“And what would I want with this fat bitch?” the lady asked in a silken,
saccharine voice.
The man next to her chuckled and nuzzled her back, pressing indecent
kisses on her scarred neck. “Perhaps a little fun for later. I do love watching
you inflict pain.”
The lady perked up as half of her ruined face smiled. “I missed your
violent ideas.”
Menna focused her eyes on the ground as Hickon tugged her further into
the room.
“She’s a wet nurse and a tutor,” he said.
The baby cried and cried, muffled by oaken doors. The reminder that the
child was still somewhere soured the lady, and she groaned, standing and
making her silken blue skirts float around her. If she possessed even a
fraction of the natural goodness she was born with, she would easily be the
most beautiful woman alive.
Her eyes grazed Menna, enmity stroked on her lips. “Tell me. Are you
indeed wet?”
Behind her, the man laughed, lounging on the throne, and watching the
display with open arousal bulging his trousers. Menna cleared her throat
and forced her gaze to remain intimidated.
“Aye, m’lady,” she accented her tone. “My own babe died just last week.”
The lady made a false sound of sympathy and reached for Menna,
caressing her face. “Did you hear that, my love? One less child to
contaminate the world with its pitiful cries.”
“We’re blessed indeed,” the man replied.