The Decoy Princess by Dawn Cook

than I, anxious and stammering.
    Worried about being caught. Worried about not being caught. Worried about that damned prophesy.
    Even so, I was not such an innocent that the sight of a bare torso would fluster me. But Jeck… I swallowed and held my breath.
    Burning chu pits. The man is magnificent . His shoulders were marred with old white scars, but they were as strong and smooth as the blacksmith’s. His skin was dark from the sun, looking like well-oiled wood as his muscles bunched and eased as he moved. I could see every line that ran down his abdomen to vanish beneath his trousers. His power was clearly born from long hours with a blade. No longer hidden behind the disguise of clothing, his every movement possessed the unconscious grace of a predator. He was beautiful. And I’d never seen his like.
    Olen returned and apprehensively extended a short black-stained whip to Garrett. The prince snatched it, his expression ugly. “Hold him down,” he demanded.
    Jeck shook his head, his hands clenched as he leaned over the table and braced himself. My eyes followed a puckered scar cutting a ragged path across his side. It hadn’t healed as well as the others.
    There was a faint red mark on his chest where my dart had found him.
    “Let me remind you,” Garrett said as he staggered to stand behind him. “You are here to keep me alive !”
    He swung the whip at his last word. It met Jeck’s back with a crack. I jumped, startled. Jeck tensed, his eyes staring straight ahead at the tapestry. It was as if he was looking at me, and I backed up from the musty fabric. Olen reached to catch Garrett as he stumbled, thrown off balance by his swing.
    “It’s the only reason you are here !” the prince said. The whip descended, the blow harder this time.
    Jeck’s eyes narrowed as his anger grew. My mouth went dry, and I bit my lip.
    “Another lapse,” Garrett said, “and you’ll be chained with the slave detail, Captain Jeck !”
    The prince nearly fell as the whip met Jeck again, the poison’s effects returning. Olen caught him, and Garrett hung in his grip, his face white. “Find her. Bring her to me,” he panted.
    Garrett threw the uncoiled whip at Jeck’s back. I started as it hit him and slid to the floor. “Finish whipping him,” Garrett rasped. “Do it properly.”
    They weren’t done ? I thought in horror.
    I didn’t move as Garrett was all but carried out by a sentry. Olen looked at the remaining guard, then Jeck. “He’s going to kill us, Captain,” he said softly. “Taking a palace with boys and old men? We’re spread too thin, and what we have are poor soldiers at that. Half-trained and better at guiding a plow or chopping vegetables than to stand where you tell them.”
    “He gave you an order,” Jeck said. His voice was low with a barely leashed anger.
    Olen edged the whip away from Jeck’s boots before bending to pick it up. Taking Garrett’s place, he pulled his arm back and swung, grunting with the effort. The leather hit Jeck with a loud, soul-breaking crack. My air hissed in, my hand going to my mouth. It was nothing like Garrett’s blows. Jeck’s head jerked, and his eyes bulged at the sudden, real pain.
    Taking no pause, Olen swung again. Garrett had been weak from the venom; Olen was not. He was using all his strength to drive the cord into Jeck’s flesh. It came away red with blood. My pulse pounded, and I watched, horrified but unable to look away.
    A third strike, and Jeck grunted. His grip on the table went knuckle-white. The muscles in his neck became cords. His teeth showed as he gritted them. My eyes went hot with tears.
    I looked away at the fourth strike, unable to watch Jeck’s eyes glaze with pain. So it was that I only heard the fifth strike and Jeck’s groan. I was shaking, holding a hand over my mouth to keep still. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t . How could someone do that to a person?
    “Five strikes, Captain,” Olen said somberly. There was a hesitation,