A Lost Princess (Belles & Bullets Book 2)

by Caylen McQueen

  Doon stood in the center of the arena, sighing heavily as he listened to Rory's rant. He just wanted the fights to begin, because the sooner they started, the sooner they would end. From what he could understand, there would be ten rounds, and he would have to win them all. If he did, he would be freed—assuming Rory didn't go back on his word a second time.

  “Look at this child!” Rory continued, patting the head of a ten-year-old boy. “It was Francis Doon who made this boy an orphan when he slaughtered both of the boy's parents right in front of him. And now look upon this old man!” Rory turned to the elderly gentleman standing beside him. “He lost his grandson, a young man of only sixteen, to Doon. Francis Doon has more blood on his hands than any man here! If you support me, if you support the side of good, you will want to see him dead today! And you will not, for the love of god, cheer for him. Because if you cheer for a man like this... well... you're no better than he is!”

  “Blah blah,” Doon whispered to himself. He had killed plenty of people, it was true. He could hardly deny it, but it was never without cause. And if he killed ten more men today, he would kill them because he had no choice. He would kill them because Rory McCray demanded it. By demanding more death, Rory was no better than he was, and he was a hypocrite. Doon hoped the crowd was wise enough to realize that.

  When Rory finished his speech, he immediately returned to Lyneah's side. She was sitting next to Tobey, who Rory didn't care for, if only because Lyneah was far too attached to him. He thought about sending Tobey elsewhere, or banishing him altogether, but he didn't want to disappoint his fiance.

  “Don't repeat this to anyone, Lyneah, but some of these men are not my prisoners,” Rory whispered to her. “I hired mercenaries. Skilled mercenaries. If Doon can beat them all, I'll be more than surprised.”

  If he expected an enlightened reply, he wasn't going to get one from her. Lyneah hated the killing. She didn't care if they were prisoners or mercenaries—all of it sickened her. Tobias must have sensed her distress, because he reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze. Though she smiled at him, she didn't let him hold her hand too long. She could only imagine how Rory would react if he saw her fingers entwined with someone else's.

  When the trumpets sounded, Doon's first opponent entered the arena. Eldrinn Lightwood was one of Rory's aforementioned mercenaries, and given his reputation, Rory assumed he would be more than a match for Francis Doon.

  Eldrinn surged forward, spinning two swords in his hands. His unnecessary show of skill had Doon rolling his eyes. “Spinning swords. Ooo. How terrifying. I'm sure I'll soil myself at any moment!” he quietly mocked him. “And why do you get two swords and I don't?”

  Eldrinn attacked him first, swinging like mad, but Doon skillfully deflected each blow. If his early impressions were accurate, Eldrinn would be more of a challenge than anyone he faced yesterday. In fact, one swash of Eldrinn's smallsword came within an inch Doon's face. If he wasn't hopping backward at the time, he might have ended up with a scarred cheek, at the very least.

  Doon tried for a counterattack, but his opponent had two swords to block with, which made it more difficult to find an opening. When Eldrinn backed away and started spinning his swords again, Doon chuckled to himself. “Will you please stop, Eldrinn? For the love of god, you look like an ass!”

  Doon's insult seemed to fuel his opponent's rage. Eldrinn rushed toward him, swinging his swords with reckless abandon. It was difficult to block a whirlwind of blades, but Doon managed easily enough. As he dodged Eldrinn's mad swings, Doon slipped Kitt's knife from the pocket of his coat. With his sword gripped firmly in his hand, Doon struck both of Eldrinn's blades at once, shoving them aside with all his might. Then he brought the knife forward, plunging it into the soft flesh of Eldrinn's neck.

  “One down,” Doon whispered to himself as Eldrinn dropped to his knees, painting the ground in blood. “Nine more to go.”

  Doon's second opponent was a man named Keith Cook. He was possibly a few years younger than Doon, but significantly more frightened. When he staggered into the arena, Keith was babbling hysterically. “Please, sir!” he beseeched Doon as the trumpets blared. “Please don't kill me! I'm a good man... a kind man! Everyone likes me!”

  With one finger, Doon lifted the brim of his hat, getting a good look at the man who begged him. He took no pleasure in killing someone who was pleading for his life, but Doon was far from a saint, and he wasn't about to sacrifice himself for the sake of someone else. When Doon took one step forward, Keith shrieked and ran away. As soon as he heard the crowd laughing at him, Keith stopped running.

  “Please!” When Keith turned in Doon's direction, the young man exaggerated a smile. “Look at my face... my smile! Everyone tells me I have a nice face. They say I'm happy all the time! You shouldn't kill someone like me, right? No. You shouldn't.”

  Doon leaned down, claiming one of Eldrinn's swords for himself. With two swords in hand, he slowly walked toward Keith and hoped he wouldn't flee again.

  “No... no no... nononono!” Keith started to panic when Doon picked up his pace. His sword hand trembled wildly, but he tried to swing when Doon came close. Keith's attack was useless. Before he knew it, Doon had slashed his throat.

  As he sauntered away from Keith's corpse, Doon was shaking his head. His collection of kills was growing by the day, and it wasn't something that gave him pride.

  Doon's third opponent gave him pause. At first, he thought he was looking at a woman, but on closer inspection, he realized it was a man who looked remarkably similar to a woman.

  “I know what you're thinking,” a surprisingly deep voice spoke. “All me friends call me Mummy because I look a lil' bit like their mums. And hones'ly, I don't mind when people call me Mummy. Everyone likes mummies, so I'm pretty sure everyone likes me too.”

  Doon dragged a hand across his face. If a coward like Keith and a dolt like “Mummy” were the best things Rory could throw at him, the tournament would be over a lot sooner than he expected. Doon didn't anticipate a challenge from Mummy, and he was right. In fact, it was the quickest round yet, because Mummy didn't even fight back.

  “And I make a good stew like me mummy too. I wish I could see her again, but she lives so far away, you know, and I'm in a really bad--”

  Doon's sword plunged into Mummy's neck before he finished speaking. Doon liked to go for the neck, when possible. The soft flesh was easy to pierce, and it gave his opponents the quickest death possible, apart from lopping off a head.

  “Seven more...” Doon whispered to himself. “Should be easy enough.” While he waited for his next opponent, he glanced around at the audience. Doon thought he spotted Kitt and Miles in the stands, which bolstered his spirits a bit. However, the unfortunate presence of Roddy Rick had the opposite effect.

  Doon's fourth opponent was Tyne Wallace, a cloaked man who looked like he hadn't bathed in ages. Doon didn't care about his dirty face, he only hoped for a challenge, and he wasn't disappointed. Tyne wielded two swords, and his lithe frame meant he could move very quickly. It had been awhile since Doon fought anyone who could match him with two swords, and when Tyne kept up with him, he was pleasantly surprised. They went at it for some time, attacking and counterattacking, striking and dodging.

  Of course, Doon still had the upper hand. After a minute or two, he knocked one of Tyne's swords out of his hand. But Tyne had a surprise for him. He reached under his cloak and pulled out another weapon: a short scythe. When Tyne swung the curved blade at Doon's face, Doon was taken aback; in fact, he nearly tripped. Upon regaining his balance, Doon resumed his offensive stance. Tyne continued to block his blows with a single sword, and the scythe added an element of unpredictability to the fight. In fact, the scythe's blade nearly collided with Doon's shoulder—twice. Both times, he barely ducked the swinging sickle.

  But the scythe left Tyne exposed at certain angles, and within a few minutes, Doon saw the weapon's weaknesses. He slashed Tyne's wrist, making him drop the sick
le. And with a single sword in his hand, Tyne couldn't last much longer. Doon ran him through, then kicked the body to the ground as he withdrew his blade.

  Before the next fight, Doon discarded one of his swords and claimed Tyne's scythe as his secondary weapon. He waved it around a few times, making it slice the air, trying to get a feel for it. Like every weapon that had ever touched his hand, Doon immediately fancied it.

  His next two opponents came out together. They were as physically different as they could possibly be, and yet they were both flamboyantly dressed. Fane was a man of sixty, and there were more feathers on his hat than most birds would molt in a lifetime. Doon's other opponent went by the name “Mr. Velvet.” He was approximately thirty, with a duskier complexion, and his red silk shirt was covered in frills.

  “They told us to fight you at zee same time, Monsieur Doon!” Mr. Velvet told him in a heavily accented voice. “But as I am a man of honor, I will not attack you 'til you are done with zis man here!” As he bowed to Doon, he gracefully gestured toward Fane.

  Trusting Mr. Velvet's words, Doon focused his attention on the older man. Surprisingly, Fane was a man of skill. Doon nearly judged him for his ridiculous hat, but the older man's swings were powerful and swift.

  “Besides!” Mr. Velvet continued as he watched them fight, “If I was to team up with anyone, Monsieur Doon, it would be you! Your moves are like poetry... so fascinating to watch! I would love to stand at your side. But for now, I am content to wait on the sidelines, admiring your magnifique derriére! Votre beau cul!”

  “I don't know, Velvet!” Doon shouted as he continued to rain blows on Fane. “If I was you, I would stab me in the back right now.”

  “Oh non non non!” Velvet was quick to disagree. “A man like you deserves an honorable end. I will be happy to give it to you, of course... at zee right time.”

  As it happened, the right time was sooner than later. While blocking with his sword, Doon brought the sickle down on Fane's head. Its hooked blade when straight through Fane's hat and skull.

  “You are like an artist of death, Monsieur!” Mr. Velvet exclaimed as he applauded for Doon. “If I am the one who is to die today, I will be glad to meet my end at the hands of a grand maître épéiste!”

  “It really is a shame I have to kill you. I have a feeling I'd like you, Mr. Velvet.” When Velvet's eyes were lit by his words, Doon quickly added, “Not like that.”

  “Such a shame, as I am sure you would be a beautiful lover also! Would you care to try a gentleman's weapon, mon ami?” Velvet tossed a rapier at Doon's feet. “Zees broadswords are so barbaric, so last century! I would rather have a proper duel.”

  “Of course,” Doon grinned as he leaned down to pick up Velvet's épée. More than likely, Velvet thought a change of weapon would give him the upper hand. He couldn't have been more wrong. Doon could handle any weapon. And with a rapier, he had trained extensively.

  As he held the rapier, Doon assumed the proper stance. “En guarde!” he exclaimed, right before advancing on Velvet. Doon was the first to lunge, but Velvet had no trouble parrying the attack. Velvet's riposte was swift, but Doon quickly evaded and lunged again.

  As they dueled, Mr. Velvet said, “Again, you do not disappoint me, Monsieur Doon! Your swordsmanship is remarkable. The way you glide is trés impressionnante, and your footwork is beautiful to behold!”

  “Thank you,” Doon casually replied as he narrowly dodged the tip of Velvet's incoming rapier. His counterattack came equally close to piercing Velvet's flesh.

  “I like to watch you thrust,” Velvet said. “I think, perhaps, it would not be so bad to be penetrated by you!”

  Doon was shaking his head at his rival's double entendres. “You're very distracting, Velvet, do you know that?”

  “I hope I am distracting because you find me beautiful?”

  “No. No, not really.” Doon laughed and shook his head.

  The amazing thing was, Velvet was laughing too. For the first time, Doon's opponent was enjoying the match every bit as much as he did, and neither of them gave a damn if they lived or died. So when Doon sank his rapier into Velvet's heart, he felt a bit sadder than usual.

  “Goodbye, Velvet,” Doon said as he yanked the sword from the man's dying body. “It's been a pleasure.”

  As Velvet gasped his final breaths, Doon tossed the rapier, exchanging it for the two swords he was using earlier. While he waited for his next opponent to arrive, Doon rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms. The end was within sight—only four more to go. That thought fueled him further.

  For a second time, two more contenders entered the arena at once. It was hardly fair, but Rory desperately wanted him gone. However, Doon wasn't the least bit threatened by his next two opponents. One was a middle-aged baron, and the other was a thirteen-year-old boy named Corey. Intimidated by Doon, the boy cowered in the back as the baron stepped forward.

  Doon, inspired by the tournament's imminent end, attacked the baron in full force. His swords whirled madly as the baron hopelessly tried to defend himself. Against Doon's outright barrage, he didn't last long. Within ten seconds, the baron was disarmed and deceased.

  With the baron out of the way, Doon sauntered closer to the boy. Corey tried to swing his sword, but Doon easily knocked it away. “Would you look at this!” Doon shouted, loud enough for most of the crowd to hear him. “After all his talk about killing children... Rory McCray doesn't seem to care that he's making me murder one today!” Doon grabbed the boy's head and spun him in the direction of Rory. “What do you think, Rory? Should I really kill the lad? This is on you, not me! Are you really going to make me do it?”

  “That boy is a murderer himself, Doon!” Rory screamed at him from the stands. “If you're struggling to put down an animal, you're weak!”

  “And you're a bloody hypocrite!” Doon shouted as he shoved his sword through Corey's body. The blade went all the way through him before Doon pulled it out. “I hope this haunts you!”

  After so many battles, Doon's body was starting to feel some strain. Rory must have been betting on that, because he saved his top two contenders for the end. Their names were Dracob and Jaroe. Dracob was well over six feet tall and covered in armor. Jaroe was a shirtless, golden-skinned beast of a man with a tremendous sword, larger than any sword Doon had ever seen. When he saw them emerge from the holding area, for the first time that day, Doon's brow was creased with fear. There was no way Dracob and Jaroe were two prisoners who happened to be lying around in one of Rory's cells. Rory had hired mercenaries to take him out—Doon was sure of it.

  When they both charged at him at once, Doon raised both of his swords. He was no stranger to fighting two people at once, but rarely were the two so hulking and efficient. Doon tried to focus his attacks on Dracob while blocking Jaroe, but he made the mistake of blocking with his three-fingered left hand, where his grip was significantly weaker. Jaroe managed to knock Doon's second sword away, leaving him exposed on one side. When Jaroe swung his sword, Doon dove to the ground and drove Kitt's knife into the barbarian's leg. He hoped that would slow him down a bit.

  When Doon hopped back to his feet, he didn't consider the position of his second opponent. Dracob's sword slashed across Doon's back, grazing it. The wound might not have hindered him if not for the fact that Doon's back was already injured from multiple beatings. Grimacing, Doon hopped backward, where Corey's body was laying. He quickly reached down, claiming Corey's sword for his left hand. At the same time, Dracob raced forward, madly swinging his blade. Doon had to use both of his swords to block the incoming blow. A few seconds later, Jaroe's immense sword whizzed by his face. Doon was able to duck away, but barely. Had he reacted any slower, he would have surely been decapitated.

  Doon tried to focus his attacks on Jaroe this time, because Jaroe was a bit slower, but Dracob was craftier. He tried to sneak around and attack Doon from behind, but Doon was too swift for him. He spun around, blocking Dracob—but he left his back exposed too long,
and Jaroe's sword pierced his shoulder.

  “Aah!” As Doon hollered in pain, he raced to the other side of the arena, away from his two attackers. He tried desperately to think of a tactic that might work, but the two worked well as a team. Not to mention, they were huge and unpredictable, and one of them was hiding behind a wall of armor.

  As she watched the match, Kitt was so panicked, she could barely breathe. Every ounce of color had drained from her face, and her fingernails had been chewed to the quick. “Roderick... Miles!” she squealed both of their names. “I don't think he can do this!”

  “I wouldn't give up on him yet, my lady,” Miles tried to reassure her. “Doon is clever. I'm sure he'll work something out.”

  “I don't know...” Kitt had convinced herself she was about to witness the death of Francis Doon, and no one could tell her otherwise. “This isn't fair!” she complained. “Why is it always two-on-one? That isn't fair!”

  Doon ran toward them, ready to take them on again. By some miracle, he managed to disarm Jaroe of his giant sword, but he couldn't finish him, not while Dracob was coming at him hard. While his attention was focused on Dracob, Jaroe punched him in the back of the head, and Doon went down with a groan. The tip of Dracob's sword sailed downward, but Doon rolled aside at the very last second. Unfortunately, he rolled closer to Jaroe, who kicked him in the head.

  “Roderick!” Kitt screamed as Jaroe kicked him again. “Oh god, Roderick... he's going to die, isn't he? He's going to die? Oh god...” Doon managed to dodge Dracob's swing and leapt to his feet, but it didn't last long. Jaroe kicked him to the ground again, and while Dracob closed in on him, Jaroe went to collect his lost blade. “This is it...” Kitt whispered. “This is it. Doon's going to die.”

  After hearing Kitt's panic, Roderick did something unexpected. He rose from his chair, shuffled past the crowd, and leapt into the arena with Doon. With his sword drawn, Roderick charged forward, barely blocking Dracob's sword as Doon scrambled to his feet.