To The Princess Bound by Sara King Page A

frenzied climb.  “Follow me.”  She led him, shuffling and hunched under his sheet, to the restroom.  She opened the door, and only then did she realize her problem.  The toilet was far in the back, near the large stone basin tub.  She could let him step inside first, but then he would have no idea where to go with the sheet over his head.  And she was not about to take his hand and guide him.
    The second problem was that the toilet seat lid was down, the room ever-so-thoughtfully maintained by her household staff.
    If she led him into the room to lift the seat, she would be trapping herself.  A spike of terror began worming its way through her gut as she considered being pinned against the wall by his massive body while he—
    “I just want to pee,” he promised.  “I don’t care where or how at this point.”
    She flinched, glancing back at the lump of sheet.  He can read my mind, she thought, unnerved.  Then, biting her lip, she snatched a heavy golden mermaid-statue off of the shelf beside the door.  With it in a fist, she found the confidence to continue.  “I’m going to lead you in.  When I tell you to stop, you stop .  Understand?  You don’t, and I’m gonna cave your skull in.”
    He nodded, a bobbing in the sheet.
    Swallowing hard, Victory moved into the lavatory, pulling him with her.
    He never stumbled, never slowed.  When he reached the shift from carpet to tiled stone, he didn’t flinch or hesitate.  He walked through the door and kept moving.
    It’s almost like he can see through the sheet, Victory thought, frowning.  As far as she knew, Psis couldn’t see or affect anything but another mind.
    She backed to the toilet, then, still watching him carefully, squatted to lift the seat.  Then she backed up, crawled over the edge of the huge white marble tub, then climbed onto the shelf on the far side, against the wall, gripping the statue in a white-knuckled fist.  You’re trapping yourself, a frantic voice in her mind started to babble.  You’ve got nowhere to run…
    “Stop,” she said.
    But he was already turning, and she watched as he squatted forward over the toilet, sheet blocking her view.  At the first sounds of liquid hitting the bowl, she swallowed and looked away.
      “Ohthankgods.”  The big man let out a huge sigh and thumped his sheet-covered forehead against the wall.
    “Done?” Victory demanded, disgusted by her father’s cruelty.  When she was Adjudicator, she would make an Imperial decree that slaves could not be chained to living beings.  Such was barbarism of the highest degree.
    “Yes,” he said, sounding utterly relieved.  “Thank you.”
    “Turn around and walk out,” Victory snapped, to keep the desperation out of her voice.  What if he didn’t turn?  What if he didn’t obey her?  What if he decided to, instead, step into the bath with her and—
    He turned and shuffled back towards the door.
    Once he was well out of reach, Victory followed gingerly, but hesitated at the toilet, the thought of revisiting the whole nerve-wracking experience again in an hour making her feel sick.  And yet, the thought of performing a function so private, within eight feet of a naked man, left her nauseous.
    The Psi, once the chain went taut between them, stopped.
    Seeing him wait there, patiently, Victory made her decision.
     “Don’t turn around,” Victory whispered, her voice thick with shame.  She squatted and, as quickly as she could, finished her business, then sent the result to the composter.  She was shaking by the time she got back to her feet.
    The Psi waited, motionless, hunched over as low as his big body could go without falling over.
    “Back to the bed,” Victory said, too mortified to speak more than a whisper.
    The Psi moved flawlessly towards the bed, then, without being told, knelt again on the floor at his side.
    Once she was sure he wasn’t going to try and move, Victory rushed past him and flung herself across the bed,