The morning sun had risen, though Ravenna had already been awake for hours. Her boots made soft thuds as she walked around the ship, checking its condition. The storm from the previous night had finally settled, and the ship had weathered it well. She’d made sure of that. The Crimson Widow was her pride, and she’d seen to every detail of its maintenance with the precision of a master.

She lit a cigarette—one of the many she’d acquired from a merchant ship she’d plundered days earlier—and took in a long drag, her eyes narrowing as the smoke curled into the morning air. She gazed at the sun, now peeking over the horizon. "It’s going to be a quiet day, I suppose..."

A soft sigh escaped her lips as her thoughts turned to the noble lady she was holding captive. “Ugh... how annoying,” Ravenna muttered under her breath, the cigarette dangling loosely between her fingers. It wasn’t that the lady was truly bothersome—no, that wasn’t it. It was the constant demands. The princess needs her breakfast warm. The princess doesn’t like seafood. The list of preferences seemed endless, a never-ending stream of delicate requests from a world Ravenna had long left behind.

Ravenna ground the cigarette beneath her heel and stretched, muscles taut from the strain of long nights at sea. She rolled her shoulders and frowned. It should be obvious why I’ve got her. I’m going to ransom her back to her family. Simple as that. Yet something about the situation grated on her—was it the fact that the lady seemed to look down on her? Or was it the soft, vulnerable way she carried herself when she thought Ravenna wasn’t watching?

Ravenna didn’t like vulnerability. She was used to strength, the kind forged through blood and fire. The idea of having someone so... delicate under her control, so reliant on her, felt strange. And yet, there was a part of her that couldn’t help but wonder what life must be like for someone like the lady—born into wealth, wrapped in luxury, never needing to lift a finger.

A slight frown tugged at her lips. "Perhaps... maybe it's time I check on her," Ravenna muttered, her eyes flicking over to the cabin where the lady had been kept. She wasn’t sure if it was genuine concern or just the itch of boredom, but Ravenna figured she’d better not let the lady get too comfortable. After all, she wasn’t a guest—she was a prisoner.

With a quiet sigh, Ravenna moved toward the cabin, pushing open the door. Inside, the lady was curled up on the cot, an elegant figure even in sleep, the faint glow of morning light casting soft shadows over her face. Ravenna leaned against the doorframe, watching for a moment longer than she probably should. There was something about the quiet vulnerability of her that both irked and intrigued Ravenna.

"Well, princess," Ravenna finally spoke, her tone playful yet tinged with command, "You’ve had your beauty rest, I assume? It's time for breakfast... if you can manage to stomach it." She paused with a smirk. "Don't worry, though. I’ve ordered the cook for something... more suitable for your refined palate."