Chapter 5: Chapter Five—Captain Dante Campione

Chapter Five—Captain Dante Campione

How blood had got matted into her hair, Anara didn’t know. But she was outside now, sitting with her bottom pressed against the decking. The railing behind her was hard and uncomfortable.

She was surrounded by men. Some were dead, or wounded. The rest were prisoners of the Amalfi victors, as she was. They had been lined up on the deck, separated from the dead and dying.

Amalfi fighters held them at sword point while the rest of their friends swarmed the ship, either looking for booty or other Atalayan fighters still unaccounted for.

She glanced about for her father, hoping to see him and his retinue atop their pegasi, waiting for a chance to rescue her, but of course he was nowhere to be found. She was Duke Korr’s responsibility now.

But they weren’t married yet!

They must have left without her, she thought, feeling utterly exhausted. The hot sun wasn’t helping, and her sadness due to Raizah’s death still weighed heavily on her like a stack of wet furs. She was so thirsty.

She wondered if her pegasus had been killed on accident or if she had been killed on purpose by her father. The animal was priceless, but if he couldn’t take her with him, then he surely had her killed rather than giving her to these people who travelled in primitive ways.

She shielded her eyes from the hot sun as she regarded her captors. The Amalfi warships who had attacked them were different. They were more… swashbuckling, she thought. The tub? That’s what it was called? Was leaner, more cutting. She knew nothing of ships, but even she could see these ships were fast, meant for pursuit. At the same time, their crews seemed almost ragged—like soldiers turned highway bandits. Were these pirates, or actual Amalfi marines?

The young sailor to her left groaned. “’Ere they come,” he muttered. He was a young man with light but tanned skin. He was also barefoot with his trousers rolled up above his ankles.

“What?”

He nudged his chin toward the Amalfi warship still grappled to theirs. Anara looked on at what the sailor indicated, but all she could see were a press of bodies behind the ripped sails and the fallen rigging. There was movement and a group of men were coming over the gangplank.

“It’s their cap’m. Probably goin’ a slit our thorats and feed us to the deep.”

Surprisingly, she understood what he’d just said. His words sent a chill down her spine as she glanced apprehensively toward the press of sailors, fighters and other deckhands obscuring her view.

“I think you mean ‘throats,’” she said.

“’Eya! It’s what I said.”

When the group of men came over to their ship, they fanned out, making way for another who came up from behind them. One that commanded power. That much was clear, the way the others made room for him.

“So who is that one supposed to be,” she asked, “the pirate king?”

The prisoner on her left had a head wound so he wasn’t saying much, but the young sailor beside her chuckled.

“Hei!” their guard squawked. There was a flash of steel and the sailor cried out, his hand going to his face where their captor’s sword had struck him. Next he barked something out in Amalfi. “Silenzio, o alla prossima vedi!”

Swallowing, she wondered at what the words meant. Clearly it was some kind of threat. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

The sailor watched for their guard. His back was turned as he walked slowly down the row of prisoners stretching the length of the ship’s middle deck. He nodded as a curse left his lips.

After a few more moments of silence he lowered his hand, exposing the red welt there. “Aren’t you that woman I ‘eard about? Been talk about you.”

The guard’s back was still turned, but Anara waited for some of the other Amalfi fighters on deck to finish passing by before she spoke.

“Me?”

“Mmm,” he nodded. “Thinkin’ you was a princess or somethin’? Maybe you could ‘elp us?”

She could barely understand his seadog talk. “What?” she muttered, but her attention was stolen away when the group of Amalfi men conglomerated at the head of the row of prisoners, their leader clearly among them. From that far off Anara could see how large he was and how he stood half a head taller than almost every other man on deck. She was trying to watch him, but the guards were now forcing the prisoners to look down at the deck, away from their leader. They barked orders in Amalfi, making threatening gestures and physically forcing some of the captives who didn’t understand.

She stared at the deck as the hot sun beat down on the back of her neck. She was sweaty and itchy. Time passed very slowly.

Eventually she could hear the voices of the Amalfi command crew. She tried to make out which one was their captain, but wasn’t certain how to distinguish which one was him.

Until he stopped speaking Amalfi that is.

“What is your name, prisoner?”

His accent was lighter than she expected it would be. It was evident that he was well practiced in his speaking of the Atalayan language. She couldn’t make out the entirety of the conversations that took place, but she heard him tell the prisoner that he would be given quarter.

He continued in that way, asking each and every prisoner who his name was. Clearly this Amalfi captain was very hands-on, and quite particular about discovering who his captives were.

“He’s very thorough,” she muttered.

The sailor beside her stirred a bit. “’Ave ta be when yer in tha ‘ostage drade. Shh! The guard’s comin’.”

As the guard walked past, his boots heavy on the deck, Anara could hear the Amalfi captain speaking clearly. He introduced himself first to the prisoner two men over as Captain Dante Campione.

No commoner’s name.

“Who are you?” he continued. The man gave him a title, and in response he said, “You will be taken back to Amalfi where we will ransom you back to your family.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the man said, genuine in his gratitude. It made Anara feel uneasy. She was a princess of the Iizuhlian Khanate. She was a high-worth hostage. So why then was she shaking?

The man was promptly removed by one of the guards as their captain finally came to her. She could hear several of his men trailing close behind.

She looked at his smooth leather boots. Beads of water were rolling off the oil that had been polished into them. She couldn’t believe she was sitting here, her back against this hard railing and her neck burning in the sun as she waited to either be ransomed or have her neck cut.

In defiance, probably more for her father than anything else, she raised her head, looking at this man’s breaches, his belt and shirt. His sleeves were rolled up and on his back he wore a blue coat like a cape.

She looked into his face.

“Hei!” the guard barked, his thin blade whacking her on the neck. Anara barely flinched “Look down! At the deck, idiote!” His accent was so strong, the words spoken so distinctly as to not ruin them on the way out, that she almost laughed. She had to school her face to wipe the smirk away as she craned her neck so she could gaze straight into their captain’s eyes.

He was not what she was expecting. She said nothing. He also said nothing. And the guard, who still had his blade on her neck, also didn’t move, though he did ask something of his captain in Amalfi, of which he got no answer.

Anara breathed in deeply as she looked at the well-defined face in front of her. The man’s features were chiseled, his jaw strong. He had full lips and golden hair tied back behind his neck which was framed by the high collar of his blue coat. But the most striking feature was his eyes.

They were violet.

She couldn’t help but drag her eyes about the rest of him. He was thick, but not hulking in any way. He was probably just like the Thithian sex statues underneath all that.

Anara realized that she was no longer gazing at him in defiance, but rather gawking. Her cheeks heated as she looked upon this man the rest of the Amalfi fighters steered clear of, some of which were impressive in their own right in a rough sort of way with their armor and swords. These men were experienced sailors and fighters.

“What do you see?”

Startled, her heart beat faster, like a drum in her chest. It wasn’t just the content of the strange question, but the words themselves that destroyed her defiance.

Something in her wanted to bed this beautiful beast.

Gods—Ulshar was right. She was a wicked little wanton to be thinking such things at a time like this!

She blinked. Had she not been a prisoner and surrounded by blood and death, she’d have been wet for him already. No, she was wet. She wouldn’t deny it.

Now that their captain was speaking, the guard lowered his weapon and watched. All eyes were on them as he took her by the jaw with his large hand, not urgently. He looked her over, his gaze eventually finding hers.

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Violet eyes…

There was no way this man was some common captain. He was an Amalfi nobleman. Anara was certain of it.

Clearly ignoring his first question which had completely taken her off balance, he asked, “What is your name?” the words delivered in a tone that clearly expected to be answered.

Anara tensed.

“I… I, uh…” she stammered, and another man with intricate armor plates covering his forearms chuckled.

“She has forgotten her name, it seems.”

Several men laughed. All of them sounded different from the Atalayan way of laughing, more foreign-sounding.

“Don’t worry,” the armored man said, grabbing his crotch. “I’ll take care of her.” The men laughed again and then spoke in a smattering of Amalfi which made them laugh even harder.

“Touch me and I’ll cut your man parts off!”

The man’s jaw dropped as the rest of the crew wowed at her declaration. There was surprise there, and derision. She didn’t usually speak that way. The words made her flame so hard she could feel her breasts heating along with her neck and face. But at least they made the man in front of her smile, though just barely.

Why did she care of this man—her captor—smile or not?

This is a dream!

“She’s got a mouth on her, no?” the man who had grabbed his crotch asked. “Filthy little whore.” He continued like that in Amalfi. She was sure he was insulting her, telling his men how he would take her.

The Wind Steppe princess had no need to understand any of their words. These men were hungry and clearly cut from a different kind of cloth than the Atalayans. Whether she threatened them or acted like a delicate flower scared out of her mind, they would do what they would do. But ultimately, her fate rested in the hands of the man standing in front of her.

She was shaking, but since she was sitting on the deck, she could hold herself still—maintain an air of confidence.

She nudged her chin to the fighter who had insulted her. “What are you waiting for? Take me. Here on the deck, you filthy coward!”

The man’s face instantly went red, the whites of his eyes showing as he drew his sword. “You little bitch!” It sounded like he said “beach.”

She swallowed, her eyes coming back to their leader, who was staring at her intently. He didn’t even move. He just put out a warding hand which stopped the other man in his tracks. Then after a moment, he said, “No one touches her.” His voice was not loud, but it held an air that demanded obeisance—expected it completely.

The men stopped laughing. Anara looked about, saw that these hard fighters were afraid of their leader. But apart from that, there was an undercurrent of greasy disrespect as well, as the man who had been about to rape her just like she suggested, muttered his displeasures while he slammed his sword back into its scabbard.

She was shaking visibly now. Gods, she thought. What was she doing here?

Whether he had seen something about her that spoke to the fact that she wasn’t common, or whether he found something desirable, Anara couldn’t be sure, but she found herself scrunched against the railing, trying to avoid those violet eyes now.

The captain frightened her, but what his crew would do to her would be far worse. She knew, that this man would be her savior if she had anything to say about it.

But she wished he would stop boring a hole in her head with those eyes!

“Stand,” he ordered.

She wanted more than anything to scrunch farther into the railing, but she obeyed without hesitation. The Wind Steppe princess could see a hidden hunger in his violate eyes, though he didn’t ravage her body with them.

She knew what he wanted and she shrunk back, waiting, wishing he would move on to the other prisoners and forget she was on this ship. She hadn’t answered him—hadn’t given him her name, and he wasn’t going to ask again. She wanted to speak, but Anara wasn’t certain how much patience this man had.

She was afraid and shaking, so why was she so hungry for this man?

Anara swallowed hard as she held her wrist behind her back. Waiting for something to happen was unbearable.

The captain started speaking in Amalfi. His men didn’t seem very pleased. She wanted to know what he was saying. Were they arguing? If they were, it was the most under the Steppe argument she had ever heard.

When his eyes came back to her, Anara’s throat closed. Her mouth was so dry. It was like she had eaten a handful of hot sand.

An interminable silence followed. At least it seemed that way with so many hungry eyes on her. Finally the powerful Amalfi spoke and something fearful jumped inside her.

She couldn’t understand the words, but whatever he had said caused half his crew to go wild and cheer. Their laughter and taunts were clearly filled with innuendo and overt sexual gestures.

Not knowing his exact words was frightening and infuriating. But still, she knew then that he wouldn’t let his men touch her, because he would be the one to fuck her.

The Wind Steppe princess gritted her teeth and with shaking hands she twirled a whip of razor air to slash his throat open.

But instead of killing him, the Amalfi captain moved like nothing she had ever seen. He grabbed her wrist with his left hand and flicked something near her face. She blinked, her razor whip gone.

The crew hadn’t even noticed what she was doing as she momentarily wondered what had just happened. Her captor had just passed the tip of a dagger through her upper cheek. And now he was repositioning the long thin blade under her chin. The cut was so clean, it hardly even hurt.

“You like to fight, I see,” he said, eyes boring into her. She could see that he was not happy. “That’s good,” he continued. “But do it again and I’ll put you up for auction on the slave blocks at the Ravager Coast.”

Every man on the deck was watching as the Amalfi crew laughed raucously amidst whistles and other, very crude words thrown about, most of them she didn’t even understand. It was humiliating. But those things were the least of her worries right now.

That lie of his, though… He knew she was no commoner. He would never take her to be sold as a slave. She was worth far more in ransom. But still, the muscles in Anara’s stomach involuntarily clenched. The captain was more than aware of her fear as he held her wrist in his strong hand.

Being forced to marry Duke Korr of Atalaya sounded wonderful right now. Frozen like a statue of ice with that blade at her throat, she glanced about, her eyes beginning to fill as her cheek dripped its first drop of blood.

She wanted to thrash every single one of these dogs.

The violet-eyed demon lowered his dagger, then passed her to the man behind him, almost casually, completely unconcerned as though she were no more than a silken kerchief he had borrowed.

She squirmed, kicked, but her bare foot hit an armored shin. “Ouch!”

Laughter ensued. At least he wasn’t that other one.

She glanced about wildly, thinking in vane that there might be someone—anyone—to help her. There was no one. She was alone and at the mercy of these cutthroats. These heathens!

Anara tried to breath but she couldn’t help but feel like she was choking. The air came in broken gasps as she was yanked along. She was being marched off to the Amalfi warship amidst leering warriors hungry for her flesh.

If any of them came near her they would rue the day!

She squirmed, letting out the angriest cry she had ever heard come out of a woman’s mouth. She wanted to thrash all of these fools. “I’ll kill you if you touch me!” she howled, kicking her feet and trying to twist out of the iron grip holding her.

It was useless. She was their prisoner.

Deep down—some perverse curiosity and fascination—wanted to know what would happen next. There was a wild woman that wanted that violet-eyed beauty to take her right there on the deck—in front of all the captives and his entire crew.

That woman frightened Anara almost as much as her current predicament had. It was that woman who had tried to kill the captain despite the fact that he was the only thing keeping her from being the ship’s girl.

Anara, the little fool, was so confused.

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