Duty Bound

Chapter 3

She tried to ignore the dead body. Every time they went over a bump in the road, the head lolled from side to side. She averted her eyes from the face, the empty eyes, and the bleeding exit wound in the middle of the forehead.

This is because of me, she thought. Because I went against my brother.

"Life is clay in your hands," one of her tutors had explained to her when she'd been only five years old. "You have the divine right to mete out death or grant life, and those who die in your name are like stalks of grass beneath your feet."

It all sounded pretty enough, but she could never embrace it. Her siblings had readily taken on their divine right when she had been squeamish and afraid. That was why she had survived this long. She had not been a threat. At least not until now.

"Do you know why I let you live, Amy?" her brother had smirked over the dinner table that fateful night two years ago. "Because I know you'll never challenge me. You're too weak. That's why you're my favorite sister."

She'd sat there, frozen, staring in horror at the dead bodies of Cecilia and Felicity. They were still slumped in their chairs, faces buried in their food. Their wine had contained enough cyanide to fell every horse in the royal stables. Meanwhile, her brother had sat there, cheerily chewing his steak.

She'd been so scared, she hadn't moved from the table until her brother had finished his dinner, drank his whiskey, smoked his cigar, and finally called the servants to clear everything up. She'd still been sitting there with her dead sisters when the footmen arrived.

This was her chance to get revenge. Once she testified in the Crown Court, her brother would be the one executed for treason.

"How much longer?" she asked her guard.

"Thirty miles or so," he told her.

"We must be there as quickly as—"

The explosion was sudden.

She saw smoke, dirt and leaves billowing up around them, and the car was suddenly on its side. She found herself pinned down on top of the door, which was now flat on the ground. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it was more of her brother's minions sent to make sure that she never made it to trial. An assassin she could understand, but this was too much.

"Princess!" Crowley's voice called out.

"I'm alright," she said, breaking off on a cough.

This was the end. The ease with which she accepted it was a little surprising to her, but she didn't want to ruin it. If she was to die here and now, she wanted to take it in her stride. Everyone had to die, and today was her day.

"Stay still. I'll get you out," Crowley said, and even though she couldn't see him, she could hear him scrabbling around in the front seat, climbing up and moving the dead body that had fallen on top of him. He seemed to be looking for something in the captain's pockets.

Any minute now, another rocket would be fired, and she was sure it would be the one to finish her off. She would never have pictured herself dying in quite so theatrical a fashion.

Crowley squeezed into the backseat, positioning himself as carefully as he could in order to avoid stepping on her.

"I'm going to turn you over and take off your restraints," he told her. Before she could tell him not to bother, he was doing just that.

"Ow!" she cried out at the burning sensation of her stitches straining.

He had pinned her underneath him, turned her over, and was unlocking her handcuffs. Once her hands were free, she managed to turn around so that she was looking Crowley in the face. He had a fairly ugly gash on the side of his head that he didn't seem to notice.

Any second now, the second rocket would send them both into oblivion.

"Can you move?" he asked her.

"I think so," she said.

Crowley raised himself up and pushed the passenger door open. He held out his hand for her to take.

"I'll pull you out," he said.

Steeling herself for her final moments, she took his hand. His grip was strong, callused, and warm.

I'm sorry, soldier, she thought. For a blade of grass beneath her foot, he felt so alive, so present, she couldn't help but regret his imminent death.

He pulled her out of the car, and that was when she saw him. It was Montford, her brother's right hand man. He had a rocket launcher slung over his shoulder, and a horrible look of satisfaction.

"Compliments of the crown prince," he said, and pointed the rocket launcher at her.

There, she thought. It's finished.

But Crowley surprised her by pulling a gun out of his coat and shooting Montford in the shoulder faster than she could blink. The rocket launcher fell to the ground, and so did Montford. Crowley jumped down from the car and walked over to the prone and writhing form of their attacker.