Page 70 of Retribution

Cambridge looked at her, wine staining his lips. He smiled in a rather disturbing manner and she could see wine staining his teeth as well. “You may know,” he said. “Because you will be going to Westminster Palace.”

“For what purpose, my lord?”

“As a gift to the king,” Cambridge announced. “You will be a gift from me to Edward, a gift welcoming him back to England, and you will warm the king’s bed and stab him to death while he sleeps.”

That was a shockingly blunt way of putting it and Cleodora’s eyes widened. “A gift?” she repeated. “You intend to give me to the king?”

“I do.”

“But I… I thought you wanted me to poison him.”

He shook his head. “No longer,” he said. “I will give you a dagger to keep with you. A dagger with my crest upon it—and after you stab the king to death, you will turn the dagger on yourself. You will be found with my dagger in your chest, the king dead, and everyone will know that I sent you to kill Edward. Everyone will know that I hold the true power in England. Not that feckless wretch of a king.”

It took Cleodora a moment to realize what he was telling her. Cambridge’s bold plan bloomed right before her eyes and it was horrifying. She was to kill herself to send a message to Edward’s loyalists. She was to make a dramatic exit to show the world what control Cambridge had over life and death. He was selfish and dramatic even in the best of times, but this plan outdid anything else he’d ever done before.

This was to be his magnum opus.

And she was the vessel by which it would be accomplished.

Cleodora’s blood ran cold. She had known Cambridge to be a self-centered man, and he enjoyed controlling those around him, but this was beyond what she’d believed he was capable of. She wasn’t exactly shocked, to be truthful, but it brought about a far more serious issue—and that was the fact that he expected her to show such selfless loyalty to him, and have such complete disregard for her own safety, that she would kill a king whose only real crime was returning to the country he ruled. That was the truth of it.

It was positively baffling.

But he was looking for an answer, perhaps even praise, and he was looking for it at this very moment. Her silence on the matter would not be acceptable. He was drunk, that much was clear, which made him more dangerous than usual. Cleodora and been around him many times when he’d had too much wine and she knew that he could become mean and violent. She wondered if this outrageous plan was the result of the wine or if it was something he’d actually been considering. Whatever the case, she found herself in an incredibly dangerous situation because nothing short of blind obedience would keep Cambridge from raging.

He expects me to kill the king.

Then he expects me to kill myself.

How in the world could she agree to those things, even for the sake of her own safety?

She already knew the answer.

Cleodora had spent the past three years being owned by a despicable creature. Three years of mental abuse. Three years of being convinced she was nothing more than a possession. Three years of living in fear, which wasn’t living at all, and as she watched Cambridge take another drink of wine, she realized that in the few short days that she had known Aidric, he had shown her a life that she had been missing and desperately wanted.

He had opened the door.

Aidric had shown her compassion and kindness, and he treated her with respect. But was it possible that she was blinded by the fact that he was really the only man who had ever been truly kind to her? Of course it was. Anything was possible. But she knew, without a doubt, that anything other than the life she lived right now was better than what she had. She’d had a taste of something quite wonderful and perhaps that gave her a new perspective when it came to Cambridge’s demands. She could see what a petty child he was. Deep down, she’d always hated him, but at this moment, that hatred was no longer buried deep.

It was right at the surface.

“But… why must I die, too?” she finally asked. “Would it not be enough to leave the dagger with your crest on it as I vanish from sight?”

Cambridge frowned. “Of course not,” he said. “Your death would mean that only I am worthy of such veneration, such dedication. If one of the Seven Jewels of London is willing to kill, and die, in my name, do you not understand the prestige and awe that will bring upon me?”

His reasons were becoming worse by the second. “So that is what you want?” she said, sounding incredulous. “Not simply the king’s death, but reverence from those who will know that a courtesan was willing to die in your name?”

He looked at her as if she were stupid. “Your life is worthless unless I give it value,” he said. “You are a courtesan. A whore. The only thing of value you have is whatever I say you have. You do as I command, Pearl. And you will do what I tell you to do.”

Your life is worthless.

She’d been hearing that from him since the day she came into his possession. But she wasn’t worthless. She had education and training. She could speak several languages and she had a talent for art. Most of all, she was descended from a siren and their most lethal quality was their voice. It could move mountains, charm men, and change the course of nations. No, she wasn’t worthless. Aidric had helped her see that in even the brief time she’d known him. She’d spent all of her time with Cambridge being fearful to speak her mind and show her voice, instead relegated to pure obedience and surrender.

But now…

Now, he was telling her she had to die for him.

She was at a crossroads.