Page 67 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess

“Perhaps we never knew each other at all,” I reply. “I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know your actual name.”

“I am Stefa.”

“Stefa.” I close my eyes as the pain in my chest recedes. “Thank the gods for you. Do they know what happened to Jilleen?”

“She was too badly eaten to be sure, but they suspect she drowned during the water show and the waveplay, and then her body washed a little way down the shore. She was in the sea with everyone else, but she cannot swim. The wielder was supposed to look out for her.”

“While he was also doing difficult magic?” My eyes open. “That seems unreasonable.”

“Forgive me, Highness, but a royal’s requests are not always reasonable.”

“You go too far, Stefa.”

“Forgive me, Princess.” She finishes recreating my nipple, and I suck in a breath as the nerve endings kick in again. I can feel every shift of the cool air in the room across my bare skin.

The healer hands me a blanket, and I wrap it around myself before sitting up.

“I’ll tend to your thrall now,” she says.

I rise when she does, following her to the blanket on the floor where they put my thrall. He’s face-down, bleeding profusely from bite wounds along his arms, legs, and buttocks.

Crouching beside his head, I reach out and scrape the wet hair off his face. His dark brows pull together slightly from pain. When I touch his forehead, his thick lashes flutter, but his eyes don’t fully open.

The healer’s golden light flares in the quiet gloom. We are alone, the three of us, so I allow myself to trace the corner of his jaw, its long slope down to his firm chin. He didn’t shave this morning, and there’s a hint of the dark scruff I like. Mesmerized, I stroke his lips with my fingertip.

"He saved my life,” I whisper. “He didn’t have to.”

“You are his Princess. His mistress.”

Slowly I shake my head. “It isn’t about that, for him. He’s—good.”

“Good?” The healer’s chuckle is raw. “No one is good. Not nobles, thralls, royals, or wielders.”

“I would have agreed with you on that, once. But this man—he is good.” I sweep my fingers through his hair, tangled by salt and wind.

“Any adjustments to him, while I’m here?” says the Healer, low.

“No. He’s perfect as he is.”

Before she’s done repairing him, Meldare and the other servants come for me. They hustle me off to my rooms, bathe me, and tuck me into bed, despite my protests that I’m fine. But I stop protesting when I realize that this event gives me an excuse to stay away from everyone else for the rest of the day. I can sit quietly in my room and “recover” from my ordeal.

“There’s a library here, isn’t there?” I ask Meldare.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Bring me some books. Anything with murder and war in it.”

“Maybe a little romance?” She gives me a knowing smile.

“Gods no.” I fake-gag. “War and blood and weapons, please.”

“As you wish. Though it seems there’s enough of that in this place. Did you hear what the Crown Princess did to the water-wielder? She blames him for Jilleen’s death, so she cut off his hands with her sword and put him in the dungeon. Says he’s not to be healed for a full day and night.”

Gods. That’s horrible, even for Vienne. Probably Bazra’s idea. “There’s a dungeon here?”

“Oh yes. The mayor of Oleyra has allowance for the dungeon’s use from the King himself, since it’s so secure. They put the worst criminals in it—murderers, thieves, pirates, and such.”

“Pirates?” I scoff, picking up the hot tea she brought me.