Page 41 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
She curtsies deeply, then moves in on my left side, edging out Cowen. “I am Lady Umari, of Lewfall in the south.”
Cowen backs away, but he doesn’t look happy about it.
Umari is the second person to approach me. Usually, at events of any kind, I am the lurker—the silent, unhappy presence in the shadows. No one seeks me out. When they’re forced to acknowledge me, they are cool and cautious. Apprehensive. They recoil as quickly as possible.
Strange that this setting and a handsome thrall could make such a difference in how I’m received.
For a nation like ours, one whose primary goddess celebrates fertility, love, and lust, the exercise of sexual appetites is practically a religion. Thralls are a way to keep the young nobles busy until they make suitable matches—to occupy their carnal appetites. Someone like me, who is far more cautious about my body and its desires, is considered an oddity. These young people already know that I torture people for my father; but they would think me completely insane if they knew that I worship Arawn and keep a collection of skulls.
I’m glad that Ducayne is serving his purpose, opening doors for me.
Yet I wish my peers could have accepted me on my own merit, for the person I really am.
As we pass into another airy, high-ceilinged room, Lady Umari leans in companionably, as if we’re already friends. “You must forgive Cowen’s over-eagerness to share thralls, your Highness. You see, he offended your sister at Wintertryst, and he fears falling out of favor with the Crown.”
“I did not mind his eagerness,” I say. “It’s nice to be welcomed.”
“You aremostwelcome, Highness. And Cowen and Ward do have a fine pair of thralls. Of course, I rather prefer my own.” She jerks her head backward, and I glance behind us. Alongside my guards and maid, three perfectly matched men are walking. Each one has light brown skin, dark wavy hair, and brown eyes.
“Triplets?” I gasp.
“Triplets.” She leans closer. “I have them trained so they will all climax at the same time when I require it. It is a beautiful sight. I’m sure you’ll witness it at least once while you’re here.”
I panic inwardly. Blood, raw muscle, exposed tendons—that, I can handle. And I rather liked the sight of Ducayne coming in front of me. But the orgies and displays that usually occur at these retreats—I hadn’t planned on participating. As I told Ducayne on the day I met him, I planned to spend my time at Summerglee walking the beach, swimming, practicing archery, and climbing.
But now that I have a thrall, I’ll be expected to participate in some of the debauchery.
Gods—I did not think this through.
Maybe I can work out a way to stay on the fringes of the lechery while still connecting with potential allies.
The room we’ve entered is mostly clear of furniture. A wall of windows admits a flood of golden afternoon light, which shines across the game board marked on the floor.
Khal is here, with his long black locs bound back and his strong arms gleaming as he leans forward and shoves his cue against the round disc on the floor. It glides across the board and stops precisely in the center of a high-point space. Khal lifts both arms, and the two thralls sitting on the floor near him cheer softly.
“Khal.” I wave to him.
“Princess!” He bows deeply.
“You only brought Mala and Yenna? Where are the twins?”
“They misbehaved,” he says dolefully. “They lost the privilege of attending Summerglee with me.”
“Such a pity.” Lady Umari smiles, stroking the chest of one of her thralls, circling his nipple with her fingernail. The thrall’s face remains placid, his gentle smile matching those of his brothers. “I suppose that means I have the only matched set at Summerglee.”
“Quantity means nothing,” says a loud, gruff male voice.
I turn, facing Khal’s game companion.
Lord Bazra. Tall and husky, built like a fighter. Skin tanned to a leathery bronze, blond messy hair, sharp pale eyes.
“You’re all too soft with your thralls.” He gives me a brief nod rather than a bow and braces the end of his cue on the polished wooden floor. “You don’t use them to their full potential. With the exception of the Crown Princess, of course. That woman knows how to use a thrall’s body like it was meant to be used.”
He hitches the cue into his hand and walks forward, looking Ducayne up and down. “This one’s got the stench of rebellion. Thinks he’s better than us, I can tell. You really let this enemy trash fuck you, Princess?”
Lady Umari gasps a little.
Ducayne takes a single step forward. He’s slightly taller than Bazra, and the threat is clear.
