Page 36 of A Princess, Stolen (A Kiss of Revenge, Blood, and Love #1)

Several pairs of eyes were on me. Recently, it occurred to me that I desperately needed advocates if Isaac was to come on board before I could escape. I had to get them to accept me. Every single one of them had to be sympathetic to me in case my plan with the ring failed.

“Drekka? What does that mean?” I asked, glancing at Ilias. Like Pan, he seemed superhuman strong, almost invincible. It would be good to have him on my side.

“Drink,” Pan translated.

I had no choice, especially if I wanted to find out more about them. So, I put the bottle to my lips and took a big swig. Red-hot magma ran down my throat, and for a few seconds, I could barely breathe.

The men laughed, but Ilias’ expression didn’t change. “Drekka!” His unmoved look challenged me. If you want to be one of us, you have to drink , was how I interpreted it.

The others fell silent and looked expectantly in my direction.

The fact was I needed them even if I didn’t want to be one of them.

Maybe this was a kind of baptism. I drank again, whereupon Pan patted me on the back in recognition, but so hard that I flinched and choked.

I coughed for a few seconds, and when I had quieted down, Ilias sat on his box in front of me, so close that his thighs were wrapped around mine.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his overalls and put one between his lips.

“Meira, prinsessa!” He sounded both stoic and grim as if it were a task that had to be done, so I drank again even though the acrid taste disgusted me.

I had never drunk such cheap booze in my life.

I was only nineteen anyway and my dad had only allowed me a glass or two of champagne on special occasions.

When I put the liquor down, Ilias shook his head and put his huge hand under the bottle as if to support it for me. “Meira!”

“More,” Pan translated again and then he said something in that standoffish foreign language.

I prayed they wouldn’t let me drink the whole bottle or I might die not at Isaac’s hand but of alcohol poisoning. Someone, I think one of the hobbits, beat a drum roll on his box while another whistled. “More, more, more!” a few men shouted chaotically.

After two gulps, I gagged and turned my head to the side. “What does enough mean in your language?” I choked out, my throat on fire.

“Nog!” Pan patted the top of my head, an awkward but well-meaning gesture that made me duck my head anyway.

“Nog!” I said to Ilias.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly, but at least he took his hand off the bottle.

I felt as if gravity had tripled. “I’ve never drunk liquor before,” I explained miserably. My stomach clenched. Please don’t let me puke on Ilias’ feet!

Most laughed, but Ilias made no move to get up and leave me alone. I saw him as if through a fogbank, but that might not have been my alcohol level, just the bluish smoke from his cigarette.

“Drekka upp!” he said.

“That means drink up,” Troy added. He said it regretfully, but he grinned with mischievous joy.

Oh, yes! This amuses you, of course!

I drank again and heard appreciative applause, but the sharpness of the liquor still brought tears to my eyes. “Nog!” I said again and gave Ilias the bottle. The next sip would definitely make me throw up on his lap and I didn’t like that at all.

Ilias glanced at me and then at the bottle. “Drekka upp!” He held it urgently in front of my face and swished the clear liquid around. It rotated like a centrifuge and I still had the image in my mind of him pressing the neck of the bottle to my lips as if he wanted to help if necessary.

I swallowed, snorted, and spat out some until he laughed. “Nog!” He nodded.

Thank God, he was happy with me! I couldn’t believe my luck.

Grinning, he pulled the bottle back and set it aside—it was still quite full, so it wasn’t as much as I had feared.

Nevertheless, Ilias wasn’t finished yet.

He put his heavy hand on my shoulder and looked at me piercingly. “We drink rest later, prinsessa!”

I didn’t know if it was a threat or a promise, but at least he removed the box and went back to his spot.

I glanced around and felt the effects of the alcohol.

Warmth filled my stomach and the tension in my shoulders eased.

At the same time, I felt as if I was enveloped in a pleasant fog.

A few of them were talking again, but Pan watched my every move.

There was something strange in his eyes or maybe they were merely glassy because he had drunk too much.

I gathered up my courage, which was easier than expected thanks to the schnapps. “What language do you and Ilias speak? Is that Finnish?”

“Icelandic,” he grumbled.

I looked at him attentively. “But Coldville isn’t in Iceland, is it?”

Pan drew his shaggy eyebrows together. “You no ask many questions. Not good for you.” He grabbed a flask from the ground that had been standing next to his wooden box and looked up toward the bridge.

“Whiskey. That better. No rat me out to boss, prinsessa. No drink, he say, no drink, keep head clear.”

I nodded and turned an imaginary key in front of my lips.

Pan drank and held out the flask to me, but I shook my head. “Drekka and I say where Coldville is.”

Although I could feel the alcohol more and more, I accepted his offer and took a tiny sip from his bottle even though the smell of onions clung to it. I shuddered—because of the onions and the whiskey. “Tastes like asphalt. Like tar.” I made a face.

Amused, he laughed and adjusted his bandana. “Coldville in Canada. But I no say more, no matter how much you drink.”

“You’re all from Canada?” I asked anyway.

I thought about Mykonos’ words when he stood in the doorway to the mess.

They sounded vaguely French, which made me think of French-speaking Canadians.

Did all these men have French roots? Was that why they all had dark hair?

I looked at Pan thoughtfully and he looked back calmly. “Why do you speak Icelandic?” I asked.

“Mother. Mother from Reykjavík. Father go when I small. Mother only spoke Icelandic. When mother die, aunt took us to Coldville. We were ten. Only spoke French with aunt. Aunt also die, like cousins.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. How terrible that must have been for both of them.

Pan stared at the floor. “First, I thought you like Hampton…but you nothing like Hampton. You different, prinsessa.” He raised his head and there was that strange light in his eyes again that dismayed me.

Warmth. Sympathy. He had even pronounced the word “prinsessa” almost gently, at least by his standards.

“Brother and I, we simple fishermen, simple men. We happy with forest, sea, and sky above heads. We no kidnap young women. But then…too much happen… We angry.”

“Okay,” I said. Pan’s words almost sounded like an apology.

“We no bad men, we do for good cause.” He looked at me intently for far too long without looking away. It made me nervous, so I twisted the ring on my finger. Maybe Pan was the right one after all.

“How long have you known Nathan and Isaac?”

“Oh…not long. They gone for long time. But I through see people quickly.”

“You see through people quickly?” I corrected cautiously.

He nodded. “I take care of you. Isaac say lot of mean things, do to you. But you good girl, I realize. You sacrifice yourself for Hampton, you give your life. You save boss, you help ship like man…you not mad at me for say mean things to you. You gott hjarta. Like boss. Gott hjarta.”

I had to swallow because he spoke to me so caringly and lovingly even though I was once again deeply afraid of Isaac. “Gott hjarta… What does that mean?”

He patted his chest with his hand. “Good heart. You good heart and pretty smile. Boss also good heart under anger.” Then he took several sips of whiskey and handed me the flask again.

I also took a tiny sip because I felt somewhat obligated.

He was nice to me, something I hadn’t expected.

Somehow, it even seemed underhanded to use him for my own purposes.

However, my first goal was to survive. No use waiting for Isaac to do bad things to me.

“When this is over, what will you do?” I wanted to know and turned the ring around repeatedly.

“I no have big dreams, prinsessa. I live in peace with fish, sea, and brother. I no need money.”

That was bad. “But if you had some? What would you do? What do you dream of?”

Pan looked at me so intensely with his black eyes that a queasy feeling spread through me. “I no dream, prinsessa.”

I smiled at him and winked a little. “Everyone dreams of something, Pan. You too.”

I could see even in the fine starlight that fell on the main deck like sand that he blushed a little.

“Maybe someday I find pretty woman with good heart. With pretty smile like you. And children. Many children.” He stared at his fingers, which were covered in calluses and scars.

“If I have money, I build house for big family.”

Such a simple, modest wish with such a strong longing behind it.

I had never seriously thought about people who had nothing but their hands to work with and maybe a mat made of straw in some hut.

I had always lived in my own little world, in a world where everything bad was kept away from me, and there was only Dad, my paints, and colorful flowers.

“Hey, you!” A voice ripped me out of my thoughts. It was Icarus, who sat down next to me and Pan with his box. “Tell me…what’s it like to be the richest girl in America? Ilias swears you have a butler who wipes your ass.”

“You quiet, Icarus!” Pan hissed, glaring at Ilias. He grinned back and stared at me as he put a new cigarette in his mouth.

“I have to disappoint you, but I don’t have a butler for things like that.” This time their mockery wouldn’t get me down.

“So, how many butlers do you have?” Icarus leaned forward with voyeuristic curiosity and rubbed his hands.