Chapter-12

The humid jungle air hung heavy, carrying the sharp tang of salt and the distant boom of the waves. Smoothie leaned against a gnarled tree, her long white hair tangled like sea coral. Prospero, her big brother, paced before her.

"Marriage," Smoothie said, the word flat on her tongue like a sun-bleached bone. "To whom?"

Prospero stopped, his face etched with something akin to worry. "Big Mom's chosen. It's advantageous," he began, but Smoothie snorted.

"Advantageous for everyone but me." Her voice, usually smooth as syrup, held a bite. "Another pawn in their power games."

Prospero sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of forgotten regrets. "There's more to it," he started, but Smoothie cut him off.

"Save it," she said, her eyes flashing like polished obsidian. "I know how these games play. Loyalty, love, duty - they're all just fake compared to the roar of mama's ambition."

She turned away, staring out at the endless ocean. The truth was, the news hadn't surprised her. Marriage was a tool, and she, Smoothie, was a weapon forged in Big Mom's fiery oven.

"So, who is it?" she finally asked, her voice low.

Prospero hesitated. "Not a name you'd recognize," he mumbled. "Son of Whitebeard, Atlas."

Suddenly, a wry smile twisted Smoothie's lips. Wano. Whitebeard's son. She was ntrigue piqued, replacing bitterness.

"Interesting," she purred, the dangerous edge back in her voice. "Tell me more."

Prospero launched into a detailed explanation, his voice regaining its usual authority. Smoothie listened, her mind whirring like a well-oiled blade. 

Finally, she rose, her tall figure casting a long shadow. "Very well, Prospero," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Prepare the ship. I will see him at dawn."

The old man raised an eyebrow, surprised by her quick decision. "You don't want to meet him today?"

Smoothie laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "He is here. So why not?" She turned and walked away, leaving Prospero alone.

As dawn tinged the sky, Smoothie stood on the deck of the departing ship, the wind whipping her hair. They weren't that far in the island.

***

Atlas turned the bear carcass, its fat dripping into the roaring fire, sending plumes of smoke skyward. His face, etched with the harsh lines of a thousand battles, remained impassive. Behind him, footsteps crunched on the gravel path. He didn't bother to turn, knowing exactly who they were.

"Atlas," came the dry rasp of his long tongue, "a moment of your time."

Atlas grunted, flipping the bear with practiced ease. Still no response. Then, a voice, smooth as syrup laced with venom, cut through the crackling flames.

"So, this is my...prospective husband?"

Atlas finally turned, his eyes, cold and dark as obsidian, meeting Smoothie's calculating gaze. He took her in, from the lethal curve of her blade at her hip to the predatory glint in her pink eyes. This woman was no pushover, that much was clear.

"Prospero," he drawled, his voice a low rumble, "did you forget to mention I prefer my women to be less...decorative?"

Smoothie tilted her head, her smile devoid of warmth. "And do you prefer your men to be less…barbecuing ursine monstrosities?"

Atlas chuckled, a sound like stones rolling down a mountain. "This 'monstrosity' is our feast, miss. Unless, of course, you have other preferences?"

Her eyes narrowed. "My preferences are for men who can appreciate the finer things in life, not just the taste of charred flesh."

"And what, pray tell, are those finer things?" He met her gaze, unflinching.

"Power and Intelligence," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Ambition. He should be able to make a name for himself."

The bear sizzled in the fire, its aroma filling the air. Atlas's smile widened, revealing a glint of steel. "Interesting," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And do you believe I lack those qualities?"

"Judging by your current culinary endeavors," she drawled, "I'm inclined to say yes."

Atlas laughed, a full-throated roar that echoed through the trees. "Oh miss," he said, stepping closer, his voice a caress, "you haven't even begun to see what I'm capable of."

He leaned in, his eyes boring into hers. "This wedding may not be your choice, but it presents an opportunity. An opportunity to forge our own empire, to rule alongside a king who understands power, not just its taste."

Smoothie met his gaze, her own eyes flashing with challenge. "And what makes you think I need a king to rule?"

Atlas straightened, his smile fading into a grim line. "Because, my dear," he said, his voice cold as the night, "a queen alone is just a pawn, waiting to be played."

Silence descended, punctuated only by the crackling fire and the dripping fat. Smoothie stood there, her expression unreadable, as Atlas turned back to his bear, his movements deliberate, powerful.

Smoothie, ever the picture of poise, watched Atlas dissect the bear with practiced ease, her lips pursed in a mix of amusement and disdain. Prospero cleared his throat, but she ignored him, her gaze fixed on the man who dared call himself her fiancé.

"Ruling empires, you say?" she drawled, her voice like honey laced with ice. "Such games hold little appeal for me. Power... it bores me."

Atlas chuckled, a low rumble that echoed through the clearing. He paused mid-bite, a dark eyebrow raised in challenge. "No desire to leave your mark? No ambition to sculpt the world's fate?"

"The world shapes itself," she replied, her voice smooth as ever, "and I choose the wave to ride."

He leaned back, amusement dancing in his eyes. "And what wave is that, Queen Smoothie?"

"The wave of pleasure," she purred, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Usually going with the flow,"

Atlas lowered the bear, a genuine smile warming his features. "Intriguing. But tell me, Queen, have you ever savored love? The love between husband and wife, you must have heard much about them?"

Smoothie scoffed, the sound laced with a hint of irritation. "Love? A childish fairytale for the gullible. It holds no sway over me."

"And yet," he countered, his voice dropping low, "you haven't tasted it to know."

Her amusement waned, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. "Like you know so much, Kid. You are hardly qualified to teach me about love."

Atlas's smile turned predatory, a glint of steel in his gaze. "Young, perhaps," he conceded, "but I bet I can learn the taste of love from you, just as you might learn its power from me."

Smoothie narrowed her eyes, intrigued despite herself. This man, with his barbaric feast and brazen words, offered a different kind of power than she was used to. A power not of territory or influence, but of connection.

"A bold claim," she purred, her voice laced with challenge, "but one that titillates my curiosity. Very well, Atlas. Since we are going to marry, let's try it for once."

Standing before each other, Atlas's head barely reached her Knees. "I found our age gap absurd, but... the height gap is.... words can't describe it," She was 15 Feets and 3 inches.

Atlas found himself quite tall for a twelve-years old, being 5 feet 3 inches. But seeing her, he felt like a dwarf.