“The money aside, how do you plan to teach me, as my father put it, ‘Propriety befitting the girl’s station, and an understanding of where her dresses come from?’”
“I think your father meant only—”
“I know precisely what my father meant. He wants me to conform to his way of thinking—the old ways that have gotten us where we are in the world.”
Did she mean the old ways that saw her people master not just their own planet, but several moons throughout the Phoenix system? The old ways which had lifted the Luxing people out of semi-intellectual tribalism to accompany their Shorvexan masters into the stars? The old ways which provided this young woman every luxury of life?
Symeon refrained from saying these things aloud. He might not know Princess Kavya well, but he got the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate anyone defending a government she clearly distrusted.
His professors had warned him about this type of master. Usually young and high-minded to the point of myopic thinking, they spent their lives railing against that which gave them the power to complain. Somehow, they lost sight of the good their government, family, or other societal norms provided and chose instead to focus solely on the negative aspects. They became so focused on perfecting society, they lost sight of the fact that perfection never could or would exist when it came to people.
“I cannot argue the point, having never met your father in person,” Symeon said in as conciliatory a voice as he could muster. “But might I suggest a means of compromise that will suit us both, considering that I plan to serve you for the rest of my days.”
Now it was Kavya’s turn to look surprised. “You may.”
“Why not do as your father bids?”
“Allow you to tutor me in subjects I already know?”
“And listen when I make suggestions about etiquette, conduct, or whatever else your father and Ivan rab Rurikid might toss our way.”
“To what end?”
“Freedom. Your chance to leave Yaya Island with your father’s full blessing. Isn’t that worth the effort?”
“What if I’m happy here?” Kavya suggested, though Symeon could tell her heart wasn’t in her words.
“For life?”
Kavya frowned.
“Princess, my aim as your seneschal is not to school you or change you or even see you conform in some way you detest. I belong to you. It is my place to conform and to serve. I am trained to put your interests before all else. If I’m to do that, I must acknowledge what I see before me: a woman divested of her freedom, banished by a father blinded to her strengths or, perhaps more rightly, fearful of them. I’m not suggesting you change, my lady. I’m suggesting you emerge.”
Czarina, who had turned to stare at Symeon in the midst of his words, tilted her head to one side as if examining some new dynamic she had missed upon her first cursory estimation of him. She put down her holo display and twisted to watch Kavya’s reaction.
A slow smile curled the princess’ lips until her white teeth showed. “You make a convincing argument. If that is your true aim, then yes, I’ll allow you to tutor me, but that doesn’t alleviate your duty to the estate’s finances. Even I don’t know how all that works. It’s in your hands.”
Symeon bowed, eyes on the library’s plush carpet, pleased by his ruse. He had every intention of molding the princess as her father commanded. “Consider it done.”
* * * * *
Chapter 5
The sun was barely over the distant horizon when Symeon started back on the estate accounts. Three days of near sleepless nights had gained him little in the way of progress with mapping the complex web of financial witchery someone had cast on Princess Kavya’s holdings. He had at least managed to identify all of her shell corporations, or so he hoped, and constructed a planning sheet that documented the many thousands of liens she held on property throughout her father’s duchy. Though he considered those steps at least minor victories, he still had no idea where most of her cash flow went every week. Shadow agencies ate much of what her assets earned on a day-to-day basis, which came as no real surprise. Symeon knew most of the supposedly wealthiest Shorvexans in the system lived in a perpetual state of balanced debt. To his unceasing frustration, however, many of these debt collectors hid inside shell corporations of their own. Discovering the actual people behind those instruments had, thus far, proven next to impossible. They took great pains to hide exactly what customers had bought from them. And Kavya was no help. Each time he asked what this or that bill entailed, she would shrug and shake her head. Apparently, spending meant as much to the princess as having a meal.
“Who the hell is taking all your money?” Symeon whispered to the holo display on his desk. It showed a three dimensional representation of the Princess’ holdings with income in green, debt in red, and unknown entities in black. The spheroid map displayed a lot of black.
He took a sip of coffee one of the maids had brought him and grimaced. Cold. He hadn’t realized more than an hour had passed while he communed with the interface. He passed a hand through the display, spinning it onto its side, and spread the table apart to zoom in on a particular entity that had eluded his attempts to identify it completely the night before. For some reason, Kavya’s accounts paid this collector seventy-five credits every two weeks. Given the astronomical numbers Symeon was dealing with, that small amount mattered little, and yet it irked him that the computer could not identify the payee beyond a generic company name: Saddle Horn Enterprises. That name, of course, meant nothing. It belonged to three more companies, each with a different name and a different address around the world. But something about this one piqued Symeon’s interest. He couldn’t say why. A tiny voice in his head told him there was something more to this account than the others.
He touched it, and the company’s icon enlarged to show him contact information and a supposedly up-to-date image of its offices in a remote part of the Moscunavich duchy. Odd that, since yesterday Saddle Horn Enterprises had been based two thousand kilometers away in the city of Fostronov.
Symeon leaned back in his office chair, his gaze on the ceiling. The rooms Kavya had given him in Vysylka castle made his dormitory back at school seem like a slave’s shanty. A bank of windows covered one wall, giving him a view of the jungle leading down to the white sand beaches that surrounded Yaya Island. His bed—also larger than his room back at school—electronically conformed to his body for the most comfortable night’s sleep he had ever enjoyed. Not that he was getting much sleep. This problem with the books, and his subsequent problem with keeping his job should he fail to solve it, cycled through his mind day and night. It—
Buy something.
Symeon sat up so fast he nearly fell out of his chair. The thought had come to him so suddenly it felt alien. He hadn’t been thinking about buying anything. What in all of Phoenix did he want to buy? He couldn’t imagine anything he needed. Although—
Buy what she has bought.
Symeon’s eyes went wide. That was it. He could order something from the shell company as if he were a customer. With the right tools in place, he could then track his interactions to their source.
It took less than ten minutes to set up his trap. Symeon had always been good with computers. They made sense to him, sometimes much more so than people. He made several tweaks to a generic tracking program he purchased from the planetary web, applied it to his personal interface, and went directly to Saddle Horn Enterprise’s main node.
He had been here before, a dozen times, but never with the intention to buy anything. The company sold research hours of every variety from market analyses for business ventures to dating services and educational products. What had Kavya wanted with this seller? A date? Study materials? Symeon found himself even more intrigued than ever. Using the princess’ account, he bought a six-hour course on Shorvexan real estate investment. He doubted she would miss the forty-nine credits it cost her.
A yellow pennant appeared in the holo screen announci
ng that his purchase had gone through. In the same instant, a second window opened, this one a tracking monitor to follow the order through millions of software-derived interchanges until they reached its source.
Without warning, a silvery Shorvexan face materialized above Symeon’s desk. Despite his station as a seneschal to Princess Kavya, he jumped in his seat, his pulse quickening. He felt like a sneaky slave caught in the act of tricking his masters.
The face stared at him for a moment, frozen, before it began speaking a recorded message.
“Hello, Tessa-yaya24,” said the man. Symeon recognized that handle as the one Kavya most often used on the planetary sphere. “I’m afraid my answer is still no. I cannot sell you anymore of the patterned lace you bought last month. It’s possible I might find more when the time is right, but for now my supplier is simply out of season. We might make a compromise sometime however, perhaps on a different sort of fabric? I know of a variety in even higher demand than the type you purchased last. In fact, I think you might be even more interested in this new fabric. Let me know what you’re looking for, and we’ll chat.”
A payment reversal popped up on the holo next to Symeon’s tracking information. It showed the seller based here in Valensk, Grand Duke Alexei’s own duchy, not four hundred kilometers away. Rather than a business, Saddle Horn Enterprises looked like a private residence based on satellite images.
“Got you,” Symeon whispered.
“Who have you got?” asked a feminine voice behind him.
Careful to switch off his display without haste, Symeon took a moment to hide his surprise before turning to find Czarina standing in his open doorway. The petite Luxing woman wore a sleek black top and pants that hugged her every curve, matched with knee-high silver boots and a thin chain about her flat midriff. Her raven-colored hair spilled over one shoulder, shiny in the morning light. She stepped inside and keyed the door to seal behind her.
Symeon stood up, his throat suddenly gone dry.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” Czarina gazed about the room with its whitewashed walls and spotless carpets. She moved with the grace of a Nevyansk plains cat on the hunt, her hips undulating in a way that drew Symeon’s attention.
“What would you like?” He tore his gaze from her and hurried to the cold box in the apartment’s spacious kitchen. “I have fruit juice, water, and—” Symeon hesitated. “It’s early yet, but I have some Muskovodron wine. My parents sent it to me as a graduation gift.”
Czarina leaned against the alcove wall next to the cool box, her spine erect, her hands thrust behind the small of her exquisitely shaped back. The pose, whether by design or purely unconscious on her part, served to lift her breasts while simultaneously accentuating her flat stomach. The silver chain draped over her navel formed an arrow pointing down.
Symeon threw open the cold box door and thrust his head inside ostensibly to search for the win e— he did want to find it after al l— but also as a means of peeling his gaze off the beautiful woman in his room. The cool air on his face helped him order his thoughts.
For the last five years, Symeon hadn’t thought much about relationships or women in general. The School of Seneschals wasn’t co-ed—Luxing women weren’t allowed to serve in so demanding a position. Certainly, there had been girls in town, Luxing servants whom many of the students dated. Yakov in particular had had a torrid love affair with three women during his time at the school, but not Symeon. Though he had been in a relationship with a girl named Ista back home on the farm in his teens, and at the time that had seemed like the most important thing in the galaxy, he had devoted his five years to study and refrained from dating. It wasn’t as though a seneschal graduate could continue a relationship with a local girl after receiving his posting. Many a broken heart started cracking that way.
Thus, it had been more than five years since Symeon had been alone in a room with a woman his own age. Every nerve in his body tingled with pent up ardor to the point his thoughts felt clouded. He poured two glasses of the chilled wine and placed the bottle on the kitchen island next to the grill, careful to arrange everything just so for fear of dropping them in his nervousness.
“Thank you.” Czarina sipped the red liquid which matched her lips and smiled. “Oh, that’s delicious. You say your parents sent it?”
“Yes.” Symeon took a sip as well, careful to keep the quantity small. He hadn’t eaten in hours and he had no desire to further weaken his judgment. Something about this social call nagged at him.
Czarina crossed the room to the expanse of windows, wine glass clutched to her bosom in both hands. “Beautiful. You have such a lovely view of the ocean.”
“I like it.” Symeon moved to stand beside her, despite the little voice in his head yammering that he should be careful.
“Do you like me, Symeon?” Czarina turned her alluring brown eyes up to him, and Symeon thought his heart might catch fire in his chest.
He swallowed. “Yes, of course I do.”
Daintily, she took his glass from him and placed them both on a lamp stand next to his bed. She then slid her arms around his waist, her hands skimming across his lower back like two birds following a river valley, and drew him down for a kiss.
A million thoughts burst inside Symeon’s skull. Lust of course. He hadn’t been with a woman in more than five years. Simply holding Czarina felt like the only important thing in the universe. But what about his breath? He hadn’t washed his teeth in hours, and there had been that tepid coffee. Disgusting. What must she think of him? Did he have time to back off, perhaps shower? Perhaps share a shower?
Fool!
Czarina’s lips tasted like wine and mint, an odd yet tantalizing combination. As their kiss grew deeper, more impassioned, she parted those soft lips and tentatively explored his mouth with her tongue. If Symeon had thought he experienced passion before, her coy byplay obliterated that previous feeling. He drew her closer, acutely aware of her breasts against him, her back arching in the most pleasing of ways, her silken hair brushing against his cheek.
The timing. This can’t be right.
With deft assurance, Czarina captured Symeon’s hand. She withdrew it slowly, sensuously from her back and guided it under her top. Her smooth skin sent an electric thrill singing across Symeon’s fingers as her hand pushed against his own, insistent, demanding, until he found himself caressing her bare breast.
Symeon froze. Though every atom in his body screamed for him to go on, he stopped moving. The voice in his head, nearly drowned away under the flood of his physical need, broke through one last time.
Trap!
“What is it?” Czarina breathed, her lips still pressed against his own. She drew back, smiling, and nipped at his throat playfully. “Come to bed.” She turned, fingers entwined with his, and drew him toward it.
“No.”
“No bed?” The grin that spread Czarina’s lips spoke of pleasures Symeon had never known. “Where? On the floor? In the chair?” She reached cross-armed to remove her top, her eyes watching his, shy yet somehow masterful all at once.
Against the very drive of his nature, Symeon placed a hand on Czarina’s wrists and stopped her from removing her shirt. More than nearly anything he had ever wanted in his life, he wanted to see—not just see—her body, but knew deep down that would be a mistake.
“Why are you here?” He stared into her eyes, his voice little more than a whisper.
She looked taken aback, her forehead momentarily wrinkled with consternation. “What do you mean? I came here to be with you. Don’t you want me?” She made to reach for another embrace, but Symeon backed away.
“Czarina,” he said, and it was all he could do not to respond to her advances. “Yes, I want you, but this feels sudden. More than sudden, it feels planned.”
Czarina withdrew her hands from him and folded her arms, her lips turned down at the corners. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Symeon fought the urge to apologize, to pull
her back into his arms and resume their foreplay. “I think you know exactly what I mean. I am the princess’ seneschal. You are her handmaid. If we have an affair, it could go poorly for me.”
Czarina’s mouth dropped open, and her brows furrowed. “You think I would tell? I’m not that sort of woman. This would remain between us, Symeon. I like you. You’re pretty, and you’ve got this way about you—this commanding presence.”
She drew closer, reaching out to explore his chest, but Symeon eluded her. He captured her hands and pushed them gently away.
“Ivan warned me this might happen. I didn’t take his meaning before, but now I see. How many of my predecessors did you thwart? All of them?”
Czarina’s facade of shy invitation shattered, replaced by a slow, knowing grin. “Most of them. The last was one who preferred boys, but he eventually removed himself, the poor fool. Kavya and I were sad about that. He actually wasn’t a bad sort.”
“You framed those men for having affairs beneath their station as a pretense for their dismissal?” Symeon’s blood ran cold at knowing how close he had come to falling for the same trick. Though no sane master would expect a slave to remain celibate, a seneschal was expected to marry. Any torrid affairs he might have were both expected and ignored so long as they remained out of public view. The moment scandal arose, however, said seneschal would almost always lose his position, and often his ability to serve as a steward at all. As the saying went, quiet lovers are the seneschal’s only lovers, or “Where does the seneschal sleep? In his bedchamber alone. Where does the chambermaid sleep? In the seneschal’s bedchamber alone.”
“I didn’t frame anyone. They did have affairs with me. And I would do it a thousand times over to protect Kavya.” Czarina’s eyes, so warm and inviting only seconds before, took on a measure of threat wholly incongruous with her looks.
Salvage Mind (Salvage Race Book 1) Page 4