“What if there is another attempt on your Princess’s life and I am constricted by this ridiculous coat and unable to fight at full capacity?” he had demanded.
But the male had absolutely refused to listen, insisting that James would not be allowed in Court if he did not at least wear the frock coat as well as a white linen cravat wound around his throat.
“The Steward would have my head, Sir Robot, were I to allow you to enter the Receiving Hall without at least a frock coat and cravat!” he’d exclaimed. “You must have that much, at least, to be considered decent in society. I’m sorry if it’s too tight, but we don’t have any men your size on our planet,” he added, stepping back and considering the tightly-stretched golden fabric between James’s shoulder blades with a frown. “I’ll have the royal tailors make you something more suitable in the future, but for now, this will simply have to do.”
And with that, James had to be content—though he wasn’t in the least content. He was irritated and impatient. He—
Suddenly he frowned, considering his own thoughts. Irritated and impatient? Weren’t those…emotions? Was he feeling?
Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself uneasily, his fingers stealing up to the back of his neck to caress the small silver button of his emotion-damper. I’m not having emotions—I’m simply thinking strategically. I must be ready to defend the Regalian Princess with my life—I cannot be hampered by constrictive clothing when I am trying to guard her.
“Are you ready, Sir Robot?” a voice said in his ear, interrupting his inner musing. It was the head butler again. “You’re about to be presented to the Steward and the Princess Ka’rissa,” he added.
James straightened his shoulders as much as was possible and gave the other male a brief nod.
“I am ready.”
“Very good then. I’ll have the servants draw the curtains and then you walk through. Stand for a moment at the end of the red carpet until the herald announces your name and title. Then you can make your way to the midpoint of the carpet. Stop again, until the guards let you pass. After they do, you can make your way to the Royal Dais and bow low before the Steward and the Princess. Remember, your head must be lower than the Steward’s—that’s very important,” he added. “Do you understand all this or should I repeat it?”
“I understand,” James said.
“But the instructions are a bit complicated.” The butler looked worried. “Sometimes, in the heat and fluster of being presented at Court, people forget them or mix them up. Perhaps I’d better tell you again.”
“I think not.” James looked directly at him and repeated everything he’d just said, word-for-word, even using the male’s own tone and inflections. When he finished, he raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “Well? Do you believe me now?”
“My word!” The Butler looked at him, his face betraying shock and awe. “You might look like a man, but you really are a robot! How’d you do that then? You sounded just like me!”
“My brain enhancements give me photographic and eidetic memories,” James said blandly. “And mimicry is an exceptionally easy skill to acquire.”
“You talk like a robot, too!” The Butler was still giving him that shocked, look.
James reflected that it was a good thing he had spent the last five years aboard the Mother Ship learning to read the emotions on the faces of others, otherwise he might have taken the male’s wide eyes and open mouth as a sign of some kind of aggression.
“I thought I was about to be presented to the Steward and the Princess,” he said. “Have the plans changed?”
The butler seemed to recollect himself.
“Oh, no—no indeed,” he said quickly. “Come with me to the curtain if you would please, Sir Robot.”
James followed the little male—but then, all the males here on Regalia Five were small in contrast to his own Kindred size and musculature. They went down a long hallway which ended in a two-story-tall arch that was hung with rich crimson curtains. Just under the curtains, James could see the start of a carpet that was the same, deep red color.
Two attendants stood on either side of the curtains, ready to pull them open, and the herald—a servant in vivid red and gold livery—stood in the center with a golden scroll in one hand.
“Is this him then—the Kindred robot?” he asked the head butler, who nodded quickly.
“This is him.”
“He doesn’t look like a robot,” the herald objected.
“He is one, though,” the butler assured him. “Better go on and announce him—I’m sure His Stewardship is waiting.”
“That he is.” The herald nodded and looked up at James. “You’re a big one then, aren’t you? Guess you might have trouble getting your head low enough when you bow. Don’t look much like a robot, though—other than your metal hand,” he added, nodding down at the black and silver, enhanced right hand which stuck out of the broad, floppy cuff of the gold brocade coat.
James frowned—he’d had enough of what the feelers called “small talk” and had no wish to discuss his enhancements.
“Am I going to be presented to the Steward and the Princess or not?” he demanded coldly.
“Oh yes—yes, indeed!” The herald snapped to attention. “Follow me and don’t move even an inch past the first part of the carpet until I finish announcing you.”
“Understood.” James nodded impatiently. “Let us go. I need to take stock of the situation and make certain the Princess is not in danger.”
“How could she be in danger in the middle of the Court Reception Hall with the Royal Guards all around her?” the herald demanded.
James didn’t deign to answer this ridiculous question. As a skilled assassin himself, he knew that one of the best places to take a target out was in the middle of a crowd, when no one was expecting it. Therefore, the Princess could be in danger right this minute and apparently none of the fools around her understood that.
“Announce me,” he growled, glaring down at the shorter male.
“Very well, Sir Robot!” the herald huffed. He made a motion to the two servants standing on either side of the archway. “Draw the Receiving curtains and be quick about it!”
Working in tandem, the two pulled on long, golden cords with enormous tassels on their ends and the crimson curtains in the tall archway parted.
James and the herald stepped out onto the crimson carpet and the herald raised his voice and shouted,
“Announcing Sir James, the Kindred robot sent from Commander Sylvan and Lady Sophia of the Kindred Mother Ship to guard her Royal Highness, Princess Ka’rissa!”
Musicians on either side of the door lifted silver trumpet-like instruments to their mouths and blew an elaborate fanfare, which James completely ignored, except to note that one of them was decidedly flat. Instead, he took a quick, but thorough look around the large Receiving Hall, taking in everyone there and calculating if they posed any kind of a threat.
The hall was crowded with Regalian Nobles, he noted. And most of the people gathered seemed to have a slight, pearlescent sheen to their skin. Not that very much skin could be seen, due to the layers of fancy clothing everyone wore. There were ruffles, buckles, brocade and lace everywhere he looked.
They all wore fake hair too—wigs, James believed they were called. They were styled elaborately and both the men and the women wore them. He wondered if everyone on Regalia Five was bald. But why had Commander Sylvan not mentioned that fact to him? Probably because it didn’t make any difference tactically, he supposed. At any rate, the Regalian Nobles were staring at him as avidly as James was studying them. They were also beginning to whisper behind the long, feathered fans they all carried.
“Go on—walk ahead to the guards at the midpoint,” the herald hissed at him. “Hurry up, man! You mustn’t keep the Royalty waiting!”
Having satisfied himself that there was no immediate threat among the assembled Nobles, James did as the male said, walking down the long crimson carpet to the midpoint w
here two guards were standing with long, golden spears gripped in their hands. From the tip of each spear-point, electrical sparks fizzed and spat—clearly they were some kind of pain-conduction devices which would immobilize an intruder without the guards actually having to stab them.
The electrical sparks didn’t worry James in the least. He had electrical dampening insulators in his enhanced right arm and hand. Therefore, he paused in between the two guards, waiting as the Head Butler had instructed, without fear.
He was about to go on past the guards when a high, cracked voice called, “Stop! Guards, do not let him pass!”
At once, the guards stepped forward and crossed their spears, the electrical sparks hissing menacingly as they barred James’s further journey down the carpet.
Looking up, James saw that the voice came from an older male sitting at the end of the carpet on a raise dais. He had an improbably black wig settled somewhat askew on his bald head and was slumped on what could only be called a throne—a richly scrolled and bejeweled chair with a black velvet cushion. His white stockings bunched around his skinny ankles and his gold and silver waistcoat was stretched tightly over an ample belly.
“Stop!” the male, who must be the Steward, exclaimed again. He was frowning at James, his small, muddy eyes narrowed to slits of suspicion. “I was promised a robot by Commander Sylvan himself,” he said, glaring at James. “You are no robot, Sir!”
“I am more akin to what you might call a Cyborg,” James said coolly, unconcerned by this outburst. “In that parts of me are organic and parts are enhanced, or mechanical in nature.”
To demonstrate, he activated the silver scope on the right side of his head. It extended and came around to fit to his right eye, giving him a detailed view of the Receiving Hall.
It was then that James saw her. Standing beside and a little behind the throne, wearing a pure white gown and the largest, and most elaborate wig of all, was a most striking-looking female. A female he was certain he had seen somewhere before.
She had creamy brown skin with a pearlescent sheen, large amber-brown eyes, and a kissable pink mouth—which was a strange thought for him to have, James acknowledged, since he had never thought of any female’s mouth in terms of whether he would like to kiss her or not before.
The little female was staring at him, a look he couldn’t read on her lovely features, despite all his practice in reading emotions and expressions. Strangely, there were lights imbedded in the front of her white gown, right over her breasts—two pink points which glowed and showed through the fabric.
She’s beautiful, James thought as they locked eyes and their gazes held. Fucking gorgeous! Is she the Princess? Where have I seen her before?
He had no answers—he only knew he wanted to get to her and be by her side at once and the guards were in his way.
Casually, he reached out and knocked the hissing, sparking spears apart with his enhanced right arm.
“Here, stop him!” shouted one guard, and both of them jumped in front of him, trying to block James’s way.
Nothing would deter him, however. He caught the spears that were pointed at his face and twisted them together, wrapping their thick metal shafts into a knot with no more difficulty than another male might tie two pieces of rope. Then he crouched low for a moment and used the bionics implanted in his legs to spring fifteen feet in the air, over the still-struggling guards—who were trying in vain to get their spears apart.
A gasp went through the assembled Nobles as he landed neatly at the very head of the carpet, and made a deep bow to the Steward. He made certain that his head was lower than the older male’s—which wasn’t easy since, even though he was sitting on a raised dais, the Steward seemed to be exceedingly short and was shrunken in on himself.
Now, however, he made an effort to sit up straighter, his muddy eyes widening in apparent surprise.
“A…a Cyborg, you say?” he choked out, gazing at James with a wary expression on his wrinkled face.
“One who is partly organic and partly enhanced,” James said again, nodding. “Do you require more proof of my enhancements or of my ability to guard the Princess Ka’rissa?”
“No, I…I don’t believe so. But you don’t…” The Steward frowned. “You don’t look like a robot. Or not what we consider to be a robot, here on Regalia Five. I have my doubts about the propriety of leaving you alone with Princess Ka’rissa, who is a virginal and chaste Royal lady!”
James examined the female in question again—the one he somehow felt he knew. Had he dreamed of her? He would need to scan the dream banks stored in his enhanced memory to be sure. For now, though, he only felt an intense need to be at her side. But in order to do that, he had to prove that he was fit to guard her.
“I think you can see that my physical abilities are more than adequate to the task of keeping the Princess safe,” he said blandly, nodding at the guards and their knotted spears behind him. “As for any desire you imagine I might have to ‘despoil’ her, please be assured that, as a Dark Kindred, I have no emotions and so, no interest in that direction. The Princess is, indeed, most aesthetically pleasing to the eyes, but my emotion damper prevents me from having the same lusts and desires that another, un-enhanced male might have. In other words, I have no wish to bond her to me or Join with her—I am only here to protect her.”
“Well…” The Steward hesitated. “Commander Sylvan of the Kindred High Council, did promise to send a warrior who was beyond reproach.”
“He chose me because I am a Dark Kindred with no emotions,” James said, nodding. “One who will guard the Princess faithfully and dispassionately until she is Joined to the correct male and ascends to the throne.”
It might have been his imagination, but he thought he saw a sour expression cross the old male’s face at the mention of Princess Ka’rissa—who was still staring at James with wide eyes—ascending to the Regalian throne. It was hard to tell, since the Steward, with his pursed and sagging lips, looked rather like he had been sucking tart citrus fruit anyway. At any rate, the old male didn’t say anything contradictory, but only nodded briefly at James and muttered,
“Well, well… Let me think on it a moment…”
He seemed to consider the situation for a long time—or maybe it just felt long to James, who was feeling more and more urgently that he needed to be near the female he had come to guard. At last, however, he gave James a nod and murmured,
“Yes, he’ll do. He’ll do very well.”
“Excuse me?” James raised his eyebrows, wondering if the remark was directed at him or if the old Steward was just talking to himself.
“I said, you’ll do, Sir James,” the old male said, raising his voice. “I do not believe our friend and ally, Commander Sylvan, would have sent us anything but a proper guard for our dear Princess. Therefore, you may be presented to the Princess and kiss her hand.”
There was a low murmuring among the Regalian Nobles at this pronouncement and James saw some shocked expressions from the corner of his eye. He ignored them, however and so did the old Steward.
“Well?” he demanded querulously. “How long must I wait? Ka’rissa—come here girl, and meet your new guard and Constant Companion!”
The girl beside the throne gave a little jump, as though someone had shocked her. Then she came forward slowly, as if in a dream, to stand at the edge of the dais. Her cheeks were pink with a blush and the glowing, pearlescent sheen to her creamy, light brown skin made it look incredibly soft and touchable.
“Sir James,” she said in a low, trembling voice, and extended her hand to him. “I am…most pleased to…to make your acquaintance.”
“And I yours, Princess.” James knew what was expected of him—he must bow low over her hand and kiss the back of it briefly before saying some sort of meaningless pleasantry.
Instead, he found himself sinking to his knees before her on the steps of the dais. His ocular scope retracted, so that they were truly eye-to-eye. Without breaking eye-co
ntact, he bent his head to kiss the back of her small, soft hand.
“Princess Ka’rissa,” he murmured, I have come to serve and protect you—to give my life, if I must, to save yours. I swear that while I am near you, no harm shall befall you. I will kill or die to defend you—not a drop of your blood shall be spilled unless all of mine has first been shed.”
The words rose naturally to his lips from a place he hadn’t known he had inside him. Even as he spoke them, James knew he was being needlessly emotive. It should be enough to kiss the little female’s hand and assure her that he had only her best interest at heart and that he would protect her without fail. He hadn’t needed to also give her his Kindred oath of death and devotion. And yet, those were the words that came to him and he seemed helpless not to say them.
It was disconcerting, to hear himself making such illogical pronouncements but the next moment, James had other worries on his mind. For the Princess’s cheeks got even pinker and she almost began to pant. The lights behind her dress grew much brighter and a faint, sweet, burning smell began to rise from her soft skin.
James frowned. He knew that smell. One of the new foods he had been trying lately was what the Earthlings called “candy” and one of the shops he frequented on the edge of the Common Area in the Mother Ship specialized in it. James had smelled that scent—the smell of burning sugar—when he went into the candy shop. Now it was rising from the Princess and she was looking distinctly overheated.
At once, an older woman who had been standing behind the Princess jumped into action.
“Quickly—she’s overheating! The ice pads! Where are they?” she exclaimed.
There was a flurry of motion as servants rushed to obey her but before they could reach the Princess, her lovely amber-brown eyes rolled up in her head and she fainted.
Burning for Love Page 4