Page 31 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“Toying with you?” I say softly. “I would never.”
“Ford ahead!” calls someone outside, and the carriage jolts and bumps wildly, tilting down at the front, at my end. The Princess stumbles forward, and her knife cuts the skin of my neck a little. But I don’t care, because her body sways into me, and her lips brush against mine.
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When my mouth touches Ducayne’s, a panicked, tingling thrill courses through my body. He’s still shirtless, still smelling of sweaty, powerfulman. Still smiling insolently against my mouth. His strong arms wrap around me, holding me steady.
My fingers tighten on the knife, and I nearly stab him in the throat with it.
I nearly pierce his artery and let his life spill out.
I’m beyond thought or reason—my fingers are already twitching, my arm is already drawing back for the killing blow. I almost can’t halt the impulse.
And that terrifies me more than his talk of ghosts.
My father kills people occasionally, and so does Vienne. But I never have.
Yet here in this darkness, in my keyed-up state, I nearly end my thrall.
By Arawn’s mercy, I stop myself just in time.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. The carriage is still jostling but I manage to move away, onto the seat beside him.
“It’s a scratch,” he says cheerfully, touching his throat. “No harm done, my lady.”
He thinks I mean the little accidental scrape of the blade on his neck. He has no idea how close I came to murdering him in my anger, in my reflexive panic. Being touched by him triggered everything inside me—all the dark memories I bury and all the soft impulses I crush. I wasn’t myself for a moment.
Or perhaps I was.
Perhaps I am one of the wicked souls that ghosts come to haunt.
The thought clings to me like scum to a stagnant pond as the carriage lumbers across the ford, creaks up the slope beyond, and rattles onward to the inn. By the time we arrive, it is after midnight.
At my nod, Ducayne leaves the carriage first. He extends his hand to help me down, in the manner of a well-bred gentleman. I hesitate on the carriage step, glancing to my left, where two of Vienne’s thralls have crouched on the ground, forming steps for her to descend. The other two thralls stretch out their arms like railings for her use.
Ducayne frowns slightly at my hesitation and follows my glance.
“Ah,” he says. And before I can tell him not to bother, he drops onto the paving stones of the inn courtyard, presenting his broad bare back for me to step on.
My guard Penn swings down from his horse and holds out his hand. I take it, and I set my boot on Ducayne’s back. Another quick step, and I’m on firm ground again. My legs feel stiff and wobbly from so many hours in the carriage.
When I look up, my sister is watching us. She eyes Ducayne as he rises and brushes dirt from his pants. “I need a wash,” he says, with a rueful grin. “How do her thralls manage to look perfectly groomed at all times?”
“They don’t always,” I tell him. But I don’t elaborate on the memories that rise with the comment.
The innkeeper and her wife come out to meet us. They greet Vienne enthusiastically, but as I approach with Meldare, Ducayne, and my two bodyguards, our hosts’ faces fall.
“Oh—oh, Your Highness,” says the innkeeper. “We were told that only the Crown Princess would be passing through.”
“Were you indeed?” says Vienne, fluffing her red curls. “What an unfortunate oversight.”
“Yes, well, as your Highnesses know, our rooms are booked far in advance, and we are full tonight—many wealthy families heading for the coast, you see.” The innkeeper smiles nervously. “We have our finest suite and our best food prepared for the Crown Princess and her favored thralls, of course, and we have two other rooms for her guards and servants, but—”
“But you have no room prepared for me,” I finish.
Of course this is Vienne’s doing. Her messengers made the travel arrangements. And she is already flouncing into the inn, attended by her retinue, rejoicing in the fact that once again, she has made me feel left out, wretched, and rejected.
“Perhaps your two bodyguards and your maid can join the Crown Princess’s people?” says the innkeeper. “We have extra pallets we can put down in those rooms.”
