Page 68 of The Twisted Throne

“Eat it,” the courtier repeated, and when Lestara continued to ignore her, the woman retrieved the plate and smashed the cake into her face. “Eat it!”

The women howled with laughter as Lestara’s face was smeared with lemon and meringue, but Ahnna did not laugh. Not because Lestara didn’t deserve their disparagement, for she’d caused the deaths of countless innocents in her quest to ruin Keris and put his half brother on the throne, but because she did not care for how much the women enjoyed being the punishers. How theyrelished Lestara’s discomfort as she wiped the dessert from her face and hair, then attempted to salvage her needlework, which was stained yellow.

“You seem to take her crime against Maridrina very personally,” Ahnna said, watching as yet another woman took up the pot of tea and poured it on Lestara’s head, the dark liquid adding to the stains on the needlework. Lestara left off trying to clean it, staring blankly out the window.

“Hardly,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “What we take personally is that these witches cast spells on our men. Turn them into slavering creatures fixated on lust. She’s a witch, and if not for His Grace’s order, we’d burn her at the stake.”

“Cardiffians do not follow the faith,” another woman said. “They sacrifice animals to the stars, smear themselves with blood, and then dance naked beneath skies they claim hold the stories of their ancestors. As though the stars belong to them, such madness!”

“They decorate themselves with bones!”

“Barely human!”

“They run with animals. Eat meat raw!”

Virginia waved a calming hand. “Don’t worry, we keep her locked up and always under guard. She’ll not slip our watch and slink off into the darkness. We’ll keep her as our pet until it’s time to put her down.”

Aren had warned her. So had Keris. And James. All different words with the same refrain: Harendellians are cruel. But all the warnings in the world hadn’t prepared Ahnna for the viciousness of these women.

Lestara’s chin quivered, and the sharks in the room all grinned. “Cry for us, doggy,” one of them crooned. “We love your tears. We treasure your sobs.”

Aren had told her that Keris had deemed sending Lestara to Harendell the worst possible punishment, and Ahnna had questioned the choice. Questioned why he hadn’t hanged her or cut off her head, for Lestara had most certainly deserved it. Now Ahnna understood. For the rest of her life, or until she lost her mind and flung herself off the Sky Palace’s walls, Lestara would be treated like this. From princess to harem wife to…animal.

Worse than an animal, for these women treated their lapdogs, which were currently eating the crumbs around Lestara’s feet, with more kindness than they did her.

Lestara lifted her face, amber eyes latching on Ahnna’s, and she couldn’t help but wonder what James thought of this. Whether he resented how they belittled Lestara for the culture and beliefs his mother had held. Whether he considered himself Cardiffian at all.

“She’s been out of her kennel long enough,” Virginia declared. “Take her back until it’s time for her to be walked.”

“We put a diamond collar and leash on her,” Elizabeth said. “We like to walk her before dinner and make her squat in the corner where the other dogs go.” She grinned, but Ahnna gave her a flat stare until the grin fell away, unease filling Elizabeth’s eyes.

One of the guards led Lestara away. Ahnna started to rise, disgusted by their behavior, but a servant entered with a silver tray, which he proffered to her. “A letter has come for you, Your Highness.”

She immediately recognized Aren’s handwriting and personal seal. Unease fluttered in her chest. Plucking it up, she cracked the seal, swiftly reading the contents. All the breath fled from her lungs. “I thank you for your hospitality, Virginia,” she managed to say. “But if you would please excuse my early departure.”

Without waiting for a response, Ahnna left the room, finding her bodyguards waiting. “My countryman,” she said. “I need you to take me to him immediately, please.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Without hesitation, they flanked her, seeming to sense her urgency as they took long strides, leading her to the small barracks in a sublevel of the palace.

She heard Jor’s coughing before she reached his small room, and through the door, she heard Taryn shout, “You need to go home, you old goat. You’re no good to anyone here hacking up a lung!”

Ahnna knocked on the door and Taryn opened it. “He won’t go. Because he’s an old idiot.”

Jor was sitting on a narrow cot, glowering at the steaming cup in his hand, Bronwyn looming over him as though she intended to force it down his throat. For the first time, Ahnna felt herself struck by the age of the man who’d been a near constant in her life. Aren’s surrogate father because their actual father had been far too busy and, truth be told, obsessed with their mother to pay them much mind. Jor looked thin and gray, shoulder bones pressing through his nightshirt where once there had been solid muscle. “You need to go back to Eranahl, Jor,” she said. “You can travel by riverboat and then book passage, but you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a flux,” Jor muttered.

“It’s not a flux, it’s the cold air here,” Bronwyn said. “It’s not going to get better unless you return to the hot and humid.”

“I ain’t leaving.” He scowled. “Not with Amaridian assassins at every turn.” His dark eyes fixed on her. “You need someone to watch your back.”

“I have James’s men, hand-selected and vetted by Bronwyn.”

“As well as James himself,” Bronwyn said. “The man’s taken her safety as his own personal mission.”

Heat rose to Ahnna’s cheeks, but she shoved away her thoughts aboutthatand said, “I don’t need you to protect me, Jor”—and before the hurt her words might elicit rose in his eyes,she shoved the letter into his hands—“but this little princess surely does.”

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