The Pirate Queen

Chapter 27

It took Eric both too long and not long enough to get back to the Dauntless. Jora was surprised to see him, as was the rest of the crew, but no one asked him any questions. No one spoke to him at all. Not until he and Jora were alone in Ariel's cabin.

"So? What happened?"

Eric rubbed at his temples and collapsed onto the couch. "Ariel got nominated as the Pirate King. And the pirates want to go to war."

Silence.

Jora didn't say anything, make even a sound. He slowly sat next to Eric, pressing his knee against his friends. "So she sent you back here to get you out of the room."

Eric's head snapped up and he glared at Jora. "That's what you have to say? Don't tell me she told everyone on this fucking ship the plan except for me, and just dragged me along so she could keep an eye on me. Is that what all this is? A fucking test of loyalty?"

"No!" Jora grabbed Eric's arm to keep him from standing up, squeezing it hard. "No, Eric, I kind of came to the conclusion on my own based on those two sentences. I think she does trust you, but she doesn't trust the other lords and how they'll react to you being there. And for godsakes Eric, she just became crowned the King of Pirates."

Eric slumped back in the cushions, feeling more drained than he had in weeks. "I know," he whispered. "I know."

And he was still so proud of her. Proud of her moves, her decisions, her strength. He was just frustrated that he couldn't do more for her. Do more to make all this shit go away. And they hadn't even gotten the tea and spices yet!

"What else happened?" Jora pressed gently. Eric told him everything about the meeting from their arrival to the moment he left.

The anxieties he'd been pushing down came flooding back and he held his head in his hands. "What am I going to do, Jora. How am I going to face the King at that table, on the opposite side I left on?"

Eric tugged at his hair, pulling it at the roots. Jora gently touched his wrist and pulled his hands away from his scalp and held on, forcing Eric to look at him. "You're going to face him as Crown Prince Eric von Wilhelm, first in line for the throne of Darmken. You're going to face him as a man. A man who has traveled halfway around the world for the sake of saving his country and his people. You face him as a learned man. You face him as your own person, not a castoff of his shadow."

There was a time,when Eric was seventeen and he got sick with pneumonia during the summer. It was terrible, he was bedridden for two weeks while doctors scrambled to keep him alive. In those two weeks, Christian came to see him at least once day. Not always for long, but he always came. He would sit beside Eric's bed and stare out the window, or the star map above his desk, or anywhere but at Eric's pale and sweaty face.

Christian didn't always talk either, but there was one night that Eric was feverish, the nurse had left to get more water, and told the King to hold the cold washcloth to Eric's forehead.

The King had gotten closer to the Prince than Eric could remember in years. He sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the washcloth tenderly to his forehead, dotting his brow and frowning deeply. Eric was in and out of conscious every few seconds, minutes, he was so out of it.

But he remembered, more vividly than anything, Christian running his fingers through Eric's damp hair and humming a lullaby Cordelia would sing when he was a baby. He cut off before the end and let out a long, wet sigh.

"Eric, I don't know if you can hear me, but I need you to pull through this buddy. I can't- I can't lose you too." There had been a long pause, the only sound in the room Christian's breathing as he continued stroking his hair. "You're better than I am, Eric. Better than I deserved. You and Delia. Just pull through."