Elias Vayne.

Captain Elias Vayne.

Liora stilled, staring at the battered man in front of her with wide eyes. Her heart leapt to her throat. "You...you're a pirate!"

Surprise flashed across his face, eyebrows lifting, before an amused smile curled his mouth. "I thought that much was apparent."

Liquid. Burning. Scalding. Liora yelped, her hot tea having spilled out of the cup during her astonished staring. "No! No, it was not apparent." She shook out her hand, mouth gaping as her skin throbbed. "You're Captain Elias Vayne!"

He dipped his head in a form of a bow, eyes glittering with mirth. "The one and only."

"You've killed hundreds of people!"

"My feats are greatly exaggerated."

"You defeated a man'o'war."

"More like barely escaped."

"You–"

"I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you're worried about."

Her mouth shut with a pop. Oh, no. Had her enthusiasm come off as fear? "Wait, no...I didn't think you'd kill me. After all, I did pelt you with a lemon. Anyone should be afraid of a woman who would pelt him with a lemon."

She watched the captain's face shift from tired concern to confusion, eyebrows pinched together as he tilted his head. "You're not worried? Or going to kick me back to the storm?"

"Huh? No!" Liora rose to her feet, bare feet pitter-pattering against the floor as crossed over to her freshly baked sweet buns. "I wouldn't wish anyone to go out in this weather, even if they were a deadly pirate. I mean, after all, you do rank somewhere between a gull and a crustacean."

Behind her, an amused snort puffed out of the captain. "Wise words."

Her fingers pushed into the sticky bread as she plated two. One for him, one for her. How often did one find a pirate in their home? This was a once in a lifetime opportunity to find some common ground! Her gaze flickered to her bookshelves, countless of them stories of the high seas and roving adventures. Treasure, sea monsters, and rescuing damsels. Her heart fluttered, and she quietly cursed herself. "How did you even find your way over here? I thought you tended to stick to warmer waters."

"And how do you know what my routines are?"

Heat rose to her cheeks, and once more her gaze flickered to the stories on her shelves. Hastily grabbing the plates, she turned around with a forced smile. "Most pirates do, don't they?"

His eyes narrowed momentarily, then it seemed like a wave of pain washed over him. He leaned back in the chair she'd placed him in, eyes squeezing shut. As quickly as it came, it was gone. His shoulders relaxed, and he heaved a heavy sigh. "We were running from a fleet. They'd been tailing us for two days before I thought we'd lost them. On the third morning, their ships were closer. We had to take a detour." Elias's eyes opened, and he stared down at the steaming mug in his hand. "Don't know where the storm came from. Wiped out my ship. Broke it on the rocks out there on the cliffs. Lost my crew. Our cargo. Everything."

A heavy weight draped across her shoulders like a cloak, and she sank down into the chair across from him. "Oh, I'm so sorry..."

Outside, the stormed prowled the coast, howling like a raging wolf. Rain battered the roof and windows. She stared at the wall, mouth tight. "The storm's been raging for over fifty years. I've never seen it cease. Some days it's worse than others. I'm sorry you and your crew were caught in it."

"I've never heard of anything like it." Elias shifted, eyes drifting to the plates in her hands. He motioned to it. "Is that for me?"

"Oh!" She offered the plate to him. "Sorry, yes. I made these this morning."

"And, uh," he waved toward his injured face, "I don't mean to be a bother, but..."

Liora's eyes widened. "Oh, mist and seas! I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about that. Of course, let me get you something to patch up that nasty gash."

"Thank you kindly," he said, before taking a bite out of the sweet bun. His eyes fluttered and a deep groan rumbled from his chest. "I don't think I could have ever wished to find a better place to recover, lass."

Liora practically beamed at the compliment, though her hands were already busy rummaging through a small wooden chest tucked beneath one of her bookshelves. "I wouldn't go that far," she said, tossing aside a roll of bandages before muttering about misplacing the good salve again.

"Well," he said, mouth half-full, "it's certainly better than a shipwreck. And definitely better than drowning." 

"Low bar," she quipped, finally emerging with a small jar of something that smelled vaguely of herbs and salt. "Here, this should help." 

Elias set the half-eaten bun on his plate and tilted his head, allowing her to step closer. Liora had never been the type to panic, but she was fairly certain she was on the verge of it now.

The moment she pressed the salve-soaked cloth to his temple, Elias flinched—but to his credit, he didn't pull away. Instead, he let out a slow breath, eyes closing as she worked. The gash wasn't deep, but it had bled more than she liked, and bruises were already beginning to bloom beneath his tanned skin.

She swallowed. "You're lucky," she murmured, dabbing carefully at the wound. "A little worse, and you might've cracked your skull. And if the sea didn't finish you off, that would have."

His lips quirked. "Aye, but then I wouldn't have had the pleasure of being attacked by fruit."

Liora huffed, rolling her eyes as she smoothed the bandage over his temple. "I suppose you'll survive the citrus assault, then?"

Elias chuckled, the sound rasping but warm. "Barely."

"Good," she said, leaning back to inspect her work. "Because if a lemon is what does you in, I'd be very disappointed."

Elias smirked, tilting his head. "You'd be disappointed?"

She shrugged, fighting back a smile. "Well, yes. What kind of fearsome pirate meets his end at the hands of produce?"

"You have me there, lass."

For a moment, the only sound between them was the scratch of the storm outside and the occasional pop of the lanterns. Liora let herself breathe, focusing on the rhythm of cleaning his wounds, of wrapping the bandage around his head with practiced ease. She had done this before—for other shipwrecked sailors, for travelers caught in a storm. Rarely had she ever encountered another human.

And even then, never had she expected it to be a man like him.

Elias was all sharp edges softened by exhaustion, a rogue made of salt and shadow, with secrets tucked into the lines of his face. The candlelight flickered over his scars, tracing over old wounds that spoke of battles far beyond the ocean. And his eyes—deep, stormy blue—watched her with an unreadable expression.

"Tell me something," he said suddenly, voice quiet. "Have you ever heard the tale of the moon and the ocean?"

Liora blinked, caught off guard. "The...huh?"

His mouth curved, but there was something distant in his gaze now. "It's an old legend," he said, shifting slightly. "The ocean and the moon were once lovers, drawn to each other across the sky. But the old gods, jealous of their devotion, cursed them to always be apart."

Liora paused, fingers lingering over the bandage. "That's... tragic."

"Aye," Elias murmured. "But the ocean never stopped longing for her. Even now, he reaches for her with every wave, every tide. He rises and falls with her touch, though he can never hold her."

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down her spine.

She cleared her throat, forcing herself back to reality. "And the moon?"

Elias tilted his head, watching her closely. "She watches over him. Guides him. And every night, she bathes him in her light, as if to remind him she's still there."

Liora swallowed, glancing toward the storm outside. The sea raged against the cliffs, waves crashing in a relentless dance.

"It's beautiful," she admitted.

Elias exhaled, his expression unreadable. "Aye," he said, closing his eyes. "That it is."

Liora hesitated for only a moment before tucking a blanket around his shoulders. "Rest," she murmured. "I'll be here when you wake."

His tired gaze flickered toward the bookshelves lining the far wall. His fingers brushed absently over the frayed edges of the bandage she had just wrapped, his expression thoughtful.

"You're a woman of books, then," he murmured. "That doesn't surprise me."

Liora tilted her head, following his gaze. "Why's that?"

"There's a certain kind of person drawn to the written word," Elias said. "Those who seek knowledge, or escape, or..." His lips quirked. "Secrets."

Something in his tone made her pause. She studied him, watching the way his fingers traced the grain of the wooden table beside him, as if his thoughts were drifting somewhere far beyond the lighthouse walls.

"I've seen things hidden in books before," he continued, voice quieter now. "Maps inked in the margins of forgotten tomes. Love letters slipped between pages, meant for eyes that never got to see them. Some books hold more than just words, lass. They hold pieces of people—things the world tried to erase."

Liora swallowed. She knew of stories like that, whispered in old taverns and passed through the lips of wary sailors. The wartime book ban had silenced voices, destroyed histories. If Elias had seen such things himself, then he had walked roads she could only imagine.

He nodded toward her shelves. "Ever found anything like that here?"

She blinked, glancing at the worn spines and dust-coated volumes stacked haphazardly against the walls. Some of the books were hers, collected over the years. But many had belonged to the previous lighthouse keeper, the man who had tended the light long before Liora had come to this place.

"I... haven't read them all yet," she admitted. "Some were passed down to me. The last keeper left them behind, and I've been meaning to go through them."

Elias hummed, his gaze lingering on the shelves a moment longer before he finally let his eyes drift shut. "Might be worth looking," he murmured. "You never know what someone might have left behind."

Liora watched as his breathing evened out, the exhaustion finally dragging him under. The storm still howled outside, but within these walls, there was warmth, flickering lamplight, and the lingering weight of words unspoken.

She turned back to her bookshelves, her fingers ghosting over the spines.

Secrets in the margins. Love letters lost to time.

She had never thought much of the books left behind before.

But now, she would. She turned to ask him a question, but stopped herself short when she saw his head tilted back, eyes shut. A small smile pulled at her lips, and she tiptoed to blow out her lanterns.

Who knew a pirate could be so hopelessly romantic?

WC: 1798