The Princess and The Pirate

The morning came and went. The afternoon sun was high, burning relentlessly down on the Princess. There was no cover in her tiny prison. Only time could slide the sun away. She felt her fair skin burning, cooking like a stranded frog. Heat had dried most of the mud, turning it into powdered, flaking dirt. Her prison walls were covered in long scratches, testaments to the failed attempts of trying to escape.

She dragged her eyes upward as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The brightness of the sun amplified her hangover.

Eustace stood before her, clean and wearing his best suit. His arms were behind his back and he appeared quite gentlemanly. The deplorable beast cleaned up well. A sword hilt gave off a polished, golden sheen. With a soft smile, the lord looked over her sorry, disheveled state. Jacqueline’s dress was ruined, but it couldn’t compare to her expression. The Princess’s pitiful eyes and trembling lip spoke only of broken defeat.

“It saddens me you haven’t learned. Put on your collar, lovely.” He motioned to the dirty strap beside her knees.

The Princess sat up slightly. Everything still hurt and every motion reminded her that she had landed back first in her own pit. “No. I am not your slave.” Now her head hurt, the liquor having worn off and leaving a splitting headache, exasperated by the sun.

Rolling his eyes, he pulled a pistol out from behind his back, pointing it down at his bride. “You are already in the hole. All I’d have to do is bury you.”

Her brows twisted upward and tears welled on the corner of her eyes again. Staring down the barrel of the gun, Jacqueline sat up more, imploringly. “D-do you…” she began before revising her statement. “You don’t have a soul, do you?” she whispered, trembling again, moving to her hands and knees.

“I find souls aren’t particularly useful to achieve one’s ambitions, like becoming king. Now, get to it.” He motioned to the collar again.

“N-not a person in Rocqueburne will acknowledge your authority,” the Princess snarled, mustering some meanness. His idea was ludicrous. She shuffled across the dirt floor, picked the thing up and placed it against her neck, shamefully. Maybe being dead was the better option?

Eustace smiled, getting a savory amusement from her embarrassment. It was like watching a melting steak cook while starving. “Then I will kill them until people comply with the new order. Everyone submits, eventually. Right, my queen?” He had a joyous tone. “Would your reign be any better? Did you believe for a moment they would follow a child pirate?”

Wordlessly, she tightened the leather, buckling the piece around her neck. The ring was dirty, but the exposed parts gleamed proudly in the sunshine. Jacqueline looked up like a lost kitten with big eyes and drooped shoulders. He was so delusional. There wasn’t a drip of reason in the Regent’s lecherous fiber.

A rope ladder was kicked down. “You’re so beautiful when you obey.”

Jacqueline strained to climb the unruly ropes. Her dress was so heavy, caked with mud and layers of soaked fabric. It pained her courtly muscles as she clawed her way out of the grave. Up top, birds were singing, celebrating a beautiful day. It was all lost on her, overshadowed by the life of indentured servitude she was about to face.

Lifelessly, she surveyed the meadow. This field was huge. How many women were under it?

“I even broke out the last known bottle of Rosé Vignoble just for you, my treasure.” Politely, Eustace pulled the Princess to her feet, like she had stumbled while dancing.

Just before the patio entrance to the house was a great arch made of flowers and ribbons. White satin bows decorated the flora, woven in and out between the leaves. Birds sat perched in it, singing and tweeting merrily, picking at the ripe, red berries that were part of the arrangement. A long, silver post with a rounded bowl on the top was placed next to an altar. Ice glimmered inside, a bottle of pink champagne sat within, sparkling in the sunlight. Under the matrimonial arch stood the three assassins, their heads bowed peacefully.

Pulling back, she didn’t want to marry him.

She couldn’t.

Eustace grabbed Jacqueline’s arm forcefully, dragging her forward while keeping the gun in his other hand. “It isn’t much, but it’s all about decorum, anyway. I am a fundamentalist at heart.” He had a serious expression as if he actually were. She nearly let out an impulsive laugh at the bewildering notion.

With an exhausted whine, Jacqueline pulled back again, fighting to get away. Half of her leaned back, the other half limped forward against her will. “P-please, don’t officiate this,” she whispered to the friar who wore an ironclad, incorruptible expression. “Help me, P-pl—”

“Darling, shut up and let the nice man talk.” The Regent shook her whole body by the arm, still wearing the biggest, boyish smile. It was his wedding day! “You don’t wish to be rude, do you?”

The friar didn’t bother opening a bible. There was nothing sacred about this travesty. He sighed softly, looking Eustace dead in the eye. “All things are manageable through Christ. Forgiveness, humility, and decency. The lamb was slaughtered and its blood rid sin from the world, but it crept back in slowly, like a thorny weed. Only by atonement can we rid the vile barbs from our spirit and flesh.” He slid his eyes to the Princess. “And so it suffered, but He knew His kingdom was not made of stone, but of a greater power and light, more beautiful than anything men could offer.” The friar hoped to comfort the poor woman, although he had savored a small bit of her suffering. He’d repent later.

Normally, his quarries did not need any sort of condolences before he got to them, nor could he enjoy their suffering at all. This was new territory for the man. Regardless, his stone demeanor didn’t waiver at all, looking as stoic as ever to those on the outside.

Jacqueline shut her eyes, her energy spent. She bit her lip, holding back a sob but the grief twisted her dirty face. Tears broke free of her lashes, cleaning her skin in long, salty streaks. “P-please help me…”

Eustace crammed the barrel of his pistol into her side. “Stop.” The gesture only made her face tighten up more, obviously weighing the choices of living and dying. She tried to pull her arm free of him, but he held it fiercely in place.

“In the eyes of God, do you take this woman to be your wife?”

“I do.”

“Do you, in the eyes of God, take this man to be your husband?”

The Princess didn’t respond, her soul breaking into small splinters. With shaking legs, Jacqueline remained quiet, eyes shut, quivering like a sapling assaulted during a tempest. A healthy river of dirty tears dripped from the curve of her jaw down to her chest.

With a displeased growl the Regent forced Jacqueline to her knees, pushing her down. “Miserable whore,” Eustace ridiculed her, sliding the edge of his weapon against her temple. “The man asked you a fucking question.” There was no smile in his voice this time, “…In front of God.”

Stammering, Jacqueline whimpered as her lips separated in a gasp. She refused to open her eyes, choking on a sob.

She could bear it no more. She broke down, kneeling there before the friar. The Princess’s misery flooded outward and the sun reflected like warm gold in her wet, crying eyes. Inhaling brokenly, Jacqueline’s head tilted as the lord put more pressure against her temple. She believed he would execute her right there to compensate for the delay. All her mind thought of was Kyle. It was her only, tiny piece of joy hidden within her heart. She didn’t have to love anyone else and she’d escape even if it took a hundred years.

“Yes.” Jacqueline couldn’t hear the birds, feel the sun, or even see color. She was void of any humanly sense.

“Then,” The friar crossed the air before them, “In God’s light, be happy. You may kiss your bride,” and for one minute, Eustace thought this fiasco had come too cheaply. Twenty-five thousand pieces seemed a low rate for devastating someone in mind, body, and soul.

That was all Eustace needed, he ripped Jacqueline toward him, bringing his face to hers. He parted the Princess’s lips with his tongue, eagerly marking his territory with his muscle and spit. The Princess tasted like dirt, rocks, and most importantly, victory. The lord pushed his mouth further onto hers, hungry to conquer. She squeaked, putting her hands against his chest, trying to push his assault away.

The Regent grabbed the back of her head, trapping his new bride there until he was done. It only excited him further and she felt him, hot and angry, pressing against her hips.

But the great house rocked suddenly, a mighty cannonball destroying a dilapidated part of the estate, taking out scorched stone and wood. It scattered debris into the yard, raining glass and mortar down upon the wedding party.

An arrow whizzed out of the distant tree line, sinking itself deeply into one of the nuns. She fell back, gripping the shaft, gasping and trembling. The feathers were white and speckled grey, taken from the numerous gulls of Rocqueburne bay.

Eustace kept his new wife close. Too close, in fact. He shamelessly threw Jacqueline in front of his own body as a shield. They wouldn’t shoot their queen, would they?

The remaining assassins turned to face the rocked house. A second violent explosion followed. Another cannonball barreled through, scarring the field on the other side as it landed. The gaping chasm in the house revealed the Rocqueburne Calvary on the other side. A line of cannons were being prepared on the Regent’s front lawn.

“It doesn’t matter, they’re too late!” Eustace screamed ecstatically. “Destroy my house, I have another waiting!” Besides, the Rocqueburne castle was quite comfortable.

“KYLE!” Jacqueline screamed, trying to push back into the Regent. She flailed rabidly, hoping to escape. She fought back savagely, scratching and biting him like an animal cornered in a cage.

He fought with her as the sound of horses thundered through the ruined parts of the Regent’s house. Gravity was starting to pull the evil ruin to the ground. Kyle, mounted on a horse, rode determinedly through the disaster, sliding across the patio’s concrete. Sparks jumped from his steed’s polished royal hooves, turning against the stone. He looked down the stairs, finding what he was looking for.

Eustace swung Jacqueline out of the way, sending her crashing to the grass. Taking aim, he fired directly at the future king of Rocqueburne.

Hitting the ground, the Princess fell sharply onto something unkind and freezing. Cold stabbed at her on the beautiful spring day. Looking up, she saw the friar and the remaining nun surveying the field in panic. The friar held his shoulder, which now sported an arrow of its own. Spotting an opening in a thick patch of woodland, the pair broke out into a dead sprint for their escape.

All-out war was no place for assassins.

The rare pink champagne rolled out across the ice. Its bubbles reflected like precious gems in the rose-colored drink and the bottle’s golden label shimmered. Jacqueline grabbed the foil-covered neck.

The Regent’s shot landed square in the head of Kyle’s horse. The beast fell down the stone patio stairs, taking him with it. They hit the chiseled edges, rolling down into the lawn, scraps of broken stone flying after them as they landed in the house’s debris. Kyle held his shoulder, pulling himself away from his fallen mount. The scenario could have gone better, but he managed to escape being crushed to death.

Throwing the gun away, not wanting to waste time reloading, Eustace pulled his sword free. “I have had dreams about killing you, boy.”

Kyle pulled his sword out, still on the ground, but for some reason he wasn’t in a rush to defend himself.

Suddenly, the Regent’s sight was nearly knocked from his head. Stumbling to the side, the bright sunlight of his wedding day was too much to process. Jacqueline stood behind him, champagne bottle in both her hands like a club. Eustace violently spun around, blindly swinging his saber at the insulting direction. The Princess shouted, dodging a close swipe.

The rare bottle was swiftly cut in half, splattering the expensive alcohol and misting the air with a refreshing fragrance of delicate fruit.

“YOU UNGRATEFUL BITCH!” Eustace screamed, preparing to lunge forward.

Kyle threw himself forward, tackling the old man at the midsection, taking both of them to the ground. With a barbaric howl, they rolled around, struggling for dominance. Once on top, Kyle took to violently punching Eustace’s face, pressing his knees into the nobleman’s shoulder. The former pirate viciously pummeled the Regent’s face, cracking his own knuckles to collapse the villain’s skull.

Eustace grabbed Kyle’s fist, lifting his shoulder off the ground before tossing him away. “You wouldn’t marry another man’s wife, would you?” More cannon fire erupted, dismantling the house with each individual explosion. Materials rained down, making the patio a dangerous place to be. The structure moaned, seeming to shift on its foundation.

Wiping his face with his sleeve, Eustace staggered, trying to stand up. He couldn’t fight like the young bucks anymore. Kyle picked up his sword. “No, but I’d marry another man’s widow.”

The two ran at one another, clashing their steel together. Kyle continued to push the Regent back, landing a kick in the old man’s stomach. Eustace replied, throwing his saber widely, the fine tip slicing the front of Kyle’s jacket. Parrying the blade away, the future king clashed harder, dragging his sword down the length of his enemy’s weapon. He threw his shoulder into Eustace, trying to push him back toward the open hole.

The Regent brought down his saber again, the edge digging into Kyle’s arm. Blood poured out from the slice, staining the regal fabrics. Stepping back and opening up his stance, Eustace laughed, his eyes filled with insanity. This was for sport! “I’ve got at least forty years on you! I was sword fighting before your balls even dropped!”

“Your face makes it obvious, you withered old man!” Kyle retorted, swiping down at the Regent’s knees. He slid away from the stroke Kyle took another slice, just wanting to stay close and press the assault further. The opening in the field was his only goal, and when he got there, he’d figure out his next plan.

The house rumbled again and Jacqueline covered her head as dust and debris rained down.

A loud crack rang out. It was like a sharp, short ring of thunder.

The Princess looked up at the unique sound. Magnus stood there on the edge of the patio, a long rifle in his hand. His face was resting against the end, his sight dead forward, completely still, despite the house collapsing around him.

Eustace let out a grunt, pushing Kyle away with his hands. “I…” A large red splash decorated the front of his noble suit, a shot having pierced directly through the jacket and other layers. He dryly swallowed, looking faint and winded. “…my…”

Breathing heavily, Kyle shoved the old man, denying him the opportunity to finish. It was effortless, like tipping a house of cards. The Regent fell backward, landing heavily in the earth. Eustace landed crooked, headfirst, as a pile of broken meat seven feet below in a grave he himself had dug.

“We need to leave!” Magnus screamed, moving down the stairs, pain in his face. His back was not cut out for all this madness anymore. He whistled sharply.

Kyle turned from the grave, running to Jacqueline. He grabbed her dirty arms, holding her up. “Are you alright?!” he screamed over the destruction as the house started caving in on itself.

“H-he destroyed the ring,” she said shaking, holding up her bare hand to him. “M-my dress…”

He hugged her tightly. Was that all she was thinking about? Kyle stroked her hair even though she smelled horrible. “It’s ok, there will be others.” Dropping his sword, he brought his hands to her neck, undoing the dreadful strap. No one owned her but him.

Magnus brought them a horse and he sported a look of panic. “You need to ride this until she’s dead. The Emperor and Empress are due in Rocqueburne today. You need to be there, bullshit or no bullshit, and you still need to get married to keep any of it!” he shouted, shoving the reins into Kyle’s hands.

The western half of the house fell, smashing glass, stone, and wood. The terrible noise spooked the royal stallion.

“Go before your own men get you killed!” Magnus put Jacqueline on the horse and held it steady for the future king.

“Flatten this place.” She grabbed the general’s hand, not looking way from what remained of the house. “Don’t stop until its foundation is dust. Then salt and burn the earth.”

“Aye, my queen.” It was an order Magnus was happy to carry out.

Kyle threw himself on the back of the saddle, bringing his arms around his bride. She leaned into him, virtually melted. He grabbed the leather and pulled it tightly, turning the stubborn, frightened beast around. The horse kicked and sprinted down the road, flying off the Regent’s former estate.