Cade's fast asleep when I lie down next to him, and for this, I am glad. Although Charlie's words continue to weigh heavily on my mind, they have failed to sway my resolve. I'm still against hastening the marriage just to calm my husband-to-be's own apprehensions, no matter how much I love him. If I were to give in now, our union would be forever overshadowed by the circumstances it started under.

 If God wills it, we will be married. But it won't be tomorrow.

 When I wake, the spot beside me is empty. Straining my eyes against the sunlight shining through the glass panes, I find Cade standing at the foot of the bed with his naked back to me. The occasional splash of water and his telltale movements make his actions clear.

I wait for him to finish shaving and keep quiet, unsure if he's still cross with me from last night. We haven't had a proper quibble – certainly not one that involved shouting – since long before leaving the Caribbean. However, I also made it clear he shouldn't get rid of his beard just for me, so his actions right now are puzzling.

I'm hoping it means he wants to forget the whole affair. I'm certainly ready to act as if had never even happened. In spite of knowing what to expect, when he finally turns around I'm still momentarily taken aback.

As he wipes the last of the water and soap off his skin, I recall that night in an island hut when I stitched his handsome face together. That scar – a thick, jagged line running down his cheek – is now prominently visible. Although its ruggedness suits him and does little to diminish his attractiveness, it also serves as a harsh reminder of the brutality of war.

"Put some clothes on, Ana." His words snap me out of my reminiscing. "And none of that lad's get-up. You'll have to settle on a dress, and while you're at it, pack a bag."

I wrinkle my brows in confusion. "A bag? Am I going somewhere?"

"Aye." He throws the towel on the bed before reaching for his shirt. "At midday, every captain in the fleet is meeting on the commander's ship one last time before we reach the French blockade. If you were anyone else, I'd just take you with me and leave quietly. However, given the circumstances, I feel it's best if I told you of my intentions beforehand."

I jump to my feet as he pulls the white, cotton garment over his head. "I realize you must still be cross with me, but—"

"I made this decision well before last night." He cuts me off. "You'll be much safer on the HMS Bedford under Rear Admiral Graves' command."

This directive catches me off guard, and I'm not ready to argue. Instead, I rush toward him. "What about the hours until then? I can help with preparations—"

"There's no need. It's best if you just stay out of the way." He steps back and crouches before the large trunk. Opening the lid, he pulls out my sword and hands it to me. "Don't forget this."

I take the grip and squeeze it tight. Extending my arm, I hold the exquisite piece parallel to the floor. Made of the best metals and encompassing the finest details, it's dainty enough for a woman, but sharp enough to kill.

"What use will this be to me? I don't even know how to wield it."

"Through no fault of mine." He stands. "Perhaps you shouldn't have refused my offers to teach you."

Frowning, I throw the weapon on the bed. "I didn't think I'd ever be exiled from your side, now did I?"

He doesn't argue, knowing my real aversion stems from neither using the sword, nor from battle itself. Rather, it's because of what the object represents.

The crew of the Phoenix Rising gave me the weapon after I helped them steal a great deal of gold from Panama's treasury. Although I appreciate the gesture, I am not prepared to rise to their expectations. I'm woefully unqualified for any leadership position, much less the laughable title of Pirate Queen.

Quietly gathering the rest of his clothing, Cade ultimately leaves me alone.

Not having a reason to rush, I take my time in getting ready. After slipping into a relatively simple dress – it requires neither a bustle nor someone to help me put it on – I throw a few necessities into a carpetbag. I also tidy up before finally going out onto the deck.    

The crew is spending the morning the same way they've been for the last few weeks, but one thing is noticeably different. Although I'm used to seeing them running their various drills prepping the cannons or unfurling the sails while looking like common pirates, today they resemble proper sailors.

I knew they received official military uniforms matching the men in the British fleet, but this is the first time I've seen them wearing the attire. The outfits all share a common color scheme: white trousers and matching waistcoats, blue jackets, and black hats. However, the individual tailoring differs by rank.

The men with the lowest status – the mates consisting of able-bodied seamen, carpenters, and gunners – wear the most simplistic styles. The navigators, helmsman, and masters in their craft have longer jackets with shinier buttons, while those in command like Quartermaster Smythe even get fancy, gold threaded tricorns.

Nevertheless, the small, gray-haired man – who I've come to regard as a second father – doesn't appear to be impressed with the fashionable distinction. He keeps removing the heavy, felt hat to wipe his perspiring brows, and I'm sure he'd rather trade it for his well-worn, red cap.

This scene would usually make me smile, but there's no joy in my heart right now. The worry isn't for myself. I'm confident I'll be back on board in a day or two at the most, but I'm just as sure some of these men won't be alive by then. Who'll be the unlucky ones, only God knows; so I've decided that for the next few hours I'm going to spend time with each and every one of them. It may very well be the last chance I'll have to do so.

There's no true method to my actions, but I try to catch the men when they're on brief breaks or otherwise not preoccupied with their work. Luckily, they each have their own anecdotes or just overall feelings they're happy to share.

The gunners – including Cox and Winchell – are the most upbeat, spurred on from the prospect of a good fight. None have any doubts about Captain Kincade's leadership and are all ready and willing to follow him to victory. Sailing Master Till, on the other hand, wipes the glass in his spectacles absent-mindedly with his kerchief as he recalls a battle with the elder Pirate King. That incursion led to major casualties, including the death of his own son, and isn't something he'd like to relive again today.

When the sun is almost at its highest point in the sky, the sails on the Phoenix are raised, and the ship begins to slow. The other vessels around us follow the same pattern, readying to stop for the mid-day rendezvous. There isn't much time left now.

Heading toward the stern, I run into Sam – literally when he jumps into my path down from the main mast – and follow him into the galley. He takes an early lunch and in the company of Jonas, the cook, tells me about the months he spent in America before becoming a pirate. Afterwards, I briefly join Taylor at the helm. He confides in me that he'd rather be anywhere else right now than on board the Phoenix Rising, but that won't affect his service.

Hours into my endeavor, I'm emotionally exhausted, but not quite done. Gazing at the ocean over the bow, I've just finished chatting with Butler when Femi's billowing baritone voice rings out. "All hands on deck!"

Everyone drops what they're doing and scurries to assemble in two, neat lines at the foot of the quarterdeck. My attire doesn't allow for such rushed movements, so I casually stroll to my place near the end of the front row. Looking up at the platform above, we watch as Captain Kincade emerges from the navigation room and joins the large, African man.

The latter looks quite uncomfortable in his formal clothing, shifting and tugging at every chance. I can understand why. While his bulging arm muscles are usually without the constraints of sleeves, today they're strictly confined below both a shirt and jacket. Inversely, the captain looks as though he was born to wear the uniform.

Cade's clean-shaven face now appears even younger than his twenty-four years, but he carries himself with both poise and authority in the garb. He's paired the outfit with his own weapons including the cutlasses hanging from his hips, and they gracefully move with his every step. His bell-shaped hat makes him appear taller even after he descends the steps to our level.

"As you all know, we're just hours out from the mouth of the Chesapeake River." He begins his address, while pacing past us. "There, a determined fleet of highly capable French vessels is blocking the only route to Yorktown where our own General Lord Cornwallis is stationed. It is our duty to make sure the English ships surrounding us can break the blockade and move His Majesty's army up north where they can fight with renewed vigor."

He stops at the end of the line and pauses for emphasis. Turning around, he continues. "If we fail, England may very well lose her American colonies. Rear Admiral Graves is set to give his final orders to us within the hour, and I will be taking Mister Femi and Master Avery to this conference on board the Bedford."

I glance at Henry on my left and see him grinning at being included in the occasion. My attention, however, quickly returns to Cade when he mentions my name.

"Miss Ana will also be joining us. She will stay on the commander's ship until the fighting is over, and it is safe for her to return. As usual, I'm leaving Quartermaster Smythe in charge of the Phoenix in my absence." He nods toward the man on my right, who tips his hat in acknowledgement and steps forward.

"Ya' heard tha' man," Smythe yells at the sailors. "You three, lower the rowboat at once." He points at men on the other end. "The rest of ya' take your meals as quickly as ya' can, then get back to work. We have a long day 'head of us and time's a wastin'."

After getting the most formal dismissal they can hope to get, the men begin to disperse. Henry and Femi join the captain at the railing, but I maintain my position.

"Come along, Ana." Cade calls back to me. "It'll only take a few minutes to lower the boat, and at the speed you've been moving today—"

"I refuse to go." I straighten my shoulders and put my chin up.

Everything goes still and quiet; it's as if everyone on board has frozen in response to my words. I feel dozens of eyes dart between the captain and me, waiting for his reaction.

I think I see a glimmer of amusement flash across Cade's face, but it disappears so fast that perhaps it was never there at all. By the time he walks to me, his eyes are glaring with fury.

"You insolent woman!" he exclaims before hoisting me up over his shoulder. "Do you know what you could get for disobeying a direct order? You're lucky I don't drag you away in chains for your insubordination."

"It wouldn't be the first time you got me tied up," I whisper in his ear, recalling our arrest for piracy in Curacao.

This time, I'm sure I hear him chuckle.

He continues toward the spot where the small craft is descending, but contrary to my expectations, he doesn't release me. Rather, he begins climbing down the rope ladder still carrying me.

We reach the bottom just as the rowboat is unhooked, and he plops me on a plank in the middle. Femi and Henry join us, and the men begin paddling toward Graves' ship. After navigating around several, large vessels, we tether the small boat to the Bedford and climb aboard.

It appears we're the last to arrive because a group of men is already sitting at a long table set up on deck. Rear Admiral Graves himself – a middle-aged man with short, wavy hair – greets us with familiarity, in spite of only meeting once prior.

After sending Femi and Henry to join his crew below deck, Graves introduces us to all the other Captains and Lieutenants present. Gathered around the table set with a feast, some are clearly disinterested in our presence, while others show a strange curiosity.

"You captain that pirate ship, do you not?" One of the older officers asks before taking a sip from his metal goblet.

I gnash my teeth at the obvious jab, but Cade – sitting opposite me – seems less perturbed.

"Forgive me, sir, but when a vessel has been sailing the seas as long as the Phoenix Rising, there are bound to be malicious rumors. However, I'll assure you that no such charges have ever been successfully brought against any of her crew." He responds with the diplomacy of a true gentleman.

"I heard you hail from Bolivia, do you not, Miss?" The captain on my left – one of the few wearing a powdered wig even in this remote location – graciously diverts the conversation.

"Panama, actually." I correct him with a smile.

"And how did you come to meet Captain Kincade?" Another joins in with enthusiasm usually reserved for old women talking local gossip.

He kidnapped me, thinking I was my mistress and best friend.

"Through mutual acquaintances." Cade's snappy reply is much more appropriate and I suppose, not totally untrue.

Luckily, the inquisition into our private matters ends there, and discussions turn to military strategy, instead. Over the course of the lavish meal – there's chicken and fish, as well as a variety of vegetables – the role of each ship in the nineteen-strong fleet is clarified. The talk of formations and angles, lines and squadrons, however, can't hold my interest. Competing with my increasing worry for Cade's well-being and thoughts of his impending departure, naval tactics come a distant second.

I quietly watch him eat, attempting to commit to memory every little mannerism, every single feature. The way he sets down his cutlery when he's speaking or how he folds and unfolds his napkin between uses are all things I've come to love about him. I'll surely miss those even for the short time that we'll be separated.

Initially, he keeps his eyes either on his plate or on the others at the table. However, his gaze soon catches mine at increasingly longer intervals until he's watching me, as intently as I am him.

By the time the meal has ended and all the strategizing is done, I know he's forgotten our argument. While that makes me happy, it doesn't change our predicament. We didn't say a proper good-bye, and now in the present company, won't have another chance.

These proper, British military-men already look down on him for captaining a ship, which – in their eyes – is less capable than their vessels. There is no way that Cade would risk losing any more of their respect by doting on a woman in public.

All the while, the moment we must part is fast approaching.

There's a persistent heaviness in my chest as I stand next to Rear Admiral Graves and dispense obligatory curtsies to the departing officers. They reciprocate by tipping their hats to me one-by-one as they pass in quick succession before saluting their commander one, final time.

My beloved has made sure he and his two men are last in line.

Femi – a man of usually few words – is no different in demeanor today. With a small nod and hat tip, he quickly moves on.

Henry is less formal. "See you soon, Miss." He smiles, looking so much more grown up in the uniform than I'm used to seeing him.

"Yes, Master Avery. Soon." I somehow manage to keep the words even, despite my increasingly ragged breathing.

While all the others have climbed down to their waiting boats, these two step aside and wait for their captain.

Stopping in front of me, Cade takes my hand and raises it to his lips. "Take care, Ana," he whispers before kissing it gently.

A tear rolls down my cheek. "You too, Captain." My voice cracks as he drops my hand and walks away.

That was it. He's gone.

Holding my breath to keep from crying, I watch as these three members of my pirate family leave me.

Henry gets to the railing first and throws his leg over the side. Before he descends, however, Cade unexpectedly turns around.

"To hell with it," he mutters and with a few, long steps he's back in front of me.

My eyes widen with surprise as he cups my face in his hands.

"What is the meaning of this, sir?" Graves huffs, but ignoring him, Cade focuses on me.

Staring into my eyes, he takes a deep breath. "I love you." He exhales the words before kissing me.

"I do declare, Captain Kincade. This conduct is quite unbecoming of an officer." Graves continues his complaints, but they fall on deaf ears.

He came back to me, and my insides are fluttering with joy.

Unfortunately, the moment is fleeting. Much too soon, Cade draws away and addresses the most senior member of the British fleet around us.

"Haven't you heard, Admiral? I'm no officer. I'm just a pirate." He winks before leaving for good.