When a man dies, it's of the common belief he ought to be afforded the well-earned dignity of an eternity of peace. There's to be no more strange business with dread captains and monstrous Krakens and bloody thrice-Damned pirates.
When a man dies, t...
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Lord Beckett examined her, walking a slow, methodical circuit, taking in her rough appearance. Even wearing what he assumed was Norrington's coat, he was able to see her dress was torn, even bloodied at some places. Her hands remained shackled and limp, and she stood very motionless, her face shielded behind her long, dirtied yellow hair. He was struck by the imagery of an interested shark circling a lost, wayward fish.
The truth was not far off.
Beckett was sure she expected his first few words to be cruel and cold, so when he politely asked, "Are you hungry?" she jerked her head up and stared at him blankly.
"You must be ravenous," he added with a small smile, "after all you've been forced to endure in these past few hours."
Those eyes. Beckett couldn't get past them. They were so intense it was startling, piercing like the tip of a double-edged sword. She didn't answer him, not verbally anyway, but her slightly trembling hands and her pale face told him he was correct in his assessment.
"Jacque!" he called out.
His servant came in from a side room and said, "Yes, sir?"
"My guest and I will take our dinner here." He turned to her and said, "What would you like, my dear?"
She remained silent but her eyes narrowed the faintest bit. Beckett gave her a smile just as slight, and then turned to his servant and said, "Bring a little of everything."
"At once, sir," he acknowledged with a bow, disappearing just as quickly as he had arrived. Beckett gave her a cursory glance before turning to his spirit cabinet, making sure he didn't put his back to her and she remained at her periphery of his vision. He pulled out two small wine glasses and poured a small amount of white wine into each.
"I don't know about you, but I could use a drink," he spoke lightly, feeling in a rather good mood. In such a good mood that he neglected to keep his eye on her, for just a fleeting moment as he focused on pouring their drinks. That was his first mistake.
He didn't have time to so much as breathe before he was grabbed, pulled to the side, and then spun around and thrust with his back against the wall.
Beckett opened his mouth to alert the guards, but she held her wrists at either side of his neck and pressed her chains tight against his throat, cutting off his air and his voice. The sound that escaped was a gurgling gasp, dying before it could reach anyone's ears outside the room.
"W..."
Beckett tried to breathe, tried to speak, tried to force out the word, blinking more as his vision grew blurry. But no matter how hazy it got, he could still see her eyes. Those blue eyes, a storm-born fury, staring straight through him with murderous intent.
He had not felt this weak and helpless in years, and for a breath of a second, he was too terrified to act. But no, he was Lord Beckett, Governor of the Company and representative of the Crown and Empire. He would not die here. Not like this.
