For the last twenty three years of her life, Genevieve was never prepared to be delighted with her betrothal. Her father always spoke of it as a chore she would one day come to enact following a collection of dinners and chaperoned outings with those closest to her. She had always pictured the type of man in which she would shed her birth surname for and stand at his side until they would be separated by death. She came to imagine men such as those she met at her father’s arranged dinners, those present with immeasurable wealth and exotic animals purchased for show. But never in these two decades had she imagined someone like Crow; a pirate.
“Whatever is that upon your hand?!” Helene questioned as Genevieve emerged from the Captain’s Quarters, her expression reading across as timid as sh
