The Consort (Tellaran Series)

by Ariel MacArran

  “No.” Saria let go of her hand. “I do not.”

  Frowning, Alari took a step to follow her sister when Kyndan caught her from behind.

  He kissed her temple, and she smiled over her shoulder at her mate, looking handsome in his blue and white dress uniform.

  “Best Tellaran–Az-kye party in history,” he said approvingly, his cheek against hers.

  She laughed. “First Tellaran–Az-kye party in history.”

  “My father just told the Niman ambassador that he thinks Aris’ll be talking any day now,” Kyndan said.

  Ryndar Maere had hardly relinquished his granddaughter since his arrival. Kinara and even Aidar watched with warm amusement as he doted on the baby. The admiral proudly displayed Aris, who took in everything with her father’s dark eyes and her mother’s smile, to visiting dignitaries and clan leaders alike.

  “She is but four months old!” Alari protested.

  “Yeah, of course the ambassador got her job by knowing how to be diplomatic. She was nice enough not to contradict him.”

  As the Tellaran dignitary moved off, the empress nodded in their direction.

  Kyndan caught her hand. “Looks like your mother wants to talk to us.”

  The empress, now restored to health, looked twenty years younger and her eyes on Kyndan were genuinely warm. “I was just discussing the possibility of Princess Saria making a state visit to Tellaran space.”

  Alari smiled. “Mother, that is a wonderful idea.”

  “Now that the Tellarans are our allies,” the empress said, “it is important that we learn as much about each other as we can.”

  “Maybe you should make a visit too,” Kyndan said. “No reason the Imperial Daughters should have all the fun.”

  The empress blinked. “I did not—” but then she smiled. “Yes, perhaps I should.”

  “Imperial Majesty,” Kyndan said suddenly. “Is it my imagination or are you wearing blue?”

  “It is dark blue,” Azara said a little defensively. “I thought—well, if the Imperial Daughters have decided to honor the Goddess Azis by the wearing of bright color perhaps I too . . .”

  “It’s very becoming,” Kyndan said seriously. His glance went to Utar standing nearby, dressed again in warrior black. The empress had also granted Kyndan’s request and issued an Imperial edict to empower the owner of any clanless to free them. Kyndan had freed Utar before the seal had time to cool. “I bet I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  Utar flushed but surprisingly the empress did too.

  Alari hid her smile. Apparently we are not only ones who have noticed those admiring glances.

  “You know, Tellarans make a fabric called shimmersilk,” Kyndan said. “I had my father bring some for Alari. Perhaps you would honor me by accepting a bolt as well? Maybe in an emerald green?”

  Still pink-cheeked, the empress inclined her head graciously. She also suddenly found a pressing need to speak with the Apovian representative.

  “You shouldn’t tease her like that,” Alari said, smiling.

  “I was teasing him,” Kyndan corrected, watching Utar hurry in the opposite direction to join his son and daughter by the fountain. “You’d think a warrior who took the famous Nuhar apart in the contests would have enough courage to ask a woman to dinner.”

  “He would be asking the empress to dinner.”

  “Okay, so we just need to get her to ask him.” He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t disapprove, do you?”

  “You mean of royalty taking a once clanless man as mate?” she asked mock-scandalized. “Can you imagine?”

  “Almost as bad as being mated to a Tellaran.”

  “You know there will be many more such pairings to come,” she said, with a nod at the Tellarans and the Az-kye mixing, the lingering glances and flirtations.

  “You know, I don’t know if I mentioned this,” Kyndan murmured into her ear, “but the only thing better than getting bound to you once, Alari, was getting bound to you twice.”

  “I think you might have done,” she said with a laugh.

  He pulled her close and touched his forehead to hers, his blue eyes shining. “Then have I mentioned today how much I love you, Princess?”

  “And I love you,” she said, lifting her face for his kiss. “My brave, wonderful Tellaran warrior.”

  If you enjoyed Kyndan and Alari’s story, please let others know by writing a review of The Consort on Amazon and Goodreads.

  Please page down to read excerpts from my other currently available books— Stardancer, The Seer and Another Man’s Bride.

  All the best,

  Also by

  Ariel MacArran…

  Futuristic Romance

  Available Now!

  Kinara’s quest for revenge goes horribly wrong when she crosses into Az-kye space. Defeated and enslaved Kinara offers herself to Aidar, the Az-kye commander, in exchange for her crew’s protection. But this warrior wants much more than just her submission, he wants her to give herself completely . . .

  An excerpt follows

  STARDANCER

  STARDANCER

  ©2013 Ariel MacArran

  Tall and heavily muscled, the passing warriors were indeed an intimidating bunch. Between the arrogance of their strides, the dark skins they wore and the obvious scars of battle-hardened men, they seemed to be spoiling for a fight.

  They might be strong, but she bet if something blocked their way they would probably hammer at it for hours with a sword rather than simply walk around it.

  The thought made Kinara smile.

  “That warrior pleases you?”

  “Huh?” she said, jolted out of her thoughts to find a warrior looking back at her intently as they passed.

  “Perhaps pleases you enough to share a bed with him.”

  She looked at Aidar to see that he was genuinely annoyed. “No, I was just thinking.”

  “And looking you on other warriors.”

  “Is there something wrong with looking? I’m curious about your people too.”

  “Do you look so boldly on them, they will think you wish them to join with you.”

  Kinara immediately dropped her eyes. She didn’t want any of these warriors thinking she was making offers, and she didn’t want any trouble right now either. She watched her feet and she looked at the walls. She tried to make a mental map of the ship so she could get back to her crew if an opportunity for escape came up.

  They went down a passage she hadn’t seen yet, but the curve of the floor was so steep she knew they were going down another level. Aidar nodded to the warriors at the door. One of the warriors stepped forward to follow them inside and the other opened the door.

  The sight that greeted her was appalling. Her crew was here, dressed as she in plain white smocks, but if Barin’s slave quarters were bad, these were atrocious.

  They were herded together like animals, and there was not so much as a heating unit or a blanket here. Cold lights placed high on the walls gave a sickly greenish light and the room was freezing. Kinara suddenly realized that they were huddled together mainly for warmth.

  Tears stung her eyes at the enthusiastic greeting they gave her. They looked so frightened, and so young. Tedah rushed forward and and pulled her into his arms.

  He was dirty and the growth of his beard scratched her cheek as he hugged her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I'm sorry about all of this.”

  “Kinna, I thought they’d—no, never mind. You’re all right.” He cupped her face, and briefly kissed her. “You’re all right.”

  “Tedah, is everyone—?” This was her fault, all of it, and the shame she felt wouldn’t let her finish.

  “We’re all right,” he soothed. “We haven’t been hurt and everyone else is here.”

  All right for now. But in a place like this they wouldn’t be all right for long.

  She let go of Tedah, motioning him to stay behind.

  She stood before Aidar.

  “My
lord—” It took a moment before she could lift her eyes. “My lord, please, my people are not used to this treatment. They will sicken and die in this cold. Please, some blankets and heating unit—”

  His disbelief was evident. “They will not die. Even Tellarans cannot be so weak.”

  “They will. Look at them.”

  His dark eyes ran over them with a mixture of contempt and calculation.

  “Please, some comfort for them would—”

  His lip curled. “Think you I care for the comfort of slaves? Come, if looking on them upsets you so, we will leave.”

  She put her hand on his arm.

  “Please, Ad—my lord,” she said, her voice low and her eyes downcast. “I would—” She swallowed. “I would be grateful.”

  He looked at her face, glanced at her body. “And in your gratitude, Cy’atta, what do you offer?”

  She wet her lips. “You wanted to bed me. You wanted me willing. That is what I offer.”

  Click to be taken to Stardancer on Amazon

  Also by

  Ariel MacArran…

  Futuristic Romance

  Available Now

  Discovery means death but Arissa risks everything to save Fleet officer Jolar’s life. Repaying this telepath means saving her from execution but Jolar will do whatever it takes to clear his debt to her. The only thing he absolutely cannot let himself do is fall in love with her . . .

  An excerpt follows

  The Seer

  The Seer

  ©2014 Ariel MacArran

  Jolar reached into his pocket and pulled out an ID scanner. "Come here."

  Arissa recoiled instinctively. "What's that for? You already have my scan."

  "Here's the first rule if you want to live, Arissa. You do what I tell you when I tell you,” he bit out. “Come here."

  She took a few reluctant steps closer, watching him warily.

  He held the scanner up near her eye and caught her chin before she could turn away. "Don't flinch. It's a simple ID scan. People do it everyday, several times a day. It doesn't hurt and no one is afraid of them."

  Arissa willed herself not to move as he flashed the red light in her eye.

  He glanced at the reading. He turned the scanner so she could see the display.

  She blinked. It was her face, her as she was now, not a little girl's face. No black stripe above her image reading 'deceased'.

  "Legan, Arissa?” she breathed. "What is this?"

  "That's your new name. Hope you like it, though doesn't much matter if you don't."

  "My new—?” The breath rushed out of her lungs. "I have an ID? Will it—Will that show on all the scanners?"

  "Oh, yes. System wide, absolutely authentic and official."

  An ID, a real one, a non-telepath one? The possibilities, the safety, the freedom of it made her dizzy.

  "You did that?" Arissa managed.

  "No, I called in every favor and debt owed me to make that happen. I just burned through every bit of influence I’ve built up in the last ten years – goodwill that was intended to land me Zartan’s seat on the Tellaran Council after I retire from the Fleet.” Jolar’s eyes were blue ice. “I expect to be well paid in return."

  "Oh." She wet her lips and glanced at the cot. A real ID in return for letting him have her? She couldn’t afford to refuse, it didn’t even occur to her to try. "You want—I mean, here or—?"

  He burst out laughing and Arissa's face went hot.

  "You couldn't frack me enough to pay for this!" Jolar sobered. "No, that’s not what I want from you. There's something on Sertar I have to do. Something important. Having a woman with me is actually a liability—unless she has a unique talent to bring to the table. Your talent."

  She searched his face. "You need a telepath."

  "Want one,” he corrected. “I don't need one. Which means you do as you're told or your best hope is that Doctor de’Sar gets her longed-for opportunity to study one of you. Are we clear?"

  Arissa swallowed. "Yes."

  He held up the scanner. "This is a solid ID—unless something happens to me. Make sure nothing happens to me. Still clear?"

  Her cheeks were burning. "Don't kill you in your sleep. Got it."

  His sense was as cold as his eyes now. "Don't misunderstand me. If I think for a moment you've betrayed me, I'll put that blaster bolt in your head myself."

  He was such a jumble of emotion she couldn’t sort it all but just the words hurt. She blinked away the sudden sting of tears. "Sorry. I was—I was joking."

  He locked gazes with her. "Don't joke like that again."

  She dropped her eyes.

  "All right," he said finally. "You're going to shower and change. I have clothes for you. They might not fit perfectly or be what you like, but put them on anyway. Fix yourself up as best you can in twenty minutes."

  Arissa frowned. "Why?"

  "Because that's how much time I'm giving you," he said impatiently, turning away.

  She pushed the curls out of her face. "Whatever you say, Commander.”

  His sudden anger hit her so hard she gasped.

  "Don't ever call me that again," he snarled. "Understand?"

  She shook her head. "I don't—I mean, I thought—well, isn't that what you are?"

  He gave her a narrow look. “Are you fracking with me? Or have you forgotten I know you’re a Seer?”

  Arissa seethed. “Are you expecting me to read your every thought? Because it doesn’t work like that. I told you. And if you want me to help you, you’re going to have to tell me what you need me to do.”

  He huffed a sigh. "Fine. Part of our cover story is I never rose above Lieutenant. I left the fleet five years ago when we moved to Aylor. Can you remember that? Because it’s time to go."

  She frowned. "We? Our cover story?"

  "Yes, we. I'm Jolar Legan." He nodded toward the open door of the cell. "Your husband."

  Click to go to The Seer on Amazon

  Also by

  Ariel MacArran…

  Historical Romance

  Available Now

  Fleeing charges of witchcraft at the English court, Lady Isabella Beaufort agrees to a marriage arranged by her cousin, Queen Joan of Scotland. Deep in the Highlands, Isabella is captured by Colyne MacKimzie, an enemy to the king and a man set on claiming a rich ransom for her return.

  Even as she is drawn irresistibly to Colyne, Isabella’s visions show her terrifying images of him killing King James—and her as well. Colyne knows giving into his desire for this beautiful, haunted woman invites his swift destruction just as he knows he will risk anything to have her . . .

  An excerpt follows

  Another Man’s Bride

  Another Man’s Bride

  ©2013 Ariel MacArran

  She might have been alone in the world, Isabella thought, as the silence deepened around her. She could neither see nor hear the others from her place by the well. There was no sound but the faint stirring of the cloths as they moved in the breeze and Isabella stood for a long time, watching them.

  Offer a prayer for herself? What could she pray for? A swift end to her imprisonment? That she find her betrothed pleasing, and he, her? She had all the wealth she could wish for. Provided her husband did not squander it or deny her pin money, she should never fear hunger or cold.

  Nothing she could think of seemed right somehow.

  An end to her visions?

  The visions retreated to haunt her nightmares but she knew they would return. She might have escaped her enemies at Bella Court by fleeing to this frozen country but they would follow her to the ends of the world.

  She dipped the cloth in the water, surprisingly warm despite the frigid weather.

  Isabella thought of the French girl she had seen in Rouen, the girl they called La Purcell, twisting and screaming in the flames.

  Her hands were shaking as she tied the cloth to the tree.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  Isabella looked at her
tied cloth, hanging on the branch in this sacred place. She bent her head and heard a sound behind her. Seeing who it was, she quickly fanned her hair to hide her face.

  “What is it, lass?” Colyne asked softly.

  She kept her head turned away and her hand covered her mouth.

  “Are ye longin’ for home, then?”

  She did not reply and he continued, his voice rough, “Ye’re nae afeared of me, are ye? I’d never hurt ye.”

  Her eyes closed when she felt him touch her hair, sliding his fingers through the strands. Just that simple touch was enough to break through her fragile self control and very gently he gathered her in his embrace as she sobbed. His body was warm, a refuge in a world of loneliness, and she clung to him. He rocked her, murmuring soothing words softened with a Scottish burr.

  Isabella lifted her face as he pressed a kiss to her temple. His eyes searched her face for an instant, and then he caught her chin gently, tilting his head to bring his mouth to hers.

  She clung to him as he explored, reaching up to his powerful shoulders, catching the silky strands of his brilliant hair between her fingers. His hands were under her cape now. This kiss was gentler yet hungrier than the last.

  He broke away suddenly, breathing hard, his forehead against hers.

  Had she done something wrong? Timidly she tilted her head to bring her mouth to his again but he would not let her. He squeezed his eyes shut, and with his hands firmly at her waist, pushed her away.

  Shocked by the chill Isabella scrambled to pull her cloak closed against the cold. He was looking down at her, his mouth tight and drawn now.

  “Ye’re not for me.”

  Of course, Isabella thought. Alisoun.

  And Douglas.

  “No,” she agreed hoarsely.

  “Dinna fear.” He took a step back, his mouth tight. “I’ll nae lay a hand on ye again, lady.”

  With that he was gone, leaving her alone and bereft in the cold, a thousand heartfelt prayers fluttering in the tree beside her.