Secret Emotions

James gently lifted me from the bed, his touch soft and careful, as if I might shatter in his arms. He carried me through the narrow corridors of the ship, each step measured, deliberate, as though he bore something fragile and precious.

When we reached the captain's quarters, Captain Blackthorn stood in the doorway, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the room. His gaze locked onto us, and his voice, deep and commanding, left no room for protest.

"I will take her from here, James."

With reluctance clear in the tense set of his shoulders, James handed me over, his hesitation lingering in the air as he silently withdrew. The captain’s arms, while firm, carried a different weight—more foreboding than tender. Inside the dim chamber, the scent of saltwater mixed with the lingering tension.

Captain Blackthorn gently lowered me onto the bed, his hands lingering for a brief moment before pulling away. His eyes flicked to the quilt draped at the edge of the bed.

“That quilt belongs to James,” he said, his voice edged with a quiet accusation.
“What is it doing on your bed?”

I felt the weight of his gaze, my pulse quickening under the pressure. The question hung heavy between us, laden with implications I wasn’t ready to unravel.

“You’d have to ask him,” I whispered, barely managing to steady my voice.

His expression darkened, a storm brewing behind his eyes. For a brief, terrifying second, his hand twitched as if he might strike me. My breath caught, bracing for the blow that never came. Instead, the anger melted from his features, replaced by something almost resembling restraint.

“You need to rest,” he said, his voice softening unexpectedly.

The concern felt out of place, foreign on his lips. He let out a slow breath before continuing.

“That baby needs to grow strong.”

The shift in his demeanor startled me. His words, though gentle, carried an undertone that left me unsettled—an acknowledgment of the life inside me and its value to him. Yet I couldn’t shake the unease that lingered beneath his unexpected tenderness. Was this concern real? Or was it simply another layer to his control?



I sank into the covers as exhaustion claimed me. Fever clawed at my senses, making the room blur and sway as the weight of the night pressed down. The heat was oppressive, stifling every breath. My body trembled with chills, the damp sheets clinging to my skin, while shadows twisted at the corners of my vision, mocking my feverish mind.

Sleep, when it came, was no refuge. My dreams were fragmented, haunted by nightmares that dragged me deeper into darkness. Disembodied voices whispered, dredging up fears I had buried long ago. Hours stretched on, each one more agonizing than the last, as I lay trapped in the grip of fever.

When morning finally broke, I awoke drenched in sweat, my body weak and trembling. Captain Blackthorn sat at the edge of the bed, wiping my forehead with a cool cloth. I took the water he offered, the liquid soothing my parched throat, and managed to drink a few spoonful’s of soup. I wondered why Blackthorn was tending to me. Before he did not seem to care whether I lived or died.

His hand brushed against my cheek. A shiver ran through me, pulling me fully into wakefulness. His gaze was piercing, intense, searching.

"Are you scared of me, pet?"

His words cut through the stillness of the room, heavy with meaning. I hesitated and my throat was tight with fear.


“N-no, Captain,” I stammered, my voice unsteady.
“I am just not used to your kindness.”

His expression softened at my admission. His hand dropped from my cheek with a soft thud against the covers.

“I know I have put you through a lot,” he said quietly, his tone almost tender.
“You are safe here, with me.”

Those words did little to comfort me. His sudden gentleness felt like a trap, a prelude to something far worse. I knew my pregnancy offered me only temporary protection. Once the baby was born, what use would I be to him? He broke the silence.

“James will stay with you while I tend to the ship.”

There was something unreadable in his eyes, a flicker of uncertainty quickly masked behind his usual stoic demeanor. I nodded numbly, too tired to respond. He left the room. James stepped forward, his presence a familiar anchor amidst the storm.

“How are you feeling, Princess?” he asked gently, though his voice was tinged with worry.

His eyes glanced over me, taking in my weakened state.

“My fever hasn’t broken yet, has it?”

I whispered, more a statement than a question. James shook his head.

“No, not yet.”

His voice was soft, but there was a gravity to it that made the air around us feel heavier.

“You need to rest.”

I searched his face, hoping to find some hint of reassurance in his steady presence.

“You can speak freely, James.”
"Please."

He stiffened, his expression closing off.

“No, Princess, I cannot,” he replied, a touch of sorrow lacing his words.
“You are carrying my brother’s child.”


The weight of his words crashed over me, stealing my breath. My heart sank. James shifted closer; his gaze intense.

“Even knowing that I want to take you away from here and make you mine.”
“James…”

My voice faltered, and a thousand emotions swirled in my chest. Before I could respond, the cabin door swung open with a sharp creak. Captain Blackthorn stood in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over us, suspicion darkening his gaze.

"Is everything all right?"

His voice was calm, but the tension in the room thickened as his gaze shifted between us. James hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice steady.

"Captain, I think we need to discuss our next steps.”
“There are complications."

Captain Blackthorn's brow furrowed; his gaze sharpened. Before any more words could be exchanged, a wave of dizziness crashed over me, and the room spun out of focus. I barely registered the concern on their faces as the world slipped into darkness.