"Hey! Throat-Cutter! By the old rules, this ship's already ours!"
The moment Logar's fleet drew alongside, a handful of pirates looting the seahorse-flagged merchant vessel planted their hands on their hips and started shouting, smug as hell.
Stepstones pirate custom was simple: once a crew had their teeth in a prize, everyone else backed off or got blacklisted by the whole brotherhood.
Most pirates ignored the old code these days, but a few still treated it like gospel.
Logar stared at the grinning bastards waving bloody blades at him and flashed a cold smile.
"What fucking rules? Who said I'm one of you? I'm done playing pirate — I'm going sellsword."
Before the words even finished, he flicked his wrist.
A storm of arrows hissed from his decks. The loudmouth on the rail never got another word out — three shafts punched through his chest. He toppled backward into the sea without a splash.
On the merchant ship, the Velaryon factor went white as bone.
His guards were already down to a handful after the first wave of attackers. Now a second fleet had arrived. This voyage was cursed.
Worse — hidden aboard was a noble who should never have been here. If anything happened to her, Lord Corlys would have the factor's entire family flayed and fed to the crabs.
The factor gritted his teeth, ready to die protecting the rearmost ship — when Logar's vessels suddenly veered away from the merchants and slammed straight into the flat-bottomed pirate galleys instead.
Wood cracked like thunder. Several attackers were hurled overboard, screaming as the waves swallowed them.
Logar leaped first. He planted one boot on the rail and vaulted onto the deck, fresh Dornish lamellar armor light on his shoulders, new Valyrian-forged steel in his fist.
A pair of rival pirates charged him with axe and curved blade, furious that he'd broken the code.
Logar slipped the axe, reversed his sword, and opened the first man's throat in one clean stroke. Hot blood sprayed across his chest plate.
Femon and the inner circle formed a tight wedge around him. They carved forward like a single blade, cutting down anyone in their path. Screams and falling bodies marked every step.
A few cowards lost their nerve and dove overboard, swimming desperately for their lives.
Logar ignored the runners. He left men to guard the surrendered pirates and surviving crew, then led the rest straight toward the second merchant ship where the fighting was fiercest.
That vessel was packed with bolts of cloth, spice jars, and pottery. Rival pirates were tearing it apart — stuffing silk into sacks, prying open crates, even hurling clay pots to their own boats.
The smarter ones saw Logar coming and immediately tossed their loot back aboard their galleys, cutting lines and fleeing.
"Hey! Throat-Cutter!" A big man in a blood-red headscarf stood in the center of the deck, fresh from killing a guard. His curved blade rested on his shoulder, a gold tooth flashing as he grinned. "We split this prize fifty-fifty, yeah?"
Logar never slowed. He walked straight up, then exploded forward.
"Fuck your fifty-fifty. Everything on this ship belongs to me now."
The red-scarf pirate had been waiting for it. He swung hard. Steel rang. Sparks flew. The impact jolted him back three steps, arms numb. His eyes widened — the kid hit like a bull.
"Get him! I want to wear his throat as a necklace!"
Red-scarf roared and charged with his crew. Logar's men met them head-on.
The fight was brutal and short. Logar's disciplined, better-armed veterans tore through the ragged attackers. When it ended, the red-scarf pirate and every man with him lay dead. Logar lost five of his own.
He stood panting, silver hair plastered to his face with blood, eyes stinging. He wiped his face with the back of his gauntlet and was about to order the last pockets cleared when a piercing scream tore from the forward ship's cabin.
"Princess! Someone save the princess!"
Logar's head snapped around.
The lead ship's cabin door had been smashed open. A cluster of rival pirates licked their lips, advancing on the inner chamber with hungry eyes.
"Help!" Two final guards cried out, then fell.
A flash of silver-white hair darted across the doorway.
Logar didn't hesitate. He snatched a grappling hook, whipped it across the gap, and swung over like a ghost.
He landed lightly on the deck and stormed into the cabin.
Inside, a slender girl with short silver hair was backed into a corner, dagger trembling in both hands. Her violet eyes were wide with terror. When her last guard crumpled, the dagger shook so badly she could barely hold it.
She was Baela Targaryen — daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Laena Velaryon, granddaughter of Lord Corlys himself. She had snuck aboard her grandfather's merchant ship on a whim, craving a taste of sea air and adventure.
She never imagined her little rebellion would end like this.
In her final moments she was silently saying goodbye to her betrothed, Prince Jacaerys.
"Heh heh… scream all you want, little lady. No one's coming."
The lead pirate leered, stepping closer.
The moment their hands reached for her, Logar struck from behind.
His sword punched clean through one man's back. Blood sprayed across Baela's cheek. She screamed louder.
Logar spun, parried the next attack, and opened the attacker's belly in a single fluid motion.
Seconds later the cabin was silent except for dripping blood.
Only corpses, a blood-soaked Logar, and a trembling Baela Targaryen remained.
He wiped the gore from his face and finally got a clear look at the girl.
His violet eyes widened a fraction.
He hadn't expected to find someone this beautiful aboard a broken merchant tub.
---