The Lost Royal

Chapter 1.

The morning sun stretched long shadows across the Tempest's Fortune, casting the deck in hues of amber and gray. Waves slapped rhythmically against the ship's hull as it cut through the dark, endless blue, each shudder a reminder that they were far from land. Life aboard a ship meant living by the sea's rules, adapting to her moods, and knowing that every new dawn carried its own risks and rewards.

G took in the familiar scene from the helm, breathing deeply as the salty air filled his lungs. There was a sense of freedom here—a strange, almost holy feeling he'd never been able to name. Here, on this ship, with this crew, he belonged.

"Captain, if you don't quit sniffing the air like that, I might start thinking you're part dog."

Ice's voice drifted over from his spot at the railing, where he was cleaning his rifle, eyes sharp and steady as he scanned the horizon. At 28, he was the oldest of them, and he carried his age with the weight of a man who had seen too much and yet still craved the thrill of danger. His face held a mix of mischief and exhaustion, a result of sleepless nights spent pacing the deck or lying under the stars, cigarette smoke curling into the dark.

G rolled his eyes, amused. Ice's barbed humor was as much a part of their daily life as the ship's creaking boards. "I'll take it as a compliment, Ice. At least I'm aware of what's coming."

Ice smirked, biting down on his cigarette. "Right. Well, let me know if you sniff out any trouble, Captain. I'll be ready to knock its head off before it even thinks about touching my ship."

G shook his head, letting Ice's words hang in the air, while his gaze drifted to the other side of the deck, where Spencer stood, calmly directing the crew with a steady voice. Spencer was his closest friend, though you wouldn't know it from the way he held himself—calm, reserved, with an air of quiet authority that few dared challenge.

Where Ice was all humor and sharp edges, Spencer was a river stone—smooth, calm, and solid. Spencer's past was still a mystery even to him; fragments of memory returned in flashes, but there was a lingering sense of something larger, something G could never quite put his finger on. He had a natural ease with commands, something that came to him almost without thought, and his effect on the crew was undeniable. They listened to him, respected him, even if they didn't understand the power that thrummed just below his calm surface.

Nearby, Blu worked silently, coiling rope with nimble fingers and a practiced ease that made her look more like a ghost drifting across the deck than a thief. At 19, she was the youngest member of the crew, a thief and gambler who had joined them only a few years ago. Blu rarely spoke, and when she did, it was often in short, precise sentences that gave little away. Her aloofness was her armor, a barrier that kept most of the crew at arm's length. But every so often, G caught her watching Spencer from the corner of her eye, her gaze softening ever so slightly.

"Careful with that line, Blu," Spencer called to her with a gentle smile, and for a moment, the faintest blush crept into her cheeks.

Blu shot him a glare, masking her embarrassment with a look of defiance. "I know how to handle rope, Commander."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, amused. "Of course you do. But it never hurts to be reminded."

Blu huffed, turning back to her work, though G noticed she moved a little more carefully after that. There was something between them, a spark that flickered just under the surface, unspoken but unmistakable. Blu's quiet defiance seemed to soften around Spencer, and he, in turn, found himself smiling more when she was nearby.

Across the deck, Rin sharpened her blade, the rhythmic scraping of steel on stone a familiar sound that comforted and unnerved in equal measure. She was the Crimson Blade, a name she'd earned for her skill with a sword and the cherry red lipstick she wore like armor. Rin was beauty and danger wrapped in one—her sharp gaze could make any man stammer, though Ice was the only one foolish enough to test her patience.