Sky Pirate (Belles & Bullets Book 3) Read online

  SKY PIRATE

  Caylen McQueen

  ©Copyright 2017 Caylen McQueen

  One

  “King Nikolai is dead.” As he casually delivered the news, Francis Doon lit a cigarette and passed it through the bars. “And Queen Loreina was the one who killed him... or so I've been told.”

  The prisoner grasped the cigarette like a starving man grasping at a meal. His metal handcuffs clinked as he brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply. As smoke billowed through his lips and nose, the prisoner glared at Captain Doon. When he finally responded, his voice was sharp and clear. “That wouldn't surprise me. The queen was always a horrible bitch. I don't know why you ever worked for the fat slag.”

  “It was a good opportunity.” Doon shrugged as he lit another cigarette, this time for himself.

  “Like hell it was!” The prisoner cackled at the thought. “You'd be better off looting ships and robbing fools who deserve to be robbed. That's real freedom, Francis. And before you get all sanctimonious on me... don't. A crime's a crime, whether it's commissioned by a bloody queen or not.” When the prisoner stepped forward, the dull light of the prison illuminated his sunken cheeks. “The queen's paying you to commit crimes, boy, plain and simple. You're no bloody saint.”

  “I never said I was a saint, did I? Ha! Far from it.” Doon held up his left hand and wiggled its three fingers. “But at least I'm a better man than you, Father.”

  “Better man?” Stephen Doon snorted with laughter as he paced around his tiny cell. The embers of his cigarette glowed as he took another drag. “Are you serious, son? You're a weak weak weak weak weak little boy who likes to pretend he's strong. You're pathetic.”

  “Is that so?” Doon chuckled as he brought his cigarette to his lips. “You're the one in the cell, old man.”

  “If you're strong, it's because you're using the skills I gave you. Otherwise, you'd be a worthless pile of shit.” The older Doon flicked his cigarette's ashes in his son's direction. “And don't try to tell me you're not weak. If you weren't weak, if you had anything resembling a backbone, you would've killed me a long time ago. And you sure as hell wouldn't have fallen for the first girl who batted her eyelashes and pretended she needed you.”

  As he watched his father stalk around his cell, Francis shook his head and sighed. When he spoke, his answer was emotionless. “I haven't fallen for anyone.”

  “Of course you have, son. Of course you have. If not, you wouldn't be down here boo-hooing to your daddy about how very very much you miss her. And you sure as hell wouldn't be whining about her getting married to another man.” Stephen paused for another drag. He held the smoke inside of him, went to the bars, and exhaled in his son's direction. The smoke whistled through his lips, swirling toward Captain Doon. “But no one's ever cared about you, Francis. If that girl told you she liked you, she was bloody pretending. And why wouldn't she, huh? She wanted to get out! She wanted you to take her back home. She said a few sweet things, thinking you'd fall for it, and yet you didn't. At least that's one thing you did right.”

  “Kitt's not like that,” Francis defended her. “I don't think she was pretending.”

  “If you believe that, you're an even bigger fool than I thought.” Stephen Doon leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “How did I have a son with a brain so empty? What does that say about me?”

  What if his father had a point? He hadn't considered it before, but what if Kitt was playing him for a fool? What if everything she did and said was part of an elaborate manipulation? What if he really was mistaken about her?

  “Well then... why did she come to Dovyr?” Doon asked his father. “She could have gone home. Why did she come back to me?”

  “I don't know, boy. Maybe she wanted to see you beaten and broken? Maybe she wanted to laugh? Do you really expect me to read the mind of a woman? Nothing in a woman's head makes any bloody sense.”

  “I don't need this,” Doon grumbled as he headed to the door. As always, his father was trying to make him feel worthless—and it was working. If he stayed a moment longer, he would let his father's words pollute his thoughts. “You don't know her.”

  “You do need this! Don't you understand? I'm trying to help you!” Stephen kicked the bars as he watched his son flee. “Don't walk away when I'm talking to you, Francis! Get back here, you little shit! You know, I will get out of here and I will kill you one day!” This father kicked the cell door again and again, but the iron bars never budged. “I'll get out, I'll beat you senseless, and then I'll shave your skin from your bones while you're still alive. Layer by layer, I'll shuck it all off. I'll drain your blood, let it soak the floor, and feral beasts will lap it clean. That'll be something to see, don't you think?”

  When Captain Doon reached the door, he turned around and studied the man in the cell. Stephen's sunken brown eyes were mad with rage, and his wild graying hair made him look like a madman. Francis Doon knew he was looking at a severely broken man—a man who was even more broken than he was.

  “And I'll cut off the rest of your hand!” his father promised him. “Then I'll roast it, so you can enjoy the smell of your own flesh as it cooks. Oh, how I look forward to that day! I can't wait to hear you screaming in pain! I can't wait to make you pay for what you've done to me!”

  “It was lovely to see you too, Father,” Doon said with a smirk. “You know, I do enjoy these visits. There's really nothing better than watching you suffer in a cell.”

  Then he slammed the door behind him and strode down the hall, as carefree and callous as ever.

  Two

  Until the wedding, Princess Lyneah was to be locked in a room and heavily guarded. Loreina didn't want her daughter to escape again, so she specifically locked her in a remote tower without any conceivable means of escape. That didn't stop Kitt from examining the entire windowless room, desperately searching for a way out of her predicament.

  Prince Malik wasn't even her fiance, and yet she was supposed to marry him? All of the princess' burdens were now hers. And since Kitt couldn't reveal her true identity without risking her life, what choice did she have? As each hour ticked by, her fate seemed more and more unavoidable. In less than twenty-hour hours, Kitt would be Prince Malik's wife.

  “Damn you, Doon,” Kitt cursed him under her breath. She assumed he was rolling in a fresh pile of gold, rejoicing at his new title. Francis Doon never cared about her! Kitt knew that now. She was just a Lundun barmaid without a penny to her name. She was nothing, no one. It must have been so easy for Doon to sacrifice her, because he did so repeatedly. Why did she ever think she would be more important to him than money and a dukedom? She had somehow convinced herself she loved him, but it was a ridiculous notion. How could she possibly love a man who only ever caused her pain?

  When she heard a knock on the door, a deeply dispirited Kitt could barely shout the words, “Come in!” Despite her temporary lockdown, the princess was allowed to have visitors. In that regard, Queen Loreina was actually more generous than Kitt expected her to be.

  Her visitor was Aislainn, her favorite handmaiden. She arrived with tea and biscuits, so Kitt begged her to stay and share the refreshments.

  “How are you feeling, Your Highness?” Aislainn asked as she poured the tea. “Forgive me for saying so, but you look a bit... forlorn.”

  “I am,” Kitt agreed, even though it was an understatement. Her depression had drained the life from her body. She barely had the energy to lift her arm and drop a sugar cube into her cup. “I don't want to marry Prince Malik.”

  “Oh?” Aislainn looked surprised by the confession. “But he is handsome, isn't he?”

  “He's... fine.” Kitt sighed. �
��But if I'm going to marry someone, I'd want him to be more than handsome. It'd be nice if I actually liked him.”

  “Hmm.” Aislainn stirred her tea and considered her words carefully. “I suppose he does come off as a bit... priggish.”

  “Actually, I have nothing against Malik. He might be a preening, obnoxious jackanapes, but I really don't hate him.” Kitt lifted her teacup, but she couldn't bring herself to sip. Her stomach was so knotted, even tea had the potential to make her ill. With a sigh, she lowered the cup and crossed her arms. “But I don't want to marry a man I don't love. I don't want to be forced to marry anyone against my will!”

  “I suppose I can understand that,” Aislainn said. “I'm very sorry, Your Highness. Truly. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

  “And... I keep imagining it!” Kitt cupped her hands to her mouth and groaned. “Our wedding night! Will I be expected to... are Malik and I going to have to...?”

  “Consummate the marriage?” Aislainn finished for her. “I'm afraid that will be expected, my lady.”

  “Ohhh god!” Kitt couldn't stop moaning. She had never been with anyone before, not like that. Every time she imagined herself removing her clothes in front of Prince Malik, she wanted to fall into her pillow and sob. Every time she thought about his naked body sliding on top of hers, she wanted to die.

  For a moment, she thought about telling Aislainn the truth about her. She wanted to tell someone she was just an impostor pretending to be the princess. Even if the truth came out, getting executed didn't seem much worse than losing her virginity to Malik. Kitt wasn't sure which scenario scared her more. Either way, whatever happened to her would be entirely the fault of Francis Doon. Every time he got richer, her life got a little worse.

  “That bastard,” Kitt whispered to herself.

  But Aislainn must have heard, because she hoisted a dark eyebrow. “Pardon, Your Highness? Did you say something?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” Kitt nibbled on the corner of a biscuit, but she was so frustrated, she didn't feel like eating it. She felt like crushing it in her hand and tossing the crumbs. If Aislainn wasn't sitting next to her, she might have done it.

  “Prince Lysander is to be executed soon,” Aislainn sorrowfully reported. “He's going to die before Queen Loreina's coronation, two days after your wedding.”

  “Poor Lysander.” Kitt's eyes suddenly lit up. The queen's coronation reminded her of King Nikolai's death. Aislainn must have thought it was strange that the princess was more upset about her upcoming nuptials than her father's recent death. “And... poor King Nikolai too,” she added, hoping it would make up for her lack of acknowledging him.

  “Indeed. Your father's death has saddened us all.”

  A tap on the door put an abrupt end to their conversation. When Aislainn greeted their guest and realized it was none other than Prince Malik, she bowed to the princess and excused herself. As Malik entered the room, Kitt's stomach was gripped by a feeling that closely resembled dread. She didn't want to see him, because seeing his face reminded her of her inevitable, unavoidable tomorrow.

  “Princess Lyneah,” Malik greeted her with a rigid bow. His hair was slicked back and he was wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses, which was hardly unusual for Malik. “It's wonderful to see you again. You're looking every bit as lovely as I remember.”

  “Thank you, Malik.” Kitt's reply had no inflection. She could barely bring herself to look at him. How was she supposed to pretend his company was a pleasure?

  “I thought I should speak to you before tomorrow.” Malik finally removed his sunglasses and stuffed them in the pocket of his shirt. His obsidian eyes were sad, maybe just as sad as hers were. “I wanted to say... what an honor it is to be your husband.”

  Kitt nearly groaned at his words. He made it sound like the wedding had already happened, as if there was no possible way out of it. “Do you really feel that way, Malik?”

  “I... do.” He sounded unsure of himself. “We had a rough beginning, did we not? But over time, I came to appreciate the sort of woman you are. You are good and kind, and I suppose I could do much worse.”

  Kitt wanted to chuckle at his weak compliment, but her throat rebelled against anything close to laughter. “I wanted to thank you for standing up for Ryas at the ball. I never had a chance to say that. It must have taken a great deal of courage to stand up to your father, but I appreciate that you did.”

  “For awhile, things were tense between my father and me,” Malik confessed. “But I'm glad I spoke up for Ryas. Father only beats him every few days now.”

  “Only every few days? That sounds like such an improvement!” Kitt rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe she was marrying a man who could utter a sentence like that and fail to see the problem with it.

  “I know you scoff, but it is an improvement. Before the ball, he was beating him every day... or nearly every day. My father still looks for reasons to disapprove of my behavior, and he still reaches for his rod more often than I'd like, but he seems a little less obsessed with it.”

  “It'd be better if you didn't have a whipping boy at all,” Kitt said with a shrug. “You're going to be a married man. You're not a child!”

  “But even an adult can make mistakes,” Malik pointed out.

  Kitt couldn't believe what she was hearing. It almost sounded like he was defending the need for a whipping boy. Maybe Malik wanted a scapegoat? “At some point, you need to accept responsibility for yourself.”

  “Oh? And would you rather I get beaten instead?”

  “Don't be ridiculous! No one should get beaten! I'm trying to say it is childish to have a whipping boy at all! It's childish to have someone punished for your mistakes. At some point, you need to grow up. Does your father have a whipping boy? When your father misbehaves, is someone beaten in his stead?”

  “No, but he had one until the former king passed away, and he was thirty when my grandfather died.” Malik turned away from Kitt and headed back to the door. “You know what? I'm finished with this discussion. I think you'll have to accept that our countries have different customs, Lyneah. When you're my wife, I hope you will endeavor to keep these opinions to yourself.”

  “Oh, so I won't be allowed to have an opinion? Is that what you're telling me?”

  “A wife should support her husband. That is what I'm saying!” Malik argued. “She shouldn't constantly nag him about things that are beyond his control!” Malik threw open Kitt's door, stomped into the hall, and slammed it behind him.

  “Well... that didn't exactly go well...” Kitt whispered to herself. As she expelled a hopeless sigh, she collapsed in her bed and stared at the ceiling. However, her respite didn't last. A moment later, she ran to the door and tried to open it. Apparently, the guards had locked it after Malik's exit. But even if she could get out, Loreina's knights were swarming the halls. They were not going to let her get away before tomorrow's wedding.

  “Damn you, Doon,” she repeated her favorite curse. “Damn you, damn you, damn you!” She went to her bed and kicked it, which was foolish, because she only succeeded in stubbing her toe. Kitt peeled off her slipper and rolled into bed, whimpering as she cradled her injured foot.

  When she heard another knock on the door, she wasn't in the mood for a guest. “What?” she barked at the unseen visitor.

  “It's... Doon.”

  “Doon?” Kitt sat up in bed, held her breath, and clenched her fists. She hated that he gave her butterflies. She wished the butterflies would just die. “I don't want to see you! Go away!” It was a lie, of course. Even though she was enraged at the thought of him, her heart ached at the distance between them. If she could see him again, at least it would give her throbbing heart some temporary relief.

  “Please, Princess. Don't be silly. I need to speak to you.” He hammered on the door again, as if excessive pounding would somehow get her to change her mind. “Let me in.”

  “The guard has to let you in. Not me,” Kitt informed him.
“I can't even open the door, thanks to you! And if the guard knows I don't care to see you, I'll just have him escort you away!”

  Doon's response was accompanied by a chuckle. “We'll see about that.”

  Kitt thought she heard murmurings in the hallway, so she tiptoed to the door. A second later, the door opened, and Doon swaggered into the room uninvited. “Ahh!” Kitt shrieked at him. “Why? I said I didn't want to see you! How did you get in?”

  “I persuaded the guard,” Doon said. “He was easy.”

  “But I don't want to see you.” Kitt couldn't stop glaring at him. “You won't respect my wishes?”

  “Don't be silly, Kitten. I'm trying to get you out of here.” Doon strutted around Kitt's room, searching for a secret exit or hidden trapdoor. He even dropped to his knees and checked below her bed. Nothing.

  “Good luck.” Kitt flopped down on the bed and crossed her arms. “Believe me, I've already tried.”

  “There has to be something!” Doon insisted as he overturned a rug. He dragged his foot along the ground, tapping the floor, listening for a hollow sound. He had escaped from enough prisons in his life—he knew what to look for in such an event. “In old castles like this, there's always a secret room... or a... or a hidden passageway.” He shoved a bookcase aside, checking the wall behind it. At least a dozen of its books were scattered across the floor.

  “Doon!” she shrilled. “You're making a mess!”

  “Who cares? Would you rather I make a mess, or would you rather marry that twat of a prince?” Doon put his ear to the wall and drew his sword. As his ear glided along, he tapped the wall with his sword handle, listening for abnormalities.

  Kitt watched him for a few minutes before she finally got bored and laid on her bed. As Doon continued to scour her room, she said, “I just have to accept it. I have to marry Prince Malik... and it'll be your fault.”

  “To hell with that!” Doon exclaimed. “I haven't accepted it!”