Page 24 of The Pirate Queen of Ruin
“Femme,” I mumble, “Pink is my favourite colour.”
This is the biggest closet I have ever seen. This is like a dream come true. Closet isn’t even the right word. This room has the same high ceilings as the foyers, and it is covered in racks on racks of clothes. There are styles of dresses and jackets and trousers I have never seen before. It’s like every London Fashion Week of all time uses this room for storage.
I’m snapped out of my daydream when clothes start falling from the sky. My blanket dress slips, and heat floods my cheeks.
“Incoming,” Nargol giggles in such a devious way that tells me she is going to be great fun.
There is something to be said about the whiplash of emotions I am going through. It’s definitely a trauma response of some kind, it has to be. Up until I was reborn, my sex drive was solely dedicated to my vibrator. I kept all my flirting and sex eyes to myself to keep my end of the contract in pristine condition.
And after my first meeting with Miles, any possible sexual interest I had in him died. The dick.
But now? Wild and free Delphini is ready to go. Another thing to clarify with the captain once I get a chance to speak with her. Does she want to keep our relationship closed or open? I’m getting ahead of myself, missing the biggest steps of the plan to make my soulmate love me.
The clatter of boots in front of me has me nearly jumping out of my skin as Nargol holds up two leather belts for me.
“Sorry,” she finally says, handing me the one with a silver buckle. “You’re really handlin’ this different than the last girl. Lakelynn didn’t speak to anyone for a whole month. Not that she really says much now.”
I have no frame of reference for who that is, so I focus on the clothes in my arms instead. Billowy white linen shirt with a pink ribbon detail, lacy sleeves, and decent-looking woollen trousers. No bra or panties, though. I look at Nargol and she looks back.
“This feels like something I shouldn’t have to ask for.”
“I can give you a stay and bloomers for now, but someone will have to order your delicates online later.”
I don’t know what a stay is, but I am nodding along all the same. The clothes she’s handed me aren’t for lounging around, and I doubt the captain is the type to relax. The girls and I are going to need at least a little support.
A stringy, pink panelled thing is tossed at me a few minutes later and I don’t have long to feel ridiculous about the first thing before thin white fabric slaps me in the face.
“Chemise, bloomers, then stay. The boning in that is minimal, so it should be fine for whatever job the captain assigns you. I imagine you’ll get put on the day shift in front of everyone. Too pretty for the night shift.”
My cheeks heat again, but Nargol is gone before I can ask her what she means by that or how the fuck I put on a stay. The door slams behind her and I clench my teeth. This is fine. I pull on the clothes, tucking the chemise into the trousers to add extra coverage between me and the array of buttons that close the front flap. The legs are baggier than I like and I have to roll the cuffs up, but they fit my booty well.
Once I have untangled the strings of the stay, it’s a bit more obvious how to wear one. It’s a soft, blush pink colour with delicate embroidered flowers in dark shades of pink. The entire garment looks hand-stitched and like it came right out of a Jane Austen period film.
It’s a whole experience organising my tits in a way that feels comfortable and secure. I tie it up the best I can, making a short bow in front of me so I don’t have to stretch to untie it later. Then I adjust the straps on my shoulder, which are longer than necessary and also have ties.
I pull the shirt on, cinching the ribbons at my wrists but opting to leave the top ribbon open to show off the detailed work of the stay. I don’t care if it’s the right way to wear this thing. My chest is heaving and pink is my confidence colour. It’s my armour and I will need that to face the soulmate who rejected me again.
Getting the rest of the clothes on is easy. I refuse to acknowledge how weird it feels to wear old underwear when I step out of the room. Back in the foyer, Nargol is now talking with someone else, and they do not look happy to see me. The woman seems ready to pull the fucking sword strapped to her side on me.
I blanch and scan the room again. There is a door not too far from me.
“Del…” she calls out.
No time to deliberate. I bolt for the door and grab an actual scabbard from the wall hook as I fling the heavy wooden door open. The heaviness of it throws me off, but I can’t think too hard about it in the dark. Two steps into the narrow hallway, and I feel it.
The boat rocks on the water, and my knees wobble. How the fuck did I not feel that earlier? How the fuck is there a hotel on this boat?
I stumble towards a set of stairs and grip the railing for dear life as I climb towards the light. Now would be a really great time for Love to reassure me that this is some magic monster shit.
On deck, there is a whole crew of people dressed as pirates working an old-timey sailing ship across the bay. There are rows of benches jam-packed with regularly dressed people as well. What fresh hell is this? My stomach rolls as the boat sways softly.
A woman hanging onto a rope flies above my head and lands in front of the benches like a superhero. She whips off a fancy feathered tricorne to reveal a shaved head.
Fuck. Me.
The captain bows in front of the cheering crowd, and as she begins to speak, her scowling face doesn’t once break into a smile as she talks about the history ofThe Princess’s Despair. I don’t catch a word of it. My eyes are trained on the corset she’s wearing under the heavy, adorned jacket swallowing her form. The teal colour is gorgeous on her sun-tanned skin, but the leather has my full attention. It is adorned with knives and perfectly outlines the shape of her breast.
She paces in front of the audience and then suddenly draws a sword from her hip. The crowd erupts into applause as a heavy drumbeat begins a slow cadence somewhere behind me. I can’t take my eyes off her to see what’s happening. Low and rhythmic singing floats through the air, and my dizziness moves from my stomach to my head. I step towards the audience on wobbly knees and wrap an arm around a mast. Words ripple through my head, and my neck feels heavy. The scabbard still clutched in my fist slips and I pull it into my chest.
