Ruler's Concubine

by Peri Elizabeth Scott

  Her friends departed with promises to return soon and repeated invitations to their homes. She parried the latter and tried to be positive about the former, and nearly collapsed with relief once they left and she could close herself in her room.

  Bodily needs drove her from her bed, from where she sought fitful slumber and thought about exactly nothing, catching her thoughts when they veered in unacceptable directions. Once she was up, her body aching from inactivity, she decided to request a tray. She didn’t have the inclination to even visit an empty dining room, though avoiding the other unmatched concubines would be easier as it wasn’t a normal meal time. She supposed they’d heard of the new study, and wondered what they would make of it. Did some of them have romantic dreams?

  The same young male presented the food with his usual deference.

  “Thank you, Jaycob.”

  “Bast has requested that you receive him.”

  She’d ignored the repeated pinging of her tablet while she moped. “When did he make the request?”

  “Nearly two days ago. I … I advised him you weren’t feeling well and wished to be undisturbed. I’m not sure that was the right thing to do.”

  “It was absolutely the right thing,” she assured him and then intuited his muted concern. “The Ruler’s first servant finds it difficult to be denied, but he agreed to your role here and must observe it.”

  “I am honored to be your gatekeeper, Lady Celeste. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t, not really. The long rest hadn’t helped her recover her equilibrium, and the idea of food now repelled her.

  “Shall I contact Bast?”

  “I’ll do it,” she promised, and he looked vastly relieved as he exited.

  In the end, all she could manage was the tea. Everything else on the tray exuded strange smells, and she found herself longing for a plate of roasted turnip. With a garnish of green pepper. Both of which she’d grown in her garden plot on Earth. Must be homesickness.

  Shoving the food aside, she contacted Bast, who was reproachful in that subtle manner he wielded so effectively. Feeling guilty, she agreed to see him at the evening meal and counted herself lucky that she hadn’t lost him, too. Not that she’d ever had his master.

  She picked through her clothing, having left the bulk of the Ruler’s largesse in her rooms there. She didn’t want to wear anything from that time. There weren’t a lot of choices, but she chose a dark-blue gown, thinking it would complement her the best until she caught sight of her wan face and the dark circles under her eyes. Maybe she was ill, the fatigue and uneasy belly symptoms of something more ominous than a broken heart. She laughed out loud at her ridiculous musing, but it came out as broken pieces of sound.

  If she didn’t feel better tomorrow, she’d ask Jaycob to request that a healer attend her. Her hand froze in midair, the hairbrush slipping from her numb fingers when an incredulous thought surfaced. Fumbling for her tablet, she called up a calendar and tapped through the days. She did it once. Twice. And again. She should have cycled shortly after that horrible day with crazy Quentan. The healer told her she wasn’t pregnant—not breeding, then.

  But she’d greedily coupled with Lysett shortly thereafter… Some times were more fertile than others, but… She carefully set the tablet down, lest it suffer the same fate as her brush, and requested the information Shirley had shared about the new discovery regarding procreation. Reading it carefully from beginning to end, she took a sobbing breath. There had to be a bond. Both parties had to love the other. Both. So she wasn’t pregnant. Whatever was wrong with her, she hoped it wasn’t a strange alien disease that had escaped the inoculations all the prospective concubines received on the ship prior to landing.

  Smoothing her dress, she sat to wait for Bast’s arrival. They’d spend a pleasant hour and he’d speak to her as an equal and catch her up on all the doings on Meridia. The Ruler’s name wouldn’t come up except as he related to what Bast had to share, and she made a mental note to ask after Lady Ellyce and Yu’un. The nice woman wanted to visit, but appearances must be upheld for the time being, and it had been difficult to converse with her via the video link. At least on Celeste’s part. Ellyce had been nothing but kind and somehow refrained from asking all the obvious questions. But Celeste knew their friendship would peter out.

  ****

  “She isn’t well. Jaycob guards her privacy fiercely and is intensely loyal, so it’s difficult for me to breach that protection, considering that I set it up myself,” Bast advised. “But other than long walks around the perimeter gardens, she keeps to herself, and of late stays confined to her room more frequently. She is thinner and very pale, even for a human. If the amount she eats is reflected by how much she consumes when I join her for a meal … well, she barely ingests enough for a bird.”

  Lysett wasn’t feeling well himself, and hearing that Celeste was ill… “Has she seen a healer?”

  “She agreed to contact one. I believe she is a trifle concerned that she’s contracted something here despite the inoculations.”

  “Send my personal healer. Immediately.”

  “The one you won’t see yourself?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You pine for her.” Bast blithely overstepped his boundaries, as he’d done for some time, but Lysett had no energy to pretend. His parents were also concerned—for both him and Celeste—but accepted his explanation that he’d made her terribly unhappy and she didn’t feel the same way about him as he did about her.

  “I’ve gone through this before.” And I’m not doing it again. Ever. Duty be damned. “I’ll survive it.”

  “You were profoundly guilty and saddened over Trosan, Master. This is different.”

  How could he give voice to the emptiness? The loss? It was as if half his soul was absent, and he was wasting away. Different indeed. Immeasurably worse, because Celeste wasn’t physically beyond his reach… He kept going only because he’d done the right thing and he had to rule.

  “Once she is healthy, Celeste will find her joy in life. You will assist her in the path she wants to travel.” He couldn’t think about her bonding with another male, preferring to fool himself with thoughts of her doing other things that would make her happy. Anything.

  “She may choose to return to Earth.”

  That idea gutted him, though not ever seeing her again might be for the best. “She may.”

  “She is definitely not happy at the moment. She was better off here.”

  Lysett shoved back from the desk, sending his chair into the wall. “She was miserable here. She cried. Many saw it, including you. Being my concubine was the worst choice for her. Don’t presume to question my decision.” The Goddess knew he questioned it enough for any and all doubters.

  His first servant ducked his head. “I apologize, Master. I simply feel we have overlooked something important.”

  “She doesn’t return my … regard. I kept her here against her will by deciding as royal concubine she could not refuse. I made a grave error and now we must give her time.”

  Bast spoke under his breath but Lysett heard him. Regard.

  “Don’t censor your voice now, Bast. It’s too late for that.”

  “I was merely wondering if regard translated into love, Ruler.”

  “As you say.” Although he’d never say it. At least not out loud, again. He’d sooner have his organs carved out of his body, not that it could hurt more than his chest. His longing for Celeste would surely pass, or at least dwindle if he didn’t say he words.

  “I’ll send the healer.”

  ****

  “Impossible.” If she hadn’t been lying down, she’d be on the floor. Celeste stared in horror at the healer’s beaming visage.

  “My instruments do not lie. I checked twice. You have conceived. Your child is three weeks and a few days in development.”

  “But I read the study. Your name is on it. The one about love, bonding, and procreation.”

  His f
ace clouded. “This is perplexing. You are here because you used your right to refuse, I understand.” He peered at her. “The child is our Ruler’s?”

  “What? Of course, it is. You can’t tell with your instrument?” This couldn’t be happening. His inference made her want to slap him. She might have traded her body for survival, but she’d only done it for one man.

  “I didn’t search the DNA. I didn’t think it necessary until you raised the question of the study.”

  She was blaming the messenger, but how many times could a person be so sorely tested? “Could a child be conceived if only one party … is in love? Was in love?”

  The healer shook his head emphatically, his long hair swaying in time. “No. The sampling doesn’t lie. The hormones and the brain waves concur. It equates the love matches in our history and the offspring that were produced. We Meridians disdained deeper emotions in favor of conquest and proceeds and paid a terrible price. It is a most unscientific finding in that regard.” Another wide smile lightened his face. “Love is a difficult thing to measure, but it has prevailed.”

  “I must be an anomaly.”

  “You would be the first.”

  “But it is possible.”

  “Possible, but not probable. In fact, the odds are definitely against it. We need to consult with the Ruler.”

  “No!”

  “I do not know what the ethics of your world, Lady Celeste, but is it customary for females to hide conception from the male?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “I cannot understand that. Children are a joyful event. Surely human males are pleased?”

  “That’s not the only reason.”

  “Perhaps you can explain.”

  She crossed the room and stared out the window. “Life is hard on Earth. Having another mouth to feed is difficult—”

  “But not here.”

  Whirling, she glared at him, really wanting to shoot the messenger. “Do you want to know the reasons or not?”

  “Only if they pertain to the Ruler.”

  Well, that drew the fight out of her. The old man would be horrified if she compared his master to some human males who ran out on the women they’d impregnated or treated them badly because of the pregnancy. Or worse, were cruel to the child. She knew it happened, more than the ones who were happy to have a child, but a Meridian would never understand that. Obviously they had come to appreciate what they’d so blithely passed over in favor of what the healer had termed material things.

  Returning to sit with him, she tried again, searching for a way out, refusing to consider that damned study because hope would kill her. “I’d like to talk to Bast.”

  Eyes narrowing, the healer drew up to his full height. “May I inquire why?”

  Lord, he thought Bast was the father. A surge of inappropriate laughter welled up and she let it out. When it reduced her to sobs, the male awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Would you have the first servant tell his master?” he asked.

  She wanted to tell him yes. It was the coward’s way out, but Celeste had visions of the Ruler discounting the medical tests and doing whatever was done to women who accused him of making them pregnant. Except that didn’t take place here. She choked back more laughter, then sobered, wondering if something might have happened with Quentan when she was unconscious.

  “Wait. Could that Quentan have—?”

  “No, Lady Celeste. I assure you. I examined you after that time. Your child was conceived in love. Bast must tell the Ruler of his perfidy, of course. But we will come to some accord. My Master will not like the news, but he will support a union because of the child.”

  “Bast is not the father.” She wanted to smack the man. Again. “But I’d rather he tell your master.”

  “Allow me to test for paternity.”

  She could hardly say no. “Fine.”

  The instrument didn’t feel like anything when it pressed against her abdomen, but it garnered information that the old man sifted through. “The child is indeed the Ruler’s.”

  “I told you.”

  Shaking his head, the healer said, “I don’t understand. This is all highly irregular.” His face cleared. “Is this a lover’s spat?”

  “What?”

  “A lover’s spat. We have recovered some of old Earth’s vernacular.”

  Well, she and the Ruler had been lovers. Just not in love, at least on his side. She wasn’t sure about the spat part, but it sounded vile enough. “That’s it. A spat.”

  “Then you have nothing to be concerned about. He is a good man and this will cheer him up and make him well again.”

  She found herself almost in the old man’s face, worried sick. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Fatigue and depression. He hasn’t been himself since you refused him.”

  “I didn’t—” She was tired of dancing around with the healer. He seemed to be talking on an entirely different level and she was sick of trying to decipher everything. She was glad Lysett wasn’t really ill, though she didn’t like the sound of it.

  After a few moments, presumably giving her time to complete her statement, the old man said, “I will alert Bast to set a time for you and the Ruler to meet. You can share the good news.”

  Or I will tell him. The unspoken warning hung in the ensuing silence.

  The healer didn’t have to say it, didn’t have to voice the inevitable, but she was having the last word. “Your master can come here.”

  “But—”

  “Here.” She was going to have the sanctuary of her nice little room to retreat to when the proverbial crap hit the fan—more old Earth vernacular—and would not meet the Ruler on his own territory. Not that the whole planet didn’t belong to him in some fashion, but still…

  “I will ask him to come at once.”

  “Fine.”

  Stamping down on a flicker she blamed on hormones and not hope, she hurried to freshen up and called for Jaycob to open a room across from hers so she didn’t have far to flee. Maybe she could write Lysett a note and hand it to him while she waited by the door for him to read it. She could have a head start. Instead, she rehearsed a few lines in her head and resolved to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. Seeing him again would be like ripping the bandage off a horrid wound.

  She didn’t even have time to change her dress before Jaycob was signaling at her door.

  “He is here, Lady Celeste. Waiting.” The young male didn’t wring his hands, but she thought he wanted to.

  “I’m coming. Thank you.”

  “I’ll send up refreshments.”

  “No need, Jaycob.” Touching her necklace for inspiration, she mustered her courage and her feet carried her forward.

  Lysett was pacing the room Jaycob had chosen, a large, nearly empty space with only a large couch, a couple of chairs and some small tables grouped together. It made for an intimate discussion or gave a person room to move around freely.

  As soon as she slipped inside, Lysett moved to her, his face a study of worry and concern. Her heart seized at the raw emotion and she noted how truly exhausted he appeared. The healer hadn’t exaggerated.

  She tried to greet him, to ask him how he was, when he touched her, clutching her shoulders in his big hands, and the words died on her lips. Bending, he peered into her eyes. “What is wrong, Celeste? The healer told me I was to come to you immediately but insisted you tell me the reason yourself. Here, come and sit.”

  Allowing him to draw her to the couch, she plopped down and sought her rehearsed statements. He forestalled her, wrapping one arm around her waist and arranging her on his lap. His broad chest heaved and he nestled his face against her hair. His voice broke as he spoke, “I don’t think I can stand to hear it from your lips. Better the healer tell me.”

  “Sir. Ruler—” He was so tense and a fine tremor shuddered through his big frame. She badly wanted to comfort him and somehow worked her arms free to ease around his shoulders. Holding him closely, she shushed him
like a child and stroked the back of his neck. This wasn’t sex, so she didn’t have to be passive. Did she?

  His sex stirred against her buttocks and she froze and carefully shifted away. Lysett choked out a strangled laugh and raised his head. She reluctantly loosened her grip and met his stare. The roiling emotion reflected back made her blink.

  “I fear you are going to tell me the worst possible news, that you are dying, and yet I become aroused. No wonder you don’t return my feelings. I disgust even myself.”

  “I’m not dying.” She could at least say that, unable to process the rest.

  “Thank the Goddess.” He shut his eyes tightly and sucked in a great draft of air through his nose.

  “What … what feelings?” It was probably the stupidest question she would ever ask, and she was leaving herself wide open for another gut-wrenching experience, but she had to ask it. Maybe she should have asked it before, weeks ago, when he’d made that incomprehensible reference to them.

  “I swore I wouldn’t say it again. Not when you didn’t acknowledge me. But then why would you, when I’d seduced you yet again? Used my status with you to entice your surrender.”

  Maybe everybody on this planet was some kind of crazy. Or she was, and thinking she was the only sane one. “What are you talking about?”

  A touch of the old arrogant Lysett presented itself. He stiffened—and not just the piece of anatomy against her hip—and looked down his nose at her. “For a mere slip of an Earther, you test me more than anyone I know. Is this my punishment for disallowing your refusal when you were within your rights to do so?”

  “Did you make that up? That “no right to refuse a royal” thing?” She knew she was getting sidetracked, but she embraced the hint of anger. Far better than the anguish he’d caused.

  “It was an old custom but rarely implemented, if ever.”