An Offer of Aid

Written by StillnessandSilence

It was a younger time for them both, when passions burned hotter and the fires glowed with fierce warmth. Lady Sanguine had sailed into The Point of Veil for supplies, docking her ship in the bustling harbor as the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting a golden glow over the sea. Sunlight danced across the waves as gulls dove into the water, snatching fish in mid-flight, while a breeze whispered through the air like a melody. On deck, Lady Sanguine’s long dark curls framed her face as she issued sharp commands to her crew, her gaze unwavering.
Once a proud stronghold, The Point now lay in shambles, its grandeur faded with time. Tension thrummed in the air, the harbor teeming with sailors, thieves, and cutthroats. Rumors of ruined farmlands and creeping famine circulated in shadowed corners, a grim reminder of the Dae’s assault on the city and the mysterious disappearance of their angelic Prince Payne.
Descending from the ship’s wheel, Lady Sanguine approached her first mate and quartermaster, drawn into an all-too-familiar dispute. Sour Squirrel and Shortdrop were at each other’s throats over a liquor shipment, their voices raised in a heated exchange. Standing between them, she placed a firm hand on each, her presence demanding silence as she listened.
“I told her to order the Crimson Curl, not a bloody crate of Shafted Hearts! She’s a piss-poor excuse for a sailor, Captain,” Sour bellowed, his anger punctuated by a string of curses. Lady’s grip loosened on Shortdrop and tightened on Sour, her patience finally worn thin. With a swift move, she threw Sour onto the deck, her boot heel pressing into the back of his neck.
“I should cleave you to the brisket, Sour, for stirring unrest. Shall I strip your rank and leave you here for the gulls?” Her voice crackled like fire as she stared down at him. But just then, a movement caught her eye.
Across the harbor, a figure with dark hair and a piercing gaze held her attention. Their eyes locked, and she was momentarily spellbound as he turned to walk away, his coat billowing in the breeze. She barely registered Sour’s muffled whimper beneath her boot before stepping off him and setting off down the dock, following the man as though compelled by an invisible force. Her crimson coat fluttered behind her, the sounds of rigging and sailors fading to a distant hum.
"Lady’s after something… or someone," Shortdrop muttered, watching as she strode off the dock, her focus unyielding.
Lady Sanguine moved with purpose, every step drawn to the stranger ahead. She needed to see his steely gaze up close, to confirm the darkness she thought she’d glimpsed behind those cold eyes. When she finally caught up, he turned, as though he’d known she was there all along. A breathless silence stretched between them, connecting them for a single, shared moment.
An odd sensation tightened in her chest as she looked up at him. Magnus Quinn. A man of strict Stormer upbringing who towered over her, his eyes sharp and unyielding, his expression taut with disdain. His gaze assessed her as if cataloging her every flaw, yet each detail of his face seemed to pull her in, despite herself.
Lady stood motionless, daring him to speak first. She expected him to hurl some scornful insult fit to sting any pirate, let alone a captain. Yet despite his frigid demeanor, a charge lingered between them, potent and unresolved. As The Point lay crumbling around them, she couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath his contempt lay something else entirely—something that felt like a spark just waiting to ignite.
“If it isn’t the Witch Queen of the Veil,” Magnus sneered, his gaze fiery as he stared down at her. He stood before her in the crisp uniform of a Royal Navy admiral of Stormer’s fleet, the striking navy blue and silver making him a ruggedly handsome figure amid the debris scattered across the Point. He had undoubtedly been sent to oversee rebuilding efforts after the recent demon attack. Smoldering piles of rubble still lined many of the streets.
“Greetings to you, Lap Dog of the King.” She chose her words carefully, knowing each one made the vein in his forehead pulse a little harder. She knew the look all too well, that flare of anger whenever her words dripped like venom. Glancing around the Point, she noted his crew working to clear the debris. The steady, organized sounds of labor rose around them as rubble was moved and hauled away.
“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” he retorted, taking a step closer. “Or is the Witch too high and mighty to lend a hand to the Point? If it weren’t for the king’s treaty with you and those islands, I’d have you hanged, Lady.”
A salt breeze ruffled his coat and hair as he spoke, but she only smirked.
“I could spare a few to help. Careful, Puppy, or I might think you’re flirting with me. Is this an official request for aid?” She tapped her lips with a fingertip, amusement flickering in her eyes as Shortdrop and Sour joined her, standing silently by her side.
Shortdrop was a disturbing sight to most—far from pretty, but striking nonetheless. Thick, twisted tendrils of hair framed her face, and she wore the noose they’d once tried to hang her with as a twisted trophy around her neck. Sour, on the other hand, was a large, imposing man whose coat no longer buttoned in the front. His beard was unkempt, a few teeth missing, yet his fearsome skill with a warhammer and maul kept most at a respectful distance. He had been with Sanguine since she took over the Crowe.
“An official request,” he stated sharply. In a bold move, he removed his plumed hat and a glove, extending his hand to her. She reached out, hesitantly—few men dared to be so bold around her.
“I prefer to be called Magnus,” he said as he took her hand, leaning down to press a kiss across her knuckles. She swore the breeze stilled in that moment, the world seeming to pause around them. She slowly pulled her hand back, still staring at him in quiet shock.
“The Point, thank you.” He turned and walked away, giving her one last searing glance over his shoulder.
“Loathsome cur,” she muttered as he returned to his men, and she swore she saw a hint of laughter in his step. Treaty or not, it was all that kept her from slicing the smile off his face for daring to be so bold. She heard a soft cough behind her—Shortdrop.
“Bloody hells, we’re stuck here to help clean up their mess?” Shortdrop muttered, cursing as she turned toward the ship. “Aren’t we needed back in Cindorria?”
“Shortdrop, shut it. I can’t refuse an official request for aid. We made a treaty—it keeps ports like this safe for us to dock in. If you want to start a war, go ahead. Haven’t our people suffered enough?” Sanguine’s words cut deep, the truth weighing on her crew. Even Sour, standing beside her, stiffened at her tone. The islands were in a precarious position, and Stormer was one of the few realms that allowed them safe harbor. They weren’t pirates after treasure or the cutthroats of storybooks; they had banded together under her to keep Portcross out.
“Orders, Cap’n?” Sour asked quickly, as if wary of stirring her ire any further. “Rent out the whole of the Mermaid’s Tears for the crew. Ensure the Point gets the aid it needs—we’ll stay for a fortnight, then leave. And if anyone misbehaves, their blood is mine.” She turned and strode over to Admiral Magnus, her boots clicking against the cobblestones as she stopped beside him.
“A fortnight is as much as I can spare,” she said. “Since you’re requesting aid officially, I’ll expect compensation. And as for names, Lady or Sanguine will do. ‘Sea Witch,’ however, is off the table—you haven’t taken me to dinner yet.” She shot him a sly glance.
“Dinner, then—my personal invitation at the Castle.” His voice was quiet, and she looked up at him, curious. What was it with this man? One moment he seemed ready to kill her, and the next he was inviting her to dinner.
“My good friend Baresh is in town. He’s quite the chef,” Magnus added, his tone still quiet and casual. She noticed a glint in his gaze that gave her pause. “An official invitation?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“It’s my invitation,” he replied, his tone now less fiery and more personal.
“Then I accept.” She turned and walked away, her red coat fluttering behind her as she made her way through the streets of the Point toward the Mermaid’s Tears. The town had taken a beating from the recent attack, and signs of the destruction lingered everywhere.
Just as she was about to enter the inn, a short soldier with a twisted mustache stopped her.
“The Admiral meant today—and just the two of you,” he said, his voice tinged with nervousness as she arched an eyebrow. What exactly did Magnus want with her?
“I accept his terms,” she replied, watching as the soldier quickly took his leave. Lady entered the Mermaid’s Tears as if she owned the place. With her accounts running deep, it mattered little; here, she had earned her presence.