Hooked

I ride.

I ride hard.

I ride and ignore the branches that whip my face as I gallop through the forest —pushing the dapple grey mare that I stole from the palace to go yet faster still.

Because I know the harbour will soon be in view, and there, I stand a chance at escape.

And while I know that the sailors and vagabonds that occupy the space may pose a risk, it’s one I’m willing to take, given that the alternative means being returned to my recently betrothed — and that would undoubtedly be worse.

“Come on, girl,” I whisper. “Just a little bit further, please...”

As I round the bend, the sprawling port of Aramanthia comes into view, and at last I let myself hope, just a little.

Even if I have absolutely no idea what in the almighty Five Isles I’m going to do when I get there.

I resolve that the details can wait, though, as instead I focus on at least making it there before the soldiers that pursue me, can catch me.

I pull the mare to a sharp stop once we reach the entrance, then jump down and slap her rump — sending her on ahead in case she can at least throw off a few pursuers.

Turning, I look around, only to find the usually bustling port now…still.

Blazes, I probably do stand out a little.

An understatement, perhaps, given I stand dressed in a corseted white wedding gown, with my long auburn hair a mess of twigs, leaves, and a good deal of passing bugs.

And I don’t need a mirror to know my face is adorned with cuts and scrapes and more than a pig’s worth of mud.

Still. I was raised a lady.

Well, princess, to be precise.

And so, clearing my throat, I hold my head up high, and prepare to barter for passage. After all, if my father can do it, I certainly can.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Would any of you—”

My voice falls silent when the sound of the hunting horn blows, announcing the impending approach of palace guards, and every man, woman, and rat— scatters.

What the…?!

The hive of activity I’d halted by my arrival bursts back into life, then, as the entire port seeks to hide something, or someone, or better still, just...ship off.

“Wait, please, ” I say, trying to stop someone, anyone, from turning around on the spot.

“Get outta’ my way!” comes the first reply, accompanied by a shoulder barge.

I turn to another passing sailor, getting desperate. “Sir! If you’ll just—”

“Move it!” He barks, unroping his mooring.

“I have coin,” I beg, clutching at his arm. “I can—”

“I’d rather keep my head!” he snaps back, pushing me away.

And I don’t have time to be indignant at the unusually rough treatment. Because it seems the palace guards’ reputation is as fearsome as their King.

The King, ergh.

The man I was meant to marry today…probably right now, actually…

“ALL STAND TO ORDER!”

I curse when I recognise the sound of Tidas' voice. The King's cold, cruel and entirely bald-headed chief guard.

Blazes! Bloody, bloody blazes!

And with the palace alarm having sounded far quicker than I’d anticipated, and Tidas seemingly swift for a big man, I know I must jump back to action.

I try to find a place to hide and soon spy a covered rowboat next to the jetty — throwing back the cover.

“HEY! Find your own spot!”

Angry words from an angry woman greet me, though, along with a hard shove from her shaking hand, as I just about manage to stop from falling on my ass.

The clatter of hooves on the wooden planks of the jetty fills the air, then, as the guards come closer, and so, with nothing else for it, I dive behind a stack of open fish barrels.

Holy mackerel…literally…

I grimace when I slip on the gut-slick floor, gagging at the stench from the scraps as I scramble to press my back up against the cold, wet, rough wood of the fish barrels.

“FIND HER!” Tidas thunders from atop his horse.

And, with the rest of the world trying to mind their own business, or their own necks, I can only close my eyes, hold my breath, and wonder how in the heavens I ended up here…

*Yesterday*

“I honestly don’t know why you’re complaining, Willow,” my step-mother snaps, terse as ever as she sits at my side. “Most girls would be utterly giddy at the prospect of becoming a queen.”

“It was always your dream, Gwendoline, not mine,” I reply with a sigh, as I watch the forest pass by outside the window of our carriage.

My father, meanwhile, hangs his head out the other side…and vomits.

Again.

I'm not surprised, though.

He has a weak disposition at the best of times, and he never did fare well after a voyage, even if the journey from our homeland, of Nareolle, to here, in Aramanthia, was relatively short.

After all, the collection of Islands that make up our divided world are all close in proximity, yet until recently, ruled separately.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me, mother?” Gwendoline tuts. “Do tell her, George.”

“She’s right,” my father tells me, as he raises his head and shakily wipes his chin free of breakfast. “It's been long enough, time to move on. Your mother’s been dead a decade now, Willow.”

I roll my eyes. Because I don’t need a reminder of dates.

Ten years, four months, two weeks, a day and a handful of hours.

That’s how long it’s been since I lost my mother. And not a day goes by that I don’t think of her, and what she’d make of all this.

After all, when she passed, I was betrothed to Peter, Prince of Panthia, whose father ruled the kingdom next to ours.

And while a woman like me —a princess — can hold little hope in this cruel world beyond marrying well, given Peter and I had been friends since childhood, being wed to a friend would be far better than a stranger.

Or in this case, a tyrant.

For while there had never been a single ruler of the Five Isles, my current betrothed is determined to change that, and now controls three of the five kingdoms, including my own; with only Panthia, and the mysterious Nymphia, holding strong.

But in truth, I’m not sure how much longer either can resist King Crocus. A huge beast of a man with eyes of a hunter, manners of a pig, and a predatory reptilian smile that turned my warm blood cold.

Yet, still, on the night he invaded my land, I stood tall…even while my father bent the knee without so much as a pause.

Coward.

“You better not frown when we arrive,” Gwendoline grumbles as she notes my furrowed brow. “The King values your looks. Don’t ruin them before you’ve got that crown on your head and an heir in your belly.”

My stomach turns. Because while many may think being considered beautiful is a blessing. Some days, like today, I can assure them that it feels more like a curse.

“I want neither,” I mutter under my breath, still turned away from her.

From both of them.

“Argh, I give up with you, child!” She exclaims, exasperated as she throws her hands in the air, dramatic as always, and now shaking her head. “You are to be the wife of the King who’ll rule the Five Isles soon enough! Stop sulking, this is an honour!”

My eyes roll so hard this time they’re in danger of steering the carriage off course.

An honour?

What a joke.

‘The Wife of the Tyrant King’.

I’m sure there’s a story there somewhere…but it isn’t going to be this one.

For I may be a princess, but I'm certainly not precious. So, if I need to get dirty to get away — that’s what I’ll do.

I’ll take my chance, and I’ll make a run for it.

Because if I can get to Panthia, if I can get to Peter, he’ll help me. I know he will.

He’s my only hope.

And so, while Gwendoline prattles on and father vomits again, I carry on looking out of the window. And I count paces, and I note landmarks, so when I get my chance — and I always get my chance — I can make it back to the harbour, and I can escape...

*Back to the Present*

The sound of the horses being pulled up and a dozen boots hitting the jetty brings me back to the present, and my present problem, as I risk taking a glance.

With my back still pressed, I push up, look over my shoulder and peer over the top of the barrel…

Oh fuuuu…flying fish!

I curse (kind of) as I note the guards spreading out to search, and quickly drop back down.

I need to find a way onto a blasted boat…

“You okay there, princess?”

The smooth, almost sing-song voice from above makes me jump, as I look up to find a handsome ash blonde sailor leaning his ass against the barrels.

His long hair held back by a red bandana as he folds his big arms, and seems to be addressing me — while keeping his vibrant green eyes on the soldiers.

Well, eye, given he wears a patch over one.

“I’ve had better days,” I mutter.

“Ha!” He chuckles lightly, then sighs, smiling. “Get in the trunk.”

I double-take up at him. “What?!”

“The trunk,” he repeats, casually flicking his head back, where I follow and see a large open trunk just ahead of me. “Get in.”

I stare, then scoff, almost laughing in disbelief. “No chance!”

“Lovely day, officers!” he calls and waves to some of the guards, with a playful smile, and a stick that he twists lazily between his teeth.

“Sssshhhhh!” I hiss...before noting the guards that'd been approaching my side stop — and turn their attention to him, rather than see me.

“Argh, fine,” I grumble through clenched teeth, crawling over to the trunk and getting inside. “I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

Some commotion across the harbour seems to momentarily distract the guards again, as the sailor scoffs, then mutters.

“It’s about to get a whole lot worse, princess — brace yourself.”

“What?”

Before I can question his meaning, he kicks the barrel he was leaning on over, so that the fish land perfectly on top of me, and the lid closes at the same time.

Oh my heavens!

I lay there in the dark, surrounded by slimy fish. And I retch and I wriggle, and instinctively reach for the lid — ready to push it open.

“What’s in the trunk?”

Muffled voices above me make me pause, and listen.

“Well, it’s a harbour…”

I recognise the sailor’s voice.

“…what you think’s in there? Fish.”

“For what?”

I know that voice too now — Tidas.

“Your mother’s breakfast,” the sailor replies. “She’s back on board waiting for me to come back to bed and—”

The sound of fist on flesh makes me wince, as the guard growls. “Open it, smart mouth.”

Oh blazes…

Heavy boots come closer, and I find myself shrinking back — as if the bottom of the trunk may open up and let me hide further.

And suddenly very grateful for these fish.

Even if I want to vomit.

Slivers of light then puncture through as the lid lifts…and I stay motionless. Not even sure if my heart is beating now as I wait to be discovered.

“See, fish,” the sailor says, “So, good luck with whatever you’re looking for — we’ll just be on our way.”

There’s an ear-piercing whistle, then, followed by the sound of more boots coming forward.

A shadow casts over the trunk, I assume as the sailor moves to close it as his crew arrives.

“Not so fast,” Tidas snaps, and the buckle on his overly large black boots rattles when he steps right up to the sailor. “Do I know you?”

The scruffy blonde sailor shakes his head, then shrugs.

“Just got one of those faces, sir.”

Tidas doesn’t move.

The sailor simply smiles.

And Tidas breaks first, with a snarled instruction, “Search it.”

Without pause one of the other guards moves, upends his rifle, and uses the butt of it to poke inside the trunk.

I bite down to stop from crying out. Suddenly very grateful for my petite frame, and soft curves.

Owwwww…!

Even if it still hurts.

“TRAITOR!” a guard roars in the distance.

The declaration, followed by a gunshot, sounds from across the harbour, as a wanted felon from the posters is seemingly caught, and there’s a rush of activity.

“Alright,” Tidas says, pocketing the map while drawing his pistol, ready to enter the melee, and not giving the sailor another look as he starts to leave. “Get out of here.”

“With pleasure…” the sailor mutters, as the lid slams shut on me again, and darkness descends again.

I draw a long breath of something like relief. But, that's short-lived, as I feel the trunk being lifted off the ground with grunts and groans of protest…and the smell, and the stress, start to overwhelm me.

No...

A different darkness takes hold then, as I realise I am slipping into unconsciousness, with no idea where I’ll be when I wake. Or even if I’ll wake. But, still, even as any light fades, I resolve that it can’t be worse than being bound to the tyrant king.

Right?