Burning for Love

by Evangeline Anderson

  The sight of her sensitive areas glowing and hot to the touch, sent a shiver of fear down her spine. She had always known that her Heat Cycle would be difficult to contend with—it was something all Royals of the Very First House had to deal with. But she hadn’t anticipated that it would cause her quite so much distress, or that her dreams would become so strange once it started…

  “All right now, let’s get you dressed.”

  Lady Mildew came up behind her, a perpetual frown on her wrinkled face. She shook her head and clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the sight of Rissa’s glowing points.

  “Well, well—it seems your Cycle is ramping up again. I’ll get the ice gel pads for your points but first we must put on your Chastity Wire.”

  “Must I wear it all the time now?” Rissa protested, as the older woman brought out a thin silver wire and slipped it around her waist, just above her full, curving hips. “You only used to put it on me before bed. Why is it necessary to use it all the time since my Cycle started?”

  “The belt keeps a young lady such as yourself pure and chaste,” Lady Mildew said briskly. “This way there’s no temptation for hands to wander where they shouldn’t as they did before you wore it.”

  “That was once—before I knew better!” Rissa protested as the older woman finished clasping the wire and turned it on with the remote she kept with her at all times. There was a low, buzzing hum as the chastity device came to life. It would deliver a painful shock to anyone—Rissa included—who tried to touch her between her legs.

  This seemed deeply unnecessary to Rissa. She had been wearing the wire to bed since she was ten years old—she’d learned by now not to touch herself—or to let anyone else touch her, for that matter. In fact, she automatically flinched if her hands even went near her nether lips—even when she wasn’t wearing the wire.

  The fact that she must never touch herself in her “intimate areas” had been well and truly ingrained in her from an early age. Why did her old chaperone think she would suddenly forget that important lesson simply because her Heat Cycle had started?

  Though, she had to admit, some things had changed since the Cycle started to ramp up. Her dreams, for instance. Sometimes they left her so…unsettled. One, in particular had been bothering her for the past month. She kept having the strangest dream of a man with pale skin—well, it was tan instead of brown, like her own, anyway—and with no pearlescent sheen. His skin had looked, in fact, much like the skin of the Kindred Commander and his wife, when they had come to visit.

  But it wasn’t just his skin that was strange, it was his eyes—they flashed a shiny, metallic blue like a hartha beetle’s wings. In her dreams, those eyes were always looking at her, staring in a way that sent shivers down her spine. And sometimes she thought she heard him whispering in her ear. He had a deep, rumbling voice that seemed to penetrate her bones and the things he was telling her to do… Well, she could never quite remember what he was telling her to do, when she woke up, but for some reason they made her feel so…unsettled.

  That was the irritation of it all, Rissa thought—that she couldn’t remember the details of her dream. She only knew that when she woke with his voice in her head and the image of those flashing blue eyes staring at her so hungrily, she felt a hot and urgent need she couldn’t explain between her legs. Once or twice, she had even forgotten about the Chastity Wire and reached down to try and ease the pain and need she felt there—only to be painfully shocked completely awake the moment her fingertips made contact with her heated flesh.

  But I would never do such a thing during the day, when I was awake, Rissa thought resentfully, as she stared down at the hated silver wire encircling her waist. Why must I wear it all the time? It makes everything so much more difficult and I’m certain people can see its outline beneath my gown!

  They could also see her points, glowing red with heat, even though she now wore ice gel pads to hide and cool them everywhere she went, Rissa thought. That much had been made clear when she’d read the latest issue of Lady TittleTattle’s Breadcrumbs.

  The Crumbs were written by some unknown person who always seemed to keep abreast of court gossip and the last issue had been entirely devoted to Rissa herself. Such scandal rags were common enough, but this issue had also mentioned her dear Mama and her untimely demise—which was something Rissa had been trying hard not to think about, ever since her own Heat Cycle had started.

  “Do you think my uncle, the Steward, will approve any new suitors for me to meet soon?” she asked, as Lady Mildew helped her put on her ice pads and then her long, white linen chemise and the white pantelettes, which fell to mid-calf. Next came her stockings and then her corset, which was laced tightly in the back—so tightly that Rissa sometimes felt she could barely breathe in it—though she knew better than to complain.

  The Steward was not truly her uncle, but only a very distant relation of her long-dead father, but he had been a fixture of the Court for as long as Rissa could remember. He had been her father’s personal butler and had been named in his will as Steward, which gave him the power to rule the planet in Rissa’s place, until she came of age and got married. He was also the only one who could approve or deny any suitors for her hand. And since her Heat Cycle was ramping up, Rissa certainly hoped he would find someone suitable for her soon.

  “I’m certain the Steward will approve some new suitors—maybe even tonight—since your Cycle is getting well-advanced,” Lady Mildew said. She frowned reprovingly at Rissa. “But you shouldn’t be so picky, my girl! The last two he approved would have suited you quite well. Both would have made excellent Royal consorts when you ascended to the throne.”

  Rissa frowned.

  “But one of them was old enough to be my grandfather! He was deaf and couldn’t hear a word I said. He kept on saying ‘Eh? What’s that? Eh?” And the other was scarcely more than a boy. He stuck his tongue out at me and ran away when we met! I cannot marry someone so unsuited to me in age and temperament!”

  The thought of letting either one of those suitors to “slake her Heat” made Rissa wince with disgust. Though, to be honest, she wasn’t quite sure what was involved in the slaking process. She suspected, however, that it might have to do with the way babies were made.

  Then again, she knew very little of that process either—no proper young lady of the Court did. She only knew it had something to do with letting a man kiss you on the lips—which was strictly forbidden. In which case, a baby would be formed and, if you were unmarried, your reputation would be irrevocably ruined.

  Regardless of the exact method of slaking, Rissa hadn’t wanted to let either of those males kiss or touch her. So she had refused them both, much to Lady Mildew’s dismay and disapproval.

  “It doesn’t matter what age they are, what counts is their bloodlines. It’s not proper for any male without Royal blood to slake your Heat,” her old chaperone said now, frowning. “Both of them had the Sheen to their skin. And the Steward would not have approved them if their blood wasn’t Royal enough.”

  “But surely there are other men at Court—younger men with plenty of Royal blood in their veins—that my Uncle might approve,” Rissa objected.

  Indeed, almost everyone at Court had at least a faint pearlescent Sheen to their skin, which indicated the presence of Royal parentage somewhere in their lineage. This was due to the fact that when Royal men came into their Heat Cycle, they weren’t required to wait until marriage to one well-chosen suitor, but instead could “sow their wild oats” with anyone they took a fancy to.

  By which, Rissa imagined, they went around kissing as many women as they liked, thereby making Royal bastards everywhere.

  Of course, as a lady, she was forbidden from such a thing, which didn’t seem fair at all to her. Not that she wanted to go around kissing strange men—certainly not! But it did seem to her that she might have more say in who she could marry and allow to slake her Heat. It didn’t seem fair or right that she should be restricted to choosing
from the few males the Steward had approved.

  But of course, she had never been consulted on such matters, she thought resentfully, as Lady Mildew helped pull the heavy Court gown over her head. It was made of white brocade, worked with golden thread, and had a high waistline, cinched tight, just under her full breasts.

  Unfortunately, her glowing pink points showed through the white fabric, despite the ice pads she also wore. Rissa wished that she might ever be allowed to wear any color but white, but that was out of the question. Every young lady at Court wore white until she was wed—the color was meant to show her purity and the fact that she was untouched, unkissed, and completely chaste. Only after she was wed and had ascended the throne, would she be allowed to wear any other color in public.

  Of course, by then, she would have no need for darker colors that covered her glowing points, because her husband would slake her Heat and then her points would no longer glow like two live coals beneath her gown. In the meantime, though, it was embarrassing in the extreme that anyone who liked, could gauge her Heat Cycle, just by looking at the outline of her breasts beneath her gown.

  “Push your ridiculous hair to one side, girl! So many buttons!” Lady Mildew groused, as she worked to button up the back of Rissa’s gown. “Confound that seamstress for putting so many in—she knows my joints pain me when I work them!”

  “Well, after tonight, you’ll have no need to button me up or help me dress at all, anymore,” Rissa pointed out brightly. “My new robot guard will do all of it and you may relax in your own apartments.”

  She tried to imagine what that would be like. She had visited her friend, Alyssa’s country house after the Season last year when they had just bought a new robot butler. She still remembered how the shiny metal man had rolled around their mansion, serving everyone drinks and snacks at the end of the Season party. He hadn’t seemed very useful otherwise, however—he couldn’t even climb stairs because his legs were fused together and he had wheels instead of feet.

  Rissa hoped that the robot the kind Kindred Commander and his sweet wife, Sophia, were sending her had more functions than just serving drinks and snacks. She really did need help dressing and undressing—getting into and out of the heavy Court gowns and large, powdered wigs was a two-person job!

  Still, she admitted to herself, she would be willing to take even a very limited robot if it meant getting rid of Lady Mildew, who had held the title of “Constant Companion to the Princess” and had been her chaperone ever since Rissa’s dear Mama had died. She could just call one of the maids in and ask her to help with the buttons and wigs if she had to—it would be worth the extra inconvenience to not see her old chaperone’s sour expressions and hear her constant scolding all the time.

  “You won’t be rid of me that easily, my girl!” Lady Mildew snapped, as though reading Rissa’s thoughts. “I’ll have you know, I’m still the one who’ll be keeping the remote to your Chastity Wire! And I’ll still be the one to take it off you and put it on you before and after bath times. So don’t get too excited about your new ‘freedom’!”

  “Yes, Lady Mildew,” Rissa sighed, feeling her heart thump back down to her feet. “But when can I stop wearing it?” she demanded. “I am of age now, you know! I have been these five years.”

  “When you are properly married, you may be allowed to stop,” Lady Mildew said, frowning. “It will depend upon your husband’s will in the matter.”

  “But I’ll be the Queen at that point!” Rissa pointed out.

  “That matters not a bit, my girl,” Lady Mildew said sharply. “You might rule the planet by virtue of your First Family blood, but your husband will still rule you—as is right and proper. There—I’ve finally finished those confounded buttons. Let’s get you into your wig.”

  The wig for tonight was a heavy one made of gray fuux-hair that rose a good two feet above Rissa’s head in a towering headdress bedecked with ribbons and lace. A fake bird’s nest with a tiny golden bird and three sky-blue eggs perched in the very center of it. The bird sang every now and then—three high, trilling notes that Rissa found unbearably irritating after a while.

  But before she could put the elaborate wig on, her own abundant curls had to be scraped flat and shoved up under a stretchy skull-cap. The cap had a tight seal that gave her a headache when she wore it too long but it was still better than being shaved bald, as Lady Mildew was always advocating.

  “You know, most of the ladies in Court have much shorter hair—or none at all,” the older woman said now, huffing in irritation as she attempted to shove Rissa’s hair into the tight, stretchy cap. “We ought to have the Royal barber in here and make an end to these confounded curls—it would make getting your wig on so much easier!”

  “I have told you before, Lady Mildew, I will not allow myself to be shaved bald, simply so it’s easier to wear these monstrous wigs we are all forced into by the dictates of fashion,” Rissa said coolly. “I like my own hair.”

  “Foolish vanity!” Lady Mildew muttered, shoving harder at Rissa’s hair and pulling out several long, curly strands which made Rissa wince in pain. “Let’s see how long you want to keep your hair when you don’t have me to slave over getting you ready, my girl! You think one of those shiny silver robots can do your hair? Why, you’ll be lucky to get it to run the bath water without falling in and shorting itself out!”

  Rissa ignored this tirade, as well as she could, and tried to hold still. At last her hair was all confined beneath the skull cap and Lady Mildew was able to fit the huge, gray wig upon her head.

  It was a weighty, wobbly tower of hair and it had to be secured with two dozen pins that dug sharply into Rissa’s scalp before Lady Mildew was at last ready to spray it with wig powder.

  The older woman took the miniature leather bellows from the dressing table and filled it with the starchy white powder. Then she draped a sheet around Rissa’s neck and gave her a shield to hold over her face.

  “Hold still now!” she commanded, and began pumping the bellows energetically, filling the air with the scent of laelock flowers and starch.

  Rissa held her breath and tried not to sneeze, which always resulted in her wig going askew and a severe scolding from her old chaperone. Ugh—she hated the fashions she was forced to wear. The white gowns that showed her glowing points and the heavy wigs that hid her real hair. Everything was just so fake—as fake as all the Ladies and Gentlemen at Court, smiling and bowing to her and calling her “Your Highness” and pretending to be her friends.

  But one of them tried to have me killed! Rissa thought to herself, as she waited for the wig powder to settle. It must have been someone from one of the First Families—someone who didn’t want me to ascend the throne and be Queen.

  She had been trying hard not to think about the assassination attempt—it had happened so quickly and was over so fast it almost seemed like a dream. The would-be assassin had jumped from behind the door in the palace library in a wholly unexpected attack that had left Rissa shaken for days afterwards.

  Though she tried hard to forget it, she could still feel the knife the man in black had held at her throat before one of the palace guards had shot him through the eye with a well-placed bullet.

  It was because of the attempt on her life that she was getting the Kindred robot guard. It had happened just before the visit of Commander Sylvan and his wife and they had promised her uncle, the Steward, that they could send a special kind of robot Kindred warrior who would keep her safe until her marriage and ascension to the throne.

  Which will hopefully be soon, Rissa thought to herself. Surely her uncle would approve a new batch of suitable suitors she could choose from before too long. After serving her sweet Papa for so long, he would certainly understand that her Heat Cycle had to be taken care of before she combusted, as her dear Mama had…

  But that was more than she wanted to think about right now. At the moment, she must concentrate on her new guard’s presentation to the Court and the ball that was
to follow.

  I just have to get through tonight, Rissa thought, as she rose carefully from the dressing table chair, making certain her freshly-powdered wig was sitting straight on her head. After tonight, at least I’ll be done with Lady Mildew—well except for the Chastity Wire!

  She wished she could be rid of that too, but she wouldn’t be able to until after she was married and her Heat was slaked. Because she didn’t care what Lady Mildew said, she would not allow her husband to continue making her wear the awful device, she told herself firmly. It was dreadful to get shocked every time she innocently needed to scratch her thigh or when she was dealing with necessary business during her Moon Blood.

  Of course, she had to find a husband first, before she got rid of the wire. And more importantly, before she burst into flames from unslaked Heat.

  But Rissa preferred not to think about that either. One thing at a time—for tonight, it was enough that she was mostly getting rid of her irritating chaperone and getting a shiny new robot in Lady Mildew’s place.

  She wondered again what her new guard would look like and then Lady Mildew was rushing her out the door—it was time for the presentation when she would finally see him for herself.

  4

  James shrugged his shoulders in unaccustomed irritation as he tried to get used to the new clothing he had been issued when he arrived on Regalia Five. He had flatly refused the constricting waistcoat, knee-length brocade breeches, stretchy stockings, and buckled shoes he had been offered. He preferred instead to wear the standard Kindred uniform of tight leather trousers tucked into tall, black boots and a long-sleeved uniform shirt made of heavy, silky material.

  As a Dark Kindred, his uniform shirt was black, which would have given him a rather monochrome appearance, if it weren’t for the ridiculous golden frock coat the palace’s head butler had insisted he must wear in order to be properly attired for Court.

  The coat was too small for James’s broad shoulders and he shrugged them again, feeling the tightness of the golden brocade fabric between his shoulder blades. How could a male fight in such constricting clothing? The moment he entered any altercation, he would split the damn thing down the middle! It was foolish vanity to put fashion before function, which James had attempted to point out to the butler.