Prisoner Princess (Belles & Bullets Book 5)

by Caylen McQueen

  “Mae...” Nico whispered his friend's name as he opened the pub's door. “Please be here, please be here...” If only he could find her, he knew his spirits would improve—though nothing could soothe the pain of losing his sister. He thought about searching the city for Ella, but Kieran's motocarriage was long gone. He assumed they departed yesterday.

  As he scanned the pub for Mae, Nico's shoulders fell. Once again, he didn't see her, and if he never found her, he had only himself to blame. Because of his foolish pride, he had asked her to stay behind. He was embarrassed to bring her to the palace, but now the palace was no longer his. He felt like such an ass. If Mae abandoned him, he could hardly blame her. “Damn me,” he whispered curses to himself. “Damn damn damn.”

  There were only a few people scattered throughout the pub. After the palace was taken by Eversio, mayhem swept through the city. Ordinary citizens had turned into vandals, and everyone was advised to stay indoors. There were only a few brave souls who dared to venture out, and the pub's diminishing clientele was evidence of that.

  The prince approached a mustached old man in the pub's darkest corner. He was smoking a long, silver pipe, and he didn't look happy to be bothered by Nico.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Nico addressed him as politely as possible. “Have you seen a young woman around here? Her name is Mae. She has long blonde hair, and the last time I saw her, I think she was wearing a cream-colored dress.”

  The man removed his pipe and replied, gruffly, “I ain't seen no one like that.”

  “Are you sure? You'd know her if you saw her. She's really pretty, she's rather tall, and--”

  “I ain't seen no one like that,” the man repeated more firmly. “Now go away, boy.”

  Nico left the man's company and approached a pair of barmaids. A few days ago, he would have been too timid to approach them—but a lot had changed. He had a very good reason to overcome his shyness.

  “I don't really care about the royal family, to be honest.” He overheard a portion of the barmaids' conversation. “I don't want to sound heartless. I mean, it's sad that they died, but why should I care if there's an emperor or a president? It's all the same to me.”

  “You have a good point, but those Eversio guys are creeps,” the second barmaid said. “I've heard some crazy rumors about them. They don't actually care about this country, they're just out for revenge. The city certainly hasn't gotten any better since they took over, in case you haven't noticed.”

  “Excuse me,” Nico spoke up. “I hate to interrupt, but I'm looking for someone.”

  “Who, hun?” one of the barmaids asked.

  “Her name's Mae. She's tall, beautiful, blonde...”

  “She sounds like someone from your dreams!” the second barmaid giggled as she teased him. “But seriously... that description doesn't ring any bells.”

  Nico sighed. “Okay, well... thanks anyway.”

  When he started to walk away, the first barmaid shared some words of wisdom. “If she was out on the streets last night, I wouldn't be surprised if something bad happened to your friend! It was crazy around here!”

  “And it's still crazy,” the second barmaid added. “That's why I can't support Eversio. They've turned the city into a dump.”

  She wasn't wrong. Within a matter of hours, the capital was starting to look like Bordeaux. Nico wasn't too eager to be back on the streets, so he lingered in the pub as long as he could. He questioned two more patrons about the whereabouts of Mae, but neither of them had information to offer. When the barmaids started to shoot scathing glances in his direction, he decided it was time to go. They probably expected him to order a meal or a drink—which he would have done, if not for the fact that his pockets were completely empty. His stomach rumbled, but there was nothing he could do to appease it.

  Thoroughly disheartened, Nico left the pub and shuffled down the empty road. Along the way, he passed a pair of shrieking hooligans. They were looting a general store that had already been looted once before. Nico kept his head down and charged forward. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.

  When Nico reached his abandoned alley, he dropped to his knees and choked on a sob. For so long, he had been trying to hold back his tears. When they finally conquered him, they were relentless. His forehead was propped against the wall, so the warm, salty tears passed over his lips before they dropped from his chin.

  “Why?” Nico whimpered to himself. His hands were shaking, so he stuffed them in the pockets of his coat. “Isabella... why?” All along, Nico's determination to return to the capital was fueled by his love for his sister. He wanted to protect her. If he hadn't insisted on staying at Ella's house, could he have prevented the attack on the palace? Would he have made it back in time to warn everyone? He would never know, but as long as it was a possibility, he blamed himself.

  “Who could hurt her... who would hurt her?” As he spoke, Nico's voice was tremulous. He removed one hand and punched the brick wall as hard as he could. His knuckles were split open by the blow, but he barely felt it. His emotional pain eclipsed any physical pain he might have felt.

  Nico cried so hard, he could barely catch his breath. Unfortunately, his loud gasps and coughs attracted unwanted attention.

  Three young thugs were heading toward him.

  “Hey... look at the baby over here!” shouted one of the thugs. All three were laughing at him. “Poor little baby!”

  “Why you cryin', little baby?” another degenerate heckled him. “Do you need a tissue? Danny's got one for you.”

  The man named Danny whipped out a bloody handkerchief and carefully unfolded it. A single gold tooth was bundled inside it. “We removed this from a rich old bugger,” he excitedly told the tale. “We ripped it right out of his mouth as he screamed.”

  He tossed the filthy handkerchief at Nico's face. Nico was so emotionally drained, it took him a few seconds to remove it.

  “And now you'll be screaming... because we're gonna rob you too,” said one of the thugs. “Empty your pockets, boy.”

  Nico slowly shook his head. “I don't have anything.”

  “Empty your damn pockets!” The thug kicked his leg. “We ain't askin!”

  Nico sat up and turned his pockets inside out, revealing his poverty to the hooligans. “See? Nothing.”

  “Give us your coat!” Danny demanded. “Do it!”

  Danny was wielding a knife, and Nico didn't have the energy to protest, so he removed his coat and tossed it at the thugs.

  “Your shirt, too!” Danny made a stabbing motion with his knife, reminding Nico that he had no choice. “And your breeches.”

  With an enormous sigh, Nico tugged his shirt over his head. As he handed it to one of his attackers, he said, “But you can't have the breeches.”

  “No, we're taking your breeches. And the boots!” Danny cackled loudly. He gave a nod to his two goons, who descended on Nico and forced him out of his boots. The prince tried to swing a punch, but their fists were faster. They punched him down to the pavement and ripped the breeches from his legs.

  “We'll let you keep your underpants.” When Danny grinned, he revealed a partially toothless smile. “That's very generous of us, isn't it? We're real nice, huh?” His cronies nodded, even though their leader was making a preposterous statement.

  Each thug kicked him one more time before they walked away with his clothes. As they departed, one of them cried out, “Good luck, little baby!”

  After they punched him, Nico's cheek was flattened against the pavement. A solitary tear fell from his eye as he sniffled into the cobbled stones.

  He never felt so lost.

  Five

  “Honestly, how many times does this damn deck need to be cleaned?” Julian complained to Miles. The old man was supposed to be guarding him, but he had his nose stuck in a book. “It can't be that dirty after one day, can it? Don't get me wrong, my airship's deck was always spotless, but I only required cleaning every other day.”

  Julian ha
d a mop this time, but it was quite possibly the worst mop in the history of mopping. It kept falling off its handle. His feet were shackled today—he assumed Captain Doon wanted to add to his torture. And it certainly felt like torture, because the iron manacles were heated by a blistering summer sun. Every time Julian moved forward, the hot metal seared his ankles. His cheeks were roasted, his nose was bright red, and his forehead was so sunburned, he couldn't even raise an eyebrow without subjecting himself to a significant amount of pain. He envied the dark-skinned Miles, who was seemingly impervious to the sun's wrath.

  “Captain Doon does love a clean deck,” Miles eventually told him. “I believe he has an aversion to bird droppings.”

  “With all due respect, he's not making me do this because of an aversion to bird droppings. He's doing this to punish me,” Julian claimed. “He wants to see me suffer. When he sees my burnt skin at the end of the day, he'll have a laugh, I'm sure.”

  Though he listened to Julian's complaints, Miles did so with half a heart. His gaze never wandered from his book. Miles' blue monocle was practically glued to his eye as he devoured the words on the page.

  “I'm sad...” Julian whimpered, and for the dozenth time, the mop's handle spontaneously detached. He'd had enough. In a fit of rage, Julian tried to break the wooden handle over his knee, but he only ended up hurting himself. As soon as he recovered from the initial throb of pain, he tossed the handle over the side of the airship like a javelin.

  “Oh dear,” Miles commented as he turned a page. “I hope that doesn't kill anyone when it hits the ground.”

  “If I had any luck at all, the handle would fly up here and skewer me through the heart! Then I wouldn't have to swab the deck anymore!” With a groan, Julian dropped to his knees and picked up a sponge. Miles wasn't paying much attention to him, so he sidled to the left, leaving a portion of the deck unwashed. A sly grin tipped his lips as he reflected on his genius. He doubted anyone would notice.

  But he was wrong.

  “Hey!” a deep voice spoke. “Don't think I didn't see that!”

  When Julian turned around and saw Captain Doon lurking behind him, he sidled back to the right.

  “I'm relieving you from your post, Miles,” Doon said. “I'll watch over him. You can read your book in the comfort of your bedroom, if you'd like.”

  “I think I'll do that.” Shutting his book with a snap, Miles rose to his feet. He was a bit unsteady at first, so Doon grabbed his arm and helped him regain his balance. Miles, who had recently celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday, was starting to feel the wear and tear on his body. Furthermore, he was starting to feel like a worthless member of the crew, but Doon and Kitt wouldn't let him believe it. They constantly reminded Miles of his worth.

  When Miles was gone, Doon claimed his stool and crossed his arms. His brows were drawn together as he observed Julian's work.

  While scrubbing the deck for Doon, Julian started to sing: “I'm a Captain, Captain Sponge and sponging's what I doooo!” Wiggling his hips, he continued, “I like sponges big and small, I like them more than I like youuuu.”

  Doon cleared his throat and ordered him, “No singing.”

  Julian didn't obey. If he found a way to annoy his fellow captain, he wasn't going to miss his opportunity. With bobbing shoulders, he caterwauled, “Spongy wongy little bitty sponges, lots of little sponges, doo wah doo. Squishy sponges, smooshy wooshy sponges, great for cleaning poo!”

  Doon dragged a rough, golden hand across the entire length of his face. He barely spent a minute in the ridiculous man's company, and he was already feeling vexed.

  When he ran out of lyrics, Julian sang instead, “oooooh lalalalalalalalalala... ooh lalala!”

  “Can you please stop?” Doon begged him. “I think it's fantastic that you're enjoying yourself so much, but I've really heard enough.”

  “Ooooo lalala fa lala.”

  “Take a break!” Doon exclaimed. “I'll have someone else take over. I wanted to speak to you, anyway.”

  “Captain Doon wants to speak to little old me? I feel so blessed!” Julian hopped to his feet and stretched. If Doon wanted to give him a break, he wasn't going to question it.

  “It'll only be a short break, so don't get too comfortable,” Doon warned him.

  “Hey... a short break's better than no break!” Julian stood beside Doon's stool and leaned against the airship's rail. He closed his eyes and filled his lungs with glorious air.

  Doon's eyes narrowed as he studied him. “I wouldn't have wasted my time on you, Featherstone, but Kitt seems to think you're a decent person, so... here I am.”

  “Here you are!” Julian repeated with a smile. Doon's mouth was saying one thing, but Julian's mind was thinking something else entirely. In Julian's mind, “Kitt thinks you're a decent person” translated to “I wooed Kitt in a day, she fell for me, her heart's as good as mine.”

  Doon pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his greatcoat. As he slipped one out, he asked, “Would you like a smoke?”

  “Eww. I don't smoke. I think it's a nasty habit. It really wrecks the body, you know.” When he saw Doon's hurt expression, Julian changed his answer, “But... ehh. I might as well try it once, right? Nothing kills in moderation.” He grabbed one of Doon's cigarettes and popped it between his lips. “Light me up, partner.”

  Doon was sneering as he lit Julian's cigarette. “You're a bit of an ass, aren't you?” he asked the other man.

  “Probably.” His first drag from the cigarette made him wheeze and wince. “This is good,” Julian sarcastically squeaked between coughs. “Real real good. I can see why people enjoy this. The choking and gagging sensation I feel right now is... really enjoyable.”

  “Pitch it if you don't want it,” a shrugging Doon grumbled.

  “No, I want it,” Julian assured him. When he took another drag, his expression turned sour. “We're enjoying some manly bonding time. Naturally, you can't have manly bonding time without a cigarette or two. And in case you don't know, manly bonding time gets even manlier when you throw a cigar into the mix.”

  Doon's jaw dropped and his lip curled into a sneer. Julian baffled him. If he had been watching a dancing monkey, he wouldn't have looked any less amused or perplexed.

  “So... Kitt,” Julian began. “She's lovely. And she's your girl, isn't she?”

  Doon's nod came slowly. “You could say that.”

  “Well, you're a lucky man, Francis Doon. She's absolutely gorgeous.” Julian dreamily sighed at the thought of her. “What I wouldn't give to have a girl like that in my bed!”

  Rage flooded Doon's eyes, but he didn't say a word.

  “Hey, now! Don't look at me like that!” Julian exclaimed. “I'm not trying to steal your girl, I'm only appreciating her beauty.” It was a lie, of course. If Julian could steal her, he would. “Honestly, if I had a girl like that, I would never leave my bed. How do you ever accomplish anything, Captain?”

  Doon's face went blank.

  “Why so stony all of a sudden?” Julian asked. “You are bedding her, aren't you? I suppose it's none of my business, but she could be--”

  “No,” Doon interrupted him. “I... haven't.”

  Julian took a moment to process Doon's answer before he finally shrieked, “What?”

  Doon shrugged. He wasn't easily embarrassed, but for some reason, Julian's reaction made him want to hide his face in shame.

  “Why?” Julian repeated. “Do you lack the proper parts?”

  “No!” Doon shoved him so hard, Julian nearly toppled onto the deck.

  “Is she not willing?” Julian asked. “Is she one of those girls, all chaste and virtuous?”

  “I don't think she'd be... unwilling,” Doon sighed. Kitt had tried to initiate intimacy on several occasions, but he always found a way out of it. He was barely comfortable with kissing and light touching. When he tried to imagine something more, he couldn't.

  “Is it a new relationship?” Julian asked. He hoped it was. It wo
uld be easier to disrupt a fledgling romance. If she wasn't too attached to Doon, it would be easier to get Kitt attached to something else. Like him.

  “I don't know. Does six months qualify as a new relationship?”

  “Six months?” Julian gasped. “You've been with this woman for six months and you haven't indulged yourself in some of the old in-and-out? What is wrong with you, man?”

  Doon gave him a straight, short answer. “I'm not good with women.” He didn't know why he bothered to discuss with love life—or lack thereof—with Julian Featherstone. Perhaps there was something about the man's breezy disposition that made him feel relaxed?

  “This is tragic,” Julian said. “If you need help with women, you've come to the right man. With a bit of advice from Julian Featherstone, you could be lusting and thrusting by the end of the day.”

  Doon groaned and shook his head. “I doubt it would be as easy as that.”

  “Why shouldn't it be easy? With that kind of defeatist attitude, it won't be easy.”

  “It's not easy!” Doon's face twisted uncomfortably as he brought his cigarette to his lips. “It's not!”

  Doon was practically whining, so Julian softened his tone. “Listen to me, man...” he affectionately patted the captain's arm. “I'll help you. With a little coaching, I'll have you well on your way to Kitt's bed.” And if he couldn't help Francis Doon, Julian would have to bed her himself. A woman like Kitt deserved to be pleasured.

  “No, you listen to me,” Doon threw his words back at him. “I neither need nor want your help, Captain Featherstone. I'm entirely ca--” When he saw Kitt heading in their direction, his voice trailed off, and his face flooded with panic. He pitched his cigarette over the side of the airship, then he grabbed Julian's cigarette and tossed it too.