Page 95 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
My sex is swollen, hot, pulsing—so close, and I desperately want to keep riding Ducayne until I come, no matter who’s watching. But I force myself to sit still on his cock.
“Has something happened?” I ask Penn thickly.
“Lady Luthia and her thrall Sherad,” Penn says. “Found dead in bed. Strangulation, they say.”
“Fuck,” whispers Ducayne against my neck.
“I have the key for your thrall’s manacles, Highness,” Penn adds, stepping forward. He reaches out with the key, averting his eyes.
I lean back without letting Ducayne slip out of me, take the key from Penn, and lay it aside. “Go. We’ll be up soon.”
Bowing, Penn retreats.
I run my fingers through Ducayne’s silky black hair. “It’s too bad. I liked those two.”
“So did I.”
I tense my thighs and lift upward slightly, feeling his thick length drag through my folds. “We shouldn’t be able to come right after hearing about a double murder.”
“No,” he whispers. “We shouldn’t.”
Sinking deeper onto him, I murmur, “We’re terrible, terrible people. Almost as bad as the others.”
“Not nearly.” His breath is growing ragged again as I slide my body up and down his cock. The sensation of his hard length rushing into my channel, the suction and the fullness of it—nothing else compares.
“Touch your pretty little clit for me,” Ducayne whispers. I tilt back on his lap, and he watches my finger swirl over the tiny bud of flesh. “That’s it. Come all over me, Princess.”
Panting, I play until I’m nearly there, until I’m fluttering around his cock—and then I grip his shoulders and pump myself on him while he groans heavily, desperately. His body tightens, and he comes with a deep moan and a shudder, spilling inside me. I rock inward, still sliding along his cock, and the new angle sends sparkling waves through my belly, waves that build and build until a wall of ecstasy crashes over me. I hitch myself closer to him, locked skin to skin, throbbing and gasping.
And in the throes of pleasure I remember something.
I remember Cowen leading Luthia and Sherad away. Taking them to Ward so Luthia could get something to calm her nerves.
I didn’t see Luthia or Sherad again after that, and no one asked about them. But Ward and Cowen were both around later that night. There’s no proof that one of them suffocated Luthia and her thrall, or even that the brothers were the last to see them. Still, I plan to keep a closer watch on both Ward and Cowen.
30
Ruelle and I slip through back hallways to her suite to wash up and prepare for breakfast. The day passes in a strange, smoky sort of panic. Guards march through the hallways, patrolling every corner and corridor on the Crown Princess’s orders. Servants bustle about, carrying trays of refreshments and drinks to occupy the fretful nobles. Thunder cracks and rolls outside, and sheets of rain slam against the shutters.
The Princess and I remain in the parlors and game rooms throughout the day, mostly to prevent anyone from suspecting us in case another “accident” or “suicide” occurs. We play dice, cards, and shuffleboard, and Ruelle tries her hand at the game Khal taught her again. She loses to him five times, which only seems to deepen her intense need to conquer the game.
When Umari complains of missing bracelets, the Crown Princess vows to dismiss every servant that was hired from town, as soon as the weather relents. She is suspicious of the guards, too, specifically those who didn’t come with us from the Royal Seat.
Between the drink and Ward’s concoctions, most of the nobles remain docile enough, and by the evening, a restless lust permeates the air. These guests are of high-born blood, ushered into power and privilege from birth. And they seem anxious to prove their youth and invulnerability by fucking each other.
I understand the impulse. Anytime we were allowed a respite between battles, the other soldiers and I would carouse at taverns, sleep with bar wenches and town girls, and try dramatic stunts like leaping from rooftops or facing off against angry bulls. Those nights often ended badly, but they made us feel alive. We weredoingsomething. Controlling our choices. Something that might not be an option for me tonight, since Ruelle has promised me to Cowen.
Despite my vow of love to her, and our conversation last night, she has said nothing about revoking that deal.
I will do it. I will take what Cowen gives me, and give him pleasure in return. A few hours or less, and it will be over. His alliance with my Princess will be cemented, and perhaps she will consider an even closer alliance—the match with his brother Ward. It is still the best option I can see for our future.
But it’s not my decision to make.
The musicians in the alcove of the parlor begin to play low, sensuous music, while servants bring in pillows, blankets, and soft rugs for the orgy. Lamps are dimmed, candles lighted. Ward offers lines of green powder on a silver tray, promising multiple orgasms to any who sniffs some. Nearly everyone takes him up on the offer.
“I wouldn’t dare take anything from his hand,” Umari whispers to Ruelle. She has cozied up to the Princess again since yesterday—probably because we were out of the palace when the wielders died and either in public company or the dungeon when Luthia and Sherda expired. She must think Ruelle is beyond suspicion now. “Imagine partaking of that mixture so soon after Lombard and Jilleen!”
“I’m not sure Ward’s concoction killed them,” Ruelle answers.
