The Princess and The Pirate

Miles away, over a vast amount of land, a second messenger was arriving at his destination. He galloped through a massive city with cobble roads and tall houses. Golden banners hung from chimneys and yellow poppies dotted nearly every windowsill’s flowerbox.

Every aspect of the empire’s capitol was brilliant. The people were happy, trade was prosperous, and it was simply a golden beacon of hope. At the very center was a tall castle, with even taller roof points. Beyond its mighty keep walls were exotic flora and fauna that could be seen no other place in the region.

The messenger, clad with his royal garb and a Rocqueburne crest, rode across the guarded bridge with ease. Upon passing the threshold, an unassuming peacock cried out at the galloping horse, flapped its bright blue wings, and flew out of harm’s way.

The stallion neighed, rearing at the bird but the rider held fast. It was quite a magnificent entrance. He had the entire court’s attention, like he was the next round of entertainment.

The horse’s hooves came back down and the embarrassed messenger boy sucked in his lips. He did just charge into the king and queen of the entire empire’s courtly garden party.

And he, a nobody, crashed it.

Silence fell over the large, elite group.

The horse brayed softly, looking at the strange people.

“Well?” The King stood from his chair, his golden outfit sparkling in the afternoon sun amongst his mighty garden. His Queen, radiant and stunning, stood as well.

The messenger had everyone’s undivided attention.

“Rocqueburne has been attacked,” he started while dismounting the horse. Reaching into his satchel he pulled out a sealed scroll, cutting his way through the awestruck crowd.

Now everyone knew why the royal family of Rocqueburne hadn’t shown up to court. A muted murmur fell over the fellow royals of the empire. They had carved Rocqueburne from the very stone and soil. What horror could befall such hard working servants of the people?

“…They send their apologies for not being here, my lord and lady, but there has been a grave turn of events.” He bowed, holding out the message.

The King gave his wife a quick look and took the scroll. He broke the Rocqueburne seal with zero difficulty and adjusted the half rim glasses he wore to read the message. His face was stern and calculating at first but then, reading line by line, his expression fell into sorrow, affected by the power of a heartbroken mother.

She implored him for help.

She beseeched him for justice.

She begged for the manpower to make the pirates pay for their atrocities.

The images the Queen invoked were as if his very own kin were being preyed upon by wolves, then torn apart for sport. As a mother, she lamented not only outliving her child but having nothing to bury.

“Dearest King, our dearest allies of the great empire, we are but vacant statues, helpless, underpowered, to right this great, great wrong. Who else will they come for? How many more sons and daughters must die?”

The King himself could never imagine losing his son in such a vicious, heartless way. He would feel empty inside, to say the least. To even fathom such a feeling made his blood run cold.

“Jacqueline is dead,” he called out somberly to the silent crowd. The Queen covered her agape mouth, holding in a tiny squeak.

“My lord, but how?” a guest asked, trying to understand how this good day had gone so wrong.

“Pirates.”