Of Royals & Pirates

III • All Aboard

When he breathes, a sharp sensation fills his ribs like blade puncturing his lungs. The pain jolts Albert awake. He breathes frantically, genuinely surprised to feel the pain gone.

"Lay down," a girl instructs. She has eyes of emerald, her crew-cut ash blonde hair matching the prominent cheekbones flawlessly. Her gaze is both gentle and strong. He has no choice but to obey.

Albert contemplates over a bunch of thoughts. So much must've happened overnight... that is, if it had only been a night. The reality crashes down upon him, forcing a raspy cough out of his body. "What happened?" he struggles.

"Found you on deck. On the verge of death. It's been two days since we found you." The girl appears unbothered as she states fact after fact. She gives him a small smile and reaches for a small cup on the bedside table. "I'm Marisol. I had to undress you. You were wounded pretty bad."

He nods curtly, taking the cup. The liquid inside tastes sour and bitter, but he tries his best not to choke over it. It emits a rather relaxing scent, however, like freshly brewed tea.

"That's the medicine for the poison," Marisol adds. "The arrow you got shot with was covered in poison. It almost killed you, if it weren't for the stuff and antidote we had."

"We?" He finishes his drink and places it down on the table, inhaling deeply.

"I and my crewmates, see," she grins. "We worked our asses off tryin' to bring you back to life."

"Oh."

"Might be a great shock, but you're okay up here. On our ship."

"I need... to go back home."

Marisol sighs and stands to her feet, sorting through a cabinet across the room. From Albert's position, he can see the jars, vials, and several parchments rolled neatly inside. She produces a parchment, more yellow and old than the others, and goes to him.

"You see, it ain't so easy," she deadpans. Albert sits upright and stares at the lines and shapes and the notes scrawled on it, realizing that it's a map. "We found you in Catalonia. Right now, we're on the open ocean right here." She points to an empty spot marked "Drinham Ocean", a couple of inches away from Catalonia's coastline.

"I can't go back?" he chokes, unable to form a more decent sentence.

"Not for now," Marisol sighs. "We'll head to a nearby port on the island of Neuveu. Restocking. Getting some payment before sailing back."

"After Ne-Neuveu... Then we'll go back to Catalonia?" It sounds more of a plea than a question.

"I hope so, yes. There are lots of stuff to think of, see. Like the weather. And the people."

"Alright..."

"I know it's still a big shock to you, but you're okay now," Marisol comforts him. "Eat some food and wear some clothes from the wardrobe. Your fancy suit got torn up real bad. Meet us later outside."

Albert nods. Marisol takes this as her cue to leave, casting one lingering glance at him before shutting the door. The atmosphere becomes serene, save for the more apparent rocking of the ship on open water. Great.

Albert checks the bandages wrapping his left shoulder and arm. He feels no pain whatsoever and he intends to keep it that way.

He eats a warm bowl of bland porridge, set on the bedside table. It isn't as nice as Emeri's dripping cream on beef dish or the regular broth served for breakfast in the palace, but it eradicates the last of his starvation and lets warmth settle in his stomach.

Albert finds a white cotton shirt and loose grey pants from the wardrobe, as well as his shoes from last night devoid of any mud stains. He slips into them, glad that Marisol — or her crewmates — made an effort to save his pair.