QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)

Chapter 417:

Nancy

I cannot believe we are going to kidnap a prince.

Not just any prince. The prince. The one I sailed across the sea with. The one who trusted me with his maps, his routes, his life. The one I left behind without a second thought.

And now I am returning to take him.

What has my life become?

The Bunny docks at a hidden illegal port—a crumbling pier tucked between two cliffs, used by smugglers and fugitives and people who do not want to be found. The sailors who greet us ask no questions. They know the flag. They know the captain. They know better.

This is also the first time I have set foot in the kingdom since leaving with His Highness.

Two years.

I feel... different.

The air is the same. The salt, the sea, the distant smell of smoke from the city. But I am not the same.

"Nancy?" Marina calls.

I rush to walk next to her.

We pay for two carriages. Marina, Naia, and I ride in one. The others—six more pirates, armed and silent—follow in the second. A group too large would be suspicious. A group too small would be vulnerable. Marina chose the number carefully.

The sun has long since set when we arrive in the capital.

The streets are empty. The lamps are lit. The palace looms in the distance, dark against the starry sky.

Marina and I check into an inn.

The room is small. One bed. One window. One candle flickering on the nightstand.

I walk to the window and look at the castle in the distance—the familiar streets, the familiar rooftops, the familiar spires silhouetted against the moonlight.

I spent years in this city. I mapped its surrounding waters. I walked its cobblestone paths. I dreamed of escaping it.

Now I am back.

And it feels like visiting a ghost.

"How does it feel to be back home?" Marina asks.

I turn from the window. Her eyes are watching me, soft and steady.

"This place is not my home," I say.

I walk away from the window. I cross to the bed. I slide beneath the covers next to her, the sheets cool against my skin.

"My home is on the waters," I say. "With you."

I kiss her.

An action I am now completely familiar with. The Devil was right. This type of emotion, this type of affection—it would never have been possible with a man.

Not because men are incapable of love. But because the love I feel for Marina exists in a space that has no name, no template, no expectation. It is not about roles or duties or the careful performance of partnership. It is simply... her.

What we feel for each other is something that cannot be described.

Something in our souls that goes beyond the physical. Beyond the body.Beyond touch. Beyond words. Beyond the careful boundaries the world tries to draw around love.

I pull away. I kiss her nose. Then I lie back down.

The ceiling is dark. The candle flickers. The sheets are warm.

"Is you serious?" Marina’s voice cuts through the quiet. "Going back to sleep?"

I stop myself from smiling.

She exhales—a long, dramatic sigh that is entirely for my benefit.

"You cannot just kiss me and then go to sleep."

"Apparently I can."

"Nancy."

"Marina."

She glares at me.

I close my eyes.

She exhales again. Louder this time.

I do not respond.

She huffs.

Then she lies down beside me.

I feel her warmth. Her presence. The weight of her arm as she drapes it over my waist.

I turn and place my head on her chest.

Her heartbeat is steady beneath my ear. Her skin is soft. Her chest is bouncy—a fact I discovered early in our relationship and have appreciated ever since.

I fall back asleep.

The last thing I hear is her quiet laugh.

The last thing I feel is her kiss on my hair.

*

"We cannot just waltz into the palace," I say.

The morning light is gray through the inn window. Marina stands by the door, arms crossed, watching me struggle with the laces of my corset.

"It is impossible. I will try to leverage my position to have His Highness come meet us outside the castle."

Marina does not look happy.

Of course she does not. It means I may have to go to my family.

I change into a corset and a dress—layers of fabric, stiff and heavy and suffocating. The boning digs into my ribs. The skirts brush the floor. The sleeves restrict my arms.

I feel how uncomfortable they are.

How hot—the multiple layers trapping heat against my skin.

How did I wear this for most of my life?

"You look..." Marina trails off.

"What?"

"Different."

"Different?"

"Like those posh nobles."

"I am a noble." I glare at her.

She raises her hands in surrender. "I did not say it was a bad thing."

Marina grins.

I want to kiss her.

I cannot kiss her. My corset is too tight. My hair is too pinned. My lips are painted the proper shade of rose, and if I ruin them, I will have to reapply, and I do not have time.

I leave the inn.

I head toward a salon I know noble youths like to frequent. It is a place for gossip, for whispered deals, for information traded over tea and pastries. If anyone knows where the prince will be today, it will be there.

Unfortunately, I bump into my sister-in-law.

Pray tell what she is doing here? It is supposed to be improper for noble ladies to be in this establishment.

"Nancy, is that you?"

I hesitate.

I consider making a run for it.

But I cannot. I would not get very far in this attire anyway. The skirts are too long. The corset is too tight. The heels would betray me on the cobblestones.

"Oh dear." She clasps her hands together. "It is you."

"Sister-in-law," I say.

Her eyes flick over my dress, my hair, my presence. She notices everything. She always has.

"You look... tan," she says.

"Indeed." I keep my voice light. "I may have grown to love the embrace of the sun."

I think of my hours standing on the deck of The Bunny, the warm light on my skin, the salt spray on my face, Marina beside me.

"Oh dear." My sister-in-law presses a hand to her chest. "But a proper noble lady should not have skin a color like so."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"I will take that under advisement," I say.

She frowns. "Nancy—"

"Sister-in-law." I step past her. "I do not have time for this conversation."

"Your brother and father are worried about you so dearly."

I think of my father. His cold eyes. His dismissive waves. The way he looked at my maps and said, "A woman’s place is not at sea."

I think of my brother. His laughter when I told him my plans. His certainty that I would fail. His surprise when the prince chose me for the journey.

Worried.

I almost laugh.

"Then send my regards, sister-in-law," I say.

I walk away.

Her voice follows me—thin, reedy, insistent. "Nancy! Nancy, wait! Your brother will want to see you! Your father—"

I do not stop.

I do not look back. That door to that life is sealed.

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