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Chapter Text

The royal vessel, The Golden Tiger, cuts through cerulean waters, its proud crest flapping in the wind. Prince Steve of Hawkins leans against the ship’s railing, the sun kissing his golden skin, his tawny hair tousled by sea breeze.

Just shy of 19, he is every inch the crown prince, beloved by the people for his charm, athletic grace, and effortless warmth. Unlike his father, King Richard, who rules with iron and calculation, Steve is known for his kindness and magnetic smile.

He is headed for the wealthy, provincial island of Maple, to wed Princess Nancy Wheeler, daughter of Grand Duke Theodore IV.

While it is traditional custom for the future king and queen to marry in the grand chapel of the capital city, the queen has insisted the marriage take place on the island, part diplomatic gesture, part precaution. Whispers of unrest in the capital are growing louder with each passing day, fanned by resentment over the king’s punishing trade agreements and ever-rising taxes.

The Queen believes her son will be safer far from the capital.

Prince Steve isn’t traveling alone.

He has two companions aboard the voyage. Jason Carver, his younger cousin, son of the Duke of Loch Nora, stands rigid at his side. Clean-shaven and insufferably smug.

Then there is Tommy Hagan, son of a common-born naval officer, his loud and brash childhood friend.

Having grown up together, Steve and Tommy were closer than brothers once—racing horses through the royal forest, swimming in nearby creeks, and playfully crossing swords through the castle courtyards like knights of old.

But something has shifted.

Two years ago, Tommy left for a tour of the world by sea, as expected of a young man destined for the Royal Navy. He returns with more freckles and scars, sea-worn, broad-shouldered, and full of stories about far-off lands and scandalous affairs.

The closeness he and Steve once shared has thinned.

Tommy’s father, Captain Hagan, is the captain of the Golden Tiger, and Tommy seems to spend more time with his father on the bridge of the ship than lounging with Steve in the prince’s royal quarters.

Still, the three gather together on the ship’s balcony in the afternoons to take advantage of the summer sun and ocean breeze. That afternoon, Tommy has his boots slung up on the rail, spinning tales of southern ports and wild nights.

“You haven’t lived,” Tommy grins, “until you’ve drunk rum from the navel of a southern island girl. I’m telling you, Steve, they’re nothing like the stuck-up ladies of the court. Wild. Free. Insatiable.”

Jason scoffs from behind his wine cup, “You’d bed a donkey if it wore a skirt.”

Tommy snorts. “Spoken like someone saving himself for a frigid bride.”

Jason flushes. “Apologies for being virtuous. Some of us understand restraint. I’m a royal. I can’t go scattering bastards across every continent.”

“You’re hardly a count,” Tommy fires back. “More like a spoiled pageboy with a trust fund.”

“At least I know how to behave like a noble.”

“If by noble you mean pompous twat.”

Steve sighs, trying to hide his amusement. “Enough. Let's not make the whole journey a shouting match.”

Tommy stands, brushing salt from his sleeves. “Think I’ll head to the helm. Check in with my father.”

Steve’s smile falters. “Already?”

Tommy shrugs. “You know how he gets if I’m not around.”

He leaves without looking back.

“That one’s jealous,” Jason says, smoothing his cuffs.

Steve turns. “Of what?”

Jason gives a smug smile. “You, of course. You’re the crown prince, next in line to be king. Who doesn’t want to be king?”

~~~~

That night, Steve finds Tommy standing at the bow, looking out towards the endless sea.

“Tom,” Steve says quietly, stepping beside him. “You alright?”

Tommy doesn’t look at him, but his voice is soft. “I missed you while I was away.”

“I missed you too,” Steve says, meaning it more than he expects. “You left, and it’s like... everything changed.”

“And now here you are, off to marry some princess you've never met,” Tommy says.

“It’s not like I have a choice," Steve mutters. “I’m a prince, my life’s never been mine.”

Tommy finally turns toward him, his gaze sharp and searching. Silence stretches between them.

Then, Tommy leans in, hesitantly... and tries to kiss him.

Steve pulls back, startled. “Tom—”

“Sorry.” Tommy looks away. “Forget it. It was stupid.”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t come.

~~~~

The next morning, Steve is woken by rough hands and cold steel. Soldiers—loyal not to the crown but to House Carver—bind his wrists and gag him before he can cry out.

Jason stands nearby, calm and composed.

“I’m sorry, cousin,” he says. “Truly. But the world needs change, and change begins with sacrifice.”

Steve struggles, furious, confused.

“You won’t be harmed,” Jason continues. “For now.”

The last thing Steve sees before a sack is thrown over his head is Tommy, standing behind the guards, face unreadable.

~~~~

They travel for two days. Bound, gagged, and blindfolded, Steve can only listen—snippets of sailor banter, the creak of timbers, the crash of waves. On the second night, while pretending to sleep, he overhears a drunken crewman slur, “Skull Rock by dawn—aye.”

Steve’s breath catches.

Skull Rock Island.

He’s heard the rumors; A lawless outpost carved into volcanic cliffs, crawling with smugglers, slavers, mercenaries, and pirates. A place where decency dies and debauchery reigns free.

When the sack is finally yanked from his head, sunlight stabs his eyes. He squints against it and finds himself on warped docks rising from jagged black rock. At their base sprawls a riot of driftwood buildings, hanging nets, and crooked chimneys. The whole place smells of smoke and rot, sin and greed.

Steve barely has time to take it in before he is dragged off the boat and into the crowd. His wrists are still bound, his fine clothes stripped and replaced with rough cotton.

 Still, he carries himself like a prince. Head high, shoulders square, jaw set.

It doesn’t go unnoticed.

At the heart of the port city stands a wide wooden stage hung with chains and ropes. The auction block.

Steve is forced up, his arms stretched above him and tied. His shirt is torn open. His chest rises and falls with each tight breath, every muscle locked in fury and fear.

“Behold!” the auctioneer bellows. “A rare find. Strong. Well-bred. Worth more than gold.”

The crowd surges.

“Looks soft to me,” someone shouts.

“I’ll take him for a bed warmer!” another hollers, followed by roars of laughter.

Steve flushes with shame. Heart hammering as he yanks at the ropes, but they don’t budge.

The auctioneer smirks. “Let’s start the bidding, shall we?”

The crowd jeers, catcalls, and shouts obscene bids. The auction becomes a show, and Steve, red-faced and gagged, is the main attraction.

Just as Steve feels his breath fraying—

A new voice, calm and cold.

“Ten thousand sovereigns,” it says. “I’ll take the slave.”

Silence falls and The crowd parts.

A man swaggers forward. Tall and slender, wrapped in dark sea-leather with silver rings on his fingers and a cutlass slung low on his hip.

“I’ll take him,” he says, voice smooth and amused. “No questions asked.”

The auctioneer’s smile falters. “You got coin, Munson?”

The man tilts his head.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Smoke bombs burst. Blades flash. Screams tear through the square as a dozen masked figures surge in from the crowd. Pirates, fast and brutal. In the chaos, the mysterious man cuts Steve free with a swift swipe of his blade, hoists him into his arms, and vanishes into the haze.

Steve hardly has time to realize what’s happening before an overwhelmingly noxious smell dulls his senses and lulls his eyes to close.

“Sorry about this,” he hears the man say before losing consciousness.

~~~~

Steve wakes to the sea’s sway.

Alone in a narrow cabin, walls bare save for a coiled rope in the corner, he rubs the raw skin on his wrists.  He’s been freed from his bonds, but still feels trapped. Salt thickens the air. Moonlight pools through slatted windows.

Outside, footsteps.

Steve creeps to the door.

“You’re sure?” A voice, smooth and clipped. The man from the auction.

“I’d bet my last breath, Captain. That boy’s Prince Steve Harrington, the crown prince of Hawkins. I saw him at court. Three summers back.”

Steve’s breath catches.

“What’s the crown prince doing trussed up for auction on Skull Rock?” asks the man—the captain of the ship, no doubt.

“Last I heard, he was sailing to The Island of Maple. Marriage arrangement. Maybe the ship was ambushed.”

“By who?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? King Richard’s made plenty of enemies. But someone bold enough to commit treason like this?”

The captain lets out a quiet, amused breath, almost a laugh.

“So?” the other man presses. “What do we do with him?”

“I’m not sure there’s a plan,” the captain murmurs.

Then, the door opens.

Steve scrambles back.

The captain steps in; His handsome, dimpled face surrounded by dark, wind-swept curls, a faint scar over one brow, lips curled in a cocky smirk.

 “Rough day?” He asks, casually

Steve glares.

The mysterious man offers a mocking bow. “I’m  Eddie Munson, Captain of this here ship, the Hellfire. Pirate. Smuggler. Disgrace to polite society.” His smirk deepens. “And apparently, your rescuer.”

Steve stares. He’s heard tale of the infamous Captain Munson, terror of the high seas. If rumors are true, he only has more bad luck to come.

Steve narrows his eyes. “Rescuer? Is that what kidnapping’s called now?”

“Kidnapping implies intent. I was improvising.”

“Why? Why help me?”

Eddie’s grin deepens. “What if I told you I had a thing for pretty boys in distress—in need of a dashing hero to save them?”

Steve bristles. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s lucky you ended up with me. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Steve says nothing.

“Suit yourself,” Eddie says, then softer: “There’s hot water in the captain’s quarters. You might want to clean yourself up. You look like hell.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie opens the door and leans lazily against the frame. “Suit yourself, sweetheart.”

The pirate captain vanishes into the corridor.

Steve hesitates. Then follows.

~~~~

The captain’s quarters are warm and dimly lit. Rich with firelight and the scent of citrus and herbs. Shelves line the walls with tightly rolled maps and books with cracked leather spines. A brass telescope rests by the window, overlooking the moonlit sea. Near the hearth lies a clean linen shirt and trousers, and a copper tub steams invitingly.

“I don’t bite,” Eddie says, leaning against the wall. His coat hangs open, collar loose, revealing the edge of a tattoo that curls down his collarbone and vanishes beneath his shirt. The firelight dances along his jawline, catching the glint of a silver ring on his thumb.

His dark eyes gleam in the firelight, watching Steve with quiet intensity.

Steve crosses his arms. “Trying to soften me with fine shirts and a warm bath?”

“Royalty likes comfort, no?”

“Did you know who I was? When you took me?”

“I suspected you were noble-born, not the crown prince of Hawkins” Eddie replies.

“So now what? Ransom me? Parade me through ports as your prize?”

“Haven’t decided. But you’re not a prisoner.”

Steve scoffs. “I don’t remember choosing this.”

Eddie steps closer, voice low. “Would you rather I’d left you on that auction block? You think they’d have sold you off to some merchant who’d let you ride away into the sunset?”

Steve looks away.

“That was mercy,” Eddie says. “Skull Rock doesn’t offer much of it.”

Steve’s jaw tightens. “If that was mercy, I’d hate your cruelty.”

Eddie smirks. “I don’t know, darling. You might like it.”

The heat in Steve’s chest surprises him. An unwanted flush rises in his cheeks.

Eddie passes close, scent of leather and peppermint lingering. “I’ll leave you some privacy—unless you want a hand undressing.”

“I’ll manage,” he bites out, catching his breath.

A slow, deliberate pause. “Pity.”

Then the door clicks shut behind him.

~~~~

Steve sinks slowly into the bath, the heat wrapping around his aching limbs like a balm. His muscles sigh in relief, the knots in his back unraveling for the first time in days. He scrubs himself clean, fingers lingering on the raw, reddened skin on his wrists and ankles. He lets his head fall back and simply breathes.

By the time the water cools, Eddie hasn’t returned. Instead, there’s a knock.

A young cabin boy steps in and sets a tray on the desk: bread, roasted vegetables, cheese, and wine. A note lies beneath the knife.

“From the Captain,” the boy murmurs before slipping out.

Steve dries off, dresses in the soft linen clothes left out for him, and pads barefoot to the desk. The note is penned in a loose, elegant hand:

      Didn’t want to disturb you. You’ve earned a quiet night, Your Highness. Eat. Rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.
—E.M.

That night, he sleeps soundly on the captain’s plush four-poster bed, lulled by the Hellfire’s easy sway.

~~~~

Morning brings pale light and no Eddie.

Steve steps onto the deck. The air stills. Crew members pause mid-task, eyeing him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. 

A stern-faced man steps forward, sizing Steve up with clear disapproval. "This the royal?" he says unimpressed.

Before the silence can stretch further, a heavyset, ruddy-cheeked man cuts in with an easy grin. He offers a half-bow, one hand resting on the hilt of a kitchen knife tucked into his belt.

Jeff, the serious one, is introduced as second-in-command.

The cheerful man calls himself Freak, “Cook. Quartermaster. Scoundrel. Need something? I can find it or steal it."

A quiet boy steps forward next, barely older than sixteen, with kind, steady eyes and callused hands. He introduces himself as Gareth. “I mend sails and keep watch," he says.

Steve nods.

Then another crewman steps forward. He is overdressed for a pirate, though his coat frays at the seams.

“Lucas,” he says quickly.

Steve narrows his eyes. “Do I know you?”

“I was an esquire at court once. Helped run the summer games a few years ago. You won most of them.”

Steve tilts his head.

“From the house Sinclair?”

“You remember.”

“You knocked over three dukes.”

“Said I was sorry.”

Finally, a short boy with a head full of curls and a too-wide-grin steps forward. Dustin is apparently the brains of the ship, and not shy about it.

“Delightful, aren’t they?” Eddie appears, coat billowing. His wild hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few strands falling across his cheek. “Come. Let me show you around.”

Steve follows, wary.

~~~~

The ship is tight, well-run. Eddie points out the galley, armory, the small but cozy library inside the crew’s quarters. “Dustin insisted we have a place to read and keep books.”  He leads him to the navigation room at the top of the ship. Steve lets himself laugh at the captain’s dry humor, noticing Eddie watching when he does.

“So, what pirate adventure awaits the Hellfire crew?” Steve asks.

Eddie smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. And I don’t want to kill you.”

Steve meets the jest with a steady gaze. “ what do you want to do with me?”

Eddie pauses, eyes dragging over him. “Plenty I want to do with you.”

Steve raises a brow. 

Eddie looks away, the heat in his gaze replaced with restraint. “Unfortunately, temptation rarely makes for sound decisions.”

Steve isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or relieved.

Eddie clears his throat. “I think it prudent to… mull things over. Weigh my options. Might help if I had a little more context. Like how a pampered prince ended up a slave on Skull Rock?”

Steve stays silent. If Eddie knows the truth—that Jason Carver, heir to one of the most powerful houses in the realm, staged a coup and partnered with the royal navy—he might refuse to get involved. It would mean taking sides in a dangerous war.

And Steve still doesn’t know how far the coup reaches. Is his father alive? Have they targeted his mother too?

He has to be strategic if he doesn’t want to end up tossed overboard, Eddie finishing the job Jason set for him.

Eddie notices the pause. “Still deciding who to trust?”

Steve nods once.

“Fair. Just know: this ship runs smoother without secrets.”

“It was generous of you, Captain, to lend me your quarters last night,” Steve says, changing the subject.

“They’re yours while you’re here.”

Steve studies him. “And you? Surely you’ll miss the comfort of your bed?”

Eddie smiles. “I have no problem sleeping under the stars.”

“And you expect nothing in return?”

Eddie hesitates. “No.”

~~~~

That night, Steve can’t sleep. His mind keeps drifting back to the ruggedly handsome face of Captain Eddie.

Wide awake, he creeps down to the lower deck. From the galley, low voices:

“Wrap him up, send a note. ‘Dear King, send gold,’” Freak drawls.

Dustin snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure the crown loves ransom letters.”

Jeff’s voice is sharp. “We keep him, we’re a target. The sooner we sell him, the better.”

Lucas finally leans forward, tapping his fingers on the table. “There’s another way.”

Everyone looks up.

“Maple Island,” Lucas says. “The Grand Duke. He’s invested in the marriage. Wants the prince alive and safely married to his daughter. We use my contacts there, make it quiet. Controlled. We get paid and no one sends a warship after us.”

“Didn’t you burn those bridge?” Freak asks.

“Not all of them,” Lucas mutters.

“It’s still a risk,” Jeff growls. “He’s a symbol. That crown drags a kingdom behind it.”

Finally Eddie cuts in: “He’s a bargaining chip.”

Dustin coughs pointedly. “Sure, Captain. Totally detached. Not at all protective of the prince you rescued and stashed in your quarters.”

“Shut it, Dustin,” Eddie mutters.

Freak grins. “He is pretty.”

“He changes things. And I see how you look at him,” Jeff says.

Eddie’s voice drops quiet. “Be careful, Jeff. He’s under my protection.”

Steve slips away. 

~~~~

Later that night, he creeps toward the longboat. He’s decided that he wants to be the one to decide his future, not this ragtag team of pirates. He’s decided to make his escape.

A voice behind him: “You’re not a very good thief.”

Dustin leans against a barrel, amused.

“Planning to row home? Bold.”

Steve mutters, “Let me drown.”

“Eddie saved you. Doesn’t mean you owe him. But don’t spit on it.”

Steve stares out at the sea. “I didn’t ask to be rescued.”

Dustin shrugs. “Maybe not. But you’re here now. Might want to figure out what to do with that second chance.”

~~~~

After a few days, Steve begins to find his place among the crew. He throws himself into the strenuous work. Hauling ropes, swabbing decks, climbing rigging until his arms burn. It earns him nods of respect, a few muttered jokes, and, eventually, most of the crew begins treating him like one of their own.

Eddie, however, keeps his distance, but Steve often catches him watching. From across the deck. From the stairs to the helm. His gaze never lingering long, but it is there. Sharp and unreadable.

Dustin takes to him the quickest. The boy is all curly hair and swagger, barely older than fourteen but sharp-tongued and fearless, always slinging clever jabs as they work side by side.

“How did you end up on the Hellfire, anyway?” Steve asks one afternoon. “You seem a little young to be a pirate.”

Dustin flashes a grin. “Eddie took me in. I was a dock rat outside Cornwallis. My dad died when I was small, and my mum… she did her best. But we were always one bad week from losing everything.”

He wipes his hands on his trousers and shrugs. “Eddie showed up one day, asked me to carry some crates. Paid me double what they were worth. Then he kept coming back. Gave me coin, made sure we had food on the table. Never said what he did for a living, but I figured it out quick enough.”

“And your mother was alright with it?”

“She didn’t ask questions. She was just glad someone gave a damn.” Dustin glances out toward the sea, his smirk returning. “Eventually I asked if I could come with him. Thought he’d say no. Instead, he taught me how to tie a knot and handed me a knife. Eddie has a habit of gathering misfits.”

Steve nods, looking around at the ragtag crew. Eddie, it seems, is full of surprises.

Eventually, Steve asks Dustin where they were headed.

“Supply run,” the boy say with a lopsided grin. “Mirkwood”

~~~~

Mirkwood forest  emerges from thick, ominous fog. Towering trees loom along the shoreline, their trunks darkened by damp, their twisted branches swallowed by mist.

The Hellfire slips quietly into a hidden cove, gliding toward a half-rotted dock choked with overgrown vines, forgotten and reclaimed by the forest.

“Place gives me the creeps,” Freak mutters.

“She’ll be waiting,” Eddie says under his breath.

“Who?” Steve asks.

“My lady,” Lucas says, unable to hide the grin tugging at his face. “Max.”

Eddie shoots him a look. “She sent word a few weeks back—there’s a merchant fleet anchoring here. Shady lot. They’ve been hoarding medical supplies and selling them to sick townsfolk at five times their worth.”

“Bandits protected by the Law,” Dustin adds.

“And she wants us to help steal from them?” Steve asks.

“She wants the cargo,” Eddie says, grim. “We want a piece. So here we are.”

Steve watches as a red-headed pirate emerges. Her hair pulled back into a loose braid, her leather coat is patched, and her knee-high boots look well-worn. She has a pistol attached to her hip.

“Took your sweet time,” she calls, folding her arms. All attitude and swagger.

“Good to see you too, Red,” Eddie says, sweeping into a dramatic bow.

But the woman’s attention shifts the moment Lucas steps forward.

“You came,” she says, her grin now entirely different. Warm. certain.

“For you? Always,” he answers.

She crosses to him in three strides, curls her fingers into his shirt, and kisses him hard. “I missed you,” she whispers.

Eddie clears his throat, loudly. “Lovely reunion, really. But we’ve got a merchant to rob, or did that slip your mind?”

Max pulls back and looks over the crew, eyes sharp again. Then she sees Steve.

“Well, well,” she drawls, a wicked little smirk tugging at her lips. “That one’s new. Where’d you dredge him up?”

“Nowhere,” Eddie replies quickly, a little too quickly, stepping just slightly in front of Steve like a reflex. “Just a deckhand from the mainland.”

Max lifts a brow, clearly amused. “Mmhmm. Bit too pretty for a pirate, isn’t he?”

“I’m a pirate,” Lucas cuts in, mock-offended. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

“The prettiest,” Max says without missing a beat, and Lucas beams.

“I just mean,” she goes on, eyeing Steve again, “he’s got soft hands and styled hair. Not what I’d expect from the Hellfire ’s band of degenerates.”

Steve self-consciously runs a hand through his hair, disrupting the neat wave he’d carefully combed that morning.

Max’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “So, has Eddie tried to kiss you yet? Or is he still playing the gentleman?”

Eddie’s face flushes, and he shoots her a sharp warning. “Max.”

She just grins, sharp and teasing. “Relax. I’m only trying to size up the new blood.”

With a playful smirk, she turns away, slipping back toward Lucas.

Steve leans close to Eddie and murmurs, “She’s… intense.”

Eddie shakes his head with a wry smile. “You have no idea.”

~~~~

“Any news from Hawkins?” Eddie asks the redhead once the crew settles onto land.

Max shrugs. “Not much. Just some nonsense about a royal ship being ambushed. Prince gone missing — presumed dead.” Her gaze slides to Steve with suspicion.

Steve goes still. Blood drains from his face, but he keeps his expression blank.

“Really?” Eddie says.

“Mm.” Max stretches. “No one knows who attacked. Or they’re pretending not to. The court’s blaming the usual suspects.”

“Pirates,” Eddie says.

“Of course,” she replies. “Always us. Some cousin of the prince’s claims he fought off a dozen invaders. Says they were after him, too. But somehow  the prince went overboard in all the chaos. No body, no crown. Just a ghost.”

Steve’s chest tightens. Fury flares hot in his ribs. Cowards, liars, every last one of them.

“The king’s losing his mind,” Max adds. “The nobles are scrambling. It’s a mess.”

Eddie blows out a breath. “Sounds like we haven’t missed much while out at sea.”

~~~~

That night, the crew gathers around the bonfire—Max, Eddie, Lucas, Jeff, Freak, Gareth, Dustin, and Steve. Max kneels in the dirt, sketching out a rough map of the merchant ship and docks. The plan comes together quickly: strike at dusk, hit fast, get out clean.

She divides the teams, assigning roles with efficiency. When her eyes land on Steve, she points, “You’re with me,” she says. “Know how to use a blade?”

Before Steve can answer, Eddie steps in, voice hard. “He stays on the ship.”

Max raises a brow. “He looks more than capable to me.”

Steve meets Eddie’s gaze. “I want to help.”

 Tension snaps between them as Eddie tightens his jaw, but ultimately the captain cuts Max a deferential look and  nods.

~~~~

Just as planned Steve follows Max through the shadows at dusk. Her blade slips across the first guard’s throat without a sound. She gestures him forward, and he vaults over crates toward the cargo hold.

Inside are barrels stacked high with medicine, food, and tools. Goods hoarded in order to inflate their prices. 

Then—
A gunshot.
A flare bursts above the docks, painting everything red.

“It’s a trap!” Jeff shouts from somewhere above.

Armed mercenaries surge from the shadows. These are no drunken dockhands. They move like soldiers, trained and prepared. 

The merchant captain strides onto the deck, pistol gleaming in the torchlight. His voice rings out, commanding and cruel.

"Well, well. If it isn’t the infamous Hellfire crew." His gaze fixes on Eddie. "The outlaw, Eddie Munson, has a bounty on his head in thirteen counties. Bring him in, and we’ll all be heroes."

Eddie doesn’t hesitate. He charges into the fight, blade flashing, movements swift and fluid. For a moment, he’s unstoppable, cutting through the mercenaries with ruthless precision.

Then someone lands a heavy blow to the back of his head. 

Eddie drops, hard.

Steve doesn’t hesitate.

He dives into the fight, pushing through the chaos to reach Eddie, cutting down a mercenary on the way. Eddie’s half-conscious, blood on his temple. Steve hauls him up.

“Move,” he growls, dragging them both toward cover.

Above, Max fires a shot, then hurls a flash-powder bomb onto the deck. Smoke erupts, thick and choking.

“Now!” she shouts.

The crew retreats through the haze, dragging stolen supplies behind them. Fire licks the rigging as they flee. The Hellfire pulls away from the dock just in time.

But as they clear the cove, another merchant ship appears in pursuit, sails full, guns ready.

~~~~

“Brace!” Jeff shouts, grabbing the wheel as cannon fire splits the air. The shot goes wide, but not by much. Spray and shrapnel pepper the deck.

“They’re chasing us?” Gareth gasps. “How the hell did they rig that ship so fast?”

“Because they knew we were coming,” Eddie growls, blood slick down one temple. He rounds on Max. “You said this was clean!”

“It was,” she snaps, reloading her pistol. “I scouted it myself. quiet crew, unguarded manifest. They must’ve been tipped off.” Her eyes narrow. “And it’s not my fault your face is plastered on every wanted wall from Hess Farms to Lovers Lake.”

“Maybe if you’d warned me—”

Its not my fault that being you is such a liability?” she shoots back.

“Enough!” Jeff barks. “We’ve got company!”

Another cannonball tears through the water off the port side.

Eddie swears and limps to the quarterdeck. “Freak! Gareth! Rig the bombs. Jeff, wind hard north, we’ll take them through the teeth.”

“The teeth?” Steve echoes.

“Sharp rocks, narrow passage. They’ll have to follow or back off.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a rope and runs to help Gareth. Wind tears at his coat, and the Hellfire groans as it leans into the turn.

The merchant ship follows.

Too close.

At Eddie’s signal, Freak lights the fuses.

Three.
Two.
One.

Boom.

The sea explodes behind them. Fire and water surge skyward as jagged rock tears through the merchant ship’s hull. One final cannon blast rips wide before the ship is swallowed by smoke and flame.

Silence.
Then cheering.

But Steve doesn’t cheer. He runs.

He finds Eddie slumped near the helm, trying to bind a deep gash in his thigh. His hand slips, blood dark against his fingers.

“Let me,” Steve says, dropping to his knees.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Steve takes the cloth, presses it hard against the wound. Eddie flinches but doesn’t pull away. “You’ve got a concussion too. Idiot.”

Eddie huffs something like a laugh, then winces. “You fight well. For a spoiled prince,” he adds.

Steve shrugs, avoiding his eyes. “You were about to die.”

“You shouldn’t have come for me,” Eddie says softly.

Steve’s hands linger one heartbeat longer on the bandage. Then the captain stands up, stepping back into the shadows of the crew.

~~~~

By morning, Max is gone.

Steve spots her first, rowing away in one of the lifeboats, sails barely lit in the pink edge of dawn. The boat sags under the weight of stolen silver and sealed crates. She doesn’t look back.

“Son of a bitch,” Eddie mutters beside him, arms crossed. “She took more than her cut.”

Lucas leans over the rail, watching the tiny figure shrink. “She always leaves like that,” he says, a little too fondly.

“She always robs us blind, too,” Eddie shoots back, but there’s no real heat in it. He almost smiles. “Can’t say I blame her.”

~~~~

That night, Steve finds Eddie stretched out on the upper deck, where he’s been sleeping since giving up his quarters. 

The stars blaze above them, and for once, the sea is still. 

Eddie lies half-reclined on a coil of rope, shirt open and a bandage stark against his side.

Steve hovers, uncertain. Since arriving, the captain has kept a maddening distance.

But Eddie looks over, the corners of his mouth tugging up in that crooked, knowing smile. “Can’t sleep, your majesty?” he drawls, then pats the space beside him.

Steve swallows and obeys, lowering himself onto the deck beside the captain.

A long moment passes before Eddie lifts an arm, pointing lazily toward the heavens. “See that cluster there? That’s Perseus. Slayer of monsters. Favorite of the gods.”

His finger traces the stars, and Steve’s gaze follows. “And that—just there—is Andromeda. His tragic beauty.”

“I’m vaguely familiar with the story,” Steve murmurs. “What’s that star?” he asks.

“Algol,” Eddie replies, lips quirking. “The Demon Star.”

Steve tilts his head. “How do you know all of this?”

“What, did they not teach astronomy at prince school?”

“They might have,” Steve says with a small laugh. “I wasn’t exactly a model student.”

Eddie gives a short bark of laughter. “Me neither,” he says, “not that I got much of an education as the son of a noted drunk and petty thief.”

“Hmm, that how you ended up in this trade?”

“Not really,” Eddie says, voice distant. “He vanished when I was nine. My uncle tried to set me straight. Took me to work with him at the forge, long days, no trouble.”

“And yet,” Steve says, “here you are, a pirate.”

Eddie turns to look at him, his expression unreadable. “Here I am,” he echoes.

Steve lets his voice drop. “Will you teach me?”

Eddie raises a brow. “Teach you what?”

“How to be a pirate.”

At that, Eddie laughs. “No, darling. I’m not going to teach you piracy.” He shifts closer, voice low. “But I can teach you… other things.”

His hand brushes a lock of hair from Steve’s face, lingering just a little too long.

Steve’s pulse thrums in his throat.

“I’m not a virgin, you know,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Eddie’s smile turns sharp and slow. “Didn’t say you were. I just doubt the shy little court maidens had any idea what they were doing with you.”

The words spark heat in Steve’s chest. He leans in, their faces close. “And you’d know what to do with me, Captain?”

Eddie’s breath hitches as Steve laces their fingers together. For a beat, he just stares like he can’t believe this is happening. Then he grins.

“Aye.”

He kisses him.

It’s not tentative. Eddie kisses like a man starved. Like he’s wanted this for far too long. One hand slides to the back of Steve’s neck, the other still gripping his. Steve makes a quiet, surprised sound, then kisses back, mouth parting, fingers twisting in Eddie’s coat.

Heat flares low in Steve’s belly.

Eddie groans, deepening the kiss. His hand moves into Steve’s hair, and Steve leans into it, breath shaky.

“You’ve no idea what you do to me,” Eddie whispers, voice rough.

Steve opens his eyes, lips flushed. “I think I’ve got some idea,” he murmurs, glancing at the heat between them. The unmistakable ache of it.

Eddie’s breath stutters. Steve smiles. Bold and boyish all at once. “Come back to your cabin?”

Eddie swears under his breath.“Gods, you’re a fool,” he says, barely audible.

Steve looks at him, wide-eyed, waiting.

And Eddie leads the way.

~~~~

 Inside, the door clicks shut behind them. 

The room is dimly lit, the sway of the ship casting shadows across the floor. 

Steve makes his way to the bed and sinks into it with lazy grace, reclining like a royal courtesan awaiting command. He stretches out languidly, hands resting above his head, a smirk playing on his lips.

Eddie lingers by the door for a beat, eyes locked on him like a predator sighting prey. 

Slowly, deliberately, he begins unfastening his blouse, shrugging it off to reveal pale, inked skin stretched over lean, taut muscle. 

Steve watches, breath caught somewhere in his throat.

Eddie arches a brow, lips curling. “Like what you see, your highness?”

Steve’s eyes gleam. “None of that 'your highness'  tonight,” he murmurs.

“Oh?” Eddie crosses the space in a few steps and climbs onto the bed, straddling him with practiced ease. The tension between them vibrates.

“Tonight,” Steve says, voice husky, “you’re the one in charge, Captain. I’m your prisoner, remember?”

Eddie’s smile turns wicked as he leans down, their lips almost touching. “Careful, princeling,” he murmurs. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

Then he dips down, capturing Steve’s mouth in a kiss that is slower this time. His hands slide up Steve’s arms, pinning them against the mattress.

Steve shivers beneath him, his pulse thrumming at his throat. He tilts his chin, exposing it shamelessly, daring Eddie to take what he wants.

“Gods,” he whispers to the dark. “You’re going to ruin me.”

~~~~

Steve wakes slowly, warmth pooled in the rumpled sheets beside him, sunlight pouring in through the grand windows of the Captain’s room. Disappointment tugs at his chest when he realizes he is alone.

 There is a  tray of breakfast left near the bed. Bread still warm, a wedge of cheese, tea. He smiles despite himself.  He stretches, muscles sore in the best way. His skin still tingles in the places Eddie touched—his lips, his throat, the curve of his hip. 

The memories come back slowly: Eddie’s mouth, hot and possessive;  rough, greedy hands holding him down and  opening him up, making sure to leave marks on his body. His calloused fingers gripping his neck, roughly pulling his hair. Calling him a good boy as Steve submitted to his control. The way he had looked at Steve like he was something rare,  precious.

He had never been so thoroughly possessed and destroyed. 

Steve’s had lovers before. Courtiers, nobles, flings at festivals. But none like that. None like Eddie.

He dresses quickly, runs a hand through his hair, and climbs up to the deck. The morning air is bright, salt-crisp. The crew is busy but relaxed; patching sails, laughing, shouting to one another across the rigging.

“Captain around?” Steve asks as he approaches the helm.

Gareth shrugs. “Locked up in the navigation room, I think..” He grins. “Won’t let anyone go in there if they’re wet.”

Steve nods, trying not to look too eager—or too disappointed. “Right. Thanks.”

He doesn’t go to the navigation room. Part of him wants to. But another part, bruised and uncertain, holds him back. Maybe Eddie just needs space. Maybe he’s avoiding him. Steve doesn’t know which is worse.

The day drags. Meals come and go. Steve sees the crew, but Eddie is conspicuously absent.

That night, he’s alone in the captain’s quarters. The room is haunted by Eddie’s spicy cologne. Steve sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, chewing the inside of his cheek. The mattress still carries the indent from where Eddie had laid.

Was it just the one night?

He tells himself not to care. He tells himself it didn’t matter that much.

He lies.

The door opens.

Eddie steps inside, coat still on, eyes unreadable.

Steve sits up straighter, his heart kicking. “Hey,” he says quietly. “I didn’t see you all day.”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away. He closes the door, moves stiffly to the far side of the room, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

Something’s changed.

“I’ve been with the crew,” Eddie says finally, voice flat. “We’ve made a decision.”

Steve stands slowly. “What decision?”

Eddie looks at him then—cold, careful. “We’re taking you to Maple, we’ve got to stop on Lipton Island for supplies first, but we should have you

safe with House Wheeler in a fortnight.”

The words land like stone.

“I’m sure your betrothed will be happy to know you’re still alive.”

Steve feels something cave in his chest. “You’re serious?”

Eddie nods once. “Aye.”

“So… that’s it?” Steve says, trying to keep his voice steady. “You fuck me and then ship me off to dry land?”

Eddie flinches. “It’s what’s best.”

Steve swings his legs over the side, refusing to look at him. “Right. That’s all I ever was to you. Just some royal cargo to trade off.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No?” Steve looks up now, eyes glittering. “Then what would you call it? Because from where I’m sitting, last night looks an awful lot like a lapse in judgment.”

Eddie’s jaw ticks. “It was a mistake.”

That hits like a slap.

Steve laughs bitterly. “You’re right,” he snaps. “I should never have stooped so low as to lay with a filthy pirate. What would the court think? Rolling around with a mangy, half-literate criminal with a warrant in every port. How humiliating for me.”

Something in Eddie flickers—hunger, heat, the fraying edge of control. “Careful, sweetheart.”

“Why?” Steve’s voice drips sugar and venom. “Afraid I’ll bruise your ego? Or are you just turned on when I talk down to you?”

Eddie takes a step forward. “What I meant,” he says, voice low and rough, “was that last night was a mistake, not because I regret it, but because now I can’t stop wanting you. And if I let myself keep you, I’ll never let you go. But you– you’re a prince. You belong on a throne, not in a pirate’s bed.”

Steve scoffs. “Don’t pretend this is noble. You only care about yourself.”

Eddie grabs his wrist, backing him into the wall in one swift motion. His voice is low, tight with restraint. “You’re being a brat.”

Steve smirks, all venom and heat. “Oh no,” he mocks. “What are you gonna do about it? Punish me?”

“You think this is a game?” Eddie growls.

Steve tilts his head, challenging. “Isn’t it?”

Eddie’s hand curls around Steve’s throat; not choking, but firm. Possessive. “I’m not scared of you” Steve whispers, eyes glittering.

“You should be.”

Steve gasps, biting back a moan as Eddie yanks open the laces of his shirt with a sharp tug. “You’re such a spoiled little thing,” Eddie says, voice thick with desire. “Begging for attention like a bored royal who’s never heard ‘no’ in his life.”

Then Eddie’s mouth crashes against his; hungry, bruising, all teeth and fury. He doesn’t kiss like someone seeking comfort. He kisses like a man breaking rules.

Eddie lifts him, effortless, breathless, and throws him down onto the bed. His weight follows, pinning Steve beneath him in one swift motion.

“Still want to be punished?” he growls into Steve’s ear.

Steve’s laughter is breathless now, cracking under the heat. “Depends,” he pants. “Are you finally gonna stop talking about it and do it?”

Eddie’s hands are everywhere, rough, demanding, “Brat,” he hisses.

“Pirate,” Steve spits back.

Their mouths crash together again. Less like lovers, more like war.

Later, they lie tangled in sweat-damp sheets, the cabin dim with moonlight.

Eddie brushes hair from Steve’s face, his touch unexpectedly tender. “You should be wrapped in silk,” he murmurs. “Dripping with jewels. Worshipped like the king you are.”

Steve’s throat tightens. He wants to say I don’t need all of that. I just want you. But he doesn’t.

“You’re right, I need to go back,” he says instead. “To the kingdom. It’s time.”

Eddie is quiet for a long moment. Then he nods.

“We still have a few more days together,” Steve sighs

“Well, then let’s not waste them.”

~~~~

They spend the next two days tangled in the captain’s quarters. Eddie takes him again and again, in every way possible. Steve loses track of time, of reason. He tries not to think of Hawkins, of the political chaos the Carvers have stirred in their climb to power.

And then there’s his bride-to-be.

A marriage to her would seal powerful alliances. Secure the future. But that imagined life feels dim now, faded in the bed of a pirate.

Still, he tells himself not to get too comfortable. This is temporary. Just sex.

He repeats it when Eddie pulls him close afterward, when he murmurs nonsense against Steve’s skin, soft and half-asleep, like a lullaby.

But the truth sits heavy in his chest.
 

~~~~

When they near the shores of Lipton Isle, the sunlight hits too hard. It crashes over him like a wave, shattering every fragile illusion he’s built.

The island bursts with life; lush palms, golden sand, a port brimming with color and sound. It’s beautiful. Overwhelming. Almost magical. 

At the rail, Eddie stands beside him, arms crossed, wind in his hair.

“Looks like paradise,” Steve says, quieter than intended. He turns toward Eddie, leans in for a kiss.

But Eddie steps back. A shadow flits across his face.

“Please don’t hate me, my dear,” he says, voice low and strained. “It’s best we keep things... cordial. While we’re on the island.”

Something twists  in Steve’s chest. He nods. “I understand,” 

Jeff joins them at the rail. “Rick meeting us at the docks?”

“Who’s Rick?” Steve asks.

Eddie’s jaw tightens. “An old friend.” A pause. “Just a word of caution. Keep your wits about old Rick. He might seem like a jolly old fellow, but he’s  only loyal to himself.”

Rick is already waiting when they dock. Weathered skin, glittering rings, a beard beaded with shells. He opens his arms wide.

“Eddie, you bastard,” he crows. “Still breathing?”

“Disappointing, I know,” Eddie mutters, letting Rick pull him into a rough embrace.

As they walk, Rick lowers his voice. “You hear the news from Hawkins?”

Eddie shrugs, keeps a neutral face. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“Oh, so you know the Carvers are pushing Jason as heir now that the crown prince’s been declared MIA. But the king  isn’t having it. There’s talk of civil war.”

Eddie nods. Steve swallows.

Rick’s gaze slides to Steve, curious. “And this? A new treasure?”

“No one,” Eddie answers too quickly. “Deckhand.”

Rick doesn’t press, but something sharp flickers behind his smile.

“Well,” he says, “you all look like you could use more than sea air. Drinks. Food. The best Lipton Isle has to offer. You’re with me tonight.”

He leads them through winding streets to a sun-bleached tavern tucked beneath the palms. The owner greets him like kin. Soon the crew is sprawled around long tables, laughter loud, mugs overflowing, plates piled with grilled fruit, sticky rice, and fire-spiced roots that burn all the way down.

Music starts up from the corner. It’s fast, bright, alive. Women in gauzy wraps dance seductively between tables, pulling sailors to their feet.

Steve, flushed and loose with drink, lets a dark eyed dancer tug him onto the floor. She spins him in dizzy circles, and Steve, ever charming, moves with an easy grace, caught in the heat and rhythm of the room.

When he glances back toward the table, Eddie is watching.
He’s not smiling.
He’s not drinking.
He’s just watching.

Later, when the music slows, Steve slips outside, barefoot on warm sand. The sea murmurs close. He breathes in salt and wind.

Footsteps crunch behind him. He doesn’t need to turn.

“You seemed to be having fun,” Eddie says lightly. Too lightly. “Didn’t know you were a dancer.”

Steve smirks. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“She liked you,” Eddie adds, voice tight. “That girl you were with.”

“You jealous?”

Eddie’s mouth twitches. “Of course I am. I don’t share well.”

Steve lets out a bitter laugh. “Since we’re being cordial on the island, I didn’t think it mattered who I danced with.”

Eddie flinches like he’s been slapped. His jaw locks.

“Right,” he says, flat. “My mistake.”

He turns on his heel and disappears into the city.

Steve watches him go, gut twisting. He doesn’t follow.

He wishes, more than anything , they could stay here. Just the two of them. Their own little paradise on earth.

A moment later, Rick appears. His face is friendly, but his eyes are ancient and sharp.

“You must be something special,” he says, glancing after Eddie. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

Steve swallows. “Like what?”

“In love. Completely. Head over heels.”

“He’s not in love with me.”

Rick arches a brow. “Don’t fool yourself. That man is gone for you.”

Steve looks away. “Well,” he says quietly, “that’s unfortunate. We can’t be together.”

Rick’s voice softens. “Why not? Seems the feeling’s mutual.”

Steve exhales. “I have... other obligations.”

“Ah,” Rick says, nodding like he understands. “Heavy is the head, huh?”

He pulls a flask from his coat, uncaps it, and offers it.

“To stolen moments,” he says. “Before duty ruins everything.”

Steve hesitates. Then takes it. “To stolen moments.”

They drink.

The rum is sweet and spiced, clinging to his throat like syrup.

The world spins.

The last thing Steve sees is Rick’s wicked smile before the sand rushes up to meet him.

~~~~

Eddie wanders the narrow beachfront alleys of Lipton, the full moon heavy above him. His boots scuff the sand-strewn cobblestones, his jaw clenched tight. Anger burns low in his gut, but beneath it there is an unbearable shame.

He replays the fight with Steve again and again.

He’s just a spoiled, bratty prince, Eddie tells himself. And you’re an idiot. An absolute fool for falling for that.

But he sees him still, those wide, wounded eyes. That ridiculous pout. The soft curves of his mouth, his shoulders, his hips. 

Fuck. He’s gone. So far gone he can’t think straight, desperate for something he knows he doesn’t deserve and can never keep.

Still, he can’t walk away.

He turns back toward the beach, clinging to the hope, stupid, desperate hope , that Steve might still be there. That maybe he can apologize, fix things, make it better with some half-baked plea or the comfort of skin on skin.

But the beach is empty. Just wind and stars and the distant crash of waves.

A cold dread starts to coil in his gut.

He walks farther, eyes scanning the dark. “Steve,” he calls out, once, then again. Sharp. Low. Like it hurts to say.

No answer.

He spins back toward the tavern and nearly collides with Jeff.

“Captain,” Jeff pants. “You seen Steve?”

Eddie stills. “Why?”

“No one’s seen him. Or Rick.”

Rick.

The name lands like a punch to the ribs.

Rick with his tricky smile and shifty eyes. The friend he could never quite trust. 

And he looked at Steve tonight like he knew .

Eddie’s stomach flips. Either Rick figured it out; who Steve really is. Or he’s toying with him. Hurting him. Just because he can.

His voice cuts through the night. “Search the docks. The taverns. The upper markets. If anyone finds Rick. Don’t wait.”

The crew scatters, no questions asked. Some wear their worry openly, others mask it, but Eddie feels it pulsing in all of them.

Dustin lingers.

“We’ll find him,” he says quietly.

Eddie doesn’t look at him. “You don’t understand. Rick… he’s not just some rogue merchant. He plays long games. Twisted ones. And I—” his throat tightens. “I handed him the perfect pawn.”

Dustin studies him. “You care about him.”

Eddie flinches like the words cut. He stares out toward the dark ocean.

He thinks of the first time he saw Steve; barefoot but unbroken at the slavers’ auction. Bruised, defiant, head high despite the peril he was in. Gold-streaked hair catching the light. A spark in his eyes that hadn’t been extinguished yet.

Eddie told himself it was pity. Just another rescue. Nothing more.

But it was more.

That first night on the ship, Steve mouthing off and rolling his eyes. It made Eddie’s pulse spike and his blood burn. every moment since then, the prince had chipped away at his defenses until there was nothing left.

And then the last two days.

Steve, wrapped around him like he belonged there. Steve, reaching for him, touching him, giving himself over to the Captain’s  desires.

Eddie scrubs his face with both hands, trying to pull himself together. “I tried not to let it get that far,” he mutters. “Told myself it didn’t mean anything. That he was just—” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter what I told myself. It was a lie.”

Dustin watches him carefully but doesn’t push.

Eddie swallows. His voice is quieter now. “He got under my skin. And I didn’t stop him.”

Dustin nods once, firm. “Then we’re not stopping until we get him back.”

Eddie says nothing. His hands are still trembling. He draws his sword and holds it like it might help him focus, like maybe it can carry some of the weight pressing down on him.

Then he turns toward the dark streets of Lipton Isle, torchlight stretching long behind him. And with every step, one thought hammers through his skull:

Please let me get to him in time.

~~~~

Steve wakes in ropes, wrists and ankles bound tight, head pounding. Nearby, Rick hums tunelessly as he ties bundles to the mast of his rotting skiff.

Steve’s voice is raw. “What are you… where are we going?”

Rick doesn’t answer. His eyes gleam, distant and fevered.

The boat pushes off into the night. Moonlight cuts across the water. The jungle fades into shadow. The wind turns sharp.

“You think Eddie will save you,” Rick says at last, calm and cold. “You think he’s your hero. But I know him. I remember. He left me to rot in the ash of  Skull Rock.

Watched our ship burn. Never looked back.”

Steve’s stomach twists. “You’re mad.”

Rick grins, all gums and ruin. “Maybe. But I’ll be rich soon, mad or not. You, little prince, are going to buy me revenge.”

He waves two crumpled letter like a trophy. “One to the Carvers. One to the king. The one to the king says Eddie killed you. The one to the Carvers offers to sell you.”

Steve strains against the ropes. “You won’t get away with this.”

Rick just smiles. “Watch me.”

~~~~

He drifts in and out.

At first, he dreams he’s back on the Hellfire . The creak of the deck, the scent of salt and cedar. But when he wakes, it’s wet stone beneath his back, a foul-tasting rag between his teeth. The air is thick with rot. The dark, complete.

Water drips somewhere. The tide whispers in and out.

Then comes singing; low, slurred.

“Sleepy little princeling… pretty little prize…”

Rick emerges from the shadows, hunched and soaked, clutching a clay cup.

Steve jerks, but the ropes are too tight.

“There, there,” Rick coos. “Just a sip. Don’t want you losing your mind too early.”

The cup presses to Steve’s lips. Bitter liquid seeps through the gag and trickles down his throat.

Then the cave spins.

Light shimmers where there is none. The stone ceiling ripples like water. When Steve closes his eyes, he sees them. Beneath the tide. Watching.

Time blurs.

Rick’s moods shift like the tide. One day, he mutters about gold and revenge. The next, he raves to the sea.

“The Carvers will pay. The king’ll send his navy. A prince for ransom, a pirate for a noose.”

Each day, he grows more paranoid.

He checks Steve’s bindings constantly, tying and retying them, looping the coarse rope tighter; around Steve’s chest, his thighs, his wrists, until every movement burns.

He feeds him only when he remembers, and even then it’s scraps soaked in cloudy liquid that dulls Steve’s thoughts and makes his limbs feel far away.

Steve tries to stay alert. Tries to count the hours. But the days bleed together. Sleep becomes something strange and fragile, full of whispers and shadows and dreams of water.

“Too pretty for a boy,” Rick murmurs one night, crouching close. “I bet they painted you in court. Gold skin, velvet mouth, eyes like a doe…”

His hand closes around Steve’s jaw. He presses a filthy cloth to his cheek, mock-gentle.

“I’ll keep you pretty.”

Steve flinches back, breathing hard through his nose. Every instinct screams to spit, to scream, to fight, but he can barely move. He holds still instead, eyes locked ahead. Refuses to cry. Refuses to let this bastard see even a flicker of fear.

He’s not going to break. Not here. Not like this.

At night, when Rick stumbles off to rant deeper in the tunnels, Steve lies still in the dark. He watches the tide creep into the cave mouth.

Sometimes, he sees movement in the water. Long, flickering shapes just beneath the surface.

Once, he thinks he hears voices, faint and lilting, like a song.

He can’t tell if it’s real or in his head. 

He closes his eyes and pictures Eddie. His laugh. His hands. The warmth of him, solid and certain in the dark.

Then comes the storm.

Wind howls through the cave mouth. Waves hammer the shore, loud and brutal. Rick stumbles out into the storm, screaming curses at the sea as he tries to lash down his skiff. Steve hears him slip once, then again, shouting into the wind like it’s betrayed him.

When Rick returns, soaked and wild-eyed, something inside him is broken.

“They’ll never find us,” he whispers, collapsing to his knees in front of Steve. “You’re mine. You’re mine.”

He slaps Steve hard across the face. Then again.

Pain blooms behind Steve’s eyes. He tastes blood. He forces himself to meet Rick’s gaze, defiant.

“Eddie will come,” he rasps through the gag.

“No,” Rick snarls. “No, he won’t. No one’s coming.”

He yanks the ropes tighter. Steve bites back a cry as fire lances through his wrists. He can feel skin splitting, warm blood slicking the ropes.

“I’ll keep you beautiful,” Rick says. “Maybe I’ll sell you. Maybe I’ll keep you. My treasure.”

Steve swallows down the sob threatening to rise. He won’t let it out. Not for Rick. Not for anyone. He sets his jaw and stares at the stone ceiling, letting the pain ground him, remind him that he’s still here. Still fighting.

He’s not going to die in this cave.

The tide creeps closer.

Water reaches his legs. Then his hips. His breath starts to stutter, panic clawing its way up his throat.

“Rick,” he tries to shout, gag muffling the words. “The water—Rick!”

No answer.

The old man stands near the mouth of the cave, muttering, eyes fixed on the storm.

He takes a step forward.

Then another.

He slips.

A sickening crack echoes through the cavern.

Then silence.

No splash.

Rick is gone.

Steve thrashes, frantic. The water climbs up to his chest, his neck. The gag strangles his cries. His wrists burn. His limbs go numb. The water is so cold. It bites into him, stealing the last of his strength.

Then… something flickers below. Light? Faces? Illusions?

This is it. This is how it ends. Tied like an animal in a cave, with a madman’s corpse and no one coming. Forgotten. Drowned. Gone.

He shuts his eyes. The fear crashes in; thick, suffocating, final.

And then he hears soft singing. Not his imagination. Not the sea. Gentle, low, beautiful. Something brushes his foot. Then his wrist.

The ropes shift.

Fall.

A hand cups his face. Gentle fingers pull the gag from his mouth. He gasps, coughs, chokes on salt, but breathes.

He opens his eyes.

They’re real.

Pale, luminous eyes gaze down at him. A face framed in dark hair. Lashes wet with seawater. Cool fingers cradle his jaw.

“You’re safe,” a voice says, but not aloud. It hums inside his skull, warm and steady. “We’ve got you now.”

There are three of them. Moving through the water with eerie grace, guiding him gently. Not human. Not entirely. But beautiful.

Steve tries to speak. His throat burns. He reaches out, and one of them takes his hand.

“You are not meant to die,” she whispers, inside his mind. “You still have a role to play.”

Then the tide turns. The cave slips away. Rick’s ghost is left behind. And they pull Steve beneath the waves..

~~~~

Chapter Text

Steve wakes on a bed of moss and sea-glass, wrapped in warmth not his own. For the first time in days, his breath is steady. Above, the cavern ceiling glows softly, light dancing across salt-slick stone, reflected from still water below. Somewhere, faint music curls through the air like mist.

He blinks. Then gasps.

He’s not alone.

Mermaids surround him. Dozens, moving like water, laughter bubbling from their throats. Their hair falls in waves, their eyes curious and amused.

“He’s awake,” one whispers.

“Oh, he’s pretty,” sighs another.

“Look at those lashes.”

“And that hair!”

Steve lifts a hand instinctively, his hair’s grown long since leaving the mainland. Gentle fingers are already weaving in shells and flowers.

Is this real? Or some fever dream conjured from salt and starvation?

They feed him slivers of glowing fruit, smear cool healing salves on his bruises, and massage his limbs with oils that smell of citrus and rain. Every touch is reverent, as if he’s something sacred pulled from a storm.

“You cried in your sleep,” one murmurs. “We saw what he did. The ropes. The way he claimed you.”

“We whispered to you,” says another. “We laid the stone beneath his foot. We’re sorry we didn’t act sooner.”

Steve swallows hard. He wants to speak, to thank them, but his voice trembles in his throat. He isn’t used to safety. Not yet.

The island is impossibly beautiful. The mermaids are kind. They sing to him while he floats in the shallows. Kiss his hands. Paint his shoulders with sea-clay. Gift him silken wraps in shades of dusk and tide. 

When he laughs, they giggle and clap like it’s music. 

When he smiles, they call him their golden prince.

He stays for days-- maybe even weeks. Time loses meaning on the enchanted isle.

Sunlight dapples the crystal lagoon where he floats, bare-chested and half-laughing, hair heavy with salt. One of them dunks him and flicks water at his face, triumphant.

“Oh, you are asking for it,” he sputters, brushing curls from his eyes.

He lunges, sending up a great splash. The pod scatters into shrieking laughter, tails flashing like jeweled ribbons. He gives chase with mock seriousness.

He catches one by the wrist and spins her. They both laugh.

“He’s too charming,” someone teases, floating nearby. “Smile like that and we’ll never let him leave.”

“You’re not letting me go anyway,” Steve grins, draping his arm across a warm stone. “I’m your pampered prisoner.”

More laughter. More hands in his hair. It becomes easy to forget the cave, the ropes, the silence.

Too easy.

Later, he lies on a flat rock, legs dangling in the lagoon. One rests her chin on his knee, another brushes his hair.

“You belong here,” one says dreamily.

Steve smiles faintly, but his gaze drifts to the open sea. “It’s beautiful. You’ve all been... more than kind. But I don’t think I do belong.”

A hush falls. The waves lap gently against the shore.

“You miss someone,” one says.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, leaning back on his elbows.

Somehow, the quietest among them always stays closest. Her voice softer. Her laughter rare. She asks questions the others don’t.

“Was your life grand?”

“Did you love someone?”

“Do you miss him?”

At first, he deflects. Laughs. But in time—between games and saltwater silence—he begins to speak.

He tells them about the Hellfire. About Dustin’s sharp tongue, Freak’s terrible jokes, Gareth’s quiet strength.

And Eddie.

Always Eddie.

“You dream of him,” one says as they float beneath the stars. “Even here. You whisper his name.”

Steve turns sharply. “I— That doesn’t mean—”

“You don’t have to explain,” she murmurs, voice like waves on sand.

One evening, they drift in the cove, the horizon burning gold. She brushes hair from his face.

“I know you don’t belong to me,” she says. “You were never going to stay.”

He opens his mouth, but she kisses him. Slow and soft, like being pulled gently under the tide.

Her fingers trace his jaw, his lips, his chest. She whispers things that make him shiver. Praises, promises, little truths:

“You’re too beautiful for land…”

“I could keep you here forever…”

“You are magic…”

He kisses her back, not from love, but something human. Grief, maybe. Gratitude. Longing for touch that doesn’t hurt.

When they part, she places a delicate pearl necklace around his neck.

“You’ll always be my beautiful prince,” she says. “But I see it now. You were meant for something more. For someone else.”

He touches the necklace. “I…”

“I’m happy we met,” she whispers. “I won’t forget you.”

Then she leads him to a hidden boat nestled in mist.

“It’s enchanted,” she says. “It will take you where your heart belongs. Even if it’s not ready to say so.”

He kisses her cheek. Her skin smells of tropical sunlight.

And she pushes him gently into the tide.

~~~~

Chapter Text

For days, Eddie and his crew scour the island village. They tear through the docks, questioning every merchant, fisherman, and dockhand. They poke through crumbling alleys, dim taverns, and bustling markets. Yet, their search is in vain.

Even Rick’s shack, usually a mess of discarded tools and half-finished projects, is stripped bare, eerie in its silence. No sign of a struggle. No clue. Just… gone.

The trail is cold. 

Frustration boils beneath Eddie’s skin. He snaps at his crew, barks orders with too much bite, shoves plates away untouched, and spends sleepless nights pacing the ship’s deck.

By the fourth day, he wanders alone into a ramshackle public house near the edge of town. The sign, a faded mermaid with chipped paint and a cracked tail, creaks in the breeze. Inside, the place reeks of damp wood and stale beer. He drops into a seat and orders the strongest drink they have, hell-bent on drinking until everything goes numb.

He’s halfway through the third glass when a shadow looms beside him.

“You look like you’ve been kicked by a mule,” says the stranger.

The barkeep glances up. “Evenin’, Constable Hopper.”

Eddie tenses. Lawmen always mean trouble. He shifts slightly, preparing to move without drawing attention.

“You hear the news?” Hopper asks, lowering his voice. “The king’s dead.”

Eddie freezes.

“No heir, either. Prince still missing, presumed drowned. So the queen’s been named regent, at least until her nephew, Jason Carver, comes of age. That boy turns eighteen in the spring.”

Hopper takes a sip, grimaces. “I’m no royalist, but the Carvers? Snakes, the lot of ’em. Always circling power, just waiting to strike.”

Eddie’s voice comes out hoarse. “You think the queen was involved?”

“Gods, no,” Hopper says, shaking his head. “ Word is she’s locked herself in the royal apartments, won’t see anyone but the old steward. Poor woman. I don’t think she ever got to know her son properly, but there’s no doubt she loved him.”

“He was different from his father,” Hopper adds after a beat. “Softer. Kinder, maybe. Would’ve made a better king.”

Before Eddie can respond, the barkeep snorts. “They’re all the same. Royals. Spoiled leeches in silk. Good riddance, I say. If the sea took him, it did us all a favor.”

Eddie’s hand curls into a fist. “Say that again,” he growls, rising from his seat.

Hopper steps between them before it escalates. “Easy, now,” he mutters.

The barkeep narrows his eyes, studying Eddie. “You know… you look familiar.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie mutters.

The man disappears into the back room. Eddie tries to ignore the gnawing in his gut, drains his drink.

When the barkeep returns, he’s holding a piece of parchment, smug.

“See? I knew I’d seen you before.” He slaps the wanted poster down on the bar. “Pirate Eddie Munson. Wanted for theft, treason, smuggling, impersonation, sedition… Gods know what else.”

The room falls silent. Chairs scrape. A low growl builds behind Eddie, drunken voices sharpening into something meaner.

Hopper sighs and steps forward.

“Damn it,” he mutters. “You picked the wrong night, Munson.”

Then, reluctantly, he pulls out his cuffs.

“Sorry, kid. But I’m gonna have to arrest you.”

Eddie doesn’t resist.

Too drunk. Too hollowed out. He lets Hopper clasp the iron around his wrists and lead him out of the tavern like a dead man walking. The townsfolk jeer, emboldened by drink and fear, but Hopper holds them at bay with a hard glare and a hand on his sword. No one pushes their luck.

The jail is a squat adobe building. Thick walls, rusted bars, only two cells. A single lantern sways from the rafters.

Hopper locks him in without a word. Eddie drops onto the cot, head pounding, stomach churning. This is it. After years of running, of defying every law in the kingdom, he’s finally been caught. They’ll hang him at dawn.

The constable pulls a stool close to the bars and sits with a grunt. “I know who you are,” he says quietly.

Eddie doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.

“You’re the one who hits merchant convoys and turns the gold over to starving villages. You freed the miners at Brimworks. You’ve sabotaged the slave ships coming from the east.”

Eddie snorts. “You writing a song about me?”

“I’m saying,” Hopper continues, unbothered, “you’re not what the posters claim. You’re not a monster.”

Something in Eddie shifts, but his voice stays bitter. “What do you know about it?”

“I knew your uncle. Wayne Munson. Blacksmith in West Hawkins.”

That gets a reaction. Eddie glances over, eyes bleary.

“Hardworking. Loyal. Tough as a nail,” Hopper says. “Sorry to hear he passed.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Got sick. Refused treatment. Said it cost too much just to suffer a little longer.” His jaw tightens. “After he died… I made a choice.”

“A choice to help people,” Hopper says. “Even if it meant breaking the law.”

Eddie doesn’t argue.

Hopper stands with a sigh. “You need to sober up. I’ll keep you here tonight, make it look official. But come midnight, I’m coming back. Jailbreak’s easier from the inside.”

True to his word, Hopper returns as the lantern light burns low. He unlocks the cell with quiet precision, gestures for silence, and they slip into the night.

He leads Eddie past the edge of town to a lonely cove, where a small wooden cabin leans into the trees. Smoke curls from the chimney, and the sea whispers nearby.

Inside is warm and lived-in: a hearth, stacks of books, fishing gear hung on hooks. And a girl.

She stands barefoot on the wood floor, watching them with wide, wary eyes. She looks maybe thirteen, hair a tangle of curls, shoulders wrapped in a threadbare shawl.

“This is El,” Hopper says. “My daughter.”

Eddie blinks. “Daughter?”

“She’s adopted. I found her a few years back. She’s… been through things.” He looks at her, softer now. “She doesn’t speak much. But she sees things. Some call it magic.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You serious?”

“Deadly.”

Eddie doesn’t press. Hopper tells him to stay hidden, that the town is buzzing and someone will come looking. “Don’t go back. And don’t drink.”

Eddie knows he can’t go back into town, wouldn’t want to anyway, but he sure as hell isn’t going to let the constable stop him from drinking. The moment Hopper leaves, Eddie finds a bottle of rum, pours himself a cup, and collapses into the hammock on the porch. The sea breeze is cold, but it numbs him. That’s all he wants.

El appears beside him without a sound.

“You’re heartbroken,” she says.

Eddie stiffens. “Come again?”

“Someone you love is missing,” she says. “You think he’s gone.”

His stomach twists. “How do you—?”

“I just know,” she says. “I want to help.”

He laughs, bitter. “He was taken. Kidnapped by a lunatic. Probably dead. Or halfway across the world.”

“He’s not dead,” El says calmly. “But he’s trapped. Somewhere dark.”

Eddie lurches upright, rum sloshing onto the deck. “You saw him?”

She nods. “He’s not alone. He’s being protected.”

His heart stutters. “I need to go to him. If there’s even a chance—”

“You can’t,” she says, firm now. “It’s not safe.. for you. For him. 

Eddie clenches his fists, hating the truth of it.

“You have to wait. You and your crew need rest,” she says. “At sundown on the third night, sail northeast. Toward Maple Island.”

He stares at her, wary. “Why?”

She shrugs, simple and sure. “The sea will bring him back to you.”

Eddie closes his eyes. He wants to laugh. He wants to scream. But instead, he says the only thing he can.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t know what she is. But he believes her.

The next evening, Hopper invites the Hellfire crew to dinner. They arrive just after sunset, all grins and muddy boots and half-shouted greetings. The moment they see Eddie on the porch, alive and well, there’s a flood of relief.

“You scared the hell out of us!” Dustin says, practically launching into him with a hug.

Lucas claps Eddie on the back. “We heard you got thrown in jail. Then busted out? You’re like a legend around here now.”

Eddie smirks, leaning into the warmth of his crew. “What can I say? I make a dramatic exit.”

Inside, Hopper stirs a big pot of stew while El sets the table with mismatched bowls. The air is thick with herbs and garlic, the cabin glowing with firelight.

Dustin pulls a satchel from his pack. “I come baring gifts,” he grins. “Hopper said he had a daughter around my age, so I brought her some books. I’ve already read and re-read them all.”

El looks surprised as she opens the satchel. The books are dog-eared and well-loved. Adventure stories, tales of mystics, maps of strange lands. She runs her fingers over the covers like they’re treasure.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, then hugs him tight.

Lucas entertains the group with a juggling routine. El giggles—an actual, soft giggle—and even Hopper looks up from his stew, surprised.

Later, Jeff pulls Eddie aside.

“Any word?” he asks. “Anything on Steve?”

Eddie’s expression dims, but his voice stays steady. “No solid lead. But… we’re still heading to Maple Island. Just like we planned.”

Jeff studies him a moment, then nods.

The next day passes in quiet preparation. As the sun sinks low on the third evening, just as El said, the Hellfire crew readies the ship. Supplies loaded. Sails checked. Compass steady.

El hugs Dustin and Lucas goodbye, holding their hands. “Come visit again,” she whispers. “Please.”

They promise they will.

Then she turns to Eddie, eyes serious.

“Have faith,” she tells him. “You will see him again. And when you do… don’t run. Don’t hide. Stay by his side. No matter what.”

Eddie’s throat tightens. He nods.

They set sail under a violet sky, the sails catching the wind as the shoreline fades into shadow.

~~~~

Days pass. Then a week. The sea stretches endless in every direction. Fog rolls in, thick and heavy. Eddie starts to lose hope. He spends long hours alone on deck, staring into the mist like it might give him a sign. But the sea stays silent.

Until one night.

Gareth, up in the crow’s nest, shouts down.

“Captain! There’s something. Off the starboard bow!”

Eddie scrambles to his feet, heart slamming in his chest. The crew rushes to the rail.

Through the mist, a shape drifts into view. A boat, small and still, floating listlessly in the open sea. No sails. No crew.

Just one figure at the stern.

Gareth squints, then gasps. “It’s him. It’s Steve!”

Eddie doesn’t wait. He grabs the ropes and starts shouting orders.

“Bring us alongside! Now!”

His hands shake. His breath catches.

But his heart knows.

It’s him.

It’s really him.

~~~~~

He drifts.

Time slips sideways. Days, hours, maybe only minutes since he last opened his eyes to find nothing but endless grey sky and sea. It all blurs together now.

He closes his eyes again. Everything feels distant, like a dream he can’t quite wake from. He wonders how much of it he imagined; the beautiful mermaids, the enchanted lagoon. None of it feels real now, not with the mist curling over the boat and the slow, steady sound of waves lapping against the wooden hull.

And yet…

A strand of iridescent pearls rests cool against his throat, glinting faintly in the shifting light. His skin, once torn, bruised, and bloody, is soft and smooth. Buttery salves, luxuriously scented oils, and the touch of gentle fingers still lingering. 

A sound cuts through the fog.

Voices. Real ones.

He forces his eyes open. Blinks. Thinks maybe he’s hallucinating again.

A ship’s mast appears through the mist; tall, steady, real. It glides toward him, sails full, cutting through the sea like it belongs here. He hears shouting. Someone calling orders. Then- laughter? Footsteps?

A face appears over the side.

“Steve?!”

The voice is sharp and disbelieving and cracking at the edges.

Steve’s head rolls to the side. His eyes are heavy. That can’t be right.

But then-

Eddie.

God, it’s Eddie.

He’s climbing down the side of the ship before it even finishes pulling alongside. No hesitation. He hits the water and wades to the skiff like a man possessed. He grabs the side of the little boat and hauls himself in.

Steve thinks maybe he’s dreaming again, but Eddie is there, grabbing his shoulders, breathing hard and wild, eyes frantic.

“Steve. Stevie.” His voice breaks. He touches Steve’s face like he’s trying to prove he’s real. “You’re alive.”

Steve opens his mouth. No words come. His throat is raw. He just nods. 

And then Eddie’s arms are around him, pulling him close, holding him like he might break apart if he lets go. Steve sinks into him. He closes his eyes against Eddie’s shoulder and just breathes.

“I thought I lost you,” Eddie whispers. “I thought you were...”

“You didn’t,” Steve rasps. “You didn’t.”

The crew lowers a rope and helps Eddie lift him out of the skiff. Hands grab him gently, murmurs of “Careful, we’ve got him,” and “He’s light as hell, hasn’t eaten in days,” but Steve barely registers any of it. He keeps his eyes on Eddie the whole time. As long as Eddie’s there, he can believe he’s really safe.

Later, when he’s warm and wrapped in blankets below deck, Eddie sits beside him and doesn’t let go of his hand. Not even once.

“You came for me,” Steve says, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie nods, eyes red-rimmed. “Of course I did.”

Steve closes his eyes again. Letting himself fall peacefully asleep in the arms of his love.

He wakes with a fever. Eddie has carried him  to his quarters, laid him onto the bed. 

He feels the cool press of a damp cloth on his forehead. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

He floats in and out of fever dreams. Cold sweat, tangled sheets. Fingers brushing hair from his face. Eddie’s voice, low and constant, like a prayer.

Once, when the fever crests, Steve manages to stir. His chest feels like a furnace, his limbs like water. Eddie is sitting at the edge of the bed, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, cradling his hand.

Steve squeezes weakly.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he breathes. “Even when I thought I was gonna die. I dreamed about getting back to you.”

Eddie blinks hard, “You did. You made it back. I’ve got you now.”

Steve lets his head fall back against the pillow, touches the delicate pearls around his neck. 

“Where did you get those?” Eddie asks, his eyes soft and curious. 

“They gave it to me.”

Eddie looks at it like it’s a ghost. “Who?”

“The mermaids.”

Eddie stares, but doesn’t press. Still, Steve can feel the disbelief behind his silence. So he doesn’t explain. 

Instead, he turns his head and studies Eddie’s face in the low light. The soft stubble along his jaw, the lines around his eyes, the way his dimples deepen when he gives a tired smile. His nose is a little red, like he’s been rubbing at it.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve murmurs.

Eddie exhales a shaky laugh and leans in, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m never letting you go again,” Eddie whispers. “I swear it. No matter what happens. No matter where we go.”

Steve’s grip tightens around his fingers. “Swear it in blood, then. Make it an unbreakable oath.”

Eddie lifts their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Steve’s knuckles. “I swear. By the sea and stars and every god I don’t believe in.”

And Steve, despite the fever, despite the weakness, smiles.

Slowly, the worst of his illness passes.

He wakes to the scent of something warm and vaguely edible. Freak sits by the door, grinning as he hands over a bowl of porridge and a spoon.

“Tastes like actual food,” Freak promises. 

Steve eats all of it.

By the next day, he can stand on his own. The sun is gentle through the captain’s cabin window, and the sea is calm. He leans against the railing outside. Eddie joins him. They don’t speak at first. Just stand together, watching the horizon.

Then Eddie sighs. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Steve looks at him, waiting.

“It’s your father. The king. He’s dead.”

A range of emotions surge through him. He closes his eyes. His father was never a kind man. Never warm. Their relationship had been defined by long silences and short, biting corrections. Still, there is sadness. A quiet ache for the boy who never got the love he needed, never even had the chance to ask for it.

“What happened?” he asks, voice raw and barely audible.

Eddie hesitates before saying it. “No one knows for certain. But I suspect foul play. With your father out of the way, Jason can lay claim to the throne.”

Steve nods, the truth landing with a dull thud in his chest.

“What news of my mother?” He asks tentatively. 

“She’s alive,” Eddie says. “She’s acting as Queen Regent. Until Jason comes of age.”

Steve clenches his jaw in anger. “We have to go back.  Back to the capitol. We have to let the people of Hawkins know they have been deceived.”

Eddie looks at him sympathetically, “We can’t. The Carvers have surrounded the capital with military and naval forces loyal to their cause. Getting to the palace is nearly impossible.”

“Then we’ll find a way,” Steve says, setting his gaze towards the horizon, hard and unwavering.

“There may be sympathizers with no love for the Carvers on Maple Island,” Eddie offers, gently.

Steve narrows his eyes. “Maple Island? Of course. And let me guess, you think I should marry the princess to gain House Wheeler’s support?”

Eddie’s mouth tightens. “Their army is powerful.”

Steve scoffs, “So that’s your plan? Hand me over so I can exchange myself for swords and banners?”

“No,” he says firmly. “That’s not my plan. Not anymore. I won’t lose you. Not to war, not to duty, and not to a marriage born of strategy. I’d burn every treaty before I’d watch you walk away again.”

Steve blinks, stunned silent as Eddie reaches for his hand.

“Marry me instead,” Eddie says. “Here. Now. Let the stars be our witnesses.”

~~~~

The moon is bright and full above casting warm light over the ship.

Steve stands barefoot and tall at the bow, heart pounding beneath a crisp white shirt, his linen trousers fluttering in the breeze. His hair curls slightly from the salt air, cheeks flushed with something more than fever this time. Across from him, Eddie wears his long, dark leather coat, his best, most beloved thing, fitted at the shoulders and worn soft with age. It makes him look impossibly dashing.

Between them stands Jeff, hands clasped over a small book, solemn and proud as he officiates their wedding. The crew circles loosely around them, quiet for once, reverent.

Eddie reaches for Steve’s hand and pulls off one of his rings. A simple silver band, worn smooth over time.

“This belonged to my mother,” he says, voice steady but rough at the edges. “She died bringing me into this world, but I like to think she’d want this for me. For us.”

Steve blinks hard, swallowing down the emotion that rises like a wave. Eddie takes Steve’s hand and slides the ring on his finger with reverence.

They speak their vows beneath the glow of moonlight.

When Jeff declares them married, the crew breaks into cheers. Dustin and Lucas toss handfuls of grain into the air like confetti. A bottle of rum is opened and passed around with loud laughter and clumsy toasts. Jeff, Gareth, and Freak bring out a few instruments to play  sweet, melodic tunes  as the couple sway together under the lantern light. 

Steve knows the future is uncertain, yet, at this moment, all is right.

~~~~~~~~~

Hellfire cuts through quiet waters as Maple Island comes into view, rising from the sea with its towering white cliffs and endless green pastures. The crew gazes at it in silence. They steer clear of the main harbors, knowing the risk, and instead anchor near a quiet cove on the island’s south western edge. 

Under the cover of dusk, they lower the rowboat. Steve helps tug it into the shallows, his boots sinking into the cold, pebbled shore. 

It’s cold and windy as they move quickly inland, careful not to draw attention. The plan is already in motion, Lucas sent a letter ahead to Prince Michael of House Wheeler, hoping to call in an old friendship for the sake of the crown.

Steve watches Lucas adjust the strap of his satchel as they walk. “You really think he’ll show?”

Lucas nods. “He will. He was my friend long before I left my title for the sea.”

“You mean for Max,” Gareth teases.

At the mention of her name, Steve hesitates. “You ever regret it? Giving up your inheritance to be with a pirate?”

Lucas slows, a thoughtful breath before he answers. “Never. I’d do it again. And again.”

“Pity she works alone most of the time, always off with the wind, that one is,” Gareth says, his voice still light and teasing. 

“Aye, but the time we do  have together makes it all worth it.”

~~~~

Stormy skies move overhead as they follow a narrow country road to the edge of a small village. There, nestled between a meadow and a thin stretch of forest, stands a weathered stone inn with ivy crawling up its walls. A hand-painted sign above the door reads: Castle Byers.

The tavern round back is quiet and dim, with rough wooden tables worn smooth from years of use. Heavy beams stretch overhead, and a single hearth crackles softly. The scent of warm bread and spiced wine fills the air. In a corner, a lone figure cloaked in gray sits; Prince Michael.

“Lucas Sinclair,” he says, standing. “You look like hell.”

Lucas claps his shoulder. “Better than dead.”

Michael’s gaze shifts to Steve, and something shifts in his expression. Your Highness,” he says quietly.

Steve nods. “We need your help.”

Michael glances at the crew gathered behind them. “Then you’ve come to the right place. But first, come, sit, let’s eat.”

A young man with soft features and a shy smile brings their food. He sets down trenchers of steaming stew and slices of fresh baked bread. Michael brightens when he sees him.

“This is Will,” he says, gesturing. “Will Byers. He sometimes helps his brother at my family’s stables.”

Will nods politely, wiping his hands on his apron.

The crew eats gratefully, savoring rich stew and warm bread after weeks of hard biscuit and thin broth. Wind and rain drum against the shutters, but the hearth inside glows steady.  Michael and Lucas trade stories from their days as pages, their voices weaving easily through the comfort of full bellies.

Then the tavern door creaks open.

A woman steps inside, cloaked and soaked from the storm, leaning on a man in worn working leathers. She stumbles, and he steadies her. Their eyes scan the room cautiously.

Michael sees them first. His expression falters. “Nancy?” he breathes, too softly for most to hear.

The woman freezes mid-step.

Michael stands. “Nancy… what are you doing here?”

She lowers her hood, revealing a delicate face framed by tight, brunette curls and striking blue eyes. Her gaze widens. The man beside her stiffens.

“Jonathan,” Michael adds, voice tight with old familiarity as he meets the man’s eyes.

Nancy looks between them, then exhales shakily. “I could ask the same of you, dear brother.”

Michael glances at Steve, then back to Nancy. “Nancy,” he says slowly, “I’d like you to meet His Royal Highness: Steve of House Harrington. The rightful king of Hawkins. I believe he is your fiancé.”

 Nancy’s face drains of color. She jerks back from Jonathan as if burned. Jonathan looks equally stunned.

“I... I thought you were dead,” she stammers. “They said you were dead.”

She drops into a low, awkward bow. Bows again.

Steve raises a hand, his smile is kind. “There’s no need for all that,” he says, his voice even and gentle. “I suppose we’ll need to have a talk at some point, but… for now, please. Join us. You and your gentleman friend.”

Nancy hesitates. Jonathan does too, his hand still barely brushing hers.

But then they sit, quietly, a little stiff. Steve pours them both some cider.

He glances toward Eddie, who’s lounging at his side with an elbow propped on the back of Steve’s chair, one brow raised in silent amusement.

“This is Eddie,” Steve says, looking back to Nancy and Jonathan. “My husband.” 

Steve fills the Wheelers in on what happened aboard the Golden Tiger. Jason’s betrayal.

Nancy shares what she’s heard in Maple; growing unrest, whispers of treason, and widespread suspicion that the Carvers murdered the king. “There are many who’ll be glad to know you’re alive,” she says, “but you can’t just stroll into the capital. The palace is filled with Carver loyalists. They’ll do whatever it takes to keep you out.”

Steve nods grimly. “Then I’ll need troops. Ships. Your father’s army.”

Nancy hesitates, then answers carefully, “He’s a practical man. He won’t send men unless there’s something in it for him. And right now, we’re outnumbered.” She blushes faintly. “And it seems… a union between our houses is unlikely.”

Her eyes flick toward Jonathan, who is already looking at her with quiet hope. Steve notices, and turns to Eddie, gripping his hand.

“No,” Steve says, voice steady, “there won’t be a marriage alliance. But that doesn’t mean your father wouldn’t benefit from supporting the rightful king.”

Nancy glances at Michael, who gives a small nod. “We’ll speak to our mother,” he says. “If anyone can convince him, it’s her.”

The next morning, Michael arrives at the inn, his horse slick with dew. “My father would like to speak with you,” he says, eyes scanning Steve.

Steve glances at Eddie.

“Alone,” Michael adds. “Come. Borrow the Byers’ horse. We’ll ride to the palace.”

Eddie brushes his fingers lightly against Steve’s shoulder. “Go,” he says softly. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

The Wheeler Palace sits nestled high in the wooded hills of Maple Island, far from the hustle and bustle of the coastal ports. It’s a grand estate built from white marble, and surrounded by well-manicured and orderly terrace gardens. 

Michael leads Steve around the side, toward the stables. Jonathan is there, brushing down one of the horses. He glances up, surprised, then smiles as he sees the mare Steve rides.

“I figured it was alright if he borrowed her,” Michael says.

“No problem,” Jonathan replies. He reaches to stroke the horse’s neck, eyes lingering with quiet affection. “I’m glad to see her.”

Steve watches the exchange, filing it away. So Nancy’s having an affair with the stable boy. 

Inside, the air of the palace shifts. Cooler, formal, thick with the scent of stone and old polish. Michael leads him through a side corridor until they reach the duke’s chamber; a library with tall windows overlooking the landscape below. 

The Duke of Maple rises from his seat when Steve enters. He studies him, slow and assessing. “So it is you,” he says at last. “Forgive me. My children are fond of stories. I needed to see for myself.”

Steve nods, his spine straight, chin high. 

“Sir,” he begins, “Jason Carver and his family are traitors to the crown. They arranged to have me sold into slavery so Jason could position himself as heir.”

The duke’s expression barely shifts. “Yes. I’ve been told as much. But the Carvers currently hold the throne. They’ve maintained our trade privileges and respected our lands. I see no reason to provoke a war we cannot win.”

Steve’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t speak.

The duke steps closer. “You may be the rightful king by blood. But I am told,” he says, with cool disapproval, “that you are also denying my daughter her future as queen. My family’s claim to the throne—gone. Because of you.”

Steve lowers his eyes briefly, the weight of truth heavy. But then he meets the duke’s gaze. “Aid me,” he says. “Stand with me, and I promise, your family will be honored in the courts. You will not be forgotten. You will be respected.”

The duke’s sigh is long and tired.

“Father—” Michael steps in.

But the duke holds up a hand. “My decision is final. I will not move against the Carvers.”

Michael’s voice lifts, full of disbelief. “But they stole the throne. Don’t you care about what’s right?”

“I care about keeping the peace,” the duke says coolly. “I care about not burning this island to ash.”

He turns to Steve. “Now, I could send a letter to the Capital. Inform them that a man impersonating the lost prince is raising arms. That he’s plotting a siege.”

Steve’s breath catches. His fists clench at his sides. But the duke only raises a brow.

“However,” he continues, “my family—” he glances meaningfully at Michael—“has made their wishes known. You are not to be harmed.”

He folds his hands behind his back. “You may take lodging in the garden guest house, for the time being. Provided you remain discreet and cause no disturbance.”

Steve stands still, arms crossed, biting back everything he wants to say.

“You are dismissed,” the duke says simply.

Michael walks with Steve out of the chamber, quiet until they’re in the hall.

~~~~

Back at the inn, Steve finds Lucas and Dustin chatting animatedly with Will as they sweep the steps and carry firewood in from the yard. Freak’s taken up residence in the kitchen with Mrs. Byers, apron tied around his waist, elbows dusted in flour.

“The berries in the garden are unbelievable,” he says proudly. “Can’t say you get to work with fresh ingredients on a ship.”

Gareth is curled up in the window seat with a book, though Steve notices his eyes flick often towards the Byers boy. Gareth’s smile is soft, distracted.

“Where’s Jeff?” Steve asks.

Gareth closes the book over his finger. “Mrs. Byers asked if we’d fetch her some fish from the market this morning. Jeff went. Met a charming young lady by the docks. I believe he's still under her spell.”

Steve lets out a wry smile. “Seems like you lot have assimilated to land-life rather quickly.”

~~~~

Steve climbs the narrow stairs to the room he shares with Eddie. Inside, Eddie sits cross-legged on the bed, strumming a worn guitar. The melody is tentative, but sweet.

“Will lent it to me,” Eddie says without looking up. “You know I used to play pretty well?”

Steve sits beside him, fingers brushing Eddie’s thigh. “Yeah?”

Eddie nods, keeps playing. “Sold my old one. Needed the coin to patch up the Hellfire after a particularly messy scrape up with some mercenaries off Smugglers Cove.”

A few soft chords echo in the cozy room, mixing with the scent of salt and baking bread drifting through the window.

“What news from the Duke?” Eddie asks, still playing.

Steve exhales. “He won’t give us ships. Won’t lend an army either.”

Eddie stops strumming. “What?”

“He’s right,” Steve says quietly. “It’s too dangerous. Backing me would mean going against the Carvers. Risking open war.”

Eddie stands abruptly, pacing. “The Carvers are traitors. He knows it. How can he trust a court full of liars and cowards?”

“I don’t blame him,” Steve says, voice even. “But I also don’t know what we’re supposed to do now.”

Eddie turns, anger softening when he looks at Steve. “Maybe we stay. A few more days. The crew looks like they’ve found some peace.”

“They’ve earned it.” Steve stands and walks to him, embracing him from behind. “And the Duke’s offered me something. Private quarters. A guest house in the palace gardens. Secluded. The crew could stay here, while you and I enjoy an actual honeymoon.”

Eddie arches a brow and turns. “You sure it’s wise, bringing a pirate onto royal grounds?”

Steve’s lips curl. “Who said I was wise?”

“Don’t you think a scoundrel like me will sully up the place?”

Steve leans in, lips brushing against Eddie’s. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

~~~~

​​

The Duke’s garden estate sits hidden behind a grove of silver birch, walled in pale limestone. A narrow cobbled path winds past wild roses and overgrown lavender, through a secluded tangle of fig trees and sunlight. At its center, a still reflecting pool glimmers.

The guesthouse is modest by palace standards, yet grand in its quiet way. A two-story stone villa with ivy-covered walls and wide, sunlit windows. Inside, rich tapestries hang above velvet cushions and fresh-cut flowers. In the bath chamber, a deep carved tub easily fits two.

Their days pass in a golden haze. Steve wakes tangled in linen sheets, Eddie’s leg thrown over his. He lies still, watching Eddie breathe, memorizing the curve of his shoulder.

Mornings are barefoot in the garden. Eddie picking figs and feeding Steve between slow kisses. They bathe together in the deep stone tub, steam rising, water lapping gently as Eddie hums and trails his fingers down Steve’s spine.

In the afternoons, Steve looks over maps and the military texts Mike left behind. Eddie lounges nearby, shirt undone, watching with fond, unreadable eyes.

By nightfall, lanterns glow in the garden. They share simple meals of cheese and wine, then slip back into the bath, or out beneath the fig tree, where Eddie whispers mine against Steve’s throat.

Yet when Eddie sleeps, Steve lies awake, guilt gnawing at the edges of his peace. He traces the curve of Eddie’s back, trying to memorize the shape of a life he wants, and may not be allowed to keep. His throne waits. His people. His war.

~~~~

The knock comes just after midday. Steve is still shirtless, his hair damp from the garden bath, a lazy, blissed-out ache in his limbs from the night before. 

When Steve opens the door, everything shifts.

Nancy stands on the garden path, boots dusty, cloak flung over one shoulder. Her expression is grim.

“We need to talk,” she says.

She skips pleasantries. Doesn’t sit, though Steve gestures for her to.

“The Carvers have issued a decree,” she begins. “They’re sending royal guards to every port city in the Isles. Claim the ports are dangerous. Overrun with pirates and foreigners. That they need protection. That they need to be cleaned up.”

“Cleaned up?” Eddie says sharply from behind him. “Sounds like code for occupied.”

Nancy nods. “Maple’s always governed itself. We have our own customs, our own guard. The crown military hasn’t set foot here in centuries. We may be a province of Hawkins, but we’ve held our independence. This is a power grab.”

“What does your father think?” Steve asks, still processing the news.

“He’s furious,” Nancy says. “He’s summoned the outer lords to council. But no one will act. Unless someone else goes first.”

Steve frowns. “Then why tell me?”

“Because,” she says plainly, “if you still plan to challenge the Carvers, my father will back you. Ships. Soldiers. The full force of the Duchy.”

Steve swallows, then nods.

“You wanted your throne,” she says. “Here’s your chance. You won’t get a better offer.”

With that, she turns and disappears down the garden path, cloak fluttering behind her.

Steve stares after her, quiet and unmoving.

Eddie steps beside him, warm and steady, fingers brushing his hand before curling into it. He says nothing at first, just lets the silence settle around them.

Steve exhales, gaze distant. “It’s all happening, isn’t it. I thought I’d feel ready, but—” His voice drops. “These people are pledging their lives to me. And I suppose that’s what I’ve asked for. But now that it’s real... I’m not sure I know how to lead.”

Eddie turns to him fully. “You do,” he says without hesitation.

Steve huffs a laugh, dry and low. “I’ve been poring over Michael’s war manuals until my eyes blur. And I still don’t understand half of it.” He drags a hand through his damp hair. “I was never particularly bright. My cousin used to call me a brainless jockey.” He swallows, eyes downcast. “As a prince, I could barely keep up with my duties.  I was only good at the surface stuff; sword fights, dances, smiling when I had to. Just pretending I knew what I was doing.”

The last word tastes bitter.

Eddie steps closer, voice steady. “You’re clever in the ways that matter. You lead with your heart. That’s rare. That’s powerful. You’re brave, you listen to others, you make people feel safe and heard,  that’s  exactly the kind of king people want to follow.”

Steve looks at him, his wide eyes searching.

“When I became a pirate,” Eddie says, quieter now, thumb brushing over Steve’s knuckles, “I swore I’d never bow to any man.”

He lifts Steve’s hand to his lips.

“But I’d bow for you, my king.”

~~~~

They leave soon after, slipping out of the quiet garden and back toward Castle Byers.

Inside, the crew is already gathered. The moment Steve tells them, the mood shifts.

“We have a navy,” he says. “And an army. We sail for the capital.”

He pauses, scanning the faces around the room. “I know we’ve made something good here. You’ve earned peace. If any of you want to stay.”

“Not a chance,” Dustin interrupts. “We're with you.”

Lucas smirks. “Like hell we’d let you have all the fun.”

Gareth cheers. Steve notices Will quietly slipping his hand into his.

And just like that, the crew stands behind him.

Later, in the quiet dark of their room above the inn, Steve lies tangled in Eddie’s arms, skin still warm from their last kiss, from the comfort of closeness. 

Eddie brushes his thumb along Steve’s hip. “You don’t have to fight alone, you know.”

Steve turns to him, eyes glinting in the candlelight.

“You’ve got people who’d walk through fire for you,” Eddie says. “You just have to show up.”

Steve’s throat tightens. “Thank you.”

~~~~

The Hellfire cuts through the waves under a bruised sky, flanked by the Duke’s fleet; sleek ships bristling with soldiers. Prince Michael stands among the crew now, having pledged to lead the Maple army into battle. Beside him are Will and Jon, ready to follow. Beneath the ship, the sea heaves and rolls, as if it too can feel the weight of what’s coming.

Jeff lingers near the helm, his knuckles white around the wheel, his gaze flitting from the dark horizon to the sails of the ships around them. “Even with the fleet,” he mutters, almost to himself, “we’ll be outnumbered.”

Eddie goes to him, calm and unreadable, coat whipping in the wind, and places a firm hand on Jeff’s shoulder.

“We’re pirates,” he says quietly, voice steel-edged. “We’ve never won by being bigger.”

Jeff glances at him.

“We win by being faster,” Eddie continues, “meaner… dirtier. If the Carvers want to play rough, we’ll play rougher. They won’t even see us coming.”

The wind picks up, tugging at the rigging, pushing them onward.

Suddenly, a cry from the lookout: “Ship on the port side!”

Weapons twitch. Tension spikes. But then-

“The Zoomer,” someone calls out. 

“Madmax!” The crew roars as Max’s scarlet-trimmed vessel pulls up alongside. She stands tall at the helm, red locks plastered to her face, grinning like a devil. Her ship is lean, fast, every sail trimmed for stealth and speed.

She blows a kiss toward the Hellfire and shouts across the gap, “Thought you could start a war without me?”

Lucas shouts back, “I knew you’d come.”

“For you?” Max grins wider. “Always.”

As the fleet nears the Capital’s shores, fortune turns in their favor. A thick, mystical, other-worldly fog rolls in, blanketing the coastline. A perfect veil.

At the rail, Steve peers down. Just beneath the surface, pale, shimmering shapes twist and glide.

“The mermaids,” he smiles softly. A gift of fog. A silent blessing.

Ahead the capital’s castle looms high into the night sky. Steve’s old home.  Ancient grey stone carved into rocky cliffs. The Green banners of House Carver snap in the wind. The castle is peaceful and quiet. Not for long.

Steve grips the railing, jaw tight. Rage simmers in his gut. “Let them sleep,” he says. “We’ll wake them with fire.”

Michael appears beside him, his father’s sword at his hip. He nods toward the faint glimmers of torchlight onshore. “We hit fast. Overwhelm the beach. Force the royal army to meet us head-on.”

Steve studies him. “You ready for this?”

Michael’s eyes harden. 

“Remind the army, innocent civilians are to remain unharmed,” Steve says.

Michael nods and strides off to take command.

The fleet breaks formation. Longboats are lowered, packed with soldiers. Michael boards one and raises his fist.

“For Maple and the true king!” he roars.

On the quarterdeck, Jeff gathers the rest of the Hellfire crew. Dustin adjusts his gauntlets, Gareth grips twin blades, and Freak hums something wild and wordless. Lucas pauses at the plank, eyes flicking between the Hellfire and the Zoomer, which arcs in position to blockade the harbor.

Eddie rests a hand on his shoulder. “Go. She needs you.”

“You sure?” Lucas asks, jaw tight.

Eddie grins. “Max fights like lightning. She’ll need her thunder.”

Lucas claps Dustin’s shoulder and bolts into the mist.

A distant bell tolls. An alarm. The capital guards are waking.

“They’ve seen the fleet,” Gareth mutters.

Too late.

The Duke’s navy surges forward. Arrows streak through the sky. Ships scrape shore. From the capital, horns blare, and fires ignite.

“They’re biting,” Steve mutters.

Jeff shouts, “Positions! Defend the Hellfire and hold the line!”

Eddie grabs Steve’s sleeve. “It’s time.”

Steve nods. “We’ll go around. There’s a sea cave at the base of the cliffs. At high tide, it’s full, but there’s a tunnel that leads straight to the old kitchen cellars. I know the secrets of the castle better than my own face.”

“Pity,” Eddie grins, “You’ve got such a lovely face.”

~~~~

They slip into a small rowing boat. Fog swallows them whole.

Behind them battle erupts. Michael’s diversion works. The royal guard rushes down from the gates, pouring into the chaos.

No one watches the cliffs.

No one sees the boat slide into the mouth of the sea cave.

Inside, the cavern echoes with waves slapping stone. Steve leaps out, boots splashing, and grabs a rusted iron rung embedded in the slick wall.

“This way,” he whispers.

He climbs first, then hauls Eddie up behind him. In the flicker of a torch, Steve finds the stone panel he remembers and presses it open. A damp breeze rushes out.

They slip into the kitchen cellar, the air thick with dust. Footsteps muffled on damp stone, they find the narrow pantry door and ease it open. It creaks, just once, before revealing the long-abandoned servants’ kitchen, cloaked in shadows.

Beyond that lies a narrow corridor. A forgotten path to the Royal Courtyard.

Steve and Eddie move in silence, hearts pounding, each breath measured. The walls close in tight around them.

They press on in the dark, slipping through the castle’s hidden arteries.

Outside, the courtyard is still.

Too still.

And then,
 “HALT!”

Three guards drop from the upper landing, blades drawn. Their armor glints in the night sky. They move as one, circling fast.

Steve draws his dagger, but Eddie steps forward, calm and sharp.

“I’ve got this,” he says, twirling his sword. “Go. Get to Carver.”

Steve hesitates a beat, then nods and vanishes into the shadows of the keep.

He climbs the servant stairs, steps silent, heart thudding. At the top, he slips onto a balcony, scaling a trellis heavy with roses. At the top: his old window. His old room.

Inside, nothing’s changed.

Same tidy bed. Same sea breeze drifting through the curtains.

And in the corner, a familiar face-
 Tommy.

Tommy stands with a start. “Steve? You’re- you're alive.”

Steve draws his sword. “You knew.”

Tommy pales. “I—I didn’t know they would sell you to slavers. I thought they’d just exile you.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Steve snaps. His voice cracks like a whip in the quiet room. “You watched them drag me away.”

Tommy takes a step forward. “My father made the deal with the Carvers, Steve. He gave the order. I didn’t have a choice. You know what it’s like to have a cold, demanding father.”

“You always have a choice,” Steve growls.

Tommy’s voice breaks, barely more than a whisper. “That night… after the kiss… I wanted to run away with you. I did. But you… God, Steve, I knew you’d never feel the same. I panicked.”

Steve steps closer, blade raised to Tommy’s throat now. “You were my best friend. I trusted you like a brother. And you left me to rot.”

Tommy doesn't move. His eyes shine with unshed tears. “I was a coward.”

“Where’s Jason?” Steve demands.

Tommy swallows hard. “The crown room.”

Steve holds his stare another breath longer, then slowly lowers the blade.

“You’ll stay here if you know what’s best,” he says, voice low and trembling.

Tommy nods, sinking down to the floor. His shoulders quake as he pulls his knees to his chest, silent but sobbing.

Steve doesn’t look back.

~~~~~~

Steve storms into the throne room, his sword already drawn. Moonlight pours through the stained-glass windows, painting the marble floor in fractured pools of crimson and gold.

At the far end of the room, Jason Carver reclines on the throne, sword laid casually across his lap. He rises slowly, a sneer curling across his face.

“Well. The ghost prince returns,” he drawls. “I heard whispers; some fool dressed like royalty, parading around the Western Isles with pirates. I knew it couldn't be you. A real prince wouldn’t stoop so low.”

Steve’s voice cuts through the room like ice. “I didn’t come for talk. I came to end this.”

They strike.

Blades slam, sparks burst. Steve ducks, pivots, drives forward with furious speed. Jason stumbles back, barely blocking in time.

Jason grits his teeth, twists away. “Always more brawn than brain. That might win you childish games and court tournaments, but the crown demands more.”

“Still bitter I bested you at everything?” Steve snaps.

Their swords clash again. Metal shrieking, a blur of fury and footwork.

 “You were a decent fighter,” Jason sneers. “Shame your father never noticed.”

Their swords collide again, this time louder and faster

Steve lunges hard.

Jason meets it, “And your mother? She told me I’d make a better king than you. Said you were soft. Pretty, but dim.”

Steve falters. 

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Jason’s voice turns cruel. “You were never close to her. All that royal polish, and still the forgotten son.”

Steve’s grip tightens. Doubt flickers behind his eyes.

Jason steps closer, voice cold. “It doesn’t matter. Once she legitimizes my claim, I’ll put a blade through her heart, too.”

He lifts his sword. “But first, I’ll start with you.”

He grins. “GUARDS!”

Steve stiffens.

His eyes dart to the doors, there’s no way out. He’s exhausted, sword heavy in his grip. If backup comes, he’s finished.

Jason smirks. “What’s wrong? Realizing how this ends?”

A crash echoes from the corridor.

Steve turns as the doors burst open.

Smoke spills in. A figure steps through; wild-haired, bloodied, sword drawn.

Eddie.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, calm and cold.

Jason stares, then laughs. “Ah, the rumors are true, you have aligned yourself with a filthy pirate. Not so prince-like covered in the dirt of a mangy outlaw.”

Eddie lunges.

He knocks Jason’s sword free, slams him to his knees, fists tangled in his collar. He hauls him up, breath ragged, and throws him at Steve.

Jason crashes down, coughing, still defiant.

Steve raises his sword, then lowers it.

Spits at the pretend king.

“He’s not worth it.”

Outside, the castle bell rings. The Duke’s army, led by Michael, has breached the gates. The castle falls and the Carver banners burn.

~~~~

Jason is dragged to the dungeons to await trial for treason.

Upstairs, they find the queen locked in her room. The guards meant to watch her have long since fled.

Upon release, she rushes into her son’s arms, years of restraint breaking all at once.

“My boy,” she breathes, clutching him tightly.

But the fight isn’t over.

Jason’s father has escaped into the countryside.

“I’ll find him,” Max says, eyes sharp with purpose.

Lucas steps forward. “Take me with you. Just this once.”

She considers him, then nods. 

Together, they disappear through the gates at dawn.

That night, Steve is crowned the rightful King of Hawkins.

And Eddie stands beside him, exactly where he belongs.

~~~~

Chapter Text

The next few days bring chaos, but the tides turn swiftly in Steve’s favor. Though the people of Hawkins are stunned to learn that Steve lives, their loyalty shifts easily to the true heir; the brave, kind, and striking son of King Richard.

With the crown restored, Steve begins to rebuild the realm.

Michael is appointed High Marshal of the Royal Army, his sharp instincts earn him immediate respect.

Nancy becomes Royal Advisor, her intelligence and grace a guiding light.

The Byers family are granted noble titles; Jonathan, ever reluctant but steadfast, is named Duke of Loch Nora. Lord Theodore, moved by peace and diplomacy, offers his daughter’s hand in marriage to solidify the alliance between the two great counties.

Will returns to Maple and Gareth follows. Freak goes with them, settling in as the head baker of Castle Byers Inn, where his bread earns a reputation nearly as famous as his sea shanties.

Dustin remains in the capital, a trusted voice in the King’s Court.

Lucas and Max continue their adventures at sea aboard the Zoomer, sailing from continent to continent, sending postcards that make Steve laugh out loud.

Jeff, once a pirate, now commands the Royal Navy, having taken over after the removal of disgraced Commander Hagan.

Steve shows mercy to Tommy. Rather than execute him, he exiles his former friend from the kingdom. Word trickles in from travelers every now and then; rumors that Tommy has made a home on the warm beaches of the southern isles. Steve always feels a quiet relief when he hears it, forgiving his boyhood companion. 

He offers Jason mercy as well: freedom within the castle grounds, albeit heavily guarded. But Jason, impatient, bitter, and angered by the assasination of his father, tries to flee. On the high cliffside stairs of the castle, his foot slips. He tumbles into the rocks below. 

And Eddie.

All his crimes are pardoned by royal decree. He is named Ambassador of Goodwill and Charity, tasked with sailing the kingdom’s waters and using crown funds to aid the poor and neglected. He does it gladly, and though he now holds the title of Most Noble Royal Consort of the Crown and Realm, he rarely uses it. “It’s too fussy,” he says with a grin.

His favorite title is King Steve’s husband.

THE END