Alice awoke with an absolutely crushing hangover and a cutlass at her throat.
Augustus looked at her mischievously. Unceremoniously, she groggily turned over and pulled the blanket over her head, blocking out the light.
“I doubt that will help,” he said, getting louder as she covered her ears. “Here, drink this,” he added, pushing a cup into her hand.
She sat up and sloshed the liquid around. It was chunky and pickle green and absolutely unappetizing. Upon the insistence of the Captain, she chugged it down anyway.
She was pleasantly surprised when, instead of sprouting an extra eyeball or digit, the concoction actually made her feel much better. Alice held it up, as if demanding an explanation.
“It’s Nelson’s personal recipe. Ask him,” he offered.
After she washed up and changed cloths, Alice asked what her job of the day was.
“If you’re going to be turning people into shish kabobs, you should at least learn the proper way to do it,” he said handing her a sword.
That day they practiced, Alice working on her thrust and parry. She seemed to be doing better than yesterday, and August hoped that the practice would keep her mind off things, and with any luck desensitize her from what she’d done. He recalled how it had helped him concentrate all his energy into sparring when he’d first killed a man. Of course, he was much younger; maybe eleven or twelve, and he really didn't have a choice. It was the man’s life or his own, simple as that.
He preferred not to dwell on the past, instead focusing on his spar with Alice. She was obviously a beginner, that was undeniable, but she did have some natural talent. If it was perhaps developed, maybe over a couple of months she could become a great fighter. He shook his head. What was he thinking? They were only a week away from the port, and after that she’d be gone. He was simply providing her with a distraction.
By the time the sun was directly overhead, they were both drenched in sweat and famished. He put down his sword and brought out the usual: stew and bread loaf. Alice tore at it hungrily, her hangover demanding food. August took a slower approach, carefully breaking his bread into pieces and soaking them in the stew. Both ate in silence.
A little while later, Alice turned to him. “Did something happen yesterday?” she asked. “I mean, I remember kissing you, but after that it’s all a blur. Did we…?” She turned bright scarlet, trailing off.
“Now what kind of gentleman would I be to take advantage of a lady in a drunken state?” He asked. Laughing, he clarified, “Don’t worry, nothing happened.”
She seemed relieved. “Thanks for rebuffing my drunken advances,” she continued, embarrassed
“Any time. They weren’t that hard to reject,” He added.
Truthfully, he was this close to letting that kiss turn into something more. It took every ounce of his body strength to stop himself, every last drop of willpower. He hated pulling her away, but he would probably hate himself even more the next morning if he hadn’t. Right then and there, he decided he would never hurt her like that.
They practiced for the rest of the week, paring and twirling, metal on metal. Both were focused, breathing hard, their feet moving swiftly. August was still using the wrong hand, something that Alice made him regret doing toward the end of the week, when during one of their spars she nicked his shirt.
“I surrender, I surrender,” he said jokingly, lifting both hands in the air. He looked at his shirt, the hole big enough to fit his entire hand into. After a moment of thought, he took it off, and threw it at her. “You might want to fix this,” he said, a bit more serious this time.
She threw the shirt back at him. “Have Sam sew it,” she said.
He caught the blouse, obviously annoyed. He wasn’t used to people talking back to him. He was the Captain after all, shouldn’t his crew listen to his orders?
He reminded himself that Alice wasn’t a part of his crew. In fact, she was leaving tomorrow. Going back to Port Luka, to live a comfortable and easy life. They were worlds apart.
Alice was coolly polishing her cutlass with a cloth, bringing it horizontal with her eye to check the edge. If she was still hesitant about going back home the next day, she didn’t show it. Her demeanor was easy, as if the groundbreaking news didn’t affect her one bit.
He wiped the sweat of his brow, and asked what had been bothering him for the past couple days: “Why were you journeying to the Capital, anyway?”
The question caught her off guard. She hadn’t really thought about the arranged marriage in a long time, ever since her ship was overtaken. “I was on my way to be wed to Prince Phillip,” she explained, the words feeling a little unreal.
August looked away, feeling almost disappointed, “Oh, congratulations,” he said uneasily.
Alice expected a snide comment, or a low-handed insult, but none came. He was acting strangely nice. “Thank you,” she awkwardly responded, not knowing what else to say.
“I have to go and attend to important matters,” said the Captain. He turned heel and walked off. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he looked unsteady sauntering back to the cabin, different from the confident way he usually strode about.
August had no idea why he reacted that way. Sitting at his desk, he raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. He knew she was a nuisance, and getting her off the ship would benefit both him and her. Alice always found ways to get herself into trouble, from getting intoxicated to the incident from their first night. He would be happy to be rid of her. She was a proper lady in a place she didn’t belong, and it was high time for her to get home.
Even though he only saw benefits in her departure, August wanted her to stay. He really did like her, he self-confessed. She was personable even in her most stubborn moments, and even though he didn’t show it, she often made him laugh. Although she was annoying at first, she really grew on him. He had no problem admitting to that.
What surprised him, though, was the pain and discomfort he experienced when she mentioned that she was getting married. Sure, he liked her personality, but she was too boyish for his tastes, too naïve, and too snobbish. He could not phantom what had possessed him to feel this way. When he recalled how he felt when she tried to kiss him, he became even more perplexed.
Was it possible that he was actually falling for her…? He banished the idea from his head. It was improbable, if not impossible. But it would explain the pang he felt in his heart, the way his mind raced when he talked to her. August placed his head on the desk. This train of thought was giving him a migraine. Did it really matter what he felt? She was going to be gone come tomorrow morning.
Still, the what if question taunted him, and he found he couldn’t get any sleep. The next morning, after they docked, he left Alex with instructions for where to take Alice and made his way to the nearest pub, determined to find solace and answers in the bottom of an empty glass.
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