Princess of Thieves

by Bella Beaumont

  “What your heart tells you,” Stecker said lamely. He knew he sounded like a sod, but didn’t know what else to say.

  A neverending silence dragged over them, then Filtray blinked, as if coming to some sort of internal understanding.

  “You’ve always been the nicest to me, Steck. Why?”

  Taken aback, Stecker furrowed his brow. “Because every man deserves respect, Fil. I just wish you’d see that in yourself. I wish you could be the happy young man I once knew you as.”

  Filtray’s face took on a sudden sadness that seemed overbearing, like he was going to break at any moment. He looked away, blushing. “If I was Sala . . . I could stop you, y’know. If I was stronger. Like, physically.”

  “You are stronger, Fil,” Stecker said. His hand tightened around Catera’s, until her fingers hurt. “You just need to see it within yourself.”

  Filtray snorted. “Nonsense! I’ll always be a pathetic, helpless dandy to the rest of them!”

  “Not to me.” Stecker gave the young, skinny man as warm a smile as he could muster.

  “You know if you do this you’ll not be able to return.”

  Stecker nodded. “I know, Fil.”

  A tear rolled down Filtray’s fair, filth-smudged face. “I’ll miss you, Steck.”

  Stecker reached into his tunic and presented Princess Ocena’s note. “Give this to our people. We must all quit these dreaded tunnels—not just the princess and I.”

  Filtray took the note and held onto it with both hands, like it was a priceless artifact. “Thank you. And may the gods keep you in their favor, Steck . . . because I know Alberus won’t.”

  Stecker smiled sadly at the young man, then turned with the princess in tow and headed down the nearest tunnel.

  “Sala was right, you know!” Filtray called out.

  Stecker spun around, brow furrowed in confusion.

  “I really did want her to coddle me like a whelp. It . . . reminded me of better times. Simpler times.”

  Stecker had so much he could’ve said to that, but he simply smiled and said, “I hope we can all find those simpler times some day, my friend.”

  And with that, Stecker and Catera turned a corner, both physically and mentally.

  For much of the speedy exit from the tunnels, they were both silent, without a word spoken between them. But once they reached the ladder leading up to the innkeeper’s room, and Stecker rested his hand on the damp wood, he cleared his throat.

  “Ano,” he said.

  Catera turned to him. “Pardon?”

  “My name, Princess. I figure you ought to know it.”

  She smiled wistfully. “Ano . . . Stecker. Rolls off the tongue a bit, doesn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “If you say so.”

  She returned his shrug. “I like Stecker better, I think.”

  They both chuckled as they ascended the ladder.

  PART

  III

  Chapter Twenty

  Stecker and Catera hid behind a mass of barrels that were stacked higher than a man’s height. Soon, those barrels would be loaded onto a ship. Despite Catera being hooded when they arrived at the dreary seaport, they were taking every precaution.

  It was nighttime and the salty, fishy smell was thick and pungent in the air. The herd of people who went about their day had thinned with nightfall, which made Stecker and Catera’s presence more noticeable.

  Walking along the docks, they’d spotted a patrol of three Royal Army guards stomping down from the opposite direction, headed their way, preempting their hiding. Hearts thumping, they quickly backtracked, got off the gangway, and vanished from sight.

  Moments later, they held their breaths while the jangling armor and clunking boots of the guards rang out on the other side of those wooden kegs.

  The guards passed—Stecker looked through a crack in the conjoining barrels to make sure—and then he took the princess’ hand and pulled her along the dock, until they made it to the ramp leading up to the Wolfpack.

  Stecker could hear snores coming from amidships, as well as see a smattering of sailors roaming around the foredeck.

  The duo made it to the top of the gangplank and waited near the bulwark.

  A burly sailor spotted them and grunted, then disappeared into the deckhouse. Captain Journigan returned with the man a few minutes later, the big pirate rubbing at his scarred chin as he approached.

  The tall, unkempt captain crossed his arms over his thick chest, showing his imposing tattoos, and stared down at both Stecker and Catera.

  “Tha’ better not be who I think it is, Steck,” Journigan growled, eyes studying the princess.

  “Then don’t think about it, Journ.”

  The captain mumbled something to himself. “And you didn’ay tell me ya’d be bringin’ a womanfolk on board, boy.”

  Stecker shrugged. “I knew you would have denied my request if I had.”

  “Yer treachery knows no bounds.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Stecker shivered, rubbing his arms together. “It’s frigid out here, mate. Can we come aboard or not?”

  Journigan made a noncommittal grunt in his throat, then lifted his wide-brimmed hat and scratched at his balding head.

  “You gave me your word,” Stecker said, narrowing his eyes on the hesitant captain.

  With a groan, Journigan turned around and waved them forward. “Come on then, ya salty bastard. Hurry up into the deckhouse ‘fore my men see the pretty thing ya’ve brought on my ship. The Wolfpack will eat her up, otherwise.”

  “I’ve no doubt,” Stecker muttered.

  They followed the captain across the deck, then down the stairs into the cabin of the ship. While the outside smelled of fetid birdshit, feces, and salt, the inside had an odorous mixture of sweat, piss, and staleness. If anything, it seemed even worse than the outside.

  Stecker and Catera both made a face as they reached the bottom of the stairs, nearly gagging at the smell.

  Journigan turned around, saw their sickly dispositions, and cackled. “Ah, mate, ya’ve forgotten everything about being on a boat, aye? Lost your touch, mate.”

  “Yes, well, it’s a smell I don’t miss.”

  Catera raised a brow at Stecker. “How often have you frequented ships like this, Ano Stecker?”

  Journigan snorted and kept walking in front of them. “Told her yer name and everything, ya dumb fool of a man. Names have power, y’know.”

  Stecker shrugged, ignoring Journigan’s gibe. “I have experience on sea vessels, yes.”

  They walked down a tight corridor, with little doors leading to separate rooms, and a large door at the end of the walkway that was bigger than the rest. “Tha’s my room, o’course,” Journigan said, nudging his chin toward the end of the hall.

  “Of course.”

  “The twos of ya can stay in this shanty suite,” he said with a chuckle, pushing open an old wooden piece of wood.

  Stecker frowned at his surroundings—walls that were entirely too close, a shallow room that felt damp and stinky, with a small bed in the corner and a smaller table nearby; a barred window above it. “Seems more like a prison cell than a suite, Journ.”

  “Aren’t ya quite the opinionated folk? We had to bar the window due to the last mate jumpin’ out of it while at sea. I could always alert the guards and send ya on yer way, if ya’d rather . . .”

  “N-No, no, what Stecker meant to say was ‘Thank you,’ Captain Journigan. Your help has been too kind.” Catera flapped her hand at Stecker.

  Journigan grunted. “Eh, well, I expect recoop . . . renumer-uh. . .”

  “Remuneration?”

  “That.”

  “In time, my old friend,” Stecker said, nodding. “Just give us a few days to get our feet on the ground.”

  The big man grunted. “Ironic, ya tryin’ to get yer feet on the ground while bobbin’ in the sea, eh? Try to keep yer heads belowdeck during daylight hours, yes?”

  Stecker smiled at him. With that, the cap
tain left, his heavy footfalls thudding down the corridor until he reached his room.

  Catera closed the door to their dingy quarters, then immediately went to the cot in the corner and plopped down with a heavy sigh.

  Stecker stood looking out the barred window at the bright moon and the cloudless, black sky. “He’s a rough bastard, but I think he’ll keep us safe here.”

  “You never told me of your pirating days at sea, Stecker,” Catera said in a low voice.

  “I haven’t told you about many days of mine, my dear.”

  Catera cleared her throat. “Well . . . why don’t you come over here and tell me all about them, Steck.”

  Stecker turned around at the emphasis of that last word, his brow furrowed. He raised it higher as he saw that Catera was disrobing from her hood and cloak, and was starting to peel the straps of her dress slowly from her shoulders.

  Stecker didn’t need to be told twice to rush over.

  “AND WHERE DID YOU SAY you came by this note, Filtray?” Alberus asked, not for the first time. He held the tiny letter in his big hand, waving it around in front of him.

  Filtray looked around the damp room and saw the eyes of every man and woman staring at him. He was the center of attention, and he hated it. He wondered how he could have gone all those years playing the lute and singing for his supper with his troupe . . . how had he managed to do it without losing his wits?

  He was a much different man now. Sweat darkened the shirt under his armpits, near his neck, his brow, his forehead . . . he looked like a wet dog, and felt even worse.

  Biting his bottom lip nervously, he said meekly, “Confidant of the princess herself, sir. I know no more than that.”

  He itched at his blackened right eye, and whimpered at the softest touch. He had smacked his face into a wall before returning to the room, to make it look like Stecker had punched him before making his escape. He wasn’t sure if he was fooling anybody.

  “You haven’t been aboveground a single time since our seclusion,” Sala said suspiciously.

  “The courier found me . . . down here,” Fil lied.

  Sala snorted and looked away, shaking her head.

  The tense feeling in the room was suffocating. Since reading the letter aloud, proclaiming that the entire Siblinghood was in imminent danger, everyone had become unbearably cooped up and anxious, on pins and needles.

  When Alberus announced, “All right, everyone stay calm—Fil, go out and wrangle in Stecker and the princess, we need to be on our way . . .” and then learned that the two had escaped . . . well, his rage was not unjustified.

  Like an angry, limping gorilla, the man had stormed through the room, overturned the table with a growl, and then had a short bout of sniffling, close to tears that Stecker would abandon the Siblinghood.

  “All for that skinny, royal bitch?!” Dered had shouted in protest.

  “Big tits on her, though,” Sala pointed out. She seemed the calmest of all, for some reason, though her eyes kept falling back to Filtray, who looked utterly guilty and suspicious, black eye or not.

  “I don’t care if her tits are the size of mountains,” Alberus roared, “Stecker has wronged us. How could he be so selfish?”

  Filtray badly wanted to announce that it was Stecker who was trying to save them, but he wanted to give the thief and the princess a headstart before bringing down everything around them.

  For now, Fil knew that the Siblinghood had to leave the underground tunnels.

  “We’ll find him, Alb,” Nemya said, pushing off from her corner of the wall to rest a hand on the big man’s stooped shoulder. “I promise. But first, we must decide what to do with ourselves.”

  Alberus snorted. “Isn’t it clear? We have to leave here. The hideaway is compromised.”

  “Well . . . can’t say I’ll miss it much,” Sala said with a shrug.

  Dered said, “How long do you think we have? I mean, if the trade-off transaction was supposed to take place two days from now . . . do you think we’ll be safe until then?”

  Alberus shook his head, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “You fool . . . the whole point of the Sefyr Army knowing our location is so there won’t be a trade-off! We aren’t going to see thirty thousand Royal Sterlings, or any amount. Only thing we can hope for at this point from those rotten bastards is a noose around the neck.”

  Dered frowned, then rubbed at the skin under his chin. “Shit. I didn’t think of that.”

  “You’ve never been the thinker of the group, Red,” Sala said with a smirk. “We know that that field of expertise belonged to Stecker, as much as we’d all like to deny it right now. He did pull quite a clever fast one on us, after all.”

  The handsome man twisted his face into a grimace, making him, for once, look somewhat ugly. “Take it back, Sala,” he said, then his hand lingered over the bulge between his legs. “Or do you want another dose of . . . punishment?”

  The huge woman stood from her corner, licking her lips. “Oh, you don’t have to threaten me with a scuffle, boy.” She walked toward Dered, who met her in the middle of the room, near the overturned table, until their faces were just inches apart. Dark, knowing grins were on their lips, their eyes hungry and twinkling.

  “Enough!” said a high voice.

  Their faces turned. They had expected the retort from Alberus, to break up their innuendo-filled banter before it led to sloppy intercourse right in the middle of the room. But the voice came from Nemya, instead. The blonde-haired, bronze-skinned woman stood by Dered’s side and thrust a finger toward the much larger Sala. “Enough of this goading, you two. We haven’t the time!”

  Nemya looked imploringly at Alberus, as if for help, and made a desperate face with her eyes wide.

  Alberus grunted, staring down at the ground in defeat, and flapped his hand at her. He looked completely deflated, like his large, stocky chest had been stepped on.

  The Solver leader was going to let this play out—whatever this was.

  But Nemya would not let it go without a fight. The damn fool might be as pretty as a swan, but he’s dumber than a stack of hay and knows how to break my heart like none other!

  She tugged at Dered’s arm, which caught him off-guard and made him turn toward her.

  Filtray watched everything happening with bugged out eyes, appreciating the fact that the attention had been pulled away from him—albeit momentarily, he assumed. But it was nice, being able to breathe again without a pain restricting his chest.

  “Please, just step away from her,” Nemya said in a low voice, her hand running over Dered’s much larger fingers.

  Sala narrowed her eyes at the display, at the caressing and pulling. Then her mouth fell open and she pointed at Nemya. “Ha! Aha! You actually like the pretty idiot!”

  Nemya’s face flashed scarlet red. “N-No!” she stuttered, then stormed away from Dered’s side back to her shadowy corner, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Admit it!” Sala cried out.

  Dered watched her go, a blank look on his face. “W-Wait . . .” he said, but Nemya’s back was turned toward him.

  “I’ll not wait a moment longer,” Nemya announced, then turned on her heels and headed for the hole-in-the-wall door. “If you wish to speak with me, I’ll be out here getting some fresh air . . .”

  She exited the room and went left down the dark tunnel.

  “There ain’t a whiff of fresh air in this place,” Sala growled, angry that Dered’s attention had been pulled away from her. He was usually so easy to manipulate . . . to coax . . . like a good, hung puppy.

  “We are evacuating these premises in an hour, and no more,” Alberus called out, making sure Nemya could hear her despite her leaving the room. Then he, too, walked out of the room, but headed to the right.

  Dered followed Alberus, but went left.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Stecker crouched over Princess Catera, her feet off the edge of the small, hard cot they called a bed. He leaned forward and kisse
d her, taking the back of her head with his hand and running his fingers through her orange locks.

  He pressed her face hard against his, taking in her scent, the feeling of her fingers caressing his sides underneath his tunic, breathing in her essence.

  Moving his hand down the nape of her neck, he felt the hairs on edge, then moved further down her spine to her back. He moved forward over the edge of the bed, over Catera, straddling her legs, and pushed backward until she was comfortably reclined.

  Her eyes were big in her head when he released his passionate kiss and looked down at her with those dark earthy pools for eyes.

  “Are you tender, Ano?” she asked.

  Stecker smiled, the curls of his hair falling over his eyes. He nodded, whispered, “I can be,” then dipped his head and kissed her again, his tongue perusing her mouth and twisting with hers.

  Catera’s small hands were at his hips, tugging on the waistband of his breeches. His pants were getting tight, the bulge showing beneath them, the outline throbbing. As his pants began to descend down his slender hips, he wiggled out of them to help Catera disrobe him.

  His knees at her sides, he lifted up in his straddled position and tore his tunic over his head, throwing it aside, while Catera continued to lower his dirty trousers with wide eyes fixed on the prize, expectantly watching.

  He stood on the cot, over the princess, and helped himself—bringing the pants down to his ankles, then flinging them off.

  Stecker’s cock sprang out, jumping up from his thigh to jut outward. It was a huge, hard, thick slab of meat dripping precum from its glossy head. His balls were smooth and heavy as they clacked against his inner legs, weighted low by the sheer gravity of their size, each testicle nearly the size of a palm.

  Catera’s throat caught in her chest in a sharp inward gasp.

  He went on his hands and knees again, lowering himself over the princess once more, and said, “What’s wrong?”

  “N-Nothing,” she stammered, face blushing furiously red, freckles popping. “You’re just a much bigger boy than I thought you were.”