Page 58 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
He lifts his arms, looks at his bracelets and rings, and glances at his body, clad only in the tiny shorts. “I suppose I’ve adjusted well to the new uniform. Perhaps I’ve adopted the mindset of a thrall a little too readily, as well.”
“You were going to lick the shit off his foot, weren’t you?”
A muscle along his jaw pulses. After a moment he says, “It was obey or die. Your sister made that clear.”
“I would have died before giving them the satisfaction.”
“We both know I will do anything to survive. I gave up my own kingdom’s secrets to you on that torture table.”
“So you did.” I wiggle my foot, working it deeper into the wet sand under the water. “Are you loyal to no one, then?”
“No one has ever been loyal to me.”
My pulse kicks up, and I glance at him sharply. “Me neither. They pretend it, of course—my maids and the guards—but they’ve all betrayed my confidence to Padra or Vienne at some point.”
Ducayne turns. Meets my gaze. An invisible cord knots between us, taut and tugging.
“I won’t,” he says simply.
I want to reciprocate. But what comes out of my mouth isn’t what I meant to say. “Umari will want to borrow you sometime soon. In the next two days, I’d wager.”
He looks startled. He has no right to look startled. He knows he’s here to be shared, to serve the pleasure of my new allies.
“You’ll do whatever she asks.” I hate the words, but I say them anyway.
Ducayne’s features harden. “Yes, mistress.”
When I leave the waves and continue my walk up the beach, he follows me at a respectful distance. And when we share my bed that night, he doesn’t speak to me or approach me at all. I’m left to stare at the ceiling and recall the surge of his body against mine in Beirgid’s pool—the heat of his release against my belly, and my own scintillating burst of pleasure.
Emotional distance, Khal said.
My thrall seems to be learning its importance. Perhaps I should as well.
“Your second-best dinner jewels are missing, my lady,” says Meldare.
“Are you sure you brought them?” I step over to the dresser, where she has unpacked all my things.
“I know I brought them, Your Highness.” Meldare hurries to the luggage and begins to rummage frantically, hunting through side pockets and hidden compartments.
“There are guards in the hallway constantly,” I say. “No one besides me and my people could have entered this chamber without being seen. You must have forgotten them.”
“Perhaps.” She looks up, her eyes bright with tearful anxiety. “Forgive me, Princess.”
“Ugh, don’t cry.” I nudge her with my toe. “Forget the jewels. I have others along, yes?”
She nods, pinching her lips tight, while tears ooze from the corners of her eyes.
“Gods, would you stop? Do I look like I’m going to punish you?”
“No?” She sniffs.
“Well, I will if you don’t dry up. I have to finish getting ready, and I can’t do that if you’re in here crying. The wind-wielder has dispelled the clouds, and we’re all spending the day on the beach. See that my thrall is properly attired.”
“Yes, your Highness.” Wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist, Meldare hands a pair of seaweed-green undershorts to Ducayne. Then she removes his usual bracelets and wraps his forearms with woven bands and braided leather. Chips of pale blue quartz dangle from his ears. He looks like a god of the sea.
I’m wearing green as well, but my diminutive corset and panties are of light, sea-foam green instead of deep green. I don a gauzy overdress for breakfast, which is served on the veranda in full view of the glittering blue ocean.
I make Ducayne sit with his back to me, between my parted legs. In this position, we barely have to touch, yet it looks intimate. I sip fresh fruit juice and pass wedges of salted boiled egg to Ducayne.
