Ruler's Concubine

by Peri Elizabeth Scott

  ****

  Hurriedly cleaning himself, Lysett studiously avoided his reflection as diligently as he avoided thinking about what had just transpired. It was enough he’d been able to seduce his concubine, give her great pleasure and hopefully make a child with her. The attraction had overwhelmed him and their coupling was magnificent. He swallowed a groan at the memory of her silky skin beneath him and the sweet clasp of her body around his cock. Even now he wanted to have her again. And again. It was that certain other something that poked at him and was so unsettling. One hand drifted uncertainly upward to touch his face where her small hand had pressed in the midst of his turbulent thoughts, somehow pushing past to reach him as if forging a connection…

  But he wasn’t thinking about that. Surely Trosan held that piece of him, whatever it was, and he would never betray her memory. Celeste had served him sweetly and well, and he would treat her accordingly, but she would never gain the stature his childhood friend had occupied. And he was damned if he’d feel remorseful about it. His concubine would be well cared for and lack nothing. He would raise fine sons and perhaps daughters with Celeste and further his House. Meridia would benefit and his race wouldn’t die out because others would also procreate.

  Making his way back to his concubine, he made every attempt to view what they’d engaged in as clinically as possible while exuding kindness. Strange that he felt neither. Oh, there was a certain tenderness in his regard for Celeste, but aside from that raging need to have her again, he had to fight against that something. And it wasn’t kindness—that was too tame. It made him annoyed and she winced when he stared at her.

  Quickly composing his features, he forced a smile and reached to cleanse her thighs and pretty pink parts. His cock had sported the evidence of the loss of her virginal barrier, and he suspected she would be tender.

  “That’s okay. If you’d release me, I’ll clean up myself.” Her request was fraught with anxiousness and her big, blue eyes pleaded with him.

  “I would take care of you,” he offered.

  “Unless it’s part of the … process, I wish you wouldn’t.” Her voice had firmed and she struggled to raise her arms and lift her head. Her obvious distaste for any further touch made his smile feel brittle. But seeing as it was precisely what he wanted, a coupling during her fertile periods, he could hardly take umbrage.

  Pressing on strategic points of the pallet, he released Celeste and helped her to her feet, noting how she swiftly put space between them. He tried to pay no heed to the strange slice of pain her action caused, and offered the cloth. She nearly snatched it from him and walked gingerly toward the cleansing room, any suggestion of her confident demeanor long past, though her full buttocks moved enticingly before his appraising stare. Well, it was to be expected, this awkwardness. They hardly knew one another and the joining was a political necessity. Virginal Celeste was hardly the type of female who would know how to comport herself after a physical encounter.

  The idea of her having such encounters with anyone other than himself lit a fire in his belly and he rubbed the area to ease it. Useless imaginings when fidelity was their watchword going forward. It occurred that their joinings could well be confined to once every year or so if Celeste was as fertile as predicted, and he could find scant comfort in that fact. With a grimace, he decided his heart and his cock had entirely different agendas, and searched for the guilt and shame to douse the latter. It was disconcerting that he was unable to muster up any.

  “I’d like to return to my space.” His concubine stood nearby, having returned on silent feet. Her attention was focused on her hands, twisting in the fabric of the gown she’d donned, hiding what he deemed was his. It was a real effort not to demand she remove it, and a stronger one not to advise she would now share his quarters. He rubbed his forehead and decided to remove himself from her presence before she further adversely affected him.

  Stepping into his pants, he fastened them and snatched up his shirt. “I’ll escort you.”

  “Thank you.” She preceded him and didn’t glance upward at all. He gazed down at the disheveled mass of her pale hair and wished he might smooth the tangled locks. A chilly, polite distance grew between them and he told himself welcomed it.

  After a few more strides, they gained her door, and he held it open while she passed through. He searched for something to say, some words that would reflect the acumen he displayed in the political forums, but nothing surfaced.

  She spoke through the narrow aperture as it closed, “I will know if we require a medical confirmation of tonight… That is, if it was successful, in twelve to fourteen days, Ruler.”

  The smooth panel was a direct contrast to his roiling thoughts as he bleakly stared at it, hearing no movement beyond to suggest that his concubine was even present. He touched his fingertips to the surface and pressed his palm flat as he accepted he’d reduced this part of his life—and hers—to the occasional passionate coupling as a means to an end. It left a bad taste in his mouth, especially when he wondered if the passion would wither and die without nurture.

  Morat’s big form lingered at the far end of the hall, carrying out his orders to keep Celeste safe, something Lysett wished he could do personally, insofar as his concubine’s tender spirit went.

  He made his way to his quarters, the distance suddenly interminable as weariness overtook him. Not the welcome tiredness following a lustful coupling as he recalled from the distant past, but one he might attribute to his conflicted feelings—if he could but admit to them. In that moment he decided not to call in his healer to test Celeste for conception, there being no need to wait for her timeline, considering their advanced technology. He could wait a few days, and perhaps offer his concubine a little time to acclimate.

  Chapter Eight

  Celeste huddled beneath the covers and stared at the ceiling through gritty eyes. Her bed was scant comfort, but she thought she might keep taking to it in an effort to avoid her life. Sleep had been long in coming, and then fractured by snippets of erotic dreams that ended the same way, with Lysett abandoning her after making a strenuous—and extremely pleasurable—effort to beget a child with her. She made an experimental stretch and, aside from a slight soreness between her legs, decided she felt okay physically.

  Feeling a hot bath was in order, she threw back the bedding and swiveled her feet to the floor, sitting up to view the space—her lovely prison cell—with a resigned stare. Making her way to the cleansing room, she allowed the light nightgown to slip off and stared at her nude form in the mirror. She looked no different after her deflowering, then realized her face was set in a neutral cast, her eyes blank. Forcing her lips upward in a smile, she accepted the action didn’t do much to improve her appearance.

  Soaking in the tub, her hair piled on top of her head, she reflected on the coming days and weeks. The years. If she let herself perseverate about the male she’d contracted with, and narrowed her life to the occasional ‘events’ she would attend with him, and the rarer moments in pursuit of conceiving a child, she’d likely be as crazy as those poor, brainwashed women back on Earth. Though if enough time elapsed between those efforts at conception, she’d hopefully forget the way he’d unleashed her sexuality and cease to long for it.

  She’d never given up easily, and realistically, her lot here was far better than it had been back home, so she needed to get a grip and deal. She’d been spending far too much time thinking about the same issues over and over. Now the deed was done, she would make the best of things. Starting with getting out and about. She wanted to see Shirley and a few other women she’d come to know. She needed to find something useful to do, now that her studies—and the main event—were concluded.

  After washing herself and drying off, she carefully chose a dress suitable for the day. She stared longingly at her boots, set neatly side by side in the closet, but Bast had ideas about what a royal concubine should wear, so that was a battle for another time. She had other, far more important things t
o deal with today. Ruthlessly braiding her hair, coiling it around her head, she affixed it tightly with some lovely jeweled pins the Ruler’s mother had gifted her. Her mom’s necklace looked so simple in contrast, so she tucked it into the bodice of her dress as a reminder of who she truly was beneath the trappings. Without another glance at her appearance, she stepped to the door and opened it. Instantly, her guard—Morat—was there.

  “Lady Celeste?”

  “I’d like to go to breakfast.”

  With a deferential nod, he gestured her ahead, and she went down the stairs to the eating area. The room was empty, the huge table set with two place settings, and despite her resolve not to allow any hint of anticipation or hope, she wondered if Lysett would be joining her. It might be best to get that awkward day-after moment behind them. If she became overcome with a need to indulge with him again and couldn’t hide it, he could reject her and crush such stupidity.

  “You have risen.” Bast’s cheerful voice sounded behind her and he pressed past Morat. “I hoped to take the morning meal with you.”

  She still wasn’t feeling charitable toward the Ruler’s first servant, and ridiculous disappointment nearly flavored her response. But if she was going to accomplish any of her goals, it was best to have him onside. “Good morning.”

  He studied her face intently before a faint flush stained his cheeks. “Good morning. Are you … well?”

  Did she look so different? “I’m fine.”

  With an inner shrug, she went to a place setting and Bast hustled to hold the chair. Thanking him, she settled herself and kept her composure. It didn’t take much effort, all her emotions once again contained and quiescent, or so she assured herself. Bast took his place and fidgeted with a utensil.

  The young serving male entered with a large tray and deposited it in front of them, and Bast hurriedly offered her a plate of fruit. She chose a few pieces and accepted a slice of her favorite bread, declining the protein substitute.

  “You must eat a balanced diet,” he chided.

  Ah, so he knew the deed was done. Of course, he did. His Master probably had him enter it in a journal, or tick it off on a ledger line. Had sex with the royal concubine. Match concluded. Now Bast’s biggest priority would be to ensure the impending royal fetus received only the best nutrition. Celeste decided to be bitchy. “What’s the importance of a balanced diet?”

  Bast’s stare danced away from hers and found his plate interesting. His cheeks flushed again and his shoulders hunched. She indulged in petty delight in his discomfort before cutting him some slack. She speared the protein and dumped it on her plate beside the fruit.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, before he broke it. “Today, Lady Celeste, I thought perhaps—” Lord, he was going to tutor her again, or something. Maybe lecture her on being a mom-in-waiting. Nope. She cut him off.

  “I want to visit Shirley.”

  “I would need to speak with our Master—”

  “Then do so. And while you’re at it, please get permission for me to attend the market with his mother. I want to purchase items for the garden. I need to be outside.” She had no idea if she could ask for whatever passed for money on Meridia but assumed being the Ruler’s concubine meant she would be allotted some.

  Swallowing, Bast nodded, still avoiding her eyes. He patted his mouth with a napkin and stood, offering the same deferential nod her guard had given. “Please finish your meal, Lady Celeste. I’ll return shortly.” Maybe his ever-present screen wasn’t on his person.

  “Thank you.” She regretted her imperious manner, but if it was the means to carving out a life for herself here, she’d use it when she had to.

  She had cleaned her plate and indulged in a second glass of juice when he returned, looking anxious. Probably caught between his implacable master and what he expected to be a petulant concubine.

  “The Ruler will not give permission for you to attend the market, I’m afraid. Though you may, of course, spend time in the garden, and Shirley will be escorted here to visit.”

  “If you’d loan me your screen, perhaps I might discuss attending the market with your master.” She hadn’t really expected permission to go, recalling the discussion with his mother, but wanted to see Lysett’s face. Stupid, but there it was. Surely she had the right to make eye contact with the man who’d taken her virginity and proclaimed her his concubine without any recourse.

  “Ah, the Ruler is here, Lady. In his office. Here. I spoke with him personally.”

  She pushed to her feet. “Then I’ll ask him personally.”

  “He isn’t to be disturbed.” Bast’s face was as stone, all earlier emotions vanished, and she got the message. The Ruler only had time for her on … certain occasions.

  “Of course. Another royal edict I wasn’t aware of—or forgotten.” She managed the words with absolutely no inflection and plastered a cool smile on her own face. “Thank you, Bast. I’ll be in the garden. When Shirley arrives, please ask her back.”

  He might have replied, but she was on the move, so quickly that Morat was visibly startled as he caught up. She wrestled the figurative slap in the face of Lysett’s snub into submission, and tucked it away, not wanting her guard to see her reaction and draw any conclusions. They were joined by a second guard, someone unfamiliar but as obsequious, and she entered the walled garden with vast relief.

  There were other males on the perimeter, easily ignored, as they blended into the shadows, and she knew they were there for her protection. The day was already warm, but the foliage shielded her from the sun and the flower bed she headed toward was well in the shade. She sank down on the edge and began the mindless task of weeding the strange blossoms.

  As she worked, the soothing feel and scent of the plants surrounding her, she thought about anything and anyone other than Lysett. She wondered how the other concubines were faring and allowed herself a few sad moments of thinking about Lauren. The older woman was likely aware Celeste was one of the kidnapped and would no doubt have been terribly upset. She hoped the Meridians still on Earth were successful in protecting the women who had been returned. Maybe Bast could get a message to Lauren…

  “Lady Celeste?” Bast spoke quietly off to her left.

  With a grimace, she straightened to face him. How long had she been on her knees? A massive pile of weeds and a stiff body suggested a considerable length of time. “Yes, Bast?”

  “Lady Shirley is on her way. I thought perhaps you’d like to freshen up and have something to eat?”

  Looking at her dirty hands, she nodded. She probably had dirt on her face too, from where she’d swiped at loose tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks. “I’ll come in right away. Thank you.”

  He came closer and offered his hand.

  Waving it away, she clambered to her feet. He didn’t hide his hurt, and she hastened to explain. “No point in getting you dirty, too, Bast. But thanks, anyway.”

  “We have gardeners for weeding,” he said.

  She wasn’t giving in, not about this, not even if her missing-in-action Ruler said so. “I need something to occupy myself. I love to grow things, nurture them. And if I can’t leave the premises until the risk to me has diminished, I’ll garden. Procreating won’t fill all my time.”

  “I’m sorry, Lady Celeste. I truly am.”

  “For what?” She wasn’t being snarky now. And it was time she forgave the man. He’d only been doing his job after all, and believed what he’d been doing was right for an entire planet. It was clear he didn’t approve of the way his master treated her, his loyalty shifting a little. In addition, she was desperate for a friend of any sort.

  “For … everything.” He threw up his hands, a most surprising action for such a learned and composed servant.

  “I’ve accepted my lot,” she said briskly. “You needn’t apologize again, and certainly not on behalf of your master. But I’d appreciate your support in helping me keep … occupied. I seem to have no idea what a concub
ine is allowed, or not allowed, to do when I’m not…”

  Abruptly realizing this was, in all likelihood, Trosan’s garden, she blanched. Leaning forward, she whispered. “Am I allowed to work out here? Was this place hers?”

  Stark pain lanced through Bast’s eyes and tightened his lips. Celeste recognized more than one male in this house had loved the deceased concubine and her heart shriveled. She’d ever be a reminder of what had been and would be no longer, and a surge of hopelessness made her sag.

  Bast lightly grasped her arm and she welcomed the support. “Lady Trosan’s interest wasn’t in plantings. She helped our Master with political issues and the like. The garden was planted by Lady Ellyce and the gardener comes but once a month to tend it. You must think of it as your own.”

  Of course, Trosan helped Lysett with intellectual matters. She’d been Meridian, after all, and of a high House. It put Celeste more firmly in her secondary role, but she quashed the resentment. The other woman had died, trying to give her Ruler a child, and if Lysett and Bast worshiped her, it should come as no surprise. Celeste really needed to grow up and deal.

  “I’ll do that. Thank you.” She’d kill everyone with kindness from here on out and hide her heart more fiercely.

  With a sweet smile, Bast set her grubby hand on his arm and escorted her inside. She walked beside him with her head held high, apeing her betters and resolving to fool everyone, even herself.

  ****

  Lysett drew back from the window and hurried to exit his concubine’s room and gain his office before she found him loitering. He’d watched her toiling in the garden for hours, crouched beside the flowers, the skirt of her gown feathered out around her. The gold of her hair seemed subdued, confined as it was to the shape of her delicate skull. He wished she’d left it to flow over her shoulders and down the length of her back, but supposed she’d arranged it to stay out of the way while she worked.