by Meg Harris
The inside of the castle was bright, but the walls appeared to filter out some of the brilliant sunlight, although everything did not appear blue, as she had expected. Barrak strode forward with confidence, and they entered a room in which two older people sat, seated on thrones. Barrak’s parents, obviously. Both rulers wore robes similar to Barrak’s, heavily embroidered with the ubiquitous heron designs.
His father gazed at her with that peculiar mix of arrogance and kindness she’d come to associate with Barrak himself. He was a handsome man, with golden-brown hair and eyes, and a golden circlet on his head. There was a surprising warmth in his eyes—not sexual warmth, but an expression of benevolence.
His mother, a reed-slender woman with Barrak’s ebony hair, looked less forgiving. There was a rigid set to her spine, a tightness to her mouth, that suggested she saw Tiryl almost as…a rival. Which was logical, given the effect Zytellian women typically had on men.
Barrak paused in front of his parents’ thrones and bowed. Tiryl did likewise. When she straightened up she saw the surprise in their eyes. Clearly they hadn’t expected her to come before them as a supplicant, but as a conqueror.
“My King, my Queen,” Barrak said in his most formal tone. “I bring you the former Leader of Zytellia.”
“She is your prisoner?” the queen demanded in a tight voice, obviously puzzled by the lack of restraints.
“No,” Barrak said steadily. “She has agreed to become my life-mate.”
* * * * *
Barrak would not soon forget the look of horror on his parents’ faces. Even when he explained the logic behind their bonding, and recounted the way in which she had sacrificed everything to save them from the Zytellians, they were not wildly enthusiastic about the idea. Barrak was not surprised. He hadn’t expected them to be delighted by a plan that would make an alien woman one of the most powerful people on Terra.
But they did not have the power to oppose it. No one on Terra possessed the authority to prevent lovers from life-mating. It was a sacred right.
“Very well,” his mother said stiffly. She had relaxed her guarded stance slightly when told that Tiryl’s pheromones had been inhibited, but she still was obviously suspicious of some sort of treachery. “If you wish to bond with her, there is nothing we can do to stop you.”
Barrak realized that was as close to a blessing as they were likely to get. “Thank you for your kind wishes, my Queen,” he replied, bowing his head to her.
His mother huffed at his sarcasm, while his father looked amused. The king rose to his feet.
“Join hands, my children,” he intoned in the ancient words of the mating ceremony.
Barrak turned toward Tiryl and took her hands in his, noticing as he did so how much smaller they were than his. Small, yet not in the least fragile.
Tiryl looked up into his eyes with alarm, and he saw her mouth a single word. Now?
He nodded, grinning at her shocked expression, and mouthed back, Now.
“Barrak, Prince of Terra, son of Darta and Mal, do you pledge to bond with this woman for life?”
Barrak looked into Tiryl’s eyes. “I do,” he replied in a quiet voice.
“And Tiryl of Zytellia, do you pledge to bond with this man for life?”
Tiryl hesitated, and Barrak’s heart seemed to stall in his chest. “I do,” she answered at last.
“Before this moment,” the king intoned, “neither of you were whole. But now that you are joined, the circle is complete. You are mated. May your lives be filled with joy.”
Barrak gazed down at Tiryl, an odd feeling blossoming in his chest. It was joy, he realized. He had never before found a woman he’d even thought about life-mating. And yet, with Tiryl, it felt right. More than right. It was difficult to believe he’d ever lived without her.
He’d heard the words of the life-mate ceremony a dozen times and yet never realized how true they were. Before this moment, he had never been complete.
Tiryl blinked up at him, looking dazed. “That’s all?”
“That’s all. We are bound.” He bent and brushed his lips across hers.
Her lips were soft and yielding beneath his own. She drew back and stared into his eyes. “Hard to believe, considering I was your prisoner only yesterday morning.”
“Hard to believe,” he countered, “considering I was your prisoner only the day before that.” He smiled at her. “I am still imprisoned, Tiryl. But this time by choice.”
Epilogue
Tiryl watched the white seagulls swooping overhead as she walked down the beach hand in hand with Barrak, the sand shifting beneath their bare feet. She had only been on Terra for a week, but each day brought some fresh adventure, something new and fascinating that helped erase any lingering homesickness she might have felt for Zytellia.
Today she had begged Barrak to show her the ocean. They had climbed onto the large animals called horses, which he was teaching her to ride, and ridden to the shore. It was one of the most remarkable places she’d ever seen, and the entire experience—the gray-blue waves frothing white as they pounded against the sand, the rhythmic sound of the surf, the cries of the gulls—delighted her.
She was happy here. And yet there was a niggling, anxious feeling at the back of her mind. A lingering feeling of responsibility toward her own people.
“Is there any news of Zytellia?” she asked.
Barrak looked down at her, his expression solemn, and nodded. “There was a report from our furthest outpost this morning. You were right. Several different women have declared themselves Leader, and military factions have arisen to support each. The Empire has been thrown into a state of civil war.”
Tiryl stared out at the ocean, silent.
“You did what you had to do in order to save Terra from invasion,” he said gently.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I saved the innocent people of this world. But now more innocent people in Zytellia will die. Perhaps I should have gone back to Zytellia as Leader instead and tried to change my society from within.” She sighed. “But the truth is I could not bring myself to leave you.”
The more she interacted with Terran men, the more she realized that men were far more capable than she had ever realized. She wished she could impart this knowledge to her people, but she was aware that very few Zytellians would listen to her.
“Would your people have permitted you to change them?”
She was silent for a long moment. “No,” she admitted at last. “Zytellians are a conservative people at heart, and we value our traditions. Had I tried to halt the invasion of Terra, it would have been seen as weakness and would likely have touched off a civil war. It would have been even worse had I attempted to change the way men were treated. Matriarchy is too ingrained in the Zytellian culture.”
“Perhaps once the Empire is weakened by civil war, we can return and try to change the Zytellians,” Barrak suggested.
She turned and stared at him. “You would go back into Zytellian space with me?”
“I think we will have to go there someday, Tiryl. Otherwise men will continue to be oppressed by the Empire. I was only a Zytellian prisoner for three days, but I would not wish a life of servitude on any man.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I wish to make amends for the wrongs I did my people. For the wrongs that I, in my ignorance, permitted to continue. In order to do that, I must return…someday.”
“Someday,” he agreed. “But not now. For now, I am happy to be here with you.”
“And I am happy to be with you,” she answered. It was true, she realized. There was nowhere else in the galaxy she’d rather be.
She shrugged off her dark mood—it was difficult to brood, on such a beautiful, sunny day—and turned toward him, sliding her arms around his waist. He had worn pants and a shirt for riding, rather than his usual robes, and she tugged the shirttail from his pants and slid her hand across the muscles of his abdomen, feeling his muscles jerk in response.
&n
bsp; “Tiryl,” he reproved, a hint of laughter in his deep voice. “We are outside.”
“This is part of the royal realm, is it not? No one will see us. I want you, Barrak.”
His arms tightened around her with a fierceness that surprised her, and he bent his head, burying his face in her hair. “I want you, too,” he whispered into the depths of her hair. “I believe…I believe that I have grown to love you.”
At his softly uttered words, warmth blossomed in her chest. It was strange how her life had changed in so brief a period of time. A mere week ago she could not have envisioned herself bound forever to one man, and now she was unable to imagine her life any other way. This, she realized, was love.
“Then make love to me,” she whispered, hearing the surf pound against the shoreline. “I have never made love next to the ocean before.”
He laughed softly. “You once told me there was no such thing as making love.”
She smiled against his shoulder. “I was wrong.”
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