Prisoner Princess Read online

  “You lost an eye?” Mae gasped. “How and when and why did that happen?”

  Mae didn't get an answer, because Julian's attention was stolen by an approaching Prince Nico. Julian waved to him from the grass. “Oh hey, Your Highness. Long time no see!”

  “Julian. I see you're... alive.” Nico's response to his friend's greeting was unmistakably cold. “And you've been off kidnapping young women, from what I can understand.”

  “Pfft! She wasn't kidnapped,” Julian attempted to correct him. “In fact, she was here quite willingly. Weren't you, Lettie?”

  Lettie didn't answer, because she was too busy glaring at her fiance. When George reached out to hold her, she smacked his hands away. “Don't,” she snarled. “Don't touch me right now. I'm not happy with you.”

  “I don't see you for weeks, and this is how you greet me? You won't even hug me? I thought you loved me, Letitia!”

  Lettie looked down at Julian, who looked surprising content, despite his battered face. When she caught his gaze, he smiled at her. At that moment, Lettie wasn't sure who she loved.

  She would have to figure it out later, because Admiral Jordan finally emerged from the airship. Lettie wouldn't hug George, but she could at least hug her father. When her father came toward her with his arms extended, she accepted the embrace with a sigh.

  “It's good to see you, Father,” Lettie said. “I'm... sorry if I was a disappointment to you.”

  “You're not a disappointment to me, sweetheart. You could never be a disappointment to me!” As he stroked his daughter's hair, the admiral turned to George and asked, “Have you located the villain?”

  “Indeed. Julian Featherstone has been found and apprehended,” George dutifully reported.

  Naturally, Julian objected. “I wouldn't say he's apprehended me. Not really. He just gave me a light beating, and now I'm lounging in the grass waiting to be apprehended.”

  “It looks like we have a smart ass on our hands,” Admiral Jordan noted. “Cuff him, George. I'll deal with him later.”

  “Wait!” Lettie tried to stop it. “Wait... you don't have to arrest him! Julian's right. I came willingly. He might have wronged me in the beginning, but I've come to care about him, and he's already been through so much.”

  “Cuff him,” the admiral repeated, ignoring his daughter's request. “I'll decide what to do with him later.”

  Grinning, George dragged Julian to his feet and roughly cuffed his wrists. He was only too happy to fulfill his admiral's request.

  “Julian!” Lettie cried his name as George jostled his prisoner in the direction of the airship. “Julian... I'll get you out of this mess! I promise I will! There is no way I'll tolerate this!”

  Despite his predicament, Julian was smiling. Lettie liked him. She cared about him. She didn't want to see him hurt.

  Knowing that, he couldn't possibly be anything less than overjoyed.

  Forty

  When Princess Isabella was escorted to the gallows in the capital's main square, she was starting to think her execution might actually happen. She kept hoping Tom would swoop in and rescue her, but as the minutes ticked by, it was getting harder and harder to put her faith in him. If he didn't come to her aid, she could hardly blame him. It was selfish to think he should turn his back on his people and put himself at risk, just for her. Isabella knew she wasn't worth it, but that didn't stop her from hoping.

  Despite the princess' popularity, only a small crowd had gathered at the gallows. Unlike the failed execution of Tobias Robb, Isabella's execution wasn't well-publicized. Since the princess was generally loved by her people, President Gareth wanted to finish the execution as expeditiously as possible. He didn't want any heroes to show up and attempt to thwart it. Perhaps it was a mistake, but he decided to put his son in charge of seeing it through. It was to be a final test of Thomas' loyalty. If he could stand aside and watch the princess dangle, he would have his father's forgiveness.

  When Isabella saw Thomas Harriot standing near the scaffold where she was to be hanged, she wasn't sure what to think. Was he going to help her? Was he going to let her die? If so, was he going to avert his eyes or watch? A barrage of questions raced through her mind at once, and she would soon have her answers.

  There were at least a dozen Eversio guards stationed around the wooden stage—and Tom Harriot was just one man. Was she foolish to think he would actually stand against them? As her executioner shoved her onto a barrel and slipped her head through a noose, Isabella decided it was time to accept her death. There was so much more she wanted to see and experience, and now she would never have a chance. When she glanced in Tom's direction, there were tears in her eyes. He wouldn't even look at her. He kept his back to her, as if he was disgusted by the sight of her.

  For the hundredth time, Isabella cursed herself for leaving his cottage. If she was dead in a few minutes—and it was obvious she would be—she had no one to blame but herself. Her own stupidity was the reason her neck was cradled by the rough rope of a noose.

  However, the situation changed in a flash. Before anyone could so much as blink, Harriot drew his saber, slashed the executioner's throat, and cut the rope above Isabella's head. When she nearly toppled from the barrel, he grabbed her waist and gently set her behind him.

  “I'll give you all a chance to flee,” Harriot said as he calmly removed his revolver from its holster. “If you let us walk away, I won't hurt anyone.” Over his shoulder, he whispered to Isabella, “stay behind me.”

  A few of the guards were familiar with the masked man's reputation, so they took his advice and fled. The rest of them were reaching for their weapons. After the previous execution failed, Harriot assumed they would have heightened security, and he wasn't wrong. Even with eight officers surrounding him, it was nothing he couldn't handle.

  Below the scaffold, there was a guard reaching for his gun, so Harriot raised his revolver and shot him in the head before he had a chance to use it. There were two sets of stairs on either side of the platform, and Eversio's guards were climbing both sides. As he shot two guards climbing the furthest set of stairs, Tom thrust his sword behind him, killing a man who approached his rear. Two gunshots later, the stairs were clogged with corpses. Harriot grabbed Isabella's waist and vaulted over the dead bodies. When they landed on the bottom of the stairs, he placed her on her feet again.

  “Tom, look out!” Isabella shrieked, but he was already way ahead of her. Two more of Eversio's soldiers were charging toward him with brandished cutlasses. As he shielded Isabella with his body, Tom unleashed a series of rapid slashes, carving up both of his attackers before they could touch him. When there was no more opposition in front of them, Tom sheathed his sword and reached for the princess' hand.

  Tom had long legs, and hers were rather short, so she had to sprint to keep up with him. “Tom, where are we going?”

  “I'm not sure yet. All I know is... we need to get far away from here.” Some bystanders were still watching them, so Tom dashed down the first side street they came across. He turned again and again, using the maze-like streets to their advantage. Isabella was not only panting, she was struggling to keep his pace, so Tom crouched down and said, “Get on my back.”

  Isabella gasped at the thought. “What? Why?” Though she obeyed, she did so apprehensively.

  “We'll move faster that way. Hold on tight.”

  As soon as she was on his back, Tom took off running again, dashing down countless streets and narrow alleyways. Isabella held his neck so tightly, she was practically choking him, but he didn't let it slow him down. He wasn't going to stop running until they were halfway across the city.

  “Tom...” Isabella whispered his name. “Thanks for saving me.”

  He answered placidly, “I told you I would.”

  “I know... and I really do appreciate it... but now I know I've gotten you into trouble. What if your father never welcomes you back?”

  “I think it's safe to say he's done with me. I'll nev
er see him again. And if I do, he'll probably try to kill me,” Harriot matter-of-factly stated. “But it's alright. If I'm no longer my father's puppet, that's not a bad thing.”

  “I do feel guilty, though.”

  “Don't. You have nothing to feel guilty about, Isabella. You're a victim in all of this.”

  For the next few minutes, they were silent. Before they reached another crowded part of the city, Tom put her back on her feet and shrugged off his coat.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “They'll be searching for a man in black... with a mask.” As he spoke, Tom lifted the mask from his face. For the first time, Isabella was seeing his scars in the sunlight, but she tried to look as nonchalant as possible. “I think it's been almost ten years since I've taken off the mask in public, but... it's necessary.”

  He was doing it for her, to keep her safe. He was doing something that made him extremely uncomfortable because he didn't want to be found. Isabella had no idea how she would ever repay him for the many sacrifices he made for her.

  Tom stowed his mask down the front of his shirt and took Isabella's hand again. “We'll walk a little while longer, then we need to find an inn,” he said.

  “Alright.”

  “We shouldn't stay in the capital too long,” he continued. “We'll leave tomorrow. We need to relocate to a new city, if not an entirely new country.”

  “What about my brother?”

  “I have no idea. I'd like to help you find him, but that might not be possible in the near future,” Tom told her. “I'm sorry, Isabella.”

  “It's okay.” Isabella was in no position to protest, not when Tom Harriot was the sole reason she wasn't swinging from the end of a rope.

  When they reached an inn, he hovered by the front door for a moment. “Once we're inside, don't leave this building for any reason... do you understand? And if you absolutely have to go out, please, please don't go anywhere without me.”

  “I won't,” Isabella promised him. “Believe me, I've learned my lesson.”

  “Good.” Harriot laid a hand on her back as he led her inside. The innkeeper was a bit taken aback by the sight of them. Tom's scars and Isabella's bruised face would have been a shock for anyone. Nevertheless, she sold them a room, and she did so without asking questions.

  “You've been so kind to me,” Isabella said as they climbed the stairs to their room. “I don't know what I'd do without you, Tom. I feel like you're my only friend in the world right now.”

  “I'm not your only friend. Vee adores you,” Tom reminded her. “Although... I don't think she's too happy with me after what happened in Bordeaux.”

  “What happened in Bordeaux?”

  Tom was afraid she would ask that question. When the door to their bedroom was open, he let her enter first, then he locked the door behind them. After a brief moment of contemplation, he finally answered, “Don't worry about it, Isabella. It's not important.”

  There were two beds, so Isabella chose the one beside the window. As she rolled onto the blankets, her sigh of relief was practically never-ending. Tears rushed into her eyes as she stared at the ceiling. “I don't really know what else to say. How do you properly thank someone for saving your life?”

  “You don't need to keep thanking me.” Tom laid in the second bed and folded his hands behind his head. “Knowing you're still alive is good enough for me.”

  “Would you have been sad if I died?”

  “Is that a serious question?” Tom shut his eyes and shook his head. “I'd be more than sad. I'd be devastated.”

  Tom's answer made her heart thump wildly. “Really?”

  “Absolutely. But it wasn't going to happen, and I knew it. I knew I'd get you out of there.” Tom's lips were lifted by the tiniest of smiles. “I'm a little surprised I didn't get injured in the process, though. To be honest, I was expecting at least one injury today.”

  “Those men didn't stand a chance!” Isabella exclaimed. “I barely even blinked, and suddenly they were all dead!”

  Tom chuckled at her superfluous praise of his skills. “It didn't happen that fast, surely.”

  “But it did!” Isabella insisted. “You were like... bang bang slash... and suddenly there were dead bodies all around you!”

  Her overenthusiastic depiction of the day's events reminded him of her youth—but he appreciated it. He thought she was adorable.

  “I didn't even know how good you were with swords and whatnot,” Isabella continued. “Now that I know, I swear I'm never leaving your side! I'm going to be stuck to you so hard, you won't be able to pry me off!”

  “Good.” Tom rolled on his side, facing her direction, and winked. “Nothing would make me happier.”

  Forty One

  For the second time in less than a month, Julian Featherstone was a deck swabbing prisoner, and the job was just as tedious as it was on the airship of Francis Doon. He'd recently recovered from his sunburn, only to be subjected to a second round of burning, peeling skin. As he dragged the mop across the deck, Julian groaned loudly, like a bear waking up from a long sleep. Hadn't he suffered enough?

  The pains of physical labor were nothing compared to the agonizing sight of Letitia Jordan walking hand-in-hand with her fiance. As they strolled past Julian, he overheard George whispering, “Don't talk to him. Don't even look at him. Just keep walking.”

  Of course, it made Julian even more desperate to be noticed. He started waltzing with his mop, thinking it might catch her attention, but she only had eyes for George. Even when his dance ended with a flourish, he couldn't get her to look his way. Now that George had reentered the picture, Julian Featherstone was suddenly invisible to her.

  “Are you serious, Lettie?” Julian hissed at her fleeing backside. “You're going to ignore me in favor of the man who tried to smash my face in? Really? I thought you cared!” Lettie and George were too far away to hear him, but that didn't stop him from ranting. Or pouting.

  “George Whitley.” Under his breath, Julian snorted the name. “More like George Shitley.” He dunked his mop, slapped it against the deck, and dragged it forward with a groan.

  When Nico approached, Julian's mood was slightly improved, if only because the prince looked a bit more ridiculous than usual. Nico's hair was slicked back, which put his wide forehead on display. He was wearing a single hoop earring and a pair of rose-tinted glasses, neither of which seemed to suit him.

  Chortling to himself, Julian had to ask, “What's with the unusual ensemble, Nico? Did you lose a bet?”

  “No!” Nico immediately removed his glasses and stuffed them in the front pocket of his coat. “I was trying something new.”

  “Well... you probably shouldn't try it again.”

  “As if you're so stylish!” Nico countered.

  To which Julian replied, “Of course I'm stylish! Even on a bad day, there's no one more dapper than me! If I look less than chic right now, it's because I'm a prisoner!”

  “I wouldn't call that eye patch stylish, though...”

  “This?” Julian thrust a finger at Jolly's green eye patch. “This is a priceless gift from a dear departed friend! I wouldn't replace it for the world!”

  “Alright...” As Julian's deck swabbing continued, Nico crossed his arms and watched. He thought about offering to help, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Prince Nico had never worked a day in his life.

  “So, what's with you and Mary Melissa Mae?” Julian asked. “Are you two...?” He made a lewd gesture with his hands that involved a pointed finger and a hole.

  “Uhh... you could say that.”

  “Well done, Nico!” Julian gave him a hard slap. “She's a fine girl! A real beauty! If she wasn't yours, I would have chosen her for myself.” He decided to withhold the fact that he really did come close to bedding her.

  “She is beautiful,” Nico agreed. “You don't think she's too beautiful for me, do you?”

  “Of course she is!” Julian exclaimed, which earned him a cold, ha
rd stare from Nico. “But you're a prince, so that makes up for any shortcomings.” When Nico's glare intensified, Julian added, “Oh, I'm only teasing you, man! Don't look at me like that!”

  “I think I'm done talking to you,” Nico flatly said. “Oh... and I was asked to deliver a message. When you're done swabbing the deck, Admiral Jordan wants to see you.”

  “And what does the admirable admiral want with me?”

  “I have no idea... but he has a low tolerance for nonsense, so if I was you, I'd be on my best behavior,” Nico advised him. “For what it's worth, I did put in a good word for you.”

  “Many thanks, my princely friend,” Julian said with a bow. “Oh... and you and Mae make a lovely couple! I mean that. And I'm envious. Truly.” Even though Julian tried to make up for his previous insult, Nico still walked away with a grumble.

  Because he was dying to know what Lettie's father wanted, Julian increased his pace. His mop tackled the deck at twice its usual speed. When Julian started to whistle, he inspired himself, so he finished his work even faster. As soon as the job was finished, a guard escorted him to the admiral's quarters.

  “Ahhhh... Captain Featherstone!” Admiral Jordan exclaimed, setting his paperwork aside as he greeted his guest. “If it isn't the dastard who attacked my one and only child! What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

  “Uhh...?” Julian hitched a shoulder. “Sorry?”

  “I'm going to need more than a simple sorry, son.”

  “I'm really really really really sorry.” Julian's additions to his apology didn't seem to impress the admiral, whose lips were twisted in a perpetual frown. “I suppose it's too late to make a good impression?”

  “Very late.”

  “If it helps, I think Lettie is the greatest girl in the world,” Julian said. “I mean it. She's lovely. I adore her.”

  “And my daughter seems to like you too... don't ask me why.” The admiral's brow furrowed at the thought. “Lettie was in my room this morning, asking me to release you. Rather, she begged me. After everything you did to her, she should hate you. Clearly, Lettie's heart is more forgiving than mine.”