Alma had continued to live in the palace, helping the king with the raising of his daughter. And now, Sarra knew that the childless widow, well into her seventy-fourth year, wondered if she had succeeded or failed as a proxy mother. Alma was the only woman she truly felt comfortable with. There weren’t any superficial amenities because of her royal status—the lady boldly spoke her mind. Sarra had long before come to regard her as a parent—strange, if things would have turned out differently, she might have been. Never once had they talked about it, but she knew that Alma had always been in love with the king. Nevertheless, he desired Anna, his chosen betrothed, and theirs was a love of infinite greatness surely created by the Heavens.
“That was different,” she protested gently.
“Not so much so,” Alma insisted, regaining her composure. “They had an arranged marriage just like you have. Ah, it will be fine. Your life won’t end with the wedding—it will begin anew. When you learn to accept your position, you’ll see.”
“But … I still want to see places, Auntie. New places! I—”
“You are too stubborn and I have failed,” she sighed, thrusting her hands helplessly up into the air.
Sarra reached out to clasp her thin arm. “Yes, I am stubborn. But no, you have not failed. You have taught me so much! You are such a great mentor that I am thirsty for knowledge. Is what I want so wrong? Is it so terrible to want to learn—not just government, or … words. Words are wisdom, but aren’t they founded from actions—from discovering the unknown? From the spirit of exploration?”
“Just like your father,” she scolded. “A foolish dreamer bent to persuade others with his tongue of honey.”
Sarra smiled, deciding to take this as a compliment since this woman worshiped the king further than her duty. “I may be like Father—with an exception. The people need him. But I’m not really a necessity. Perhaps Cousin Terrance would do better on the Throne than I, with his social science studies, and all. I’m just—an ornament!”
“Uh uh uh no, Princess. You won’t be a figurehead. You will have the ultimate power of the sovereignty. Terrance is a good boy but not a leader. Everyone would choose you. The subjects need you, as you will see. But Sarra, I sense … great trouble. Something that—”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare start talking gloomy.”
“I won’t. Your wedding should be a happy time. But, I must warn you to guard yourself.”
Sarra lowered her gaze. As the silence lengthened, she knew that they both thought about the recent assassination attempts, about how she was next to the threatened Throne. A brutal lot, calling themselves the ‘Revolutionaries’, hated the sovereignty. Their reason for wanting the royals dead was known only to them.
Alma broke through the worry with her sudden enthusiasm. “Look at you! I dare say you are as fair and beautiful as your mother! We will be proud—Ah! The future generations will idolize you!”
“Alma, I do believe your sight and head are failing some with your years,” she pondered.
“Wisdom, Sarra. Wisdom. Perhaps this ‘old’ woman is now feeble in action, but many questions have discovered answers with this spirit, first. No, you must give up your childhood dream of exploration. The stars are no place for a princess. Your duties are here, on Adriel—they will bring you many adventures, I am sure.” She rose, smiling reassuringly. “Try not to fret, child,” she urged. “Everything is fine.”
Sarra conceded, nodding bravely. The woman winked and affectionately patted her hand before moving from the terrace, leaving her alone to find peace with her many misgivings.
“Everything is fine,” she whispered wryly. Even Alma didn’t understand. Did anyone understand her fierce restlessness? Did she?
She sighed deeply while she rose and went over to the edge of the cobblestone wall. The protective voltaic shield was like a huge, invisible bubble above. If anything tried to penetrate the exterior of the barrier, it would either be pushed back or disintegrated, depending upon the threat of the material. It would stop any intruder who tried to pass through and immediately diffuse a laser wave. And one would know it was there only by touch; she put a fingertip on the firm wall of energy and caught a few stinging, blue sparks. She didn’t like it, being one who fancies the warm breezes, and allowed it only when absolutely necessary.
It was, if the princess was to be out in the open. But she knew that she wasn’t really alone. A guard or two were near—she felt the eyes upon her. They were an added precaution that she thought was silly. Surely no assassin could get into Queen’s Palace! Still, if she but stubbed her toe there would be someone there instantly, a lack of privacy she had grown accustomed to this past week but still didn’t like.
She ignored the scrutiny and stood with her hands clasped behind her, weighing the sparkling blue Aurora Sea and the valley’s green hues. At the foot of the mountain the mist had lifted, showing Seascape City, the largest populous in Tantara, one of Adriel’s five continents. The white metallic buildings glowed in the sunshine, the transports busy. This land—and the entire globe—she would one day rule. With Taylor Gray.
A suitable marriage …
Alma’s logical words had blown away the last harvest of hope and had planted the seed of despair within her. She had best face her inescapable reality and keep her impossible fantasies in that special place of mind where dreams rule. “After all,” she whispered, struggling with her discipline. “The ceremony is less than three days away!”
“Suitable,” she said levelly, pushing her numb fist tightly into the violently sparking barrier.
Chapter 2
Sarra left the terrace and strolled aimlessly in the Western Realm of Queen’s Palace. She had no other pressing appointments and must waste the time away. She encountered no one but sensed the ever-present guards. The walk through the long, magnificent halls eased her turbulent thoughts, if but slowing their race, and the towering archways gave her space to breathe—a freedom she had appreciated little, of late. The royal home was so large that it had over six hundred rooms, was seven stories tall, and employed nearly three hundred people. But wasn’t it still her cage?
Tranquil sunlight flooded the tall and wide windows as if hoping to lift her spirits, and nearly succeeded when she entered the Festival Room. She paused to consider the murals on the golden walls and ceilings, the mystifying artwork done by Kreeno, one of Adriel’s legendary artists. She found a new surprise—a fragile bird nestled in a maiden’s hand—she had missed in her countless viewings. She moved on again, the gleam on the black marble floor dazzling her eye while she wandered into one of the twenty-one nature rooms, the Hanging Gardens.
The soft echoing of a trickling waterfall, and the cooing of shy doves hidden in the green foliage, soothed her ears. She sat on the fountain’s stone rail and tilted her head back to savor the fragrant mist that sprayed gently onto her face. She bent to watch the colorful splash of flowers and reached out to touch the petal of a blue water-rose floating upon the clear pond. Restless again, she released the bloom and ambled on, contemplating the grandeur of this mansion that ruled this world, musing how she could feel so lost, so desolate in all this comfort, her home that had heard the first cries of her birth.
Sarra didn’t know her legs had a destination until they stopped before the Chapel. This was her haven, her thinking place when she was troubled. She pushed on the heavy, antique door and peered in. Finding it vacated, she slipped inside and moved into the silence, up the narrow aisle. She slid onto the first pew at the left of the pulpit and leaned back—like a martyr—with her arms flat out atop its wooden back. The azure sky flooded her sight. The chapel’s round invisible dome let the Lord survey His Sunday congregations and let His royal followers ponder His Heavens. He was in a cheery mood this day, sending the sunbeams to fall in serene, golden rays.
“Better if He willed gloom,” she whispered.
“I knew it was you! Didn’t you hear me calling?”
She whirled. Taylor Gray was by the door,
staring boldly at her with his brown eyes. He pompously waved off his two guards and swaggered up the aisle, his head high as if demanding that the altar kneel to him.
“Oh—” Sarra caught her tongue with her teeth, stopping her reaction of, ‘You, again,’ which did not seem appropriate for the situation. She rose, irritated by his intrusion on her privacy.
The duke sniffed arrogantly and tilted his head her way before lifting it back to its usual loftiness. “Really, now. Don’t be so enthused,” he said sardonically. “I was searching for you and saw you by the gardens. You must have heard me call.”
Sarra waved her arm absently and sat back down. “I didn’t.”
He chuckled, and she knew what he thought. What he always thought!
“I dare to say your mind is elsewhere, sweet Sarra? Perhaps three evenings away?”
“That could explain my mood,” she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. She blocked the sight of him by lying back and resting her arm above her closed eyes.
“It is all I can think of. Ah—what anticipation as the night nears! I can feel you, I can have you …”
She sprang up to her feet, repulsed by the image his words had conjured. “Will you leave? I want to be alone!”
He laughed, gliding a hand slowly through his black hair, relishing the silkiness. Lazily, he leaned against the pulpit. “Poor Sarra. Always seeking solitude so you can daydream. What will your subjects do with their queen always off in the stars? Where will her head be if disaster strikes? In Andromeda Galaxy?”
She worked to remind herself that she spoke to a grown, intelligent man, but one who seemed to possess an adolescent demeanor. “The subjects do have minds,” she informed stiffly. “They live and breathe and would continue to do so if the royals were not here.”
“How naive you are, Princess. These people would be lost without the monarchy. They need guidance—to live, to grow.”
She lifted a golden eyebrow suspiciously. “Your own guidance, is what you mean?”
“No. Yours. Ours,” he said, and moved a bit nearer which prompted her to move a mite farther. “We are of a different breed, sweet Sarra.”
“No, Taylor. You are in a breed all of your own.”
He smiled quite regally, taking this as a compliment—of which it was not intended to be. She flinched, exasperated, and tried to move passed him into the aisle. He caught her shoulder. She folded her arms across her breast and impatiently stamped one foot, with warning in her eyes.
“Careful now, Sarra—calm that temper! We are in the Lord’s house.”
“A lot you would know of it!” she snapped.
“You wound me! I’m a God-fearing man! Why does Your Royal Highness dislike me so?”
Sarra ignored his subtle mockery as he stated her title, knowing that he believed that he was more esteemed even than her.
“No, Taylor. No, I don’t dislike you,” she pondered, considering kindness and hoping to convince herself. “I just don’t—I don’t … I don’t want to marry you.”
His amused guffaws filled the chapel. “I can guess why! The Princess Royal of Adriel wants to be a virgin ice-queen!”
He calmed down and tried to be serious. He caressed her nape and she bit her lip hard to restrain herself from the undignified act of scrambling away.
“Really, Sarra. I do imagine you will fight me until the end! But, it is settled. Our king has made up his mind. And he did choose the best mate for you. I will care for you and I will sire quality heirs. We are suitable.”
“Suita—!” The word got caught in her throat for how much she had heard it lately and was beginning to loath it.
He ran a finger across the soft swell of her breasts, examining his action with lusty eyes. “Yes. We will join quite well.”
She struggled violently against him.
“Wait!” he cried, reaching into his shirt pocket. He pulled out a computer card and shoved the cold thin metal into her hand. He released her and she could only glare.
“These are our wedding vows the good reverend asked me to give you. Memorize them. Especially the part—‘I will cherish my beloved, honoring him for forever!’”
Sarra stalked down the aisle. He suddenly attempted to stifle his laughter in this house of worship, as if recalling the wrath of God—like he feared an angered deity might have powers that even regal he, did not.
Ah, yes. Lord Taylor Gray. Vulgar. Arrogant. Aristocratic. At age twenty-four, he knew that his position in life was the envy of many and he never seemed to find fault in himself for flaunting this gift. The prestigious title of His Grace the Duke of Tren opened wide every door of the world—if not the galaxy—and with his head-high airs he waltzed down any curious path that met his fancy, never looking back to see whose innocent toes he had trodden upon. He had no cares, aside from his shoulder-length black hair—his crowning glory—that must always be in perfect synchronization. And heaven save a breeze that would be so bold to muss the ‘regal crown’. Skies would fall.
She did have to admit, though, in all truth he was handsome. But he knew of his appearance and used it to his advantage. With his dark-brown eyes and tall and lean frame, the coquettes flocked about him like moonchit fish to the tides. Many honest feminine hearts had broken that day nearly four months ago when the wedding date was announced. But, she knew that the black souls still boldly sought his bed.
She shook her head and a wry smile crossed her lips. Why? Why couldn’t she care? Was she truly incapable of intense emotion in the matters of the heart? Her father had been possessive over her mother, though there had been no reason for this; he was the light of her life. But long ago he had killed a man in a jealous rage, and his regrets couldn’t bring the innocent life back. And, her grandfather had died shortly after his queen, consumed by grief. Her ancestors all had had similar tales—she had come from a long line of fierce devotion. Where was her Shantay passion?
In three days she’d marry Lord Gray and she didn’t care; she felt only mild repulsion that he bedded other women. Father didn’t see it, but she knew. He saw only the enterprising young man, fit for the role of the queen’s consort. But she saw the lecher, the smut that would take any female on a whim. Why couldn’t father see this?
Sarra stopped before the hall that led to the King’s Royal Apartments. She decided to join him for tea. She lifted her shoulders, took a deep breath, and opened the massive, ornate door. She put on a gracious smile and strode gracefully down the long corridor toward the three guards.
“The princess!” one gasped.
The men bowed, scrambling aside to allow her entrance. After one enabled the security code and the door opened, she stepped through, determined to project a bright attitude and not her dismal mood.
When she turned the corner and saw her father through the chamber doorway, she stepped back. She frowned, for he was all small and ashen against the room’s lavish gild. Clad in a black robe, he lounged beneath the vast bed’s crimson satin, enjoying his brunch while his four personal grooms, all clothed in ivory, fussed about him. He looked a mite paler than usual—or was this only her imagination caused by all of her anxiety?
It was strange how King Ellis the Second, a man once so robust and strong, could seem so vulnerable. Strange, how his tall and husky frame had become so frail. The wrinkles deep in his face and his thinning gray hair couldn’t be blamed solely on aging; much was due to the tragedies. But saddest of all, his blue eyes had lost their spirited, handsome glow and appeared more like gloom.
He was only eighty-one years old! Most people could look forward to being active for over a century. It was true that the human body was designed to live only so long and when it lost its agility people … died. But not before having a full and healthy life. But the king wasn’t like the others. He carried the weight of an entire planet—and his own sorrow.
His medics were baffled since none of the most sophisticated mind treatments worked for very long. She suspected that there was no cure for a broken heart.
They could easily replace a malfunctioning one, but one’s essence doesn’t exist in the flesh.
Sarra was startled out of her depressing rumination when a groom detected her presence. She swallowed hard as her father looked her way.
“Ah, Daughter!” he greeted, surprised.
“Hello, Father,” she said warmly and moved to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “How are you feeling today?”
“Very well,” he said with the usual weak rasp in his voice. “James—take this. Set up a brunch for her.”
“Just tea,” she insisted, doubting that she could eat.
James took the tray while another groom helped the king from the bed. Still another groom poured tea into two silver cups. After the monarch was seated at the small, intimate table, all waited for the command. His Majesty gave the nod and the excused servants bowed for the high honor of serving the Royal Family, and left.
Sarra sat in her chair and just as quickly rose to her feet. “Will you have a busy day, Father?” she asked, walking over to the window that filled an entire wall. She peered through the clear barrier to see the blue, misty sea crashing upon the dark rocks below.
“Ahhhh, appointments, appointments,” he sighed while sweetening his drink. “This afternoon I must attend a trade conference with the Kalcoonian Ambassadors.”
An involuntary shudder passed through Sarra as an image of the Kalcoons flashed through her mind. On average, this creature stands over eight feet tall—which was imposing enough—but their two large and round, liquid-like black eyes and gruff, animal-like voices could induce hysteria. By nature they had an awkward physique, being sluggish … sort of … but she had seen times when they weren’t as slow as they appeared. No doubt they would be entertained in the Cold Room, for Adriel was too hot and bright, much too uncomfortable for them. Although they had the same form of anatomy as a Human, with two arms and legs, the behemoths had thick, brown hair that covered them nearly from head to toe. This was a genetic trait given to them by Kan, their icy-cold planet that was a great distance from the sun.
Queen of the Stars (The Royals of Adriel Book 1) Page 2
