Page 89 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess

Something rattles and clanks far away. Footsteps, coming closer.

The cell door grates open.

Ruelle enters. She’s wearing a color I’ve never seen her in before—a short, sleeveless tunic of rich crimson, slit up the thigh. Nowhere to hide a knife. Her blond hair lies in a loose braid over her shoulder.

“I assume you’ve got the key to these manacles in your panties?” I say.

“No key.” Her torture tone, sinister and seductive. “And no panties.”

My jaw drops. Gods. This woman will be the death of me.

“How late is it?” I ask.

“Vienne kept me in the parlor until past midnight. I learned a new strategy game. And I would have gotten the key if I could, but one of her personal guards has it. I only managed to slip down here now because she went to Bazra’s room. I think she’s planning to make him her consort.”

“Of all the shitty bastards in this shitty kingdom,” I mutter.

“Exactly.” She approaches, wrapping her fingers around the slim gold lead that still dangles from my collar. She tugs it lightly. “I’ve been slacking on your training, thrall. Now is as good a time as any to get in some practice.”

I’m already hard, just from the sight of her, the citrus-and-spice fragrance of her. I want her mouth on my mouth, and I want it now. Patience isn’t one of my strengths. Unfortunately I suspect she has some torture in mind.

She glances down, and her eyebrows lift as she notices my shorts already jutting outward. “So quickly?”

I vent a hoarse laugh. “You should know by now, Princess—you’re my trigger word, my trigger scent, my—my everything.”

The instant the words are out, I slam my jaws shut and look away.Damn it.Idiot. Showing your cards too soon, Ducayne.

She steps nearer, and in the hitch of her breathing I read what I couldn’t before—she’s nervous. Bold little thing that she is, savage and reactive, she is new to this. She came to me for play, for sex, and now she feels awkward and unsure, especially in the face of my foolish declaration.

“Did they give you anything to eat?” she asks.

“No.”

“I should have brought you food.” She chews her lip in aggravation. “I’m selfish, like you said. I don’t do this.”

“Visit men in dungeons and torment them with your presence? You do that all the time, Highness.”

“No—this. Trying to—take care of someone. Trying to—touch them—when I’m not angry.” She places her palm over my breast, and a shiver runs through me. “I’m no good at it.”

“You could go back to your room.”

“Alone?” She looks so unhappy that I laugh, hoarse and ragged.

“I thought you like being alone, Highness.”

“I do, but—” Her hand travels to my throat. “Your voice sounds different.”

“I screamed for a while this afternoon. See, the guards decided to use a flogger studded with sharp bits instead of a plain leather one. Scooped some nice furrows in my back.”

The darkness that suffuses her face then is more terrifying than any storm. “Which guards?”

“Stefa healed me. I’m all right.”

“Which. Guards.”

“Antagonizing your sister even more isn’t helpful for either of us. Listen, Ruelle—Ward had an idea—he came down here to tell me about it. We’d all get something from it—protection for you, money and partnership for him, and for me—your continued presence.”

I explain Ward’s proposal to her. “It’s a way out of the palace, Ruelle. Away from Vienne. And Ward said he would share you with me, so—”