The Consort (Tellaran Series)

by Ariel MacArran

  He was due to return to take command of the Sertarian shortly and while he’d had ideas about their future living arrangements, Alari remaining behind in Az-kye space never even occurred to him.

  Looking along the length of the galley, the ceiling of brilliant colors and carving soaring above, the crystal windows and the falls that kicked up spray of shifting, sparkling rainbows a half-kilometer high, Kyndan felt his stomach sink.

  What did he have to offer Alari that could possibly compare to this?

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

  Alari looked up from her seat on the chaise where she had been looking at some of the sketches Saria had left for her and smiled at Kyndan.

  He glanced around Saria’s living quarters. “Where’s your sister?”

  “Responsibilities of the First Daughter have called her away.” She indicated the low table before her. “But she had refreshments brought for us. Are you hungry?”

  “Yeah,” he said and she smiled inwardly that despite being the mate of an Imperial Daughter he did not think to look for another to serve him. He filled his own plate from the offerings. Waving away the attendants Saria had left for them, Alari poured the tea for him herself.

  He nodded at the drawings next to her. “What’s all this?”

  “My things were moved to other quarters,” Alari said. “But these Saria kept back to give me herself.”

  “Can I see?” Kyndan put down his plate and leafed through a few of the sketches. “Wow, these are beautiful. Hold on,” he said suddenly, looking intently at one rendering of the falls. “Alari, did you do these?”

  Alari’s face warmed. “Yes.”

  “Gods, you aren’t just an art lover,” he said, his blue eyes alight. “You’re an artist.”

  She gave a quick, embarrassed laugh. “No, I shall never be such.”

  “Are you kidding? Look at these.” She was touched to see how carefully he handled her work. “They’re amazing.”

  She ducked her head. “Think you so?”

  “Everybody must think so! Why, what have other people said?”

  She busied herself with her teacup. “Only you and Saria have seen them.”

  “You haven’t shown these to anyone?” he asked, frowning. “Didn’t you have a teacher?”

  “When I was a girl Saria and I both were given instruction in art as we were in dance and music, so that we might appreciate the work of those artists.” She took a quick sip of tea. “Not so that we should become such ourselves.”

  “They discouraged you?” he asked, his tone disbelieving. He went still. “How much did they discourage you, Alari? Gods, that’s why you were so interested in going to Azis’ sanctuary, why you looked at the paintings like a starving man would look at food . . .” A flush ran up his neck. “They wouldn’t even let you go to a museum?”

  Alari looked away. “An heiress must attend to her duties, not her interests.”

  “I can guess who told you that. ’Course you aren’t First Daughter anymore, you can draw all you want now.”

  “What?” Alari blinked up at him, her cup halfway to her mouth. “What?”

  “Sure, why not? You’re not even the Second.”

  Alari shook her head a little. “I am still an Imperial Daughter.”

  “So?”

  “But—but it would be . . . unseemly to apply myself so.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Gods, it couldn’t possibly be worse than being married to a Tellaran.”

  She put her cup down, the china clinking from the tremble in her hand. “Would you not be shamed to have your mate do so? To apply myself to an endeavor so beneath my birth?”

  “Alari,” he said softly, “I would be proud of you. I am proud of you.” He gently laid the drawings down. “You love doing this. You’re great at it. Of course you should do it.”

  Alari looked at the sketches she’d done. She could spare so little time for them that some had taken her weeks to complete. There were days filled with her responsibilities as Imperial Heiress where she lived for the few stolen minutes late in the evening where she could draw again. Saria sometimes bribed one of her own maids to purchase colors in the city and secreted them to her so she could sketch at all.

  Looking up at Kyndan now, her eyes stung. “I would very much like a peridot colorstick,” she said thickly. “It has been months since I had one.”

  He smiled. “Well, let’s gather all these up, get ourselves a litter, and go shopping for peridot. Come on, Alari.” He offered his hand. “We’re going to buy you every color they’ve got.”

  At first Alari was careful to put her colorsticks, papers, and sketches neatly away. They were left tucked into a cabinet when Kyndan took her to the artists’ quarter where she could view new paintings or explore the shops bursting with foils, paints, colorsticks, paper, and canvas. They ate the midday meal in tiny establishments where apprentices of the artist caste, their nails stained with pigment, gathered. The older ones were about her own age and Alari, dressed in brightly colored dresses, sipping spiced tea from the mismatched china and surrounded by their lively talk on the techniques of aquarelle or tempera, almost felt she were one of them.

  The next night as she drew Kyndan brushed aside her hair to kiss her neck, his arms going round her. She leaned back as his hands cupped her breasts, turning to meet his hot mouth with her own. He’d kissed her to bed, his hand beneath her gown sliding up her thigh, so roused his fingers trembled when they reached her cleft, the sketch and colors utterly forgotten.

  But when she’d awoken in the morning her things were as she had left them on the table. She brushed a kiss against Kyndan’s hair as he slept then crept to her place and lifted the colorstick, joyfully picking up again where she had left off.

  Except for coaxing her with kisses to the bed for lovemaking or urging her to dinner in the dining room below stairs he seemed completely content letting her draw. He played the Tellaran game of darshball with Bebti and the other children, praising Bebti’s emerging sword skills as the boy demonstrated with his wooden practice sword while she sketched the garden of the Az’anti estate.

  He sat beside her in their rooms doing his own work and included her in the sitting room conversation with his sister and her mate or Tedah and Lianna when they visited, without ever implying she should put her colorstick down.

  After two days Kyndan had a new table brought and set in the middle of their room for her use. She had so many colorsticks, so many sketches, on the dining table that they could no longer eat breakfast there and her nails too were now stained with pigment.

  She smiled up at him from her place at the new table as he came in. Alari glanced at the balcony, surprised to see it was growing dark.

  He dropped a kiss to her head. “You smile while you draw.”

  She blinked. “I do?”

  He brushed a tendril of her hair away from her face. She wore her hair loose down her back as she’d not done since childhood; her dress was the same spring green shade as the colorstick in her hand.

  “You even smile sometimes in your sleep.”

  Through the open balcony doors she could see the lanterns were lit. She put her colorstick down, wiping at her hands with a dampened cloth.

  “It is the last night of the festival,” she said. “Do you want to go to the final celebration by the falls?”

  “If you like,” Kyndan said, sitting beside her. “I’ve gotten some news from the Fleet. Good news actually. They’ve decided to upgrade the Sertarian. That’s the ship I was taking command of,” he explained at her questioning look. “Anyway, they’ve offered me the Crystal Fall.”

  “And that is a better vessel?”

  “A much better ship,” Kyndan said. “And I won’t take command for another six months. I’ll be on desk duty till then and I can pick the base.” He took her hand. “That means we’ll have six months together, Alari, before I have to do another rotation. And letting me select the base means we have
some choices.”

  “Choices?”

  He cleared his throat. “We could live on Rusco, of course, if you like. My father’s there. Or we could choose another world. They’re a bit stuffy on Zartan but Nima’s a lot more open-minded. Admittedly not quite Az-kye open-minded but still, you might really like it there. And there’s the Dethara Academy in Laku-Nima. It’s one of the best art schools in the Realm. I checked and the new term starts in three months. They’re pretty selective but my father’s Niman and he knows a lot of important people there. Of course, once you got in you’d be on your own to succeed but with your talent. . . ”

  “I could—” She wet her lips, her heart hammering. “I could apprentice as an artist?”

  “Why not? You’re great at it. And Nima’s a really beautiful world.” He looked at her hand in his. “I just—I was thinking that we might buy a home there.”

  She blinked. “Purchase a dwelling?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure we could find something you like.”

  “I could choose our home?”

  He gave a short laugh. “Alari, you were raised to rule an empire. I don’t think you’ll have any problem picking a house.”

  “I was raised to rule,” she said softly. “But where I would live, how I would live, even where my bones would someday rest, was decided the moment I was born. I have never had the life I would choose for myself, Kyndan.”

  “You can now.” His blue eyes were rueful, his faint smile self-mocking. “Do you want to stay on Az-kye? Maybe return to the palace?”

  Her brow creased. “You break your word to me, my mate?”

  He shook his head a little. “Break my word?”

  “You made a solemn vow. Or do you deny me the best street food in the quadrant?”

  “The best—? You mean winter carnival on Xeltan? Alari, I’m not sure I would call it a solemn—Hold on,” he said suddenly. “That was a joke, wasn’t it?”

  “Clearly Tellarans do not take the culinary arts as seriously as they should.”

  “Yeah.” His smile was cautious, hopeful. “Maybe you could help me with that.”

  “Well, not from here I cannot.” She looked at him as imperiously as only an Az-kye princess could. “I will have to return with you to Tellaran space.”

  He nodded gravely. “Probably the only way I’ll ever learn.”

  Alari laughed. “I will have to learn to speak Tellaran. I will have to learn Tellaran ways.”

  “Well, neuro-linguistics will help with the language part.” He thought for a moment. “Let me talk to Nisara. The only other one better versed in Az-kye–Tellaran cultural differences is my sister and I know she’ll help.” He searched her face. “You want to, though? Come back with me to Tellaran space to live?”

  “Yes, my mate. The city made of ice, and friends and dancing and painting and a home we choose. And I will be Alari Maere.” She wrapped her fingers around his, her heart lighter and more joyous than she had ever known. “I am ready now, Kyndan. If you are.”

  “Ready?” he asked, his eyes puzzled.

  “To be bound to you.”

  He went still but she couldn’t miss how his breath quickened. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Are you?”

  “Yeah! Gods, from what I’ve heard—” A flush warmed his cheeks. “Yes.” He cleared his throat with endearing hopefulness. “So . . . now?”

  Kyndan closed and locked the door to their suite behind him, his face still burning.

  Alari came forward to meet him. “Kyndan?”

  In response he held up the small bottle of amber liquid in its tiny, delicate bottle and a goblet crafted of the same fine crystal.

  “By the way, my estimation of my brother-in-law just went way the frack up,” Kyndan said. “He got these for me without so much as a snicker and he’s just taken my sister and nephew away for a surprise two-day outing to the southern continent. He said he’d ‘take care of everything.’ I’m hoping that means he’s just transmitted the ‘comm silence’ code for us to the rest of the clanhouse. ”

  “They will not disturb us,” she promised softly. “To do so would be sacrilege.”

  “Yeah, well, from what I’ve heard this is not something I want to stop in the middle of.”

  Alari covered the hand that held the bottle with her own. “We will not be able to stop.”

  “Oh.” His breathing sped up and a current of heat jumped down his body to his groin at her words and her nearness. The tingle that ran through his buttocks at her light touch on his hand already had him standing.

  “You are blushing,” Alari said, smiling up at him.

  “I’m more nervous now than I was my very first time,” he said with an embarrassed laugh.

  Gently she took the bottle from him and he followed her to the sitting area of their suite. She opened the flask and he held the goblet with slightly trembling hands as she poured.

  “Okay,” he said as she closed the bottle and put it down. “Okay. Now what?”

  “Now you will drink some and I will drink and we will do so until it is all gone. Then we will kiss.”

  “You’re nervous too,” he said, looking into her beautiful eyes. “Aren’t you?”

  She smiled. “Nervous, excited, but certain.” She gave a nod at the goblet he held. “Do you want me to go first?”

  He took a swallow. It was strong, sweet, and instantly warming his mouth and throat as he drank.

  He licked his lips. “Actually it tastes pretty good.”

  She laughed, taking the cup from him. “The nectar of Ren’thar and Lashima? Yes, it would.”

  He watched as she drank too, her dark eyes smiling at him over the rim before handing it back.

  In the end he was the one who got the final drops. She took the cup from him and put it beside the flask then straightened, waiting.

  He took her hands in his for a moment then drew her close and kissed her gently, her unique sweetness and warmth melding with the taste of nectar as he deepened the kiss.

  He rested his forehead against hers. “Before any of this starts I want you to know, Alari,” he murmured, “I love you.”

  She caught her breath and the sheen of happy tears in her dark eyes. “I love you too, Kyndan.”

  He kissed her again and she drew him toward the bed. Her hands were already undoing the fastenings of his tunic and pushing it off his shoulders.

  He was nervous, and excited, and aroused but . . .

  “Uh, Alari?” He cleared his throat. “I don’t feel any different.”

  “Now who is impatient?” she teased. “Hurry, though, I do not think you wish to have your boots on for this.”

  He blinked and as he removed his boots she toed off her slippers.

  “Hey,” he protested as she started on her dress. “I wanted to do that.”

  Though why I’m complaining . . .

  She’d already stepped out of the gown. Her underthings quickly followed, and his mouth went dry at the sight of her smooth, light golden skin, slender waist, and full pink-tipped breasts.

  She glanced down. “Trousers,” she prompted.

  He had them off and his undershorts in an instant, already at full stand. A rush of heat hit him and a thin layer of sweat broke out all over his body followed by a tightening heavy throb through his already taut staff.

  “Uh, wait, I think—Gods!” he got out as her cool fingers closed around his shaft. Every nerve in his body flashed with a fiery burst of pleasure just from that one feathery touch. She stroked him twice more and suddenly Kyndan was shuddering with the strongest climax of his life.

  Gasping, his legs shaking, he had to grab the bedpost to stay upright. It took a moment for his head to clear even the tiniest bit.

  “Sorry,” he panted, utterly dismayed to have had it over so quickly. “I’m sorry—”

  She silenced his mortified protests with a kiss and just the brush of her breasts against made his chest made him rock hard again.

  The h
eat rose up to scorch him this time. Groaning and clumsy with need he pushed her back onto the bed to find her slick and blissfully open and buried himself inside her in one stroke. He arched over her thrusting fast and deep, spurred on by her cries as she quickly found her pleasure.

  He couldn’t help crying out, this climax was even more intense than the last.

  Alari was already moving against him, roused again, and her slick wetness brought him searingly back to standing.

  “Love—you,” he managed with his last truly conscious thought then she drew him into a universe of unending arousal and pleasure and nothing mattered but her . . .

  Kyndan stirred and feeling Alari nestled beside him, smiled before he even opened his eyes. Her glossy dark hair was spread across the pillow, its softness over his shoulder, her full pink mouth parted in sleep.

  In the faint light of the Az-kye morning sun, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  He brushed a tendril away from the soft curve of her cheek, content just to look at her. Their binding had ended sometime last night, leaving him more blissfully exhausted then he’d ever been. He couldn’t say when he’d fallen asleep. What they’d shared came back to him in flashes, and his groin tightened just to think of it.

  But it was more than sex. He grinned. Hell, it was more than amazing, not-to-be-believed mind-blowing sex.

  She was so much a part of him now he could almost feel her heart beating, feel the peacefulness of her mind as she slept. He’d felt protective of her before but it was nothing compared to now. He understood—he respected—the willingness of warriors to fight to the last breath for their mates, why they would never retreat or surrender.

  He wouldn’t either.

  An understanding of that bond completely reframed the whole Az-kye societal structure for him. Where before it was a ridiculous bunch of barbaric sword swingers and baffling archaic rituals now showed itself the socially functional expression of the bonding between mates. Just imagining a threat against Alari brought raging protectiveness. He understood now why the Az-kye sought to channel and contain it to the limits of the Circle. The elaborate rituals intended to prevent offense so those challenges wouldn’t occur in the first place suddenly weren’t archaic or stupid.