Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Killian
“Killian, don’t. This is not you,” Seviin shouts.
I know she is right, but he went too far.
Telling me I want what Peter has, that I had no reason other than jealousy of Peter.
I want nothing more than to see him drown.
So I never have to hear him again. I wasn’t lying when I said I would love to be the one who breaks this promise to Peter.
To have him come to me desperate to get the one he loves the most back.
To make him keep to his end of the deal.
Only to tell him he cannot get what he wants the most. Because his little toy turned into Kinga food.
Still, Seviin’s words cause me to step back, and only then do I see the pure terror on his face.
His clinging to the plank like his very life depends on it.
Of course it does, because if he falls off the plank, he will drown.
But James isn’t just scared, he is terrified, his fingertips bleeding with how hard he is clinging to the plank. His eyes are glossy with unshed tears.
Without a word, I walk onto the plank. Fabric tears as my hook embeds itself in the layers of his borrowed clothing.
He makes a sound that is pure terror as I yank him off it.
“I decide whether you get to live or not. Luckily for you, I am far better than that goat you love so much. Don’t you think he could have been able to get you out if he really wanted to?
” My voice is unrecognizable as I throw him back on the deck.
All he does is scramble up without so much as muttering a word.
Him finally being quiet is a huge relief.
Still, I want him gone. I know I can’t, but I can at least lock him back up in his room.
It’s what he wants so much, right? To be alone, to sit back and cry about missing the man who has been lying to him like he did to her.
He would be better off at the bottom of the ocean than the fate Peter has for him.
Maybe he doesn’t even deserve the out I was about to give him.
“Not so chatty anymore now, are we…?” I snarl, needing to know how much I hurt him. Needing to make sure he won’t go off spouting more nonsense like that. A better man would have learned his lesson, but of course he hasn’t.
“Why would I? I got what I wanted. Even the crew has seen you’re nothing but an obsessed maniac, who doesn’t need me to get to Peter. If I am really your only trump card, would you have thrown me overboard so easily?”
A candle falls to the floor with a dull thud.
James wheezes again, the air getting punched out of his throat as I slam him against the wall of his hut.
“You don’t know what the fuck you are talking about.
Because, darling, if I wanted you,” I say, the small amount of breath I let him have hitches.
His eyes turning darker, not in fear, like he should, but in anger. “I would have had you.”
He should fear me more than he did the ocean, but his face is a tight stone mask of mockery and disdain.
I slot my knee between his legs and kiss him hard enough to draw blood.
His whimper is like music to my ears, and when his lips part to let the air out, I use it to thrust my tongue in, deepening the kiss.
For a split second, it feels like he is going to deepen the kiss further, like he is going to kiss me back. Then with a sudden smack, my neck cracks, my left ear rings, and my cheek burns. The son of a bitch actually bitch-slapped me across the face.
“You can’t have anything Peter has. Whatever grudge you have against him, whatever you want from him—you will never get it.
And as long as I draw breath, I will make sure you don’t.
” His words cut like a dagger between the ribs.
Not because he is lying, not because he rejected me, no…
It’s because he is speaking the truth. I need to get her back, and if I am letting him fuck with my head like this, I will never be able to.
Without another word, I stride out of his room, lock the door, and then make my way to my quarters, ignoring every wandering gaze, every raised eyebrow, every stuttered “Cap’n.
” I want to be alone. I can’t stand anyone around me now.
There was only ever one person whose company I could always stand.
“Celeste, don’t do this. I don’t trust the guy,” I beg, but my arguments fall on deaf ears. “
You would never trust anyone other than yourself to even be around me, Killian, but this between us,“ Celeste says angrily motioning between her and the shadows, “It has to stop. It’s not healthy, and it never was. You’re a two-hundred-year-old Crown Prince; you should do better than running off on your ship or only spending time with me,” Celeste says.
She isn’t mad, and she doesn’t snarl. She just crosses her arms over her chest .
The coldness bites into my skin like the winds in Frostlight do.
“Fine. Blame me for running off, when you are choosing a faun over me, over your life here, your obligations. And for what? Some ridiculous fated mate bullshit. You know there is no such thing as fated mates,” I scream over the retreating footsteps of servants trying to get away from their Crown Prince having another angry outburst. And I don’t blame them.
My hands are twitching, my blood feels like it is churning, thrumming with a restless energy I have no proper way to channel. .
“See, Peter told me you were jealous,” and with those words Celeste walks off to the smirking faun hidden in the shadows…
SMASH
The bottle of rum breaks apart on the wall of my sleeping quarters as memories of the night I regretted the most flood my senses.
He was standing there in my castle smirking, taking the only person I could ever truly trust, and be myself with, away from me.
And I did nothing but shout at Celeste when she did not deserve it.
I could have killed him right there and then.
Sure, she would be mad with me, heartbroken for the undeserving goat, even.
But the effects of his flute would have worn down, and she would have seen the truth.
We would have gotten back to how we used to be, and we would both be safe and happy.
I would still have both my hands. I would have never met James Barington, and better yet, Celeste would not have been turned into the brownie, now known as Tinkerbell.
It would have saved me from all of this heartbreak, but I was a coward back then.
Too scared to see the disappointment and pain in her eyes.
Centuries of being told I was not good enough, that I need to be more in control of my temper, had leashed me like a guard dog being tied to a fence in the backyard, unable to protect his family.
Two hours later, Samuel is the first to come and see me.
He has no doubt taken over control of the ship during these past two hours.
Ruling the ship when I can’t, is part of his role as my Quartermaster.
It’s more, though. He is my oldest and best friend too.
And the only one apart from Celeste I would allow to get close to me so soon after losing my cool yet again.
Samuel doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask stupid questions like how I am doing, or why I let that arrogant fool’s little jabs get to me like this. He just sits down next to me. Waiting, always waiting for me to say something.
“I kissed him after trying to kill him.” My words come out like more of a groan than an actual sentence. Of course Samuel still hears it,
“You did what now?” he asks me. For the first time in years, I can’t pinpoint if he is amused, shocked, or disappointed in me.
“It means nothing. I just, he kept saying I was jealous of Peter, that I could not have what Peter had. So I showed him I could if I wanted to.” I shrug. Now it sounds stupid, and I know it was. It just made so much sense when I was so angry.
I wince as Samuel presses a finger to my sore cheek. I haven’t checked it out in the mirror yet, but I am fairly sure it’s a nice shade of purple right now. The dull, throbbing pain as Samuel pushes and probes my cheek confirms the suspicion.
“Doesn’t look like you got to have him, Cap’n.” His voice is a low rumble, normally only used when we spent the entire night enjoying the rum. A laugh bursts out of me, sudden, unwarranted. It sheds the darkness, the regret, the mourning from me like I am taking off a heavy coat.
“He slaps like he insults,” I admit with a begrudging respect. “It’s a pity that someone like him ended up with Peter,” I mutter more to myself than to Samuel.
“He is a pain in the ass and has been since the moment we caught him. And not the good type of pain in the ass either… but everyone deserves better than to be lured in by Peter.” Samuel sighs.
He knew Celeste before the entire crew did.
It is the reason we have been sailing these waters for years now.
Waiting for a moment to get her back, to get her back to her fae form.
“Think he will end up the same as Celeste?” Samuel asks, I haven’t told anyone, but I thought about it too.
What happens if Peter will break James, dim that infuriating spark he has.
When that fire that never seems to extinguish is dulled to the point where he is Peter’s perfect pet.
Or if he will never break until Peter is tired of him and turns him into a brownie like he did to her.
“Honestly, I don’t know, and I don’t give a fuck. I have given him a chance to get to know the truth, but he is blinded as well. I am not his keeper,” I say, getting up. The conversation has turned into a swamp, thick and clingy, suffocating me in its foul smelling grip.
“It’s late,” I mumble the obvious lie. It’s barely past the ninth hour after noon. It’s not the time of the day that makes me want to retreat to bed. To be alone. It is a weariness of the situation I find myself in now. Of not hating the prisoner I should be hating all that much.
“Damn, Cap’n, you look like you slept in the crow’s nest,” Seviin, always the flatterer, tells me when I make my way to the mess the next morning.
She is right. I haven’t slept a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw James clinging to the plank, petrified.
Even in my sleep, it made my skin crawl, and I woke up nauseous.
With a weird hollow feeling in my stomach, I wondered how he was doing now, if he had been able to sleep.
“Long day, lots of rum…” I shrug, trying to sell the lie.
Trying to hide the fact my eyes are going over the mess to see if James has been brought out for breakfast already.
Birely, the night chef, and the one I assigned to get James ready for breakfast today, is enjoying his breakfast, so I make my way over to him.
Disguising my worry for the brat now under my care as annoyance about my crew’s disobedience.
“Chef Birely, I was under the impression I gave you an order last night?” Birely seems startled by the coldness in my voice.
I run a tight ship, and my crew knows better than to disobey orders.
But I pride myself on being just and letting them explain themselves after they make mistakes.
My tone now brooks little to no room for arguments or explanations for that matter. And it makes Birely wobble for a bit.
“You did, Captain but—“
“And I was under the impression that when I give an order, my crew follows through with it?” Again, I leave no room for Birely to answer, and it draws in the attention of the rest of the crew.
“He is sick as a dog, Captain. I tried, figured he was just being a whiny little cunt about it when he did not get up. So I yanked him up, and it did not end well for either of us.” Only now do I see that he is wearing his fancy boots, the ones he uses for the rare moments we visit the mermaid cove, or the Panatoeans for one of their feasts.
“Oh… tell me he didn’t…” I ask Birely, even if deep down I know the answer.
With the above deck always being wet, it’s important to have good sturdy shoes, and these boots are not going to cut it for him.
Birely has been my chef back when I was still a naval officer for the fae flotilla; he knows better than to wear his fancy boots for a normal day…
“Aye, Cap’n my boots are drying off. Never seen so much vomit come out of one human.
Gave him the shift off too. Won’t have him infecting everyone in the mess, or worse, contaminate the food.
I knew you would agree with me on this,” Birely concludes, and he is right.
No matter my reasoning for wanting James to attend meals with us like he is part of the crew.
Nobody benefits from forcing a sick man to do so.
In fact, had he been a true part of the crew, he would have been getting time off to recover too.
“He won’t infect anyone else. He is going through withdrawal.
But you made the right decision. Him puking all over the breakfast table would still ruin everyone’s appetite more than his presence does.
Having him cook, if he would even be able to, would still be unhygienic.
” I nod at Birely, who had in no way deserved the way I spoke to him before.
He doesn’t mention it, and neither do I, not wanting to go into it.
I cannot help but wonder if my actions yesterday, threatening him—slamming him into walls, practically choking him—have somehow worsened the symptoms of the withdrawal I knew he would suffer from because I did not want him to keep the necklace that would give him his fix.