To the Princess Bound (Terms of Mercy) by King Sara

Author:King, Sara [King, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

As soon as the door was open, Victory’s father strode in, red-faced and furious. His blonde eyebrows stood out on his crimson face like fresh snow upon a bloodstain. “I commanded you to attend me,” he snarled. “How dare you disobey?”

“I sent a response message,” Victory said, still lying in bed, “but since my brother tells me you rarely read your messages, perhaps you didn’t catch the fact that I would politely vomit all over your table and shit all over your chair. I’m sick. Have been since eating in Cook’s kitchen the last time. I think I found some bad cheese. I can’t move without my world spinning and my bowels spilling themselves like pudding from a sack.”

Her father narrowed his eyes, but she saw a flicker of recognition there.

You bastard, Victory thought, her hopes that her father was not responsible for her assassination attempts dashed by the calculation on his face.

“I was told you weren’t eating from the kitchen anymore,” her father finally said.

“I’m not,” Victory snapped. “If this is what I get?” She snorted. “I’ll eat my own food, thank you. Whatever disease is plaguing his kitchen can stay with Cook.”

“Have the doctors attended to you?” her father demanded. “You don’t look sick.”

Victory gave him a grim smile. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

Her father gave her a distasteful look. “No, I am quite content with—” He froze, his eyes on her slave. His face darkened to a thunderhead. His voice was utterly cold when he said, “You clothed him.”

“Yes,” Victory said. “He is my slave, after all.”

“I ordered him to be naked.”

“You also ordered me to dinner,” Victory said. “We saw how well that worked.”

Her father stared at her as if she had lost her mind. Then, slowly, she saw his anger rise again, like a volcano that was slowly increasing pressure from the inside. “Praetorian,” he said, his eyes still fixed on Victory, “Beat her slave to death. She can drag around a corpse for the rest of the trip.”

As three of his house guard stepped forward, ten black-clad women stepped between, swords out and resting on the men’s throats. Behind them, nine more women drew swords, the sound of ringing steel sweet to Victory’s ears.

“Turns out,” Victory said, as her father sputtered in rage, “My personal guard have taken a liking to the brute. Now get out of my chambers.”

For a moment, she thought her father would actually be stupid enough to pick a fight. He had twelve Praetorian with him, the other four probably stationed at his chamber door. She had nineteen, and they already had their blades bared and ready, their hands on their energy weapons.

“If you don’t leave now,” Victory said softly, “I think I might decide to inherit my empire early, father.” She plucked a piece of her dinner from between her teeth. “After all, the house Praetorian serve the ruler. If you are dead, then that will be…” She cocked her head, pretending to think about it. “Why, that would be me.

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