Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warnings:

No Archive Warnings Apply, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Zane Boodram, Luca Haas, Wyatt Hayes, Troy Barrett, Svetlana Vetrova, Yuna Hollander, Rose Landry

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Golden Age of Piracy, 18th Century, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Angst, Smut, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Royalty, Piracy, Teasing, Flirting, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Safe Sane and Consensual, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Forbidden Love, Power Imbalance, Morally Grey, Minor Violence, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Jealous Shane Hollander, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Blood and Injury, Wound Care, Caretaking, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Soft, Denial of Feelings, First Time, Anal Sex, Near Death, Happily Ever After, Falling In Love, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Developing Relationship, POV Alternating

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-27 Completed: 2026-02-28 Words: 40,708 Chapters: 9/9

you know my heart belongs to you / one last time, say that you want me too

Summary

“What is the price you are willing to pay to be free?”

After a failed raid, Captain Ilya Rozanov refuses to return empty-handed. He settles for a far more promising treasure: Shane Hollander, crown prince and the Queen’s only son. Taken aboard as ransom, Shane is meant to be nothing more than leverage in the negotiation between crown and pirates.

However, the lines between Shane being a captive of the captain and something else entirely soon begin to blur. The closer the exchange comes, the harder it becomes for them to resist the pull between them. The noose around their necks gradually tightens, and soon they must navigate between love, the longing for freedom, and duty.

⊹₊⟡⋆
A Hollanov slow burn Pirate AU

Notes

Well first of all, welcome to my first ever long(er) fic :)

I created a spotify playlist for the songs I listened to while writing, if you’re interested.

Disclaimer: this deals with themes of death, however no major characters die. But it could still be triggering for some people, so I feel like I have to say something in advance.

I have to add that this is probably a heavily romanticised view about pirates and their life’s. I did my research, but I chose to ignore that being a pirate prolly really sucked, because this is my fic, my world. Apart from that, I tried to stay as close to historical accuracy as I could with my limited access to facts about the 18th century, and if something’s wrong don’t be mad pls and thank you.

By the way this is NOT Stockholm syndrome, and the morally grey tag is there because it is an unbalanced power dynamic at the start, but it doesn’t stay that way. Also I don’t think pirates can be anything but morally grey.

I poured a lot of time and energy into this work, so any appreciation is welcomed.

Other than that, enjoy and have fun :)

Chapter 1: Perturbation

Chapter Notes

Title:
Perturbation = anxiety, mental uneasiness, a deviation from a system

This whole situation did not go as planned, not in the slightest.

Instead of chests of gold, jewellery, and gems, coming directly from the overloaded treasury of the Hollander Royal Family, the Centaur now had their spoiled prince on board. The 23 year old prince, beloved by his parents and his people. Righteous, loyal and uptight.

And also the only heir to the throne. He was irreplaceable, not only due to having no siblings, but also because he radiated excellence. Being the best at everything seemed to be a part of who he was, at least according to the talk in town.

In hindsight, Ilya Rozanov, captain of his loyal crew, had to admit they should have thought the whole endeavour through in more detail. But they had an opportunity, some may even call it a once-in-a-lifetime one, right in front of their noses, and they had jumped the gun like the greedy pack they were.

They were just passing through the Port of Montreal, mostly to stock up on reserves and drink away the silver they collected on their last little adventure. That was, until one of Captain Rozanov’s informants served them the opportunity on a silver platter. Sparkling nearly as brightly as the prince’s image.

The plan was a clean entering of the royal castle, situated temptingly close to the shoreline. Heading straight for their well-hidden treasury, filling their pockets, and then getting the hell out of there.

At first, everything went perfectly according to plan. They avoided the patrolling guards, sneaking past gloriously decorated hallways. It was itching in their fingertips to just load whatever shiny riches they came across into their pockets. But the captain reminded them; what was waiting for them was leagues more valuable.

Some of their information must have been less than up-to-date, because instead of sneaking into a secret room full of gold and silver, they actually ran directly into the prince. In his private chambers.

Neither party really knew how to handle this; the pirates staring at the royal prince, dressed in a flimsy lounging robe and in the process of going to bed, and the prince staring back at five men who, at least judging by attire and mannerism, definitely didn’t belong inside the palace. Not even in its general vicinity to be precise.

There were a few seconds of stunned, unsure silence, before the prince snapped out of it and darted to the side in hopes of reaching the sword he kept in his room. At the same time, the handful of pirates also started moving, uncoordinated in an attempt to reach the royal before he managed to get a weapon in his hand.

Unfortunately for the prince, the man at the front of the group was quicker. Just as he stretched his arms to reach for the weapon that would save him, a tall, broad man gripped the handle. The prince’s eyes started up, wide-blown in panic, and settled on the man’s face, framed by blonde curls and a dark brown hat on top of them.

But Shane Hollander wouldn’t let himself be beaten just like that, and maybe the adrenaline in his veins made him think less than he should. Because instead of stopping, he used his momentum to swing his fist, hoping to hit at least some part of the tall man in front of him. In hindsight, he wasn’t sure what exactly possessed him to act like that, and what he thought he’d get out of it, because his fist didn’t even get to reach the man.

First, the blow was dodged completely, then his arm was caught and twisted backwards, effectively turning him around to helplessly escape the pressure on his limb. It put him with his back to the marauder, and his struggle was met with a steel grip, before his other arm was also twisted behind his back crudely. By now his heart was in his throat, and he yelped when his arm was twisted again.

Still, the fight didn’t leave Shane, and he kept thrashing around the hold on his arms. “Let me go!” he demanded, but his complaint wasn’t met with a reply. It was futile, which he realised once he felt a piece of rope tie his arms together uncomfortably tight. He was turned around, this time with a strong grip on his collar, making him meet the eyes of the intruder.

The man’s eyes were icy blue, and his face was wrapped in a cocky, confident expression. If Shane weren’t extremely scared of getting killed or worse, by a group of what he by now figured were pirates, he’d be pissed off by the self-assured grin the man had plastered over his lips. He tried to keep his face neutral, hide the fear surging around inside him.

Still smiling that stupid grin, Ilya had turned around to his men, addressing them. “I think we may have to change our plans for this raid.” With a tilt of his head, he gestured to the half-heartedly struggling crown prince he still had in a firm hold.

And now here they were, back on The Centaur, as Shane learned their ship was called. They must have stolen it from some military force, but he couldn’t tell which one because the paint was splintered off by now.

It was modified, however, a black flag hissed and armed with cannons along the sides. It didn’t actually matter where they got their damn ship from, but Shane had to distract himself somehow when they had stuffed his mouth with a dirty cloth and hauled him on board.

They had tied him down on a chair before leaving him in a side room somewhere below deck, not that Shane had anywhere to escape to anyway. The ties binding his arms and legs were cutting into his skin, and whenever he struggled, they wrapped around him tighter.

The fabric he still had in his mouth wasn’t making it any easier to breathe, and his lungs constricted on every intake. The cloth had a rancid smell to it, rising into his nose whenever he tried to fill his lungs with the mouldy air.

Fuck fuck fuck, this could not seriously be happening right now!

 
“Barrett, would you mind explaining to me why instead of a treasury, we walked directly into the fucking crown prince’s room?” Ilya asked, and all eyes turned to the man awkwardly looking back. They mostly were just happy they weren’t the ones getting chewed out right now.

“My source said—” he tried, but Ilya interrupted him.

“I don’t care what the fuck your source said, you hear me? It’s your goddamn job to make sure whatever it is you’re spewing into my ear is actually correct.”

“But she assured me she worked there as a servant!”

“For gods’ sake, you obviously lack the critical thinking abilities needed for this. What, just because some fucking whore on the street said she worked at the palace once she knows where they kept their treasures?!”

Troy Barrett stayed silent this time, because yeah, maybe his captain had a point. But in his defence, he was pressed for time, and they had way too little intel about the raid they were about to go through with. He had to come back with something useful. He didn’t dare say this though, because Ilya looked angry enough as it was; no need to poke the lion more than necessary.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Luca, the boy that was barely a man and probably a bit too young to sail with them. At least he was more skilled than certain other crew members, not to point fingers. He had what it took, and no one to stick around for back home, so he joined them around a year ago. Ilya took a liking to him early on.

“Your first ransom negotiation, hm, kid?” Teased Wyatt, earning a sharp look from Ilya.

“We will send the crown a letter, inform them we have their beloved son, demand the silver and then wait for an answer. We’ll leave them our contact in town to send their answer to. Until we get that, we wait and get cozy. Get to know our temporary guest,” Ilya said, a smile fighting itself back on his face.

The prince two decks below them, hopefully still restrained, would surely be a delight to keep around for as long as it took the royal family to send their reply and start negotiations. Ilya was actually looking forward to it; he loved getting under people’s skin. The wealthier and stricter they were, the queasier and jitterier they got when he messed with them. And from what he gathered, Crown Prince Shane Hollander was spoiled and uptight.
 
What are they going to do to me?

He was sweating, the small room too hot and stuffy. His panic had settled into his chest and transformed into a heavy, suffocating pressure.

Shane prayed they weren’t organ harvesters or something of the likes. He heard all sorts of stories about pirates, murdering and stealing wherever they went. His mother had made sure to put a very clear, very gruelling picture in his mind.

When the door opened, he tightened his jaw, bracing for the worst. He kept his face neutral as he regarded the two men that entered; he refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him scared.

However, instead of cutting him open and tearing out his guts, he was untied from the chair and shoved forward out of the room. He stumbled up the stairs as he was pushed in an unnecessary rough way, but at least he wasn’t tied up anymore. And thank god, they had also taken the cloth out of his mouth.

Maybe it also meant he wasn’t seen as a threat, which did hurt his ego a little. His performance back at the palace was, admittedly, a little shameful, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t win a fight. Or so he told himself as he was brought to the main deck.

The pirates gathered there stole glances at him as he was led past them. He kept his head low, trying not to meet any of their eyes. He wasn’t a big fan of contact anyway, and much less with a group of lawless scoundrels who were currently deciding over his fate.

They didn’t give him much time to wallow in his self-pity and shame, nudging him on. He brought him up the stairs to wooden double doors; he guessed it was the captain’s cabin, pulling from the limited knowledge he possessed about sailing. He was shoved inside, and the door slammed close behind him.

Shane wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or even more on edge, because the man, pr rather their captain, was leaning against his desk, eyes fixed on him from across the room. His eyes trailed up and down Shane’s body, and it was as if Shane could feel exactly where they moved along. Suddenly, he felt self-conscious in his sleeping robes, with the tall blonde man still mustering him intently.

“I suppose it’s only fair to introduce myself,” the captain said after a moment of mustering him with drawn-tighter eyebrows. He stepped away from the desk and sauntered over to where Shane was still rooted to the floorboards. Even if he wanted to move, he knew his body wouldn’t listen to him. His heart was in his throat.

For the first time, Shane really noticed the northern accent the man had, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where he may be from. His voice was deep and soothing; it was a pity it belonged to a vile man like him.

“I’m the captain of this humble crew, Ilya Rozanov,” Ilya held out his hand, and finally, Shane met his eyes, for the first time since their struggle back in the palace.

How do you greet someone that has kidnapped you and is now keeping you on a ship full of pirates, probably in hopes of getting money out of your parents? And now your kidnapper is introducing himself? After a few moments of staring blankly at the hand offered in front of him, Shane slowly reached out and shook it.

Ilya was visibly amused; he could nearly see the wheels turning in Shane’s head as he returned the handshake.

“Well, your royal highness, welcome aboard The Centaur,” Rozanov said, holding out his arms as if gesturing to everything around them. “Since you will be our temporary guest until further notice, I think we should give you something proper to wear, and not this…. Well, whatever it is you’re wearing.”

He reached out and took the fabric of his robe between his fingers, running it between them gently, before humming “although it won’t be as soft as this here”. He grinned again, the way he already did the first time they met.

Shane kept his hands fisted at his sides. His heart wouldn’t slow, even though all the captain did was inspect the fabric. He didn’t know whether to step back or snap at him for getting this close, so he did neither.

His struggle must have still shown on his face, because the captain chuckled and walked past Shane, where a pile of clothes sat on top of a chair.

“These are for you,” Ilya said, turning around, now holding the pile. Shane regarded it with disgust. He wasn’t keen on putting on the dirty, ugly clothes that were probably hanging on by a thread.

“I don’t want your clothes,” Shane spit. “I’m not like you.” The captain’s eyebrows raised up, and he let out a chuckle.

“Suit yourself, prince. You can stay in your flimsy little silk robe just as well,” he said, but he was still holding them out for him to take.

As much as Shane didn’t want to wear the clothes laid out for him, he was aware it would be stupid to refuse. What he also knew for sure was that he should stay on good terms with his captors.

He told himself they couldn’t hurt him, the risk of his parents not accepting the deal and sending the army behind them looming over their heads. But they were still the ones holding the reins while he was on their ship, and the memory of the rope biting into his wrists made his stomach twist.

Shane snatched the clothes from the man, not sparing him a glance. When the captain just continued standing there, Shane did reluctantly meet his eyes.

“Won’t you at least give me the privacy to undress?” Shane asked, and he couldn’t help glaring at the captain when he just shrugged. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but so little respect for the crown prince was something he didn’t even expect from those people.

“It’s better you get used to it now rather than later. Besides, I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he just replied casually, crossing his arms over his chest. The prince had bite, contrary to Ilya’s earlier belief. He was accepting the unspoken challenge Ilya laid out, and the thought made a smile slip to his lips.

Shane had never undressed in front of someone that wasn’t part of his family or a servant before, and he’d never have thought in front of a pirate would be the first time. Pushing the thoughts away, he reluctantly slid the silken fabric over his body with shaky hands. He did take his time folding the robe into a neat little pile though.

He turned his back slightly, shoulders tight and avoiding eye contact the whole time. Still, Ilya could see the blush covering the prince’s face and shoulders as he folded his robe and laid it down on the chair next to him. There were little groups of freckles spread out all over his back.

The pants were a bit loose and sat low on Shane’s hips and were held up mostly by the belt Ilya had offered him along with the rest. Shane didn’t even want to know whose these were before he received them; he just hoped their previous owner was hygienic for pirate standards. But his chances probably weren’t looking too great. It made his skin crawl, but at least he had clothes on now.

Next, he took the shirt, and he had to push the unease inside of him away at the feeling of scratchy fabric on his skin, so unusual for what he normally wore. He never liked breaking out of his habits, even if they only concerned what he wore.

By now, the sun was starting to rise up again, painting the room orange from the light filtering through the windows. If Shane wasn’t so tense, shoulders and back drawn tight in stress, he’d actually find beauty in the sight. But morning setting in also meant that soon someone would notice his absence, if not already. And that meant this whole ordeal would move along, and he’d get out of here sooner or later. He prayed sooner.

Ilya observed the prince as he pulled on his new attire, noting the frown his lips were pulled into when he first tugged on the shirt. He forgot what he was about to say. The prince was beautiful; he had to admit, he had an eye for treasure after all. The sun shone on his face, making the splatter of freckles on his nose and cheeks stand out.

When he turned his head, and his eyes were illuminated by the light, the brown of his eyes looked almost golden. And when his eyes landed on Ilya again, they were so dark they seemed almost black, as if one could just fall into them. He had imagined the prince differently when he heard gossip about him in the port.

He had expected the prince to cower and beg Ilya to release him. What he was met with instead, was stubbornness.

He was snapped out of his contemplation when the royal cleared his throat and crossed his arms too, mirroring Ilya’s pose. He was fully dressed by now.

“You are brave if you think the Queen will negotiate with someone like you” Shane stated bluntly. He had a way of talking that was intriguing to Ilya, putting things straightforward instead of beating around the bush.

“Don’t worry, she will. Don’t think you can manipulate me with your threats,” Ilya said, and the smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes.

“We will have to find out how much I can demand for you first,” he continued. He was toying with the dagger in his belt, twisting it in its sheath.

“You wouldn’t dare hurt me,” Shane blurted out. His eyes were locked on the pirate’s hand; if he pulled the dagger, he wanted to see it coming at least.

“Is that a question or a statement?” Rozanov asked, crossing his arms again and leaning against the wall they stood next to.

“Both. The Queen won’t take it well if something were to happen to me.” Shane was always attentive during the negotiations his mother had with various people at court. Be it merchants, advisers or politicians. She always managed to intimidate them, to gain the upper hand. Of course, the same was expected from Shane, and few things could rivalled the feeling of holding power over your opponents. Maybe trying to intimidate the pirate would work out in their favour now too?

But Ilya just chuckled at his words, stalking around him. Shan never left his back turned to him, but rotating along with his captor.

“Don’t worry, I have no intention of hurting you. You are our guest now, after all, and we always treat our guests kindly,” he said, stepping closer to Shane, who instantly took a step back. Shane wasn’t all that sure he was a guest rather than a prisoner. Or cargo. Very expensive cargo.

Shane gnawed on his lip, his fingers flexing against his skin. He was uncertain if he should trust the captain. Why would he? They had kidnapped him right out of his bedroom, shoved him in some dark room, and even stuffed some dirty cloth into his mouth. 

“You’re worth more alive than dead, remember that,” Rozanov paused, before turning and sitting down at the study. “And now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk properly.”

Shane stayed rooted to the spot, not dignifying him with an answer. The captain started speaking anyway.

“You were born 1749, which makes you… 23 now, correct?” He asked, looking up at Shane. Despite that, he still seemed to take in the room in its entirety, making Shane feel small.

“Why is it important for you to know my age?” The prince still stood there, arms stiff at his sides.

“Just checking,” Ilya smiled. Shane didn’t understand what he thought was so funny, but asking was below him, so he had to settle for wondering.

“Next, you have no siblings, correct?”

Shane nodded, looking at the wood below his feet. His brother had died during childbirth, and his mother didn’t risk another pregnancy. Meaning, Shane was their only heir, so his survival and education were their first priority. Which did obviously did not pass by him.

Ilya probably had a similar thought, because he scribbled down something on a piece of paper.

“How much land exactly would be under your power if it got passed down to you?” Came the next question.

“All four colonies,” he answered, then cursed himself afterwards for answering so quickly.

Again, Ilya grinned, before writing something down. It infuriated Shane, to see the man smile so openly, and then not knowing why.

The conversation, or rather interrogation, as Shane started calling it in his head, went on the same way. The captain asked something, and Shane had no other option than to answer.

 

⊹₊⟡⋆

To Her Majesty,

Queen of Hollander,

Be it known unto you that your son, His Royal Highness Prince Shane Hollander, is currently in our keeping and under good guard aboard the ship The Centaur.

He is in sound health and shall remain so, provided that you comply with our just and lawful demands. For his safe return, we require the sum of one hundred thousand Spanish pieces of eight, to be delivered in silver coin and uncut.

You shall have six days from the receipt of this letter to send your answer by trusted courier to the tavern known as The Black Gull in Port Revas.

Should you refuse, delay, or attempt to deceive, we shall be forced to take measures most regrettable, for which you alone shall bear the blame.

We trust you will value your son above your coin.

Signed,
Ilya Rozanov

Captain of the Centaur

⊹₊⟡⋆

 
After the captain, to varying degrees of successfulness, interviewed and questioned him, the two men who originally brought him to the captains cabin before came in.

The captain addressed the tall, broad man with blonde hair as Hayes, the other, slightly shorter guy with dark hair as Boodram. They walked him out of the cabin, but instead of going below deck again where he was first kept, they turned to the side.

“The captain’s put you somewhere really nice” one of them, Shane guessed it was the one called Boodram, said. He seemed sincere, but Shane wasn’t quite sure as to what nice meant in their world. They led him through the ship’s interior, until they reached another wooden door.

As it turned out, nice was the spare officers cabin. At least this time it wasn’t a closet, but all that really fit inside was a wooden bed, a small table and an equally small bench. It was a jarring contrast to what he was used to, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit insulted.

“Knock if it’s something urgent, otherwise you’ll stay in here,” one of the men said, and Shane could only nod before he was pushed inside the room and the door fell into lock behind him. He heard the key twisting, and then he was alone.

Alone wasn’t quite right, because he could hear everything going in outside. The planks of the ship weren’t thick, and sound travelled easily. Ranging from footsteps to the creaking of the bulk as it sat on the water.

For 100 000 pieces of eight, he’d be able to return home. He stared at the wall opposite of him, clenching his hands. 100 000, apparently that was what he was worth, in the eyes of the captain at least. He wondered how his mother would negotiate, by how much would she be able to lower the price? What exactly made him worth that much anyway, was it his blood? Or his role as the one to bear the crown one day?

With a sigh, Shane sat down on the wood pretending to be a bed, and hearing it creak under him didn’t help the feel of unease at all. He was ripped out of his routine and patterns, and while he wasn’t in intermediate danger, he also wasn’t safe. But they’d rescue him soon, either by force or by taking the deal. He was sure of it.

He tried getting his breathing back under control, rolling his shoulders in hopes of relieving the tension in them. Through the thick glass of the window, he could see the sun continue to rise, and the by now bright light glistening over the water. The ship was moving, he realised after a few moments, and fast at that.

Suddenly, nausea rose up in him, and fuck now was not the time to get sea sick. He wasn’t sure how long it’s been seen he’s been left in here, but it must have been less than half an hour. They did tell him to knock if it was urgent. Was throwing up over the whole cabin urgent? He guessed so.

Wobbly on his feet, Shane got up and beat his fist on the door. He already felt saliva collecting on his tongue, his stomach growling in what he interpreted as a bad sign.

“Please, it’s important, I need air, I’m gonna-“ before he could finish his pleading, the door swung open, the man in front of him, Boodram, or was it Hayes, looked at him mildly annoyed. Well, it wasn’t Shane’s fault he wasn't used to staying on a ship for longer.

He was hauled forward by the arm, and brought to the main deck. As soon as the railing was in front of him, he leant over it and threw up, emptying whatever was left in his stomach into the sea below. At least they were moving, it’d be a lot more embarrassing if his puke-puddle wasn’t washed away by the waves almost instantly. His head was swimming, mirroring the swaying of the ship.

He leant against the railing, letting his head hang and feel the breeze on his sweaty skin, ruffling his hair. At least the air smelled distinctly like sea, covering up the smell of puke stinging in his nose. In through the nose, hold, and out through the mouth. 

“Don’t lean too far, your highness, I don’t want to fish you out of there if you go overboard,” came the voice of the captain next to him, so sudden it snapped him out of his daze and his head up. Shit, how long had Rozanov been standing there? And who else just saw him throw up over the railing like it was his first time on the sea? There weren’t a lot of crew members around, most of them seemingly going after their job and making sure the ship was moving forward. Thank god.

Ilya regarded him for a few seconds, amused by his pale face.

“Hey, Bood, bring some water over, we don’t want our poor prince to die of dehydration on his first day. Heard that doesn’t go well financially.” The man that was guarding Shane laughed, and walked off while shaking his head. Ilya turned back to the prince, who was still gripping the railing like a lifeline. He looked like he was about to throw up again, but Ilya doubted he had much left in his body to send over the rail.

Shane could feel shame crawl through him at the words and his face heating up. The way they talked to and about him was so belittling. Respect was normally given to him on, and now these scoundrels treated him like an amusement show. He wanted to snap at him, but he was afraid opening his mouth would just make him puke again, so he held himself back. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the captain lean against the railing next to him, staring out at the sea and inhaling deeply. His face relaxed, and the tension seemed to leave a tiny bit. In that moment, the pirate almost looked attractive with his soft blonde curls and sharp jaw.

Shane immediately caught himself, just cause the man wasn’t currently being a prick, didn’t mean he had any good qualities to him. Shane settled for glaring at him, while still trying to get his bearings again. The fresh air helped a lot, but the thought of going back to the claustrophobic cabin made his stomach growl in warning.

When Bood came back, Ilya took the bottle from him, directing him to leave again with a nod of his head. He passed the water to the prince, who wore a conflicted expression.

Shane, unsure whether to be thank the man or wallow in his shame, hesitantly took the bottle. His insides were screaming at him to thank the pirate still leaning next to him, but he suppressed it. He didn’t want to be polite to his captors; he had to show he had some backbone and wouldn’t let himself be pushed around like that.

The water was cool in his throat, washing away the rancid taste and settling him back to the present. He greedily drank the full bottle, his thirst demanding more as if his bodily instincts only came back to him now after the stress of being captured.

After a few minutes, he was brought back to his cabin. The captain stayed at the deck, barely offering him a glance as the two pirates led him back inside. This time, sitting in the cabin didn’t make the nausea rise up like before. He had graciously been given a glass bottle halfway filled with water and a piece of bread.

His stomach growled, and he guessed the bread looked okay, but at the feeling of the brick-like texture all traces of hunger disappeared.

His body was calling for sleep, exhausted from staying up all night. Just a few hours ago, he was back home in the palace, in his warm, soft bed, where the masses of pillows he kept surrounded him. He curled together on the makeshift bed, tightening the blanked they had laid there around him. Then he fell into a numb slumber.
 

⊹₊⟡⋆

To the so-called Captain Rozanov,

Your letter has reached us, and with it news of a crime so vile that no punishment could suffice.

Know that the Crown does not bargain with thieves and murderers. You presume much in naming a price for royal blood.

Yet in our mercy, and for the sake of our son, we shall hear your proposal. You will state clearly the conditions under which he is to be returned unharmed.

Before any further discourse however, you will provide proof of his life and present condition, in such fashion that no doubt may remain of his person or safety.

Any injury done to him shall be repaid a hundredfold.

By our hand and seal,

Queen Hollander

⊹₊⟡⋆

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading to the end, please yell at me in the comments (in a nice way) because comments and Kudos are the fuel my motivation for writing is running on.

Chapter 2: Reverie

Chapter Notes

Title:
Reverie = being in one’s thoughts, daydream

When Shane woke up, he was covered in sweat. It ran down his chest and back, and when he shifted to sit up on the hard surface, the cool air met his slick skin.

Images flashed through his mind. A group of men, laughing into his face with rotten teeth, swords pressed too close to his body than he liked, yelling everywhere around him. His mothers face, drawn together in frustrated anger.

The last time she looked like that was during a consultation, which Shane had been a part of too. Her adviser had come forward with news about the latest protests and gatherings; unhappy people trying to change something in a system hat won’t let them.

Of course, he hadn’t said that. The last time he did, he’d been banned from the audiences for a few weeks. It was still puzzling to Shane, he had just spoken the truth; the state of their reign was shaky.

But his mother had reprimanded him, in that gentle, caring voice. She reminded him he’d have to watch what he choose to say when in front of council members and ministers. Still, he refused to see the logic in it. If it was the truth, an observation, why wasn’t he allowed to say it?

When the prince stood up, he felt almost as shaky as he did in that moment, when all their heads turned to him, eyes wide and mouths gaping open.

Shane was in the captain’s cabin for a second time since arriving on the ship, this time sitting at the study, the captain across from him. Between them laid the letter from his mother, the queen. Seeing her familiar handwriting soothed something inside him, like having a piece of home with him in this strange place. He longed to be with his parents again, to be enclosed in his mother’s arms.

“Your mother demands proof you’re still alive, so I thought you’d write her a nice letter.” The captain said, laying a piece of paper in front of him, along with a pen and ink. Shane glared up at him.

Shane’s stomach clenched at the thought of having to aid his kidnappers in getting the money they demanded. It hit his ego; he was supposed to serve his country, not cooperate with pirates.

But he also knew his mother must be worried sick, and seeing his writing and confirming he was still alive would be a huge weight off of her shoulders.

“You’re trusting me to write?” He asked, sitting up straighter.

“I’m watching you, think there’s a difference. Besides, she asked for it,” he said, leaning back in his chair to take in the sight in front of him casually.

“She won’t negotiate with you if she thinks I’m being… mistreated,” he said carefully.

“Well, are you?” Ilya leaned closer, hand resting on the desk. He was testing him, Shane realised. He thought of the rope, the filthy gag, the uncomfortable bed. But at least he had one.

“… not yet.”

“Then write that, in your fancy court words,” Ilya replied, a glint of something in his eyes.

Shane nodded, eyes falling down onto the paper that was still glaringly empty. He picked up the pen, dipped it once, and started writing.

In the process of writing, the captain stood up and wandered around the table, until he stood directly behind Shane. He could feel his presence in the back of his neck, making the hairs stand up and goosebumps erupt. One of the captain’s arms came into view, supporting his weight as he leaned over the prince’s form to look at the letter.

Shane could feel his own breathing shift, and his fingers hesitated, the pen still pressed down at the end of the word. Ink was drooling onto the paper, creating a dot, but he couldn’t snap himself out of it. Fuck, what was happening to him?

“Did you forget how to write?” Came the captain’s deep voice, way too close to his ear. Shane shifted in his seat, sweat making his hands clammy.

“Be quiet. I thought you’d let me write,” he said, trying to shift defiance back into his voice.

“Not a nice way to talk to your captors, is it, your highness?” He drawled, the smirk evident in his voice.

Damn him, he had no right to mess with Shane like this.

“I can talk to you however I want, pirate,” he bit back. But the shake in his voice revealed him, or rather his nervousness.

Ilya laughed, before straightening back up, leaving the prince’s personal space. He delighted in the redness he could see peeking out of his collar, and he thought about teasing him about it. But he did want to send the letter before they’d set sail westwards for some business in another port. He settled for standing behind the chair, peeking over the prince’s shoulder, as he continued the message.

I, Shane Hollander, write this letter by my own hand. I am currently aboard the ship called the Centaur, it is the first day of August. I am alive and unharmed, my captors have given me food and water. I miss you and the king dearly, and pray that we will be reunited soon.

Once Shane was done and put his signature, Ilya hummed and gently took the piece of paper from him, before strolling back to his seat. Instead of sitting down though, he walked over to a side table, where a small pile of books rested. He took them, carried them over and let them plop down in front of Shane.

“I take it his royal highness reads?” A small smile was playing on his lips as he tapped the books. “We don’t want you to grow bored while you’re here, don’t we?”

“You’re… giving me books?” The surprise and excitement slipped into his voice before he could stop it. “Why do you even possess these?”

“What, just because I sail the seas searching for treasure means I can’t read?” The captain crossed his arms, a teasing grin pulling the corners of his lips up. Shane felt heat creep up his face.

“No, that’s not what I meant to say, I just-“ he got cut off by sudden laughter.

“Easy, was just a joke. You don’t need to get all polite,” he said, amused. Shane’s eyes were still darting from the books to Ilya’s smug face.

His fingers hovered over the worn leather spine of on of them, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure this wasn’t some sort of trap.

“Thank you,” he said finally. Ilya watched him for a second longer than necessary.

“I want to keep an eye on you, so if you want to read you’ll do so on my watch.” The captain walked around the table, sitting back down at his chair. “Besides, you will probably have to write some more letters in the foreseeable future, so be prepared to be useful.” Shane stayed silent, but he rolled his eyes inwardly. Demanding the prince he captured to make himself useful, what a way to treat royalty.

He was expecting to be dragged back to his cabin, but no one came in to get him, and the captain also made no move.

“Are you not sending me back down?” He asked, hesitant.

“No, I want you to read over my reply, like I said, make yourself useful. All your fancy words have to be good for something, right?”

Shane wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or if he should feel insulted. The man in front of him was truly a mystery, for all his cockiness and bravado he didn’t seem all that evil, at least to Shane.

There was more beneath the front the pirate had put up, that much was clear. He wondered what was beneath it all; why did the man become a pirate in the first place?

Did he have a family? Or was his crew his family? They appeared to be quite comfortable with one another, at least from what Shane observed from his stay here.

Upon being confronted with these thoughts, Shane had the startling realisation that apart from the usual “stay away from pirates” he didn’t know much about their lives. Sure, they were thieving, law breaking scoundrels, but why? What drives you to resort to such measures?

What happened in Ilya Rozanov’s life, that he turned to piracy?

One of the books, a piece reflecting critically on society of the past century, laid open in front of him. He had stopped reading at some point, letting himself get lost in pondering instead.

Ilya struck him as quite young, at most a couple years older than Shane himself, but the prince also wasn’t sure how life at sea changes the process of aging. A pirate’s life was probably stressful, Shane imagined.

But there remained a certain freedom to it all, one Shane had never experienced. And probably never would, he realised with a sinking feeling. He didn’t mind being shackled by his destiny to take over the crown, quite the contrary; he liked knowing his life had a clear path set out in front of him. Maybe the sensation of control was only an illusion, but it helped him, giving a sense of stability.

A scrape of wood against wood pulled him out of his thoughts.

Ilya had pushed his chair back, and stood up. He walked over to Shane, not saying anything at first, but came to a stop next to him. He was so close the edge of his coat brushed against Shane’s arm, which he unconsciously pulled back. He laid a page of paper down in front of him.

“Finished daydreaming, your highness?” He asked lightly. “Good, i have something for you to read” he tapped the paper twice.

Shane recognised the smaller piece of paper attached to it; it was the letter he had written earlier. The ink drop in the middle of the sentence stared back at him.

“It’s the reply for the Queen.” Ilya explained “read it, tell me if it sounds… adequate. You lot have a way with words, i don’t want to offend her more than I already have.”

Shane didn’t need to tell him they probably got off on the wrong foot when they kidnapped him in the first place, and that not angering the queen was practically impossible at this rate. Still, he looked up at the captain, raising an eyebrow.

Their eyes met, something unspoken passing through them for a second. “What?” Ilya shrugged.

Shane snorted. “Nothing,” he said, and started reading.

“You’ll have to remove the part where you’re threatening again,” Shane concluded after reading the surprisingly neat handwriting. Once again, he wondered what the captain’s life was like before all this.

“Why, pressure always makes them work quicker” Ilya argued, arms crossed again as he looked down sceptically.

“Do you even think before you threaten? Because she won’t take kindly to you saying you’ll kill her only son.” He laid the paper down. “Again,” Shane added pointedly.

Ilya hummed in reply, before taking the letter from him again to read it anew.

“What would his royal highness suggest I do instead, hm?” He rested his arm on the back of Shane’s chair, his hand resting so close, the prince could practically feel its heat.

The queasy feeling inside of him welled up again, but this time he suppressed the shudder threatening to roll over him.

 

⊹₊⟡⋆

To Her Most Serene Majesty,

We take no pleasure in troubling a grieving mother, yet the fault of this affair lies not with us but with fortune. Your son came into our hands by chance, and we have treated him as a gentleman befitting his station.

As you command, we send assurance of your son's life and present health.

Enclosed is a letter written by his own hand.
He eats well, breathes freely, and will be treated in a manner fitting his rank, as long as you deal honourably with us.

The price remains one hundred thousand pieces of eight. The time granted is now twelve days.

Signed,
Ilya Rozanov
Captain of The Centaur

⊹₊⟡⋆

 

It was a hot August afternoon, and they had spent all day avoiding the coastal guard as they sailed west. Since the news of the crown prince being held by pirates traveled around the country, the shores and ports were better guarded than ever. It left The Centaur no choice but to head around the coast, avoiding the busiest areas.

It wouldn’t be a problem to just sail around in circles until the reply from the Queen came, if it weren’t for the fact that they were running low on booze. After capturing the prince, they had thrown a celebration, and apparently more alcohol flowed than they originally expected, because now they had a blaring shortage. And that just wouldn’t do.

From Shane’s little sailing experience, he deduced that a strip of land gradually coming into view meant they were sailing in the direction of a port.

Shane stood at the railing, fingers playing idly with a loose string of fabric from the white shirt he wore. The breeze was cooling on his sun-heated face, and the sea was calm. They were lucky; since having the prince on board, they hadn’t run into any storms, safe from a few tribulations of course.

It would have been peaceful, if it weren’t for the fact that he was constantly being watched. Either he could feel the captain’s gaze on him from afar, or the watchful eyes of the two men Rozanov had seemingly given the duty of guarding Shane, Zane Boodram and Wyatt Hayes. He had picked their names up during the couple of days he was here.

They were decent; whenever there was some distance between Shane and them, he could overhear their conversation, their jokes. Until their laughing bellowed over and the prince inevitably turned his head to the source of the noise, and they were suddenly silent again.

Shane sat down on a wooden box someone had pushed to the railing and played with a piece of rope he had found lying around. No one had been looking, so he took it with him. Now, he twisted one end through a loop he had made, before pulling it tight. Then he repeated the process: loop, twist, pull. Loop, twist, pull.

“What are you doing?”

Shane jumped so hard he nearly threw the rope. His eyes fitted upwards, landing on a young man. He had seen him around before, always following after the captain, reminding Shane kind of of a lost puppy trying to impress its owner. If he were to guess, he was 18, 19 at most.

“I- uhm, I’m tying knots,” he answered, and he wasn’t proud of how he stuttered at all.

“Not to be presumptuous, but aren’t you a prince?” The boy said, leaning forward to inspect the knot Shane had tied.

Shane blinked at him, “Excuse me?”

“What I meant to say is, how do you know to tie knots? I thought as a prince one learns more… princely stuff.”

Shane didn’t even know what categorised as a princely ability, and from the looks of it, neither did the young sailor. The seconds of tense, awkward silence stretched on.

“Forget I said anything. Name’s Luca,” he leaned against one of the ropes leading up to the mast. “Haas,” he added, like an afterthought.

“The captain wants you to go to his cabin,” Lucas said, fiddling with the rope he was still leaning on.

“What for?” Shane looked at where Lucas’s fingers were pulling a thread loose, before trying to stuff it back in.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “he just said I’m supposed to get you.” Shane set the rope he had toyed with down, by now fully wrapped into knots. He felt a lump in his throat at the thought of being alone with the captain again. The last time he was in his cabin, it wasn’t bad. And precisely that was the problem; he should hate the presence of the pirate.

The young man brought him to the upper deck, talking his ear off the whole time. It was a strong contrast to his usually quiet and reserved companions, but he didn’t mind it. He talked about life on the ship, how the older sailors sometimes got too rowdy and how their captain would make sure they got back in line and stayed there. He had admiration practically written all over his face, eyes glinting.

“The captain’s actually really kind, just a little rough around the edges,” Luca said, just as they stopped in front of the double doors of the captain’s cabin.

Shane raised his eyebrows at that, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t certain if he was supposed to speak with other members of the crew anyway.

“Well, see ya around,” Luca said, waving at him as he walked off, probably back to the main deck to assist the others.

Shane was left standing there, in front of the imposing doors. He tapped his knuckles against the wood after a moment of hesitation, opening the doors when he heard the captain’s voice from inside.

“Sir, you called for me?” Shane crossed his arms behind his back, hoping to look casual. His mind still wasn’t fully made up about the man, the words from the boy still lingering in his ear. The events of the past evening were also still fresh on his mind.

“Yes, I did,” he said, eyes landing on Shane. He was sitting at his study like a king on his throne. He mentioned for him to step inside, and Shane complied, closing the doors behind him.

“We will dock at port Crest soon, but we won’t stay the night.” Ilya stood up and rounded the table, before leaning against it. “You’ll stay here with Wyatt and Zane and a few other men. You may go to the deck freely, but only when either one of them is there with you.”

There was a crease between his sharp eyebrows, and his lips looked like they were bitten. Shane didn’t want to test the man’s patience anymore, opting for a nod. Still, his stomach dropped at the thought of being so close to land again, but having to stay here. He’d give a lot to set foot on solid ground again, or to sleep without being woken up by constant swaying.

Ilya got up, striding over to where his pirate hat lay on a side table, and pulled on his coat where it was hanging on a hook. He had noticed how the prince’s shoulders sagged, but decided not to comment on it.

When Ilya walked out of the room, Shane followed him. He reminded himself of Luca, the way he was going after him.

Down at the main deck, the captain turned around to face Shane.

“Do you want something?” he asked.

Shane looked up from where he was staring at the wooden planks. “What?”

“We’re going into town, you know, buying stuff. Whatever they sell.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Do you want something brought back?”

Shane stared at him, his stomach dropping. The feeling from the evening before returned, but it was different this time. No one had asked him that in a while, not just since he’d been taken. Everything he could ever have wanted was already there.

“… no, I don’t need anything,” he answered.

“I said want, not need.” Ilya’s mouth twitched, and his eyes were still locked on the prince’s. He was blushing again, making his freckles stand out. Ilya didn’t concern himself with the way something in his belly fluttered at the sight.

“Uh… then, some fruit,” Shane answered, his voice unsteady.

“Some fruit it is,” Ilya nodded, before turning around again. He didn’t like how his face had turned into a grin, and he willed it back down before facing his crew.

The port was bustling, merchants were yelling over the crowd. One couldn’t make out specifics, the languages of different sailers mixing and creating a buzzing chaos. The air smelled like tar, spices, and bilge water, sometimes overshadowed by the smell of fish.

Ilya had taken a few men of his crew along, and they wound their way through the crowd. They made their way in the direction of the market halls, leaving the mast-filled horizon behind them.

Ilya sent them to buy the supplies they needed, pressing the bundle of silver into Troy’s hand. He may have messed up with the intel back when they kidnapped the prince, but out of the group, he was still his most trusted mate. Then Ilya split from the group, pulled his hat deeper into his face, and disappeared into the crowd.

The captain knew exactly where he was going; they’d been to this port numerous times before. Partly because the merchants and sailors weren’t shy to trade with privateers, but also because of a certain individual Ilya was all too keen to see again.

He went past the busy stalls where vendors were yelling their prices into the chaos, then through numerous alleys and backyards. The scent of the city stung Ilya’s nose, and he wished for nothing more than to be back on his ship, away from the civilisation. But he had priorities and business to conduct, so he pulled the collar of his coat over his nose and proceeded deeper into the heart of the city.

He reached a pub, by now deep in the port city. Ilya greeted one of the women at the front of the building with a nod, which she returned curtly. Behind the house, a back door opened for him, and he entered, finally leaving the rancid smell of the city behind him. Once inside, he inhaled the perfumed air, and the tension in his shoulders lessened.

“The captain in this lowly establishment, what a surprise.” Ilya’s head moved to the source of the voice, a grin already pulling his lips apart.

“Svetlana, it’s been a while,” he said, looking at the woman standing at the top of the stairs. Her curly hair was styled into a ponytail, front pieces falling into her face. At the sight, Ilya felt a familiar warm feeling in his chest. She made her way down the stairs, her dress swaying with every step.

“I heard of your newest catch. Never took you for someone that goes after crown princes,” she smiled when she reached him.

“Neither did I,” he returned her smile. “But whatever life throws at you.”

“Speaking of life throwing things at you, my ship is destroyed,” she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest. Her smile disappeared, replaced by a frown. “Stupid British whoresons in the Bahamas.”

“Them, how’d you get back here?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Merchants took me and some of my crew along,” she said, stepping around Ilya to walk over to a nearby table, which she sat down on. “Took them long enough,” she added.

“Ahh, so that’s why you want to come to The Centaur,” he chuckled. “Wanna cash in on his royal highness?” She returned his smile.

“Well, when I see a treasure, why would I not try to get it?” She shrugged casually.

Ilya didn’t know why her words bothered him, but they did. He pushed the knot in his chest away though.

“My ship always has space for a friend in need,” he said. He skirted around the topic of the prince, something ugly twisted in his chest at the thought of letting Svetlana lay even a finger on him.

He had shared gold, silver, and rum with the woman in front of him without a second thought before. The prince, however, seemed to be something completely different.

 

It was late evening when the group that went into the city stepped back onto the ship. In the time Shane was alone, he sat at the spot at the railing that had unofficially become his. He still had the book he was absorbed in lying on his lap, but his head had at some point sagged on the rail.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up when he heard the commotion on deck. The first thing he felt was the ache in his shoulders, stiff from leaning to the side in a weird angle. The second was the grumbling in his belly. Closing the book, he stood up, making his way down the stairs to the main deck.

The captain was there, standing in the middle of the crowd and holding up jugs of liquid. Shane supposed they were rum and wine. But that wasn’t what he focused on, because next to Ilya stood a woman, tall with tan skin and brown curls spilling out from her pirate hat.

She was laughing along with the rest of them, but Shane didn’t miss the familiar way the two looked at each other. Despite himself, it made something hot and aching burn itself into his belly. His eyes zeroed in on the arm he had wrapped around her shoulders as he toasted to the group of pirates before throwing his head back and emptying the contents of the bottle.

As if she sensed his eyes on her, burning holes into her back, she turned her head. Her eyes landed on him, and a smile tilted the corners of her lips up. The wink she sent him did nothing to quench the burning inside of him, that he still couldn’t give a logical explanation for.

Chapter End Notes

Idk if you can tell I listened to mitski while writing this.

Btw as a mini teaser, chapter 3 is where the romance starts to get stronger (and the dynamic shifts)

Chapter 3: Apricity

Chapter Notes

Title:
Apricity = the warmth of the sun in winter

As a side note, I have no idea about ships and how they work, and I’m writing this based off of some 3d model in hopes of it all making sense. I also have a lack of medical knowledge, so bear with me here.

Svetlana always had the ability to see through whatever lie Ilya was putting up, and this time was no different. They were on the way back to The Centaur to reunite with the rest of the crew, but the captain stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“I still have to take care of something, you can go ahead,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t ask questions.

“Hm? I can tag along, it’s no problem.” She turned around to him, and when he didn’t start walking, she mentioned with her hand for him to get a move on.

With a sigh and the knowledge it would be impossible to get her off his back, he walked into the direction of the vendors of the street market.

It didn’t take long to find the store he was looking for; a shop selling fruits from all over the world. When he stopped in front of it, Svetlana shot him a questioning look, eyebrows raised. He ignored her though, as well as the fact that if she were to ask, he’d have no good explanation ready that wouldn’t make him look soft. Instead, he flipped a couple of silver coins in front of the merchant, and with that, the haggling began.

 

Ilya spotted the crown prince early on, sitting at a distance in a darker corner. The alcohol flowed, and some of the sailors had pulled out their instruments, starting a tune that distinctly belonged to them.

When he walked up to Shane, sitting on a box and idly watching the spectacle of the pirates singing and dancing, his eyes instantly fell on Ilya. Something Ilya couldn’t define passed through his eyes, and he averted them to look down at his hands in his lap.

At first, the captain said nothing as he came to a stop in front of the prince, but he had a small pouch in his hand. He was toying with the string holding it closed.

“The fruit you wanted,” he said and held his hand out. Finally, the prince looked up at him, and their eyes met. If Ilya had to guess, he’d say he looked almost surprised.

He took the pouch from him, and their fingers brushed. It was such a gentle and soft touch, but it still sent a tingle through the captain’s hand. It traveled through his arm, then to his chest, where it moved to his belly and settled as a buzzing warmth.

At the same time, Ilya felt heat rise in his cheeks. Why am I giving my captive a gift? He was supposed to be in control, not bring his bargaining chip fruit just because he asked. And to add insult to injury, his emotions were probably written all over his face.

He opted for leaning against the wall the crate Shane was sitting on was pushed against, hoping to look nonchalant. He still felt foolish, and luckily only Svetlana knew about the fact he had made a detour to buy a bag of fresh fruit for an unnecessary high price. It was pretty obvious it wasn’t for himself, and the woman knew that, and he thanked whatever gods were out there for her not commenting on anything.

“You went through the trouble of bringing me something, when there’s probably a reward on your head, why?” Shane asks, a small smile playing on his lips. He thought Ilya would surely forget about it.

Because you asked for it. Because it wasn’t supposed to matter. Because I’m a fool. “It wasn’t any trouble,” he said. A lie, and if Svetlana were here she’d probably laugh at him. But she wasn’t, so the captain and the prince were stuck with awkward silence stretching on between them.

“You don’t fool me, pirate, why are you doing this?” The prince had opened the pouch, revealing a mix of blueberries and strawberries. He was rolling one of the dark beads between his fingers while he spoke. He stuffed one of them between his lips, savouring the sweet taste.

“Am I not your captive? Your opportunity to obtain 100 thousand Spanish pieces of eight?” He looked up at Ilya, calculating. He wasn’t sure how to interpret him bringing him berries, and the captain’s discomfort confused him even more. He expected to be teased, not for him to, what, be embarrassed about it? In that moment, the pirate didn’t seem half as dangerous as usual.

“Don’t read into it, I had the coins and you asked,” Ilya muttered after a beat, the crease between his eyebrows reappearing. It wasn’t the prince’s fault for asking; if Ilya were in his place, he’d also ask the same question. Well, he didn’t even need to be in his place in order to wonder why he was doing all this, but that was beside the point.

So Ilya Rozanov did what he did best: flee. Without a word, he pushed himself away from the wood, boots hitting the planks heavily as he stomped away. He was running, just like he always did. He hadn’t dared to look back at the prince, with his dark button eyes that threatened to swallow him up if he looked for too long.

But like so many times before, running proved to be a fruitless endeavour.

The crew was aware of the fact that the night out at sea wouldn’t be smooth, but it was the kind of weather they had faced numerous times before, or so they thought.

When in the middle of the night, the ship violently lurched to the side, it became clear they had miscalculated gravely.

Ilya had barely reached the deck when the wind hit him full in the chest, making him stumble and grip onto the nearest solid object. The calm night air had turned into a whipping. The sea below looked nothing like the dark sheet of glass it normally did; instead, there were masses of foam and spraying, dark waves.

A shout rang out from somewhere down below, followed by several voices yelling, but the words got swallowed up by the storm. Rain sprayed in the captain’s face, but he pushed on until he reached the main deck, just as another lurch hit the ship, tilting it further to the side.

The hull groaned, as if protesting its harsh treatment. The wet wood was slipping away under Ilya’s boots, and he held on to the nearest rope he could reach.

“All hands on deck!” Luckily, his crew seemed to hear his yell, because everyone who wasn’t currently being thrown around by the wind moved to their positions. Another wave hit the ship, and this time they were tilting forward. Fuck, this couldn’t go any worse

“Reef the sails!” He yelled. If the main mast broke or the canvas tore, they’d have a lot more problems on their hands. Ilya looked around, trying to asses the situation, when his eyes landed on the one person he didn’t want to see right now.

The prince stumbled around the main deck, slipping and trying to hold on to anything he could grasp.

“Big wave incoming!” Someone’s voice traveled over to them, and before anyone could react properly, the ship lurched to the side again. Ilya had to watch with horror as Shane’s grip on one of the wooden pillars slipped and he slid down the tilted surface of the deck, until he slammed into the main mast. Luckily, he stayed there, holding on for dear life until the ship tilted back into neutral.

Ilya took the chance to half-run, half-slither over the wood to where the prince was gripping the mast in a white-knuckled grip.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?!” The captain yelled at him as he slid an arm around his stomach, holding him close to himself as he gripped one of the ropes that hung there loosely.

Another wave hit the ship, sending a spray of water over the railing. The wind shifted, sending screams and shouts over to where Ilya had the prince held firmly against him. And then he heard the exact thing he dreaded: the snapping of wood, loud and piercing.

Pieces of wood were sent their way, and Ilya instinctively shielded Shane with his own body, keeping him covered by the main mast. Upon looking around, he still saw all three masts in place, but that also meant he had no idea where the wood was coming from.

Ilya held on tighter to the prince, ignoring the piercing screams. He had to get him under deck, although the situation there probably looked as grim as up here. The next time the ship was relatively steady, the captain used his chance to move them both to one of the hatches.

They were halfway there, whipped around by the wind, and rain blocking their sight, when something else snapped. This time, a larger splinter flew directly their way, and before Ilya could move, it already hit his left upper arm.

The wood lodged itself into the muscle, a sharp, sudden pain shooting through the entire limb. With a grunt, Ilya pulled it out, before wrapping his arms around the prince again to block anything else coming their way. He knew he was bleeding, could see slivers of red in his limited view, but now wasn’t the time.

Ilya gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm, ignoring the warmth of blood spreading through his already soaked sleeve. He nodded to Shane, not trusting his voice to hide the stinging in his arm. The hatch was already open, and he shoved Shane in its direction, forcing him inside. It was dark in there, water sloshing in through the opening.

The captain trusted his second in command and Svetlana to take care of the situation on deck.

“Hold on!” He yelled before following after him. Ilya stumbled down the steep ladder, gripping the wet rails, water splashing his boots once he was down. It was a careful negotiation with gravity and the slippery wood.

Once inside, the howling of the wind and rolling of the waves was muted, and for the first time since the storm started, he dared to breathe a little easier. The lantern swung around with the movement of the ship, but it seemed to calm down already. The hull creaked, before also stilling.

Ilya pushed Shane to sit on one of the crates. The prince was shivering, soaked and pale, but at least he was alive. Brushing away some of the strands of hair falling into his eyes, Ilya made sure he was responsive. At least he appeared unwounded.

The same thing couldn’t be said about Ilya, and now the pain came, pushed away by adrenaline before. He looked around for something to hold against the wound, to stop the bleeding somehow.

The ripping of cloth seemed to snap Shane out of his daze, and his eyes fell on the now completely red sleeve, as well as the still bloody wound. Shane quickly reached towards a cloth that was lying next to him, wringing the water out of it.

“Sit down,” he said, standing up to give Ilya space. Once he was sitting, the prince held the cloth against his arm, staring with horror at how it instantly turned red.

Although Shane had some experience in wound treating, this was completely different from the controlled courses his mother had insisted he should take.

There was still commotion on deck, people yelling and footsteps thumping over the planks; chances of finding the ship surgeon were grim.

Shane was frantic as he searched for another cloth to help quench the bleeding, and once he found one, pressed it against the wound again. His hands slipped, and he muttered a profanity as he held the fabric in place again.

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through the pain as the prince pressed against the wound. There must still be part of the splinter stuck in his arm, because every time the cloth moved, a sharp stinging pain shot through the muscle.

“Stay still, it’s okay,” Shane muttered, probably more to himself than to Ilya.

The lantern hanging next to the companionway swung from one side to the other, letting their shadows dance on the wall behind them. The prince’s breathing had returned to something normal-adjacent, and he focused his attention on the bloody cloth in front of him.

“Hold it tight, I’ll be back in a second,” he told the captain, who had gone slightly pale. Once he was sure Ilya could hold it properly, he darted off to fetch the piece of sail he saw lying around.

Back at Ilya’s side, he crouched next to him. “Can you lift your arm?” he asked, and once Ilya did with a grunt, tied the fabric around it, pulling it tight.

With a heavy sigh, the prince leaned his head on the crate, allowing himself to breathe properly. Seawater was still sloshing around the planks, but at least the ship stopped lurching sideways.

Ilya pressed his lips together, trying his hardest not to let any of the grunts and groans of pain out. But the prince noticed, and a few seconds later was standing in front of him, unsure of where to touch the captain.

Just as he wanted to lay his hand on Ilya’s, the hatch to the companionway opened, and the woman Shane had seen before stepped down the ladder.

Her eyes instantly fell on the captain, slumped against the crate and holding his arm, where his blood was still colouring the makeshift bandage red.

“Fuck, Ilya, what happened?” She hurried over, crouching next to where Shane stood, who instantly took a step back to give her space. Something about leaving the captain’s side bothered him, which he blamed on the stress.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry.” His voice was strained around the words, his face pulled into a grimace of pain. It was pretty obvious it wasn’t nothing, and some more men had gathered around the captain by now.

The storm had mostly passed, the sea wasn’t calm but the worst was over. Svetlana and Boodram helped the captain up the companionway to the main deck, then brought him to his cabin.

“I can walk alone,” he insisted, but his protest was ignored.

In the chaos, no one really paid attention to the prince, too focused on patching up the captain. Shane watched helplessly as they manoeuvred him up the ladder, fingers twitching at his sides. He should leave, go back to his cabin and ignore whatever was happening. He should just lie down on his wooden bed and forget how close he had just gotten to dying. So why did his feet carry him after the group, slipping into the cabin along with them?

“Where’s the fucking surgeon?” Svetlana barked into the room as soon as they sat the captain down in his chair. “Someone get him!” She yelled when no one responded.

“The surgeon’s busy.” She whirled around to whoever said it. “And? This is the fucking captain of the ship!”

“I can help.” All eyes landed on Shane, who they weren’t even aware was with them in the room. “I have medical experience,” he added before anyone could send him out of the room.

“What makes you think we’re letting you near him, your highness?” One of the sailors spat.

“Do you want him to bleed out?” Shane asked, agitated.

Svetlana considered him for a moment, sharp eyes calculating, before nodding. “It’s okay, let him help.”

Ilya was still breathing heavily in his chair, clutching his bandaged arm. Shane pulled a chair closer and sat down next to him.

“I need a candle and tweezers, and more clean, dry cloth,” he said, and Svetlana nodded at one of the men, who darted off to get the items.

When he turned around to face him again, Ilya was still pale and shaking like a leaf, fingers clutched over the bandage.

“Captain, you have to let go of your arm.” Shane tried a gentle approach, but he was still unsure of where to touch the man. Ilya nodded and removed his hand.

“Can I see? I need to unwrap the bandage,” he told him, before gently loosening the knot he had tied earlier. He peeled back layer after layer of bloody cloth until finally the wound was laid bare.

Shane winced at seeing the torn flesh, and it was still seeping blood, although the flow was thinner than before. There was probably still a piece of the wood left inside, and they had to act quickly before it only got worse.

The mate came back, everything the prince needed in his arms. He laid the items on the desk, and Shane reached for the candle and tweezers. His heart was in his throat, and his fingers were slippery from both the rain and the sweat collecting between his fingers.

Shane held the tweezers into the flame, keeping it there until he deemed them heated enough.

“This will hurt, so it’s best you hold on to something and don’t move.” He warned the captain, who nodded jerkily before gripping the chair of the arm.

“Relax your arm, it’s harder if you tense up.” Ilya did as he was told, relaxing his muscles.

The crew present and Svetlana watched with bated breath as the prince inserted the tweezers into their captain’s arm, probing gently around the opening. Ilya cursed, but still kept his arm as lax as possible.

After a few moments of softly digging around the wound, Shane found the rest of the splinter. He gripped it, making Ilya clench his jaw and groan, before biting down on his lip.

“I’m going to pull it out now. Are you ready?” He checked in, and he finally found a good grip on the piece of wood. He waited for Ilya to nod again, then braced himself.

“Do it.” Ilya said, their eyes meeting.

In one motion, Shane pulled the splinter out of the wound, and blood poured out instantly. The blood flow was accompanied by the captain clenching his jaw again.

Shane reached for the cloth, folded it, and pressed it against the wound, before wrapping another piece around his arm. He pulled it as tight as possible, and layered the fabric until the blood wasn’t visible anymore. With a knot, he finished off the bandage.

The prince kept his eye on the white fabric, and when it didn’t colour red, exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath the whole time. His hand lingered on his arm as their eyes met again, something unspoken passing between them.

With his right arm, Ilya reached up, as if he’d lay it on Shane’s face, but he hesitated and let it fall back down to the armrest. “You got some blood there,” he whispered, eyes darting between Shane’s.

Shane quickly wiped over his face, and his hand came back bloody. He stared down at the red, then back up at Ilya, whose eyes were now closed.

“Crown prince, go back to the cabin, your job’s done here.” Svetlana’s voice cut in, and Shane nodded, putting the tweezers back down on the table. Wyatt, the blonde man that always guarded him, brought him back to his cabin.

Before he closed the door, he sent the prince one last, questioning glance, then locked it.

 

“What the fuck was this, Ilya?” The rest of the men had left the captain’s cabin by now, turning to the task of cleaning and repairing the ship. Svetlana was leaning against the desk, arms crossed as she scrutinised Ilya.

“Why are you risking your life to protect him? I thought he was your cargo?” Her tone was scolding.

“He is, but I can’t deliver a dead prince to the queen, can I now?” He spat back.

“And who’s gonna collect the silver when you’re dead?” She retorted, “why put your life on the line for him?”

Ilya stayed silent this time, toying with a loose string of the cloth bandage.

“You know what’s funny, I see you buying fruit, which is already unusual enough, and then a couple of hours later I see the prince sitting there, stuffing his face with berries. What a coincidence, right?” Her tone was dry, but the look she had in her eyes showed everything her words didn’t already.

“What do you want, Sveta?”

“What do I want? I want to know why you’re gifting your hostage fruits and protecting his life like it’s yours!” She had gotten up by now, pacing around the room.

“Oh, so you’re saying I should let him rot?”

“Don’t play fucking dumb with me, Ilya.” She turned around to face him, pointing her finger at him. “If you’re gonna use him for negotiating, then use him. But don’t mix whatever you’re doing right now with business.”

“There isn’t anything to mix.” He turned his face, avoiding her watchful eyes.

There was a beat of tense, meaningful silence.

“I don’t know what this is,” he said, this time meeting her eyes. “I’m not making him do anything.”

“But it’s doing something to you, and I don’t want this to tear you down.” Her voice had turned a touch more sympathetic, and her eyes had gone soft.

“Just… don’t cross the line, okay?” He just nodded in reply. He was tired of her berating him. Besides, his arm hurt like hell.

 

At some point, Ilya must have moved himself to bed, because a couple of hours later, he woke up, sweating and shivering despite being under the blankets. He could barely move his arm without pain spiking through it, making him groan into the darkness.

When he cracked his eyes open, he saw there was a lit candle next to his bed, and then he heard something clatter, followed by a whispered Fuck.

Then, to his surprise, he saw the prince step into the candlelight, a wet cloth in his hand.

The captain tried sitting up, but as soon as he put weight on his arm, he fell back into the pillows. “Stop moving.” Shane’s voice was so soft in Ilya’s ear, and he complied, resting back against the pillows. Only then did he notice the bandage was gone, and he got a good look at the wound for the first time. It wasn’t particularly deep, and probably looked worse than it actually was. Which was to say, it looked fucking terrible.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Shane sit down on a chair that had previously not stood there. He turned his head to look at him properly, but the prince’s eyes were fixed on his arm, and he gently dabbed the wet cloth to the wound.

Ilya hissed at the touch, but Shane’s words still rung in his ear, so he stayed still. He watched him work though, his brows drawing together in concentration, his tongue poking out between his lips. His touch was soft and careful, and Ilya could feel his own heartbeat in his arm quickening.

“It’s fine.” His voice was slurring a bit, but the message seemed to come across.

“I can do it, you don’t-“

“Shut up,” interrupted Shane, putting the wet cloth down before reaching to the side to grip new, fresh fabrics for his arm. “It’s not infected, only inflamed, as far as I can tell.” He started wrapping the bandage anew.

“Sveta thinks I’m an idiot,” Ilya muttered, eyes closing as his arm was wrapped tight.

“Is she wrong though?” Shane chuckled and pressed the wet cloth to Ilya’s sweat-slick forehead, before brushing the wet curls away from it. The captain’s eyes slipped closed at the cooling touch. His skin was hot, and Shane tried not to let his worry show on his face.

Ilya chuckled at the reply, shrugging. “Maybe, probably.” He muttered, eyes opening to look at Shane again. His face was illuminated by the warm light, and he thought that the prince’s freckles looked even sweeter in the dim, orange light.

The sight made Ilya want to reach out and brush his fingers along them, but the wound in his arm stopped the movement before it could even begin properly. Ilya winced in pain, and Shane tutted, gently pushing his arm back down so it rested on the bed again.

“Why are you so afraid of not acting like an asshole?” Shane muttered, mostly to himself. Ilya hummed, as if asking what do you mean?

“First you’re bringing me berries, and then when I ask you pretend it’s nothing.” Shane rested his head on his hands. “You give me books and then say it’s just so I don’t die of boredom. Why?”

“M’not weak,” he muttered.

“No one’s saying that though.” Shane’s eyes were sharp, searching Ilya’s face for every little change in expression.

“They all are, everyone.” The captain’s voice had gone quieter, and his words were slurred. A rosy shimmer covered his cheeks, nose, and forehead. Shane quickly got up to get another wet cloth and laid it on his forehead once he returned. He didn’t know what to make of whatever the captain was babbling about, but in hindsight, it was foolish to ask a feverish person those questions.

“You should go, I can take care of myself,” Ilya croaked after a few moments of silence.

“Are you sending me away?” Shane checked the bandage again to make sure it was tight enough and no blood was soaking through while he spoke.

After a few seconds, the captain shook his head, jostling the cloth laid on his forehead. “y’should.”

“But do you want me to go?” Shane asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“… no.”

Chapter End Notes

I wrote this in two sessions so any logical mistakes are on me, but I had to get this posted before I start studying.

Like always kudos and comments genuinely make my day (and make me feel like I’m not yelling into the void with 13k words of slow burn)

Chapter 4: Limerence

Chapter Notes

Title:
Limerence = intense romantic infatuation, longing for another person

Despite the captain asking him to stay, once his breathing had evened out, Shane quietly left the cabin. He told himself it was only practical; he just came to help him, not to linger around for longer than necessary. Staying would only complicate things more.

Just as he closed the cabin door and stepped into the darkness, someone clearing their throat made him startle and whip around.

Behind him stood Luca, the young man’s arms crossed over his chest as he regarded Shane with a questioning look.

“What are you doing?” His eyes darted from the prince to the now closed doors. “Why were you in there?”

“Uhh, I was changing the bandage, since no one else seems to be doing it,” he stammered. He wasn’t supposed to be out of his cabin this late, but the door wasn’t locked, so he slipped out in order to check on Ilya. Still, he didn’t want the young sailor to know that.

“Oh, right, I heard you helped fix him up.” Luca’s posture visibly relaxed. “It’s astonishing he lets you this near. Besides Svetlana, I’ve never seen anyone get this close to him.” He said, leaning against one of the wooden pillars that survived the storm.

Shane didn’t answer right away, focusing on keeping his face neutral.

“Not to pry, but who is she to him, exactly?” Shane avoided looking at the other as he asked, instead trying to appear casual. Like the answer didn’t interest him at all, and he was just making conversation. His fingers tapped against the wood of the railing.

Luca shrugged. “She comes and goes. Business matters mostly. I guess sometimes it’s more than that.”

“More than that?” Shane echoed, looking up.

“If one of them is in trouble, the other helps out,” Luca explained. “It’s an honour, you know. Once you matter to him, he makes sure you’re safe.” There was something in his voice, something akin to respect, Shane noted.

“You speak highly of the captain.”

“Of course. I’m forever in his debt for him taking me in.” Luca had a faraway look in his eyes, as if reminiscing. “It’s definitely not the norm, the way he behaves,” he added, glancing at the closed doors.

“Anyways, he’s obviously treating you differently too. For someone that was supposed to be a captive, you for sure don’t seem like one.”

Shane swallowed deeply.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He was toying with a loose string of his sleeve, voice tight.

“You obviously get privileges. You sleep alone in a cabin,” Luca pointed out. “You walk around the deck, and now you’re patching up the captain.”

Shane opened his mouth, as if to protest, then closed it again.

“He has to treat me well, or else the deal with the Queen is off,” he finally said. But a thought kept nagging in his mind, because is that really all that was to it?

“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” Luca trailed off, but judging from the look in his eyes, he didn’t believe his own words.

“I should go,” Shane said, already taking a few steps backwards. Before Luca could respond, Shane had already turned around and left.

 

The Centaur set course back to where they came from, after all, the captain had negotiations to lead with the Queen about a certain passenger on board.

While Ilya’s wound was still ugly and painful, the fever had cleared. The improvement was mostly thanks to Shane, who regularly took care of changing the bandage.

Ilya didn’t want to dwell on how it made him feel; to have the prince so close and not be the one in control. Svetlana’s words rung in his ears whenever he looked at the prince, with his gentle brown eyes and freckles.

Standing at the ship’s helm, Ilya’s fingers toyed with the fabrics around his arm. His fingertips brushed over where he still felt the echoes of the prince’s hands on his skin. It was as if they were burnt into his flesh, deepening whenever the man touched him again.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to press his fingers into the not-even-there marks, or never think about them again.

The sun was starting to set, and in just about two days, they’d arrive at port. They were in need of repairs as well, because although no critical points were damaged, a few parts had come loose in the storm.

The mood on the ship was, for a lack of a better word, festive. Having survived a storm with minimal casualties always put the sailors in a good mood, which was only heightened by the fact that their captain sustained an injury and was now back on his feet.

Like a miracle, none of their rum and wine reserves were lost, which of course had to be celebrated.

 

Shane was sitting in his cabin, idly flipping through an old book, its spine tattered. More often than not, he wondered where Ilya had acquired them; his collection ranged from think-pieces to fairy tales and myths about the seas.

Through the bullseye, the orange setting sun tainted the room golden, reminding him of the sunsets back home. He missed lounging on one of the balconies with his mother, reading and chatting away until night.

What he didn’t miss, however, were the lectures. About how he had to behave, what he had to like and dislike, what he should devote more attention to. He tried to be the perfect prince; he really did, but sometimes the overbearing words from his parents made him want to crawl into a corner and never come back out.

Just as he flipped the page, his door opened. He expected Hayes or Boodram to stand there, instead when he turned his head, his eyes landed on Svetlana. She was leaning against the frame, boots crossed over one another. Her arms were crossed as she regarded Shane with a critical look.

The silence was tense for a few moments, Shane was still holding the page he meant to flip between his fingers.

With a sigh, Svetlana’s posture relaxed, and she broke the tension “the men are celebrating, and since you saved Ilya’s life I thought it was only fair to include you,” she said. “We may be pirates, but we do have honour.”

Her tone was casual, but there was a layer of skepticism to her voice that did not go unnoticed by Shane.

A pang of unease filled Shane at the thought of being this close to a group of drunk, rowdy, and filthy pirates. No, he reminded himself, he had learnt not all of them fit the prejudices he had. At the thought, the image of soft blond curls, illuminated by candlelight, came to mind.

He pushed both lines of thought away and closed the book, before putting it down gently on the desk. Next to it lay the by-now empty pouch, once filled with berries. The prince missed the judgemental glance Svetlana sent its way.

On the main deck, boxes and crates were pushed together, and music filled the once quiet evening air in the middle of the vast, open ocean. The sailors were gathered around, some in smaller groups playing games of chance, others telling stories. Music wasn’t the only sound contributing to the chaos though; there was singing, yelling, laughing and the clinking of bottles and glasses.

Svetlana led him through the crowded deck, uncaring that Shane had trouble catching up. She moved around the ship with an air of confidence Shane had rarely observed in women, but it seemed his understanding about a lot of topics was challenged on this voyage.

The woman seemed to have reached her destination; a round table where the captain, as well as three other men, sat around. They were playing some sort of game Shane didn’t recognise, and had quite the audience gathered there.

Ilya’s eyes landed on Shane, but he quickly looked away once their eyes met. Shane wondered why, but he blamed it on the man being concentrated on the game in front of him.

Shane searched for a spot where he wouldn’t be too close to anyone; he didn’t want the drunk pirates to realise the prince was standing directly next to them.

He settled on leaning against one of the ropes leading up to the tall mast, and observed the game that was being played. The men were loud, yelling and shouting words of encouragement, but also throwing insults around.

Shane couldn’t help his bewilderment at the foul language they used, and at how no one seemed to take offence. Not even the captain reacted in any way other than laughing and chugging his rum, toasting to his men.

It was a glaring difference to how festivities were held in the palace, and even when removing all the different layers of it, there seemed to be a fundamental difference.

In the court, no one in their wildest dreams would dare to speak in a way that even barely resembled the way the pirates talked to one another. But on this ship, the men seemed like one, like one piece in the picture. Like a sworn-in family.

It was a sort of familiarity that was foreign to Shane, going against everything he used to believe about pirates. For what it was worth, they were said to be hatred-filled, greedy, and violent. But Shane started to feel like whatever the crown had tried to teach him wasn't necessarily the full picture.

Laughter erupted nearby, and someone stumbled backward, nearly crashing into Shane. He caught himself against the rope, his heart jumping.

“Watch it,” someone slurred, then paused.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the man continued, his eyes dragging over him. “That’s the captain’s pretty little bargaining chip.”

Shane was frozen in place; he had to avoid confrontation, as it would cause even more eyes to fall on him. But how?

He forced himself to straighten, his fingers tightening around the rope behind him. “I don’t think that’s any of your concern,” he said, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady.

The man swayed a little closer, the smell of alcohol thick on his breath. “Relax, yer highness. Just curious, didn’t think you’d look so… pretty, up close.”

Shane swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I said it’s none of your concern,” he repeated, attempting to step sideways and past the man. The rope behind him and the close proximity of the sailor made movement difficult, though.

The sailor laughed, mirroring the step Shane tried to take and cutting off his escape route. The smell of rum hit him at the same time the low and rough chuckle arrived in his ear.

“You royal folk are always so uptight, as if being in the same space as us peasants physically upsets you.” His gaze flickered to the captain’s table, then back to the prince. “Funny how the captain keeps you close, though. Got himself a treasure.”

The words, as well as how close the man was, made Shane’s stomach twist. “Move,” he said, trying to mirror the intimidating expression his mother used so well. It found little success, however.

The man didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping lower, as if telling Shane a secret no one was supposed to hear. “What’d you do to earn that?”

Shane’s mouth had gone dry at the words, and before he could answer, another voice cut through the noise on the ship.

“That’s enough, Kent.”

The sailor froze, slowly turning his head. Ilya had risen from his seat and apparently pushed through the crowd to them. His expression was unreadable, but his eye stayed set on the man, not even looking at Shane. The laughter around them had dimmed.

“He’s not here for your entertainment,” the captain said, his voice tight. “Go back to your drink.”

The man scoffed, seemingly offended at being told what to do. “I was only—”

“I know what you were doing,” Ilya interrupted him. “I hope you remember the oath you swore; otherwise, I’m happy to remind you.”

The sailor stayed silent at that, but he clenched his jaw. If the noise of celebration around them were gone, Shane was sure he could hear his teeth grinding.

“And now sit back down; you’re drunk.” Ilya added, tilting his head as if shooing the man away. The man huffed, then staggered back to the group he was chatting with before.

Shane exhaled, only then realising he had been holding his breath.

When he turned to Ilya to thank him, he had already turned around and walked off. Shane was left standing there, stunned from what had just transpired, before scurrying after him.

“Hey, wait up,” he half-yelled through the noise as he followed behind the man. Ilya didn’t turn back to the table they were playing at, the game evidently over. Shane wasn’t sure if the captain just didn’t hear him, or was purposely ignoring him, but he still pressed on through the crowded deck.

Shane followed after the man until they were more off-sides, where fewer people were standing around.

Just as Shane tried to reach out for the pirate’s sleeve, the man whipped around. With his forearm on Shane’s chest, he slammed him into the wooden wall behind him.

“Why are you following me?” he growled, his face close to Shane’s. The prince’s eyes widened in panic, before getting that fiery glint Ilya had learned to associate with him.

“I just wanted to thank you. What is wrong with you?!” Shane didn’t mean for his voice to rise in volume, but he couldn’t help it. The man was a pure contradiction, one moment he wanted him to stay at his bed, the other he got angry at him for showing his gratitude.

Ilya stared at him for a few moments, as if not sure what to do. He shouldn’t have touched him, should have just… ignored him or something. Because now everything was too close. It felt like the prince could pierce him with just his eyes, could look through all the walls he put up.

“Will you let me go now?” Shane demanded, meeting the pirate’s eyes.

With a huff from Ilya, he was released, and he watched him turn around and cross his arms like a pouty child.

“What—“ he tried to say, but was shut down quickly.

“You don’t get to thank me. I dragged you onto this ship, remember? You don’t owe me gratitude. And I… I don’t owe you anything either.”

Ilya was aware this whole outburst came way too suddenly, but the rum in his system made his control slip. He didn’t want to entertain the idea this whole thing only dug the hole he was already in deeper.

His chest felt too tight for air; it was as if every eye on the ship was turned to him and his foolish actions.

“Wha—, what do you think this is?” Shane was perplexed; he had just wanted to thank him. Did I say something wrong? “Do you think this is about keeping scores?”

“What else is this? You’re not seriously saying you cared for the pirate that kidnapped you out of the goodness of your heart?” He’s too close. He’s staring. He can see it, everything I’m hiding. He can see it.

Ilya turned his head again, avoiding looking at Shane.

“Enough, go back. You’re safe; that’s all that matters,” he muttered.

Shane tried to say something, but the sharp look thrown his way made him shut up and nod. He pushed past the pirate, turning his head one last time to look at him. He was biting his lip, eyes squeezed shut.

The prince wanted to reach out, to do something. The ice between them had started to melt, and now this. But Shane stopped himself, letting his arm fall back down, and walked away.

The captain was avoiding Shane, that much was clear.

They’d arrive at port Revas during the next day, or at least that was what Shane managed to catch during conversations he overheard on the deck. No one actually bothered to tell Shane anything personally, and since the time he spent with Ilya was cut short, he didn’t get to ask him anything.

It was evening when Wyatt escorted him to the captain, and he sent him a sympathetic look before leaving the room again. The last time Shane was in here, Ilya had been feverish, asking him to stay with him in a quiet, hushed voice. Maybe Shane leaving him was what triggered his outburst the day before, he wondered.

“You called, sir,” he said, shuffling his boots on the wooden floor. The creaking of the planks mirrored the uncomfortable unease inside him.

The captain was leaning over a huge map spread out over his desk, nodding absentmindedly. “You know the waters and ports around your home, right?”

Shane nodded, but Ilya wasn’t looking up, as if he wasn’t even worth the trouble to raise his head. “Yes,” he muttered, conceding.

Despite not being told to, Shane walked over to the desk, standing opposite of Ilya. “Why did you call me? To look at a map of ports around my city?” He said, eyes resting on the pirate, who was up until now still avoiding eye contact.

“Your darling mother tightened coastal guard,” he said, looking up now. “And since I don’t want to end with my head severed from my body, you’ll have us help find a way around it.” Ilya gestured for him to walk around the desk to his side.

Shane suppressed the eye-roll and stood next to him, looking down at the map. He could see port Revas circled, and then a couple clunky-drawn ships around it. Or at least that was how he interpreted the wobbly blobs of ink.

“Your assessment, your highness?”

Shane thought for a second, then straightened up. “If we arrive at dawn, we blend in with fishing boats.”

“We? Thought you’re “not one of us”?” Ilya said, teasing smile evident in his tone.

“You know what I mean,” retorted Shane sharply. Still, having the man tease him felt a lot better than being ignored. His stomach twisted at the thought, but he pushed away the implications of it.

Shane leaned over the table, careful not to touch the still-healing arm between them.

“They’ll patrol here,” he said, tapping the narrow stretch between two islands. “It forces ships to pass close together.”

Ilya frowned. “That’s also the shortest way.”

“Exactly. Which means it’s watched.”

He shifted his finger, tracing a longer curve along the coast. “This looks worse, but it’s quieter. Fishing villages, shallow waters. A warship wouldn’t bother.”

Ilya studied him. “You know this coast?”

Shane shrugged. “A bit. I grew up there, didn’t I?”

“You’d make a good pirate,” he said, a tiny smile on his face.

“And here,” Shane added more quietly, pointing to a small bay, “if something goes wrong, you can hide. They can’t turn easily in there.”

Ilya looked up at him then. Shane could feel his eyes burn holes into the side of his head.

“You’re suggesting we slow down. What, and give patrol more time to find us?” His tone had shifted, mocking again. But there was a trace of accusation in there.

Which was quite unfair, Shane thought. When he contemplated what Ilya said, about not wanting to die, he was shocked at the thought that he also didn’t want him to.

He was supposed to hate him, for everything he did, from kidnapping Shane to threatening his mother. The image of the pirate hanging should fill him with satisfaction, so why did it instead make dread spread itself inside his chest?

“I’m suggesting we arrive alive,” Shane said, meeting his smouldering look. They were a lot closer than he had realised before, leaning over the map together.

Ilya must have realised it too. His eyes widened, the prior mockery fading. But he didn’t pull the hand away that was resting dangerously close to Shane’s.

Instead, he kept meeting his gaze, blue eyes intent as if searching for something in Shane’s brown ones. Searching for something Shane wasn’t sure he wanted him to find.

Ilya’s eyes shifted down, past the freckled cheeks, to his bitten-red lips. It made something in Shane’s stomach clench, the way the man was basically staring at his lips. But not in a bad way, he observed, and he couldn’t hold himself back from also gazing at his mouth.

The door slammed open, pulling both of the men out of their daze. They snapped apart, putting a respectable distance between each other. Ilya fell instantly back in his captain demeanour.

“Have you ever fucking heard of knocking,” he barked at the poor, unsuspecting sailor.

“Uhh… I’m sorry, uhm… the helmsman wants your decision on where to go,” he stammered, voice meek as his eyes darted from the prince to the captain.

Ilya sighed, before rolling up the map and rounding the desk. He noticed shane was still rooted to the spot, unmoving. His face was flushed red, and Ilya didn’t even want to think about how he must look himself.

“Come on, follow me,” he said, and the prince nodded, walking after him.

They decided to go with the prince’s suggestion, the gruff man standing behind the steering wheel also agreeing with the plan.

The following evening, they sent their informant to The Black Gull, the tavern the Queen was supposed to send her reply to.

 

The moon stood high in the sky, letting the water in the close-by port shine and glitter. The city was bustling, and despite being too far away for sound to reach them, Shane could swear he could hear the merchants yelling and shouting. Or maybe he just longed to be back home, to hear people speak his dialect again.

The prince was leaning against the railing, his head lying on his folded arms as he gazed.

Heavy footsteps behind him shook him from his haze, and he turned around just in time to see the captain lean against the wood next to him.

“You need to work on your sneaking skills; whole ships hears your creaking around,” he said, before words could even begin to come out of Shane’s open mouth.

He closed his mouth again, looking at the captain bewildered.

“What, you thought no one noticed?” Shane looked at the captain, whose face was pulled into a grin. He didn’t want to admit it, but it made his own lips quirk into a smile.

Quiet settled over them again, as both looked out onto the water.

Ilya broke the silence, his voice soft. “If it weren’t for you, my crew and I would probably hang by now.”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d never actually be in this situation in the first place,” Shane replied. Ilya laughed at that.

“Seriously though, you have some good ideas in that head of yours.”

Shane only hummed. He had directly betrayed the crown by helping the pirates avoid capture, and the knowledge burned itself into his stomach.

“What are you going to do when you get the 100 thousand pieces of eight?”

“Hm, probably going to be closer to 60 thousand. Depends on how daring your mother is.”

Shane looked at him, confusion written over his face.

“What, you never negotiated? You always start unrealistically high, and work your way down to acceptable good.”

The expression Ilya got this time was an unimpressed, deadpan one. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“Probably drink it all away, not worth keeping it. I started trouble with too many people, doubt I’m going to live long anymore at this point.” Ilya’s tone had turned solemn by now.

“And you, what are you going to do once you’re free?” He asked, brushing against the prince’s shoulder. Accident or not, it sent a tingle through them both.

“Free? I don’t even know if I’m going to be free back home.” Shane let out a deep sigh, his eyes closing. “I’ll probably have to hunt you down, my parents will say it’s a good opportunity to declare war on piracy.”

Ilya shifted, watching him. “Well, and what will you do other than what your parents are telling you to?” The prince’s eyelashes fluttered as he shrugged.

Silence settled over them again, only broken when Ilya sat down on the crate next to Shane.

“Do you want to return home?” The question hung heavy in the air between them.

After a few moments, Shane answered. “Yes.” He paused, shifting to look at Ilya, whose eyes had been on him the whole time. The captain just hoped the darkness would keep his secret. “I want to go home, to see my parents again. Sleep in a comfortable bed again. Breathe the smell of freshly cut flowers from the gardens.” He went on, eyes slipping close as if it’d bring the sensations closer.

“I think home doesn’t necessarily have to include freedom.” Shane admitted.

“Does freedom not have any value to you?” Ilya observed the prince, dark hair ruffled by the ocean breeze. For the first time since he had met him, he looked almost peaceful. Gone was the strict tightness between his brows.

Shane’s eyes opened again, meeting Ilya’s. “It does. The question is just what is the price you’re willing to pay to be free.”

The pirate hummed, shifting closer. This time neither pulled away. The voice inside Shane yelling at him was quieting down, as if recognising the prince wouldn’t listen anyway.

Ilya’s uninjured arm that was resting on the railing moved, as if in slow motion, up, until his rough fingers just barely brushed the smooth skin of Shane’s face. His fingers had a slight tremble to them, which he hoped the other wouldn’t notice. Hoped he’d blame it on the cool night air around them, and not the nervousness cursing through his veins.

Keeping eye contact, Shane turned his head to push his face into the palm of his hand, until it fully rested on his cheek. The callouses on his palm, roughed up by years of working on the ship, scraped against the flushed skin. But it was oddly soothing, Shane thought.

Ilya could swear he saw the stars reflect in the prince’s eyes the moment he started leaning closer.

“Stop me,” he muttered, eyes searching the other’s face for something, anything, to convince him to pull away now. His thumb bushed over the chapped skin of his bottom lip, as if asking a silent question.

Instead of complying with his command, Shane leaned up, pressing their lips together. It was just a brush of skin against skin at first, until Ilya pulled him closer, properly kissing him. Heat crept up his neck, and his pulse jumped as Shane returned the movement.

The kiss was tentative, gentle in nature, as Shane buried one hand in the pirate’s soft curls to pull him closer. His breathing hitched and warmth settled over him. Any thoughts about rational decisions and consequences faded away to make space for the tingly feeling going through his body.

Chapter End Notes

OMG THEY KISSEDDDDD YESSSSSS!!! LETS ALL KISS RN!!

Chapter 5: Ardor

Chapter Notes

Title:
Ardor = great enthusiasm, burning passion

I’m sorry this took so long to update, but at least my exams went well!! I hope you’re scared as me because we are moving towards the end of the story

Btw I made a spotify playlist for this fic

Whoosh. Slap. Whoosh. Slap.

Shane tried concentrating on the rhythmic sound of the waves hitting the ship’s hull. It didn’t work. His mind kept pulling him back to the feeling of chapped, rough lips against his own. The mouth that was so surprisingly gentle and tender against his own. The sensation of having that infuriating, lopsided grin pressed to his skin, instead of only seeing it form afar.

But the thing that had basically found its permanent home in Shane’s head was the brush of calloused fingers on his skin, brushing over his freckles. The hand, roughed up from pulling ropes and handling unclean cut wood, on his untouched, unmarked skin. And despite everything, this very touch was the gentlest the prince had ever felt. Hesitant and exploratory, akin to a shy deer taking its first step in the grass.

And now, hours later, there wasn’t a trace left of the touch that had finally shattered whatever Shane had believed in, save for the memory swirling around his head. A small part of him was sad about it, wanted something real, present, to ground himself. To confirm that this was indeed real, and not a fabrication of his mind. To press his fingers into it to feel the sting.

The kiss seemed to go on forever but also only lasted a few seconds. When it did eventually end, Ilya had just looked at him. Really looked, as if he saw a part of Shane he hadn’t even seen before.

Shane had shied away then, too aware of everything that was happening. The wind on his overheated face, the wood of the crate under him, and the burning eyes of the pirate. With some excuse, he left Ilya sitting there alone, but not without one last look back at him. He was looking out at the open sea, a complicated expression on his face as he gnawed on his bottom lip.

In his cabin, Shane twisted around on the wood that by now gave up on pretending to be a bed. The only marks on his body were from the hard wood, and when he pressed on them, they stung. But not the way he wanted to; they didn’t manage to remind him of the kiss the two of them had shared.

But with the sun rising and stretching across the horizon, also came reality. And reality currently contained the still-ongoing negotiations.

 

⊹₊⟡⋆

To Captain Ilya Rozanov,

We have received your letter and the proof that our son, His Royal Highness Prince Shane Hollander, remains in good health. The Crown is most relieved that he is unharmed and treated according to his station.

However, the ransom demanded is far beyond what is reasonable, and we trust your discretion to accept a more just sum. The Crown offers fifty thousand pieces of eight, in silver coin, to be delivered at Port Revas within eight days. Compliance shall ensure that my son’s continued well-being remains unquestioned; any attempt at deceit or delay shall place you entirely in breach of your own honour.

We hope you will act wisely, for the welfare of our son and your reputation.

By our hand and seal,
Queen Hollander
⊹₊⟡⋆

 

Shane rocked on the balls of his feet, once again fiddling with a loose string of the shirt he wore. While waiting for the captain to finish talking to one of his mates, he wondered where his lounging robe actually went. When he first arrived, he had laid it down somewhere in the captain’s chamber, but he hadn’t seen it since then.

His skin almost forgot what the brush of silk and satin felt. When he thought about the soft fabrics sliding along his skin, the first memory that came up was the brush of lips.

His pondering was interrupted by the mate leaving the cabin again, and Shane stepped forward to stand in front of Ilya.

“We got the queen’s reply.” He wasn’t meeting his eyes as he spoke, looking somewhere over his shoulder. Despite Shane relating to the awkwardness he probably felt, he felt something twist in his gut. He couldn’t help but wonder if he ruined it—whatever it was—by walking away that night.

He met his eyes though, when he pushed the opened envelope across to the desk. Shane instantly recognised the handwriting, as well as the cracked-open seal.

“You’re going to raise the amount you demand back up, right?” Shane could tell from the little challenging glint in the pirate’s eyes.

“What gave me away?” Ilya teased.

“Just you, I think I’m getting a good grasp on how your mind works,” he said, a small shy smile on his lips.

“Well, then what number do you think I’m going to ask? Since you know me oh so well.”

Shane thought for a moment.

“Seventy-five,” Shane said finally. “You won’t settle for fifty. And you’re daring enough to wish for five thousand more than seventy.”

Ilya smiled, nodding. “You’re good, I’ll admit it.”

The prince’s face turned solemn for a second, but Ilya noticed it anyways.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice gentle as he leaned against the desk.

“It’s just… the number you’re deciding on is what my life is worth,” Shane said. “Both to you and my mother.” The words felt heavier than they should have.

Ilya didn’t answer right away, letting the words hang heavy in the air between them.

The ship creaked softly around them, the distant sound of the waves filtering through the wooden walls. Ilya straightened from the desk, rubbing his thumb over the edge of the parchment, as if it would somehow give him strength.

“That’s not what this is,” he said finally.

Shane let out a humourless chuckle. “It isn’t?”

“No. You’re not… it’s just business,” Ilya muttered. “You’re not merchandise.”

“Business?” Shane huffed. “So last night was also just business?” His voice had risen in volume, and he didn’t mean to, but whatever he had bottled up suddenly just threatened to spill out.

“No, obviously not!” Ilya said, sighing heavily. “None of this was supposed to happen. You think this is easy for me?”

Shane recognised something in his eyes, something unsettled. It wasn’t there before the storm, or at least Shane had never looked deep enough to see it.

Silence stretched between them again, thick like you could cut it with a sword.

Ilya stepped forward, until he stood in front of the prince.

“The number I’ll demand is more than just the money. Who knows if along with 70 thousand silver coins, she’ll also send half an army of soldiers.”

Shane nodded. He knew the pirate was constantly putting his life on the line. So why was his time special?

“For you, this little adventure ends when you step off the ship, and you’ll go back to your nice palace, with polite servants and wonderful food.” He said, searching for Shane’s eyes, but he was avoiding him. “But for me, this isn’t over. I have a ship to repair, a crew to feed.”

Ilya sighed, closing his eyes. “Whatever happened last night wasn’t part of this. It was never supposed to be.”

Shane swallowed. “Do you regret it?”

Ilya’s jaw tightened, and he looked as if he were fighting with himself. “No, I don’t,” he said finally.

“I know I’m walking myself to the gallows with this… but if I knew for sure I’d die tomorrow, I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.” His voice was tight, and Ilya tried to swallow down the lump in his throat.

Shane stared at him for a second, mouth slightly agape. “I also…I don’t regret it.”

His eyes were so full of something, something so hopeful, devoted, as if Ilya wasn’t a pirate but rather a ray of sunshine after a rainy day. Ilya had to look away.

Ilya let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “You really know how to make things harder than they need to be.”

Shane was still looking at him. “You started it.”

For a moment, something unreadable crossed the pirate’s face. Then he stepped back, putting some distance between them like it was a physical barrier.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he declared. “Today, we send our reply. In two days, we dock. And in three, you walk free.”

Shane’s stomach twisted, and he could swear it showed in his face. If it did, Ilya didn’t react to it. “And you?”

Ilya shrugged. “I’m either dead or sailing again.”

Shane stepped closer again, careful and slow, as if moving too fast would startle Ilya.

“I don’t want you to. Die, I mean,” he said. One of his hands came up to gently rest on the pirate’s cheek.

Ilya’s eyes instantly fell on him, wide open. But he didn’t step away, instead holding his breath.

“I know it’s selfish, but I want to be for once in my life,” Shane said. “You probably deserve to hang for your crimes, but I… I don’t want you to.”

Before Ilya could reply, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor, and the door burst open without knocking.

Ilya snapped away from Shane, like rubber stretched too far, and straightened up.

“Captain, the informant still hasn’t returned,” Hayes’s eyes landed on the two men, standing awkwardly next to each other. “-returned,” he finished, eyes darting between them.

Ilya motioned for him to continue talking, and Hayes continued, although a bit stiffly. “There’s been a sighting of a naval ship docked near the bay. But they haven’t seen us yet.”

He didn’t look at anyone in particular, instead his eyes went somewhere behind them on the corner of the room.

“Perfect fucking timing,” Ilya muttered, switching back to his captain’s demeanour. “How many ships, just one?” Hayes nodded, arms flailing awkwardly at his aides.

“Svetlana asked if you've already finished the letter,” he said. “We have to decide what to do next.” Ilya nodded, sighing.

“Tell her I’m still working on it.” With that, Hayes nodded and left the cabin again, but not without one last questioning glance back into the room.

Once the door was closed, Ilya turned back to Shane. He didn’t say anything, just looked at him.

“You have no idea how distracting you are, do you?” Ilya muttered, once again way too close. They had to get to the meeting before the rest of them got even more suspicious.

“I think I get it, you know, you’re not looking any better,” Shane murmured, softly smiling. Deep down he wanted to forget what loomed outside the cabin, wanted to stay in this little bubble a bit longer.

But alas, life didn’t go his way. It probably stopped when a horde of pirates barged into his room.

Ilya rounded his desk again, sitting down heavily. Shane stayed standing where he was, in front of the desk. He had to force his hand away from the loose string; at this point, he was going to tear the linen apart.

“Seventy thousand, I think any higher than that is signing our death certificate,” Ilya muttered, pulling the draft to him again. Still, he didn’t write anything.

“I think no matter what you reply, there will be a trap set for you.” Shane’s voice was small, and he looked away. “Knowing the Queen, she won’t take the insult of paying a pirate more than a few coins. I think… you’re walking straight into the noose.”

Ilya put the pen down, picked it up again, then let it fall to the desk again. Ink spilled on the parchment when it hit the surface, and Shane tracked how the black dots spread.

The air was thick with tension, with the knowledge of what would happen. The threat hung above them like the blade of a guillotine.

Their eyes met, and understanding passed between them. Whatever would happen at the exchange, it would seal both their fates in stone.

“I should get to writing this,” Ilya mentioned to the paper. Shane nodded, shuffling his feet.

Fuck, why was leaving so hard?

“I’ll go, then.” Shane had already turned around by the time Ilya spoke up again. His voice lit something up in Shane.

“Will you come back here tonight?” Ilya looked almost hopefully at him, and if Shane couldn’t see his hands, he would have bet money he was crossing his fingers.

“If that’s what you want.” The prince said, then left the cabin quietly. Ilya gnawed on his bottom lip. As much as he tried concentrating on what he should write, only the things he wasn’t allowed to say came to mind.

 

⊹₊⟡⋆

To Her Most Serene Majesty,

We have received your letter and are heartened to know that proof of your son’s well-being has brought you peace of mind. Prince Shane Hollander continues to be in good health and is treated with all due courtesy aboard our ship.

In consideration of your offer, and in recognition of the Crown’s wish for swift and honourable resolution, we are prepared to lower our demand to seventy thousand pieces of eight. This sum reflects both our goodwill and the true worth of the life entrusted to us by chance.

The silver is to be counted and weighed, then put in one chest. The exchange may be made at Port Revas within five days. Until then, your son remains under our protection and care.

Signed,
Ilya Rozanov
Captain of the Centaur

⊹₊⟡⋆

 

Shane stayed true to his word, and when he could hear no one move around the deck anymore, he slipped out of his cabin. He had sneaked around this way before, probably way too often. And only now he realised he never once made his way through the winding corridors and across the deck in order to escape.

No, in fact, he only ever went this way to either look after Ilya, or now, to meet him.

He wasn’t sure where this newfound avocation of creeping around came from. Back at the palace, in all of his 23 years, he never snuck out, not even when he would have had a reason to.

This time, he wasn’t intercepted by any of the mates patrolling around the ship. He had learnt they had an established system for when they were close to a port, and they worked in dutifully planned shifts. Not that Shane was snooping on purpose. He just… noticed.

His knuckles rapped against the door, and before any doubt could settle inside his mind, the door swung open.

The captain looked almost… relieved, as his eyes landed on the prince’s form. A small smile graced his lips, as if he hadn’t actually expected him to show up.

Ilya snapped out of the daze he apparently was in and stepped to the side to let Shane inside.

Shane moved to the middle of the room, looking around, as if it were his first time in the cabin. Suddenly, he felt nervous, which didn’t get any better when Ilya stepped closer to him.

“In a few days, you’ll leave this ship behind.” and me as well, Ilya almost wanted to add, but he stopped himself.

Shane nodded, looking anywhere but at the captain. He was afraid meeting his eyes would cause Shane to spill out everything that was left unsaid so far.

But it seemed Ilya was a braver man than him, because he inhaled deeply, before letting out the air in one whoosh. Then he asked the question Shane had run over in his head numerous times before.

“After you return, will you look for me?” Ilya’s voice was small, hesitant like he was asking a favour too daring to put into words. And usually, Ilya didn’t have any problem with being daring.

“You mean, as in hunt you down?” Shane knew it wasn’t what Ilya meant, but at heart, Shane was just a coward. He wanted to give Ilya, and himself, an out of this conversation. And it wasn’t even fake; the court would surely expect him to declare war on piracy. It was the logical, political right thing to do.

“Well, that too. But… will you look out at the ocean and wonder where I am?” Ilya asked, fingers laced together in front of him. He didn’t give him an out. In a way, Shane was thankful; he knew the conversation had to be held at some point. At least now he wasn’t the one responsible for starting it.

“I… of course. Is that what you think? That I don’t care about you?” By now, Shane was looking at him, his eyes fiery as if they were planning on burning through Ilya’s body.

Ilya swallowed thickly. “You shouldn’t.” Again, the logical answer. Shane’s skin itched, but it wasn’t one you could scratch. He was sick of always doing what was expected of him.

“I think that’s too late now,” Shane murmured.

Ilya nodded, but despite it, closed the distance between them. He tilted Shane’s face up with two fingers under his chin. He wasn’t forcing him to look up, but rather like he was guiding him to meet his eyes.

And Shane let him, let himself be guided, until the pirate leaned closer. “Do you want this?” Ilya whispered against his lips, breath warm but still causing goosebumps to erupt all over Shane’s body.

Christ, he had such an effect on him.

“Yes,” he murmured. “You have no idea how bad.” And then finally, finally their lips met again. Somehow, despite this only being their second kiss, it felt familiar. Like their lips belonged together, like this was the alignment the universe had intended. Uncaring of it not being allowed, that it was punishable by death. The universe, Shane realised, was cruel like that.

As if on instinct, Shane carded his fingers in his curls, pressing their faces together. Their kiss was heated, and if they managed to get any closer, they’d surely melt into one another. Their tongues tangled, no longer testing the feel and the sensation, but fully indulging now.

Shane walked Ilya backwards until he pressed the slightly taller man to the wooden desk. The same desk he had stood at so many times, despite spending at most a few weeks on the ship.

The wood rattled behind them at their combined weight hitting it. The prince kissed him eagerly, almost desperately, as if it could convey all the frustration he felt. But there was more than just frustration. It was as if something snapped inside Shane, like he finally broke free of what he should do, and instead did what he wanted. And Ilya met him with the same enthusiasm, pulling him closer, as if planning to become one with the other man.

Despite the threat looming over them, Ilya let relief wash over his body. At least for this night, he’d get to have the prince. He was allowed to hold him in his arms, cradle him close to him, and let his world narrow down to his warm, brown eyes without guilt. At least he would not allow himself to feel it; he’d push the nagging, aching feeling inside.

In one swift movement, Ilya turned them around before hoisting Shane up by the backs of his thighs. The prince had barely enough time to shove most of the items on the desk out of the way before he was laid down on the cluttered table, Ilya covering his body. Ilya’s body was arm above him, and when their hips collided, Shane couldn’t help but arch into it, pressing himself closer.

Shane’s hands wound into the pirate’s hair again, pulling him closer so their mouths collided with a clack of their teeth. Ilya was so hot, so close, blanketing Shane completely. It drove whatever thoughts he had away, replaced by frantic need.

And Shane let himself glide away, let himself get lost in the feeling. Maybe this was their own, personal last meal, before the executioner would swing his blade.

Their lips met again and again, and Shane wrapped his legs around Ilya’s hips. He wanted him closer, no, needed him closer. Like he was his oxygen, his light in the dark.

Ilya pulled away, and Shane chased after him, but Ilya untangled himself from Shane and straightened up. “Wanted to give you something,” he said, his voice staggering a bit.

Shane followed his movements across the cabin as if in a daze until the pirate came back to him. He held a small bundle of silken fabrics in his arms, and Shane instantly recognised it as the light blue robe he wore back when it all started.

“You still have that?” He asked, sitting up on the desk. “I thought, I don’t know, you sold it or something. It’s expensive.”

“No, I… I wanted to give it back to you, for when you leave,” Ilya said earnestly. The lights were dim in the cabin, but Shane could still see the slight blush covering the pirate’s cheek.

Instead of answering, he tugged Ilya closer by the collar of his coat. Their lips met again, this time in a sweet, tentative kiss. Shane tried to put whatever he was feeling, which he couldn’t name even if he tried, into it.

The prince wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist, and with a firm hold under his thighs, he lifted him up. Shane let out an embarrassing little gasp as he was suddenly hoisted up and walked across the room, but it didn’t take long for him to be gently laid down on the bed.

The bed Ilya slept on really was miles away from whatever he had in his small little cabin, and he let himself sink deeper into the bedsheets. He heard the rustle of the captain’s coat being thrown somewhere; it seemed like he wasn’t in the mood to keep the place tidy.

Ilya searched around for something in a small chest next to the bed, before also joining Shane on the bed. The prince couldn’t hold back the sigh when the pirates’ weight settled over him again. It wasn’t restrictive in any way, and Shane would almost describe it as grounding.

When Ilya leaned down this time, he didn’t capture Shane’s lip in another kiss, instead leaving open-mouthed kisses down from his ear to his neck. The kisses were wet, and when his lips inevitably moved away from the spots, the air brushed coldly over them. A small, shuddering gasp left Shane’s mouth.

Fingers played with the seam of Shane’s shirt, as if silently asking for permission to undress him. Ilya got it when Shane nodded, jerkily as if he was in a rush.

“It’s okay, we have all night,” Ilya muttered, before sealing their lips in a chaste kiss.

Soon enough, Shane was left in only his underwear, while Ilya still had the rough linen pants on. The prince didn’t even have time to feel self-conscious, because every inch of revealed skin was followed up by wet, messy kisses.

“You’re so beautiful, darling,” Ilya whispered into his skin, every word accompanied with a press of lips. Shane gasped when his teeth grazed over his sternum, finger tangling in Ilya’s hair again.

They tumbled around the bed, until Shane sat on top of Ilya, legs bracketing his hips. He was out of breath, but smiling wildly. They were skin to skin, with nothing separating them anymore. And it was so good, to have Ilya this close to him.

Ilya wasn’t a religious man, but in this very moment, he thought of building churches to honour the prince’s beauty. His hair was disheveled, the outgrown strands falling into his eyes. The dim light danced over the planes of his body, the lithe muscles illuminated softly. And then his eyes, glinting like he wanted to devour Ilya.

Ilya rested his hands on his hips, eyes darting up. “Is this okay?” he asked.

Shane nodded, enthusiastically at that, and Ilya slowly rocked Shane’s hips forward with the hold he had. With a small, shy moan, Shane tilted his head back, eyes clenched shut. Every push sent tingles up Shane’s spine, like shooting stars racing up the line of his back.

Holy Christ, it felt way too good

“Ilya,” Shane said, tasting the name’s syllables on his tongue. His breathing was getting laboured, but he barely noticed.

“Yes, goddam, call me that again.”

“Ilya, ilya-“ Shane leaned down to press another open-mouthed kiss to Ilya’s mouth. “Ilya,” he murmured into his lips, like a prayer.

By now, Shane used his own legs as leverage to grind forward, making both of them moan out whenever their hips collided.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist, and he was turned around on his back, Ilya on top of him. His arms were pinned to the bed, in a hold he could easily break free of. Instead, Shane entangled their fingers together next to his head.

“Shane, darling,” Ilya whispered to his skin.

“I want you,” Shane whispered back, spreading his legs to accommodate the other man.

“Are you sure? It will hurt at first.” Ilya looked down at the prince, sprawled on the sheets. He’d never seen a more beautiful view in his life. He wanted to carve it in stone, to draw countless pictures of the miracle in front of him.

Was this what the fairy tales and myths described as sirens? Those creatures pulling you in with their dazzling beauty, before tugging you under water with them. If it meant being with Shane, Ilya would let himself gladly be pulled in.

“I want it. With you.” Shane’s eyes were filled with that glint again— the one that made the breath stop in Ilya’s chest, before his chest demanded double the air intake to be filled properly.

The process of lubing and stretching wasn’t as scary as Shane thought it would be; instead, it was kind of intimate. Ilya’s fingers were careful where they moved between his legs, and the oil he had retrieved from the small chest helped.

All the while, Ilya kept whispering sweet nothings into his skin, his voice deep and raspy.

Whenever Shane winced in discomfort, Ilya would cover his mouth with his own, stealing away any thought or pain. Or he’d press kisses to his chest, his neck, his cheeks, or his forehead. Actually, there wasn’t a part of the prince not covered by the pirate’s lips at some point.

Ilya was so tentative, listening to every one of Shane’s bodily cues, it made the prince want to cry. It was as if Ilya knew his body better than he did himself, and after a few minutes he felt arousal rise up in him again. He felt like he was an instrument, and Ilya was the one plucking his strings with expert movements.

“I’m ready,” Shane said after what felt like an eternity. He heard the sounds of Ilya slicking himself up, then felt the blunt head at his opening. With his arms wrapped around Ilya’s neck, he held on for dear life as he pushed inside, slowly as if afraid of hurting him.

Once Ilya bottomed out, he let out a shuddering breath. The prince was incredibly tight around him, and his world narrowed down to just his body under him. He pressed gentle kisses to Shane’s closed eyelids, before pressing their foreheads together.

“Don’t leave me,” Ilya murmured into Shane’s neck, so quietly he wasn’t sure if he even heard it.

The prince’s hands on his face, tilting his head up so he could rest their foreheads together again, pulled him from his trance.

“I’ll never— hah— leave you,” he whispered. “I’ll always be here.” He laid his hand over Ilya’s chest, where his heart was pounding against his cage. As if it wanted to leap out and nestle itself inside Shane’s body. His fingers brushed over the gold cross hanging there.

Ilya nodded, blinking away the warm feeling in his eyes. Instead, he connected their lips again, sealing the words.

Ilya started moving, slowly at first, until Shane spurred him on with his foot digging into his ass. They were gripping each other close, not daring to let go for even a second.

Shane muffled his moans in the crook of Ilya’s neck, biting down on the soft skin from time to time, making the pirate groan out and move faster.

It was like nothing Shane ever felt before. The pleasure spread all throughout his body, and he didn’t even try to control the gasps and moans spilling from him. It crested, rising higher and higher, until Shane finished with a bitten-off groan.

Ilya followed close behind, muffling his sounds in the crook of Shane’s neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there. He collapsed on top of him, pressing Shane into the bed like a blanket weighted with sand sacks. It quieted the noises in Shane’s head, which were threatening to get louder again after he returned from his peak.

Shit, I won’t be able to walk properly, Shane thought to himself as Ilya pulled him close, hugging him from behind.

They probably had to clean up, Shane could already feel their release drying on his body. But it was just too nice to rest together like this, with Ilya pressing small, innocent kisses to the back of his neck.

After a few moments, Shane turned around in his arms, smiling at the pirate. He couldn’t resist kissing him again, just a sweet little peck. But indulgence was dangerous, and Ilya had to softly push Shane away before it could become something more again.

The pirate ran his hands all over Shane’s body, along his thighs, his waist, his arms, before carding through the inky black strands. He brushed them away from his forehead, before leaning down to press another kiss there.

He laid back down, smiling fondly at Shane. It was so sweet, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“In two days, I’ll be gone.” It was an unnecessary statement, they both knew it. But something in Shane’s chest had pushed him to say it, to not let this moment go too deep. He reminded himself, indulgence is dangerous.

“I know.” Ilya said, eyes heavy as they rested on Shane’s. He hummed and laid his head down on Ilya’s chest.

His heart was beating, strong and heavy. With a twist in his gut, he wondered if it would still beat the same in two days. Or if it would at all.

“I don’t think I even know how to be a prince anymore,” Shane murmured into the warm skin.

“Then don’t be. Just be this for tonight.” Ilya’s voice was soothing, something deep inside the prince, and he cuddled closer to him. Ilya’s hand was still brushing through his hair.

“I will find you,” Shane said, looking up at the captain through his eyelashes.

Ilya smiled despite himself. But it was a sad, mourning smile. Griefing something that hadn’t even ended yet. “You don’t know that for sure.”

“I will try,” Shane said. He said it with such certainty, he nearly fooled Ilya.

Chapter End Notes

If this made you sad, but also a little horny, I am fully content with my work.

Regardless of what you felt, you are obligated to leave kudos and comments (only if you want to of course). I’m sorry I don’t make the rules <3

Chapter 6: Dire

Chapter Notes

Title:
Dire = warning of disaster, dismal

This is my shortest chapter to date, but I hope you’ll still like it. As a warning, it has angst. A lot of it. Next chapter will be longer, but I can’t say it gets better emotionally, so it’s best you get ready for it to become even worse

Also made my spotify playlist for this fic public if anyone’s interested

When Shane woke up, the sun was already filtering through the curtains, bathing the captain’s cabin in a warm golden hue. Next to him, the captain, or rather Ilya, was still asleep.

He looked peaceful, his eyebrows relaxed and his mouth partially open, letting out little huffs into the skin of Shane’s chest. The light hitting his soft, outgrown curls made him look almost angelic. Nothing like the hardened pirate he gave himself to be.

Softly, Shane brushed his finger over the skin under his eye, before leaning down to press a kiss to one of his closed eyelids. He felt Ilya’s eyelashes flutter against his lips, and he pulled away to look at him slowly opening his eyes.

Once Ilya’s eyes fell on Shane, they widened and the most unguarded of smiles graced his lips. He looked almost like he couldn’t believe Shane was here, in his bed, on his own accord. His eyes darted from the prince’s eyes to his lips, and back up again.

Shane took the cue to lower himself and connect their lips, just a soft brush of skin at first. One of Ilya’s hands came to rest on his cheek, hesitant like Shane might run away like a startled deer if he moved too fast.

Their lips connected again, and Shane laid his own hand over Ilya’s, intertwining their fingers. He kept Ilya’s hand pressed to his cheek as he shifted to lie on top of him, nuzzling into his palm. Ilya’s expression was as if he’d seen the sun for the first time, staring up at the prince as he sat on top of him.

His thumb swiped over Shane’s nose, where Shane knew his freckles were most striking, and moved his other arm to rest his hand on his waist. Shane smiled into the touch before leaning down and kissing him again, one hand moving to hold Ilya’s face.

“Good morning,” Shane said, his voice deeper from sleep.

“Good morning,” Ilya replied, mocking Shane’s tone. He received a soft swat to his shoulder for that, and then the prince pressed his lips to Ilya’s again.

Shane laid down properly on top of Ilya, his head laid on his chest as he gazed at him.

It was so quiet, the rush of the waves outside the ship slipped through the walls. The only other thing that could be heard was their steady breathing.

“Were you always a pirate?” Shane asked, fingers idly playing with the small cross resting on Ilya’s chest, attached to a thin chain.

“Depends on what you understand under ‘always’,” Ilya answered, his hand brushing through the prince’s hair.

“Well, were you born into piracy? Or was there a reason?” Shane turned to look at him properly, his hands folded under his chin.

“It’s nothing out of the ordinary.” Ilya said, his hand brushing along Shane’s spine.

Shane smiled at the touch, sighing. “Tell me anyway.”

“My mother, father, and I lived in a port city. My father was… well, he was a drunk, for lack of a better word. He drank himself stupid, then let his frustrations out on me and my mother.” Ilya’s expression didn’t fit his words; he was smiling down at the prince.

“One day, when I was still just a boy, a naval ship came through. They were searching for men, conscripting anyone who still had enough limbs on them to work.” He breathed out heavily, closing his eyes as if getting lost in the memory.

“My father protested and refused, and he was beaten, then taken somewhere,” he paused, swallowing. “I don’t even want to know what they did to my mother, but they took me with them. I must’ve looked old enough to them, but maybe they just did it to punish my parents.”

Shane sighed, his expression turning solemn. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Ilya let out a huff, sounding nearly like a dry laugh. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I’m also part of the system you probably despise,” he muttered.

“You’re not the same,” Ilya said. “Far from it,” he added.

Shane nodded half-heartedly. “And then, what happened?”

“You’ve never worked on a navy ship, right?” Shane shook his head. “It was terrible. Hard work, no pay, no outlook on ever getting out again,” he continued his story. “Scrubbing the floorboards until the skin of your fingers peeled off, breaking your back trying to work fast enough to avoid being punished.”

“That was my life for a few years, until we were ambushed by pirates. The man at the top seemed to recognise them, and I’ll never forget the pure look of horror on his face.” Ilya smiled at the memory.

“They offered us to come aboard, to be part of their crew, instead of working ourselves to our graves on here. And of course, I was the first to leave this hell hole behind.” Ilya sighed. “I swore, I’d never let myself be owned again.”

His eyes fell back on Shane. “And now, here I am, captain of a pirate ship. With the nation’s crown prince in my bed.” Shane couldn’t help the smile breaking out on his face. “And he’s nuzzling into my arms while I tell him horror stories,” he added with a grin.

“So, now you’re a free man.” Shane said, twisting the cross around. “Shackled by nothing but your own will.” The longing tone in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by Ilya.

“Where is this from?” He asked, nodding to the cross he was playing with.

“It was from my mother. She gave it to me before I was taken away.” Ilya’s voice turned unsteady. “She said as long as I have this with me, I will always be protected.”

Shane nodded in understanding. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

They stayed silent for a while, basking in the closeness of their bodies. It was much easier to just lie there, to feel the rise and fall of each other’s chest.

“Is it selfish that I want you to stay here forever?” Ilya asked, his voice small. He didn’t dare meet Shane’s eyes.

“I think it’s okay to be selfish for once.” Shane whispered back, before kissing him again. They tumbled around the already messy bed some more, filling the room with gasps and moans of pleasure once again.

Shane felt worshipped, like Ilya was putting his feelings and devotion in every little movement and touch.

But as it turned out, Ilya was shackled by more than just his will; because time was running away from him, like sand through the gaps of his fingers.

 

Knocking on the cabin’s door was what finally snapped the two of them out of their love-drunk trance, pulling them back into reality.

The prince’s expression was panicked as he met Ilya’s eyes. fuck, if they were discovered now of all times.

Ilya put one finger to his mouth, motioning for Shane to stay quiet. Then he hurriedly pulled on the pants and shirt that lay somewhere discarded in the room. Meanwhile, Shane let his trail over Ilya’s body, over the numerous scars, as well as blemishes that weren’t there before last night.

Damnit, just one look at the man and it was obvious he spent the entire night rolling around with someone in his bed. Not that Shane minded the sight.

The knocking came again, more urgent this time, accompanied by a male voice.

“Patience, goddam!” Ilya yelled back, frantically trying to adjust the shirt so it hid the worst of the marks.

“If you stay in the bed, he won’t be able to see you from the door,” he whispered to Shane, before pressing a kiss over his forehead. The prince just nodded, pulling the covers over his head and laying back down.

A mix of adrenaline and dread flooded his system, and he heard his own heartbeat where he was lying under the blanket. It was hot and stuffy, but before he could consider moving, Ilya had already opened the door.

Shane couldn’t tell who it was from voice alone, but he could overhear their conversation.

“Captain, the reply from the Queen came in just this morning when our informant was in town,” the mate said. “The guard in port is tight, there’s wanted posters everywhere. To say the tension is high would be an understatement.”

Shane barely heard the rustle of parchment being torn open, then there was silence. He supposed Ilya was reading, and after a few moments he heard him huff.

“Tomorrow? The queen is on a tight schedule, it seems,” he muttered, before the parchment was folded again. “We planned for the day after tomorrow. Do you reckon we can still delay it, Svetlana?”

Svetlana? When did she show up here?

“No, the queen’s angry enough as it is,” Svetlana said, her voice decisive. “If we delay, we only raise the chance of this whole ordeal turning into a trap.”

“The prince said he thinks it is already one, if—

“

“Since when do we listen to what our hostages tell us, captain?“ she interrupted him. “Don’t make me doubt you.” The threat in her voice was impossible to overhear.

“This has nothing to do with that, Svetlana. He knows things, about how his mother operates.” Ilya justified. His tone didn’t leave room for argument, something the woman obviously ignored.

“It’s not about what he knows or doesn’t. You’re placing your trust in someone that would bury a dagger in your back the second you turn around.”

Ilya stayed silent at that. Whatever he’d say next would have consequences. Grave ones.

Shane zoned out during the rest of the conversation, too lost in thought to follow their quiet voices. Was that how Ilya saw him too? Someone to spend the night with, to whisper sweet nothings to, but at the end of the day just expensive cargo. A hostage.

No, that couldn’t be. The way the pirate looked at him was proof of that enough. Just because Svetlana didn’t trust him, didn’t mean the same went for Ilya.

 

⊹₊⟡⋆

To Ilya Rozanov,
Captain of the vessel known as the Centaur,

Your letter has been received and considered with the seriousness this matter demands.

In the interest of my son’s safe and swift return, I accept the amended sum of seventy thousand pieces of eight. Let it be understood that this deal is made not from fear, but from a mother’s duty to preserve the life entrusted to her care.

The exchange shall take place at the rocky island outside Port Revas tomorrow when the sun rises. You will present my son unharmed and in full health, and upon his delivery, the silver shall be released to you without delay.

Should harm come to Prince Shane Hollander, or should this agreement be broken by treachery, the Crown will answer in full measure. The seas are wide, Captain, but they are not beyond the reach of a grieving mother nor the memory of a throne.

May wisdom guide your conduct.

Signed,
Her Most Serene Majesty,
Queen Hollander

⊹₊⟡⋆

 

As much as Shane wanted to stay with Ilya, he had to get back to his cabin before anyone noticed he wasn’t there. It’d be awkward if someone came running in to report the prince’s absence, only for him to stand there in the middle of the room.

Before he left, though, Ilya had wrapped him in a tight, crushing hug. His arms wound tight around Shane’s body, as if he’d also slip away if he loosened his grip.

“Will you come back here tonight?” He asked into Shane’s hair.

“I’ll see if I can sneak out,” Shane answered truthfully. He had a feeling he would be guarded even better tonight, this close to the exchange. Plus, it seemed the trust the crew had in Ilya was dwindling, especially with Svetlana’s ability to look through him.

“I want to see you one last time, before… you know.” Ilya’s voice was tight, and he hoped Shane hadn’t noticed. It only really dawned on them now that this may be the last time they’d get to see each other.

“What if we just… run away,” Shane said. It was foolish, he knew that.

“Shane, I… you know I can’t. I can’t leave them.” He held Shane’s hands in his as he spoke. “I’ve sworn on my life for this crew.”

And really, wasn’t that the core of the problem? They were so bound by duty, be it the crown or the life of piracy. Neither allowed them to pursue the love they wanted.

Shane understood why Ilya wouldn’t just leave his crew behind. From what he gathered of his background, it was only fair he’d devoted his life to them, just as they obviously did for him.

The prince would also never dream of turning on the crown,his family. He may have helped the pirates before, but it was also an act of self-perseverance. Or at least so he argued. But deserting his family, leaving them without an heir?

As Shane waked back to the cabin, he wondered. Had Ilya really that much more freedom than him? Or was it at heart the same cage he was in? The same type of devoted duty that bound him, stopping him from going after what his heart desired.

Just when he wanted to turn into the corridor containing his cabin, a rough hand on his arm pulled him to the side. There was an alcove between some crates, which he was pulled into.

“Fuck, was he about to be brutally murdered, just hours before returning home?

He wasn’t, but the man in front of him was someone he hadn’t seen on the ship before. Still, he seemed rather familiar, and before he could say his name, the man’s hand covered his mouth.

“Your royal highness, excuse the ambush,” he muttered. “We don’t have long, and I have an urgent message for you from the Queen.”

The man was in fact a servant from court, one of his mother’s most trusted ones at that. Before Shane could answer, a knife was shoved into his hand, and Bennett’s cold hand closed his fingers around the handle. It sat heavy in his hand, not just from its weight, but also because of what it meant.

“The Queen has planned an ambush, so you will be retrieved safely, and her majesty won’t have to face the humiliation of dealing with pirates.” Bennett said, words nearly stumbling over one another.

“What?

His brain barely managed to catch up on the information poured onto him. The plan, what his mother guessed the pirates would do, what his role was, what and when and how.

Dates, names, signals; the words piled over one another. How if the opportunity presented itself, he’d have to be the one to kill Rozanov—

“Kill Rozanov…?

While his brain had trouble chewing through the details, his heart focused on the two words. It beat so fast, it was close to jumping out of his chest, onto the floor where it would shatter in thousands of little pieces.

Kill Rozanov. The man that held him in tightly in his arms had whispered into his hair. Whose touch was, despite what he had lived through, so very gentle.

Kill Rozanov. The same man that had covered his body in kisses, in places Shane had never even touched before. Who had worshipped him as if he were a treasure.

Kill Rozanov. Ilya, who had asked, pleaded with him to stay, while feverish and injured. Injured because he had protected him.

Kill Rozanov. The very man that had shown him there was more to this life than what the court had tried to teach him. That there was beauty in evil. That maybe, maybe freedom was something to fight for.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t kill the man that he, against all the odds, fell in love with.

Shane sat on the bed in his cabin, staring straight ahead. His mind was spinning in place, but at least he managed to get his breathing back under control by now.

After Bennett was done dumping all the information on him, he had shoved Shane back out of the niche and urged him to return to his cabin.

The knife still sat heavy in his palm. It was a simple, easily hideable one. He could just shove it in his shoe and pull it out to—

To what? Stab Ilya? Bury the sharp blade in his stomach, his chest, his neck? Until he’d crumble and bleed out on the floor?

His stomach churned at the thought, and his mind flashed to the day he arrived. He’d thrown up over the railing, and he wondered if he’d make a repeat performance. However, bile stayed down, but the nausea still didn’t leave his body.

Shane clenched his eyes close and shook his head. He couldn’t. He couldn’t kill Ilya. Besides, he’d never taken a life before. Why did his mother think he could do it now? To avenge himself?

But then again, it was a direct order. If the opportunity would present itself… and what if it didn’t? Would it still be a betrayal of the crown if he just didn’t manage to attack Ilya? Was that the loophole he had to exploit?

Shane breathed out heavily, letting the knife clatter to the floor to bury his face in his hands. He didn’t realise it up until now, but he was shaking, tremors going through his body.

Bennett’s words still rung through his head, like a chant he couldn’t tune out. “Her Majesty believes you are close enough to him to do what her soldiers cannot.”

 

⊹₊⟡⋆

To Her Most Serene Majesty,

Your terms are received and understood.

The sum of seventy thousand pieces of eight is accepted. The exchange shall be made at the island outside Port Revas, within the time agreed upon.

Your son will be delivered alive and unharmed, as promised, provided this bargain is kept in good faith.

We shall expect your envoy at the appointed place and hour.

Signed,
Ilya Rozanov
Captain of the Centaur

⊹₊⟡⋆

Chapter End Notes

Like always, comments and kudos are appreciated <3

Chapter 7: Mayhem

Chapter Notes

Title:
Mayhem = violent or extreme disaster, chaos

Fair warning: I cried while writing this and I’m sorry I’m putting y’all through this. It may potentially tear out your heart. I’m really discovering things about myself here, because turns out I actually love writing angst. But bear with me; there’s one (or maybe two) chapter(s) left and a happy ending. That’s as much as I’ll say :)

Tw: had to add the archive warning for Graphic Depictions of Violence, cuz it does get a bit heavy especially on an emotional level, so consider yourself warned.

When Shane slipped through the door into Ilya’s cabin, it was already late at night. The exchange would be only a few hours away, when the sun would rise.

Without a word, Ilya embraced Shane, pulling him into his arms like a starved man. And he felt like one too; whenever his eyes landed on the prince, he had the strong desire to wrap him in his arms, to hold him close. Like he was his air, and Ilya was slowly suffocating without him.

The moment went on for what felt like forever, but at the same time borrowed only a small fraction of their shared time. Ilya knew the prince was slipping away from him, slowly but surely. Not in a physical sense; shane had an equally tight grip on Ilya as he did. Their time was numbered, the hours, minutes, seconds Slowly ticking away. Ilya’s hold on Shane tightened, as if it could prevent the inevitable.

They eventually did pull apart, and Ilya brushed his hand along Shane’s cheek. He was a sight to behold, with his smooth, soft skin, and splatter of freckles covering his face. Whenever his eyes met Ilya’s, the pirate could swear he got himself lost in the warm brown colour. Like it was pulling him in, like a siren whispering to him to came just a bit closer. He was dangerous, and Ilya was merely a pawn to his whims.

And even now, Ilya couldn’t resist leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, then to his nose, and finally to his plush lips. Shane sighed into the kiss, hands coming up to cradle Ilya’s face. His thumbs brushed over Ilya’s jawline, rubbing over a scar there. He pulled away, looking into Ilya’s eyes for a second, then shifted his head and gingerly brushed his lips to the damaged strip of skin.

Ilya couldn’t think of a time someone was as reverent when they touched him like Shane was.

Shane’s lips moved further down from there, to his ear, then to his throat and further down to his neck. He pushed Ilya’s shirt away to make place for the kisses and nibbles he placed there, until he reached the spot where Ilya’s neck met his shoulder. It sent sparks through Ilya’s skin, to his spine and to his nervous system. Like Shane was plucking his nerves as if they were his violin.

“Darling,” Ilya muttered, eyes slipping close. He couldn’t help his lips pulling into a grin. Shane seemed to get lost in the sensation, still nibbling and sucking at the skin, until Ilya softly pushed him away.

“Darling, wait a moment,” he muttered, before taking Shane’s wrist in his hand and pulling him deeper into the room, then turning into the side room where his bed stood. Shane’s eyes instantly fell on the silk robe lying on top of it, and Ilya held it out for Shane.

“Here, you didn’t take it with you this morning.” Ilya smiled almost shyly as Shane took it from his hands. Something flashed across the prince’s face when he looked down at the fabric in his hands. His fingers played with the silk, then he mirrored Ilya’s smile.

“You’re not making this any easier,” Shane murmured before wrapping his arms around Ilya’s neck to pull him in again.

“Keep it,” Shane said after a moment of just holding each other. “To remember me by.”

It stole the breath form Ilya’s lungs. Not just the words, but the way Shane said it. Voice thin and betraying the sadness he felt, but also with a small smile on his lips. Like he truly believed they’d see each other again, some day. That whatever would happen next, was only a temporary gap in the time together.

There wasn’t any time left for doing the things they wanted. It was around two after midnight, and in four hours the sun would rise. And before that, they’d have to paddle the small distance to the island, prepare the crew that would accompany Shane and Ilya, and take care of any problems that could arise.

They stood at the window behind the captain’s desk, looking out at the open sea. It was a clear night, and the moon and stars shone brightly. As if taking pity on the two lovers below, to give them one last beautiful night together.

Oh what would Ilya give to freeze this moment in time, to hold Shane’s hand for the rest of his life in his own. To feel the pressure of Shane’s fingers entwined with his for eternity.

“Are you scared?” Ilya asked, snapping Shane out of his thoughts. His voice was quiet, as if he said it more to himself than to Shane.

The knife Bennett gave him sat like a hot iron rod in his boot, but he resisted the urge to pull it out and hurl it over the railing. To be exact, he didn’t know what to do. All he knew was that he couldn’t stab Ilya with it. But still, throwing it away was too much, too direct of a betrayal of his family.

And to make it so much worse, he now knew there was an ambush planned. He knew the exact details, of who would act when and how. He was torn between his fierce loyalty to the crown, to his mother and his feelings for Ilya Rozanov.

So, if Shane were honest, he was fucking terrified.

Guilt tore at him like wave, collapsing on top of him all at once, tearing at his limbs and throwing him around. He was drowning in it, like the water steadily seeped into his lungs, stealing away the air he needed with a stinging, aching feeling.

Instead of saying any of that, though, Shane just nodded and squeezed Ilya’s hand tighter.

Ilya turned around to him and brought their entwined hands up to press a kiss to each of Shane’s knuckles. Tears pricked at Shane’s eyes, and he blinked them away quickly.

Then, Ilya let go of his hand and instead they went behind his head to fiddle with something. Shane watched as Ilya unclipped the thin golden necklace with the cross swinging and reflecting the dim candlelight.

“Turn around,” he directed, and Shane did. He looped it around Shane’s neck with care, before closing the hook and letting it rest against his chest.

The gold was warm where it rested on his skin, warmed from Ilya’s body heat. But to Shane, it almost felt hot, like it’d burn through his chest if it laid there any longer.

“Ilya, why—“

“For protection, you know? I’m just lending it to you, so you’ll have to give it back at some point.” Ilya’s voice was breaking towards the end, and Shane could see his eyes well up with wetness.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Ilya said, hands resting on Shane’s cheeks, thumbs brushing the skin under his eyes. “I promise.” His fingers were still as calloused at the first time he had touched Shane, and the sparks the rough drag on his skin caused were also the same as a few nights ago.

“Ilya, there’s something I should tell you…” Shane started, but the expression on Ilya’s face made his heart clench and twist in his chest, directly under where Ilya’s cross lay.

He couldn’t kill him, but he also couldn’t tell him.

“Never mind, it’s nothing important,” he said instead, forcing a small smile to his lips that didn’t reach his eyes at all.

He was so in love with the man, and now he had to be brutally ripped away from him.

Shane’s fingers tightened in Ilya’s shirt, in the rough, scratchy fabric, like he was afraid he might disappear if he let go. A small, irrational part inside of him thought he’d trade the feel of the softest fabrics that awaited him in the palace, for just a few more hours of holding the rugged material.

His heart was beating a mile a minute. The words sat heavy on his tongue, and he ran them over in his head as if on a loop. As if maybe, if he thought them often enough, saying them would get easier.

“If something goes wrong tomorrow, I need you to know that… that I love you,” Shane whispered. The words hung too heavy in the small space between them, like they’d tear both of them down.

Ilya breathed out heavily, before resting his forehead against Shane’s.

“Why do you say these words exactly when I can’t afford to fall apart,” Ilya said quietly. He pulled Shane into another hug so tight, Shane thought he might suffocate. But was dying in his arms really that bad, considering what awaited them in only a few hours?

“I love you,” he muttered into Shane’s hair, so quiet one might miss it. But Shane didn’t, and he tightened his arms around Ilya in turn.

 

As much as they both wanted to stop time, to stay in their little bubble of love and peace longer, the sky lightened up the same as every day. uncaring about what the rising sun would set in motion when it peeked over the horizon.

At the main deck, Svetlana and a few men already awaited them. Shane recognised Boodram and Hayes, but the rest were just nameless faces to him.

Would ilya also become a nameless face one day? Just a blurry face etched into his memories, and the only thing he knew about the blonde man was that he changed something in Shane, fundamentally.

Svetlana regarded Ilya and Shane with a critical look, but didn’t say anything.

Whatever she may have recognised in the way they stood so close together, the glances they shared, she didn’t bother voicing it.

Shane looked around the empty deck, reminiscing of the time he had spent here. He wouldn’t miss it, that was for sure. But still, something about the ship had an effect on him, or maybe it just because of the people it carried.

His eyes landed on a sailor, hidden away in the shadow of a crate. It was Luca, and he must have realised that Shane saw him, because he stepped out from his hiding place with a lowered head.

Ilya beckoned him over with a hand gesture, which the boy followed.

“I’m sorry, I just… wanted to say goodbye,” he said, shy like Shane had never seen him before. He guessed it was due to being in the presence of the captain, and he couldn’t help the small smile on his face. By now, he understood what the young man saw in Ilya.

The weight of the small golden cross rested against his sternum, a constant reminder. And in his shoe, the knife still stuck hidden from sight.

They lowered a small, wooden boat to the water, and Shane and the crew settled in. Ilya took his place next to Shane, while Svetlana sat across from them.

She pulled her coat to the side to reveal two guns and a sword, then nodded at Ilya, who also showed her the weapons he carried on him.

It dawned on Shane that they were prepared to fight, if it came down to it. He didn’t know whether that was a calming or even more nerve-racking thought. On one hand, it meant that at least Ilya wasn’t walking blindly into danger. On the other, it promised losses on both sides.

The rocky island was close, and in reality, it was more of a spit of land, with the part connecting it to the mainland and port only covered in shallow water.

The waves rocked against the small boat. A rhythmic thumb, swinging them in even intervals. Meanwhile, in Shane’s mind it was anything but even and rhythmic.

With the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, the sky was painted in slivers of orange. If Shane were just a normal fisherman living here, he’d find beauty and solace in the sight. But unfortunately, he was the nation’s crown prince about to be exchanged for seventy thousand pieces of eight.

Morning fog clouded their eyesight and swallowed up the island’s ground. He heard Svetlana curse something about uneven terrain and the fog, but he was too focused on the feeling of Ilya sitting next to him. All Shane wanted was to shift a tiny bit closer, to close the gap between them, and lean his body into the pirate. Maybe press a small kiss to his lips.

As they got closer to the island, Shane’s sight cleared up. Sharp rocks speared up and out of the water like a predator’s teeth, the waves catching at them. Mist sprayed up in an uneven rhythm whenever they hit the salt- and algae-covered rocks.

Shane had to admit, the Queen had found a fitting spot for the exchange. Between the jagged rocks was enough space for a grown man or even two to fit in, fully hidden from sight.

The boat stopped, and before Shane could wonder why they stopped, Ilya’s hand landed on his arm. In his other hand, he held a small bit of rope.

“We’ll need to tie your hands. Can’t let them think you’re willingly cooperating with pirates,” Ilya said. He had the usual grin on his face, but by now, Shane managed to look behind his facade.

Even in a moment like this, the pirate was still trying to save Shane. Ilya was aware the prince had toed the line of betraying the crown often enough while staying aboard The Centaur. But instead of blindly abusing it, his thoughts went to making sure Shane wouldn’t be considered a traitor or as being harmonious with pirates. If only they’d known.

Shane held out his hands in front of him, and Ilya carefully tied his wrists together. He even looped a finger between the binds to make sure they weren’t too tight. The amount of consideration Ilya put into tying up Shane, the one who was supposed to be his hostage, made something ugly twist in Shane’s stomach.

He wanted to hurl the knife he was given away, to watch it sink to the bottom of the ocean and let it rot there. But it was too late now. At least he had a good reason to give his mother as to why he didn’t use the knife.

All the while Svetlana watched the exchange, a mix of sympathy and judgment in her eyes. Shane wondered what had happened in her life, if she lived through something similar and that’s why she constantly reminded Ilya of not crossing the line.

The smell of ocean, salt and seaweed permanents Shane’s senses, as soon as they reached the small island.

Shane’s boots slipped when he set foot on the ground, but before he could fall an arm around him held him up.

“Careful, your highness.” Ilya said, steadying him carefully. The smile he had on his face made butterflies erupt in Shane’s stomach. Despite the tension, coiled tight in his gut, Ilya’s charm unraveled him completely.

Oh, how Shane wished for more time with him.

Shane’s heart hammered in his chest as they approached the middle of the island. Shane and Ilya in the front, Svetlana behind them, and the other 4 men trailing after them.

The envoy from the Queen already stood there, posture tight and straight. A strong contrast to how Ilya held himself, oozing confidence as he casually stood across from them.

A man in royal colours stepped forward, and Shane recognised him faintly. He was one of the Queen’s officers, though the prince couldn’t remember his name. Two more guards stood behind him, hands resting way too comfortably on their weapons.

And in front of them, several chests, stamped with the royal crest.

“Show me the silver,” Ilya demanded, his voice steady.

The officer’s grim expression didn’t change, but he nodded at one of the guards, who opened the frontmost chest.

Shane’s breath caught. It was all real, all of the seventy thousand silver coins were real.

Ilya smiled as his eyes landed on the silver, clean-cut and shiny. Even in the rising morning sun, the coins glittered.

Still, the smile on the captain’s face was nowhere near the one he looked at Shane with. Like when they woke up together, and his eyes landed on the prince’s smiling face.

“You actually brought it,” he said, meeting the eyes of the officer.

“The terms were clear,” the man answered. “You bring the prince unharmed, we bring the silver.”

Ilya looked back at Shane, something unguarded flashing across his handsome features, shattering the confident expression for a moment.

They hadn’t spoken much in the last hours; they mostly held each other. They both knew that words wouldn’t fix the situation they were in. Besides, the words were way too heavy to speak, and if they’d be put out in the open in the room, the ship was in serious danger of sinking.

The time had only been enough for a small confession, and now Shane wished he’d drawn it out longer, had showered the pirate in words. He wished he had written him something, something solid and materialistic, that held no value to anyone besides the two of them.

To Shane’s great frustration, he had trouble putting his emotions into words. Most of the times, he stumbled around them, before settling on a combination of terms that seemed to fit. And in this moment, he wished he was better at it, wished he could say more to Ilya than the three words that said so much but also so little.

And now, all that was left unsaid pressed in on Shane’s chest, restricting his breathing. He tried to even his breathing, to ground himself and stop his mind from getting lost an what he felt.

In through the nose, hold, and out through the mouth.

He stepped forward to stand next to Ilya. After all, he was the counterpart to the chests of silver.

Behind them, the rest of the crew spread out in a loose circle. Their faces were distrusting, and while Ilya certainly felt the same, he covered it with a facade of lazy arrogance.

Shane wanted to shout at them, to run, to ready their weapons. But most importantly, to protect Ilya. Because if Bennett’s information was still up to date, hell would soon break loose.

As if on cue, something clattered behind them.

Both Shane and Ilya’s heads snapped to the origin of the sound.

The officer’s eyes narrowed, and before anyone could react, there was a sharp, loud whistle.

“Now!” he yelled.

And then chaos erupted on the small island.

Men of the crown jumped out from behind sharp rocks and hidden alcoves. The few mates they’d brought along pulled out their weapons in fierce determination.

Shane stumbled back as the guards closest to them unsheathed their swords. Ilya reacted instantly, pulling his own blade free.

Steel met steel with a shriek.

“Get him back!” someone yelled.

Shane barely had time to think, let alone act. His vision tunneled, heart slamming against his ribs as bodies crashed into each other around him. The sound was overwhelming—shouts, the scrape of boots on stone, the wet, sickening sound of a blade finding flesh.

He lost sight of Ilya; too many men had swarmed the small island. With a pang of horror, Shane realised how outnumbered they really were.

“Ilya!” he yelled, but his voice was swallowed up by the clang of swords, yelling, and the rush of waves.

A guard grasped his arm, yelling at him. “Your highness, get back!”

Shane barely heard the words, despite them being practically shouted in his ear.

“No—!”

Shane twisted, trying to see past the chaos. Ilya was there, fighting the same way he did anything else. His movements were fluid, ruthless, his blade flashing as he drove back one of the attackers.

The hold the guard had on him was tight, and his bound hands did nothing to make escaping easier. White hot panic flashed through the prince, and he gave up caring what the guards thought of him.

And that’s when he saw it.

The officer in front of Ilya pulled out a small, glinting dagger, and before Shane could even formulate a warning, the blade buried itself into the side of Ilya’s lower stomach.

Blood followed the dagger in streams as it was pulled out again, and Ilya’s sword clattered to the ground.

Even from Shane’s distance, he saw Ilya go pale, and crumble to the ground on his knees. He was holding his stomach, doubled over.

Shane felt his breathing stop, before a yell tore out of his throat.

“Ilya!”

He managed to tear himself away from the guard and took off to sprint the few meters separating him from his lover. He stumbled over the uneven rocks; it was more falling than running.

Ilya’s shirt and coat were soaked with blood, and his hands shook where he pressed them to the wound. Shane fell to his knees in front of him, ignoring the pain shooting through his legs. His bound hands came up to press over Ilya’s, trying to still the bleeding somehow.

“Shane, darling… you have to-“ Ilya broke off to grunt in pain, “have to go.” He was looking up at Shane with pleading eyes. Like he didn’t care he was seriously bleeding on some rock island, and the only thing that mattered to him was that Shane was safe.

Shane only realised the tears falling from his eyes when they dripped onto his own arms. His hands were trembling when he reached up to grasp Ilya’s face. Cradling his cheeks and trying to soothe the pained grimace.

But his hands were stained red, and when he inevitably smeared Ilya’s blood across his face he flinched away. Trying to wipe it away only made it worse.

Before Shane could say anything, two sets of arms wrapped around him.

“Don’t you dare-“ he barked.

“Your highness, we have to get you to safety!” One of the two guards holding him yelled.

Shane was powerless as they dragged him away, powerless as he saw Ilya get back up on unsteady legs. Powerless as he had to watch Ilya stumble backwards, trip, and fall into the waves. For a second he saw him resurface, gasping for air, and then another wave hit the rocks, spraying up in pink mist.

For a moment, he only saw fragments. Ilya’s once blonde and pristine curls covered in crimson and plastered to his face, the water turning pink around him for a second when he fell in. His fingers clenched tight on the rocks.

Shane fought against the hold on him, screaming words he couldn’t even discern himself. Panic tore through him like fire, but his strength was steadily dwindling. He was turned around, losing sight of Ilya.

He realised, the choice he made to deliberately not use the knife was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

He lowered his head, letting the tears fall free. Then his eyes landed on his own hands, covered in blood, still bound. It was Ilya’s blood, and he hadn’t even been the reason it was spilled. It was as if he turned to stone, his eyes locked on his hands.

The crimson stained his hands, and Shane wasn’t sure if he wanted to desperately rub at them, to wash the sticky fluid off. When he separated his trembling fingers, the blood tore apart in strings. But at the same time, this was Ilya’s blood. And part of him wanted to hold on to it, to suffer through the disgusting sensation to hold on this part of him just a bit longer.

“Pull back!” Someone yelled next to him. “We got the prince!”

This time, Shane let himself get dragged away. They half-carried him to the small boat the guards came with, shoving him down to sit.

His breath came in ragged heaves, like his chest was squeezed by an invisible rope, tugging tighter the harder he struggled.

A cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, although he wasn’t cold. Or at least the coldness didn’t register in his brain, because he was trembling so hard he couldn’t push it away.

The ride back to the mainland passed in a blur. Shane barely registered the sound of the oars slicing through the water, nor the murmured orders of the guards. Everything felt distant, as though the world had moved a step away from him.

The blood had dried stiff on his hands. He couldn’t stop staring at it. Was this the only thing remaining of Ilya?

They brought him to a tent set up at the edge of the port, away from curious eyes. Someone cut the rope around his wrists. Another tried to press a cup filled with water into his hands.

“Drink,” someone told him, but Shane was convinced he couldn’t even if he wanted to.

The world was still miles away from him, as he sat there. The moment of Ilya getting stabbed and falling into the water replaying in his mind over and over again.

“… still in shock…” He heard someone say, close but also far. His tears had stopped by now, like there wasn’t any fluid left in his body to cry out.

“… so far unresponsive, … a doctor.” The muffled voices continued around him. He felt as if his ears were stuffed with cotton. Actually, his whole head was stuffed, not slowing a single proper thought.

It took a couple of hours until he was ruled as responsive again. He was returned to the castle, and the doctor checked up on him. The whole time, Shane sat there, staring straight ahead. Deep down, he wished to be swallowed up by the waves along with Ilya.

The servants had washed him, scrubbed all the dirt and grime from the past few weeks off his body. The bathwater soon turned red when they started scrubbing away at his hands, and they had to change it twice.

Shane’s head instantly supplied him with the image of the water turning when Ilya fell in, and he locked up again, limbs stiff as he sat in the bathtub. He wanted to run away, to claw himself out of the bathing chambers, to escape that nightmarish colour. But instead, he froze, face tight like he had slipped on a mask.

The clothes Ilya had given him were thrown away, probably burned. The crown hated anything connected to piracy, even the clothes they wore.

It was a wonder Shane wasn’t skinned too, but with all the scrubbing it didn’t actually make much of a difference. The only thing he was allowed to keep was the golden cross, but only after he protest loudly when one of them tried to take it away.

And then, he was back in his room, the same lavish decoration as weeks before. The first thought that surfaced in his head was, that it felt foreign to be back here. The room hadn’t changed, but in turn Shane had all the more.

It was evening when his mother was allowed to see him.

She stepped inside, closing the door lightly. Yuna Hollander stood as straight as ever, fully the queen she was expected to be. However, her expression softened when she laid eyes on her son.

She walked up to where he was sitting in his bed, enclosing him in her arms.

“My son, you are safe,” she whispered into his hair. He could hear the strain in he voice, like she was holding back tears. Hesitantly, he hugged her back.

It felt nice, to be embraced by his mother again, even after all that had happened.

When she did eventually pull away, she brushed her hand over his hair, gentle as if a stronger touch would shatter him.

“What happened to the captain?” He asked. His voice sounded wrong, thin and cracked.

His mother apparently interpreted his question differently than what he meant. “Unfortunately, we won’t be able to hang him.” She smiled at him. “We don’t know what happened to him, and there was no body to recover, but that’s enough. He either ran away with his tail between his legs, or is considered lost to the sea, which is practically the same as dead in these waters.”

He stared at her, mouth gaping open. His eyes filled with tears again, threatening to spill over.

“Oh honey,” she cooed. “It’s okay, you are save. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Shane didn’t bother clearing up the misunderstanding. If he admitted he cared about Ilya, he’d be the one hanged in his place. Or sent to the church to be beaten until he wouldn’t dare commit these sins again, but all in the name of god.

So he stayed silent, let his mother hug him closer as he let his tears fall. She still thought he was scared, traumatised of what she guessed they’d done to him on the ship.

But little did she know, he had never been treated with more care and admiration than by the man she reassured him was dead.

The days after his return went by in a blur.

He didn’t manage to eat more than a few bites without throwing up. It all tasted the same, bland despite being cooked by the best chefs of the nation. Sleep came and went in short intervals; every night he was awake more than he slept.

A lot of his time was spent wandering around the palace, its numerous corridors that were familiar yet so foreign. But mostly, he sat on the balcony of his room, overlooking the vast ocean. Every ship he saw appear on the horizon sent a thrill through him, but every time it was just a merchant vessel.

When he did sleep, he dreamed of The Centaur returning, with Ilya at the helm. Every time, he’d hold out his arms for Shane to fall into, and every time, he was just a bit too far away for Shane to reach him.

Whenever the grief inside him got too much to handle, he pressed the golden cross to his chest, fingers clutching it as though it could anchor him to sanity. His room smelled faintly of candle wax and polished wood, yet all Shane could see was water and blood, the echoes of screams and clashing steel.

He tried to think of the Queen, of duty, of his crown, but his heart refused. Only Ilya existed, struggling and bleeding, lost to him in a blur of motion.

But beneath the grief, a small and stubborn part of him clung to the thought that he hadn’t seen ilya die.

Chapter End Notes

I’m so sorry.

If this made you sad or you cried (like I did) you are unfortunately bound by the law to leave kudos and a comment to balance out the negative vibes. <3

Chapter 8: Esperance

Chapter Notes

Title:
Esperance = (fragile) hope, expectation

Intense pain flashing through his abdomen pulled Ilya awake; every part of his body screamed at him, like he’d been caught under a ship.

Sounds and voices traveled through the cotton in his ears, and he could barely make out a few words.

“…he’s waking up… do something!” The voice had a weird echo to it, but Ilya couldn’t focus on it.

His head spun, and it felt like someone had punched a hole through his stomach. A few seconds later, his body slipped from his control, the pain a distant ache as his mind drifted off somewhere he couldn’t follow.

The second time he woke up, the pain was still there, but he managed to properly return to consciousness, for the first time in who knew how long. His head was pounding, he felt delirious, and his stomach hurt like hell.

He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly when light hit his sensitive eyes. The headache only got worse, now the stinging from his eyes was added to the chaos already going on up there.

It took a lot of effort and teeth gnawing to turn his head, but he managed to get a better look at the room. The wooden ceiling was low, low enough that he could probably touch it if he stood up—which he very much could not.

Next to him stood a small bedside table, where a mug of water rested. Next to it lay some bandages, red and soaked through.

A small wooden chair sat beside the bed, as if someone had been staying at his side.

Shane sat there, concern pulling his pristine features into a pained grimace. His fingers checked the bandage around Ilya’s arm, careful not to hurt him. But with a twist in his chest, Ilya realised that was weeks ago. Now, the chair stood empty.

Time flowed weirdly, and the only way for him to tell how much had passed was the stubble he felt growing on his chin and cheeks. But when trying to lift his arms, they felt as if weights had been strapped to them, so he had no choice but to let them rest uselessly at his sides.

He guessed maybe a week had passed, but thinking too much made his head spin again, as if his brain was rolling around in his head.

The fever was also a very real concern right now, and the part of him that struggled to stay awake wondered just how high it was. He felt like he had drunk way too much the day before, and maybe got himself run over by a couple of horses too.

As much as he fought to stay awake, sleep pulled him under again soon enough.

He woke up from time to time. Sometimes there were noises, sometimes hands.

A cool cloth against his forehead, fingers checking his pulse. Probably to check if he had already tuned into a corpse, or if there was still something fighting in him.

That was a question he also thought about in the moments where he floated between sleep and consciousness. Was the rotting smell traveling through the thickness surrounding his head coming from his own body, or just the room he was in?

 

-

 

After one and a half weeks of twisting and turning in his grief, something in Shane changed. His mind stopped focusing on what he had seen, and more on what he hadn’t.

To be exact, he never saw Ilya’s body. The last thing he’d seen was him falling into the water, but a few seconds later Shane had been dragged away.

His mother still looked at him with pity in her eyes, blaming it all on the traumatic events she supposed he went through on the pirate’s ship.

There was one council he attended. It were the same things they talked about before he was taken; protests, riots, unhappy and no longer controllable people. And discussions about how to get them controllable again. He wanted to say something, anything, to contribute, but whenever he opened his mouth, his head was spinning, and no words left him.

From then on, the prince was pretty much left alone, in hopes of him overcoming the state he was in himself.

He pretended not to hear, but one of his mothers advisors had called him “mentally deranged” and “unfit for such meetings”. It did sting, but under the layers of grief and numbness stacked on top it was muffled. It wasn’t enough to urge him to speaks up for himself.

Without councils to attend, Shane was left with incredibly much free time on his hands. So much, in fact, he had slowly nursed the seed of hope in his heart into a fragile little flower, reluctant to bloom but also fighting itself up through the thick soil.

Shane started allowing himself to think, what if Ilya was alive?

The golden cross still sat heavy on his chest, so full of promise.

It all started one day when one of the maids for his wing of the palace brought the breakfast to his room. Her name was Rose, and she had been working at the palace for a while now. He knew her from before being taken by the pirates. And most importantly, he trusted her not to run to his mother the second Shane opened his mouth.

“I have a question,” Shane interrupted the silence he had grown so accustomed to in the last few days. Everyone was cautious around him, as if he’d start screaming uncontrollably if anyone spoke too loudly.

“Yes, your highness?” Rose asked, her voice polite. The way everyone spoke to Shane, with an air of reverence that didn’t feel earned, not anymore. A part of him missed the way Ilya spoke to him, blunt and direct. It was easier to understand him; there were no layers of formality and faux kindness to unravel first.

Shane knew with Ilya he didn’t have to keep up the image he held up of himself; the perfect crown prince, adored by everyone. The one to rule their nation one day, to bring them forward into a time of prosperity. In a way, the responsibility of holding together the established order laid on his shoulder. But no one seems to see how Shane was slowly suffocating under the weight.

Except for Ilya, who saw him for him. Not a prince, just Shane.

Shane chose his next word carefully. “Do you know what happened to the pirates the day I was… saved?” He hoped he sounded just mildly interested, and not like the question had been burning under his fingertips the last few days.

“I only heard talk of it in court, your highness,” came the bland, meaningless answer Shane expected. He decided to dig deeper.

“I’m just wondering, how many of them got captured?” Shane tried rephrasing it. Rose couldn’t avoid his questions for long, even if she tried her hardest. The prince was too stubborn to let himself be wriggled off.

“Oh, well, from what I heard, only one of them was captured. He’s still awaiting hanging.” The maid’s answer wasn’t much, but it gave Shane enough to start dissecting the new information.

The one waiting to be hanged was a man, and Rose had uttered no word about a woman.

Meaning, Svetlana got away, and at least that was something. He didn’t like her in particular, if only for the distrust she held against him. Still, she was Ilya’s best bet at still being alive. Shane trusted her to be able to save him, and based on what Luca had told him, they always helped each other out when in need.

“And the rest of them, did they flee?” Shane probed further. He just hoped Rose wouldn’t start to get suspicious of his questions and instead write it off as processing what happened to him.

“Yes,” she answered, something like scepticism crossing her face. “If I may be presumptuous; if you’re going to ask about the captain next, I can’t tell you any more than you probably already know.” Rose had seemingly followed Shane’s line of thought, answering before he even asked. “It is unlikely he is still alive.”

But unlikely didn’t mean impossible. A lot of things were unlikely, and still happened. For example, a prince falling in love with a pirate. And Shane wasn’t going to let “unlikely” stop him from pursuing what he hoped was the truth.

He thanked her, and Rose moved to leave the room with a polite bow. However, when she reached the door, she paused, and she looked like she wanted to say something more. Something like pity crossed her face, but she shook her head and left.

Shane didn’t give it any more thought. By now, he was used to everyone looking at him with pity in their eyes. It made something in him itch and crawl, and the more he was confronted with it, the worse the feeling got.

 

-

 

Ilya woke up from the sensation of a cold mug pressed to his lips. As if on instinct, his mouth opened, allowing the water inside. It spilled more than he could swallow, but the bit that managed to get inside his body already helped ground him into reality.

He was shivering, despite being under a thick blanket, and sweat was steadily running down his neck. The sweat also made his curls stick to his forehead, until a cold hand brushed them away.

Eyes fluttering open, they landed on the person sitting next to him. The part of him that was consumed by the fever saw the prince sitting there, although the illusion was gone when he blinked.

Instead, Svetlana sat on the chair, pulled closer to the bed so she could put another cold, wet cloth on his forehead.

Then the mug pressed to his lips again, and he welcomed it, eager to let the water wash down his dry and cracked throat. Instead, something bitter and thick flowed into his mouth, and he gagged when it instantly went down.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Svetlana muttered, but her trembling voice betrayed her. “You’re still alive, so let’s try and keep it that way.”

Ilya wanted to tell her that he was trying. But his tongue felt too thick in his mouth, and he doubted his scratchy and unused throat would make much of a coherent sound.

Every thought he tried to form seemed to dissolve before he could grab onto it, slipping through his fingers. Just like time was, he had no idea how long he was lying here for. It could be minutes, but it could also be days.

So instead of trying to hold on to anything, he drifted.

He dreamed of the sea, of waves crushing in on top of him, pressing him against rocks. Of blood, blood everywhere he touched. Around him in the water, on his hands, on his body.

But he also dreamed of Shane. Of the night they shared in his cabin, where Ilya had covered every freckle on the prince’s body with kisses, counted them like he counted the stars on a clear night. He dreamed of holding him in his arms, of sitting at the ship’s bow and Shane was reading something, while Ilya looked out at the ocean.

Those were the nice dreams. But then there were the ones where Shane was the one covered in blood, if it was his own or Ilya’s he didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. In every single one of them, the prince was screaming. Sometimes Ilya’s name, sometimes unidentifiable words strung together to create a symphony that haunted Ilya even when he was conscious.

When he woke from those, his chest hurt more than the wound in his stomach. His heart was beating so hard, like it had developed a life of its own and now tried to somehow get out of Ilya’s body.

 

-

 

At the tenth day after returning home, Shane left the palace for the first time. Albeit not alone, two guards personally approved by his mother followed him around, never more than five meters away from him.

Shane paid them no mind, continuing his stroll along the dock. It was night, but that didn’t mean silence for a city situated next to a port. Ships were loaded, repaired, merchants were haggling. A few drunkards stumbled around.

Mainly, Shane wanted to clear his mind. To breathe freely again, without his mother looking at him with concerned eyes, filled with pity. His father wasn’t any better, but at least he hid it better.

In the time since his return, he had learned to lie convincingly. Not with words; he still lacked a lot of skill in that department. But when to keep his face blank, for example when his mother spoke about that day—she didn’t even name it—in a gentle voice. He learned to nod at the right moments, how to bow his head when she mentioned the pirates and the atrocities they committed.

And most nights, he lay awake with the golden cross clenched in his hand, pressing the meticulously crafted edges into his palm until it hurt, until it left an imprint. In some way, the pain soothed him, grounded him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. It was also easier than the emptiness he faced some days.

So he had broken the pattern, had asked his mother if he could go on an nightly stroll, to get some air. She, of course, agreed, trying to hide her excitement at the fact her son was moving again on his own.

And here he was, moving along the waterfront. A tiny, foolish voice inside of him told him maybe he’d just stumble across Ilya, or one of his mates. Of course, he paid it no mind, but taking the chance never hurt before, did it?

It was a clear night, with the water reflecting the stars and the moon on its surface. It reminded him of the last night he’d been with Ilya, just before the exchange. The memory still flashed painfully through his mind, his heart longing achingly for the other man’s presence.

While making his way between crates and sailors and piles of rope, a plan started formulating in his head. It was more like a rough draft, but the seed of hope had grown big in his heart, taken root, and was now refusing to let it go.

Shane knew only fools hoped for things that seemed nigh impossible, but maybe he had become one. If he did, he didn’t mind it.

Back in his room, his head felt cleared. He laid out one of the maps he had in his room, the one with an overlay of the city, on top of the wide table in the middle of the room.

Whatever had been lying there before now clattered to the floor, but he ignored it. He stared at the map, the city walls, the streets, the rivers, until the lines started to blur.

He barely remembered pulling up a sheet of paper, where he scribbled on the names of the guards and the times of their shifts in messy handwriting. Uncaring if he’d even be able to read it later on.

A map of the palace interior covered the one already on the table next, and he leaned over it, eyes tracing possible ways to move through the palace undetected. The closer he looked, the more the corridors and paths seemed to arrange themselves, like a puzzle where the pieces slowly clicked into place on their own.

 

-

 

On one of the clearer days, or what passed for clear, Svetlana pulled the chair closer to his bed and sat down with a heavy sigh. Not the sigh one lets loose after finally finding relief after a hard time, but the one that said this was still just the middle of it.

“You’re annoying, you know that?” She said, eyes closed and leaning back in the chair.

He blinked at her, partly to show his confusion and partly because the curtains had shifted in a way that let in way too much light for his sensitive eyes.

“Most people just die properly when they get stabbed.” She said it like she was accusing him. “And you, you just… linger. Not quite alive, not quite dead.“

He tried to smirk. It came out looking more like a grimace, he guessed, at least judging from Svetlana’s expression. There was a moment of silence before she spoke again.

“The doctor said you won’t bleed out, but infection is still a risk. And your fever is looking… not so great.” At least she was honest.

“You’re lucky we managed to get half the chests of the silver. Paying the tavern lady to stay quiet is more expensive than you’d think,” she continued.

He croaked something that might have been a laugh, might also have been a cough.

Svetlana hesitated, then added more quietly, “You scared us.”

Ilya looked at her in a way that spoke more than words. She sighed again, rubbing her closed eyes.

“Yes, I also mean your prince. And no, I don’t know if he thinks you’re dead or alive.” Her voice had gone strict again. “And I sure as hell won’t ask him,” she added.

All Ilya wanted was to let Shane know he was alive, even though he might not be fully over the hill yet. But what if Shane had realised it was better like this? That he was safer when Ilya was as far away from his as possible. What if the prince had stopped yearning for Ilya, the way he did before? Was he glad to be home again, away from the dangers of piracy and the sea?

Ilya tried sitting up on the eleventh day. He wasn’t sure it really was the eleventh, his perception of time still skewed, but Svetlana told him so. And she was the only real person he had contact with, because the fever induced immigrations unfortunately didn’t count.

Trying to use the muscles in his abdomen was a bad idea; pain exploded through his body, white, hot, and blinding. His vision went dark at the edges, and he barely managed not to scream.

Svetlana shoved him back down with a curse, but he couldn’t quite make the words out under his own laboured breathing. “Idiot,” she spat, and he felt like this time she meant it.

She checked if the stitches had torn, and he heard her relieved sigh. He took it as a good sign that she was putting the bandage down and in place again. The cloth was red at some spots, but no longer bleeding uncontrollably.

He was still lying there, gasping, sweat soaking the sheets. She regarded him with a look that screamed annoyance and pity at the same time.

“You don’t move unless I or the doctor tell you to,” she said, her voice sharp as if reprimanding a child. “You get to lie here and keep fighting to stay alive. That’s your task.”

 

-

 

The following night after his stroll, Shane stole a cloak.

It wasn’t heroic; he just lifted it from a hook in one of the servants’ chambers and tucked it under his arm, then walked out as if nothing had happened. While his face may have stayed blank, his mind was running a mile a minute. Now he had to add stealing to the list of things he was suddenly okay with doing.

Before he’d been taken by the pirates, he never even considered sneaking out of the palace, let alone into the city. But apparently, he had changed in more than just one way, because after observing the guards and their patrolling routine, he slipped out through a side door into the courtyard.

However, his newfound bravery didn’t stop his heart from beating so loudly that he could swear everyone heard it. The erratic thump thump went all the way to his throat, and he could even feel his pulse in his temples when he concentrated enough.

It was in the middle of the night, and the courtyard was empty. The only source of light came from one of the few lanterns along the pathways, and he squinted his eyes to adjust them to the darkness.

His hands were slippery where he pressed down on the steel handle, and he hurriedly wiped them on his cloak. As soon as the gate was unlocked, he started pushing at the metal bars of the small side gate. He gnawed his teeth and opened it as slowly as he could. And then finally, it swung open without a creak.

Slipping through, Shane pulled the thick cloak tighter around his shoulders, and made his way to the heart of the city.

The bricks the streets were made out of were uneven beneath his boots, so distinct from the streets leading to and from the court. The streets were narrow, forcing the prince to walk at the very edge of them, nearly brushing the buildings on the side just so he wouldn’t collide with anyone.

Lantern light pooled in soft circles in the ground, reflected by puddles of water in the gaps of the stones. The rest was cast in shadow.

Shane walked through the streets like he normally held himself; upright, confident, not letting anyone see past the facade. But after a few steps, he left like he was being looked at. Not just by one person, but numerous people that sent him suspicious and questioning glances as he walked past.

Shit, he had to blend in more, he was practically walking around with a sign saying “I am the prince”, Shane thought to himself.

He kept his head low, trying to copy the posture of the people passing him. Tired sailors, their backs slumped from work, merchants hunched over to count coins between their sleeves, and some women that pulled their coats extra tight around their shoulders when walking past the men.

The only confirmation he got that what he was doing was working, was that fewer people spared him a second glance. He hoped he was right with his vague assumption.

His plan was to find a tavern or pub where maybe some pirates would also spend their evenings, but now that he stood in the streets, in front of hundreds of establishments, he had no idea what a typical pirate-friendly pub would even look like. They wouldn’t just hang a pirate flag on the front door, that much was clear.

With a sigh, Shane decided to let fate guide his path and opened the door to one that didn’t look too fine, but also not shabby.

When he entered, it smelled like salt and sweat and cheap liquor. A few men looked up at him when he pushed the heavy door open, but soon returned their attention back to their drinks after assessing him as not worthy of stealing from. Or at least so Shane guessed.

He slid onto a bench near the wall, close enough to the door to make a run for it, but also deep enough into the room he could overhear some conversations without having to join them. The hood of his cloak stayed on, and he cautiously peeked out from under it.

Shane was aware that just asking outright would be easier, at least in theory. But he had no idea how to talk unlike a prince, like someone that just wanted to drown his sorrows of working a terrible, low-paying job and a nagging family in cheap booze. And by now, he was so deep in analysing which words to use, what to say, that it would come off as studied and rehearsed anyway.

There were a lot of conversations to listen in on; two men argued about docking fees, some other man was loudly telling the story of a fisherman who swore he’d seen a ghost ship.

“Pirate ship?”

Shane felt his heart stop and skip a beat when someone, further into the room, muttered the words. The distance was too great though, and Shane only managed to pick up on a few bits of the conversation.

Slowly, without pulling too much attention on him, the prince inched closer to the three men, ears straining to pick up on their words.

“Heard the ship is still around here. The Centaur one, I mean,” one of them said, voice low and mysterious.

“Huh? Why stay ‘round here when the place is literally crawling with guards?” The second man had a strong drawl to his words. Probably not the first drink he had standing in front of him.

“Dunno, maybe they’re waiting for something?”

Just when the first man wanted to say more, a woman stepped up to their table. She asked them if she could get them anything, in a sickly sweet, overly polite voice. It seemed to work, because their conversation lay forgotten somewhere behind them.

Shane cursed inwardly; he was so close to finding out more. But at least, now he had his first solid lead. What motives would the rest of the crew have for lingering around here, if their captain really was dead?

It was dangerous to hope, but the thought made a warm feeling spread itself in Shane’s chest. Like a fire inside of him was ignited again, uncontrollable and wild.

In the worst case, he’d open a closed grave and find the closure he needed there, or he’d find Ilya, alive and breathing. Being held by him, with his strong arms wrapped tightly around Shane and his curls tickling his face, was suddenly a possibility again.

One he held one to like on a rope in a storm.

Chapter End Notes

You won’t catch me killing off a major character, you can bet on that. I either had the option to make a really long chapter 8, or split it into two smaller ones, but pacing wise it made more sense this way. You’ll have to suffer through one more wait until the end, but no more heartbreaking surprises I promise.

I’m sorry this chapter took a bit longer to be posted, I’m lowkey struggling mentally and life is kind of hard rn (it’s better now tho so dw). To add to that, my perfectionistic brain wouldn’t let me post this until I went over it at least five hundred times.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it, like always comments and kudos literally make my day <3

Chapter 9: Retrouvaille

Chapter Notes

Title:
Retrouvaille = The joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation

“Ilya, I know it tastes bad, but you need to drink it.” Svetlana was right; the thick, brownish slurry inside the mug was fucking disgusting. Ilya also understood why he had to drink it. With his fever slowly breaking, he managed to think a coherent string of thoughts. But it was still easier said than done; he’d like to watch her try and swallow it down.

After a few minutes of back and forth, the mug was empty, and Ilya felt like throwing up. The only one that was happy was Svetlana, but even that was a stretch. Less annoyed hit the mark better, Ilya mused.

They’d been holed up here for two weeks now. Two weeks of avoiding guards, busy places, and anyone that might let their eyes linger too long. One never knew where the queen’s spies would sit and observe from. Plus, she hadn’t been given a body, and despite declaring Ilya for dead, he doubted she wouldn’t rule out any unwanted possibilities.

Svetlana told him The Centaur was safe, hidden in one of the caves along the shoreline. She was elected as the stand-in for Ilya, until he either died and they’d vote again for a new captain, or got back on his feet and returned to his duties.

She regularly went back, making trips between the tavern Ilya, Boodram, and Hayes were holed up in, and the ship. To say he had immense respect for her would be an understatement, although he couldn’t quite show it in his current condition.

The least he could do was drink the mixture they made him.

Most of the time, he either slept, tried to force down bland soup, or thought about Shane. Actually, he always occupied his mind, the only difference was the action Ilya was doing at the same time.

Shane probably thought Ilya was dead, with the Queen declaring the death of one of the most hunted pirates. Besides, from what Svetlana told him about the ambush, the sight Shane had gotten of Ilya getting stabbed didn’t work to give Shane the idea that Ilya was alive.

If Shane had stayed around a few more minutes, he would have seen Svetlana and a few of their men pulling Ilya out of the water. Afterwards, they paid the town’s doctor to treat him, or rather to pull him back from the brink.

And now, they had somehow smuggled him up the coast, to a small, barely used tavern for travellers on their way to the city. While the owners weren’t enthusiastic about sheltering a wanted pirate, their mood soon turned when they laid eyes on the pouch filled with silver coins.

“You know, Ilya, you’re lucky I have some business to tend to here. If you don’t get better, I’m leaving you here. And I’m taking your ship and your crew.” Svetlana sat across from Ilya, writing on a piece of paper. No matter how many times he asked, she never answered what exactly she was writing. And the curiosity made him itch. But he had an inkling already.

“I know your ‘business’ is seeing your girl, no need to lie to me,” he said, revelling in her shocked expression. Svetlana’s mouth was gaping open, and when she caught herself, her face shifted to looking like she was about to bury a dagger in Ilya herself.

“What? Don’t think I don’t see you opening letters at night, smiling at them like a fool. Even I could smell the perfume.” Ilya had to bite back the smile when he saw her expression.

Svetlana was seething. No longer casually reclined in her chair, she now glared at Ilya.

“You… you’re lucky you’re wounded. No words about this again, or I’m actually leaving you here.” Her voice was tight, controlled. But the redness covering her cheeks and ears painted a wholly different picture.

“Come on, Sveta, tell me about her,” Ilya whined, but the woman had already gotten up, her hand resting on the door handle.

 

 

Sneaking out became the usual way for Shane to spend his evenings. He’d even go as far as to say he’d gotten quite good at it.

As usual, he made his way through the corridors the maids and servants took, away from the main passages where guards usually stood. Especially at night, they were rarely used.

By now, Shane had worked out the courage to venture into deeper parts of the city. He remembered one name mentioned between the letters between his mother and Rozanov; the Black Gull.

The pub looked unassuming from outside, the same dark, dirty brick as the rest of the street. Only a small shield with a seagull drawn on it, along with its name, stood out from the rest.

The prince pulled the cloak further into his face and stepped inside.

The first thing that reached him was the smell of rum, closely rolled by cigarette smoke. The door fell closed behind him, and no one even looked his way. In a way, it was more unsettling than having everyone’s eye on you for a few moments.

Pushing past the shudder down his back, Shane went in a straight line for the bar, where a dark-haired man was wiping down glasses. His equally dark eyes settled on Shane as he sat down, searching and probing in a way Shane found deeply unnerving.

“What can I get you?” His voice was deep, gravely. He sounded like he smoked a lot.

Instead of answering, Shane rolled a single silver coin over the table.

“Some information on a specific individual,” he answered, putting the coin down and sliding it over towards the man.

“That’s gonna cost you more, pretty boy,” he drawled with a chuckle. Shane picked out four more coins, equally as polished and clean.

“Five Spanish pieces of eight. That is more than you earn in a month.” The prince muttered, making sure only the man heard him. The offer was promising, he knew that much.

“Is Captain Rozanov still alive? If so, where is he?”

Conflict passed through his dark eyes, before a smile appeared on his face. Even the strongest will crumbled in the presence of polished silver.

“Maybe Alive, maybe somewhere east,” he whispered, leaning closer to Shane as he spoke. “That’s all I know.” He sounded like he knew more, but by now Shane felt eyes on him that hadn’t been there before. It was like they were digging holes into the back of his head, and he twisted uncomfortably.

He nodded, pulling the hood further down again, before leaving without ever buying a drink. But underneath it, he was giddy, like he was filled with much more excitement than his body could contain.

Shane took the same way through the courtyard as a few hours prior, backwards this time. Just as he slipped inside the side door in the washyard and closed it, a figure stepped into the light coming from the small lantern they were carrying.

“Your highness?” The voice sounded surprised, and the lantern was lowered.

Rose stood in front of him, face twisted into confusion and something Shane couldn’t quite place.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” Rose whispered yelled, taking a few steps closer to him. She looked him up and down, as if inspecting him. “Were you outside? Are you hurt?”

“I… uhm,” he stammered. “I’m alright,” was the answer he finally got out.

shit, shit, shit, shit

She seemed to see through the neutral face he put on whenever he was overwhelmed with a situation, and sighed heavily.

“I’m not telling on you, but I better never see you here again.”

Shane nodded quickly, whispering a “thank you,” and stepping past her. In all the haste, he never wondered why she was out here too in the first place.

But before he could pass her fully, her hand landed on his arm, stopping him in place.

“Your highness, I know you are searching for him. But please, do not lose sight of yourself.” Her voice was sincere, eyes piercingly blue despite the darkness. “I can only say so much; he is alive and safe.”

Shane felt like his body had locked up as soon as the first words left her mouth. He wanted to say something, but it was as if he had lost control over his vocal cords.

“Now go. Before anyone sees you,” she said, nudging him. The place where her hand had lingered on felt oddly warm, reminding him of her words. A confirmation, finally.

He is alive and safe.

-

The door fell closed when Svetlana entered the small room. Her boots left little puddles of sand as she shook them out over the doorstep.

She looked kind of like a bow strung too tight, and if one were to knock an arrow, she’d snap and lash out at everyone around her. For someone who went to see their lover last night, she looked terrible.

Ilya even managed to stand up by now, not without pain flashing through his body of course, but it was possible at least. He had to take breaks, but he was steadily making progress.

“I got some news for you,” Svetlana began, throwing her hat on the desk, before falling into the chair across from Ilya. “The prince is searching for you. Even going out of his way to sneak into the city.”

Ilya’s heart stuttered in his chest, before jumping to his throat. The words lodged themselves somewhere between disbelief and hope.

“How do you know that?” He was sure his voice betrayed him.

“Relax, since you already know, the woman I’m meeting is called Rose,” she explained, lips pulling into a small smile around the name. “She works as a maid in the palace. She saw the prince sneak out last night. And the night before. And before that, he was weirdly interested in the remaining pirates.”

Ilya blinked slowly. The information trickled through his brain like sand in an hourglass.

Shane not only believed he wasn’t dead, no, he was also searching for him.

The same, timid, uptight, and rule-following prince he’d stolen out of his home, was deliberately sneaking out to look for a dead pirate. Ilya couldn’t describe the feeling, he doubted there even was a name for it. But it spread itself through his body like a low hum, settling itself into his limbs.

Shane hadn’t given up on him. He was keeping his promise, the one he made that time in Ilya’s cabin, when their hands were interlocked, limbs tangled and lips meeting again and again, as if planning to never part.

At the time, Ilya had wished so deeply to believe his words, those syllables sweeter than the most sugary desserts they must serve in the palace.

In this very moment, he missed his prince more than ever before. He wished he’d be here, raising his eyebrow whenever Ilya said something to rile him up. Meeting every challenge Ilya gave him head-on. He would allow Ilya to be vulnerable, to lay down the facade he had built up, to strip down to his very innards, what made him him.

And most importantly, he wouldn’t shy away from what he’d see.

He swallowed down the emotion welling up in his throat, meeting her eyes. “Svetlana, I need to let him know I’m alive.”

She already shook her head while he was speaking, lips drawn in a tight line. “Ilya, absolutely not.”

“Sveta, you don’t understand—“ he tried, but she didn’t let him finish.

“I do. But what I also understand is that the Queen thinks you’re dead,” she said, arms crossing over her chest. “And that’s what’s actually ensuring you’re still alive,” she added.

“I don’t care.” Desperation passed over Ilya’s features. “He’s out there, looking for me.” At this point, he was basically pleading with her.

Ilya hated being helpless, like there was nothing he could do and he had to just sit there and watch, and she knew that.

“This is lunacy, and you know that.” She stood up, pacing the room. “I won’t risk the lives of you, me, and everyone involved just so you can have your little romantic reunion.”

“You already risked your life pulling me out of the water instead of making a run for it.” Ilya snapped, frustration slipping through his voice.

Svetlana groaned, rubbing her temple, like this whole conversation made her head pound. “That was completely different! I won’t let you run back to someone you should be forgetting. It doesn’t matter how much you adore him, if it is what drives you both to your graves!”

“I’d rather die with Shane in my arms, if it means I can be with him for a few more minutes, than any other way.”

Svetlana’s face softened at that, and her heavy sigh was the only thing that could be heard in the suddenly silent room. Then the hardness returned. “If Rose gets found out for this, she’s dead. And so are you. You should be damn grateful for this.”

Ilya wanted to say more, to thank her, but she had already left the room.

-

Rose slipped quietly through the shadowed hallways of the palace, her heart hammering in her chest. Every creak of the floorboards felt amplified, every whispered murmur of the night staff a threat. Clutching the handkerchief with Svetlana’s note tucked inside, she moved with a purpose she hadn’t felt since she’d first entered the palace. The corridors were familiar, but tonight they felt strange.

She had met her earlier that day, and the woman had passed her the note. The explanation she gave was brief, but it conveyed what Rose needed to know. Besides, she was a lot more distracted by the nearly desperate kisses she had pressed to her face, how she whispered to her to be careful. And she would, she wouldn’t risk not seeing her again. But she had also seen the prince’s mental state after returning, and she knew how it felt to fall for a pirate.

Finally, she reached the balcony overlooking the gardens. The moonlight spilled across the hedges, casting long, silver shadows. She knew he’d be here. Too often did she see the prince sneak through the palace to sit in the gardens.

She made her way through the bush and trees, searching. And then she saw him—sitting on one of the patches of grass, cloaked in shadow. His face was half-hidden beneath the hood he had pulled on and over his head, but Rose recognised the tilt of his jaw, the way he carried himself.

“Your highness,” she whispered, stepping forward.

He froze, then relaxed slightly when he heard her voice. “Rose?” His voice was low, cautious.

She held out the handkerchief, looking around hastily. “For you. Read it quickly, before someone will see us.”

Shane looked up at her, but took it with trembling fingers, carefully unfolding the cloth. The words were clear, written in a careful but scrawly hand, one he had read before.

“Meet me at the eastern coast line, where the cliff meets the ocean in a bow. I am waiting. ~ I R”

Shane’s chest swelled, a mix of relief and exhilaration. He looked at Rose, eyes bright with unshed tears. “How did you get his?” he breathed, voice thick with emotion.

Rose smiled softly. “I fear I cannot tell you. I couldn’t stand seeing you run in circles like this. Now go—before anyone notices you’re gone.”

Shane nodded, slipping the note into his pocket. He leaned down, touching Rose’s arm briefly. “Thank you,” he murmured. Her warmth lingered on his skin as he melted back into the shadows, moving fast and silent toward the stables.

 

 

Shane didn’t know how long he’d been trotting along this path, only that his legs ached, his throat was dry, and every bend in the path made his heart jump into his mouth. The coast slowly replaced the city behind him: cliffs instead of brick buildings, salt in the air instead of smoke, gulls cooing instead of bells.

But the sickly sweet promise of maybe, maybe seeing Ilya again urged him on. Like it was fanning the flame inside him every time it dared to flicker and shrink.

By the time he reached the eastern shore, the sun was already lowering, staining the sky orange and red.

He dismounted clumsily and tied the horse to a post near a cluster of weather-beaten huts. The place looked barely inhabited. Nets hung from wooden beams, torn and patched. A single boat was pulled up onto the sand, its hull cracked and faded.

For a moment, doubt crept in. What if this was just another dead end? What if Rose had lied to him? Or what if it was a test, and instead of Ilya, there’d be a group of soldiers there to welcome him? Treason, treachery, colluding with pirates, the mortal sin of loving someone that happened to be of the same gender; all things he’d be charged with.

Shane stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, his fingers closing around the cross beneath his shirt. The ridges dug into his palm, sharp and leaving little indents in his skin.

Please. Please be here.

With hesitant steps, he started walking along the shoreline. The sea was calm, its surface reflecting the sky like molten gold. His boots sank slightly into the damp sand, leaving footprints that were quickly swallowed by the tide. His eyes scanned every rock, every shadow, every stretch of empty beach.

Shane made his way up one of the dunes, in hopes of getting a better sight over the stretch of land in front of him.

And then, his eyes landed on a figure, standing at most 30 metres away. The man was facing the water, resting half his weight on a piece of wood.

For a second, Shane thought he was imagining it, or it was a trick of the light. But no, even after rubbing over his eyes, the figure remained there. The unmistakable blonde curls, catching the sun and swaying in the breeze. The dark coat slung around familiar, broad shoulders.

Each step felt like he was walking inside a dream that might collapse at any moment. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might tear itself apart inside his chest. Like the dreams he had so many times before, the ones that ended just before he reached him.

“Ilya,” he muttered, his voice shaking, more to himself than to catch his attention.

The man’s head turned, just a fraction, until Shane probably appeared in his peripheral. He turned around, as if scared of what he’d see.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, like time slowed down and stopped just for them. There wasn’t much distance between them left, a couple of meters at most. But it felt like so much and so little at the same time.

Ilya’s face was thinner than Shane remembered. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his skin looked pale against his wind-reddened eyes. His posture was stiff and careful, like moving too suddenly would hurt, and his hand clutched the stick.

But his eyes were unmistakable, the same deep, icy blue Shane had gotten lost in so many times. Piercing, like he knew his every secret. They widened when they landed on Shane, and disbelief crossed his face.

“Shane…?” He murmured, eyes wide open.

Again, Shane’s body acted before his mouth could. His legs carried him over the dune, staggering and catching in the uneven sand. He probably looked like the maidens in the romantic plays he had watched as a child, but he didn’t care.

His breath tore from his chest in sobs he didn’t know he was holding back. The world narrowed down to the man in front of him.

Ilya barely had time to brace himself before Shane was crashing into him, but his arms closed around him anyway.

The impact drove the air from their lungs, forcing Ilya backwards. It didn’t manage to jostle the hold they had on each other, clutching at every part they could reach as they tumbled into the sand behind them.

Shane grasped at him like he was afraid Ilya might vanish if he loosened his grip. His hands tangled in Ilya’s coat, then in his hair, then at his face. He was gripping his face like he couldn’t believe he was real, in the flesh in front of him. Not a manifestation of his grief, deeply entrenched in his dreams.

“You’re alive,” he chocked. “You’re alive, you’re alive—“

“I am,” Ilya whispered, voice rough and strained. “I’m here.”

Shane couldn’t help the laugh-sob tearing from his chest, and he buried his face in Ilya’s neck, inhaling his scent like he needed it to breathe.

Ilya felt the tears on his skin, and he knew his own cheeks were at least as wet too. He wrapped his arms tighter around the prince,his prince, as they laughed and cried at the same time. The world seemed to tilt as they rolled down the dune, sand clinging to their clothes, hair, and skin.

When they came to a stop, Shane was half on top of him, their foreheads pressed together.

Ilya winced as the weight settled on his stomach, and Shane instantly flinched away, moving to sit next to him.

“You’re hurt,” he observed, moving his hand to lay gently on his stomach.

“A bit,” Ilya admitted. “Still standing though,” he added, and finally the lopsided grin returned to his lips. Shane was torn between wanting to kiss him stupid or punch him.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Ilya laughed, and it felt almost foreign to himself. “How could I? You were literally charging at me,” Redness covered Shane’s face, and Ilya rested his palm on his cheek for a second, before tilting his head down to him.

“Now, will you give this poor, hurt pirate a kiss?” He was grinning up at Shane, despite the pain in his body. It was as if it didn’t even register in his brain, too full of relief at seeing his lover again.

“You’re such an asshole,” he whispered, but closed the distance between them anyway.

It wasn’t gentle and it also wasn’t careful. It was clumsy and full of everything he hadn’t been allowed to say. Their teeth knocked together, their noses bumped, but neither of them really cared.

Ilya made a surprised sound into the kiss before melting into it, one hand sliding to the back of Shane’s neck, pulling him closer. The kiss felt weird, but Ilya quickly realised it was because they were both grinning so wide, their lips had trouble touching.

Carefully, without separating from Shane, Ilya sat up slowly. His hand was still keeping a tight grip on Shane’s neck, which the prince mirrored with his hands tangled in his curls. He ignored the stinging in his abdomen to deepen their kiss further, because at heart, Ilya Rozanov was a greedy man.

Their tongues danced, eager and desperate but also full of emotion. Shane moved to sit in Ilya’s lap, knees digging into the sand as he wrapped his arms around his neck. There wasn’t a breath’s width between them anymore, bodies pressed close together, as if to make up for the time they spent apart.

Ilya’s pained grunt was what finally made them pull apart, and Shane quickly pushed him to lie back down, so there wasn’t any strain on the wound.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Shane instantly apologised, but Ilya silenced him with a shake of his head.

“It’s okay, don’t feel bad,” he said, but the strain in his voice was evident. “Got too carried away.” Shane sighed, shaking his head like one would at a child.

Shane cupped Ilya’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing over the sharp line of his cheekbones, as if he needed to memorize him again. When in reality, he could probably carve his face in marble just from memory alone.

“I thought you were dead,” Shane muttered, voice close to breaking. “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m here.” He pressed their foreheads together, but his eyes fluttered open when he heard Shane’s shuddering breath. “Hey, look at me. Everything is alright, yes?”

Shane nodded, pressing his lips together to suppress any more unwanted sounds. He took a shuddering breath.

“I was supposed to kill you, they gave me a knife.”

Ilya’s eyes narrowed, tension settling into his limbs. “Who?” He asked, voice colder now.

“A servant from the palace, he sneaked onto the ship I think.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shane could hear the hurt in his voice, although he tried hiding it.

“I… I was scared. Of betraying my mother.”

Ilya shuffled a few spaces away from him, putting more distance between them to look at Shane properly. “Oh, and this isn’t betraying them?”

“Ilya, it’s different.” Ilya just raised his eyebrows.

“Now I know that I can’t handle it, being without you, I mean.”

Ilya stayed silent for a moment, then hugged Shane again. “Did you think about doing it?” He murmured.

“I couldn’t kill you. And I would never, not in my wildest dreams.” He shook his head, as if it would shake the thoughts off. Ilya’s eyes stayed stuck on his face the whole time, tracking every movement. Then he nodded, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful these are?” Ilya’s fingers brushed over his cheek, rubbing along the skin under his eye.

Shane made a hmm? sound, eyes opening to look down at Ilya.

“You’re freckles,” Ilya said, eyes darting from Shane’s to the little spots on his face. “like the stars at night above the sea.” Shane’s eyes turned glassy, and he closed them in hopes of escaping Ilya’s piercing gaze.

He could track how the skin his calloused fingers were stroking over turned pink, which only served to make the freckles stand out more. He couldn’t help but press his lips to them, as if he were counting them with his mouth.

Ilya felt Shane’s hand detach the sleeves from his hair, instead moving behind his own head. His confusion was short-lived, because suddenly his mother’s cross dangled in front of him again, gleaming in the evening light.

“You still have it,” he observed, lips pulling into a wide smile.

Shane nodded, mirroring his smile, although it was a bit shy. “Of course, I wouldn’t let them take it,” he muttered, before putting the cross back around Ilya’s neck. He brushed over where it rested on his sternum, grinning fondly.

The smile Ilya had on his face at the gesture threatened to split his face apart, so he settled for kissing Shane, a small peck to his lips. After pulling away, he rested their foreheads against each other.

“I fear you’ve stolen my heart.”

“Do you want it back?” Shane asked, pulling away slightly to look down at his pirate. There was a hint of worry laced into his words.

“Hm, no,” he shook his head. “I want you to keep it.”

The prince didn’t reply; instead, he buried his face in Ilya’s neck, fingers scratching at his scalp as he played with his curls.

“Promise you won’t leave me again?” The words were barely picked up by Ilya’s ears, Shane’s voice muffled by his shoulder.

“I won’t ever ever leave you again,” Ilya promised.

The sun was slowly disappearing, and they sat together in the sand, both looking out at the ocean.

“I don’t think I can return.”

Ilya’s head turned to him, brows drawn together.

“To being a prince. How can I be a good ruler one day if my heart is not in it?”

“I always thought it was your calling.”

Shane sighed, fingers playing with the sand in front of him, letting the grains slip through his fingers again and again.

“I’m not sure to what extent you know about the state of things in the colonies,” he began. “In short, the people are starting to distrust the crown, and protests and riots are happening all over the place. They’re calling for all sorts of things, things neither my mother nor I could provide as a ruler.”

There were a few beats of silence before Ilya nodded slowly.

“You’re thinking of leaving?”

Shane shrugged, but it was confirmation enough.

Instead of answering, Ilya laced their fingers together where they lay between them.

Whatever they’d have to face next, whatever fate would put in their path, they’d navigate it together.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading to the very end of this fic, it really means a lot to me. All your comments and nice words made this whole thing a lot more fun, so a huge thank you to y’all <33

I hope you enjoyed your stay here, and liked the story despite me almost killing Ilya (sorry about that again) as much I do. I can’t believe it’s finished now, and took exactly one month, it will definitely be weird to not have this story to think about constantly.

Pirates just really have my heart, there’s so many aspects that make for great writing topics. I tried incorporating as much of the conflict between freedom and duty as possible, because I do think it kind of mirrors the dynamic Shane and Ilya have in canon. Shane is committed to playing perfect hockey, and keeping up the image of a role model is part of it. Meanwhile, being in love with Ilya and being gay overall is a threat to that. Hockey is his passion/calling but also his prison, just like how the crown is for prince Shane. Ilya appears as more free, both here and in the canon universe, but it turns out he is just shackled by a different type of duty. In Canon it’s his father (and brother) who he has to care for, and as a pirate it’s being part of a sworn-in crew. They’re both in a conflict between freedom, love and duty, and choose each other as an act of freedom, not just purely out of love. Because sometimes, being free is having the ability or the bravery to choose your own path. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

I started editing and rewriting the first few chapters, mostly fixing typos I somehow missed but also adding some more details so it’s more historically elaborate/accurate. At most I’ll add a couple more scenes, but nothing plot changing, so just a heads up.

Edit: Since some people asked, there might be more chapters coming in the future, but until then this is the ending. It all kind of depends on if I find the time and can think of enough good plot points, so no promises.

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