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You were in the middle of another royal ball, sipping champagne and wondering when you could leave to get back home to your beloved dog. Draped in crimson silk, you moved through the crowd with quiet command, your name carried like a promise of power wherever you went. You were no fool. Behind each courtier’s smile lurked ambition. Every dance was a transaction.
And yet, nothing could have prepared you for him.
He arrived not through the grand entrance, but through a forgotten balcony door, casually stepping past lazy guards as if he belonged. Amazingly, nobody noticed - the lights too dim and the attendees too drunk to notice the uninvited newcomer.
There he stood.
Tall, sun-kissed skin, a devil-may-care smirk matching his mischievous green eyes. He wore stolen nobility - a long dark coat with golden inner linings and hand gloves clearly belonging to a naval officer, with boots dusted from the sea. Danger clung to him like cologne.
Captain Gale Galleon.
A name spoken in naval war rooms with clenched jaws and in taverns with reverent awe. Pirate. Smuggler. Sinker of three Crown ships. Dashing, ruthless, and entirely not invited. You froze mid-step, the champagne flute halfway to your lips. And yet — he was walking straight toward you.
You tried to speak, but he bowed deeply before you could.
“A thousand apologies for interrupting your evening, but I’ve come to steal something precious,” he said, voice like warm honey over broken glass.
I look around, breathing a sigh of relief that no one seems to have heard. “And what,” you whisper coldly, “could possibly be worth risking your neck at a royal ball? You’re lucky everyone here is drunk beyond belief.”
Gale leaned in, his breath brushing your cheek. “A dance.”
The audacity. The absurdity. The fact that your heart stuttered before your mind could protest. He extended his hand. And despite yourself, despite the fact that this man is a literal criminal, you took it. Because despite it all he is someone you once… knew.
You were in his arms, gliding across the floor, as if the two of you had done this a hundred times. A part of you thinks to demand his arrest, to call the guards - yet your eyes searched his, and found not cruelty but something familiar, something not at all like the evil pirate captain people claim him to be.
“You’re insane,” you whispered through clenched teeth.
“Some say.” He spun you elegantly. “Others say romantic.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What are you really here for, Gale Galleon? A waltz is hardly worth the risk, you can’t even dance well.”
“Ouch, there’s no need for that. But you got me.” His grin widened. “The stupid king has something that doesn’t belong to him.”
“You expect me to help you steal from the king?”
“I expect nothing.” His gaze flicked to the balcony. “But I do need an escape route.”
Your hand curled tightly around his shoulder. “You must be joking.”
“Oh I have never joked in my entire life,” he said, dipping you low. “Come on, for old time’s sake.”
You hear some commotion outside.
“Also I would appreciate it if you could help me quickly. I may have knocked out a guard or two outside,” he says, still wearing his confident grin.
“You’re an idiot.” Somewhere in your chest, reason warred with thrill. Then, you scoff and roll your eyes. You can’t believe what you’re about to say. “The garden corridor to the east. There’s a servant’s door. Unmarked.”
He paused, startled. “Wait, you’re actually helping me?”
“I’m helping myself,” you said coolly. “This ball was dreadfully dull. And I’d rather not see anyone bleed on the marble.”
You both straightened. The music swelled. The doors of the grand ballroom open and in walks several guards.
“Go,” I whisper to him with urgency.
He looks at you with an unreadable expression, like he’s about to say something but decides to let it go. “Until we meet again?” is all he says before backing away.
“Next time, don’t wear stolen clothes.”
He grinned. “You noticed.”
And just like that, he vanished - into the crowd, the shadows, and your memory. The guards found nothing but confused guests and spilled wine. The king’s “treasure” was gone by morning.
You wonder whether you'd been charmed, used, or chosen. Maybe all three. But frankly, you regret nothing.