Page 48 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“Oh, I am,” she says. “Inclined to a man—to men. Lots of men, not just one, because that would be absurd.” She vents a nervous chuckle. “Maybe I should stay away from the waterfall. But if I don’t go, they’ll whisper, they’ll taunt and torment and tease me. I’ll lose the ground I’ve gained with them. They’ve already noticed I don’t touch you.”
“But you do,” I say gently. “When we’re alone. Sometimes it hurts, and sometimes you’re asleep, but you do touch me.”
I reach for her hand, slowly, like a man might reach out carefully toward a wild beast with very sharp teeth. What kind of foolish man would do that, I don’t know. But I reach for Ruelle, and she lets me collect her fingers in mine.
“Beyond this, I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”
“Says the man who shoved me against the wall.”
I wince. “True. But you let me do it. You knew I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I knew youcouldn’t.”
“Why do you want this so much?” I ask. “Why are you trying so hard to be someone you’re not? Someone who fits in with these wretched, spoiled people?”
“You know why.” She pulls away and picks up one of her knives. “When my sister takes the throne, I believe she will kill me unless I have powerful allies. She hates me. So I must make myself beloved by others. I have to form alliances and friendships, which is hard for me, because I like to be alone. I don’t like people.”
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right people.” I flash her a smile. “From what I can tell, most people in this kingdom are assholes.”
“So are the people in yours.” She throws me a sour look, then tests the knifepoint against her thumb.
“I’ll have to agree with you there. Listen, if you can trust me a little, we can convince the guests that you’re as sexually active as they are. We can make this work, we can pretend. We can—” An idea blazes in my mind. “We can fake it.”
She looks up at me quizzically.
“We can fake sex in the pool at the waterfall,” I say. “Yes, we’ll have to touch each other—maybe make some sounds—but they don’t have to know it’s not real, that I’m not really inside you.”
Inside you.I swallow hard, willing my body to calm down. It doesn’t work.
“Fake it.” The Princess’s eyes are lighting up. “So if I touch you a bit more during the day—just casual touches—and I let you touch me a little, they won’t have cause to talk. And if we pretend we’re performing the carnal rite in the swimming hole, no one can tease me about being a virgin again. I can wait until I’m ready.”
“Exactly.”
Her delight swerves into suspicion, and her eyes narrow. “You can’t tell anyone about this. I’ll cut you if you do.”
“There’s no need to threaten me, Princess.” On impulse, I sink to one knee and press my lips to the knuckles of her knife-hand. “I’ll guard your secrets.”
She lets me kiss her hand. Then she snatches her fingers away. “I’ll call Meldare to help us dress, and I’ll summon the Healer to fix all ofthat.” She wrinkles her nose at my chest, as if the cuts are my fault, as if she isn’t the one who dealt them. Then she moves away to pull the bell-cord.
I sigh, huffing a faint laugh and shaking my head.
One step at a time.
15
The waterfall is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a long time—with the exception of a certain pleasure thrall from Yurstin. It’s almost worth the two-hour carriage ride and the half-hour walk to get here.
The Veil of the Priestess rains down in sparkling drops from a bluff high overhead. The pool below it is deep in the center—so deep that Master Thranwright warned everyone about it when we arrived. But we have a water-wielder along, as well as guards and servants who can swim. And for the two guests who cannot swim, there are watertight pouches filled with air, to which they can cling and float.
As the nobles pause at the head of the path to take in the view, servants hurry ahead, testing the water, scattering petals and herbs over it, adding fresh incense to the burners that already stand around the pool.
From the darkness behind the waterfall, two figures emerge—a man and a woman. Both are naked, but their bodies are painted in a semblance of clothing. It is an odd effect.
“A priest and priestess of Beirgid,” says Khal. He stands at my elbow, while Mala crouches at his feet. Her submissive posture is a bold contrast to my thrall’s confident stance.
As the Crown Princess, my sister goes to speak with the servants of Beirgid. I should probably join her, but I’d rather not stand beside her. My presence will only prompt her to tell them something nasty about me. I’ll let her preen and coo and compliment them without my interference.
“Will you be taking a priest or priestess today, or enjoying your own thrall?” Khal asks.
