Duty Bound

Chapter 10

 He had half a mind to get into a lifeboat and go out to sea, never mind how far away they were from land. He couldn't imagine spending another hour on this damned ship. He had found an empty sitting room, and had started pacing around to calm himself.

"Captain Crowley?" a familiar voice called out.

Shit. It was the princess. Was he not to have any peace?

"There you are," she said, coming into the sitting room, her gait unsteady. "I wanted to apologize," she explained.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Crowley said, keeping an eye on her step. She looked like she might trip over that long dress of hers at any moment.

"No, I do," she said. "My uncle was utterly beastly to you just now. I don't know what came over him, but what he did was inexcusable."

"He did nothing wrong," Crowley said.

"Nothing wrong? He was an ass—" she tripped mid-sentence, and Crowley reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Are you alright?" he asked for the second time that night.

"Er, yes. A little woozy," she said.

"Sit," he commanded, momentarily forgetting who he was talking to. "Your highness," he quickly added.

He helped her onto a sofa.

"Sorry. Ms. Lamb gave me something earlier. It's wearing off now," she explained.

"So I see," Crowley said.

"I hope my uncle didn't ruin your dinner entirely," the princess said.

"It's a little more rich than I'm used to," Crowley smiled sheepishly.

"So I gathered," the princess said. "I'll have a word with my uncle." 

"There's no need, your highness," Crowley said.

"I'd better get to bed," she said. "Help me up, Captain?"

He extended his hand, which she accepted. She rose with another stumble, all but falling against him. She had some kind of sweet perfume on. Crowley gritted his teeth. He had no business noticing such things.

She snaked her hand through the crook of his arm and let him lead her through the halls and to her room.

"I'm sorry, Captain," she suddenly said.

"I've already told you, you have nothing to be sorry for," Crowley assured her.

"No, not for that. For getting you involved in my mess," she said.

That he had not expected. It took him a moment to think of what to say.

"You had no way of knowing the crown prince's plans," he said.

"Even so, it isn't fair that you had to put yourself in danger to protect me."

He wasn't imagining it. There was real regret in her voice. They stopped in front of her room.

"Thank you, Captain," she said sleepily. "Good night."

"Good night, your highness," he said.

She went inside and closed the door, leaving him alone in the hallway. As time passed, he wasn't sure whether he had imagined it after all. It was so out of character for a royal. Apologizing on behalf of her uncle was one thing. Apologizing for putting him in danger was something else entirely.

On his way back to his room, he walked in on the servants sitting down to their own dinner. Compared with the ridiculously ornate meal he'd endured upstairs, it looked reassuringly normal.

"Captain Crowley!" a woman waved to him. It was the maid who'd shown him to his room earlier. She'd taken off her cap and apron. "Join us. We've saved you some soup."

All eyes were on him as he sat down. The maid placed a bowl of nondescript soup in front of him.

"I never introduced myself, did I?" she smiled. "I'm Rachel."

The rest of the staff took their turn giving him their names, half of which he instantly forgot.

"So how was dinner with the prince?" Greg the butler asked.

"A nightmare," he said.

A chorus of laughter sounded around him, and he couldn't help but smile.

"How do you stand him?" he asked once the laughter had died down.

"He's actually one of the good ones," the butler explained. "I've worked for some real shits in my time."

"So you're an army man?" one of the footmen asked.

"Yes," Crowley said in between sips of his soup.

"My brother's in the army," the footman said. "He's getting shipped out to the front line in a week."

"Your brother is doing a brave thing," Crowley said. This was an area he knew how to work with. Bravery and sacrifice were the things to focus on. On no account dwell on the futility and injustice of this farce of a war.

"Harry!" Rachel cried out, and Crowley turned to see the woman who'd helped the princess to her seat at dinner. She was coming down the stairs, medical bag in hand.

"Well?" Rachel asked.

"Roger wins this one," Harry said, putting her bag down and taking her seat at the table. The footman with a brother in the army cheered and extended his hand to the man sitting beside him. He collected a silver coin and pocketed it.

"We had a bet on," Roger explained. "See, Martin thought the princess wouldn't have a scratch on her, but I told him that the Palace of Justice doesn't care if you're royal or common. They torture everyone the same."

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight, if I'm honest," Harry sighed, rubbing her temples. "How that poor creature lasted a whole week is beyond me."

"Is it bad, then?" Rachel asked, her soup spoon frozen halfway to her mouth.

"Horrible. I never thought they'd do something like that to a royal," Harry said, halfheartedly taking a sip of her soup.

"Serves them right, I say," Martin the footman piped up. "They walk all over us enough. I bet that princess up there had it coming."

Crowley felt a sudden rush of anger at the footman's words.

"No one deserves that, Martin," Harry shook her head.

"The king does," Martin argued. "And that twisted son of his."

"Hush!" the butler smacked the back of his head.

"Oh, come on," Martin rolled his eyes. "If there's anywhere you can say treasonous things, it's here. Watch: I think the king should go hang!"

"Feel better now?" the butler glared at him. "Now be quiet. You're making a scene in front of our guest."

Martin reluctantly quieted down, and the rest of the meal passed without incident.

Crowley eventually settled into his new bed. All he could think about as he drifted off to sleep was how that fragile woman he'd helped get to her room had managed to withstand a whole week of torture. He'd been inside the Palace of Justice. What he'd seen in that abattoir were the things of nightmares.

The sound of the waves lapping against the ship eventually lulled him into an uneasy sleep.