Claimed & Seduced

by Shelley Munro

“I did too,” Ellard confessed. “Father is treating me like an imbecile and insists I give up my position.”

  “How is the arm?”

  “Still very tender if I bump the stump. I keep forgetting it’s not there.”

  “Keira is right. It won’t be quite the same, but an artificial arm will help. Lynx and Shiloh will help with finding the right cybertronics medical man.”

  “If your father had listened to Lynx, Viros would’ve had a medical research wing in place at the center.”

  “I know,” Jarlath said. “If Father had listened to half of Lynx’s suggestions, we wouldn’t be in this position now. Guess I’d better speak with my parents and run through the plan again.”

  “Hate to say it, Jarlath, but we can’t count on them,” Ellard said.

  His parents irritated him with the way they clung to the past. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll give final orders to the soldiers and deal with my father. It will be a case of who can shout loudest.”

  Jarlath found his parents and their closest friends in the salon having pre-dinner drinks and canapés. Laughter, bright chatter and repartee filled the beautiful room. Every surface glittered, and he fought a sneeze when he passed a huge vase of perfumed white flowers.

  “Ah, Prince Jarlath,” his mother said. “You’re here. Waiter, a drink.”

  Jarlath scanned the room, taking in faces and looking for anyone who appeared out of place. Just close friends and a surfeit of young women. His lips curled in what he feared was more a sneer of contempt than a smile. His feline grumbled, both of them wanting the same thing, the same woman.

  Keira.

  Please let her be safe. He had faith in her. She was clever, resourceful, and she’d managed to save both him and Ellard, playing on Razvan’s arrogance and his certainty he’d managed to cow the residents of Viros.

  “Jarlath.”

  A familiar voice had him turning, his thoughts returning to the present to see Cristop smirking at him.

  Jarlath found himself grinning back as he accepted a drink. The youth had slid into the position with the ease of a chameleon. “How are the others?”

  “Good. We be having fun, checking out the palace from the inside. Rad digs.”

  Jarlath gave a noncommittal grunt. The castle was nothing more than a pretty prison. “What’s the feeling in here?”

  Cristop gave a contemptuous snort. “They think the attacks are a game and now their troubles are over. Stupid people live in dreamland. Not like you. Not like Ellard.”

  The compliment sent warmth through Jarlath. In the past, he wouldn’t have sought the opinion of a youth. He might have exchanged pleasantries but that was all. He’d changed for the better and felt good about it too. Keira’s doing.

  “Prince Jarlath!” His mother didn’t do anything as common as tapping her foot, but her tone emerged like the rap of a whip.

  Jarlath grimaced and took a drink from Cristop. A prop. He couldn’t afford to dull his senses in any way.

  “Prince, those women over there—the ones standing by the balcony doors. Don’t place your drink down when you’re near them. They have acquired a love potion, which they hope to use to snare your attention. The one in the green-and-white gown wants to compromise you and force you into marriage.”

  Jarlath glanced at them and shuddered. “Thanks for the warning. Report if you hear anything else useful. Tell Ollie and Nasir to do the same. Share your information with Ellard if you see him.”

  “Aye.” Cristop moved on, and Jarlath reluctantly joined his mother and father.

  “Don’t speak with the help. It’s common,” his mother barked.

  Anger burst in him like a red soldier detonating, and it took effort to bite back hasty words. “Did you require something?”

  “I washed that nasty stuff off my hands. A queen cannot have greasy hands,” his mother said.

  “The protective barrier is greasy. It keeps poison from entering through your skin.” Jarlath strove for patience and failed. His anger and frustration bled through in his crisp tone. “Father, have you washed your hands too?”

  “Not yet, although the queen is correct. My hands feel most odd.”

  Jarlath frowned. The king looked old and frail, his face gray with fatigue. “Father, are you all right?”

  “The king is ill,” his mother whispered. “You are making the situation worse because you haven’t announced your choice of wife.”

  “Fine,” Jarlath ground out. “The woman over there by the window, the one in the yellow dress. Is she on the list?”

  “That is Lady Arabella Lionus-Groves,” the queen said. “A wonderful choice.” She clapped her hands together. “Just perfect.”

  “Prince Jarlath, do you mean to choose her as your wife?” the king asked.

  “She’ll do.” Jarlath curled his hands to fists.

  “Excellent, we’ll make the announcement at dinner,” the queen said, her mouth wreathed with a broad smile of triumph.

  The king patted his shoulder. “You make me proud, son. You always do the correct and proper thing.”

  “It would be best to make the announcement during the ball,” Jarlath said.

  “Of course. Of course,” the king said.

  “We will announce your betrothal at dinner and later at the ball,” the queen said. “Let us share the wonderful news with Lady Arabella and her parents.”

  His parents started to move away, his mother wearing a pleased smile. Jarlath drained his drink. “Let me get another drink first,” he said. “I will join you momentarily.”

  “Don’t take too long,” the queen said and placed her hand on the crook of her husband’s arm.

  With a curt nod, Jarlath skirted a group of young feline shifters dressed in their formal wear. He nodded at an acquaintance and searched for a waiter. Ollie appeared in front of him, flanked by Nasir. They both carried trays of drinks.

  “What you be doing?” Ollie demanded. “I hear everything. What ’bout Keira?”

  “You diss her,” Nasir snapped.

  “No,” Jarlath said. “I need a distraction at the ball, and this was the best way to place the attention on me when Razvan enters the ballroom.”

  “You sure?” Cristop barked at him from behind. He carried a selection of canapés. “Keira be hurt.”

  “I know,” Jarlath said. “I’ll make it up to her. Somehow.” He glanced up and saw his parents waiting for him. Damn. He grabbed a drink from Ollie’s tray and made his way over to the smiling Lady Arabella. He tugged at his cravat. Damn thing was choking him.

  * * * * *

  Keira’s gut churned and roiled in a never-ceasing wave. She refused the food and drink Razvan attempted to foist on her and kept to herself, her mind on her plan of attack. For the special spell to work—the one she’d obtained from Zarbo—she required fire. From memory, there were two large fireplaces in the ballroom. Her plan wouldn’t work unless the servants had lit the fires.

  “Is there any chance of a surprise attack?” Razvan glanced at both her and Mareeka.

  “The soldiers are all under my control and wear red cloaks,” Mareeka said.

  “Is this true?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Keira said. “Many of the soldiers are gone. Morale in the lower city is poor. The people resent the king and queen and the ruling classes. They have nothing—no new tech or any hope of obtaining it when only those who are rich have the currency to purchase the necessary technology. Those who live in the lower city must fend for themselves and eke out their existence with few resources. Slavers steal their young. Promise them aid, a job, hope, and not one of them will oppose you.”

  “She’s right,” Mareeka said. “They have no weapons, no power. They are ripe for a takeover.”

  “And the ruling classes?”

  Keira sniffed. “They are weak. Those in control hide behind walls and let their people suffer. Many cling to the old ways and those who do have new tech don’t share. This world hasn’t modernized lik
e the Cawdor. The people of the Cat have no infrastructure.”

  “Weapons?” Razvan barked.

  “The queen refuses to have weapons in the ballroom. All weapons are left at home or checked at the castle doors.” Mareeka chuckled, her sly amusement rubbing Keira’s feathers the wrong way. She dug her fingertips into her palms to stall her giveaway reaction.

  “What about the prince? He could have warned them,” Razvan said.

  “He is pathetic, a mere figurehead,” Mareeka said with a sneer of contempt.

  Keira’s heart ventricles picked up in speed and pumped furiously, steering toward panic. She sucked in a quick breath, forced her lips to a mocking smile. “Mareeka is right. The prince will offer no barrier to your plan. He is a mere puppet, his strings jerked by his parents. You do them a favor taking over this planet.”

  “Perfect,” Razvan said. “It appears the oracle was correct since you have both confirmed her words. I am pleased. I am very pleased.”

  “What about Marjo?” Mareeka demanded. “I want recompense for her death.”

  “And you will, darling,” Razvan said. “I award you the king and queen to do with as you wish.”

  Mareeka beamed. “I will mount their heads on pikes and place them at the city gates as a warning.”

  Flying stars and meteors. The pair of them were mad if they thought they could take over without a war. Jarlath and Ellard would fight with everything they had, everything they were. They would never surrender like tame kittens.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Wait! Sir, you must show me your invitation to gain entrance. And, sir! No weapons in the ballroom. The invitation specifically states no weapons of any kind. You must surrender your weapons,” a man dressed in navy blue-livery said.

  “We’ve mislaid our invitation. So sorry.” Mareeka pulled out her blaster, and when the man put out a hand to accept it, she shot him in the chest. Blood bloomed on his smart tunic. A second blast obliterated his face. He dropped to the floor, dead.

  “Tsk-tsk. I believe we will keep our weapons,” Razvan said to the other servant at the door. “Come, ladies. Let us attend the ball.”

  Keira stepped over the fallen man and into the ballroom, her left arm linked with Razvan’s. Mareeka flanked his other side. Gradually, the animated chatter died and a path cleared. The couples on the dance floor stilled and the musicians faltered, the music giving way to silence.

  “Please, carry on with your festivities. Don’t let us interrupt you,” Razvan said. While his demeanor came across as pleasant, Keira felt the thread of tension in his muscles. “Musicians, play.”

  After a bumpy and discordant start, the string instruments began mid-song.

  “Dancers, dance,” Razvan said. “This is a celebration. Pray continue with your normal proceedings.”

  “I don’t believe you have an invitation,” a bejeweled woman said, her tone snooty. “There is a dress code.”

  Keira felt herself gape and hurriedly corrected the deficit. Was the woman stupid? Did she not recognize Razvan? Had Jarlath and Ellard not managed to warn their people?

  “It’s her,” someone else hissed, and Keira wasn’t sure of the speaker’s sex.

  “Keira Cloud, the murderess,” a woman said.

  Keira turned her head to see her stepdaughter, a sneer marring her pretty face.

  Mareeka glanced past Razvan to study Keira with interest. “A murderess. I heard tales of a woman who murdered her husband. This was you?”

  “Yes,” Keira said.

  The whispers rose and swelled with excitement, Keira’s reply passing like a magical wave from person to person. Foolish felines. Let them gossip. Let them treat her like a pariah.

  They were the stupid ones.

  The enemy walked amongst them and they worried about propriety.

  “Why don’t you and Mareeka join the dancers?” Keira suggested. “Let me scout a good spot for our announcement. Do you have any suggestions?”

  “By the fire,” Razvan ordered. “We might require it for a quick exit.”

  “I will arrange it,” Keira said.

  “We shall dance after we greet the king and queen,” Razvan said. “Can you see them?”

  “They will be over the other side of the ballroom,” Keira answered. “I’ll show you the way.”

  The people in front of them stood aside and let the three walk the length of the ballroom. Jarlath stood with his parents, a woman dressed in yellow clinging to his arm as if she were afraid he would escape. Jealousy struck Keira like a slap to the cheek, and she had to rip her gaze from him to focus on the king and queen.

  “I have met them before,” Keira murmured to Razvan. “Would you like me to make formal introductions?”

  “I believe I would. All these cycles I have missed you, pet, but I see you haven’t wasted your time here on Viros. Your contacts are invaluable.”

  Keira didn’t reply. Instead, as they approached the royal family, she watched Jarlath. He ignored her presence to whisper to the young woman. Pleasure flushed the woman’s cheeks. He was flirting with her!

  The queen noticed their presence first. She looked them up and down and frowned. “Who are you?” Keira saw the instant the woman recognized her. “You,” she spat at Keira. “My son announced his betrothal tonight. You can’t have him now.”

  Keira lifted her brows. She didn’t understand these people, their entitlement and arrogance. They were delusional. “I would like to introduce Razvan Cronan, ruler of the House of Cawdor and his consort, Mareeka. Please make a line and take your bows.”

  The king and queen gaped. They shot swift glances at Jarlath, their faces turning pale. He’d failed to convince them of the danger. It was up to her to succeed unless Jarlath had other plans. She glanced at him and caught him fondling the woman’s breast. No, not fondling, but his actions—his finger teasing along the skin of the woman’s décolletage—skirted proper in a public venue. Her crow let out a furious squawk, one she couldn’t suppress, one colored with pique and jealousy.

  “They are slow to respond,” Razvan drawled.

  “Line up now to pay your respects,” Keira ordered.

  Jarlath removed his hand and straightened. “Best do as she says. We don’t want our eve spoiled by formalities. Let us greet the man, drink to his health then return to dancing.”

  He strode over to Razvan and offered his hand. Razvan stared before accepting the handshake.

  “Your hand is sweaty,” Razvan said with distaste. “In one sense this pleases me, although it doesn’t feel pleasant.”

  “Forgive me,” Jarlath said with a smooth bow. “Welcome to Viros, my lord.” He straightened and moved into the background.

  “Next,” Keira said, her tone sharp when everyone hesitated. “You, Lady. Greet Razvan, the new leader of Viros.

  The woman—Keira couldn’t recall her name—gasped and lifted her nose. “I will not. I refuse.”

  Keira opened her mouth to prompt the woman with a sharp directive, but Mareeka pulled out her blaster. The woman dropped and hit the ground before Keira had a chance to blink. Blood spread from the hole in the woman’s chest and turned the delicate green dress a brilliant red.

  A woman screamed. Another fainted. A man cried out, his distress nearing hysteria.

  Mareeka waved her weapon. “Remove the body. Now.”

  Keira focused her gaze on the men and women waiting in the makeshift line. Their expressions ranged from horror to shock. “Remove the body.”

  Jarlath pushed through the crowd and lifted the woman into his arms. He stalked from the ballroom, and Keira watched him the entire time, her heart crying out for the man she loved. What they had was impossible. She’d known from the start. Funny how it hurt so much more now that she was presented with the evidence of him with another woman.

  “Next to shake hands with the new leader,” Keira said in a verbal prod.

  The elderly man nearest to them sprang forward, his hand extended, his puffy face wreathed with
hearty cheer. “Welcome.”

  “I approve of your bossy nature,” Razvan whispered in her ear. “You are even better than I remember. You please me.”

  She had to work hard to contain her shudder of distaste. His scent was wrong—strong and overpowering, and her crow pushed and clawed, communicating her dislike of this usurper touching her other self.

  “Thank you. Where are the king and the queen? They are not exempt.”

  “I see them at the end of the line,” a buxom woman stammered.

  “Ah, yes,” Keira said. “Thank you.”

  The receiving line moved at a fast clip with none of the reluctance shown by the first woman.

  The young lady who’d hung off Jarlath’s arm earlier preceded the king and queen.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, a faint tremor throbbing through her words as she rose from her curtsey.

  “Your name?” Razvan asked.

  “L-lady Arabella,” she whispered.

  “I’m sure we will see more of each other,” Razvan said.

  Lady Arabella cast him an uncertain glance before she joined Jarlath. The woman seemed perfect for the prince—young and beautiful and without an unsavory reputation. No doubt she was a virgin too, and the clear cat tattoo on her cheek proved her feline status.

  Razvan turned to the next in line—the queen. “How delightful to meet you.”

  The queen glared at Keira then offered her hand, her manner stiff and grudging.

  To her relief, Mareeka laughed. “You will become used to your new lower status. Give me your tiara. I want it.”

  “No, this is an heirloom. I—”

  Jarlath appeared beside his mother. “Give Mareeka the tiara, Mother.”

  When the queen was slow to move, Jarlath removed the jeweled circlet and handed the glittering headpiece to Mareeka. “I hope you enjoy wearing this tiara. It has passed down through many generations of our family.”

  “But, Jarlath—” the queen said.

  Jarlath cut her off and led her away. “Let Father bid our new leader welcome.”

  “Make us space near the fire,” Keira ordered. “Your new leader is feeling the cool temperatures on this planet.” True because he was shivering even though she, herself, felt overly warm. Still, his chill worked in her favor. “This is the king.”