The Duke & the Pirate Queen

by Victoria Janssen

  “There’s nowhere else you can go on this island. We are your only hope of survival, and it’s not a bad fate, not at all. The flowers make everything bearable. Or I could simply have you killed, to save us trouble.” Imena tensed at the old man’s casual tone. Perhaps he was a pirate, after all.

  Maxime didn’t look or sound rattled. “And then where would you be? You obviously haven’t been able to defeat your opponents with the people you have. We’re your only hope. You’re lucky to have found us. I can assure you, you won’t suffer from setting us free. The contrary, in fact.”

  “And what does your companion say? She’s no concubine.” Pauk’s dark gaze fixed on Imena. She bared her teeth at him.

  “My companion is united with me in this.”

  “What do you have to say for yourself, girl?”

  Imena met his gaze and said in her own language, “I say you’re very lucky he’s in charge just now, and not me. Or you would be short a testicle.”

  Pauk chortled. “I hope those knots are tight enough,” he remarked. He turned back to Maxime, but included Imena in his gaze. “So what’s to guarantee I will set you free after you’ve won?”

  Maxime smiled. “Why, your word. Because if you don’t announce our prize before the competition begins, we will not compete. I suspect the people here won’t think to protest if we entertain them first.”

  “What if you lose?”

  “I already told you that we would not.” Maxime beckoned one of the nearby women with his chin. “Untie us,” he said.

  Despite herself, Imena was impressed at the ring of authority in his voice, and the woman had already stepped forward before Pauk nodded to her.

  The woman loosened the knot tying Imena to Maxime first, then the ropes binding their lower legs together. Imena swung her legs beneath her and stood, cautiously flexing her muscles to send blood through her cramped limbs. Maxime stood with her, a little more awkwardly. In other circumstances, she might have remarked on his increasing age, but for now she only caught his eye and gave him a significant look. In return, he wrinkled his nose at her. He didn’t appear worried. Imena glanced back at their opponents, but was unable to see them anymore, they’d been surrounded by so many islanders.

  As soon as the ropes fell away from her arms, Imena stretched them, shaking out her arms until her fingers returned to life.

  “No coconut oil for us?” Maxime inquired.

  “That was not part of our agreement,” Pauk said. “Besides, we don’t pamper our warriors. Not like some.” He cast a contemptuous glance at their opponents.

  Longingly, Imena thought of running. It would be awkward in the sand, but if she caused enough upset, Maxime might slip away unnoticed. Belatedly, she remembered she wasn’t escaping. She glanced bitterly at Maxime, who shrugged and smiled ruefully as if he’d read her mind.

  The islanders brought forward whisks made of leaves to brush the sand and dirt from them. Two women then attempted to remove their clothing. Imena balked at the hands on the hem of her singlet, drew a deep breath, then took her cue from Maxime, who stood, arms outstretched until his shirt was taken, staring into space. Probably she was the only one who detected the faint tightness of his jaw, his lowered eyelids that shuttered his gaze from their captors. She felt a little better that he wasn’t as insouciant about this process as he’d appeared. They were together in that.

  When the islanders laid hands on her clothing again, she reminded herself she was about to expose herself considerably more in front of these people than a mere lack of clothing. She stared at the forest and submitted. When two men arrived and began massaging her shoulders and Maxime’s, she didn’t acknowledge them, either, even though she couldn’t help but appreciate the service. Being tied all night had been a miserable experience.

  Maxime’s hand closed over her elbow. He said to Pauk, “We need a moment to discuss our strategies.”

  Imena was astonished when she and Maxime were actually allowed to wander a short distance away, until she saw two men with spears just at the forest’s edge. “They haven’t said a word about Seaflower, and Pauk told us we had nowhere to go,” she murmured. “Surely they would have mentioned it by now if they’d found it. What’s our strategy going to be?” After they won, if they won, they would have to find a way to return to the ship without revealing its position.

  Maxime rested his hands on her shoulders, reminding her anew of his size and strength. He studied her face for long moments, then finally murmured, “I need you to get me through this.”

  “What?” That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Except…he had been acting strangely ever since he’d heard about the public competition. Was he truly nervous about it? Maxime?

  He said, “I’m trying to make it my choice to do this, our choice, but it’s difficult. I know you hate the idea of performing in public. I don’t want to burden you with my feelings, as well. But…” He looked at the ground, then back into her eyes. “Imena, I don’t want to do this, either. I know I’ve had dozens of lovers, I’ve even had three partners at once, but that’s not the same thing at all, nothing like being forced to show yourself and watched by strangers.”

  At first, Imena had thought he was cleverly distracting her by focusing her attention on him instead of her own fears. The more he spoke, the more she realized he was speaking truth; his eyes told her, and his voice, and the faintest trembling in his hands. She touched his face, stroking his bearded cheek with her thumb. His eyes closed, and he drew a shaky breath. Her heart twisted.

  She said, so he would not have to, “That happened to you. You were forced to perform for strangers.”

  He opened his eyes, looking into hers. He didn’t speak. He inclined his head just a fraction in affirmation.

  Imena felt the pain like a stab in the belly. She said, “You’ll look at me, not at them. That’s an order.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” he said. He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her brow, then let go of her shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back. “Order me again if that’s what’s necessary.” He drew a deep breath and began speaking again, quickly. “I think all we need to do is seem more sympathetic than our opponents. They seem to be taking too much advantage of their status, and likely that’s resented.”

  She noted his advice, but the competition had receded in importance. “Maxime—who—” Then she guessed. “When you were young, and a hostage for your duchy—did Camille’s father—”

  Maxime said, the words clipped, “I was of age, and he never touched me himself. That would have been illegal, as I still might be considered a peer under the law, and besides, I don’t think he had a taste for men.” He took a deep breath and spoke faster. “He only made me perform for his closest cronies, usually with one of the servants. I grew used to it. At least the servants were well paid for their extra duties.” He swallowed. “He did it because my distress amused him. I think, also, he wished to remind me of my status and prevent me from aspiring to his daughter.”

  Understanding the reasons behind his abuse clearly didn’t matter much to his emotions. “I’m sorry,” Imena said, though she was more angry than sorry. She slid her arms around his waist, pressing close to him. “I’m sorry that I…” She burst out, “I wish I could have killed him for you.”

  “That would have been too much honor for the duke,” he said, kissing her temple just as four large islanders dragged them apart.

  Imena struggled in her captors’ grips, more as a matter of form than a real attempt at escape. She had no desire to make this easy for them. Her thoughts focused more on Maxime’s revelations. How had she not known this? Did Camille know? Imena didn’t think so. The more she thought about it, the more she realized it was likely Maxime had told no one. No one but her.

  She could only see glimpses of him now; they were led in opposite directions, to make some sort of grand entrance. The drum had begun again, playing a fanfare rhythm she recognized from the peninsula. The flute soared above it, swoo
ping intervals like the tavern music of the empire. She tried to estimate how many islanders were present. Movement among them, plus new arrivals, meant she lost count after about thirty individuals. How had so many people been stranded here? She was sure there were not as many as a hundred from the two cadres combined, but perhaps there were sixty islanders, total. Surely there were no fewer than fifty.

  Some of the islanders were short enough for Imena to see over their heads. She peered toward the pavilion built for their opponents, but the crowd standing close around it obscured all but glimpses of flesh. She needed a few moments to discern that the two men seemed to be engaged in an unusually acrobatic position, making flamboyant use of upper-body strength. After a moment, she realized one man was holding the other upside down so he could suck cock in midair.

  Over the sound of the flute and drum, and the conversation of the crowd, she could only barely hear effortful grunts. She could easily ignore the sounds, so she did, bringing an image of Seaflower to mind instead, and carefully reviewing each repair task that remained, and the state of those already begun.

  When a spear butt prodded her, Imena blinked back to knowledge of her surroundings. She found Maxime. He was watching her. His usual expressions in uncertain situations, she’d learned, were either of affable charm or calm authority. She’d never seen this look on his face before: tightly controlled desperation, visible only in the tense wrinkle between his brows and the firm set of his lips.

  Even given those hints only, she knew this expression. Dozens of young sailors had passed beneath her command as a privateer and, later, as a semirespectable merchant captain. Maxime wore the face of someone about to enter a fight he wasn’t sure he could win. Someone who looked to his captain to lead him through.

  Imena caught his gaze with hers, and smiled.

  Tentatively, he smiled back, and in one breath more, his affable mask slid into place. But his eyes still sought hers repeatedly, even as they walked toward each other, while the islanders split apart to make an aisle for them.

  Pauk offered them flowers to eat. Maxime shook his head. Imena refused, as well. The crowd murmured at this, but the sound soon faded.

  Within a few steps she could smell the heaps of torn flower petals. She drew the sweet scent deep into her lungs, attempting to shut out everything else but the pavilion, and Maxime. Another step, and another. It was not at all like going into battle, as she’d feared. Maxime’s revelation to her meant it was like going to lie with a lover for the first time, when they would both see each other truly bare: a moment of breath-stopping decision, and then the leap.

  Just before she stepped beneath the pavilion’s shelter, her guards released her. She took a moment to rub her arms and rid them of the memory of those strangers’ touches, breathing deeply. She smiled at Maxime once more. Slowly, he rubbed his arms, as well, mirroring her action. She stooped and grabbed a handful of pink-and-orange petals, rolling them slightly between her palms. She rubbed them over Maxime’s chest and arms, then down his thighs and the tops of his feet, finishing by standing and stroking the petals lightly over his face, while he closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrance. After she opened her hands and let the crushed petals fall to the ground, he again mirrored her actions, though he let petals drift to the ground the entire time he stroked her body with them; she felt them like phantom touches that trailed his large, warm hands. He gathered new petals for her face, two large handfuls of them, and rubbed them over her short hair until sweetness filled her lungs. She closed her eyes and he crushed flowers against her forehead, her eyelids, her cheekbones, her lips.

  She was careful not to take any of the petals into her mouth, but even so, languor seeped through her body, loosening her muscles. She hoped the same was happening to Maxime. This would be easier for him if the edges of the experience were dulled.

  Pauk stood in front of the pavilion, ritually repeating to the islanders the same rules he’d told them already: the competitors would perform to the best of their ability. No tools were permitted beyond their own bodies. Competitors were given one hour, by hourglass. Imena barely listened. She breathed in flowers, and opened her eyes to Maxime, his expression unusually solemn. An orange flower petal clung to his beard. She brushed it away.

  Maxime turned more fully toward the crowd, and by that motion, drew all eyes. His eyes on Pauk, he lifted a brow. Pauk looked at Imena. She crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a privateer’s battle stare at him.

  Pauk turned back to the crowd. “If our champions are chosen the victors, they will be freed.”

  Noise erupted. Practiced at judging the tone of shouting crew, Imena thought most of the noise was protests, albeit slow ones. This might take some time. She went into the shady pavilion and sat down on the flower petals. They were soft and damp. After what they’d just done with the petals, they felt disturbingly erotic.

  Maxime sat next to her, his feet kicking a small cloud of petals into the air. He tugged on her arm and she leaned close, to hear him over the noise.

  “Sit on my lap,” he said. “I want to hold you. I feel as if I might float off.”

  She almost protested, before she remembered yet again what their purpose here was to be. She glanced out; several older islanders, from both groups, were clustered about Pauk, shouting. She turned her back on them and straddled Maxime’s lap. She’d done this once before, in her cabin, with his feet hitched to the deck, and their bodies roped together. This time, his arms roped her to him, and he buried his face in her neck.

  Imena shifted to be more comfortable, and to rub a little harder against his cock. She felt his hum of pleasure against her throat, followed by the soft touch of his tongue, then velvety hot breath and a slow, gentle pressure of his teeth as he bit a fold of skin.

  “Mmm,” she said, letting herself drape over him. Loosely, she clasped her hands at the small of his back. She couldn’t comfortably nibble his ear while he was biting her neck, so she settled for kissing whatever she could reach and rubbing her breasts against his chest hair.

  The sound of voices receded from her consciousness; she was reminded of a portside pirate tavern of her youth, where sailors with only a single night’s leave had fondled their partners in plain view, some of them even coupling in the darker corners. She’d been disturbed but aroused, as well, though at the time, she’d departed as soon as she’d realized everyone in the tavern was occupied with activities other than drinking.

  She could feel Maxime’s arousal tentatively growing and shifted her weight again to push against his cock. His breath stuttered and he bit the top of her shoulder, where she so often liked to bite him; she shuddered deep inside at the soft pressure. “A little harder,” he said in her ear, and tightened his arms around her. “I need the distraction.”

  “Kiss me,” she said. “I want your tongue in my mouth.”

  Maxime groaned, then chuckled breathlessly. “Oh, such words of devotion!” His mouth met hers, slanting and rubbing, before he pressed harder, opening her to him. Imena bit his tongue, but gently; his hands crawled up her back and splayed, as if trying to pull her completely within his body.

  Imena clenched her thighs around him as best she could, though she hadn’t intended to go so far, so fast. She remembered suddenly why: the competition. It hadn’t yet begun for them.

  She pulled her mouth away from Maxime’s and gasped for breath, only to realize that the crowd had fallen utterly silent.

  Maxime’s body tensed against hers. She leaned close to his ear and murmured, “No one can see you. I’m guarding you.”

  His hands moved, sliding up and down on her back, and she mirrored the action. “This is nothing,” he said in a low voice, as if reassuring himself.

  “Nothing at all. I’ll feed you a flower if you like.”

  “No,” he said. “I want to know what we’re doing. I want to know it’s you.”

  His direct words were like a sharp pain in her throat. She began feathering kisses on his face: the bridge o
f his nose, the sharp cheekbones above his beard, the corners of his mouth. For good measure, she pressed against his erection again, and was relieved to feel his breath gust out. “We’re doing this for diplomatic reasons,” she prompted.

  “And think of the advantages to be gained. New trade goods or…or…a fine duke I am. I need help. Tell me something else.”

  “New allies,” she said, nuzzling his ear. “Will you lie down for me?”

  “It’s begun, hasn’t it?”

  “I think so.” She kissed him briefly, hard. “I want to ravish you.”

  “That’s the sort of thing I like to hear. Anything you want,” he said. He kept his arms around her as they shifted and stretched out on the bed of flower petals.

  Maxime lay beneath her, his chest rising and falling with the nervous breaths he hadn’t been able to control. His eyes fixed on her, large and dark. They were such a soft hue, like well-steeped black tea, with a ring of cinnamon color around the outer edges of the iris. As she bent low over him, she could feel his panting breath on her skin. Supporting herself on her arms, she bent closer to his mouth, brushing her breasts against his chin.

  If she’d been less aroused, his beard might have been too prickly, but his quick breaths, his focused gaze, had made her skin ache to be touched all over. She shifted again and his mouth closed over her right nipple, drawing it out with his lips, then suckling, then drawing out again. She choked back a cry at the intense sensations that shot down her torso and twisted inside her womb. “Yes,” she whispered to him, unable to stop the words. “Please, don’t stop.”

  His hands lifted, cupping the sides of her breasts and holding them more closely to his mouth so he could easily tease one nipple and then the other. His thumbs brushed against her skin, maddening extra flickers of sensation that drove her arousal higher still. There was some noise behind her now, low voices in commentary, but she couldn’t discern what they were saying and really didn’t want to know. She shut the voices out and stared into Maxime’s eyes. She couldn’t remember if she had ever done that for so long a time before. She felt suddenly afraid, and to break the intensity bent to kiss his forehead and the corners of his eyes.