PartOne
Called to the King
ERIK
“You have five seconds to tell me where to find the gold, or your blood will be coating the floor.” I snarl, gripping the back of the wooden chair with one hand while I tighten my grip on my dagger. Gesturing towards the trembling woman seated nearby, I clench my teeth. “You wouldn’t want to leave your poor wife a widow, would you?”
The ashen-faced man beneath my blade trembles, his face somehow paling even further. I swear, he is as white as the linen of the pompous shirt he is wearing. His blue eyes widen as they slide toward the woman sitting on the other side of the room.
She, too, is bound to her seat. Thick brown ropes are wrapped around her arms and legs, binding her in place. A large golden ring encircles the third finger on her left hand, clearly marking her as belonging to the man whose neck is on the edge of my blade.
The woman is shaking. The gag I placed between her teeth is dark with moisture from the tears running down her pale cheeks. Her eyes are pleading as she stares at her husband, trying to speak through the gag. She is struggling against the bonds, her voice muffled by the cloth.
“Please,” the woman sobs through the damp fabric, “don’t.”
I don’t blame her for being scared. I’d probably act the same way if the Pirate of Death boarded my ship and killed the entire crew in front of me.
Unlike my own ship,The Black Rose, this one is far less modern. Wooden planks are everywhere and there isn’t a touch of metal or technology in sight. It’s precisely what I would have imagined ships looked like three hundred years ago. Old. Decrepit. It even has old-fashioned cannons sticking out the side. Definitely not my choice of vessel.
Blowing out a long breath, I warn, “Shut up.” Turning back to the man on the edge of my knife, I tighten my grip on his shoulder. “You should know, this is really your fault. You should never have brought your gods-damned wife on a boat. Every sailor worth their salt knows women are bad luck on boats.”
The man tries to respond, but I keep going. My jaw is tense as I continue my tirade. “Even if you don’t buy into the superstition, you really shouldn’t have been a piece of shit. You should have known a bunch of asshattery would attractmyattention.”
“I’m begging you, don’t hurt her,” the weak man whimpers as a tear runs down his cheek.
I watch the tear with disgust as it lands on his shirt, dampening the already-sodden material. Gods. I hate it when they do this. The whiners are the worst of the entire bunch. Little does he know, I would never hurt an innocent woman. I have morals, even if he doesn’t. Besides, it’s not the woman’s fault her husband brought her onto the ship.
“Time’s up,” I growl.
Turning my back on the sobbing female, I press my knife deeper into the man’s throat. A glimmer of satisfaction rolls through me as a pearl of crimson blood wells above the blade of my favorite dagger before running down the sailor’s neck in a jagged line.
Behind me, his wife begins to wail through the gag. I grit my teeth and tighten my grip on the hilt. That cursed woman is going to make me regret my decision not to kill her before this is done. I just know it.
“Wait,” the man says through clenched teeth. He tries to pull his neck back from my knife, his eyes widening impossibly further as he meets my gaze. “I’ll tell you.”
Slowly, I pull my blade away from his throat. He gasps, the cut still leaking blood. “There are three thousand pieces of gold in the hull of the ship and another ten thousand buried off the coast of the Northern Court. We can be there in three days if we sail through the night.”
“Good man,” I clasp his arm. Turning on my feet, I take the bloody blade and slash it through the woman’s bindings. She pulls off the gag and stumbles towards her husband.
“Oh, Marcel, I thought you were dead.” She falls into his lap, weeping as she presses a handkerchief she pulled from her dress against his wound. Her clothing is as old-fashioned as this ship.
“If the treasure isn’t there, you’ll both wish you were,” I promise darkly. My eyes narrow as I glare at them, spinning my knife between my hands. “You’d better pray to whatever gods you believe in that the gold is where you said.”
Slamming the door behind me, I allow myself a moment to smile.
Another day, another treasure acquired by the Pirate of Death.
* * *
The gold is there.
All ten thousand shimmering pieces of treasure. I’m standing on the deck ofThe Black Roseand watching as crate after crate is hauled aboard by my crew.
Unlike most wooden ships that sail the waters in Aranthium, mine is only five years old and equipped with all the latest Summer Fae tech. The shipwrights who built it for me described it as “modern-pirate”, whatever that means. I don’t give a fishshit what those land legs call it as long as it is the best ship to have ever sailed the seas in Aranthium.
Only the best for The Pirate of Death.
Once all the gold is safely aboard my ship, I turn to Marcel and his wife. They are huddled together by the mainmast, their arms wrapped around each other as the woman weeps once more. She has barely stopped the incessant blubbering since the moment I spared her husband’s life. It’s gods-damned annoying. If I didn’t believe in not killing women, I would have already thrown her overboard.