Page 66 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
As I grab for her, the slithersharks stir into a frenzy around me. Teeth tear through my arm, pierce my breast, crunch into my thigh. I scream as my blood spurts into the water, clouding it with crimson.
Ducayne is yelling with a terrified ferocity I’ve never heard from him. He grabs me, pulling me back against his chest, batting away the slithersharks, towing me toward shore.
My guards are splashing over to us.
“The body!” shouts Ducayne. “The lady Jilleen! She’s there. Get her!”
The guards are wearing lightweight leather armor, enough to protect them against the sharks without dragging them down. They plunge past us, heading for Jilleen.
Ducayne shakes off a gray slithershark that latched onto his arm. Groaning, he picks me up and struggles through the heavy slog of tide and sand until he collapses on the beach, with me half on top of him.
I’ve learned to embrace pain, but this—there are pieces of memissing. The agony is like nothing I’ve ever felt, so intense I can’t even scream.
And Countess Jilleen is dead.
Ducayne and I are taken into a quiet lounge on the first floor of the palace. It’s cool and gloomy, shrouded with heavy curtains. Servants spread blankets on a sofa and lay me on them before removing my bloody clothes.
“My shell,” I gasp, as they tear off my garments. “The seashell in my corset. I want it.”
“I’ll wash it and give it back to you, my lady,” Meldare promises before drifting away. I blink, trying to clear my pain-clouded vision as someone leans over me. It’s the healer, grim as ever.
“He can’t die while you’re working on me,” I gasp. “Check him first.”
“Who, Highness?”
“My thrall. Check on him, make sure he’s not terribly injured.”
Surprise lights her eyes, and the hard line of her mouth eases a little. “I’m supposed to heal you first, Your Highness. He is only a thrall.”
“Mine—he’s mine,” I whisper. “He’s my—please, please. Check him first.”
“One moment.” She moves away.
I try to lie still in spite of the pain.
When she returns, she nods. “He is badly injured, but not mortally. He will be all right. Now, please, Highness. Breathe, and try to calm yourself.”
The familiar golden hum of healing magic begins to soothe my nerves and ease the agony. My flesh starts reconnecting, knitting back together. She takes care of my thigh and leg wounds first, then moves to my bare chest.
“There is a large chunk of your breast missing,” she murmurs. Her hands hover over my chest, but no golden lines of light emerge from her fingers. Why is she hesitating?
“Get her Highness some food, water, and clothes,” the healer snaps at the servants.
When they leave, she bends down and whispers, “Would you like them bigger?”
“Bigger?” I blink at her.
“Your breasts. I did your sister’s a long time ago.”
“You—you’re a Changer?”
“Only your sister and your father know. And one other. Quickly, Highness. Bigger or not?”
An image flashes in my head—Ducayne staring at my sister’s big, beautiful breasts.
I swallow and whisper, “The same as before.”
The healer’s mouth curves a little. “Surprising me twice in one day, Highness. When we’ve known each other so long.”
