The Princess and The Pirate

The men rode nonchalantly through Rocqueburne with their prize. The city was awakening to the news of an attack on the castle and that the beloved princess was missing.

They just whistled onward. No one bothered the hay merchants.

Jacqueline was still compacted at the bottom of the hay as the snoring sounds became sincere. The large, half-naked man was literally asleep.

Left alone, there wasn’t much to do aside from contemplate her dilemma. In retrospect, the Princess didn’t feel completely in life-threatening danger. There was no roughness or cruelty inflicted upon her. No one even acknowledged her existence. Like a barrel or crate, she was just an item for transport, a commodity, wrapped in straw to prevent cracking and chipping.

Sighing through her gag Jacqueline stopped fighting the rough journey and simply laid her head on a few strands of hay, trying to get some rest.

If their graciousness didn’t last, she’d need the energy.

She was well into a deep sleep before the cart came to a stop.

The docks were a seedy, dreadful place rife with crime and teeming with lowlifes. The ominous cawing of hungry carrion birds carried across each dismal alley and shadowy pier. If ever an ideal place existed for a person to disappear, it existed at the docks.

The planks and foundations just reeked of nefarious intentions.

Any idle chatter the group of men ceased as they rolled along the pier. Their mundane facades dropped as a huge silhouette loomed on the pulse of the ocean. One lone lantern was lit within in its darkness, showing them the way.

The Silver Ogre’s Revenge, void of energy, sat docked, bobbing up and down in the rough ocean tide.

The driver pulled his reins and the sad old horse stopped, panting through his bit. One of his companions let out a soft whistle something similar to a nightingale’s song.

The lantern on the ship moved, waving once.

Planks and ropes, seemingly summoned from nowhere, crawled over the edges of the ship and landed on the dock.

Perhaps docking a large, rouge ship in plain sight wasn’t the soundest tactic but the crew and its leader didn’t seem very concerned. Anyone actually “working” the docks was just as corrupt and rotten as the salt-eaten wood they stood on.

Opening the canvas top, even the seasoned cutthroat pirates squirmed at their friend’s exposure.

One brave pirate knocked the drunken man’s boot. “Francis, get yourself together.”

Francis snorted, grumbled, and rolled off the pile with a flop.

“Hope you didn’t crush her to death,” the brave man said sharply while awaiting his compatriot to remove himself.

“Sod off, Donavan,” Francis gargled, more than actually saying anything. He lumbered from the cart. “I was keeping her warm.”

Donavan moved in, throwing hay behind him to reveal the Princess sleeping at the very bottom. Her hands were under her head and her knees were pulled to her chest. With a soft blush in her cheeks and a relaxed position she seemed very far away from her current situation.

Leaning over, he gently grabbed her feet and forearm, lifting the sleeping girl without much inconvenience. Jacqueline was running hot in her sleep, but was comfortably warm to his cold, calloused hands. She snorted and let out a soft kick but was effortlessly slung over his shoulders like a calf. Holding her wrists and ankles, her torso was stretched across his back. Her head rested in the crook of his neck, breathing warmly on his calloused skin through the gag.

They abandoned the cart, gave the old horse all the hay it could stand, and ascended up the ropes and planks to board the ship.

Their captain stood waiting amongst the other half of his silent crew.

“Much trouble, first mate?” he asked while extinguishing the lantern that guided them.

“None really, Captain,” Donavan said. He was happy to be on home “soil” again.

“Is she asleep?” he motioned, a light tone of disbelief in his words. She was absolutely covered in hay. It clung to her, poked out of her hair, and stuck to her moist, drool-soaked gag.

“Perhaps. Maybe she’s faking but she wasn’t difficult,” he said with some apathy.

Content with this answer the Captain turned to face the rest of his men. “Harness the current and we’ll release the falcon at dawn. Within the day we’ll be done.”

There was no cheer or great huzzah! – it was just back to work as usual by the moon’s harsh light.

Donavan walked off in the opposite direction of the crew to drop off the cargo. She was itching his back, neck, and getting his clothes full of hay. The first mate was eager to get rid of her.