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SALT ON YOUR CROWN | CHAPTER ONE : : PLAN GONE SOUTH

pairing : : pirate!kim hongjoong x princess!reader

series synopsis : : a pirate crew kidnaps the wrong girl—princess instead of merchant’s daughter. she offers gold for hiding, not ransom. captain hongjoong agrees, reluctantly. she’s fire on his ship, danger to his rules. one month aboard may ruin them both.

genre : : pirate au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, captor x captive (kinda?)

chapter warnings : : mentions of death, marriage talk, a little bit of violence

word count : : 3.8k

[series masterlist]

—“Merchant’s daughter,” Hongjoong said, kicking his boots up on the table, eyes flicking between the crew. “In and out. No blood, no mess, no drama.”

“Boring,” Wooyoung drawled, already peeling an orange he’d stolen off some dock vendor. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun doesn’t pay,” Seonghwa replied smoothly from where he leaned against the map wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Gold does.”

Yunho snorted. “I’ll take boring if it means a warm meal and dry socks for a week.”

The ship creaked beneath them, anchored just far enough off the coast to stay unnoticed. Moonlight cut across the war table, highlighting inked maps, a list of docking schedules, and a crude sketch of the merchant’s estate. The target: Hyeon Jisoo, daughter of the East Trade Baron. Young, pampered, used to saying yes and hearing nothing but yes in return.

Easy snatch. Quiet ransom. No one dies.

“We hit the estate during the shift change. Guards rotate at midnight,” Yeosang said, tapping a finger on the paper. His tone was flat, focused. “North entrance is least guarded. Servants come and go there. We wear house colors, sneak in quiet.”

“And sneak out quieter,” Mingi added, chewing the end of a pencil. “You sure the girl’s worth it?”

“She’s worth a vault of it,” Jongho replied, arms folded, steady as ever. “Her father’s been flaunting coin for years. Time someone took a slice.”

Hongjoong nodded. “We don’t need the whole vault. Just a taste. We hold her for a week, send the note, get paid. Then we drop her off at some quiet beach with her fancy shoes and let her cry into silk.”

The crew chuckled. Except Seonghwa, who just gave Hongjoong a look. “You sure this won’t cause waves?”

“We don’t need to cause waves, Hwa. We need to disappear before the tide turns.”

A beat of silence, and then Hongjoong leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

“Wooyoung, Yeosang, San—you’re in.”

San perked up immediately. “Finally.”

“Why me?” Yeosang asked, not protesting, just curious.

“You’re quiet. You don’t get cocky. You think.”

“What about me?” Wooyoung grinned, teeth flashing.

“You never think, but people like your face.” Hongjoong smirked. “You’ll charm the guards, flash a coin, ask for directions to the wine cellar. Get their attention somewhere else.”

“And San?”

“Muscle,” Hongjoong said simply. “And backup when charm fails.”

San beamed like he’d just been knighted. Wooyoung rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got until nightfall to prep. Masks, clothes, weapons—discreet ones,” Seonghwa added, side-eyeing Mingi who already looked too excited.

Hongjoong stood. “Remember: we want the merchant’s daughter. Not a scene, not a body count.”

“Easy job,” San repeated.

Hongjoong didn’t smile. “There’s no such thing.”

—"You can't be serious."

Your voice cuts through the chamber like a blade. The silence that follows is heavy, strained. Across the room, your mother’s expression is tight, and your father doesn’t even look at you—he simply stares at the glass of wine in his hand as though it might answer for him.

But you’re already walking forward, heat in your chest, voice rising. “Prince Chanwoo? You expect me to marry him?”

“He is a respected ruler,” your mother says sharply, lips thinning. “And this marriage secures peace.”

“Peace built on fear,” you shoot back. “You know what happened to his last two wives—queens, not common girls. They couldn’t bear him sons and ended up hanging from the palace walls.”

“Rumors,” your father says finally. “You’d do well not to repeat them.”

“They’re not rumors.” You take a step closer, forcing him to meet your gaze. “They're warnings.”

"Enough," your mother snaps. "You will not raise your voice to your father. You will do your duty."

“Duty?” you echo, bitterness curling around the word. “Is that what you call throwing me to a man who smiles like a snake and kills his wives in secret?”

“He won’t hurt you,” your father says, though he sounds tired rather than convinced. “You are different. You are royal.”

“So were they,” you say coldly.

“I won't do it.” The finality in your voice cracks through the air like thunder. “I won’t marry him.”

“You will,” your father says, rising to his feet now, towering with the weight of the crown behind him. “You will marry him and protect this kingdom.”

“I would rather be stolen by pirates,” you snap. “At least they don’t hide their knives behind crowns.”

“Enough!” Your mother slams her hand on the table, trembling with fury. “You are acting like a child—”

“You are treating me like property!”

That’s when you hear him—your brother’s voice, sharp and steady as ever. “She’s right.”

Taeyang steps into the hall, standing beside you with his chin high and his eyes locked on your parents. “She’s not a bargaining chip. And Chanwoo—he’s dangerous. We all know it.”

“Taeyang, stay out of this,” your father warns.

“I won’t,” he says, and there’s steel beneath his calm. “If she dies in that castle, it’ll be your names they chant in the streets.”

Your father glares. “She is a princess. She will marry where we decide.”

You stare at him, your blood turning to ice. “No. You may hold the crown—but you don’t own me.”

Then you turn and walk away. The corridor is quiet compared to the storm you just left behind. You don’t stop until you reach your chambers, heart pounding. Two maids rush forward, startled, but you say nothing, only sit at the vanity, fists clenched in your lap.

Moments later, Taeyang steps in. “You shouldn’t have said that,” he says, but his voice is soft.

“I meant every word.” Your voice cracks. The maids begin brushing your hair in silence, knowing better than to interrupt. “They’re sending me to die, brother.”

He sighs and crouches beside you, watching your reflection in the mirror. “I’ll talk to them again. There has to be a way out.”

“There isn’t,” you say quietly. “Father’s made up his mind. You know how he is.”

Taeyang presses his lips into a line. He does know.

“I just need to get out,” you murmur. “Clear my head. Jisoo’s hosting a small gathering. Nothing grand. I’ll go there.”

He nods. “You should. But take guards.”

You smile weakly. “Always the responsible one.”

Taeyang chuckles and ruffles your hair, undoing the maid’s hard work. She huffs under her breath, but you laugh.

“You’re the only reason I haven’t lost my mind,” you tell him.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t burn down the palace.”

—Jisoo greets you with a grin the second you step into the courtyard. The space is warm with low lantern light, scattered laughter drifting between stone columns and silk curtains. A few familiar faces linger near the fountain, sipping wine and speaking in hushed tones.

“You made it,” she says, linking her arm through yours without waiting. “I was beginning to think your parents had locked you in the west tower.”

“They nearly did,” you mutter, earning a snort from her.

You walk slowly beside her, the fabric of your gown brushing against the tiled floor. It’s a deep wine-red, cinched at the waist. Your hair is twisted up, pinned with pearls, and the only pieces of jewelry you're wearing are a few rings and a ruby necklace.

Jisoo pulls you toward a small table tucked beneath a tree blooming with night jasmine. “Sit. Eat something. Complain. I’m here for all of it.”

—The party hummed with low music and soft conversation, the kind that filled spaces with comfort and masked intentions. No one noticed the three new arrivals—why would they? They looked the part. Rich silks, clean boots, smiles just wide enough to be trusted. They moved through the crowd like shadows dipped in gold.

Wooyoung was already flirting with a girl by the fountain, wine glass in hand, his coat perfectly tailored, his grin sharper than any blade he carried.

“I give it five minutes before someone offers him a marriage proposal,” Yeosang muttered under his breath, leaning against a column, eyes scanning every window, every guard, every possible exit.

San adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, the only one of the three who actually looked uncomfortable in noblewear. He tugged at the collar, eyes flicking to the second floor balcony.

“She’s supposed to be up there. Third door on the left. Servants say she doesn’t like parties. Stays out of sight.”

“Relatable,” Yeosang said.

San snorted. “Let’s move before someone recognizes you from a wanted poster.”

They slipped away from the light, Wooyoung breaking off with a wink and a whispered promise he had no intention of keeping. They met near the staircase.

“North wing,” Yeosang murmured. “Rooms upstairs. One of them has to be hers.”

“She’s not out here,” San added. “I’ve checked twice.”

“Then she’s inside,” Wooyoung said. “Let’s move before some duke starts trying to make small talk again.”

They split off again, slipping into the villa like they belonged. Servants didn’t stop them. Nobles glanced and looked away. No one questioned three handsome men in fine clothing.

—The window is open. You’re leaning against the frame, one hand curled around the stem of a half-empty wine glass, the other clutching a small tin of sweets you swiped from the kitchens when no one was looking. The air is easier to breathe out here—cool night breeze brushing your skin, jasmine blooming somewhere below. Inside, the party still hums, low and dull, like voices through thick velvet.

Jisoo had gone to fetch something—probably more wine, or maybe the pearl hair comb she’d been gushing about earlier. You told her you’d wait. You weren’t expecting her to take this long.

You take a slow sip, eyes drifting toward the stars, when something shifts behind you.

It’s small. A breath, maybe. A whisper of movement. But it pulls every nerve in your body taut.

You turn—and that’s the last thing you manage to do.

There’s a blur of movement and a sharp crack of air. Pain blossoms behind your eyes, sudden and white-hot, and the world spins. You don’t even have time to scream.

Yeosang lunges forward just in time to catch you before your head hits the floor. His arms close around your waist, steadying the dead weight of your body with a grunt as he eases you down gently.

“Shit,” he mutters, checking your pulse, brushing your hair away from your face. You’re breathing—shallow and even—but your brow is already furrowed like you’re dreaming something terrible.

“She moved,” San says, still braced like he’s expecting a second wave. “Could’ve called for help.”

“You didn’t have to hit her that hard,” Wooyoung snaps, pulling a thick cloak from his pack and kneeling beside the two of them. “She’s half your size. Are you trying to kill the ransom?”

“She’ll wake up,” San mutters, avoiding Wooyoung’s glare.

“That’s not the point—”

“Enough,” Yeosang says quietly. He’s still watching your face, frowning slightly. “Are you sure this is the girl?”

Wooyoung shrugs, already pulling the cloak over your dress to hide the deep crimson silk. “Matches the description. Right place, right time. Rich, young, pretty.”

Yeosang doesn’t look convinced. His eyes flick down to the details—the way your hair’s been pinned, the rings on your fingers, the kind of fabric that shimmers when it moves. It doesn’t scream ‘merchant’s daughter.’ It screams something else. Something heavier. Costlier.

“She’s dressed too fine,” he says, low.

“It’s a party,” Wooyoung replies, tying the cloak. “Baron’s daughter wants to peacock, so she does. Doesn’t change the job.”

Yeosang hesitates, then nods slowly. “Let’s just move before anyone notices she’s missing.”

San’s already at the door, checking the hallway. “Clear.”

“Good. Grab her,” Wooyoung says, rising to his feet. “And this time, maybe don’t knock anyone else unconscious unless they swing first.”

Yeosang scoops you up, careful but fast, adjusting his grip so your head rests against his shoulder. You don’t stir. Just a soft, pained sound, barely audible.

They disappear into the night without another word.

—Below deck, the room was dim and swaying with the gentle lull of the sea. Lanterns swung from beams overhead, casting low golden arcs across the ship’s worn interior. The air was thick with salt, wood, and the faint trace of dried blood that clung no matter how often they scrubbed.

You were still unconscious—tied to a chair with thick rope, wrists bound, head slumped slightly to the side. Your cloak had fallen open during the rush, revealing a flash of silk beneath. The only sound from you was the slow, steady rhythm of breathing.

The crew gathered in a loose half-circle around you, talking low among themselves.

“She went down faster than I thought,” San said, arms crossed. “Didn’t even make a sound.”

Wooyoung leaned against a crate, clearly pleased with himself. “I told you she was the one. Clean job, no fuss.”

Mingi crouched beside the chair, eyeing you curiously. “Looks... a little different than I expected.”

“Maybe she’s just dressed nice for the party,” Jongho offered.

“Merchant’s kids always look expensive,” Yunho muttered, but there was a faint line between his brows now. He wasn’t entirely convinced.

Footsteps echoed from above—the unmistakable sound of boots against the stairs.

Seonghwa descended first, cool and composed as always. Behind him came Hongjoong, coat swinging behind him, hair wind-tossed from the deck. He looked tired, but alert. Captain mode.

“Let’s see the prize, then,” Seonghwa said, stepping into the lantern light.

Wooyoung straightened up. “Got her clean,” he said with a grin. “Didn’t even have to chase her.”

Seonghwa gave a short nod, eyes flicking over your form, scanning for any signs of resistance or damage.

Hongjoong approached slowly, gaze narrowing. “Nice work,” he said absently, a smirk curling the edge of his mouth. “Maybe you aren’t as useless as you look, Woo.”

Then he crouched down in front of you. The smirk faded.

His eyes locked on the necklace around your neck—a thin, delicate chain of gold, holding a ruby the size of a tear. His hand moved before he spoke, fingers brushing the pendant gently, almost thoughtfully. He held it for a beat, then let it go, and reached up instead to tilt your chin toward him.

Your head lolled slightly. The light caught your face full on now—cheekbones, long lashes, the faintest frown still resting in your unconscious expression.

San stepped forward slightly. “Captain? Something wrong?”

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away. He just stared at your face for a long, heavy moment. Then, slowly, he stood.

His sigh was sharp, tired, edged with frustration. His voice, though, was calm. Too calm.

“What necklace,” he said, “is she wearing?”

Seonghwa stepped in and bent down, lifting the ruby gently with two fingers. His breath hitched. “Ruby,” he said under his breath.

The air shifted. Wooyoung glanced at Yeosang, eyes widening.

“Ruby,” Hongjoong echoed, with a dry chuckle. He ran a hand through his hair and turned toward the wall. “And who wears rubies?”

The silence stretched. Jongho, voice quieter than usual, answered. “The royal family.”

There was a pause—half a heartbeat—and then Hongjoong slammed a vase off the nearby shelf. It shattered against the wood with a crack that echoed through the whole hull, sending pieces scattering across the floor.

“You three idiots,” Hongjoong seethed, not yelling, just loud enough to cut. “You kidnapped a member of the royal family!”

No one spoke. They all knew better.

There were times on this ship when you joked, when you laughed at your captain’s strange moods, when you nudged at the line for fun. This wasn’t one of them.

This was where you zipped your mouth and hoped the storm passed.

Hongjoong’s boots hit the wooden floor hard as he stomped up the steps, the tension in his shoulders visible even from behind. Seonghwa followed a pace behind, hands folded neatly behind his back, expression unreadable. One by one, the rest of the crew moved after them, heads lowered, glances thrown, but no one speaking just yet.

They spilled out onto the main deck where the moon hung fat over the sea, and the wind tugged at their coats and hair like the ocean itself was eavesdropping.

Wooyoung was the first to speak, tentatively. “Couldn’t we just ask for ransom?” he said, voice lighter than it should’ve been. “She’s a princess. They’ll pay more than we could ever dream of.”

Seonghwa scoffed, loud and short. “They wouldn’t send gold, Wooyoung. They’d send ships. And soldiers. And cannons with our names carved into the damn balls.”

“She’s not just a royal,” Yeosang muttered, glancing out at the dark horizon. “She’s the kind of royal they hang people for touching. All eight of us, strung up before we make landfall.”

“So we dump her,” Mingi said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Right now. Overboard. Cut our losses, vanish before the tide turns.”

“And when they find her body floating?” Jongho asked, frowning. “You think they’ll just shrug and say ‘oh well’?”

“I say we drop her back where we got her,” Jongho added, voice low. “Slip her back into the courtyard and pretend we never saw her.”

“We knocked her out and dragged her across a harbor,” San cut in. “You think no one noticed the princess is missing by now? Going back would be suicide.”

The group fell into silence. Hongjoong stood near the helm, staring into the night like it might offer him something he could work with. A way out. But all it gave him was the sound of ropes snapping against sails and his own rising pulse.

He hated royals. Hated everything about them. Their smug faces, their soft hands, their twisted power disguised as charm. And now one of them was tied to a chair on his ship.

His lips curled back in frustration. And then—noise. Muffled at first, then louder. A scuff. A thud. The creak of ropes moving when they shouldn’t be, from below deck.

Hongjoong groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Great,” he muttered. “Our princess is awake.”

He didn’t turn around. Just waved a hand lazily over his shoulder. “Get her. Before she breaks something.”

Yunho and Mingi immediately moved, boots thudding as they headed down the steps and into the dim lower deck.

They reached the room where they left you. The chair was empty, only thing on it were ropes and the cloak.

“Mingi—” Yunho started.

But Mingi had already turned—just in time to catch the heel of your foot directly to his face. He staggered back with a grunt, blood blooming from his nose.

You bolted through the narrow corridor, gown bunched in your fists, heels clacking like gunshots against the floorboards. The ship was a maze of doors and passageways, and you had no idea where you were or where the exit was—but forward was better than trapped.

Your breath came in sharp bursts, the ache in your head dulling with every rush of adrenaline. Panic clawed at your throat, but you pushed it down. Run now. Breathe later.

One second you were turning a corner, and the next you were being yanked back into a chest, a cold ring of metal pressing hard against your temple. Your body froze instantly.

“Make a move, princess,” a voice hissed against your ear. Low. Dangerous. Calm in the way that promised nothing good. “And, I’ll blow your brains out.”

Hongjoong’s arm stayed locked across your ribs, anchoring you against him with unshakable grip. The cold kiss of the gun never left your temple. Not even when he raised his voice, directing it toward the deck where his crew had gathered like guilty schoolboys caught in a mistake no one dared name yet.

“Because someone had their heads up their asses,” Hongjoong said, voice steady but biting, “we kidnapped the wrong girl.”

No one moved. Not a single shift of boot or breath.

“I don’t want a stuck-up royal bleeding on my ship,” he continued, tone razor-sharp. “So we’re going to sail close to shore, drop her off at her golden palace, and pretend this never happened. She won’t say a word. Right, princess?”

Your breath caught. Your mouth parted. He wasn’t bluffing. He didn’t even glance at you when he said it—he’d already decided.

The idea of returning tightened something in your throat. The palace gates flashing before your eyes. Your mother’s pinched look. Your father’s barely-concealed disgust. The stiff silence they would demand while attendants wiped blood from your brow and powdered the bruises under your eyes.

And then the ceremony. The binding. Prince Chanwoo.

You saw his face in your mind, that soft practiced smile that never reached his eyes, that always left your skin cold. You saw the last queens, portraits now—painted high and pale, hidden in shadowed corners of the palace where no one spoke their names.

No.

Your body twisted suddenly in Hongjoong’s grip. “You can’t send me back.”

That made him look at you. His eyes were dark, unreadable. “What did you say?”

“Don’t send me back,” you said again, louder this time. “Keep me here. I’ll pay you. Whatever you want—just name your price.”

He shoved you then—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to turn you—pinning you against the gunwale. The sea roared below, black and endless. You looked down and your breath hitched. One wrong move and you’d be part of it.

“What game are you playing?” he growled.

You lifted your chin. “I’ll pay anything. Just let me stay on this ship. Keep me away from the kingdom.”

There was a beat of silence, long and heavy. Then, he tilted his head, lips curling with dry amusement. “And why would a princess want to stay with a bunch of pirates?”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him. Neither of you moved. Somewhere above, the crew waited, pretending they weren’t listening. The ship creaked, low and slow. Every second felt like it dragged along the edge of a blade.

Finally, Hongjoong pulled back. He stepped away from you in one smooth, practiced motion. But his eyes never left your face.

You reached for your hand, pulling off the ring you’d worn since you were sixteen. Thick-banded gold, three flawless diamonds, wrapped in a loop of white-gold filigree. A gift from the Queen Mother. Worth more than most small ships.

You held it out. Hongjoong went to take it—but you pulled it back an inch.

“This,” you said clearly, “is the price. For not telling anyone who I am. For letting me stay.”

The air shifted. Again. The crew watched, quiet and stunned. The fire behind Hongjoong's eyes flared again. A long pause. His hand curled into a fist.

Then he closed his eyes. “Fine,” The word landed like a stone.

You placed the ring in his palm. He turned it in his fingers, inspecting it with a slow, careful look, like it might burn him. Then that familiar twist of his mouth returned, cynical and sharp. He gave you a shallow, sarcastic bow.

“Welcome aboard, princess.”

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