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The birth certificate of a king who should never have been born.
Pirate B. didn’t want a throne. She didn’t want a pardon. What she wanted sat in a cage at the bottom of the Admiralty’s own dungeon: a pale, sharp-eyed girl they called “the Key.” The only person alive who knew where the real treasure was buried.
Last spring, she pulled off the impossible. A treasure fleet—twelve Spanish galleons, heavy with silver—rounded Cape Horn. Every pirate lord in the Caribbean ran the other way. Pirate B. sailed straight into the wind.