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Arthur stood at the bow, feeling the wind in his hair and the salty foam flecks from the frothy sea drop on his skin. However, something felt truly off.

There was something wrong with the world, and he couldn’t quite place it.

You came up beside him, putting your arm around his waist, and he couldn’t even think to blush at the gesture. Distracted by the speck coming up towards them Arthur was filled with a different emotion. He was consumed with fury at the audacity of that man, and Arthur let out a growl.

Feeling his chest vibrate and the feral noise you looked up into those emeralds and asked with wide (e/c) eyes, “What is it?”

Arthur looked out at the over embellished vessel coming straight for them at a truly breakneck speed on the swaying horizon.

“That’s Bonnefoy’s ship.”

~

You stiffened at the name, having heard numerous stories about your good friend’s nemesis before.

Alfred ran up, having gotten used to addressing you both equally. “Captain Kirkland, Captain _____! Should we ready the canons?”

Arthur was about to speak, but you cut him off, turning to face Alfred then stepping forward and saying, “No. Let them board.”

“W-What are you thinking?!” Arthur fumed, catching your arm and holding you back, more in a protective manner than anything else.

You sent a sly grin over your shoulder to him, and said calmly, but with a hint of ever present exhilaration, “He’s your mortal enemy, right? I’d like to see what he’s made of, personally.”

Kirkland didn’t like it one tiny, minuscule bit. Growling he demanded, “I don’t want him within ten yards of you.”

“You know me,” you joked, still smiling, “he won’t land a single blow.”

Arthur’s glare softened while staring in your (e/c) eyes, “That’s not what I’m worried about. He won’t hurt you, he’ll just steal you away from me.”

“Know what I think?” you asked with a soft smile rather than your ever present grin. “I think you’re the bloody English Empire, and you can do anything. So you could definitely take that smarmy bastard any day you pleased.”

Kirkland stared. You had never outright complimented him like that before. It, however, allowed you to escape from his grasp, brandishing your long sword, and you called out, “Men! Are you all prepared to kick some filthy french asses?!”

“Aye!” they chorused out, most of your crew smiling like fools. After you had met Captain Kirkland, things had gotten much too quite for their liking.

Arthur caught your frame again by the shoulders and whipped you around to face him, “I’m serious! I don’t want him near you! You don’t know how he is around beautiful women...”

Frowning, you were slightly dazed by the compliment. Arthur seemed sincere and passionate, and you couldn’t quite understand your feelings. In your reverie you promised, “How about ten feet?” And then you walked off, leaving Kirkland worried and half relieved at the same time.

It wasn’t long before the pompous ship and its pompous owner were close enough to board.

Bonnefoy walked across a plank, still managing to look like an overly rich ass dressed as a pirate. Dignity and grace leaked from all his pores, and so did a rank cologne that made you grimace.

He was a man so arrogant only pompous words could describe his supercilious behavior.

Jeers surrounded him as he came upon your crew, but he only gave them a patronizing look before landing fluidly on the deck, brushing a hand through his silky blonde locks and batting his eyelashes at you while you stared in utter disgust.

This man took all that was being a pirate and spat upon it. He made you sick to your stomach. His blue coat was laden with embellishments, and it appeared he could hardly take a step, he was so labored.

Being a pirate wasn’t about the riches so much as the lifestyle. Francis Bonnefoy did not understand this. Arthur did, and you respected Kirkland for it. Being a pirate was about the adventures, the journeys, the danger, not the rewards afterwards. Those were only to send you off into a peaceful retirement, so to speak.

“Who are you?” you asked blandly, hoping perhaps his tone would prove he wasn’t all he truly seemed.

He took off his hat, bowing low. “I am Francis Bonnefoy, ma belle.”

Arthur fumed, “She’s not ‘your’ anything, limy bastard!”

“‘Ello, Arthur.” he spat. Nodding his head toward Arthur he said, “Restrain him, Tony, Gilbert.”

Your eyes widened as two men easily subdued Kirkland, and more men rushed around to bind your men.

“So, ma belle,” Francis sneered, looking you over like a decent piece of meat, “why don’t you just come along on my ship? Lord knows it’s better than this old hunk of wood.”

Arthur stared at you, hope in his eyes fading. There wasn’t a woman he knew that would fall for him over Francis. Your (e/c) eyes whipped around in defeat, and he almost started to hang his head.

Then your gaze fell on Francis, while he smiled that predatory grin that made Arthur sick. Arthur could see that glint in your eyes that he had dreamed you would only ever share with him.

You stalked over to Francis. But you stopped, just about ten feet from him. Letting out a small giggle, you stared him down. Arthur couldn’t seem to tear his emerald eyes away from the scene. He cared for you so much, and now you were just going to leave him, so simply, for his worst enemy.

Then he picked up on a sour tone in your laugh. Stopping abruptly, you glared at Francis’ carefree look of achievement. “You make me sick.” you snapped, voice brimming with venom. “I’d take great pleasure in cutting out your tongue, but I wouldn’t want to sully my hands with your disgusting blood.”

“How dare yo-” Francis started, his overly elegant voice tremulous and disturbed at your forwardness. You were unlike any woman he had ever seen before.

You cut him off, “I would like to see you kneel.”

“Excuse m-” he started to ask incredulously.

But again you cut him off, drawing your specially designed pistol, “Kneel.” You demanded bluntly, aiming your gun at his head.

Francis drew his own gun, and Arthur started to strain once again against his captors, worried about your safety. The second Francis attempted to take aim, you shot the gun out of his hand and flying backwards into the ocean. “Kneel.” you hissed, taking another shot to blast through the ropes around Arthur’s hands, scaring the living daylights out of Antonio and Gilbert.

During all the commotion Arthur grabbed both Gilbert and Antonio’s swords, and pointed them directly at their throats, almost pressing into the soft flesh.

Showing his true cowardice and pitiful self preservation techniques, Francis sank to his knees on the deck.

While Arthur was distracted in pure bliss at the sight, Antonio and Gilbert tried to make a run for it, but turned just to end up facing furious members of your crew, that you had thrown a cutlass to amidst the ruckus.

You cried out in exhilaration, “All of you! Kneel before the King and Queen of the Sea!”

Everyone on board stopped what they were doing, and knelt down around you two. You beamed at Arthur, and he stared back in beautiful disbelief at you... At his queen.