Life was such a bore. Stephen hated this time of the year. Every man or woman of any consequence was invited over to his house to have balls, dinners, garden parties, and anything in between. And Stephen was forcibly pushed into attending every single one. Simply saying how do you do to every individual in sight, all the while keeping a pleasant demeanor and maintaining expectations. He desperately wished for something new.

And perhaps he wished a bit too hard.

He dragged himself to his bedroom after what seemed like the millionth ball that week, getting ready for bed and dozing off in the process a few times. He finally collapsed in his bed and was out like a light. He vaguely recalled being startled awake, only to be knocked out right after.

He came to consciousness, and immediately realized a few things. The first being that he felt very sick. The floor seemed to be shifting under him, and he felt as if he were about to throw up. The second, that he was tied up. And, after a moment's deliberation, the third. The floor was shifting under him. He was on a ship. Out at sea. Tied up in an empty room.

Well, at least it wasn't a formal brunch.

"Right. This is a bit of an odd dream." Stephen spoke aloud to nobody, his eyes wandering aimlessly around the room from his humbling vantage point on the floor. He tried to lift his head but strained his neck too quickly and involuntarily released a yelp. The door immediately opened, slamming with a bang into the wall, and a scruffy man wearing the strangest attire Stephen had ever had the displeasure of seeing stumbled in.

"Aye, he's up, Cap'n. Perky lookin' fella, ain't he?" Stephen looked up at the man with widened eyes, his mouth dropping open and forming a round 'O' shape. The man seemed to be conversing with someone else outside in his peculiar accent, and Stephen took the opportunity to silently drink in the presence of the man before him. Was this perhaps... a pirate ship? This meant two things in his mind: either he was going to be made to walk the plank as entertainment for the rest of the crew, if there even was one. Or, these pirates had kidnapped him expecting a handsome ransom for his safe return.

Now, now, the panic had set in. "Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear." he mumbled to himself uselessly, the urge to throw up returning in full force and churning his stomach with the same roiling motion of the waves. He dry heaved over the floorboards, the smallest remnant of his consciousness in the back of his senseless mind noting that the plank likely awaiting him outside was made of the same material of this floor he was about to ruin with the remains of his banquet dinner from last night. He struggled limply at the bonds holding his arms behind his back, the fight leaving him when his body began to shake.

The man at the door turned to face him abruptly, only one of his eyes swivelling to watch as the partially digested contents of Stephen's stomach found itself forced out of his body and spewed onto the floor. He coughed out the rest of the puke and turned to lie on his back, closing his eyes and waiting for the nausea to die down. That stupid, stupid wish. He was beginning to regret ever thinking such an idiotic thought, immediately thinking of his mother and father. He wondered what they were doing right now...

The door swung open a second time, this time with considerably more authority. Stephen, still flat on his back and staring miserably at the ceiling, did not bother to look. Whatever was coming through that door, he decided, could very well come to him.

"Good Lord." A voice. Female, which surprised him enough to roll his head to the side. "Get him off the floor."

"Cap'n, he's just been sick, I wouldn't-"

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Doyle."

Two sets of hands hauled him upright without ceremony and deposited him onto a wooden stool in the corner. Stephen blinked. Standing in the doorway, arms folded and expression arranged into something between irritation and mild curiosity, was a woman who looked as though she had a few kills under her belt. She was perhaps thirty, dark-haired, with a long coat that had seen considerably better decades and eyes that were currently conducting a very thorough inventory of Stephen's person.

"You're the Ashworth boy," she said.

"I am Lord Stephen Ashworth," he replied, with as much dignity as a man with vomit on his collar could reasonably summon. "And I should very much like to know-"

"Second son of the Earl of Pemberton. Your family's seat is Ashworth Hall in Wiltshire. Forty thousand a year, at minimum, though I've heard some put it closer to sixty." She tilted her head. "You look younger than I expected."

Stephen opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I'm twenty-four," he said, which was not at all what he had intended to say.

"Mm." She stepped into the room properly, sidestepping the unpleasantness on the floor with practiced ease, and studied him with the detached interest of a buyer appraising livestock at market. "You'll fetch a decent sum. Your father strikes me as the sort of man who is very attached to his children."

"He is," Stephen said carefully, his mind now working considerably faster than his stomach. "He is also the sort of man with a great many friends in a great many important places, so I would think very carefully before-"

"I have thought carefully," she said pleasantly. "I've been thinking carefully for the better part of six months. Do you know how long it takes to arrange the kidnapping of a nobleman? The logistics alone are-" she paused. "Well. That's neither here nor there."

Stephen stared at her. "You planned this. Specifically. Me, specifically."

"You were an easier mark than your brother." She shrugged one shoulder. "He rarely leaves London. You, on the other hand, wander out onto your own terrace at half past midnight at least twice a week. Dreadfully predictable habit."

The bottom fell quietly out of Stephen's stomach, which was impressive considering it had just emptied itself entirely. He had been watched. Studied. For six months, apparently, while he had been bored out of his mind attending dreary parties and wishing, like an absolute fool, for something interesting to happen.

"How much," he said flatly. "How much are you asking for me?"

The corner of her mouth lifted. It was not, strictly speaking, an unkind smile. It was, however, a very confident one. "Fifteen thousand pounds."

Stephen said nothing for a moment. "My horse," he then said, "costs more than that."

The smile remained. "I know. I've seen him. Magnificent animal." She turned to leave. "Someone will bring you water and something to settle your stomach. I'd recommend eating whatever they give you: we've got a fortnight's sailing ahead of us and self-imposed starvation makes the seasickness considerably worse."

"A fortnight?" His voice climbed an octave in a manner he found deeply humiliating. "Where on earth are you taking me?"

She paused in the doorway and glanced back at him over her shoulder, throwing him a perfectly red-lipped arc of a smile. "Somewhere your father's important friends can't follow quite so quickly." A beat. "Welcome aboard the Perseverance, Lord Ashworth. Try not to be sick on the floor again. It's bad for morale."

The door shut behind her with a decisive click.

Forty thousand a year and they were asking fifteen thousand for him. He was not entirely sure whether to be relieved or insulted.

He decided, on balance, he should probably be both.

The door had shut with an air of finality, and Stephen heard it lock afterwards. Even if he had the strength to carry out an escape plan, he didn't think there were many plausible options. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. He had a headache, and his nausea wasn't improving with the new smell of the room.

He could hear another door being opened, possibly one on the other side of the hall. There was some muffled talking from the woman from before and the other man. A third voice very abruptly joined the conversation, as if it was being kept from talking before. And it was not happy. It sounded vaguely feminine, but it was hard to pick out details, since it was mostly shouting and some... colorful language.

The captain shouted some kind of order, and several more words were presented, followed by a loud thump. Stephen guessed that it was the third voice being incapacitated somehow. The captain didn't seem like the kind of woman to suffer insults.

Nevertheless, he was glad for the noise to stop. His entire body just hurt, and the uncomfortable stool wasn't helping. He attempted to stand, but almost immediately fell back to the ground as a wave of sickness came over him. This was ridiculous. He missed dry land more than he ever had before.

A while later, the man from before opened the door and set down a bucket along with a slice of bread on the floor. He went to leave, but Stephen interjected,

"Wait, can't you untie me? How am I supposed to eat?"

He only gave a small chuckle and closed the door the rest of the way. Well, great. This boat was officially the worst place he'd ever been to.