Page 54 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
Oh gods. There’s blood on Keb’s throat. It’s been slit.
The servants hurry out of sight with the body, as if it’s a lump of shit whose sight and smell must be hidden from the nobles as quickly as possible.
I can’t see Ruelle anywhere in the gathered crowd. Most of the nobles and thralls are dressed in dry clothes again.
How long did I sleep? Where is my Princess?
The faint rush of the waterfall blurs the words being spoken; I can’t hear enough to discern what has happened. I quicken my pace, clambering over rocks and batting aside flowers and fronds.
As I approach the group by the pool, Lady Umari stalks up to Bazra and shoves his chest.
“You owe me,” she snaps. “He was priceless. One of a matched set. Now I’ll have to sell the other two as twins, I suppose, and start over. Where am I supposed to find another group of triplets that handsome and skilled?”
“I didn’t kill him,” retorts Bazra. He raises his voice so everyone can hear. “Umari gave me Keb after he interrupted my carnal rite with my thrall. She said I could fuck him or beat him, whichever I liked, as fair repayment for his interference. I took him into the woods, had my pleasure, and left him there. I didn’t kill him. I owe you nothing, Umari.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you?” Umari laughs scornfully. “Bastard. No one will grant you favors or alliances after this travesty.”
Reddening under his tan, Bazra glances around at the group. They have withdrawn from him slightly, ice in their eyes.
Then Bazra’s gaze lands on me, and his face lights up with malevolent purpose. “That one!” he points at me. “The Captain of Yurstin! He’s been tattooed so he won’t harm the royals, but who’s to say he couldn’t kill others? He came sneaking out of the woods just now, alone. We’ve all seen his rebellion, his defiance. He must have killed Umari’s thrall!”
I halt, conscious of dozens of eyes trained on me. Their suspicion heats my skin, beats at me like invisible fists.
“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t harm the man.”
The Crown Princess steps forward, her hair still wet and darkly scarlet. Her blue eyes pierce mine. “Where were you, thrall? Answer honestly.”
“In the forest, Your Highness. My mistress wished to be alone, so I took a walk. And then I fell asleep awhile.”
“Can anyone corroborate this?” She looks around at the others.
“If it pleases Your Highness.” Ruelle’s bodyguard Penn steps forward. “After coupling with Princess Ruelle, Ducayne went in that direction, last I saw.” He points toward the area where I walked and slept. “He was nowhere near the spot where the body was found.”
Gratitude surges in my heart—but my relief is short-lived as Vienne says, “He’s a military man, trained for stealth. He could have circled around through the trees, slipped past us, and killed the thrall.”
“But I didn’t.” I step forward, desperate to defend myself.
The Crown Princess lifts two fingers, and a pair of her guards stride forward, grasping my arms, dragging me roughly toward her. They force me to my knees at her feet.
“Captain Adraxas Ducayne,” she says softly, cupping my chin, tilting my head up. I look into her beautiful face—exquisite, perfect, perilous. “Harming a fellow thrall is a very serious offense. Worse still is the terrible financial loss poor Umari has suffered because of the unique nature of this thrall, one of a perfect trio. Do you understand?”
“Your Highness, I swear I did not touch Keb. Why would I want him dead? Others would have greater motive and opportunity.” I let my gaze cut toward Bazra.
The Crown Princess smiles. “Lord Bazra has already said he is innocent. He is of noble blood. You are a traitor to your kingdom and an enemy to ours. You are not worthy to speak Lord Bazra’s name, much less level an accusation against him. Nor are you worthy to touch a body whose veins carry the royal blood, yet you are granted this privilege. Ungrateful wretch. Where is your mistress, my sister? Have you killed her too?”
“You know I can’t.”
Her hand crashes against my cheek. The blow makes Ruelle’s slaps seem like love-pats.
My teeth ache. Blood seeps into my mouth.
“I swear—” I begin again, but Vienne says, “On the ground, thrall. Belly down, face to the earth.”
“My Princess—” But before I can say anything else, one of the guards strikes my skull with his sword-hilt. Blinking through the roar of pain and anger in my head, seething through my own blood, I get down on my stomach and set my jaw against the grass.
The Crown Princess toes off her slipper and slides her bare foot up to my face. “Lick it well, thrall, and perhaps I will spare you from death—or at least make your death swift.”
There’s a murmur of delighted appreciation from the nobles. Bile rolls in my stomach, because they don’t care about Keb at all. To them, even to his mistress, he’s merely a financial loss, a loss of status and pride. They don’t mourn him. No one will, except perhaps his two remaining brothers.
