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Her Imperial Majesty spent the following two days on the island of Harm’s Haven as though a mere settler among the others, gradually adjusting to her strange situation. She was given very little time to think about her prospects, running hither and thither under various pretenses. In all this time, no special conditions or demands were issued to her by those who called themselves Confederates, the united brotherhood of pirates, who sustained life on the paradise island behind its tropical scenes.

The one responsible for Yuliana’s kidnapping, the notorious King of corsairs, Captain Cartognam, showed no sign of himself, nor made any effort to explain his plans or motives, to her endless frustration. When she questioned the women of the island, Yuliana learned that Cartognam was presently away, and had instructed the others to do nothing in his absence. He had orchestrated her majesty's capture remotely, but was on his way to Harm’s Haven now, and doubtless everything would be made clear upon his near-future arrival.

Awaiting this promised hour with growing anxiety and restlessness, Yuliana could only pass time at work for her daily sustenance, growing in the process more familiar with the seaside community and their peculiar customs.

Whenever the urge to leave would come to her again, tempted by the seeming ease of the feat, she would look up to the turquoise sky and see the great form of the dragon circle high above the treetops, a distant shadow between seagulls, its watchful gaze ever on the little creatures of land. And seeing the beast, Yuliana would again remember the grim fate of the Thefasos and the following onset of dread made her give up on any needlessly risky maneuvers.

But when Yuliana would ask the local ladies if they weren’t afraid of the mighty wyrm, they would again answer her—against all rationality—with only open ridicule in place of real answers. For this, Yuliana took some offense, being quite certain she knew more about dragons and ancient lore than any of these fishermen’s wives, having had a real Court Wizard for a teacher in her youth. Not that she had seen a genuine dragon ever before.

Escape didn’t seem an option at present, yet there was nothing threatening her majesty either, so long as she remained in the company of familiar faces during the day and kept to her locked quarters at night. Aware of the limitations of her personal ability, she swallowed her impatience, bided her time, and waited for things to change.

That change came on the night of the third day on the island.

Since early morning, Yuliana had heard whispers of the King’s return be spoken in excited tones all around the town, making her pulse immediately start racing.

At last, the time for real answers had come!

But in addition to gladness over apparent progress, fear also came back to her now, as she tried to imagine what manner of a barbarian lord she was on the way to meeting.

What if Cartognam had kept her in suspense for all this time only for the announcement of her death sentence? Perhaps her current safety was only thanks to his determination to ruin her in person, with his own two hands, a joy he could allow no other? And after he'd had his amusement, she would be made free game to his heinous followers, the object of their lifelong hatred for the Empire. The serenity of these past days would reveal itself as the false illusion she knew it to be, deliberate deception. The island would turn into an overboiling kettle of amoral, cannibalistic revelries, where she and the bard alike would be torn to shreds in the honor of the lawless pagan monarch.

She was the Empress of Tratovia, the personification of everything these people opposed in life—what else could be her fate?

The day passed with no indication of this impending doom and Yuliana continued to do various chores alongside the other women, as before, while cooking up increasingly wilder scenarios in her mind, to her own horror.

Yet, nobody came for her.

By sunset, it seemed that her identity and original role had indeed been forgotten even by her abductor, and she had only greatly overestimated her own significance to them.

But forgotten she was not.

Yuliana had already returned to her cabin that night and darkness had veiled the island, when she received an unexpected guest.

The attic door was opened—she had repaired the lock—and a tall, robust man, dark as a roasted coffee bean, stepped into her attic compartment, gesturing at her to rise. He was like the night and danger incarnate, and armed to the teeth, clearly cut from an altogether different cloth than most of the drowsy locals.

“Come,” the man spoke in a deep, low voice. “The King will now see you.”

Gritting her teeth, keeping her muscles tense to hide her subtle, nervous trembling, Yuliana summoned her courage and followed the man outside without a word.

Carrying a torch to light their path, the pirate led her across the canyon, up the stairs along the cliff face, to the southern overlook, whence they proceeded deeper inland.

A soft path ran through the tropical woods, around vast cedars, over round mounds, across damp dales where crystalline little brooks trickled. Here and there, animal bones hung from fine strings attached to the branches of trees, their subtle rattle in the breeze marking their way through the dark. In about half an hour, they came to a place that seemed like a vision from a foreign fantasy, rather than any physical location upon the mortal earth.

There was a clearing in the woods, with a round, natural pond at its heart. The land about the pond was covered by blood-red lilies that would bloom only in the dead of the night, attracting phosphorescing butterflies and other nocturnal insects to them with the scent of their sweet nectar. In the middle of the black pool lay a small islet, upon which was built a house, a ghastly, derelict mansion. It appeared incredibly old and decrepit, its loose boarding burned dark by the sun of unnumbered summers, and the ceiling was part collapsed.

A narrow plank path led across the water to the building. This sketchy bridge was lined with torches, and numerous orange paper lamps had been sent adrift on the pool around the islet. The lamps cast their lulling hue upon the mirror surface and the surrounding trees, tempting the eye to linger.

The King looked to be one for theatrics.

If his goal was to impress Yuliana, then he had been admittedly successful thus far, as cynical and cautious as she tried to be. But it would take more than such adornments to convert her a willing assistant to his cause, as much was for certain.

Following after the large man, Yuliana passed across the plank bridge, to the entrance of the eerie building, which stood framed with bleached skulls of wild creatures and other extravagant ornaments. She was not too willing to enter the rotten dwelling, where centipedes and spiders crawled along the worm-eaten floor and the walls, their chitin shells and tiny eyes glittering in the torch light. A mysterious, mild scent of smoke and incense drifted in the air, scattering focus and dulling the senses.

The deeper in they went, the more Yuliana felt like being led into the dragon’s den, where nothing good could possibly await. Not that an actual dragon could have fitted inside.

They walked across a rundown lobby, past a broken staircase, through a pair of split doors, and a little corridor, coming at last to an elongated room, that might have been the dining room in the past. The walls were eerily tilted westward, the skewed perspective producing an odd, unbalancing effect.

How could anyone hold meetings in such a place, where it looked like the ceiling might come down on their heads at any moment, Yuliana pondered. Then again, could pirates be expected to hold any healthy customs to begin with?

The room was mostly empty. There was door in the far back, and two more, on the left and the right wall, respectively. The left side one was closed and nailed shut, but the other two had no doors at all and were but gaping open mouths into the opaque darkness beyond. A deep red, new-looking carpet had been cast over the rough flooring, and towards the back of the room, between two tall candle stands, had been set a large chair. The seat was sculpted of a singular block of wood, detailed shapes of tigers, sea serpents, and various mythical creatures running along its frame. It was certainly a throne fit for any king, in spite of the otherwise raggedy conditions.

Here, near the middle of the room, before that empty seat, her escort stopped Yuliana.

“On your knees!” the man commanded, enhancing his request by shoving her shoulder with his large hand, and she fell on her knees as a matter of course. It was hardly the worst treatment she had received since leaving her birth home in spring, yet she felt it deserving of a reproachful scowl.

“Do not raise your face!” he ordered her. “Keep your head down!”

The man had a wide-bladed scimitar fastened to his belt, next to a long dagger, and another dagger behind his back, and an all-purpose knife on a strap running across his chest, and one more on his boot. Testing his skill with those tools was likely not a good idea, seeing as she was entirely unarmed herself.

Yuliana waited in quiet annoyance, staring down at the carpet.

Nothing moved.

There was no sound, save for the steady drip of water somewhere in the distance. Yet, the ancient building seemed curiously alive. Simmering.

How long were they going to make her wait?

Then, right as she was beginning to grow more bored than she was anxious, Yuliana heard footsteps and tensed. Someone entered the room through the door ahead. In heavy, mindful strides, that person walked around the chair to the front of it and then sat down.

Only one person would do so.

The leader of the Confederacy, the ruler of pirates, the number one enemy of peace and order on the western shores, her captor…Captain Cartognam, in person. Yuliana’s heart beat fast and heavy out of a mixture of barely suppressed anger, nervousness, and dread.

“My King,” the man standing beside her spoke. “I present to you—Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Ashwelia of Tratovia.”

For a moment after that, there was complete silence again.

The King made no comment, no greetings, not a sound. What was he thinking? Was he still toying with her? It took all of Yuliana’s self-restraint to not look up and start demanding answers, despite the threat. But before she could think about anything else, an astonished, spontaneous gasp carried from ahead, shattering the tension in a single word.

“——Yuliana…?”

She could hold herself back no more.

Hearing her birth name mentioned in such an unexpected context, the name no outsider should have known, Yuliana looked up at the man in the chair.

Kings tended to be fairly aged, going by past experience, but the person seated before her was not so at all. He was young, at best in his mid-twenties, a hardy, tanned man, sculpted by the heavy sea life, yet handsome and expressive. He wore no crown, but was dressed in a light vest with thin metal plates sewn on leather for added defense, and slim bracers guarded his strong wrists. His bare, muscular shoulders had tattooed words in the ancient tongue running around them and tribal imagery reminiscent of dragon silhouettes. From the hips down he was just a sailor, in worn, patched trousers stained by seawater, a dark sash around his waist, and shoes of hard leather on his feet. Dark curls framed his comely face, his jawline covered with a stubble, having gone for some days without a shave. And from under heavy brows gazed forth light blue eyes, expressing no malice, but only unguarded confusion much like his hostage, if not more so.

One look into those eyes was more than enough.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The superficial coat of paint these brief years had given him was by no means enough to mask his identity from her, any more than the rags he wore, for indeed, he was a man Yuliana knew well.

In that instant, she bounced up on her feet again, unable to hold her tongue a heartbeat longer.

“You—!” Yuliana cried out in dismay. “You’re no pirate king——You’re the Prince of Luctretz!”

“N-no, I’m not!” the man hurriedly retorted and looked down, in a vain attempt to hide his face with his hand. “You are mistaken!”

“I sure am not!” she told him, taking a step forward. “It is you! You even have the same locket you had five years ago, it has a portrait of your mother inside! What game is this!? What are you doing in such a place!? Why are they calling you a pirate!? What is going on in here!?”

“Stand back!” the guardian commanded Yuliana, seizing her arm, but she no longer paid him any heed.

Sighing heavily, the Prince of Luctretz slouched deeper in the chair and waved at the other man. “It’s all right. The jig is up. Mind leaving us, Apro? Something tells me this is going to get awkward.”

Captain Aprophiste made a wry smile, nodded at his friend, and took his exit.

“Awkward indeed!” Yuliana said, her long-suppressed anger now boiling over. “Would you kindly start making some sense, right this instant! What is this all about?”

“That should be my line!” the Prince grumpily answered. “Why did they think you are the Empress of Tratovia? Why were you aboard an Imperial warship? I thought the Empire was our enemy! What nonsense is this?”

“I asked you first!” she retorted. “I am the one here who was kidnapped by a dragon, had my ship sunk, and have been treated as nothing more but a handmaid for three days on this uncivilized island—on your orders, I am told! And unless you will give me a straight, honest answer now, I will not be responsible for my actions!”

Reluctant, but knowing full well there was no changing Yuliana’s mind when she got that way, the Prince took a moment to contain his temper, and then sullenly began his answer.

“Mine is not some great fable,” he said. “It is the story of a simple boy born into nobility, destined to be a prince. As he grew older, the boy soon learned he was powerless, naught but a tool in a costume, a scapegoat to cover for the corrupt and soothe the ignorant, the way his own father had been. To flee this bitter truth, the boy would steal away from his castle every chance he got, and go play at the city harbors with other children of his age. Those children were all unlike him. They could take nothing for granted, each day, each crumb of bread, was a struggle for them. Yet, they were free, and he wanted nothing more but to be one of them. Years passed, the children grew up and went on to become sailors, fishermen, merchants, mercenaries, and yes, even pirates. And our boy became a prince. But the bonds forged between these people in their youth—were never once severed. In becoming a man, the boy found his way to make a difference, before the mast, under the flag with the death’s head. And after many bitter battles to help those in need, the poor of these waters came to depend on him to lead them. That is all there is to it.”

He concluded his brief tale and fell quiet.

Yuliana stared on in astonishment, struggling to come up with a response.

“I can’t believe it,” she exclaimed. “You’re a—criminal!”

“I’ve done no crimes!” the Prince retorted, standing up. “When a soldier cuts down his enemies, he is hailed a hero! I could never be a knight or ride into battle, due to my standing. My only share was to repeat the lies taught to me, sign empty treaties that were going to mean the end of my people, and send those who believed in me to die on my behalf, in vain. I couldn’t stand by and watch that happen! As a pirate, I am at liberty to fight my own battles. My life is the only one I need to risk! As the King of the Confederates, I have become a thorn in the Empire’s side, a wrench between the cogs of their soulless machine. And I will take the war to them, as should’ve been done so long ago!”

“And how does plundering and thieving and kidnapping and murdering help the poor?” Yuliana asked in disbelief. “How does abducting innocent people and extorting their grieving families change the world for the better? This evil isn’t limited only to sea; slavery and prostitution flourish wherever pirates do business on land—is that also part of your war effort? Don’t you think you’re only making things so much worse by spurring these people on? Without order and principles, without dignity and ideals, a hero is only an average killer! Theft is still theft, and yourself but the head villain in a brotherhood of cutthroats!”

“Bah, you speak of things you don’t understand!” the Prince replied with a dismissing wave, turning away. “There can be no reaction without a cause! All the wealth on the continent pools to the Empire, to the benefit of the corrupt nobles—those remorseless vampires who drain the lifeblood of the so-called commoners and so fund the misery of others. Nobles? They’re nothing but gangsters! All the villainy you speak of springs up in answer to the artificial plight the aristocracy creates. Crime doesn’t come into the world because people are evil, but because they are left with no choice! So we make the Empire taste its own medicine. We take back what they’ve stolen and return it to whom it truly belongs, the abused and tormented who wish to be free of it all. If we kill, it is only to remove a greater evil from the world! Ah, why must I argue about this with you, Yuliana? Should you not cheer me on instead? It is thanks to our efforts that Langoria too remains safe! Don’t we all stand on the same side, against the common enemy?”

“Is that why you had me abducted?” she asked. “Because I’m a noble, one of your heartless vampires?”

“It was the Empress I wanted!” he replied. “To hold in exchange for terms of lasting peace! But there has been some sort of a misunderstanding. I don’t know how yet, but make no mistake, I will get to the bottom of it.”

The Prince turned back to Yuliana with a look of faith and friendship. But the look she answered him with was the very opposite of what he wished to see. Only sadness and reproach in her eyes, Yuliana raised her left hand, on the middle finger of which she held the regal ruby ring, the emblem of the Imperial Throne engraved on it.

“I’m sorry, Prince,” she said. “But there is no mistake. The people you fight are my people now. It was not by my own choice or merit, but I am Ashwelia, the Empress of Tratovia. This is reality. Your fight is already over! There won’t be another war, I have the power to stop it! We can still change the system, change lives for the better—through diplomacy and cooperation. So suspend this pointless game and let me go. It’s not right.”

“But, but how…?” he asked, recoiling in disbelief. “I can’t believe it!”

“For the world,” Yuliana answered. “For the sake of our future. This isn’t about any one country anymore. It’s not about profit, or power, or greed. Everything’s going to change. And unless we find a way to work together, it’ll be the end of us all.”

“That’s...”

“——No, no, no.”

At that moment, the two of them became interrupted by the voice of a third person.

From the shadows through the right side door entered a tall man in a dark coat, an impressive tricorne on his head. In his fifties or early sixties, the man sported a great, gray beard, which covered half his face, reaching down to his chest. Sunken in their deep, dark cavities was a pair of wild eyes, one steel gray, the other one glassy and black, with a number written in place of the pupil—a prosthesis engineered with alchemy.

“No, no, no,” the man repeated, as he stepped closer. “Oh no. Did you see that, my King? How your boots were fast slipping? How your poise was breaking, how your head began to shift? You so very nearly fell, right there. Good thing I was here to catch you.”

The old man stopped between the Prince and Yuliana, and flashed a wide grin, several of his rake-like teeth sparkling with golden fillings.

“Greystrode,” the Prince uttered, looking at the pirate without hiding the animosity and disgust in his look.

“Captain Greystrode,” the man amiably corrected.

“What are you doing here?” the Prince asked him. “I have not called for you.”

“You haven’t called for me, aye,” Greystrode admitted, turning away. “So I saw it prudent to excuse myself. Before you make any—mistakes you can’t take back. You’re a good man, you see, my King. Better than most. Unfortunately, the Imperials know good men. They got rid of all of theirs, they know their stuff. And that’s how they so very nearly got you too. Bait. Hook. Line. Sinker. Snap.”

“Yuliana is not an Imperial,” the Prince insisted.

“Then why does she go around calling herself one?” the man retorted and took a step towards Yuliana, to extend his right hand to her with another unsavory smirk. “A pleasure, your majesty.”

The hand was pale, crafted of driftwood and dead. Yuliana didn’t touch it, but quietly glared at the pirate. It was clear he was, if not outright insane, at least dangerously close to it.

“So cruel,” Greystrode said and clicked his tongue, taking back his arm. “How terribly cruel they are, my King, these Imperials and their endless schemes. They are incurably wicked and their reach extends so dreadfully far. Such power! Such tremendous power! They would even play your own fiancee against you without a shred of remorse or hesitation. Yes, you see, that is exactly what I would do!”

“You’re the ones who kidnapped and had me brought here, if you remember,” Yuliana pointed out. “I can assure you that the company of pirates was the last thing I ever wished for.”

“Oh, why all these lies?” the old man bemoaned, shaking his head.

“What…?”

“Tell me, your majesty, how come you were all alone?” he asked, stepping unhurriedly around her in a circle. “Why only one ship? Have you ever heard of an Emperor with an escort half as pathetic? A carpet vendor would have more ships! Sardine fishers form fleets more vast and stately! But not the most powerful of all the rulers of the human race. Say, does any of this seem very real to you, girl?”

Yuliana hesitated. It was doubtful any escort would be great enough against a dragon, but the way the story was phrased made it seem strange even in her own ears. The situation appeared to beg for a hidden agenda. Surely reality couldn't be so simple? Though she knew better.

But what on earth was the captain after, making up this lie that he surely knew for a lie? The Prince appeared to be thinking the same.

“What are you trying to say?” he demanded Greystrode with a suspicious frown.

The old pirate stopped and turned to face him, grim and tall.

“I say, open your eyes, boy!” he growled. “The girl’s a puppet! A distraction, to keep you blind to the dagger in your backside. A shackle upon your oh-so-gentle heart that they’ll use to drag you to Hel with—and us, your faithful followers, alongside. Sure as steel!”

“I don’t believe you,” the Prince replied with defiance.

“Then you’d be a fool!” Greystrode boomed. “Even as we speak, she proves her usefulness! And seas take me, if it’s not working better than any of ours or theirs could have expected!”

“Make sense, man!”

Lowering his tone, the pirate leaned closer and said,

“Oh, you don’t have to take only my word for it, King. Why don’t you go have look at what’s happening at your dear home port right now, with your own two eyes? That wondrous pearl of a city you left in such a hurry, to come drool over this sacrificial lamb they cast for your fangs, this royal roast. Aye, it was not the main course you thought it to be, only ever hors d’oeuvre, I'm afraid! You may find that things are...no longer what they used to be, across the Bay. So little birds have told me.”

“What…?”

The Prince glanced at Yuliana as they stood equally dumbfounded by Captain Greystrode’s words. Was this also a lie? Or had something unexpected happened in Efastopol in the past few days?

To her remorse, Yuliana couldn't give the Prince any words of assurance, one way or the other. She never personally wished for the Imperials to take drastic action on her behalf, but she also knew their ways, and was not there to advise them against it. They weren’t going to take the news of their Sovereign’s disappearance sitting down, which was a major part of why she wanted to get back as soon as possible.

“I will go,” the Prince then declared, making up his mind. “I shall see for myself whether these little birds of yours only exist in your head, or not. But I warn you, Greystrode! If I find this is another one of your schemes, if I hear you’ve so much as looked at Yuliana the wrong way while I’ve been away, I swear, I will take your remaining eye and arm too, and leave you steer your leaking rowboat with your legs!”

Greystrode didn’t take this threat well, knowing by experience that it was not empty. Stepping back like smitten, he gave the Prince a momentary, most furious look, but soon recomposed himself. He nodded his head a little, forcing a terrible grin on his sun-parched lips.

“You’re the King. Your will is Law,” he said. “I shan’t lay a finger on her, and you can lay to that!”

Seeing he had achieved what he meant to, the old pirate promptly spun around to leave. But even as he stepped out the way he’d come, Yuliana’s keen ears could hear the man mumble under his breath in the dark, “After all, a good captain never sullies his own hands…”

Unable to hear the same, the Prince forgot about Greystrode and sat back down on the carved chair. A somewhat helpless smile on his face, he looked at her majesty again and said,

“Forgive me, Yuliana. Nothing about this went as I intended. But as much as I’d like to, I cannot let you go just yet. Not before I find out what the Imperials are up to. I may trust you, but I do not trust them, and I have a very bad feeling about this. The future of Harm’s Haven may yet come to depend on which side of the Bay you stand on. You may think whatever you want of myself, but they are good people here, who would never hurt a soul. Well, mostly.”

Yuliana answered him with a somewhat regretful smile of her own.

“You were always like that, Prince. Never to be swayed, never in one place for long. The others then could only try to keep up with you, or be left behind.”

“Was I like that?” the Prince asked, twisting his brows.

“You were!” she said. “You had no pity even for your cute guest from a faraway kingdom! No tact at all, your head in the clouds, unruly as a schoolboy. And evidently, very little has changed.”

“Ahaha…” The man smiled with slight embarrassment, reflecting on his past behavior.

“But,” she soon added, her tone a degree softer, her smile a level warmer, “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that it’s you, Prince.”

Growing serious, he answered her with firm resolution in his tone,

“Just wait a little longer, Yuliana. I promise to you, I will yet set things right.”