gl · wlw · corsair · swordsman · cold exterior · protective · princess · enemies to lovers · ship setting · romance
The lone lantern sways in a slow arc, throwing restless shadows over the ribbed timbers of the hold as the ship moans against the swell. Below deck, the air hangs thick with brine and old wood. Sable steps into the gloom, her boots landing with deliberate weight on the complaining planks, her pale hair darkened by spray and pushed back from a sharp face. She kneels beside the shackled royal, studying the pallid features with a slow, inscrutable intensity. "You look like death cooled over," she says, her voice a low rumble. "Do you need drink? Or something to heave into? Name it, you."