by T. S. Ryder
"Thank you for the necklace." Cheryl scrambled to her feet. "I need to go."
She ran from him as though he carried the plague. Maskin sighed and leaned back. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. Perhaps he should just demand her.
But he wanted to be her choice, not the man that was forced on her. Would that happen? He repressed another sigh. He had to decide what was more important, his plans for the system or his desires for himself…
He just wished they didn't seem so far apart right now.
Chapter Three: Cheryl
Cheryl had never had to take care of her hair before. At the temple, the acolytes would pass a hairlight rod over her hair, infusing it with various vitamins to ensure that it grew strong and healthy. The gentle pulses of light would automatically detangle her curls, and the acolytes would style it.
The shrine did not have hairlight rods. There were only these slabs of plastic with stiff spikes that emitted a sonic frequency. It just made her hair stand on end all around her head. In the end, she gave up trying to tame it and merely clipped it back from her face.
Hardly had she done so when Bjorn and Maskin entered her cabin. They glared at each other as their shoulders bumped.
Cheryl unconsciously began fingering the necklace Maskin had given her the previous day. As much as she appreciated the gift, she wasn't so sure about what he had told her. Changing everything about their society was so frightening… Would it have been better for her to have been raised with choices?
If the choice were hers, she could eat as much as she wanted. She could cut her hair. She could run down the stairs and read for hours.
"What are you doing here, Hero?" Bjorn asked, the title sounding like an insult on his lips.
"I am going to walk with Cheryl above the valley."
Maskin was, as usual, wearing his studded armor. He looked like he was about to charge into battle. The only thing missing were his blasters, but those were not permitted on the shrine grounds. The only technology allowed here were things that had already been developed when the shrine was founded. At that point in history, the only guns available were projectile ones, rather than the energy-based weapons of today's age.
Bjorn, on the other hand, had two fine daggers strapped to his thighs. Even his nanite armor was allowed. But then, nanites were in use before space-flight was developed. Cheryl knew this because of the history that Priest Quincy always made her study.
The prince frowned. "I am going to take Cheryl down into the valley."
"She's coming with me, Prince."
They were going to start fighting if she didn't do something. Cheryl gulped in a quick breath. "Actually, I'm going to walk by the lake."
Both men turned to stare at her with surprised looks. The human blushed. Her hands shook, but she nodded as she stood. She had been wanting to get closer to the lake, anyway. Now was a good time, wasn't it?
"I'll go with you," Bjorn said.
"As will I." Maskin glared at his rival.
Bjorn reached her side first, offering her his arm. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. Maskin was soon on her other side, gripping her small hand tightly in his thick, calloused one. Having both of the big Temadians on either side of her had her heart skipping a beat. She could feel their strength and determination.
That neither of them had bedded her yet surprised her. She expected to be stripped bare and spend the whole two months until the moons' alignment being ravished by the first one and then the other. Perhaps the reason was they couldn't agree on who should have her first. Like this walk–they never would have agreed to back down if she hadn't made a choice.
Was the sex her choice as well? To decide who and when had her? But how was she meant to decide?
Her heart rate increased as they left the food pavilion, walking under fragrant, purple-leafed trees towards the lake. The path was paved with cobblestones. Cheryl's feet were used to padding on carpeted floors in temple slippers. Even the shoes she had been given for this trip made her toes ache. Still, she wasn't going to complain. She wanted to go see the lake, after all. With both of them.
Both of them. Should she tell them that it was the only way they'd bed her as well?
Heat rose in her cheeks and swirled in her lower belly as she considered it. Taking both at the same time. The first time she had dreamt of sex it was with two men. If she did indeed have a choice…
It was as though Maskin could read her mind. "Have you decided which one of us you want first?"
The trees faded away to a wide green field dotted with flowers, the lake in the distance. Cheryl concentrated on admiring the view instead of thinking about Maskin's question. The sky was a beautiful blue, deeper than the color of Maskin's skin, almost the same shade as her own eyes. The eyes that had determined her fate to be queen one day as a child.
"Yes," Bjorn said, his hand sliding around her waist. "Have you decided? I know this must be an uncomfortable topic for a temple virgin—"
"A what?" Maskin interrupted, brow furrowed.
Bjorn rolled his eyes. "How can you expect to be king when you don't even know your own culture? All of our queens are virgins until they are claimed by a king. I doubt this pretty Lapis Lazuli has even been kissed before, have you?"
He gave Cheryl a kind smile that made her blush as she shook her head. Maskin, however, looked shocked–and angry.
"Abominable. It's abominable that a woman with such starlight in her eyes has never experienced physical pleasure."
He stopped and pulled her roughly towards him. The human opened her mouth to protest but he pressed his lips to hers. He swallowed her startled gasp as he kissed her hard.
A hot feeling pooled in her lips, slipping down her throat to settle in her breasts and lower in her belly. His calloused hands caught her face, pulling her closer as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Cheryl grasped his wrists, but not to pull him away. Her legs were turning into jelly, and she needed to hold him to keep herself on her feet.
In the next second, she was physically torn away from him. The scrape of his callouses over her soft skin made her cry out, and then she was in Bjorn's arms. He kissed her as well, eliciting the same exciting heat inside her. His hands were not still, though. They roamed her body, touching her in places nobody had ever touched before.
Growling into her mouth, Bjorn grasped the neckline of her dress and yanked. The fabric caught against her skin as it tore open, letting her breasts fall out. They were soon made prisoner to his hands. Cheryl gasped, her head falling back. Bjorn's mouth moved to her neck.
Her lungs were heaving as his kneading hands built heat in her. She loved every feeling he was giving her, but it was too much. It was too good, too hot. She was going to burn from the inside out.
And then she was being torn away from Bjorn. Maskin's rock-hard arms were around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She looked up at him, hopeful and frightful that he would pick up where Bjorn had left off. To her dismay, though, he wasn't looking at her, but rather glaring at the other man.
"You think you can just take whatever you want, Princeling? Not this time. The queen is not for you to take. Her rose is mine. The Gods granted me with strength to defeat all my opponents until I got to you, and it was only through your fancy nanite armor that you could stand against me. If you weren't such a coward, I'd have beaten you."
Cheryl shook her head. "I think—"
"Coward? Me?" Bjorn's eyes narrowed. In an instant, his two daggers were in his hands. He flipped one over and offered it to Maskin. "Remove your armor and I will remove mine."
"No," Cheryl protested, but both ignored her as Maskin took the proffered dagger.
Chapter Four: Bjorn
Bjorn mentally ordered his nanite armor to retreat. It melted off him, forming a pool of material as soft as silk and stronger than titanium at his feet. His rival was yanking at his own heavy, bulky armor. The prince watched every movement, his knife at the ready.
It was forbidde
n to kill on the grounds of the holy shrine, but that didn't mean they couldn't spill a little blood. And there seemed to be no other way to decide who would claim the queen's rose.
"No, don't fight," Cheryl said, her hands fluttering in the air as she looked between them. "You can both have me at the same time, I don't mind."
Both men ignored her, although Bjorn had to work to keep his surprise off his face. For such a sweet, naive-looking woman, his Cheryl seemed to know what she wanted sexually. If only she could actually say that it was what she wanted, Bjorn might consider it. Women were scarce among the Temadian people, as sons were far more common than daughters due to the nature of genetic manipulations to produce pureblooded Temadians. It was common for one woman to have a harem of men. He himself had five fathers, and each one worshiped the ground his mother walked on.
The queen, however, had only one king and it would be him. If she desired more than one man, they would have to discuss lovers after they were wed.
But it would not be Maskin.
With a roar, the warrior-slave leaped forward, holding his knife in his clenched hand. He was quicker than Bjorn anticipated. The prince ducked but still received a blow to his skull. With a flick of the wrist, Maskin neatly cut into his scalp. It stung and hot blood began pouring instantly. Bjorn took advantage of his opponent's closeness to drive two knuckles into his sternum. Maskin stumbled back, gasping for breath. His eyes burned.
"Stop!" Cheryl cried.
They leaped at each other again. Bjorn moved quickly, jabbing stiff fingers into various nerve bundles. Maskin's left arm dropped, useless, the knife sliding from his hand. With a laugh, Bjorn sliced at his chest. His rival punched him hard in the face with his other hand.
"Stop it! Stop!"
Both Maskin and Bjorn punched at each other as Cheryl darted between them. Two ham-sized fists caught her in the abdomen and back. She gasped, then stood choking on air.
"No!"
Both prince and warrior-slave shouted at the same time. Bjorn dropped his knife and caught the human as she swayed. His heart stopped and he couldn't breathe. The queen pulled in a single gasp as her skin turned ashen. He turned and ran, ignoring the blood that continued to pour down his scalp. Maskin caught him quickly and pulled Cheryl from his arms.
"What are you doing?" Bjorn cried as he laid her on the ground.
"She is suffering a diaphragm spasm," Maskin replied, checking her pulse. "She needs to have room to get her breath back."
Bjorn dropped to his knees and clung to Cheryl's hand. He had known the moment he saw her that she was the woman he had been waiting for all his life. He hadn't expected to love the queen he was paired with, but the moment her sweet blue eyes met his own green ones, he knew. No other would ever hold his heart.
And now his determination to beat Maskin might have cost him her love.
The human's back bowed as she gasped again. This time her lungs continued to work and she coughed, then groaned. A little color came back to her face.
Bjorn grabbed Maskin's wrist when the warrior-slave reached for Cheryl's naked breasts. Seeing him fondle his queen had been strangely arousing, but he wasn't going to let the slave take advantage of her now!
"I'm checking for broken ribs," Maskin said with a glare. "And you need to take care of that wound."
"I'm fine."
Maskin rolled his eyes and tore a strip of cloth from Cheryl's skirt. He wadded it up and pressed it to Bjorn's head. It stung so badly Bjorn had to grit his teeth to stop from grunting. His nanite armor had been snaking after him, and now it coiled up his body and returned to its place.
"I have seen many battles," Maskin said. "If you don't get an acolyte to regenerate the cut skin, you'll lose half your scalp. And then how will you look so pretty?"
"Don't fight," Cheryl said weakly as he angrily opened his mouth. "Please. Don't fight."
The men glared at each other but nodded. Bjorn held the cloth to his head as Maskin scooped up the human into his arms again.
Bjorn was feeling light-headed and woozy by the time they made it back to the healing pavilion. The acolytes immediately retrieved an ancient regenerator, a boxy bulky thing in comparison to the sleek inserts that were used these days. A red glow pulsed onto his head wound, stitching the flesh back together.
He didn't move his eyes away from Cheryl. The acolytes buzzed around her and declared that she had suffered a diaphragm spasm, as Maskin had said. They used a regenerator on her as they started to patch up the warrior-slave himself.
"I'm sorry for striking you, Cheryl," Maskin said.
"That's okay. I'm just glad you two stopped fighting."
"I'm sorry as well." Bjorn reached for her.
Cheryl shied away from his hand.
He looked away, rage bubbling in his gut. When it mattered most, he hadn't known what to do with his queen. He always knew what to do. But this time he hadn't, and now his human feared him.
From the time he was a young boy, he had been planning how he would change things once he was king. It was only a matter of time before the slave system that the houses built themselves on would break, and he needed to change it, both for their sakes and for the slaves themselves.
But Maskin? He decided to become king to prove that he could. He was after the power, the prestige. A man like him knew only brute strength and force. He knew nothing about navigating the subtle currents of court. If he became king, then everything Bjorn had dedicated his life to would be gone, and the Demante System would be ruined by civil war.
Well, no matter now. Maskin wasn't going to be king. Bjorn needed to worry about Cheryl, not his rival.
"Fixed," the acolyte working on him said. "Your scalp will be a little tender for a few days, but you'll be fine."
Bjorn nodded. Maskin was also healed by this time. Cheryl looked much better, although still a little pale. She took both of their hands when they offered them, and the three of them walked silently to her little cabin. Bjorn could see the tension in Maskin's arms. When they got to the step of the cabin, Cheryl stopped. She pulled her hands away and turned to the two men.
"I made a choice. From here on, if one of you has me, so does the other. Always together. Neither of you will be alone with me. And if you fight each other again, you might as well kill one another, because that's it. You fight, and I won't have either of you."
Her face paled as she spoke and her hands trembled, but she looked resolute. She looked between them and nodded before entering the cabin and shutting the door firmly behind her.
The two men stared at each other. As much as Bjorn would have liked to punch the warrior in the face, he was mindful of what Cheryl had just said. He turned on his heel and marched away. Maskin growled and followed.
"She has made her choice," the warrior-slave said.
"Yes."
"And what is yours?"
Bjorn stopped and looked the warrior in the eye. "I am going to claim my queen. If that is her pleasure, I am more than glad to give it to her."
The warrior grinned. His teeth were sharp, genetically designed that way to give him an extra advantage in battle. "Then we are in agreement. But her rose is mine."
"Not if I return to her first," Bjorn vowed. "Whoever cleans himself up and returns to her cabin first—"
Maskin sprinted off without another word. Cursing, Bjorn chased after him.
Chapter Five: Cheryl
Even though the acolytes had reduced the bruising from getting caught between Bjorn and Maskin, Cheryl still felt a little tender. It had hurt more than anything she had felt before, but at least she had stopped them from fighting. She didn't mind the pain that much.
She lay naked on her bed, her torn dress lying in a puddle on the floor. Her holographic reader was resting on her pillow, projecting her story above her head, but she wasn't reading.
Had she really told them that if they didn't share her, they wouldn't have her at all? What had she been thinking? Men didn't like to be told what to do. She kne
w that from Priest Quincy. It was her position to be submissive, to do as her king wanted.
But it was true. The thought of either of them dying for her had her heart hammering, but if they weren't going to give it a fair shot and share her… then that was their choice.
She had made her choice, and she was going to stick with it.
The door opening made her jump. Bjorn and Maskin, both wearing only light cotton trousers, walked in. Cheryl instantly rolled up and grabbed a pillow to cover herself, her cheeks flaming red.
"Drop it," Maskin growled in a husky voice.
"Drop?"
"The pillow," Bjorn said, moving forward. "Drop it."
Her heart pounded, but the human did as she was told. Apparently, they had taken her words to heart. And they were here to…
"Beautiful." Maskin's eyes roved over her naked form. "Perfection."
The flush in her cheeks deepened as the heat rose in her body. She had thought this would be the worst part. To have them gaze at her naked body and declare, as Quincy had often done, that she was unfit. That she had too many extra pounds on her.
And yet, from the looks on their faces, they were thinking no such thing.
Her gaze flickered between them, taking in the strong, muscle-bound bodies. The scars on Maskin's arms. Bjorn's hairless chest. They were so different, and yet so similar.
"We've decided to honor your request," Maskin said, his voice still a growl, as he moved forward. His gaze lingered on her body, making her heart rate increase even more. "Both of us, together."
Cheryl's mouth went dry. She wanted it so badly, but now that they were approaching on either side, it was also frightening. She pressed herself against the headboard.
"But… I can't decide who gets me first."
"We're going to take you together. One in front and the other behind."
"You mean… anally?" Cheryl's heart nearly stopped. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that she would actually be able to experience that, though it was one of her favorite fantasies. Not only two men, but the two of them at the same time.
