by Kim Knox
“Why did you pick me?”
“I have to choose the best the temple offers. No exceptions.”
She glanced back at him, watching him shrug into his official armor, before she turned to the line of shelves cut back into the wall. Pulling out folded silk, she found loose trousers and a tunic, both in a deep brown. Ceta peeled off the coat and top and pulled on the fresh clothes. She would wash later, but right now she needed to be covered.
Iason’s gaze narrowed on her, sliding over what she wore, but he didn’t speak. He settled his cloak and straightened. “You want me gone.”
She did…and she didn’t…but she said the word anyway. “Yes.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Whatever you decide, I will abide by,” he said. He gave her a brief nod before turning away. The wall parted before him and he disappeared, the temporary exit rasping back into place.
Ceta caught her fingers tight in her hair and tried to see a way out of the insanity into which she’d fallen. She couldn’t run, couldn’t hide. She was trapped in her room, trapped on the ship stationed miles above her planet…with the only man she trusted being the one who would kill her. “I am so screwed.” A twisted laugh burst from her. “Quite literally.”
*
Ceta rolled awake, the cool scent of open fields washing over her, with the hint of baking bread from the kitchens adding a vein of comforting warmth. She sighed and turned over in her bed, tugging the heavy covers. Mirari would no doubt thud open her door and yank the blankets from her body. A small, sleepy smile tugged at Ceta’s mouth. At least it was the summer, denying her trainer the chance to flick little chips of ice onto her bed-warmed skin.
The mattress felt too soft under her spine and she stretched, enjoying the comfort. It was a nice dream while it lasted, holding echoes of her life before the temple. Stretching revealed kinks, aches, and her mouth twisted into a wry smile. Another dream. The simulator never left her feeling as if she’d had really great sex— Sex.
Iason.
Ceta bolted upright and stared around the small room, with its smooth brown walls and the balcony open to the throne room far below. Her hand clutched at her throat. She was on the sovereign’s ship and she was as good as dead. She wiped her hand over her face and her skin felt tight, raw. Yes, she’d stood in the tiny shower tube and cried, brushed away tears as she dried her body and sobbed herself into a fitful sleep. And woken up with the false reality of being safe in her bed in the temple.
She closed her eyes and released a heavy sigh. From the soft, never-changing light in the room, she had no idea how long she’d slept, whether it was a new morning on the planet below or still the same day, though hunger did claw at her stomach. Iason had said someone would bring her food…and in her half-waking state, she’d smelled bread.
Making herself roll out of bed, she planted her bare feet on the warm, leather-dry floor. A table to the side held a small tray holding fruits, bread, a white teapot and a small cup. She had two more nights to live—there was no sense in starving herself.
She was pouring her third cup of hot, black tea, inhaling the tart odor, when the wall puckered and rasped. Ceta winced. That still wasn’t right. It shrank back to form the oval opening and Iason strode into the room, the wall expanding back behind him.
The paladin looked as stern, as in control as ever in his immaculate, gleaming armor and blood-red cape. Dark eyes fixed on her and something flickered there before the mask of authority slid down over them. It had looked like unease.
Ceta cradled her cup, letting the heat of it warm her still ice-cold fingers. “What, lord?” The use of his title was a courtesy she didn’t feel and she couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice in her next question. “Is it that time already?”
Iason lifted his chin. “Yes,” he said. He paced to the balcony and stood framed by it, a dark silhouette looking down to the throne. “Only five hours. The sovereign is pleased.”
She frowned and took another sip of her hot tea, the scalding liquid paining her throat, but it didn’t divert her thoughts. So soon? “Why? He seemed to be enjoying the orgy.” Her lips pressed together. “You said three nights.”
“Three tastings can last three nights. Or two. Or as now, a handful of hours.” He glanced back at her, his face bleak. “The ship decides.”
“And she wants me out of the way quick.” Ceta winced, fighting back the surge of pity and the burn of tears. She swallowed more tea and the hot liquid pulled her thoughts away. Her worry was pointless. She was going to die, and by her accepting it, another woman stayed alive for another year. She had to keep that at the forefront of her mind. Still, her gut cramped. “So…I have to get dressed again?”
“Yes.” He waved to the rail that had held her clothes earlier. Similar silk clothing hung there, this time in a delicate silver rather than warm taupes and golds. “Time to make yourself ready.”
Ceta pushed herself to her feet, putting her cup back on the tray. “And you?” She made herself look at him and found his forehead creased.
“Me?”
“Can I choose you again?”
“Damn it, Ceta—”
“You said the third tasting would kill me. This is the second.” Ceta wanted to be nice, try to convince him in a pleasant, reasonable way. However, she snorted and couldn’t keep the bitterness from her words. He would live to choose another woman the sovereign would kill. She would not. “I’ll spare you the third and final time, ‘coming inside a dead woman’, if that’s what you need to go ahead with fucking me right now.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “Neither of us asked for this.”
“Yes, you’ve managed to make a bargain out of it for over a decade. I was drafted by the temple, pulled from my life, all so that I could die here.”
“Get changed.” Iason strode to the rail and tugged the small shorts free from their hanger. His fist gripped the silk and fury rode him. He paced, working the material between his hands. Stopping, he stared at the shorts and stretched them, something about them breaking his anger. “These are tiny.”
Ceta pulled them from his light grip. “No ripping them.”
Iason lifted an eyebrow. “Yet?”
The familiar burn of desire washed through her flesh and her face reddened. Did she still have a residual trace of the dessert affecting her thoughts? But then she’d wanted him from the moment she saw him five years before. Ceta pushed down that stupid emotion and made a smile quirk her mouth. “So, that’s a yes?”
“Yes?”
He watched her push the loose pajamas down from her hips to a puddle of warm silk at her feet. She sat on the bed and wiggled into the tiny shorts. “Who designed these things?”
“The ship creates them for you. The rite of bonding the sovereign to her is very important for both of them…”
He trailed away and Ceta yanked the shirt off her head to stare at him. “What?”
Color stained his cheeks and the normal grim mask had evaporated. He turned to the rail and handed her the delicate top, the silver clasps clinking together. “I’ll perform the ritual with you.”
Ceta blinked and wrapped the silk around her shoulders. The silver clasp pressed coldness under her breasts. “Seeing me naked convinced you?”
“Yes.”
She laughed. “Nothing if not honest, lord,” she said. She took the boot he handed her, lifted her leg, pointed her toes and slid the thick silk up high on her thigh. “My trainer said I should get naked for you.” She clasped the boot to her shorts. “Seems she was right.”
“I can be shallow occasionally.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t deny that how I look affects you.” He handed her the other boot, watching it slide over her skin before he met her gaze again. “I’ve always been very aware of the lust from the galleries.” He snorted. “And it’s not simply the lack of men in the temple compound.”
Ceta clipped the other boot to the clasp on her shorts. She stood and stamped her feet against the toughened leather of the
boots’ soles. “You have a strong streak of vanity.” He wrapped the gossamer-thin coat around her shoulders and the heat of his hands against her skin almost forced a shiver. She pushed her arms through the tight sleeves. “That isn’t attractive.”
He turned her to face him and lifted her tumble of hair free to fasten the collar of the coat around her throat. His fingertip brushed her warm skin in a deliberate caress. “I’m realistic.”
Ceta wet her lips, the thrum through her body rising again. A smile lurked in his eyes, though it didn’t touch his stern mouth. Yes, he knew his effect on the opposite sex.
His thumb eased over her chin, the light caress hitching the breath in her chest. “Time to go, Ceta.” He lifted her wrist and the heavy weight of the silver band pressed against her arm.
“Why the chain?”
Iason flicked a hard glance at her before he turned to the door. “Remember who I am, what I am.” His voice held the cold authority of the paladin. “What happens in this room does not reflect outside of it.”
Ceta’s gut twisted. “Protecting yourself?”
“Protecting you.” He stopped, but the oval in the wrinkled wall didn’t pull back to open the room to the corridor beyond. “If our sovereign suspects us, you’re dead in ways you can’t begin to imagine.”
Chapter Six
Iason stepped forward and the thinned skin of the wall rasped back. He strode out of the room. Ceta followed, the chain stretching between them. She kept a steady pace behind him through the twisting corridor that would take them to the throne room.
All too soon, the dimness ended in the bright, wide arch. Iason glanced at her, his face the hard mask of the paladin, before he led the way to the throne. Bodies surrounded the throne, most dozing, others rousing to roll away from Iason as he climbed the wide steps.
“Here again so soon.”
Their sovereign pushed himself from the dark throne, a hint of a smile lurking on his mouth. His beauty caught her again. She should be awed, but only distaste crawled down her spine. The strange sensation carried with it almost a sense of…hatred.
Ceta dropped her gaze, fixing her attention on the smooth floor. He couldn’t see her reaction to him, not if she wanted to live. Her heart pounded and a trickle of sweat had the smooth silk sticking to her spine. She dropped, the floor soft, spongy under her knees.
Fingers ran through her hair and she closed her eyes, willing her body still. It was Feodor caressing her and she couldn’t explain why terror made her mouth dry and every muscle tense.
“What did you do to her, paladin?” Something lurked under his cultured voice and her heart stopped until her slowed brain processed it as amusement. “They usually look to me for hope. But whatever you did to her has her terrified of being touched.”
“I did as I was ordered, Master.”
Iason’s cold voice sent a chill through her.
“My faithful paladin. We’ll have to see if the ship wants her to have you again.” The sovereign snorted and his fingers pulled free of her hair. The rub of his gloved hand against his thigh rasped through Ceta. “She seems to be sliding into perversion in her old age.”
The swell of anger caught Ceta by surprise and she fought to keep her breathing even. Her subconscious wanted her to lash out, to flare against the man who was ultimately responsible for killing her. Which would be crazy. She wanted to live as long as she could, after all.
“Stand up, Ceta Lars.”
She willed her legs to obey and pushed herself up. The sovereign had already dipped the golden spoon into the frozen dish, the milk of the living ship holding a pearlescent sheen in the stark white light of the domed hall.
“I should congratulate you, paladin,” Feodor murmured. “If this binding ends within the day, I can leave this miserable planet. They’re plaguing me with petitions.” He snapped his fingers at her mouth and obediently Ceta opened it. Her heart clenched as she tried to prepare for the rush of desire that would erupt with the melting of the frozen dessert on her tongue. “As if it’s my concern that there’s disease in the lands beyond the temple.”
Stabs of anger cut through her fear. He didn’t care about them at all. But then the cool, vanilla scent of the cream invaded her senses and she found it impossible to worry about anything else but the thought of the delicious icy melting of it on her tongue.
“She knows what’s coming.” The sovereign placed the spoon on her tongue and the first cold shock gave way to the hints of forbidden spices. “But still she can’t resist it.” He laughed, the sound cold, mocking. “Lick it from the spoon, Ceta.”
He was right, she couldn’t hold back the need to slide her tongue against the frosted spoon and taste…joy. She closed her mouth, capturing the essence, ignoring the sovereign’s dark chuckle as he pulled the empty spoon free.
The warming and familiar hints of vanilla and cinnamon calmed her frayed nerves with a promise of comfort and safety. She closed her eyes and her body relaxed, all fears easing from her mind as if they had never existed. As the frozen cream melted, her tongue worked it, releasing more of the hidden flavors, the hints of the spices she’d only tasted in simulation.
For a heartbeat, she enjoyed their luxury…before the first weavings of desire teased through her flesh, heating it, sparking the lust that needed to be sated. Ceta pulled in a deep breath, the cool air of the domed hall suddenly too sensitive for her burning skin. Her nipples hardened and a liquid need pulsed between her legs. At the back of her mind, she knew she should feel fear, that soon this tasting would kill her, but at that moment she needed to satisfy and be satisfied.
One scent found her through the thickened odor of sex hanging over the throne room. The paladin smelled of clean skin, a hint of soap and the familiar mix of burnished metal and leather. He stood behind her, the heavy weight of the chain connecting them. The tug to be with him pulled tight in her belly. They said it was the ship’s choice, but it felt right to want Iason.
The sovereign gripped her shoulders, turned her to Iason and leaned in close. “Make your choice, Ceta Lars.” A knowing smirk lined his voice and the bite of it stung her ear. She didn’t think to flinch. Iason’s cold, dark gaze held her and she knew that when she fed him it would flare with the same desire that gripped her. “Here.” Feodor put a spoon in her hand and she was already closing the small distance between her and the paladin. “Seems the ship wants you to fuck her again, paladin.”
“Yes, Master.”
Obediently, he opened his mouth and Ceta teased the spoon against his tongue. His lips closed and she eased the spoon free. The first hints of fire burned in Iason’s eyes. Ceta sucked in a breath, barely aware of the sovereign retrieving the spoon from her lax fingers. She reached for the paladin’s smooth jaw, tracing over his skin, teasing across his lips cooled by the cream.
Something feral lit his eyes and her pussy clenched. She needed him now, inside her, her spine pushed up against one of the nearby pillars as he fucked her with all the strength he possessed.
The sovereign’s laughter seemed brittle, distant. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy the next tasting immensely.” He paused. “Take her away, paladin.”
Iason jerked a nod, his hot gaze never leaving Ceta. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her down the wide steps to the still-arched door. It rasped shut behind them and the warm darkness of the empty corridor fired need through her. They’d come far enough. She needed him now.
She tried to tug at him, to stop his fast march. “Here. Fuck me here.”
“No.” The growl ran over her burning skin and she couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped her. “Not outside the room.”
“Why?” She stumbled after him through the twists of the dim corridor.
“Because I want to. I need to.” His pace increased, fueled by the anger burning off him. “Because what I really wanted was to fuck you in front of the sovereign. Having him see it, enjoy it. For him to stroke himself off as he watches my dick—” Iason let loose a string of curses and Ce
ta tried to deny the fire raging at his words, the same need for Feodor to see them surging through her. “This is wrong! What the hell is the ship doing to me?”
The door to her room shrank back and Iason pulled her inside. His fingers had been busy unbuckling his armor and he yanked the loosened breastplate over his head. It hit the floor with a clatter and a second later, his mouth found hers.
He shoved her back against the smooth wall, his fingers fighting with the belt on her shorts. With a growl, he ripped it free and the thin silk of her shorts went with it. The chain binding them pulled tight. Ceta groaned into his mouth, her hand a fist in his hair as he lifted her. Iason crushed her into the wall, his mouth devouring, but his covered erection mocked her. Shit, she needed him. Now.
Ceta yanked her mouth free, Iason’s teeth, lips finding her neck, growling at the collar of silk. “Imagine it.” Her lips pressed to his ear and a shiver ran through him. “Imagine him watching, seeing how you fucked me. How your cock slides in, finding me wet—”
“Damn it, Ceta, I can’t control this. Not like last time.” His fingers tightened on her ass, biting into her flesh, and she clung to him, desperate for him to find her, fuck her. His erection rubbed hard against her clitoris, fueling the fire her words created. “Don’t push it.”
“You’ll fuck me. Slam into me, thinking only of how he watches.” Her hand snaked down, pushing aside the metal-edged strips of leather that formed his kirtle. She tugged at the cotton that kept him from her. Iason groaned, shifting against her until her fingers slipped over his freed cock.
The blunt head brushed against her clitoris and Ceta jerked at the blinding rush of sensation. But still he hesitated. She crushed her eyes against the need pounding through her blood, worse than the last time. The only thing she needed was him buried inside her. “He can see us, Iason. See me wide open and you—”
He thrust deep, his mouth swallowing her surprised cry. A brief flare of release had her desperate for more and Iason took her, pounding into her with unrelenting rhythm, his fingers biting into her flesh, holding her open to him, his mouth ferocious. She was his to fuck. His. And the thought ignited the fire searing through her veins, as she met his hips, his tongue, desperate to find the wild release she could almost taste.