Chapter 382:

Daphne

I watch from the crow’s nest as the mermaid princess follows the prince’s ship.

She’s been there for the past five days.

A dark shape beneath the waves, just visible when the sun hits the water right. She follows them everywhere—when they sail, when they anchor, when they drift through the calm, empty nights. She doesn’t approach. Doesn’t surface. Just watches.

I’m losing my patience.

In the original story, the crew goes through a multitude of events before they reach the monster. A pirate attack. A kraken. The prince falls sick. Another pirate attack. Marina falls sick. Smith—the prince’s old mentor,dies.

Each event is supposed to grow the bond between them. Forge loyalty. Deepen love. Push the prince toward the man he needs to become.

There’s only one problem.

I don’t have the patience to wait for all of this to happen.

So I’ve sent word to every pirate within the vicinity.

A prince. A mermaid. A ship heavy with supplies and gold and opportunity.

Greedy bastards, the lot of them. They won’t be able to resist. They’ll come crawling out of every cove, every harbor, every hidden inlet, dragging their cutlasses and their cannons and their desperate, hungry want.

This will cut the prolonged, constant pirate attacks down to a single event.

Efficient.

As for the sickness, I have a potion from the System. Nothing will happen. Or rather, nothing permanent will happen. The prince will feel ill. The crew will panic. Smith will hover. But in the end, everyone will survive.

As for the kraken...

That thing is actually the little mermaid princess’s father’s pet. A guardian. A weapon. A message. He sent it to bring her back—to scare the humans, to retrieve his daughter, to remind everyone that the sea is not theirs to command.

There was a misunderstanding. The king assumed the prince kidnapped her. He didn’t. He saved her.

But kings don’t ask questions.

They just send monsters apparently.

*

I look through the eyeglass.

Not a regular spyglass—one I got from the System. It can show me a hundred times the distance a normal one can. The horizon jumps toward me, sharp and clear, as if the ocean folded itself in half.

I scan the water.

One ship.

Two ships.

Three ships.

Four.

Five.

Sails dark against the gray sky. Moving fast. Moving hungry.

Nice.

I lower the eyeglass, tuck it into my coat, and grab the rope. The coarse fibers burn against my palms as I swing down from the crow’s nest, landing on the deck with a soft thud.

The crew looks up.

"Everyone listen!" I shout.

They stop. Turn. Wait.

"Expect an attack in one or two days."

***

Nancy

The Devil astounds me.

The more I see her—the more I watch her move, speak, command—the more I admire her. She’s so different from anyone I’ve ever met. So confident. So free.

She’s a female pirate.

A pirate renowned throughout the seas, and when people speak of her, they don’t talk about the fact that she’s a woman. They don’t whisper for a woman or despite being a woman or any of the qualifiers that usually follow women who dare to be exceptional.

She simply is.

She commands respect on her own terms.

The crew is buzzing. Word has spread—an attack is coming. Pirates, they say. Five ships, they say. The crew scrambles, preparing, arming, readying.

No one is paying attention to me.

I slip away from the prince’s ship, cross the deck, and find the plank connecting our vessel to The Bunny.

The wood is narrow. Worn smooth by countless footsteps. It sways with the movement of the ships, creaking softly, swaying gently.

I take a step.

My feet wobble. My heart lurches. I look down—the ocean current is relentless, churning between the two hulls, dark and hungry.

I grip the rope railing. My palms are sweaty. My breath is shallow.

I want to turn back.

But no.

This is my chance.

I walk.

The plank wobbles. The wind pulls at my skirts. The water below is dark and cold and scary.

But I keep walking.

Slowly. Carefully. One step at a time.

I reach the middle. The sun is hot on my face. My palms are slick with sweat. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.

But I don’t stop.

I keep walking.

When I reach The Bunny, a large pirate blocks my path. His arms are crossed. His face is blank. He doesn’t speak—just looms.

I freeze.

Right.

Why was I doing this? Just walking? With no plan? No invitation? No purpose?

I feel my face flush. My hands tremble.

"Let her on."

The voice comes from somewhere behind the large man. He steps aside.

I jump onto the deck, grateful for the solid wood beneath my feet.

I smooth my skirts. Straighten my sleeves. Try to look like I belong here.

The Bunny is... not what I expected.

It’s stable. Almost unnaturally stable. You would think you were on land, not a ship, not a vessel tossed by waves and current. The deck barely moves. The wood is clean, scrubbed, almost polished.

It smells nice. Not like salt and sweat and old fish. Like... flowers? Soap?

I look around.

There are men playing chess near the main mast, their heads bent together, their voices low and amused. They’re not shouting. Not fighting. Not drinking. Just... playing chess.

Nearby, another man reads a book. A book. On a pirate ship.

It looks like one of those fancy saloons noblemen frequent—the ones I’ve only ever glimpsed through windows, the ones I’ve always been told are not for the likes of me.

I walk further, intrigued.

The deck opens into a sitting area. Chairs. Tables. A rug. A rug. On a ship.

There are plants in pots. Real plants, green and thriving, not the dried-up herbs sailors usually carry for medicine. Flowers, even. Small white blossoms spilling over the edges of ceramic pots.