Tevun-Krus #120 - MergePunk

The Pirate Princess - A Story by @wdhenning

The Pirate Princess

By wdhenning  © 2024

"Wakey, wakey, Princess," said a deep male voice with an irritating sing-song intonation, particularly considering my pulsing hangover.

"Piss off, Angus," I grumbled, face down on my drool wetted pillow. Opening one eye, I peered up at a smirk framed by a full red beard and twinkling moss-green eyes that enjoyed my discomfort far too much.

"Time to pillage and plunder, your highness."

It took a few dizzying moments to recall the events that led to my current condition. Some rival low-life pirate at the Last Gasp Tavern on a run-down space port challenged me to a drinking contest, and I was duty-bound to accept. Normally, consuming rot-gut rum shots to excess was not part of princess etiquette guidelines, but for a Pirate Princess, it's practically in the job description.

Lifting my reeling head, I asked, "Did I win?"

A grin rose on Angus' face. "He hit the floor just before you did, so technically, you were victorious. Your honor remains intact — well, such as it is."

"Yay, me," I deadpanned, lazily twirling a finger in the air. Although, the way my head pounded and my gut churned, it didn't feel like a win. "So, how did I get back to the ship?"

"I carried your drunk arse."

"Oh, yeah." Vague memories surfaced of being draped over his shoulder like a sack of grain, head upside down, and watching his firm arse strut across the dock. "Thanks."

Angus was a muscular mountain and could easily carry three of me. He was sexy as hell, but his inclinations didn't swing towards my gender. I'm sure dear-old-dad, the famous pirate Dahjlonica, assigned him to my ship to keep tabs on me. Not that I minded, since Angus became a loyal friend, at least when not so irritating. He was also my first officer, a damn good engineer, and has pulled my arse out of sticky situations more than once.

"Give me a few a few minutes," I murmured.

With a groan, I stumbled to the head and, with a relieved breath, drained an over-full bladder. A dizzied gaze into the mirror revealed I looked as bad as I felt, with watery bloodshot eyes, sickly pallor, and hair that defined chaos. But I was not a high-maintenance kind of gal — my only adornment being the cherry-red streaks that contrasted nicely with shoulder-length dark hair.

"Why do you do this to me?" I muttered to my image for the umteenth time. Karma wasn't a bitch, just a mirror.

But there be pirate stuff to do. Resigning to the inevitable, I splashed cold water on my face, dragged a brush through unruly hair that refused to be tamed, and staggered out of the captain's cabin toward the galley. I hadn't bothered to change out of my splattered clothes — tight cargo pants and a black tank top. Like I said, low maintenance.

"Mornin', Nova," said an older dark-skinned woman with gray streaked black hair while handing me a fresh-brewed cup of coffee. With a gentle face creased and a lifetime of laugh lines, Gwen looked like someone's favorite grandmother.

"Bless you," I responded. Cradling the precious aromatic liquid, I sat down at a smeared plas-steel table. Like most things on the pirate starship Rift Ghost, the table and benches were bolted to the deck in case of artificial gravity loss. Coffee was a rare treat, reserved for special occasions or severe hangovers. Gwen made it strong enough to raise the dead — just what I needed.

Officially, she was our often-utilized medic and unofficially the ship therapist. Turned out pirating was a hazardous occupation. My father knew her from way back, and I think she was once a lover. Pretty sure he also assigned her to watch over me.