Page 59 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
At a table nearby, Ward is scraping lines of powderedcinnartogether on a mirror. Countess Jilleen bends forward, sweeping her honey-blond hair out of the way, and sniffs up thecinnarusing a tiny glass tube. She exhales her satisfaction and rises, moving aside so tiny, black-haired Imrissa, my sister’s best friend, can partake of the next helping.
“A pinch for Lombard, too,” says Jilleen. “I want him at the peak of sexual urgency today. He’s been misbehaving, so he’s locked up, see?” She tugs down her thrall’s pants to reveal a metal cage surrounding his genitals. “I want him positively wild for release.”
“Then I’ll cut his with a little something special.” Ward takes a diminutive bottle from his case of supplies and mixes a few grains with thecinnar.
“But, mistress…” Lombard eyes the mixture with apprehension.
“Take your medicine, Lombard,” orders Jilleen, a hard edge entering her voice. Gritting his teeth, her thrall sniffs the powder.
“Ward, you’re a delight. Gem will take some of thatcinnar, too,” Imrissa says. “No extra elements, though. She doesn’t need it.”
Gem accepts her dose with far more alacrity than Lombard. Jilleen and Imrissa join my sister at her table, at the far end of the veranda. Their thralls crouch near their chairs, waiting patiently for scraps of food.
I will not pity them. They are beneath me, as everyone keeps saying. Not worth my attention or my sympathy.
I can hear my father’s voice:Most beings are born to serve. They are happiest when they are kept in their rightful place, beneath those of noble blood. It is our duty as rulers to ensure that our subjects remain in that role.
Noble blood. What in Arawn’s name is ‘noble blood?’ Who decided it was noble? It must have been regular blood at first, until someone called it special and everyone else believed them.
The only difference between me and the thralls is happenstance. The errant luck of the universe, or the will of the gods, or both.
It’s not as if I asked or deserved to be born into privilege.
I pass Ducayne a strip of fried ham. Then, with a frustrated huff, I take my whole plate and slam it down in front of him, on the painted white boards.
He doesn’t move from between my knees, but he tilts his head back, looking at me upside down. “Are you all right, Princess?”
“Shut up and eat your food.”
“Anycinnarfor you, Princess?” Ward asks from the nearby table.
I glance over. He’s wearing an embroidered black robe, open to display his thin, pale chest. His mouth looks unusually red, and his eyes are black-lined.
“I heard you have a little trouble with stirring your desire, Highness,” he says quietly. “Though I wonder if that’s true, given the other rumor I’ve heard—that yours was the most arousing carnal rite in the pool yesterday. Either way, this little concoction of mine can enhance both your desire and its culmination.”
“You can do that?”
“I can do almost anything with the right materials,” he murmurs. “Chemicals, properly blended, can elicit a person’s inner truth or make them weep until their eyes bleed. I can stimulate the heights of joy or bring about the deepest sleep. I can bring someone to Arawn’s doorstep, or elicit the most vigorous orgasms. I’d be happy to share some of my more lecherous concoctions and help you test them.”
His suggestive invitation fascinates me, and I don’t want to deny him entirely. But the last thing I need is my body becomingmorearoused in Ducayne’s presence. I’ve been in a constant state of wetness since I woke this morning.
“Just anotherhannasstick, please,” I tell him. “And perhaps the pleasure of your company on the beach today? You can show me some of your recipes. I have a professional interest in toxins and truth-telling serums.”
“As my Princess wishes. I am deeply honored.” He approaches, his gaze holding mine—intense, heart-stopping. His fingertips brush my knuckles as he hands over the thin, papery roll ofhannas.“I will meet you on the shore.” He packs up his things and disappears inside.
Cowen saunters over a moment later, red-faced and jovial as ever. “You’ve charmed my brother, Princess,” he says, with a clumsy wink. There’s a wine cup in his hand, and the liquid sloshes as he sits heavily down in one of the white chairs. His scarlet robe gapes open, showing the golden medallion and chain he always wears.
And the gap of the robe shows other things, too. Things I can’t help seeing, since he isn’t wearing undergarments.
Unfortunately, Cowen notices my attention. “You like my dick?” He pulls the robe open, thrusting his hips out a bit. “I had it enhanced.”
“You found a Changer?”
“I did. Took a lot of hunting and a lot of gold.”
“What is a Changer?” Ducayne asks.
“Most healers can repair any wound, including rebuilding a body part someone has lost,” I say. “Usually they can sense the form that part used to take, and they can only rebuild it as it was, with the exact same shape. But some healers are also Changers. They can alter the shape of existing or missing body parts, creating something entirely different. But it takes an extreme amount of magical energy. It’s also technically forbidden in Thannira.” I narrow my eyes at Cowen.
