Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,76
instantly.
“What’s your name?” the captain asks, stopping in front of him.
Sail struggles to raise back on his knees, his jaw clenching as he looks up, defiant and bruised. “Sail.”
At his answer, Captain Fane tips his head back and laughs. “Reds, did you hear that? We finally got a Sail for our sail-less ships!” Mean amusement floods the icy plains. Red flames flicker through the black night.
“Alright, Sail. You have something to say? You must, since you hollered out like a cat in heat.” More pirates laugh, and Sail’s pale cheeks probably would’ve blushed if they weren’t already chapped and red with cold.
But he doesn’t cower. He looks up at the captain, expression soaked in hatred. The Barrens go quiet, as if watching, every eye trained on the scene.
Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything, Sail.
But Sail doesn’t stay silent. “I said, don’t touch her,” he repeats, his tone livid. A band around my heart constricts.
Captain Fane chuckles as if amused. “Look, Reds. We got a brave one, here. How rare for Midas’s army.” The pirates laugh. The other kneeling guards hang their heads, humiliation and cruelty falling on them alongside the snow.
But Sail’s fingers curl into fists in front of him, his gaze steady. “She’s the king’s favored. He’ll pay handsomely for her if she’s returned to him unharmed. Despite what you said, Midas will pay much more for her than anyone else. He’s the only one that has the means to.”
“Aye, the king with the golden-touch,” Captain Fane says with a jeering, bitter edge at the mention of Midas. Hate. There’s hate there in his tone. And maybe envy.
“Perhaps it’s time that the king learned a lesson,” the captain muses. “Time to ensure that there’s something that he can’t buy. In fact, maybe I’ll even just keep her for myself, to make sure of it.”
Sail starts to open his mouth, but he’s silenced as the captain lowers himself, bending down until he’s directly in front of Sail, eye-to-eye. Brown to blue. Cruel to kind. His fingers skim over the snow, lazily collecting some of it in his bare palm, piling it up with bored movements.
“Now listen very carefully,” Captain Fane begins, his voice low but loud enough to hear. “I’m going to fuck her. Wherever and whenever I wish.” He says it conversationally, easily, as if he were only talking about the weather. “I’m going to use her. Break her,” Captain Fane goes on, completely uncaring when Sail begins to shake with fury.
A shaken sob totters through my throat, slips past my lips.
“I’m going to cut off some of her pretty hair and send it to Midas in a pretty box, because it will amuse me to taunt him. Perhaps I’ll even take the hair from her golden snatch.”
Captain Fane reaches up, the snow he gathered piled high in his cupped palm. He drops it onto Sail’s bare head with a taunting slap, making my guard wince from the cold. Slabs of it slip over his face before dripping off, landing on his already soaked pants.
The captain gathers more snow.
“And after I’m bored with her—who knows when that will be—I’ll sell her to whoever will give me the highest price. But that won’t be for weeks. Maybe even months.”
Another handful of snow is dumped on Sail’s head. Some flakes stick to his hair, some slip down the back of his shirt to soak against his shivering spine. All while Captain Fane drinks in Sail’s expression, like a cat toying with a mouse, and the Red Raids watch, red bands like gaping, bloody grins.
“She’s going to be nothing but a gold, cum-filled husk by the time I’m done with her.” Sail flinches, shaking now so hard, and even his teeth can’t stop their violent chatter. My heart pounds and hammers, like it wants to burrow down, to tunnel itself down into a chasm, hiding far below.
Another pile of snow is collected in the captain’s palm, constant, methodical. “But you won’t care about any of that. And do you know why?” he asks, dumping another heap over my guard, my friend.
Sail’s head bows, as if the weight of it—this chilled humiliation—is growing too heavy.
Slowly, as if that’s all he was waiting for, this forced capitulation, the captain gets to his feet. He dusts the rest of the snow off his hands. My heart continues to hammer. Beating against my ribs, begging.
“You won’t care,” Captain Fane goes on, looking down at him. “Because you’ll be dead.”