Duty Bound

Chapter 2

Great. Just great. Captain Porter was dead, and the princess had nearly gotten killed on his watch. He picked up the unconscious young royal and carried her back to the van. After he had laid her down in the backseat, he took stock of the situation.

Despite the setback, the orders were the same. Get the princess to the Crown Court for her trial. He didn't doubt that she'd be headless before the day was out. Conspiring with the enemy during a state of war wasn't something that had ever been pardoned, even if the traitor in question was a royal.

He stepped over the body of the assassin – who he had managed to eventually take out with a well-placed shot to the jugular – and lifted Captain Porter's dead body over his shoulders. His family would want to bury him. The wound in his head was bleeding somewhat profusely over his unfiorm, but he didn't have time to be annoyed about that.

Having set the captain down into the passenger seat, he started the van. Or tried to. The engine let out a feeble rattle, but nothing more. A cursory examination revealed that a bullet had pierced the gas tank. Marvelous.

He went over to the assassin's car, which proved to be in perfect working order once he got it started. He moved the princess and the captain once more and set off down the road in the new vehicle.

A soft moan from the backseat startled him. The princess was waking up. At that moment, an unlikeable thought occurred to him. She had been right about the trap. Could it mean that she had been telling the truth about the crown prince?

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. It wasn't his place to question orders. The nation was at war and this woman had given information to their enemy. That fact alone ought to make things very simple in his mind. And yet an assassin had been waiting for them. Someone had made sure they would take this very remote path through the woods, rather than go through the city. 

The thought was like an angry insect trapped inside his head. It's not your place, Crowley, he told himself over and over. Not your place by miles.

"What happened?" a voice asked from the backseat. She'd woken up.

"I am taking you to the Crown Court," Crowley said, refusing to engage any further with someone accused of treason at the highest level.

"Is that..." she trailed off. A look in the rear view mirror showed that she was staring in horror at the captain's lifeless body in the passenger seat.

He didn't reply. The fewer words were exchanged between them, the better.

"May I have some water?" she asked. From the sound of her voice, she needed it.

He stopped the car, removed a flask from his inside coat pocket, and held it out to her. Then he realized that her hands were still bound. She looked at the flask with great longing, then at him. She, too, was realizing that he would have to hold it to her lips. He felt unexpectedly thrilled at the prospect of making her feel such humiliation. He might not get a chance to bring a royal so low ever again.

The deathly pallor of her skin was broken up by a sudden flush of pink as he unscrewed the cap and slowly brought the flask closer to her mouth.

"Drink," he said.

She bent her face to his outstretched hand and closed her lips over the spout. He tilted the flask toward her, and watched with a petty satisfaction as she drank. After downing half his supply, she finally pulled away, a rivulet of water running down her chin. It was a far cry from all the times he'd seen her on the news, always immaculate, always poised.

"Thank you," she said grudgingly.

He didn't respond, but turned away and continued to drive. He smiled to himself. What a story he'd have to tell one day, how he'd had a royal drinking out of his hand. He doubted that anyone would even believe him.

"Aren't you curious?" she suddenly asked.

"About what?" he replied before he could stop himself.

"About the assassin," she said. "About why we were just attacked."

He kept his mouth shut this time.

"I discovered that our enemies didn't attack us. My brother staged that bombing to make it look like they did," she continued. "This entire war is based on a lie. I learned the truth and was going to expose him. That's why my brother had me arrested. Well, that's not quite true. He tried to have me killed first, but he didn't succeed. So he accused me of treason and had me sent to the Palace of Justice, hoping I'd confess and never make it to a fair trial."

Not your place, he reminded himself.

"It is of the utmost importance that you get me to the Crown Court safely. Once I'm there, I can finally testify against him," she said.

"And what makes you think you'll be believed?" he asked in spite of himself.

"I have evidence," she said, sounding almost proud.

He would have none of it. None of their sibling rivalry or their political intrigues. Whoever was on the throne, it was always the same. Never enough to eat, hardly enough to survive. Everyone lived life bent over in submission, while these damned royals had their fun and murdered each other.

Even if this princess was telling the truth, it didn't matter. She was just like the rest of her rotten family, and the world would be no poorer with one less royal parasite.

"I will follow the orders I was given," he said. "I will get you to the Crown Court."

That seemed to satisfy her. Crowley occasionally glanced into the rear view mirror to make sure she hadn't lost consciousness again. Without the fancy clothes and the thick layer of makeup, she looked utterly ordinary. Vulnerable, even. She really believed that she would be pardoned. He could almost imagine how crestfallen she would look when she faced the executioner's blade.