The Princess and The Pirate

Noon came and went. Now the sun sat on the horizon, calling it quits on another long, long day. Kyle stood at the helm of his ship, idly resting his forearm on the pegs of the wheel. He stared out to Rocqueburne’s shore. Not much had changed.

In the warm setting sun his mind’s eye saw a different scene. Kyle was on shore, holding his mother’s hand. Out to sea was a firefight; the great Royal Armada verses a crippled fleet of pirate ships.

The entire city was gathered at the port to watch good battle evil. The royal colors, bright white and rich, earthy green clashed with the black, obtrusive flags of the pirate’s Jolly Rogers.

The Mermaid’s Breath, The Sea Plague, accompanied by Shark’s Grin and Angler’s Light were led by The Silver Ogre. They fought against a sheer navy. There was no escape, and frankly, escaping wasn’t an option.

Kyle’s father, the mighty pirate lord simply known as The Black Duke, led the charge as hopeless as it was. He had always told his son that pirating was a “live by the sword, die by the sword” type of life and one day, it would all catch up to him.

Amongst the cheers of the Rocqueburne people, patches of families were silent, watching ship after ship join Davy Jones in the pitiless depths. Eventually, every single one of their flags floated to the ocean’s surface and not a trace of their once mighty legacy of pirating was left.

The ships’ flotsam would wash upon the shore for many months after this historic battle.

Kyle wouldn’t be there to sift through it, though. Both he and his mother, along with any other families associated with the pirates, ran.

They all fled Rocqueburne in mass exodus.

It’d pain his mother, God bless her soul, to know he had ended up on the sea, despite it all. As a pirate captain, no less, of a ship named The Silver Ogre’s Revenge.

“Captain,” a familiar voice broke Kyle out of his memory; he looked down the stairs of the helm to Donavan holding two plates of food. “Supper.”

Kyle sighed, his least favorite time of the day. With an untrained pirate as the self-appointed cook, the food was almost never any good. His disdain of high seas cuisine explained his very lean but tall, six foot physique.

Dinner looked like grey lumps with some brown chunks and some questionably yellow bread.

“Have the goods eaten? I just realized...” Kyle said coming to his own realization, "that we’ve had her since early morning.” And no food. Oops.

Donavan shrugged, indifferent.

Kyle looked at him, his expression flattening by the second.

With a roll of the eyes Donavan turned around and marched back down the stairs he just climbed to go to the Captain’s cabin, below the helm.

The setting sun caught Kyle’s attention. They had never held a captive so long.

Furthermore, his falcon hadn’t even returned. What if they didn’t want her back? What if they killed his bird?!

He definitely hadn’t planned on that.

Donavan stomped down the stairs holding two plates of food. He himself was an interesting character. He was forty, which was ancient by pirate standards, and had been first mate to The Black Duke. Oddly enough, he hadn’t been on The Silver Ogre on the day of the massacre. In fact, he had all but disappeared until a few years ago, drunkenly turning up with some Chinese fishing boat’s crew. There had always been whispers about treachery and backstabbing.

Kyle asked, but Donavan swore up and down he had nothing to do with it.

He promised all he wanted was to sail with the shadow of Kyle’s father again. So, he let him on board.

The door to the cabin unlocked and Jacqueline lazily looked over to the light intruding from the outside world. It had been hours. Long, agonizingly boring, tedious hours! She was sitting up, leaning her head against the ship wall.

The Princess had braided her hair, perhaps half a dozen times, just for something to do.

At the sound of the door unlocking, energy filled her body. God, she was ready to go home and never leave again!

In walked Donavan against the fire orange light of the setting sun.

“Can I go home yet? Have they sent whatever you needed?” Jacqueline said, straightening her posture.

He sighed, kicking the door half closed behind him, his hands full. Walking towards the Princess, Donavan looked over the subdued girl with her bare legs and thrashed look. Placing his plate on the top of a dresser, he walked over holding the other serving. Looking down his nose at her, he smiled, but there wasn’t anything really sweet about it.

“No. No one has sent for you,” Donavan said sharply. Obviously they wouldn’t keep another mouth to feed on board any longer than they had to. “But you more than likely haven’t eaten.”

Jacqueline looked up at the tall man, shrinking in his shadow. There had been nothing to eat at all. No breakfast, no afternoon tea, no snacks. She had simply chewed on hay for the illusion of food. So yes, she was hungry, never having gone without her entire life.

However, something was very standoffish about this man and the irksome feeling made her stay back.

“But,” Donavan started looking over the plate of now cold food, “Princess, this is a ship. Have you ever sailed before?”

“I’ve traveled by boat, yes.” She replied cautiously.

“But have you ever sailed? Been a part of a team or crew to hoist lines, weigh anchor, and do any labor of the sort?” he asked, looking from the food to her.

Jacqueline rolled her eyes softly, somewhat ashamed at her lack of work history. “No, of course not.”

“Of course not!” he echoed, with a small smile. “Well in this world, one works to eat, and eats to work, so you have to pull some weight.”

“What can I pull? I’m chained in place,” the Princess retorted quickly, pulling on her leash.

“I can think of a few things,” Donavan said, keeping his smile. “Sit on your knees.”

Jacqueline looked at him with a severely skeptical expression, not moving.

He shrugged, taking a large bite out of her serving of bread. “It’s only fair, we don’t feed slackers here,” and the first mate waited.

Seeing him actually eat something made her stomach realize how empty it was. It growled and bit at her insides. Slowly, watching him, she found herself sitting upon her heels, knees together, before him, deathly still.

“Good girl.” Donavan gave a bready smile. He lifted up his boot and put his dirty, filthy sole on her lap. The muddy shoe instantly dirtied the hem of her nightgown and left a print on her thigh. It was cold, heavy, and smelled horrible.

Sharply snapping her eyes from him to the boot and back to Donavan, she had a look of indignity. “What are you doing?!”

“Tie my boot. It’s come loose,” he said, taking another bite of her bread. “Then you can eat.”

Jacqueline looked at his shoe. It truly was untied. As if to remind her of the task, he dug the ridged sole into her pale flesh. She had never tied a shoe in her life, much less, laced up a boot.

“Uh, um…” she thought aloud and took the ends of the leather laces. It couldn’t be much different than a hair ribbon, right?

Donavan looked bored and started eating the beans off her dish, waiting.

Jacqueline grabbed the ends and tied the two into a large, dainty bow, leaving the strings flimsy. The boot could just fall off.

The first mate shook his head with his mouth full of food. He looked down at the panicked girl, her face was red with a vibrant blush, “That’s not right. Start from the bottom and work your way up.” There, he gave her a tip as he ate more of her supper.

She grabbed the very first of his laces, looped on top of his foot, and pulled. This then pulled the other laces. Jacqueline repeated the process, digging her manicured nails into the dirty material.

Eventually she had to use both her hands to make the process go faster.

Finally, she tightened his boot around the ankle and up the middle of his calf so that the leather was snug. The Princess refastened the bow, tying it in a rough way, making sure it worked.

Completed, she looked up to Donavan for approval.

He seemed to soak up her current predicament, staring helplessly up at him. Gazing over the edge of the plate, his eyes slid from Jacqueline to his shoe. It was good.

“See? Now you can eat like the rest of us hardworking chums,” and he held his plate down by his hip next to her.

As she went to reach for it he pulled it back. “Say ‘Thank you, first mate Donavan.’”

Jacqueline stared up at him, her mouth slightly agape, “Why are you seeking to humiliate me?”

“You’re from educated society, aren’t you? Or did we mistakenly kidnap a pauper instead?” He moved the plate back further. “And make me believe in your gratitude.”

Jacqueline sighed, trying to keep the hot blush out of her cheeks. Inhaling, she looked up at him sweetly, even cracking a weak smile, “Thank you, first mate Donavan.”

“Good.” He gave her the tin plate, only equipped with a spoon. Maybe a third of the actual meal was left for her - Donavan’s scraps.

Removing his boot, he left a large, black, greasy, dirty stain on her nightgown and leg.

With a wave of the hand, he picked up his own plate from the dresser. “See you at breakfast, Princess,” and he walked out, shutting the cabin door behind him.

Alone, which was all she wanted to be, Jacqueline slumped back down against the wall.

She held the plate in her hands and let out a soft sniffle, trying not to cry. Why wasn’t she home yet? Why hadn’t her parents met their demands?

Grabbing her spoon, Jacqueline attempted to eat the foul, bland meal.