Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 144411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
I fall to the deck in an unceremonious heap, splinters going into the heels of my palms as I break my fall. Someone snickers and I look up, my hair half-loose and falling over my face and I know I look like a madwoman.
There are three pirates gathered around me. To my surprise, one of them is a pale woman, wearing her stays laced on top of a billowy men’s shirt above wide petticoat breeches, and her red hair in a braid down her back. For a moment I think that maybe she’s another woman that’s been taken and ravaged by this gang of devils but from the amused gleam in her eyes, I don’t think that’s the case. She’s the one that snickered.
The other two pirates happen to be the roguish captain, and a very tall Black man. There’s something about the two of them that are catching me off-guard, and it takes me a moment to realize what it is. I had been expecting the pirates to look like dirty dogs wearing stained and ragged salt-bleached clothing, and yet they don’t look anything of the sort. Granted, the captain is soaking wet and they’re wearing an eclectic assortment of clothes, yet they’re clean looking, the clothes could be tailored.
“You sure she’s the princess?” the Black man asks as he peers at me curiously, his accent sounding Spanish or Portuguese.
“I’d wager so,” the captain says, reaching down and grabbing me by my arm, his grip tight and bruising as he hauls me up to my feet. “Care to refute that, Your Highness?”
I stare at the captain, refusing to be intimidated by him. Strangely, I thought I’d see his nose broken, bruised and bloodied from my fist, but there isn’t a mark on him. I’m shocked at how disappointed I feel, as if I was needing to draw blood. How quickly my morals have descended.
“Where is Daphne?” I demand, raising my chin and meeting the pirate captain in the eyes. It’s dark so it’s hard to discern, but they seem colorless.
“Who?” the woman pirate asks.
“Daphne?” the captain repeats. He frowns. “Are you asking after that lady with the years on her? Apple-cheeked and hefty?”
I barely nod, afraid of his answer.
His frown deepens. “She’s already been taken below. You’re an interesting piece, aren’t you? Asking about her and not a thought for your dear husband, the prince?”
“She could be my mother,” I suggest, only feeling a smidge of guilt for thinking of Daphne’s well-being before my own husband’s.
“Ah,” he says with a curve of a smile and a sharp jab of his finger into the air, “but she isn’t now. I’d wager she’s your lady-in-waiting. Unfortunately, I don’t know much about royalty, in fact you’re the first royal I’ve ever met, if you can believe that. I don’t even know your name.”
I press my lips together, refusing to give it to him.
“It’s Princess Maren. Mark my word,” the woman says proudly. “And the Prince goes by Aerik.”
“And Daphne, the lady-in-waiting,” the captain surmises. “Glad to formally meet you. I’m Captain Battista.” He nods to the woman. “This little flutterin’ dove over here is Sam. And that’s Cruz, my first mate.”
“I don’t care who any of you are,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can all go straight to hell.”
I try to shrug out of his grasp but it’s fruitless even as he bursts out laughing. “My oh my. Listen to the mouth on this bit of fluff. Is that how you talk over in Copenhagen, or have you been on a boat too long? You sound like a bloody sailor.”
“Where are the rest of the crew?” I ask, looking over at the other ship. The noise from earlier has died down and though I can’t see much in the darkness beyond, I can hear talking and laughing but the screaming has stopped. That makes it even worse. My blood runs cold at the silence. The smell of burning fills the air.
“We’ve taken some of your crew into the hold,” Cruz says.
“And the rest of them?” What about the servants who have been loyally at our side for years?
Cruz raises his brows. “They’re dead,” he says simply, like I’m daft.
The words are an arrow to my heart.
“You do know what ship you’ve found yourself on,” the woman pirate says, “don’t ya?”
I do my best to seem strong, though I’m afraid I’m crumbling inside. “Yes. They call you the Brethren of the Blood.”
The captain snorts and gives me a wry look, tilting his head just so that the shadows under his high cheekbones seems to combine with his scruffy facial hair, making his face look like a skull. “So, our reputation precedes us.”
“I always thought we should be called the Ancient Brotherhood,” Cruz muses, running a hand over his chin. “Or the Devil’s Brethren.”