Rodin stepped forward. The king’s eyes went to him because the rest of his procession comprised identically armored Xen-Kroth soldiers.
When he was mere steps from Rodin he dropped to his knees, placed his hands on the grass, and lowered his head.
“Welcome,” the young king said. “This is the Xen-Kroth’s world, and I am your viceroy. Please tell me how I can serve you.”
Rodin stared a moment before speaking. “Who are you?”
“I’m the son of King Shalen.” He looked up with eyes as blue as his brother’s. “Janus.”
The rotund man cleared his throat. “We have no reliable means of communication with your megaship. Major events have happened in the royal court. There was no way to get the news to you.”
“And who are you?” Rodin said.
He became flustered. “Yes, of course. Excuse me. I’m the cleric Mechel, brother of Queen Sirah.”
Rodin gave an enlightened nod. “Ah.” He looked back at Janus, who remained prostrate. “Messages can be sent with your quarterly offerings.”
“That’s what we endeavored to do,” Janus said. “I sent my brother Haine with the slaves.”
Rodin’s lips stretched into a sinister smile. “Yes. That’s why I’m here.”
“I presumed as much,” Janus said. “May I ask who you are?”
“Highest Minister Rodin. Second in command of the Xen-Kroth Empire.”
Both Janus and Mechel had a lift to their brows. Rodin was used to the reaction. He stood in stark contrast to the Xen-Kroth guards flanking him.
“Matters within a royal court are my expertise. Lord Kinthor has given me full dominion. My decisions here are your final word.”
Janus bowed his head again. “I see.”
“We’ll accept your authority, of course,” Mechel said. Sweat formed on his receded hairline.
Rodin grinned once more. “I assure you, you have no choice.”
“We know this.” Janus climbed back to his feet. “Might we go inside and discuss things?
Rodin gestured for him to lead the way. His six man guard followed in a huddle troop behind him.
The arcade led into a large ballroom. Janus went left, past a sweeping staircase, to a corridor lined with domed windows on one side.
Mechel kept stride with Janus to whisper to him as they walked. Rodin drew nearer to them. He heard Janus say: We don’t know that yet.
Mechel saw how close he’d come and went on ahead. Rodin replaced him beside Janus. The king peeked at him.
“I’m glad it’s you instead of Lord Kinthor, actually,” Janus said.
Rodin sneered. “Oh? Have we met?”
“No, I only mean that the Xen-Kroth are very large and intimidating. Lord Kinthor sent us someone more our own size. And you’re an alien, but you’re very…”
“What?”
Janus smiled at him. “Handsome.”
“You’re an imbecile if you presume I’m easier to deal with than Kinthor. I’m his sword.”
The king’s smile erased.
They entered a meeting hall with framed maps hanging on the walls. A long table with two dozen chairs filled most of the space. Janus went for the seat at the head of the table. Rodin grabbed its armrest and pulled it out for himself. The king’s lips parted. He glanced at Mechel, but he was already taking a chair at the side of the table. Janus sat between him and Rodin.
His guards took spots at the far end of the table. Janus’ guards stood on either side of the door. Their staid poses made them look like decoration.
“Start talking,” Rodin said.
He heard Janus swallow. “My father died three months ago. He had an allergic reaction that caused his face to grow swollen. The doctor gave him a remedy, but it only kept him alive a few hours. By dusk...he had passed.”
Janus paused. His words were drenched in grief. Rodin presumed he expected condolences. He stared at the king in silence.
“Haine was convinced someone had poisoned father. It was an allergic reaction, our doctor confirmed it.”
Rodin pulled out a tablet from his inner cloak pocket. “Which doctor?”
Janus blinked. “Neese. The royal physician.”
He tapped on his screen. “Go on.”
Mechel leaned forward. “The matter of the king’s death has been settled. It was investigated.”
“Yes,” Janus said. “At length.”
“It was an accident,” Mechel said.
“Continue with your summary.”
Janus pursed his lips. “As I said, Haine thought someone had poisoned our father. He wanted the murderer brought to justice before I was crowned. My mother acted as monarch in the interim.”
“You are the eldest prince?” Rodin said.
Janus swallowed another lump in his throat. “Only by a minute and a half. But yes.”
“Who was Prince Haine suspicious of?”
The question was met with dead silence. He looked up from his screen. Both Janus and Mechel stared with their lips parted.
“Who did he think poisoned King Shalen?” This time he gave a demand.
Janus made an unconvincing shrug. “I don’t know. My father was beloved. He had no enemies.”
Rodin tapped on his tablet. “Where is the queen?”
Mechel rubbed his hand over his face.
“My mother went to the islands to recover from her grief.”
“She’s making this trip three months after his death?”
“This was her first opportunity,” Mechel said. “She had to rule the kingdom until Janus was crowned.”
“Get her back here.” He set his tablet down. “I need to speak to her.”
“Lord…Rodin was it?” Mechel said.
Rodin nodded.
“The death of dear Shalen was an internal matter. It’s already been settled. I—just what is it that you’re doing?”
Rodin looked at Janus. “You realize that we are very technologically advanced.
“Yes.”
“We possess a machine that can determine when someone is lying.”
Janus kept his gaze steady. “That sounds like a good machine to have.”
“I'll bring you to the megaship where this machine is housed and ask you questions while it analyzes your answers.”
The king gave a nod of agreement. “I will go wherever you wish and answer whatever questions you have. I have no reason to lie about anything.”
Rodin smiled with one side of his mouth. “That’s good to hear. Because the twin brother you put with in your slave offering is claiming that he is Prince Janus and that you are the younger Prince Haine.”
Mechel scoffed.
Janus had a cunning expression. “My lord, if I could make a suggestion? Since Haine is all ready on your ship, and since we have a great deal more to discuss, could you use your machine on him to get your answer?”
Rodin plucked up his tablet to tap some more. “I’ll do that.”
“Also, my lord—”
“Call me Rodin and I’ll call you Janus.”
Janus’ eyes glimmered. “Of course. Thank you, Rodin.” He searched the table. “My mother is on an island below our eastern continent. It would take days for her to get here.”
“Tell me where she is. I'll have a ship fetch her.”
“Please don’t,” Mechel said. Rodin raised his eyes from his tablet. “My sister is extremely distraught. If she sees a Xen-Kroth ship coming for her—it would be terrible shock.”
“I could send a wire to her and have her come home on her boat,” Janus said. “It should only be a few days.”
Mechel glowered at him.
Rodin leaned back in his chair and fumed through his nostrils. “Very well. Prepare accommodations for me and my guards. I’m not leaving until I’ve spoken to her.”
“Sirah shouldn’t be involved,” Mechel said. “We can tell you everything you need to know. She needs time to—.”
Janus lifted a hand to silence him. “It’s no trouble.
It will be our pleasure to have you as a guest.” He snapped at one of his guards. The man exited.
“Finish your summary.”
“Oh. Yes.” He touched his lower lip while remembering. “It took days to put together what had happened. Haine had gone swimming in the river and found clams. He brought them to the servant’s kitchen and left them in a bucket of water for the grit to wash out of them. Somehow the clams ended up in the noble’s kitchen, shelled, and their meat resembled brine-fish. That’s what the cook thought it was. He put it in father’s soup.”
“You still employ this cook?”
“He’s still employed, but not as a cook,” Mechel said. “He vowed never to cook again after that terrible day.”
“What is his name?”
Janus and Mechel exchanged a glance.
“Darian,” Janus said. “So…my brother and I knew father was allergic to shrimp because he once fired a chef who mistakenly served them to him. He made a great fuss about it. I don’t think Haine or I realized that any water creature with a shell could kill father. I’m sure the cooks knew, because this had never happened before, but—”
“Move on,” Rodin said.
Janus looked at Mechel.
“The queen and I thought it best if Haine didn't know his clams had killed his father.” Mechel said. “In trying to hide things we only fueled his obsession. He investigated himself, certain that a murderer was among us. Janus’ crowning was postponed on his insistence. After some months I went to Janus and told him the truth.”
The king straightened himself in his seat. “Once I knew there was no murderer I scheduled my inauguration. Haine was furious. I’d helped him investigate until I learned the truth. Then I ended it all with no explanation.” He shook his head. “My brother attacked me. He accused me of losing interest in father’s death because I was eager to take power. This riled me so much that in the heat of anger I blurted out his clams had killed father.” He gave a wince of regret. “Haine realized it was true. It was the missing piece of the puzzle he’d been searching for. He became quiet and withdrew. He didn’t come to my inauguration.”
Again, Rodin showed no compassion for the sad tale. He held his tablet in one hand and waited.
“After the ceremonies my counselors came to me frantic. They said Haine had tried to disrupt my crowning and had to be restrained. I found him in his room wearing my father’s cloak. He’d taken my father’s crown and used his own hair to weave it to his scalp.”
Rodin narrowed his white eyes. “Your brother wove the crown into his hair himself?”
“Yes. So much that his hairline had blood trickling. He ranted that no king would be crowned until the murderer of our father was brought to justice.”
“Hmm.” He made a note on his tablet.
“It was absolute chaos in the castle. Haine had to be restrained and fed a sleeping potion. I didn’t know what to do. In the morning I hoped he’d calm and return to his senses. He was more manic than ever. I didn’t want to put him in the dungeons—not my sweet brother. My mother pulled me aside and reminded me of something father had said on his deathbed. ‘If there’s any strife, ask Kinthor for help. He’ll make things right.’ That was my answer. The slave offering being due that same day seemed like the machinations of the gods. I would send Haine to you and hope you could cure him on your megaship. Father told us Kinthor had been kind. That’s what my brother needed.”
“You have no facilities for those who’ve lost their minds?” Rodin said.
“We have facilities, but they’re wretched.” He grimaced. “There’s no place I could put my brother.”
“So you dumped him on the ship we sent for the slave offering?”
Janus turned up his hands. “I wanted to send a message, but I didn’t know how. I knew the crown stuck in his hair would show you who he was.”
“What if it had been torn from his scalp? Or if it hadn’t been noticed?”
Janus scanned the table for an answer. “It was the only thing I could do.”
Rodin looked him over, and then Mechel. Janus remained placid, but the other had a gleam of sweat on his dusky cheeks and forehead.
“I was with Kinthor when Haine was presented to us. He was lucid. He said he was Janus, and you were impersonating him to steal the throne.”
“It’s not true.” Janus met Rodin’s eyes as he spoke. “I don’t know if he lied because he’s still lost his senses, or if he’s regained his senses and is trying to get revenge on me for sending him away.” He drew a long breath. “Use your machine. You’ll see that he’s lying.”
Rodin clicked off his tablet, placed it back in his pocket, and stood.
“Take me to my quarters.”
5
Kint, I suspect the one with you is Prince Haine. I’ve attached a preliminary report. Additional work is required. I will be here several more days.
Kinthor read the message on a communicator while walking down a secret causeway that led to his suite. He didn’t carry a tablet with him everywhere the way fastidious ministers like Rodin did. The report would have to be read at his terminal later.
Several days? It would be like a vacation. What a perfect time to have a new comfort slave.
Janus wasn’t in his living area, spare bedroom, or kitchen. He continued down the hall to his chamber. The prince was seated on his bed. Kinthor laughed through his nostrils.
Well, well.
Arda had him in a lovely costume that left his pink nipples bare. The boy fixed on him as he entered, but said nothing.
Kinthor went to his bar a few feet from the bed. “Hello, beautiful.” He poured two glasses of zionous liquor.
“Hello,” Janus said.
His neutral tone made Kinthor glance back at him. His expression was the same, neither angry nor pleased.
He walked toward him with a drink in each hand.
“Are you going to rape me?” Janus said.
Up close he could see the prince’s fierce eyes. This sparked something pleasant within him, not quite joy, but certainly excitement. He offered him one of the drinks. Janus held it in both his hands while keeping his gaze fixed.
Kinthor sat next to him, allowing enough space between them to prevent their flesh from touching. He took a sip of his glass. The warmth of the alcohol spread through him, further lighting pleasurable embers in his core.
“If rape is a matter of degrees, then perhaps yes. But if you think it means I’m going to tear off your clothes and force myself on you as you scream and struggle, then no.”
Janus fumed derisively. “Arda said I have to earn your help to fix things in my court. Tell me what I must do.”
“A bargain?” His smile grew large. “I like the thought of that, and I’m happy with your improved attitude.”
He glided his hand over Janus’ bare thigh. The prince gasped.
“I might take your cause.” His fingers danced toward his crotch. “Tantalize me.” He nudged his groin.
Janus slapped him.
Kinthor’s hand went to the stinging place on his cheek. His eyes narrowed to yellow slits.
“This bargain will be on my terms! Do you under—”
Kinthor snarled and smashed his glass on the floor. “I knew it was too good to be true.” He snatched him by the arm.
“What are you doing!”
He yanked him over his knees, face down and ass up. His shorts ripped off with one fluid swipe of Kinthor’s hand.
“Stop!” The prince bucked with flailing legs. “That was my only decent pair of—”
Kinthor’s hand cracked against the prince’s smooth round buttock.
“Ah!”
He followed with a slap to the other side. Janus struggled to get off his lap. He held him fast with his free arm while continuing to land alternating swats on his ass cheeks.
“You don’t listen. You don’t learn. You just keep begging for discipline!”
“Stop it!” Janus sobbed while clawing at his legs.
“No. You earned this—spoiled wretch!” The sounds of his slaps filled the room.
Janus stopped struggling. His body shook with his sobs. “Not so hard!”
Kinthor hesitated before his next blow. Not so hard?
The prince’s ass cheeks had turned pink. He gave in to the urge to smooth his hand over the heated flesh. Janus had an ample, shapely behind.
“Don’t fondle me, you perverted monster!”
Kinthor gave a low grumble. “You're unbelievable.” He resumed his beating.
Janus wriggled on his lap. “No! I can’t take anymore!”
“Shut your damned mouth.” He slapped hard enough to make his skin cascade.
Janus shrieked. He bashed his fists against Kinthor’s shin. “Stop it!” he said, while still sobbing. “Fondle me then! Just stop!”
Kinthor halted his hand, but only so he could be heard without any competing noise. “How can you be this dense? You’re not in control. You’re at my mercy.”
Janus rubbed a tear and snuffled. “Let me up.”
“Stop ordering me, you little idiot!” He punctuated the words with a final slap.
“Ow!” He gasped for several moments, braced for another blow. When it never landed he said, “What do you expect from me? I finally got some clothes, and you tore it shreds. And then you beat me so viciously you probably cracked my tailbone.”
Kinthor rolled his eyes. “No I didn’t.”
“Am I supposed to be happy? How would you feel?”
He let his hand glide over his ass again. Janus trembled with his breaths, making his red cheeks heave sensually.
“If I were you, I’d realize I was a prisoner with no control over my situation.” He kneaded the soft warm flesh. “I’d be submissive and compliant. That way I wouldn’t suffer needless punishment.”
Janus expelled an angry breath. He’d become docile, so Kinthor tolerated it.
He continued to work his fingers over his cheeks, making lines of white in the pinkness that would fade after every pass. Janus smooth thighs were just as round and shapely as his behind. His hand tickled up his ass to feel the dimples on his back. It pleased him to caress the pliant man. For two minutes he let his hands glide leisurely over him.
Warlord's Enigma MM BDSM Sci-Fi Erotica Page 3
