Sequel to CAPSIZE
The adventure continues as Celia finally escapes Elizabeth's iron grasp, but the horrors that await the recently free, seemingly happy couple surpass their expectations.
Set in 1500s America
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His brows relaxed, resetting to their natural state. He brought his hands up to Celia's, lifting them from his chest and holding them in his gentle grasp in front of his body. Studying her face carefully, he noticed something different about her; she seemed lighter than usual. No longer was there the weight of begrudge upon her shoulders, pressing her downward into the depths of anger. She was free, almost spritely. Her eyes were brighter, her lips pinker, her skin glowing.
She smiled with ease, expecting Harry to reciprocate the action, but he did not. "You understand, don't you?" she asked.
Harry was hesitant, confused. "Had you not come here with the intention of forgiveness already?"
She slid her hands out from his clutch. "I came to appease my conscience. She is dying. After all, how could I deny my dying Queen a chance for reconciliation?" She paused for a moment before continuing, glancing down at her hands to avoid her husband's gaze as he listened intently. "I was going to forgive her, but not truly, not in my heart." She returned her eyes to Harry. "Not until I realized how easily she could have killed us. With a wave of her hand, we could be six feet under the ground right now, but we are not. That is why I must forgive her, truly and wholeheartedly."
Harry soaked in her monologue, absorbing her words. There were no further words exchanged before he cupped her face with his large hands, his eyes boring into hers until fluttering shut, and kissed her. When they pulled apart, his lips twitched into a smile. "I'm thankful that I've experienced this adventure with you. You are too good, far too good for a selfish pirate like myself."
Celia shook her head, feeling a bolt of guilt suddenly strike her being. "No, Harry, I'm not good. I've kept something from you for far longer than I should have. It is of no consequence now, and I hope you will forgive me for not informing you of it before."
His brows hardened at her words, worry coursing through his veins. Had she been unfaithful? The worst presumptions soiled his mind. He tried to push them aside, though, as he nodded, urging for her to continue.
"Doctor Andrew Tallis, you remember him, don't you?"
He moistened his lips with his tongue and nodded roughly, preparing himself for the confession she was about to make.
"He made advances toward me whilst we sailed to Roanoke, and once more during our time there. He was aggressive and crass and threatening, but I didn't tell you because I thought you wouldn't think anything of it." Her lips trembled as she remembered the doctor, tears daring to sting her eyes and fill them to the brim, but she blinked them away and gulped to compose herself. "I thought I ought not to bother you with it. Daniel had protected me when he first caught me alone and off-guard. The second time, I was alone in the middle of the settlement. I told him that you would punish him for saying such things to me—"
"Yet you never even mentioned it to me," Harry said, voice low and almost breaking with frustration. He tried not to let his shield crack, which would allow his fiery anger to shine through. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his middle and forefinger, exhaling sharply through his nostrils. When he inhaled again, he directed his sight upward to Celia. She looked sad, her blue eyes swirling with regret. He relinquished a sigh, washing away his feelings of vexation and replacing it with the slightest hint of disappointment. "Come here," he said, opening his arms to her.
She fell into his warm embrace, breathing in his scent and closing her eyes.
"Did he hurt you?"
"No, he wasn't given the opportunity."
"I wish you'd have told me."
"I'm sorry," she said, stepping backward and looking up at him with sad eyes.
A knock at the door sounded. Harry walked over and pulled it open, Celia remaining by the bed with her fingers twisting each other absentmindedly. A servant curtseyed in the presence of Harry, her expressionless eyes reaching his and then zooming passed him to Celia. As soon as her eyes connected with Celia's, she flicked them back to Harry.
"The Queen is ready for your wife, sir," the girl spoke softly.
Celia's breath caught in her throat. It was time. She walked toward the door slowly. Harry stepped to the side, catching her hand as she began to pass through the threshold and enter the corridor. She glanced over her shoulder to him, and he squeezed her hand lightly, sending her a small smile of hope before she left with the servant.
It was a silent journey through the castle. The girl by Celia's side was mousey, never once looking at Celia or attempting to make conversation.
As they neared two large wooden doors, however, Celia broke the silence. "The throne room?" she questioned, "I thought her Majesty was ill."
The girl did not raise her eyes. "The Queen insisted to make an appearance to her people."
Celia stopped walking, halting a few feet in front of the doors. "This is a public meeting?"
The girl nodded in response, and then to the guards on either side of the doors. The burley men pulled on the iron handles, heaving the doors open to reveal the familiar throne room. Memories flashed across Celia's mind of the last time she was in that room.
She gulped down her fear and stepped forward, entering the throne room. The doors shut heavily behind her and a rigid silence overcame the room. Courtiers dressed in lavish clothing, decorated in jewels and makeup stared at her with judgmental eyes. They parted for her, creating an aisle for her to walk directly to the feet of Elizabeth.
The closer she got to the Queen, the more clearly she could see her features. Her face was coated in a thick layer of white base, as well as her neck and hands. She wore a vibrant emerald gown, most likely to take away from her failing looks, but it did not distract Celia—the illness was evident on Elizabeth's face, it had aged her tremendously. Her dark eyes were sunken in, shadowed by her large forehead. Her lips were thin and cracked and shriveled, resembling skin that had been soaked in water for far too long.
When she reached the throne, she dipped into a curtsy, her knees grazing the cool floor below her, and kept her eyes downcast. She could hear the Queen stand up, her dress rustling as she stepped off of her throne and stood before Celia. A single cool, slender finger was pressed against her chin, tilting her face upward so that she would connect her gaze with Elizabeth.
The Queen gave her a frail smile. "Rise, old friend."
