“You…you will?” Rissa didn’t trust this new magnanimity one bit. “But I thought you wanted to…to…”
“To fuck you? To impregnate you with my child? Well, yes—that would be lovely. Especially because I am quite certain you wouldn’t enjoy it one bit.” The Duke smirked at her. “But, no. I choose not to. After all, there are plenty of maids to spend my lust on and I think I would rather let you burn.”
“I…don’t understand.” Rissa shook her head.
“I am speaking of your Heat Cycle, of course.” He strolled back to the couch, the wig still in one hand, and picked up the small black remote that Lady Mildew had presented to him earlier. “Did you think I would use this?” he asked, pointing it at the Chastity Device clamped around Rissa’s waist and hips. “Did you think I would take it off so I could fuck you and slake your Heat, Princess?”
Rissa wished he would stop using such crude words. When James had explained what happened between a man and a woman, he had called it “making love.” But of course, such a term could not apply to anything that might happen between herself and the Duke.
“I…I thought…” She shook her head, unable to go on.
“Think again, Princess.” With a sudden, swift move, Duke Grabbington threw the small black remote into the fire.
“Oh!” Rissa ran to the fireplace, but it was too late—the remote was already a melting blob of black. She turned to the Duke. “What have you done!”
“I have ensured that no one—not even me—can ever slake your Heat, Princess.” He grinned at her, his mustaches twitching evilly. “You are doomed, my dear. Doomed to burn to ashes, just like your dear Mama before you. And that will leave me quite alone to rule the planet as I see fit.”
“You cannot do this to me!” Rissa exclaimed. “Why? I don’t understand!”
The Duke shrugged.
“I wanted power and prestige—now I have both. Why should I share them with a mouthy little bitch like you? There really was a real Lord Shammington at the Second Court, you know,” he went on, meditatively as he stared into the fire where the remote had now melted completely. “He would have made an excellent husband for you, too—he had Royal blood—a very fine pedigree. Unfortunately, after I had him kidnapped and thoroughly scanned in order to use his image, he expired quite unexpectedly.”
“I am quite sure it was not as unexpected as all that,” Rissa said in a low voice.
“Well, it is possible that he was stabbed a few times by my guards.” The Duke shrugged. “A regrettable occurrence, of course, but one cannot have the man one is impersonating running around free.” He turned to Rissa. “Just as I cannot have you running around free, my dear.”
Rissa shrieked and danced back, out of his reach.
“Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!” she gasped.
“You are so very tiresome—‘don’t touch me, leave me alone’,” the Duke mimicked in a high, whining voice. “That kind of thing is all you ever say.”
“Because I do not wish to have you anywhere near me!” As she spoke, Rissa was backing towards the door. To her surprise, the Duke didn’t rush her again—he simply let her go.
“Fine.” He shrugged. “Go on about your business and leave me alone.”
Rissa’s hand was on the door latch now, but she couldn’t help staring at him.
“You’re just…letting me go?”
“Why not?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “It occurs to me that it will be less messy if you burn to death from your unslaked Heat outside my new bed chamber. Just try not to burn the palace down when you burst into flames.”
“But…but you can’t just send me out to die!” Rissa protested. “There will be an outcry—public outrage!”
“Oh, no doubt there will be some sadness among the common people, but nobody who counts is going to care,” the Duke told her. “Think back to how it was when your dear Mama, the Queen, self-immolated. There was mourning the planet over and some stern talk about censuring the old Steward for not finding her a suitor to slake her Heat in time to save her life, but all of it came to nothing.”
With a sinking feeling, Rissa realized he was right. Why had she never thought of things this way before? Why had she put her trust so blindly in the Steward when he had let her mother die? She had been too innocent—too naïve to see the truth.
Or maybe you just didn’t want to see it, whispered a little voice in her head.
“This is terrible,” she whispered, putting a hand to her face. “I…I never thought of it that way. But how…why…?”
The Duke shrugged.
“Because nobody really wants a woman running the planet, my dear. And now that they have a Royal Consort with enough Royal blood in his veins to be crowned King, they won’t give a damn that the dear Princess burned to ashes before her new husband could get her Chastity Device off.” He smirked evilly. “Of course, dear Lady Mildew will probably hang for it, since she put the device on you in the first place and I shall place the blame of losing the remote squarely on her shoulders. For how could I slake my new wife’s Heat when I could not get the device which she placed on you, off?”
“You…you are horrible and heartless!” Rissa exclaimed. She disliked her old chaperone immensely, but she didn’t wish her dead! For that matter, she didn’t want to die herself, either. Her words didn’t appear to affect the Duke at all.
“Yes, I suppose I am, aren’t I?” he mused, looking into the fire. “Perhaps not the best character traits. Still, being ‘horrible and heartless’ has gotten me what I’ve always wanted, so forgive me for not feeling terribly distressed at your low opinion of me, Princess.”
“I’ll tell!” Rissa warned him. “I’ll let everyone know what you’re doing and planning!”
He shrugged again.
“You can try, but I doubt anyone will listen to you. They’ll just call me and then I shall say that you’ve gone mad because of your Heat Cycle.” He made a dismayed face, with wide eyes and both hands to his cheeks. “Oh, dear—my poor angel ran out of the room, looking for the remote to remove that dreadful Chastity Device that cruel old woman put on her! We cannot find it anywhere and my sweet wife is losing her mind because her brain is boiling in her poor, precious skull!”
His words were so horribly cold and calculating that Rissa honestly thought for a moment she might be sick.
“You…I can’t believe you,” she whispered. “You are truly evil.”
“I suppose,” the Duke said coldly. “Now, do go on.” He made a flicking gesture with his fingers, as though to shoo her off like a troublesome fly. “Oh, and don’t bother to try and tell anyone my little secret.” He placed the wig firmly back on his head and suddenly he was Lord Shammington again. “No one will ever believe you—they’ll only think you mad.”
As Rissa left, she closed the door on the sound of his awful laughter.
52
Where can I go? What can I do?
Rissa wandered the halls of the palace like a ghost—which she soon would be if she couldn’t get her Heat slaked, she admitted to herself. But there was no chance of that now that the Duke had destroyed the only key that would open the awful Chastity Device she wore!
Should I tell someone? Should I ask the Steward’s guards to wake him and tell him about the Duke pretending to be Lord Shammington?
She was about to do just that…but then Duke Grabbington’s words came back to her. He had said that the Steward would rather have a man ruling the country and that was why he had waited too late to find a suitor for her dear Mama. Could that really be true?
Yes, it’s true.
Her internal voice spoke with cold certainty. It was a fact she had been hiding from all her life but she could hide from it no longer. The Steward hadn’t wanted her mother on the throne and he didn’t want her there, either.
He had deliberately given her three bad choices as suitors so that she would use up her three Rights of Refusal and then picked a man whom he believed had enough Royal blood to be King so th
at the planet would not be ruled by a Queen—by a female. If he found out that Lord Shammington was actually Duke Grabbington, he probably wouldn’t even care. As long as a man ruled, he would be satisfied.
No, she must not trust her fate to the Steward, that much was certain. For years she had thought of him as a kindly old uncle, but that time was past. Nor could she trust the likes of Lady Mildew, who would probably be quite happy to see her burn. Though actually, she herself was going to hang if the Duke had his way.
Rissa thought about telling her that—trying to get the older woman on her side. But no—Lady Mildew would never believe her. She would think Rissa was “making stories” as she called it and probably march her right back to the Duke’s bed chamber.
What am I to do? Rissa asked herself desperately. How could she get help when the people who were supposed to care for her and support her were against her? When everyone in power on the planet would be happy to see her burn, just so a man could rule Regalia Five instead of a woman?
Our society is so unequal—so unbalanced, she thought unhappily. If only we were more like the Kindred. James always told me that they believe men and women are equals. I am sure if we Regalians believed the same, I would not be in this desperate position right now.
The thought gave her an idea. If she couldn’t trust anyone on her home planet, then she would have to find someone outside of Regalia Five to trust. Naturally, she didn’t want to involve James—he had made it clear that he had no feelings for her and would be perfectly happy never to see her again. But she was certain that someone aboard the Kindred Mother Ship would sympathize with her plight.
Creeping down the corridor, she made her way to the Communications room. It was quite late and, as she had hoped, there was only one young officer on duty when she peeked in. He was a Private, judging by the stripes on his uniform sleeves. He was sitting in front of a large viewscreen and watching, with sleepy eyes, several monitors that were mounted to the right and left of him.
Taking a deep breath, Rissa straightened her shoulders and stepped into the large room, filled with interstellar communications equipment.
“Private!” she said sternly.
The young man, who had been almost dozing, jerked to attention. When he saw who was addressing him, his eyes went wide and he jumped up and saluted.
“Princess! Er, Your Majesty.” His eyes ran over her body in the revealing white peignoir and his face went beet red as he quickly looked back at her face. “T-to what do I owe this honor?” he stammered.
“I need you to make an interstellar call for me at once,” Rissa said sternly. She kept her chin high and didn’t attempt to cover herself. She was in Royal mode now and she made certain he knew it.
“Y-yes, Your Majesty—at once! Of course!” He sat back at the console and looked up at her expectantly. “Whom shall I call for Your Majesty?”
“The Kindred Mother Ship,” Rissa said. “And make certain you use a private channel. This call is highly confidential.”
53
Sylvan was wrapping things up for the night, straightening his desk and trying to leave things organized for an early start the next day. Sophia had just given him a mental call through their link, asking if he would be home soon, and he had been happy to tell her “yes.”
“Good, because I saved you some supper,” she’d told him. Then a naughty tone had come into her mental voice. “And if you’d like something sweet for dessert, well…I have that all ready for you, too.”
Just the thought of holding his curvy wife in his arms was enough to make Sylvan rush to get through his last-minute tasks. He reflected how lucky and blessed he was to have Sophia to come home to. Even after many years of marriage—or Joining, as the Kindred called it—he still loved her and wanted her as badly as he had when they had first come together.
He was so focused on getting back to his suite and his mate that he almost ignored the call that came through on his viewscreen. Whatever it was, he was certain it could wait. Probably some routine matter that could be dealt with the next day.
Then the Communications officer buzzed in over the com-link.
“Commander Sylvan? There is an urgent call for you coming in over a private line.”
“A private line?” Sylvan frowned. A secure, private interstellar link was enormously expensive to maintain and operate. Who could be calling him on such a line? “Where is the call coming from?” he asked.
“From Regalia Five—the caller says it’s urgent,” the officer told him.
Sylvan sighed. Well, so much for getting home in time for dinner. He just had to hope that this call didn’t take so long that he missed his “dessert” too.
“All right,” he said. “Put it through.”
The viewscreen flickered and a young woman’s face appeared. With a shock, Sylvan recognized her as Princess Ka’rissa, the Royal female he had sent J-8 to protect.
“Princess,” he said blankly. “Er, hello.”
“Commander Sylvan, how very good of you to take my call.” Her manners were impeccable but there was a frantic look in her large, amber-brown eyes that worried Sylvan.
“Of course,” he said, nodding. “How may I be of service?”
She took a deep breath and her eyes darted from side to side, as though she was making sure no one was listening. She looked, Sylvan thought, like a female who was being hunted.
“Commander,” she said urgently. “I…I need to ask you for a great favor.”
“Yes, of course. Please…” Sylvan made a gesture for her to go on.
“I need political asylum aboard the Mother Ship,” she told him.
“You do?” Sylvan frowned. “Has something happened?”
“A great many things have happened, none of them good,” the Princess said. “I am in great danger. But…” She paused, biting her lower lip in a worried way.
“Go on,” Sylvan said gently.
“Well, I fear that anyone you send to get me will also be in danger,” she whispered.
“From guards trying to keep you on the planet, do you mean?” Sylvan asked, frowning.
She shook her head and dropped her eyes, as though she was ashamed of something.
“No, Commander. It is…my Heat Cycle. I fear I am very near self-immolation with no way to…to, er, remedy the situation. I cannot lie—asking any of your officers to come and get me might be akin to asking them to transport a bomb that might go off at any moment.”
“A bomb?” Sylvan frowned. “I—”
At that moment, his office door burst open.
“Commander!” It was J-8 and he was panting, as though he had run a marathon to get there. “Commander, I have just received a message from the Goddess,” he began. Then he looked up and saw Princess Ka’rissa’s face on the viewscreen. “Ka’rissa!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, James!” she whispered and burst out crying. “James, I know you have no emotions for me, but I am so afraid I am going to die tonight!” she sobbed.
“You’re not going to die! Not while I can save you!”
The Dark Kindred was more animated than Sylvan had ever seen him. Seeing the fierce, protective light come into the other male’s eyes, he thought with approval that having emotions suited him.
“Princess Ka’rissa has requested political asylum aboard the Mother Ship, which I am willing to grant. But she fears she is in danger of, er, spontaneous combustion,” Sylvan explained.
“Your Heat Cycle?” James asked, still focused on the viewscreen.
She nodded tearfully.
“It…it is getting out of control. And there is no way to slake it.”
“I’m coming for you right now,” James said at once. “Can you get out to the small courtyard in the East Garden? There’s enough room to land a shuttle there and it’s hidden by those big tringa bushes.”
“I…I think so.” She swiped at her eyes. “Oh, James—do you really think you can get to me on time?”
“I’m coming right now. Do w
hatever you can to cool yourself down and I’ll be there as soon as I can,” James said grimly. He looked at Sylvan. “Commander, can you please request a fold in space to Regalia Five?”
“At once,” Sylvan said, nodding. “And may the Goddess go with you, J-8.”
“My true designation is ‘James’. My true self is who I am with her.” The Dark Kindred looked at Princess Ka’rissa as he spoke. “Just hold on—I’ll be there soon, sweetheart,” he told her.
“I will be waiting for you in the gardens,” she promised and then the viewscreen blinked out and she was gone.
54
James didn’t know what to expect when he landed his shuttle in the small courtyard of the palace gardens. He was thankful that the Kindred stealth technology was sophisticated enough to evade the surveillance net around the planet. The Regalians had interstellar travel, but they were still somewhat primitive compared to his own people.
At first, he didn’t think Ka’rissa had made it. He was about to start up to the palace to begin hunting for her, when the huge, flowering tringa bushes rustled, releasing a sweet floral scent into the night air, and the Princess appeared.
“I was hiding in the bushes in case the guards came,” she explained as she made her way towards him.
She was barefoot and wearing a thin, diaphanous gown that floated around her like a cloud. Under it, she was clearly naked and her nipples were glowing red-hot. If her clothing hadn’t been made of flame retardant material—as was usual with all Royal clothing—James was certain they would have set the gown alight at once. The ominous scent of burning sugar became clear as she walked towards him—clearly her Heat Cycle really was getting out of control.
“Ka’rissa…sweetheart!” He ran to take her in his arms but she took a step back from him.
“I…I do not understand. I thought you said you had no emotions for me,” she said hesitantly.
“I lied,” James admitted recklessly. “I’m so sorry, Princess! I thought I was doing what was best for you. I know I gave you pain.”
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