Page 118 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess

His eyes are harsh, arctic, freezing my blood.

“There are a number of wealthy families residing in Oleyra for a little summer enjoyment,” says the Pirate King. “Some had pleasure thralls, so while we were stuck in port, we took it upon ourselves to free those thralls. Some of them are in this room, waiting to ship out with us tomorrow. Others have gone their own way.”

“A noble endeavor,” I manage.

“Noble indeed. I’m glad you think so. A thrall without a binding tattoo is easy to free—you simply take them from the owner. But freeing a tattooed thrall, one magically bound to the owner, is—notmoredifficult, but perhaps messier.”

The freckled woman is out of the booth now, approaching behind the Pirate King. Her face is tense but resigned, as if she dislikes what is about to happen but sees no other recourse.

My fingers creep beneath my cloak, fumbling for the knife strapped to my right thigh.

"I despise anyone who uses an unwilling person for pleasure.” The Pirate King’s voice hasn’t risen at all; rather, it has deepened with an unmistakable threat. “Those who do so deserve their end.” He turns abruptly to Ducayne. “You, thrall. Would you like to be free of the vow that binds you?”

“That isn’t possible,” says Ducayne. “No tattoo mage can remove another’s mark. Only the one who placed it can remove it.”

“True, but that wasn’t my question. I said, do you want to be free?”

Ducayne frowns. “Who doesn’t want to be free?”

“Good enough.” The Pirate King seizes my arm and pulls me off my stool. “I’ll do it outside this time, Emberlough,” he calls to the innkeeper.

I draw my knife, but I’m wearing too many layers, and I’m clumsy with my first strike. The red-haired pirate woman grips my wrist, flexing the bones until I yell, and then plucks the knife away.

The crowd clears for the Pirate King as he stalks to the front of the common room, pulling me with him. He’s moving so fast I’m being dragged on the floor, and I can’t get on my feet to fight him.

Behind me, I hear Ducayne roaring my name—my real name. Fuck.

The inn door shuts behind us, and the Pirate King throws me onto the damp cobbled street. He stands over me, massive and threatening.

“I want you to know that I take no pleasure in this.” His voice is tight with emotion. “But I will not see a man enslaved and raped. I’ve heard the stories of Thanniran thralls, how they’re traded and shared. It’s depraved. I will free him, as I freed the others, and the only way to do that is to end you.”

It’s time for me to fight him. To resist, to struggle for my life. But I can’t.

I kneel, and I look up. “Do it then,” I say. “Arawn will judge whether or not I deserved it.”

The Pirate King pauses, cocking his head. Then he nods and walks around behind me. He tosses the headwrap aside and takes my hair in his hand, pulling my head back to expose my throat.

The scuff of a blade leaving its sheath.

I close my eyes, and I picture the antlered god Arawn, unmasked, jade-skinned, beautiful. Waiting for me.

The door of the inn bangs. “Locke, stop!”

My eyes flash open.

It’s the red-haired pirate girl, and Ducayne is with her, being held back by three sailors—or maybe pirates.

“What is it, Nick?” asks the Pirate King.

“I think we have it wrong,” she says. “The thrall claims he loves her. He says they’re running away together, looking for passage on a ship. He says she never abused him, and he says—” she hesitates, eyeing me— “he says she’s a princess of Thannira.”

The Pirate King lets go of my hair. “Do you believe him?”

“I’m not sure. But I think it’s only fair to hear her side of it.”

“I gave her a chance, and she said nothing about loving him.” The Pirate King walks around to face me. “Do you love him, girl?”

He doesn’t care if I am the princess or not. He only wants to know about Ducayne and me. Whether I’ve abused him. How I feel about him.