Hers to Command Page 5

  “How nice to see you up and about, Princess!” Thunk. A small, brass paperweight sailed across the room and bounced off the wall.

  “I’m so glad you aren’t a raving lunatic, Princess!” Crash. A china figurine hit the wall. It did not bounce.

  “Isn’t it jolly that we saved Verdantia, Princess!” Shuddering, she returned the picture of her father and mother to the table and flung herself into an armchair. “Men!”

  With a small sigh, she relaxed. Sari and Camilla said he refused to leave me, would let no other touch me. He must care for me, a little.

  Chapter Three

  The Planet, Nuovo Terra

  The City of New Roma—Residence of Augoust Herrimon

  One of the most influential Chairmen to the League of Federated Planets took pride in the fact he was also the most corrupt. Herrimon Augoust, Nuovo Terra’s Planetary Chairman on the LFP’s governing council, had accumulated a vast fortune selling his influence. The military “incident” in Verdantia provided yet another opportunity.

  Krakoll, the barbarian Haarb leader, had given him an enormous sum of money and two choice Verdantian slaves in exchange for blocking Verdantia’s entry into the League.

  Verdantian diplomats lobbied daily for their planet’s admittance into the LFP and immediate military support to repulse the invading Haarb. After twelve months of fruitless argument, the Verdantian representative pulled him aside, quietly offering a fortune in cinnagin to advance their cause.

  Feeling beyond the reach of either, Herrimon accepted both.

  * * * * *

  Herrimon Augoust entered the sumptuous master bedchamber on his private estate on Nuovo Terra. The hour was very late. He was pleasantly high on drugs and more than pleasantly sated sexually.

  The younger woman had been better than promised, so fresh and terrified. Her mother had begged so prettily for him to spare her daughter. Stupid Verdantian bitch—to think for even a moment she could bargain with him. He smirked in satisfaction. He’d had them both, the aristocratic bitch of a mother first, so he could watch her innocent daughter’s face as he ‘played’ with her highborn mother.

  They should prove entertaining for at least another seven-day before he had to ‘restock’ the playroom. Perhaps even longer; certainly the older woman would last that long but he had doubts about her daughter. She couldn’t take much pain. He had barely begun before she lost consciousness.

  His rock-hard cock pulsed against his groin. By the gods, he was a stallion. He had been fully erect for hours. He had come multiple times, regaining his erection within minutes each time. He chortled gleefully. He was a fucking bull of a man. His past impotence was an anomaly, a mere aberration. He was a fucking bull.

  The cinnagin he received for voting in favor of Verdantia’s acceptance into the League was as potent as promised. He had to obtain more. He would take a small nap and some refreshment then return to his playroom. His little toy should have regained consciousness by then.

  “Lights—on—low,” he commanded as he sauntered further into his rooms. As the house computer system brought the lights up to dim, he reeled to a standstill. “Krakoll.” Augoust felt his bowels loosen. There sat the leader of the Haarb, in his bedroom. Why hadn’t his guards intercepted this piece of refuse? He paid them exorbitantly for just that reason. His heart jackhammered in his chest. His bladder threatened to void itself.

  The swarthy Haarb leader stared coldly. His fat lips sneered, exposing sharply pointed, brown stained teeth. Leaning forward, Krakoll contemptuously spat out a viscous glob of mucus and masticated, olive-green leaf matter. Augoust gaped in horror-struck incredulity as the slimy gobbets splattered his costly footwear. They are ruined. I’ll never get that off.

  “You haven’t lived up to our agreement, Councilman Herrimon.” The Haarb’s murky yellow eyes carried a surety of pain. “You were to block Verdantia’s acceptance into the LFP. Now we fight the League’s elite marines instead of unarmed Verdantians.”

  Krakoll rose ponderously from the luxurious chair and casually stood, almost touching Augoust. The savage nomad towered over the slightly built council head. Augoust stood gaping, transfixed in place, every muscle screaming “Run! Run!” yet incapable of movement or sound. Perspiration popped from every pore in his body. Sweat beaded on his forehead then trickled down his face. His heart thundered in his ears.

  “Very pretty.” The Haarb killer flicked his fingers through the fine materials and jewels covering Augoust’s chest. “Did we buy these for you?”

  Krakoll cocked his head and Augoust felt himself skewered by Krakoll’s eerie yellow eyes with their vertical, snake-like pupils. Expelling a revolted whimper, he recoiled backward from the miasma of stench that accompanied the Haarb leader’s breath.

  “Where are you going, pretty man?” Krakoll’s meaty, calloused hand grabbed Augoust by one of his costly chains of metal and jewels and inexorably wound it around and around its rough, scarred surface. The precious metal bit sharply into Augoust’s skin, pulling him ever closer into the Haarb leader, constricting his breathing and raising him on his toes until he dangled, suspended, strangling, at the end of the massive barbarian’s burly fist.

  Krakoll closed the small gap. Augoust clawed frantically at his throat, desperate for air. Krakoll’s nose pressed against his jaw and sniffed. The Haarb’s slavering tongue snaked up Augoust’s cheek in a swipe of saliva as he kicked in the air, helplessly suffocating.

  Krakoll smacked his lips. “Very tasty. You stink and taste of Ardamonian spice. Are you addicted to that opiate, Councilman?”

  Shoved with brutal force to the ground, Augoust landed with a spine-jarring crack, sprawling between Krakoll’s feet, sucking in air through his tortured throat. His arms refused to hold him up and he melted into a boneless lump of unresisting flesh. “No, no, no—not addicted, no, no,” he croaked.

  Krakoll grunted in surprise. Running a hand to his crotch, he rubbed the hardening bulge. “Well, well, well, earther, you cut it with cinnagin. You maintain ruinously expensive habits.”

  He grinned derisively. “So, Councilman Herrimon, you like fucking fresh, young, aristo women. You like making it painful. In need of a little help getting ‘up’ for it?” Krakoll tilted his head as if he were mulling over a decision, then grinned with malicious enjoyment.

  Herrimon couldn’t overcome his terror or his need for air to formulate an answer.

  “We have something in common, Councilor Herrimon. I like giving pain too. I prefer fucking pretty, pompous, double-dealing earthers. I was going to simply cut you up a bit, make you a little less pretty but your cinnagin has changed my mind. I never waste a good hard-on.”

  The Haarb leader’s face morphed into a cruel mask. “Later we will discuss how you can correct your failure to block Verdantia’s entry into the League.”

  Disbelieving, Augoust held his throat in sickened horror as the Haarb opened his pants and fisted his thickly veined organ. The Haarb leader’s hand could easily enwrap a large sugar pulp melon, but as broad as Krakoll’s hand was, it could not fully enclose his engorging, lengthening staff. A fat purple head as thick as his fist emerged from the quickly retracting foreskin. The eye-like slit in the center seemed to stare directly at him. Augoust gaped, unable to look away, choking on small incoherent whimpers and garbled denial. He was finally able to force words through his tortured throat.

  “No, no, Krakoll, think! You need me. I can deliver Verdantia. I just need more time. Oh god, oh god, please don’t, don’t. Have mercy, oh gods, Krakoll, mercy. You will kill me.”

  The Haarb laughed delightedly. His hand supported his grossly abnormal member at its base while he leered down at Augoust.

  “Worried my fucking your mouth and ass will kill you, pretty man?” Krakoll pouted in mock insult. “How little you think of me.”

  Krakoll’s voice oozed solicitous care. “I need you on Raegill II in thirty days. I promise to get you to the Synth-Medico before you bleed out.”

  The
rest of his words were straight from a living nightmare. “As small as your mouth is, pretty man, you won’t be so pretty in the morning.”

  Krakoll’s eyes gleamed maliciously. “I would fit much better if you didn’t have those nice white teeth in the way, taking up space, catching on—things. Don’t you think so, Councilman Herrimon?”

  Augoust could only force some horror-struck gibberish through his savaged throat. He tried to crab backwards but his arms and legs refused to function.

  “Herrimon, Herrimon, you are forcing me to make the decisions,” Krakoll chided. The Haarb leader sighed and pretended a moment of contemplation, tapping a grimy finger to his pursed lips. “Such a pity to ruin your perfect smile; but yes, I think they must go.”

  “Wait, wait,” Herrimon croaked, shaking his head in appalled denial.

  The barbarian’s smile was gruesomely cheerful. “No, we will get this part out of the way right now. So much better all the way around, less anxiety for you.” Krakoll rolled his eyes. “All that tortured waiting, so cruel.”

  With his freakish cock thrusting out of his pants like a thick club, the Haarb leader fished in his pocket. Pulling out a studded sleeve of solid metal, he fitted it over the knuckles on his massive hand and smiled.

  “Blood makes a good lubricant. There, you see Councilman Herrimon, I can be merciful. Oh, dear me, look at that. Why, Councilman Herrimon, you soiled yourself and ruined your fancy clothes. Don’t worry, it won’t spoil our fun,” Krakoll consoled, advancing. The Haarb leader’s voice became a vicious sneer. “I am not nearly as fastidious as you are…”

  * * * * *

  Doral’s muscles screamed at his long inactivity. He ignored them. His brain registered the frigid cold penetrating his wet clothing. He shut it out. Prone, covered by dense foliage, invisible to any observer, his eyes scanned the brooding clouds intently. A flicker of orange flared through the gray. There. They landed there. Quiet satisfaction suffused him. His informant had been accurate. Rising with lithe grace, he slipped through the forested undergrowth on a path converging with that of the private lander. The craft would have bare minutes to land and take off before Verdantia’s electromagnetic disruption disabled its engines.

  Hidden close by, Doral observed patiently as the craft disgorged its treacherous passenger and immediately powered thunderously into the heavens. Warmly cloaked against the poor weather and high altitude, the traitorous aristocrat waited, alone, in a sheltered copse. The clack of horses’ shod feet slipping on rock and the murmur of men’s voices could be heard as an armed detail ascended the mountainous trail to the landing site. They will find only your dead body, you duplicitous filth. But it would be a close thing—no time for interrogation. The visconte slipped into the copse and on silent feet moved to within striking distance. Dropping a needle-sharp stiletto into the palm of his hand, he engaged with and quickly disabled his prey.

  Holding the victim’s arm twisted behind his back, dislocation imminent, his stiletto poised to enter the man’s throat, Doral whispered into the traitor’s ear, “By High Lord DeTano’s command, for your betrayal of Verdantia, you die, Duca Loretto.”

  “DeLorion! Wait, I can pay…” The traitor’s protest ended in a gurgling, liquid gasp as Visconte Doral DeLorion’s blade slit his throat.

  He gently lowered the limp body to the ground and rapidly searched it, carefully removing a heavy packet of folded papers from the dead man’s clothing. Glancing quickly at the papers, his lips twitched in a slight smile of satisfaction. Finally—proof. There is a traitor among the LFP. Now who is it?

  Doral swiftly skirted the incoming troop detail and vanished down the side of the mountain. Finding a place well hidden, he carefully reviewed the papers in his hand, then folded them away in his tunic for safekeeping. Doral’s mind slipped away to dwell on his absent High Lord. He wondered how matters progressed between Conte DeTano and the princess. The subtle, yearning ache that had grown with every day their separation lengthened now threatened to become a sense of true loss. I wonder if I will ever have him? Doral shut the thought away, unexamined. He couldn’t accept what his brain told him the logical outcome of that possession would be.

  * * * * *

  The past week had brought a startling, no—alarming—revelation. Fleur sought answers from the sole person she knew to ask.

  “Princess?” Elder Patricio’s knock on the royal apartment door sounded tentative.

  “Please come in, Elder.” Fleur smiled at him through the partially open door. “Sit here.” She indicated a comfortable armchair pulled up next to her position on the low chaise. She put her reading, a storehouse inventory report, on top of a stack next to her on the sofa. Overbalanced, the papers cascaded to the carpet in a slither of paper. She eyed them in distaste.

  “How may I help you, my dear?” the elder asked, seating himself beside her, shoving the papers away with his foot.

  “Elder.” She tossed a roll of parchment tied with streaming ribbons adorned by heavy gold medals onto his lap. “Explain, please.”

  He untied the ribbons and unrolled the parchment. As he scanned it, his eyebrows rose.

  He took a deep breath. “Your father and I arranged your marriage to the heir of House DeTano when you came of age. Obviously, what you have here is the contract.”

  “I am now twenty-one. I am of age.”

  He nodded cautiously. “Yes. It was arranged fifteen years ago.”

  “Fifteen years ago.” She shifted uneasily in her seat. “And the heir to House DeTano is Camliel Aristos DeTano.”

  Now he shifted nervously in his seat. “Yes.”

  “The man I know as Ari.” She eyed him levelly.

  “Yes.”

  She turned away from him and gazed into the room. He sat quietly until she spoke again. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we had a good relationship. What were you hoping to accomplish by keeping such a secret?” She turned a serious face to him.

  He let out a long slow breath. “I care about you a great deal, Princess. Your father and I made the decision not to tell you because we did not want you hurt. Conte DeTano did not agree to the contract willingly. Both your father and his parents used coercion to obtain his signature. I would prefer not to tell you exactly what he was threatened with.”

  By his expression, she realized he was embarrassed. “It was unconscionable.”

  He looked down. “It was my fault. I pushed for it. DeTano took it poorly. Honestly, how could he not? As soon as a way presented itself, the conte left Verdantia and stayed beyond our reach. Regardless of his defection, you were too young. To his credit, he negotiated the LFP’s military assistance and returned to fight when we were invaded but he never wavered in his very public, very vehement repudiation of any marriage.”

  Patricio let out a long sigh. “He is a brilliant man, and confoundedly uncooperative. I was vastly relieved to see him answer my summons to perform the Great Rite. That response was a first.” Patricio chuckled weakly. “I have summoned him many times. He ignored them all.”

  She sat quietly, thinking. “The last time I spoke with him, he was barely civil. Why does he dislike me so?”

  Setting aside the scroll, Patricio leaned forward and took her hand. “He does not dislike you. I have a very strong feeling he cares for you far more than he is comfortable with.”

  Fleur’s eyebrows rose and she looked at him askance. “I have a door that would disagree with you.” Patricio looked at her, puzzled. “Never mind; go on please.”

  “I think you have shaken him quite thoroughly.” Patricio’s hand went to a small wound on his throat and rubbed it absently. “How did you find out?”

  “A certain lady of the court sought an audience with me. She warned me that Conte DeTano was a poor choice for a consort. He would not remain faithful. I didn’t know what she spoke of. Then there was a second request and audience. I dismissed it as spite. But the third audience was with one of our prominent lords.”

  Fleur looked up at Patric
io’s smothered laugh. She smiled weakly. “I hate that I still blush.”

  Patricio leaned over and took her hand. “My dear, I suspect all those lovers, those lords and ladies that he bedded, they were just a spit in the face of his parents and the king. If you want him as husband and consort, be brave. Ask him.” His face sought hers. “Do you?”

  “I have not decided.” She stood and smiled at Patricio. “I won’t take any more of your valuable time, Elder Patricio. Thank you.”

  After the elder had bowed and left her apartments, Fleur rang a small hand bell and a page appeared at her door.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Ask Conte DeTano if he will speak with me in my chambers, please.”

  The page bowed and went to deliver his message.

  It was perhaps an hour later when her guard tapped lightly. “Your Highness.”

  “Yes, Eric.”

  “Conte DeTano is here.”

  “Please admit him.” She watched from her seat on the chaise as Ari strode into the room.

  “Your Highness.”

  “Conte,” she smiled. “Please, sit.”

  “I prefer to stand if it is the same to you, Your Highness,” he replied curtly.

  “It is not. I dislike having you loom over me like a bomb about to explode.”

  A laugh startled from his lips and he smiled as he sat down in the chair Patricio had vacated.

  He is so handsome when he smiles.

  “My second-in-command sent me some troublesome news today. I am out of sorts. I didn’t mean to direct my temper at you, Your Highness.”

  “Apology accepted. I would like it very much if you would call me Fleur. You did before.”

  “Yes, well. Being balls-deep between your legs creates a certain intimacy,” Ari said with a wicked grin. “If that is your wish, Your Highness, Fleur, it is.”

  Heat crept up her cheeks. He says the most unexpected things. Taking a deep breath, she regrouped, handing Ari the scroll. “Tell me about this.”