Page 29 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“I belong to you.”
Those words, with a different meaning behind them, could break me. Fortunately for both of us, he only means them in the most obvious, practical way.
“You are sufficiently prepared for Summerglee,” I mutter. “We will do no more training. Tomorrow we rest and prepare for the journey.”
10
The first day of our journey to the coast is long and dull. The Princess and I share a carriage with her maid—not Jan, but a woman named Meldare, about fifteen years my senior, who is prone to chattering constantly about dull subjects. I suspect Jan was supposed to come with us, and was denied the privilege at the last moment because the Princess doesn’t want her interacting with me.
The “practice session” with Jan was Ruelle’s suggestion, but I could tell she didn’t like it. Afterward her face was entirely scarlet, and she did not move from her stool for a long time.
The Princess allows me to keep the carriage windows open for a fresh breeze, and she lets me read during the journey. Still, I can’t bear the confines of the vehicle for the entire day, so around mid-afternoon I request permission to get out.
“You want to run alongside the carriage?” The Princess’s brows rise.
“I’d like the exercise, if Your Highness will permit it.”
She glances down at her skirts. She and Vienne are both traveling in finery to suit their rank, but I suspect Ruelle would prefer to strip off the skirts, jump from the carriage, and run along with me.
“Do it then,” she mutters. “But remember, your tattoo won’t allow you to escape.”
“I know.” I strip off my shirt, noting her shocked expression. With a quick grin at her, I fling open the carriage door and leap out.
One of the Princess’s bodyguards, who is riding beside the carriage, startles at my appearance. He half-draws his sword, but Ruelle calls out, “It’s all right! He has my permission.”
The guard nods and shoves his sword back into its sheath.
I run beside the procession, quickly outpacing Ruelle’s carriage and moving ahead. It feels good to stretch my limbs, work my muscles, and feel the blood pumping through my body.
The carriage of Crown Princess Vienne is much larger than Ruelle’s—immense, in fact. I quicken my pace and run abreast of it, curious. Through the open windows I glimpse the cushioned interior, where two of the Princess’s thralls are sipping wine and exchanging slow kisses. Vienne herself is sitting in Hennessy’s lap while the blond thrall feeds her ripe berries one by one.
The Crown Princess catches sight of me through the carriage window, and her eyes light up.
Shit.
Vienne shoves her blond thrall aside roughly and lunges forward, leaning out the carriage window. The position and the low neckline of her gown amplify her creamy cleavage. Her eyes sparkle, and she smiles at me as if I am currently the most important person in her world. If I hadn’t seen her beating Ruelle to a bloody pulp the other night, I’d think her completely charming, full of kindness and light.
“Ducayne, is it?” Vienne calls out. “Taking a little exercise?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” I bow my head to her.
“We like to exercise too, don’t we, boys?” she says to her thralls, and they murmur a hearty assent. “Why don’t you join us in my carriage and show me what that body of yours can do?”
I need to be careful how I reject her.
“I beg your pardon, most beautiful Majesty,” I say. “I must return to my lady in a moment.”
“Your lady.” Vienne scoffs. “A man like you was made to serve someone like me, not that sour, twisted little icebox. She will never appreciate your virility and your potential. With me, you will glory in your subjugation, your loss of selfhood. You will discover that only through complete, abject submission to your true queen can you find the pinnacle of ecstasy and the real purpose of your existence. Ethwyn here knows that, don’t you, pet?” She squeezes the blond thrall’s face in her hand.
“I exist for your pleasure, my darling,” he replies.
“Yes, you do. Stick out your tongue.”
He obeys, and she sucks on it with those beautiful red lips of hers, watching me sidelong.
“You are far too glorious a mistress for a dog such as I,” I respond, bowing my head again. “Your Highness.”
I slow down, jogging in place to let her carriage pass. But as it rolls on, I see Vienne bite Ethwyn’s tongue vindictively, so hard he cries out.
