Page 9 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“Yes, Your Highness. Would you like him chained? I could attach the chain there.” The servant points to a metal loop protruding from the wall of my room, where my largest and heaviest incense burner sometimes hangs.
“If I want him chained, I’ll do it myself,” I say.
“As Your Highness wishes. Let me show you how the collar works.” The servant demonstrates the latch while I nod, half-listening, trying not to notice how much taller the Captain is than I thought, or how every muscle in his powerful body is swelling tight against his oiled skin. His jaw is set, his eyes burning.
When he entered my room and the blindfold was taken off, he looked as startled as I was.You. You claimed me.
Of course he thought he was being delivered to Vienne. He had no reason to think otherwise. And now he’s angry and disappointed, because everyone prefers her to me.
I do not care what he thinks of me. I only care about what owning him will do for my status at my first Summerglee.
“Leave us,” I tell the servant, and he hurries out, closing the door.
I start to speak, but the door opens again and one of my bodyguards pops his head in. “Your Highness, if the thrall gives you any trouble, ring or shout, and we will enter.”
“Thank you, Penn.” I wave him away sharply, and he disappears, shutting the door again.
I am not used to having people in my chambers. This suite of rooms is my haven, where I keep my books, my religious relics, my knives, my collection of skulls, my scented candles—all the things I prize. And now someone ishere, in my sanctuary. Not just someone, but a towering, sinewy, well-oiled, black-haired, tattooed bastion of male beauty.
He’s too much. And he’s mine.
“Why did you claim me?” he asks.
“I claimed you before my sister could,” I reply. “The prestige of owning you will be mine, not hers. She’ll be furious.”
I expected to have a confrontation with Vienne at dinner, but she dined elsewhere this evening. Soon she will return and realize what I’ve taken from her. Oh how she will rage!
Part of me is a little nervous about the impending clash between us. At dinner, Vienne would have had to restrain herself somewhat. But now she’ll likely confront me here, privately, and I’m not sure what she’ll do, or how violently she’ll react.
“You have claimed me,” says the Captain. “Now what?”
Now what indeed? Training—gods, I haven’t planned any training. Where is he going to sleep? The sofa? No—he’s too tall. He was lying down when I tortured him, so I couldn’t tell his true height. The sheer size of him is intimidating, and being intimidated makes me angry.
“Now,” I say slowly, hoping an idea will come, “now you will… you will serve me… as my thrall. To do everything I ask, whenever I ask it…”
A spark of awareness lights in his dark eyes, and the corner of his mouth turns up. “Now that you have me, you don’t know what to do with me.”
He takes a step forward, and my belly thrills.
Gods, this won’t do.
I back away, yank open a drawer, and pluck a small pearl-handled knife from its velvety bed. The moment my fingers close on the glossy hilt, I can breathe better.
The Captain pauses, caution flaring in his eyes.
With my blade I point at his right bicep. “That’s your captive’s tattoo?”
“I can neither escape nor do you serious harm.” He paces forward again, slowly. He’s been shaved, cleaned, scented—the contours of his chest and the tight beads of his nipples capture my gaze. “You need not fear me, Princess.”
I halt his progress by setting the tip of my knife to his breastbone. “I fear no one.”
“Except your father. And perhaps your sister.” His head tilts, his eyes searching mine.
“You are a very insolent thrall,” I hiss.
“I’m untrained,” he murmurs. “Perhaps you should teach me how to obey. How to please you. That’s what a pleasure thrall is for, is it not? For your pleasure.” He says the last word in a rich, deep baritone, dripping with sensual implication.
Again the swirling dip of my belly. My fingers are trembling.
