Page 14 of Prize for the King
“Serve the princess.”
He leaves and I watch the girl, watch her tears and a jagged hole in her blouse she tries to hide under her apron.
“Were you hurt?” I ask in a voice that sounds distant anduninterested to my own ears.
She nods, giving me a quick, wary look. I watch her a moment longer. She’s in her early twenties like me. I can’t bring myself to be sorry for her, but I have to know.
“Were you hurt by him?” I ask, pointing with my chin at the door.
I lost track of time, and I don’t know how long Khay was gone. He probably had time to defile a woman or two.
She shakes her head, and I nod.
“You don’t have to do anything.” I point to a day bed by the far side of the room. It’s covered by my favorite throw blanket, made of the softest wool dyed pigeon blue. “Just lie down and stay out of sight. I think you’ll be safe here. I hope.”
She curtsies with a sniff and goes to lie down, covering herself with the blanket, her back to the room. I watch her for a few minutes, something worming through my confusion, a thought breaking through.
The thought says,This isn’t right.
Not because it’s immoral. Morality is a nebulous and relative thing, and not a good base for an argument. What’s happening is wrongfor an entirely different reason, a reason thatcanbe argued upon.
“Speak facts, my prize. Leave feelings and virtues to the priests.”
That lesson stuck in my head more than the others, and not because of its profound wisdom. My father had me in his lap when he taught me, and his hands…
I will not think of that.
What I can do is ponder the wrongness of rape for another minute until my thoughts are in order. Then I’m up, striding to the door, throwing it open.
I can’t deal with my father’s death or the memories of him, but this, I can fix. It feels good to have a purpose.
Khay leans against the wall outside, one long leg cocked up, kneebent.
“Where are you going?” he asks with a weary sigh. “I won’t let you run away, my lady.”
My lady.Something in my chest stirs harder at the title he calls me, and I stand taller. That’s right. I’m the queen now, for better or worse. Not just a bed warmer.
“I’m not running,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “Come with me.”
He pushes away from the wall in a graceful motion and falls into step by my side, eyeing me curiously.
“I need to see him.”
Khay makes a questioning noise.
“The Tyrant. Where is he?”
“You really should call him something else,” Khay says, pointing toward the main staircase. “He’s appointing local governors that will take over in his absence. They are in the library.”
“Very well,” I hiss, walking faster and faster, hastened by the sounds of female pain filtering out through a closed door. “I will call him something else. Something he can’t ignore.”
The doors of the library are open. I don’t stop to take in the sight of the Agnidari, our mortal enemies, standing around my father’s map table in the middle of the enormous room with bookshelves stretching two floors up. I used to hide in the stacks. The gallery was my favorite place, because I’d always see my governess coming.
I walk straight over to the Tyrant, who falls silent when he sees me.
“My king,” I say, not letting myself be afraid now that I got this far. “I came to inform you your subjects are being raped.”
His brows rise high in bemusement. I meet his gaze head on, craning my neck. It’s difficult to appear regal while standing two heads shorter than everyone else in the room, but I do my best.
