In Evil Times

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “It would be different if there weren’t subsidies. That would change the equation, but this works out for everyone.”

  “I should be going.” Mercedes again touched her pocket. “Thank you for this.”

  “Good luck to you, milady. Come back whenever you need a refill.”

  Mercedes slipped back down the street. Alexander was waiting for her light knock. He quickly opened the door. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “You won’t mention…”

  “Mention what?”

  “I think you’re going to be very successful tailoring for the FFH, Señor Belmanor.”

  She started to hand him the veil. He pressed it back into her hands. “Keep it. You might need it again.” She nodded her thanks, folded it and slipped it into a pocket. “As long as you’re here we might as well have a fitting, Your Highness.” His tone was diffident.

  “Yes. You’re right. We’re running out of time, aren’t we?” As soon as the words were uttered she regretted saying it since Belmanor tensed and began to stammer excuses. She cut him off: “I only meant that my life is about to change… again.”

  6

  IS THIS ALL THERE IS?

  It didn’t look anything like the ones on the statues that had been rescued from old Earth. Those, enshrined in white marble, had seemed small, rather silly and even shy. Now she was faced with the reality of a live male member and it was daunting.

  The ceremony was over, the banquet consumed, and now the couple had been whisked away to the jewel-like palace her father had given to them. Champagne was cooling in a seau. Candles had been lit. Mercedes had excused herself, gone into the bathroom, soaked the sponge and inserted it. She hoped she had done it right. What if it slipped out when they…

  Mercedes stared again at Boho’s rampant penis. An opening like a tiny mouth peered out from beneath a hood of flesh and it seemed to be questing toward her like a dousing rod. Mercedes clutched her dressing gown, a cloud of peach colored lace, close to her throat. Boho had already stripped completely. He ignored the silk dressing gown that his batBEM had thrown over the settee in their bedroom and advanced on Mercedes.

  He reached down and stroked a hand along the length of his penis. “Yes, here it is. Already at attention, my love.” Her expression and stunned silence finally penetrated. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re scared, aren’t you? Nothing to worry about.” He gave her the grin. “I’ve done this more than a few times.”

  She found her voice. “Probably not the best idea to remind me of that,” she managed to say.

  He looked contrite. “I didn’t mean it that way. Just trying to put you at ease.” He pulled her hands away from her throat. She let them fall to her sides. Boho carefully untied the sash on her robe, and pushed it off her shoulders. “It’s appropriate for a man to be experienced. That way we can make it memorable for our wives.”

  He took her hand and guided it to his penis. The skin felt like velvet and was hot in her palm.

  The nightgown she wore was as lacy as her dressing gown. Only tiny ribbons tied into bows secured it at her shoulders. Boho tugged the loose end of one bow, gave her another grin.

  “Like unwrapping a very nice present.”

  The second bow released and her gown fell to her waist. Only the swell of her hips kept it from slithering to the floor. He studied her breasts, grabbed them, one in each hand, and gave them a hard knead. Mercedes gasped as his thumbnails flicked across her nipples. It was painful and titillating all at the same time.

  He leaned in and nibbled at her earlobe. She moaned and flung her arms around him. His lips moved down her neck and the nibbles became sharp bites. Sensation flared in her groin. He pulled her into an embrace, his mouth and teeth crushing against her lips. They had kissed before, but never with such urgency and violence. Tongues met, and a sensation like warm honey began to roil in Mercedes’ belly. His lips left hers, and he bent to kiss her breasts, sucking and biting at the nipples. Once again there was pain but also pleasure.

  Boho’s hand swept the nightgown over her hips and the lace puddled at her feet. She shivered from the touch of cold air then gave a squeak and a gasp when his hand shot down. The squeak became a yelp as he thrust his fingers inside her. She remembered the madam’s warning and tensed. The fingers were withdrawn, but he was grinning at her so her betrayal seemed to have remained undetected.

  “You’re very dry, my dear. We need to work on that,” Boho breathed into her ear.

  He surprised her by sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to the large canopied bed. He spread her knees and thrust his face between her thighs. His tongue flicked across her clitoris. Mercedes gave a gasp and a moan as fire darted through her belly. His tongue darted inside her, sucking and licking. There was a sudden explosion of moisture and for an instant she feared the sponge had slipped.

  Boho pulled back and grinned up at her from between her upturned knees. His mouth and lips were glistening. “You’re not dry now.” His voice was a husky rumble.

  He pulled himself up the length of her naked body and she cried out in shock as he thrust into her. He was rocking, grunting. She tried to match his rhythm, but kept missing the timing. His cock felt huge inside her. She finally matched her hips to his, started to feel the wetness returning, fire rushing along every nerve ending.

  Then he gave a shuddering cry; there was an explosion of warm liquid inside her. Boho collapsed onto her chest, breathing like a man who’d just run a marathon. He smelled of sweat and aftershave and this strange, musky, almost sweet scent. Fluid, viscous and sticky, was trickling down the inside of her thighs. There was a tight ball of tension deep in her chest, a feeling like a coiled spring in her groin.

  “Lovely, lovely,” he panted into her ear. His breathing slowed and she realized he’d fallen asleep. She was finding it hard to breathe beneath his weight.

  “Boho.” She shoved at him. “You’re heavy. Get off.”

  He sleepily murmured something and rolled off her. A few moments later he began to snore. Mercedes lay still, gazing up at the ribbed vaulting and copper plating of the ceiling. Exhaustion dragged at her bones and her eyes were stinging. She slipped out of bed, went into the gilt and marble bathroom and began running a bath. She removed the sponge, washed it and placed it in a drawer. She walked down the steps into the sunken tub and washed herself.

  The mirror-lined walls threw back her image, her skin dark against the white of the marble. Tumbled black curls falling below her shoulders. Lurid red blotches on her neck and breasts marked his bites.

  Mercedes began to cry and she wasn’t even sure why.

  * * *

  It was the first day of their brief honeymoon. Mercedes stood in the octagonal music room of the Phantasiestück Palace and watched the sun rise. The rays bounced in the diamond-shaped mullions in the windows that graced each plane, and darted across the sky-blue domed ceiling. The palace had been built by her great-great-great-grandfather Nicolai to house his lover Gerhardt, and they had both been avid musicians. Hence the jewel-box music room. Mercedes sang an experimental note and listened as the perfect acoustics of the room sent the sound shimmering to every corner. She wished she could hear Tracy sing in this room. He had a beautiful voice unlike her indifferent talent. It was not a good place for her thoughts to go, and whirling, she went striding out of the room trying to outrun the memories.

  Feeling trapped she hurried to a door that was opened by a waiting Hajin footman who bowed her out. She headed up the hill toward the main palace. She wanted to talk to her mother.

  It was June on Ouranos, and the location of the Phantasiestück Palace didn’t offer any access to ocean breezes. It was set on the north side of the hill that held the royal residences and looked out across the rolling hills of the chaparral rather than the sprawling city that ran all along the coast and the ocean beyond. Sweat tickled her forehead and she was glad of the sleeveless dress.

  Boho had awakened near dawn and wanted another rou
nd of sexual gymnastics. Mercedes had told him she needed to pee and gotten the sponge doused in spermicide and inserted. She really hoped they would settle into a pattern so she could plan for these encounters and have the sponge inserted without all this uncertainty. As for the sex, this second time had been easier, but she still felt this coiling tension, her hips and thighs ached, and she felt raw.

  As she walked she reflected on the preferential treatment being shown to them. In addition to the time leading up to the wedding they had been granted five days after the ceremony to “become accustomed to one another”. Added together it meant they were going to be arriving two and a half weeks late to the Nuestra Señora de la Concepción and would have to take the imperial yacht to catch up with the flagship.

  The rest of their classmates had mustered the day after graduation. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Lieutenant Lord Arturo Espadero del Campo had also been exempt, partly because he was one of Boho’s groomsmen, but mostly because he was the youngest son of Cousin Musa. Mihalis, the eldest son, had been granted leave from his ship to attend the wedding. Mercedes was pretty sure they hadn’t toasted the health and fecundity of the happy couple at the banquet last night. The del Campos would probably be thrilled if Mercedes didn’t get pregnant.

  What Boho didn’t know and Mercedes wasn’t going to tell him was that Cousin Musa had probably been party to the attack on the High Ground that was intended to discredit her. If Mercedes had fallen into the hands of the fake “terrorist”, the attempt to place her on the throne would have failed and the succession returned to Musa. Of course there was no direct proof so everyone maintained the fiction of family harmony in public. She assumed her father was practicing the defensive strategy of keeping your enemies close.

  A trickle of sweat coiled down her back and more sweat stung her eyes. She knew security was nearby, but here on the Palacio Colina it was less obvious. She could pretend she was alone. The imperial palace formed a marble and crystal crown on the brow of the hill. She pushed into a faster walk eager to ask her mother… what exactly?

  It wasn’t that she’d needed a sex talk per se. She had known in a general way what was going to happen. What she wanted to ask was if it was always this fast and… unsatisfying? There was really no one else for her to ask. Unlike Boho whose attendants had been his friends, her wedding party had consisted of women she barely knew. Cipriana was gone and Sumiko too ungainly in the eighth month of pregnancy to be a maid or even a matron of honor. So Mercedes had ended up with her sisters and women married to men whom her father wished to cultivate. Mercedes didn’t know any of the women well enough to discuss sex with them. As for her sisters, all of them were virgins or babies so there was no help there. She had no one with whom to share a cup of cocoa and ask, Is this all there is? If so, why all the fuss?

  So instead she was going to ask her mother. A woman she hadn’t seen in years. Like that wasn’t going to be awkward.

  The sprinklers came on with a click and hiss. The soft ratcheting sound was soothing in the warm June air and formed a counterpoint to the squeak and neep from the tree frogs. Cool spray touched Mercedes’ cheeks. She licked the drops of water off her lips. A few moments later she broke out of the trees and approached the back garden gate. It was a beautiful thing, formed of twining vines and leaves in crystal and silver. The fusilero on duty gave her a salute. She inclined her head rather than returning the salute because she was dressed in civilian clothes.

  The fountains in the knot garden sang like bells and the herbs exhaled their aromas into the air. A riot of red bougainvillea tumbled over the walls creating the effect that the walls were bleeding. A palace cat was stalking one of the planet’s Leporidae. For simplicity’s sake the human settlers just called the creatures lapins. Despite their insectlike faceted eyes, they did sort of look like rabbits, though they had long filaments that brought in both sound and smell sprouting from all sides of their skulls. They also had long tails. This lapin’s tail was twitching and the cat’s tail was twitching in time with its prey’s. Mercedes clapped her hands together and gave a yell. The lapin shot away. The cat gave her an accusing look and stalked off.

  She slipped in the palace door. It was quite early so the halls were bustling with only servants. She headed to the guest wing, and the suite that housed Maribel and her husband. The door was open and a cadre of Hajin and Isanjo servants were stripping the bed and mopping the floor. Several tall Tiponi Flutes were polishing the crystals in the chandelier. They all paused and bowed as she stepped into the room.

  “Lady Maribel—” Mercedes began.

  “She and Lord Breganza have departed for the spaceport, Your Highness.”

  “Already? Why?” The Isanjo servant wisely made no answer. The expression on the fur-covered face was impassive.

  Mercedes spun and walked out of the suite. Who had been behind this? Her father not wishing the reminder of his first wife? Or Constanza, angered by the presence of her predecessor? It didn’t really matter. Whoever it was they had succeeded in keeping her from her mother when she really needed her. Mercedes swallowed hard, trying to ease the tightness in her chest. She was the blissful bride. That was the face she needed to present to the world at large.

  She leaned against a wall and tried to think. Cipriana would be perfect, but Cipri was light years away by now. Her thoughts turned to the other woman who had been with her at the High Ground for that first year. Sumiko with one child and a second on the way was clearly familiar with the sex act. Mercedes headed for the garage to get a flitter.

  * * *

  “Overall it went off pretty well. Most of the sisters behaved. The twins and Carisa were adorable as flower girls, and Carisa only threw up once. That child is so neurotic—but don’t tell Constanza I said that. I think it’s Constanza who makes her neurotic. Anyway, even Tanis managed not to say anything rude to anybody. This time it was Izzara who was in tears because she’s put on this layer of puppy fat, and she’s got pimples, unlike Tanis. Izzie is used to being the pretty sister, and Tanis was always the ugly duckling. Now Tanis is turning into a swan and Izzara looked like an overstuffed goose.” Mercedes realized she was babbling, talking faster and faster in the face of Sumiko’s obvious disinterest. She plowed on.

  “Beatrisa squirmed and managed to get her bridesmaid dress smudged and torn. I have no idea how she did that. Julieta sulked and glared so everyone would be in no doubt that she was terribly, terribly upset about her wedding being postponed and having to go to the High Ground. Of course nobody noticed because who looks at a bridesmaid at a wedding? Which made her all the more angry. Thank God I had Estella. She remained calm throughout everything.”

  Silence. Mercedes shifted on the garden bench. Sumiko made no reply, just stood rubbing at the enormous mound of her belly. She seemed to be staring down at her eighteen-month-old daughter who squatted on her heels staring at a caterpillar that was inching through the grass, but Mercedes had a feeling she was looking at nothing.

  “I’m really sorry you couldn’t be in the wedding party,” Mercedes added.

  That finally roused Sumiko. She looked over at Mercedes. “Probably just as well. I would have had to leave the altar to pee. As it was I missed the exchange of vows because I’d gone to the bathroom.”

  “Yeah, a full wedding mass is really long,” Mercedes said with forced brightness. There was again no response. More silence while Mercedes tried to figure out how to broach the subject that had brought her. Instead she found herself blurting out, “Are you happy?” She hadn’t meant to be rude, but the words had flown and could not be recalled.

  Sumiko waddled over to the garden bench and awkwardly lowered herself onto the cushions. Mercedes found it hard to pull her gaze from the massive belly and swollen breasts. The other woman sighed.

  “Happy,” she repeated as if tasting the word. “I’m resigned. Though it is diverting watching Edna.” She looked over at the rapt child. “She’s a lot more interesting now that she’s ambulatory and beco
ming verbal.” She rubbed her belly again. “I’ll probably love this one too, but right now he’s just making me uncomfortable.”

  “You got married so quickly after you left school.”

  “Yes, I settled. I realized after Hugo died that happiness is probably overrated and love is an illusion.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “You disagree? You’re not exactly the picture of a blissful bride.”

  “Boho is wonderful.”

  “But…?” Sumiko drew out the word into an interrogative and raised her eyebrows.

  This was why Mercedes had come. She had been wrestling with how to broach the topic, but Sumiko had done it for her. Mercedes gulped, hesitated then plunged ahead. “Sex. Is it… I mean should it be… I mean I thought it would be… I mean it feels good… sort of, but well, should it be so… fast? And unsatisfying?”

  “You’re asking me? Frederick does his duty. I do mine. I’m obviously fertile so mission accomplished. What did you expect? We’re all just doing our duties.”

  “I’m sorry to see you feel this way.”

  “I’m sorry too—for you.” Sumiko’s tone didn’t match the words. She sounded spiteful. “You’ve never really had a choice. About anything. How do you stand it?”

  “How do you?” Mercedes flared back. “You were the smartest of all of us. You could be doing something interesting rather than sitting here bloated and unhappy and trapped.” If she’d been embarrassed by her earlier comment Mercedes was now mortified by her outburst. Her chagrin deepened when tears began to stream down her friend’s puffy face. “Oh, Sumi, I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, you’re right. I thought I was punishing the world. Instead I was just punishing myself. I was so stupid.” The words emerged between snorting sobs. Edna, alarmed by her mother’s distress, stood up and started to cry.

  Mercedes joined Sumiko on the bench and put her arm around her shoulders. “What can I do? How can I help?”

  “You can’t. It’s too late for me.” She dashed away the tears, levered herself to her feet, and moved to her crying child. “Don’t let it be too late for you, Mer,” Sumiko said. “Promise me!”