The Duke and the Pirate Queen. Victoria Janssen
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treated as a client state in all that mattered. As the son of a duke murdered for unspecified acts of treason, Maxime’s position had been precarious. One false move, or even a whim on the part of the king, and he would have been swept from power, perhaps even executed. For that reason, he had never married, and made certain never to sire an heir or indeed any child. He’d been left orphaned when his own parents were killed. He wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone, either the initial pain or the subsequent subjugation to another.
He’d wanted to be his own man when he proposed marriage, free to ask because it was what he wanted, not because it was required of him. He’d wanted to marry a woman of his own choosing, who would share in ruling the duchy with him, as his parents had shared. He wanted a lover and a confidante, and he wanted those things with legal status that no one could take away. He’d waited years for the privilege of marrying as he wished.
This business of being a duke was not all that he’d hoped it would be. It was more of a prison than a privilege.
When he was still merely a lord, his unmarried status had been allowed, and even encouraged. Now, though, the dukedom was restored to him. His marriage had become a matter of concern to the new king, a concern that grew steadily more pressing. Letters and messengers had been succeeded by the actual appearance of Diamanta as a potential bride, and he didn’t doubt other “choices” would soon arrive at his castle gates. He needed to marry soon, before the king took stronger action.
He would have to approach Captain Imena Leung.
For the thousandth time, he cursed himself for employing her soon after they’d met. If he’d known she would be so scrupulous about separating pleasure from her business relationships, he could have tried some other method to get to know her. It was too late now. He had to work with what he had, and if he wished to escape being married off like a virgin princess, he needed to work quickly.
He hadn’t wanted to rush something so important. Again and again he’d delayed, out of fear he’d make a mistake and lose any chance at her forever. Now he had no choice, and for that, he cursed King Julien as well as his own cowardice.
Captain Leung was due back in the duchy this week, after a visit to her parents in the Horizon Empire. He would speak to her then.
Captain Leung seized one end of her trunk and hauled it noisily across the bamboo decking. “I’ll visit in the spring,” she said.
Her father stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Let me call a servant to carry your trunk.”
“Quickly,” she said. She didn’t actually want to manhandle her trunk all the way across the palatial houseboat, up the stairs to the main deck and then down to the waiting cargo skip. She lowered it to the deck.
Her father smiled and gently stroked her arm with his large, callused hand. To most, his dark-skinned, elaborately tattooed face with its odd pale eyes was frightening; to her, impossibly dear. “Imena, you don’t have to leave just yet. Your mother and I—”
Imena crossed her arms over her chest. “It was her idea to marry me off.”
“Well, you are past thirty now, and—”
“Your marriage wasn’t arranged for you,” she pointed out. In fact, her father had been a prisoner of the imperial navy; his love match with her mother, his former captor, was still a scandal, decades later.
“That was different,” he said. “Utterly different. We want to do the right thing for you. We don’t want you to grow old alone.”
“I’d rather marry one of Mother’s lapdogs than one of that crew of—”
“Imena!” Her mother stood in the doorway, dressed in full regalia as an admiral of the fleet, looking much larger than she actually was; the immense pile of hair atop her head added to the illusion of size, but not as much as her posture and air of command. Three snub-faced dogs with silky black-and-white hair snuffled at the hem of her deck-length robe. The fourth flung itself onto a pillow on the deck, resting its head on its paws. “They are all respectable men,” she said. “You won’t have to suffer for your choice as I did. I had them investigated very carefully. Any one of them would make a fine husband for you.”
“I don’t want—”
“I spoke to all of them first, as well, and made sure to impress upon them how closely I’ll keep my eye on them,” her father said. He stroked the long knife he wore at his hip. “I’ve seen that these arranged marriages often work out well, much better than you would think at first. Most of the marriages in this port came about that way. If you would only reconsider—”
“I don’t want—”
Her mother interrupted. “You’ll never find a husband at sea, or among the foreigners. Be reasonable. Let us find a suitable man for you.”
Apparently, her mother’s own husband didn’t count as a foreigner. “I don’t want you to find a suitable man for me.”
Admiral Leung’s cheeks colored with anger. “Imena! I am your mother. It’s your duty to obey me in this.”
“As you obeyed your parents?” Imena asked. “I’ll see you both in the spring.” She bowed to her parents, stepped over her trunk, pushed past her mother and climbed up to the deck. She’d catch a ride in the cargo skip rather than wait for more formal transport.
At least on her ship people listened to her.
Three weeks later
Imena straightened her embroidered turquoise dress coat and brushed off the matching silk trousers as she emerged onto the deck of her ship, Seaflower. Her feet were bare, displaying their swirling wavelike tattoos, and she wore a long, jeweled dagger at her waist, a gift from her employer, Duke Maxime. She smiled. It felt good to be back in the duchy, where she was free of parental dictates. If only her mind could be free of them, as well. Her visit to Maxime should help. She always looked forward to seeing him. He was pleasant to look upon, and he wasn’t difficult to talk to, either. Under other circumstances, she might have tried to seduce him.
No, she would have tried. And knowing him as she did, she would easily have succeeded.
Imena’s handpicked sailors, both male and female, filled Seaflower’s narrow deck, chanting while they passed crates of mangosteens from hand to hand and thus onto the dock. She gave them a nod in appreciation of their efficiency, and went to the railing where her first mate waited.
Chetri smiled at her. His long, wavy hair was loose, rippling in the breeze, a sure sign of upcoming shore leave; normally he wore it tightly coiled at the back of his neck. “We’ll finish the offloading by this afternoon,” he said.
“Shore leave is port watch first, this trip.”
“Aye, Captain.” He grinned at her. “And may I say the captain looks … very clean and tidy?”
She laughed. “You may.” She ran her hand over her bare head. At sea, she rarely bothered to use a razor, but in port she made a point to expose the intricate blue, red and white designs tattooed on her scalp, each hard won in her youth as an imperial privateer. Like Chetri, she’d outlined her eyes with kohl.
Chetri wore tightly fitting trousers and a silver-embroidered vest that showed his muscular form and the black tattoos on his pectorals, circles within circles within circles, to good advantage. Silver rings cascaded along his earlobes; his neck was hung with bright silver chains, one of them suspending a medallion engraved with birds, another a cluster of black pearls. Another tattoo, this of a snarling monster’s face with a tongue of flame, marked out his hard-muscled belly. He needn’t worry that advancing middle age would deter anyone’s glances. She said, “May I offer the hope that my first mate is … lucky … on his shore leave?”
“You most certainly may. Now, be off with you, Imena, and do the pretty with His Grace. And may you be lucky, too. What’s his name again? Sanji?”
Her stern glare only