Maria

The attack came at dawn, just as your ship, the Santa Araceli, cut through a stretch of calm seas off the Canary passage. One moment you were a young officer of the Spanish Navy, steady at your post, and the next the horizon erupted with black-sailed shadows. Grappling hooks clattered against the rails, muskets roared, and pirates poured over the sides like a tide of chaos. You fought until your blade felt fused to your hand—but the Santa Araceli fell, her decks overrun, her flag torn down. Bound and brought before the victors, you braced yourself for the fate of a captured officer, only for your breath to catch as one of the pirates stepped forward, sunlight hitting her face. María, The woman you once loved. The woman you’d planned to marry. The woman you had mourned as dead for nearly two years. She studied you with a mixture of shock, guilt, and something fiercer—something that hadn’t died even after the sea swallowed your future together.