by Anne Wheeler
His gut tightened at the thought.
Focus, man.
“But until then,” he went on, the very picture of a Vilarian noble he usually disdained, “keep your hands off my property, if you would.”
Vidar jerked his hand back like he’d been burnt.
“Then you’ve had her.” His eyes glinted with approval. “Not that I’d blame you. She really is something, isn’t she? Even for a Cerethian.”
Kresten glared, his noble façade too difficult to keep in place after that remark.
Vidar burst into laughter. “Or maybe you haven’t.” He put a finger under his chin, pretending to think. “There must have been enough eager women on Cereth to keep you occupied all those lunar cycles you spent there, and whatever I think of your numerous dalliances, you’ve never lowered yourself to prisoners. Or slaves, for that matter. So, what in the Realm is she doing here? This is fascinating. A true mystery.”
His brother dared utter the word dalliances? Like his brother wasn’t as bad as what he’d just accused him of doing? He had a reason for pretending to indulge in his own casual romances. Vidar, on the other hand, liked to throw his power around, enjoyed the physical pleasures of a woman. Not that the women were unwilling, but his brother had a tendency to promise things that would never come true, and not a single young woman on Vilaria would risk saying no to him.
On one hand, it made his cover story easy if his brothers, Vidar included, lived their lives as if that kind of thing was normal, but on the other, though Kresten desperately wanted to judge, he never let himself forget he’d have been just like them if things had gone differently.
“I wonder . . .” Vidar went on to himself. “But no, that would be nonsense, wouldn’t it?”
Kresten didn’t think he’d ever clenched his jaw so hard. Vidar was up to something, and he was the last to know what. By the stars, if Vidar had any kind of surprise going on . . .
“What would be nonsense?” he asked.
“I think you’re compensating for something. Over-compensating, if one wishes to be technical. But for what, is the question. Elise would have never tolerated a lack of marital relations, so I have to assume you do prefer women. Yes, I think we can safely rule out a fondness for men,” Vidar said to himself.
Kresten raised his eyebrows. That speculation was nowhere near where he’d thought Vidar was going with that comment. Ryllis, he noticed, didn’t appear to know what to do with the suggestion except to furrow her brow. He didn’t want to imagine what was going on in her head.
“Now, it’s possible you truly are the womanizer you hold yourself out to be. I don’t know that Elise would have tolerated that either, but I do suppose it’s always possible. The benefits that come with marrying a prince can outweigh a great many drawbacks.”
Vidar shrugged before Kresten could stand up and defend the woman whose death had put him in a deep depression for almost a solar cycle. “But you know, the strangest thing happened last week,” he went on. “I ran into Liala at this new club in the Ericha Quarter. You remember her—the charming young lady who attended Father’s naming celebration ball just before you left for Cereth. I of course considered her off-limits since the two of you were seen cavorting about in the southeast gardens, but do you know what she said? She told me you never touched her. Not even on her lips. It does make one wonder.”
“Liala was so drunk that night she couldn’t possibly remember what happened.”
With that, Kresten leaned back and let his almost-empty glass dangle. Vidar had no idea what he was talking about, and after a half glass of sweet wine, listening to him speculate was turning out to be more entertaining than he could have ever imagined. Maybe this visit wouldn’t be so bad after all, for now even Ryllis was listening to his brother’s ramblings with undisguised interest. He wanted to laugh, but that would give Vidar too much information.
“Perhaps she was, but she seemed rather lucid about the entire thing, even remembering how your uniform had a snag on the left shoulder. Said she’d pointed it out as a chance to get closer to you, and you’d all but run away from her. You broke her dear, crown-chasing heart, Kres, not that she waited very long for you to come around.”
Vidar chuckled. “And there’s also the matter of your position within the Fleet. It’s not normal for someone of our lineage to be as content as you are about being a glorified jailer. You could have done anything—commanded starships, become a military barrister, even flown fighters if that was your thing. Instead, you’re a security officer.”
He held out his hand in a mock appeal. “Oh, don’t mistake me. You people are necessary, just like the cooks. It’s just that it’s a rather humble career decision for a man of your pedigree, don’t you think? Though”—his finger hit his chin in thought again; Vidar had always had a bit of drama in him—“it would make a brilliant cover for something else.”
Kresten flew to his feet. “Amaryllis, out.” She fairly raced from the room, taking all the warmth with her, and he faced Vidar. “Was that necessary? If you feel the need to blab about something that I’ve successfully kept confidential for a very long time, you can blab to me and me only.”
“Then I’m right!” Vidar’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, don’t look so angry. You work isn’t classified. It was your own decision to not tell anyone, and Mother mentioned a few solar cycles ago that your security cover was just that. To your credit, it took a while to figure out what you needed a cover for, though. Your lovely new slave was the final piece of the puzzle.”
“Mother’s suffering from dementia! She also insists Father has six other wives on Holiv that he visited in his dreams and that Lina’s chickens speak to her through her pillow. You shouldn’t have listened to her.”
“She was right about you, though. Maybe Father as well. Who knows what he really does on those vacations—or naps—of his? I wouldn’t put it past those chickens, either.”
Kresten pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. Vidar was right, as much as he hated to admit it. Neither his Shadow Force position or his telepathy were classified, exactly, but keeping his skills secret made for a more normal life. People understandably became uncomfortable when someone who could access their thoughts was in the room, even when they knew how complicated the procedure was, and he wasn’t the only Shadow Force telepath who had a cover position in the Fleet. Elise herself hadn’t been thrilled with the idea, even though she’d eventually come around. It helped that reading the mind of a spouse wasn’t anything like reading the mind of a prisoner. If only he could convince Ryllis of that.
“Yeah,” he said, wishing he’d poured himself a larger drink. “Fine. So Mother was right about me. Why are you here harassing me about it now?”
“Well, it’s a rather concerning revelation, don’t you think? Are you reading my mind right now? Have you in the past? I want to make sure you’re not a danger to me.”
Kresten wanted to drill a hole in his own forehead. “If you believed I was a danger to you, you wouldn’t be such a pain in the rear end.”
“Indeed.” Vidar flopped back on the hearth and regarded him with interest. “The truth is, I have a bet going.”
“A bet? A stars-blasted bet? Who did you make a bet with?”
“Austet, naturally.”
“For pity’s—Austet knows, too?” Kresten all but hollered. Vidar was bad enough, but their eldest brother and the emperor’s successor couldn’t keep his mouth shut about anything. Austet would squeal to the entire palace—blast it, the entire planet—if he knew.
“No, he thinks you prefer men, and I’ll let him believe what he wants. Your secret is safe with me, though it would be the brotherly thing to do if you’d transfer me the credits I’m losing by protecting it.”
“Vidar, homosexuality isn’t illegal. Why would I be pretending to sleep with dozens of women to hide it?”
“Sixteen hundred crowns. I’m sure it’s a drop in the bucket after your hazard pay from the Cereth mission.”
Kresten
jabbed all of his fingers against his skull. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Send me an invoice.”
“Gladly.” Vidar grinned. “So? What’s she really doing here?”
Kresten straightened. “Now that is classified.”
“She’s a subject, then.” Vidar shrugged and yawned before jabbering on. “I was afraid of that—you could have just come right out and said it. By the stars, what a bore this turned out to be. I was hoping I was wrong about you. Or at least that Austet was right. Though I have to admit, you’ve done a great job. You’ve had us all going with the reputation you’ve worked so hard to maintain. And rest assured, I’ll continue to maintain it for you. Are you going to keep her after you’re done with her? If not, I might be interested.”
Kresten pressed his lips together. Not in a million solar cycles, Vidar.
“Well. Think about it—I think my work here is done. Tell your new friend it was wonderful to meet her, and I’ll see you when I see you.” Vidar finished off his drink in one gulp, pushed himself off the hearth, and headed for the front door. “Oh . . . but Kresten?”
Kresten looked up.
Just go home.
“Sex is great. You should try it some time.”
Kresten blinked backed the memory of how the gray dress showed off Ryllis’s waist. “Vidar, I was married. Believe me, I’m well aware.”
His brother just winked.
Chapter Twelve
Lina had brewed her a cup of Kresten’s expensive yellow gold tea, and Ryllis didn’t want to offend her by not drinking it, but she could do nothing but push the china cup around the kitchen table as it grew cold. Kresten’s brother’s reaction wasn’t a complete surprise—she’d heard stories of the imperial family, after all, and they weren’t much different from any other Vilarian—but still, she’d never expected him to touch her. To grab her. She would never be able to wear this lovely dress again. Not with the reminders of what had happened when she did.
And for Kresten to do nothing about it but watch with that indifferent look on his face? It was unconscionable, especially after what had happened in the cave. Yes, he’d warned her she’d have to follow along with his brother’s game, but he’d also promised to protect her from any leering, and he’d failed miserably there. And then to send her out of the room for them to talk about her? He was hiding something, and that bothered her more than the creep’s hand on her bottom.
Lina stood, her shadow growing smaller as she left the kitchen, and Ryllis glanced up to see Kresten standing a fair distance away from her, hands clasped behind his back. As much as she wanted to flee—to punish him for what his brother had done to her more than anything else—she needed answers more than she needed revenge, so she pushed her tea to the center of the table and nodded at him to sit.
Kresten sat and sighed, then grabbed her cup and took a long swallow of what had been hers. Ryllis stared at his lips, then at her hands.
He rubbed his neck, frowning at the cup. “Ryllis . . . why do you think you’re here?”
That was an easy question.
“Because this is how the galaxy works.”
Unfair, yes. But she could feel the prince’s hands on her, still. That was also how the galaxy worked when one was a slave, even though everyone pretended it was not.
“Yes”—was it her imagination, or did he flush as she threw his words back on him?—“and I apologize for my brother’s actions. They surprised me as much as you, and they won’t go unpunished, even if I have to speak to my father about it. But specifically, why do you think you’re here, as opposed to that prison back on Cereth, or a prison here on Vilaria, or living as a slave in a household that wouldn’t treat you nearly as well as I?”
Or dead, she was happy he didn’t add.
“I—I don’t know,” she whispered. Had he lied in the cave? All his words and promises and talk of love—had they been false? She touched a finger to her lips, suddenly ashamed of what they’d done. “Because you wanted me.”
She’d make him deny it again and again, especially after what his brother had implied.
“My darling star, that’s not why. I want you now, more than you can imagine, and I don’t blame you for being hung up on that, but that’s not how this works.” Kresten shook his head. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but since my wonderful brother has already spilled my secret . . .”
He pressed his fingers against his eyelids and groaned in what sounded like frustration. “The truth is, I can’t sleep with you, no matter how much I’d like to. It would be detrimental to my health, and even worse for my career. It’s not an option I can entertain. You see, I won’t ever have a mistress, and I won’t keep you as some kind of secret lover. Even if I wanted to, even if I thought you were worth that little, I can’t. It’s not allowed.”
It was a shot of relief, even if the rest of his words made no sense. Kresten still loved her. He still thought highly of her. He hadn’t lied.
“But then I don’t—I don’t understand. What does this have to do with anything? Why can’t you—” She slammed her mouth shut, confused.
“You asked me if I was gifted with an innate power. And I lied you to when I said I wasn’t.” His jaw clenched as he pressed his palms against the table. “I do, though it’s not one I like to talk about, and I think you’ll understand when I tell you. I’m not a Fleet security lieutenant. Not only, anyway. I’m a Shadow Force officer.”
Shadow Force?
His admission hit her like an asteroid smashing into an oblivious planet, like when he’d pulled her toward him and she’d known he was going to kiss her, only this was painful and frightening and raw instead of pleasurable. Her stomach flipped, and she placed a hand over it, glad she’d declined Lina’s tea.
Kresten was a telepath.
Like others with different innate powers, they popped up on Vilaria every so often—and having been banned from using their power if they’d been born outside the imperial family, they usually ended up just where Kresten was—in the military, where such things were not only allowed, but encouraged and sought after. Masters of reading emotions even when they couldn’t directly access a mind, the telepaths made for expert torturers.
And interrogators.
And regular security guards who leaned against walls during interviews and pretended to sleep.
And she’d kissed him.
Kresten’s secrets all fell into place as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. It was just as he said—why he hadn’t forced himself on her, why he couldn’t have her as a mistress, why he’d lied to his brother about his sexual liaisons to keep his family from the truth.
Shadow Force telepaths were chaste, for the most part. Sex bonded a telepath to their partner just like accessing a mind did, only deeper, and the Fleet didn’t allow it for obvious reasons. If Kresten had connected with her in that way, it would affect his ability to access others. A wife was one thing. Numerous other involvements and mistresses were another—a proportional reduction in the number of prisoners a telepath could read over the years. The Fleet was nothing if not demanding of its officers.
“I see you’ve figured it out.”
Ryllis grabbed her temples, then dropped her hands, the feeling of stubble almost as horrifying as someone existing in her brain. Kresten had spoken out loud, hadn’t he? Had his lips moved? She didn’t know where to focus anymore.
“You’re not—you’re not reading my mind,” she gasped.
He chuckled, without any humor. “No. Sometimes people’s emotions are obvious, and your expression is usually enough. Trust me, you’d know if I was doing it.”
Her stomach dropped at how matter of fact he sounded. “But I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”
“That’s right. You wouldn’t be able to stop me.” Any impression of amusement fell from his face. “But it doesn’t work like you think. I can’t just walk up to a stranger, touch them, and read their thoughts, much as we’ve tried to experiment and make it work. There’s a pragmatic rea
son we limit the use the military applications and prisons—it’s just too difficult otherwise. And in my case . . .”
Ryllis stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to process his confession, and waited for him to continue.
“There was a rebellion on Izonus four solar cycles ago,” he said. “Endless work. I spent over a solar cycle there, and toward the end I would collapse when I accessed a mind, every time. It began to take longer and longer to recover from the blackouts, and that’s when I was sent to Cereth. It was meant to be a mental break in the hopes I’d recover and be just as useful again.”
“I was a break?” It was insulting, in some twisted way.
Kresten shrugged. “Telepathy isn’t the only way to get information from someone, and we prefer other, less invasive means to begin with. You were supposed to be easy, the pampered governor’s daughter, in over her head, not knowing who she was dealing with. The interrogators you spoke with were trainees, so I watched the interviews and gave them input afterward on how to improve next time around. Of course, I hoped you’d see me as an ally, as well, give me some bits of information I could use to help them force a confession. It happens more frequently than you’d ever expect.”
“The gifts? The candy? The flower?” Why had she mentioned the flower? “You were only trying to make me see you as a friend?”
“No.” He reached across the table but stopped before he touched her. “Ryllis, no. I wanted to see you smile. I wanted to see you alive. I suppose, yes, if you’d have decided I was someone to trust, I would have used that to my advantage, but that wasn’t the intent. And when you didn’t talk . . . I didn’t make the decision to bring you here, if that’s what you’re asking. The Fleet ordered it, and I complied.”
