Bloodtide

Part 1

"Father, is this necessary?" I asked, wincing as the maids tightened my corset more than was comfortable.

"Yes, Ella dear," he replied, his eyes scanning my attire once the maids finished adjusting it. "The Duke is a prominent man, someone who can provide security and a good match for you," he explained, and I nodded, though unease tinged my thoughts.

"I guess so," I murmured, though the tightness of the corset made it hard to breathe. I glanced at myself in the mirror, the elaborate gown and carefully styled hair transforming me into someone almost unrecognizable. "But must it be so tight?"

"Ella, my dear, appearances matter," Father said gently, adjusting the cufflinks on his jacket with precision. "The Duke's favor could mean a secure future for us you."

I sighed inwardly, resigned to the role I had to play. As we made our way to the grand ballroom, I couldn't shake the feeling that beneath the layers of silk and lace, my true self was fading away.

As we entered the opulent ballroom, the air thick with perfumes and murmurs of intrigue, I felt a wave of apprehension wash over me. Father guided me towards the Duke, a towering figure in the center of attention, his presence commanding respect and curiosity in equal measure.

"Ella, my dear, remember your manners," Father whispered as we approached the Duke and his men, who turned with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ah, Lady Ella," one greeted, his voice smooth and practiced. "You look radiant tonight."

"Thank you," I replied, forcing a smile despite the discomfort of my tightly bound corset.

"Ella, you look as beautiful as ever," the Duke said, his voice smooth and practiced, as he kissed my hand with a grace that belied the underlying tension in the room. "My, how your beauty shines."

"Thank you, Your Grace," I replied, a practiced smile playing on my lips, though inside I felt a pang of discomfort. His compliments were flattering yet hollow.

As the night wore on, I found myself entangled in conversations that danced around alliances and ambitions, each word carefully chosen to convey loyalty and respect. Yet amidst the polished manners and glittering façade, I yearned for the simplicity of genuine connection and the thrill of the unknown.

"Wine your grace," a young man offered, holding two cups aloft. My smile grew as I accepted the drink warmly from him.

"Thank you, Henry," I smiled, taking a sip.

"Boy, go check if they have anything stronger than this," the duke requested, his tone hinting at both boredom and a need for more spirited libations.

Henry nodded eagerly and hurried off, his steps quick and purposeful. The hall bustled with chatter and the clink of glasses, a lively contrast to the duke's subdued demeanor. I studied him discreetly, noting the furrow in his brow and the slight tension in his shoulders.

"You don't have to ask in such a harsh way" I mumbled under my tongue.

"I tell your father many times how I don't drink wine" he sharply said as the stress became clear on his face.

"Troubled by something, your grace?" I ventured, keeping my voice low.

The duke sighed, his gaze distant for a moment before returning to me. "Pirates, Ella. Always pirates," he murmured, his words heavy with resignation. "One must navigate these waters carefully."

I nodded in understanding, though my thoughts drifted to the broader sea beyond the castle walls, where ships sailed under the banners of kings and privateers alike. "Indeed, much like the currents of the open ocean," I mused, raising my cup in a silent toast to the unseen challenges ahead.

"Every day our forces grow weaker trying to kill off those savages," he lamented bitterly, his frustration palpable. "The king grows restless, and it's been months of experimenting with every single pirate," he spat, his contempt evident.

The hate between the monarchy and pirates was an enduring feud that had festered for years, seeping into every facet of life. In our town, it was an unspoken truth—mere conversation with a pirate was grounds for treason alone, a dangerous dance on the edge of loyalty and betrayal.

I took a long sip of my wine, letting the bitterness of the duke's words settle alongside the rich flavor. "Perhaps," I ventured cautiously, "there might be another way to navigate these turbulent waters." My gaze flickered briefly to the bustling hall around us, where nobles and courtiers mingled in a delicate dance of alliances and ambitions.

The duke's eyes narrowed slightly, considering my words. His expression softened marginally, a hint of curiosity mingling with the weariness etched into his features.

"Another way?" he echoed, his voice edged with skepticism. "Do tell, dear. What strategy have you uncovered that has eluded the crown's finest minds?"

I held his gaze steadily, choosing my words with care. "Not a scheme, your grace," I replied evenly, "but perhaps a different approach to understanding them. These 'savages,' as you call them, are not merely lawless brigands. They are captains of their own fate, driven by codes and allegiances that often run deeper than any royal decree."

The duke regarded me thoughtfully, as if weighing the truth in my words against the rigid doctrines of court and crown. "And what would you propose?" he finally asked, a glimmer of reluctant interest sparking in his eyes.

"Understanding, your grace," I said quietly, lowering my voice. "To truly understand our adversaries, to see beyond the labels and prejudices that divide us. Perhaps then, we may find a way to navigate these troubled waters without further bloodshed."

The hall buzzed around us, oblivious to our conversation veering dangerously close to treasonous thoughts. Henry returned with a new drink, the clink of glasses momentarily punctuating the air before the duke snatched it off the tray and chugged it down with a careless abandon that bespoke his frustration.

"This is why women stay off the battlefield," he chuckled, a sardonic glint in his eye. "Your emotions speak louder than your brain," he added, his tone mocking yet not entirely unkind.

I nodded, masking my own thoughts carefully. The duke's words were a stark reminder of the entrenched beliefs that governed our world, where reason often bowed to tradition and prejudice. Henry came back offering him a glass of whiskey.

"Pirates are probably as worse as mermaids," he continued, his voice laced with disdain. "All are beasts we must exterminate," he declared, his grip tightening around the cup.

I nodded again, my expression neutral despite the turmoil within. To challenge his views outright would be folly, yet the seed of doubt planted by our conversation lingered, a small rebellion simmering beneath the veneer of courtly decorum.

"Of course, your grace," I managed to reply, though the words tasted bitter on my tongue.

"You should get rest; our wedding is early in the morning," he suggested with a gesture, placing a sloppy kiss on my hand. I mustered a weak smile, murmuring a polite, "Thank you, your grace," as I watched him walk away, his presence leaving me with relief.

"He seems rather... swell," Henry remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice, which elicited an unexpected burst of laughter from me.

"He is a nightmare," I confided with a sigh, grateful for Henry's understanding. The weight of courtly expectations and the facade I maintained around the duke had worn thin.

"He may be," Henry agreed quietly, his eyes meeting mine with sympathy. "But you handle him well, Ella."

I nodded, appreciating the acknowledgment of the delicate balance I strived to maintain between duty and personal conviction.

"But I don't wish to simply handle him Henry. This marriage is simply political" I dragged as he frowned. Henry was one of my closest friends probably only one here... he was an orphan who I saved a few years back near the shore. My father helped him find a good family and since then we've been best friends. As his step father is mine's blacksmith.

"You should get rest Ella" he offered as I nodded leaving vastly.