Page 119 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
Do you love him, girl?
More people are coming out of the inn, gathering, yet leaving a wide circle of space around me and the Pirate King. I catch a stray murmur from the bystanders: “She doeslooklike the Second Princess, doesn’t she? The hair, and the sour expression.”
“Answer,” says the Pirate King. “Now.”
Do you love him, girl?
My hands are sweating, and my heart races faster than a slithershark through the sea—so fast I’m afraid it might give out entirely. Heat burns in my cheeks.
The red-haired woman moves, lithe and quick, and kneels beside me. She leans in and murmurs, “It’s hard, saying the words, isn’t it? Especially like this. I can help you, if you want. I have my own kind of magic. When I drink someone’s blood, they have to obey anything I command for a few minutes, depending on the amount of their blood I consume. So if you’ll let me drink a little of your blood, you’ll be free to speak your truth, whatever it is. It won’t feel so painful, letting it out.”
I stare at her. “I’ve never heard of such a gift.”
“I once thought of it as a curse,” she says, with a rueful smile. “I had it locked away for a while. But I’ve learned to use it again, carefully. Would you like me to help you?”
I look at Ducayne, struggling in the grip of the sailors, the cords of his neck straining as he tries to break free. “If you kill her, you pirate bastard, you’ll have to kill me too,” he grits out.
“I’m trying to free you, mate,” says the Pirate King. “You’ll thank me for it, once you’re released from whatever spell she’s put on you. We freed one poor thrall who was so drugged she didn’t know her own name. Prisoners might believe they love their captors, but in most cases it’s not true.”
“Unless it is.” The red-haired woman looks into my eyes again. “I’m Veronica. And you?”
“I’m Ruelle,” I breathe. “And yes—I want your help.”
I can’t say the words on my own. Not yet, not with all these strangers staring at me, not with my life on the line. But with the help of just a little magic, maybe, maybe I can finally tell Ducayne what he means to me.
Veronica takes a little gold cup from her pocket. It’s no larger than the hollow of her palm, and I suspect it has been used many times for her particular brand of magic.
“This will hurt a little,” she says.
“I’ve had worse.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, keen and penetrating. “You have, haven’t you?” She holds out her hand to the Pirate King. “Knife, Locke.”
He hands over his knife and braces both fists on his hips.
Veronica draws the blade across the top of my arm and squeezes the flesh so my blood drips into the little golden cup. When there’s a small puddle of crimson inside, she lets go and tips the blood into her mouth.
The people watching us don’t scream or exclaim. They’ve seen this before. Apparently many strange things happened in this town during those stormy days.
Suddenly an alien calm washes over my body, soothing every agonized or anxious impulse. I look at Veronica, kneeling across from me, and she smiles encouragingly. “Tell us, Ruelle. Tell us about your and your thrall. Did you ever force him?”
“No.” My voice sounds distant, cool. Mine, and yet not mine. I am entirely peaceful, entirely free. My tongue, my mind, and my heart are one for the first time in my life, without distress or entanglements or confusion. “No, I never forced him. I asked for his consent every time, and he gave it. I believe he served me willingly in most things. I hurt him sometimes—but I never abused him in that way.”
“And how do you feel about him?” says Veronica.
“He is my one.”
Veronica glances up at Locke, a small excited smile on her face. He tilts his head and frowns.
“Tell us a little more,” Veronica urges.
“He has the power to hurt me like no one else does. But he won’t. Not unless I need it. I think I have always been waiting for him. I saved him from my father, from my sister. But he saved me, too. From everything.”
I lift my eyes from Veronica’s and I meet Ducayne’s gaze, reading the pained love in his eyes.
“Mine,” I say softly. “He’s mine. And I belong to him. He’s the rest I crave and he’s the blade I need. He’s all the things I love, blended. He respects me even when he’s disrespecting me. He laughs at inappropriate times, and he’s messy, and he doesn’t care about the gods. He’s resilient and stable, rebellious and submissive. We may both be a little wicked, but I am a far, far better person when I’m with him.”
Veronica reaches out and grips my hand. “There, Locke. You see? That’s all we need to know.”
