by Viki Storm
“Fifty neus,” I say. “And fifty nights.” I hope he doesn’t notice the tremor in my voice. He’s my childhood friend, but right now I’m fearful of his edict. Right now, he is the High King—and I am an oath-breaker.
“Fifty-one,” he says, “to you and yours.”
“My bonded mate,” I say, gesturing to Aren, “Aren, this is the High King Xalax and Queen Resa.”
“Queen?” she says, her eyes gaping wide. I suppose to her it must be odd to see another human female—to learn that the High King of the Zalaryn race is bonded to a human. Seeming to remember that she is in front of royalty, she does a funny bow—bending at the knee and lifting up the corners of her tunic. It must be some human gesture of respect. At least I hope it is. “I am honored, your highness,” she says.
“I knew you would come here,” Xalax says. “I’m taking Resa back to the Imperial Fortress. Thanks to you, the rebels are sufficiently crushed. It should be safe to bring her back.” He puts a protective hand across her stomach. I know she is with child—the heir to our planet nothing but a tiny thing the size of a bean.
“I am honored that you entrusted the Queen’s safety to my ancestral home,” I say. I know that’s not the real reason he’s here.
“Thank you for the hospitality, Droka,” Resa says to me.
“There is one piece of business,” Xalax says. Of course. The date of my trial? The conditions of my exile? Which foot I want to be hung upside-down by when they hang me from the Magneto Spire and slowly boil my insides with electro-magnetic waves?
“Yes, my King,” I say.
“We are long friends,” he says. “But you must know that I have no choice but to uphold the laws of our people. You have recently provided a great service to the planet, but that is no matter. Each male must account for his actions and face the consequences.”
“Yes, my King.” I hold on tight to Aren’s hand. She squeezes it back.
“It is my Imperial edict that you are now formally relieved of your duties as Captain of the Imperial Guard.”
I want to be sick. How did one scrawny girl from Earth cause all of this trouble?
Relieved of his duty? What does that mean? Is that some sort of euphemism for he’s going to be excommunicated? Executed?
I don’t know where it comes from, but a fire inside me blazes hot and furiously. I straighten up to my full height, I clench Droka’s hand so tight that I feel the tendons in his hands creak. I take in a big breath of air… But when I open my mouth to speak, the King is already talking.
“The position of Captain of the Imperial Guard is hereby abolished,” he says. “Therefore, you cannot be arrested and tried for any crimes pertaining thereto. I have instituted a new position and you are hereby appointed the Commander of the Imperial Guard. Kneel before me, and swear your new oath.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Droka drops to his knees and presses his forehead to the toes of the King’s boots.
“I pledge my fealty, service and anankah to the service of the King,” Xalax says. Droka repeats. “I shall protect the royal family,” he says and Droka repeats. “And always act with the good of the planet and our race firmly rooted in the forefront of my mind,” he says and Droka repeats.
“Rise, Commander,” the king says.
There was nothing in that new oath about mates or offspring.
Droka is free.
They embrace like old friends, and something tells me that they are. Queen Resa gives Droka a polite peck on the cheek, but when she comes to me, she gives me a hug—putting her mouth close to my ear. She whispers something, and I feel the gravity of her words like a stone in my stomach.
The king and queen leave us. For the first time, we are alone and at peace. The feeling of being relaxed is quite foreign to me, but I think I can get used to it.
Droka leads me into the back of the house and says, “I want to show you something. I think you’ll like it.”
It is a large wash basin. Large enough for me to stretch out and soak my entire body at once.
“It will take forever to fill it,” I say. “By the time I boil the last bucket of water, the first bucket I poured in will be cold.”
“Ah,” he says. “Xalax said you would enjoy this.” He bends over and touches a button. Water begins to pour into the tub. And… Are my fatigued eyes playing tricks on me? Is it steam I see? I put my hand under the stream and have to pull it back immediately. It’s hot. Hot water? Just like that? On demand?
“Then the King is a wise man,” I say.
Droka puts his hands underneath my tunic and cups both of my breasts. He holds me close and kisses the back of my neck. “Let me bathe first,” I say. I feel filthy from being in that auction house.
“No,” he says. “I can smell your arousal. You need to be mated.” He pulls the tunic off over my head. I’m bare underneath it—the rough-spun thing was draped over me at the auction house and I do not have underclothes. Droka notices that my body is shaved smooth and a devious smile spreads over his face.
“Hmm,” he says. “This is different.” He puts a finger between my lips and presses it to my clit. The heat of his finger pressing against me causes a flood of desire to pulse through me. “I like being able to look at this little thing,” he says and starts to stroke my clit up and down. Soon his finger is coated and slippery, and it glides over my swollen clit, making me pant and tremble like an animal. He withdraws his hand and I let out a little whiny protest.
“No,” I say. “Please touch me.” He is still smirking, though I can see the bulge of his erection underneath his breeches.
“Your little nub is getting bigger,” he says, “and it’s getting wet. I can see it better when you are aroused.”
“I am,” I say.
“Then bend over and offer your body to your mate,” he says.
I put my hands of the rim of the large wash basin and bend over, arching my back. “That’s a start,” he says. He puts his booted foot between my ankles and puts his knee between my legs to spread them wider apart. “That’s better. A female should learn the proper way to present herself to her mate.” He steps behind me, and I hear him unlace his breeches. They drop loudly as his waist-pouch and weapon thud on the floor. He takes off his hooded cloak and throws it recklessly. Then he traces one finger down my slippery slit and slides it inside me.
His finger already feels so big, so thick, and my cunt grips it tightly as he pulls it in and out over and over. He leans forward and puts his mouth to my ear. I hear him breathing, and it sends a shiver down my body. “Are you ready to take it?” he asks. His other hand is guiding his erection towards me, pushing his tip against my opening. It still feels like there’s no way it will fit, even though I know it will.
“Yes,” I gasp, “I’m ready for it.” He presses it harder against my opening, using his hand to guide it. When he pushes inside I cry out. His hot and thrumming erection inside me feels so good. I like being spread open for him. I like offering myself to him. I like hearing his low moans of pleasure as he thrusts inside me.
He reaches for my breasts and kneads them, flicking my nipples with his fingers—pinching them gently and pulling on them as he thrusts. That’s enough to push me over the edge. I feel that hot tingling start to gather, low in my belly.
“Not yet,” he says. He pulls out and lifts me up, setting me down on the floor. “I want to watch you come.” He repositions himself between my legs and enters me again. He puts his hands underneath my ass and tilts me up—and something about the angle he’s positioning me in feels even better. I get that feeling again, like my orgasm is close. “Touch yourself,” he says, “Rub your clit for me while I watch.”
His voice is commanding, authoritative and I can’t refuse. I don’t want to refuse. I reach down and touch myself, rubbing frantically like some sort of deranged pervert. But I don’t care. I feel no shame in my actions. We are mated, bonded, and our bodies are uniting right now in the same fashion as our spirits.
&n
bsp; I tense, and feel the release as my orgasm takes control—clenching my body into a rictus of pleasure. It’s intensified by Droka’s urgent thrusting. I can tell that he’s close too. He grips me tight, and plunges into me deeply, groaning loud in his release. He stays inside me for a moment, then withdraws and collapses on the floor next to me.
Before I can relax into him, there is a sound that I can’t immediately place. “Bah,” he says and jumps up. It’s the water, overflowing onto the floor.
He turns it off and then, in a quick motion, reaches down and lifts me up—setting me into the tub. My weight displaces even more water, and it pours onto the floor. It’s all the way up to my chin and it splashes a little in my face. I stick out my tongue to lick the water off my lips and Droka warns me. “Don’t drink this water,” he says. “The faucet in the kitchen is the only one that delivers filtered, potable water.”
But I’ve already tasted the bathwater. It’s slightly salty and tastes like rocks.
“When you grow things on this planet—” I start to ask, but he doesn’t let me finish.
“I have told you, we grow very little.”
“Yes, but when they try, do they use filtered water?”
“Of course,” he says, scoffing at the idea. “We always use filtered water. The only reason this water is not is because Xalax—High King though he may be—connected this tub directly to the old deep well on the property. It’s suitable enough for bathing, but not for drinking.”
But I’ve stopped listening to him. I remember what the Obsidian Queen Resa whispered in my ear and I leap out of the tub and run outside.
“You’re not joking this time?” Ayvinx says. “This is for real? Because this sounds like the punchline to an old tavern joke.”
“I have never been more serious,” Xalax says. We’re at the dining table at my dwelling, outside the capitol. The Queen is outside with Aren, tending to the tiny green sproutlings that have shot up these last weeks.
“Hey, you hear the one about the Zalaryn mercenary who taught the Fendans how to fight?” Ayvinx says, trying to be amusing. He’s always trying to be amusing—and it can be very tiring to deal with him.
“He was exiled for a traitor when he refused his King,” I say, “How’s that for a punchline?”
“I was thinking more like: ‘He asked for any Fendan with big enough balls to hold an anankah to join his army, and ended up with two little girls and a dog.’”
“That is not funny enough to be told in the taverns,” Xalax says. “Which is good, because this is a dire situation. The Kraxx and the Zalaryn armies are united under Lord Noxu.”
“Lord Noxu?” Ayvinx says. “We do that scoundrel the honor of using the title?”
“That’s what they call him,” I say. It turns out that my air strike did not kill Noxu after all. The Kraxx warlord was killed instantly, but Noxu clawed his way out of the rubble and proclaimed himself Lord of all those willing to follow him.
“The Kraxx elders whisper that he is the Dark One their legends prophesied,” Xalax says. He has sent a few of his loyal guardsman on intelligence missions. Ayvinx has also done his part, using his contacts in the criminal underworld to intercept some of the rebel communications. “Their legends tell of one with the Eye of the Void who will unite the Kraxx with their enemies. He will lead them all to conquest and glory, ushering in an era of dark reign of the universe. He will bring all the planets in all the quadrants into one federation ruled by the Dark One, and enslaved by the Kraxx.”
“The Eye of the Void?” Ayvinx asks.
“The explosion sent shrapnel through his eyes,” Xalax explains. “He had them replaced with two polished orbs of ink stone. He refuses to have prosthetic eyes, even though with the proper implants much of his sight would be restored. He says that he’s lost the use of his eyes, but has gained tremendous vision. They say that he cannot be killed, except by the green ghost army.”
“Oh brother,” Ayvinx says. “Did you say green ghost army? They believe this?”
“I did, and they do,” Xalax says. “They are preparing for invasion as we speak. The Kraxx have not tried anything on this grand a scale since their failed invasion of Earth many generations ago. But now that their prophecy has seemingly been fulfilled, they are ready to try again. But they need the qizo minerals to do it.”
“Are we really letting ourselves be frightened by the nursery stories of a primitive and bloodthirsty race?”
“No,” I say. “I’m not frightened by their stories—but I am frightened by the idea of Kraxx having free access to the Fendan mines.”
“Maybe we’ll be lucky and the qizo will sterilize them,” Ayvinx says.
“You must go to Fenda,” Xalax says. “And train them to fight. The Fendan mines cannot fall.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Ayvinx says.
“For someone of your prowess and expertise, it should be,” I say. “You’re used to this sort of thing, aren’t you? The most feared and revered mercenary on the planet?”
“Your false flattery does appeal to my ego,” Ayvinx says. “When shall I leave on this fool’s errand?”
“Now,” Xalax says.
- - -
I go to the marketplace with Ayvinx to help him prepare for his travels, and I see something that I think Aren will enjoy. I know nothing of cooking, but she claims to have experience slaughtering and preparing many forms of livestock for meals.
She has not been eating much lately, so consumed is she in her work. The little patch of land behind our dwelling has sprouted into a respectable garden. It was the water, she insists, that was not suitable for our crops. The soil of Zalaryx is like the soil of Yrdat: acidic. She made me stick my finger in the dirt and taste it. It was tangy, I admit, and she explained that it wasn’t suitable for plant life.
The well water at my dwelling, she explained, contains minerals that counteract the acid in the soil. Filtering the water takes out those minerals and makes the water useless to condition the soil.
Who would have imagined that dirty, undrinkable water is what the crops and the soil actually needed?
Aren has been working with the High Grower to develop this irrigation idea for large-scale agriculture projects, and the early results are promising. We will have crops for the first time in generations.
But she is not taking care of herself—and I will not allow that. It’s my duty to protect her and that includes forcing her to rest. Forcing her to eat. Forcing her to sleep. And, yes, making sure she goes to bed has a bonus effect for me.
I will tell her tonight. I didn’t want to distract her from her work, so I’ve kept it a secret—but I have known since the moment she stepped into my vehicle outside the auction house. And it’s time to tell her, since her work is taking too much of her energy.
I will help her prepare this animal for consumption, and we will feast on fresh meat. And then I will tell her. I’m not sure what her reaction will be, but big news always goes over better on a full stomach.
I don’t bother entering the dwelling when I arrive. I know she’s out back inspecting her sproutlings. She’s good at growing and nurturing things. “Do you ever get tired of getting elbow-deep in the dirt?” I ask her.
“No,” she says. “Queen Resa told me that it’s up to me to make them grow, and I don’t want to disappoint that woman.” She’s on her hands and knees, her face close to the ground. I set down the sack and approach her from behind. I put my hands on her shoulders and rub her tight muscles. She moans, and I feel myself start to stiffen underneath my breeches. I push my erection against her rump and move my hands to her front so I can fondle her breasts. I love the feel of her hard nipples underneath the thin, billowy fabric of the tunic. It shifts and slides over her tight peaks as I knead her breasts. She’s starting to breathe harder, and she pushes back against me, rubbing gently back and forth against my hard cock. “And I don’t get tired of this either.”
“Neither do I,” I say. I can barely restrain mys
elf around her. My hands are always wandering. Always pinching and grabbing—and undressing. She’s wearing long, protective clothing so the sunslight doesn’t burn her skin and it drives me crazy seeing her like that—all bundled up in loose clothing. I know her lithe and smooth body is underneath, and I can’t help myself from trying to have a feel.
“I can stop for the day,” she says, “if you make it worth my time.”
“Always,” I say. The livestock animal in the sack makes another one of its unholy noises. It sounds like it’s ready to fight me with all the armies of the undead.
“What’s that?” she says. She pops up to her feet and scans the yard. “I swear I just heard—” Then she sees the sack. The sack is tied up, but the thing inside has managed to move around a little, struggling to get out.
“That is dinner,” I say.
“Dinner?” she says. Her face is all screwed up into a mask of confusion and… revulsion? Yes, revulsion.
“I was in the capitol marketplace. Someone was selling fresh meat. Said it was an animal native to Earth.”
“Oh no,” she says, but now she’s laughing a little. “You’ve never eaten one, right?”
“One of these things?” I say. “I don’t even know what they’re called. We have no word in our language.”
“We do in my language,” she says. She’s made her way to the sack and is unknotting the cord. She lets the creature free and it does not run, as I thought it would. “We call it a cat.”
“Cat?” I say.
“Yes,” she says. She picks up the creature and kisses it. Is this some strange human custom? Some races honor their livestock before slaughter, giving thanks for the nourishment they are to receive. “But you don’t eat them.”
“You don’t eat them?” I ask. “Then what do you do with them?”
“They’re pets,” she says.
“What is a pet?” I ask. This is getting stranger.
“A companion,” she says. “You keep it and… I don’t know, you pet it.”
“Stroke it?” I say.
“Yes,” she says, “like this.” She pets the creature and it starts to make a weird noise: a rattling deep in its chest.
