Chapter Text
Salt spray had a way of improving most days. It sharpened the air, stung the eyes, reminded a man that he was alive. Till preferred salt spray. He preferred it especially on mornings when the horizon had something interesting to offer.
Like today, for instance.
"Ship off the port bow," one of his crew called, squinting into the sun.
Till didn't look up immediately. He finished tying the knot he was working on slowly, deliberately, because nothing unsettled a deck full of sailors like a captain who rushed. Then he rose from his crouch and followed the line of the pointing finger.
The vessel was a pretty thing. Too pretty, for these waters.
White sails, embroidered crest. Polished railings gleaming in the light. Flags snapped proudly in the breeze, the colours bright and unnecessarily optimistic. Even from a distance, Till could see gold trim catching the sun in ostentatious flashes.
He hummed.
"Merchant?" someone to his right ventured.
"Nah," another muttered, breath already gone thin with greed. "Royal. Look at that crest."
Till narrowed his eyes. The sea was calm around the vessel, a flat, watchful blue. No gulls circled it. No other ships trailed it. It sailed alone, quiet and promising. Like an invitation.
"Well," Till said at last, resting his forearms against the rail. "That's either very brave, or very stupid."
He watched the deck of the other ship through his spyglass. There were figures moving about, too composed, too upright. Silks. Gloves. A flash of jewels at someone's throat.
And there, near the centre of it all, stood a man who could only be the reason for the spectacle.
He was dressed in pale fabric that looked expensive in the way only expensive fabric could manage — soft, fluid, impractical. Gold clasp at the shoulder. Rings catching the light. Hair neat, despite the wind. He stood as if the deck was marble and not something that swayed with every swell.
The supposed prince did not appear to enjoy the sea. He did not grip the railing. He did not lean. He simply stood.
Interesting.
Till lowered the spyglass.
"Raise the black," he said.
The reaction was immediate. Cheers, scrambling feet, the familiar shift of a crew who loved their work perhaps a little too much. The black flag snapped upward, skull grinning wide as a promise.
The aristocratic ship did not turn. It did not flee. If anything, it slowed.
Till's mouth curved.
"Either they've got no idea who we are," he murmured, "Or they've got far too much faith in their navy."
The cannons were rolled into place. Ropes were coiled, grappling hooks readied. Till felt the pleasant hum of anticipation settle into his bones.
The sea remained unnervingly calm.
They closed the distance quickly. Close enough now that Till could see faces clearly. Fine hats, embroidered cuffs. A table laid out on the deck as if for tea, china cups rattling faintly with the motion of the ship. A small chest sat open nearby, spilling over with what looked like pearls and coins.
How generous.
When they were within shouting distance, Till stepped up onto the rail, one hand braced against the rigging.
"Good morning!" he called across the water, voice carrying easily. "We'll be boarding you shortly. Please refrain from doing anything heroic. It never ends well."
A ripple of alarm moved through the supposed aristocrats. A woman gasped theatrically. A man dropped a goblet with a dramatic clatter. Two attendants rushed toward the figure in pale silk, hovering as though he might dissolve at the sight of danger.
The prince, however, merely lifted his chin.
Till watched him carefully.
There it was — something flickering behind the composure. Not fear. Calculation, perhaps. Or curiosity.
The prince met Till's gaze across the narrowing stretch of water. He did not look away.
Ah.
Grappling hooks flew. Ropes tightened. The ships kissed together with a jolt of wood and protest. Till crossed first, boots landing cleanly on polished deck.
Up close, the wealth was even louder. Gold trim sparkled even brighter along the railings. Velvet cushions secured with delicate ties laid off to the side. The open chest gleamed, a necklace draped over its edge, gemstones so bright they were almost offensive.
Till resisted the urge to prod one with his boot.
The crew of the other ship scattered obligingly, shrieking and clutching at each other. One man fell to his knees.
Till's gaze never left the prince.
He stood exactly where he had before, attendants trembling at his shoulders. His expression was composed, though a faint crease had appeared between his brows, as if this interruption had mildly inconvenienced his schedule.
Till approached at an unhurried pace.
"Well," he said conversationally, "this is awkward."
Up close, the prince was even more striking. Dark eyes. Clean lines. Rings on elegant fingers and hands that were not nearly as soft as they ought to be. Till took that in without reacting.
"You're a long way from home," Till continued. "Bit drafty out here for silk, don't you think?"
One attendant gasped. "How dare you address His Highness—"
Till glanced at the man.
He stopped speaking immediately.
The prince tilted his head slightly, studying Till as one might study an unusual artefact.
"I assume," the prince said at last, voice smooth and even, "that this is the part where you demand a ransom."
Till smiled faintly. "That depends. Are you expensive?"
There was a flicker in the prince's face. There and then gone again before Till could analyse it properly.
"I am," he replied, "considered invaluable."
Till's eyes dropped deliberately to the open chest of jewels, then back to the prince's face.
"How fortunate," he said. "So are we."
Behind him, his crew cheered. Till stepped closer, close enough now to see the fine stitching at the prince's collar. To notice the faint callus along the base of his thumb — his sword hand.
Curious.
His crew had already begun sweeping the deck, gathering up the scattered treasures. One of them lifted the pearl necklace and let out a low whistle.
"Captain, look at this."
Till did not turn. "Try not to swallow it."
The prince's gaze shifted briefly toward the activity, then returned to Till. He did not look distressed. If anything, he seemed... attentive.
"You're remarkably calm," Till observed.
"And you're remarkably polite," the prince countered.
"Occupational hazard."
A beat of silence passed between them, not uncomfortable, exactly. The wind tugged at silk and canvas alike.
"Tell me," Till said lightly, "do you get kidnapped often?"
The attendants made scandalised noises.
The prince's lips curved, just barely. "I would prefer not to make a habit of it."
Till reached out and took one of the prince's wrists — not roughly, but firmly enough to test the reaction. There was no flinch. Only steady eye contact. The pulse beneath his fingers was measured, not racing, not panicked.
Either the man had ice in his veins. Or he had expected this.
Till released him with a faint hum.
"Well," he said, gesturing toward his own ship, "if you'll be so kind as to come along quietly, I promise not to scuff your shoes."
The prince glanced down at said shoes, then back up again.
"You've very considerate for a pirate."
"I try to maintain standards."
He nodded toward the gangplank. His crew fell into step around them, efficient and practiced. The supposed aristocrats were disarmed quickly, protests dying under pointed looks.
As the prince crossed onto Till's ship, the sea shifted. Just slightly. A ripple against the hull, a low creak of wood that felt almost like a sigh.
Till felt it in his bones.
He did not look at the water. Instead, he looked at his hostage.
The prince paused on the unfamiliar deck, gaze sweeping over the rigging, the cannons, the crew. Taking stock. Noticing too much.
"You'll be treated well," Till said simply. "Provided your father pays promptly."
The prince's eyes flicked back to his face.
"And if he doesn't?"
Till smiled.
"Then we'll have to get creative."
A faint spark lit behind those dark eyes — amusement, perhaps. Or anticipation.
Till gestured toward the captain's quarters. "After you, Your Highness."
The prince inclined his head and stepped forward without hesitation. Till followed, hands clasped loosely behind his back, already cataloguing every detail he had seen. Every slip he'd caught.
Invaluable, the prince had said.
Yes, Till thought.
He supposed they would find out.
He followed the prince into the captain's quarters, ducking beneath the frame more out of habit than necessity. The room was modest by any respectable standard of royalty and outrageously indulgent by any respectable standard of piracy. A wide desk was bolted to the floor. Maps were pinned along the walls, shelves stacked with ledgers, navigational instruments, and a collection of objects that had once belonged to other people.
The prince paused just inside the doorway and took it all in with the kind of polite interest one might show a distant cousin's countryside estate.
"It's smaller than I expected," he remarked.
Till closed the door behind them. "So are most things."
The prince turned his head slightly, as if deciding whether that had been an insult.
Till moved to the desk and leaned back against it, folding his arms. He did not offer the chair opposite.
Princes, in his limited experience, preferred to be invited to sit. This one made himself at home immediately, lowering himself into the chair with controlled grace, smoothing the fall of his pale coat before resting his hands lightly in his lap. The rings caught the light again.
Till watched those hands.
They were elegant hands. But they were also not the hands of a man who had spent his life signing decrees and selecting desserts.
"You have my attention," the prince said.
"Fantastic," Till replied. "You have mine as well."
A muffled thump sounded on the deck above them, followed by laughter and the scrape of something heavy being dragged. The crew would be cataloguing the haul, arguing over who had found what, attempting to pocket things that were not theirs to pocket. Till trusted them implicitly and not at all.
"Let's begin simply," Till said. "Name."
The prince regarded him evenly. "You are aware of it."
"Humour me."
The prince exhaled, almost a sigh. "Ivan."
No titled attached. Interesting.
"And your kingdom?" Till asked.
Ivan's gaze sharpened, just slightly. "You boarded my ship beneath our crest."
"Yes," Till agreed. "It was very decorative."
Ivan's mouth curved, almost imperceptibly.
"Valoria," he said at last.
Till nodded as if that meant something to him beyond the obvious. He let the silence stretch, watching for discomfort.
Ivan filled it effortlessly.
"My father will not respond kindly to this," he added.
"Fathers rarely do."
Till pushed away from the desk and began to circle the room slowly, hands clasped behind his back. He made a show of studying a map while studying, instead, the man seated at his desk.
"You were traveling without escort," Till said finally. "No naval guard. No warships."
Ivan folded one leg over the other. "We were not without escort."
Till glanced toward the ceiling. "I must have missed them."
"They were further south."
"Of course they were."
Ivan did not bristle — nor did he rush to defend the claim. He merely watched Till with that same measured calm.
It was impressive, truly. Most hostages sweated by now.
Till stopped beside the desk and leaned down slightly, bracing one hand against the wood.
"You seem unbothered," he said.
"I see no benefit in dramatics."
"Most people enjoy them."
"I do not."
Ivan's words were delivered cleanly. No swallowed fear.
Till straightened.
A knock sounded at the door before it swung open without permission. Isaac stepped inside carrying an armful of glittering necklaces and a small golden statue shaped like something that might once have been a lion.
"Captain, you won't believe—" Isaac began, then noticed Ivan properly and snapped into a posture that suggested he believed princes could evaporate at sudden movement. He cleared his throat. "Your Highness."
Ivan inclined his head, accepting the greeting as his due.
Isaac beamed. "We've never had royalty before."
"Let us try to keep him intact," Till said mildly.
Isaac nodded vigorously and set the statue down on the desk. It wobbled slightly.
Ivan's eyes flicked to it.
"Careful," he said without thinking.
Isaac froze. Till's gaze shifted slowly from the statue to Ivan's face.
Ivan's expression did not change. "It appears delicate."
Isaac adjusted it, muttering apologies to no one in particular, and backed toward the door.
"Oh," he added brightly, over his shoulder. "Hyuna says the sea's gone strange again."
Till did not look at him. "Define strange."
"Too quiet," Isaac said. "No wind shift. No swell. Like it's waiting."
Ivan's gaze slid, almost involuntarily, toward the window. Till noticed.
"It does that," Till said evenly. "Keeps us interesting."
Isaac grinned, delighted. "Some say it likes you, Captain."
"Some say many foolish things."
Isaac laughed and vanished, closing the door behind him. Silence settled again, softer this time.
Ivan's attention remained on the window for a fraction too long before returning to Till.
"I have heard of your crew," Ivan said simply.
Till raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Good things, I presume?"
"You are rumoured," Ivan said carefully, "to be cursed."
Till considered him.
"Are we?"
"The sea swallows ships that pursue you."
"Perhaps they should pursue someone else then."
Ivan studied him as though attempting to decide whether he believed in curses.
"Are you?" he asked.
"Cursed?"
"Yes."
Till walked to the window and glanced out. The water stretched flat and blue beneath a sky too clear for comfort.
"I believe," he said at last, "that the sea does what it wants."
He turned back to Ivan. "And today it wanted you."
That earned him the faintest narrowing of dark eyes.
"How poetic," Ivan murmured.
Till smiled slightly. "I contain multitudes."
He moved back to the desk and pushed the golden statue lightly with one finger. It tipped, then righted itself.
"Tell me," he said, "what were you doing so far from Valoria?"
Ivan did not hesitate. "Diplomatic matters."
"Alone?"
"With trusted advisors."
"They seemed very committed to screaming."
Ivan's lips twitched. "They are devoted."
"Mm."
Till leaned back against the desk again, studying him openly now. Ivan met the scrutiny without flinching, posture perfect, hands folded once more.
It was almost convincing.
"Your Highness," Till said lightly, "I hope you understand your position."
"I am your hostage," Ivan confirmed.
"Yes."
"And you intend to ransom me."
"That is the general idea."
Ivan nodded, as though confirming the rules of a game he already knew.
"Very well," he said.
Very well. Not outrage. Not panic. Not bargaining.
Very well.
Till felt something like amusement curl low in his chest.
"You adapt quickly," he observed.
Ivan's gaze drifted briefly around the room again. The maps. The instruments. The way the desk was bolted down. His eyes lingered on the compass resting near Till's hand.
"Adaption," he said calmly, "is necessary."
"For royalty?"
"For anyone."
Till tapped the compass idly, watching the needle tremble.
"Careful," Ivan said again, almost absently. "If that breaks—"
"It won't."
Ivan fell silent. Above them, boots thudded, Someone shouted. Laughter followed. The ship shifted gently beneath their feet, steady and sure.
Till pushed off the desk and gestured toward the door.
"You'll be given quarters," he said. "You may keep your rings. For now."
"How generous."
"I try."
As Ivan rose, he did not sway with the motion of the ship. His balance adjusted seamlessly, weight shifting in a way that was instinctive rather than practiced.
Till watched that, too.
On the deck, the crew parted slightly as they emerged, eyes bright with curiosity. Whispers rippled in their wake.
"Looks expensive."
"Think his crown's real gold?"
Ivan stepped into the sunlight without hesitation. The wind tugged at his coat. He did not reach to steady it.
Jacob leaned against the mainmast, arms crossed. "He doesn't look cursed," he said thoughtfully.
"That's because he's not the Captain," Isaac replied.
Ivan turned his head toward them, offering a polite, measured smile.
Till gestured toward the far end of the deck. "You'll stay there. Until we decide otherwise."
Ivan nodded and began walking in that direction as though he had been given a guided tour rather than a vague threat.
Halfway there, he paused beside one of the crew hauling a coil of rope.
"That knot is backwards," Ivan said. The sailor blinked at him. "It will slip in a crosswind."
The sailor looked down at his hands, then back up again. "It won't."
Ivan tilted his head. "Would you like to wager?"
The sailor hesitated, then glanced toward Till.
Till lifted one shoulder, a casual shrug. "By all means."
Ivan stepped closer, silk brushing against canvas, and with precise movements, untied and retied the knot in a different configuration. His fingers moved quickly, confidently.
He stepped back.
"There," he said.
The sailor tugged at it experimentally. It held.
Jacob let out a low whistle. Isaac stared openly.
Till folded his arms, expression unreadable.
"How fortunate," he said at last, "that Valoria teaches its princes practical seamanship."
Ivan met his gaze.
"One must be prepared for anything," he replied.
A faint breeze stirred at last, lifting the edge of the black flag overhead. The sea shifted.
Till held Ivan's eyes for a moment longer than necessary. He looked away first.
"See that he's fed," he told the crew. "If he faints dramatically, I don't want it blamed on us."
A ripple of laughter passed through them. Ivan inclined his head once more, as though accepting applause.
Till turned toward the helm, feeling the subtle weight of new variables settling into place.
The sea had gone quiet again.
By the time the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, the deck had been transformed into something that would have offended both royalty and pirates in equal measure.
Till watched the preparations from the quarterdeck with the long-suffering patience of a man who understood that morale was a currency more valuable than gold-plated statues, when out at sea. The crew had dragged a table from below and planted it near the mainmast, securing its legs with rope as though expecting the sea itself to object. A mismatched collection of chairs had been assembled around it — one with a cracked back, one suspiciously ornate, and one that had clearly once belonged to a church.
Isaac was directing the arrangement of cutlery with the grave seriousness of a naval commander.
"No, no," he insisted, adjusting a fork that had been placed upside down. "The small one goes outside. I think. Or inside. There are too many."
"There are three," Hyuna said.
"That is excessive."
Till descended down the steps at an unhurried pace, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the spectacle. Stolen silverware gleamed in uneven rows, reflecting the late evening light in fractured flashes. Someone had draped a length of velvet — possibly a curtain, possibly a table runner — across the centre of the table. The golden lion statue had been placed as the centrepiece, facing east for reasons no one could adequately explain.
"And what," Till asked slowly, "is all this."
Isaac straightened immediately. "A proper royal dinner, Captain."
Till blinked. "For our hostage."
"For our guest," Jacob corrected, with the kind of earnestness that suggested he had already decided this was an event worth remembering.
Till glanced toward the far end of the deck, where Ivan stood speaking quietly with one of the younger sailors. He had shed his outer coat but retained the rings, catching the light as he gestured. He did not appear uncomfortable. He did not appear offended. He appeared, if anything, engaged.
"He hasn't complained once," Hyuna observed, following Till's gaze.
"Some people save their complaints," Till replied.
The breeze had returned in faint sighs, stirring the black flag overhead and sending soft ripples across the water. The sea remained unnervingly level, as though holding its breath.
Isaac approached Ivan with a bow that nearly unbalanced him. "Your Highness," he announced, "we would be honoured if you would join us for supper."
Ivan regarded the table as one might regard an elaborate theatrical set. His expression did not betray amusement — though it lingered suspiciously near the surface.
"I am touched," he said.
"Mind the lion," Hyuna added helpfully.
Ivan took his seat without hesitation, adjusting the velvet slightly so it did not snag beneath him. He glanced down at the arrangement of forks and knives, head tilting in consideration.
Isaac sat opposite him and immediately picked up the wrong utensil.
Till lowered himself into the chair at the head of the table, legs spreading. He watched Ivan over steepled fingers.
"You need not go to such trouble," Ivan said, though he made no move to discourage it.
"We insist," Jacob replied. "It's not every day we host royalty."
"I see."
Plates were distributed. The meal itself was less impressive than the presentation — salted fish, hard bread softened with broth, something Hyuna claimed was a stew and no one had verified.
Ivan looked at it. He did not hesitate. He picked up his spoon — the correct spoon, Till noted — and tasted it. No flinch. Not so much as a polite grimace.
"It's excellent," Ivan said calmly.
Hyuna beamed.
Till watched his throat as he swallowed. No visible struggle.
"You're accustomed to such meals?" Till inquired lightly, spooning his own stew, stirring it once and then twice, steam lifting as he did so.
Ivan set his spoon down with careful precision. "One grows accustomed to many things."
"Palace cuisine must be very flexible, I suppose."
"It is," Ivan agreed. "In theory."
Isaac attempted to cut his fish with the wrong knife and abandoned the effort halfway through, opting instead to tear it with his fingers. Ivan did not comment.
He reached for the bread. Broke it cleanly, and ate as though he had done so on decks far less stable than this one.
Till felt the faint curl of confirmation settle somewhere beneath his ribs.
"Tell us about your palace," Hyuna said, leaning forward eagerly. "Is it enormous?"
"It is," Ivan replied.
"How many rooms?"
"More than one needs."
Isaac gasped appreciatively.
"And how many guards?" another young sailor, Sua, asked.
Ivan shifted his gaze briefly to Till before returning to the table.
"Enough," he said."
"Enough to stop us?" Hyuna challenged.
Ivan smiled faintly. "I imagine you would find it inconvenient."
Till lifted his cup of rum and took a slow drink, watching over the rim.
"Inconvenience," he said, swallowing, "is subjective."
Jacob poured Ivan a measure of rum with exaggerated ceremony.
"For courage," he explained, giving the cup a flick. Ivan examined it briefly. He lifted it, the scent sharp and unapologetic. The kind that burned first and dulled later.
He drank.
He did not cough. He placed the cup back down.
"Strong," he observed.
"That's royal blood," Isaac whispered to Hyuna, impressed.
Till did not look away from Ivan's face.
"You've a steady hand," Till remarked.
"I dislike losing control," Ivan replied.
That, at least, sounded honest.
Laughter erupted at the far end of the table as one of the crew recounted an unfortunate docking incident involving a misjudged current and a very offended harbour master. The punchline was crude and embellished an half-slurred between sips of rum and mouthfuls of fish.
Ivan laughed. The sound was low and unguarded enough that Till felt it register before he meant it to.
Isaac stared at him, delighted. "You're allowed to laugh?"
Ivan blinked at him. "I was not aware it was prohibited," he said slowly.
"Some nobles don't," Hyuna said, waving a hand dismissively. "They just look disappointed."
Ivan considered that. "That sounds exhausting."
Till leaned back in his chair, studying him again. The lantern light had begun to soften the hard edges of the deck, casting gold along the ropes and shadows along the crew's faces. Ivan's posture had relaxed almost imperceptibly. One elbow rested against the table. His shoulders had eased.
He looked, inconveniently, at home.
"And what do you do," Ivan asked casually, conversationally, "when you are not terrorising merchant ships?"
"We terrorise different ships," Hyuna offered. Another round of cackles broke out along the table.
Till's gaze sharpened slightly as Ivan's question settled into place.
"is that curiosity?" Till asked, "or research?"
Ivan met his eyes steadily, rum in his hand again. He raised one single, dark eyebrow. "It would be foolish not to understand the habits and routines of one's captors."
Isaac scoffed, reaching across the table to clap his shoulder dramatically. "Captors," he repeated indignantly. "We prefer 'hosts'."
"Of course," Ivan said smoothly. He offered a smile, and a nod in Till's direction, before downing another quick swig. He did not break eye contact.
Till allowed the silence to stretch just long enough for it to feel deliberate. He leaned forward, clasping his hands atop the table. He nodded at Ivan.
"What habits have you observed, then?"
Ivan's gaze flicked briefly toward the rigging, the cannons, the men and women seated around the table.
"You are disciplined," he said. "You rotate watch in pairs. You favour the eastern trade routes, if your maps are anything to judge by. And your ship is well-maintained."
Isaac blinked. He nudged Hyuna. "Woah. He notices everything."
"It would be unwise not to," Ivan replied.
Till's fingers tapped lightly against his cup.
The sea shifted, suddenly. A faint tightening beneath the hull, a low murmur against the wood. Conversation faltered for a breath.
Hyuna glanced toward the water.
"It's doing it again," she muttered.
"Doing what?" Jacob asked.
"Listening."
Ivan's hand stilled against the table. Till watched him.
The lantern flames flickered without wind.
For a moment, the water around them seemed darker, as though something large had passed beneath the surface.
Then it was gone. The breeze returned.
Isaac forced a laugh. "It only acts up when someone new comes aboard."
"How reassuring," Ivan said lightly.
"You're not frightened?" Hyuna asked.
Ivan tilted his head. "Should I be?"
Sua shivered, shaking her head. "Some say the sea claims what it wants."
Till set his cup down with quiet finality.
"The sea," he said evenly, "has claimed worse than us."
Ivan's glaze lingered on him a fraction longer than necessary.
The tension dissolved as quickly as it had formed. Someone reached for more stew. Isaac resumed his lecture on proper fork placement. Laughter returned in uneven waves. Ivan leaned slightly toward Hyuna as she described a storm they had once outrun by the breadth of a mast, the terror they had felt when the waves tried to lull them under.
"How far north were you?" he asked.
"Far enough," she replied.
"And the current?"
"Strong."
Ivan nodded thoughtfully, as though filing the information away for no particular reason.
Till rose at last, stretching slowly.
"Try not to overindulge our guest,"he said, nodding at the empty rum bottle and the second Isaac had procured. "We need him coherent."
"For ransom negotiations?" Jacob asked.
"For the voyage," Till replied.
Ivan looked up at him, expression unreadable in the lantern light. Till held his gaze for a moment, then glanced toward the horizon, where the last of the sun was slipping into the sea.
The prince laughed again at something Hyuna said. He reached for more bread without ceremony. He wiped his hands on the edge of the velvet and did not apologise.
The crew watched him with growing fondness.
Till watched him with something more measured.
The performance was excellent.
Too excellent.
As the night settled around them and the sea resumed its quiet vigil, Till found himself considering not whether the prince was invaluable.
But rather: to whom he was invaluable.