I wrote this short story as part of a contest-slash-gift with my siblings. The idea was to all write stories following the same prompts, and then give the resulting collection to my parents for their anniversary. Only three of the seven of us actually finished, but I was rather pleased with the end result for mine, even if it’s a bit bizarre in places thanks to everything I was required to include!
When my siblings and I have story contests, each of us gets to choose one element that all stories must include. I try to somewhat monitor that so that it’s not completely impossible, but it’s always a fun challenge to incorporate everything. This time around, we had to include a character with a hidden/secret identity, an overly dramatic style, a Scotch highlander, pirates, weird romance (?), dragons, and “a house with people in it.” They’re all present to some extent in The Pirate Queen, but this story definitely stretched my writing abilities! Let me know what you think in the comments below.
On board the frigate Mermaid
3 April 1712
“It’s foolproof,” Felix Lombard said, shoving his tricorn hat back on his forehead and narrowing his one remaining eye. “Nothing could go wrong.”
Callista had her own opinions on that, but three hours of argument with her father hadn’t gotten her anywhere. “Fine. But if something does go wrong—”
“Nothing will go wrong.”
“—you’re bailing me out.”
He eyed her for a moment, his blue eyes dark under the shadow of his hat brim. Then he nodded and stuck out his hand. Far from convinced, Callista shook. They were too close to the Isle of Dwelt to turn back now—and anyway, she knew her father well enough to know this was one argument she wasn’t going to win.
Content, Felix strode off to begin bellowing orders at the crew. Callista grinned as the frigate began to pick up speed, ducking into her cabin to get ready.
Off went her breeches and her loose white shirt, replaced by several layers of petticoats. Callista couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress, let alone a petticoat, and it took some effort to get it properly arranged. Finally, she was satisfied, and reached for the silk gown—excessively ruffled, in Callista’s opinion—spread out on her cot.
Cannonfire boomed outside her cabin, and she ducked to look out the porthole. Another ship, flying the royal flag of Dwelt, was just visible through the smoke outside, and she grinned before straightening and pulling the gown over her head. When she glanced out the porthole again, the frigate was gaining rapidly on the princess’s ship. Only a few minutes till boarding. Callista glanced in the grimy mirror and patted her braided bun. A few dark curly strands of hair had worked their way loose, but that would only add to the authenticity when she washed up, half-drowned, in Dwelt.
A shout came from above, and Callista glanced out the porthole to see the princess’s ship only a few feet from the frigate. A shadow passed over the water below, and she peered up to see half a dozen pirates leaping onto the deck of the ship. They made short work of the guards, and Callista grinned, checked her appearance once more in the mirror, and headed out of her cabin.
Her father was standing near the ship’s wheel, arms folded across his chest as he surveyed the scene taking place on the princess’s ship. He glanced at Callista as she emerged, and his mouth tipped up in a rare smile.
“Hardly know you’re a pirate myself,” he said.
Callista grinned, smoothing her dress as she studied the battle before them. “I feel half-naked without a dozen knives, but it can’t be helped.”
“Maybe you can take a sudden interest in self-defense.”
Her grin slid into a smirk. “And no one will wonder where the delicate princess got her knife-throwing skills?”
“Fair point, that.”
They stood for a moment in silence. The pirates had subdued the last of the guards, and the remaining sailors had already surrendered. The pirates began hauling the prisoners back on board—they’d be sold into slavery far south of Dwelt, where word wouldn’t reach the Dweltian regents of the princess’s kidnapping.
Princess Ariella was brought onto the frigate last of all, and Callista’s eyes narrowed as she watched the princess, taking in every mannerism. Altogether a lot more cringing and whimpering than she preferred to emulate—but then, it wasn’t necessary to be exactly like the princess in every detail. The last regent to see her was the Duke of Carwent, and that had been almost two years ago. A lot could change in two years—and with the princess’s height and coloring and a healthy dose of pluck, Callista had nothing to worry about.
“I demand to be returned to my ship at once!” Princess Ariella was screaming, and Callista suppressed a smile.
“Come now, highness,” Felix said in his most soothing voice. “It’s not so bad.”
“My regents will send the navy after me!”
“Well, now . . .” He paused, throwing a wink at Callista. She nodded and headed for the lifeboat taken from the princess’s ship, now sitting ready on the deck of the frigate. The second mate was standing ready beside it, and he passed her a crown and a ring. She nodded her thanks and stepped into the rowboat—probably better to put them on after she was out of sight of the princess (who had now dissolved into a tearful mess, and was clinging to the front of Felix’s coat, begging for mercy).
Callista’s lips quirked into a wry smile as her rowboat settled onto the choppy waves. Yes, this was definitely the best choice—not just for the pirate crew of the Mermaid, but for Dwelt as a whole.
After all, everyone knows pirates make better queens than princesses do.
* * *
The royal library of Dwelt
10 April 1712
“I do not need another bodyguard,” said Callista.
The Duke of Carwent cleared his throat delicately, glancing at the other former regents for support. “With all due respect, Your Majesty . . .”
“Your Majesty,” Callista repeated, her tone icy. “Precisely. You are no longer my regent, Your Grace, and you no longer have the authority to hire bodyguards for me.”
Carwent cleared his throat again. “Yes, well . . . after the recent attempt on Your Majesty’s life . . .”
“Which I survived,” Callista cut in.
“. . . it is only reasonable to expect that Arethe will not hesitate to try again.”
Callista pursed her lips, resisting the urge to get up and pace. Queens did not pace—even if they were seated on sofas so soft as to be inexcusably undignified. “Regardless, I fail to see the necessity for another bodyguard. You already have over a hundred men watching the palace in a city of ten thousand. Further guards will cause unnecessary depletion to the treasury.” She met Carwent’s eyes, her own narrowing. “You cannot deny that our finances are strained as it is.”
The archbishop gave a soft cough, and Callista turned to him, her eyebrows flashing up. The archbishop bobbed his head—Callista guessed it was meant to look apologetic—and said, “Your Majesty’s safety is our highest priority. And while guards are stationed throughout the palace, it would be preferable to have one assigned to Your Majesty’s person.”
Callista resisted the urge to adjust her crown over her aching temples. “Yes, well . . .” She couldn’t very well say that Her Majesty was perfectly capable of defending herself against all manner of assassins, given a dozen good throwing knives, so she settled on a different tack. “Thank you all for your concern. I shall give your suggestion full consideration, and announce my decision in a few days’ time.”
The five former regents exchanged glances, and Callista’s eyebrows ascended again.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
“Oh, no,” said Carwent, looking suspiciously like there was, indeed a problem. “No, there’s no problem at all. It’s just that, with all the responsibilities Your Majesty has, I took the liberty of hiring a bodyguard myself.”
“Did you?” Callista said in her coldest tone.
“Yes.” Carwent produced what he apparently thought was a smile. It made him look regrettably like a terrified rabbit. “He’s just outside.”
“Actually,” said a deep, faintly accented voice from near the doorway, “he’s not.”
* * *
On board the frigate Mermaid
1696 to 1710
The first time Callista fell in love, she was five. It was hardly avoidable, given that she was the only girl on the Mermaid, and showered with inordinate attention by virtue of being the captain’s daughter.
Her first love was named Gill. He was sixty-five, burly, and grizzled, and had an agreeable habit of carrying Callista on his shoulders as he went about his chores. Callista announced to her father that she would marry Gill when he grew up. Felix laughed and said pirates never lived that long.
Gill was killed on their very next raid.
The next victim of Callista’s affections was a cheerful sailor named Sedge. He taught Callista every sea shanty he knew, and never laughed when she got the wrong notes by accident. He was on the youngish end for a pirate—only twenty-five—and Callista figured a fifteen-year age gap wouldn’t be too much once she was a little older.
Her illusions lasted for precisely three months before Sedge left the Mermaid to settle down with an equally cheerful barmaid. Callista gave up on men altogether, and resolved to never marry and become captain of the Mermaid after Felix died.
It was eight years before she met Alistair.
Alistair was the first friend her own age that Callista ever had. The only friend her own age, too. He was exactly one year older (to the day, as close as they could figure), and had run away from an apprenticeship to a blacksmith. Alistair had not liked blacksmithing, but it had made him stronger than any of the crew except Felix. And strength was something that Callista, having grown up on a pirate ship, appreciated.
Not to mention that Alistair was as cheerful as Sedge and as patient as Gill, and with his height and strength and sun-bronzed skin, he wasn’t half bad-looking either.
Their friendship had been effortless at first—as clear and easy as the wind off the sea. That lasted approximately two months. Then, inexplicably, it became harder to talk to Alistair, and Callista’s face developed a strange heat whenever she happened upon him unexpectedly. After several weeks of checking herself for fevers, the truth occurred to her:
She was in love.
And so, if his sudden shyness was any indication, was he.
But Alistair was never cut out for piracy. It wasn’t that he was squeamish—no, he had as cool a head in battle as the most seasoned old tars. But he was—well, honorable. And honor and piracy do not pair well.
So after a year on the Mermaid, Alistair ran away. He had begged Callista to come with him, to start a new and law-abiding life together.
Callista refused.
She rather suspected it had broken his heart.
* * *
The Royal Library of Dwelt
10 April 2025
For once in her life, Callista couldn’t produce a single witty comment. Instead, she stared at the man in the doorway.
Unless her eyes were deceiving her—and she had the vision of an eagle—he wasn’t just any man.
He was Alistair McGuire.
For a breathless moment, their eyes met. His were the same as ever—brilliant blue in his tanned face. They narrowed just slightly as he studied her, but his expression did not change. Had he recognized her?
Callista drew in a deep breath and turned to the Duke of Carwent, summoning her best imitation of enraged majesty. “You had no authority to hire a bodyguard without my prior approval,” she said, each word as sharp-edged as she could make it.
Carwent cringed—quite literally—before her. “I—I apologize, Your—Your Majesty. It was—that is—”
“Get out of my sight,” she spat, waving her hand to encompass the entire room. “All of you!”
Her former regents scattered only too eagerly, and Callista exhaled in undisguised relief. Maybe she could make it to the garden without interruption . . . breathe in the fresh sea air to soothe her headache, and try to plan what to do. . . .
The only obstacle was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest.
“You’re dismissed,” Callista said sharply, waving for him to go.
Alistair didn’t budge. “My orders are to accompany you wherever you go.” He paused, his glance skimming from her crown to her silk slippers and back again. His lip curled ever so faintly as he met her eyes again. “Your Majesty.”
She had forgotten how frustrating Alistair could be, and she folded her arms. Probably unqueenly, but there was no one there to see. “What do you want?”
Alistair’s eyebrows ascended. “Want, Your Majesty?”
“I’m not stupid.” Callista crossed to the closest chair and sat down, folding her hands. “And neither are you.” Alistair stood unmoved in the doorway, expression neutral. She released a frustrated sigh. “We both know who I am. What I’m asking is what you want to keep your mouth shut.”
Alistair’s eyebrows went up, and he leaned against the doorframe. “That’s a mighty big assumption you’re making, Your Majesty.”
The hint of a brogue colored in words, and something in Callista melted at the sound. But she couldn’t afford to succumb to emotion now—not with so much on the line. “And what do you mean by that?”
“You assume I have a price.” His eyes met hers, suddenly serious. “Has it ever occurred to you that some men don’t?”
“I was born on a pirate ship.” Callista’s lips curled into a smirk. “The first thing I learned is that every man has a price.”
“Every pirate,” Alistair countered.
“And you were a pirate.” She held his eyes, savoring the discomfort in his expression. “Weren’t you?”
Alistair exhaled, pulling away from the doorframe. “That was a long time ago, Callista.”
His brogue deepened as he said her name. It was painfully familiar, the sound of her name in his accent—but Callista brushed away the tide of bewildering emotion that flooded her. “So what are you going to do—turn me in?”
She expected a prompt denial. Instead, he met her gaze, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Callista leaned back in her chair, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows. “You do realize that if you reveal my identity, the Arethians and their dragons will descend on Dwelt in a matter of days.”
Alistair gave a measured nod.
“And whatever your notions of honor may be, I am quite sure they do not include condemning a nation of innocent people to a painful and violent death.”
Another tight nod.
“Not to mention the fact that you can only verify my identity because of your time on the Mermaid.” Callista met Alistair’s eyes, her gaze hard. “Which will earn you a hanging if anyone finds out.”
“Better me than Dwelt,” he said quietly.
Callista gave a most unqueenly snort. “Better neither of you. You really think Dwelt will be better off with Ariella on the throne? She’s a spoiled, simpering coquette. She has no notion of what it takes to lead a nation.”
Alistair’s eyebrows ascended. “And you do?”
“Better than her, anyway.”
“How very . . . noble of you.”
Callista smirked, rising. “You know me better than that.”
Alistair didn’t answer. Somewhat irritated, she crossed to the closest bookshelf, running her fingers over the ridged spines.
“Arethe’s dragon-riders can patrol the seas far better than Dwelt’s excuse for a navy. If they take over Dwelt, the Mermaid is doomed.”
“The Mermaid,” Alistair said quietly from behind her, “is a pirate ship.”
Callista spun around, anger tightening her voice. “I am well aware of that, Mr. McGuire. I didn’t live on her for twenty-one years without noticing. But the Mermaid is also the only home I have ever known. Even if I left her, Father never would. And I can’t leave him.”
Alistair studied her for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Your loyalty has its own kind of honor, I suppose.”
Callista released a breath, some of the tension relaxing from her shoulders. “Then we have a deal?”
“Of sorts.”
Her eyebrows twitched up. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Alistair’s eyes were suddenly hard as they met hers. “That I will keep your identity a secret on two conditions.”
“Because the threat of your own execution isn’t enough.”
“No,” he said simply. “It’s not.”
For a moment, Callista was silent. Then she asked, “What are your terms?”
“First, that the princess not be harmed.”
“Done,” she said. She and Felix had agreed on that months ago.
Alistair hesitated. “And second . . . that you rule Dwelt as Princess Ariella would.”
She snorted. “So, with abysmal incompetence?”
“No. For the good of Dwelt. Not for yours—or the Mermaid’s. I can agree to let the pirates sail free—but I won’t stand by and watch you to harm to Dwelt.”
Callista’s eyebrows ascended again. “Oh, and are you my regent now?”
“No,” Alistair said, his lips curving with a hint of a smile. “Just your bodyguard. And, if necessary, your blackmailer.”
* * *
The Royal Library of Dwelt
1 May 1712
It was three weeks before the dragons came.
Callista was sitting in the library, poring over yet another book of political philosophy. After all, if she was going to justify her subterfuge even to herself, she’d have to prove she was a better queen than Ariella. And while life onboard the Mermaid had shown her everything she needed to know about leadership, she was left with pitifully little education in politics.
She looked up as she turned a page, and was startled to see a leathery wing swoop past the library window.
But she had not been raised on a pirate ship for nothing, and she was at the window in a second, flipping open the latch to swing out the pane.
“Your Majesty?” Alistair said from behind her.
Callista ignored him, leaning further out the window.
“Your Majesty.” Worry edged his voice, and he placed a hand on her back as she craned to see where the dragon had gone.
Callista straightened and spun to face Alistair. “I am in no danger of losing my balance,” she snapped. “And if you want to be useful for a change, you could go tell the captain of the guard that the Arethians are here.”
Five minutes later, Callista was standing on the northern parapet, arms folded as she surveyed the sky. A cluster of dragons were approaching swiftly over the sea—she estimated they had ten minutes before they reached the palace.
Her former regents stood in a flustered cluster behind her, and Callista turned around, interrupting the Duke of Carwent in the middle of his speculations on the effect of the attack on the silk industry. “Either make yourselves useful, or get out of the way. We’ll have battle on our hands in ten minutes. And before then, I need to get into something more practical.”
She left her regents scattering for cover, and strode down the stairs to the courtyard, Alistair close behind.
“Your Highness,” he attempted, but Callista shook her head and continued, almost at a run, to her room. She left Alistair outside, and emerged in breeches and a loose white shirt.
“I’ll need a sword,” Callista announced, eyeing Alistair’s.
His hand closed protectively around the hilt. “No, you won’t.”
“Oh, really?”
He met her eyes, his stare level and hard. “For all intents and purposes, you’re the Dweltian queen, and I won’t allow you to risk your life in battle. My job is to keep you alive, and I’m going to do that whether you like it or not.”
Callista knew Alistair well enough not to argue. Anyway, the rational course of action would have been to slip out through the servants’ door and swim to the Mermaid. The whole point of her masquerade had been to avoid a war that Alethe would certainly win. But she hadn’t had enough time to build an army and navy, to fortify the castle, to lay in supplies for a siege from the air. War was inevitable—and Dwelt was going to lose.
Badly.
And for some reason, Callista didn’t want to leave them.
It was ridiculous, and she knew that perfectly well. Dwelt had been a menace to the Mermaid as long as she remembered—sending its (albeit rather pathetic) navy after pirate ships and sending their crews to the gallows, condemning to men to death for surviving the only way they knew how.
But in her few weeks in Dwelt, something of the loyalty that bound Callista to the Mermaid had infected her relationship with Dwelt. It might not be perfect—but was any country, really? And perfect or not, innocent lives were at risk.
Lives that she could either save or abandon.
“All right,” she said after a moment. “I have a plan.”
Alistair’s eyes narrowed, but Callista lifted a hand before he could speak.
“And no, it does not involve me going into battle. But I will need your help.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “What does Your Majesty require of me?”
Callista snorted, opening the door of her room. “Forget the ‘Your Majesty’ business. By the time this is over, everyone’s going to know who I am. I just need you to cover me long enough to get it done.”
“And what, precisely,” Alistair asked as Callista ducked into her room, “is it?”
Callista emerged and shut the door, shoving a balled-up mass of fabric under one arm. “You’ll see,” she said, and grinned at him.
Three minutes later—Callista was counting—she was standing on the sloping roof of the southwestern turret, balancing on bare feet and clutching a flapping flag in one hand.
“This is a terrible idea,” Alistair muttered behind her.
Callista glanced back at him and shoved the flag into her pocket. “It’s foolproof. Nothing could go wrong. Also, can I have your knife?”
Alistair’s eyes narrowed, but he unsheathed it and handed it to her. “Fine. But if something does go wrong . . .”
“That’s why I’m the one climbing.” She turned to scan the northern horizon—the dragons would be upon them in a matter of minutes.
Alistair snorted. “Because you want your father to hunt me down and kill me?”
“No.” Eyeing the flagpole before her, Callista flexed her toes. “Because if I fall, you stand a decent chance of catching me.”
“I don’t like this,” Alistair said.
Callista put his knife between her teeth, shrugged, and started to climb.
It really wasn’t a tall flagpole—maybe twelve feet—and it was stationary, unlike a ship’s rigging. Callista made it to the top in approximately three seconds—and that was when the trouble began.
It isn’t particularly difficult to scale a flagpole, not if you are young and limber and were raised on a pirate ship. But clinging to the top of a flagpole while cutting off one flag and fastening on another and ignoring the dragons swooping over your head and your bodyguard’s concerned comments from below and the fact that the wind thinks the flag is a sail . . . well, it’s not a task for the faint of heart.
Thankfully, Callista was far from fainthearted, and she was back on the roof in a minute, tossing Alistair’s knife back to him and gazing up to survey her work. Yes, she thought Felix would be proud of her for managing it.
Behind her, Alistair gave an exasperated sigh. “Are you seriously flying the Jolly Roger from the royal palace of Dwelt?”
“Yes,” said Callista. “Yes, I am.”
* * *
Three minutes later, the dragons landed. Four minutes later, the pirates docked. Five minutes later (or so Felix claimed), the battle was won. Dragons are all very well, but their wings aren’t exactly bulletproof, and by the time Callista gathered her former regents for a debriefing in the council room, the Duke of Carwent was already discussing methods of using flightless dragons for indoor heating.
“Thank you,” Callista said, as he was holding up a rudimentary diagram, “but that’s a discussion for the Cabinet for Public Utilities and Services. We are here to discuss . . .”
“It’s quite brilliant, though,” gushed Carwent. “Although, I’m not entirely sure what dragons eat. . .”
“The pirates,” Callista said.
Carwent looked startled, then positively delighted. “Yes, I suppose the stories do say they have a taste for human flesh! And it saves the trouble of constructing all those gallows, too. . . .”
“I’m pardoning them,” Callista said flatly.
Carwent’s mouth sagged open. The archbishop gave Callista a critical stare. The other three regents reflected similar degrees of astonishment. And from behind Callista, where Alistair was standing, she was almost certain she heard a soft chuckle.
“You see,” Callista said doggedly, “there’s a little-known, generations-old pact between the pirates and the royal family of Dwelt.”
Alistair’s chuckle turned into a snort. She wondered if it would be possible to elbow him without the regents noticing, and decided against it.
“A hundred years ago, the king of Dwelt pardoned the infamous pirate king Jolly Roger of his crimes, and in thanks, Roger gave the king of Dwelt a flag bearing a likeness of his own skull. And, umm, tibias. The king was to fly the flag whenever Dwelt was in dire distress, and the pirates would come to his aid. For generations, this flag has been handed down, monarch to heir, in secret. And until today, it has never been used.” Callista fixed the regents with a hard stare. “But today, the pirates have come to our aid in fulfillment of the pact made generations ago with Jolly Roger. And in recognition of their courage and valor in battle, I am pardoning them of all their crimes—just as Jolly Roger himself was once pardoned.”
“Huh,” said Alistair from behind her, his tone vaguely impressed.
Callista sighed. He was getting altogether too expressive for a bodyguard. “Anyway, once I’ve pardoned them, they’ll be free to sail once again.”
“And when they raid Dweltian villages again?” the archbishop asked.
Callista hadn’t gotten that far, and she drummed her fingers on the table to play for time. “I’ll just . . . pardon them again.”
“Oh no, you won’t,” said a voice from the doorway.
Callista, Alistair, and all five former regents looked up to see Princess Ariella standing in the doorway.
“Ah,” said Callista weakly. “Hello.”
Ariella stepped forward, looking far more terrifying than any sheltered princess has a right to look. Her glower might have had something to do with it—or the fact that Callista was, quite literally, wearing her crown. “My lords, this woman is an impostor.” She waved at Alistair. “Remove her from my sight and have her executed—at once.”
Alistair, rather too enthusiastically for Callista’s taste, seized her shoulders.
“Unhand me at once!” she ordered in her most queenly tone. “And remove this madwoman from my sight!”
Alistair released her—but made no move toward Ariella.
Ariella folded her arms and lifted her chin. She was surprisingly well-groomed for having spent three weeks on a pirate ship, and Callista wondered just how many of her own things Ariella had helped herself to. “This woman is Callista Lombard, daughter of Felix Lombard, captain of the pirate ship the Mermaid. They attacked my ship on my journey home, kidnapped my guards and sailors, and held me hostage for three weeks, sending this scum to be crowned in my place.”
“But—” Carwent stammered, “but—she arrived with your—I mean, with her—I mean, with Her Highness’s crown and ring.”
Ariella’s chin went up. She looked far more like a princess than Callista ever could, and Callista suppressed a sigh as Ariella said coolly, “Because crowns and rings cannot be stolen?”
“Look,” Callista said, but the archbishop interrupted her.
“How,” he inquired, eyebrows lifting, “did you climb that flagpole?”
Callista spread her hands helplessly. “The—at finishing school—the curriculum was very—eccentric.”
The archbishop’s eyebrows ascended even further. “Because finishing schools teach princesses to climb flagpoles?”
“Well, it came in useful today!”
The archbishop glanced at the other regents, then at Alistair, jerking his head towards Callista. “Remove her.”
Alistair obliged—or attempted to. Callista had not been raised on a pirate ship for nothing, and she drove her elbow into his stomach a little harder than strictly necessary. He crumpled against the wall, wheezing, and she stepped forward, folding her arms as she addressed her—or rather, Princess Ariella’s—council members.
“My lords, I have a proposal to make.”
“Remove her,” said the archbishop, tone icy.
Still wheezing, Alistair attempted to stand.
“Today the pirates saved Dwelt from the Arethians.”
“Yes, yes,” said Princess Ariella impatiently. “I’ll see to it that they’re rewarded. Even if they only did it to save your hide.”
“The Arethians will be back,” Callista said desperately. “And the pirates won’t be here to save your necks again.”
Carwent studied her, his eyes narrowing. “What are you suggesting?”
“Remove her,” the archbishop interrupted, “before I do it myself!”
“No, no,” said Carwent. “I want to hear this.”
Callista drew in a deep breath. “You need a navy. The pirates need food and something to keep them busy. I suggest that a mutually beneficial arrangement might be made.”
“You mean,” interrupted Princess Ariella, “that we hire the pirates as our navy.”
Callista glanced at Alistair. He was upright again, his expression skeptical. But to her surprise, he gave her a tiny nod.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Ariella considered for a moment, a smile twitching at her lips. Then she clapped her hands together and laughed. “A delightful plan, pirate. We’ll do it. And because I’m in a particularly merciful mood . . . your punishment shall be to arrange all the details.”
Naturally all the regents began to protest, and Callista took advantage of the opportunity to slip out unnoticed. Alistair followed her into the corridor, matching her stride as she headed for the courtyard where the pirates—and Felix—were waiting.
“You know,” Alistair said, “I asked you something a few years ago.”
Callista stopped and turned to him, spreading her hands on the sill of the open window behind her. Why did she, who had just climbed a flagpole without breaking a sweat, suddenly feel nervous. “Did you?”
“Yes.” A small grin lightened his expression. “Did you forget?”
“Maybe?” She drew in a breath, trying not to look at his eyes—as brilliantly blue as the day they had met. “Perhaps you could remind me?”
He stepped closer, and breathing suddenly became extremely difficult. “I asked you, Callista, if you would leave the Mermaid with me to start a new life together.” His eyes held hers. “A law-abiding life. And you said no, because you wouldn’t leave your father. But now . . . if it wouldn’t mean leaving him. . .”
Callista leaned back, trying desperately to catch her breath. Instead, she lost her grip on the windowsill. But Alistair’s arm found her waist, and pulled her back to steady ground.
“Well?” he said quietly.
“All right,” said Callista.