Page 15 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess

She lifts an eyebrow, sidestepping the question. “Here is an outfit for you to try. Let me know if anything doesn’t fit.”

When I come out of the bathing chamber, I’m wearing a black shirt with a standup collar that flares around the back of my neck. It has no buttons, so I tucked it loosely into the low-slung black pants I was given. The shirt hangs open in the front, showing my chest and abs. That’s the point, I guess.

My shirt sleeves are rolled up to my elbows, and black leather slippers complete my new look. My hair is in a short, loose braid, and I’ve put on the earcuff and two of the rings the maid left for me.

“My fingers were too thick for these.” I pour the remaining seven rings into the maid’s hand.

She’s staring at me, eyes wide.

“What is it?” I glance down at myself. “Did I put something on wrong?”

“Your Highness!” the maid calls in a high, thin voice. “Come and tell me if this look is to your satisfaction.”

“They’re just clothes, for the gods’ sake,” mutters the Princess, coming from the breakfast room into the bedroom.

She stops.

Her mouth compresses tightly, her fingers squeeze into fists, and her eyes blaze. She looks as if she’s about to attack me.

I have done something wrong, and I’m not sure what it is. Did I forget to fasten my pants? No, they’re buttoned as they should be.

“Will this do, Your Highness?” the maid says, with a half-suppressed smile. “Does your thrall please you?”

“He will do,” the Princess says tightly. “Enough simpering, Jan. Surely you have some chores. Go. And call us a carriage.”

The maid, Jan, hurries away after another smirking glance at me.

The Princess doesn’t speak to me during the drive through the city, but she doesn’t protest when I push open the curtains covering the windows so I can look out as we drive.

The Royal Seat is a city like any other—long rows of shops and homes, some plazas and green spaces, a fountain or two. And people, people everywhere, jostling each other, carting bundles and baskets, towing children along, arguing, laughing. I note a few shops offering magical services—water-wielding, wind-wielding, healing, even memory manipulation.

“Do you ever wish you had magic?” I ask.

The Princess startles as if I slapped her. “What?”

“Magic. Sometimes I’m jealous of those who wield it.”

“I’m not,” she says sharply.

I shrug.

Long minutes pass, and then she says, “Of course I’m jealous. Who wouldn’t be?”

“Exactly.” I give her a smile and resume staring out the window until we arrive at a tall mansion built of peach-colored stone.

As we’re getting out of the carriage, she says under her breath, “Mind yourself and don’t embarrass me. Khal isn’t expecting us—I didn’t want to give him the chance to invite anyone else over to ogle you.”

“He’s a friend of yours?”

“No. A friend of my sister’s. But he has always been as kind to me as she would allow. And he loves showing off his thralls and telling everyone how to train theirs. My sister would never disclose her training secrets, and if she knew we were here, she’d prevent Khal from sharing his.”

“Another reason for not telling him of your visit in advance.”

She nods. “He will be attending Summerglee with us, so I will have to bribe him to stay quiet about your existence until then. Keep silent unless I tell you to speak.”

A pair of perfectly matched servants—twins, I’d guess—welcome us at the door and lead us through the spacious halls of the house into an airy room whose doors open onto a water garden. There’s a chaise lounge, large poufs, enameled tables, and feathery plants in urns. A naked young woman with fawn-colored skin is sitting on a stool, playing a full-sized harp. The harp is a unique shape I’ve not seen before, and it’s tucked between her legs, right against her bare sex.

I swallow hard and look away, willing myself not to react.