This story is being republished on wattpad! The whole series in already on Amazon and Smashwords! Enjoy :D
A chain and a collar can imprison a nobleman, but what could entrap a devil?
Only the innocence of a fallen angel.
Once upon a time, there was...
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∞ Ace's POV ∞
It was well past dinnertime, the sun sinking low on the horizon, casting a fiery red hue that stretched across the sky. The moon had already claimed its place, high above. Just when the crew thought they had evaded the captain's attention for the night, he emerged from his cabin. Some of the crew members who desired a drink under the moon scattered, finding solace in the hull or farther away on the quarterdeck.
I took a step forward, accompanied by a handful of brave souls: Nash, Lou, J, Yeagar, Baril, and a couple others. We stood ready to carry out his commands, prepared to unleash havoc upon his order. Higher up, Maren perched in the crow's nest, gripping onto a rope. He was poised and alert, not yet willing to leap into the unknown chaos unless summoned.
As I passed the cabin with its door still ajar, I cast a glance inside and caught sight of Nyx lying covered on the bed. Most likely fast asleep, for I doubted he would lie awake with the bedsheets only covering his middle. I also noticed that the cloth I had carefully wrapped around his wound was now bloodier and looser. I suppose he had... well, put some strain on his foot. If he kept risking to open those stitches, I'll be more than happy to have the needle torture him again.
I sighed, realizing I had no reason to feel angry. Their relationship had never been a secret to me from the beginning.
I wanted to inquire about Nyx's well-being. Then the image of Agenor kissing him flashed in my mind. I shook my head inwardly. Damn, I could use a drink right about now...
Taking a step closer to the captain, I spoke, "I wasn't certain if you were still awake, so we held off on serving dinner."
His response came in the form of an impatient, angry nod. I could sense the tension on the deck; no one enjoyed his silence. He was undoubtedly furious, yet remarkably composed given the circumstances.
He stood there silently, arms half-folded on his sides. His posture remained erect, and his breaths were heavy. His gaze swept slowly across the surroundings, a glare that refused to settle on faces or objects.
We all stood motionless, holding our breath. The crew could feel the rage swirling within him, aware that he was deep in thought, perhaps struggling to maintain control. It wasn't entirely surprising; someone had dared to touch what belonged to him, yet he hadn't exacted his revenge. Today, something extraordinary occurred, almost like a miracle—lives were spared.
As much as we relished witnessing a satisfying revenge, it always unsettled us when one of our own became the target. The spectacle didn't hold the same appeal if we knew the unfortunate soul on the receiving end.
On Martina, a range of emotions filled the air. Some crew members rejoiced at the sight of their comrades still alive. Others lamented either the spectacle or the loss of a certain bet. And then there were those of us who desired nothing more than for the captain to remain as he always had been and always would be—the personification of the devil. Unbound by any earthly constraints, he ruled above our feeble human laws. I counted myself among them, standing faithfully by his side, driven by the ambition to witness his dominion and glory expand.
