1670, Caribbean Sea. She's the daughter of a legendary pirate. He's a Spanish captain. Their countries are at war. Their fathers killed each other. And they were destined to follow on their steps.
But sometimes destiny isn't written in stone: it's w...
Dolores Mondrego looked up and down the young captain in that cheap suit, soaking wet and splashed in mud, the fair mane hanging in dripping locks, his hands covered in thin trickles of blood from his scratched knuckles.
She stood up with a move that was even more queenly than her dress. "Captain Castillano?"
He forced a bow. "Your Grace," he replied curtly.
"I need to talk to you."
"Am I not lucky," he grunted.
He led her to the parlor next door, empty so late at night. Dolores picked the couches around a tea table.
"Do you speak French?" she asked in that language, sitting down and sorting the countless folds of her dress. "Nobody must know what I'm here to tell you."
"Then maybe you shouldn't say it," he replied in the same language, flopping himself onto a couch opposite her. He stretched his arm along the back and tilted his head, flashing an openly forced grin.
"It's about—"
"Let me guess."
"I need your help to set her free."
"Oh?"
"I can find a place for her to hide until she can leave the city. But I need you to—"
"And why me?"
Dolores hesitated, taken aback by the anger in his voice. "I— She said—"
He looked away. "She said," he repeated, grinding every word through clenched teeth. He rubbed his face to brush his hair away and covered his mouth for a moment. "Why?" he asked, annoyed.
The lady frowned, puzzled. "I don't know, Captain, she only—"
"No, no, no. I'm talking about you. Why would you want to help her? Why are you willing to risk your life for her?"
Dolores smiled. "At the most humiliating moment of my whole life, she didn't mock me as anybody else would've done. Instead, she treated me with respect and offered me her help."
Castillano leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Dolores held his eyes without a blink.
He studied her a moment longer and nodded, looking away. "Yes, that's what she does," he grunted.
"So you will help me?"
Castillano took his turn to frown. "And why would I want to throw my whole life and my career overboard, risking to be arrested for treason and sentenced to death? For her?"
Dolores' smile softened. "Because looks like you know she doesn't deserve to be tortured for months before being tied to a stake."
Castillano covered his eyes for a moment before rubbing his face again and snorting, resting his chin on his bruised fist. Dolores waited in silence, without offering him any assistance, any out of the battle inside his chest.
"In the unlikely case I agreed to help you," he said at last, lowering his voice and looking her straight in the eye, "I have no way to set all of them free. Maybe I could find a way to get to her after the priests take her, and I cannot even promise that."
Dolores nodded. "I understand. And I'm truly grateful—"
Castillano stood up roughly, as if she had slapped him, cutting her off. "Save your bloody gratitude," he snarled, and stalked away.
She watched him leave, utterly surprised, and needed a moment to understand he wasn't coming back.
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