Sky Pirate (Belles & Bullets Book 3)

by Caylen McQueen

  “Aww. You're breaking my heart! You can't find it in yourself to fancy me a little?” After parrying several of Kieran's attacks, Doon finally drew his second sword. When he launched a counterassault, Doon's swings were graceful yet frenzied. For the next minute or two, he had Kieran on the defensive.

  Then Kieran suddenly lunged, which Doon didn't expect. Though he dodged the incoming blade, it barely missed him. When he heard Kieran's sword whistling uncomfortably close to his ear, he winced.

  “What's wrong, Captain Doon?” Kieran taunted him. “You're looking a bit stressed. Are you afraid you're going to lose an ear, as well as some fingers?”

  For once, Doon didn't have a witty comeback, he just focused on his attacks—which was the right thing to do, because he quickly gained the advantage. He knocked one of Kieran's weapons out of his hand. As Kieran's sword sailed into the sky, Doon struck it in midair, sending it halfway across the courtyard. Kieran tried to transfer his remaining blade from his left hand to his dominate hand, but Doon was too fast for him. He cut Kieran's arm twice: once below the wrist, and once above the knuckles. The sudden sting of pain made Kieran drop the sword, and a second later, Doon's blade was pressed against his neck.

  “It seems I've won,” Doon casually stated.

  “It seems you have,” Kieran dolefully agreed. “So are you going to kill me, or what?”

  “Not today.” Doon suddenly sheathed both of his swords and backed away. “I'd rather not kill you any day, but if you force me to fight you again, I might not be so forgiv--”

  Before Doon could finish his sentence, Kieran picked up his sword and slashed at him. Doon hopped backward, narrowly dodging the mercenary's attack. As he unsheathed his swords again, he sighed. “Alright... now you leave me no choice, McCray. One of us will be dying today, I'm afraid.”

  Doon's attacks came rapidly. Kieran kept blocking and backing away until there was nowhere left to go. When his back hit the castle wall, Kieran leapt to the side—and it was a good thing he did, because Doon took a swipe at his legs.

  “Are you trying to lop off my leg?” Kieran complained as he sprinted away from his adversary. Doon could have easily given chase, but he allowed his opponent peaceful retreat. As he retrieved his second sword, Kieran added, “That's not very nice, you know.”

  “Maybe. I was trying to be nice... earlier... but when you attacked me again, I started to feel a lot less friendly.” While Kieran was still some distance away, Doon flexed his arms and rolled his shoulders. After days of nonstop fighting, he was starting to feel the strain.

  When Kieran came at him again, he was ready to block. They swung and thrust, evaded and parried, until they were suddenly interrupted by a loud voice.

  “Uh... guys?” Carol ran to the middle of the courtyard where their duel was taking place. “What in the world are you doing?”

  “Fighting. Obviously.” As he barked his short answers, Kieran swung at Doon with all his strength. When Doon raised his sword to block, a spark leapt from the center of the blades. Doon used his second sword to slash Kieran's chest, but he backed away just in time. “Don't distract us.”

  Carol pouted as she watched the fight. “I really don't think Lyneah would appreciate this!”

  “And I really don't care what Lyneah thinks,” Kieran replied, dodging several of Doon's attacks in a row. “I'm no longer obligated to her. Hell, I never was. I could have left at any time. She should be thanking me!”

  Carol sputtered and rolled her eyes. “If she catches you fighting inside the castle walls, she'd probably arrest you before she'd thank you. And I wouldn't even blame her, quite frankly! You guys are being ridiculous! If I had my mechanical boxing glove with me, I'd give both of you a good smack in the head!”

  When one of Kieran's whirling blades sliced below his chin, Doon yelled, “You bastard!” Blood soaked Doon's shirt as he advanced with a counterattack. “What if that leaves a scar?”

  “A scar? That's what you're worried about right now?” Kieran chuckled at his opponent's concerns. “If you're dead—and you will be—a scar's not going to matter, is it?”

  “Whoa whoa whoa!” Carol rapidly shook her head. “You guys aren't actually out to kill each other... right?”

  “I wasn't,” Doon responded to her question with a snort. “Now I am.”

  “Guyyyyys!” Carol whined. “I can't let you do this! I hate to be a tattler, but I'm going to have to tell the princess about this! I'm going to--”

  Before she could finish speaking, Doon caught Kieran off guard and stabbed him in the leg. When he pulled out his sword, he stabbed him again in the hip. When Kieran tried to fight back, he was weak and panicked, so Doon easily knocked away his sword and stabbed him again—in the other leg. Kieran was disarmed, so Doon went behind him, kicking the back of his legs, knocking him to the ground. The tip of Doon's sword barely grazed Kieran's neck as he circled around the mercenary.

  “Do it,” Kieran glowered at Doon as he stalked around him. “Kill me. Why are you hesitating at all? I know you're a killer. Do it.”

  “Nononono!” Carol adamantly protested. She tried to run toward Doon, to restrain him, but he easily shoved her aside. “I vote for not killing him, okay? This is insane! You guys are being crazy! You were getting along a minute ago, weren't you? Kieran saved you, he stitched up your arms! You even took turns training Tobey! You respected each other... I swear you did! And now you're really going to kill each other? This is crazy!”

  Doon's eyes narrowed as he studied Kieran's face. He was so focused on his enemy, he barely heard Carol's speech. One thrust of his sword. That was all it would take. One deep wound and Kieran's life would be over.

  With a grunt of frustration, Doon pounded Kieran's head with the pommel of his sword and started to walk away. The blow should have knocked him out, but Kieran rose to his feet yet again, even though both of his legs were dripping blood. He quietly picked up his sword and tried to attack Doon while his back was turned. But his opponent was too fast for him. Doon spun around, blocked, and drove his second sword into Kieran's stomach. As he withdrew the blade, Kieran dropped to the ground, and Carol screamed.

  “Why?” she shouted. “Why'd it have to be like this? Hmmm? Why are men so... so idiotic?” When she ran forward, Doon didn't brush her aside this time. He watched her drop to Kieran's side to check his wounds.

  “I could easily kill him right now,” Doon said as he slowly sheathed his blades. “I could kill him... but I won't. I didn't hit anything vital, so he should live.” To a half-unconscious Kieran, he added, “I don't usually spare someone once... let alone, three times. I must respect you more than I realized, McCray. Lucky you.”

  Thirty One

  “This place is mad!” King Roen exclaimed as he slammed the bony chicken leg onto his plate. “Impostors... battles... imprisoned queens? And they say our country is barbaric? Ha! At first light tomorrow, we're leaving.”

  “But do we have to leave so quickly?” asked Malik, who was dining alone with his father. “I'd rather stay for a bit, at least for another day or two. Before we go, I'd like to know that Kitt's going to be alright.”

  “Kitt?” Roen picked up another chicken leg and waved it at his son. Skin dangled from the meat as he shook it. “Isn't that the impostor? Why in god's name would you give a damn about her?”

  “I got to know her,” Malik explained. “She's not a bad person. Kitt was the one I married... albeit briefly. I've never even met the real Lyneah! And so... before we leave, it'd make me happy to know my former wife was going to be--”

  “Do not refer to that woman as your wife!” Roen roared at his son as his teeth tore into his meat. “She's a scam, a fraud, a charlatan and a trickster. And if you have any sense at all, you'll wash your hands of her!”

  “She might not be my wife, but I still care about her well-being!”

  “Well, you need to stop caring!” Roen was silent for a few seconds as he stripped the bones of their meat. As he threw down his secon
d chicken leg, he declared, “We're leaving tomorrow, and I don't give a damn whether you agree or not!”

  “And I'm not leaving!” For once, Malik was determined to stand up for himself. “I'm not a child anymore, Father! You can't keep telling me what to do!”

  “Like hell I can't!” Roen turned to a pair of his soldiers and barked his favorite order: “Fetch the whipping boy!”

  “No!” Malik tried to protest. “No, you don't need to do that! Just... forget what I said, Father. I'll go with you tomorrow. If you really must have your way, I'll go!”

  “It's too late. You raised your voice to me. You defied me, and now someone must be punished.” Roen slipped his cudgel from his belt and rose to his feet. His eyes sparkled with mad anticipation as he waited for Ryas to arrive.

  “Father, you can't keep doing this! I'm too old for this! I don't need a whipping boy anymore!”

  “You'll need a whipping boy as long as you're a defiant little shit!” When Ryas was dragged into the room, Roen rubbed the palms of his hands together, as if he was awaiting a delectable dessert. When the whipping boy was shoved to the ground in front of him, the king relentlessly pummeled his shoulders.

  “Father, stop!” When Malik tried to pull back his father's arm, the king shoved him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. The young prince dropped to his knees, whimpering helplessly. “Father... please.” He made eye contact with Ryas, whose sorrowful expression shattered his heart—as it always did.

  Roen continued to batter the whipping boy: his neck, his arms, his back and finally: his head. When Ryas fell unconscious, it brought an end to Roen's fun. It was only thrilling so long as the whipping boy was crying—although his son's anguish more than made up for the lack of sobs. As his soldiers dragged an unconscious Ryas from the room, the king turned to his son and hissed, “Stop trying to take my fun away...” As he sauntered to the door, he added, “And we leave tomorrow, whether you like it or not.”

  Before returning to his room, Roen gathered three servants and ordered them to prepare a bath. After the ruckus in the castle, soaking in hot water was the only way to soothe his fraught nerves. He told them to make it as steamy as possible, and he started undressing before the servants were even gone. One of the maids was subjected to the sight of his girthy, hirsute stomach before she fled from the room.

  Roen pouted as the pretty maid fled. He missed Aislainn. In his head, he cursed her a thousand times for running away from him. It had been a week since she fled, and still he found no trace of her. But he wouldn't give up. So long as he drew breath, he would hunt her down. No one got away from him. If she actually managed to escape, he could never live with the shame.

  Roen dropped his knickers and shuffled to the bath, sighing deeply. Since Aislainn's disappearance, he'd had too many lonely nights. He thought about sending for the horsey-faced handmaiden, but he couldn't imagine getting aroused for someone who looked more equine than human. As for the third handmaiden, she was simply too old. Rarely did King Roen settle for anyone over the age of forty, even though he was much older than that himself.

  The king climbed into the bath and sat. Every muscle in his body relaxed as he submerged himself in the hot, steaming water. He closed his eyes and imagined himself on a beach—a world away from the cold, dark, rainy country he was stuck in. He'd had enough of it. No matter how many times his son tried to protest, Roen didn't care. He was more than ready to leave.

  Roen heard an odd creaking noise, so he opened one eye and scanned his room. There was no one there, of course. He was being paranoid. However, the darkness made him wish for a few more candles.

  The king closed his eyes and submerged himself deeper, until the water grazed his triple chin. He was so immersed in his own tranquility that he didn't notice when the door to his wardrobe opened slightly. He didn't see someone step out of its confines, or walk across the room, or hover behind him. The dark figure crouched beside him, pulled out a knife, and brought the knife to Roen's neck. When the tip of the blade barely touched Roen's throat, his eyes snapped open.

  “What the hell?” Roen bellowed. “There's someone in here? Guards! Guards, I'm--!”

  The dark-haired man clapped a hand over Roen's mouth and pressed his blade a bit harder against the king's flabby neck. “I'm going to kill you now,” the man whispered, muffling the king's cries with his hand. “I usually wouldn't prefer to kill a defenseless man. I don't like to kill anyone at all, actually, but I truly believe the world would be a better place without you, King Roen. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not.”

  Roen studied his assailant with panic in his eyes. The young man looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember where he had seen him before—if, indeed, he ever had.

  “My name's Roderick,” the man whispered to him. “I'm only telling you because I believe you have a right to know who's going to take your life... not that it'll matter in a moment or so.”

  The king tried to scream, but his voice was lost behind Roderick's large, rough hand.

  “What you do to your son is inexcusable,” Roderick told him. “And what you did to Aislainn is even worse. I'm doing this for her, you know. I'm doing this because... I care about her. So...” He started to press the blade into Roen's neck, drawing a trickle of blood. “Goodbye, King Roen.”

  Roderick winced as his knife penetrated the king's meaty throat. When he withdrew the blade, blood sprayed into the bathwater, staining it red. Roderick didn't take lives easily—not like Francis Doon—but he was confident that he had made the right choice. All the lives Roen had ruined could eventually be repaired by his death.

  Everyone would be better off without the king.

  Thirty Two

  Less than twenty-four hours after the castle was hers, everything was prepared for Lyneah's coronation. A half-dozen handmaidens hovered around her, begging to tend to her hair and makeup, but Lyneah sent them all away. After everything she went through, she didn't care about primping, preening, or pomp and circumstance. She wanted to be crowned queen as quickly as possible and move on to the next phase of her life.

  Rather than waste time fixing her hair, Lyneah sat at her desk and pored over documents. As she scanned a list of mercenaries' demands, there was a knock on the door.

  “You have leave to enter!” she called to the person behind the door. When Tobias stepped into the room, her eyes lit up. “Tobey! Where on earth have you been?”

  Lyneah hopped from her chair and went to hug him, but he didn't hug her back. His arms hanged at his sides, refusing to wrap around her. “They wouldn't let me in,” he icily told her. “Your guards... they refused to let me get close to you. It took me forever to convince them I was actually someone you'd care to see.”

  “Then they'll have to be corrected as soon as possible, since you're the person I've been wanting to see the most!” When Lyneah rose to her tiptoes and attempted to kiss his lips, Tobias not only turned his head, he also broke out of her hug. “Oh no... what's wrong?”

  “What isn't wrong?” Tobias shoved a hand in his pocket as he paced around the room. “I haven't seen you since we took the castle... yesterday. Did you ever stop to think about me? Did you ever wonder where I was?”

  “Well... I didn't realize you couldn't get in to see me. If I had, I would have gotten you in immediately. I assumed you were off with Kieran or Doon, like you usually are.”

  “Mmhmm.” Tobias paused in front of Lyneah's looking glass, frowning at his reflection. His dark green eyes were sad and tired.

  “Besides... I've been busy. I have mercenaries to pay and documents to sign,” Lyneah tried to explain. “But I'm sorry. I should have made you a priority, Tobias. I'm so sorry!”

  “I knew everything would change as soon as we reached the castle.” Tobey's gaze dropped to the floor as he spoke. “I knew you'd fo-forget all about me as soon as we got here.”

  “No!” Lyneah ran forward and tried to capture him in another hug. Still, Tobias' arms were glued to his sides. Lynea
h was so desperate for affection that she thought about grabbing his arms and forcing them around her. “I could never, ever forget about you! You're everything to me, Tobey. I love you.”

  “If you love me, why is my friend still in the dungeon? Why is Kitt still locked up? Why would you do this?”

  “I'm sorry! She's been impersonating me for some time, apparently. I wasn't sure how to handle the situation!” When Tobias looked up and she saw the pain in his eyes, she felt inspired to act. “But... I'll tell the guards to let her out. I'll tell them right now!” Lyneah immediately ran into the hallway, where she ordered the guards to release the prisoner, Catherine Lake. When she returned, she tried to disarm him with her most pitiful pout. “Please, Tobey... don't be upset with me! I can't stand the thought of you being angry with me. It hurts!”

  He didn't say anything right away, he just slowly shook his head.

  “Oh no... you really are upset with me, aren't you?” Lyneah took a few steps in his direction, timidly, because she was afraid of being rejected again. “I'm sorry, Tobey. I'm really sorry. I'm so so sorry. From now on, you'll be my first priority. I adore you! And I'll do whatever you want me to, if it gets you to forgive me. I just want you to hold me again.”

  Tobey knew he couldn't last long against the full onslaught of her pleas. He closed the distance between them, lifted her off her feet, carried her to the nearest chair, and put her on his lap. When she felt his arms wrapping around her, Lyneah dropped her head to his shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Does this mean you like me again?” she asked, grimacing as she awaited his answer.