“I will try very hard not to be like him, Gwen,” he says gently. “For your sake and for the sake of everyone else I love and care about. It is the one thing I can do. Yet another reason for me to hold on to hope. . . .”
In response, I reach out to him, wordlessly, and put my hands on both sides of his face, feeling his jaw and lean cheeks with their faint trace of stubble, stroking his warm, slightly flushed skin. He parts his lips at my touch, and a barely audible moan escapes him. And then I move in and kiss him, hard. My mouth opens around him and I press on, aggressively, savoring his lips, aware of his immense leashed power held in check, feeling him begin to tremble with arousal, but keeping still, letting me take charge and control our intimate contact for a few long moments of euphoria. . . .
And then he cannot remain still any longer, and takes over, with a wildly drawn breath, and he is pressing my mouth with his, roughly, desperately, sending me into waves of sensual awareness that ripple all throughout my body.
“Oh lord. . . .” I make an incomprehensible sound of pleasure during a moment of gasping for breath. “Oh! You’re killing me, Aeson! It’s just so—”
Immediately he grows still, and pulls back enough to see my eyes, his hands holding my face gently. “Did I hurt you? . . . Are you . . . okay?” His ragged breath washes over my lips as he looks at me with concern.
I smile with bemused sweetness. “Oh, no! It’s so good that it’s killing me, I meant to say!”
“Oh!” At once he relaxes again and smiles at me, and his face just lights up with warmth.
“You know, you’re such an amazing kisser,” I say, stroking his cheeks with my fingers, letting them graze the side of his mouth, and then boldly continuing to outline the beautifully shaped lips. “How did you ever learn to kiss like that? I thought you never kissed anyone before. You said that time, when you claimed me as your Bride, that your mouth has touched no other lips. . . .”
Aeson makes an amused sound. “It’s true, I’ve never actually kissed anyone else on the lips before you—Imperial Rules of Conduct forbid it, and it’s especially not allowed for a Kassiopei heir. But—I’ve thought about it enough, imagined it so many times, especially when looking at you.”
“Hah!” I say. “Only me? You mean you’ve never imagined kissing another girl?”
He holds back a smile.
“Come on! Not ever?” I persist, tapping his cheek, and then the tip of his perfect nose.
He raises one brow at my silly touch. “Well, I’m only human, so over the years there may have been some others whose lips . . . inspired me a certain way. But never as much as yours have, especially all these months we journeyed with the Fleet, and I got to see you every day.”
He pauses, and his gaze becomes intense, as he now looks undeniably at my mouth. “I admit, there were times it was torture . . . seeing you at the CCO as you were working just a few feet away from me . . . wanting your sweet pouty mouth . . . imagining what it would be like to taste . . . so soft and full. . . .”
My pulse picks up speed as I watch him closely examine my lips with a kind of innocent curiosity mixed up with natural male sensuality. It sends waves of awareness spreading throughout me. At the same time, he starts drawing closer again.
“Ah. . . .” I sigh in anticipation.
And then, just before kissing me, he says, “And it was torture knowing you were regularly kissing him—your boyfriend Sangre.”
I freeze, with a sudden pang of discomfort. “Oh, Aeson, I am so sorry you had to deal with that,” I say softly. “So sorry! But it’s over, in the past, I promise!”
“I know. . . . And I shouldn’t have brought him up,” Aeson says, exhaling sharply. “Sorry, Gwen. Normally I’m in better control of my impulses. But when it comes to you—”
My heart is beating rapidly as I look at him with worry. Yes, he’s jealous, I think. But for once it gives me no pleasure, no affirmation, only a deep ache on his behalf.
“If it makes it any better,” I say, “Logan was the only other boy I’ve ever kissed, before you. And—and that’s all that ever happened.”
I pause, feeling my face start to flush with a different kind of heat, that of embarrassment. “Aeson, I hope it’s clear that nothing else ever happened between Logan and me, and I’m pretty much as inexperienced as you can imagine. . . . I promise, I am as much a virgin as—as I’m guessing you are.”
I grow silent, look into his eyes, expecting him to flush and maybe look away with a similar kind of awkwardness. Wow, am I feeling awkward now! Yup, I’m an eighteen-year-old nerd virgin finally admitting it to her fiancé. Not that it’s a bad thing or anything, but it’s just a super-weird intimate thing to say out loud to anyone—and especially to the one person you care most about.
But something strange happens. Aeson grows very still, and his face pales. He lets go of me very slowly and sits back, and his expression becomes closed in, unreadable, while it seems an inexplicable weight of darkness, a burden, settles in around him.
“What?” I say with alarm, seeing his change, his withdrawal.
“I—” he says.
There is a pause. . . .
And then he blinks and looks down, averting his gaze. “I am sorry, but—I am not a virgin. In fact—Gwen, it is very likely I am now the father of several children.”
And then, as I stare at him, through a sudden ringing in my ears, through the rising tidal wave of absolute cosmic cold, I hear him say:
“I wanted to have this difficult conversation with you eventually, before our Wedding, and to tell you, explain everything at last. But because of all these circumstances happening, one thing after another, there was never a right moment, so I had to put it off. But it must be said now, before you have the wrong impression, assume certain things. . . . I have to be honest with you now—before you think the worst of me.”
Chapter 26
“What?” I can hear myself speak, and yes, it’s my voice, but it’s unsteady and no more than a whisper, breathy with beginning tears.
Aeson Kassiopei, my Bridegroom, looks at me directly at last, with an inflamed gaze, and I can see he is wounded, tormented.
“You have . . . children?” I speak again, in that same distant, weird alien voice belonging to someone else.
“Yes . . . Gwen, I do,” he replies in a similar soft whisper. “Please, let me explain.”
“I—don’t understand, but I’m listening.”
He takes a deep breath, and does not immediately speak.
Seconds elongate with silence.
“There is a duty that all Kassiopei men must perform for the sake of Atlantida—and, we’re told, for the sake of the human race. It is an ancient duty, and it has been ours since the dawn of time, for as long as we can remember. . . . Even before we left Earth, it was a part of our tradition, the oldest one that defined who we are—an Imperial line of very, very ancient humans who were so genetically ‘pure’ they were closest to gods.” Aeson pauses speaking and just looks at me, as I stare unblinking, holding my breath.
And then he continues. “If you ask me what it means, what exactly is our DNA, what makes it so special, so ‘divine’—I have to tell you I have no idea. And to be honest, it feels and sounds like archaic nonsense to me. It doesn’t help that our oldest historical archive records are extremely vague and unclear on the subject. My genetic makeup makes me no more divine, or pure, or better than you or any other human being. But it does account for some minor differences—”
He points to the dark fine “kohl” outline around his eyelids, touches his golden hair. “There’s all this,” he says. “And then there’s my Logos voice—normally a Kassiopei trait, but apparently not so unique, since you yourself have it also, with your separately evolved Earth genes. There are also certain additional enhanced Kassiopei traits such as physical endurance, strength, health, longevity, and extra resistance to harmful environmental factors.”
“Okay . . .” I say softly. “But what does any of th
is have to do with—”
He presses his mouth into a tight line and holds back a bitter smile. “Let me tell you. The Kassiopei strain of DNA is considered in our society to be precious and sacred, and its mysterious origin is hidden away in the Earth’s past, too far away for it to be properly known or understood. But there is one thing that has stayed with us, and that is the inviolate and sacred duty of Kassiopei to maintain the genetic integrity of our line indefinitely and to regularly infuse our DNA into the greater human population.”
“Oh. . . .” I listen, tense and still, watching him.
“To that effect,” he continues, “there is a very old, very secret formal ritual—a ritual that all Kassiopei men have to participate in, from the age of sixteen when they officially reach puberty, until they officially take a wife and wed, by the age of nineteen, at which point they are free of the ritual obligation. In earlier centuries, this ritual, called the Imperial Rite of Sacrifice, and known only to a select inner circle of Kassiopei and their attendant priests, was held every season—four times a year. But now, more recently, it’s been reduced to an annual rite. That’s the minimal frequency permitted by our ancient law, in order to maintain the integrity of our Kassiopei duty to our people.”
“How much do the people of Atlantida actually know? About any of this—this duty?” Awkward questions tumble out of me. “If it’s supposed to be secret—”
“The public knows just enough about Kassiopei to be aware that we participate in all kinds of hidden ceremonies and sacraments—much of what they think they know is based on centuries of fear and superstition. But they know nothing about the true reasons, or the actual details of what takes place. It’s all a part of the unfortunate mystique, the ‘cult of divinity’ that surrounds us. The nobility knows enough to take part—generational rumors circulate, even though the potential participants are sworn to secrecy. So, once a year, for at least three years, sometimes four, depending on when the Kassiopei male finally weds, we are obligated to take part in this arcane ritual.”
“So—does this mean that you—” I begin to speak again, unsure what it is I’m saying, while the gears of slow comprehension are turning in my mind.
“Yes, Gwen,” Aeson says seriously. “It means that as soon as I turned sixteen, the Atlantean age of physical maturity, I had to participate. But I got lucky—because the Fleet was being deployed to Earth, and since I would’ve been gone for most of this time, my Father made a concession for me. I only had to take part in the Rite twice, but both of these times falling in a single year, which was just before I left for Earth with the Fleet on my military assignment. And, of course, as soon as I returned to Atlantis, I was supposed to choose a Bride by the time I turned nineteen, and be free of my obligation.”
“If—if you don’t choose a Bride, what would happen?” I ask, as my pulse races with anxiety.
He exhales loudly. “Then I would have to take part in the Rite every year, indefinitely. It would be my burden and punishment.”
“Oh my God. . . .” I suddenly recall how Devora Kassiopei talked with some urgency about our Wedding date being set, preferably sooner than later. . . . Did that have anything to do with Aeson’s participation in this thing?
But I don’t have time to pursue that line of thought, because Aeson continues. “And so, I was sixteen, and I was obligated by law to perform my Imperial Kassiopei duty, for the first time. . . . What I’m going to tell you, Gwen, is rather difficult for me—embarrassing and distasteful to talk about, and something I would prefer not to revisit—but it must be told. You need to know this, so that you will come to better understand all of this—Atlantis, Kassiopei, me.”
“Okay,” I say in a faint voice, looking at him and observing every nuance of his dark expression. “So this ritual—I am assuming it had to do with—”
“It had to do with giving my genetic material,” Aeson interrupts me. I can see he is agitated, by the way in which he blinks before speaking, and his usually controlled manner is compromised by his elevated breathing. He glances away, averting his gaze from me, and begins to speak in a cold wooden voice, carefully measured in order to deny all feeling.
“The Imperial Rite of Sacrifice requires for the Kassiopei male to be physically intimate with several specially chosen, verifiably fertile women of nobility, in a highly controlled, completely anonymous coupling ritual for the duration of one night. It is overseen by high ranking priests, and to some degree, several members of the Imperial Family,” he says, pausing for a long moment before finally turning to look at me, to face my reaction.
My lips part, as at last my comprehension is complete. I should be numb, angry, horrified . . . but instead, my heart breaks on his behalf, seeing the vulnerability, the childlike fear in his eyes as he confronts me after making this revelation.
“Oh, Aeson . . .” I say gently.
He exhales with a shudder, seeing my sympathy, and continues speaking. “My first one happened soon after my sixteenth birthday. I was informed of what to expect, and I was schooled and prepared and thoroughly lectured to by the Hel-Ra priests who serve the Kassiopei Imperial Dynasty. They began by telling me about the true arcane function of the Book of Life—that its primary purpose was to be a DNA record. . . . A record of the exact genealogical relationships of Kassiopei males and every one of the otherwise anonymous women they coupled with, throughout the centuries. . . . The Book holds, among other things, names of the women who served as chosen receptacles of the genetic material, and lineage trees of their specific families. I was told that even more precise medical records were kept of the lineage of each child born as a result of the Rite, and I was forbidden from knowing anything about these children—just as every other Kassiopei before me.”
He pauses. “These women—they have to go through a very long and arduous vetting process. . . . You cannot imagine the complexity. . . . Every year, noble families discreetly apply for the honor—the secret privilege of having their daughters bear the children of Kassiopei, in exchange for elevation in rank and special benefits. Not everyone can apply. The family must be noble for at least one generation, but low in rank, preferably unknown—with nothing that would make them stand out, nothing to draw attention. The young woman must be of good character, respectable and already married. She must already be a mother, with at least one healthy living child, and able to give birth without complications. She must be discreet and make the oath never to reveal the real father of her Kassiopei child. And, regardless of whether she is chosen that year or not, she must obey the rules and move away from the capital city Poseidon immediately after the Rite is over, and never again return to Court in her lifetime.
“Her child, when born, and all her other children, will be raised in a distant province, recognized only as the offspring of her husband (who is also sworn to silence), and never be allowed to come to the capital city, also spending their lifetime in exile from Poseidon. Only the children’s children—in other words, the next generation—may return and be seen in Court. Such women applicants and all their children are called the Sacrificed, because by restricting their personal freedom they protect the anonymity of the few real Kassiopei offspring among them by the very existence of their entire group, that annual batch of exiles.”
“This is truly horrifying,” I whisper. “So how many women exactly are we talking here, how many families, each year?”
Aeson looks at me with a tragic dark expression. “Dozens of young women from noble families apply every year, knowing the consequences, willing to relocate, just for this privilege of being chosen. Once they are approved as eligible, they are placed on a waiting list, from which ten are designated every year as Sacrificed. And for every Rite, only three of the Sacrificed are chosen, while the rest of the Sacrificed serve to disguise the identity of these three.”
“So, wait, are you saying that you had to be with three women in this Rite?” I say.
Aeson lets out a deep breath. “Yes . . . but I had to participat
e in two Rites, one shortly after another, so—there were actually six women.”
“Six?” My eyes widen.
But he shakes his head, as though trying to clear his mind, and continues. “That first Rite . . . was the most difficult for me. I was only sixteen Atlantean years, already aloof by nature, and further isolated by my Imperial upbringing, even despite my Fleet School years during which at least I got to live in the barracks with other Cadets, and see other people my age under close daily living conditions. I admit, even knowing what to expect from the Rite, and putting up a brave front, I was frightened. . . .”
I reach out and place my hand gently against his arm. Aeson starts at my touch, and grows silent momentarily, before resuming.
“On the day of the Rite, the priests and acolytes came to my Imperial Quarters in the Palace in the late afternoon and started preparing the Master Bedroom of the Crown Prince for the ritual. I remember their incense stands and censers set up around the perimeter of the room, surrounding that grand bed, and thuribles suspended on chains hung from the walls. . . . The bedroom was filled with flowers and incense. I was served a special dea meal, then cleansed and shaved and groomed, and given something strange to drink that both calmed me and elevated my senses . . . and somehow terrified me even further. Then, I was made to lie down on that giant bed, completely naked, with only a sheet covering my lower body.
“Two priests approached, and behind them, my Mother, the Imperatris. . . . My poor Mother—oh, Gwen, I will never forget the look in her eyes when she first saw me lying there, on that monstrous bed surrounded by dark red sheets. She was close to crying, but she hid it so skillfully behind a smile. . . . My Mother is very good at that, hiding her pain, having had much practice. She took my hand and squeezed it, leaned over me and kissed my forehead. She told me that there was nothing to be afraid of, and that it will be all over very soon. The women, she said, she had chosen them herself, interviewed them to make sure they were kind, and that they would be very gentle with me—especially the first one. And then my Mother covered herself with veils and left the room, escorted by the priests.
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