.: Entry Fifty-Seven :.
My name is Elliot Parker. Except, here it’s not.
I maybe the Captain’s addiction, but he is not mine, my addiction? Staying alive.
I might have charmed the Captain to cut himself free of the dead wood men ready to mutiny. On this boat there are two types of men, those that accept that forbidden magic has kept them alive and those that are struggling with the morals. The ones who were dead set against it are now just plain dead.
The Captain accepted my set up as the stowaway girl but no regular stowaway girl would have these powers, no regular person would even have a chance of these powers. They come from specific, influential bloodlines, the stronger the magic… the Captain knows this. The crew have enough knowledge of rumours. What interests me, is that the Captain has magical control. Not just the basic charisma most Captains have that brings the men like moths to the flame ready to serve. Something more. His past is more than just the plain Captain he has lead us all to believe.
I sit on the steps to the helm watching the water around us. Nothing but sea. The Captain had kept himself locked in his cabin since the kiss after we danced on deck.
I’ve been sat here stewing over what I want to do. There has been so much that has been bothering me about all the questions floating through my head about the Captain. I finally decide to stop trying to calculate what the hell my next move is and stand up, straightening my shirt. I pull my hair into a rough bun with a tie of cloth.
I knock on his door, there is a shift and I stand out of view. I knock on the door; curiosity is what forces him to open the door, I just take advantage of his surprise and push past him and into the room. I watch the hesitation before he closes the door. No point making an unwinnable war.
“You’ve not been on deck in a few days.” I feel his eyes tracing my body.
“I’ve been working.” He refuses to meet my eye and looks away.
“Have you? What on?” I cock my head to the side and let a loose strand of hair fall down on my cheek covering my eye. He shakes his head, “nothing” I slowly wrap the loose strand around my finger and push it behind my ear. He sits on his bunk, his cabin is tidier than normal, he’s cleaned up. He must have been bored. I let him catch me looking, at the tidier cabin, I try to hide the racing thoughts. I take a deep breath and lean against the desk taking a deep breath I cross my arms. “What do you want Princess?”
“I want the truth.”
“How very vague, what about?”
He smiled, “me?”
“Yes. Who were the blue and creams really after, you or me?” I try to get him to meet my eye but his eyes are fixed on the wall.
“Who do you think?”
“That’s what I can’t decide, I might have more than you may have expected. But I know that you are more than the man you claim to be.” I let my words linger in the air, the silence as deafening as the roar of the ocean on a stormy night.
“That’s an interesting theory.”
“Theory? Who are you really? I don’t believe you are a Captain with that much control by happenstance.”
“You want answers?”
“Would I be here if I didn’t?”
“If you want answers, you need to tell me what turned you into the runaway Princess begging for a strange Captain’s help to escape.”
“Then you will tell me?”
“If you tell me the unadulterated truth. No masks, just us here, and I’m telling no one.”
“I am running from an arranged marriage that I never wanted.”
“Did you meet him?”
“No. I left before he reached the palace.”
“So you are the Princess running from her palace and prince? You take a lot of risks.”
“Are risks really risks if they are calculated?”
“Yes. He could have been a good man.”
“Or a terrible one. It was an arrangement of alliance not of match made romance.”
“You could have come to love him. Instead you chose this life on the run.”
“I chose freedom.”
“Will you ever go back?”
“How can I?”
“Do you think it was an accident you chose my ship?” I felt a shift beneath my feet and it wasn’t the boat, it was me. Was this all an accident. Was this part of something else?
“Who are you really?”
“I want my question answered first.” He stood, he took two or three strides to stand in front of me, the palms of his hands bracing the desk on either side of me, no longer lazily leaning on his desk. His face is close to mine, I could feel his eyes locking onto mine, he wanted honesty, and he stripped the masks between us away completely. “Am I your addiction to?”
I felt every breath harder in my chest, I couldn’t charm my way out of this in any remote option, the best, to tell the truth and hope it’s the one that keeps me alive. I find myself unable to speak, I try but there is some strange feeling in my throat. I could swear my heart beating could be heard on deck. I can’t break free of the struggle to say the words. His face is so close to mine the warmth of his breath is intoxicating. I lean myself a little closer, this time when my lips brush his I am nervous, a different kind of nervous, a giddy heart racing nervous. Our lips touch feather light, I kiss him, so gently I am wondering if it was something of the imagination. Until I kiss him again and his lips meet mine firmly. One kiss then another falls into another, a breathless hunger of kisses fall between us, I pause for the briefest second and my voice is no more than a whisper, even though it is my own biggest betrayal, “yes”…
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