Page 73 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess

Surely he knows I will punish him for that indecent joke at my expense.

And yet—

He’s shifting their perspective on me. Painting me as someone sexual and desirable, not the crawling, creeping, murderous monster my sister wants them to believe I am.

Even now, Vienne is casting sharp glances our way from the table where she’s playing cards with Imrissa, Bazra, and others. The uproarious fun at our table bothers her.

Truthfully it bothers me, too, but for different reasons. Everyone is behaving as if Keb, Jilleen, and Lombard never existed—and though I didn’t really know any of them, purposely forgetting their deaths feels wrong. Maybe because I suspect I would be just as easily forgotten if I died.

These nobles are young. They don’t want to face the reality of death. For them, Summerglee is a defiant celebration of life, youth, and beauty. Death has no place here. All thoughts of Arawn’s domain must be banished.

“Mistress.” Ducayne’s voice breaks my reverie. He’s half-turned in his chair, looking up at me as I stand behind him. “May I touch my dice to your breasts, for luck?”

I glare at him.

“That doesn’t work,” one of the noblemen sneers.

“More likely to bring you ill fortune,” mutters another.

The group at the table quiets, watching me, and in their eyes I see suspicion, derision, accusation. The certainty that even if I didn’t kill those people with my own hand, I somehow cursed this retreat by my very presence. I am the crow among the peacocks, spoiling their good time. A bird of ill omen.

Fuck that.

I slide off the straps of my gown and pull down the neckline, baring my breasts.

Ducayne gapes—I’m fairly sure he merely intended to rub the dice across my cleavage. He did not expect me to expose myself before these men.

One would think that in a setting like this, with pleasure and bodies serving as such common currency, the sight of my breasts wouldn’t have much of an effect. But the men all freeze, staring. One of them says, “Shit,” in a reverent tone.

In comparison to Vienne’s, my breasts seem small. But they are beautiful. A good size and shape. They suit me, and I refuse to be ashamed of them.

“Well?” I say to Ducayne. “Go on. For luck.”

His throat jerks as he swallows. Holding two dice in each hand, he rubs them lightly over my nipples.

The stimulation melts me inside. It’s all I can do to keep my face calm. But I can’t control the way my breasts tighten and peak at the touch of the cool, polished cubes, at the brush of Ducayne’s warm fingertips.

“My Princess, gentlemen,” says Ducayne. He gathers the dice in one palm and moves my dress back into place with his other hand.

There’s not a sound in the room as he rolls the four dice.

As they tip and settle into place.

All tens. The highest possible sum. Which makes him the winner.

The men explode, shouting, bellowing their astonishment. They don’t seem sorry to have lost.

“Another game, and another round!” cries Cowen, lifting his cup and swaying in his seat. “Zurai, come over here and lend me your breasts, for luck!”

His thrall approaches and pulls out her enormous tits. They are far larger than Vienne’s, though they’re heavier, asymmetrical, not as unnaturally perfect. I don’t envy Vienne’s breasts nearly as much now that I know they were magically fabricated.

My sister is openly glaring in our direction now, and I can barely keep from smirking. I control myself by thinking of the poor water-wielder down in the dungeon. He will get his hands back, but I can’t imagine the agony he’s enduring in the meantime.

I stand behind Ducayne for two more rounds of the game. I don’t bare my breasts again, but I let him run the dice over my cleavage before each roll. And he wins both games.

The game isn’t only about luck; there is also strategy involved. I suspect Ducayne could have won every single round if he wanted to.

After his third win, I take his leash and tug gently. He rises from the table, bowing deeply to everyone. When one of the young nobles asks him for a goodnight kiss, Ducayne glances at me briefly, and when I nod, he takes the noble’s face in his hand and kisses him deeply, lecherously. My skin heats all over, jealousy and lust mingling at my core.