Miami Harbor, Florida Keys – Two Months Later

  "What's the problem, Jackie?"

  Elora, my best friend, leaned against the dock post with her arms crossed. Her tone was half-concerned, half-exasperated — the way only best friends can get away with.

  “You need to get a boyfriend,” she repeated for the third time that week.

  I rolled my eyes and glanced at my sailboat. The Sea Bird shimmered in the morning sun, silver hull gleaming, blue sails furled and ready for wind.

  “I don’t have time for boys,” I said. “I have races to win, classes to pass, and pirates to avoid.”

  “You sound like your father,” Elora groaned.

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “No.”

  I smirked. “Then I’ll take it as one.”

  “You’re isolating yourself, Jackie. Sailing solo every day, talking more to your boat than to people. It’s not healthy.”

  “It’s freedom,” I corrected her.

  “You used to laugh with us. You used to stay on land.”

  “Now I sail.”

  She sighed. “You’re impossible.”

  I gave her a sideways glance. “What are you doing today?”

  “I’m going out with Brandon. Sunset Bar. Six o’clock. You?”

  “Rigging Sea Bird. She's racing tomorrow.”

  “Ugh.”

  “You could come.”

  “I get seasick.”

  “You get motion sick from elevators.”

  “Still counts.”

  I smiled. "Alright. What about sword training? Just like old times?”

  That perked her up. “Really?”

  “Meet you at the courtyard in twenty.”

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  I trained with Elora every few days. I used an elvish-forged sword my father gifted me when I was thirteen — it turned cold when drawn, gleaming like polished frost. Elora wielded a steel blade, a little heavier, but she moved like a dancer.

  We sparred until our tunics were soaked through. I needed it — something about slicing through the air made me feel alive.

  When we were done, I left her at the barracks and returned to the marina.

  I tightened the Sea Bird’s halyards and checked the sails. The boat was immaculate. One mast, sleek silver hull, everything custom-made. A gift from my father — the Lord of Florida Key and the richest man in the hemisphere.

  He was known across the Caribbean as The Lord of Powder — because he owned most of the world’s gunpowder. Literally. A third of our kingdom’s wealth had gone into stockpiling it. Now every nation begged him for supplies.

  But all his money couldn’t buy him peace of mind. Especially not after the rumors.

  Pirates.

  Real ones.

  Just as I finished adjusting the rigging, I heard someone shouting my name. It was Pierre, one of our castle servants, sprinting down the pier.

  “Lady Jackie! Wait! You must not sail!”

  He was panting so hard I thought he might pass out.

  “Why?”

  “Your father — he forbids it. There are pirates in the Caribbean waters. Dangerous ones. They say their captain isn’t even human. Green eyes. Webbed hands. And… an elf.”

  I blinked. “A black elf?”

  “Yes!”

  “But black elves haven’t been seen in two hundred years.”

  “So they say. But the pirates are real. They’ve sunk three law-enforcement schooners. Only five men survived.”

  I frowned. “And the race?”

  “Canceled. By royal decree. No one sails until the pirates are dealt with.”

  My fists clenched. “Unacceptable.”

  He lowered his head. “I only deliver the message, my lady.”

  “Then go deliver one back — I’m coming to the fort.”

  The fortress sat on a hill above the bay, 13 cannons pointed at the sea like teeth. Inside the war room, golden torches flickered over maps, ledgers, and charts of the Caribbean.

  “Father,” I said sharply as I entered.

  He looked up, stern and tired. “Jackie.”

  “You’ve canceled the race. You’ve forbidden me to sail.”

  He nodded. “The pirates are moving closer. I’ve sent three warships and thirteen schooners — over a thousand men. They’ll destroy the pirates and return peace to our shores.”

  “Let me go with them.”

  “No.”

  “I’m the best sailor in your kingdom.”

  “No.”

  “You said yourself: these are the finest crews in the world. I’d be safe.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Only aboard The Peacemaker. That ship alone has armor thick enough to resist fire and arrows. You will not leave her deck.”

  “I’ll take that deal.”

  He turned to a man standing in the shadows.

  “Captain Ronald Bergly, step forward.”

  A tall, broad man with streaks of white in his beard approached and bowed. His eyes were like iron.

  “Ronald,” Father said, “keep my daughter safe aboard The Peacemaker. If the other ships fail—run them over.”

  “With honor, my lord,” Bergly said.

  I smiled for the first time that day.

  “Get your gear,” Father said. “You sail at first light.”

  I packed my rigging knife, my oilskins, and my bow — a blackwood longbow crafted in the Highlands. My sword belt slid easily around my waist. I looked dangerous. I felt dangerous. But I still didn’t know if we were hunting pirates… or if they were hunting us.

  The next morning, I boarded The Peacemaker. Its massive sails glistened — soaked deliberately to make them fireproof. Over 300 crewmen bustled across the deck. Only a third were sailors. The rest?

  Soldiers.

  Killers.

  I looked up at the sea beyond the bay.

  Somewhere out there was a schooner with red sails.

  Somewhere out there was a pirate with green eyes and a flaming sword.

  And he didn’t know it yet.

  But I was coming for him.