Of Nobles and Pirates

Pairing: Fem!France x Pirate!England

Author's Note: Please note that this is set in old times. No electricity, no internet, no nothing. Think noblemen and fancy pirates. This probably won't have much historical accuracy, so if I make any errors, historically or grammatically, please let me know. I hope you enjoy.

Rating: T

Number of Words: 1717

Summary: Francine is getting bored of her life as a noble. You live for the name, you marry for the name, you even have kids for the name. And then you die for the name. She doesn't want to live out the life her friends and family will—she wants some excitement in her life for once. But be careful what you wish for...

Chapter One

Pulling away gently, Francine bade the elderly nobleman she had been dancing with a good night and went off to join her friends on the wall. Her good looks, French accent and irresistible lure had kept her on her feet all night, dancing with various noblemen. She couldn't deny that they did their best to be polite, but they were all so...boring.

An English prince had just been named heir to the throne, and to celebrate, the monarchs had invited dignitaries from countries around the world. In the middle of the ballroom floor, the missionary from Greece bowed low to a kimono-clad girl sent from Japan. The Southern Korean was busy leering at the man from Hong Kong, and an Austrian noble had long ago given up dancing so he could show off his musical skill on the large grand piano showcased there. The two Italian sisters were jabbering at each other in their native language, appearing to be arguing in a somewhat loving way.

She slumped into a chair against the ornate wallpaper, right next to her best friend, Elizabeta _.

"Augh. I know we're supposed to be ladies and all, but it's so hard to," Francine whined. "My feet are killing me. These heels aren't helping, either."

Elizabeta smacked her upper arm. "Don't slouch, Frannie! What if your mom sees?" she whispered hotly, gesticulating to a middle-aged French woman across the room.

"Putain," Francine muttered.

Elizabeta merely rolled her eyes and giggled at the use of profanity.

As Francine picked herself up, she noticed something a bit...interesting across the room. Her younger sister, Madison, had actually come out of her hermit crab and was chatting animatedly with a large-chested Ukrainian girl. Francine smiled. At least little Maddie might not be so bored nor lonely in this room full of politics and polite insults.

As the two friends began to idly chat about absolutely nothing at all, yet another man came up to ask for a dance. This one was different, however. A face covered his upper face so you could not see his eyes, and he seemed to have a nasty smirk permanently etched onto his otherwise pleasant features.

As he approached, Elizabeta stiffened. "Frannie, you can't turn this one down," she muttered.

"Why ever not?" Francine whispered back.

"He's the noble from Turkey. He's a prince himself, and he's way too powerful to piss off," she whispered back. "His name is Sadiq. Step lightly."

By then, the man had reached where the two young women were sitting and offered his hand to Francine as he spoke.

"May I have this dance?" he said in a low, sultry voice, his deep accent evident.

Francine hestitantly smiled and took the offered hand. "Indeed you may," she said as lightly as she could. She was getting some seriously bad vibes from this guy, and she did not want to dance with him. But what could one do?

She was stiff and unresponsive as Sadiq swept her onto the floor, and the band struck up a waltz. At least he knew every step, and handled her delicately and politely. But that smirk did not go away, nor the poorly disguised innuendoes in his speech whenever he whispered something into her ear.

She shivered and felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up when he did that. The feeling of his hot breath whooshing over her skin was unpleasant, and she was starting to feel almost violated by dancing with him.

The waltz seemed to go on for eternity, and she almost let out a sigh of relief when the song finished. From across the dance floor, she could see the Greek burning a hole in the back of her Turkish dancing partner's back with his gaze.

"May I have another dance?" Sadiq inquired, leaning over Francine's hand and kissing it. Francine shivered. How the heck was she supposed to decline him? Liz said he was super-powerful, didn't she? But how was Francine supposed to survive another dance with this man?

She looked around the room for a way out. Then she saw her mother beckoning to her from across the room. She smiled at Sadiq and informed him that although she'd love to, she could not.

"Another time, then," Sadiq smiled creepily and finally released her.

Francine had to resist the urge to run away from him as fast as she could, and settled for a brisk pace to where her mother way sitting.

"Maman," she bent over to kiss her mother's rosy cheek. "Do you need something?"

The elder woman did not smile. "I saw you dancing with that prince." Francine winced, knowing what was coming next. "Keep that kind of thing up and maybe you'll have a husband. Then you'll finally be out of my hair." her mother said, somewhat nastily.

Francine did not bother to conceal her shudder. To spend the rest of her life with a man like that would be her own personal hell.

She didn't even bothering to argue with her mother. To argue in a public place would be eternal embarassment for her mother, and shame for her. She simply nodded and went off to find Elizabeta.

Liz had found a seat near the piano, and was making goo-goo eyes at the Austrian pianist, Roderich.

Francine clucked her tongue as she walked up to her best friend. She really had to set those two up. She sighed. Her mother had a point, though. If she didn't play matchmaker all the time, she might actually meet a nice man who owned a lot of land and have five kids and live peacefully in the countryside and love each other forever. NOT. Francine snorted, caught in her own ridiculous fantasy.

"Liz, you won't believe the shit I just went through," she muttered as she distracted her friend from the pianist.

Liz shook her head, curls bouncing. "Then I won't," she giggled. "But that was seriously creepy looking."

Francine nodded. "I want an interesting man, but not that kind of interesting."

They both jumped a little as the large grandfather clock chimed out to the room of people that it was already midnight.

A boy with large eyebrows and a blue blouse stood up from his throne in front of the room. "Thank you for coming, everybody!" he said loudly and cheerfully. "I'm Peter, the prince who was named heir tonight. I want to thank everybody for coming..."

As he launched into his thank-you speech, Francine put her head next to Elizabeta's. "Don't they look a little old to have a son that young?" she whispered as quietly as she could, pointing to the monarchs.

Liz frowned. "You mean you didn't know? He's the younger son. The elder was kidnapped by pirates a very long time ago. He would be about our age, actually. He was supposed to be the heir, but...they never received a ransom note."

Francine felt a sudden loss for the young man that she never had the chance to meet. Maybe he would have been interesting, or al least intellectual.

"...and have a good night, and get home safely!" the young prince finished.

The murmur of many voices overlapping grew deafening as everybody began to file out. Francine grabbed Madison by the upper arm and went to go find their mother.

As they were in the carriage heading back to the upperclass boarding house many of the nobles were staying at, Francine began to daydream. What would the crown prince have been like, had he not been kidnapped long ago? Certainly tall and blond, like both his parents. Hopefully he wouldn't have had his younger brother's horrendous caterpillar-like eyebrows.

Apparently she had dozed off, because her mother had to shake her awake when they reached the boarding house.

She blearily climbed the stairs to their suite, remembering only to pick up her skirts when she almost fell flat on her face. Madison helped her undo the complicated dress that formal wear dictated, and they both pulled on simple cotton nightgowns. Even in their sleep, the sisters' clothing flattered their thin frames.

"Good..." Francine yawned. "Night, Maddie."

Madison smiled as her older sister flopped in an undignified manner into the bed next to hers.

They both quickly fell into a world of dreams.

Francine dreamt of a boy she never met. Piercing green eyes gazed at her, seeming to look right through her very being. The boy—man, she corrected herself—analyzed her every movement, and seemed to move in sync with her. Sandy blond hair that needed a haircut, badly, formed a halo around his head. Monstrous eyebrows were just barely ignorable. She didn't move a single centimeter. He reached out and put his palm on her cheek, and began to lean in, his eyes half-lidded...

Madison had an even stranger dream. She dreamt that she was in a pub. A really shitty one. Drunk men leaned over the counter, some passed out, others still chugging. The dream was strangely lifelike in the sense that she could smell the pub's interior; a mixture of alcohol, bodily fluids, and overall grime. But something in the back drew her attention. She gently floated across the floorboards, ignored by all the dream-people. An albino boy about her sister's age lounged in a seat. Dressed in a flowing white shirt, tight black pants, knee-high boots, his clothes seemed quite expensive. A gold earring was looped through the top of one ear, the lobe of the other. He flashed her a cocky grin.

"Well, what are ya doin'? Sit down girlie, the awesome me ain't gonna bite!" he cackled, his amazing red eyes giving her the once-over.

Madison shivered and felt a ripple pass through her body. She had never met anyone like this boy before. She sat down.

When both sisters awoke, they expected it to be late morning, with the scents of breakfast permeating the room, their bags packed and ready by the high class maids at the boardinghouse.

Instead, they were greeted by the sharp small of smoke and blood.

The town was under siege; the pirates had come to visit.