Page 24 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“Is this how women feel all the time?” I muse aloud. “Dressing themselves so that their breasts, legs, and asses are shown to best advantage for the gaze of men?”
The Princess turns slowly around from her dressing table. “I don’t strive to please men. I dress to please myself, and so do many women.”
“Of course. Forgive me.” I’ve said something wrong again.
She is hard as ice, this one. No—harder, because ice can shatter or melt, and there’s been little sign of either from her, even when I was pleasuring myself right before her eyes. Sometimes she seems as if she’s admiring me, but then she turns away and says something caustic, so I can’t be sure.
Jan seems to be suppressing a smile as she paints my eyelids and lashes. The Princess leans toward the mirror, applying her own cosmetics.
“She doesn’t like to be touched,” whispers the maid, barely above a breath.
“I figured that,” I whisper back.
“Her family does not hug, cuddle, or touch, except to hurt each other,” Jan continues. “Her only connection to intimate touch is through torture sessions, fights with her sister, or whippings from her father.”
“Whippings?”
“She has no scars, because she is always healed afterward. But yes. Whippings. Rare, but they do happen.”
The Princess turns toward us. “What are you two whispering about?”
“The color for his eyelids, Highness,” says Jan casually. “Should we do gold, to match his jewelry, or purple to match the vest? Or dark blue to match your gown?”
“Gold,” says the Princess, and sweeps into the bathing room.
“Thank you, Jan,” I say to the maid, meeting her eyes. She’s young and attractive, quick to smile. I like her, and I get the sense that she would be far more prone to accept my attentions than the frosty Princess.
To test my theory, I give Jan a slow smile, letting desire glow in my gaze.
She sucks in a breath. Brushes her hair back from her face with a trembling hand, gives me a cautious smile in return.
Yes, I could easily seduce the maid. But a royal thrall isn’t allowed any other sexual liaisons—only those approved by their owner. And truthfully, I want the Princess herself. I want to conquer her resistance, rush inside her walls, claim her inner sanctum as mine, set my flag there first so no one else dares approach.
Jan finishes with my eyes and dusts my chest and arms lightly with gold powder. Then she backs away, just as the Princess emerges from the privy.
“Time to go,” snaps the Princess. She doesn’t give me any shoes, but she latches the collar around my neck again. She gives the chain attached to it a slight tug. “Come along, thrall.”
“Gladly, Your Loveliness,” I murmur.
The Princess looks at me sharply. “Keep your distance until we get into the dining hall. You’ll kneel by my chair for the entirety of dinner, and you’ll stay as still as you can unless I order otherwise.” She starts to open her bedroom door, then closes it again and lowers her voice. “No matter what happens, do not try to defend me. My father and sister won’t hesitate to have you killed on the spot.”
“I’ll be careful,” I promise. “And you, Princess—you be careful, too. I don’t wish to see you in pain.”
I’ve drifted too close to her, and I know it the moment her eyes widen and flash. I’m expecting the slap this time, and I manage to hold my head still when it comes—her small palm whipping my cheek with shocking force—an explosion of stinging pain.
The Princess is breathing fast, her cheeks red. “I said keep your distance.”
I back away, nearly to the full length of the chain. “Forgive me, mistress.”
Without answering, she jerks the bedroom door open and tows me out into the hall.
I mark the turns we take, mentally constructing the layout of the palace. Now that I’m being allowed to see the route we’re taking, I’ll have a permanent map of the building in my head, thanks to my military training. I note the exits and windows and guard stations automatically. Security is good here. I can’t see any holes. Not that I could escape even if there were—my tattoo prevents it, at least for now. But I haven’t forgotten what the Princess told me, about how the royal tattoo mage is not the best, how her tattoos lose their effectiveness over time.
I have no idea how long that erosion of the magic might take. But someday, I may be able to escape.
The Princess’s steps falter a little, and that’s how I know we’re nearing the dining hall.
Quietly I speak to her. “I will do my best to honor you in front of them.”
