To the Princess Bound (Terms of Mercy)

by Sara King

  They were the perfect assassins. Victory cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner. It simply hadn’t occurred to her, due to her father’s outspoken hatred of anything mutogenetic.

  “I’m not going to kill you, no,” Victory said.

  She saw the flash of cunning in the ice-blue eyes. “You are going to turn me in to the Imperium?” she—it?—asked. Though the Shi was the picture of fear, Victory didn’t need to be an Emp to know that the assassin was laughing inside.

  “And return you to my father’s service?” Victory snorted. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Again, Victory watched her flesh shimmer with fear. This time, several of her Praetorian saw it, too, because their hands tightened on their weapons. She sighed. “Drop the guise, fool. We know who you are.”

  The image of the woman seemed to slough away, leaving a familiar young man with ice-blue eyes staring back at her, his face contorted in a sneer.

  Victory swallowed the fear that was forming in her gut, seeing him again.

  “Oh, you remember me?” the man jeered. “I don’t suppose you want to go for another round, Princess?”

  Lion stepped forward and punched him in the gut, doubling him over. Then she briskly stepped back, letting him wheeze into the ship’s deck.

  Coughing into the deck, the Shi gasped, “If you idiots aren’t going to kill me and you’re not turning me over to the Imperium and you’re not sending me back on the cattle car with the other passengers, what are you going to do with me?” He looked up, smiling. “Let me guess. You want to make a deal.”

  “I didn’t say we weren’t going to kill you,” Victory said, gesturing for Whip. “I said that I wasn’t going to kill you.”

  At that, she stepped out of the way as Whip, carrying Lion’s bloody dagger, rammed it into the assassin’s throat. Even as he was grabbing for the weapon, trying to pull it free, three Praetorian lifted him and threw his body overboard. They heard it splash in the boiling waters far below. Victory, Lion, Whip, and several others went to the railing to look down, watching until the body stiffened and went still.

  “They are efficient,” Dragomir said, looking ill. He had stayed well away from the edge of the railing, giving the ocean beyond a wary look.

  Afraid of heights, Victory remembered. “It’s their job,” she stated. “That Shi was dead the moment you pinpointed him on the gangplank. He just didn’t know it yet.”

  “If you will follow me, milady,” her brother’s man said, gesturing to the courier’s gangplank. “The vessel is set to start losing altitude in three and a half minutes.”

  Victory glanced up at the open maw of her brother’s ship. Knowing what awaited her on the other side, Victory took a deep breath, then led her entourage into the breach.

  At Home with an Emp

  “I don’t like it, milady,” Lion said, glancing again at the Emp, who was watching them carefully from a bench across the ship’s hull from them. He was wearing a good set of four-layer embroidered black silk, and above the fine ebony cloth, his blue eyes seemed to almost glow.

  Two Praetorian now stood between her and him, casually making sure he kept his distance. Ever since they had cut away the metal belt and removed his collar, Victory had been exercising her newfound ability to be as far from him as possible.

  …and here she was about to put herself into the exact same situation, but with their positions reversed. Victory wondered if the doctors were right and she had simply lost her mind.

  “It’s not smart,” Lion insisted. “You’ll be putting your life into his hands.”

  “And?” Victory demanded. “What choice do we have?”

  “Allow me to station my Praetorian outside the town,” Lion said. “They will make daily checkups, ensure that he is not abusing his privileges.”

  It was oh-so-tempting. Victory considered it, strongly. Then she finally shook her head. “My brother was right. Tales of Praetorian wandering the woods might get back to my father, and you know he would investigate.”

  “They would dress as common peasants!” Lion objected. “Please, milady.”

  “Seventeen common, light-skinned female peasants, all setting up camp in the middle of the mountains?”

  Lion flushed. “We could send less. Five or six.”

  “We stick to the plan,” Victory said. “Your girls will help my brother with his investigation, as plainclothes agents in the palace.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Lion growled, meeting the Emp’s blue eyes with her challenging gray.

  I don’t, either, Victory thought. But she knew that if she showed lack of resolve now, that Lion would balk, most likely hijack the ship, and fly Victory to some place that she deemed to be safe, regardless of her brother’s plan. “You seemed to trust him well enough the other day,” Victory stated, “When you stood against my father to spare his life.”

  “Yes, but that was a favor owed,” Lion said quickly. “He saved our sister’s life. We saved his. It was an even trade. This,” she waved to the shackles and collars laid out on the floor between them, “is madness, milady.”

  “How better to hide?” Victory demanded.

  Lion opened her mouth, but closed it again with a frown. She turned to glare at the Emp, who had been watching their conversation in a wary silence. “There must be a better way.”

  “Well, if there is, you have approximately two minutes to figure it out,” Victory said, glancing down at her clock. “The pilot said we’d be arriving in his village at two-oh-four.” They’d already been flying for two days and fourteen hours, and the change of scenery was going to be a welcome—if nerve-wracking—experience.

  Lion continued to object, refusing to don the garb of a slave.

  “Just do it,” Victory snapped, finally losing patience with her guard captain. “Either that, or find another who will.”

  Lion went utterly stiff, then lowered her head in defeat. She picked the collar off the ground and snapped it around her neck. She winced as it flash-welded in place. Then, giving the Emp a look of defiance, went over to sit at the exit beside Whip, who was already wearing both her collar and cuffs.

  Victory snatched up two sets of cuffs and tossed them at Lion. “Those, too.”

  The woman snarled profanities under her breath, but she allowed her sisters to help place the restraints.

  Victory may have been imagining it, but she thought she saw the Emp smirking as he carried a leash over and snapped it to Lion’s neck. He snapped another to Whip’s collar, then let them both drop between their linen-covered breasts. They were garbed in a standard one-piece slave shifts, without weapons, armor, or decoration—typical slave fare, and even then, the rough cloth felt itchy upon Victory’s body. Itchy…and familiar.

  I can’t do this, Victory thought, staring down at the collar in her hands. She felt the engine’s rhythm change, felt the G’s shift as it began to slow. I can’t.

  She didn’t notice the Emp until he squatted down beside her. When his big hands reached for the band of metal in her palms, Victory jerked away, glaring.

  “Trust me, Victory,” Dragomir said softly. “There’s something between us…” He swallowed and glanced at his hands, where they touched hers. “We’re…connected…in a way that most people could only dream.” He seemed to be struggling for words, and settled with, “You were always safe with me, as I was with you.”

  Scowling, Victory peered into his eyes, wanting to ask him what he meant by that, yet not finding the courage. When she said nothing, he gingerly reached down and took the collar from her hands. He lifted it, slowly, until it was level with her throat. Seeing it, Victory balked.

  “Trust me,” Dragomir whispered again. “As you have before.”

  As she had before…in other lives? All the Emp’s sentimentality about other places and other times almost gave her hope… Victory squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could believe him.

  He gently settled the band around her neck and clapped it shut.

  Victor
y flinched at the sudden hot-cold sensation as the metal band flash-sealed around her throat. She let out the breath that she had been holding in a shuddering, nervous laugh.

  “Wrists, now,” Dragomir said. He picked up a set of shackles.

  Shaking, yet trying not to let the Praetorian see how afraid she was, Victory turned to give the Emp her back.

  She felt the cold steel when he snapped them into place and squeezed her eyes shut against the first pangs of terror.

  “Ankles,” he said softly. He picked up a shackle and set it around her ankle. Instantly, the memories came flooding back to her and Victory let out a tiny whimper that only Dragomir could hear.

  His voice became gentle. “You won’t be in them long, Princess.” He waited, watching her face.

  She searched his blue eyes, saw the sincerity there. Slowly, even as her stomach twisted with terror, Victory nodded.

  The ankle shackle snapped shut. A moment later, the second one followed it. Knowing the Praetorian would put an end to the plan if she didn’t, Victory repressed her shudder.

  “Now this,” Dragomir said softly. He reached under her chin and clasped a leash to her throat. A moment later, she felt him padlock it in place. Victory squeezed her eyes shut against tears. It was then that she felt the warm blanket sensation once more, wrapping her, leaving her feel as if she were sitting in a titanium-reinforced fortress, instead of the bowels of a courier ship, about to be dropped as a slave to a man whom she had forced to eat pig slops and sleep on his knees.

  Outside, Victory heard the landing gear slide into place, felt the thump as the ship settled onto the village’s central square.

  Above her, Dragomir stood up to face the gate.

  When it opened, revealing a cluster of tiny stone hovels and filthy farm animals, Dragomir’s face lit up with a relieved smile. “I almost didn’t believe it,” Dragomir whispered. He motioned at Victory, his hand holding her leash. “Come on, Princess,” he said softly. “Your new home awaits.”

  “My brother will be back to check on me,” Victory warned him.

  Dragomir sighed and waited.

  Victory reluctantly got to her feet and, shuddering at the cold tug around her ankles, shuffled after him. At the gate, Dragomir bent to pick up the leashes of her two Praetorian, then together, they shuffled down the gangplank.

  Seeing the crowd of dirty faces that had begun to emerge from their hiding places behind buildings and rain barrels, Victory glanced again at the gangplank leading back up to the ship. Oh gods, she thought, watching it as it retracted behind her. They’re really going to leave me here.

  Then the ramp slammed up into the courier’s belly and the ship’s engines powered up.

  “Wait!” Victory screamed, unable to hold in her terror any longer. “Please don’t leave me here!”

  If the pilot heard her over the roar of the engines, he didn’t respond. A moment later, the Imperial courier ship was rising out of sight, disappearing over the gnarly limbs of the cottonwood trees, leaving her alone in the native village.

  Victory was finding it hard to breathe through her panic. Tears were burning at her eyes, and she was backing away to the very extent of the leash. More natives began to meld from the woodwork, collecting around them in a dirty, smelly crowd. I want to go home, she thought, tendrils of terror beginning to strangle her heart as she caught all the villagers staring at her, their dirty faces curious, like she was a piece of strange meat. I can’t do this…

  A warm, sunny blanket broke through her panic, wrapping her tightly in its soothing embrace. Victory closed her eyes swallowed several times, finding the strength she needed to fight the terror.

  “That you, Drago?” one of the larger men of the village demanded from the crowd. He had cerulean eyes similar to Dragomir, the same muscular build, with a big, easy smile and tousled, curly black hair. Though Victory hadn’t thought it possible, she guessed the man was even larger than Dragomir, perhaps an inch or two taller. Then something alarming occurred to her.

  Is that his brother? Victory thought, so stunned that she forgot about the hundreds of eyes that were gawking at her.

  Dragomir chuckled. “Who else do you think it is, Thor, you prick?” The way Dragomir stepped forward to wrap the man in a huge bear-hug confirmed her suspicions.

  Oh gods, she thought, cringing. Oh gods oh gods, I can’t do this.

  Dragomir went through a long round of hugging—it seemed everyone in the village wanted to receive an embrace from the Emp—and spent what seemed like a couple hours chatting and telling his story to the crowd.

  In that, Victory realized with relief, he kept to the plan. He claimed he had been captured to heal a sick princess, beat half to death just to make sure he wouldn’t hurt her out of spite, and then, after being chained naked to her bed for a couple weeks while he tended her, fed nothing but pig slops and groped humiliatingly by her attendants, he had finally been given a pretty new set of clothes and his choice of reward for healing her, then sent home as if nothing had ever happened. The villagers, of course, ate it up with wide eyes and open mouths. Victory, on the other hand, found herself scowling at the Emp.

  “They ask for your help after they hunt you down and kill ya for no reason,” a big, pudgy woman demanded. She spat. “Imperial hypocrites. Should all be killed to a man an’ their carcasses fed to the ravens.” A round of agreement followed her.

  Looking a bit uncomfortable, Dragomir returned his attention to his brother once more. “So what happened while I was gone?”

  “Quite a lot, apparently,” the blue-eyed devil said, eying Victory and her two companions. His gaze came to stop on Whip and he frowned. “What is this?”

  “Slaves!” Dragomir laughed, giving a gentle tug on their leashes. “I healed an Imperial princess. They asked me what I wanted in return and I said some livestock. They gave me slaves.”

  Thor frowned, eyes still on Whip. “And you’re keeping them?”

  “Why not?” Dragomir asked. “My bed could use a few Imperial playmates.” He glanced back at Whip. “Why? You want one?” He turned to grin back at Victory and her Praetorian. “There’s only so much room in my bed.”

  Victory’s jaw dropped at Dragomir. He wouldn’t dare. It’s just a show.

  But then Dragomir handed over Whip’s leash to the big man named Thor, and then slapped him on the back. “I’m so glad to be home.”

  Whip, who had gone utterly stiff at the transaction, was watching the two men with alert gray eyes. She had not, however, demeaned herself by struggling.

  Thank the gods, Victory thought, utterly grateful that the Praetorian was so well trained in the control of her emotions. Had it been her leash that Dragomir had handed to his brother, she would have screamed and flailed like an animal. Already, he was not sticking to the plan, and already, a sinking feeling was building in Victory’s gut that he had never intended to follow it in the first place.

  “What’s going on, milady?” Lion asked softly. Her voice, while quiet, held the sound of Death in every syllable.

  “Uh,” Victory managed, “I think he just gave Whip to his brother.”

  She saw fury flash in the Praetorian’s eyes. “I’ll kill him.”

  “Never fear, sister,” Whip said softly. There was quiet murder in her gaze as she continued to watch the two men. “We have keys. If he tries anything stupid, we will simply free ourselves and kill them both.”

  Victory knew that her Praetorian were trained in a thousand different ways to end a man’s life, yet looking up at their huge bodies, comparing them to the much smaller forms of her two Praetorian, Victory began to have her doubts.

  And, with her doubts, came another wash of terror. She started to have to fight to control her breathing. She felt her skin crawl, remembered the cold around her ankles, the stares…

  Eventually, Thor’s eyes fell on her. “That one’s terrified.”

  Victory was surprised that she had let it show.

  Dragomir glanced at her, ra
ised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Probably. Poor little thing. Big guy like me. Unable to speak the language… She probably thinks she’s in for a trip through Hell.”

  “Maybe she is,” someone in the crowd jeered, and there was a round of harsh laughter. “How much for the green-eyed one?” another called out.

  Victory lowered her head in shame and fear, her legs starting to shake. To her surprise, the Emp’s energy-blanket tightened around her.

  “Sorry,” Dragomir laughed. “She’s not for sale, folks.”

  “What about lease?” someone laughed.

  Victory let out a shuddering breath and stared at her feet, knowing now what the Emp had meant. He could sell her, give her away, lend her to his friends…

  …And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

  “These two are mine,” Dragomir said, tugging their leashes. “You want to work out a trade, talk to my brother.”

  His brother grunted, then looked down at Whip as if he was trying to piece together a puzzle. For her part, Whip stared back at him with all the ferocity of a wolverine.

  “She looks like she wants to cut out my throat with her teeth,” Thor chuckled.

  “Probably does,” Dragomir said. “From what I heard, she and the other one were Imperial soldiers. Maybe even Praetorian.”

  What is he doing? Victory thought, horrified.

  Thor’s eyebrows went up and he seemed to tense. “Praetorian?”

  Dragomir shrugged. “Just a warning. Not sure if it’s true or not. Just what the handlers told me before they dumped them in my lap.” He sighed. “I’m hungry enough to eat my horse. How’d he hold up while I was gone?”

  “Thunder’s fine,” Thor said, “Though a stubborn shit, as usual. Takes after his owner.”

  “You just don’t know how to properly ask his help,” Dragomir laughed. He glanced at the hundreds of faces around them, then turned and looked up the mountain valley. “And the rest of my place?”

  “We cleaned it, packed it up,” Thor said. Victory saw a flash of emotion cross the man’s bronze face before he hid it again. His booming voice was low when he said, “We weren’t sure you were coming home, brother.”