Page 27 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
I don’t make a sound. I’ve gotten far worse from her, like the stab wound in my thigh.
But when she strikes again, and again, I can’t help releasing a grunt of pain.
“You will learn to respect me,” she says in a choked voice.
Another lash of the belt, a bright slap of pain across my rear.
“Is this how your father whipped you?” I ask.
She freezes.
I wait for the next lash.
“Who told you?” she whispers. “Was it Penn? Or Jan? The healer, maybe?”
When I don’t speak, she backs away. “Get out of my sight. Go.”
I push myself up, gather my clothes, and retreat to the study for an uncomfortable night of ass pain on the cramped sofa.
9
Jan must be the one who told Ducayne about the way my father used to whip me.
Padra always had me strip from the waist down and bend over for whippings. The last time he whipped my backside, I was fourteen and I—gods help me, I was aroused by it. I tried not to be. I still don’t understand why it happened. One of my father’s personal servants was in the room, and he must have noticed it somehow and spoken of it to my sister’s servants, who then told Vienne about my greatest shame.
My only comfort was that after that incident, Padra never beat me again.
I don’t know what possessed me to punish my thrall in the same way. I am sick. Sick and cruel.
Guilt crawls up my throat as I curl myself tighter in bed. I push it aside, refocus the regret into anger.
I can’t believe Jan would tell Ducayne about the incident, or that he would have the audacity to mention it to my face. But I will have my revenge on both of them.
The next day, I leave my thrall alone for the entire morning while I ride and practice archery. After luncheon, which I eat at the little table on my balcony, I summon Ducayne and Jan to the study. I direct them to take places on the sofa where I made Ducayne sleep last night.
“You two have become quite intimate,” I say. “Whispering secrets to each other. Exchanging little smiles and admiring looks. I’ve noticed.”
Jan pales. “No, Your Highness, I never—”
“Hush.” I halt her with a gesture. “You’re fortunate that I am in a forgiving mood. So we’re going to use this opportunity. You may take your flirtation to the next step, with my full approval. Ducayne needs to practice giving pleasure with his tongue, and Jan—you have no lover at present, do you? You could do with a bit of pleasure, I’ll wager. Ducayne will practice on you. I will be in the next room, close enough to know if you disobey me or try to fake it.”
Jan is staring at me, shocked, but there’s a faint shimmer of delight in her eyes and a flush in her cheeks. I’ve known her a long time, and I can tell she is pleased to do this, not only for me, but also for herself.
Ducayne is flushed, too, and he looks—not angry, exactly—but intense. His eyes bore into mine with a ferocity that makes me want to recoil. I force myself to stare back, unflinching, daring him to challenge me.
“I will do this, Highness,” he says. “You can make me do it, either way. But I will only perform willingly and gladly, with full consent, if you are present in the room.”
My pulse ticks up. He wants me to watch?
Ducayne’s mouth curves up, the tiniest bit, at one corner. He’s still holding my gaze.
My mouth is suddenly dry. “I will sit behind the sofa during the… um… procedure.”
That position will give Jan some privacy, while allowing me to confirm that Ducayne is performing his task.
It’s a bargain I shouldn’t make with him, but I have already set the precedent for establishing his consent in these matters. It’s important to me.
And he was clever enough to understand that, and to use my weakness to his advantage.
