Page 122 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess

“What?” Ruelle stares. “But you hate the notion of thralls.”

“Paid whore. And she consented to the leash. There’s a difference,” Locke growls. “I was protecting her—and yes, protecting myself. Those were darker times. Before she made me the kinder, wiser, yet still very imposing and powerful man I am today.”

Ruelle doesn’t respond—her attention has been captured by the magnificent towers with their crowned ravens. We’re passing between them now, into the bay.

“Come, love.” Veronica draws Locke away. “We’ve seen it. Let them have a moment.”

I’m grateful for her insight, because I do want this moment with Ruelle.

I remember how I first saw my princess—the night sky past her balcony, gauzy curtains blowing in the breeze, moths fluttering. And she was in the center of it all, defiant, savage, with those bright green eyes, startled at my appearance in her room.

Now the lines of her body are softer, less rigid with constant watchfulness. She’s in her nightdress, hair mussed, teeth uncleaned, and she doesn’t care. She’s at ease on the deck of theRaven’s Frenzy. Her blonde hair ruffles lightly in the morning breeze, gilded by the rising sun.

She twists around, smiling at me. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful,” I answer. I approach behind her and slide my arms around her waist.

“I can hardly believe it,” she murmurs. “I got away. I’m safe here. Whatever happened back there—whatever the aftermath was of that horrible Summerglee—it can’t touch us. We escaped, Ducayne. We’re free.”

I hold her against me as theRaven’s Frenzysails into the bay, guided by the expert hand of the navigator. The colorful homes and shops, the fluttering pennants, the peaks and towers and mountains of this place—they’re ours to explore. We will find work here—Locke has already hinted at putting Ruelle in charge of interrogations. We can find our footing together, not as princess and thrall, but as a man and a woman. And if one day we decide to leave and live elsewhere, we can do it. We have treasure and money enough, even without the lovely pieces Ruelle gifted to Locke and Veronica.

I saw Ruelle open one of our bags the other day—checking its contents. And among the fine glitter of the jewels lay a single dark cowrie shell, flecking with white. I saw her stroke it with one finger before she closed the satchel.

“Ducayne.” Her voice pulls me out of my reverie.

“Hm?” I tighten my arms around her.

“I wanted to wait until there was a special moment, and this is perhaps the most special moment of our lives, so—”

“Is it though? I thought we had a very special moment last night, Highness. And you had three special moments—”

“Shut up, thrall!” she snaps.

“Of course, of course—you’re eager to get back to the cabin, don’t want to come into port in your nightdress. You want to go and change, prepare for the day. I understand. I just wanted you to see it, you know—the vista, the view of it all.”

I release her, but she turns to me, clutching my arms, looking up at me with fierce determination in her green eyes. “You impossible, beautiful bastard. I love you.”

I freeze.

Those words, coming from her, knowing her past—

Fuck.

I can’t speak.

She grins at my expression. “Come here.”

She pulls my face down to hers and kisses me as we sail into Ravensbeck, into safety, into freedom.