Marrying Captain Blackthorn

The dressmaker finally stepped back, brushing imaginary dust from her hands. I peeled off the constricting gown, lungs gasping as relief flooded me. The silk had been suffocating, clinging to my chest, exposing nearly my entire back, binding me like armor I had never asked to wear. Servants scurried through the room, their hurried footsteps echoing off the stone walls, carrying trays, bouquets, and delicate crystal goblets, preparing the hall for the day I had dreaded for weeks.

Through the open windows, craftsmen labored tirelessly, erecting a canopy of rich silk for the ceremony. Purple and blue curtains fluttered in the breeze, sunlight glinting off lanterns suspended at every corner. Evening fell, painting the castle in golden hues that could not soothe the tight coil of dread in my chest. I refused to face my parents for dinner. They had sacrificed me for their gain, and the thought of sharing a meal with them made bile rise in my throat. Sleep fled me entirely.

Morning arrived with a pale gray light. My lady-in-waiting found me on the balcony, staring at the black sails anchored in the harbor. They taunted me with the promise of what awaited, the man I was to marry, feared across the seas. My stomach churned, and a wave of disgust and anxiety washed over me. Inside, she guided me to the bathtub, steaming and fragrant with lavender. I shed my nightgown, sinking into the hot water as though it could wash away the fear clinging to my skin. The warmth soothed my muscles, but not the terror in my mind. My lady-in-waiting combed through my dark hair, knots sliding free under her careful fingers. Once dry, I wrapped myself in a thick towel and sat at the vanity as my attendants swarmed, whispers and rustling silk filling the chamber.

My hair was braided intricately, threaded with pearls and tiny crystals that caught the morning light. Makeup followed. Subtle rose on my cheeks, soft pink on my lips, enhancing the pallor of my skin without hiding my anxiety. Finally, the gown arrived. A masterpiece of silk and lace, delicate yet heavy, as if warning me of the weight it carried.

I rose from my seat, stepping into the dress as if donning armor. The bodice hugged my waist, sleeves shimmering as lace trailed down my arms. Satin slippers jeweled with crystals awaited my feet. Then, my lady-in-waiting handed me a small box from Captain Blackthorn. Trembling, I opened it to reveal sapphire jewelry, a necklace and earrings, cold and glittering. She fastened them gently around me. The veil, a cascade of lace and diamonds, was the final touch, its brilliance a cruel reminder that this finery belonged to him, not me.

A knock heralded my father’s entrance. “You look beautiful, Isabella,” he said, voice hollow, eyes avoiding mine.

“Thank you, Father,” I murmured, forcing a smile I didn’t feel.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he admitted, the weight in his tone heavier than any words. “We had no choice.”

Without another word, he took my arm and lowered the veil over my face. I followed him through the door, heart hammering. The assembly rose, a tide of eyes turning toward me. I couldn’t see Blackthorn, but I sensed him, an unseen predator waiting. The castle hall had been transformed. Wooden pews, cushioned in crimson and royal purple, lined the way. Golden chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow over every tapestry depicting ancient battles and heroic deeds. The altar awaited, marble and flowers arranged with careful precision. The kingdom’s crest glowed behind it, bathed in candlelight, shadows flickering across the stone floor.

My gown trailed behind me like a ribbon of silk, shimmering in the glow. Tears pricked my eyes, not for joy, but for the betrayal in every whispered gasp of the crowd. Then I saw Captain Blackthorn. Tall, commanding, dark waves of hair falling across his rugged face. His eyes were storms, unreadable and dangerous. Every inch of him exuded authority, power born from a life at sea. Broad shoulders filled a finely tailored black velvet coat; a single gold hoop earring gleamed in the chandelier light, a stark reminder of the pirate he was. My stomach lurched as we approached each other. At the altar, nausea surged in my throat. My father took his seat, leaving me alone with him. Blackthorn stepped closer, lifting my veil with a predatory smile.

“You’re even more beautiful in person, pet,” he whispered, low and dangerous.

The preacher stepped forward, voice solemn. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to join this man and woman in holy matrimony. Do you, Captain Blackthorn, take this woman to be your wife?”

“I do,” he said without hesitation.

All eyes turned to me. “Do you, Princess Isabella, take this man to be your husband?”

I froze. His gaze drilled into me, cold and commanding. “Say it, or you’ll regret it later,” he whispered.

“I, I do,” I whispered, voice barely audible.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

He seized me. The kiss stole my breath, his hands gripping my waist as though claiming me by force. The hall emptied around us, leaving only the sound of my heartbeat and the echo of our lips meeting. He pressed me against the stone wall, his weight unrelenting.

“You drive me mad,” he growled, lips brushing mine again, harder this time, teeth grazing as desire and danger intertwined.

I gasped, struggling to breathe, cold stone biting my back. His lips returned to mine, his strength suffocating.

“Get ready. I’ll strip you of that dress soon enough,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

Suddenly, he released me. Relief surged, fleeting and bitter, as I realized my skin still burned where his fingers had dug in. Before I could gather myself, he seized my wrist again, dragging me forward. I stumbled after him, heart hammering. Music and laughter filled the halls, a cruel soundtrack to the dread coiling in my stomach. The ballroom doors opened, spilling golden light across the hallway. Chandeliers sparkled like constellations, dancers spinning with effortless grace. Perfume, champagne, laughter, it should have been a celebration. Instead, I felt like a hunted animal stepping onto a stage uninvited.

He let go of my wrist, and my skin tingled in the sudden absence of pressure, but his gaze pinned me in place. Without a word, he slipped into the crowd. My pulse spiked. I froze, then pushed forward, weaving through laughing couples and drifting waiters, the noise pressing in too loud, too bright. Finally, I saw him at the edge of the dance floor. His eyes met mine, unreadable, ice running through his stare. He extended a hand. Every instinct screamed caution. My heart thundered in my chest as I stepped forward. This was only the beginning.