Page 103 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“Truth-telling?” he manages, white-faced. “I—um, I—”
“Do you or not?” she shrieks.
His lips tremble. “Y-yes, Your Highness.”
“Fetch your potions now. Prepare them. Everyone who remains will be given a dose and questioned.” She wrinkles her nose. “But not in this room. Guards, move everyone to the east parlor.”
32
The east parlor has a long row of windows that open onto the veranda. Since all the servants are dead, thralls take on the duties of lighting the candelabra and drawing back the curtains. Though it’s nearly noon, it’s black as night outside, and the rain continues to pour down, unrelenting, thundering against the sloped roof of the veranda.
Vienne directs the remaining guards to stand at every entry door. Among them are the pair who dragged me to the dungeon at her request—the stocky one and the graying one. They are part of her personal retinue, so of course they survived. Disappointing.
Ruelle’s bodyguards are still alive, too, stationed far from us. They’ve abandoned all pretext of loyalty to Ruelle. In this place, it’s obey Queen Vienne or die, and they know it.
The guards don’t block all the windows, so I maneuver myself and the Princess toward a window near the corner of the room. If another slaughter begins, I can break the glass and drag her outside. We can run.
At least, I hope I can run. My belly is still churning from the effects of the poison last night, and my limbs feel weaker than usual. Back there, in that room of death, I could barely hold myself together. I kept seeing visions of my last battle, when my fellow soldiers were dying around me. When we finally surrendered, and we were all kneeling, weaponless—they were cut down around me, every single survivor, toppling like wheat before a scythe.
I kept the horror of that moment buried for days. But it wasn’t gone, it was only crouching in the shadows, waiting, ready to crawl up my throat and suffocate me.
Just my luck to be only half a man when the Crown Princess goes completely insane.
Her thralls have been lingering near her, quiet and docile, probably terrified of incurring her wrath. The other nobles have been silent, too, but now that we’re shut into a different parlor that reeks less of death and blood, their tongues are unleashed.
“Your Highness,” Khal says. “I must protest these extreme measures. I have lost three beloved servants today—”
“We all lost someone today!” Vienne snaps. “Hold your tongue. When I want your advice, I will ask for it.”
Umari is sandwiched between her thralls, holding them around their bare waists—not protectively, but defensively. I have no doubt she will use them as human shields if the need arises.
Imrissa clutches Gem’s hand, her red lips tight. “Illustrious Princess,” she ventures. “Are you quite sure that a truth-telling blend is the right way to—"
“The future king is dead,” Vienne barks. “I will find his murderer, and I will find them now. Everyone will partake of the truth blend, or die on the spot. The most daring game of ‘Risks or Questions’ we have ever played, yes?” A savage grin spreads over her face. “Ah, here is Ward with our supplies. I was beginning to think we would have to wait all day.”
“Apologies, Highness. Even with the healer’s assistance, it took time to prepare these.” Ward looks paler than ever, and his voice wavers. He and the healer begin handing out the papery sticks of blended herbs to everyone.
“Ugh, these sticks are damp,” complains Umari.
“Apologies,” says Ward again. “We added drops of the truth elixir. Please partake.”
Getting the elixir-dampened sticks to light proves to be trickier than usual, and for a few minutes I fear Vienne might explode and kill us all, eliminating any threat to herself. But one by one the guests, guards, and thralls manage to light theirs and draw a deep lungful of the smoke.
The healer comes over to me and Ruelle. She takes two sticks from her pocket and hands them to us, then moves on.
Vienne’s thrall Ethwyn approaches us next, holding a long match for the lighting of our sticks.
“I am sorry about your maid, Princess,” he whispers.
Ruelle nods curtly. “Look out for yourself, Ethwyn.”
He gives her a faint smile. “That is not the role of a thrall. But you—” he glances from her to me— “You two, be careful, and protect each other. I have never seen her like this.”
Ruelle nods as he lights her stick. Hers doesn’t seem to be as damp—it ignites at once. She stares at it, her throat bobbing as she swallows.
“You have to smoke, Highness,” I murmur.
“I know, but I—” She casts a look at Ward. There’s fear in that look—fear and shame.
