The Princess and The Pirate

Estavan finally saw a speck on the horizon. He had waited for it the whole cold night and into the brutal morning, standing alone on an open tower.

A falcon perched on the stone ledge. He cleaned his feathers and shook his left leg, a scroll flapping around. The captain of the guard gently undid the knot with his trembling hands. This is what he had waited for - a ransom note. They wouldn’t kill her! It would be bad for business, after all.

Estavan hoped to send his messengers by noon and have the Princess home before supper.

The note itself was fairly standard: “I, the Captain of The Silver Ogre’s Revenge, have your only princess. For no less than 100,000 gold pieces and amnesty, will she be returned, etc, etc.” If they needed more proof, a bow from her nightgown fell from the coils of the scroll.

A wave of relief washed over Estavan. 100,000 gold pieces was a small price to pay. Clutching the note in his fist, he sprinted down the column stairwell of the tower to find the King. Clattering in his full plate armor, he bolted through the halls and rooms.

There was no need to get the Empire involved and no need for a war or death.

There was a tangible price on peace.

“My lord!” Estavan shouted, bursting into the King’s private study. “My lord! It came!”

The King sat at his desk, a quill in one hand, a letter opener in the other. Piles of parchments sat before him. He looked over to his captain and stood up.

“What came?”

Estavan let out a soft laugh at the old man. “The pirates’ ransom note! Your daughter will be returned within the hour for a miniscule amount.” He smiled, handing his lord the paper.

The King gently took the note, wordlessly. A neutral expression, one of quiet contemplation, covered his face.

“I will call back my riders. I saved the fastest ones just for this.” Estavan felt charged, accomplished, saving the lives of men and women just by delivering a note. He turned, heading for the door. “I’ll get the treasury to begin counting, sire. The Empire will never know this little hiccup ever happened.” Excitement filled him in avoiding the dreadful catastrophe or war.

“Did anyone else see this note, Estavan?” called the King, looking up from the ransom to his loyal, fair, selfless Captain of the Guard. It was a position he held with honor and great integrity for nearly a decade.

He was a fine man, and people would be shocked that he was a traitor to the crown. He would be a fine mass of pitched fuel to add to the blaze.

“No, my lord. The falcon is waiting for a response, I’ll draft somet—” and Estavan’s voice disappeared abruptly. He paused mid-sentence as blood suddenly occupied his throat. The King placed his other hand on his guard’s shoulder, guiding the man to the ground. The golden letter opener had been driven all the way to its hilt into the guard’s neck.

Blood forced its way out from Estavan’s mouth and nose. The noble man was dead before his knees hit the carpet.

“No, my good knight,” was all the King could muster. As he pulled the tool from the man’s throat a long, built-up explosion of blood wet the carpet. “We have other plans for you.”

The King turned away from Estavan’s body and by the light of his lantern, he destroyed the note from The Silver Orge’s Revenge. No one could ever know there was a chance of Jacqueline returning.

Inhaling deeply, he enjoyed the quiet of the early morning for one guiltier second and then shattered it with a frantic, frightened shout. “GUARDS! GUARDS! HELP! ESTAVAN’S BETRAYED US!”