The Cursed

Chapter One

Lilura

I wasn't his. I could be free, I could leave right now. The three thoughts swirl in my head like a broken record. I wasn't his. I could be free, I could leave right now. I look at myself in my mirror. My pale skin contrasts my inky hair, which just causes me to look paler, too pale. I believe that in death, my skin will not change. I brush out my hair in long strokes, after the brush threads through the strands, it pops back into its curls. I wasn't his. I could be free, I could leave right now. So why don't you? I stopped brushing my hair. My fingers frozen and my mouth parted. I inhale slightly before shaking my head. He needs me, I should stay. For him. I don't know why the thought twirls through my mind. I don't know who I'm thinking of. The thought feels more like a distant memory then a reassurance I need currently. The thoughts leave me like a wind picked them up and they are twirled through the air. A knock reaches my ears, dancing through the cabin.

"The Captain wishes to speak with you," a voice calls. It belongs to my private guard, Alan. I giggle. The Captain needs me. I skip to my closet and twirl a piece of my hair around my finger once. Twice. What to wear? "Lilura , please hurry. He's waiting," Alan says louder, pounding his fist against the door. I giggle in triumph, finding a dress hidden in my closet. It's a tight, red dress that's velvety to the touch and flows onto the ground, dragging behind me and seeming to leave rose petals in its wake. I put it on, and twirl watching the train spin out around me. Placing a gold headpiece whose crystals hang onto my forehead and onto my hair, I open the door. Alan scowls.

"You will have to be quicker. He gets impatient," he growls. I wave an airy hand.

"Science must grace your lips, for he called for me and I will come at my own will," I whisper, walking out of my room and onto the deck filled with men. One ties ropes tight while another heaves barrels to and from the kitchen. The buzz of voices silences as I step out. Then the whispers begin.
"I heard she's the queen."
"...she's crazy"
"...can't be cured."
"Captain's trying."
I giggle paying no mind at the accusations. I know I'm not crazy and I know I'm not Queen. How wrong could they be about me? Haven't they dined with me for months, have they not been listening to my tales? I sigh and continue to the Captain's study. I knock once before entering.

"Your royal Captain, how may I serve you?" I ask and bow before giggling. The Captain's usually dark eyes are clear. They're like a sky in the morning, filled with dew and a promise of a good day. He smiles. He looks tired with bags under his eyes and an unshaven face. I wonder what ails him so.

"Don't call me royal or Captain. That's not a title needed with you," he says. His voice is rough like sandpaper, but it smoothes out with a sweetness like honey sending shivers down my spine.

I twirl around his cabin, arms outstretched. Dancing to the sound of his voice.

"But my Captain are you not in charge of this ship?" I say twirling to face him. My dress continues to twirl, wrapping around my legs.

"I am."

"So should I not honor that as a passenger aboard your ship?"

"Any other passenger should, but not you," he says. He walks to me and lifts my small hand in his rough and calloused one. He presses his lips to it. "Please sit, we have business to discuss." I pout, pouring my body onto the chair across from his desk. He walks around the large oak desk to sit in his chair. I hum, looking around the room. It's just as I remembered from yesterday. The swords gleam on the wall and behind the Captain is a large window where the sea sits gleaming just beyond the glass. He clears his throat, calling my attention. I swing my head to face him. His eyes are bright with amusement, still clear.