The Lady Captain (Belles & Bullets Book 4)

by Caylen McQueen

  When her lips found his, Nico moaned. She kissed him again and again, feverishly, as if she had been craving his kisses for ages. As soon as he felt her pulling off his shirt, Nico sat up.

  “I don't know about this,” he repeated.

  She shoved him back down. “Don't be shy, Nico! You chose me, right? I know you want this.”

  “I do!” Nico confessed, whimpering. “But I really shouldn't. We shouldn't. I barely know you, and--”

  “But we chatted yesterday. I already know you a lot better than I know most of my clients.”

  That didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel worse. When Nico sat up again, he was groaning. “Listen, uh... Mae. I like you. I really do. But this isn't something I would ever do if Vee hadn't pressured me into doing it. I'm a gentleman. I would prefer to get to know a lady better before we, uhh... umm...”

  “Get to know me better, then!” Still straddling him, Mae combed her fingers through his short, dark hair. “What would you like to know about me, Nico?”

  “No, you don't understand! A single conversation wouldn't be sufficient!” Nico put his hands on her waist and gently lifted her off of him. Despite his reluctance, his arousal was obvious, so he covered his lap with a blanket. But when he saw the bedbugs that covered it, he threw off the blanket and shuddered.

  “So... do I understand you correctly? You really don't want to have sex with me?” Mae's voice was suddenly cold.

  Nico shook his head. “No. I'd rather just... talk.”

  With a grumble, Mae slid from the bed and retrieved her discarded robe. As she slipped her arms through its sleeves, she calmly informed him, “You have lipstick all over your face.”

  When Nico turned in the direction of the looking glass, he gasped. The lower half of his face was covered in Mae's cherry red lipstick. “It looks like I had my face buried in a pie.”

  “You could have had your face buried in something...” Mae whispered under her breath. Since most of her makeup had been transferred to Nico's face, she pulled out a tube of lipstick, which was shaped like a bullet, and reapplied the color.

  Nico tried to clean his face with the bug-infested bed sheets, but the lipstick stayed on his skin. After a minute of ineffectual swiping, he pitched the sheet and turned his attention back to Mae. “Listen... I know I've said this before, but I need to get out of here. There's someone pretending to be me. My little sister might be in the company of some very dangerous people. One way or another, I need to get out of Bordeaux and get back to the capital. Will you help me, Mae?”

  “Hmm. I don't know.” Mae returned to the bed and sat beside him.

  “I need to come up with a plan. You know this place better than I do. You have to help me think of something!”

  “I don't know...” Mae repeated her answer. “I don't want to get in trouble. When we do bad things, the guards give us a light beating.”

  “Then you can escape with me! Please!” Nico reached for her hand. “When we get to the capital, I'll give you money. I'll make sure you have a nicer place to stay. Anything's got to be better than this, right?”

  Mae shrugged, then her eyes drifted to his bandaged hand. “Did you really lose a finger?” she asked. The wound wasn't bleeding anymore, so Nico removed the bandage, revealing his stump. As soon as she saw it, she gasped. “Oh my god, you poor thing!”

  “Yeah... it was pretty horrible.” A light smile lifted his lips. If she was going to pity him, he was going to soak it up. “It really hurt. In fact, it still hurts.”

  “Poor Nico!” Mae pulled his hand to her mouth, kissing his wound as gently as possible. “I lost a tooth once. It was rotten and throbbing. The pain was driving me crazy for weeks and weeks before I finally let someone yank it out. It bled and bled and god... it was the worst experience of my life! But it'd be even worse to lose a finger! I can't even imagine.”

  Nico heaved an unreadable sigh as he basked in her sympathy. She pulled his head to her shoulder and lovingly stroked his hair. In that moment, Nico felt so content that he almost forgot the bedbugs crawling all over them.

  As soon as Mae's hand stopped caressing him, he tried to inspire more pity. “My hand will never be the same again.” Nico's self-pity was slightly exaggerated, but he wanted her affection. “And it's... you know... it's so sore!”

  His efforts were fruitful. Mae coiled her arms around him, buried her face against his neck and cried, “Oh, you poor baby!”

  “So anyway... I need to get out of the brothel,” Nico suddenly reminded her. He decided to broach the topic while she still felt sorry for him. “I need to get back home, and I need your help.”

  “Alright.” She was suddenly more pliable. “I'll try to think of something, Nico, but I won't make any promises.”

  “Good. I appreciate that.”

  Mae must have really pitied him, because she continued to cuddle him for several minutes. And when she cradled his face against her bosom, he didn't complain.

  After all, Nico was a gentleman, but he wasn't a saint.

  Twelve

  With a whip in his hand, Thomas Harriot felt alive. Every time he heard the loud snap of leather carving into flesh, a weak smile wavered on his lips. It felt wrong to enjoy it.

  “Tell me, deserter.” Harriot lovingly caressed his whip as he circled his victim, who dangled from a post in the center of the room. “Why leave? Why would you leave the people who fed you? Clothed you? Why would you abandon the group that put a weapon in your hand and gave you purpose?”

  “I don't know!” The deserter's half-naked body shivered as his masked torturer circled around him. Before Harriot, he'd had another torturer, who stripped him to his skivvies and fed him feces. As humiliating as that was, he feared Harriot more. “I don't know why. I really don't know!”

  “Did you disagree with what we were doing? Did you disapprove of our plans?” When the deserter didn't answer, Harriot stood behind him and unleashed the whip. The man howled in agony as the strike seared his flesh. “If you had concerns about Eversio, you should have spoken to someone. You should have trusted us to listen. You shouldn't have run away from us.”

  “I'm sorry!” The poor man was crying now. A trickle of blood scurried from his new wound, tickling his bare back.

  “When you fled, who did you speak to?” Harriot cracked the whip again. “Who?”

  “No one!”

  Harriot discarded the whip and reached for a different torture device. It was Harriot's own invention: a metal glove with a hook on the end. It was often used for assassinations, but it could be applied to torture as well.

  “Wh-what is that?” the deserter stammered as he eyed the weapon. For the twentieth time that day, he tried to shake himself free, but the bonds held him too tightly.

  “It's a gift for you!” Harriot exclaimed, but the man must not have appreciated the joke, because he was silent. “Actually, this is one of my favorite torture devices. If you fail to tell me what I need to know, I'll be using it on you. Of course, we have zero tolerance for deserters, so you'll be dying either way. But if you'd prefer a less painful death, you'll have to give me something.” Harriot tapped the man's back with the cold, iron glove. “When you left Eversio, who did you speak to? There must have been someone. A wife? A girlfriend? A bartender?”

  “If you're going to kill me either way, then kill me!” When the tip of the hook pierced his stomach, the man screamed, sobbed and writhed.

  “It sounds like you have something to hide,” Harriot calmly observed. “Do you have something to hide?”

  “No.”

  The hook drove deeper into his stomach. “Oh dear. I'm afraid I already know you're lying. When you left, you were followed. We already know you spoke to a man named Michael, and thanks to you, Michael is dead.” Harriot disapprovingly clicked his tongue. “Your disloyalty got him killed and your dishonesty got you tortured. You should have known it would end like this.” Harriot withdrew the hook from the deserter's stomach and sliced him
a few more times. When the torture started to bore him, he flung off the glove and pulled out a jagged knife.

  “Michael...” the deserter's lips trembled as he whispered the name of his friend. “He's... dead?”

  “I'm afraid so. But don't look so cross! I'm not the one who killed him.” Harriot brought the knife to the deserter's neck, which was slick with sweat and blood. “But I am going to be the one who kills you.”

  Harriot suddenly thrust the blade into the man's throat, ending his life with barely any effort.

  “Is it over now?” a monotone voice asked. Prince Nico's double was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, watching Harriot's torture session through parted fingers.

  “It is, Gemellus,” Harriot replied. The false prince had become something of a pet to him, and like a pet, he had given it a name: Gemellus. Twin.

  “Are we going to live in the palace now?” Gemellus innocently asked. “The palace is big and pretty! I'd like to see what's inside of it!” Prince Nico's clone was a bit of a simpleton, much more so than the actual prince, but Harriot hoped he was smart enough to fool the people who mattered.

  “We are.” Harriot whipped out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his knife. “Do you think you're ready for it, Gem?”

  “I am!” He clapped his hands excitedly.

  “Are you sure?” Harriot could spend another two months trying to teach the clone, but it would be for naught. Gemellus would never be anything more than a friendly fool. “Well... just to be safe, let's go over this again before we get there.” As they climbed the stairs, Harriot pulled a stack of miniature portraits from his pocket. He showed the first portrait to Gem, whose eyes lit up.

  “Oh, that's Princess Isabella!” the boy exclaimed.

  “Indeed.”

  “She's very beautiful. Maybe she's the prettiest girl in the world! Do you think so, Harriot?”

  Harriot took a moment to study the portrait in his hand. He didn't think Isabella was especially fetching, but perhaps she would be more striking in person? “Isabella is your sister, so you should refrain from giving her too many compliments.”

  “Why?”

  Harriot shook his head at the simpleton's question. “Because it could get awkward.”

  “Why?” Gem repeated. “Can't I be a nice brother?”

  “You can be a nice brother, but you shouldn't be an incestuous brother. There's a fine line between the two.”

  “What's an insects twist?”

  The false prince mispronounced the word, but Harriot didn't bother to correct him. “It's when a brother and sister are inappropriately attracted to each other, Nico.” He needed to get in the habit of calling him Nico, rather than the name he gave him.

  “What's that got to do with insects, though?” When Harriot didn't answer his question, Gem looked terribly disappointed.

  Eversio's headquarters doubled as a pub, so when they reached the ground floor, Nico sat at one of the tables and demanded, “Some banana pie, please!”

  Harriot grabbed his collar and dragged him from the chair. “Not now, Gem!” he hissed. After muttering an apology to the nearby barmaid, Harriot escorted his dull-witted companion out of the pub and onto a crowded street.

  “Why can't I have banana pie?” asked a pouting Gem.

  “Because we're busy, you dullard!” Harriot dragged a hand across his face—the half that wasn't covered by a mask—and groaned into his palm. As they headed in the direction of the palace, Harriot showed him another portrait. “Who's this?”

  “Oh, that's Empress Maria! She's pretty too.”

  “Uh huh. And she's your stepmother, so try not to flirt with her too much.” Harriot narrowed his eyes. It was probably an unnecessary warning. If Gem was actually capable of flirting, Harriot would be flabbergasted.

  He shoved another portrait under Gem's nose. The faux prince had to lean backward to get a better look at the old man in the miniature. “Emperor Giorgio.”

  “And what can you tell me about Emperor Giorgio?” Harriot prompted him.

  “He's real sick right now.”

  “Indeed.” Harriot passed the fourth and final miniature to Gem, whose eyes lit up when he held it.

  “It's me!” the clone exclaimed.

  “Yes and no.” The palace loomed in the distance, so it was Harriot's last chance to get their story straight. “Try to elaborate, if you can.”

  “It's...a portrait of Prince Nico.” With his finger, he jabbed the other Nico's face. “And Prince Nico is me now.”

  “Yes... yes!” Harriot quietly rejoiced. “You finally get it! From now on, you're the prince. From now on, your name is Nico. From now on--”

  “I've gotta behave like a prince.”

  The clone sounded confident, but Harriot was significantly less so. If they made it through the day without being tossed in a cell, it would probably be a miracle.

  The butler seemed reluctant to interrupt the princess' piano lesson; nevertheless, he entered the parlor and cleared his throat. Isabella, whose fingers flowed across the ivory keys, halted when she heard him.

  “Your Grace...” the butler started with a bow. “Pardon the interruption, but you asked me to inform you of the prince's arrival.”

  “Nico?” Isabella leapt from the bench with a gasp. “Nico's back?”

  “Yes, my lady. He arrived only moments ago and--”

  Before the butler could finish, Isabella dashed from the room. She raced down the hall, made a sharp turn, and burst through the silver doors that led to the foyer. Prince Nico was standing in the foyer with a tall, masked stranger. Her brother barely spotted her before she flung her arms around him and squealed into his ear.

  “Nico!” Isabella wailed. “I'm so glad you're back! I've been worried sick! Where on earth have you been?”

  “Uh...” Gemellus exchanged glances with the man who had been coaching him. “Shopping?”

  “Shopping?” Isabella's nose was wrinkled when she pushed him out of their embrace. “You were shopping for five days?”

  “Yeah. I really like shopping.” The young princess looked puzzled, so he tried to distract her with a gift. Gem fished into his pocket and pulled out a necklace. “Look, I got you something.”

  “What is that?” Isabella's eyes narrowed as she studied the charm that dangled on the string. It was an odd metal frog with emeralds for eyes and a gear on his belly. The frog was kicking up his feet, as if he was dancing. “This is certainly very... unique.”

  “I liked it.” The faux prince smiled dopily. “I like frogs.”

  Isabella popped the necklace over her head and reluctantly turned her attention to the man at her brother's side. “And who are you, sir?” Though she smiled at the stranger, there was fear in her eyes. There was something undeniably eerie about the metal mask that covered half of his face.

  “This is Thomas. Tom Harriot,” Gem took it upon himself to introduce them. “He's my friend. He gave me the money to buy you a necklace, so in a way, the necklace is a gift from him.”

  “Well, in that case...” As she spoke, Isabella dipped into a curtsy. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harriot, and I thank you for the gift.”

  Harriot didn't say a word, he simply nodded slowly.

  “Harriot's nicer than he looks,” claimed the faux Nico. He took out the miniature portrait of Isabella and handed it to her. “When we were looking at your portrait, Harriot said you were pretty. Really, really pretty.”

  After a moment of stunned silence, the princess whispered, “Oh my...”

  While Isabella blushed, Harriot's fingers clenched. His companion was an idiot. If his sword was out of its sheath, and the princess wasn't around, Harriot would have pummeled him with the pommel.

  “Ahem... Prince Nico... might I have a private word with you?” Harriot hissed in the lummox's ear. Before Gem could respond, Thomas seized his collar and dragged him to the opposite end of the foyer.

  “Uh oh.” Gem was already wincing. “Am I in trouble?”


  “What are you doing?” Harriot whispered. “Why'd you have to tell her I fancied her? Why are you making things up?”

  “I wanted to give her a compliment, but you were worried about insects, so I gave her a compliment from you.”

  “Incest, Gem...” Harriot quietly groaned. “The word is incest. And my god, you can be such a fool!”

  There was nothing else to be said on the matter, not while the princess was nearby, so Harriot and Gem returned to her. She looked more intrigued by Harriot than ever, which was exactly what he didn't want. As he conducted his business within the palace walls, it was better to be unnoticed.

  “I'm sorry if this is rude, but... why do you wear a mask?” Isabella asked him.

  His answer shocked her. “You're right. It is rude. And I don't have to answer it.”

  Isabella's eyes went wider and wider as Harriot's words echoed in her mind. She was a princess, beloved by all, and no one ever treated her with such blatant disrespect.

  “I... I'm sorry, Mr. Harriot” she said, even though Isabella felt that she was the one who deserved an apology. “I didn't mean to offend you in any way.”

  “You didn't offend me, Your Highness. I simply had no interest in answering that particular question.”

  “I... see.” It took her a moment to realize she was glaring at him, but when she did realize it, she tried to soften her expression. According to Nico, Tom Harriot was a friend, and she didn't want to make him feel unwelcome. “Then I won't ask that question again. As long as you're here, you're a guest in the palace, and I want you to feel welcome. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask one of the serv--”

  “Pardon me, Your Highness,” Harriot interrupted her, “but there's someone I need to speak to.”

  “Very well. I'll... talk to you later, then.” When he was gone, Isabella tutted at his rudeness.

  Empress Maria had been standing behind her stepdaughter for the last minute or so, trying to get Harriot's attention. As soon as he approached, she seized his arm and steered him away from the foyer.

  “You're here! You're finally here!” the empress gasped. “Does this mean everything is underway? The plan is in place?”