The Bastard Prince (Blue Moon Rising Book 3)

by Blair Bancroft

  Although Kass’s empathic skills were not strong, she could feel waves of something odd rolling off K’kadi as he sat beside her at supper. He was pleased with himself, she decided. Smug? Yes, that seemed to fit. But what did it mean? She knew he’d been working with B’aela, and that was good. But there was some aura about him that didn’t quite fit a sorcerer preparing for battle.

  She’d heard rumors—just whispers here and there—that he’d been spending time in his cabin with Talora. But since Zelaya was with them . . .

  Or should have been with them.

  Kass frowned. She supposed she should ask, but really, K’kadi was entitled to privacy. There were some things sisters weren’t entitled to know.

  A commotion among the tables on the floor drew her attention. Crew rising, pushing back tables, chairs . . . Great goddess, what was going on? Kass glanced at K’kadi and saw a mischievous smile playing over his face. Fizzet! He was up to something. In the center of the room Talora was busy directing the action, dictating the amount of clear space needed. They were going to have dancing? Kass wondered. Since everyone was cooperating, obviously as curious as those at the head table, the bustling soon ceased, leaving a roughly circular space about eight meters in diameter.

  A gasp went up as Talora, standing in the center of the space, suddenly stripped off her standard-issue jumpsuit, revealing herself clad neck to toe in a form-fitting black bodysuit. She tossed her jumpsuit into her brother Romy’s lap. Murmurs of appreciation rumbled from male throats, except for Romy, who scowled. Even the women had to admit she presented a striking picture with her face, hands, and long blonde hair the only color as she posed, head down, feet together, arms out. A hush enveloped the room.

  And then shouts, shocked cries, even a scream or two as Talora rose straight up until her head was but a meter from the ceiling, where she began an incredible ballet of dips and turns, posing with one leg out like a ballerina en pointe, moving to fully horizontal only to suddenly swoop over the heads of the diners in a slow circle that brought her back to the cleared space. Another series of graceful maneuvers two meters off the ground, and then she folded her arms and drifted slowly to the floor, bowing to thunderous cheers and applause.

  Through it all K’kadi sat without moving, but there wasn’t a person in the room who didn’t know he was responsible for Talora Lassan defying the laws of gravity. Kass reached out and squeezed his hand. “You grow by leaps and bounds, little brother. I never know what to expect next.” Never taking his eyes off Talora, K’kadi squeezed Kass’s hand in return.

  Dear goddess! Kass groaned. She’d failed to note how Alala was taking this. When Kass turned to look, Alala was gone. Not good, not good at all.

  “Even Papa loved it!” Talora exclaimed, her violet eyes shining. But K’kadi heard the tinge of reserve that lurked beneath her enthusiasm. Riding on the high of a performance well done, they had found a shadowed corner in the large dining hall where they could seize a few private moments to take pride in a job well done.

  But . . . ? K’kadi asked.

  “Papa said nothing, but I could feel it. He fears I fly too high, that I will be singed by the rays of royalty.”

  Oh. K’kadi sat, elbows on his knees, head down, staring at the tips of his shiny black shoes. He did not look up as he said, What. You. Think?

  A silence long enough to make him squirm. He sneaked a peek, only to find Talora seemingly as tongue-tied as he. “I—I would like to be more than a friend,” she said at last, “but since everyone knows your heart lies elsewhere . . .” She shrugged. When K’kadi offered no reply, Talora added, “Alala is not as indifferent as she seems. We angered her tonight, and that can’t be good for the rebellion’s mission to Hercula.”

  K’kadi tapped a finger against his head. Too smart, you. Talora didn’t miss the snarl behind the words. Now all three members of their odd trio were unhappy. And that wasn’t counting her father. And Romy. Even her mother had looked away.

  Talora clasped her hands in her lap to keep from reaching out and touching him. “When the Regs came to Turus, I lost my home, my planet, the whole secure world I’d known as a child. My family had nothing left but Pegasus and each other. We learned to control our anger, think smart, do what we had to do to stay alive. Above all, we learned we had to adapt. I think it must have come close to killing Papa to discover that he no longer had the ordering of the power and success he’d woven around his family.

  “I learned the hard way that I could no longer wish for something and have it granted by indulgent parents.” Talora sighed. “But I suppose all children who do not end up ruined by being spoiled must learn that lesson. Mine was just a bit harder, as a temper tantrum, a lack of attention, an act of selfishness could end in death. Poof! The Lassans and Pegasus but dust particles in space.”

  Talora ‘s violet eyes went wide; she clapped a hand to her mouth. “I am so sorry. I’ve spoiled everything, have I not? This evening was to be fun, and I’ve ruined it. Please don’t be angry. I seem to have been swallowed by a wave of melancholy.” She stood. “I’ll go now. I promise to be myself by morning.”

  No!

  “I must.” She’d taken but a single step when K’kadi’s hand clamped down on her arm. Please. Come.

  “K’kadi, I can’t!”

  He favored her with his most royal look, as much a king as his father. Not want . . . teach love. Bastard Prince?

  “You know that’s not what I meant.” As the silence between them deepened, he raised his pale brows, allowing his azure eyes to proclaim his skepticism. “Oh, very well, yes,” Talora admitted on a rush. “I’ve been throwing myself at you. Until I finally realized what was at stake. But now I know how wrong I was.”

  Not like K’kadi?

  “Don’t be absurd. I adore you.”

  Then come. K’kadi glanced up to find J’rett Zelaya leaning against the wall a scant three meters away. Their eyes met. Fizzet! And then, to his surprise, J’rett offered an infinitesimal nod, a flick of his eyes toward the door. His shadow was letting him go? Giving him privacy?

  Zelaya would probably stand like a statue right outside the cabin door!

  As long as he was outside, what did it matter?

  Talora, following the exchange, quivered beneath his hand, then seemed to settle. Good. There were times when kings and emperors, even rebellions didn’t matter. Except perhaps a rebellion of the heart. He’d felt the tug of Talora from the first moments of their acquaintance, compared it to his passion for Alala, and wondered at the difference. He’d even accepted that he was more comfortable with Talora, that he was looking for any excuse to allow friendship to blossom into intimacy.

  And then came the hours they’d spent practicing the air dance . . .

  If he didn’t get out of here, he was going to explode!

  Could he manage her name? Names were hard—he’d probably make a mess of it. Fizzet! His hand was still clenched around her arm—he’d likely given her a bruise. Appalled, K’kadi abruptly let go. Looking anguished, he stumbled through, T-ta. Lo. R-ra?

  Instead of mocking his ineptitude, she gave him that superior female smile that promised the secrets of the world. “Come,” she said, taking him by the hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter 25

  They entered the lift alone. Walked the corridor. Alone. Entered K’kadi’s cabin. Alone. Talora thought nothing of it. To K’kadi it was the world. He was alone with a girl. Not in the palace, not at a festival, not in the dining hall, but actually alone, with no one hovering nearby ready to guard, to judge, to scold . . .

  Not that J’rett wouldn’t be taking up a position outside the door any moment, but that was the curse of being an Orlondami. Only Kass had ever managed to break away, and look where that had ended. For the first time, K’kadi saw the enormity of it all. If Kass hadn’t broken all the rules and insisted on attending the Regulon Fleet Academy, would the rebellion ever have been born?

  Fizzeting fizzet! Probably not.
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  “K’kadi?” A soft voice interrupted his wandering thoughts. “It’s not exactly flattering when a man takes a girl to his cabin then forgets she exists. K’kadi!” Talora took a step back, staring at him, eyes wide. “Did you just groan?”

  K’kadi tapped his head.

  “No. I swear I heard an actual sound.”

  Not possible. K’kadi’s face reflected his stubborn rejection of any such possibility. No sound. No read. No write. Stoo-pid.

  “Nonsense! You’re smarter than all the rest of us put together.”

  K’kadi stood for a full minute, head hanging, fighting a battle with myriad emotions washing over him. He hadn’t come to this room to think. He hadn’t come here to be angry, depressed, or sorry for himself.

  He’d come here to feel something entirely different. To learn. To be happy.

  Happy. Happiness had been elusive for the boy who was different. The boy who did not think like other people. The boy who could only communicate through pictures. Illusions.

  The boy who had thought he’d found love, only to be rejected time and time again by Alala.

  The boy who had endured the combined pain of M’lani, Jagan, T’kal, Anton, and Joss when they were mowed down by Tau-15s. The not-quite-man who had gritted his teeth over basic military training. And shouldered the terrifying responsibility of landing Pegasus on Regula Prime.

  The almost-a-man who had come close to accommodation with Alala before his awkward attempt blew up in his face. His fault, of course. And now he was facing growing certainty that he was responsible for Astarte’s safety—possibly the only one who could save Hercula from the Regs. Yet they were more than half way there, and he still hadn’t mastered the extra skills he was going to need.

  Through a vision of the entire planet of Hercula disappearing behind the enormity of a giant ravening beast, he registered Talora standing before him, crestfallen, tears beginning to pool in her incredible violet eyes. Why, goddess? Why must I always stray? It’s not fair!

  But he wasn’t the only person who mattered here. Caging his anger, K’kadi tried to explain. Cursed. See too much.

  Tense silence as Talora searched his face, a tear slowly rolling down each cheek, dripping off her chin. And then in one swift step she buried herself full length against him, her head pillowed on his chest, arms snaking around his back and hugging him tight. “I like you anyway,” she said. “Though sometimes I could cheerfully wring your neck.”

  A tiny surge of hope shot through him. Perhaps all was not lost. Stay? he asked, his azure gaze finally focused on Talora, and only Talora.

  Her answer was to move her hands down until they found the bottom of his tunic—then under and up, softly caressing his bare skin. Any lingering thought of their mission to Hercula exploded, vanishing as if it never existed. K’kadi felt his face go fiery red as he grew so hard that Talora could not fail to notice. Pok, dimi, and fyd! Another of life’s enormously embarrassing moments! But Talora merely chuckled softly, one of her hands dropping down to cup him gently before beginning a series of slow strokes that shut down his brain entirely. He choked, his hand shooting out to grab hers and hold it tight. N-no, he managed, putting every bit of anguish he could into that one word.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t think. You truly are new to this. Anything could set you off.” She stepped back, eyeing him sharply. “Or do you wish to stop? Perhaps you find you do not like girls?”

  No! Like!

  “Well, then . . .” Talora dropped her jumpsuit where she stood, revealing the full bodysuit underneath. “Perhaps you would care to peel me out of this. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

  Had his fingers ever shaken like this before? K’kadi wondered. Perhaps the night he and Kass had tried to save Tycho. The night he knew Alala had to live.

  He could do this. He could. Even though confusion lurked, a dark shadow in the corner. Two women in his life. But only one now. Talora, who liked him. Talora, who cared about him. Who could teach him the mysteries of loving. And being loved.

  Yes, now! The right time, the right place, the right woman. Now! K’kadi, kneeling on the floor, slipped the black knit garment off the final foot, revealing a second set of perfectly formed toes, the nails painted a shade of violet that matched her eyes.

  He looked up. His mouth went dry. His erection was so hard it hurt. Blessed goddess, she was perfect. Just the right size. And peering at him with hope in her eyes. Will I do? Do you like what you see? Am I an acceptable substitute for Alala?

  No, she couldn’t be thinking that. Talora had too much pride to compare herself to any other woman. She was who she was. And she was his.

  And then she was standing on tiptoe to strip his tunic over his head. After taking a moment to savor his bare chest, she bent down, reaching for the band of his pull-up pants. His hands almost shot out to help her, but he managed to hold back. She’d let him struggle with the bodysuit—she hadn’t even laughed—so he’d return the courtesy. Her turn for shaking hands as she skinned the slim trousers over his hips, down his legs . . . His heartrate soaring, K’kadi stood on one foot then the other, helping her get rid of shoes, socks, and pants. Nimbly, he kicked the remains of his clothing into a corner. And then he had to concentrate on not going off like a rocket as Talora made short work of his briefs.

  They stood there, just looking at each other. Talora’s breath whooshed out in a long-drawn sigh. “Ah, but you’re beautiful. Far more beautiful than I.”

  Lie.

  She ran her fingers through his pale hair, caressed his cheek, smiled into the depths of his azure eyes. She took his hand and placed it on her breast.

  Heat shot through him. Happy. He was happy, and they’d scarce begun. Now if he could only remember all he’d seen when he’d peeked at Tal and Kass . . .

  Except his hand seemed to be moving of its own accord, tracing her nipple, gently squeezing. His mouth too had a will of its own, his lips moving ever closer to hers. Closer. Touching. He fell off the cliff into a great pool of warmth, comfort. Unmitigated love.

  What did he need with Tal and Kass? Loving, and being loved, came naturally.

  Monster! Freak! Mistake of the gods! How dare he turn his back on her for that—that nothing girl who’d probably slept with half the crew of Pegasus. Not to mention the men who flocked about her in Revel’s, the ones who panted after her as she walked down the street . . .

  Alala flung a high-heeled shoe—which she positively hated!—against the door of her cabin, where it thudded nicely before bouncing off onto the floor. Nimbat! How could he?

  And that dance. He’d sat there so nonchalantly, arms crossed over his chest, as if merely one of the avid-eyed audience. Not a sign that he was controlling it all, literally taking telekinesis to new heights. Oh, very well, she had to admit it. It was an astonishing display of power. Power only the gods should have. Not a bastard prince born on the terraformed moon of a planet rife with sorcerey.

  She hated him!

  Feared him.

  Alala peered at herself in the room’s small mirror. According to ancient tales, her skin should have turned green. Because as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was jealous. Madly jealous. Irrationally jealous. When the boy panted after her, she had rejected him. As he became a man, she’d wavered but hadn’t been flexible enough to understand that K’kadi Amund would never be normal. That any woman who wanted to be with him had to make allowances for that.

  She had not, and he had turned to someone who had no trouble at all accommodating herself to what he was.

  But how could a Herculon warrior want such a man? More likely, she was merely being possessive because he’d once told her they were destined for each other.

  He’d seemed so certain. So what happened?

  The most logical answer was that K’kadi Amund was not infallible. His prognostications were sometimes flawed. And yet . . . according to what she’d been told, he’d sensed her presence on Tycho, was absolutely certain he h
ad to save a perfect stranger. But why? If not for love, then why?

  It was also possible he was as mad as she had once thought him.

  Madmen did not land merchant ships on a beach as lightly as a winged plane on a runway.

  Kass had paid her a visit earlier, murmuring all the right words about the tempestuous vagaries of young love, hitting enough right chords to pierce Alala’s armor and, to her horror, incite a waterfall of tears. She didn’t care! She didn’t want him. Truly she didn’t.

  And if she did, she was quite as insane as he!

  So here she was an hour later, still quivering with . . . something. Fury, hurt, despair? Probably all three. And beyond scenes in some vids she’d seen, she couldn’t even picture what K’kadi and that—that miserable creature were doing. Nimbat, but she hated being a virgin! And besides, she was going to marry Nikki—at least that’s what everyone said. He would expect purity . . .

  More likely, he’d be bored to death at the thought of marrying someone so ignorant and inept.

  Ah . . . of course. K’kadi had said the same thing. He needed practice.

  If only that’s all it was . . .

  Alala heaved a bitter sigh. Unfortunately, deep down, she knew it wasn’t just that. Her reasoning had come full circle. Talora understood K’kadi, and Alala did not. It was as simple as that. They were about to embark on an extremely delicate and vital diplomatic mission when both she and K’kadi needed to be at their best. When, in actuality, they’d become enmeshed in a web of doubt and hurt and miscommunication.

  Unless they could work together, convince King Nekator he needed to form an alliance with the rebels, all could be lost—Hercula, Blue Moon, Psyclid swallowed by the Empire as easily as K’kadi had made the dragon swallow Emperor Darroch’s head.

  Dry-eyed and determined, Alala finally went to bed. Tomorrow things would change. They had to.

  But “tomorrow” began their final week in space. And with it came a frantic last-minute push to perfect knowledge of a new culture, new words, new technologies—knowledge only Alala could give. And K’kadi . . . ? Reminded of his duty by both elder sisters, the bastard prince rose above the lure of romance—or was perhaps enhanced by it—spending his days, and most of his nights, increasing the size, and his control, of the amorphous beast that Jagan Mondragon and his minions had used against the Regulon battlefleet at Choya Gate. And yes, as much as he’d been reluctant to give up his status as a lone warrior out to slay the Empire single-handed, K’kadi had discovered in the first sixty seconds of enlasé why B’aela Flammia had occupied the post of chief assistant to the Sorcerer Prime for so many years.