3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Dominick

“ D id ye run a good rig?” Veeto asked as I leaned against a barrel near the docks.

I twirled my knife in my hands, not looking up at him. Sands and I had been incredibly successful. He had already made it back to the ship, while I waited to speak with Veeto.

“ Aye , I always do,” I said with a smirk and a sloppy shift. It was obvious that my speech was never even near as pirate-like as my uncle’s. I blamed it on the fact that I had to play the part of the Prince, at times, which was important to Captain Veeto. I was sure he wouldn’t agree to anything unless it benefited him in some way. Truly, his question was ridiculous. I had never once been caught. He knew that. I shifted, sloppily again, just like I always did while playing a pirate, another costume I had to wear, but the one that felt more natural than all the others after so many years.

“Are ye already three sheets to the wind? Ye better ‘ave acted like a prince,” he snarled. He thought I was drunk, but that didn’t bother him as much as the possibility of me messing up my role as Prince Dominick. He did not like my heritage on my mother’s side, but because of my lineage, I could gain entrance into royal palaces, which he could never enter. He should have been thanking me; I would not hold my breath for that one, though. I did not need his thanks. All I needed from him was to have him tolerate me, not kill me, until I had escaped from his ship and crew.

And leave it, I would.

“ Aye , the best prince in all the lands!” I said with a smirk, looking directly at him.

His face twisted into more of a scowl. I acted as if I did not notice the change in his countenance, pretending to adjust the princely jacket I wore.

“If ye were smarter than a barnacle, ye wouldn’t ‘ave killed me brother, would ye ‘ave–aye?” he said with a laugh.

I couldn’t even count the number of times he had brought up my father in that way. At first, it was jarring. I was weak back then, but I had become stronger, and at that moment, I felt very strong. But he never needed to know that. I pulled out the small bottle of drink I always kept in my pocket and took a swing. It wasn't a strong drink, though, and it wouldn’t chase away the pain at all, but it was important that he, and everyone else, thought it was. Being a drunken pirate was the part, the persona, I kept up when I was around my uncle and his crew.

As I let the water slide down my throat, I noticed his smile–a cruel and satisfied smile–upon his lips, showing a rather impressive top row of golden teeth, teeth that Sands wanted to steal, having mentioned it to me dozens of times. Veeto acted like he hated my “drinking,” but the truth was, he was satisfied, because he thought I drank because of all the terrible things he said to me. It wasn’t; I didn’t drink. That smile of his was how I knew I had convinced him of my lies.

Yes, Veeto was my uncle, and my late father’s older brother. He had come to the kingdom of Walden, when I was just a lad of eight years. He took me aboard his ship and told me that he would teach me how to sail like my father. Being so young and without a father, when I met my father’s brother, I was excited to spend time with him and learn about the sailing life, which my father had loved. Father’s death had been difficult for my whole family, but I knew it was even more so for my mother. Before boarding Veeto’s ship, I had no idea that leaving my home and going with him would mean I would never return to Walden, nor would I return to my mother and my younger brother, Peter.

“Aye, Cap, you are right,” I finally said although I hated admitting I had killed my father.

What I had done to my father was something to hate, especially because I was his son. I should not have blamed my mother for sending word to my Uncle Veeto, asking him to come and take me away. She told him that the sight of me, because of what I had done, was too painful for her to endure any longer.

When I was a child, I believed that everything was fine between my mother and me. Of course, I hated what had happened between my father and myself, yet I always remembered my mother’s soft words to me one day as I was crying over it.

“It is not your fault. I love you. He loved you.”

She was a better liar than I was, I had come to realize. All those comforting words? The love she had shared with me? It had all been a lie. Over time, those memories which I had clung to early on, the ones that caused me to believe that my uncle had lied to me about my mother’s hatred for me, eventually faded. It was obvious that she really hated me.

Could I blame her?

No, but I did blame her for the life I was then living, a life she had sent me off to live with my vile uncle.

“What did ye pilfer?” Veeto asked, scratching his filthy beard as I capped the bottle and put it back in my coat pocket.

I leaned a bit to the left, then to the right, pretending to lose my balance for a moment. “Aye, where is it—” I said, feigning confusion. “It was right here–” I continued as my thoughts raced, filled with those memories that I tried not to dwell upon.

I was sure that if my mother truly loved me, she would have never sent me away with Veeto. No mother or father who loved their child would send them off to live with a villain like him.

Stop. Do not think about her, I tried to force myself.

It had always been like that. Whenever I sent my mother a letter, it always caused me to think too much about her and about my old princely life, missing my younger sister, Layla, as well as my younger brother, Peter. He would be around seventeen. Does he wonder why I never come back to Walden to visit? I hope he is happy, I thought.

Stop it, I argued with myself. That is not my life anymore, even if I pretend every once in a while that it could be. I am not a prince.

Veeto grunted with irritation at my act. “It’s by ye feet, ye land-lubber!” he scowled, picking up the bag and pulling it over his shoulder.

“Aye! There it is; you had it,” I said with another sloppy movement. “Did you send the letter?” I asked Veeto as he turned to leave.

You are so weak.

“Aye,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at me.

That was the only true weakness I had ever let him know about me. I hated myself for it every single year when I sent my mother another letter. I knew that after eleven long years, she would never write back to me. But something inside me wanted her to know that even though she had ignored me, she still had another son, a son who was out there in the world, doing her bidding. Even if she didn’t send anything back to me, I hoped my letters brought her at least a little pain—a reminder of what she’d done to me, her eldest son.

She sent letters to Veeto, directing me to royal events that she wanted me to attend. I would never have attended any of them if it wasn't for the fact that royals were always wealthy. Veeto had been the one who explained that benefit to me, many years earlier.

I’d been taught by my parents when I was young that lying, stealing, and cheating were wrong.

But what if that was the only way to survive? I was a part of a pirate crew that pillaged and plundered every chance they got. I was among the worst sorts of men imaginable, and I was one of them, and I was very good at being a pirate.

“Not a large bounty,” Veeto snarled, as he dug around within the bag.

“I was watched while in Thorn. Princess Briar is rather observant. Also, we have an addition to the crew.” I was a bit worried about what he would think of that; however, I, of course, feigned confidence.

Veeto turned to look at me.

“Who?”

“Have you ever heard of The Grimm?” I asked with a slight shift of posture, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Aye, I ‘ave; he be that knight from those Torren tournaments?”

“The same. He asked for passage down the Eastern Sea.” I shifted again. “The Sorran port is his destination. I would not have let him come, but he was desperate, and he paid handsomely for it. Plus, while in Sorra, I am certain to find a few golden objects.”

Veeto smiled when I said that; he liked money and treasure as much as any pirate.

Sorra was the land of the Jinn. Not many of the cursed kingdoms even knew that these Jinn existed, but we pirates? We knew, because where there were Jinn, there was also gold to be found. I knew it was an easy sell as long as Veeto knew we had already been paid a hefty sum with even more gold on the way. That was one of his weaknesses, and the one I exploited as often as I could in order to get what I desired. He did not need to know that I took more than half of the treasure for myself, already, and had stashed it away. I was so close to being able to purchase my own ship. In a few years, I would get my own ship and crew, and then I would set off on my own, well, with Sands of course. But first, I wanted to go back to Walden and demand that my mother speak with me, let her see what she had created in me.

I had only one hope at making that happen, short of breaking into her chambers in the middle of the night and forcing her to face me, which would have landed me in the dungeons for certain, and I had no desire to be held prisoner ever again. No, the way I wanted to return to Walden was to bring Layla with me, her precious lost daughter. If I could find my sister, Princess Layla of Walden, and bring her home, my mother would have to speak with me. I had a few things to say to her. And she would have to thank me, possibly even apologize. I would let her, and then just turn and walk away. Just as she had done to me.

I smiled. That will be a sweet revenge , and it was the only thing I wanted, short of my own ship, and getting as far away as I could from Veeto, of course. His death? That would be wonderful, too. Men like him should not exist.

In time.

“Where is he?” he asked with impatience.

“He’s coming later tonight,”

“Stay and wait. I want his coin.”

“That is the plan, Captain,” I said with a mocking, drunken salute.

I watched as my uncle walked off with the bag of stolen goods over his shoulder. His graying hair looked white in the moonlight. He had a hunch in his back, another weakness I could exploit if needed. However, he was quite deadly, sometimes even without getting his own hands dirty. I had seen him kill many men for an assortment of reasons. His temper was rather volatile; he told me that my father had been even worse.

I looked down at my black, leather-gloved hands, clenching and unclenching my fists. Like father, like son. The jacket I was wearing made me hot, and it itched. I pulled it off, and it felt like I was shedding a layer of skin, a layer I no longer wanted.

After all, I was not Prince Dominick of Walden. I was a dirty, wicked pirate.