Mastered By Love

by Tori Minard

  “Shouldn’t she have opium, milord?” Paolo said.

  Tariza spit out the leather. “I don’t fear pain. I’m a Concordian warrior.”

  “Did you hear that, Paolo? She’s a warrior.”

  Both men chuckled. She glowered at them, which only seemed to make them laugh harder.

  “I can take the pain, you animals,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Saturnios shrugged. “All right.”

  He wrote something on her inner forearm with the pen and ink. Because of her position, she couldn’t see what it was. He wrapped the thread thickly around the needle and soaked it in ink. It disappeared from view as he moved it out of the range of her vision. Then the needle bit into her skin. She gave an involuntary flinch. It hurt more than she’d expected.

  “Easy, now,” Saturnios murmured in a soothing tone, as if she were a horse that needed reassurance. “You don’t want me to mess up the design.”

  Yes, she did. Tariza forced her heels against the ground, using the leverage to jerk her upper body to the left. Her shoulder protested against the movement with a sharp pain. Saturnios swore.

  “Hold still, damn you.”

  She wrenched her body to the other side. The needle flew out of his hand, rolled into some dry grass. He swore again as he lowered his body flat over hers.

  Hard, hot male pressed against her from her chest to her toes. Hard, dark eyes glared into hers. Her pussy gave a desperate throb and her heart raced as she looked up at him. Heat pooled between her thighs. He’d just taken her, and like the fool she was, she wanted him again.

  No man but him had ever put his body over hers. In Concordia, it wasn’t allowed. Tariza closed her eyes.

  “I despise you,” she whispered.

  “Of course you do.” He reached over, put his hand in his bag and drew out the box that had held the needle. “Lucky for you, I carry spares.”

  He opened the box one-handed and took out a second needle, repeating the thread process. Keeping his body over hers, he positioned the needle and pushed it into her skin. She gritted her teeth.

  She couldn’t move beneath him. There was no point in fighting him anymore. Perhaps later she would have a chance, but for now she had to surrender and rest.

  The needle punches seemed to go on endlessly. She fixed her gaze on the sky above them. The stars looked like white lace over black satin. Or perhaps an enormous swarm of bees in a summer sky. That’s what the tattoo process felt like – a bee sting. A whole lot of bee stings.

  The next poke burned so badly she threw back her head and yelled. He stuck her again. Sweat broke out all over her body and tears stung in her eyes. She clenched her jaw so hard it hurt.

  Saturnios stopped. “Paolo, give her the opium.”

  “I don’t need it, Saturnios.” She glared at him.

  “I do.”

  Paolo left her. A moment later, he returned with a dark vial of liquid and a spoon. Saturnios propped up her head and Paolo shoved the spoon between her teeth. They held her jaws shut and pinched her nose until she swallowed the bitter potion.

  “Curse the both of you,” she said.

  Saturnios blotted her skin and inspected his work. “We’re half way through the first word.”

  Goddess, that was all they’d done? Her arm was on fire.

  “What word?”

  He grinned. “Dario.”

  Oh, no. He was tattooing his name on her?

  “Milord,” Paolo said hesitantly. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but wouldn’t an important captive like her normally go to the king?”

  Saturnios nodded slowly. “Yes, she would. But my uncle is abroad, and besides, here in the field I want to claim her as my own to prevent anything happening with the men. She’s not an ordinary captive and there’s so much rancor between our kingdoms that I don’t completely trust the men with her unless they know unequivocally that she’s mine.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.”

  It didn’t make sense to her. Didn’t he have control over his own men? That spoke ill of his leadership. Her women, for example, would never disobey an order no matter what the temptation.

  Of course, these barbarians were males. No doubt they lacked the discipline and intelligence her women had.

  Saturnios began sticking her skin again. The opium made her feel dizzy and heavy. She lost track of time as the piercing went on and on.

  Finally he stopped. He blotted away the blood with more brandy, then wrapped a linen bandage around her arm. Paolo began to kick dirt on the fire and the flames died, leaving them in utter darkness.

  “Now you’re mine,” Dario said with obvious satisfaction.

  “I’ll never be yours.” She tried to inject deadly scorn into her voice, but the drug made her sound dreamy and languid instead of battle-ready.

  “Is there anything else you need from me, milord?” Paolo said.

  “We’ll be moving on in a few minutes. Ready the horses.”

  As the youth left to tend the mounts, his master crouched next to her and removed her boots. He jerked the dress over her head, leaving it loose around her bound arms, and lifted her. The opium still had her floating, her body limp and relaxed in the aftermath of the pain. Someday she would emerge from her drugged haze and be appalled at what he’d done to her, the way he’d permanently marked her as his. Right now she couldn’t summon the energy for it.

  He was going to take her into the heart of Saturnios, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t fight him with the drug in her; even without it, his size and prowess made him too difficult for her to defeat.

  Dario carried her toward the horses. The blackness of the sky showed no sign of fading. It must be near dawn, though, she thought blearily. Had her women discovered her absence yet?

  Probably not. They wouldn’t realize she was missing until sunrise.

  The stars seemed to turn in a slow circle as he carried her to his mount. He threw her face-down, halfway across the pommel and halfway across the horse’s neck. The stallion snorted, but offered no other protest. Saturnios swung himself up behind her.

  He picked her up and maneuvered her until she sat upright in front of him. He draped his cloak around her so it covered her to the ankles. Arms corded with muscle bracketed her as he picked up the reins.

  Paolo came around and attached a leather strap to her ankles. The strap passed across the horse’s chest, keeping her solidly on the mount. There was no way she could jump off and escape.

  The youth handed his master a pouch and a flask before returning to his own mount. Dario un-stoppered the flask and held it to her lips.

  “Drink.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just watered wine. Drink.”

  She drank. The liquid soothed the dry fire in her throat and washed the bitter taste of the opium out of her mouth. He took the flask away and held a chunk of cheese to her lips. She opened her mouth to accept the offering. It was better to eat and drink than refuse out of pride and make herself sick.

  Saturnios urged his horse forward into the night, Paolo riding behind them.

  She was too intoxicated to mind being trussed up like a bird headed for the cooking pot. Besides, the gentle rocking motion of the horse’s gate and the hard, warm wall of male behind her gave her a peculiar feeling of safety. She couldn’t stop her head from lolling stupidly against his shoulder.

  It was a lie, of course; even in her opium-addled state, she knew that. There was no safety, would never be safety for her where Dario Saturnios was concerned.

  No Concordian woman could be safe with a Saturnian. In Saturnios, the natural order was reversed, with males ruling and women cast down as slaves. That was the fate Dario had reserved for her. She would be the same as all those sad little Saturnian whores she and her sister Concordians had so pitied and despised.

  The worst of it was, she suspected she would enjoy being Dario Saturnios’s woman. If she hadn’t been so intoxicated, she might have screamed in rage at the
thought. Instead, she sighed and closed her eyes.

  By the time they made it to the Saturnios encampment, the sun rode high and the opium had completely worn off for Tariza. She roused from her drug-induced stupor in time to see the encampment spread in red and black across the rocky, scrub-shrouded hillside above them. Men, tiny like insects, bustled around the tents. Armor glinted in the hard morning sun and smoke drifted down from numerous cooking fires.

  The loose, safe feeling dissipated as if it had never been, leaving her with a dry mouth and a churning stomach. The Saturnians were close. Much closer to the Concordian border than her scouts had reported. Had they moved that quickly, or were the reports inaccurate?

  “Welcome to Saturnios,” her captor murmured, urging his mount up the hillside.

  “This is contested territory.”

  “Since we’re currently in possession, and we have no intention of letting it go, I consider it part of our kingdom. No pack of little girls playing at soldiers is going to steal it from us.”

  “Playing?”

  “None of you are a match for a male soldier. I defeated you easily. I can’t understand why my ancestors didn’t put a stop to your ridiculous experiment generations ago.”

  “You only think it’s ridiculous because you’re too stupid to know any better. Males haven’t the brains to govern effectively.”

  He chuckled. “We’ve done well enough for time immemorial.”

  “Well enough? You call war, poverty and famine doing well enough?”

  “Concordia suffers from those ills just as we do.”

  “That’s because we’re surrounded by brutish male-dominated neighbors, who nonetheless are more than willing to trade with us because of the superiority of our textiles. No-one on Argelia produces better silk yardage and carpets.”

  “That is true. Your textiles are incomparable.”

  He’d agreed with her? He’d agreed with her. She’d expected him to boast of Saturnian designs, even though they were crude compared to the elegance achieved by Concordia.

  “Have I shocked you into silence?” he said.

  “I’m amazed you would admit we Concordians are superior in anything.”

  “I’m never afraid to speak the truth. Concordian textiles are better than anything else I’ve ever seen. That doesn’t mean I approve of the way you Amazons humiliate and degrade men.”

  She gave a snort. “Men require the guiding hand of the female. If they’re allowed to have full freedom, they make a mess of things. They’re brutish and violent and ruled by passing sexual urges.”

  He laughed. “You really believe that.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Oh, Tariza. You have so much to learn.”

  “Screw you, Saturnios.”

  He bent his head to her neck, bared by her long, tight braid. His lips brushed her skin, making her shiver. “So impatient. I planned to wait until we got to my tent to have you again.”

  She jerked forward, out of range of those lips. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  He took the reins in one hand, leaving the other free to clasp her just beneath her breasts. “I’ve been thinking all night of the things I’d like to do to you.”

  His thumb stroked the underside of one breast, lazily rubbing back and forth along the curve. Her whole body flooded with heat.

  “Stop that.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “You’re mine now. I can do anything I like. In fact, it’s my solemn duty as your master to use you well and often.”

  “Use me? You barbarian! Stop touching me. Stop it this instant.”

  He only laughed again. “As I said, you have a lot to learn.” His hand closed fully over her breast.

  With her hands bound in front of her and her legs strapped to the horse, she couldn’t fight him. She had no choice but to endure his mauling.

  He gently squeezed her flesh, molding it with his palm. The power of his touch went right through the woolen dress he’d given her, rousing a hot wet throbbing in her pussy. She pressed her lips together, clamping down on the gasp that tried to escape her throat.

  “You like that.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear.

  “No.”

  He rubbed his thumb across her aching nipple. “Your body says otherwise.”

  Her body was an idiot.

  His thumb continued rubbing, mercilessly arousing her. She bit down hard on her lip, trying not to squirm or moan. But her back arched in spite of her best intentions and her hips pressed back into his groin.

  “That’s it, Tariza. That’s it.” He pinched the nipple, drawing it out and releasing it repeatedly.

  Her breath came in little gusts as she fought against the sharp pleasure arrowing from her breast to her pussy. “No. Please.”

  “Don’t be ashamed of your response to me. It’s natural and good. It’s as it should be.”

  It would be natural and good to have him on his knees before her, bound with chains, while she plied an old-fashioned riding crop over his naked ass. He wouldn’t see it that way, but it would give her tremendous satisfaction. Tariza cuddled the image of a humbled Dario in her mind as he guided his stallion into the encampment.

  The horses walked slowly between the first rank of tents and a whoop went up from the men, shouts of encouragement. She pinched her eyes shut, face flaming.

  “You’re shaming me.”

  “No. I’m showing my great appreciation for you. If I refused to touch you, then I would shame you.”

  She wanted to claim that she didn’t understand. Except she did. A similar tradition existed in Concordia, where a woman showed affection and appreciation for a male slave by fondling him in public.

  “Besides,” he said, “it’s important for the men to see how much I enjoyed you last night. You don’t want them questioning my claim on you.”

  He was right, the swine. If his men contested his claim, she could end up being passed around like a communal cup at a banquet.

  “Don’t you have better control of your men than that?” she said acidly.

  “Yes. I do. But you’re special.” He bit her earlobe. “You’re Tariza Concordia. The usual rules don’t necessarily apply.”

  That was hard to believe. A competent commander should be able to keep his men in line regardless of the provocation.

  She lost her train of thought as they entered more deeply into the camp. It was surprisingly well-ordered, considering it had was designed and run by males. Men in red and black uniforms lined the road into the center of the temporary village, shouting and cheering as they stared at her.

  Tariza kept her head high, her jaw set. She gazed forward, letting her eyes rest now and then on the yelling, jostling males. She was Tariza Concordia, heir to Concordia, and she would not cower or try to hide herself.

  They halted at the center of the camp, before a large red tent with black piping along the seams. Men crowded around their mount, almost close enough to touch her. She could see it in their eyes, the desire to touch her body.

  Dario took her by the chin, urged her head around and captured her mouth. He kissed her like a conqueror, all plunging tongue, while his other hand brazenly cupped her breast. The cheers of the soldiers roared in her ears.

  He broke off the kiss and lifted her bandaged arm high. “Tariza Concordia is mine, marked as my slave. Any man who touches her without my leave will lose his hand.”

  Another roar went up. It seemed the men approved of his actions.

  Paolo dismounted and came around to release her ankles from the strap that kept her on Dario’s horse. The gathered men watched with avid faces. What were they hoping to see?

  Maybe it was enough for them to witness their enemy brought low.

  Other Concordian women – soldiers all – had been captured by Saturnios. Had all of them been enslaved? They probably had. Perhaps she would come across them, if she could tell them apart from the native Saturnian women.

  Seeing her a captive would do terrible things to t
heir morale. Although surely they weren’t living in the hope they’d be rescued.

  If – no, when – she escaped, she would have to arrange for some kind of prisoner exchange. And if Concordia won this war, there would be reparation. She would see to it personally.

  Dario swung off the horse. He set his hands at her waist and lifted her down, pulling her tight against his body. Perversely, the solid wall of muscle at her back made her feel safer.

  It’s an illusion. You’re not safe with him. Never forget that.

  ***

  Dario lifted his new possession from the back of his horse. After weeks of waiting, dreaming, planning, he finally had her. She was his.

  He let her body slide down his, the contact making his cock hard and his heart pound. Taking her hadn’t dimmed his desire at all. If anything, getting inside her had only made him want her more. He gazed down at her, wondering what made this woman different from all the others.

  There had been countless women in his life, and while he’d been fond of many, he’d never felt driven to possess any particular one. Until now. Looking at her, touching her, feeling the warmth of her body through her thin dress all made him quiver with lust in spite of his exhaustion.

  He’d been up since sunrise the day before, and weariness lay on him like a blanket of stone. Sex could wait. He needed nothing more than to stretch out on his camp bed, Tariza tucked close by his side, and sleep.

  First, though, he had business to attend to.

  Baso, his aide-de-camp, detached himself from the circle of men with a salute. “Welcome back, Prince Dario, and congratulations.” His eyes flicked toward the woman.

  “Thank you. Have a bath prepared and a meal for two delivered to my tent.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Have the surveyors finished?”

  Baso nodded. “They took their final measurements yesterday just before the sun went down.”

  “Surveyors?” Tariza said.

  He ignored her to clap Baso on the shoulder. “Excellent. They can start excavations this morning, then.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Dario urged Tariza in the direction of his tent.