Taylor pressed a hand on her throat to keep her down and worked to undo his leggings. Before success, he took the time to savor his position. Her unprepared, she let out gasps of pain while he used his long, obscene finger to explore her womanhood. “Still tight,” he uttered. “It shouldn’t be too hard to forget that there’s a Revolutionary growing up there.”
Something snapped within the very core of her being. She fell back limply, like death.
“What?” he grunted, surprised.
He released her. In one last burst of energy—of her abhorrence—she propelled herself upward. As he fell sideways with his legs spread, she sent her knee straight and violently into his groin. She couldn’t have hoped for better contact. He landed on the floor, clutching his hips, yelping in his agony.
Sarra sprang to her feet. Frantically, she looked for something to disable him with, if he came at her again …
The door suddenly opened, and in came two guards—and Zenno.
“He tried to rape me!” she cried.
The guards rushed toward the aristocrat who rolled around in a vehement frenzy. They began laughing, amused.
“Bitch!” Taylor wheezed. “I’ll kill you!”
Zenno chucked. “Give it up, Gray,” he mocked. “She doesn’t seem to like you. No bruises on the princess’ body. Guards—take him away.”
As the duke was carried from the room, he hissed, “I’ll get you later, whore!”
Sarra was scarcely aware of the threat, being shocked to realize that Zenno had monitored it all. But, this wasn’t why she despised him. “You fool!” she breathed. “You’re one of them!”
“What?” he rasped.
“One of the very worst evil. You used me to trap my husband—not as a service to the king, but for your own gain. You’re the leader of the corruption. Your kind rot in hell.”
“Child, you wound me!”
“I’d like to. Let me out of here,” she commanded.
“No, Princess Sarra. We must keep you here to protect you until your father is on his feet again. We can’t have—”
“You are imprisoning me, just like you’re holding Raine. But, I warn you this—if you harm him I will see that you die a slow death. I promise you that.”
The door opened and in came a medic, his strides purposeful.
Zenno quipped, “Ah yes, it is time for your medication. You do look pale. And you have been so wayward since you came home.”
“No!” she shouted. “I don’t want any! I want to see my husband! Father! Alma!”
All of her struggling couldn’t compete with the men’s strength. The doctor gave her the injection in her nape. She started to fall and he caught her, and laid her down on her bed. “There, there, Princess,” he soothed. “You rest, now.”
It wasn’t long before Sarra faded into the drowsiness, the overpowering, languid motions that took the throbbing from her temples, carrying her off into nowhere.
***
Raine moved restlessly about his sparse, one-room cell, cursing. He concluded that he hadn’t given his captors’ all of the information they needed, since he was still alive. He sought vainly to recall what he had told them, but had only vague fragments of the interrogation since the truth serum had been forced upon him. The damage there had already been done, but he must make certain that there was no further toll.
Sarra. Her beautiful image fleeted through his head, and he yanked violently at the shackles that bound his wrists before him. She’d know his wrath—whether in this life, or the next. What had possessed him to believe that Her Royal Highness would settle for a ‘mere commoner’? How could he have trusted her? He had known her less than two months! Obviously, he hadn’t known her at all. His instincts had been twisted by her charms, and he had fallen under her spell.
He tensed, alert when a voice rang out in the hall.
“Let me at him! Give me the man who ravished my betrothed!”
And there, beyond the invisible energy shield, stood the Duke of Tren. The two guards wouldn’t permit him access in, and the pompous lord delicately glowered at them before centering his anger on him. Rancor twisted his dandyish face, but there seemed to be surprise there, as well.
Gray scoffed, “So this is the savage. Finally caught, and in its cage.”
Raine determined that ridicule would be the best defense against this scum. “You underestimate me, Your Grace. I just need a bit of rest after carousing Urania with Her Royal Highness, my wife.”
“Your wife!” he jeered. “You fancy that the princess would willingly settle for you?”
Raine sauntered over to his bunk and lie down casually on his back, placing his chained hands behind his nape, deliberately showing his lack of respect. “She did, didn’t she?” he finally remarked.
The duke’s laughter had a foppish tone. “Is that so? Then why are you here?”
“Politics, politics, Lord Gray,” he sighed out, lightly. “Something which I’m sure you know very little about. World affairs can be quite a chore on simple minds.”
“You are very bold for a man facing execution! What—do you want to die by torture?”
“Death comes to us all. No matter how, the outcome is the same. But, I will take solace to my grave knowing that I achieved a title that certain others could not.”
Taylor longed to tear into his fearless opponent and beat him to a bloody pulp. Never had one person disrupted his life so completely! This man had stolen his betrothed away, taking from him his nearness to the most powerful position on the planet. And, above all that, Taylor knew that most women would notice that the cad was handsome, and couldn’t deny that the blond physique rivaled his own good looks. He wanted revenge—to kill—but the guards knew this and wouldn’t let him in the cell.
Taylor was also beginning to gather that he might not have a future within the sovereignty. The princess no longer was his—ever since her reckless marriage. And, she clearly hated him, especially after his attempt at raping her. He would make her pay for her nervy impertinence, but he must win her—he couldn’t let the King’s Advisors appoint another to serve as her consort. After this louse was executed, the prestigious duty must fall to him—the one who deserved it.
“But, you will own the role only for a short time,” he smirked. “When you are dead—which will be very soon—Sarra will be mine.”
Raine felt his fury tightening within his limbs, but he refused to let the emotion show. “You think so? How sad for you that she will yearn for a ghost.”
“Hah! I had her just today!” Taylor lied. “She begged me to! Ahhhhh! She’s like fire, she is! All mewling and hot … The way she moves her perfect tits and scorching silk, and how she purrs when she does it … I assure you, she was not left yearning!”
“Yes, the princess is quite good in bed, isn’t she?” Raine said, somehow keeping his voice expressionless.
“Yes, your wife certainly is!”
“Only in name,” he replied.
Taylor was disappointed that the man felt no jealousy. He would have loved to goad him into a rage. “You are without a heart,” he mocked. “You deserve to—”
A palace worker interrupted, coming to stand before the cage with a meal tray. The jailers shut down the barrier long enough to let him in, but they kept the aristocrat out.
The chef said, “You will have a variety sampler tonight. The cheese potatoes are excellent,” he added, quite proudly.
Lithely, Raine rose to his feet. “Ah, dinner time. The king simply serves the finest cuisine.”
When the servant left, a jailer freed Raine from his handcuffs, and he sat down at the small table to dine. “Care to join me, Lord Gray?” he invited, pleasantly.
Taylor answered with a withering glare.
“Ah, I see that you must be running. Give my wife my regards. And come back and chat with me again. Even dull company is better than none.”
The duke stalked off in a huff.
When Raine was certain that Gray was gone, he sp
rang up from his chair. This caused a worried reaction from his two keepers, but he only scowled at them and paced—like a bull caught and caged. They relaxed, feeling protected by the shield, and they joked between themselves, making him the butt of their amusement.
“His Grace really got to him, didn’t he?” one said. “It must have been the ‘perfect tits’ and ‘scorching silk’ and—”
Raine saw red, his frustration coming out on his tongue in the foulest of curses. He knew that he was being monitored and wondered if it was Sarra who watched him on some faraway viewer screen. His hands were white from his hatred, and he longed to slip them around her slender neck and crush the life from her. This was the final blow—she had run back to Lord Gray. Images of her with him, of his dark hair mingling with her golden as they intertwined in vulgar ecstasy, flashed hideously through his head.
Within the sounds of the guards’ jollity, he could have sworn that he heard her laughter, soft and vengeful. He sat and began to eat, though his insides were being ripped apart. He chewed slow and easy, hoping to show the hidden spectator that his temper was over—and that’s about how much he cared about her.
As he lifted the lid off his vegetable entree, his eyes widened. He swiftly cleared the emotion off of his face.
Inside the bowl were the initials ‘MB’, carved in the cheesy, mashed potatoes. He felt a surge of exhilaration—of triumph—and then he took the bite, swallowing the evidence.
***
Alias Myles Brogan wasn’t a man of cowardice, but he wished that he were. His scheme of freeing the prisoner was perhaps his most reckless undertaking so far, aside from his role in helping abduct the princess. He had been employed as a palace journalist for the last seven months, a guise enabling him to get close to the corruption so deep within the government, and he had reported many of the king’s lies though he longed to tell the truth. But, the people who would believe the story would revolt and be slaughtered, defenseless without weapons. He—like his fellow colleagues—must wait and covertly work for justice. Being a Revolutionary spy was a dangerous business, but he wouldn’t rest until the sister he had lost at Tyler Oaks was avenged, and until the rainbow miners were freed. Perhaps he and the thirteen other spies on the estate wouldn’t live to see that day. If they were caught, it would mean death for them all.
Since the guards wouldn’t let anyone speak with the prisoner, he had to resort to rather crass means of communication. He hoped that the Revolutionary leader had understood his message that had been delivered by a palace chef just recently under rebel persuasion. If he knew Raine Nicks—like he had for three years—nothing slipped by his watchful eye, and he would be reassured, ready and waiting.
Myles crept out of the dark Science-Research Lab, his hiding place for the last hour, and hurried down the quiet, brightly lit corridor, skidding into the narrow hallway that led to the station where Raine was being monitored. He checked the time; he was right on schedule. Taking the hood out from his shoulder bag, he drew it over his head and pulled out his M-5. He opened the entrance, and the bored-looking man’s face lit up with astonishment as the blue-green laser wave struck him. The victim fell, unconscious and slouched over the viewer screen. Myles plunged his disguise and gun back into his bag. He set the doors to lock from the inside and slipped hastily out into the hall, and made a steady pace away to the protection of the woman who was his alibi …
A disturbance woke Raine from his fitful dozing. In the light beyond the dim of his cell, he saw the five men wearing the Royal Guards’ crimson and gold uniform—and dark hoods—stun his two surprised jailers. He jumped up, and they deactivated the shield and ushered him out. The rebels took their masks off, uttering snappy greetings. Raine dressed quickly in the uniform they provided.
“Where is the princess?” he asked, tempted to pay her a call.
“She hasn’t left her apartment,” one replied. “But we’ve no way for you to go and see her.”
Raine conceded; it was time to take the journey to freedom. Surrounded by his rescuers, he strode down the long passageway. When he spotted a militiaman coming near, he was careful to join his companions’ boisterous conversation so as not to draw attention to him, and the man passed by without even a glance. His adrenaline rushed within him as he was guided through a maze of walkways, successfully fooling all other security forces … and soon he was hiding in the back of a military vehicle with only a driver named Robby Ainsworth. He remained calm and collected, even when reaching the boundary line inspection point. The auto was granted permission to pass … and then they were far away from the Royal Estate, sailing onward to safety.
Raine crawled up to the front seat. “You’re a godsend, Ainsworth,” he remarked, letting out a long breath.
“Thank Brogan for staging it. I’m just doing what a good dissident should,” he jested, relieving the tension.
As the auto glided through the night—the darkness that was beginning to give way to the dawn’s faint glow—a smile came onto Raine’s lips, becoming cold and wolfish while he plotted his revenge.
***
Black, icy-cold tentacles grabbed Sarra. They strangled her, crushing her—and then Zenno’s wrinkled face appeared, twisted and evil—
“Raine!” she screamed, startled awake by her own voice.
Terrified that the nightmare was real, her eyes roved the blackness, her heart pounding wildly. There was air, but she was suffocating. She called out again for help, but he didn’t come. No one came.
It was then that she understood that they were killing her.
Chapter 24
“The princess is wicked,” Raine stated coolly.
Darius thought that ‘rage’ wasn’t a sufficient word to describe the man—he was like an army of bloodthirsty soldiers quietly waiting in ambush. Darius took heed and didn’t press about Princess Sarra; clearly Raine believed that she had betrayed him. What had happened?
“I feared that they had you this time,” he declared. “What were you thinking, man? Myles Brogan contacted me about your capture. I suspected that they’d use the truth serum, and sent the word out fast to the men.”
“Any damage?” Raine asked tensely.
“None. And your relatives are safe.”
“Good—don’t tell me where. For all I know, I told them about our headquarters, here.”
“We’ve a trap waiting for them if they do come,” Darius said confidently. “And I have some news. We found the traitor. It’s Glover. He’s here.”
Raine’s face darkened with a want of revenge. “Take me to him.”
Glover bounded up from his bunk when the Revolutionary Commander entered the room. He ran to the far edge of his cell, ignoring his guards—Hastings and Draco—who were alert beyond the invisible barrier. “I didn’t do it!” he blurted out.
The commander coldly asked, “Didn’t do what, Glover?”
“I’m not a traitor!”
Raine glanced at his Arab friend. “He won’t confess?”
Darius shook his head. “But we caught him in the act—well, almost. He sent out a message on a FAS frequency, having what looks like a FAS pilot identity code. The message was garbled—we’re working to decipher it since we’ve never seen the style before. The source was the suite where he bunked. He played stupid when we arrived. We took him into custody. The FAS didn’t come—must not have caught the transmission—but we have plans, if they do.”
Raine tilted his head to one side as he eyed the nervous prisoner. “Hmmm. Curious. He sends out a call from here? Why now? A FAS pilot could have exposed us long ago. True, he was at the rendezvous on Kan, but why would a FAS pilot want to assassinate the princess? Or was he trying to rescue her?”
“I’m not a FAS!” Glover protested. “I didn’t send out any codes!”
Darius accused, “Then why did it come from your quarters? You contacted King Erasmas on my estate. You had access to the signature code of the ship that Raine held the princess on, and told the FAS!”
“No, I didn’t!” he whined. “Please believe me!”
Draco snarled. “I always suspected that he was no good! I say we kill him now!”
“Yes!” Hastings agreed.
Raine had a private reason to hate the traitor. Because of him, the ransom scheme had become complicated, and his proximity to the princess had caused him to become involved with her.
Darius smiled vengefully at the prisoner. “You will confess all of your secrets, Glover, when the truth serum arrives.”
“How long?” Raine asked.
The man shrugged. “Myles said that it might be difficult to get. Hopefully, within a few days.”
Glover’s face filled with panic and then he was calmer. “You will see! I am innocent!”
“A grand performance!” Hastings mocked.
Raine considered Glover. “There are too many questions,” he said, and then he sighed, wearily. “Ah, what does it matter now, anyway?” He absently waved a hand at the prisoner. “Guard him well.”
He left the men and went to his bunk, seeking the bite of tamfonite. He took a deep swallow of the blue alcohol and sat, concentrating on figuring a way out of the dilemma that treacherous Sarra had placed him in.
Suddenly, the door opened, admitting Darius and Cronala. Their dark faces were anxious—distraught.
“Go away!” he spat, rudely.
Cronala rushed over to the wall to turn on the room’s large viewer screen. “Haven’t you heard the news?” she cried.
“What news?”
“Sarra—she’s dying!”
Raine felt a chill forming in the pit of his belly …
“Listen—he’s on again!”
The Palace Spokesman, Allen Charles, came onto the screen. He was distressed and had difficulty speaking. “I have the sad duty to inform Adriel about the status of the Royal Family. The king has fallen into a coma and is not expected to recover. Princess Sarra has also fallen ill. She has contracted an unknown virus, and her medics fear that it is incurable. They don’t know how she became infected, but suspect that the Revolutionaries are to blame. In her delirium she married the clan’s leader, who we have in custody. The medics are doing all that they can for His Majesty and Her Royal Highness. Pray for them, subjects.”
Queen of the Stars (The Royals of Adriel Book 1) Page 31