by Val Roberts
"At least that's something we can agree on,” Silean allowed. “But Zona doesn't need reunification, as much as I'm sure we've been a thorn in the paw of the mighty Barian."
"Securing offworld markets would raise the price of Zonan exported goods about—” Blade looked at the ceiling and pretended to calculate, although he'd worked out the economics at the Enclave. “I'd say tenfold. Maybe more, if the original Terran land grant were reunified and Dozen Worlds import tariffs were dropped. Their excise taxes for federation members run about a third of import tariffs, which is why Timarron applied for membership a generation ago. I've seen the marketplace in Balsom recently.” To say nothing of the poverty in the regions relatively far from the capital. He looked her directly in the eye. “You need this, Silean. Zona isn't starving yet, but the last three years have eaten up all of your reserves, and I don't know how much longer I can keep sneaking you food without the Diet getting suspicious."
Silean's eyes slid away from his and he knew he had her. “I'm willing to look at a detailed proposal,” came out of her mouth as if each word were torture. They probably were.
"Great. Now. How soon can you get to Krystale for the coronation?” Silean spluttered but said nothing intelligible. “We had to do the bonding without you because it was kind of an emergency.” He let his lips stretch in a grin. “But I'm not willing to force Taryn into another Barian high ceremony without a member of her immediate family present for moral support."
"What? I ... that's impossible."
"Two days?” He gave her his brightest smile. “Excellent. I'll send Endo One for you so you can travel in comfort and have the shortest possible transit time, and Endo One has a medic on board in case you find flying ... distasteful."
"I will not—"
"One other thing,” he overrode her protest, glaring at her again. “The constant attempts to kill my consort have got to stop. I didn't mind them at first, because every one of them drove her closer to me, but they've ceased to be amusing. Curb your dog, Matriarch, or I'll have to put it down. I'll have Taryn call you when she wakes up.” He leaned forward and cut the connection while the Matriarch of Zona was still doing her impression of a suffocating fish, then sat back and looked at his father. “I think that went well."
"Why two days?” Ramondar asked after clearly suppressing his own gaping-fish expression.
"Because that's how long it will take the heralds to get all the regalia together and make Taryn's investiture outfit.” Blade smiled. “I just spent three days on the back of a horse. I've had some time to think about this."
"You really think she can't handle it without her mother?” That was asked in a subdued tone, and his father looked thoughtful, as if he were remembering more past sins.
"No, I think Taryn can handle anything.” He remembered the incident in the skimmer and amended, “With the proper tranquilizers. She doesn't like flying. I just want the entire family together for the celebration."
"Which would explain the weird remark about the medic,” Ramondar concluded. He scrubbed his face. “Well. Since she's been intensely private for most of her life—my best intelligence could only tell me she was a Silvergard officer—I think we should introduce her to this a step at a time. I'll call the immediate family together and we can all sit down to supper tonight."
Blade rubbed his hands together. She might be recovered enough by then. “Are you sure that's wise?"
"I want to meet my daughter-in-law before the entire court does, Blade.” Ramondar's eyes had that steely glint that meant he wasn't going to back down. “And don't you think she has the right to meet your family without the entire media corps in attendance?"
"Oh, all right,” he agreed with a little irritation, mostly with himself for not thinking of it first. Taryn should be able to at least match faces to names before she had to do it with an audience waiting for her to screw up. “I can spirit her off to Crag Lodge for a few weeks of R-and-R after the ceremony.” He stood. “Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go check on her."
Ramondar nodded and gestured for him to leave, but his lips quirked as if he was suppressing a knowing smile. He couldn't know, of course, exactly how bruised, sore and exhausted they both were. All Blade really wanted was a few hours of peace for a nice, long nap with his bonded mate in his arms.
* * * *
Silean sat back in Codreascu's extremely comfortable chair and chewed her lip as she thought, stopping when she found the sore place where she'd drawn blood a couple of days before. The Barian Crown Heir had been behind the extra food. Interesting. He had irrevocably joined himself to the Zonan royal line, even if he couched it in opposite terms with typical Bariani arrogance, which meant Jervais had come through, bless him. And von Stassos was protecting Taryn in a way she had never been able to, even as her mother, threatening to kill Talyn if Silean couldn't control her, perhaps the most interesting thing of all. At last, something had gone right.
She turned her mind to the other portion of the conversation. An independent principality, with rulership retained through the female portion of the line, was more than she could have hoped for. “I'll have to demand restricted borders,” she mumbled to herself, “or we'll have offworld tourists under our feet at every turn. Zona isn't a theme park."
"Your Majesty?” Vallan asked from the other end of the room, sounding worried. “Is Taryn all right?"
"Get the coach, Val, we have to pack,” Silean said as she rose. “I want the principle members of the government ready to fly to Krystale by dawn the day after tomorrow.” With luck, Auran and that Hauptmann—Tanaka? Whatever—would have tracked down Talyn and hauled her back from wherever she was sulking by the time they left.
"S-Silean, are you sure?” Vallan asked, paling. “It will take almost that long for Berent to return from the Jags."
Silean shrugged. “I'm not missing my daughter's coronation as Barian Heir Consort, and I'm not going there looking like a pauper, either.” She strode past Vallan's frozen shock and Herren's relaxed amusement. “Come on, we've got work to do."
Herren. She would have to find the Matriarch's Consort coronet and have it fitted to him, on top of everything else. She had a great deal of work to do, but it was far less unpleasant than she would have thought. She was smiling when she found her way through the maze to the front entrance and trotted down the steps to her coach.
"That was extremely well played, my love,” Herren murmured from her shoulder, making her start. Would he ever stop surprising her?
"That was nothing,” she said as she pulled herself through the door. “Wait until you have to spend a day under one of the hats, Herren. Then you'll realize what a true headache is, because those things weigh six pounds each, if they weigh an ounce."
He had climbed in behind her, but now dropped to the padded bench with a whuff of exhaled breath. “What do you mean, under one of the hats?” His question was equal parts shock and suspicion.
"Your secret is out. Codreascu knows you're the true Consort of Zona, and you'll be onstage with me at the coronation—wearing the Consort's coronet."
Herren ground the heel of one hand into an eye socket. “You certainly know how to kick a man when he's down,” he observed. The coach door opened and Vallan climbed in.
"You have no idea,” Silean told him, then signaled the driver they were ready to leave.
* * * *
Blade went looking for his wife, fighting panic when he couldn't find her in his rooms. After considering who had led her off, he went to the Heir Consort's apartments fighting fury.
"Taryn?” She hadn't been in the bathroom, she hadn't been in the bedroom, the other doors were locked, and guards had said she hadn't left, so she had to be in her salon. The only question was where? Blade rubbed the back of his neck and surveyed the gloom again with an irritated curse in Alainor's general direction.
This mausoleum, where everything was three decades out of fashion and out of date, was almost the last place Vixen should have been left
on her own, because it was decorated in some idiotic retro-space age style guaranteed to make her feel incompetent. He started searching in shadowy nooks, finally finding the fainting couch in the corner a couple of minutes later.
She had curled up on her side facing the window, and she looked so exhausted that he nearly left her where she was, wilted winterbells and all. But if he left her where she was, he couldn't snuggle her close to him, so she was going to have to put up with being moved. He knelt in front of the lounge and kissed the tip of her nose. Her eyelids flickered.
"Vixen, wake up,” he breathed next to her ear, “or I'll kiss you awake.” She blinked a couple of times and then smiled at him, a real smile that heated his blood and made his chest swell with something suspiciously like joy.
"Hello,” she said, her voice quiet in the tomb-like room.
"What are you doing in here?” he asked. “There's a perfectly good bedroom in this cave, although I have no idea if the sheets have been changed in this decade."
She looked away from him and bit her lip, a sure sign that she was embarrassed. “I couldn't work any of the doors,” she admitted. He glanced back and sighed, because it had taken him almost five minutes to figure them out and he'd used the stupid things before. They were all the pocket type with remote controls that had been fashionable when his stepmother had occupied these rooms.
"I'm not surprised. Half of them probably don't work, anyway.” He stood and picked her up. “Let's go take a nap ... together."
"Blade, I'm exhausted and I'm sore. Couldn't we do that some other time?” He didn't stop walking. “I'm not used to spending sixteen hours a day on a horse, even if you are."
"Okay, first a hot soak, then a massage to get all those toxins out of your muscles, and then you sleep for a couple of hours.” He glanced down at her. “Unless you'd rather get some new clothes before we have dinner with the king and queen. I really like this outfit, but it's a little ... formal.” She groaned and buried her face in his neck. “I know, I don't want to either, but he's the king and he said he wanted to meet his daughter-in-law before the rest of Barian did."
"How can I face them?” she murmured from her hiding place.
Blade stopped and she looked up at him. “With your head held high,” he told her. “Your family has been royal for three centuries, Taryn. My father is the first von Stassos king ever. We're the ones who should be worried about impressing you."
"You don't have to worry,” she said. “I'm impressed."
"You keep that up and you won't get a nap,” he warned before he pressed the thumbpad and took her through the heir consort's bedroom into his bedroom. Disguised doors in adjoining suites were wonderful things, but he'd never quite understood why they couldn't officially sleep in the same bed.
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Chapter Eighteen
"Do I look okay?” Taryn asked when they reached the doorway flanked by two men almost as tall as Blade who both carried the sleek metal laser rifles she'd learned to shoot just that morning. The only clothes she had were what Leone had packed, and she felt ridiculously underdressed. If she'd been having an informal dinner with her mother, she would have worn her dress uniform, but the only thing in the pack even remotely appropriate was the green dress.
This time, however, she was wearing underwear.
"For the third time, you look fine,” he said, amusement coloring his voice. “Stop worrying.” He opened the door and pushed her into the room in front of him.
The first person to look up at her was an older man with Blade's height and eyes that glowed, though they were plain blue. He had to be Ramondar von Stassos, Blade's father and King of Barian. The other occupants of the room all bore a family resemblance to each other, but, except for Ramondar, none of them looked much like Blade.
"Well, you don't look like you've been kidnapped and ravished.” The king followed his outrageous pronouncement by standing.
"Rammy, behave yourself,” an older auburn-haired woman admonished, also standing. “I am Sabinet, Queen of Barian, and this rascal is King Ramondar, my dear. Welcome to the family. I adore your shoes."
Taryn was still digesting that odd remark when the younger man, who had to be Prince Benedar if this was the royal family only, trotted forward, swept up her hand and kissed it. “A pleasure to meet you, Taryn. Tell me you have a sister."
"She does, but you wouldn't like her, little brother,” Blade rumbled. “Taryn's twin is the Zonan crown heir, Talyn Lunaren Penthes."
Benedar's eyes widened, but somehow it looked artificial, as if he'd already known who her sister was. “If I'd known we were to be in the presence of true royalty, I would have worn my dress uniform."
Taryn looked up at her bonded mate. “I see your outrageousness is a family trait, Blade."
Everyone laughed, but Blade leaned close to her and murmured quietly, “Only in private, Vixen.” The low rumble had enough caress in it to make her shiver involuntarily, but apparently it wasn't low enough, because Ramondar started to laugh. It seemed to break a tension she hadn't quite been aware of, and everyone started talking at once, all formalities forgotten.
When they left his family, it was late. Taryn had to stifle more than one yawn as he led her through the maze of hallways that marked Krystale Palace as considerably larger even than the Lady Palace where she'd grown up. Finally they went through the carved door—this one mercifully not whitewashed or gilded—to the Crown Heir's rooms and Blade shut it behind them.
"Now what?” she asked, unsure what to do.
"Now we get some much-deserved sleep.” He pulled off the long tunic over his head and tossed it on a chair. She hesitated a moment longer, watching the muscles in his back as he toed off the short boots and kicked them under the same chair. “Doubtless there will be an early wakeup call for some damn thing."
"Blade, I don't have anything to sleep in,” she finally said when he was down to underwear.
He glanced at her and his eyes glowed the same way they had the morning she'd first met him. It seemed like so long ago. “That's why they call them bedclothes, Vixen.” He picked up the gold band on the end of his braid. “Do you have any idea how this thing works? Llamass braided it before the bonding, but I'll give myself a black eye if I try to sleep with it."
She moved forward and found the clasp on the band, undid it and pulled it off the end of the braid. “Why do you keep your hair long? It's not fashionable in Barian."
He grinned. “After my military obligation was satisfied, I was so tired of spit and polish that I went the shaggy route for a while. And during the last six months in the Jags, there wasn't time or opportunity for little things like haircuts.” He raked his hands through his hair repeatedly, unraveling the braid.
"Thank you,” she said softly. He stopped and looked at her, uncertain.
"What for?"
"Everything. For helping Zonans. For saving my life.” She pressed against him, rubbing her cheek on his collarbone and relishing the hot, satiny skin. “For making me welcome in your home and your family.” His arms came around her, though he seemed to tense.
"Is that all?” he asked softly. She looked up at his face, but he wasn't smiling. He looked like he wanted something, wanted it desperately, but was never going to ask for it in words.
"Isn't that enough?” she asked back in a voice barely more than a whisper, then raised up on tiptoe and kissed him. He pulled her even closer as the familiar heat uncurled and spread languid pleasure to every limb, but it seemed halfhearted.
"I'm not a hero,” he murmured when he broke the kiss after only a few seconds. “And we still have a lot of work to do, but I'm too tired to deal with it now.” He pushed her away a little, then turned her around and steered her toward the bed. “We need to get some sleep."
She bit her lip as he stripped down to underwear, finally shedding her own clothes and slipping into the bed with him. It was bigger than her bed at Leone's inn, which meant there was probably two feet of spa
ce between them. Maybe more. If only she knew what that look had been about, what he wanted from her. Should she ask him? He told whatever control mechanism they had to turn out the lights, and the room was bathed in the soft glow of the fireplace.
"Blade?” she tried, comforted by the anonymity of the gloom. It was so strange, to feel timidity—she'd faced almost certain death how many times in the last few days?—but still, forcing that one word out of her throat had taken all the intestinal fortitude she could muster.
"Umm?” He already sounded half-asleep.
Ask him. Open your mouth and ask what that look was about. “Do you want...?” Goddess, now she couldn't even say the word sex? What was wrong with her?
"Shh. Get some sleep, Taryn. Trust me, we'll both need it."
"Will someone come to tend the fire?” she asked, giving up. Maybe she was just too tired. The Sweet Mother knew it had been a long, long day. Days.
"Oh. Sorry, I forgot. Voice command, fire out.” The room plunged into inky black. Blade sighed and turned over. Taryn stared at the ceiling she couldn't see and wondered why her eyes were stinging, even though she knew exactly why.
She rolled to her side facing away from him and fought despair. Four days, and already he was losing interest in her. She should never have agreed to the bonding and now it was too late. She tried to control her breath with fierce concentration, because crying before he fell asleep was unacceptable. He must never know how much it hurt.
"Taryn? What's wrong?” She heard movement and the rustling of the bedclothes, and then his arm slid around her waist.
"Nothing,” she forced out through a throat tight with pain. He pulled her body back against him, much as he had done the first night at Leone's inn.
"Uh-huh. And that's why you're as stiff as a tigerm rod and sniffling? Nothing.” He sighed. “The sooner you get it out, the sooner you can go to sleep.” She couldn't force any more words out, could barely swallow around the lump in her throat. “Talk to me, Vixen."