Ruler's Concubine

by Peri Elizabeth Scott

  Raking a hand through his hair, he considered the intimacy of what they’d shared. She had comforted him with her body, but he wanted more. He wanted the female Bast had described, without the burden he’d placed on her because of his grief. Lysett of the House of Daboort was known as a fair ruler, and the last thing he’d been to Celeste was fair.

  She slept quietly, immune to his heavy thoughts, and he strode to the bathing room to cleanse and prepare for the day. He still couldn’t label this … thing between them and wasn’t certain she felt it as well but knew he had to work it out. He and his concubine needed to converse, and soon.

  Emerging from his ablutions, wearing only a towel slung around his hips, he staggered to a sudden halt. His bed was empty, his gaze drawn there immediately. Only a jumble of covers suggested his concubine had recently slumbered there. He cursed under his breath. He should have woken her, cleansed with her… The thought of her small frame deluged with a stream of water while he drew the lather over her curves and her small hands caressed his own body— Lysett wrenched his carnal thoughts in a different direction.

  Who knew what his concubine had thought when she roused and found herself alone? Did she regret the night in his bed? Was she fleeing from him and rebuilding her own walls? He frowned. How had she left his quarters? They needed to talk, now.

  Snatching up a robe, he shouldered into the clinging fabric and settled it around his frame with another curse. Throwing open the door, he stalked the length of the corridors until he reached her room. As he rapped firmly, he was cast back in time to this very same behavior of that unfortunate night. Perhaps he’d never learn. When there was no response, he knocked harder and again received no reply. It vaguely registered that her guard was nowhere in sight, and his senses pricked.

  “Celeste!” Was she ignoring him, or perhaps in her own bathing room? “Celeste!”

  Pressing his palm against the sensor, he willed the panel to slide open more quickly. A yawning emptiness greeted him, and he quickly moved throughout the space. With no sign of her, he surmised she had gone downstairs to eat, or perhaps to the garden. But neither sat well. As disheveled as she was, Celeste would, at the very least, have changed and showered. He shoved away a sickening fear and called for a guard.

  “Ruler.” A large individual instantly presented himself. “I am Vikte.”

  “Where is Lady Celeste?”

  The other male squinted. “Sir? I believed her to be with you.”

  “Where is her personal guard?”

  “Morat? He…” Vikte’s brow creased. “He has left. The primary saw him leaving with his belongings. Even those from his locker. I was assigned here. I assumed he was taking leave.”

  A vast chill descended over him. While it froze his heart, his brain focused and sifted through Morat’s personal information. “Take She-at and attend Morat’s family home.” He rattled off the directions, though knew it was too simple. Morat would never go to ground with Celeste in such a familiar location. The thought of her small body bound and confined within the traitor’s travel duffle— “Go quickly!”

  The guard moved swiftly, calling out for She-at, and Lysett turned on his heel to rush back to his quarters to dress, summoning Bast on the run. His first servant arrived, out of breath and clothing awry.

  “Morat? How is this possible, Master? I assigned him myself and he welcomed the honor of guarding the royal concubine. There was no sign he was part of the resistance. He—”

  “The purists don’t advertise, Bast. Get Ashtun here with troops we believe to be loyal. We have the inhabitants of a smaller House to interrogate.” He wasn’t going to think the worst. They wouldn’t want a martyr, so would likely be planning to make an example of his concubine. He nearly doubled over when he thought of the ways that might be achieved. Better she die than face the latter.

  ****

  This was definitely not the Ruler’s quarters. Waking up in Lysett’s big bed earlier had been a surreal experience. Initially, she’d had no idea where she was, stretching languidly before the enormity of her situation burst upon her. A cautious peek ascertained she was alone, and she’d then taken note of the information her body was sharing. Her breasts were tender, the nipples chafed, and a blush washed up to color her cheeks as she remembered the feel of his mouth on her there. Usually clean shaven, the Ruler had sported faint stubble—and she recalled the sensation against other delicate skin, her blush intensifying.

  The memory of her first night with him was something she’d wrapped up and stored away, only to take out and examine when she thought she might cope—and that had been never. There was no way she would be able to lock up the memories now. He’d engaged her full participation in unleashing this … this sexual need. It bordered on voraciousness because he didn’t even have to be in the room for her belly to clench with need and her sex to soften and swell. The mere thought…

  She needed a bath. Not that Lysett hadn’t cleansed his seed from her following the myriad of times he’d— No, she couldn’t place the blame on his shoulders, at least not all of it. They had indulged in such pleasurable acts. She’d been a very willing participant, and if she wasn’t so embarrassed, she might take a curious pride in knowing little, inexperienced Celeste Raynor had made the Ruler groan with gratification. And he’d said things to her, albeit in his own language, but she understood enough Meridian to know they were tender things, maybe even loving things?

  But it was the morning after, and no doubt he would go back to acting all aloof and royal as if this hadn’t happened at all. Until the next time… It was as though she were two people, and she somehow had to follow his example and keep them separate. Somehow. Her chest constricted and she struggled for air. There was no manual for her to follow insofar as her response went, not when it came to this. She couldn’t face him, at least not until she could rebuild the wall he’d effortlessly torn down.

  Clambering to the edge of the bed, she had slipped to the floor, her toes curling against the cool tiles. Her dress lay strewn over a chair, and she hunted for her underthings. Finding only her panties, she struggled into them, her hands hesitating as her sex throbbed with delicious soreness. Had he put a child in her? After a tentative touch to her belly, she tugged her dress over her head and smoothed it down. Her breasts sat loosely against the fabric, but there was no help for it. Her room wasn’t far, and if she hunched a little and ducked her head, surely her guard wouldn’t notice.

  He won’t be surprised. He knows you were in the Ruler’s bed. Save her from her own thoughts. She’d fought another blush and hurried to the door, then heard the sound of water running in the bathing room. Unable to face Lysett before she could raise her shields, she had set her palm against the sensor, praying the system would recognize her. Nothing. She’d tried again, and stepped back in frustration—and the panel had grudgingly slid open to reveal Morat.

  Her guard looked as surprised as she felt. His usually stoic face softened dramatically, and his eyes popped. She had thought it puzzling that he was able to access Lysett’s quarters but dismissed the vagrant thought as she managed her discomfiture.

  “Lady Celeste.” Morat shifted awkwardly.

  “Is there a problem? The Ruler is cleansing.”

  Straightening, he’d adopted his usual demeanor. “Bast sent me. You are to be escorted to a safe place.”

  “What?” She resisted his grip on her arm as he drew her into the hall and the panel shut behind her. “What’s happened?”

  He had glared over her shoulder at the door, and she found it strange. “Bast will explain. He is on his way to converse with the Ruler. You are to come with me.”

  “I need to cleanse and change.”

  “There is no time, Lady.” His hold tightened and she had winced, studying his face. It hadn’t felt right.

  “I want to speak with your master first, Morat.”

  Something flashed in his other hand and he pressed it against her neck in a lightning move. A sharp, painful twinge ha
d overpowered her senses and her body refused to obey her. The floor rushed up, but Morat dragged her roughly over his shoulder as everything faded out.

  And now, waking for the second time, she was aware of his duplicity. He’d hidden his xenophobia fairly well, although perhaps this was about something else. She knew kidnappers wanted something in for returning their victims. Perhaps Lysett would see a value in ransoming her…

  Celeste quit her maudlin whining. She had herself to depend on and began to explore her surroundings. As a prison cell went, it was clean, if Spartan, and boasted a narrow bed with a thin coverlet. There was a small adjoining room, and it held a toilet and sink. The only door out was locked, of course, and the window covered with some sort of impervious material. She tried to shift it, and while it seemed thin, there was no give. There was nothing she could fashion into a weapon either. So she had only her wits.

  Taking a seat on the bed, she stilled her racing thoughts and refused to think about her present situation. It did no good to reminisce about last night either, so she immersed herself in happier memories of her family and succeeded in achieving a calmer state of mind.

  She had no idea how much time elapsed before the door slid open and a male Meridian sauntered into the room. His flashy clothing and swagger didn’t compensate for his sloped shoulders or smaller stature. She’d thought all males on Meridia were cut from the same cloth, large and well made, but this man was a pale imitation. Not that she was comparing him to Lysett.

  “Ah, the Earth female chosen as the royal concubine.” His sneer didn’t improve his appearance, and his glance swept over her as if she was nothing. She didn’t respond.

  “You will rise in my presence. Or kneel.”

  Considering the way his fist clenched, Celeste got to her feet. She didn’t have to look up at him, at least not any distance, and despite the situation, barely quashed a giggle. He preened like the bantam rooster who pretended to rule her yard, back when she had chickens. Her thoughts sobered quickly. Roosters weren’t known for their smarts. They had no appreciation of their size and sparred with anything they perceived to be a threat to their little kingdom. But she wasn’t kneeling for him.

  “Your name.”

  Surely he knew who she was? “Celeste Raynor.”

  “I am Quentan of the House of Yehudda.” He said it as though she should recognize the name.

  “I wish I could say it was nice to meet you.”

  His eyes narrowed and he glared. “This is not a social occasion, Celeste Raynor. You are a whore and beneath my notice. You will serve one purpose only.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I am aware of what humans who sell their bodies are called. My cousin infiltrated the envoys to your planet early on, and understands your culture. He supported your males in discouraging human females from even considering Lysett’s offer, but there were many of those females, such as yourself, who grasped the opportunity to avail themselves of our planet’s riches. By offering your bodies as trade.”

  A whore? Maybe a concubine was just a glorified one? “I’m a concubine, like your female Meridians.”

  A glancing blow spun her to crash upon the bed, and she scrambled to put some distance between her and this Quentan. Her cheek stung and her eyes watered. He advanced, glowering, and there was nothing but a narrow green ring surrounding his dilated pupils. He looked … crazy.

  “Earth females are not concubines,” he shouted, spittle coating his thin lips. “The House of Daboort would pollute our bloodlines and contaminate our planet with mongrels. I won’t have it. My followers won’t have it!”

  Making herself as small as possible, she regarded him warily, looking toward the open door, wondering if she could get past him… She risked making him angrier. “Why am I here?”

  Quentan visibly regained control, wiping at his mouth and smoothing his ruffled tunic over his bony chest. His breathing returned to normal and his eyes showed only that elongated slice of black in the middle of the pale green. He looked down his nose at her and huffed. “I had hoped that Morat would find the Ruler”—he nearly spat the title at her—“abed, an easy target while he rutted upon you. That first servant, Bast, could never have covered up the slaughter of the Ruler and his concubine, and my goal would have been reached. But Morat was incompetent and wasted his chance. He could only gain access to the Ruler’s quarters the one time and the fool claims you foiled him.”

  Had she? When she’d left Lysett’s room, Morat had been right outside. Had her presence kept him from entering? The door had slid closed behind her… A bubble of relief enclosed her heart and pushed away the fear. Lysett was safe.

  “What? Nothing to say? You hardly look the warrior type.” Quentan’s stare raked over her again. “But you sacrificed yourself for the precious Ruler, so you’ll be the one to deliver my message. In addition, Lysett might not survive the loss of yet another concubine, regardless of your pathetic worth, and thus, I shall prevail.”

  She didn’t need to ask about his message. He appeared to be the head of the purist movement and lucky her, she was his houseguest. It was like the Searchers all over again, and if she’d felt powerless before…

  Quentan paced, waving his hands as he disparaged human females and those Meridians who supported a connection with them. He obviously wasn’t looking for a response, carrying on with barely a breath in between imprecations. “Better we become extinct than sully our lines with the likes of you,” he finally hissed.

  Stepping closer, he wrinkled his face. “You bear his marks and his scent. I am disgusted.”

  Celeste covered the base of her throat with one hand, sadly noting the absence of her mother’s necklace before remembering how Lysett had suckled her there. She knew she smelled like him, knew their joining had imprinted upon her, and she desperately wanted to live and see him again.

  Her kidnapper loomed over her, and she felt the evil emanating from his body. His hand shot out and grasped her hair, dragging her toward him. She made him work for it, making her body slack and heavy, even as her scalp burned and strands of her hair tore free, then pushed off hard with both feet. The momentum carried them both to the floor, and she scrambled along his body in an effort to gain the door. Two males, both dressed in what she knew to be warrior garb, filled the opening and blocked her attempt. Behind her, Quentan shoved to his feet.

  Knowing she’d embarrassed him in front of his guards, she braced for another blow, and he obliged, his face purple with fury. Rolling with it, she escaped most of the impact, though her face now ached on both sides, and her eye began to swell.

  Quentan gestured to his guards. “She is to be prepared and brought to me within the hour.”

  He shoved past the larger males, who studied her curiously. Celeste shifted her body and slipped the dagger she’d purloined from Quentan’s belt between the folds of the coverlet. The guards were clearly interested in her, regardless if they supported their master in his antipathy. If they attacked, she was going to use that ridiculous weapon, all encrusted in precious stones and obviously a sop to Mr. Bantam Rooster’s delusion of grandeur. She might not be able to deter them but was willing to die trying. What awaited her would be far worse, she knew it. The Rooster was nuts.

  But the guards moved back into the hall and a stooped, older female entered the room. She had a swath of fabric tossed over her shoulder, and a basket trailed from one arm. She didn’t look friendly, not like Ellyce, and her words didn’t change Celeste’s opinion.

  “Whore. Attend me.” The old woman plodded into the adjoining room. One of the guards, a stalwart fellow with a glint in his eye motioned to Celeste. It was clear that he’d “help” if she didn’t acquiesce.

  Moving slowly, she slid across the bed, surreptitiously fitting the dagger into the sleeve of her gown, never taking her stare off of the guard. He watched impassively as she made her way to where the other woman waited.

  “Remove that. Or the guards will do it for you.” The crone pointed at her go
wn, and Celeste slipped out of the garment, struggling to retain the dagger in its folds.

  “And those.” Her underwear followed and she stood, uncertainly, holding the wad of fabric.

  “Cleanse yourself. Quickly. My son awaits.”

  She saw the resemblance now. Crazy Quentan had a mother who was obviously complicit in his plans. She complied, stepping into the warm stream of water, setting her clothes on the shelf where they quickly became soaked. The woman made no comment, shaking out the material from her shoulder.

  It was a shapeless sack dress of some kind, fabricated from a heavy white cloth, almost like a … shroud. Celeste’s mouth dried out and she could barely will herself to wash with the harsh soap that stung her abraded cheeks. Did the Meridians bury their dead in such things? Her imminent demise became tangible and she glanced at the wad of clothing concealing the dagger.

  “Hurry.” Mrs. Yehudda, or whatever she went by, tapped her foot and sneered. Quentan must have patterned the look after his mother, and Celeste nearly laughed before reining herself in. Hysteria wasn’t going to help her. She rinsed her hair and accepted the towel thrust at her, casually sweeping her sodden dress down to her feet where it landed with a dull thud.

  The woman didn’t appear to notice, merely passed over a brush. “Make yourself presentable. Your destiny awaits.”

  “My destiny?”

  The old female started, as though she didn’t expect Celeste to be able to speak. What had Quentan told her about Earth women? What did she know? She wished there was time to try to engage with his mother, perhaps convince her that Celeste and the other women were sentient beings.