by Plum Pascal
“You can’t,” the King says at once. “I won’t allow it.”
“You can and you must allow it, father,” Andric argues. “Think how it would look if I agreed to marry Aria and then let her charge into the depths alone! What sort of husband would I be? Do you want the Prince of Delorood to gain a reputation for cowardice?”
“This isn’t about our pride, Andric,” the King continues stubbornly.
“Then what is it about?” Andric demands.
“Our survival. We’re in this state due to your obstinate contention that life beneath Morningstar’s reign will be no life at all.”
“And you think it would be a life?” Andric demands.
The old man sighs. “I’m not entirely sure what I believe. But you are my son, and I’ve trusted your judgment thus far and look where that’s led us! We’ve lost half our fleet, we have almost no food. We’re facing extinction. And now, you want to dunk your head in the sea and hope something doesn’t bite it off? It’s ludicrous!”
“If it’s succession you’re worried about, old man,” Andric says coolly, “you can always place one of my cousins on the throne. Or perhaps Augustus. Didn’t you have a bastard with that little sable-haired witch you liked so much back in the day?”
The temperature in the room sinks, and I’m not the only one who notices. I stare longingly at the door, wishing to be anywhere but here. I need to find Hook and see what I can do to mitigate the damage I’ve already done. I don’t understand why he’s so upset. I had thought our dalliance merely that. Was it possible he cared for me more than I thought?
“The princess looks tired,” Kassidy says after meeting my beseeching gaze. “I’m going to help her get into some nightclothes and see that she gets to bed. Is that okay, Aria?”
“Yes, please,” I say, latching eagerly onto the chance of escape.
She takes me by the hand, and I find hers as rough as the hands of any of the men I’ve encountered. What must she do that they’ve become so calloused? I admire her more now that I did before. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met and yet she’s so small.
She pulls me away from the great hall and the argument rises in volume and tempo as we make our way out the door. I wince. I haven’t actually heard a family argument for years, not since leaving Aspamia for the trenches. Aunt Opeia and I have an accord on most things.
Kassidy squeezes my hand gently as we scuttle quickly down the hall, moving as swiftly as possible from the dining hall.
“Don’t look so grim,” she says. “They’ll sort it out.”
“I don’t know,” I start.
Kassidy nods. “The King is being a stubborn old codger, but he’ll come around. Andric is one of the best warriors in this kingdom, and he’s completely right in the arguments he made. It will upset the social order if Andric doesn’t stand up for you and assume his place by your side.”
“I don’t know that it’s so simple,” I respond as I look down at her hand holding mine and squeeze it a little harder. I’ve not had a female friend before and I hope Kassidy will become one.
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “Andric doesn’t want me,” I admit, feeling a little embarrassed admitting as much to her—a woman who has three men who desire her.
“Um, have you seen yourself?”
“You are kind,” I answer but then shake my head.
“What in the world makes you think Andric doesn’t want you? He was staring at you all through dinner.”
“He won’t share my bed, even after we’re married. He said so.” I sigh. “And he’d be risking very much for someone he just met and doesn’t apparently like.”
Kassidy’s laugh is like a soft peal of bells. It’s enchanting and I understand how her men find her fascinating. She’s quite attractive, as far as humans go. Her golden hair shimmers in the torchlight that illuminates the corridor, and she’s got skin that’s slightly tanned with a pinkish hue on her cheeks and a spattering of attractive freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her body is tiny but compact, with enough muscle that she must clearly be a warrior. She’s strong. Capable. And she has a dry wit. I can’t help but wonder if she weren’t taken, would Hook want her?
If I were a human male, I should think I would.
“If Andric won’t share your bed, Aria, it’s because he’s honorable,” Kassidy says with a smirk. And this time she tightens her hold on my hand.
“Honorable?”
She nods. “Prince Andric always struck me as the type of man you read about in children’s stories. The type of man who rarely exists in reality.”
I’m confused. “What do you mean?”
She tilts her head to the side as she considers my question. “I mean, he’s one of the rare men who thinks with the brain between his ears, not the one inside his cock. He values the chance at peace too highly to fuck things up by... well, fucking things up.”
“There are brains within men’s cocks?” I ask, completely baffled.
She immediately begins laughing. “No, no! It’s just a turn of speech… never mind.”
At my uncomprehending stare, she blows out a breath and the smile slips. “Trust me. I can tell Andric wants you. And if I can see it, then it’s plain as the nose on your face, because I’m terrible at navigating relationships and lovey-dovey bullshit.”
I’m not sure I believe her, because her comment sounds silly when she has three husbands, but I let the matter drop, moving on to one that’s more pressing. To me, at least. “And Hook?”
“What about Hook?”
“What sort of man is he?”
Kassidy’s steps stutter and she drops my hand, leaving it feeling empty and cold. “A good one,” she answers immediately. “Though not in the same way that Prince Andric is good.”
“I believe I’ve hurt Hook,” I say, appreciating the chance to speak about my problems with another woman, one who might understand.
We’re not far from the quarters I share with the captain now. She casts a glance at the door and lowers her voice when she speaks.
“Did you make him any promises?” she asks.
“Promises?”
“I can only assume you both are… intimate?”
“Intimate?”
“Fucking?”
“Oh!” I say and then give her a smile. “Yes.”
“Well, were you clear about what it was before you started fucking him?” She pauses and then realizes I have no idea what she’s going on about. “Were you clear that you didn’t expect anything other than sex from him?”
I shuffle guiltily. The mango aftertaste goes sour in my mouth. “We didn’t talk about it. We mostly just...”
“I get it,” Kassidy finishes with a hint of wry amusement. “That may be the problem.” Then she motions to his door. “Talk to him, if he’s still awake. We’ll leave by morning, assuming the prince can sort things out with his father.”
Kassidy doesn’t give me time to respond. She gives me a little smile and walks away before I can make the cowardly request that she enter the room first to smooth things over with him.
I hesitate before the door, almost too frightened to knock. This fear is entirely brainless, isn’t it? I’ve faced scarier things than the rugged sailor in the room before me. The grotesquerie is more fearsome, more dangerous, and much more likely to kill me.
But facing Hook’s disappointment hurts more than being stabbed in the tail by my father’s pronged scepter. I really do hate this human propensity to leak out of the eyes. It’s starting again, the damned annoying phenomenon that Hook refers to as crying.
That’s how Hook finds me. Dithering outside his door, tears streaming down my face, looking about as composed as a child. He takes one look at me, sighs, and then steps aside.
“Come in, Popsy. Stop cryin’.”
“Hook...” I croak, angry these tears are interfering with my ability to speak.
What do I say? I’m sorry? I’m not quite sure what my crime is. I regret
his pain, but how to mitigate it? It’s absolutely crucial I secure the alliance with Andric…
I step into the room beyond, taking in more details this time. There’s a large bed, easily double the size of the mattress at the hostel in which we stayed. The bed is piled high with the fluffy wedges Hook calls pillows. These are colorful, like the tropical fruit served at dinner. Bright greens, pinks, and oranges. The bedspread looks soft and enticing. More velvet, in a blue-green that offsets the pillows.
I want to be laid out on it, trapped beneath Hook’s muscled body as he slides his cock into me. Everything ceases to matter when he holds me close and rocks himself inside me. I won’t miss much about being human, but I’ll miss that.
Hook takes me gently by the elbow, but instead of guiding me to the bed, he pushes me gently into a chair. There’s a stubby structure next to it that looks like a reverse bench. Hook calls it a desk. I’m not sure what its purpose is. The chair is hard, the expression on Hook’s face harder.
He doesn’t sit. He paces a line from one wall to the other, occasionally taking sips out of a bottle. The liquid that sloshes inside is brown. There was some at dinner as well, though I didn’t partake of it. The scent coming off it is strong enough to make my eyes water even more than they already are.
“What is that you’re drinking?” I ask.
“Sweetland port.”
“What is it?”
“Spirits.”
“Is it sweet?” I ask, hoping he’ll give me a taste. I do like sweets.
He offers me the bottle and the sour smell arrests my nose. He seems to enjoy it though so I tip my head back and swallow a large mouthful. And then I very nearly choke and erupt into a coughing fit as the horrid stuff burns my throat on its way to my stomach.
“Terrible!” I manage.
Hook chuckles. “Then I guess ye dinnae have spirits where ye’re from?”
“No! Most certainly not!”
“Mayhap a better place where ye live, then. Spirits make men do despicable things.”
“Despicable things?”
He nods. “Aye. Say things they dinnae mean. Make bets they shouldnae make. I was drunk when I lost this.” He raises his mechanical hand up to the light. I prefer it when he wears his hook but he wears the faux hand when we meet someone important.
“What happened to your real hand?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Got jumped by my damn kid brother’s new leader. Calls himself Pan. Little fecker fed me hand to a crocodile.”
“He what?” I ask, shocked.
But Hook isn’t finished. He continues on as if I haven’t spoken at all. “’Twas on our journey back to the coves. We were almost clear. I was lookin’ to get me brother Quinn back. Me feckin’ captain at the time sold Quinn off to our enemies as he owed them a great debt. Had to keelhaul me to do it, but the captain paid his debt by sellin’ Quinn to the faction across the sea. Quinn’s nae forgiven me for it. Feck, I dinnae forgive me for it.”
I stare at him, quietly aghast by this new information. I know something about being cast aside like trash. It hurt more than words could express when my father banished me. I can’t imagine what it must be like for Hook, to be estranged from his brother.
“Why does your brother blame you?” I demand. “You couldn’t have stopped it.”
“Aye, I could’ve,” Hook rages.
“How?”
“There had to be somethin’ I could’ve done. Could have begged the cap’n to sell me instead. But the feckin’ King of Ironcross had nae interest in me.”
Hook chokes. His steps stutter, and he swings the bottle up to his lips again. It’s a prolonged draft this time, and a few more seconds before he can speak again.
“An’ to top the whole feckin’ mess off, we pissed off a witch an’ got ourselves cursed.”
“Cursed? Cursed how?”
He nods and wipes his face with his sleeve. “Aye, cursed. I haven’t aged a day in forty feckin’ years! Cannae feckin’ sire children. Cannae feckin’ grow old. All I can do to escape the curse is die someday.”
“So you’re...?” I try to do the calculations in my head. He doesn’t look much over thirty.
“Seventy-three, Popsy. I’m a right ol’ bastard, I am.”
“Goodness!” I say, surprised.
He nods. “I’ve been stuck like this. Thought that leavin’ Neverland might break the curse but...” He shrugs. “’Twas nae so. I’ve spent twenty years on this side and yet, do ye see a single gray hair?”
No. I’ve spent a great deal of time looking at him and he appears to be a man in his prime. Strong and scarred, but undoubtedly beautiful. In truth, he’s almost as old as the weathered King in the great hall. He could be Andric’s father. Or mine.
“What happened to Quinn?” I prompt quietly when he lapses into silence and stares moodily at the wall. “Why’d your captain sell him?”
A full-body shudder rocks through Hook. He looks almost as unsteady on his feet as I feel most days.
“I tried,” he whispers. “I tried to train Quinn right. I did. But the kid’s rubbish with a sword. Nae verra good on ships, either, which is unfortunate when ye’re drafted into King Crab’s army.”
“King Crab?” I echo. All I can picture is the crustacean.
Hook lets out a humorless snort and resumes pacing. “Aye. King o’ the Coves where Quinn an’ I grew up. Big motherfecker, with orange hair an’ a mean disposition. Would put kids in the pincer.”
“The pincer?”
“Aye. Big vise thing. Pop their heads off if they broke a law. Earned himself a nickname.”
I’m too horrified to speak. This is not the tale I was prepared for, nor am I sure I want to hear it. But the words pour out of Hook, and I can’t stem the flow.
“I was drafted into the navy when I was aboot Quinn’s age. Worked as hard as I could to earn his keep an’ mine. But he had to be trained. Most o’ the armies are made o’ kids, more often than not. Nae one really lives past forty in Neverland. I was pushin’ old age by the time I got cursed. Quinn was nineteen.”
“Forty? That’s so... Hook, how is forty the life expectancy? I’m twenty-five, and I’m barely more than a child. My father is a century old and he’s only just middle-aged. Humans are fragile but they’re not... their lives aren’t that short… are they?”
His eyes are distant, seeming to stare right through me. The smile is a twisted mockery of its former self. “Have ye heard o’ the forever wars, Aria?”
I shake my head. He rolls a shoulder.
“I’d be surprised if ye had heard o’ ‘em, to be honest.”
“What are they?”
He nods. “Aye, let me start from the beginning, Popsy. Neverland is counted as a principality by Fantasia, but it’s just technical. Nae one wants to risk the waterfall that drains into the dimension. Feckin’ difficult to go back up the thing, let me tell ye. ‘Tis why most people who come to Neverland dinnae leave, an’ those who are born there dinnae have any option but stay.”
He sucks in a deep breath. “Before ye lot had Morningstar to contend with, there was Moon. First bloke made in our dimension, or so we’re told. Sprung up from dirt or somethin’. An’ then he made himself two wives. One named Star, the other named Sun. He had a bunch o’ little buggers with each. But when it came time to divide up resources after the poor fecker’s death, the more favored wife, Sun, claimed Moon had bequeathed all his riches to her children.”
“She did?”
“Aye, an’ she had a massive feckin’ brood o’ ‘em by then.”
“What did his second wife do?”
“Aye, well Star knew Sun was full o’ bunk an’ the two wives went to war. Star had magic in her blood, an’ her line spawned monsters. Eventually, the two factions split into four. Then, four into eight, as time went on an’ bloodlines got muddy. Neverland has been in a constant state o’ war since the death o’ the first man.”
“And that’s why humans don’t usually survive until forty? O
wing to the witches and monsters?”
“Aye, ‘tis part o’ it. Mostly, it’s war. Constant, unendin’, senseless war. There arenae even kingdoms anymore, though they like to call themselves that. ‘Tis all just rocks an’ the warlords that have scrabbled to the top o’ the heap to defend their piles o’ rocks. Ye want food or shelter, ye have to join an army. ‘Tis the only thing that stops the constant anarchy. An’ that’s what Quinn an’ I grew up in.”
“What happened to Quinn after you were… whatever you said you were? Killholed?”
“Keelhauled,” he corrects me. “Aye, after I were keelhauled, I killed the captain an’ took over once they hauled me back onboard, but ‘twas too late for Quinn.”
“What became of him?”
“He was sold into a mercenary group under the King of Ironcross called the Lost Boys. I didnae see him again until Pan came for me. Spared the little fecker’s life for Quinn’s sake. Quinn’s got a soft spot for the ginger sod.”
“Ginger?”
“Aye, Peter Pan’s hair. It be red.”
Then he looks at me expectantly and I realize he’s concluded his story. “I am so very sorry, Hook,” I murmur. “I had no idea you had such a… difficult and painful life.”
“Aye, nae cryin’ over spilt milk,” he says and shakes his head with a sigh. Then he glances at me again. “Why are ye here anyway?”
I suddenly feel embarrassed. “I just... I came to see why you were so angry with me.” His expression darkens. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Hook shakes his head ruefully. “I know that, Popsy. ‘Tis me own feckin’ fault. I knew better than to think this was more than it is.”
“I should have told you I intended to offer the prince my hand in marriage. It was wrong that I kept that from you.”
“Wrong’s been done on both sides, lass,” he says, finally collapsing on the colorful bedspread. “I should’ve held meself back. Should never have touched ye. I knew better.”
“Is that why you’re angry with me?” I ask quietly, tucking my chin. “Because I didn’t tell you? I thought maybe you were jealous. I was hoping...”
I swallow, and fresh tears scald my skin. Damn human form! I hate losing control of my emotions so much.
