Claimed & Seduced

by Shelley Munro

  A sad truth.

  The people of the House of the Cat clan were losing the ability to shift. Their scientists were working on the problem, but a cure for the strange malady eluded them. So far, they’d kept this failure a secret from outsiders, but at some point, their problems would become public knowledge. The kingdom would grow more vulnerable since slowly their fighting force was losing an important weapon in their fighting arsenal.

  Jarlath held his breath and focused inward. A flicker, like the sleepy stretch of someone awakening, caressed beneath his skin. Another burst of excitement shot through his veins. He hadn’t felt his feline stir for three cycles now. Something to experiment with in the privacy of his chamber. He missed running in feline form, the explosion of sensory details that came with a shift. Yes, the sec he reached his bedchamber, he’d attempt a shift.

  “Prince, please don’t do this.” Ellard resorted to begging, and the emotion didn’t set well on his craggy countenance. His broad fingers dwarfed his onyx cat pendant as he rubbed back and forth—a sure sign of his agitation. “They say she comes from the planet Gramite.”

  “Why don’t you help? The sooner we fill the containers, the faster we’ll return to the castle,” Jarlath said.

  Ellard glowered. “Even the cambeests like her. Look at them, following her around.”

  Jarlath grinned, the unfamiliar expression feeling foreign on his lips. It made him realize how tense he’d become with recent discussions of marriage and duty. “Creatures are good judges of character.”

  “Humph.” Ellard snatched up a container and started to pick berries at a rapid pace.

  A day of firsts, Jarlath thought. A change in routine. A new acquaintance. His feline awakening, and now he was smiling. A trip to the wild side indeed.

  Keira surreptitiously observed the prince and his guard. She’d seen the handsome prince at several castle functions and thought him dull and pompous. This man, with his bright smile, was a different being. His dark hair was ruffled, the pomade no match for the stiff breeze. His tailored clothes—the trews and heavy cream synsilk shirt—were good quality, yet currently bore forest stains that made him appear more approachable. And his proper manner…today he resembled his younger brother, Prince Lynx. Sexy and way too attractive for her liking.

  Maybe she’d rethink her coming evening. As Marcus’s widow, she’d received an invitation to the ball. She’d decided not to attend. Meeting her stepchildren in public always proved difficult and doubly so if the encounter occurred during a social situation. She had few friends, but her acquaintances would rally around her, if only to appease their inquisitiveness regarding her presence.

  Yes, she’d made up her mind.

  She’d follow her curiosity to learn if this Prince Jarlath was real or a fraud and relieve a little of her loneliness in a social occasion.

  And meanwhile she’d enjoy his company. She shot a glance at the security guard and suppressed a giggle. How many teeth could she get him to show during his next snarl?

  “What are you staring at?” Ellard demanded.

  “Nothing.” Wow, ten teeth.

  Keira turned away and picked berries with the ease of practice, filling her containers as she worked her way back to the prince and his security guard.

  “What do you do with the berries?” the prince asked.

  “I make some pies, but use most of the berries for wine.”

  “I’ve never tried berry wine,” Jarlath said. “Have you, Ellard?”

  “Yes.”

  Keira smothered her amusement at the security guard’s abrupt tone. “What about berry pie? Do you have a sweet tooth?”

  Ellard shifted his big body so she couldn’t see Prince Jarlath. “That is not appropriate. Cease your chatter.”

  “Ellard, we’re talking about a dessert. There is nothing inappropriate about food.” The prince edged from behind his security guard and flashed her a grin full of boyish charm.

  The power of the exchange rippled through her like a gossamer wave and left her breathing rapid and choppy. She managed a weak half-smile in return while scolding her traitorous body to behave. The security guard would have conniptions, and he was right. This…these thoughts were far from suitable.

  “We all like to eat.” He cocked his head. “And I love pie.” He popped a berry into his mouth. “They’re delicious.”

  “I’ll bake you one,” Keira said.

  “That won’t be necessary.” Ellard’s voice emerged as stiff as his stance. “The prince eats food prepared in the castle kitchens.”

  “Ellard, that is enough,” the prince said. “There. All done. How are you going to transport the berries back to your farm? There are too many here to carry.”

  “I brought a cart with me,” she said and indicated the handcart, partially obscured by a scrubby bush.

  “We’ll escort you home,” Jarlath said.

  “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Prince, we will be late to the pre-ball dinner.”

  Disappointment slammed Keira, the sense of loneliness surfacing again. Today had been the first time she’d spoken with anyone apart from Hilda, the Regit gnome who functioned as her cook and home help, Hortese, her maid and friend, and her other employees. It was nice to share a task with someone new.

  She sneaked a glance at the prince and found herself the object of his scrutiny. Her breasts tingled from the intensity of his gaze, and she admitted her fascination. Stupid fool that she was.

  During this short space of time, she’d developed a crush on the prince. No, she’d changed her mind. No ball for her tonight. It was best she went with her original plan and stayed far, far away from temptation.

  Aware of the lengthening silence, she said, “I’m quite capable of transporting the berries home. I wouldn’t want to make you late to an important function.”

  “Jarlath, see! She understands duty.”

  “Oh, I understand obligation,” Jarlath said with a bite to his tone. “I am always responsible.”

  Keira frowned at the exchange between the two men, the chilly shift in the atmosphere. With no idea of the reason for the tension between the prince and his security guard, she remained mute. She’d experienced her share of conflict and refused to invite more.

  Ellard had a look of relief as he strode over to retrieve the two cambeests. He’d saved his prince from committing an act of stupidity, saved his prince from becoming embroiled in unbecoming gossip.

  Keira sighed. Her reputation preceded her, propelled along by gossip and Marcus’s two nasty, selfish offspring. It was no wonder the security guard wanted the prince to leave. She’d heard the prince was searching for a wife, and the king and the rest of the court would expect him to marry a woman of impeccable lineage and reputation.

  A virgin.

  Not one of the required labels fit her character or personality.

  The cart wheels squeaked when she tugged the conveyance over to the full containers. With practiced ease, she started to load the berries.

  “Here, let me help.” The prince passed her a full receptacle and waited for her to situate the berries before handing her the next one.

  “Prince, we must leave now. We have dallied long enough.”

  “We will escort Keira to her home,” Jarlath said.

  “I don’t think—” Ellard began.

  “That’s not necessary,” Keira said.

  “I insist.” Jarlath accepted the reins from Ellard. “Which way?”

  Aware of his determination, Keira gave in without further battle. She pushed her handcart in the direction of home.

  “Let me,” Prince Jarlath said, and he placed his hand over hers. A charge of energy rushed up her arm, stealing her breath and putting the prince at the front of her mind. She stared at his tanned fingers, such a contrast to her own green-tinged flesh. Then she catalogued the sensation of his warm skin against hers—not soft and smooth but callused.

  “I…” she trailed off, su
cked in by his charisma. His dark green eyes. His scent. Up close he smelled of berries and something spicy and peppery.

  “Let me,” he repeated.

  “Thanks.” She wanted to press her nose against his chest, but she forced herself to step away.

  Prince Jarlath pushed the cart down the track and she took a second to admire his arse.

  “He’s not for you,” Ellard said in an undertone. “He will marry a woman of quality by the end of this cycle, if not, the next.”

  “Of course he will,” Keira said, and she was amazed at the evenness of her reply. “He’s heir to the crown.”

  “As long as you understand,” Ellard said. “I wouldn’t want you to hamper the prince’s progress and cause problems for the House.”

  “We picked berries. That’s hardly interfering. I didn’t know you’d ride along this particular trail.”

  Ellard glowered down his long nose, his visage harsh and uncompromising. “So long as we’re clear.”

  Oh they were clear. The security guard had done his duty and warned her away from the prince. He’d picked up on her fascination, and was now doing his best to make sure she knew her place.

  Done. Message received.

  The trees of the forest thinned and the outer farm buildings came into view. Keira hurried ahead to open the gate leading to her house, a sense of pride filling her as she studied the surroundings through the eyes of strangers. Freshly white-washed buildings, lush paddocks full of malpacks—a distant cousin of the cambeest—and everything tidy and in good repair. She might be an outcast but she knew how to run a profitable farm.

  “You can leave the cart here. I don’t want to make you late for an official function. Thank you for helping me to pick berries.” There. She’d said all that was proper. She sketched a curtsey, a nicety she should have thought of earlier.

  “I had fun,” the prince said. “Maybe we can do it again.”

  Keira cast a quick glance at Ellard and blanched at his stony expression. “Maybe,” she said but knew it unlikely. She was a farmer, and he was a prince.

  No, she wouldn’t attend the ball tonight. She’d remain home and bake pies and stay far, far from trouble.

  That would be best for all concerned.

  Chapter Two

  The ball, held in the city assembly rooms was tedious and not one woman grabbed Jarlath’s attention. An enormous chandelier, made from the finest rose stone, cast delicate pink light over the scene. The perfume from urns of flowers filled the air while an orchestra, famed for their stringed musicians, played the latest songs. According to his mother, the head composer had even written a special score dedicated to him and his search for a wife—the debut to occur right before supper. Single women—those of suitable blood—chattered and tittered and flocked around him, each trying to outdo the other. Their obvious attentions, the avarice glittering in their countenances, made his head ache and his stomach roil.

  He was a person, not a commodity.

  “Why aren’t you dancing?” his mother asked, her almond-shaped eyes burning him with expectation, impatience. Dressed in a slim-fitting gown the same pale green as her eyes, her chocolate-brown hair swept up and jeweled tiara glittering, she was the epitome of royal. “Lady Asha is over there. Go and ask her to dance and pray your eye doesn’t scare her off. She would make an excellent queen, if she can get past your clumsiness.”

  “Mother, it was an accident.”

  “The beest is dangerous. Stick to your palace duties. Now, ask Lady Asha to dance.”

  Jarlath sighed, knowing better than to argue with his mother, and made his way to an urn of greenery and white flowers where Lady Asha stood with her chaperone. He forced a stiff smile and made a formal bow. “May I have this dance?”

  “It would be my honor, Prince Jarlath.” Lady Asha’s delicate hand trembled when she placed it in his, and she scanned his eye briefly before averting her gaze to his chest. Her nerves contrasted with Keira’s reaction to his presence. His status hadn’t bothered her in the slightest. She’d looked at him, and he’d wager, she saw him rather than a status symbol, despite Ellard’s opinion to the contrary.

  His feet fell into rhythm with the music while his mind settled on Keira. So different with her exotic looks and feisty attitude. The casual way she’d worn her blaster weapon showed her ability to defend herself, and she managed her farm with minimal help, plus she baked pies.

  During their interaction, he’d felt alive and even more miraculously, his feline had awakened. Alone in his chamber, he’d attempted a shift—to no avail. His feline hadn’t stirred or uttered a single grunt. The meaning eluded him, although he intended to experiment. Losing his shifting ability…grata, it pushed him off-balance, made him feel half a Virosian.

  “Are you attending the traveling circus performance tomorrow night?” Lady Asha asked.

  Captive animals and strange aliens of freakish appearance. Jarlath suppressed a shudder. None of the performers appeared happy to display their skills. “No,” he said, hiding his true feelings behind his prince mask. “I’m afraid I have another engagement.”

  “All my friends are going.”

  Another reason to avoid the spectacle.

  The rest of the evening passed in a similar vein—dancing, the unveiling of the betrothal song. Supper taken with Lady Asha and more dancing, more eligible single women. His feet became increasingly sore. Sheer willpower stopped him from limping across the ballroom during his departure. All the dancing had given him a blister on the heel of his right foot and the sore spot throbbed in tandem with the ache at his temples.

  A short time later, he acknowledged the doorman and entered the official residence of the House of the Cat—the castle.

  “Jarlath, a word.” His mother’s crisp voice drew him to a halt at the base of the stairs that led to his accommodation wing. Her regal and slender figure retreated into a receiving room before he had a chance to respond.

  He sighed and changed his direction. On entering the formal receiving room, he discovered his father present as well. Queen Bryna dropped onto the gel-duo seat at her husband’s side, presenting united resolve.

  King Hazan speared him with a dignified look, his gray-streaked black hair tidy, his black-and-white eveningwear still pristine despite the late hour. “You must decide on a woman to take to wife. It is time for you to marry and produce an heir.”

  “Past time,” his mother added, her will clear in her vivid green gaze. “We’ve had this discussion before.”

  Straight to business. Of course. It was their duty, his duty to ensure their line lived on at the head of the House of the Cat. Jarlath remained standing instead of dropping onto the gel chair opposite his parents. He disliked this stiff, formal room with its blend of modern tech—the silent servant droid in the corner waiting in sleep mode and unable to record private discussion—and the artifacts from various universes purchased and collected by his mother to impress visitors. A jeweled looking glass from Slyvia, an ornately carved bone chair with a gel cushion pad from Mutto and a locked case of antique hair combs. The formal portraits of previous House rulers glared down from the opposite wall. Both he and Lynx had endured lectures and reprimands in this receiving room.

  He took his time while trying to formulate an argument as to why he should wait. He didn’t want to argue with his parents. Lynx, his younger brother, caused enough tension, but grata, he was tired of duty. He’d tried to put off this moment, sidestepping each of their attempts at matchmaking. But now, with both of his parents approaching the subject as a team, he found himself trapped.

  Fighting a wince and the need to limp, he strode to the window and stared out at the huge public square, which lay outside the castle outer walls. Their subjects strolled beneath colored lights and leafy trees. Others browsed the many evening market stalls that would remain open late into the night. One level down the guidance lights from chubby gray flymos cut through the sky as the vehicles zipped and zapped through the sky, jostling for
airspace. The snub-nose utility vehicles with their rounded bodies were popular with the locals for shifting cargo and people around the city. Royal decree stated any pilot who took a flight path over the square or castle would receive an invitation to spend time in the dungeons. Not many accepted the offer.

  “Jarlath?” his mother prompted. “What do you say?”

  Struggling for patience, he inhaled and turned to face his parents. His father bore the straight carriage of a royal, his lined yet handsome face arranged in a serious mien. His light green eyes had darkened to a mossy green, as had those of his subjects who had lost access to their felines. His father was the perfect ruler, always maintained correct protocol and seemed happy with the responsibility, so why did Jarlath’s royal duties make him feel as if a chokenoose circled his neck?

  His mother cocked her head, her lips firming in disapproval. His father tightened his hand around the metallic head of the cat that topped his walking cane.

  They expected an answer.

  One particular answer.

  The idea of marriage and the boring rounds of social gatherings plus the pressure of producing an heir scared him silly. An entire lifespan of obligation and service. Once that was all he’d wanted, but he’d changed. For once, he’d like to do something for himself instead of following the rules. And didn’t that make him selfish?

  “Do you have a list of suitable candidates?” His words tightened his chest, his throat until he had to tug at his formal cravat to release the tension.

  “Yes, of course,” his mother said. “You can collect the list from me in the morning.”

  “Was there anything else?” Jarlath had to force the words past the lump lodged in his gullet.

  “I sought an audience with the head of medicine today,” his father said.

  Alarm surfaced in Jarlath. “Why? Are you ill?”

  “I am aging quickly now that my feline has died. My bones pain me,” his father said. “I have discussed this with your mother, and we have decided once you announce your betrothal, I shall step aside and you will take over my role. You are young. Strong. The scientists will find a cure to save our felines, and you will rule for a long time.”