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

Chapter 420:

Smith

I follow His Highness to the secret meeting point where he is going to meet that lady.

He wanted to leave without guards. He said it would be safer. Fewer eyes. But I insisted. The capital is not safe. The court is not safe. People are not safe.

Besides, he has needed this moment of respite. I have seen how the crown is taking a toll on him—the sleepless nights, the heavy silences, the way he stares at the sea like he is searching for something he will never find.

We arrive at a commoner pub. The sign is faded. The windows are grimy. Loud music spills from the open door, accompanied by the thick smell of ale and sweat and pipe smoke.

This is not a place for royalty.

I watch as His Highness approaches a table in the corner. Two women in hoods are already seated there. Their faces are hidden, but I recognize the way they hold themselves. I did spend months with them at sea.

I take a seat at the bar, close enough to see, far enough to hear nothing.

The barkeep eyes me. His gaze flicks to my coat, my posture, the sword at my hip. I do not belong here. He knows it. I know it. We both pretend otherwise.

"Whiskey," I say.

"We don’t serve that fancy lot here." He jerks his thumb at the taps behind him. "Just beer."

I nod.

He pours.

A large metal can slides across the counter toward me. The foam spills over the rim, dark and bitter-smelling.

I take it.

I drink.

It is terrible.

I drink anyway.

The pub is loud. The music is louder. Men laugh and shout and spill their drinks on the sticky floor. A woman in a torn dress weaves between tables, collecting empty mugs, ignoring the hands that reach for her skirt.

"Good day, sir." A voice purrs beside me. A hand slides onto my bicep. "Fancy spending a night with me?"

"No."

"I promise you will not regret it."

"Listen here, lady—" I turn to face her. "I said n—"

It is Naia.

Her dark eyes gleam. Her painted lips curl into a smile. Her beads click softly as she leans closer.

"Hello, Smith."

I stare at her.

"You are supposed to be on the ship."

"Well, my dear captain had business with the prince." She runs her finger up my hand, then my arm, then my chin. "And I followed in hopes of seeing you."

I do not respond.

But I do not pull away either.

Naia’s smile widens.

"Still babysitting, I see."

"It is called guarding."

"Same thing."

"It is not the same thing."

She clicks her tongue. "So defensive."

I turn back to the prince. He is still speaking with Nancy and Marina. His hands are flat on the table now. His shoulders are tense.

"Looks like their conversation will take time." Naia’s hand slides into my shirt. "Why do we not have a conversation of our own?"

"Stop. I am on duty."

"Come on." Her fingers trace my chest. "For old times’ sake."

"No."

"Are you going to make me beg?" she whispers against my ear.

I grab her wrist.

I pull her hand out of my shirt.

I hold it there—firm, but not tight.

"Naia."

"Smith."

She raises her hand in defeat and sits beside me. The silence between us is loud, despite the noisy pub—the shouting, the music, the clatter of mugs. None of it reaches me. There is only her. Only the weight of her presence. Only the memory of her hands.

I take a couple more glances at the prince.

No one knows him here. He is just another man in a commoner pub, hooded and hunched over a table with two women who could be sisters or strangers or anything in between.

Nothing will happen if I am gone for five minutes.

"Just once," I say.

I stand.

Naia looks up at me.

Her dark eyes gleam.

She gives me a victorious smile.

*

The alley is dark. The walls are damp. A rat scurries past my boot.

I fix my pants. Naia fixes her skirts and places her chest back into her dress. Her beads click softly in the silence.Her lips are swollen.

"One last kiss," she says.

She kisses me.

It is not a quick kiss. Not a gentle one. It is deep and long and thorough. Her tongue brushes against mine. Her fingers tangle in my hair. Her body presses against me, warm and insistent.

I start to feel dizzy.

Confused.

She pulls away.

"Never trust a pirate," she whispers.

Her eyes gleam, then I’m surrounded by darkness.

The last thing I see is her smile.

The last thing I feel is her hand on my cheek.

Then—

Nothing.

***

Naia

I look at the unconscious Smith in the alleyway and wonder what to do.

Should I just kill him?

He is already as good as dead, anyway. If the court finds out the prince went missing on his watch—disappeared while Smith was occupied in an alley with a woman—they will have his head.

I crouch beside him.

His chest rises and falls. Slow. Shallow. The sleeping draught I slipped into his drink will keep him under for hours.

Long enough.

"Such a shame," I murmur.

I trace his jaw with my finger.

He was my favorite.

But I can find another one. There is no shortage of men, after all. The world is full of sailors and soldiers and lonely souls looking for warmth in the dark.

I walk away.

The alley is dark. The walls are damp. A fat rat scurries past my boot, the same one that scurried before? Nah this must be that rat’s fat cousin.

I step into the street.

The night air is cool. The lanterns flicker. In the distance, I see a stumbling prince being guided away into the darkness.

The drug has worked on him too.

His head lolls. His feet drag. His hood has fallen back, revealing his pale face and closed eyes. To anyone watching, he looks like a drunk man being helped home by his concerned friends.

A burly man;one of the crew, one of ours hoists the prince over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

I scurry along to join them. The kidnapping of a Prince has been a success.

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