Free Parasite Soul by Chris Jags

How unfortunate that Tiera knew of no method of
resurrection through which the handmaiden might be subjected to all three
fates.
    Satisfied that her father’s men were in hot pursuit of the insolent
peasant and the infuriatingly capable handmaiden, Tiera had contented herself
with ordering the men responsible for monitoring Niu’s chambers executed.
In vain they’d protested that, stationed in an interior palace hallway as they
were, it would have been impossible for them to have observed Niu’s escape;
Tiera wanted someone hurt, a salve for her wounded pride.
    No one , she thought fiercely, gown
rustling along the rug as she swept back and forth, no one rejects Princess
Tiera of the House of Minus .
    Casting her gaze around her magnificent bedchamber, her eyes
lingered on the luxurious four-poster bed, carved from rarest western
grettwood, that she might have shared with the strapping young peasant.
With his sun-weathered skin and calloused hands, what a change from soft,
powdered nobility he might have made, even if she had to burn the sheets
afterward! Who knew what delightfully crude techniques such a raw
specimen might have used to entertain her? At least one of her more
experimental noble peers told giggling tales of peasant men being hung like
oxen, if only one could overlook their ill manners and the grime beneath their
ragged fingernails.
    If that’s the case, perhaps I’ll mount his manhood on my wall, Tiera thought sourly. Right next to Niu’s head.
    A single, anxious rap upon her chamber door jolted her out of her
vengeful reverie. The palace servants knew better than to interrupt her
when her mood was so vicious. A guardsman, then, no doubt about her
father’s business. She waved a perfectly manicured hand irritably.
Farrow hurried across to the door and edged it open.
    “Message for the princess,” a mustachioed soldier said through the
crack in the door. “If she would kindly join the king in court.”
    “Tell him I’m busy.” Tiera folded her arms and glided across to the
open window, staring out over a city which she currently wanted to set alight.
    “The princess should be advised that the matter concerns her.” The
guard said nervously, still addressing Farrow. “A report is to be
presented as to the status of the… refugees.”
    Tiera’s eyes widened. “Do we have them?”
    The soldier studied the floor and answered cautiously. “The
princess would needs attend to learn the outcome of the search.”
    “No, then,” Tiera snapped. She flicked her wrist
dismissively. “You may inform father that I will be in attendance
presently.”
    “M’lady.” The man inclined his head and disappeared from
view. Farrow closed the door and stood awaiting instruction, her hands
folded in front of her. Her doleful expression infuriated Tiera.
What did the girl have to be so downcast about? Was not serving the
princess about the greatest honor a commoner could aspire to? Could her
own perceived misfortunes possibly equal Tiera’s own? She wanted to slap
the glumness off the wretched girl’s face.
    Restraining herself, she swung back to the window and glowered at
the rooftops below, toying with her shimmering diamond necklace. Quell
diamonds, the finest in the known world. She had the deepest fondness for
these coldly beautiful drops of crystalline ice, as hard and pale as her
soul. She would wear no stones which had not been mined by their tiny
southern neighbor; they were of the highest quality and the craftspeople of Quell
were unparalleled.
    It wouldn’t do to arrive in court too promptly, she decided, or her
father – who had taken significant liberties with her freedoms over this whole
affair to begin with – might come to think that she was entirely under his
control. If she waited too long, however, he would receive the report
without her, and she hated being out of the loop, however temporarily,
especially when the news was intimate concern to her and she might otherwise
have been