The Golden Heart: Alliance Book One (Alliance Series 1)

by Jessamyne Hunter

  “They don’t belong to the Sons of Sue’tyrn,” Gwyndea replied, checking what was shown on her holo-pad again and again.

  “Yeah, already got that. That animal-skull plastered over their hull seems fucking familiar, though,” Harok was on the weapon control on the other side of the bridge, no more enraged than Sartak.

  He pressed his lips together and nodded grimly in agreement.

  The flag seemed too familiar; so familiar actually that his right foot and his whole left side began to ache. Agony flashed through him, reminding him on just how he had gotten all those injuries.

  Rage boiled in his blood, making him growl like a beast. His body began to armor itself.

  “Of course the smaller fuckers would try to meddle while the bigger fuckers cause trouble. Only that the smaller fuckers seem more prone to violence,” Sartak pressed through gritted teeth.

  He sent more orders to the soldiers accompanying them. Those were the ones actually firing while Kariary, Harok and he decided where the shoot would go.

  “Send the hunters!” Sartak ordered, banging his fist against the holographic control desk.

  The hologram scattered into fractures, light raining on the floor before a new one started to rebuild in front of him.

  Helplessness, anger, and pain ran through him, cloaking his vision with a red fog.

  Grunting, he left the desk and kicked the seats as he passed them. He headed for the docking station; no one dared to get in his way as he charged through the corridors like an angry bull.

  Sartak had a reputation for being grumpy all the time and no one wanted to approach him when angry.

  When he finally reached the docking station after what seemed like ages, the soldiers were still running about, trying to get into formation.

  A lieutenant was waiting for him. She was a new face to him; probably one of the younger soldiers, the ones that had come after Sartak had become a Warlord.

  She saluted him stiffly, uncertainty showing on her face due to his deeper scowl than usual.

  “Get me their captain alive! Kill him due to some stupid move and you’ll regret that,” with that he turned on his heel, leaving behind a flabbergasted lieutenant.

  When he finally got his hands on the man, he would skin him limb by limb while asking what all this was about with the sweetest smile.

  Who the hell was stupid enough to attack a Phy’vohranian Star-Cruiser?!

  People didn’t even dare to shoot at a Phy’vohranian passenger-glider because even those used to be armed to the teeth.

  Two hours later he was sitting calmly on a throne-like chair in one of the courtrooms.

  It stood in the middle, the other seats arranged like a crescent moon. The dark wooden walls and the red drapery behind him gave the room an intimidating touch.

  The big painting framed by the red curtains was the Bloody Queen, one of Sartak’s ancestors. She had golden blonde hair just like Jarvan, a shade scarce among the Phy’vohranian people.

  Only the noble houses had children with that hair color, every other blonde was darker in color.

  Phy’vohranians liked golden hair because it was the nearest their people’s hair color would get to the shining platinum white of the Queen of Stars.

  Kellan was considered an even greater beauty by the Phy’vohranians than he already was due to his pretty face because he had the same hair color as the Queen of Stars.

  Anyway, the painting of the Bloody Queen showed her in a white dress with crimson flowers growing all around her.

  She coolly stared down to the watcher, holding a sword pointing up in one hand and a white ribbon sprinkled with blood in the other.

  It had been her twisted version of a picture representing justice, but since the ship was partially named after her, Sartak had found her painting fitting to be hung in the courtroom.

  He crossed his legs, leaning casually on his throne with a bored expression on his face.

  The black marble floor had small golden veins and was easy to clean. That was mainly the reason for him to do what he had in mind in this room.

  The doors opened silently and a delegation of soldiers strode into the room, two of them grinding the prisoner after them.

  The human didn’t seem to want to help at all, since he just dragged his feet after his body, letting Sartak’s soldiers do all the walking.

  In total, it was twelve Phy’vohranians and one human.

  His crew took the seats next to him while the remaining eight soldiers placed themselves along the walls of the room.

  The human got pushed to the ground in front of Sartak’s feet. He regarded him coolly, head propped on one hand.

  The human returned his glare, resistance burning in his eyes.

  “You are no soldier, you are a criminal. Do not believe you will get away easily or send back to your people. An outlaw has no rights in front of our military court. This is no hearing. You have attacked us, now you will tell us why. And don’t you dare to lie to my face,” Sartak growled, a sneer on his lips.

  The human nevertheless chose to stay silent. Sartak had anticipated this, so he only smiled at him. Then he turned to the female lieutenant and nodded in her direction.

  “I gave you an option. You should have told me now. I don’t care for your closed mouth. You will talk. Since you didn’t do it on your own, I will gladly help you to open that mouth of yours. Chain him!” he bellowed the last sentence and two soldiers immediately approached to fetch the prisoner.

  The man chuckled, spitting something that sounded like try it.

  But his expression soon turned into one of confusion when the soldiers pulled out two tiles from the floor and recovered cuffs dangling from long chains. Sartak pressed a button and another set of cuffs and chains fell from the ceiling.

  Wide-eyed, the man stared at him and started to struggle.

  He screamed when he was pulled up into the air while the chains on his feet pulled him the other way.

  Sartak slowly rose from his throne and went even slower to the man.

  While he did so, he pulled a sharp knife from his belt and shifted it from one hand to the other, letting the prisoner have a good glance at the blade that shimmered in the lights of the room.

  “You bastards are responsible for this,” he made a gesture covering his whole body. “You will pay now.”

  “Send for me when he finally wakes up again,” he muttered as he left the room and the stench of piss and fear behind.

  He hadn’t done much, only let the tip of the knife glide over exposed skin, cutting open his captive’s clothes until the captain was naked.

  No damage had been done, but the human had pissed himself, anyway.

  Sartak would have laughed, but that creature was a sorry sight.

  It had disgusted him to a point where he was reluctant in torturing him.

  The man had already been whining and sobbing like a baby, and when he had made a small cut on the cheek, the bastard had just passed out.

  The human had soon started to smell sour with sweat and anxiousness.

  Sartak sneered at the display of weakness.

  The man had played the tough guy, but as soon as Sartak had pulled out the knife, he had started to beg.

  Had he thought Sartak would bluff?

  Probably, since he had laughed at his threat before.

  Sartak’s rage was still not satisfied; it was still lingering dangerously in his stomach.

  That outlaw had contributed nothing to lessen his anger, so he was on the way to the gym now.

  In the locker room, he changed into black shorts, a plain tank top, and sports shoes.

  Some soldiers were changing their clothes too, but none of them addressed him.

  He saw Aoran coming to the locker room just as he left for the gym.

  In the past, Sartak would have grabbed him and fucked him against the lockers or the walls of the shower. But he no longer had the desire to do so.

  Both of them were married now, and even thoug
h Aoran had stated how boring his husband was in bed, he dearly loved him just as Sartak loved his own mate.

  He wished Kellan was here, but at the same time, he was glad his mate wasn’t.

  Who knew what stupidity would come to Sartak’s mind right now?

  He was sure that his kmeran wouldn’t appreciate him being rough and wild, especially not when pregnant. So thus he was glad Kellan was far away from his foul temper.

  He wouldn’t even dare to treat Kellan like that when not pregnant.

  Sartak feared to scare his mate away, though they already had some wild sex before.

  For now, he would focus on building a strong bond of trust. Everything else they could try later.

  Their relationship was still fresh. He was lucky to have found Kellan. His sweet kmeran relied on him, fetching the cargo filled with weapons safely and put them to use in a good way if fighting could be called a good thing that is. His mate trusted him to not abuse his command over EVE-4’s soldiers and weapons since he had given him the full authority over his forces without hesitation. It made Sartak happy, a light feeling tingling through his heart.

  When they were home again, Sartak would do everything in his might to ensure Kellan would be the Regent beside him when his time to sit on the king’s throne came.

  He went straight to the freestanding punching bag and the soldiers that had been using it or lingering by while they watched their comrades do some exercise cleared the area.

  Rolling his eyes, he took some fingerless boxing gloves.

  Only a moment later the sound of him punching the poor bag filled the room.

  He gave a sideway glance to Aoran who joined him, leaning against a wall and watching him. The kmer, his best friend and former lover wore a pair of black baggy trousers but a top that was basically a scarf that only covered his nipples and was bound at his neck.

  The outfit neatly showed off Aoran’s flat stomach, lean muscles, and even skin tone.

  Even after two births, he was still in good shape.

  Sartak could totally see why his younger self had agreed to their arrangement in the past.

  “You look good, just like when we joined the army,” he heard himself say.

  Aoran gave him a strange look and then said with a risen eyebrow: “Are you flirting Sartak? Does that mean you are already tired of Kellan? Because if, I’m gonna kick you in the balls and make you impotent.”

  Sartak smiled at the threat; that was so typically Aoran. He had always appreciated that blunt mouth.

  “Nope, but sorry; he is more beautiful than you and not so old,” he said in a mock-apologetically tone and ducked when Aoran threw one of the boxing gloves at him that were kept on the shelves behind him.

  But Aoran was grinning, so no harm was done.

  He knew that Aoran’s age was a sore point if addressed by others, but Sartak had always been allowed to tease him a bit.

  Aoran was actually closer to his kmera’s age and just one or two years younger. Both of them- Aoran and Jarvan- hadn’t revealed their age to him for what reasons ever.

  Of course, Sartak could just look his kmera’s age up in the family records, but he was just not bothered enough by their secrecy.

  He suspected that his parents were unusually young. He had wondered why he could remember his kmera’s wedding, but only after years, it had come to his mind that he must have been conceived while his parents hadn’t yet been married, thus making him an illegitimate child who was later legitimated after his parent’s wedding.

  He knew there was some big scandal around the whole thing, but he didn’t dare to ask his kmera or father. He did not wish to wake some bad memories, but Aoran surely knew something…

  “My parents,” he started, drawing Aoran’s attention. “The scandal just before I was born…what was it about?”

  Aoran flinched and made a grimace.

  He seemed slightly uncomfortable, looking around the room as if to determine who could hear them talk but no one was in the gym anymore.

  Sartak stopped throwing punches and regarded him expectantly.

  “Your kmera got pregnant while underage. Both your parents had been no more than young teens back then. Your grandfather didn’t like it for some reason and demanded an abortion, but you were already there because your kmera had even kept his pregnancy secret from your father in fear of the mad king. Your kmera got a punishment…please, it is not my place to talk about it. I assume not even Leylos knows all of it. Your father challenged his father and took the throne. A lot of councilors spoke against the wedding and so it was delayed until your kmera came of age and then they were finally allowed to marry. But don’t fear, you are a love-child. You weren’t conceived because of duty. Your parents had fallen in love upon first glance. Don’t concern yourself with it for it was in the past,” with that Aoran closed the topic and Sartak knew that was all he would learn from him, though he sensed there was a lot more going on.

  Still, he let the subject drop and started to punch the bag again. Aoran and Sartak alternated with one another, each of them giving the punching bag a thrashing for a few minutes every round.

  After what seemed like hours, he felt perfectly calm again.

  Exhaustion washed over him and he remembered that he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the night before since those blasted pirates had chosen to attack them at and ungodly hour.

  22

  The landscape flew by as they traveled with full speed in the direction of Foxav-Estate which really was a small fortress on a hill overseeing the blue lagoon.

  Kellan had seen the pictures of the fortress in its former glory and compared them to the pictures showing the current state.

  Towers were crumbled, walls had holes due to cannon attacks, the roof had fallen down, and the whole place was filled with rubble and cockatrice’s nests.

  How could anyone even suggest the old man could live in a ruin? Kellan was angry about the Lord High Treasurer dragging the matter.

  The Fortress came in sight just in front of them. It was half a ruin but still very impressive and beautiful.

  It stood on the high cliffs, and underneath was the mouth connecting the lagoon with the vast ocean. No other houses were in the area, the lagoon and its beaches belonging to the estate. The walls surrounding the Spanish-styled Casa was built into the cliff and had the obligatory holes for artillery and defensive watch-towers. The wall was not really there to protect the casa, but only to host the artillery.

  Kellan assumed that the manor had some kind of shields which seemingly had given up the last time the fortress-casa hybrid had been under attack.

  The once bright white walls were dark and dirty with green and black mold. But still with all the flaws and destruction, it was breathtakingly beautiful; balconies, porches, pavilions combined with arches and big arched windows.

  The weather was a little milder than in Nuxar which was farther down south.

  While Nuxar reminded him of Moroccan and Arabic cities, Foxav-Estate was a Spanish manor with huge gothic windows and colorful mosaics mixing with the typical Spanish arched windows.

  Almost all of those windows were shattered, only the colorful glass fragments indicating these big windows had been mosaics.

  There was a long path from the bottom of the hill all the way up to the manor; vineyards and gardens with small trees; bushes and flowers were arranged around the hill in stepped terraced slopes.

  Kellan believed that with a little of tending and gardening, those vineyards and gardens would bloom and bear fruit again. The matter of servants could be discussed later.

  He shook his head.

  He was already planning too far ahead. Dershra chirped on his lap as if in agreement.

  Sighing, Kellan snatched the little beast from his lap and rose from his seat.

  He paced around, noticing that the craft slowed down; clearly because they were afraid he would fall over his feet.

  He rolled his eyes at Kalik who flew the glider and looked at Jora
x who just shrugged apologetically. Dershra started to flutter with his wings nervously, so he sat him on the seat only to hear the little monster chirp heartbreakingly.

  “You wanted down, so I put you down,” he said but pointed at his shoulder.

  Shortly after, Dershra hopped on his right shoulder where he buried his claws in Kellan’s hair like usual.

  “One day, I promise I will feed you to Gorsha. You keep ruining my hair, sweetie,” he threatened half-heartedly, but the wyvern still chirped an apology.

  Kellan rolled his eyes again and heard Jorax chuckle behind him. He turned around and winked at the guard, making the man blush.

  When their craft arrived at the gateway of the manor, they were welcomed by a scrawny willowy man.

  He had straight gray hair that was tucked behind his ears and it was no longer than his chin.

  Lord Foxav approached them with a kind smile, his hazel eyes shimmering as if wet.

  Kellan gestured for his guards to stay behind before he went to meet the man midway.

  He was surprised by the warm handshake, noticing that the lord was at the same time holding back so he wouldn’t just go and hug some royal. So Kellan just took it upon himself to step closer and wrap his arms around the old man.

  A sob escaped Lord Foxav but he tried to conceal it by coughing.

  “Forgive this foolish old man, your Highness. But I was so happy to hear your Highness would visit unimportant poor me…Even my children turned their back on me,” he whispered as trying to pull himself together.

  “Oh, no need for formality. I’m Kellan, my wyvern is named Dershra, and my guards are Jorax and Kalik- Kalik is the serious one,” he introduced his little group.

  “I’m honored, your…Kellan. Please call me Eryon,” a nervous smile appeared on his lips, then he told them to follow him.

  A few moments later, they were sitting in a big room in the middle of the manor on the first floor.

  It was supposedly the only room without damaged walls or ceilings. Kellan could see a stove, a wooden tub, a bed and this little dining table with the sad chairs.

  “It shames me, I cannot offer something less shabby to you,” Eryon said quietly, a shadow passing over his expression before the kind smile reappeared while he was brewing tea.