Page 96 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“But it’s likely. As you said, Jilleen took longer to die.” Umari fans herself. “These rooms are horribly stuffy without the wind-wielder to move the air. It’s wretched, simply wretched.” She rises and walks toward the windows.
Ruelle gets up as well and crosses the room to Ward, who is serving Imrissa a bit of green powder. I’m not sure what she’s going to speak to them about, and I’ve no chance to follow and listen in, because Cowen approaches me. He’s wearing a large, loose tunic, satiny purple pants, and his usual gold medallion.
“I’m looking forward to fucking you tonight,” he murmurs, bending down, toying with a lock of my hair. His breath is sharp with wine. “When I’m with a woman, I put her under me and I rut hard. Same with a man. And I don’t use creams to ease the way. Lessens my pleasure.”
Gods, this is going to hurt. “As you wish, my lord.”
Cowen collapses beside me on the couch, laughing heartily. “A joke, my man, just a joke. Of course we’ll use creams for your comfort. But Iwillbe pissing in your mouth. A kink of mine. Hope you don’t mind.”
Shock and shame roar through my body, but then he laughs again. “Another joke. Ah, you’re too fun to play with. No, I don’t believe in the mistreatment of thralls, as some do.” He lowers his voice. “I believe that when a thrall has been ruined past a certain point, the mental damage is irreversible, and then the kindest thing to do is to end their misery.”
His pale blue gaze holds mine while I let his words sink in.
He’s not smiling. Not a hint of mirth in that icy gaze.
“Another joke?” I ask quietly.
“Maybe. Do you think it’s funny?”
My heart is galloping, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “I think the ones who perpetrate the atrocities on their thralls should be punished.”
“On that we agree.” He leans forward, taking my face in his thick fingers and turning it from side to side, as if he’s inspecting my features. “How about revenge, thrall? Do you believe in that?”
“Yes.”
“So do I. If someone laughs at my performance in bed, if they hurt or mock one of my thralls, I’ll get them back. I’ll take something they prize.”
I can’t tell if he’s warning me not to mock his sexual prowess, or confessing to the murders, or owning up to stealing the missing jewelry, or—
He begins to guffaw loudly, leaning back on the couch. “Ah, Captain, you may be a wizard at dice but you are hopeless when it comes to detecting humor! I jest, of course. All in jest. A good joke, is all. Lighten up, my man.” He smacks my shoulder. “Oh, we’re going to have a jolly time tonight, you and I. We’ll stay down here with the others so they can watch me take you. I need another drink and a sniff first—I’ll be back for your fine ass later.” He chucks my chin and ambles off to get his drink.
I pass a hand over my face, sighing.
“Don’t do that. You’re smearing your eye makeup.” Ruelle is back, handing me a teacup. “Test this for me, Ducayne.”
“Tea?” I lift an eyebrow.
“Yes, tea,” she snaps. “I need to settle my stomach.”
“Are you staying for the—” I nod to the room around us, to the people who are slowly beginning to shed their clothes.
“No. You’ll come to me when your duties are done?”
I nod and sip the tea. “This is delicious.”
“Have a few more sips, but don’t drink it all. I’ll be back.”
She’s up again, joining Umari and her pair of thralls. I swallow more tea, wondering if she’s going to ask for one of them to accompany her to her room, even after what we shared in that dungeon cell. Jealousy spikes in my chest, triggering a pulse of nausea in my stomach.
Wait—that’s not jealousy. I feel sick—horribly sick. My gut churns and revolts, pain stabbing through my bowels like knives.
I haul myself to my feet, reeling, and I retch twice. At the sound, the musicians falter, and several heads turn toward me.
Everything slows down. The room is tilting, candlelight and faces whirling past my eyes. The teacup falls from my hands, bouncing softly across the carpet, spewing its contents in a dark splash.
Agony constricts my bowels, pain and nausea roil in my belly. I gag again, then vomit onto the rug.
My limbs give out, and I crash to the floor beside the spatter of my own sick. I’m shaking violently, chills racing over my body. My eyes roll back—I can’t see.
