Queen of the Stars (The Royals of Adriel Book 1)

by Lorelei Orion

  “Good God!”

  Sarra stopped short when seeing the man at the end of the passage. The tall and muscular Arab, wearing a white turban and tunic, was frozen in his shock, his mouth agape while he stared at her. He began coming near swiftly, his long robes flowing and his ornate jewelry clinking.

  “Good God, man!” his deep voice boomed again. “You truly did it!”

  Sarra winced as Raine Nicks grasped her arm like she was his possession, a prize he had won. She began to tremble and squirm but his grip was firm and confident.

  “I said I would, didn’t I?” he replied.

  “Do you know what this means—kidnapping her?” the man of Egyptian heritage asked, horrified.

  “All too well, Darius. All too well.”

  “Dreadful. Dreadful. You have done it this time, my friend. Come quickly, now. Masculine clothes on her won’t fool anyone.”

  Sarra fought against the pressure of Nicks’ hold while he escorted her hastily down a narrow hallway, and then another. Soon it was as if they were in a maze, a point in which the commander’s crew departed, rowdy and eager to celebrate. The Arab chose a door and hustled them into the room, relieved. When Nicks’ strong hand released her, she moved a safe distance away and rubbed her tingling arm.

  “Ah, you are so reckless!” Darius scolded, ambulating about anxiously. “I did prepare, in the event that you would carry out your foolish scheme, but I did not truly believe … Some of my best Adrielian clients arrived yesterday and to refuse them would be suspicious, so—”

  “Later,” Nicks said.

  Darius Menes saw the warning on his most trusted friend’s face and understood the need for secrecy. His breath caught in his throat when he met the princess’ beautiful dark-blue eyes. She stared at him levelly, with pride and anger in the brilliant depths, a regal look reserved for a subject who has caused displeasure. He had heard the stories about Princess Sarra’s magnificence and had seen her many times on viewer screens that replayed Adrielian affairs, but to actually see her in the flesh was an arresting experience. She had a presence about her, an aura so voltaic that it seemed to glow and reach out with an invisible, sensual touch. Although her long golden hair was hidden beneath her cap and she wore masculine garb, even this couldn’t tarnish such loveliness.

  “Oh! Oh! Oh!” he thundered, moving toward her. “I so deeply apologize, Your Royal Highness!”

  As Darius bent his tall frame into a sweeping bow, he heard cursing. He glanced at the disgusted green eyes, perceiving that his friend was being a bit too flippant about abducting the powerful Princess Royal of Adriel. He rose and then fell avidly into another humbling display. “Life’s … life sometimes puts one in inextricable circumstances. Please forgive me … forgive …”

  Nicks grumbled, “You’re pathetic.”

  Darius straightened. “You should be doing this, too,” he said, pointing at the floor.

  The man’s fierce scowl reminded him that alias Raine Nicks bowed to no one.

  Darius possessed enough common fear to know how to treat royalty—especially one that would one day become queen of a world! If she should come to grace her throne, perhaps he could keep his head off the executioner’s list. “Have they been treating you well? Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked eagerly.

  She placed her hands on her gently rounded hips and arched a golden brow. “Yes,” she quipped. “How about a ride home?”

  Darius laughed uneasily. “Weeelll … not yet, Your Royal Highness. But this place can be nice—it’s very interesting! You see the old architecture, the antique replicas …”

  Sarra sighed as she crossed her arms and began to pace. She listened with one ear while the Arab talked about her quarters, about how this was his best guest suite. Evidently he wasn’t pleased by her abduction. This, she thought calculatedly, she would find a way to use.

  She walked through the arched doorway into the adjoining room, one that had art-filled walls and ornate furnishings. There was a huge bed, the center of attention, it being so large that it looked like it could comfortably sleep at least four. It had delicately carved wooden posts at the ends that supported a vast scarlet canopy, its spread and many pillows also a vibrant red. One wall was a window instead, and beyond it there was a garden terrace, the sunset mirroring its fiery shimmer on the ornamental pond.

  “What kind of place is this?” she considered aloud.

  Nicks stifled a chuckle.

  Darius was embarrassed. “But—but it is very comfortable, Your Royal Highness!” he stammered. “It has many pleasures … let’s see … Wine! How about some wine, yes?”

  His rambling muttering became quieter with his distance while he went off to get his very best spirits. Sarra whirled when she realized that only Nicks and she remained in the suite.

  The color left her cheeks and her pulse quickened, taking away her confidence. He watched her with those cold, calculating eyes, making her wish with all of her might that she could flee. She couldn’t move, even when he sauntered near.

  “Alone again,” he whispered.

  She held her breath. He was close enough to touch her.

  “The cap really doesn’t suit you …”

  With a soft, almost gentle smile, he took the cap off of her head and tossed it aside. He grasped the hairpin at her nape and freed her hair, the golden tresses tumbling down around her. He dropped the hairpin, and his large hand came to slowly caress a silken tress, lingering at her cheek. She closed her eyes, trembling and helpless.

  “Such beauty should always be free,” he wooed.

  A whimper escaped her, a strange sound, a moan of pleasure. She was drawn into his presence, his incredibly potent sensuality …

  Suddenly, his hand left her, making her sway slightly, her balance precarious. She opened her eyes to see him sauntering away.

  There at the door stood Darius, holding a tray. Surprised, his black eyes darted from Nicks to her, having witnessed their exchange. He was distraught while he placed the tray down on the table nearby the long window.

  “Ah, yes, yes, that is better,” he nodded, motioning at her hair but not quite having the courage to look. “Um … a wardrobe was prepared before your arrival, Princess Sarra. It is there in the dressing room. I took the liberty to choose your meal.”

  Sarra’s cheeks grew hot. It was odd seeing the large man squirming in his chagrin.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” he uttered and hurried away—but not before throwing a very quizzical glance at his friend.

  Sarra felt like her face had been set aflame. She met Nicks’ green eyes. They mocked her, him knowing that she had been affected by his touch.

  Quietly he asked, “Perhaps you want to be more comfortable while we dine?” He pointed his finger out toward the dressing room.

  Sarra moved that direction, and when safe behind the closed door, a violent shudder passed through her. Dazed, she went to the wardrobe, and from the vast assortment of generic feminine garments she chose a white tunic lavishly-embroidered with lilac threads. She changed, watching her reflection. Her face had paled—drastically—for her blue eyes stood out startlingly against her ashen cheeks.

  The prospect of dining with her captor brought her anticipation, not fear. She failed to understand why and decided to dwell on it later. She made her grand entrance; he was not within the room. Lifting the lid off the tray on the table, she revealed the tantalizing salad assortments, the cuisine breads, and nuts and meats. He had laid out only one place setting.

  Confused by her disappointment, she moved to the window and looked up at the evening sky, at the sprinkling of the stars and constellations. Rationally, she knew that their bright flickering was caused by how their light passed through Myrrh’s warm atmosphere, but it seemed as if the heavens were determined to reach her, flashing in a tumult, warning her.

  She closed her eyes to block the sight.

  ***

  The sunrise roused Sarra from her fitful slumber. She had had a re
stless night—waking up, falling back to sleep and waking again. Although still tired, her rest had washed away her confusion and put her rational back within her.

  She slid down from the large bed and searched for a means of escape. It wasn’t long before frustration set in. Her luxurious four-room cell had but one flaw—she couldn’t leave it. And there wasn’t a computer board anywhere—nothing that would send out a message.

  She stood at the main door and screeched from her bellows. No one came—no doubt they couldn’t hear her through the soundproofing. She flung a chair at the window but it didn’t dent the window, the indestructible glass broke the chair. Seething and desperate, she used a candle lighter to set fire to a pillow, hoping that the escape exits would automatically open. She succeeded only in getting a quick drenching from the ceiling’s sprinkler system.

  Momentarily defeated, she retreated to sit on the gray lounge. She lie down and absently picked at a soft cushion, carefully mulling through the events of last evening. She knew what she was up against.

  “Psychological warfare,” she gritted out.

  The Revolutionary leader was using psychological warfare on her. He wanted her to fear him—he aimed to make her tremble under the threat of his tall ruggedness and the damage that his strong hands could do. It would give him great satisfaction if he could conquer her spirit. He would get a surprise!

  “Never! Never again will I cower under him!”

  But, she must be careful. He was dangerous. He had a hypnotizing power she’d never experienced before. His slightest touch made her heart race, making her breathing come fast and stop—somehow—all at the same time. It made her dizzy—a bit like the effects of wine. More so, what alarmed her was that she felt like she was the soon-to-be captured prey of a tormenting predator—like a cat with a mouse. Perhaps it was sorcery, something he had learned in his travels—he clearly had had many adventures. Or maybe it was simply her imagination, her emotions being on edge with the stress of her situation. Albeit handsome, wasn’t he just a common man like any other? Still, she would be safer if she could keep her distance from him.

  This would be a challenge. She hadn’t seen him since he had left her last night, but he would surely come again, to taunt her again. She was gathering that he loathed her because of her royal status. She was the one who had good reason to loath him—and she would let him know about it! Didn’t she have the advantage? He couldn’t hurt her or his ransom scheme—whatever that was—wouldn’t work.

  She wouldn’t have to deal with him much longer anyway—she’d be free soon. The Revolutionaries had already, more than likely, contacted her father with their demands, and— “What could they possibly want?” she raged aloud. “Royal titles?”

  Whatever they wanted, they wouldn’t succeed. Her father, clever as he was, would certainly find out that she was on Myrrh. But, she would make it easier on the FAS and save them the bother of a complicated rescue. All she had to do was escape and go to King Erasmas in Aladdin. Her best hope for accomplishing this feat was with Darius. She had no quarrel with him since he was the most decent of all her captors. At least he treated her with respect.

  He had spoken of Adrielian clients. What kind of business did he own? Where was she?

  As Sarra contemplated on how to manipulate the Arab, the door opened. She turned as a tall and slender dark woman, perhaps five years her senior, entered, carrying a tray and setting it down on the clear and long end table aside the lounge. The servant wore a drab gray shirt and leggings, and on her belt was the remote that controlled the exits—and a menacing M-5 gun.

  Refusing to be intimidated, Sarra rose and approached her. “I must see Darius. Call him to me.”

  The Arab straightened, eyeing her boldly. Sarra noted how the brown eyes shone with contempt, traveling from her head to her toes and then up to center upon her breasts. She adjusted the décolleté of her rumpled tunic to shield herself.

  The woman finally shook her head. “No, you don’t. You keep away from Darius.”

  Sarra wondered why a servant should be jealous of her, in that way. However, she wasn’t accustomed to having her requests denied by commoners.

  “Call Darius to me now,” she commanded levelly.

  The woman again shook her head. “No, Your Royal Highness.”

  Surprised, she asked, “You know who I am?”

  “Of course! Everyone knows who you are.”

  “You must help me, then—I am being held against my will! These men have—” The woman burst out laughing, prompting Sarra to finish her plea less emphatically, “—abducted me.”

  “The Princess Royal of Adriel, needing my help! This is hilarious!”

  Regally, Sarra lifted her chin. Alas, a princess must have patience with all kinds. “You obviously do not understand,” she said coolly. “The king—my father will give you an incredible reward for my safe return.”

  “I don’t want the pitiful King Ellis’ money!” she sneered.

  Sarra kept her temper and let the remark pass. “You’ll never have to work as a maid again,” she tempted.

  “I do not work. I’m rich,” she bragged, raising her nose airily. “I do not wish to serve you but Darius says that I must—he trusts me. I am Cronala Ptolemy, once the best courtesan in all of Aladdin. Now I am Darius’ only lover.”

  Sarra lost her patience. “Oh. But considering your demeanor, isn’t being a lover a lot like work?”

  Her brown eyes narrowed. The woman looked as though she was going to spit. Instead, she lowered herself a bit and a look of emotional pain came onto her face.

  “I will curtsy for Darius said I must. But he is wrong—you are not so special!”

  Cronala turned in a huff and hurried away, locking the door behind her.

  Sarra flounced down on the lounge and tapped her fingers angrily and rhythmically on its arm. She’d never seen such conceit—the haughty twit!

  Clearly, she wouldn’t get to Darius through her.

  But how could she get through to him?

  ***

  Sarra had it all planned out. She sat down on the lounge, to wait. After Cronala had left her, she had taken a leisurely bath, relaxing in its luxury, letting the smooth jets of perfumed heat ease away her tension. It gave her the calmness she needed to plot her escape.

  There was one way out of her cell. Cronala. She had come again with a noon tray, glared, and departed as quickly as she had come. Chances are, she would return. Tonight she would have a surprise waiting for her.

  Sarra fidgeted, ready. She would trick the woman, tie her up, and take her weapon and the door remote. To do this, she had moved the vase of blue orchids from this room to the bedchamber where it would all happen. She had taken the long and braided golden tassel off of an ornamental light fixture to use as a rope, and had pulled the slip off the huge pillow, smoothing the cloth back upon it to make it seem like the slip was still in place, and hid the tassel beneath the pillow. She would use these accouterments to overpower her foe.

  Her scheme was complete with her choice of apparel. She wore a white long-sleeved tunic with hip pockets and a matching headdress with a veil, a common garment on Myrrh. Such raiment was designed for colder weather, and she longed to rip it off, it being hot and enclosing. Yet it was necessary, for after her victory over Cronala, she would drop the veil over her face to conceal her identity, open the door with the remote, and walk at a slow, unsuspecting pace, nodding politely to anyone she might encounter. She wouldn’t take her hand off the weapon in her pocket until she found the doors of freedom.

  She couldn’t risk taking a transport on Darius’ estate and must travel on foot. But, in Aladdin, she could hire an auto that would take her to King Erasmas’ palace. The last time her father and she had been his guests was nearly two years ago; he would be thrilled to see her. At the gates she would whisk away the veil and the guards would be shocked. And kindly Erasmas would be outraged by her story. He would retaliate on the Revolutionaries and justice would be serve
d. Back on Adriel, at her beautiful home, her father and aunt would cry in their relief, enveloping her in their loving embraces.

  The door suddenly opened and she sprang to her feet. Cronala entered, glowering while setting down the tray and then picking up the untouched noon tray. Sarra was unable to move, suddenly consumed by doubts. She mustered up her courage when her keeper headed for the exit.

  “Wait!” she cried.

  Impatiently, the woman turned around.

  “It is too cold in here.” She produced a convincing shiver though felt the perspiration trickling down her arm.

  “Too cold! And you are wearing that?”

  “Yes. I fear that something is wrong with the air.”

  Cronala stood there a moment, breathing deeply. She raised a black brow at her as if concluding that she was daft. “There’s nothing wrong with the air!” she said, and turned to leave.

  “But I think that the flowers Darius gave me are the cause.”

  This stopped her in mid step. “Darius!”

  Sarra hid her satisfaction behind a puzzled, innocent expression. “Yes. I was planning to wait until he came back this evening to tell him to take them away. But it would be best if you did, now. The flowers are very strange. They have an odd scent. Ever since he brought them … well … I have felt different. I tremble as if I’m cold, but my skin feels like it is on fire …”

  The Arab’s dark, delicate face twisted in her jealousy. “Where are they?”

  “They are in here,” she replied, heading to the bedchamber.

  The woman set the tray aside and followed her. Sarra kept her steps slow and deliberate, further agitating her pursuer. She pointed at the bouquet on the bureau nearby the bed and moved toward it, praying that the woman hadn’t noticed it when it was in the other room. “There.”

  Her victim took the bait and came toward it. She moved behind her, and carefully she reached for the pillowslip …