The Pirate and the Princess: Kingdom of Aggadorn, #2

By Liz McCraine

The mischievous Princess Julianna of Aggadorn (Jules to her friends) has been pampered and protected her entire life. More than anything, she longs to experience challenges and adventure. But with her mother's threat to marry her off hanging over her head, Jules fears she will never have the chance. All that changes when she's kidnapped by pirates. 

 

Forced to labor for her passage aboard Captain Jaymes's ship, Jules learns more about life than she bargained for. Captain Jaymes doesn't fit Jules's idea of a thieving buccaneer. Beneath his rough exterior lies a man of honor desperate to save his people from a murderous sorcerer. Jules never expects to fall in love with the handsome young captain or to involve herself in the pirates' plight, much less have the power to save an entire kingdom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liz McCraine
• Release date: Mar 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393737452

Liz McCraine

After living in Ecuador, Germany, and various parts of the United States, Liz McCraine finally settled in the wilds of Montana with her five humans and multiple pets. When she’s not riding horses, chasing 4-H lambs, or corralling children, Liz enjoys writing YA fantasy and romantic suspense novels. Liz has a degree in Psychology from Brigham Young University, which she puts to good use psychoanalyzing her children and developing fiendish book characters. Sign up for Liz McCraine’s newsletter at her website, www.lizmccriane.com, or follow her on social media (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter).

Book preview

THE PIRATE AND THE PRINCESS

by Liz McCraine

THE PIRATE AND THE PRINCESS

Copyright © 2017 Liz McCraine

All rights reserved.

Any duplication or use of this work in any form or by any means without prior permission in writing from the author is forbidden.

This is a work of fiction. Everything contained in this work is a product of the author’s imagination. Any relation to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

A heartfelt thank you to my wonderful beta readers. Without your patience, kindness, and support, this story wouldn’t be told. Suzanne F., Sarah Lynn G., Amy M., Jenny R., Lisa R., and Loury T.—you are my heroes.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Excerpt from Beyond the Sands

Prologue

Kingdom of Illydian, 20 years ago

––––––––

Master Zeneth leaned over the prisoner. Tell us where it is.

The prisoner didn’t answer. He knelt on the cold stone floor, his half-naked body bent over, his head resting on the unyielding ground. He shook, his chained limbs twitching with the spastic vibrations that came after being severely tortured. His hair, once long and full, had been shorn close to his head—the mark of a disgraced man. Dirt and dried blood matted his scalp and painted his thin, abused body into a grotesque display of art. He resembled a well-worked canvas, portraying the artist’s version of death.

At the continued silence, Zeneth turned to his fellow twelve Masters. Their dark robes and determined expressions mirrored his own as they stood in a circle around their silent foe. Beyond them, at the back of the room, the scribe sat with his quill poised over parchment.

Why don’t we just kill him? one of the Masters suggested.

Silence, Mortimyr, Zeneth snapped. He faced the prisoner. Tell us. His words echoed through the Chamber of Judgment.

Inch by inch, the prisoner lifted his head from the floor, his body trembling with the effort of even that small movement. Wrinkled, bruised lids opened to reveal two pale-green eyes. Thin lips slowly curved upward in a smug smile, framing teeth that had been chipped and broken in the beating.

A vein pulsed at Zeneth’s temple. His fingers twitched. You will tell us where it is, or we will destroy you here and now.

Still, no answer.

Unable to contain his frustration, Zeneth stepped forward and stretched out his hand, palm up. With a flick of his wrist, he levitated the prisoner off the ground until the beaten man hovered a dozen feet above the hard stone floor.

To Zeneth’s surprise, his enemy didn’t struggle against the power that held him high above his death, nor did he show any fear. Instead, he returned Zeneth’s stare.

It’s too late, the prisoner finally said, his voice cracking. The harp is long gone from here. You will never find it. But rest assured that it will be found. And when it is, you will know it is the beginning of the end. His green eyes clouded over, and the prophecy flooded from his lips like water from a broken dam.

––––––––

"Tied through blood of a selfless heart

Is power granted through the harp.

Not thirty years from hence gone by,

When singing voice lifts to the sky,

And down from heaven, death will rain

Upon those men who seek ill-gain.

Tyranny’s end shall be fulfilled,

And freedom for Illydian renewed..."

––––––––

The prisoner chanted only a few more words, his eyes still glazed. Zeneth, with a shout of rage, lowered his outstretched arm.

The prisoner dropped.

Breathing deep to harness his fractured emotions, Zeneth stepped over the broken body and moved toward the scribe. The other Masters followed on his heels.

Did you get it? Zeneth hissed.

Without looking up from the desk, the scribe nodded his narrow head, his short black hair reflecting the candlelight. Y-yes, Master, he stuttered, scribbling across the parchment. He set down the quill with a click and removed his shaking hand.

Zeneth snatched up the parchment and rapidly scanned what the scribe had written.

What are we going to do? one of the twelve asked.

Zeneth tossed the notes on the desk and clenched his fists as he turned. The throbbing at his temple increased. Beyond the twelve, the prisoner’s body was an insignificant lump on the floor.

We find the harp, at any cost.

Chapter 1

Kingdom of Aggadorn, Present

––––––––

Princess Juliana of Aggadorn—Jules, to those closest to her—couldn’t help but envy the ordinary citizens of Aggadorn their freedom. They had challenges, adventures, trials, and tribulations. In short, they lived.

Jules was alive, but she wasn’t living. Every minute of every day was scheduled for her. Every place she went, every conversation—planned. Even the colors of the dresses she wore were decided. A meeting with the ambassador of Trigden? Pale green. With a dignitary from Jarfar? Light blue and silver. The ruler of Ogdon? Cream or white, but never anything bright.

When the pressure of being a princess in the Perfect Palace became too great, she had to find an outlet or explode. Too often those outlets were mischievous pranks that got her in trouble. Her most recent prank, done just that morning, had earned her the scolding of a lifetime.

I can’t believe a daughter of mine would be so inconsiderate, Queen Lissa raged, pacing up and down the length of Jules’ bedroom.

Jules sat on her bed, feeling like a caged songbird—which was ironic since the bed was stuffed with feathers.

The servants in this palace are not without feelings, her mother ranted. They’re people just the same as you and me. And though they may not ride in fancy horse-drawn carriages or dress lavishly in silks and satins, they don’t deserve to be treated cruelly. She lifted a dainty hand to massage her right temple, as if trying to rub away a headache.

Jules cringed inwardly. Servants played an important role at the palace, and she appreciated all they did for her family. I have nothing against servants.

No, the servants aren’t the only ones you play tricks on, are they? Let’s not forget the feast we had last spring. Ten visiting dignitaries, and you put salt in all their drinks!

Oh yes, she remembered. Jules struggled to hide a smile. The looks on the faces of those stuffy men and their highbrowed wives when they tasted the salt was one of her favorite memories.

Not a week home from Trigden, and already you are getting into mischief, Queen Lissa continued. Those weeks spent with your grandparents were supposed to be good for you, to help you become more refined. At the very least, help you control these pranks of yours which you can’t seem to give up. After all the time your father and I have spent instructing you on proper decorum... She suddenly stopped and turned. Your older sister and brother never gave me half the trouble you do. Where did we go wrong? She resumed her pacing.

Jules watched her mother’s tirade through glazed eyes. She locked her spine as she sat, a habit that helped her appear alert and attentive, even if she wasn’t listening. This wasn’t the first time she’d been berated for doing something foolish.

You look like you’re listening, but I can tell that you aren’t.

Jules sighed. I’ve been listening, Mother. And I am truly sorry for what I did.

You should be. Issla had to soak her hand in painfully hot water to loosen the glue you put on the bottom of that teacup.

Jules felt a twinge in her chest. I’ll apologize.

You’d better!

And I promise not to cause trouble again. She couldn’t promise such a thing, and they both knew it.

Her mother approached, an older, blond version of herself. She sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. The thick feather mattress dipped with the added weight, slightly wrinkling the rose-colored silk counterpane. Juliana, your father and I want the best for you. We’ve made your life as easy as possible. I don’t understand why you keep acting out.

I’m not acting out, Jules answered. The accusation hurt. It made her feel like a petulant child whose goal was to inflict pain on those around her. Which wasn’t the case, at all.

"You most certainly are, all the time. You have everything in the world, and yet you don’t seem grateful for a single bit of it. What you are is spoiled. Though it pains me to say it, it’s the truth."

That was unexpected. Spoiled? She leaped to her feet and faced her mother.

If I’m spoiled, it’s because you’ve made me that way.

Now, Juliana—

It’s true! Jules threw her hands in the air. You’ve given me the best tutors, the finest horses, the most fashionable dresses. I glide by life on a cloud.

You say that as if it’s not enough.

"Because it’s not. I’m...stifled. I can’t go anywhere unescorted, I can’t express my opinions in public, and heaven forbid I want something chocolate for dessert when a fruit dish is better suited to the meal. I have no power over my own life. Sometimes it’s so frustrating, I could scream. So forgive me if I make a few mistakes now and then."

Much more than ‘a few’ and definitely more often than ‘now and then.’ I’m just surprised we’ve lasted this long with your behavior.

Oh, so now I’m a trial to you and Father, is that it? Her hands fisted at her sides.

Sometimes, yes!

Then why don’t you just get rid of me? Her eyes were hot, and she feared she might cry.

Don’t push me, Juliana. There has been more than one visiting lord who has asked your father for a marriage contract. You’ve been lucky to have remained here as long as you have.

You wouldn’t, Jules gasped. An arranged marriage was her worst nightmare. Her parents, despite their own betrothal, loved each other and wanted their children to have the same blessings of happiness in marriage that they enjoyed. Jules’ older sister had chosen her own husband, and even Christoff, her brother and heir to the throne, had been granted permission to marry a commoner. It was the one thing—the one thing—that Jules could decide for herself. The one rein of control on an out-of-control ride.

The idea that such a life-altering decision could be taken out of her hands jolted her. Seventeen was beyond an acceptable age for marriage, and many a royal family had made a good alliance through the marriage of their children. It would be easy enough for her mother to make good on the threat and foist her off on the next visiting lord who asked for her hand.

She pressed her lips together. She hadn’t meant to confront her mother in such an angry tone, but the remark about being spoiled had struck a chord within her.

As I’ve said, don’t push me. I think what you need right now is to spend some time in your chamber thinking things through. You can come out when you’ve changed your attitude.

You’re making me stay here? Jules gasped, falling back onto the bed. She’d never been shut in her chamber before. Scolded, yes. But not confined.

Certainly you’re staying here. You can come out after you’ve taken a good, long look at your life and all the blessings you have. Take until tomorrow, in fact. I’ll send up your meals and make an acceptable excuse for your absence. Have I made myself clear?

The situation was a complete disaster. But her mother was queen, and Jules responded the only way she could—she clenched her teeth and nodded.

I’ll send in a maid to help you with your gown. If you’re going to remain here all day, you’ll want to wear something less formal. The queen walked to the door, shoulders back and head high. She shut it behind her with more force than necessary.

At first, Jules was paralyzed. It wasn’t until the maid had come and gone and Jules heard the key turning in the lock that she gave in to the tears. She felt guilty for not being satisfied with her life, knowing that few had as many material things as she did. She was grateful to her parents for all they’d given her, she truly was.

She didn’t know how long she cried. The tears drained her of energy, and she eventually fell asleep.

By the time she awoke, noon had come and gone. The sleep had helped some, but it couldn’t erase the misery and guilt she felt. She found some entertainment writing in her personal journal, but there was only so much she could write before she’d said everything she had to say. Embroidery was considered a popular pastime for ladies—young and old—from wealthy backgrounds, and Jules had an entire chest full of patterns and threads from which to choose. Unfortunately, she’d never liked embroidery, and after only a few minutes of the arduous activity, she threw the material back into the chest. She tried on new dresses then flung them aside. She even attempted to rearrange her jewelry box, examining the many precious stones and strings of pearls one by one to prolong the activity.

It wasn’t until she finished replacing her jewelry and leaned against the tapestry-covered wall next to her chest of drawers that she felt an odd-shaped lump beneath the weaving. Stepping back, she lifted the bottom of the thick fabric and pulled it to the side, revealing a misshapen portion of stone that popped out of the wall like a large wart. In such a perfect palace, imperfection was unusual.

Jules draped the tapestry over her shoulder as she examined the bump, running her fingers around it, wondering how the masons who worked on the stone could have possibly missed the spot. It stuck out enough to be obvious, but its hidden position behind the tapestry had let it go unnoticed for years, if not decades.

As she pressed the divot in the center of the bump, a long, groaning sound—like rock rubbing against heavy rock—erupted from the wall, causing her to jump back in surprise and drop the colorful woolen material.

What is this?

When the groaning stopped, Jules summoned all her courage and lifted the tapestry once more. Inching it upwards, she looked beneath the covering.

A section of the wall had opened, revealing a gaping hole large enough to fit a person. A hidden passage? Inside her, a kernel of excitement popped to life. She’d lived in this bedroom since infancy. To think that she could have been coming and going all these years without anyone being the wiser!

Grabbing the candelabra that sat next to her jewelry box, she lit the candles, then lifted the tapestry and entered into the unknown.

Chapter 2

––––––––

The passageway was long and dark and obviously hadn’t been used for some time. Beneath the grime, the walls looked to be made of the same smooth granite as the rest of the palace, though the stone floor had not been overlaid with wood. The musty scent of stale air and cobweb-lined walls reminded Jules of the tombs she had read about as a child.

Something sticky brushed her arm, causing her to almost drop the candelabra she had clenched in her hand. She screeched, her heart leaping to her throat. A shiver of revulsion skittered over her as the cobweb wrapped around her. Disgusted, she wiped it on the skirts of her dress, glad she was wearing her plainest muslin instead of the silk she’d had on earlier. Not that she cared about the garment, but the maid who washed the clothes would question a damaged gown. And the maids told Queen Lissa everything.

Despite the dust and the webs, the unknown whispered to her like a tantalizing secret and kept her moving. She walked slowly until the passageway ended with a dusty stone wall. She lowered her eyebrows in confusion. It seemed there should be a door, an entrance—something. After all, why construct a passage if it didn’t lead anywhere? But there was nothing but stone in front of her.

The thought that she had gotten her hopes up for nothing angered her. She turned, but stopped when she saw the way the candlelight faded into the wall on her left. Or rather, where a wall should have been.

She held the light closer to the coating of webs and thought she saw a second hallway beyond. Throwing out her hand in a sudden spurt of courage, she discovered the light hadn’t lied. Beyond the wall of white, sticky weavings was an opening.

Ah-ha! She grinned. The passage did lead somewhere.

With a mixture of excitement and disgust, she drew her arm back and watched as several of the cobwebs stuck to her skin, breaking down from the ceiling and trailing off her hand. Ick! Another shiver ran over her. Her dress was rapidly becoming a home worthy of arachnid royalty.

Through the opening she’d made, she saw that the hall beyond led to an ascending stairway. The steps were narrow and steep, and she had to stop and catch her breath twice before finally reaching the landing. Instead of a door, there was only a square wooden panel set in the wall. The panel was about four feet tall and equally as wide but had no visible handle or lever. Pressing along the sides, she searched for a divot similar to the one in her room.

After an unsuccessful search, she noted the metal screws at the top and bottom of the middle part of the panel. Snapping her fingers in enlightenment, she stepped forward and shoved against the right side.

The panel rotated with an unexpected ease that sent her shooting through the opening. She tumbled forward, hitting the unyielding floor with a cry. By a stroke of luck, she hadn’t dropped the candelabra, though the jolt had caused two of her candles to fall out, extinguishing them.

She crawled forward to retrieve them but was pulled up short. Looking back, she saw her hem caught in the axle of the panel. Stupid dress. She grabbed a fistful of the material and yanked. The sound of tearing fabric echoed around her as her dress pulled free. Not giving it another thought, she turned and lifted the remaining candles high.

Curved walls and the faint, salty smell clinging to the air informed her that she was in a tower—and not just any tower, but the forgotten tower. She’d given the structure in the southwestern corner of the palace, the corner that rose above the sea, that moniker when she was a little girl. No one went in here. Not ever. And no wonder, as the room was filled with junk.

Spying sconces on the walls, she walked through the dark piles of dusty, mysterious shapes until she’d lit them all.

Now seeing better, perhaps it wasn’t junk, exactly. More like a hodgepodge of goods—discarded and forgotten, judging by the dust that covered them. There were old tapestries, trunks, boxes, weapons, and more. Many of the items were stacked or shelved. Others leaned against the walls like bored young lords at a dance.

Intrigued, Jules investigated. She peeked into boxes and sorted through old portraits. Surprisingly, for all the dust, many of the objects had substantial worth. She discovered scrolls secured with solid gold clasps, a chest of linens so fine they might have been a royal bride’s trousseau, and figurines with diamond eyes.

As she rifled through trunks, tiny slivers of light bounced off an odd-looking shadow beneath one of the shuttered windows, catching her attention. She approached and found an old harp, smaller than those used by the palace musicians and easily held in one’s lap, nestled between a box and the wall. The sconce’s light reflected off its tuning pins, accounting for the sparkles of light she’d seen. She ran her hands against the misshapen triangle, admiring the double row of silk-spun strings, pulled tight and secured with gold tuning pins. She pressed her fingers to the silken cords, then quickly withdrew when she felt the grime.

Ripping a scrap from the hem of her dress, she wiped the strings then plucked at them experimentally. The notes filled the quiet room with clarity and resonance, making her smile.

Settling down on the hard stone floor, she attempted to play. Some of the strings were out of tune, but with a few careful twists of the knobs, she adjusted them until they sounded better. The variation of notes created by plucking one, two, or three strings at a time fascinated her, and music filled the cracks of the musty, cluttered room.

Time flew by. Eventually her fingertips began to hurt and her hands grew sore. It was probably getting late, but she wasn’t ready to give up her new find. On the other hand, if she dallied any longer, her absence might be discovered. She would just have to take the harp with her.

Cradling it in her hands, she rose to her feet and turned in the direction of the panel, which was slightly askew. Using the door would be faster, she supposed, with a glance at the large oak structure just feet from the panel, but a servant might see her. Better to go back the way she came.

She stepped forward.

CRASH.

Something hit her in the head, and she fell to the floor, stunned. In the outskirts of her mind, she was aware of chunks of wood falling around her. A cool, ocean-scented wind whipped over her, blowing pieces of hair in her face, but she was too dazed to push them back.

Gradually, reality returned, and with it came a throbbing in her head. Grimacing with pain, she lifted a hand to a spot just above her left ear and felt a small lump. She slowly looked around, registering the large fragments around her, one of which must have hit her. Then she looked up at the window.

Something had broken the shutter. Only a jagged piece of