his wrist. 

“I could stop now, if you’d prefer,” Bradley growls. He doesn’t question how the man knows who he is. There’s been no secret made of his voyage on the Hornet. He’s fairly sure everyone in the country knows that their crown prince is finally deigning to leave the safety of the castle—even if none of them can know how desperately Bradley has been wishing for this since he was old enough to ask.   

The man holds out his hands, palms up. “You could, but you won’t.” He sounds so confident that Bradley considers leaving him like this, at least for a little while. 

In the end he doesn’t because as banal as it may be, this is the first real task Mav has asked him to do since they left the palace, and because the seas are unpredictable even aboard a ship like the Hornet. There’s no telling when a squall might arise and unless they’re going to confine the man below deck, he needs to be able to hold on at the very least. 

There’s something almost intimate about working on the shackles on the prisoner’s wrist. Bradley kneels on the floor between the man’s knees, hands gentle as he guides the man’s arm to an angle that lets him get at the lock. His nose is flooded with a salty sweet smell that reminds him of a calm bay in summer and the man’s skin is cool and smooth under his fingers. His eyes flit up to the man’s face. 

The mocking expression from earlier has been replaced by something inscrutable that sets nerves fluttering in Bradley’s stomach. He clears his throat and drops his eyes back to the lock. “Do you, uh… what’s your name?” he asks the first question that comes to mind just to cut the sudden tension. 

“You can call me Jake.” 

Bradley wonders for a moment whether that’s his actual name, but decides it doesn’t matter. “Bradley,” he says, sneaking a quick look up at those light green eyes that haven’t stopped studying him. 

“Not ‘your highness’?” 

Bradley snorts. “Not if you want me to answer.” He pops open the lock and pries the shackles off Jake’s wrist. Unlike on his ankles where the fabric of his pants have protected Jake’s skin from the iron, his wrist is red and raw. Bradley hisses in sympathy and moves immediately to the final lock. “I have some salve in my cabin,” Bradley says. “It’ll burn rubbing in, but should stave off infection.” 

“It’s fine,” Jake says dismissively. “I heal quickly.”

The resonant boom of a cannon cuts off anything Bradley might have said in response. He jerks in surprise, the delicate pick snapping from the sudden pressure. Bradley barely notices as he jumps to his feet. “Stay here,” he orders, reaching for the door with one hand, the other pulling the dagger out of the sheath at his hip. 

He wishes he had his rapier. Fencing may not have much in common with actual combat, but at least with the longer blade he could have a chance at parrying a blow. He should have taken Phoenix up on her offer to teach him how to fight with dual daggers like she does, rather than relying on his comfort with a longer blade. Of course, he couldn’t have actually expected to fight—for all he complained about Mav’s overprotective streak, Bradley realizes as his hands hit the oak of the door, Bradley has always relied on Mav to keep him safe. 

The door doesn’t swing open under his palm. It doesn’t budge at all. 

Bradley shoves again, putting enough force into the shove that he should be able to dislodge a fallen barrel or, gods forbid, a limp body. Still, the oak holds fast.   

Jake snickers from where he’s still sitting on the edge of Mav’s bed. 

Bradley shoots him a disbelieving glare. “We’re under attack,” he growls. He takes a couple of steps back and flings his entire weight, shoulder first, into the door. 

“Poor little princeling, locked in his tower,” Jake mocks. “You can’t really think they’ll let you fight pirates on the open sea.” 

“What is wrong with you?” Bradley whirls away from the door, stalking angrily back to loom over Jake. He shoves his dagger back into its scabbard so he doesn’t give in to the urge to stab Jake right in his grinning face.

Jake holds up the wrist that’s still encased in iron and shakes, setting the attached chain rattling. “Forgive me if I’d rather not face Cain’s men unarmed with this weighing me down.” 

Outside the tightly locked room the cannons fall silent and there’s an unmistakable battle cry as the ship comes together with its foe. Any moment Bradley knows the sounds of swords will ring in the air. He clenches both fists tightly and stares at the planks of the ceiling tamping down the urge to scream. It takes a few deep breaths for the anger to bleed out, leaving resignation in its wake. He’ll have time to let Mav know how unacceptable this coddling is later, for now the only useful thing he can do is get the shackles off Jake’s wrists. 

He sinks back down between Jake's knees and takes hold of his wrist. It’s hard to concentrate on fishing out the broken length of the pick with the sound of battle raging outside and there’s a tremor in Bradley's hands that won’t still no matter how many deep breaths he forces into his lungs.

“Who’s Cain?” he asks as he finally catches the end of the broken pick and begins to wiggle it free. 

Jake doesn’t answer right away and when Bradley steals another look at his face, his expression is stormy. “No one you want to meet, trust me.” 

Bradley lets the broken piece of his pick fall to the floor between his knees and stares up at Jake. There’s a sharp unintelligible yell above the clashing of steel and he can’t hide the wince. He wants to be out there doing something to help. Instead he’s stuck here with perhaps the most infuriating person in the known world and he’s not moving a muscle more to help Jake until he starts talking.

“Now isn’t the time to fix the gaping holes in your education,” Jake grumbles. 

Bradley doesn’t rise to the bait and the stalemate lasts an uncomfortably long time, silence broken only by the battle raging on the other side of the wall. 

At last Jake sighs sharply and breaks eye contact, locking his unsettling green eyes on the iron band around his wrist. “There are more rumors about Cain than there are about you. Some say he made a bargain with the sea for immortality and in return the sea took his humanity. Others believe Cain is a name passed down from one pirate captain to another to strike fears in the hearts of sailors and coast dwellers alike.”

“What do you say?” Bradley asks, taking Jake’s wrist in hand and positioning it so he can get at the lock. 

“Avoid him, at all costs.” Jake’s voice is serious, hard. For the first time since Bradley dumped him on Mav’s bed there’s not a trace of laughter in his face. “If you see black sails on the horizon: run.”  

“And if you can’t run?”

Jake’s nostrils flare. “Then you hope you have something Cain wants more than he wants the satisfaction of sending you and your crew to the depths.” 

Bradley shifts his focus back to the lock, sliding the turning tool into place and starting to push gently at the pins. His mind races, remembering the smoldering, sinking mess they rescued Jake from; he can't help wondering what Jake had to bargain with. He doesn’t ask. If they survive the battle, there will be plenty of time to interrogate him between here and Miramar. 

At last, Bradley pops the final lock open. He sits back on his heels, as Jake pulls the cuff off his wrist and drops the shackles to the floor between them. He gives Jake long enough to rub the blood back into his hands and then rises suddenly to his feet. “Alright, you’re free. Help me with this door.”

“Still unarmed,” Jake grumbles, but he stands and follows Bradley across the cabin. 

Bradley swears under his breath and then stoops down, pulling a spare dagger from the hidden scabbard on the inside of his left boot. “Here,” he presses it flat against Jake’s chest. “It’s sharp, try not to cut yourself.” 

Jake takes the dagger, and flashes Bradley a cocky smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I suspect I’ve impaled more men than you have.” 

They line up, and both shove hard against the door. It still doesn’t budge an inch and Bradley swallows the urge to yell. 

“Let me…” Jake places a palm flat between Bradley’s pecs and pushes him backwards.

Bradley raises both eyebrows incredulously, unused to being manhandled by complete strangers, but lets himself be pushed aside. 

Jake drops to his knees and presses his face close to the seam of the door. Whatever he’s looking for, he finds it quickly. “There’s no way we’re budging the bar across this door unless you have something longer than a dagger.” 

“Damnit Mav!” Bradley stabs his dagger into the wall of the cabin. It doesn’t help the wash of helpless rage. 

A shrill whistle splits the air and the sounds of battle come to an abrupt stop. Bradley’s frantic gaze locks with Jake’s for a moment before they both take defensive positions. Better to be safe than sorry. 

An agonizing few minutes pass, neither man daring to move or make a sound. At last there’s the unmistakable sound of the bar being pushed free from the door and then Phoenix is pushing into the captain’s quarters. The bottom half of her face is red with blood that’s still seeping from what appears to be a broken nose. It renders her tight smile especially gruesome and Bradley throws an arm in front of Jake just in case he mistakes her for a pirate. 

Questions and recriminations pile up so quickly in Bradley’s brain he can’t get anything out beyond a vague sympathetic noise which earns him a flat look from Phoenix. 

“Looks worse than it is,” she says dismissively. “Come on.” Her eyebrow twitches slightly when she notices the dagger in Jake’s hand but she doesn’t say anything about it, just turns and walks out onto the deck. 

Bradley sheaths his dagger and follows her. He should probably be more concerned about leaving a prisoner who could very well have been bait in a trap armed and alone in the captain’s quarters, but he’s much more interested in what excuse Mav has for locking them in the captain’s cabin than arguing over a spare dagger. If Jake had wanted Bradley dead he surely would have tried when they were alone rather than now that the whole crew was around to watch Bradley’s back. 

The deck is chaotic. Phoenix is far from alone in sporting an injury from the battle. Bradley has to avert his eyes from where Payback is sewing up a deep gash across Coyote’s bicep only to have it land on Fritz kneeling on the deck, pouring rum straight onto a shallow but jagged gash across Bob’s stomach. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the sweet sharp scent of rum hit Bradley in a nauseating wave. 

He finds Hondo in the middle of the quarterdeck, unscathed except a few new tears in his uniform, directing the uninjured crew members to get the ship moving towards Miramar. It takes every shred of Bradely’s self control not to barrel in and demand an explanation, but he manages to hold in the accusatory “What the hell were you thinking?” until Mickey has scuttled off to raise the mainsail and left Bradley alone with Hondo.

“Bradley,” Hondo’s voice is somber. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t–”

“You barred me in the Captain’s quarters. Don’t try to tell me that wasn’t premeditated.” Bradley uses his height advantage to loom authoritatively over the first mate. He can’t believe he hadn’t paid attention to the brackets on the captain’s quarters’ door in the three weeks they’d been on the Hornet. It’s only as he’s leveling his justified anger at Hondo that he realizes this was the plan from the beginning. Jake’s presence had given Mav the convenient reason to send Bradley away, but those brackets could only mean that Mav’s plan from before Bradley even set foot on the ship was to trap him safely away from any hint of danger. 

“He just wanted to keep you safe.” The compassion in Hondo’s dark eyes only makes Bradley’s anger burn hotter. 

Bradley turns in a full circle, eyes rapidly cataloging the crew members. Mav isn’t among them, coward. “Where is he?” 

“Bradley…”

“Don’t cover for him,” Bradley snaps. “If he wants to treat me like a child he can–”

“Maverick is gone.”  Hondo places a hand on Bradley’s arm, squeezing comfortingly at his bicep. 

Bradley’s brain goes utterly blank. “He’s…  what?” 

“He’s gone, Bradley. I’m sorry. There was nothing–”

“Mav is dead?” Bradley’s voice sounds strange to his own ears, like it’s coming from very far away. 

“I hope not, but we don’t know.” 

“You…” Bradley runs a hand across his face. “What happened to Mav?” 

“He made a bargain.”

Bradley blinks down at Hondo, Jake’s words echoing in his ears hope you have something Cain wants more than more than he wants the satisfaction of sending you and your crew to the depths. 

“We were overpowered,” Hondo continues. “Mav might have been able to kill their leader, but the pirates would have slaughtered us in retaliation. He traded himself for us.”

“Of course he did,” Bradley mutters angrily. Damnit Mav! He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. It is just like Mav to trap Bradley in his cabin like a helpless child and then get himself kidnapped by pirates. He’ll have plenty of time to yell at Mav for being a self sacrificing idiot after they rescue him. “Alright, what’s the plan?”

“We take you back to Miramar.” 

“Not without Mav.” 

Hondo shakes his head. “Your highness…” 

“Hondo, we can't just leave him.” 

“I have my orders.” 

“I’m the crown prince, even if you all treat me like a child my orders supersede whatever overprotective bullshit you got from Mav.”

“The order didn’t come from Mav your highness. I’m sorry but your safety is our top priority. Once we get you to Miramar, we can request resources for a search and rescue operation.” 

“So you’re just leaving him behind. Hondo, it’s Mav.”

Hondo glares at him. “And this is exactly what he would want. You know that as well as I do.” 

Bradley has no retort and punching the mast as he stalks past it hard enough to crack skin across his knuckles just means he has blood dripping down his fingers in time with the angry throb of his heart. 

He stalks angrily over to where Jake is leaning against the bulwark watching Bradley with an infuriating smirk. 

“That was a very fine display of royal temper,” Jake observes dryly. “Did they drop your crown overboard?“

“If by crown you mean captain and dropped overboard you mean handed over to Cain, sure.” 

Jake sucks in a hiss through his teeth. 

“We’ll get him back,” Bradley says mulishly. 

Jake raises an eyebrow. “They say there’s a first time for everything. If you want to just drop me at the nearest deserted island I’ll wait for a less suicidal crew.” 

Bradley has never been so close to punching anyone in his life. “Mav saved your miserable life,” he snarls. “The least you could do is return the favor.” 

“Listen Princeling.” Jake straightens and steps right into Bradley’s space. “Out here you’re the monarch of nothing. Cain as good as owns the sea from the Golden Shoals to the Sidewinder Isles.”

“You know where his base is.”

Jake scoffs. “I know what parts of the sea and coast to avoid if you value your life. It’s not the same thing.” 

“Show me.” Bradley hates the note of pleading in his voice. 

“Drop me at the nearest port and I’ll draw you a map.” 

“We don’t have time for that. Mav doesn’t have time for that.” 

“Guess you’re out of luck. I’m sure the Royal Navy has other captains.”

Red washes over Bradley’s vision and his fist flies towards Jake’s smirk without any conscious decision on his part. Jake manages to swerve enough that Bradley clips his cheek with two knuckles instead of breaking his nose. 

“Fuck!” Bradley cries. Hand instinctively tucking close to his chest as a hot dart of pain sears up from his thumb to his elbow. His fighting masters never let him resort to anything as crass as fisticuffs. He hadn’t realized how much landing a punch would hurt him. 

The pain distracts him long enough he doesn’t see Jake’s retaliatory strike coming. 

Bradley’s never been struck before. The sudden crunch of Jake’s fist squarely in the center of his face catches him completely off guard and it’s not until the trickle of blood down the back of his throat floods his mouth with an awful coppery taste that he registers what’s just happened. He’s throwing his entire weight at Jake in an awkward swing before he’s had a chance to think, some alien combination of his rage at Mav and an animal instinct triggered by the bloom of pain driving him forward. 

Jake blocks Bradley’s first windmill strike but there’s not much he can do against Bradley’s entire weight colliding into him shoulder first. There’s a brief flailing moment where Jake tries to dislodge Bradley at the same moment Bradley is trying to steady himself with a handful of Jake’s tattered shirt and then they’re falling backwards on the deck. Jake’s elbow lodges in Bradley’s stomach on impact, driving the air from his lungs and Bradley retaliates by punching Jake in the jaw as hard as he can. 

Bradley tries to buck Jake off and manages to flip them both so he’s now the one on top. Jake lands another solid strike against Bradley’s cheekbone before Bradley gets his hands around Jake’s wrists and pins him to the deck. Jake goes limp beneath him, chest rising and falling with each panting breath. 

“Feel better?” Somehow prone with Bradley straddling his thighs, Jake still manages to look and sound superior.

It makes Bradley want to punch those perfect white teeth in despite the throbbing in his fist from his first successful strike. Before he can muster a sufficiently scathing retort Hondo’s hands are on his shoulders, pulling him up from Jake while Payback and Coyote flank Jake. 

Jake doesn’t fight it when they pull him to his feet and then keep a firm hold of his arms as if they expect him to lunge at Bradley at any moment. It would be funny if Bradley wasn’t acutely embarrassed to have been caught fighting like a child less than an hour after his crew survived a real battle. 

“Take him to the brig to cool off,” Hondo orders.

Bradley watches mutely as they frogmarch Jake below deck. Once they’re out of sight he shrugs out of Hondo’s grasp and stalks off to the captain’s cabin. He doesn’t say a thing, but he does give Hondo a pointed glare before grabbing the bar they used to trap him in this room last time and throwing it into the cabin before him. 

🌊

The crew leave him to his angry solitude. He can hear barked orders and friendly jibes as they get the ship underway. Bradley spends far too long glowering at the map Mav had pinned to his wall as if enough time might reveal its secrets. He’s sure that Mav knew where Cain’s hideout was just as he knows Jake could lead them there if he wasn’t too cowardly to face the pirate king. 

The sun has begun to dip below the smooth line of the horizon when Bradley finally emerges. He has the map in one hand and a renewed resolution. If they get lucky with the winds they can be in Miramar in three days. Surely whatever Mav used to bargain for the lives of his crew would have bought them time to rescue him. His godfather is heroic, not suicidal. The plan forming in Bradley’s mind still has a lot of holes, but the first step in a rescue operation is clear: he needs a location. There’s one person on the ship he’s certain knows exactly where Mav will be taken. Bradley just needs to find the right incentive to make Jake talk. 

He doesn’t run into any crew between the captain’s quarters and the brig. He can hear the murmur of serious conversation floating from the mess on stew-scented air but no one pops up to give him a sympathetic pat on the back or question why he is now seeking out the man they’d pulled him off of only a few hours earlier.   

There’s a single lantern hanging just out of reach of the barred wall separating the holding area in the brig from the rest of the room. It casts strange shadows as it sways with each rolling motion of the ship. It takes Bradley’s eyes a minute to adjust to the poor lighting but eventually he’s able to make out Jake’s form stretched out on the bunk bolted at the back of their larger holding cell. If Jake has noticed Bradley’s entrance, and it’s hard to imagine how he could have missed it, he’s choosing to ignore him. 

Annoyed at being so blatantly ignored, Bradley clears his throat. 

Jake continues to stare at the beams above his cot, unmoved by Bradley’s passive aggressive attempt to get his attention. 

“Did they offer you food?” Bradley asks. 

Jake’s arm reaches down and rattles the tray Bradley can now see laying beside him. “Decent stew but the bread was like trying to eat sawdust. You reserve it special for prisoners?” 

“You’re not a prisoner.”

That finally gets Jake to turn his head. In the shifting light from the lantern Bradley can make out amused incredulity on his face. “The literal cell you’ve got me locked in suggests otherwise, your princeliness.” 

“It’s your highness,” he growls. He’s never loved being addressed by a title but the sarcastic bastardization of it from a man he’s known less than a day is intolerable. 

“Apologies your majesticness. Is there something you needed other than to appraise me of your title?” Jake grins up at the ceiling, clearly pleased with himself. 

This is not going how Bradley planned. He sucks in an annoyed breath and then swipes the key for Jake’s cell off the wall. He doesn’t say anything as he unlocks the door and pushes it inward. 

Jake slowly sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot so he can lean against the wall. Bradley notices the dark smear of a bruise high on his cheek from Bradley’s fist. It sets off his features, adding a roguish quality to his handsomeness.  It sends a guilty little dart of satisfaction through him. He’s never left a mark on someone before. 

“Admiring your handiwork?” 

Jake’s voice snaps Bradley back to attention and he realizes he’s taken two steps into the cell without realizing. Heat rushes to his cheeks. “Does it hurt?” 

Jake shakes his head. “You aren’t much of a fighter are you?”

“I pinned you didn’t I?” Bradley fires back defensively.  

Jake chuckles. “Sure, on your ship, surrounded by your crew. In a real fight I would take you every time.” 

Arrogant asshole. “Prove it.” 

Jake’s eyes drag down Bradley’s body, assessing him with an intensity Bradley feels like lightning under his skin. “Suppose it couldn’t hurt to teach you a little self defense.” 

“I don’t need you to teach me anything.” Even as the words come out he knows they’re a lie. He suspects there are a great many things Jake could teach him. 

“How’s your hand?” 

“I—“ Bradley instinctively hides his visibly bruised hand behind his back. His thumb still aches when he moves it and there purple blooming just beneath the skin of his knuckles is deeper than the purple smudge on Jake’s cheekbone. “Fine. I suppose brawling like a commoner could be a useful skill when going after pirates.” 

Jake raises a skeptical eyebrow  but wisely doesn’t voice the doubts written all over his infuriatingly handsome face. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”

Bradley opens his mouth to say something rude and dismissive and then shuts it again. This is his opportunity. “Care to make a wager?” 

“On whether I can teach you to fight or on how many fights it’ll take before you manage to land a hit?” 

Bradley rolls his eyes. “On whether you can beat me at all in a fair fight.” 

“I suppose you have the coin to spare. What are the terms?”

“If you win I’ll pay you twenty crowns. When I beat you, you show me where Cain’s hideout is.” 

“Still planning a daring rescue?” Jake’s face is thoughtful. “Why is it I don’t believe your crew will agree to take you into a pirate’s territory even if you do manage to win your prize?” 

Bradley crosses his arms across his chest. “I’m the crown prince, if I order them to take me to Cain they will.” 

“Perhaps. Though since you’re never going to beat me in a fair fight, I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” 

“So we have a deal?”

Jake shrugs. “Why not. You get me to yield and I will draw your map.” 

Bradley fights down a triumphant smile and reaches out his hand to shake on the deal. Jake’s palm is rough against his, calloused from the kind of labour no one will ever allow Bradley to do. He releases Jake's hand and turns away. He makes it to the door of the cell before another idea strikes him. 

“Come with me,” he says, not bothering to look back, just leaving the cell open and heading for the stairs. 

There’s a clatter as Jake knocks into the tray he’d left by his cot and then he’s following Bradley up to the orlop deck. Bradley leads the way to the room at the back of the ship that has been his for the weeks since they left shore. At least until they rescue Mav Bradley can make use of the captain’s cabin. If he’s going to win Jake’s cooperation, it stands to reason he should make his time on the Hornet as comfortable as possible. He opens the door to the small but richly appointed bed chamber and steps in, turning to watch as Jake follows him. 

Jake comes to a sudden stop in the doorway, green eyes lit gold by the dying rays of the sun reflected through the porthole at the head of the bed. He looks at the bed and then to Bradley, an inscrutable expression on his face.

“These are my quarters,” Bradley begins, suddenly feeling awkward about just how nice the furnishings and bedding are compared to standard sailor accommodations. 

Jake crosses his arms over his chest, eyes glued to Bradley’s face. There’s something in his expression that Bradley can’t quite understand. 

“I know it’s a bit… much. But it’ll be more comfortable than the cot in the brig.

“You want me to sleep in your bed?”  

“If you want, I’m sure one of the crew would swap if you’d be more comfortable in the racks.” 

Jake tilts his head to one side, looking suddenly confused. “You wouldn’t care?” 

Bradley shrugs. “Why should I?” 

“I–” Jake blinks at him for a moment before he finally asks, “Where will you sleep?”

Bradley feels a rush of heat in his face when he realizes what Jake must have thought. “I’ll be in the captain’s quarters whether you choose to stay here or not,” he says quickly. “I wasn’t…” 

“Don’t worry, your highness,” Jake says, stepping into the room which suddenly feels far too small for two grown men, “I won’t tell anyone you accidentally propositioned me.” 

Bradley opens his mouth to deny it but instead what comes out is, “My name is Bradley.”

Jake takes another few steps, stopping just shy of touching Bradley. His lips curl in an easy smile. “Thank you for your generous offer Bradley, I’d be happy to keep your bed warm for you.” 

The proximity of Jake’s strong body and the teasing suggestive tone set off every fight or flight instinct Bradley has. He forces what he hopes is a friendly smile and quickly steps past Jake pausing only to tell Jake he’ll see him in the mess for breakfast before bolting for the relative safety of the captain’s quarters. 

⚓

“You could have at least told us,” Phoenix grumbles, setting a steaming cup of coffee down on the table in front of him. “Coyote thought he’d jumped overboard or something.” 

Bradley rolls his eyes. “From inside a locked cell in the brig?” 

She shrugs and plops down in the chair across from him. “Still, you put him in your cabin? We don’t even know who he is.” 

“We know he doesn’t belong in the brig.” It comes out sharper than he intended but Phoenix has known him since they were children and all his snappish reply earns him is a slightly raised eyebrow. 

They drink their coffee in silence until Bob shows up with breakfast. As it has been every day for three weeks, breakfast is some overbaked biscuits and some perfectly crisp strips of bacon. It’s a mystery to the whole crew how Bob can be such a deft hand with meat and vegetables but absolutely woeful at baking. Most baffling to Bradley is why the man keeps trying. Surely none of them would mind some fried potatoes and bacon instead of a biscuit that has to be soaked in coffee lest it break a tooth. 

“You tell him about the prisoner, Phoenix?” Bob asks, joining them at the table. 

Bradley snorts. “Jake, our guest, is staying in my quarters until we get Mav back.” 

“Bradley,” Phoenix’s voice is careful, like she’s expecting her next words to send him storming from the room. “You know we can’t go after him. Not until you’re safely in Miramar.” 

Bradley glares at her and takes a bite of biscuit to stop himself from saying something he can’t take back. He can’t believe she’s immediately on Hondo’s side. Of everyone in the crew he expected Phoenix to have his back. 

“We will rescue him,” Bob says, voice full of unfounded confidence. “As soon as we reach Miramar we’ll muster a crew and show Cain and his men what happens when you take one of ours.” 

Phoenix shoots Bob a warning look. “We don’t know if the king will authorize that, Bob. You heard Hondo.” 

“But it’s Maverick!” 

Bradley silently thanks Bob for being the only person who seems to get that. Maverick is his father’s oldest friend. Of course the king will authorize a search. If he were with them now, Bradley knows his father would already have them on the tail of Cain’s ship heedless of any potential risk to himself. It’s beyond infuriating that no one will let Bradley do the same.

“We’ll do whatever we can,” Phoenix concedes. “But we can’t do anything until we get to Miramar.” She meets Bradley’s glare with a sympathetic twist of her mouth. 

Bradley swallows the gluey lump of biscuit and chases it with another swig of coffee. We could if any of you trusted me even a little bit, Bradley thinks bitterly. 

Before he can say anything he would probably regret later, Jake appears in the doorway, golden hair sleep rumpled in sharp contrast to the crisp lines of the familiar linen shirt tucked neatly into Bradley’s third best trousers. The nerve of him makes Bradley want to grab two fistfuls of that shirt and shove Jake back to his cabin. 

Jake stares back at him, an infuriating smirk playing at the corner of his mouth like he knows exactly how much he’s riled Bradley up. 

Phoenix clears her throat and Bradley feels his face flame. God only knows what conclusion she’s drawn. 

“Am I interrupting?” Jake asks, leaning insouciantly in the narrow doorway, eyes still fixed on Bradley seeming not to have even noticed the others in the room. 

“Most of the crew have already eaten,” Bob says gesturing to the few strips of bacon and half full basket of biscuits in the middle on the table. 

“Coffee?” Phoenix offers. 

Jake’s eyes finally move away from Bradley’s face and he flashes what Bradley’s sure he thinks if a charming smile– looks more smarmy to Bradley’s eye– as he thanks them both and rounds the table to take the seat next to Phoenix which conveniently places him directly across from Bradley. 

“Have a biscuit.” Bradley pushes the basket over. “Bob makes them fresh every morning.” He catches Phoenix’s grin out of the corner of his eye before she can smother it. He would feel mean for how they all treat Bob’s baking if it wasn’t quite so terrible and he wasn’t entirely resistant to suggestions on how to make it slightly less so. 

Bob is busy pouring a cup of coffee when, unsuspecting, Jake sinks his teeth into the golden brick masquerading as a biscuit, or tries to. Bradley schools his features into bland indifference as Jake pulls the biscuit out of his mouth, apart from a small dent in the top where he tried to bite it it’s completely intact, and gives it such a look of betrayal that Bradley has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. 

Phoenix snorts. “Welcome to the Hornet,” she says, slapping Jake on the shoulder. 

Jake looks from the biscuit to Bradley and back again. “Hazing rituals, your highness?” he asks in an arch tone. 

Bradley rolls his eyes and holds up his own half eaten biscuit. “Some of us are made of hardier stuff I suppose.” He holds Jake’s gaze for a long moment and then slowly, with exaggerated motions like he’s trying to teach a small child who hasn’t mastered words yet, he dunks his biscuit in his coffee cup. When he’s satisfied it’s soaked up enough liquid it’s unlikely to break anyone’s teeth he pulls the biscuit out and takes a large bite. The claggy texture is unpleasant as ever, but he manages a fairly convincing hum of pleasure and relishes the annoyance in Jake’s eyes. 

“Here you go.” Bob, with perfect timing, sets a mug of black steaming brew in front of Jake. 

“Thank you kindly,” Jake flashes a bright smile at Bob before looking back at Bradley. “Nice to know someone in the Royal Navy knows how to treat a rescued citizen of the realm and recent victim of unchecked piracy on the high seas.”

Bob’s face turns bright pink and Phoenix snorts into her coffee, but Jake’s heated gaze doesn’t shift from Bradley’s. 

Bradley glares back at the smug blond sitting there in clothes he stole from Bradley’s wardrobe after a luxurious night in Bradley’s bed claiming a cup of over strong coffee is the first kindness he’s received. He’d been uncertain about fighting Jake when he woke up this morning. As much as he wants the information Jake has, he wasn’t raised to attack men under his royal protection. Now though, he can’t wait to crunch his fist into that insufferable smirking mouth. 

Jake takes his time over breakfast. He gets Bob talking about how he came to be part of the Hornet’s crew and then sits back taking tiny bites of coffee soaked biscuit and watches Bradley with laughing eyes. 

☕

“Not bad,” Jake declares, standing in the middle of the training room and surveying the space. 

Bradley closes the door and leans against it. “Glad it meets your high standards,” he says sarcastically. 

The ‘training room’ as the crew have dubbed it is really just an empty room that could be used as bunk space if the royal family chose to travel together and displaced the crew from their more conveniently located bunks next to the kitchen. It’s central in the ship, no portholes to let in natural light and its shape is awkward for anything but bunks, long and narrow, broken up halfway down by the solid wood of the mizzenmast. 

For the last few weeks it has served as a space for Bradley to practice fencing with Mav. Their foils are still hanging in the rack by the door. Bradley feels a pang of loss looking at them. He’d never have believed three days ago that his very narrow victory against Mav might be the last. He shakes off that dark thought. No, they will get Mav back. They have to. 

Movement from the center of the room pulls Bradley’s eyes away from the fencing foils. He catches a flash of golden skin and immediately turns his gaze away, fixing it on a particularly interesting knot in a board. “What are you doing?”

“Figured you’d prefer not to bleed all over your shirt,” Jake says, matter of factly. His voice is closer than it should be and against his better judgement Bradley looks over to find Jake has closed the distance, the shirt he stole from Bradley dangling from one hand. 

It’s not that Bradley’s never seen a shirtless man before. His life is sheltered, but no one is that sheltered. There’s just something about this particular man that makes Bradley feel like he’ll combust if he so much as touches the tanned skin pulled taut over a strong chest and chiseled stomach. It’s cheating, that’s what this is. Jake knows he’s going to lose so he’s trying to throw Bradley off. 

It’s not going to work. Not giving himself time to think, Bradley pulls his shirttails free and then grabs his own shirt by the back of the collar and yanks it off. It’s not as smooth as he’d like, his arms get tangled for a moment before he remembers the cufflinks holding them closed over his wrists. When he looks up, red faced but bare chested, Jake has hung his shirt on Mav’s foil and is watching Bradley with that superior smirk. 

Bradley hangs his shirt on his own foil and then bends to untie his boots. If they’re going to end up wrestling on the ground like their last fight, bare feet will give him better leverage against the smooth planks. The last thing he does before stepping out into the middle of the room is remove the dagger from his hip, tucking it into his boot. Unarmed and half dressed he positions himself so he’s got enough room to move in any direction and then faces Jake. 

He gets a brief eyeful as Jake is bending to remove his own shoes but when Jake straightens and turns to face him there’s a burning intensity in his gaze that tells Bradley they’re done stalling. It’s finally time for him to take Jake down. 

He’s seen fist fights before, occasionally entertainers visiting the palace would show their strength and skill by wrestling each other or he’d catch a glimpse of something violent kicking off in the streets as he rode past in the safety of his carriage. Calling on those memories, Bradley folds his hands into tight fists, tucking his thumbs inside his fingers so he’s not at risk of jamming his injured joint again. 

Jake circles him, eyes assessing, before raising his own hands. Bradley is briefly distracted by the flex of Jake’s well-muscled arms and barely manages to dodge a quick jab aimed at his ribs. “Loosen your hands,” Jake says, launching a quick one-two that has Bradley hopping backwards and bringing up an elbow to deflect the second blow. 

Bradley sees an opening and steps into Jake’s space, putting his weight behind a punch aimed straight at Jake’s cheekbone. Instead of dodging or blocking, Jake’s arm darts up faster than Bradley can register and grabs Bradley’s wrist. Bradley tries to pull his arm back but Jake’s grip is like iron.

“Who taught you how to fight?” Jake’s tone is exasperated. 

The truth, that his first and only fight was yesterday when he punched Jake, is far too humiliating to admit. Instead of answering, Bradley drives his other fist solidly into Jake’s stomach. 

Jake grunts, his grip on Bradley’s wrist tightening. “I don’t want to beat you because you broke your thumb.” 

Bradley draws back to deliver another body blow but before he can land it Jake twists his body and suddenly Bradley is flat out on his back staring dazed up at Jake’s annoyed frown. 

“You can go back to trying to cave my face in in a minute,” Jake says, annoyed. “Just…” he sighs and drops down to sit on the floor, legs crossed, hands resting palm-up on his thighs like he’s trying to broadcast that he’s not a threat. 

Bradley pushes himself up and mirrors the position. “Well?” It comes out bitchier than he meant but his pride and his ass are both feeling bruised. 

“Your fists,”  Jake holds a hand out expectantly. 

Warily, Bradley makes a fist with his left hand and holds it out. 

Jake takes hold of Bradley’s fist and with surprisingly gentle motions pulls Bradley’s hand open and then guides it back into a looser fist with the thumb on the outside. “This is how you punch. If you have your thumb inside it’s only a matter of time until you break it.” 

Bradley looks at his right hand. The bruising has already begun to fade so it’s probably not broken. “Anything else I’m doing wrong?” he asks, feeling chastened. 

“Can I?” Jake asks, reaching for Bradley’s injured hand. 

Bradley nods wordlessly, offering his hand for Jake’s inspection.  

Jake probes gently at the skin around the bruising, twisting Bradley’s hand side to side as he examines the injury. He leans close enough Bradley can feel the soft huff of each of Jake’s breaths against his skin. 

Bradley shivers. It really is too cold to be sitting around half dressed. Every hair on his arms is standing on end and his nipples have drawn up tight making him suddenly more conscious of their existence than he can remember being. When he sneaks a look through his eyelashes he can see Jake is in the same state. He feels a flush climbing his cheeks and drops his gaze back to where Jake is holding his hand. 

“Not broken, but you should probably be resting this rather than trying to fight me.” 

“Is this you conceding then?” Bradley asks, pulling his hand abruptly back and rising to his feet. 

Jake leans his head back, staring up at Bradley rather than making any move to join him in standing. “How exactly do you plan to rescue your captain from a den of pirates if you can’t even land a punch without hurting yourself more than the person you hit?” 

“If you told me where that den of pirates was, maybe I could make a plan,” Bradley snarls. 

Jake rolls his eyes but he pushes to his feet, coming to stand an arm's length away from Bradley. “I think I see why they locked you away from danger now.” 

This time Bradley keeps his thumb out of his fist when he swings the first punch. Jake ducks to the side, so Bradley only manages to clip the edge of his jaw. Bradley follows up with another sharp jab to Jake’s torso. Jake returns with a blow that strikes Bradley’s shoulder. For a glorious adrenaline soaked minute they trade blows back and forth, neither gaining an obvious upper hand. 

For each glancing blow Bradley manages, Jake answers with a strike of his own. It’s almost fun, and then Jake hooks a foot behind Bradley’s ankle and they’re falling to the deck. Bradley impacts hard on his back with Jake landing directly on top of him, elbow driving into Bradley’s gut and driving all the air from his lungs. 

Jake recovers first, wrapping his strong hands around Bradley’s biceps, holding him down. Bradley sucks in a desperate gulp of air and gives a token attempt to buck Jake off but the other man is solid muscle and Bradley can’t shift him even an inch. 

The high of the fight bleeds quickly out of him and Bradley lets his whole body go limp. “You win this one,” he admits reluctantly. 

For a moment Jake grins down at him and then he rolls off and rises effortlessly to his feet. He holds a hand out to help Bradley up and Bradley has to fight a childish urge to yank Jake back down instead. “You got in a few good hits,” Jake says in a friendly tone that grates against Bradley’s recently dented ego. 

“I’m a fast learner,” Bradley snaps defensively. 

Jake seems unphased by Bradley’s bad mood. “Same time tomorrow?” he asks, picking up his shirt. 

Bradley tears his eyes away from the smooth expanse of Jake’s chest. Staring at the reddened bloom at the corner of Jake’s jaw isn’t much better. Bradley’s fingers itch to reach out and feel whether that patch of skin is warmer than the rest. He shakes off the thought, he must have hit his head when Jake tripped him. “Tomorrow after breakfast,” he confirms. 

Jake hovers for a moment, and then pulls his shirt on and leaves without another word. Bradley stares at the empty door frame for a long time before finally pulling on his shirt and retreating to the safety of the captain’s quarters. 

👊

Mav’s logs are woefully ill kept. It shouldn’t be  a surprise given how much Mav always complains about paperwork, but Bradley had hoped to at least be able to trace the routes of his previous voyages. He spends the whole afternoon peering at Mav’s terrible writing, skipping lunch without really noticing and all he can say for certain is Mav hasn’t spent more than a week shoreside since Bradley was a kid. Where exactly he went and why is still a mystery. Though, Bradley thinks with a wry smile, shoving the last logbook back into its place on the shelf, he at least kept meticulous records of their rum stock. 

The light slanting in through the windows has turned golden and Bradley’s stomach grumbles, reminding him he hasn’t had anything but biscuits and bacon. He stretches, something popping in his back in protest of too many hours hunched over a desk, and then makes his way to the mess. If he’s lucky the crew will be just starting to gather for supper and he won’t be left with the sad dregs he had at breakfast. 

The mess is mostly full and Bradley is halfway through scanning its occupants when he realizes he’s looking for Jake.  Before his face can flare red with embarrassment, a strong hand claps on his shoulder and Hondo’s familiar voice says, “Glad you decided to join us, your highness.”

It’s strangely hard to meet Hondo’s eyes after how their last conversation ended, but Bradley manages it. He can see concern and empathy there and feels a churning guilt in his gut. Now that he’s had a night to cool off he knows that Hondo would go after Mav in a heartbeat if they knew where to go and that Hondo is as worried about their captain as Bradley. 

“I’m sorry for yesterday,” Bradley says in a low voice. “I know—“

“We’ll get him back,” Hondo interrupts Bradley’s apology, squeezing Bradley’s shoulder once more before letting him go. “I’ve already sent a bird ahead to let the palace know we’ll need reinforcements when we dock in a few days.” 

Bradley can feel his smile turn rictus. He knew, of course, at some level that this is how the rescue effort would go. It’s not the lack of reinforcements preventing them from going now, regardless of what Hondo is kindly trying to imply, it’s just Bradley. If he wasn’t here… If he wasn’t royal... But he is, and that means Mav is in the clutches of pirates and there’s nothing anyone will let Bradley do about it. He nods, unable to force words past the bitter lump lodged in his throat, and is relieved when Hondo moves along. 

He forces his feet to move into the room, finding an empty spot at the end of the bench next to Bob and across from Payback and Mickey. He accepts a bowl of stew and lets the conversation wash over him. 

Bradley has always liked supper on the Hornet. Apart from a few members of the crew who had to stay above to ensure smooth sailing, the last meal of the day was the most crowded. Those who would be on night watch are guzzling coffee to wake themselves up after an afternoon nap in the racks while the day crew usually cracked open a bottle of rum and lingered well after the food was gone to play cards or trade bawdy tales into the wee hours. Supper was the only time Bradley felt like he was part of the crew and not an inconvenient, sentient piece of valuable luggage. 

Tonight he can’t quite settle into it. Jake isn’t in the mess. It shouldn’t matter, Jake’s a grown man and it’s a ship in the middle of the ocean, it’s not like he could have gotten away, but his absence chafes at Bradley as he quickly eats his stew. He can’t help his brain cataloguing who else isn’t there. Apart from Jake there’s no one missing who Bradley would have expected to see. Fritz, Coyote, Brigham and Logan will all be above deck until their replacements for the night relieve them. It’s only Jake who is conspicuously absent. 

Bradley eats quickly and quietly, only chiming in to the conversation volleying around him enough to keep anyone from commenting on his silence. As soon as he’s done he mutters an excuse and leaves. He hesitates slightly in the hall, inwardly debating between cornering Jake in his quarters or just letting  the man skip a meal if he wants to — even if it does make Bradley unaccountably irritated. 

In the end he climbs up onto the deck. What Jake does is none of his business. He’s silently congratulating himself on making the mature decision when he’s suddenly drawn up short by the sight of Jake’s distinctive silhouette against the orange streaked sunset sky. 

He’s not alone. Leaning an elbow against the rail, head tipped back in laughter, is Coyote. As Bradley watches, Coyote reaches out and grabs Jake’s shoulder. A sharp flare of annoyance steals Bradley’s breath for a moment and he turns, storming over to his cabin, determinedly not looking at where Jake is busy distracting Bradley’s crew when he should be eating below deck and going to bed alone so he’s ready for their fight in the morning. 

Alone with only his guilt about Mav and his annoyance at everyone on the ship, Bradley finishes the not secret at all bottle of rum Mav always kept in his bottom drawer and then falls into bed, too drunk to do more than toe off his boots. 

🌘

This time Bradley has the upper hand. He gets in close to Jake, fist driving into his solar plexus and then hooks his foot behind Jake’s heel and propels them both down. He lands sprawled across Jake’s bare, sweat slick chest and scrabbles to grab his wrists before Jake can try anything. His palms skate along the warm flesh of Jake’s arms and then he’s got him, wrists pinned in Bradley’s hands, hips trapped beneath Bradley’s own. Jake’s green eyes stare up at him, pupils dilated as he struggles helpless against Bradley’s grip. His pink lips open as he struggles to regain his breath, chest heaving with effort. 

The air between them is charged. Bradley’s heart thrums heavily in his chest and he can feel every point of contact between their bodies like fire. He shifts his weight forward and suddenly he can feel the unmistakable line of Jake’s cock, half hard, pressing against him through the fabric of their pants. Without thought he rocks against it, his own cock thickening as Jake lets out a helpless moan. 

“Mainsail haul!” Hondo’s voice cuts through Bradley’s dream, startling him abruptly awake. 

He blinks up at the ceiling, the remnants of the dream clinging to his skin. He can still feel the heat of Jake pinned beneath him and his cock throbs. He fists his hands in his sweat-damp sheets and wills his erection to go away. Jake is… Bradley does not want to get off with Jake. He can’t. Jake is the most infuriating person he’s ever met. It’s just that it’s been months since the last time Bradley managed to sneak away from his guards long enough to hook up with anyone. That’s all. Just pent up need combined with the sheer frustration of needing something from Jake that the man is unwilling to give. 

He is absolutely not rubbing one out thinking about Jake. That way lies some form of madness Bradley would rather not tempt. 

Outside his cabin Hondo shouts another order and Bradley can feel the ship pick up speed as they catch the full force of the wind. He focuses on that until the dream slips away becoming a vague memory rather than an imprint burning along every nerve. 

⛵

Jake is just leaving the mess when Bradley finally manages to drag himself below decks. He takes one long slow look at Bradley, eyes dragging up from Bradley’s hastily tied boots to his wind tousled curls and smirks. “Good night?” 

Bradley’s face flushes pink remembering how he woke up. “Fine,” he manages, sounding almost normal. “You?” 

“Like a prince.” Jake flashes him a cheeky grin like he’s expecting a laugh in response to his sad attempt at a joke. 

“Right,” Bradley says, trying desperately to focus on the smell of coffee wafting out from the mess rather than the thought of Jake curled up beneath Bradley’s sheets. “I’ll just…” he gestures into the mess. 

“Take your time, I want you at your best,” Jake says. 

For a horrible second Bradley thinks Jake might follow him. He needs a minute to banish every lingering inappropriate thought before they face off and he can’t do that if Jake is smirking at him in that way that makes Bradley's blood boil. Mercifully Jake snaps a sarcastic looking salute and then turns towards the training room leaving Bradley to seek coffee in peace. 

Of course it would be too much to ask that the mess be empty. 

“Can I get you anything, your highness?” Mickey asks as soon as Bradley steps through the doorway. Bradley cringes inwardly at the honorific. The Hornet’s crew is evenly split between people who have known Bradley in some capacity or other since he was the kid with perpetually skinned knees and those who only met him two weeks ago. Of the latter group, Mickey is one of the last holdouts who insists on acknowledging that Bradley is royalty every time they interact. It’s proper, Bradley knows, but he’s never wanted to be treated differently because of who his parents are or what he’ll one day have to do. It stings each time someone sets him apart from everyone around him with a title. 

“On the ship you can call me Bradley, Mickey,” he says for the dozenth time even though he’s sure it won’t stick. 

“Sorry, sir,” Mickey says, pushing to his feet. “You’ll be wanting breakfast. I made muffins this morning and Coyote caught a few fish last night if you’d like me to fry one up for you.” 

Bradley gives up any hope of a quiet space to regroup before he joins Jake down in the training room. “Coffee and a muffin would be plenty, Mickey. Thank you.” 

He sits because it feels rude not to join Mickey and Coyote at the table at least as long as it takes to down a cup of coffee and a muffin. One thing he can say for Mickey is his baking is far superior to Bob’s. However, when this voyage is over and they’ve rescued Mav from the pirates, Bradley fully intends to insist a proper cook be added to the crew. He doesn’t care how much some of the sailors might like to cook, no one should have to eat Bob’s baking five days a week. 

“Have you considered offering Jake a position in the Navy when we get to Miramar?” Coyote asks while Mickey busies himself getting Bradley’s breakfast. 

Bradley has to bite back the urge to demand to know what Coyote and Jake were talking about last night. “I hadn’t, no,” he admits, though as he says it he feels a stab of guilt. He’s been so focused on what Jake can do for him he hadn’t thought to even ask what came next once they dropped Jake off at port. It wouldn’t be completely unheard of to invite a rescued sailor to join the Royal Navy, but somehow Bradley can’t picture Jake happily taking orders from anyone. “Why do you ask?”

“He knows the sea better than most of us,” Coyote says with a shrug. “Don’t come across many people who can read the currents like he can and it’s not like he’s got a vessel to return to.” 

“That we know of,” Bradley says, thinking for the first time since he pried them off Jake’s wrists that they found him in irons. Perhaps he should have asked a few more questions before now about where Jake came from in addition to where he’s going next. 

“He does play his cards close to the vest.” Coyote says in a tone that suggests he thinks they’ve both run into some brick wall of secrecy when the reality is Coyote has clearly tried a lot harder than Bradley to get to know their guest. A curious uncomfortable feeling takes root in Bradley’s chest and he has to once again fight the urge to demand Coyote tell him about his conversation the night before. 

Mickey returns with Bradley’s food and they let the conversation drop, but Coyote’s words stay in Bradley’s brain. Bradley’s had basic training in sea faring, enough to command a ship if anyone ever lets him actually take charge, but he’s relied on the knowledge of the sailors on his ship and Mav’s instinct to interpret the currents and winds to keep the ship pointing in the right direction. He’s always assumed that currents are something to be learned over time, never as something to be read. Though he supposed it makes sense that currents would shift and adjust to tides and storms. He wonders what it means that Jake, who looks to be Bradley’s age or perhaps younger, can read them better even than most of Bradley’s crew. 

“It was nice of you to let him out of the brig,” Mickey says after a few minutes of blissful quiet. “Payback thought for sure we’d keep him locked up until we got to Miramar and checked out his story.” 

“Mav trusted him,” Bradley says by way of explanation. It’s not a lie, exactly, though he knows he’s stretching Mav’s order to remove the cuffs into an order to free Jake from any restraints. But he knows this crew is more likely to trust something they believe Maverick said than the fact that Bradley instinctually knows Jake wouldn’t harm any of them. At least not without provocation. It will take more than this one voyage for Bradley’s instincts to hold any weight.

“Hondo said they’re sending reinforcements so we can go rescue Mav once we’ve—” Mickey cuts himself off with an awkward look at Bradley. “Once we restock in Miramar.” 

Coyote shoots Bradley a sympathetic look that’s somehow worse than Mickey’s bumbling. “The royal cartographer is working on determining the most likely places for a pirate hold. It’ll take a few days at least for that. Not much we can do until we know where we need to go.” 

This is the point where Bradley should probably tell them that Jake knows. If Jake and Coyote are getting as chummy as it looked last night it’s surprising he hasn’t figured it out. He doesn’t. When he beats Jake and has the map he’ll tell Hondo and let the first mate tell the crew. Selfish or not, this is something Bradley wants to do on his own. 

He scarfs down the muffin with more haste than dignity and washes it down with large swigs of coffee that burn his throat. It’s worth it to be able to thank Mickey for the food and flee the room before they find any new awkward conversations to start. Bad enough Bradley is a burden because of his royal status, he doesn’t need to be reminded that he’s also incurious, insensitive and too selfish to share the small pieces of intel he actually has with those who could probably make better use of them than he will. 

Bradley has worked himself into a foul mood by the time he reaches the training room. It’s not improved by the sight of Jake’s bare back flexing as he moves through a series of warm up exercises in the middle of the room. He glowers in the doorway as Jake moves from one pose to another, the lantern light playing off his muscles like sunlight on the water. Bradley’s heart thunders heavily in his ears as he yanks off his shirt, tossing it angrily off to the side. His boots follow with a heavy thunk that finally draws Jake's attention. 

“Eager to get started?” 

Eager to wipe that smug look off your stupid face, Bradley thinks sullenly.   Not bothering to respond, Bradley closes the distance and swings a hard low punch at Jake’s stupid chest. 

Jake dances back, easily moving out of Bradley’s reach time and time again. With each failed swing Bradley’s ire notches up. It doesn’t help that five minutes in, Jake starts offering advice. “Don’t they teach royals subtlety anymore? I could read that move from shore,” he says, sidestepping so Bradley’s fist hits only air. He’d put so much weight behind it he’s thrown off balance. 

Jake doesn’t take the opening, just circles to Bradley’s left. “Keep your shoulders square, you’re pulling back to get more power but it slows you down.” 

Bradley growls and takes a quick step towards Jake swinging a quick uppercut with his left which Jake dodges easily. 

Bradley is already sweating. He can feel the dampness gathering at the small of his back and heading along his hairline. Jake looks completely unbothered, like he’s not even working. Bradley feigns a swing with his left and the jabs quickly with his right to where he expects Jake to move. 

“Better,” Jake’s infuriatingly calm voice comes from Bradley’s left followed by a light tap on his shoulder. “Relax your shoulders.” 

It’s good advice. But the part of his brain that can realize that is not in control of Bradley’s swings. He can feel his shoulders tightening in exact opposition to Jake’s instructions. His next swing just manages to clip Jake’s shoulder and Bradley feels a savage sense of satisfaction. He follows up with two more quick jabs. Neither connect, but he’s forced Jake so his back is against the corner of the room. Two more wild swings and Jake is close enough into the corner of the room that Bradley can’t see a way for him to escape Bradley’s reach. 

“Not bad,” Jake observes. On Bradley’s next swing he tries to duck under Bradley’s arm to reverse their position, just as Bradley had expected. 

With a speed that surprises both of them, Bradley hooks Jake’s arm and uses Jake’s momentum to throw them both to the floor. He lands half on top of Jake, his elbow driving hard into Jake’s solar plexus, stunning him long enough for Bradley to straddle him, pinning Jake’s hips under the full weight of his body. 

Jake lashes out with an open palmed shove at Bradley’s chest to try and dislodge him. Bradley retaliates by grabbing Jake’s wrist and pinning it to the floor. He takes a few hits to his ribs before he manages to secure the other hand as well. Finally he has Jake at his mercy. 

Not that the other man is ceding his defeat. Jake tries to buck him off while also twisting his wrists in Bradley’s grasp and Bradley has to tighten his thighs around Jake’s hips to keep from being knocked aside. Jake grunts with effort and Bradley’s whole body flashes hot as he has a sudden memory of the way the Jake in his dream had gone pliant under him. 

The wave of pure want that pulses through him distracts Bradley just long enough for Jake to roll them sideways and before Bradley knows it he’s flat on his back, Jake’s weight resting between his spread thighs, one of Jake’s hands pressing firmly in the center of his chest. They’re both panting with effort and adrenaline and Bradley has never been so aware of his entire body. 

Jake’s eyes flit over Bradley’s face, uncharacteristically serious and then as suddenly as he pinned Bradley to the floor he’s pulling away, breaking all contact. “You almost got me,” he says, holding out a hand to help Bradley up. 

“You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Bradley grumbles, taking Jake’s hand and using it to pull himself up. 

“Most people take more than three days to learn hand to hand combat.” The implied compliment lights up something warm in Bradley’s chest, which is immediately doused when Jake adds “Think how much better you’d be if you actually let me teach you what I know.” 

Arrogant asshole. 

Bradley scowls at him, only just refraining from crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. “I don’t even know how you ended up in the brig of a ship attacked by pirates. Why would I take lessons from you?” 

“You could ask.”

It’s a fair point. Jake really is the most infuriating person Bradley has ever met. “Fine,” he says, giving Jake a challenging stare. “Impress me. Why did Cain leave you alive?” 

“It wasn’t Cain himself who attacked the ship,” Jake clarifies. “But his men are vicious bastards in their master’s image.” 

“Yet, here you stand in perfect health.” 

Jake preens. “I am perfect,” he says, grinning. “Wondered if you would ever notice.” 

Bradley rolls his eyes. “Why did Cain’s men leave you alive?”

“You know the drill,” Jake waves his hand dismissively, “dead men tell no tales. Typical pirate crap.” 

“You’re alarmingly glib for someone whose entire crew was killed less than a week ago,”  Bradley observes. He doesn’t think he could be half as calm as Jake if something happened to the Hornet. 

Jake smiles at him humorlessly. “Who said that was my crew?”

Bradley blinks at him in dawning horror. Maybe he really is a sheltered idiot. “You were already in the brig,” he says flatly, the possibilities for why spin out in his mind, each worse than the last. 

“Give the man a crown!” Jake grins widely, obviously amused by his own bad joke. 

Bradley just stares him down, waiting for a proper explanation. When Jake doesn’t volunteer one after a long minute of silence he finally asks, “Why were you in the brig?” 

“Massive misunderstanding,” Jake says breezily, eyes not quite meeting Bradley’s. “Had a bit too much rum, boarded the wrong ship. Happens to the best of us.” 

Bradley sighs. “You were a stowaway.” It’s not what he expected, but it’s better than most alternatives. 

“I prefer volunteer food and drink taster.” 

Bradley huffs an incredulous laugh. “You’re lucky they didn’t shoot on sight.” 

“With this face?” Jake frames his face with both hands, doing a poor job at trying to look innocent. 

“You’re not that attractive,” Bradley lies. Personality exempted, Jake is gorgeous. 

Jake flutters his eyelashes. “You have noticed.”

“Shame about your personality,” Bradley says just to erase the smug look on Jake’s face. 

Jake laughs at that, full bodied and joyful. It’s the first real laugh, no derision or sarcasm, Bradley’s heard from him. It’s a beautiful sound and he can’t look away from the sight of Jake’s face creased in a broad smile. 

“Alright,” he says against his better judgement, “show me your moves, Stowaway.” 

Jake smirks at the nickname. “Your wish is my command, Princeling.” 

To Bradley’s surprise, Jake is a decent teacher. Over a grueling hour he shows Bradley how to balance his stance and tamp down his tells. When Bradley gets a quick uppercut to Jake’s torso without opening himself up for an easy retaliatory hit Jake’s proud grin makes Bradley’s chest tight. By the time Jake has him practicing getting free when pinned to the ground they’re both dripping with sweat. 

Grappling comes less naturally to Bradley than the hand to hand combat. It’s largely due to how Bradley keeps getting distracted by Jake’s body pressing down on him. He’s too conscious of his dick to really buck his hips up to dislodge Jake’s weight. Eventually he collapses on the floor, panting for breath. “Okay… enough. You win.” 

Jake joins him, sprawling on the floor with a deep groan that makes Bradley’s cock twitch. 

Desperate to distract himself from the low summer of arousal Bradley returns to the conversation they were having before the impromptu fighting lesson. “You didn’t really stumble onto the wrong ship because you were drunk.”  

Jake snorts, amused. “Don’t underestimate my capacity for drunken stupidity, Princeling.” 

Bradley turns his head so he can look at Jake’s profile. “And your crew just… left without you?” 

Jake shrugs, eyes trained on the ceiling.  “It was a new crew, they probably thought I deserted.” He sounds unbothered but the word choice sticks in Bradley’s brain. 

“Please tell me you weren’t meant to be on a Navy ship.”

“I wasn’t meant to be on a Navy ship” Jake parrots obediently. 

Bradley sits up, crossing his legs and leaning forward so Jake can’t avoid his gaze. “Jake.” Desertion is a capital offense. If Jake didn’t show up for a voyage, a long stint in prison is the best he can hope for once they reach Miramar.   

“I’m not on the run from the Royal Navy” Jake says, sounding more serious than Bradley’s ever heard him. 

Relief floods Bradley’s veins. It’s clear Jake was trying to get away from something, but anything shy of desertion is something Bradley can probably help with. There are perks to being royal.  “But you are running from something,” he says after a moment.  

It’s not a question and Jake chooses not to respond. Pushing up into a mirror of Bradley’s position instead and changing the subject. “Letting me beat you in hand to hand combat can’t be the only way to pass the time.” 

The arousal still simmering under Bradley’s skin provides him with several very pleasant ways he and Jake could spend an afternoon.  He shakes those off. “There’s a chess board in Mav’s cabin,” he offers, desperate to push away the illicit thoughts crowding his brain. 

“You better at chess than fighting?” Jake teases.

Bradley isn’t good at chess, he’s never had the patience for it but he’s willing to put his royal education against whatever a stowaway like Jake might have picked up. “I’ve had a little more practice,” he says. 

“Lead the way,” Jake says with a smile. 

They dress and head for Mav’s cabin by way of the mess. Mickey gives them each a thick sandwich and a mostly unbruised apple for lunch. 

They’re evenly matched in how bad they are and after half an hour of Bradley trying and failing to checkmate Jake’s king even though he’s removed every other black piece from the board they call it a draw. 

“Never been my game,” Jake says, tucking the last piece in its leather lined box. “Give me darts or billiards any day.” 

“Get a lot of billiards at sea?” 

Jake rolls his eyes. “I’m sure it’s beneath your royal sensibilities, but most sailors like a good pub, or a bad one, on shore leave. A man with a bit of luck can make a living at those tables.” 

Bradley bites back the desire to ask if that’s what Jake used to do. Had he defied someone powerful and been forced to run away? He scoffs at his own fanciful imagination. Jake is more likely a criminal than the gentle sailor in distress Bradley’s imagination seems desperate to paint him as. “I think I’d like to see that,” he says instead like an idiot. 

Jake looks surprised for half a moment and then his expression morphs into one Bradley cannot interpret. “When you finish your rescue mission you’ll have to come find me. Just follow the wealthiest looking drunks.”

Bradley feels a pang of disappointment realizing in a few days they’ll be at Miramar and not only will Bradley have squandered the opportunity to lead the rescue mission, he’ll probably never see Jake again. 

♟️

They spend the rest of the afternoon together. Jake is surprisingly good company. He’s funny in an egotistical way and he’s fascinated by the stories Bradley shares of Mav and the lives his parents led before his grandfather died and his father had to take the throne when Bradley was three. It’s only the audible growl of Bradley’s stomach as the sun is sinking into the sea that separates them. Bradley fully expected them to eat together, but Phoenix grabbed his arm as soon as he appeared in the mess and dragged him back up on deck. 

“What?” he asks as soon as they’re out of earshot of the rest of the crew. 

“Something’s going on with you,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the railing. “Spill.” 

Phoenix has always given off big sister vibes when she’s worried. It’s one of the reasons they’ve stayed friends even as their lives have gone in impossibly different directions since the days where they built sandcastles together under the watchful eyes of Maria Trace –Phoenix’s mom who was also Bradley’s nanny. There aren’t many people in Bradley’s life who are willing to challenge him but also listen to him without passing immediate judgement. 

“I’m worried about Maverick,” Bradley says, turning to lean next to her, close enough he can feel the heat of her arm brushing against his. 

“We’re all worried about Maverick,” she says. “Not sure what that has to do with cozying up to a total stranger who is as likely to be a pirate as not.” 

Bradley takes his time, weighing the reasonable concern he can hear in her voice against the certainty in his chest that Jake is on their side. “He’s not a pirate,” he says with conviction. “I think he’s on the run from them.” It's the first time he’s vocalized the conclusion he reached this afternoon. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Jake’s reluctance to say who he’s running from and his knowledge of Cain. It’s possible, he knows, that Jake could be both a pirate and on the run from Cain, but the simplest explanation is usually the right one in his experience and all the signs point to Jake swindling the wrong person in a bar and ending up on the run. 

“Why would they leave him behind?” 

It’s a fair question. “He told me he stowed away on that ship. My money’s on him already being in the brig when the ship was attacked.” 

“So the crew left him.”

“Or they were killed and the pirates didn’t think it was worth their time to kill him since he was going to die in the wreck anyway.” 

Phoenix sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Bad way to go.” 

Bradley nods. 

They stand in companionable silence, watching the last rays of light leave the western sky, listening to the crash of the ship through the rolling sea. Bradley can’t decide if he should tell Phoenix that Jake knows where Cain’s hideout is. At this point he’s not sure it matters. It’s been two days since they lost Mav. They’re closer to Miramar than they are to the place where they fought the pirates. Even if he beats Jake tomorrow there’s no way Hondo will be persuaded not to drop Bradley off at port when they’re this close. 

Still, he’s not used to keeping secrets from Phoenix, and if anyone is going to be on his side, it’ll be her. “Jake knows where Cain’s stronghold is located. I’ve been trying to get him to draw a map.”

Phoenix sighs. “Bradley…” 

“It’s Mav, Phoenix. Of course I’m going to do anything I can to help him. The only thing I can’t figure out is why I’m the only one who feels that way.” 

“You’re not!” she protests, turning to glare at him in the dim light of the half moon. 

Bradley glares back. “Hondo told me the only plan was to get me off the ship and then they’d think about rescuing Mav.” 

“We’re getting you to safety, yes, because you’re the crown prince and your safety has to come first. But as soon as you’re safe we’re taking every ship and soldier we can muster and we’re getting him back.” 

“So it’s my fault.” 

Phoenix takes a step back as if his words had physical impact. “What?”

“If Mav dies because we – sorry, you –were too slow to rescue him then that’s my fault.” 

“No one thinks that, Bradley.” 

“I think that, okay, Phoenix? If I were just another sailor and not the fucking heir to the throne we’d have chased after the pirates immediately.” He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “If I weren’t here Mav probably would never have let them take him. You know it as well as I do.” 

Phoenix lets out a wordless growl of frustration. “God! Sometimes I forget what a selfish dick you can be. Those pirates overwhelmed us in minutes. Mav traded his freedom because we were losing.” 

“You…” No, that can’t be right. This is the flagship of the Royal Navy. The only possible reason they would lose to a single pirate ship was because none of them were focusing on the fight. Bradley had them all distracted because their first duty was to protect him. 

“Maybe if we’d had you and Jake fighting with us we would have held out a little longer, been a little more evenly matched,” Phoenix barrels on. “Maybe! But we need reinforcements. Cain is a monster, Bradley. His men are no better. If he’s taken Mav to his stronghold we’re going to need every force we can muster to take him down.” 

Bradley gapes at her. Phoenix doesn’t lie to him. Their friendship has always erred on the side of painfully honest rather than kind deceptions meant to spare either of their feelings. He just can’t wrap his head around the idea that even if he hadn’t been here they would have left Mav for days before sending a rescue. 

Phoenix puts a hand on his arm. “We should be in Miramar the day after tomorrow. Hondo has already sent word. We’ve got this.” 

“Thanks, Phoenix,” he says suddenly feeling exhausted. 

“Go get some sleep, idiot,” she says, punching him affectionately in the shoulder before turning and heading back below deck. 

🌓

The ship beneath his feet is small, more like the sailboat Bradley learned to sail on as a kid than anything in the Naval fleet. Bradley can feel the wind whipping his hair into an unruly cloud of curls. It’s warm and when he looks to his left and sees a shirtless Jake tightening the rigging on the main sail it makes sense. Jake looks like he belongs here, muscles taut under his golden skin, eyes bright in the summer sun. 

When he tears his eyes away from Jake and looks ahead he can see land looming in the distance. It comes towards them unnaturally quickly and soon Bradley can clearly make out the jagged rocky shore and dead ahead, the large mouth of a cave carved in the shape of a skull. The sight sends a shiver down Bradley’s spine. This has to be it. No one but an arrogant pirate would create a place like this. 

He feels Jake coming up beside him, sun soaked and smelling like the sea. “Melodramatic bastard,” he mutters judgmentally. 

Bradley turns to grin at him in agreement. God he’s beautiful this close. His light green eyes practically sparkle with the sunlight refracting off the waves. He’s still staring at Jake’s perfect face when the ship passes into the shadow of the cave. He sees the light change in Jake’s eyes, his pupils dilating in response to the sudden lack of light. He notices the exact moment Jake’s gaze drops to Bradley’s lips.

“One kiss for luck?” Jake’s voice is so soft it's almost snatched away by the breeze. 

Bradley leans in, eyes slipping closed and wakes up to a stream of sunlight beaming directly into his eyes. He groans and rolls over, burying his face in his pillow, attempting to recapture his dream.  

It’s no good. By the persistent sunbeam he can tell he’s slept well into the morning and his brain refuses to let him return to slumber. Annoyed, Bradley flings aside his covers and rolls reluctantly to his feet. He strips off his shirt and pours water into the basin wedged on top of the dressing table. It’s cold when he splashes it against his face. The cold washes away the last dregs of the dream. 

There’s a knock at his door and before he can do more than register where the sound came from the door is swinging open, admitting Jake, dressed in another shirt and pants stolen from Bradley’s quarters and carrying a tray. Bradley gapes at him for a moment before suddenly realizing he’s shirtless and damp. He can feel his face flaming in embarrassment and he quickly ducks behind the dressing screen. 

“Good afternoon to you too,” Jake calls out, laughter clear in his voice. 

“Hilarious,” Bradley grumbles under his breath as he fumbles for a clean shirt. 

“Half the crew was convinced you’d fallen overboard. I drew the short straw.” 

Bradley rolls his eyes. It’s true he usually makes an effort to get up with the day shift, but it’s hardly the first time he’s failed to emerge until lunch time. Still, there’s something… nice about Jake barrelling in like he owns the place. 

“You know, it’s customary to wait to be invited in,” Bradley says archly, stepping out from behind the screen. “Otherwise, what's the point of knocking?”

“I gave you enough time to cover the Crown Jewels if you wanted to,” Jake returns, flashing a cheeky smile his way. “Coffee?” 

Bradley wishes he didn’t find Jake’s cocky schtick charming. Two days ago he’d have wanted to punch that smile right off Jake’s face. Now he just finds himself smiling back as he takes the seat opposite where Jake has settled by Mav’s desk. 

There’s a pot of coffee on the tray, steam winding lazily upwards from the spout and a basket of all too familiar biscuits. The one thing he is looking forward to when they reach Miramar tomorrow morning is a full breakfast that doesn’t require soaking in coffee before he can chew it. 

Jake carries the conversation while Bradley works down an entire biscuit over two cups of hot, perfectly brewed coffee. There’s no way any one person has had that many near misses with pirates, but even if his stories are largely fabricated, Bradley finds himself smiling every time fictional Jake slips out just before a certain capture. 

He’s going to miss this, he realizes. It’s only been a couple of days but he’s already grown used to having Jake around. He likes everything about him, the complete lack of acknowledgement of Bradley’s supposed authority, his easy confidence and even his willingness to beat Bradley time and time again. In three days Jake has become the person Bradley most wants to see.

And tomorrow they’ll dock and Bradley will go home and they’ll never see each other again. At least, he tells himself, the money Jake’s won off him will buy him safe passage to wherever he’s headed next. 

With that thought in mind he reaches into Mav’s desk and pulls out a bag of gold crowns. It’s closer to 80 than the 40 he owes but money means far more to Jake than Bradley. Why shouldn’t he have it all? 

“Here,” he says, placing the bag in front of Jake. 

It jangles ostentatiously on impact and Jake shoots it a look like it’s personally offended him. “What’s this?”

“Your winnings.” 

“We’re done then?” Jake asks in a strange voice. 

Bradley tries to meet his eyes to read why Jake’s suddenly gone still across from him, all the animation he showed earlier gone in a blink, but Jake’s eyes stay trained on his coffee. “Didn’t want to forget,” he says, not even sure why he needs to explain. Jake beat him, they made a bet. This is Jake’s money – with a bit extra thrown in, but surely Jake can’t be mad about that. 

“Saves me the trouble of tracking you down when we get to land, I guess.” 

Suddenly Bradley wishes he had forgotten. It’s petty, but the thought of Jake tracking him down after tomorrow is appealing. Too bad it will never happen now. “Given they’re probably going to lock me in a very tall tower when I get home and throw away the key, better you take it now.” Bradley’s attempt at a joke falls flat. Now that he’s said it, he’s realizing it’s likely not far from the truth. The first time he was allowed to sail without a full contingent of the royal guard and their ship was attacked by pirates. His mother is never going to let him out of her sight again. 

Jake gives him a forced smile and reaches for the coins. “Didn’t expect you to give up so easily.” 

Bradley raises an eyebrow. “Who says I’ve given up?”

Jake shakes the coin purse, rattling the gold. “Paying out a bet is usually the last step before walking away from the table.” 

Usually Bradley thinks things through before he acts, but Jake clearly throws him off his game. He hadn’t even thought about whether Jake would read this as concession. But now that Jake has said it, it would be ridiculous to carry on their bet today. “We’ll be docking in the morning, you’ll be able to stand on dry land and draw me a map. Takes the fun out of making you help me early,” he says, regretting the words almost as soon as they leave his mouth. They make it sound like he was only around Jake to get the map when it hasn’t really been about that since the first morning when Jake stripped off his shirt just in case Bradley got a lucky shot.  

“Whatever you have to tell yourself,”  Jake replies in an obvious attempt to goad him. 

It’s more effective than it should be. Bradley’s guilt at suggesting all he’s ever wanted was the location of Cain’s stronghold combined with his natural desire to tackle Jake to the ground making him embarrassingly susceptible to even the lightest taunt. “You that desperate to test your luck one more time?” he fires back. 

Jake’s grin is downright predatory at that but he’s meeting Bradley’s eyes now and just that feels like a victory. “You don’t need luck when you’re as good as I am.” 

Bradley is on his feet before a single thought has crossed his mind. He steps around the table, looming over Jake not sure what he wants to do with him. His heart is pounding against his ribs and his hands itch to take hold of Jake’s warm skin–whether to drag Jake down to the training room and finally beat him in combat or for some other purpose entirely he can’t decide. “Prove it,” he growls. 

“Gladly.” Jake stands and for a moment they’re so close Bradley can feel Jake’s breath. It would take the smallest movement to close the gap between them. Kiss for luck? dream-Jake’s voice echoes through Bradley’s brain. He steps back, turning away before Jake can see the flaming pink suffusing his cheeks and realize how close Bradley had just come to kissing him. 

There’s a tension in the air as they make their way down to the training room. Neither of them speaks even after the door closes behind them. They shed their shirts and shoes as has become part of the ritual and then turn to face each other. 

This time Jake makes the first move, closing the distance so quickly it's all Bradley can do to get his forearm up to deflect the blow. It hurts in a way none of the blows Jake had landed before. There’s an aggression in each move that sends adrenaline coursing through Bradley. The rapid rain of blows, too fast to dodge but erratic enough Bradley is able to deflect them away from his more vital parts, force Bradley backwards until he can feel the sturdy wood of the mizzenmast at his back. 

Cornered, Bradley changes his tactic. Jake’s next blow hits, a sharp crack against his ribs, and Bradley uses Jake’s momentum to step sideways, pushing free of the mast and getting himself into clear space once again. He feels a surge of triumph despite the pain in his ribs and presses his slight advantage to force Jake onto the defensive. 

They trade blows back and forth, the only sounds in the room the smack of fist on flesh and the grunts of effort. Sweat beads along Bradley’s skin from exertion and his moves get sloppier as his energy flags. Still, he isn’t ready for this to end. Jake is a glorious sight, face set in focus, blonde hair hanging over his forehead, pushing ever closer into Bradley’s space as they circle the room. When Jake grabs Bradley’s arm at the end of a wide left arm swing and uses their combined momentum to throw Bradley to the floor it feels inevitable, like this was how they would always end up. Bradley flat on his back with Jake’s knees between his thighs, their sweat-slick chests pressed together as they wrestle for dominance. 

“Proof enough for you?” Jake hisses in Bradley’s ear, lips brushing skin. 

That small intimacy, such a contrast to every other place their bodies are pressing together, sends a pulse of arousal straight to Bradley’s cock. He’s half hard already and this time he has no desire to get away. He wraps both legs around Jake’s hips and uses the brief moment of surprise to roll them so he’s on top of Jake. There’s no way Jake doesn’t feel Bradley’s cock pressing up against him in this position and for a moment they’re both frozen in place. 

Jake’s eyes are dark, only a hint of light green around the edges of his blown out pupils. He still has his hands around Bradley’s wrists as he stares up at Bradley. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and Bradley’s eyes hungrily follow the movement. 

“Best two out of three?” Jake offers, sounding breathless. 

Bradley doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t really want to fight anymore either. What he wants is… He draws a shaky breath. His whole body feels lit up with energy, every muscle trembling slightly from the effort not to just collapse into Jake. “Is that what you want?” he asks. 

Jake shakes his head and that’s all it takes for Bradley’s control to snap. He lets gravity pull him down and then he’s finally kissing Jake’s slightly chapped lips. Jake releases Bradley’s wrists and takes his face between calloused hands instead, angling Bradley so he can deepen the kiss and sliding his fingers into Bradley’s curls. Bradley moans into the kiss, mouth opening to the soft pressure of Jane’s tongue. 

He loses track of time, pulling away only long enough to suck in a desperate gulp of oxygen and then diving back in. 

“—n’t seen him since last night.” Phoenix’s familiar voice cuts through the haze of lust. 

“Maybe he decided to bar himself inside so Hondo can’t leave him behind.” Coyote laughs at his own joke. His voice is loud, probably right outside the door

A door Bradley definitely forgot to lock. 

He and Jake share a wide eyed look of pure panic and then, in a tangle of arms and legs that’s nowhere near as quiet as they should be, they scramble to their feet. Jake tosses Bradley a shirt and he just manages to get it over his head before Phoenix says, “You're right, he’s probably in the captain’s quarters. Let’s get the rum first. If anything’s going to drag him out it’ll be that.” 

“So that’s why you dragged me into this,” Coyote says, voice sounding further away this time, “needed my incredible strength.” 

Bradley breathes a sigh of relief. He’s not ashamed, but Phoenix will fuss in her extremely unsubtle way about what happens tomorrow and the others will never let up teasing. 

“You should probably put in an appearance before they think I threw you overboard,” Jake suggests bending to pull on his shoes. 

He’s right, of course. The final night of a voyage is traditionally a bit of a celebration and it would be strange if Bradley skipped it. Still, he stares at the way the fabric clings to the sweat damp expanse of Jake’s back and wishes that for once he could not do the thing that’s expected of him. He’d much rather drag Jake back to one of their quarters and pick up where they left off than pretend to be cheerful for the sake of the crew. He groans. “You’re right. If I miss supper Hondo’ll probably show up to try and drag me by my ear.” 

Jake snorts. “As much as I’d love to see that, probably not the kind of thing your dignity could recover from.” 

“Did you want to–” Bradley starts. 

“I’m not really feeling the crew camaraderie,” Jake says overtop of Bradley’s question. “But you should go.” 

Bradley stoops to grab his shoes, hoping the movement masks his disappointment. He can’t stop remembering that this is their last night on the Hornet, his last night with Jake. He doesn’t want to spend it apart, but anything he says now is going to come out like an order and the only thing he wants less than a night without Jake is one where Jake is only with him because he doesn’t think he can say no. 

Jake lets Bradley leave first, just in case any of the crew are milling around. Bradley pauses in the doorway, drinking in the sight of Jake’s tousled hair and kiss bruised lips and then he steps out into the passageway and closes the door. 

💋

Despite his reluctance to go, Bradley enjoys the final meal with the crew. Rum and conversation flow freely up and down the table and Bradley is gratified to overhear half a dozen different conversations that are directly about the plan to rescue Mav. Bob and Mickey arguing over what supplies they absolutely need and what they can do without if there isn’t enough to hand for a quick turnover; Payback, Brigham and Fritz discussing combat tactics for boarding a pirate ship; and other exchanges along those same lines. 

At one point as Phoenix is demonstrating some combat tactics to Coyote using a bread roll and a pair of steak knives, Hondo slides into the seat next to Bradley. “You know we’d take you with us if we could,” he says. 

Bradley shrugs. He doesn’t want to have this fight over again, even if he strongly disagrees with Hondo’s perception of what they can and can’t do. 

“Did you manage to get an exact location out of our guest?” 

The question catched Bradley off guard. He shoots a quick accusatory glance at Phoenix who is too busy disemboweling a hunk of bread to notice. “He said he would give me a map when we docked. He’s not interested in playing hero.” 

“At least one of you is sensible.” Hondo smiles to soften the comment but it still stings. 

“Phoenix said you would have needed to return to Miramar even if you’d had a location and I wasn’t here,” he says, half turning in his seat so he can scrutinize Hondo’s expression. “That true or were you just protecting me again?”

Hondo sighs and Bradley is struck suddenly by how much older Hondo looks than he did three days ago. “You can’t blame yourself, Bradley. Mav made his choice and we have to trust he knew what he was doing. You know as well as I do he’d be happier with this outcome than he would be if anyone else had been captured.” 

For a moment Bradley lets him imagine what might have happened if it had been him the pirates took in trade for the rest of the crew. He can practically hear Mav’s incandescent anger as he recklessly took off in pursuit. “You’re right. I just…” He stares at the glinting amber of rum in his glass. 

“No one thinks you don’t want to be right there with us, your highness., but we need you to be safe so we can put all our focus on him.” He squeezes Bradley’s shoulder. “We’ll be expecting you to arrange a hell of a welcome home party when we get him back.” 

Bradley downs his rum, suddenly very ready to be done with this whole voyage. “I know,” he says. “I’m going to bed. I’ll make sure you get that map in the morning.”

“Sleep well,” Hondo says, his eyes far too knowing as they follow Bradley saying his goodbyes and make his way from the mess at last. 

The deck is empty and quiet apart from a whisper of wind in bushing against the tightly furled sails and the occasional burst of distant laughter from below deck. The Hornet is anchored for the first time in days. Off the starboard side he can see the distant flicker of Miramar. They’ll get underway with first light, making the final approach into the narrow harbor so they can dock and resupply. For tonight, the whole crew is taking a well deserved break and Bradley has the deck to himself. 

Or, almost to himself. As his eyes adjust to the dim light cast by the stars and the waning moon, Bradley sees a familiar silhouette. He crosses the deck quietly, not speaking until he’s standing next to Jake near the bow of the ship. “Crown for your thoughts?”

“I think I’ve fleeced enough crowns out of you already,” Jake says. He doesn’t turn his head, but he shifts his weight a little so the length of his arm is pressing against Bradley’s. 

Heart thudding nervously, Bradley slides his hand into Jake’s, letting their fingers tangle together. “I’ve been thinking about you all night.” 

Jake’s thumb brushes over the back of Bradley’s hand sending shivers up his arm. “Just tonight? I must be losing my touch.” 

“Cocky,” Bradley murmurs, turning so he can look at Jake’s profile. 

Jake finally turns his head. His eyes look fathomless in the almost dark. “Do you need to get back to your party?” 

Bradley shakes his head. “They’ll be at it for hours. They’ve already cleaned out half the rum, no one will miss me.” He reaches for Jake’s face with the hand that isn’t still holding his. He hesitates for a moment, giving Jake a chance to pull away, and then leans in, cupping Jake’s cheek and pulling him in for a soft kiss. 

Jake kisses him back, resting a hand at Bradley’s hip. When they pull apart Bradley feels dizzy with want. “My quarters are just over there,” he says, “we can pick up where we left off downstairs.” 

“Lead the way, Princeling,” Jake replies, brushing a barely there kiss against Bradley’s throat. 

👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏼

The screeching of gulls pull Bradley from a deep slumber. Grumbling he rolls towards the center of the bed, arm reaching out but finding nothing but empty space. He pries his eyes open, brain not yet awake enough to remember why he wasn’t expecting to wake alone. It doesn’t take long to remember the night before, Jake collapsing beside him, naked and glistening with sweat and Bradley pulling the blanket over both of them before slumping down with his head against Jake’s shoulder. 

He’s still naked, but Jake is nowhere to be seen. He drags himself out of bed and collects his clothes from the night before. They’re scattered all over the cabin and by the time he’s dressed and tugged the blankets into place so no one would know anything unusual had happened the night before. Jake hasn’t returned but Bradley tells himself it’s probably because Jake went to weasel breakfast out of Bob and took longer than expected. The Hornet isn’t a large ship, Bradley will be able to find him. 

As he’s reaching for the door, Bradley notices a scroll sitting on top of the desk that wasn’t there before. He reaches for it, dread settling cold in the pit of his stomach as he unfurls the carefully drawn map. There’s a skull drawn along the coastline protected by the Sidewinder Isles and a dashed line showing a suggested route, from the way it twists and turns Bradley assumes this is a way to avoid the worst of the notorious Red Rip’s deadly currents.  There are two more pages that were rolled with the map and Bradley turns to them next. 

Chapter Text

Part 2: Jake

Jake’s never been in another captain’s quarters, but he’d bet the whole bag of crowns Bradley awkwardly gave him this morning that the captain's quarters on the Hornet are far nicer than any other ship in the fleet. The rest of the ship is state of the art, even if the crew is surprisingly motley. Jake thinks based on the crew and the surprisingly practical contents of the captain’s quarters that he would like Maverick if they ever met. He certainly appreciates the drawer of neatly rolled blank parchment and selection of quills he finds in the man’s office drawers.

The crew is enjoying their celebratory feast, Bradley included, so Jake takes his time. He’s always had a knack for cartography. His mother said it was because he could read the sea floor through the currents. Whatever the cause, it’s not long before he has a faithful rendering of the Sidewinder Isles drawn on the largest parchment he could find. The tricky part is the navigation guide. The Red Rip is every bit as bad as the many stories about it say. Jake has always preferred moving through those waters on a low tide. It’s slow going and you need the winds on your side but he prefers the near miss of passing through the shallowest narrows to the whirls of competing currents trying to pull a boat to pieces at high tide. Still, there are safe routes through and Jake knows the sea well enough to plot them all.

He chooses the most forgiving route to mark on the map and then immediately second guesses himself. The moon is waning. If they reach the shoals on a new moon that will change the tide and following the route he’s mapped out could very well result in the Hornet dashed to pieces among the jagged rocks before she even reaches the Sidewinder Isles. He pulls out another paper and begins to spell out the potential risks, adding numbers on the map so he can reference specific currents and eddies. When he’s finally satisfied that a halfway competent navigator will be able to follow his directions Jake turns back to the map. 

There’s only one more element he needs to add but once he does, there’s no going back. He sucks in a deep breath, inks his quill one last time, and adds Cain’s stronghold. When he finishes he tosses some sand across the map to soak up any remaining pools of ink and then, once he’s satisfied it won’t smear, rolls the map and directions up together in a neat scroll.

It’s done. He hopes Bradley is wise enough to hand the map over the Hondo and return to the safety of his palace but there’s an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. He only met Bradley a few days ago yet sometimes he feels like he knows Bradley almost as well as he knows himself. If no one stops him, Bradley is going to find a way to include himself in the rescue mission.

Jake shakes off that pessimistic thought and leaves the captain’s quarters. He can’t think any more about how when Bradley gets himself killed running after the stronghold on that map it will be Jake’s fault. If he does that, he’s going to burn it and then it won’t be Bradley who dies. It will be Jake, when Bradley throws him in prison for treason and leaves him there to die at the hands of whichever of Cain’s magic hunters find him first.  He doesn't  know how he let everything get so complicated. He was supposed to hide out in the cargo bay of that merchant vessel just long enough to reach Whidbey and then he’d be safe for another few months at least. Instead he was here, on the flagship of the royal fleet worrying himself sick about what the crown prince might do. 

He’s grateful the deck is empty. Once he steps out of the cabin he can pick up the faint sound of people having a good time. Maybe he should have let Bradley drag him along. He’d been tempted, but after their kiss that afternoon, Jake needed space to get his head on right—time to remind himself that whatever happens today, there is no future for a fugitive like Jake and the crown fucking prince. 

The sea is calm as glass, stretching to the horizon in an unbroken sheet, reflecting the stars so clearly it’s hard to tell where sky meets sea. As it always has, this type of stillness sets the hairs on Jake’s neck on end. He twists his wrist, fingers moving in a pattern he’s known for longer than he can remember. Sometimes he thinks he was born knowing how to do this in the same way his body knows how to breathe. A breeze ruffles the water, not strong enough to raise white caps, but it breaks the unnatural stillness. 

When she was alive, Jake’s mother used to chide him for such casual self indulgences. “The sea didn’t bless you so you could perform parlor tricks,” she’d say, eyes shining with love and amusement. He wonders idly what she would think of the last few years. He hopes she’d understand but can also picture the sorrow in her eyes as she told him, “This isn’t what I wanted for you, I’m sorry.” 

For the thousandth time he wishes she’d lived long enough to hear him tell her he doesn’t blame her and that she’d know he understands the full extent of her legacy and means it anyway.

She’d have liked Bradley. He likes Bradley. Probably more than he should considering Bradley is the crown prince and Jake will never be able to stay in one place long enough to earn anything for himself. 

Unless Cain is dead, a traitorous voice in his head reminds him. It seems impossible. Cain isn’t actually immortal, but the magics keeping him alive are as old as the sea and as powerful. 

Once, before Jake’s grandparents were born, magic was common. Every town had its own healers and wind talkers and a dozen other people imbued with magic who performed any number of useful or silly tricks. Now the only reminders of that time are the kraken who still make nuisances of themselves every decade or so and the handful of runaways like Jake who never stay in any one place long enough to be noticed. And there’s Cain, the pirate king who has been hunting magic with a bull headed intensity that can only come from the deepest hatred ever since he was allegedly cursed to roam the seas for a thousand years without rest. Personally, Jake thinks whoever came up with that curse has a lot to answer for.

No one knows for sure when Cain was cursed. It may have been a hundred or even a thousand years ago. It doesn’t matter. If Cain or the one who cursed him ever shared the details, those who knew them are long gone. The only constant is the belief that only the sea itself can take him before the appointed hour and the dozens of horrific stories of how Cain has pacified the old magic to ensure that doesn’t happen. 

And Jake drew Bradley a map right to him. Poseidon, he’s an idiot. 

He hears someone come up the stairs over the gentle murmur of the breeze. As the steps grow closer he recognizes the cadence and smiles out at the sea. A part of him had hoped Bradley would come find him when he’d fulfilled whatever obligations he had to his crew, even if he knows it would be better for both of them if they left whatever this is between them at a few stolen kisses. As much as Jake wants more, one night together changes nothing–except how much tomorrow will hurt. 

“Crown for your thoughts?” Bradley asks, voice hushed to match the quiet of the evening. 

Jake breathes in the already familiar scent of Bradley’s skin and leans a little harder against the railing to keep from tilting into Bradley’s warmth. “I think I’ve fleeced enough crowns out of you already,” he deflects. He should tell him. Bradley seems like the sort to ignore the impossibility of a situation, but Jake is selfish enough to want one more night of whatever this is. 

Bradley’s arm brushes his, setting off goosebumps all over Jake’s body. When Bradley’s palm slides into his, Jake threads their fingers together. It’s such an innocent touch, a simple form of affection that Jake mostly left behind in childhood. It makes something ache deep in his chest realizing how many simple affections he’s missed living in hiding. It’s never been safe enough to allow anyone to stay. 

He’s never wanted for company. He’s well aware of what he looks like. Sex is easy, especially for a single night. It’s everything else that he’s deprived himself of: familiarity, friendship, love. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all night.” It falls from Bradley’s lips like a confession and Jake knows if there was enough light he’d be able to see the bloom of self consciousness written in red across Bradley’s face. 

He runs a thumb across the smooth skin of Bradley’s hand smiling to himself when Bradley shivers in response to the simple touch. Maybe Bradley isn’t the only one who is starved for intimacy. The thought that Bradley might need this night as much as Jake does hurts. He doesn’t want to think of Bradley suffering the way that Jake has. It’s not fair that he’s found Bradley when it’s impossible to keep him. 

“Just tonight?” he asks, falling back into familiar flirtatious patterns to avoid the maudlin tenor of his thoughts. “I must be losing my touch.” 

“Cocky.” In Bradley’s warm murmur the familiar criticism is affectionate. Jake turns and meets Bradley’s eyes in the dim light of the stars. 

The waning moon lights up Bradley’s skin making him look ethereal. It’s fitting. Everything about Bradley feels unreal, magic, like he could have been conjured from Jake’s loneliness. Jake has never wanted anything as much as he wants to keep Bradley Bradshaw. “Do you need to get back to your party?” he asks, almost hoping Bradley will say yes. Jake’s heart is throbbing and he doesn’t trust himself not to say or do something he can’t come back from if Bradley keeps looking at him like that. 

Bradley shakes his head and the relief that floods through Jake makes him feel like a monster. He should want Bradley far away from him, but he doesn’t. He wants the exact opposite.  

“They’ll be at it for hours,” Bradley says, leaning into Jake’s space so slowly Jake’s not sure Bradley even knows he’s doing it.  “They’ve already cleaned out half the rum, no one will miss me.” Bradley’s fingers are soft against Jake’s cheek and jaw as he pulls him in. 

Jake falls into the kiss, helpless to resist. Bradley tastes of rum and irrevocable mistakes and Jake can’t get enough. He licks into Bradley’s mouth, drawing a quiet groan. The hand that isn’t still twined with Bradley’s reaches for him, grasping his hip to hold them both steady as he slowly takes Bradley apart with his tongue. 

When they finally pull apart to gasp for breath Jake rests his forehead against Bradley’s jaw and sucks in lungfuls of his perfect scent. 

“My quarters are just over there,” Bradley whispers in a voice hoarse with arousal,  “we can pick up where we left off downstairs.” 

It will be worth it, Jake thinks, lips brushing against Bradley’s throat. Even if Bradley will never forgive him, this moment of a closeness he’s never experienced before will be worth it. “Lead the way, Princeling,” he says against Bradley’s skin, sealing his monumentally selfish decision with a kiss before stepping back so Bradley can lead the way to the captain’s quarters. 

When the door swings open the first thing Jake sees is the rolled up map and for a moment he freezes, torn between doing the right thing and taking what Bradley is offering, consequences be damned. Then Bradley grasps Jake’s hips and pulls him close for a heated kiss and any thought of telling Bradley about the map falls away.  One night more won’t make a difference, he’ll tell Bradley tomorrow. 

✨

The sensation of the Hornet lifting anchor pulls Jake awake. The first hint of dawn filters weakly through the windows of the captain’s quarters and Jake has a fleeting sympathetic thought for the crew who were up drinking well into the night only to be up at dawn. Jake can’t remember the last time he was this comfortable. At some point during the night Bradley turned away but his back is a warm line down Jake’s side and his quiet breaths mix with the cry of sea birds and the distant churn of the ocean into a soothing lullaby. He could get used to this, in another life where repeating this moment was possible. 

Based on where they anchored Jake estimates he has a couple of hours before the ship will be in port. He closes his eyes and lets his mind drift on impossible daydreams. Bradley sleeps on beside him, unbothered by the noise of the crew bringing the Hornet into harbor. Jake doesn’t wake him. What they shared last night was perfect and he can’t bear to spoil the memory. If Bradley is going to hate him–and Jake has no doubt he will–Jake would rather not see it first hand. 

When he can hear the sound of other sailors on the docks, Jake quietly rolls out of bed. It doesn't take long to gather his scattered clothing and dress. He pockets the pouch of crowns and then grabs a piece of parchment from Maverick’s desk. His eyes drift to Bradley’s sleeping form and his chest tightens painfully with the desire to forget reality and climb back in. He shakes off the thought and turns his attention to the paper. He can’t leave without a note, but there’s nothing he can write that will make what he’s doing okay. 

He crosses out almost as much as he leaves, every word feeling fraught. He doesn’t have the right to tell Bradley not to get hurt when he’s actively doing something that will hurt him and it does no good to dwell on the impossible. Surely, Bradley knows as well as Jake that this was only ever temporary.  In the end it’s a pathetic message, but it’s better than the sentences he abandoned mid word: I’m sorry. Don’t do anything reckless, you’re too important to lose. Be careful. Thank you for everything. I wish I could stay. If we were different people I would never leave you.  

With one final self indulgent, painful look at Bradley’s naked back, rising and falling with metronomic precision as he slumbers, Jake steps out onto the deck. The Hornet is docked and the crew are too busy unloading empty crates to make room for the new supplies to notice as Jake weaves through the chaos to the gangplank. 

Solid ground feels strange under his feet. It’s always this way after a few days at sea. His body tries to move with the gentle sway of the sea, fighting the unmoving nature of earth. He focuses on that sensation so he doesn’t have to think of the other reason his feet feel reluctant to move. 

Miramar is a beautiful city, practically carved into the basalt. Buildings rise in tiers framing a wide cobbled road that switchbacks from the busy harbor to the central square a mile away. Above it all, white marble gleaming in the early morning light, is the palace. As a kid, Jake loved to daydream about what it would be like to live within those marble walls. Today it looks more like a prison than a haven. 

Jake lingers for a moment at the edge of the dock. It’s too early for any but the most inveterate of drunks to be in any of the bars so he has time to kill. For a fleeting moment he considers turning around and then shakes himself out of it. As much as he enjoyed the last few days, more than he’s enjoyed anything in years, he has to be practical. The crowns he won off Bradley will sustain him for months and buy his passage to a new city when it’s time to move, but with a little luck he could finally buy the only form of freedom possible for someone like him: a sloop of his own. That’s where his future lies. The coins in his pocket feel heavy as he steps off the dock and into the street. 

💰

An hour later Jake hoists himself onto the roof of the counting house. It was easier to do this when he was a scrawny fourteen year old but the view is just as nice as he remembers. Spread out before him is the harbor. More importantly, to his left he can clearly see the entrance to the Hard Deck, a favorite watering hole for visiting merchants with more coin in their pocket than brains in their thick skulls. He only needs a few to make their way inside before he can safely make his move. 

His eyes stray to the docks, seeking out the majestic shape of the Hornet.  It’s the largest ship in port, its main mast towering over the others, furled sails stark white against the dark of the mast and the blue of the sky. The work of loading the  ship with new supplies is still underway and Jake’s eyes flit from figure to figure until they land on Bradley. Even at this distance, he’s distractingly handsome and Jake is helpless to do anything but track Bradley’s movements. 

He’s wearing the same clothes Jake helped strip off him last night and his hair is rumpled like he didn’t even try to smooth it upon waking. Jake’s fingers itch with the desire to run through those silken waves. He rips his eyes away, rubbing absently in a vain attempt to alleviate a sudden tightness in his chest. Knowing he did this to himself, knowing full well this moment was coming, doesn’t make it hurt less to realize that he’s never going to get to touch Bradley again. 

Against his better judgement, he looks back at the Hornet. Bradley has moved in his brief moment of distraction and it takes Jake almost a minute to find him, walking down the dock towards the cobbled street, alone. Every one of Jake’s instincts screams that something is wrong and he tamps down the urge to scramble off the roof and run for the docks. 

Bradley is the crown prince, he’s not going to be left to wander alone through the city, his guards are probably meeting him at the end of the dock so they don’t draw everyone’s attention. It makes sense. Bradley hates being fussed over for his status. 

Halfway down the dock, Bradley darts an anxious look over his shoulder and then ducks in beside a sailor carrying a crate of bananas, putting the burly man between him and the Hornet. 

Jake does a quick scan of the area, not wanting to lose sight of Bradley but needing to confirm that someone responsible is waiting for him. When he can’t see a single royal uniform he can’t fight his instincts another second. He loses sight of Bradley as he scrambles awkwardly down the side of the building, the way down is at least faster than the way up even if he does land funny so his first few strides are more a hobble than a run. When he rounds the counting house and can get a view of the street he stops. His breath comes in pants and his pulse is pounding so hard in his ears it’s drowning everyone out. 

It’s probably nothing, he tells himself, trying to calm down. Bradley’s lived here his whole life. For all Jake knows this is a regular occurrence. 

He almost misses Bradley who has acquired a truly awful hat and a ratty leather jacket to cover his linen shirt. If he hadn’t turned almost directly to Jake, he would have missed him entirely. If this is the usual homecoming routine, Jake would like a word with whoever is in charge, but he’s starting to believe his instincts were right. Bradley is sneaking off, which means he’s completely unprotected. The basic techniques Jake managed to teach him will not be enough if any of the seedier elements that can be found on the outskirts of Miramar realize the prize that’s wandering among them. 

After only a moment’s hesitation, Jake closes the distance. 

He ducks between two buildings a hundred feet away. It’s close enough he won’t lose sight of Bradley, but far enough he doesn’t think he’ll be noticed. Whatever Bradley is up to, Jake isn’t going to interfere. He just wants to make sure no one else does either. At least, that’s what he’s telling himself. He’s very aware that he would have taken any excuse to spend just a little longer in Bradley’s orbit. 

By the way he strides confidently along the cobblestones Bradley has a clear goal in mind and by the time they reach the edge of the harbor where pleasure craft and very small fishing boats are moored Jake is starting to feel like a fool. For all he knows Bradley has a skiff he likes to take out without being disturbed. 

He lets the distance between them grow, lingering against the wall of a warehouse with a decent view of the two dozen small craft moored along the final dock.  

Bradley pauses, looking over his shoulder and Jake ducks back into the shadows between the buildings and counting to twenty before sneaking another look. Only to be hit by a surge of panic when Bradley is no longer in view. Forgetting he was worried about being seen, Jake strides towards the last spot he saw Bradley, eyes frantically scanning the dock. 

He catches sight of him, standing at the edge of a gangplank deep in conversation with a gray, greasy haired man with a distinctive scar cutting over his left eye. There’s something familiar about the man, but Jake has spent so much of his life on these docks and others like them across the kingdom that recognition on its own means nothing. 

Jake’s eyes stray to the sloop they appear to be discussing. It’s a nice looking ship. Exactly the type Jake would have chosen for himself. Large enough to ferry cargo but small enough a pair of experienced seamen could crew without needing to bring in extra help. Someone has clearly put a lot of work into keeping her seaworthy. There are visible signs of repair on the mast and a large section of the hull has been replaced recently, the new strip planks brighter than the others but otherwise indistinguishable from the original. 

Movement at the edge of the gangplank draws Jake’s attention back to Bradley and the gray haired sailor as they walk across the gangplank onto the deck of the sloop. A third man follows a few paces behind,  long dark hair in a braid down his back and a buxom flame-haired mermaid with a bright blue tail tattooed all down his left arm. Jake’s breath stalls in his lungs and his whole body freezes even as his brain screams at him to run. 

It’s been six years, but that tattoo looks every bit as vivid as when it was wrapped around his mother, holding a knife to her throat. It feels like one of those nightmares where the monster is closing in but your feet refuse to take a single step. Jake watches with mounting horror as that tattooed arm reaches up and slaps something across Bradley’s mouth and nose. Bradley swings one wild punch at the gray haired man who dances back, mouth opening in a cruel laugh Jake can hear clearly in his mind and then goes limp, saved from hitting the deck only by the burly tattooed man who drags him to the already open hatch and unceremoniously dumps him inside. 

As soon as Bradley disappears from view Jake’s muscles unlock and he takes off at a run, but it’s already too late. The extra distance he’d allowed to build between him and Bradley when they got to this end of the harbor is too great for Jake to reach the sloop before the efficiently moving men on board push it away. By the time his feet hit the wood of the dock the ship is slipping past two others and heaving out for the open harbor. 

For just a moment Jake imagines calling all the magic he can and pulling it back to shore. Someone jostles his shoulder and snaps him back to reality. Even if he could marshal enough power to pull the sloop back to dock all he would accomplish is getting himself thrown into the hold beside Bradley–if someone closer didn’t get him first. 

He stands, watching the sloop slip away until it’s a smudge of white sails on the horizon, his mind running in circles. He has to do something but it’s not until he turns that he remembers the Hornet  will still be loading cargo. Bradley said they were getting backup and then going after their lost captain.  He’s sure he draws more attention than would be wise in normal circumstances, running the length of the harbor, but he can’t afford to be too late. The bag of crowns bounces against his leg with each step. It’s not enough to hire a boat for this kind of trip, even if going against Cain without an armed company wasn’t suicide. 

The Hornet is still in her berth and Jake gives himself a minute to get his breath back before walking up the gangplank. He gets a couple sidelong looks from men he doesn’t recognize but keeps his head held high and no one tries to stop him. Coyote is the first familiar face he sees and he cuts straight towards him. 

“Jake!” Coyote smiles broadly and extends a friendly hand. “Thought you’d slipped out without any of us noticing. Not sure where Bradley’s gotten off to, but his escort was delayed so he’s around here somewhere.” 

Jake swallows a wave of nausea. “Is Hondo onboard?” he asks in a forced casual tone. “I had a question for him.” 

Coyote points him to where Hondo is directing several crew in patching up a section of the hull that took damage in the brief skirmish with Cain and Jake thanks him. He forces himself to walk rather than run but some of the urgency he feels coursing through his body must show because by the time he gets to Hondo, the man has already sent the two crew members he was talking to away. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you again with how you snuck out of here,” Hondo says by way of greeting. 

“They have Bradley.” It’s not the gentlest way to open the conversation, but Jake is just proud he manages to keep his voice quiet enough no one but Hondo could have heard him. 

Hondo’s face goes very still and he draws a deep breath in through his nose. “Start at the beginning.” 

Jake keeps to the highlights, explaining that he’d left with every intention of going his own way but he’d seen Bradley and thought it was strange. When he gets to the men who took Bradley Hondo starts to get a suspicious look on his face and Jake panics. The most likely outcome of telling a member of the Navy that he recognized the men is Jake in irons once again. “I wasn’t fast enough to stop them but I waited to see where they were going and I saw them raise the black flag.” 

It’s a lie. Cain may be a madman but he would never let anyone stupid enough to raise the Jolly Roger in sight of a royal port live to see the next dawn. But thankfully Hondo doesn’t seem to be personally acquainted with pirates the way Jake is, he doesn’t bat an eyelash.

When Jake finishes Hondo gives him a scrutinizing look. “You didn’t have to tell us this, so thank you.” 

Jake snorts. “I wasn’t going to let them get away. I know where Cain’s stronghold is and how to get the Hornet through the Red Rip safely.” The take me with you is heavily implied but Jake will say it if he has to. 

Hondo narrows his eyes. “Everyone knows where the pirate king’s stronghold is. There’s only one type of person who knows how to get there in one piece.” 

“Respectfully, there are two,” Jake replies, holding Hondo’s gaze and doing his best to project sincerity. 

“I’ve been on the sea longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve never heard of anyone escaping. “

“That’s not what I meant.” Jake’s heart is thundering in his chest and each beat sounds like his mother telling him to run. But he can’t. If he runs, Bradley is dead and Jake… well, Jake is an emotionally compromised idiot who needs Bradley to be safe. 

Hondo’s right eyebrow ticks up for a fraction of a second, the only tell before he schools his face back into a slightly worried frown. “Come with me,” he orders lowly. 

Jake follows him off the ship and along the harbor. They don’t speak as Hondo leads Jake away from the bustle of the main port and down a narrow path nearly hidden by an overgrowth of ferns at the far end. The path leads to a narrow rocky beach. 

“Let’s see it.” Hondo folds his arms across his broad chest and stares impassively at the steady crash of waves against the rocks. 

Jake swallows a sudden lump of nerves and closes his eyes. He’s been holding back his power for so long it almost hurts as he releases the reins all at once. It surges along the breeze and wraps itself in the rhythmic pull and crash of the tide. With a complicated flick of his fingers, Jake pushes it back. His magic arrests the tide at the first break and then the second, stilling the ocean a dozen feet out. He has to bite his lip to stop his magic from going further. He can’t afford to have anyone but Hondo see, but he needs Hondo to know Jake can do this. Jake can keep them safe and Jake can turn the sea to their aid against Cain once they find Bradley. 

When he has his power under control he opens his eyes. The sea is still as glass, not a hint of movement along the shore, not even the ripple of a breeze. 

He looks over at Hondo. The man is staring, slack jawed. At least he doesn’t look afraid, Jake thinks. 

“I can help you save them,” he says with all the conviction he possesses. 

Hondo turns to look at him, a new respect in his eyes. “I believe you.” 

Relief washes over him and he releases the tide on an exhale. Pulling his magic back drains the last of his energy. The tendrils woven into the water resist, clinging lovingly to the sea. He promises it silently that he’ll never go that long without using it again. 

🌊

There’s a pair of men in perfectly pressed navy and gold uniforms standing on the poop deck when he and Hondo get back to the Hornet. Hondo notices them a few seconds later than Jake judging by the way his back tightens and the muttered curse he absolutely didn’t mean for Jake to hear. 

“Is that..?” Jake starts to ask. 

“That is General Simpson, he’s the head of the King’s Guard, and Major General Bates, directly responsible for the security of the crown prince.”

The muttered curse suddenly seems like the greatest understatement Jake’s ever heard. He resists the urge to pat Hondo on the shoulder in solidarity. There’s no version of the conversation that is about to happen that isn’t going to result in Hondo being blamed for Bradley’s idiocy. When they rescue him, Jake wants front row seats to the well deserved dressing down he expects Hondo to give the wayward prince. 

Hondo’s steps don’t hesitate as he leads the way up to the poop deck. Jake could have split off as soon as they boarded, but he’s never been good at resisting his own curiosity. He follows Hondo up the short flight of steps and comes to a stop just behind him, doing his best to mirror the careful posture of a Navy man instead of his usual nonchalant slouch. 

“Hondo.” General Simpson’s deep voice rings with authority and Jake can feel his spine straightening another notch. This is clearly a man used to being in charge and not one Jake wants to cross. 

“Generals,” Hondo snaps a salute which Jake belatedly and sloppily copies. “Thank you for coming.” 

Simpson’s eyes slide over to scrutinize Jake. “Who is this?”

Hondo doesn’t hesitate and Jake wonders if lying to the King’s Guard is a common part of being on Mav’s crew. “Jake here is a new recruit. Mav found him in Whidbey. Got a real head for currents.”

Jake keeps silent and does his best to look like the kind of man who would voluntarily join the Navy. 

Simpson gives him one final sweep with his eyes and then returns all his attention to Hondo, clearly deciding Mav’s crew decisions are beneath his notice. “Speaking of Captain Mitchell’s questionable decisions,” the distaste in his tone could not be more obvious even if the mildly disapproving look he’s had since Jake first spotted him doesn’t shift, “is there a reason he isn’t here to ensure the safe transition of the prince into our care?” 

“I sent word to the palace three days ago,” Hondo says slowly like he’s hoping the General just forgot. 

“We received nothing before the runner this morning,” Bates replies. His whole demeanor is warm in contrast to his dour colleague. 

Hondo clears his throat. “I believe this discussion would be best held in private. If you’ll both go down to the captain’s quarters, I’ll join you shortly.” 

There’s a brief moment when Jake thinks Simpson might refuse but the man settles for a deeply unimpressed glower and then stalks off towards the cabin. 

Hondo turns to Jake. “It will take two days to muster the armada. We’re going to have to go after Bradley alone and hope the rest arrive in time to help. Go find Phoenix and tell her I want this ship ready to set sail within the hour.” 

Jake does as he’s told. Phoenix is by far the most intimidating member of the crew despite her small stature and he watches with no small amount of awe as she hollers the crew and dock workers into the most orderly procession Jake’s ever seen. 

Jake pitches in, carrying crates and helping Payback check all of the cannons to ensure they’ll be ready if they need them. Every time he passes near the captain’s quarters he slows to see if he can hear anything from inside. Once he hears a muffled shout but otherwise the voices are too quiet for him to pick up. He just hopes Hondo is able to convince the men that the Hornet needs to go after Bradley as quickly as possible. 

If Hondo is right about the time required to muster a fleet… no. Jake refuses to consider being trapped in port for two days while Cain gets his disgusting hands on Bradley. Hondo will convince them. 

The only thing left to do when the Generals emerge from the captain’s quarters is to pull in the gangplank and cast off. The cargo has been secured, every cannon triple checked, and all the crew are ready at their stations. Jake watches from beside the helm as Hondo walks the men off the ship and then barks a few sharp orders at the nearest crew. 

Jake keeps his eyes trained on the uniformed backs walking down the dock, not feeling like he can draw a full breath until the Hornet lurches away from the dock. He stays on high alert, tucked as out of the way as he can without going below deck until they pass through the mouth of the harbor and into the open sea beyond. 

Hondo comes to stand on his left, Mickey manning the helm on his right. 

“I trust this crew with my life. Anything you can do to help us along we’ll take.” Hondo’s voice is soft enough no one but Jake can hear. 

Jake’s magic writhes under his skin, still restless after his earlier display. He nods tightly in Hondo’s direction. The water is calm and the mainsail catches a steady breeze that propels them forward at a moderate clip. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes so he can focus on feeling outward with his magic seeking out the ways he can ease the Hornet’s path without making it obvious anything unnatural is happening. 

The first gust of wind is experimental, a stream of air rushing along the same trajectory as the prevailing wind already billowing the mainsail but with double the force behind it. The canvas gives a satisfying snap as the sail pulls taut. Orders echo down the deck as the crew lets loose the rest of the sails to capture more of the current. 

Jake keeps eyes and ears peeled for several minutes, whole body tense as he waits for anyone to notice that the winds are too perfect, and too focused to be natural. No one does. 

Keeping his hands low and willing the sailors to stay too preoccupied with the ship to notice, Jake traces a pattern of intricate runes with his fingers. One to fix the breeze to his chosen path, another to set the ebb and flow to a more natural pattern. If he were willing to expose himself he could do more, but even this will shave a significant amount of time off the journey. 

When he finishes he finds Hondo watching him, brow furrowed in thought. They watch each other for a long moment and then Hondo inclines his head in a silent order for Jake to follow him. 

They end up in the captain’s quarters. Jake tries not to think about the fact that it was only that morning that he woke in that bed with Bradley right there. The guilt and fear for Bradley’s safety are acrid in his gut.  

“You’re risking a lot for this,” Hondo says, settling into the chair Jake can’t help but think of as Bradley’s.  

Hondo has no idea the true risk Jake is running. But the words sound like an affirmation rather than a criticism so Jake just shrugs and sinks into the chair across from him. 

“Can’t decide if you’re brave, suicidal or a damn good liar. But I’ll warn you.” Hondo leans forward, elbows resting on top of a crude copy of Jake’s map. “If it turns out you’re one of his, I will not hesitate to kill you.” 

“Cain is a monster.” There’s no point in sugar coating it. He needs Hondo to realize that Jake is no hero. He wouldn’t stick his neck out like this if Bradley hadn’t crawled under his skin.  “If anyone else had been taken by his men I’d have poured one out for them and been done.”

Hondo hums noncommittally. “You could have.”

Jake has to bite back a bark of wholly inappropriate laughter. “No,” he says, deadly serious.  “I couldn’t. “

Hondo raises an eyebrow for a moment and then chuckles to himself. “Guess you couldn’t. You know the queen wasn’t born noble. Funny how history repeats itself.” 

The non sequitur throws Jake for a moment. “What do you mean?” 

“You don’t know the story?” Hondo sounds genuinely surprised. It must be one of those tales that’s taken on folk legend status from retelling over the years. Jake never lived in any one place long enough to learn those. 

“We moved a lot,” he says, hoping Hondo won’t follow up with any questions. He feels flayed by everything that’s happened in the last twenty four hours, he’s not sure he can take talking about his mother right now. Not with a near stranger who already knows far too much.   

Hondo gives him an empathetic look. “Right,“ he says, voice heavy with understanding. 

“Got nothing but time now,.”

Holdo pulls a bottle from one of the drawers and pours them each a measure of amber rum before settling back in his chair. “Bradley comes by his foolhardiness naturally,” he begins. 

Nicholas Bradshaw was born under a lucky star. It’s the only explanation for how he managed to survive long enough to become king. There are many who say that the wisdom he uses to rule the kingdom was hard won by dozens of scrapes and near death experiences in his youth. I don’t know about that, but from the stories I’ve heard it took more than one minor miracle to get him to his coronation. 

No one but Nicholas knows why he snuck out of the palace the night before his engagement party. It wasn’t until the royal tailor arrived for a final fitting in the morning that his room was discovered empty and it was only seven long days later , when he returned with a beautiful blonde woman on his arm that anyone even suspected pirates were involved. 

This was one of Maverick’s favorite stories. He always could spin a good yarn . The core of it is true, but I wouldn’t trust the details of his stories further than I can throw him.

Nicholas was engaged at birth to the only daughter of the King’s most loyal advisor. It was a political marriage. A reward for the advisor and a way to shore up the treasury which had been whittled down after years of territorial wars. The woman, Penelope Benjamin was beautiful and smart, but there was no romantic spark between them. Still, both knew their duty and had things gone differently, they likely would have wed as instructed. 

No one knows how or where the pirates grabbed him but the next day when it was discovered he was gone the whole city was in an uproar. Meanwhile somewhere far enough away to escape the regular patrol of the Navy Nick was bound in a pirate’s cavern. 

As I said, her majesty, Queen Carole, was not born noble. She was, in fact, the only daughter of a pirate. 

“Bradley’s mother is a pirate?” Jake interjects, unable to contain his skepticism. 

“Technically, Bradley’s maternal grandfather was a pirate. There are no records of her majesty engaging in piracy.” 

Jake downs the rest of his run and gestures for Hondo to continue. 

Carole saw that her father had captured the crown prince and knew she had to help him. Whether it was out of love for her father and the knowledge that he would be hunted for an eternity if he harmed the sole heir to the throne or because she saw something in Nicholas that touched her heart no one but she will ever know. She bade her time, waiting for the perfect moment to break him free. 

The moment came after only a couple of days. The pirates had successfully raided a shipment bound for the royal treasury and everyone was in a celebratory mood. Carole added a tincture of valerian and breadseed poppy to their rum supply and by mid evening not a pirate in the place was conscious. She unlocked Nicholas from his cell and told him to run as her father would surely kill him if he stayed in their clutches much longer. Nicholas refused to leave without her so they escaped together, stealing the smallest sloop in the pirate fleet. 

It took them three days to get back to Miramar. Whatever horrors they faced on the voyage bonded them irrevocably. On his return Nicholas told his parents he would have no wife but Carole. The king and queen were furious but Nicholas refused to consider another and so the pirate’s daughter was trained in royal graces, given a false family and the royal wedding was put together in under a month. Bradley arrived eight months later.

“Is there a moral I’m supposed to pull from this?” Jake asks when it’s clear Hondo is done.

“I just find it interesting that you’re willing to risk your secret and your life for a man you met four days ago. Romantic, even.” 

Jake snorts. He’s never been accused of being romantic in his entire life. “It’s the right thing to do.” 

“A noble sentiment.” Hondo stands and claps Jake on the shoulder on his way out. “No one will bother you in here if you want to get some rest.” 

Jake stares at the still rumpled bed for a long time before giving in to his bone deep exhaustion. The pillows smell like Bradley and he buries his face against one before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

⛵

By the end of the second full day at sea Jake has stopped worrying that anyone in the crew will question why the winds are perfect and the sea is almost unnaturally calm. They reach the edge of the Red Rip just as the sun is sinking below the horizon. The tide is too low to traverse the tight channels and twisting eddies so they’re forced to drop anchor and wait. 

The stillness itches under Jake’s skin as he stands at the very bow of the ship staring out across the swirling spirals on the surface belying the treacherous rocks just below. He can sense every rise and dip of bedrock in the restless push of the sea. There’s an obvious path they can take, but it will require perfect timing to get the Hornet  through before the tide recedes. It would be too easy for Cain’s men to set a trap on that route that would ensure they were stranded by the receding water and forced to wait for the tides to rise again. 

Jake isn’t willing to risk that. There has to be another path. He lets his magic unfurl just below the surface, reaching out to map the deepest places and those shallower where a push from Jake could carry the ship through on a subtle swell of seawater. It takes him until half tide but he finds what he’s looking for. 

It’s not the route he drew out for Bradley and it takes him a few minutes to convince Hondo that the original route is compromised but after that it’s almost too easy to command the entire crew to follow him. Jake stands on the poop deck, eyes glued to the starlit sea and tells Mickey exactly where to adjust course. His magic keeps the wind perfectly centered in the sails so the Hornet  can make the precise turns required. When he feels the scrape of bedrock against the hull Jake closes his eyes and focuses on buoying the ship with a swell of early tide just large enough to clear the shallow section.  

It takes half the night but they make it through the protective barrier that is the Red Rip. Jake is dripping sweat from the effort of keeping his magic in check but the satisfaction of success sings in his veins and he feels invincible. 

“Not far now,” Hondo says from behind him. 

Jake shoots him a tight smile. “Are they ready for this?” 

“They want their Captain back.” 

It’s not until that moment that Jake realizes no one told the crew that Bradley was taken. Somehow he’s been so preoccupied with getting them here as quickly as possible that he hadn’t bothered to wonder why no one on the crew had asked a single question about Bradley.  It’s a bold strategy, but Jake can see some wisdom in it. Motivation is a tricky thing. Everyone’s tipping point between being driven and being overwhelmed is different and the pressure of trying to rescue the heir to the throne could well push them all over. Better to direct their focus on a beloved but expendable captain and hope the shock of the secret doesn’t come at the wrong moment. 

“I don’t know what we’ll find inside,” Jake confesses. 

Hondo doesn't seem surprised. “Traps probably, and a dozen more pirates than we’d like.” 

Just off the starboard side of the bow Jake catches the first glimpse of the stronghold. He points it out to Hondo and then heads down to the captain’s quarters to get the weapons Phoenix had shoved into his arms that morning. He slides a dagger into the top of each boot and attaches the cutlass at his side. He’s always been better at hand to hand combat than with weapons, but he can swing a sword if the situation warrants it. 

The sun is lighting the sky pale violet at the edges when Jake joins the rest of the crew on deck. The mouth of the cavern looms before them. It’s been carved to look like the gaping maw of a human skull and Jake’s dread is momentarily drowned in a wave of derision. What an overdramatic waste of energy, he thinks uncharitably. Cain’s ego is legendary but the time it would take to carve this from the granite cliff face is an unbelievably ostentatious waste of resources. 

“I always expect pirates to be tacky, but this is really another level,” Phoenix says from next to him. 

Jake snorts. “Gotta be compensating for something smaller than average, don’t you think?”

“A skull that big, his dick is tiny.” 

“Please tell him that when you see him,” Jake says, laughing. “He seems like the sort to take it well.” 

“Bradley is going to be so pissed he missed this.” 

Jake suddenly can’t breathe around the tightness in his chest. 

Phoenix doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the cavern entrance. “I was surprised he didn’t pitch a fit when you signed on. He’s never liked the idea of others going into danger when he can’t.” 

Jake swallows hard. “He was born in the wrong time. Should have been prince back when they put you at the front of a rampaging army or sent you off to rescue princesses from dragons.”

Phoenix turns and gives him a fond look. “Keep your fantasies in the bedroom where they belong.” 

Any smart reply he was about to fire back at her dies in Jake’s throat as the Hornet slips into the dark interior of the cavern. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, picking up the glow of phosphorescence in the water and the refraction of that light across the dampness of the stalactites above. The whole crew stands silent, poised to draw weapons at the first sign of trouble. 

The cavern opens up and weak dawn light filters in through two large holes in the roof of the cave. Jake’s eyes immediately zero in on the galleon docked near the center of the cave: Cain’s flagship, the Bandit. It’s slightly larger than the Hornet, its masts too tall to pass into this cave at high tide. There are no lanterns aboard and it seems Cain hasn’t bothered to set a guard this far out. The casual cockiness of that is far from comforting.

There’s room on the narrow wooden dock for more than the three vessels that are currently docked and Jake wonders if that’s optimism or a sign that Cain’s forces are larger than he’d realized. He spots the sloop that took Bradley tied between the Bandit and a sleek schooner with Stingray painted along the side  and breathes a sigh of relief. Bradley is here. He hadn’t realized before now that part of him was afraid he’d been wrong and the men who took Bradley weren’t with Cain. As much as Cain has styled himself the king of pirates longer than Jake’s been alive, he can’t control every privateer seeking to make a profit through crime on the high seas. 

They pull the Hornet  up opposite the Bandit  and Payback and Coyote leap down to tie her tightly to the bollards. Jake is impressed by the quiet, efficient way the crew secures the ship. He doesn’t imagine that stealth is often a part of crewing a Navy vessel. 

Jake disembarks along with the rest of the crew and they move quietly along the dock towards the back of the cave. They have to go single file to follow the narrow path cut into the rock and Jake finds himself taking point. He tries not to read into the fact that none of the crew want him at their back. 

They get a few meters in before voices filter through the rhythmic sounds of the ocean slapping against the docked ships. Jake draws up and gestures for Phoenix to hold position and then creeps forward until the path widens and he can peek into the large cavern beyond. Torches flicker along the stone walls, firelight bouncing off piles of treasure and refracting in a warped rainbow off the surface of a deep pool at the center of the room. It seems the entire cavern is a treasure hoard. He makes out a single opening in the rock to his right that might lead back to the ships or into a wider cave network, but this space is dominated by gold and gems. Jake ducks behind a crate and scans the room more deliberately.  

He counts twelve pirates scattered around the space before he finds what he’s looking for. Almost exactly across the room from where he is crouched he finds Bradley, tied hand and foot to an ornate gold and crimson chair that wouldn’t look out of place in the palace throne room. Jake’s sure Cain thinks the irony is hilarious. The mockery of who Bradley is makes Jake want to personally cave Cain’s nose through the back of his skull. There’s a strip of cloth tied over Bradley’s eyes and another between his lips. 

Further along that side of the cavern Jake finds Cain. The pirate king lounges on a massive throne made of human skulls like a caricature of a villain. A short man with dark hair stands just to his left. It takes Jake a minute to realize it’s the same man who rescued him over a week ago from the derelict remains of the merchant vessel. He watches as Cain snaps an order in Maverick’s direction and then feels nausea rise as Maverick’s body moves to comply in the slightly stilted way that can only mean he’s compelled by magic. 

This is worse than Jake feared. He’d expected pirates and perhaps a stormcaller who had been pressed into Cain’s service but he had the crew of the Hornet at his back and as soon as he freed them he’d imagined Maverick and Bradley joining the fray. If Maverick has made a deal that compels him to obey Cain, that changes everything. Jake can’t rely on the crew to move against Maverick, even if it’s the only way they’ll get to Cain. Fuck!

Jake has to tell them and hope for the best. He takes careful steps back until he’s once again concealed in the passageway, keeping his eyes trained on the room. No one seems to notice him. As soon as he loses sight of the room he turns on his heel and hurries back to where he left the crew. He keeps his voice as low as possible as he tells Payback there’s a complication. It takes an agonizingly long time to relay that to the crew but eventually they make it to the dock and gather close so he can explain. 

He keeps it as brief as possible, describing the awkward layout of the room with its central pool that means they’ll have no choice but to split up and take opposite paths around the cavern with minimal cover just to get to their quarry. When he tells them what he suspects happened to Maverick he expects at least one crew member to argue against the existence of magic but they don’t. 

“If we kill Cain will that free him?” Phoenix asks. 

“Only one way to find out,” Jake replies grimly. He’s only ever seen compelled movement like that once, but some horrors don’t need to be seen more than that to leave an indelible mark. If Maverick swore an oath to Cain, killing the pirate king might break it. The other possibility, that killing Cain will kill Maverick alongside him, he keeps to himself. No matter the consequences, Cain needs to die. 

They have a brief fight over tactics before Hondo declares that they are going with Jake’s plan and everyone else will follow. It would make Jake feel more like a trusted member of the team if said plan wasn’t basically to use Jake as a distraction so the rest of them could get in position to attack. 

“There’s one more thing… two actually,” he says before they turn back to the passageway. “Maverick isn’t their only prisoner. We need to get both of them out alive.” Once again no one questions him, they just nod in agreement. It helps him get the next few words out. “I have magic. I may need to use it to draw their attention. It won’t harm you, but I thought you should all know before we go in.” 

Mickey whispers, “I told you!” into the silence that follows and Jake swallows the sudden urge to laugh. So much for being subtle. 

“We’ve got your back,” Coyote says with quiet conviction. “Let’s get our people back.” 

💰

As plans go, this one is quite simple. Jake walks into the treasure strewn cavern with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking as casual as he possibly can. He makes it further than he probably should before anyone notices him. He ignores the startled “Hey!” and continues to walk until a familiar silver haired man steps directly in his path. 

“I came to parlay,” Jake says in the breeziest tone he can muster. “Your boss took someone of mine and I’d like him back.” 

The gray haired man Jake dubs Scarface for the crooked line nearly bisecting his features sneers at him and he hears a deep laugh from a few feet behind him Jake assumes is Mermaid Tattoo. “Cocky little shit ain’t yah?” Scarface asks, reaching out to grab Jake’s arm.

Jake spins neatly out of the way and, with a flick of his wrist, summons a spray of water over both pirates. 

“You’re…” the gray haired man gapes at him. 

“Gorgeous? Charming?” Jake winks at him. “Incredibly charismatic?”

“Magic!” Scarface’s near hysterical scream is overkill if you ask Jake but it does draw every single pirate in the room’s attention. 

He hopes the crew were watching. He doesn’t intend to let them catch him, but without the crew he’s hopelessly outnumbered. He takes a few steps around the pool, amused to find the pirates following close but not quite close enough to touch. The direction he set out in means he’ll have to pass where Bradley is tied to get to Cain. He’s hoping the crew time their first volley right so he can get to Bradley before any of the pirates realize that’s his goal. 

The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Just as Jake draws even with Bradley a crossbow bolt zings past, close enough to ruffle the hair at the back of his head, and bounces with a sharp crack off the stone wall. Jake dives towards Bradley, hitting the ground with his shoulder and rolling half behind the ornate chair. He sneaks a quick look over at his pirate escorts and grins viciously to himself when he sees Mermaid Tattoo cowering behind Scarface as two more bolts find their mark, one in Scarface’s upper thigh and another through the meat of his shoulder. 

Jake keeps them in his peripheral vision and he gets to work undoing the knots at the back of Bradley’s head. He gets the blindfold off first, tossing the ragged piece of fabric to the side and then focuses on the gag. “Whole crew is here,” he murmurs softly, lips almost brushing Bradley’s ear. “Try not to draw any attention so I can get you out of here.” 

“Jake?” Bradley’s voice is hoarse from disuse and Jake clenches his jaw to dispel the surge of anger that rises up when he thinks of how long Bradley’s likely been tied here, blind and unable to speak. 

The blindfold slips off and for a moment the battle falls away as Jake looks into Bradley’s baffled face. “You left,” Bradley says, like he can’t quite believe Jake is really here. 

Jake’s leaning in to kiss Bradley’s chapped lips when an angry bellow from behind him snaps him back to reality. A battle is raging around them. This is definitely not the time for making out no matter how delicious Bradley looks with his hair mussed and his dark eyes drinking in Jake like Jake is the best thing he’s ever seen. 

The ropes binding Bradley’s wrists are tied too tightly to slide a dagger between hemp and skin so Jake focuses on trying to loosen the knots. He’s so focused on the task he loses track of his pirate escorts. 

The only warning he gets before a meaty hand grabs for him is Bradley’s low, urgent, “Jake!” 

He manages to roll out of the way so Mermaid Tattoo grabs empty air. Unfortunately, that lands him on his ass with the tip of Scarface’s cutlass pressing against his jugular. Jake freezes. Any sudden movement could be his last. He didn’t come this far to let the monsters who killed his mother finish off the Seresin family line. 

Across the room something large topples into the central pool with a loud splash. Both pirates whirl to face the pool as if anticipating something rising from its depths to attack them and Jake doesn’t hesitate. He throws his weight backwards and sideways, rolling out of immediate reach. By the time they turn back he’s on his feet, cutlass in hand. 

Two on one isn’t ideal, especially with Bradley still so vulnerable behind him, but Jake holds his own. Scarface is fighting with his left hand, movements clumsy thanks to the two bolts he took earlier. Jake focuses his offensive moves on him, only paying enough attention to Mermaid Tattoo to dodge incoming blows. He gets a lucky slash across Scarface’s sword arm and the pirate recoils with a curse giving Jake an opening to drive his cutlass deep into the man’s torso. 

He shoves forward, using the sword in the pirate’s guts to shove him backwards into the pool. He ducks a wild swing from Mermaid Tattoo and tries to yank his cutlass free. The sword sticks and he’s forced to release it so he can roll away from another slash. When he glances back both the sword and Scarface’s body have completely disappeared beneath the water. 

Around the room crew from the Hornet clash with heavily armed pirates. They’re outnumbered and outmatched in size if not skill. He winces as a cruel faced woman with white blonde hair knocks the dagger from Bob’s hand and headbutts him in the nose. Bob crumples, unconscious, and the woman steps over her, advancing on where Phoenix is holding her own for the moment against a dark skinned pirate wielding a jagged scimitar. 

Jake’s eyes dart to where Cain still sits in his throne, watching the battle with a  cruel smile on his face. Maverick, standing beside him looks pained, the desire to leap into the fray and help his friends clear in every line of his body. There’s a sheen of sweat over his face as he tries to fight the power that holds him still. 

Mermaid Tattoo reaches out a meaty hand and wraps it in Jake’s hair, yanking his head back. Jake scrambles for the dagger tucked in his right boot. He manages to get his fist around the hilt just as he’s hauled to his feet and a thick arm wraps across his throat and squeezes. 

“Had enough of you, mage-boy,” Mermaid Tattoo growls. His breath stinks of rum and fish. “Thank your lucky stars the boss likes to deal with your sort personal-like.” 

Lucky me, Jake thinks. The likelihood of striking a killing blow with his dagger from this position is too low to risk. It would only take a sharp wrench for the man to snap Jake’s neck if he pisses him off, no matter how much Cain might enjoy personally murdering magic users.

“Enough!” Cain’s voice echoes throughout the cavern. 

Jake watches warily as Cain stands, glowering out at the room. The sounds of battle stop almost immediately. It’s chilling how quickly and easily the pirates are able to drop or restrain the Hornet’s crew. There are some pirates downed, but they still match the crew at least one to one. 

“Is this what you swore yourself to me to save, Maverick? A crew so pathetic they couldn’t even honor your sacrifice by staying well enough away. Or are they here for your little prince?” Cain saunters over to Bradley. 

Maverick follows, his steps for the first time seem purposeful, like he’s been trying to get closer to Bradley and is finally free to do so. 

Cain stops right in front of Bradley, staring down at him coldly. “After what nearly happened to your father, I didn’t think I would ever get my hands on you.” He runs a finger down Bradley’s cheek. 

Jake twists in his captor’s grip, rage jolting through his body at the sight of Cain touching Bradley. 

Cain smirks and turns back towards his throne. “Your time has come Maverick,” he says in a chillingly calm voice. “Kill them both. The royal whelp and his pet magician will make fitting tributes, don’t you think?”

Jake jams his dagger into the meat of Mermaid Tattoo’s thigh. The man howls and briefly loosens his grip as the arm not around Jake’s throat grabs for the dagger. Jake manages to twist free only to take a heavy blow to the side of his head then drops him to his knees, dazed. 

He watches helplessly as Maverick pulls a gleaming gold sword from the scabbard at his hip and takes a step towards Bradley. 

Bradley’s eyes are wide but otherwise his face is set in grim determination, as if he always knew this was coming and doesn’t want Maverick to blame himself for it. 

“I’m sorry, Bradley,” Maverick says, raising his sword and, so quickly that no one has time to react, turning and plunging it through Cain’s back. 

Cain lets out an inhuman howl, hands scrabbling at his chest where the tip of the blade, soaked red with blood, protrudes several inches and then suddenly, like a puppet with its strings cut, collapses, his body hitting the stone and sliding on a bed of gold coins into the pool. The water seems to swallow him, his body disappearing as soon as it’s submerged, sucked down by some ineffable power directly to the depths. 

For a moment the cavern is silent. And then all hell breaks loose. The pool roils, thousands of bubbles rising to the surface. Tentacles made of pure water lash out from the depths, toppling several of the pirates before wrapping around Maverick’s torso and yanking him off his feet. 

Bradley shouts and pulls so hard against his restraints the chair tips dangerously to one side. Jake reaches for Bradley, pulling the second dagger out of his boot and sawing frantically at the bindings. He doesn’t know what Maverick’s oath was, but he’s almost certain none of them are safe right now. He gets through the first set of ropes just in time to watch in horror as Maverick is plunged beneath the surface of the pool. 

The water continues to churn dangerously, the sound loud enough to muffle the cries from Maverick’s crew. Mercifully none of them are stupid enough to jump in after him. Then, as suddenly as it started, the water stills. 

Jake gets Bradley’s feet free while Bradley works on his other wrist and together it doesn’t take long to get him untied. As soon as he’s free he lunges towards the water and Jake barely manages to grab him, wrapping both arms around Bradley’s torso and holding him back

“Let me go!” Bradley cries, thrashing in Jake’s grip. “I have to–”

“He’s gone.” It’s brutal, but Jake’s adrenaline is too high to be anything but blunt. “You can’t help him now.” Gods, Jake does not know how he’s going to make Bradley understand. He presses his face into the crook of Bradley’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

Bradley goes pliant in Jake’s arms, letting Jake take his weight as he stares into the now still water. 

With Bradley no longer actively trying to get himself killed, Jake is finally able to take stock of the rest of the cavern. The tide of the battle has changed. With their leader gone the pirates are torn between running for their lives and making a final stand and the Hornet’s crew appears to have things well in hand.  

There are no immediate threats near them. From where Mermaid Tattoo is lying, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling, it looks like he tried to run only to be caught by one of Mickey’s bolts. Jake is glad. It’s years too late to actually help her, but at least his mother has been avenged. The men who took her from him and the leader who commanded them have been returned to the sea. He hopes the gods aren’t feeling too forgiving today. 

There’s a burble from the pool and Jake instinctively pulls Bradley back so they’re pressed against the stone wall. He watches a dozen tiny bubbles pop at the surface and then a dark-haired head bursts out of the water with a desperate gasp for air. 

“Mav!” Bradley easily breaks free from Jake’s grip, running for the edge of the pool where Maverick is somehow alive. 

Jake catches the glint of firelight off golden scales and shakes his head in wonder. His mother told him the creatures of magic still inhabited the sea, but he’s never seen one before today. If pressed he would have said the merfolk died out long ago. Apparently he would have been wrong. 

He stays back, watching as Bradley pulls Maverick out of the water. They don’t need his help, but he keeps his magic coiled under his skin just in case. 

Bradley and Maverick talk for a while and Jake lets his attention wander. He gets the satisfaction of watching Phoenix knock the blonde pirate unconscious with a decisive blow and then step over her body to go help Bob to his feet. That was the last of the pirates who didn’t manage to flee. He can see a few others tied up against the wall, guarded by a crossbow wielding Mickey. 

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” Maverick sounds amused. 

Bradley stands at Jake’s side, close enough their shoulders brush. Jake sways slightly into the contact and is rewarded by Bradley threading their fingers together. 

Mav’s eyes note the movement and he smiles. “Guess some things happened while I was gone.” 

“Never got a chance to thank you,” Jake says. He extends the hand that isn’t twined with Bradley’s. 

“I think this makes us even.” Maverick shakes his hand. He turns his head, scanning the cavern. “I should…” 

“We’ll talk on the ship,” Bradley says. 

“Good. I’d like that.” Maverick smiles at them both before walking off to talk to the crew. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Bradley turns to face Jake, still holding firmly to his hand. “Can we get out of here?” 

They leave Phoenix and the rest of the crew to round up any stray pirates or valuables. Jake feels like he hasn’t slept in a week and if he never sees another pirate it will be too soon. Bradley follows him through the passageway back to the dock. Finally alone, Jake pulls Bradley close. 

“If you ever pull anything that suicidal again, I will help Hondo lock you in the tallest tower he can find,” he says, meaning every word. 

Bradley grins at him, unperturbed. “Guess that means you’re sticking around.” 

Jake rubs a thumb along Bradley’s cheekbone. “That work for you?”  

Bradley nods, sliding his arms around Jake’s neck and pulling him in. “Sounds perfect,” he murmurs against Jake’s lips before sealing them with his own. 

It probably won’t be as easy as that. Bradley is still a crown prince and Jake is no noble, but right now the only thing that matters is that Bradley’s safe and warm in Jake’s arms and Jake isn’t going to let him go again without a fight. 

 👨🏻‍❤️‍👨🏼

The sea is perfectly calm. A scattering of fluffy clouds reflect on the surface, lit peach and gold from the rising sun. The Hornet is due back any day now and Jake’s eyes scan the water for her familiar silhouette. 

Miramar looks strange from this high up Jake thinks, leaning his shoulder against the cool marble sill. It’s just one of dozens of strange things about living in the palace. One day maybe he’ll get used to seeing it all spread out before him just as he’s become used to the warmth of Bradley’s skin under his fingers and the silken feel of fine sheets  wrapped around them. 

“Crown for your thoughts?” Bradley’s arms wrap around Jake’s torso, palms warm against Jake’s bare skin. He rests his chin on Jake’s shoulder.

“Just wondering what excuse Maverick’s going to make for missing the wedding.” Their wedding. Jake still can’t quite believe it’s happening. 

In the year since Cain’s death  so many things in Jake’s life have felt too good to be true. From the almost too tight hug from the queen when they’d returned to Miramar to the royal decree that magic exists and its wielders are under royal protection. Bradley asking him to stay forever as prince consort on the last night of their six month tour of the kingdom to announce the death of the pirate king and the return of magic is at the top of the list. 

Now, with the wedding looming, Jake can’t help but wish they were back on the Hornet. He’s not nervous about being married. He’s never felt more sure about anything than he is about never leaving Bradley. But the royal wedding itself is a nightmare of protocols Jake is sure he’s going to fuck up. 

“They’ll be here.” Bradley presses a soft kiss below Jake’s ear. “Wishing you were out there with them?”

“Tomorrow I’m going to use the wrong fork for the oysters at dinner, step on your toes when we dance and daydream the whole time about throwing you over my shoulder and taking up a life of piracy.” Jake turns in Bradley’s arms and brings his hands up to frame Bradley’s face. “But then you’re going to strip me out of that absurdly expensive suit and spend the rest of our very long lives making it up to me.” 

Bradley gives him an impossibly fond look that makes Jake’s chest ache. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I am.” 

They stay there, arms twined, watching the sun rise in comfortable silence until Jake finally spots a familiar silhouette on the horizon. The Hornet is back, in the nick of time as usual. 

Tomorrow he and Bradley will promise forever to each other in front of family, friends, and far too many strangers and Jake will chafe at every silly rule. But for now he has Bradley’s arms around him and everyone he cares about is safe. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.