by Kim Knox
She moved to the long slice of window and stared down at her city. Metal and glass gleamed in the wash of the morning sun … and the sky still glittered with the protecting shield. They’d survived another night.
“General Mishenka’s signed orders brought me here.”
“A week ago? Before Yerik Danevich died?”
Vadim planted heavy hands on her shoulders, and she jumped. The man really was cat-silent. “I think it’s a coincidence.”
“With Mishenka you can never tell.”
His hands tightened. “You don’t trust him?”
“I don’t like him.”
Vadim laughed and pulled his hands away. “I can’t comment on a superior officer.”
The rough scrape of his palm over his unshaven jaw drew more laughter from him. “I need to shave. But I can’t leave you alone.”
“Vadim, this is the imperial stateroom of the empress. I don’t have to watch you shave to keep me safe.”
“Humour me?”
Alena ran a hand through her tangled hair and turned to face him. He’d pulled on his robe, and for that she was grateful. More of his sunlit naked flesh? Her crazed hormones couldn’t take it. Alena looked down to her hands as they twisted into tight knots. She willed herself to relax. “Is this wise?”
“Probably not. But it’s my job to keep you safe. I will do that.”
Alena looked up. “Could you be mostly dressed? That would help.”
Vadim waved her ahead of him. “I’m flattered, Alena.”
“Flattered?”
“You’re the Rodin empress…”
“Lusting after a grunt?”
Vadim growled, and the vibration of it heated her flesh. His hand slid over her arm, and it stopped her cold. Warm fingers curled against her robe, and his touch sank through to her skin. He leaned in close. His lips moved against the shell of her ear, and liquid heat melted down through her body. Alena bit at her lip.
“Taunting me again, Alena? You know how dangerous that can be.”
Her eyes closed, and she wanted to sink into the coiling pleasure tightening her flesh.
“This has to be the ritual.”
“What?” His hands rubbed in a slow rhythm up and down her arms. Alena wanted to fall back against his chest and have his long fingers explore her body. “You’d be indifferent if you met me before your coronation?” His tongue tip traced her ear. “Now, I’m insulted.”
“Vadim…” He nipped at her earlobe, and she groaned. “Stop.”
She felt his smile against her skin before he pulled away. “This is crazy.”
Alena rubbed at her arms, still feeling his touch against her skin. “I know. No one told me about this aspect of the ritual.”
Vadim took her hand. “Obviously a surprise General Mishenka thought to amuse himself with.” His fingers squeezed hers. “Not that I made that comment, you understand.”
Alena gave a soft laugh. “Of course not, Flight-Captain.”
He led her to the row of doors beside the chamber. Sacha had taken one room; he had obviously taken the other. Vadim closed the door and waved her towards a couch set before the curve of the window. Alena sank onto it. Beside her, a panel still flared with life. She pressed her palm onto it. Heat prickled her skin, and it buzzed. “Please have my clothes and toiletries brought to the stateroom.”
There was a pause, and a synthesised voice said, “At once, Majesty.”
“Thank you.”
“I can see you from here.” Vadim stood in the doorway to the small bathroom, pulling his braces over his stiff, white shirt. He rolled up his sleeves. “So hovering over me won’t be necessary.
“Good.” Alena couldn’t help herself; her gaze flitted over his lithe body. Vadim looked equally good dressed. She sighed and sank back into the soft cushions of the couch. She could imagine General Mishenka chortling over her obsession with the flightcaptain.
A smile tugged at her mouth. When crowned, she would have full command of her armed forces, and she’d promote Mishenka … to an outpost colony. Something with a lot of dust and heat and rabid predators.
Vadim’s shaver hummed. She watched him though the wide mirror in the bathroom as, with methodical precision, he ran the device over his jaw. A dull thud pulled her gaze away. Instinct said it was the main doors to the stateroom. Heartbeats passed and …
nothing.
She met Vadim’s eyes in the mirror. No, she wasn’t the only one being paranoid.
He switched off the shaver and placed it back in its tiled alcove. His sword belt, with the ceremonial sword, still hung in its scabbard from a wall hook. Vadim fastened it about his waist. He put his finger to his mouth as he moved on silent feet to the door.
Alena’s heart pounded, and raw heat filled her face. It had to be one of her mother’s ladies-in-waiting, who would probably have a coronary when Vadim leapt out at her. But they had to proceed with caution. The man who had killed her sister Vana had gained easy access to her rooms. Alena’s hands twisted into a bloodless knot. She had to hope that Sacha would share their paranoia.
Vadim stood at the door. He opened it a crack. His brow creased as his frown deepened. “Something’s not right,” he murmured. “Where are they?” He straightened.
“We have to get Sacha and get out of here.”
Alena stood and tightened her robe. “It can’t be a coincidence that the moment I made outside contact someone turns up.”
Vadim winced. “No. Communications are compromised.” His hand flexed around the ivory hilt of his sword. He was missing his weapon. “Not a good time to be without my Zahlta-9-40.”
Her voice edged just above a whisper. “No. So … how do we do this?”
Vadim’s free hand slid through the crack in the door. A smile tugged at his mouth, and he pulled his hand back. “Sacha’s ready.”
“He understands military signalling? Sacha?”
“Seems he was a good choice for your knowledge-giver.” Vadim stretched out his hand for hers. Warm fingers gripped her. “I will protect you, Alena. Trust me.”
Panic and fear twisted her gut, but she gave him a brief nod. “I do.”
“Good.”
Vadim opened the door, the hinges silent. He moved forward, and Alena kept herself close. Her gaze shot to the other door and found Sacha dressed. He nodded and inched forward. He winced at the creak of his leather boots with each careful step.
Something clanked in the imperial bedroom. There was a clatter and a sharp curse.
The intruder had kicked over one of the numerous lamps littering the floor. And it had been a male voice, so not one of her mother’s ladies-in-waiting. A higher-pitched voice told him off. Shit, at least two intruders.
Vadim squeezed her hand. She had a flight-captain from the Imperial Guard in her stateroom. And one with a fearsome reputation. There could be more intruders. A lot more. They edged around the walls as fast as they dared, aiming for the gold-cast doors.
Without warning, Vadim shoved her against the cool wall, grabbed Sacha, and pushed him hard against her. Thick shadow fell across them. The curve of the wall hid them but gave Alena a limited view of the bedroom doors.
Movement flickered in the bedroom. Two men wearing the Imperial Guard dress uniform stood in the doorway. Slanted light thickened shadows across their features, and something about the two men looked familiar. It hit her. They bore a strong resemblance to both Sacha and Vadim. Her eyes narrowed, and a stream of silent curses ran through her brain. They were skin-mappers. And these men weren’t in her rooms to kill her. They meant to abduct her.
Chapter Six
“Search the other rooms. They’re here somewhere.”
The Sacha-clone barked the order, and Alena blinked. He sounded like her friend.
Her Sacha’s breath hitched against her cheek. Yes, he was disconcerted too.
“Maybe they’re still fucking her?” The other intruder had a smirk on his face that had bile rising in her throat. He looked so much l
ike Vadim, even down to the scar, that it unnerved her. “I mean empress pussy, who’s going to turn that down?”
His partner’s gaze slid to him. “Getting too much into the role of Borodin?”
The other man wasn’t listening. “The High Command wants her kept here until the setting of the second moon. That means I still get to play, doesn’t it?”
“Shut up. No one’s playing with anyone if we don’t find her.” He rubbed his hands together, a nervous action and not at all like Sacha. “I don’t like the fact that the strike team didn’t meet us. Vadim Caethes Borodin is from the Trevelyan Clan. I want more men to take him down. Something’s gone sour.”
“No problem. We find her, dispose of them, and while we wait for her to welcome the Talar fleet, I get to see what all the fuss is about.”
The Sacha-clone’s mouth turned down. “You are not fucking her. That’s my mission.”
His partner snorted. “You just try and stop me.”
Vadim, his face grim, stepped out from the safety of the wall. Alena almost called out, but Sacha clamped his hand to her mouth and crushed her back against the wall.
“Looking for me?” Vadim strolled towards the two men, his hand flexing around the hilt of his sword. His gaze narrowed on them. “No … you’re not Guard. Too much gut.”
“Where is she? Tell us, and we’ll spare you, brother,” the Sacha-clone said. His own hand settled on the hilt of the sword he wore.
“I’m not your brother.” Vadim slid the sword from the scabbard with a soft scrape.
The blade gleamed in the slant of morning sunlight.
“Your father branded you with a Talar slave name. Everyone who says it knows of his enslavement. The Talar High Command speaks of him, and of you, often.”
“Nice to be popular.”
The Sacha-clone also drew his sword, the Vadim-clone joining him. The insane gleam in that man’s eyes had Alena's heart pounding. Either they were fools … or they really thought they could take on a high-ranking Imperial Guard.
“What was she like? Did you fuck her together or take turns?”
Vadim’s expression didn’t change as he faced the man who could have been his twin. “And for that, I’ll kill you first.”
Steel clashed and scraped down the razored edge.
Alena willed herself to be calm and pushed Sacha’s hand from her mouth. She didn’t move. How the hell had these men penetrated the imperial apartments anyway? Could Talar spies simply wander into the city when they pleased?
But all thoughts scattered as the Sacha-clone attacked.
Vadim blocked that sword, his boot striking out at his clone’s kneecap. The man staggered, his sword dropping, and Vadim swung his fist down. The impact of his hand against the Vadim-clone’s temple crunched his skull, and the intruder sank boneless to the floor.
Vadim leapt back, finding his balance. He lifted his sword. “One down,” he grated.
“Tell me who your contact is here, and I’ll let you live.”
The Sacha-clone gave him a cold smile. “Unlike you, I will not betray my race.”
“Fine.” Vadim beat back the man with slashing steel. Throwing the clone offbalance, he smashed the sword from his hand. The flight-captain gripped his throat, pinning the Sacha-clone to the doorframe. He pressed the tip of his sword into the clone’s gut and slowly started to twist. Sunlight picked out the wet shine of blood against the black serge. “Now, are you sure you don’t have something to tell me?”
The clone gave him a cold smile. He turned his jaw away, muscles tensing … and blood started to foam from his mouth. Blue eyes rolled back in his head. Vadim cursed and let him fall to the floor.
“We need to move.” Vadim sheathed his blood-tipped sword. He picked up the clone’s sword. “The war room is secure.”
He pulled open the golden door, artificial light mixing with the candles. “Clear.”
Grabbing Alena’s hand, he pulled her with him. “Sacha, stay close.”
“Were they clones,” Sacha muttered, “or skin-mappers? A Talar, facially altered to look like, well, us. Something about their physique seemed wrong. As you said, too much gut. I’m not fat.”
“We can worry about that later,” Vadim said.
Alena found every breath hard to pull into her body. She recognised it. Her body suffered from aftershock. Willing her feet to move forward, she pushed the sudden imbalance back. The empress showed no weakness. None.
They met no one on the bridge. Vadim retraced the path they had taken the night before. It was still early, and the rarefied upper towers rarely saw many people moving about. Running past the unguarded throne room and the curve of the colonnade, Vadim skidded to a halt outside the antechamber to the war room.
Two guards hastily saluted, their boots clicking together. “Majesty,” they both barked.
“As you were,” Vadim muttered, striding past them, Alena and Sacha in toe.
Alena pushed open the doors, feeling the energy burning under her fingertips. The war room bustled with activity, the screens alive with the besieging Talar fleet. The doors closed behind them, and Alena almost jumped at the clicking heels of the guards stationed in the interior.
She let out a slow breath. “We have a problem.” Alena almost laughed at her own understatement, but she didn’t want to add panic to already highly stressed people.
The room stopped.
“Majesty?” General Zhilkin dropped his interface pad on the table, and heat flooded his face. He gave her a hasty bow. “You’re not dressed.”
A disbelieving smile cut her mouth. “Believe me, General, that’s the least of your worries.”
“But, the”—he waved at the three of them, and his face burned redder—“was successful. Here you are, and numerous systems came back online no more than an hour ago.”
Vadim laid his second sword across the table. He straightened. “Two Talar agents planned to kill us and keep the empress in her stateroom, sir.” His jaw tightened. “A cleanup detail is needed before the stateroom seals again.”
The old man’s jaw dropped. He ran a hand over his balding scalp. “How are they getting in? Do these bastards have a door?”
“I was wondering that too.” Alena pulled over a stool and gratefully sat on it.
Zhilkin’s hand stopped, and he looked at Alena, his eyes wide. “Majesty, I apologise for my language…”
“Don’t concern yourself, General.” Alena smiled and stretched her back. She needed to appear calm and unruffled. Her mother had always projected an aura of serenity that could diffuse any situation.
Zhilkin twitched a smile. “Thank you, Majesty.” He looked to Sacha, once more the efficient general. “Doctor Volkov?” But her friend had already moved to the bank of screens curving behind the main strategy boards. He shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Uniformed technicians stepped aside, letting Sacha sink his hands into the organic instrumentation. “We need confirmation that the shield is fully intact.”
“Understood,” Sacha said, his fingers dipping and lifting over the clear, viscous panel.
“They said they were missing a strike team.” Alena’s gaze flicked over the strategy screens. The besieging ships still hung in close orbit, their energy weapons bombarding the thinning shield. Did they even have until the rise of the second moon? “We need to find out what happened to them.”
Zhilkin gave her a quick nod. “Doctor?”
Sacha’s hands slid through the soft structure of the shield monitor. “It’s holding. There was a power surge six hours ago. Wait.” He paused, and the slip, slide of his fingers through the instrumentation filled the silence. “Now that’s odd. There’s a residue of organic signatures.”
“They have teleport capabilities,” Vadim murmured. “Did they get through the shield?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?” Vadim’s voice had a hard, commanding edge to it. “They’re no threat?”
Sacha gave him a tight smile. “
I know how to do my job, Flight-Captain. And unless the strike team is several kilometres wide and able to survive on a cellular level … then no, they’re no threat to the empress.”
“Which still leaves us with the skin-mappers,” Alena broke in before Vadim’s hard glare became harsh words. She let out a slow breath and rested her arms against the cool surface of the table. Her stomach cramped. She had to remind herself that she’d been designed for the role of empress. “They mapped as Sacha and Vadim…”
“So they knew that Flight-Captain Borodin was your strength-giver.” The shine in Zhilkin’s gaze held her for a moment. Yes, she’d used Vadim’s first name. A huge leap for the woman who’d furiously denied wanting him. “We’ll do another security sweep. We will find any and all traitors.”
Alena nodded her head. “Thank you, Zhilkin.”
A smile twitched over his mouth. “You are always my priority, Majesty.”
“Mine too.” Vadim glanced at Alena, his eyes sharp. “Sir, I should take the empress to one of the auxiliary rooms.”
“Yes, yes.” Zhilkin ran a hand over his balding head. The humour had faded from his face, and he seemed to have aged another five years in the time she’d been in the room.
He looked grey, and fresh lines cut across his forehead. “Breakfast, Majesty? Have you eaten?”
“Thank you. Please keep me updated. Oh, and make sure that Doctor Volkov eats too.”
Zhilkin nodded. “Of course, Majesty.”
Vadim paused. “Sir, I need a weapon.”
The general unclipped the Zahlta from the holster at his hip and handed it to the flight-captain, butt first.
“Thank you, sir.”
Vadim put a hand to her elbow and guided her through the warren of screens to a series of spiralling steps. He trotted down the curve of stairs. Alena followed him.
Questions burned on her tongue, but she knew she had to wait for the privacy of a room.
She ran a hand through her tangled hair. And so her life as empress had begun in earnest.
The serene and unfazed commander … whose heart still pounded from seeing two men killed in front of her.