Hi everyone! This is a never-before published (on Fictionpress) story I wanted to share with you all! It's a dark fantasy retelling of Peter Pan, infused with historical romance and mythology. There are links in my profile if you're interested in downloading the book to your reading device, or you can receive weekly updates right here. Regardless, I do appreciate your feedback so please leave your review on one of the retailers listed or here!

A bit about the book...

Death in Neverland is Book 1 in The Neverland Trilogy.

Here is the blurb:

In the Neverland, people don't grow up. Because they're dead.

Remy Cutler dies, and somehow escapes certain death. She returns to the land of the living with nothing but a ripped gown and a fear of heights.

Two years later, she plans to escape her arranged marriage by stowing away onto a ship in hopes to leave her home with no one knowing. However, she is found out, and the sailors aren't happy. Before any damage can be done, she is yanked from her predicament back to The Neverland, a place where death resides - the very place she escaped from years ago. Souls are ferried by her savior. To her, he's known as Nick, but to The Neverland, he's the slippery Nicholas Grey.

The more time Remy spends with Nick and his crew, however, the more she realizes he's shockingly misunderstood. Pirates aren't all bad the way gentlemen aren't all good. One such gentleman goes by the name of Peter, and he has nothing but power on his mind and revenge against Grey in his heart. And then there are those that are completely indiscernible, like James Hook, a Viking and ruler of The Other World, whose sole ambition is attaining more souls to rule over, no matter what the cost.

If you're interested in downloading Love in Neverland, Book 2 in The Neverland Trilogy for free, please consider signing up for my newsletter (link in bio)!

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Chapter 1

It was now only a matter of sneaking out of her bedroom window and crossing over to the thick, nearby tree branch without plunging to her death as she had the previous time. Except now, Remy Cutler was afraid of heights, and there was the matter of waiting for the most favorable moment to present itself before actually doing so.

She glanced in the reflective glass so her eyes rested on her maid, currently fashioning her hair into a knot and wondered for the third time that minute just how much longer Beatrice would be. She knew she could not leave just yet, but her anticipating nerves would not leave her be until later, until she finally left.

"There," Beatrice murmured after what felt like just longer than an eternity. "All finished." Her grey eyes met Remy's in the mirror, a small smile on her face. "My dear, allow me to say that you look absolutely beautiful. Lord Huntington is very lucky, indeed."

Remy forced a smile. A small knot of guilt began to tickle her stomach and she had to avoid the maid by looking down to her fingers buried deeply in the folds of her dress. She had not told anyone about her plan for fear of it being ruined, not even James, the stable boy and her closest friend. Now she was beginning to feel the repercussions of such a pressing secret. Though Remy had known Beatrice her entire life and though the old maid had practically raised Remy as her own, the young girl knew that if her maid found out what Remy was planning to do, Beatrice would not hesitate to tell the Cutlers in order to prevent such a thing from happening. That did not mean, however, that Remy did not feel guilty about keeping such a thing from her maid, especially when Remy trusted the woman with practically everything else.

"Thank you, Bea," Remy murmured, her eyes still on her hands. "Might I have a moment to myself? I feel as though I must collect my bearings."

Beatrice placed a comforting hand on Remy's shoulder. "Of course, my dear," she said, squeezing. "But do not be long! I am quite certain that Lord Huntington will be present at any moment!"

Another tight smile, but this time, Remy forced herself to look at her maid one last time. She needed to memorize Beatrice – those grey eyes, round cheeks, graying dark hair that was always braided and wrapped into a bun on the top of her head, her rough hands, her tiny feet, her voluptuous figure – to ensure she would not forget her closest companion. It would be one of the last times she ever saw Beatrice.

The knock on the door caused an uncontrollable shiver to slide down Remy's spine and she threw a wary glance in the direction of the door. Her mother had come to fetch her, surprisingly earlier than planned.

She should have escaped when she had had the chance.

Remy inhaled as deeply as she could, mentally preparing herself for the next few hours she would have to endure, dining both with her parents and her fiancé simultaneously. Why her mother was adamant in escorting her to the dining room was not something Remy knew, though her mother had always been a bit eccentric. As such, Remy had learned not to question the older woman's spontaneous acts and simply condescended to whatever whims her mother chose to participate in. While Remy was nothing short of mortified when these acts happened in public, apparently it was a characteristic that endeared Adrienne Daaé to her father.

Upon opening the door, Remy forced a tight smile onto her face. Her mother looked nothing short of stunning (beauty also played a favorable role in ensnaring Earl Cutler), with her blonde hair swept up into curls and pinned to the back of her head, and her forest green eyes – the very eyes Remy had inherited from her – shining mischievously.

Mischievousness was not something Remy inherited; rather, she was adamant at the upkeep of society's rules and etiquette; she learned good posture and strict organization; she was forced to remember things her mother tended to forget and her father was too busy to see too. In essence, she was the perfect child for an upper class family. Her only imperfection and one she could not change was the matter of her sex.

The only she disagreed on was the matter of her marriage. Logically, she understood the benefits at looking at matrimony as a business transaction. However, Remy could not fathom marrying for any other reason but love. The notion was romantic, useless, and completely incomprehensible, but her own stubbornness – a trait she thanked her father for – would not allow her mind to overcome her heart. She wished she could speak to her parents of her desires, but she thought the endeavor pointless as it was engrained in her mind at a young age that it was her duty as a daughter to marry the man they chose for her. And duty was expected from her more than anything else. As such, she endured and endured and endured…

In all honesty, Remy had no idea when she started to rebel. When she was younger, she used to sneak out to her room to visit Charlie or James Henderson – a boy she was rather fond of but knew her parents would never approve of – but she understood that such scandalous visitations would cease once she grew older.

Then she died.

Death was unlike the way Remy imagined it would be. Instead of an angel coming to lead her to Heaven or, God forbid, a fiery stairway descending towards That Place, she found herself on an island with other people of varying station, age, size, color, and creed. Remy inquired as to where they were and what they were waiting for, since they all seemed to be staring at the unchanging horizon. The only response besides "I haven't a clue" was "The Transporter." Of course, this cryptic answer did nothing to ease her growing confusion.

In a manner of moments, a ship arrived and with that ship, a man who looked suspiciously piratical. Handsome in a gruff sort of way, she grudgingly admitted, but piratical certainly. Immediately and by no doing of hers, his eyes locked onto her person. They were thoroughly brown in color, those eyes, with a warm, mischievous sparkle embedded in them, as though it had taken up permanent residence in his orbs. They seemed more knowing than her mother's, as though he had much more acquaintance of the world beyond what Adrienne Cutler could even imagine.

Why he called to her and her alone to board his ship, she did not know, to this day. Once on board, she noticed two other people standing on the deck, a female which surprised Remy, and a male. Remy paid them no mind beyond a curious glance before turning her full attention to the mysterious stranger. Upon hearing his explanation of her fate, she did the first thing she thought to do: run. She did not know where she was going. She could not explain why she chose to descend the nearby staircase and reach for the third door on the left. Why not the first or the second or perhaps the lone doors on the right, she knew naught. Once her fingers turned the knob to that third door, she threw herself inside…

…and somehow ended in her body, flat on her back, and in pain. Remy paid no attention to the pain. She forgot about her late-night rendezvous with James and though it took more time than her short patience would allow, she managed to re-climb the tree and plop into bed. Immediately, she fell into a deep sleep; she had not yet even changed into her nightgown. The only evidence of her brush with Death was a few scratches, a rather unseemly bruise on her posterior, a piercing ache her neck, a fear of heights, and an inexplicable rebellious streak. Suddenly, duty was not as important to her as it was to her parents and marrying a man she had only met once and knew she did not love was unfathomable to her. She had just reclaimed her life, her freedom, and she was not about to sacrifice that for anybody, let alone obligation. Even if that meant doing the unthinkable by running away.

"Ah, Remy dear," her mother said in her unmistakable French accent. Her forest-green eyes immediately descended upon her daughter's attire. "Perhaps I shall speak to Beatrice about not dressing you in pale blue anymore. I fear it does nothing for your complexion, which is a shame because it is such a lovely color and you have such a lovely complexion. It is far too late or I would have you change into something more agreeable – perhaps a pale green – gown immediately. However, if we are to make our dinner appointment with your father and Lord Huntington then we should not tarry longer for there is something I must show you beforehand." Her lips curled out into a smile. "It is a surprise!"

Remy raised a single brow. Her mother's surprises ranged from something as desirable as a new bonnet to something superfluous as a riding mare to something random as a painting of a starry night. Usually, they were not distributed for any reasons because she usually forgot important, traditional gift-giving dates, but they were given based on Adrienne's whimsy.

"Actually, it is from your grandmére," her mother amended, "but it is I who is presenting it to you."

As her mother led her down the hall, Remy's thoughts trailed over to her maternal grandmother, the woman she was named for. Remy Daaé was as strict as her daughter was eccentric. She was tall and slim and incredibly imposing. The few times the Cutlers' embarked on the long voyage to France, where Remy's maternal grandparents lived, always caused her to break out in hives due to her nervousness at the prospect of being under her grandmother's sharp scrutiny. Her mother find this quite amusing while her father reminded Remy that she was perfect and there was no need to get into fits visiting family.

Of course, while young, Remy was not naïve enough to believe her father's declaration of her perfection. Not only was she his only child and most beloved daughter, Remy favored him physically over her mother. Also, a compliment from her father, however sincere it was, was like water spewing from a fountain: rather easy to attain.

No, it was her mother (though, to be fair, Adrienne Cutler did give backhanded compliments quite frequently, which was more than Grandmére ever did) and her grandmother she sought approval from, and while Remy did try her hardest at impressing the old woman by donning the latest fashions in the appropriate colors, making certain her back was as straight as a book's spine, and spoke with intelligence and humility at the same time. This never inspired words of pride from the woman, and whenever the Cutler family took their leave – never too soon for Mr. Cutler – Remy internally scolded herself internally at needing approval from such a crabby woman. The only reason that made sense to Remy for her incessant need for her grandmére's sanction was their bonding of their name. Apparently, it was one-sided since the woman was nothing but cold and critical to her granddaughter.

That all changed, as these things were wont to do, after Remy got engaged to a Lord.

Upon hearing of the news, the old woman sent Remy a message. It was short and direct, much like Remy Daaé herself, and yet it everything Remy longed to hear in her seventeen years of life. It simply stated 'Well done.'

It was unfortunate that it had come a little over two years too late. Now that Remy had experienced Death in Its entirety, she no longer longed for her grandmére's support, not when Remy understood there was so much more to live for. Had she never danced that thin line between the living, the passing, and the dead and come back to life, she probably would have married Lord Huntington, bore him children, and been the perfect if somewhat saucy wife, especially after receiving her grandmother's approval.

Now that Remy had what she long sought, she found that she did not want it anymore. This caused her to pull away from the old woman which, ironically enough, caused Grandmére to suddenly fixate her attentions on Remy to the point of sending her this mysterious gift.

"Here," her mother said, interrupting her thoughts and stopping so abruptly that Remy nearly ran into Adrienne. With a flourish, her mother opened the doors to the room Remy had earlier learned she would be getting ready for her wedding in tomorrow.

The wedding that would not take place.

What could her grandmother possibly have gotten her that required in this particular room?

And then she saw it, plastered on a mannequin.

The dress.

She was no certain the immediate disdain she felt when she first laid eyes on it was because she loathed the design or because it represented everything now feared. She would not allow herself to be trapped into something she could not escape, and donning that dress would be akin to donning a prison uniform.

It was a pale golden brown color, save for the large skirt, which was a blinding ivory. The cut was square, and knowing her mother's penchant for tight corsets, would reveal an ample amount of Remy's considerable bust while simultaneously narrowing her waist. Lace lined the cut, and while Remy was actually found of lace, this particular design was too frilly for her tastes. The sleeves would mold to her shoulders and stop at her elbows, loosening into ruffles that would trail each arm. The length of the dress was more than long with a sizable train at the end, and there was a floral pattern stitched into the material a shade darker than the pale gold outlined with real diamonds. Remy suppressed a shiver; she absolutely detested any floral patterns in her clothes. She pointedly ignored the matching slippers – these ones with heels – due to the fact that her practicing at being a lady produce superb results in everything she sought to master, except for walking in heels with the grace that should come with being a lady.

This abomination just proved how little her grandmére knew of her and, more than that, how little her mother thought of her to think that Remy would be delighted to wear it. Thank goodness she never would. If all went according to plan, she would be long gone before her wedding was to take place.

"Grandmére chose a good color for you, I think," Remy's mother put in, her eyes narrowing at the dress in order to take in any imperfection the material might be hiding somebody with a less trained eye would miss. "We will not know, of course, until you try it on." She looked over at her daughter. "Perhaps after supper?"

Remy hoped to escape after supper, truth be told. Luckily, she was saved from having to answer thanks to the loud chimes of the grandfather clock located just outside the room, at the end of the long hallway.

"Oh my!" Adrienne exclaimed, placing her hand over her chest. She always did have a flair for the dramatics. "Supper." She shot another glance at her daughter. "I fear we will be arriving late. I am certain Lord Huntington will forgive us, though. O well. Lateness does offer us a chance to make an entrance, no?"

It took longer for Remy to acquiesce to her mother's request. Normally, her response would have been automatic, a response a proper lady would give. She still answered appropriately, but there was a slight hesitation before she said anything. It would seem her mother was too lost in her ever-changing thoughts to notice. It was only when Remy said "We shall" that Adrienne acknowledged her daughter and proceeded to lead her out of the room and down the staircase.

As was expected, Lord Huntington was already present at the table. Both Earl Cutler and Lord Huntington stood when the women entered – Remy was uncertain if this was the particular entrance her mother hoped to make – and the Lord pulled out a chair for Remy to sit in. After both she and her fiancé were seated, the servants proceeded to bring out the first course of what would be a four-course meal. The first course consisted of overly-salted soup (at Papa's request) and various bread rolls. Remy did not hesitate to grab two rolls, although she really should grab three just in case she was not too fond of the main dishes.

Her mother, seated at the end of the dining table, shot her daughter a reproving look over her wine glass that she was already sipping quite generously. "Remy, do you think that, considering the importance of your figure tomorrow, it might be best to only have one roll. Actually, perhaps no rolls will be best."

The air suddenly tightened. Remy's father, as he was wont to do, ignored his wife's comment by slurping a rather large spoonful of his soup. Her fiancé, on the other hand, looked across the table at Remy with something she could not quite decipher written in his eyes. "I think Remy will look beautiful tomorrow, whether she eats three rolls or three hundred," he said. "I am very lucky to share the rest of my life with you." This last sentence was directed at Remy and a small smile touched his lips.

Remy's heart dropped into a big pile of guilt to the point where the organ was drenched in it. Moments like this one made her wish she loved him or that there was a possibility she could eventually love him after their nuptials, as her parents had. She knew, however, such things were not possible which made her wish she had never died. If she had not, she would probably look at the marriage as what it was: a necessity for a girl of her station, and one she would have done her best at because not only was it her duty, but because Lord Huntington would make an excellent husband. He was kind and respectful and handsome for a man well into his thirties with his short, auburn hair, clear blue eyes, and a healthy disposition. He would certainly make any woman lucky to be with him.

She was just not that woman.

Her words caused her to look down at her plate, a flush tainting her ivory skin. "I thank you sir," she responded, uncharacteristically demure.

"Lord Huntington, do not be so humble!" her mother exclaimed, shooting her eyes at the man to her left. "It is we who are lucky that you are marrying Remy, my daughter the luckiest of all."

Mr. Cutler pressed his lips into a thin line, shooting his wife a glare. He did not approve of flattery when it was unnecessary or incessant, but he particularly abhorred when one statement could be construed as both. Adrienne forced a rather believable smile but she knew she had erred and reached for her wine glass.

Surprisingly, Remy found dinner to be over much too soon, despite her original hesitancy at attending in the first place. Adamant as she was against her marriage, she knew that this moment would be the last memory she would have of her parents and fiancé. So for the last few moments – before Lord Huntington took his leave, her father retired to his study to read up on current events, and her mother snuck out to her second-story balcony to sneak a smoke – she tried to paint a picture in her mind that would stay with her forever; the way her father would tap the side of his nose when he was perplexed about something, the way her mother wore bright red rogue at any time of day and how it normally stained her wine glasses, and the way, whenever Lord Huntington's blue eyes rested upon her, he blatantly revealed his complete adoration for her. She would never admit it, but she was afraid no one would look at her that way again.

When dinner did end, Remy insisted she see Lord Huntington to the door. This obviously pleased her mother, who nodded her head in approval while her father was already halfway down the hall so he did not say in the matter.

The walk was silent but comfortable. Remy wanted to say something, anything, to convey her regret at what was about to transpire, to wish him the best in life because he so deserved it. But she did not have the words. Instead, once they reached the front doors, Remy quickly reached out to touch his hand, wrapping her fingers around his own, and squeezed. To say this shocked him was somewhat of an understatement, but he did not look displeased. He looked at her rather curiously, but did not speak, recognizing there was something she wished to say.

All Remy could come up with was, "Thank you, Stybolt, for everything you have done for me and my family."

Remy seemed to shock him to speechlessness due to her familiar use of his Christian name. She did not have time to wait for him to reply, however, and after one last squeeze, she dropped his hand. She left before he could say anything and headed up the stairs, away from her life as she knew it forever.

Once Remy heard the door to her room click shut, she immediately locked the door. She did not want anybody interrupting her escape.

Dinner had taken much longer than Remy had anticipated, and as such, she would be unable to change out of her pale blue gown and into more comfortable clothing that would blend better with the intended destination. The only thing she could do was rid herself of the heavy skirt that would no doubt slow her down or aid in her untimely demise. She would not be leaving her home through the front door; rather, she was planning to climb out her window to the oak tree and weasel her way down until her feet touched solid ground once more. She knew from personal experience that heavy skirts proved deadly while descending this particular tree.

After grabbing a sack of shillings she had saved up and kept hidden especially for today, Remy slipped on an old pair of boots she wore while riding her family's horses. Now all that was left for her to do was to step through the windowsill and onto the tree branch.

The sack of money was tied around her waist, and without the impairment of the heavy skirt, she felt much lighter. But that did not inspire Remy to leap out of her room just yet.

She had been in this exact place before, two years ago when she was fifteen. The results of her action were thought to be permanent, in the sense that she had died and somehow had managed to escape death's grasp with her life. Remy had wanted to sneak out of her house in order to meet a boy she liked, a boy she knew her parents would never approve of. But she never made that meeting because she had been transported to a completely different world, one where souls went to reach their final resting place. Somehow, she managed to return home with a bump on her head and a long lecture from her father, but she refused to see that boy again and ignored the letters and trinkets he sent her in secret through Charlie. Remy decided once she recovered from her ordeal to never risk her life for love again, no matter what.

Her predicament had changed now. Instead of rushing out to meet a boy, she was running away from one. Though, Lord Huntington was really more of a man, was he not? Never did she even think about attempting to escape through the window again, until her parents came to her and told her of the marriage they had arranged for her to the Lord. While she had heard favorable things regarding the man, Remy had only met him twice in a year, including today. He was cordial and polite, and was probably quite handsome when he was younger, but at thirty-eight, he was past his prime and past grasping any interest Remy might have had for him. Certainly, he would make an ideal husband. He was a Lord, after all, and was well-respected by the King. He came from wealth and she would never go wanting for anything as long as she lived. Her parents obviously approved of the marriage, and though they too were wealthy, they wanted to ensure their family's survival by wedding their only child to the best suitable match.

Remy waited until the last minute to concoct her plan of escape only because she had hoped that the Lord would change his mind or her parents would change their mind or something would intervene and prevent the couple from marrying. When Remy realized this was not to be the case, she had no choice but to hastily come up with some sort of plan to leave. Her only regret was that she was unable to speak of it to Charlie.

Charlie was two years older than Remy and looked after her like he might look after a sister if he had one. When they were children and society's expectations were more relaxed, they constantly were together, eating and playing and getting dirty. Remy had to admit that Charlie was probably the reason she did not act too spoiled, unlike other girls in her class. He kept her grounded and taught her things her private tutors refused to teach, including geography, philosophy, and history, and encouraged her to read as much as she possibly could. As they grew older, they were not permitted to see each other much, but Remy and Charlie would find some way to do so, even if it meant meeting in the kitchen for five minutes a day. He was the closest thing to a brother she had and trusted him blindly.

In a way, Remy was almost glad she could not tell Charlie. This way, he could not insist on coming with her and her parents could not blame him for encouraging her to leave them behind. Therefore, they could not punish Charlie's family, all of which worked for the Cutlers in some manner or another. He would not approve of her going off by herself when something could happen to her, and she did not want the last time she spoke to him to be a lecture.

Once Remy made it down from the tree, she would have to leave the grounds without getting caught and then walk all the way to town without the aid of a carriage. Even to her, it sounded daunting, impossible. She had to at least try, however, no matter how terrifying the journey seemed to be.

All she had to do in order to begin was reach the tree branch from her windowsill.

Stepping up to it, her stomach was bombarded with butterflies with wings probably too big for their bodies, crashing into each other and Remy's stomach. She tried to tell herself not to look down, tried to focus her eyes on the thick trunk of the oak tree, but it did not help. Her boot-clad toes were dangling off the edge of the sill, her fingers gripping the sides so hard her knuckles turned white. Her heart beat began to increase and even though she was not sad, she felt the lids of her eyes begin to employ tears.

Why was she so scared?

Prior to her temporary death, she had never been afraid of heights. In fact, climbing out of her window and shimmying down the tree was common practice, a way for her to see Charlie without being caught. Yet now, she could not look down at the green grass and thick bushes without feeling her head spin.

Why did she ever think she would be able to make it out of her window?

A knock on the door startled her, and Remy's head snapped in its direction.

"Remy?" her mother's voice, husky with smoke, inquired. "Are you ready? I would like you to try on the dress in order to ensure it fits you properly."

"I shall be there in a minute," Remy called. She hoped her mother did not detect the shakiness of the sound. All Remy could do was pray that the woman would not try to open the door. Finding it locked would convince the her that something was, indeed, wrong.

It is now or never, she thought to herself. Even if her mother found the door to be locked, Remy knew that she had mere seconds until somebody would be at her door with the key, ruining her plans. She wanted to leave with no one the wiser.

Without even thinking, Remy turned back to face the tree and then raised her foot out until the sole of the boot was planted firmly on the branch. Shifting her weight, she brought her other foot around until it stood by its opposite.

"Thank God!" she whispered to herself.

Remy knew her face had turned an uncomely shade of red and one lone tear had fallen down her face, but she had to keep going. As gracefully as she could muster, she dashed over to the trunk, the branch dipping down and up with each step Remy took. Somehow, she managed to make it safely there.

Now for the easy part. She gripped the trunk in her hands, and in seconds, squirmed down the tree, her booted feet landing with a plop on the grass. Her feet prickled due to the hard landing, but she regained her balance and pressed forward, running across the deserted front lawn. There were a couple of guards surveying the front, but not enough to notice her singular frame. Remy managed to sneak by the two with relative ease.

She quickly walked across the field. Despite her decidedly unladylike actions, her muscles tensed, preventing her from running just yet. A lady never ran, and always kept good posture if she did. She made it to the black iron gates that kept unwanted visitors out, and without a backward glance, slipped through the bars with ease.

She was free. Finally free.

Now all that was left to do was get to down where the docks were located.

She was almost there. She was almost gone.

She descended the gentle slope of the hill Remy had lived on and proceeded to make her way through the town. People selling a variety of things – including particular services targeting men of all ages – tried to get her to buy the various goods and services they were selling, but Remy paid them no mind. Luckily, they did not seem to recognize her and moved on to their next potential customer.

She was so close. She could smell the salt in the air.

The prospect of actually having to work in order to earn money and pay for necessities was not a pleasant thought, especially when Remy had never lifted a finger to labor over something in her entire life. However, she placed her faith in herself, that things would all work out in her favor, and perhaps labor was not as dire as she had once considered. Perhaps she would not have to work at all.

When she reached her final destination, she felt herself stall. Remy turned, glancing at the familiar town, and then picked her eyes up. She could not see her home from where she was, but she could point out the hill it rested on.

Please, Remy, do not cry, she thought, and blinked back the threatening tears. This is the right thing, you know.

Remy turned back towards the ocean. She was here. She made it.

It was surprisingly easy for Remy to make her way onto the ship, and even more so to go below deck and into the storage area. She had been studying the design of trade ships as thoroughly as she possibly could the past fortnight and wanted to have the intricate pieces that made up a vessel memorized so she would not waste time wandering around. She knew that the sailors had just restocked on supplies, and there would be no need to fetch anything down here until well into the night, and by that time, Remy hoped to find a better hiding place until the ship reached its next destination, wherever that might be. Now she knew where the food and drink were kept so she would not starve to death if they would be at sea for a while.

Remy managed to find a place close to the entranceway with a view of anyone who might happen to walk into the room while also keeping her hidden from view. It was not as comfortable as she hoped it would be, but she supposed that her freedom was worth more to her than a relaxing sitting place and a warm fire. She was suddenly exhausted, could now clearly feel her heart hammering away at her chest as though it was trying to break free. She could not sleep, could not fully relax until she knew she was safe with absolute certainty. Her ears picked up the sounds of the sailors, walking and grunting, shouting and moving objects Remy could only guess at. The staircase that led to the storage area was near where she was, and as such, she would be able to hear if anyone were to come down.

They would not. They had no reason to… Right?

Remy gulped. She pulled her bent knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, holding them as tightly as she could. She wanted to make herself smaller, just in case.

Perhaps this was not such a good idea. What if they caught her? What would they do to her? How stupid could she have been, to not think this through more? Marriage was preferable over death, was it not? Would she rather die free – even if her freedom lasted minutes – or live a kept woman?

Remy was only seventeen years of age! She should not be contemplating something as morbid as death.

Then again, she was not like other girls, in that others girls probably had never died and then come back to life.

When would the ship leave? What was the crew waiting for, exactly?

How long had she been here? It certainly felt like forever.

Remy was finally able to relax when she felt the telltale lurch of the ship moving through the water. Maybe soon she could rid herself of the constraining corset, but for right now, she was content to bury herself deep into Will's coat and allow slumber to take her.

"Wake up!"

Remy's eyes snapped open.

She had no idea how long she was out or where the ship was currently, but she immediately knew that her hiding place was not as isolated as she had previously thought.

Black, beady eyes of a short, squat man who appeared to need a bath and breath that reeked of decay narrowed. She gulped.

This new turn of events did not look promising.

"'ho be you?" he asked in barely recognizable English. ."We don't take kindly to stowaways, missies or not."

He gave her a long look, starting at the tips of her boots to the top of her head before resting his yellow-tinted eyes to a place on the wall, to her left. Remy could not help but look behind her due to the intensity of his stare, but found that nothing was there.

Odd.

Remy turned back to regard the man and opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her throat felt dry. She desperately needed something to drink.

"I says, 'ho be you?'" he asked. Before Remy could reply, he slapped her with the back of his hand.

A sweet taste of metal began to taint the inside of her mouth, and her head reeled from the pain.

"Ye realize the captain's gonna to gut ye like a fish, don't ye?" he continued.

Goodness. This was not at all going the way Remy had planned. Though the best scenario would have been her presence never being discovered, she knew that it was unlikely such a thing would have happened. However, she had hoped that the crew and the captain might be a little friendlier to her since she was a young woman and had done nothing to cause anyone harm. All she needed was a lift to the next port. She had money to pay them, after all.

"I 'ave a idea," he said, look back to the spot on the wall. "Instead of handin' her ter the captain right away, why don't we 'ave some fun wit' her? No one will be looking for us for a while."

Remy furrowed her brow as her heart beat overtook the heavy silence. Who, exactly, was he speaking to?

Any memory of pain vanished as his words sunk in. Remy might not have been experienced, but she knew what they meant when they said they were going to have fun with her.

Her fear came rushing back to her and before she knew it, she socked the man in the face. Pain immediately shot through her hand and she released a whimper. Charlie never told her to expect her own pain when trying to inflict some on somebody else as he taught her how to fight.

The brute looked surprised and said, "Yer gonna to pay for that." He reached out his arm and Remy flinched, closing her eyes. Her body tightened, preparing for the attack she knew was bound to come.

Except it never did.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist, and before she knew what was happening, Remy was gone from the ship she had stowed away on, and instead, was brought to another one. A familiar one. A ship she had never thought she would see again until she was old and decrepit.

It was the same ship she had been on after dying the first time.