Chapter 6: Chapter Six—“Pomegranate”

Chapter Six—“Pomegranate”

Waiting in the captain’s stateroom was unbearable. What was going to happen to her next? Not knowing filled Anara with dread.

But after waiting for what seemed like hours, her fear began to subside. Not completely, but enough to make ample way for her anger.

She started noticing her surroundings instead of pacing back and forth and watching the door, of which she knew there was a guard on the other side. The Wind Steppe princess shook her head, her eyes landing on the bookshelf. She went straight to it and toppled out all the books onto the polished floor.

Some measure of satisfaction that gave. She looked about, considered rifling through the captain’s desk and destroying all his papers. Anara certainly rifled through the desk, but the second part she thought better of. She was angry, not stupid, and her fear hadn’t completely left her.

 Eventually she actually came to boredom, finally sitting down at the luxurious chair there behind the massive desk. She looked about the room. It was large. A small set of stairs on either side of the desk lead to a loft where the bed was. Thinking about the bed scared her, so she put it from her mind.

Exhaustion took her and she rested her head in her palm. Anara wouldn’t go to the bed to sleep. She crossed her legs. Then she crossed them the other way. Gods forbid he caught her in his bed! If he even thought about touching her, she’d cut his—

The knob on the door turned. Anara flinched, grabbing both hand rests on the chair, her eyes wide as her heart started to hammer inside her.

He hadn’t even opened his own door. The guard outside held the door open as the captain strode in like he was some kind of king. On this ship he was probably some kind of god captain.

If he was surprised to find her behind his desk, he didn’t show it. His eyes touched her, then went to the book shelf. How had she forgotten the bookshelf? Anara flinched again, wondering how he would react.

To her surprise, he didn’t. In fact, he barely seemed to notice before moving to the basin where he began to wash his face.

Anara watched him in silence, her heartbeat pounding in her ears and chest.

Finally, after finishing and drying his hands, he turned toward her, walked to his desk slowly. His eyes went straight to hers. “I trust you’ve made yourself comfortable?”

What was she supposed to say?

“Yes!” she blurted. She thought she had crossed her arms defiantly, but realized she had her hands in her lap. She moved them, consciously trying to seem unafraid. “I also availed myself of your books.” She gestured to the books.

He turned, surveyed the books, but showed no sign of surprise. “Enzo.”

“Aye, Capitano?”

The guard, Enzo, was still at the door, she realized. “Get me something to eat. Are you hungry, Miss?”

“No.”

“ And the lady will take a bath,” he added.

“No I won’t.”

“She will take a bath.”

The sailor called Enzo nodded before closing the door behind him. Anara surprised herself and did nothing in reaction when he turned to look at her—to see how she would behave?

“I—I am quite filthy!” she barked, though her broken utterance betrayed her fear. Anara moved her hands back out of her lap and onto the arm rests. Her knuckles were white as she tried not to betray her severed nerves.

He moved behind the desk and would have sat on her if she hadn’t jumped out of his path. He didn’t even look at her as she hopped like a rabbit to the other side, her feet very light on the boards.

The captain went about the papers on his desk.

“What happens now?”

He said nothing.

For the longest time she stood standing, watching the captain read or scribble on parchment. He wouldn’t speak to her. When the sailor called Enzo and two others came back. Anara actually felt relieved when the silence was broken. The three men set up a trestle table and two chairs. A platter of cold foods; meats, cheeses and bread, along with a bottle of wine and other strong liquors were set out.

To her horror, the bathtub was also brought up and filled. Beside it was another small table set out with linens for drying and a white bar of soap.

She swallowed hard. Anara was shaking again. She kept her hands behind her back, looking on in stoic silence, though her thoughts were racing with every bad notion possibly known to her. First Duke Korr, now captured by Amalfi marauders. Interrogations. Bathtubs…

Would it never end?

When the sailors were finished preparing everything they informed the captain that they were ready to set sail, and that the Parvita—it must have been the Atalayan ship she was on—had been crewed. How did she not even know the name of the ship she had been on?

“Very well. You can leave us alone,” he said, barely looking up from his papers.

“Aye, Capitano.”

They closed the door behind them. Except for the sound of the clock on his desk and the sailors above decks, dead silence followed.

Anara swallowed for the hundredth time.

They stayed that way for several minutes as she worked up the courage to speak. “You don’t actually expect me to bathe here, do you?” she asked with a nervous laugh.

An answer was not immediately forthcoming, but when it came, her nerves snapped taut.

“Don’t test my patience.”

The words were so casual that they frightened her. The Wind Steppe princess could hardly keep herself from shaking as she dragged her eyes to the tub. Eventually she forced herself to approach it, her steps slow and small.

The captain still didn’t look up from his work. What would he do after she undressed? Attack her? There would be no uncharacteristic outburst from her now. Not with this man. Something told her that her taunts would come back in her face.

If he wanted, she thought, he could do it right now. He didn’t need to wait until she was unclothed. She turned, making sure to keep the side of her body facing him, that way he couldn’t see her exposed skin on either her front or backside, gods forbid. 

Moving quickly, she shrugged out of her dress. She cursed the provocative undergarments as well as her father and Duke Korr. The thong was stretchy, and it came back and slapped her, making a loud noise.

She closed her eyes, ruing this moment.

Anara jerked her head up to see if he was leering at her, but he was deep in the process of writing something.

Why hadn’t she jumped in with those underclothes on? They covered very little. The very look of them was scandalous, but at least it would have been better than being completely naked as she was now.

“It’s been a long day,” the captain said absently.

Starting, she glanced toward the desk. He still wasn’t watching as she stepped into the bath. She did it quickly and since the water wasn’t hot, she shrank into the tub as fast as possible to keep her nakedness hidden. Surely he wanted to see her. Why else would she be bathing here in front of his desk? She reached for the soap, knowing she could cloud the water sufficiently if she was vigorous in its use.

Her eyes widened and she nearly cried out when she—in her haste—knocked the gods-forsaken bar of soap off the table! It slid beside the tub.

Anara covered her face. She was so stupid.

Shaking like a leaf, she stared up at the loft boards where the bed was situated above.  She wanted to moan with frustration, but she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Fear had a hand around her scrawny neck.

She turned her head slowly, her eyes darting toward the captain. He was silent, save for the furious scratching of pen on parchment.

She was exposed in the clear water.

The soap…

She breathed in deeply and made sure to locate the bar before making a move to grab it. After finding its location, she breathed in deeply and made to grab it, but she had to reposition herself on her knees and lean out of the tub to do it.

Her cheeks burned.

When her fingers surrounded the white chunk, she felt as though she had grabbed a rope leading to her own life’s blood supply.

And then in that moment she realized she could no longer hear the quick scratching against parchment.

She moved back slowly, rubbed at the bar vigorously to cloud the clear bath water. When she finally had the courage to look at the captain, she breathed out in relief when she saw that his face was obscured by a sheet of parchment he was reading.

She “washed,” and the water became milky white.

What did she think she was accomplishing? If this marauding pirate wanted to rape her, there was nowhere she could go—no one she could turn to for help. Clouding this silly bath water wasn’t doing anything.

The chair scraped back, and Anara looked up. The captain’s feet echoed over the floorboards like thunder as he moved to seat himself at the table, whereupon he began to eat and read simultaneously.

He hadn’t even glanced at her.

She shrunk into the cloudy water to cover her body up to above her lips, giving her just enough room to breathe.

The Wind Steppe princess watched him as he reached up with one arm to untie the bow holding his hair back. His golden tresses fell down in waves to just below his shoulders as he read, evidentially oblivious to her up until this point.

Impossible. He was pretending!

She squirmed on the inside as his violet eyes left that little red book he was reading over his midday meal. They flicked straight to her, to stare into her like before.

Anara didn’t move. She was like a statue.

“There’s no need to speak,” he said. “I already know who you are.” His eyes went back to his book. “I had a talk with your betrothed.”

Her curiosity at what was to happen next spurred her to raise her lips above the water. She still felt completely exposed, but at least the water was heavily clouded. “Are you going to ransom me?”

He breathed in deeply, his eyes not leaving the page as his large chest expanded. After a moment his eyes found her again, roved the water in the tub and found nothing to see.

“I may know your name, but I do not feel inclined to answer questions to a woman who has not bothered to introduce herself. So, I will begin and you may follow. My name is Dante. Campione. Third son to Duke Falco Campione of his royal majesty’s  Dukes of Gaspiro in Sirvello.”

She barely understood what any of that entailed, except that he was the son of a high-ranking noble. Oh good. Another Duke.

 “A duke’s son, you say?”

He gave her a suffering look.

“Oh.” She had forgotten. “Anara of clan Iizuhlia, first daughter of Khan Saul that rules it.”

That was not how a princess of the Khanate normally introduced herself, but she tried to make her place sound much more important so that she would be seen as valuable. Still, the “title” she rambled off didn’t sound nearly as impressive as his.

“Does that suffice?” she asked saucily.

His lips quirked very slightly. “It does,” he said, with a sober nod. “Thank you.”

She wasted no time in asking her next question. “Is this how you always treat your prisoners of high rank, Captain?”

He tilted his head. What he said in response was not what she was expecting. “I did not know you were a princess.”

Her eyes widened. “You lied to me.”

“Yes.”

Discomposed, she felt she might need help. If nothing else, Duke Korr might negotiate on her behalf. She was his betrothed after all.

“Where is Duke Korr?”

“In the hold. With the prisoners. He said nothing of his involvement to you.”

She noticed his use of the phrase With the prisoners, distinct from With the other prisoners. And how did he know she was engaged to be married?

“Then how…?”

“An educated guess, Lady.”

“So?”

He had barely touched his meal, and proceeded to push his plate aside now. “You wish to know what is to happen to you?”

She almost didn’t want to admit it, but for the talking, she felt better, though she still felt like she was standing on a high wire, about to fall at any moment. But for all that, she didn’t feel threatened anymore.

“Yes.”

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He seemed to think it over, taking what seemed like minutes. Finally he said, “I have not yet decided what to do with you.”

“If you despoil me, you won’t get anything!”

Why did she say that?

His focus on her seemed to sharpen suddenly and she could immediately tell that she had just angered her captor. Anara shrank into the tub under his gaze, though she held eye contact with him.

Eventually the intensity of his stare subsided and a tiny smirk crept to his face. Anara wasn’t sure how to describe it, except that it seemed dangerous.

Just then there was thumping outside of the stateroom and the door flung open. Anara shrunk further into the tub, crossing her arms over her breasts, and the captain flinched to readiness, though he hadn’t gotten out of the chair, his hand had found his sword hilt.

“What did I say about knocking, sailor?”

With the look of a startled lion, the sheer ferocity of his ire scared her more than the actual sudden interruption. The sailor who had barged in on them muttered apologies and rambled something off in Amalfi as he backed out of the stateroom.

“What is it?” the captain barked, his anger considerably less overt now, his hand coming off the hilt of the sword at his waist.

Why would he make for his blade?

They exchanged a few more words in Amalfi that Anara couldn’t understand and then the sailor left them alone, closing the door behind him.

Realizing in stark, vivid imaginings, Anara knew that this powerful man could leap off his chair at any moment, yank her from the bath and do with her whatever he pleased. There would be nothing she could do. He was too keen on evading her feeble magic. That first encounter destroyed all her confidence in protecting herself.

She was literally at his mercy. And something inside her thrilled at that prospect. It horrified her, too. He got up from his chair, a new understanding between them, though she doubted if he realized, or had he?

Heart thumping in her chest, she felt like she wanted to leap out of the tub and run. But that would be useless. And stupid. Something else inside her told her not to provoke the predatory instincts of this golden duke’s son. His arms were nearly as thick as her legs. He would pounce on her like a saber cat.

“Now…” he said slowly as he circled the bath, “what makes you think”—he was behind her now where the linens were—“that I would do something like that?”

What?

She turned her head, trying to see him, but he was to far behind her.

What was he talking about now?

“What do you ask me, Captain?”

His hot breath caressed her ear. It took everything she had not to flinch as he rested his hands near her shoulders on the lip of the tub.

“You insinuated that I might ‘despoil you,’ therefore destroying any chance at a ransom demand, did you not?”

Anara swallowed, remembering those stupid words that came flying out of her stupid mouth. Why had she said that?

“One might say,” he continued, “that such a suggestion alone is quite insulting. Especially among members of more polite societal standing. Wouldn’t you say?”

Slowly as not to ripple the bathwater, Anara covered her breasts with her arms. She was hardly breathing as her words came out in a whisper. “I… didn’t…”

“Yes?”

She forced them out. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

A reply didn’t come for some time. She was left sitting in the cold bath water, staring at the foot of the tub, wondering what would come next.

To her relief, the captain replied using words. “Think nothing of it. Let us change the subject, shall we?”

His sudden dismissal of her words seemed too easy.

“What shall we talk about?” she asked.

The Wind Steppe princess would have loved nothing more than to be out of there. A prison cell with hay on the floor and cold metal bars would have been more comfortable. She heard him leave the edge of the tub behind her and stand.

With only a few strides, he went to the toppled books and began to pick through them. “I’ve had some small dealings with the Wind Steppe khanates.”

“Oh?” She asked, feigning curiosity and civility.

“Indeed.”

“What kind?”

“Nothing of great note,” he said, walking back to the tub. He bent down on one knee so that their faces were of a level. His violet eyes bored directly into hers from across the room when he asked his next question. “Anara…” he said, his eyes meandering to the rafters. He said her name as if he were trying it out on his tongue for the first time. “That name is one I know, I believe.”

“It is?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “I believe it means ‘pomegranate’ in the Wind Steppe language, does it not?”

This turn of conversation was beginning to make her very nervous again. “I don’t know,” she lied, knowing full well that her name was indeed derived from the red fruit.

“Really?” he asked.

“It is so, Captain. I do not know.”

“Well…” he said, sounding surprised. “Then let me educate you, young maiden. A pomegranate is a large red fruit.”

Her heart was beating faster than it had in the last few minutes. It was hammering again, just like it had been when he had come to speak beside her ear.

With no idea what to say, she asked, “What do you do with them?”

He chuckled.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “if you can push your fingers into them and massage the flesh therein, they become wet and juicy.” His eyes went straight to hers.

Anara couldn’t help but look away from him. She focused intently at the other end of the tub.

“Yes,” he continued. “We make a mark and then spread the split open. The seeds are inside you see”—she sunk into the tub as deep as she could go—“and sweet juice comes flowing out. A little tart—but very sweet. Personally, after getting every last drop of the succulent juices, I tend to crave something salted.”

Whatever he was on about, she had the distinct impression that his words were loaded with innuendo. Was this going to be when it happened?

Anara tensed for the inevitable violence to come.

“Would you like one?”

There was nothing she could do or say, so she ignored him.

Time passed. If felt like minutes as he sauntered around the room and back beside the tub.

Gods!

Should she make the first move and attack him?

No. No, his guard would be down when he came in for an attack, and not before. Anara shook as she waited for the moment.

“Are you cold?”

She nodded vigorously, but then realized he would have her get out of the tub, and so shook her head instead.

He chuckled, bent over her to grab at something on the bench where the linens were. What was he doing?

As he leaned over her, she could smell him. There was manliness to his smell that she didn’t try to avoid. Had she not been afraid right now she knew she would have liked it.

Leaning back and grunting at the pain in his knee, he revealed a small stack of folded clothes. It was a dress, and in that moment most of Anara’s fear evaporated in an instant.

If his intention was to attack her, he wouldn’t have her clothed at the time. She almost felt like rolling her eyes at herself, but she didn’t. Her relief was physically tangible to him, she was sure.

The Wind Steppe princess narrowed her eyes as her annoyance flashed. He was playing games with her. What a funny man.

“I took the liberty of having your things brought over from the Parvita.” He leaned over her again to reach for something else. What he brought back was something thin and lacy. Anara thought it was a white kerchief, but then realized the item in the captain’s hand was her very own undergarments—courtesy of Duke Korr, of course!

She wanted to cover her flaming face.

“I forgot,” he added as though in afterthought. “I quite like these. Amalfi, are they not?” And then without waiting for an answer, he placed the scandalous thong atop the green silk dress without any fanfare. It was the green one with the really low neckline of course.

The Wind Steppe princess glanced toward the captain surreptitiously as he made his way to the bookshelf again. She was too embarrassed to look at him properly or to say anything.

He put the little book with the vivid red cover he’d been reading on the empty shelf. Then he turned to address her. “I must apologize, Princess.”

She looked at him then, waiting for an answer to his words.

“For how my crew received you before,” he added. “And for my recent… conduct.”

Clearing her throat, Anara replied. “Think nothing of it, Captain.”

 

“I give you my word, Lady Iizuhlian that I will not allow you to be harmed as long as you’re on my ship. But neither can I ransom you back to Atalaya.”

He walked to the door, looked back at her one last time and then made to leave. Somehow Anara felt guilty. The way his crew had reacted was expected. She was the only woman on either ship and a bloody battle had just taken place.

And then she had…

Before he could close the door, Anara jerked up in the tub, the water sloshing out onto the wooden planks below her. She tried to keep low, but the tub was too short, so she covered her breasts with her arm.

“Captain, wait!” she called, face burning.

Pausing, he turned and looked at her. From where she was, she saw his eyes flick to something else that wasn’t her sitting wetly in the tub, her breasts barely covered. Normally she would have never acted so provocatively. In a way it was indecent. But she had to say something.

“I’m sorry for offending you. Truly.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, accepting her apology for insulting him, and then he left. Anara watched the door for several minutes, half expecting it to be some kind of ruse, but then she eventually sank back down into the tub, sloshing water out onto the decking again.

Exhaling loudly, relief washed over her. She could physically feel it. And then something unexpected happened. A small giggle came out of her mouth.

Where had that come from? Just minutes ago she thought she was about to be this man’s pomegranate to suck and fuck, and now she was laughing? She felt angry at his humiliating her.

At least he humiliated her in private, she thought. And her insinuations had been quite offensive, now that she gave it some thought.

She was an inexperienced girl. Very inexperienced.

Dante’s smell lingered. His scent, mixed with a bit of fragrance she didn’t recognize, smelled nice. She sighed, then smiled as she got out of the tub, dried off and dressed. She even put the panties on.

The stateroom was large and comfortable, and she stayed there for some time, but then decided to venture out of the door. But before she left, that little red book caught her eye, reminding her of what she did to the shelf. She made her way to the case, picked up the books and arranged them neatly.

Before turning to leave, she took up the little red book and looked at the cover. Imprinted in gold script, it read Melagrana. On the cover a pomegranate was aptly embossed into the leather there.

Beautiful, she thought. So his talk of fruit was a story he had made up off the top of his head to discomfort her for offending him. She shook her head and nearly laughed.

Well, she thought. Anara had deserved it. This man was a duke, unaccustomed to being thought a brigand. At least she had apologized. He seemed to take it well.

Purely out of curiosity, she made to take a look at the pages within the book, but then she heard something in the companionway outside. Anara decided to tuck it into her dress pouch instead, then moved to the door and opened it. It wasn’t locked. A good sign. She peaked out into the companionway and there was no guard.

So he wasn’t playing games about this. That was a relief to Anara. She felt this Dante—this Duke Campione, was a tricky character. She would have to be careful around him. Unfortunately, she needed to speak with him again.

There was still much to discuss.

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