The Captain’s Slave part 17

Previously on The Captain’s Slave…

I cannot protect her as her master. I cannot protect her as a lover.

“Grace!” I shout as I run for the house. “Get dressed! We’re going to court and getting fucking married.”

I can certainly protect her as my wife.

Presently…

GRACE

I sit across from him on the dining table, my heart at my throat as he proposes the impossible.

Marriage. Malik wants to marry me.

Marriage is sacred. A union that’s blessed by the gods. And yet this man is asking me to become his wife under false pretenses.

I always dreamt that one day, when I escaped slavery, I would find someone that brought me peace. He would ask for my hand in marriage, and finally, after having so many decisions made for me, I would get to choose something for myself.

I never chose the title of slave. But becoming a wife…that was my secret dream.

Now it seems like I can’t choose that either. Like I’m this tragic girl whose dreams will always come second to a man’s wishes. And I know this particular man is trying to protect me, but I can’t help but stare at him in disappointment.

He has his elbows set on the table, and he leans forward. Watching my expression and not looking surprised by what he sees. I have always had this rebellious edge to me. A servant girl that scrubs his patience as hard as she scrubs the floors.

Malik is terribly handsome. This fact doesn’t escape me during this tense, awful, gut-wrenching moment. The sunlight beaming through the window casts on his face makes his right eye bright. His shoulders are nearly the width of the table.

He came from the wilderness–this much I know. But right now, I’m more curious than ever about how many lives he has knocked off track with those calloused hands, giant biceps, and unforgiving chest. Because my life is very much shaken by this behemoth of a man.

I know he’s a warrior that has waged war in battlefields before–those hands of his are not of a farmers—no matter how much he tries to play house. But I could have never imagined he had the power to wage war in hearts, too.

Ancestors, I thought this man would be unreachable. He seemed too cold and distant to allow me to get close. But now he’s asking for marriage.

I want to blurt out yes! But I cannot. It would be an utter mockery. The gods would strike down on us. I know first hand how vengeful they can be. My life was spared at the expense of another girl’s life, and I paid for my sin by slaving away for years in despair and destitution. The gods will strike down with unhinged fury if I play with holy matrimony.

“I cannot. Malik, you know I can’t.”

He pounds a meaty fist on the table, the violent vibrations echoing across the wood until they reach me. I flinch in fear; which is a rare reaction when I’m around Malik.

“It’s not a choice! They are coming for you. Even a brain-rotted idiot knows marriage is the only way out of this.”

“But…this is a religious union. It wouldn’t be true. We are master and servant, not husband and wife.”

“Fuck religion. I need to do this to get the law off my back. They will come for you, Grace. And there are only so many men I can murder before I’m overpowered.”

I cringe at that word. Murder. I wish for no blood to be spilled over me. Enough has painted the dirt already. Two men have fallen over my name

“You will do no such thing. If the law wishes to speak with me, then I will go willingly. They will release me once I answer their questions. I have nothing to hide…except…”

Except for my former slaver that Malik murdered and buried in his territory. I’m sure he would be able to argue that it was self-defense, but his freedom is not guaranteed.

“This is not the time to be an upstanding citizen. Your gods will understand…”

“Malik, I’ve been paying for my life for years! Imagine the punishment they would give me for faking a holy union! Please, just let me go peacefully!” I plead.

I can’t play with fate. I can’t do it again.

He grinds his teeth as he says, “No. You can’t imagine the things they can do to you while you’re in custody. You belong to me. In my territory.”

My heart sutters–

“You are my servant.” He finishes.

And there it is. The truth. The title that has been assigned to me. There is no love between Malik and I. There is only business. He’s fighting with teeth and claws because I’m his property.

Not his lover. Never his lover.

“I will survive,” I say, raising my chin slightly.

He looks exasperated. Like I’m a foolish girl. And perhaps I am. My ancestors know that he has much more experience in life than I do, but I feel that this proposal is wrong. We cannot weaponize a marriage.

“Fine, then have it your way,” he grunts, punching the table with both fists as he rises up. Tugging at the neckline of his tunic as if it’s stangling him.

I rise from the table, too. Glancing out the window, looking at the treeline and searching for lawmen that want to take me.

“So…should I start packing?”

“Yes,” he replies. Glaring at me.

Is this it? Is this the end?

My voice is fragile as I ask, “Are you…relieving me permanently from my duties? Or will you wait for me to return?”

“Fuck, Grace! Don’t you get it? You’re not going anywhere with those men. I’m dragging you back to my military camp. You will be safe there.”

I don’t understand. “But you…you retired, didn’t you? You returned to your home to settle down. How can you go back?”

He growls. “I’ll always have a home there.”

“But what about this home? What about all your remodeling projects? What of the farming you were–”

“I’m abandoning it all for you,” he says solemnly. “And it’s a fucking shame you don’t find a man willing to give it all for you worthy of marriage.”

He stomps sway. Furious that I’ve complicated everything. I feel awful that I’m ruining his retirement and unsure of what’s to come.

What could I possibly offer a military camp, other than cleaning? I’ve got no experience cooking massive batches of food to feed an entire camp.

And I’ve heard the rumors. The only other job for women at a military camp is entertaining. Bending over for any passerby to let him screw them. I’ve got respect for these women that service the soldiers, but I could never be one of them. I don’t have the backbone to bend over and take the blows of a stranger’s hips.

For a second, I wonder what would have happened if I said yes. If I became Malik’s bride.

I guess I won’t be finding out.

READ PART 18>

A/N: how many of you are married or engaged? ❤️ I personally am not