Aldric: A Sci-Fi Warrior Romance

by Jane Henry

  Lystava placed the solid, varnished brush on my vanity when she bathed me the day before. I do not wish to have him spank me with it. I nod quickly. “Yes, my lord.”

  He nods briefly, then pulls me down upon his knee, ignoring my wince when my backside hits his leg. He plucks a grape.

  “Open,” he growls.

  This is not the laidback meal of before, but rather hasty. I open my mouth as he feeds me, then he hands me a cup of the white liquid I had before.

  “Drink.”

  Automatically, I obey, finding this has become easier as I enjoy the delicious food, a sweet bread speckled with soft, dark fruits and spread with warmed butter. I drink from the cup, and the creamy, delicious liquid complements the tang of various fruits. After a time, he simply hands me the food, allowing me to feed myself, after he seems satisfied that I will obey him.

  When we have both eaten our fill, he leaves the food upon the plate, the blankets on the bed askew, and stands, pushing me to my feet. “I must get ready to leave. I need a few minutes of preparation.” He points to the corner of the room, a stark, empty place. “You will stand there while I get ready, and while you do, you will think about your obedience to me today. Focus on submitting yourself to my will.”

  Confused, I move to obey, walking to the corner of the room before turning to look at him in bewilderment. “Like this, my lord?” He’s never instructed me to stand here before, and I am confused by the request.

  He smiles, his eyes lighter when there are little crinkles around the edges. He walks to me, places his hands gently on my hips, and spins me around, so that I am facing the wall.

  “Like this,” he says into my ear. The warmth and nearness of him makes my nipples harden. He rakes his hands down my arms and grasps my hands, entwining them behind my back. “Clasp your hands behind your back,” he whispers. “Think about how you will obey me. How you will defer to my authority, and do as I ask. Think about how I will reward your obedience by bringing you pleasure.” His hands travel to my backside, kneading the tender skin. “Think about how your backside belongs to me, and how I will punish you if you disobey me.”

  Need pulses between my legs as his tongue rakes across my collarbone. “So delicious,” he murmurs. “I could eat you.” His teeth sink into the tender spot at my neck. I gasp, but keep my hands clasped as he’s told me to. “Another mark for you,” he says. “Another mark to show that you are mine.” He growls, the sensual pain of his mouth and teeth causing the ache between my legs to throb, though he’s pleasured me just a short time ago. It seems every time he brings me to ecstasy, my need for him grows. I gasp as he thrusts a finger under my tunic and pumps between my legs briefly, before drawing his finger out, trailing across my backside, and then slapping my bottom, hard.

  “Stay there,” he orders.

  I stifle a cry as he pulls away from me, his voice, his warmth, and his presence somehow the only things keeping me upright. When he’s gone, I stand with a greater effort. I have been told I must think about my submission to him. And truthfully, as I stare at the blank wall in front of me, with the certain knowledge that if I leave my position I face punishment, I find it a bit easier to think about obeying him. I find myself thinking about how I will wait demurely to be fed, and come to him when he calls, listening for his voice and hastening to obey. I will wear what he puts on me, and walk with him in the marketplace. If he desires my body, I will submit myself—I freeze, mid-thought. What am I doing?

  I am not here to submit to this savage. I am here to save my planet. I am not going to sink to the barbaric ways of his people! I have been trained already, to listen to him, drawn to the enigmatic pull of his power.

  But no. I will not stand here and think about my submission to him.

  I will stand here and think of my purpose here on Freanoss. When we move to the forest, I must find my possessions. I must prove to myself he lies, and that my purpose in coming here was not in vain.

  * * *

  The walk through the marketplace is different this time, though the strings of guards flanking either side of us has not altered, their measured footsteps in time with ours. Today, there are no vendors in the marketplace.

  “Why is the marketplace empty today?” I ask him. He doesn’t look at me, merely holds my hand, his eyes still fixed ahead, as he answers me.

  “Market days are only a few days a week,” he says. “Today is not a sale day.”

  “Oh,” I say, wondering then where he is taking me. I remember for a moment that I am to obey him, the stark corner of the wall coming to my mind’s eye as I trot to keep up with him. It is better to follow him and not ask questions. Past the marketplace we go, and now we have arrived at where he convened with his men yesterday. Just beyond this place is where I met the robbers. Where he found me.

  We move past the pavilion, heading further into the area in the woods than we did yesterday. My heartbeat quickens. My communication device is nearby, just a dozen or so paces from where we are now. I recognize the area and can even see the ‘X’ mark from where I am. He leads me on, to a darker area in the woods, and now he is telling his followers to leave us be, shooing them away. I look at him in surprise. Why is it that he has taken me to the woods, and now wishes for us to be alone? But he is merely making them step several yards beyond us. He doesn’t wish for us to be completely alone. It is then I realize there is a dark, hidden hovel in the woods. It is camouflaged, with dark leaves and wooden planks for the door, walls, and roof. Vines entwine the doorway and walls but it is the only adornment. Beside the leaves and such, the little abode is nearly completely hidden. I am entranced.

  “Carina,” the king says, drawing me closer to him. “Remember your obedience to me,” he says, warning in his voice.

  I nod.

  “It is my wish you do not speak unless I give you leave.”

  I am still confused, as he approaches the door and knocks sharply. At first, there is no answer. He frowns. I hide a smile. He is not used to having to wait for anyone, or anything. He knocks a second time, harder, and this time I hear a rustling within.

  I hear a growl and thumping and bumping on the other side of the door. To my surprise, the king raises his hand to knock a third time, this time undisguised anger on his countenance, but the little doorway is dragged open, creaking and groaning, as if it hasn’t been opened in decades.

  In front of us stands an elderly man, wizened with age, his hair white as snow, eyes tiny and shrewd behind a pair of metal spectacles. He looks up with curiosity at the king, and then me, and it takes him a moment before his eyes widen in surprise. He dips his head. “My lord,” he greets, then turns to me. “My lady.” He steps back, gesturing for us to come in. I follow the king.

  The moment we cross his threshold, the little man attempts to bend on one knee, but the king sees his effort and immediately stops him. “Do not bow to me,” he says. “You are pardoned from such expectations. My time is short and our visit must be hasty, but there are many things I wish to discuss with you.”

  “Certainly, my lord,” the man says, going ahead of us to a small room, with a sofa and chairs, and a roaring fire in the fireplace. If the king’s home is old-fashioned, this little hovel is positively ancient. I hear thin notes of music coming from some place, though I’m not sure from where. There are odd bits of papers here and there, and books, so many books, piled far and wide, on shelves, sideways and diagonally, stacked as high as the ceiling in teetering heaps. The man makes his way over to where an iron stove sits, a kettle spewing steam, and shuts off the heat. “Can I fetch you something to eat?” he asks. His voice is husky and warbles. I wonder at the man’s age. The elderly do not exist on Freanoss, and until the king mentioned to me how my planet does away with the aged, I have never given this much thought.

  “No, no,” the king says impatiently, taking a seat on the sofa and tugging my hand so that I sit down hard next to him. “I have much to discuss with you. We have no need of food.”

  T
he man nods, gingerly sitting in a wooden rocking chair across from us. “Before we begin, may I ask why you have a woman of Freanoss with you?”

  The king’s eyes widen in surprise. “How do you know she is from Freanoss? I have not given leave for anyone to divulge her home.”

  The man waves an impatient hand dismissively. “It is one of the gifts,” he says. “I am able to tell the planet or origin of anyone by the smell, look, and feel of them.” His eyes come to me. They soften, as he takes me in, from the top of my head to my feet. Neither the king nor I speak as the older man observes me. “He has marked you,” he says with a nod, and then his eyes widen. “You went into the circle, woman?”

  His tone is curious. I swallow, looking to the king, who nods, giving me permission to speak. “I did,” I said. “I did not know… what it was.”

  “Mmm,” he says softly. “And you now know the errors of your ways?”

  I look at him, shaking my head. I do not know to what he refers. He leans back in his chair and address me with the patience of a teacher with a student. “You now know that you belong to our king as his possession, with no recourse to Freanoss outside of battle? The king has informed you of your obedience to him, of that I am sure.”

  I look away from him, twisting my hands in my lap. I dislike how much he knows about me without me having to tell him anything.

  “Answer him, Carina,” the king instructs, his voice deep and stern.

  I look up at the king, who raises his brows and waves a finger toward the man. But when I turn to the man, he is looking at us both quizzically.

  “Carina?” he asks. “You have named her? The people of Freanoss have no distinction.”

  I look from one to the other. The king nods. “I have.”

  Understanding dawns on him. “And so it has begun,” he says softly. “She clings to you?”

  As if in on cue, I instinctively move closer to the king, who places a warm, possessive hand on my neck and squeezes gently. “It has begun,” he says.

  “I see,” the man says. “You may call me Isidor,” he says to me. He then turns back to the king.

  “In here, I am Aldric,” the king says.

  “And what is it I can do for you, my lord?” Isidor asks. For some reason, the ‘lord’ seems more a casual reference and less a show of respect. This man, filled with greater knowledge and wisdom than Aldric, pays homage to his lord, yet it is of a different caliber than the others.

  “I have questions of the ways of her people,” he says. “What it is I can expect, now that she is my possession. The best means to teach her obedience to me.”

  The man smiles to himself. “You have at least surmised that the ways of Freanoss are far different than those of Avalere. Freanoss garnered the scientific minds and progressive influences at the council of the New Dawn, and its people advanced technologically at a far more rapid pace. You know when Avalere was founded at the New Dawn, that the ancients were the ones to populate Avalere. We did away with most scientific advances and returned to a simpler time, keeping only such measures that would keep the Avalerians healthy. As the years have progressed, so, too, have the differences between the two countries.” His eyes twinkle. “Tell me, my lord, what your Carina thinks about your insistence on teaching her obedience?”

  Aldric frowns. “She has resisted, though she is learning it is best she obey me.”

  Isidor smiles again. “Certainly. As far as your teaching methods, and the means to teach her obedience, I advise you do whatever you think is best. You are, after all, the king. She will, like most members of the human species, respond well to both punishment and rewards, though over time, as your bond strengthens, she will desire to obey you more of her own will.”

  Aldric nods, and I squirm. I dislike that they are talking about me as if I am not there.

  I wish to ask a question, and remember a moment before I speak that I must have permission. I pat the king’s knee, and he nods his approval.

  “What has begun?” I ask. “I do not understand.”

  Isidor takes his eyes from Aldric and looks to me.

  “Your bonding,” he says. “It is the ancient way. Your people have your methods of progressing.” He shrugs. “We have ours. Mates are chosen, and once chosen, bonding is what keeps you connected, together.”

  Is this why my body yearns to be close to Aldric, even as I resist his control, his power and the enigmatic pull?

  “What if I don’t want to be… bonded?” I ask, a note of petulance in my voice, for I am torn. Aldric has done exquisite, unfathomable things to my body. I feel alive more so than I ever have. And yet… he punishes me. I am his property, to do with as he wills. And I want to return to my home planet, where everything is familiar.

  Isidor places his fingertips together. I feel the king stiffen next to me, moving closer, as if he’s prepared to grab me if I go to run away.

  “Don’t wish to be bonded?” Isidor asks quietly, his eyes growing serious, his mouth turning down at the edges. “My girl, you forfeited your rights when you stepped foot in the ring. As the king’s mate, you may not reverse the bond that now embraces you both.” He turns to Aldric. “Under what grounds did she become yours? Did you choose her from the circle?”

  “I did,” Aldric explains. “However, she brought a weapon into our presence, and I saved her from execution. I took it as my duty to punish her.”

  I look from Aldric to Isidor, who nods.

  Isidor addresses me. “You brought a weapon to Avalere. You arrived here against the treaty put forth by our people. You broke the agreement, and as such are subject to the laws of Avalere. You belong to the king. Resisting bonding will be to your detriment, and once the process has begun there is no reversing it.” He pauses. “There is a concept on Avalere you are unfamiliar with on Freanoss.” He nods, as if to himself. “There are many, actually, but an overarching belief in one’s prana vitae—your life force—means that you have an aura about you. Aldric has no doubt observed your prana vitae in depth.” He looks to the king. “No?”

  Aldric nods. “Certainly. It is the way of the warrior to observe all, and it was all of her, not just her stunning beauty, spirit, and courage that drew me to her to begin with.”

  He states all this as if it were fact. He’s not trying to flatter me. He believes what he says, and though I feel myself blush from the praise, I also feel quite vulnerable as the two of them continue to discuss me.

  “Though,” Aldric continues, “I must know of her purpose for coming before we continue.”

  I freeze. “Why do you ask this?”

  Aldric frowns. “It was my wish that as you and I grew closer together, you would want to tell the truth of your own accord. But you haven’t, and now that we are in the presence of Isidor, it will be far more difficult for you to tell a falsehood.”

  My eyes widen. Aldric has been cunning.

  “What does this mean?” I whisper.

  Isidor speaks first. “It means that while you are in the presence of both me, an ancient of Avalere, and your king, to whom you are bonded, it will be near impossible for you to lie.”

  My heart beats rapidly, my palms sweaty. I open my mouth, but I can do nothing but speak the truth, even as I fear the reaction to my transparency. I wish to close my mouth, but my voice carries clearly in the small room. “I came to spy,” I say, my eyes closing as the words utter from my mouth unbidden. “I was sent to find what methods the Avalerians will use against Freanoss while you rob us of our resources. Freanoss is rich in natural resources needed by the Avalerians, and we have been robbed. It is my duty to inform the Freanossians so we can thwart your efforts.”

  Aldric nodded. “It is no more than I expected,” he says with a shrug toward Isidor, then, turning to me, “but Carina, you must understand you’ve been lied to. We are not stealing from Freanoss. The Freanossians have taken my sister as hostage, as they wish to pilfer the gems of my people. The accusations against us were meant to distract us from their real purp
ose. We have intelligence of this attempt, and the evidence is overwhelming.”

  “No,” I whisper, but it seems that along with my inability to lie comes the ability to decipher the truth. I know in my heart what he says now is true. I’ve been used. I did not serve a real purpose. I should not be here.

  “And now,” Isidor says to Aldric. “You wish to know of her past?”

  I suddenly feel very exposed and petulant. It doesn’t seem right that they are talking as if I’m not there. It’s unsettling. And I’m beginning to understand now that I am bound to Avalere, to Aldric, even more than I imagined.

  “You could’ve asked me,” I mumbled, feeling angry at how this all has transpired. Aldric reaches his hand to my leg and squeezes, a warning gesture to remind me to behave.

  “And you could’ve stayed on Freanoss,” Isidor says with a frown. “Your people should’ve warned you of our ways. But because they did not, you now suffer for your ignorance.” He pauses, eyeing me thoughtfully, his voice softening when he speaks. “But is it really punishment, Carina?”

  I think of the zing of Aldric’s leather on my naked skin, his teeth nipping at my waist, the tugs of my hair, and time I have spent over his knee. I think of the ways he has brought me to ecstasy, feeding me, clothing me, and soothing me. I think of how he would have killed to protect me.

  I do not respond. Isidor turns back to Aldric.

  “The regulatory pills taken by the Freanossians suppress appetites. All forms of hunger. This, I surmise, you have noted.”

  Aldric nods, and I blush.

  “There are some minor physical differences you will note, over time, but those can be easily remedied.” Over time? My stomach clenches as I contemplate my future. I sit up stiffly, pulling away from Aldric. Isidor eyes me thoughtfully.

  “Think before you act, young one,” he says. “Perhaps barbaric ways are not to your liking.” He shrugs, and his eyes wander before coming back to mine. “Or perhaps they are.”