Of Heart and Hook

By Lark Anderson and L.J. Anderson

What if Captain Hook saved Snow White?

 

Kidnapped by the dastardly Captain Hook, Snow White is determined to defy the pirate at every turn, even at the cost of her life.

 

That is until he makes her an offer she can't refuse. In exchange for negotiating with the infamous Norns of The Nevers on his behalf, she'll get a chance to change her fate.

 

And she'll never have to see her scoundrel captor again.

 

She's relieved not to end up asleep in a glass coffin, but the journey into The Nevers is harsh and cruel, and her host is far from the gentlemen she's used to.

 

But the more time they spend together, the less she is sure of what she wants, and when the fate of the captain and his crew falls on her shoulders, she must choose between returning home and resuming her role as princess or saving her new companions and forever staying in a cruel, dark land.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lark Letter Press
• Release date: Nov 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223113485

Book preview

Chapter 1

CAPTAIN HOOK

The world has changed since I last reigned the seas, but the taverns have stayed the same. It’s one of the few places that allows me to still feel human after all these years.

Time is of the essence, though it doesn’t run the same way for me as it does everyone else. Even so, I’m not one to wait for any man, but I still have a couple swallows of ale left in my tankard, and the scent of spiced tobacco wafting in the air relaxes me, setting me at ease.

A worn barmaid with dark bags dragging low on her cheeks plies her trade with a gentleman in a well-tailored suit, completely oblivious that I, in my tattered leathers and threadbare breeches, have more gold stowed away in my ship’s hull than he’s likely had in his family for generations.

The dim ambiance works to her advantage, though he’s not yet drunk enough to take her bait, and he sends her away with a wave of his hand.

She’ll be back on him again in an hour.

An aged crone buried in a heavy shroud enters the tavern, her cane thumping on the wood floor as she makes her way over to a booth at my back. She’s the very look of death, but her odor tells me she has secrets.

Second star to the right, a gruff voice mutters.

I look over to see a slight man with a bulbous nose slide into the seat next to mine.

And straight through till dusk, I reply.

It’ll be a gold. He speaks out of the corner of his mouth, barely moving his crooked teeth.

I gulp from my tankard as I raise my hooked hand, slamming the tip down onto the wooden bar to let him know I’m not to be trifled with.

You’re late, and I rather mislike tardiness.

His eyes grow round from fear. Do ye have any idea the risks I took coming here?

No. Nor do I care. You sent word to my ship that you’re of the dusk, and yet, where’s your proof?

The words—

You think words alone will suffice?

Trembling hands reaches into his shirt, bringing out a chain with a silver charm attached. Of the dusk, just as yerself.

I take it into my hand, studying the lines of the ship etched into the silver plating.

The name’s Billy Bubs, and I’d appreciate it if ya gave me my due respect.

Well, Mister Bubs, I offer you my most sincere apology. Trust is hard to part with these days.

Understood. I hear you have questions. For a gold, ask away, he grits out.

Since when do Treaders treat each other like common customers?

You think a Treader can never fall on hard times? You should be offering me up a coin if you’s is so concerned with politeness.

I set a single gold coin on the bar. Where can I find the Norns?

He shifts uncomfortably on his stool, licking his lips as he greedily spies the gold.

Y-ye’d hafta make yer way through the woods, ya see.

The woods? I ask with a raised brow. Ya don’t say?

Up through the gem mines, to the north. Up higher still.

I lean in close, cutting our distance by half. Higher, you say?

Wh-when ye reach its peak, when the sun crests the sky, it’ll cast a glow on the rolling—

I rake the curve of my hook up his throat to his chin, forcing his gaze to mine. The acidic smell of urine fills the air.

And you’re sure you’re a Dusk Treader?

His tongue twists like a maggot around broken teeth as he sputters out an Aye.

Jukes, I shout.

A tower of a man stands, his dark skin glistening in the candlelight. He makes a show of stretching, flexing his massive cords of muscles as the weasel I’m parlaying with sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye.

Jukes nods, telling me he’s ready for my command.

Show this man what happens to those that try to cheat Captain James Hook.

I do so love the smell of fear on a man.

The swindler flails his hands upward, catching on my hook and sending a spray of blood across my already soiled breeches. Jukes grabs his shirt between the shoulder blades, pulling him up and off the stool.

I-I-I’d neva! the man stammers out, kicking up his legs and reaching around to pry himself free from my hulking sentry. What little good it does him.

Jukes drags him from the tavern, slowly, as is his way, and I go back to my ale.

Another wasted day. How many do you have left?

I drain the tankard and grab my hat, but before I leave, a single word catches my attention.

Curse.

Has there ever been a more foul beast?

My eyes scan to the crone, who’s now hunched over a table, speaking to a figure cloaked in shadows.

A sleeping death, a man’s voice rasps. It would pair well with an apple.

Better to meet your foe on an open field than to be a coward and hide behind trickery.

The shadow continues with, The princess will show no signs of life…

At the word ‘princess,’ the world falls away, and all that exists is the grim, tucked-away booth.

Asleep in a glass coffin, her beauty will surpass the ages. Never a line or a wrinkle. Never a gray or hollowed cheek. She will serve as a reminder to anyone who seeks to supplant you. All for fifty-gold.

The figure passes a small, green vial to the crone whose smooth, wrinkle-free hand stretches from a heavy sleeve.

Her line must never sever, the crone croaks out.

Tis a sleeping poison, not a death.

Such a risk keeping her so close, the crone mulls, twisting and turning the vial as she holds it up to the light.

What other option do you have?

The crone grunts her dismay, and never one to waste an opportunity, I make my way over to the booth, inviting myself to sit down.

Beautiful emerald-green eyes flecked with gold look over to me from under the crone’s hood, and just as I had suspected, instead of haggard and aged, her face is now smooth, flawless, devastatingly perfect. Not a maid. I’d say a courtesan of the king that detests his daughter, but something tells me otherwise.

This woman has seen other worlds.

Captain James Hook of the Jolly Roger, at your service.

Leave, the woman snaps.

Why would you have me do that when I have the answer to your problem?

My problem? I have no problem, and when you’re done here, you’re going to wish you’d never—

Threats of violence will get you nowhere. I open my shirt to reveal a charm at my chest. The one that Billy Bubs failed to produce. You’re not the only one who isn’t as they appear.

She knits her fingers together, drinking me in with her gorgeous green gaze. And what did you have in mind?

He’s a trickster, her companion cuts in. A snake oil salesman. Nothing more.

Sitting in the shadows, all I can see are his hands, which have the guild rune marks of a cleric etched into them.

And he’s a liar and a fraud to the vows he’s taken, I snark out. Why trust a man who so blatantly spits in the face of all he’s sworn to?

The beautiful woman chuckles. And trusting you is the safer option?

I am a pirate, and thus, you should expect me to do pirate-y things. I nod to her companion. He is a false cleric. Who knows what he has planned. Let me take care of your princess problem for you.

The woman’s eyes betray fear. This princess isn’t just in her way. She’s afraid.

What exactly are you offering? she asks, clutching the vial so tightly I fear it might shatter.

This man wants fifty gold so you can make a living monument of an enemy. I gesture to the false cleric. Whereas I can eliminate the threat entirely.

She sneers. You think I couldn’t kill the girl myself? Or that I haven’t already? If her death is what I wanted, she’d be dead.

Interesting choice of words.

Oh, killing her is not what I had in mind. I give her an icy smile. I was offering to end her thread entirely. So she can never be woven into the tapestry again.

Silence falls over the table as I let my words sink in.

You know my nature, and I know yours, I finally say after a long silence. Let me solve your problem for you.

Think of the risk, the cleric says. If he were to simply give her to his men.

I can assure you, I certainly intend to give her to my men. That is before we make it to our final destination.

A glint lights the woman’s eyes. And what would be in it for you?

You’ve seen my charm, therefore, you must know the nature of my masters.

One side of her mouth ticks up into a smirk. I do.

Not wanting to be bested, the cleric cuts in with, My queen, this man’s foul tongue ought to be ripped from his—

Don’t you ever address me with titles while we’re out in public again, she hisses at the cleric.

Queen. The second wife to the Ellarian king, if I’m not mistaken. Her contempt for the king’s daughter is understandable, though the fear of her life thread is a bit extreme.

M-m-my apologies, the cleric stammers out. I never intended to let that slip —

Her emerald green eyes return to mine. What do you want in return?

The monument, the cleric pleads.

The monument gives her precious rest. The queen smiles wickedly. His pirates will allow her none, and when Hook hands her over to his masters, I’ll finally be free.

Her sleep will serve as a reminder— the cleric continues.

But the queen cuts him off with, There’s nothing more terrifying than the unknown. They might assume she’s dead or dungeon’d. Mayhap they’ll believe she ran away as girls are wont to do. Or maybe they’ll think she’s stripped bare, the flesh being flayed from her body.

My brow lifts at the startling display of depravity. I rarely see hatred run so deep, and I have to wonder what the princess did to earn her ire.

What are your demands? The queen asks me.

If I say nothing, she’ll grow suspicious. If I make the price too high, I might insult her, as queens can be quite prickly. So I ask for something so absurd, she’d have to believe no one would ever make it up.

I’d like to set up a trade route.

She scoffs. Trade route? For smuggling?

I want access to the port. A location. A man on the inside to pass me through.

You ought to have his head, the cleric says in a voice thick with anger. Not that I blame him. Fifty gold is enough to buy a life of luxury, and he is teetering on the edge of losing it. All thanks to me.

Still, the queen needs more convincing. She wants to say yes, but one must be wary of a dark horse.

A living monument will not only haunt your rivals, but you as well. You’ll visit her each day with your guards, and each night in your dreams. You’ll see her come alive half a thousand times until you’re slowly driven to the brink of insanity. And on your deathbed, when you finally close your eyes, hoping for sweet release, it won’t be peace and blackness that greets you. It will be her.

Her eyes widen in alarm. She’s taken the bait.

Tomorrow night, when the moon is at its highest point, you’ll find a boat along the outer wall of Thornrose Keep, to the south. Use it to traverse the moat to a hidden door located under the highest tower. That will take you straight inside the keep.

And then?

You’ll have to wait and see.

Chapter 2

SNOW WHITE

Thirty days.

Thirty days until I’m sold like cattle.

To strengthen the kingdom.

To solidify a frayed bond.

To get me out of the way.

Bianca, my handmaiden, dips a pitcher into my bathwater, then pours the contents over my tresses to remove the last of the soap.

At least he’s not known to be cruel, she says in a deadpan tone. She’s grown good at hiding her glee.

Is that the low bar I should set for him? I reply. "He’s near my father’s