Prisoner Princess Read online

  “Isn't that the name of the young man who was getting executed in the square?”

  Kitt nodded slowly. “Yes. Do you know if he's... dead?”

  “No, he didn't die. I was there!” the woman exclaimed. “A man rushed the stage and saved him. He was a big, handsome hunk of a man, too. It all happened so fast. Everyone was running and screaming and actin' like the man was going to kill them too! But I wasn't afraid. Hell, I fancied him!”

  “So Tobias is not dead?” Kitt's entire body was soothed by an overwhelming feeling of relief. “You're absolutely certain?”

  “I've never been more certain of anything, sweetheart.”

  When Kitt turned in Doon's direction, her eyes were full of tears. “He's not dead, Doon. He's not dead!”

  “I'm glad to hear it.”

  Doon's voice was a little bit flat, so Kitt glared at him. “Aren't you happy?”

  “Of course I'm happy!” Doon exclaimed. “I'm happy that you're happy.”

  “But aren't you happy?” Kitt repeated the question. “You cared about Tobias, didn't you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sure?” Kitt somehow managed to look even more irritated with him. “Ugh! You're unbelievable, Doon!”

  As Doon followed her out of the pub, he looked thoroughly confused about what he did wrong. The sky was shook by an appropriate clap of thunder, which provided the perfect ambiance for Kitt's unfavorable reaction to him.

  Back on the airship, Julian was so startled by the sudden peal of thunder that he nearly dropped his mop. When the first few raindrops pounded the deck, Bryce barked, “Awight, I'm takin' you back to your cell.”

  “What? Why? No!” Nervous chuckles rattled Julian's throat as he clung to his mop. As much as he hated working, being locked in his cell was far worse. He couldn't stand to be stuck in a cramped, dark cell with a cluster of men. Most of his cellmates were Julian's former crewmen. Every time he saw them, they stared at their disgraced captain with shame in their eyes. Julian couldn't bear it. “Let me stay up here. I can work in the rain. I don't mind! I like rain!”

  “Nope.” An adamant Bryce pried the mop from Julian's fingers. “It's useless to mop in the rain. I'm takin' you below deck.” He roughly seized the damp collar of Captain Featherstone's shirt and practically carried him down the stairs.

  “Hey hey, ow! I can walk, you know! You don't have to drag me!” Despite Julian's whining, Bryce didn't loosen his grip. When they were back in the gaol, Bryce shoved him into the cell and slammed the door behind him. As soon as Bryce was gone, Julian whined, “That bastard! He really hurt my neck!”

  “I don't think he's a bastard.” The opinion came from Wiggly Joe, who was sitting in the corner with his arms crossed. “He gave me a cookie, he did.”

  “So you're going to like someone based on the fact that they gave you a cookie? Are you serious right now?” Julian tried to stand next to Wiggly, but he smelled even worse than usual, so he shimmied away, putting a bit more distance between them.

  “It was a good cookie, all fresh and moist,” answered a contented Wiggly. “And the other day, he gave me pie.”

  Julian's fists were clenching so hard, his knuckles turned white. “Alright, fine. You can like the big man if you want to. But Francis Doon is a bastard, and one of these days, Captain Featherstone will get his revenge... mark my words!”

  “I don't think he's all that bad,” Wiggly said with a shrug.

  Julian dragged his hands down his entire face. “Are you joking? The man who's imprisoned us isn't that bad? There's something tragically wrong with your head, Wiggly.”

  “But he ain't bad!” Wiggly defended their captor. “You attacked 'im. He only defended himself!”

  Julian had heard enough. He sat in the corner of the cell, closed his eyes, and tried to imagine himself somewhere else. More specifically, he tried to imagine himself in the arms of a beautiful woman. Even more specifically, he tried to imagine himself in the arms of Captain Letitia Jordan. It was truly a fantasy, because he doubted he would ever see her again. And even if he did see her, Lettie's aversion to him was clear. Nevertheless, her distaste for him didn't stop Julian from dreaming of her in various scandalous ways.

  The cell door opened with a howl, so Julian opened his eyes. What he saw was a surprise. Jared Foster was standing in the doorway with a key in his hands.

  “I'm letting you guys out,” Jared whispered.

  “Jared!” Julian exclaimed, hopping to his feet. “I knew you wouldn't let me down! You're not a traitor after all, you're--”

  “Shh!” Jared hushed him. “Most of Doon's crew is on shore leave, but that doesn't mean you should talk as loud as you want! Bryce is gone. Doon is gone. Currently, the only people guarding the deck are former members of your crew. We might have varying opinions of you, but no one wants to see you like this. As I escort you from the airship, they've agreed to look the other way.”

  Julian was already hovering in the doorway, desperate to leave. “Good. Excellent. Great. Can we go now?”

  “Of course.” Jared's brow was pinched with worry as Julian and the rest of his imprisoned crewmen exited the cell and headed for the stairs. “Keep quiet when you're on the deck,” Jared whispered his advice. “A few of Doon's men are in the engine room right now. We wouldn't want them to hear your footsteps, so tread lightly.”

  Julian didn't want to risk his potential freedom, so he tiptoed across the deck. Two of his former crewmen were standing near the gangway, and they both averted their eyes as Jared led them from the airship. As soon as they were free, Julian was tempted to drop to his knees and kiss the ground, but he didn't, because Captain Doon could reappear at any time.

  “That was almost too easy,” Julian whispered to Jared as they strolled through the skyport. “I can't thank you enough, Jared. Honestly.”

  “I think I did the right thing. At least... I hope I did.” Jared's expression was momentarily sour, as if he bit into something tart. “And by the way, Captain Featherstone... I'm coming with you.”

  Julian's eyebrows shot up. “You are?” He would have liked Jared better if he was busty and svelte; nevertheless, he appreciated the boy's company.

  “I am.” Jared's nod was surprisingly firm. “After all, Captain... I don't think you could survive on your own.”

  Sixteen

  Thomas Harriot didn't wake until nearly noon, and when he finally rose, the first thing he did was don his mask. A change of clothes followed, as well as a quick drag of his fingers through his messy dark curls. He couldn't remember the last time he actually brushed his hair. Preening was the least of his concerns.

  When he entered the kitchen, he was shocked. Vee and Isabella were standing side-by-side near the stove, surrounded by cracked eggs and mixing bowls.

  “Ah! Mornin', Tommy!” Vee's greeting was as chipper as ever. “The princess and I are baking cookies.”

  “Really?” At first, Harriot thought he was dreaming, so he squinted his eyes and checked again. It wasn't a dream. As she tossed a second batch of cookies into the oven, Isabella's smile spanned the width of her face.

  “We made lemon cookies. Vee said they were your favorite.” Isabella's eyes were wide and excited, as if she couldn't wait to tell him what they were doing. “She also said you had a difficult day of work ahead of you, so I thought I could give you some cookies before you go. These have been cooling for awhile.” She pointed at a plate of yellow, crumbly cookies.

  “They look delicious,” Tom said as he pilfered a cookie from Isabella's plate. As he chewed his first bite, he nodded and said, “Mmm... they are delicious!”

  “This is the first time I've ever baked,” she confessed. “But I couldn't have done it without Vee.” Isabella collected a few cookies, slipped them into a bag, sealed it, and handed it to Harriot. “I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. Actually, I think I might have a new hobby. Oh... Tom!”

  “Hmm?” He was too busy eating his cookie to give her a proper response. />
  “I was wondering if we could go out and search for Nico,” Isabella said. “It might be a long shot, but I thought he might return to the capital. I don't have to stay out that long, but with a little bit of time each day, maybe--”

  “No,” Tom gave his answer before she finished. “You shouldn't be going out at all, Isabella. It's not safe. Not yet. I promise you, I will look into the matter myself. But for now, it's better if you stay hidden.” He turned his attention to Vee, who was cleaning cracked eggshell from the kitchen counter. “You shouldn't have taken her into town at all, Vee.”

  “I'm sorry!” Vee flicked a sticky piece of eggshell at him. “It's not my fault! This girl is very persuasive!”

  “So you say. But for her safety as well as ours, she must never be recognized... do you understand?”

  “Yessir, Captain, sir!” Vee whispered her reply to Isabella, who giggled and nibbled a cookie.

  “Are you two laughing at me?” Harriot asked. “You can laugh all you want, but it's not going to change anything. I know I sound strict, but it's necessary. Right now, there's nothing more important to me than keeping the princess safe.”

  “That's because he loves you.” Once again, Vee's reply was for the princess' ears only, but Isabella didn't laugh. This time, she blushed.

  “Well, since you seem to be whispering amongst yourselves now, I think I'll take my leave.” He briefly glanced down at Seelo, who was panting beside his legs. “And by the way, your dog has the foulest breath I've ever smelled. Is there nothing you can do about that?”

  “Aww... Seelo isn't foul!” Vee defended him as she slipped her mutt a cookie. “Seelo is precious!”

  Grunting, Tom headed for the door. While being alone was hardly his preference, he missed the days when he had the cottage to himself.

  “Be careful at work today!” Isabella called to him as he left. “Vee said you're policing the city! I don't really know what that entails, but she seems to think it's dangerous, so... good luck!”

  Harriot hoped Vee didn't tell her too much about his days at work. If Isabella knew about his side job as a torturer, he doubted she would wish him luck. In fact, as soon as he arrived at the palace, Jackal tried to pass off an unwanted job to him.

  “I don't feel like it!” Jackal whined as they headed to the dungeon together.

  “You're supposed to torture a deserter... and you don't feel like it?” Tom's eyebrows were skeptically raised. “I've never known you to pass on an opportunity to torture anyone. I thought you loved it.”

  “I do. I usually do. But today I just don't feel like it.” Jackal exaggerated a pout. He had drawn his eyeliner down the length of his face, which made it look like he cried, even though he hadn't. “I miss Tobey.”

  “Good lord,” Harriot muttered. Jackal's whims were less predictable than the weather.

  “Your father wants you to torture the girl, too,” Jackal reminded him when they reached the dungeon's door. “He thinks she knows something.”

  “The girl?” At first, Harriot looked perplexed—then it dawned on him. Of course, Vee already told him about the girl who followed her home and sneaked around the cottage. “You mean Letitia Jordan?”

  “Uh huh. But don't torture her too much, because your daddy's planning to use her to negotiate with her daddy. Her daddy's some sort of bigwig, I s'pose. Anyway, if there are too many bruises on her face, her daddy might be mad.”

  “I'll bear that in mind,” Tom dismissively told him. “Now, if you'll excuse me...”

  As soon as Harriot entered the dungeon, he got right to work. He slipped a pair of brass knuckles on his right hand, and in his other hand, he held a jagged knife. When the cell door opened, the deserter was already crying. Any time Thomas Harriot appeared, pain was expected.

  “Lawrence Wolder.” Tom flexed his knuckles as he stepped inside the tiny cell. “That is your name, correct?”

  Lawrence barely squeaked a reply. “Y-yes.”

  “I heard you ran away from Eversio, Wolder.” When Harriot glanced over his shoulder, he saw Lettie in the cell across from them. She was standing at the bars, watching intently, wondering if she would eventually share the deserter's fate. “Should I call you Wolder or Lawrence? What do you prefer?”

  “Wolder is fine, sir.” The man's head was shrinking between his shoulders, but no matter how much he tried to cower, his punishment was inescapable.

  “Very well, Wolder. Now... do you know how Eversio feels about deserters?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lettie could hear the tremble in his voice, which made her pity him even more. Lawrence Wolder was around the same age as her, possibly twenty or twenty one, and he looked absolutely terrified of the masked man who stalked around his cage. Thomas Harriot could not only sense his fear, he reveled in it. Judging from the grin on Harriot's lips, Wolder's fear inspired him.

  “I'm going to have to punish you, Wolder,” Harriot warned him. “Are you ready?”

  “I-I-I suppose, sir.”

  The brass knuckles plowed into Wolder's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He barely had time to catch his breath before Harriot punched his jaw. When the brass knuckles connected with his nose, Lettie had to close her eyes. A crimson river cascaded down the young man's face, and she couldn't stand the sight of it.

  “I'd say we're about halfway finished,” Harriot calmly informed him. “Would you like another punch, or should I move on to the knife?” A whimper from Wolder was the only reply he received, so Harriot decided for him. “Let's go with the knife. Where should I cut you, do you think? The arm? Leg? Cheek? You should be glad I'm the one standing here right now. If Jackal was here, he'd lop off a piece of you.”

  “Oh god...” Wolder croaked.

  “Jackal's method is probably more effective,” Harriot said as he drew the knife across Wolder's forearm. The boy shrieked and squirmed as his flesh was lit with pain. “If you really want to torture someone, you should probably give them something to remember. I'm living proof of that.” He sliced Wolder's other arm. “There are some things you can never forget.”

  “Please,” Wolder begged him. “Please stop.”

  “Just one more cut.” Harriot leaned back as he decided where to slice him. “You're getting off easy, really. Other deserters have fared much worse. You might end up with a few little scars, but it's nothing you need to worry about.” To finish, he slowly dragged the jagged knife across the length of Wolder's right shoulder. Though he didn't cut too deep, the young man was sobbing. “There. All done. That wasn't so terrible, was it?”

  When Harriot left the deserter's cell and approached hers, all traces of color were purged from Lettie's cheeks. Suddenly, she wished she was back on Julian Featherstone's airship. “Are you going to torture me now?” Lettie tried to ask the question as placidly as possible. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how terrified she was.

  “No.”

  A ripple of relief shivered through Lettie's body. “No?”

  “Don't sound so disappointed,” Tom said with a chuckle. “I was supposed to torture you to find out if you're hiding anything... but I already know your secret, don't I? Or should I say, you know mine.” Harriot leaned closer to the bars and lowered his voice. “Whatever you do, don't tell anyone the princess is alive.”

  “I won't!” Lettie exclaimed. “I wouldn't!”

  “Good. Because if the wrong people found out, they'd come after her, and I wouldn't want any harm to come to her. I'd die before I'd let anyone hurt her.”

  “The wrong people are your people,” Lettie hissed at him. “If you care about the princess... which you clearly do... why do you stay with them? Why do you torture people? Are you doing it because someone tells you to?” As she backed away from the bars, Lettie was rolling her eyes. “Why don't you think for yourself?”

  “I do what my father asks of me. I owe him that.”

  And with that, Harriot's feet carried him away from the dungeon. He met up with Callum
, and the two of them led a group of Eversio's finest into the city streets, where they were to work on cleaning up the influx of crime.

  Life was slowly returning to normal in Columbigo's capital. The chaos was subsiding, and people were learning that not much had changed since the imperial family was overthrown. Eversio's leaders were starting to establish order. Good work was rewarded, while law breakers were jailed. President Gareth promised to lower taxes, which helped to quell people's worries about the sudden change in leadership. At the end of the day, in the eyes of most townspeople, Eversio didn't seem that bad. After all, not many had thrived under the emperor's rule.

  Most importantly, crime rates were dropping, in large part due to the efforts of Callum Talwyn and Thomas Harriot. Within a matter of days, the capital's citizens had deduced that “the man in the mask” was someone to be feared. Callum's reputation was also on the rise. He didn't wait for murderers and rapists to plead their case—as soon as he found them, he killed them on the spot. When Callum and Harriot were apart, people were wary. When they were together, people had a tendency to close and lock their doors.

  “I don't know why your father makes you do this,” Callum said to Harriot as they patrolled the capital's main street, looking for unrest to suppress. “It's grunt work. It's a peon's job. That's not to say I'm a peon, but it doesn't seem like a worthwhile job for the president's son.”

  “I don't mind,” Harriot said with a shrug. “If it helps my father, I'd do anything.”

  “Damn!” Callum threw back his head and cackled. “You really are the model son, aren't you? You're a real golden boy. We should all live up to your example!” A unctuous grin suddenly appeared on Callum's lips. “It's too bad I won't have a chance, since I killed my father ages ago.”

  Tom and Callum were barely roaming the streets for five minutes before they stumbled across their first in-progress crime. A man with a handlebar mustache had a teenage girl tossed over his shoulder. She was kicking, screaming, and crying for help, so Callum didn't hesitate to act. He caught up to the man, grabbed him by the hair, and pulled him backward. Harriot might have handled it a bit differently, because it made him drop the young girl. When she hit the ground, she cradled an injured wrist.