A Pirates Curse

The Stowaway (Edited)

The rain poured heavily over the large port city of Calderis, drenching the cobble streets and reducing the visibility to a thick mist. The cobbled roads were slick with water, making every step treacherous as the Princess moved swiftly through the dark back alleys, her black boots slipping in the mud. The young Princess could barely make out the shapes of the tall, crooked building looming overhead, their dark windows watching like hollow eyes as she fled through he labyrinth of the port city. Her blood red cloak stuck to her skin, soaked through from the relentless downpour. Her heart pounded so loudly she feared it might give her away. 

The sound of loud footsteps echoed behind her—closer now, heavier. Her pursuers were catching up and fast. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder and saw two dark figures silhouetted against the dim streetlamps, their heads low as they trudged through the rain, relentless in their chase. She clenched her jaw, swallowing her fear. She couldn't be caught. Not tonight. If they found her, it would mean being dragged back to the palace—back to face the man who had stolen her throne and murdered her family.

The smell of the sea hit her before she could see it, sharp and briny, cutting through the rain-soaked air. Through the haze, the shadows of the dock came into view, lanterns swaying violently in the wind as the storm lashed at the coast. The creaking of ships, the clanking of chains, and the shouts of sailors preparing for the night's departure filled her ears, a chorus of chaos that she prayed would cover the sound of her escape.

Anastasia's green eyes scanned the ships frantically, searching for the one that was her only hope. No matter how terrifying it was. The Siren's Call---the most feared pirate vessel in these waters, captained by the lethal Kit Blackthorn. She had heard stories, cautionary tales of him since childhood—tales of his ruthlessness, his cunning, and his deep ties to the black markets of the sea. He was a man feared by the royal courts, a legend whispered about in the darkest corners of taverns. But tonight, he was her salvation.

The wind howled through the docks, tugging at her cloak as she finally spotted the ship. Even in the mist, it stood out—sleek and ominous, its black sails furled tightly against the mast. The crew was moving quickly, loading the last of the crates and barrels onto the ship, their figures little more than shadows darting in the storm. Lightning cracked overhead, illuminating the vessel for the briefest moment, and Anastasia's breath caught when she saw him—Kit Blackthorn.

From his place on the deck, Kit's tall, imposing figure commanded attention, his deep voice cutting through the storm as he barked orders to his crew of miscreants. His dark hair clung to his face, wet from the rain, and his strong hands gripped the railing as he oversaw everything that happened on his ship. Even from her distance, the princess could feel the force of his presence—a man who had built his reputation on blood, fear, and power.

Her heart skipped a beat. Was this really her only choice? Had it really come down to this? A pirate, no less?

But she had no time to hesitate or question her choices. The footsteps behind her grew louder, the shouts of her pursuers barely audible over the storm. Her mind raced. If they caught her, there would be no mercy. They would drag her back to the usurper, Lord Tavik, the man who now sat on her father's throne. She couldn't let that happen. Not when she still had a chance to escape.

Anastasia took one final deep breath, pulling the hood of her cloak tightly around her face. Quickly, she stepped out from the shadows, her heart racing as she dashed toward the Siren's Call. Her soaked black boots splashed in the puddles beneath her, and for a moment, she felt exposed—like a deer running into the jaws of a wolf. She darted toward the gangplank, moving swiftly before any of the crew could notice her.

A loud roll of thunder shook the night sky as she reached the edge of the dock. Kit turned his head quickly, his sharp eyes scanning the harbor. Anastasia froze. For a moment, she held her breath, fearing he had seen her, his piercing gaze like a blade cutting through the mist. Her heart pounded loudly in her hears as she pressed herself behind a stack of barrels, praying the shadows would just swallow her whole. 

Moments later, Kit turned away, his attention shifting back to his crew. She exhaled shakily, her breath visible in the cold night air. With the Captain's eyes averted, she seized her opportunity and darted up the gangplank, her cloak billowing behind her like a shadow as she slipped silently onto the deck of the ship. The crew continued their work, oblivious to her presence. Anastasia wasted no time as she looked around the dark ship, looking for a place to hide. 

The ship rocked beneath her feet as she descended the narrow staircase below deck, her heart racing with every step. The smell of saltwater, damp wood, and the faint scent of fish filled the cramped space. She hurried past the galley, the quarters, and finally found herself at the cargo hold. It was dark, filled with stacked crates and barrels secured by thick ropes. It would have to do.

Anastasia slipped into a corner, wedging herself between two large crates, her cloak hiding her small frame. She sat down, her knees drawn to her chest as she tried to steady her breathing. The sounds of the ship moving above her were deafening—the creak of wood, the slap of the waves against the hull, the muffled voices of the crew shouting orders as the Siren's Call prepared to set sail.

For the first time in days, Anastasia allowed herself to take a breath. She was safe. For now.

But she knew her reprieve would be short-lived. Kit Blackthorn was no fool, and it wouldn't be long before he discovered her. What she didn't know was whether he would toss her overboard or hear her out. Either way, the moment she stepped onto this ship, she had sealed her fate.

Her body ached with exhaustion, but her mind refused to rest. She thought of Tavik's soldiers, their cold eyes scanning every face in the city, their swords drawn as they searched for her. They would scour the entire kingdom to capture her—after all, a runaway princess was a loose end, and Tavik would never allow a loose end to survive.

The ship lurched as it finally pushed away from the docks, and Anastasia felt a strange mix of relief and dread. She was leaving Calderis behind, but where was she headed? What kind of man was Kit Blackthorne? Would he see her as leverage, a pawn to be sold to the highest bidder? Or worse, would he turn her over to her enemies in exchange for a bounty?

No. She couldn't think like that. She had to stay focused, stay sharp. If she was going to survive, she would need to convince him that she was worth keeping alive. But for now, all she could do was hide and wait for the storm to pass—both outside and within the depths of the ship.

As the Siren's Call sailed into the night, Anastasia closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm of the waves. She was no longer a princess on the run. She was a stowaway, lost at sea, her fate tied to the winds and the will of a pirate captain.

And she had no idea what tomorrow would bring.