The Unbroken by C. Clark (ebook reader .txt) 📕

know how long the song would last. Her hand was a sweaty claw in Rogan’s, and his cologne burned her nose. Fury clawed up her throat. It tasted like bile. She couldn’t do this anymore. In the middle of a complicated turn, she yanked her hand away. Rogan grabbed it back. She pushed him off, but he held her fast. Others stopped to watch them and whisper, and the whole dancing formation ground to a halt.

“Everyone here knows what kind of meat your new master prefers, now that she’s parading you so openly. I’m not the one who looks the fool tonight,” he said.

“Are you entirely certain?” Luca said. She had come up behind them when their scuffle broke the flow of the dance. And her voice was even colder than usual as she almost whispered to Rogan.

Touraine’s world shrank to that voice and the desire to break out of Rogan’s grip.

“You will release her, Captain.”

He didn’t. He held on tighter, forcing a grunt out of Touraine as he pressed her against him. Warm. Hard muscle and breastbone, soft cotton. “Your Highness, surely there’s nothing wrong—”

“Release her, Captain, or Guard Lanquette will release your testicles from your body.”

Lanquette and Guérin flanked Rogan, and Gil stood just beyond.

Rogan’s grip slackened slowly. He puffed his chest forward, bowed sharply to Luca, and brushed through the guards.

Touraine stood rigid, her whole body hot with humiliation and fury.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured to Luca, her voice tight. Her fists shook at her sides. She resisted the urge to wipe her hands on her trousers.

The princess put a hand briefly on Touraine’s shoulder. “No, I apologize. I should have rescinded his invitation after the trial.” The ice had melted—a bit.

“Take your place at the dais.” Luca’s voice remained just audible. “I don’t advise a retreat on your part. It wouldn’t look good for either of us.”

Touraine was torn. She would be damned if Rogan ever made her retreat. And yet—“And if I hound your heels? If he’s right and everyone does think you… a fool?” She uttered the last words barely audibly, afraid even to say them aloud.

“I would never send one of my guards to her room like a child.” Cold again, and her eyes left no room for argument.

It was the middle of the night when the last guests left. Luca still sat in her fine chair on the dais. Touraine’s legs were as stiff as if she’d been standing on the parade grounds a full day. The house felt too empty now, even with the extra servants on hand for cleaning up. Lanquette and Guérin were securing the house. Silence pressed on Touraine’s ears. It was wonderful.

The reprieve was brief.

“Lieutenant,” the princess said sharply.

Touraine snapped to attention out of habit before rounding Luca’s chair to stand in front of her.

“What did I say about embarrassing me?” Luca let her head loll forward, then side to side before her eyes pierced Touraine’s. She inhaled sharply through her nose, as if she were dragging her temper back from the edge of a cliff.

The retorts ran through Touraine’s head.

Rogan grabbed my arm. He made me dance with him. He insulted you.

I didn’t ask to be here, paraded at your right hand, dressed like a prize.

I don’t want to be your pet.

She bit her tongue on every sky-falling one. She hadn’t forgotten the warning in the cramped dark of that sky-falling jail. And she had asked for Luca to save her from that darkness. It was this or the sharp nothingness of half a dozen rifles.

She wasn’t sure if living was worth it. She rubbed her wrist. Her legs and feet ached from standing all night. She’d told Pruett she would help the Sands. That she would rise, and here she was already. Dressed like a noble, with a princess whose eyes searched her openly.

Luca was as much a jailer as she was a safe bunker.

Touraine bowed low. “Have I done something wrong, Your Highness? Forgive me.”

The other woman’s narrow jaw was clenched, and Touraine understood why. After just a couple of days in Luca’s household, Touraine already recognized the way the princess needed everything to be propped just so, and everyone under her orders. Luca thought she knew people, and expected them to do as she thought. Or she would make them do as she thought.

Luca hadn’t expected Rogan, and what an oversight that was. Now she would have to reconsider her plans for everyone who had seen Touraine dragged across the dance floor until Luca came to her rescue. Touraine didn’t know the intricate webs of Balladairan noble ties, but she knew gossip. Luca’s reputation might not be ruined, but tonight was a blow.

No wonder Luca’s knuckles were clenched white on the arms of her chair.

To Touraine’s own surprise, the fingers eased up, one by one.

Finally, the princess exhaled sharply through her nose. “An insult to my staff is an insult to me. As such, I will seek redress. Your job is to act with the dignity and self-control as befits someone of my staff. Do you understand me perfectly?”

Touraine stiffened at the rebuke. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good. You’re dismissed for the night.”

Luca closed her eyes and leaned back again with a sigh.

Touraine hesitated, caught between the two prongs of Balladairan obedience: avoiding wrongdoing and doing good work. It was the delicate dance she’d been doing her whole life.

“Was there something else?” Luca asked.

“The modiste girl. I wondered if she might be a rebel.”

Luca opened one eye. “What makes you say that?”

Touraine shrugged. “The things she said. She didn’t sound impressed by us.”

Luca sniffed and closed her eye. “I half expect any Qazāli with money to have some deal with the rebels. She did speak as if she was on their side.”

Touraine looked wistfully around for a chair, but none were close enough for debriefing. That, and Luca had not invited her to sit.

A tense silence. “Excellent. Maybe the rebels will use your indiscretion against me as well.” Could acid freeze? If so, that was