Chapter Seven

Deb snuck a glance at Marious, only to find him doing the same. She was accompanying him to the kitchens where she was supposed to arrange for her dinner with the prince. A prince and apparently an heir to some kind of galactic empire. It was all rather overwhelming. Rastrath had sent her off with Marious, telling the other man that she was fully empowered to act on his behalf. The steward had simply nodded but she couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking. The silence was growing increasingly uncomfortable, so she finally ventured a question.

“Um, have you known Prince Rastrath for a long time?”

“Oh no, mistress. He arrived for the first time only two weeks ago.”

“The first time?”

“Yes. He’s never been to inspect the palace before.” The man looked troubled, his fins flaring.

“But isn’t it his palace?”

“Oh yes. When the King died, all of his property passed to Prince Rastrath since he had no other heirs.”

“The King? I thought there was an Emperor?”

“King Nayander was the ruler of Sherae. Prince Rastrath is the rightful heir and he should be King Rastrath but so far he has refused to accept the title and has left the Parliament to act in his absence.” There was a definite note of disapproval in the man's voice. “But this is just one planet. Emperor Karthajin is the ultimate ruler of the Kaisarian Empire.”

“Wow.” Planetary kings and galactic empires. Her mind spun, and she forced it back to her more immediate questions. “How long ago did King Nayander die?”

Marious sighed. “Almost two years ago.”

“And Rast... Prince Rastrath hasn’t been here since then?”

“No, mistress.” His fins flared again. “The people are uneasy. It is bad enough—” He stopped abruptly and paled. “Forgive me, mistress. Please don’t repeat that.”

“I will keep whatever you say between us,” she promised.

After a brief hesitation, he continued. “It is somewhat…challenging that Prince Rastrath is not entirely Sheraen.”

“He’s part Sheraen?” Her mouth dropped open as she studied the man walking beside her. She could see no resemblance between Rast, with his red skin and his size and his horns, and this normal sized man with yellow skin and fins.

“One half Sheraen,” he confirmed. “Aside from his hair and his eyes, I am told that he resembles his mother. Kaisarian blood is very dominant.”

An uneasy feeling swept over her. Would her child come out with Master’s angry red eyes, with his sharp yellow teeth and claws? It doesn’t matter, she thought and patted her stomach. I’ll love you anyway.

Marious’ eyes had followed the movement. “Is your child human?”

“No. She’s half Derian.”

“I see.” There was a moment of silence. “So, she too, will be of half-blood.”

“Yes. Is that a problem?” she asked, suddenly protective not only of her child but, rather surprisingly, of Rastrath.

“No, mistress. It is…unusual. Most species cannot interbreed. However, we are an accepting race; it is just difficult to deal with the unknown.”

“But surely Rast…Prince Rastrath was here as a child? Didn’t you get to know him then?”

“We knew of him. King Nayander made sure of that. However, we had never laid eyes on him until two weeks ago.”

“He never even met his father?”

“No, mistress.”

Her hand instinctively went to her stomach again. She prayed that her baby would never meet her father, either, but it was for the baby’s sake. Had Rastrath’s father been as bad? Before she could ask any more questions, they arrived at the kitchens.

The enormous space was divided into several large rooms, separated by pink coral arches, all opening to an exterior courtyard along the outside wall. The place was a bustle of activity with a variety of species doing everything from chopping to kneading to stirring the large pots suspended over the open range. Other than a small section equipped with a variety of metal devices, it bore a startling resemblance to a medieval kitchen. Her heart sank as she took in the number of non-Sheraens present.

“Are they all slaves?”

Marious looked startled but nodded. “Most of them are slaves or former slaves. Many of them choose to stay on as palace staff once their contracts are paid.”

Although it was reassuring to hear yet again that freedom was possible, it still bothered her that these seemingly civilized people accepted slavery so easily. “Why do you purchase them to begin with?”

“We need workers,” Marious said matter of factly. “Our birth rate is low and many of our citizens prefer intellectual pursuits to physical labor.” He darted a quick glance at her. “I assure you that they are not mistreated. We follow or exceed all Imperial laws regarding slavery.”

“There are laws regarding slaves?” Her mouth dropped open at his casual statement.

“Of course. All slaves are to be adequately fed, housed, and clothed. They must be permitted to receive medical attention and they are not to be abused.”

A bitter laugh escaped. “That has not been my experience.”

His ear fins flapped helplessly, and she sighed. It wasn’t his fault. Pasting an insincere smile on her face, she changed the subject. “You wanted to introduce me to the cook?”

The sun was just beginning to sink, the low rays sparkling across the water in a glittering array, when Deb finished the final touches on dinner. What Rastrath had called a balcony, she would have referred to as a courtyard. The space formed the heart of Rastrath’s quarters and was large enough for several seating areas, two dining areas, and a water feature that flowed down the wall and across the pink stone floor to pool in an ornate basin before splashing over the edge and descending to the sea below. With a profusion of flowering containers and a sweeping view out over the ocean, it was an enchanting area.

She had chosen to arrange the meal in the small dining area that projected out over the rocks below and was covered with a trellis supporting a flowering vine. Now she studied the single place setting and bit her lip. He had said dinner for two and there was plenty of food in the covered dishes, including the items recommended for her by the doctor, but she knew that it was not customary for slaves to eat with their masters. Master B’tal had allowed her presence at one banquet and she had spent the entire time kneeling at his feet, fighting back nausea from not only her pregnancy, but the sight of his notion of delicacies.

“There you are, sweetheart.” Rast’s deep voice sounded behind her and sent a little shiver of excitement up her spine. Slowly she turned to face him and watched as his eyes widened in obvious appreciation. After the visit to the kitchens, Marious had accompanied her to the seamstress, assuring her that Prince Rastrath would want her to be properly dressed. Determined to fulfill her part of the bargain and show him that she was willing, she had chosen a gown in a deep burgundy. The fabric fell in deep pleats from her shoulders to her feet, but it was very sheer and as soon as she moved, flashes of skin appeared.

As she walked towards him, his eyes went to her breasts and the combination of his appraisal and the soft fabric whispering across them had her nipples hardening immediately. When she reached him, she started to kneel, but he stopped her. “No. I do not want you kneeling in my presence.”

“I’m sorry, mas—” She stopped the instinctive response. “I’m sorry, Rast.”

“There. That wasn’t so hard was it?” He really had a charming smile, despite the horns and dark arched brows that gave him such a demonic look. “Now give me a kiss.”

Her feet were slightly swollen, so she’d chosen not to wear shoes. She went up on tiptoes, but he still had to bend down to reach her. Once again, he teased her, kissing her slowly until she was the one wanting more, chasing after his tongue until he took over and plunged deeply, wonderfully, into her mouth. Her breasts ached, demanding more, and she rubbed them against his chest, delighting in the friction, as she clung to him.

He cupped one of the needy mounds, squeezing gently, and she moaned into his mouth and pushed against his hand, wanting more. He gave it to her, tightening his grasp, then moving to her nipple to tug on the distended peak, sending shockwaves of excitement straight to her clit. She moaned again, and he lifted his head. Before she could protest the end of the kiss, his mouth closed over her nipple, the wet heat shocking through the thin fabric that still covered her. More waves of pleasure swept over her and she grabbed his head, desperate for more of that gentle suction. Her fingers slid into the heavy silk of his hair, and then she felt the hard warmth of his horns and the faint edge of his teeth.

How could she have forgotten that he wasn’t human? He hadn’t hurt her, not even remotely, but she was suddenly all too aware that he could. All the times she had been abused in the past, her breasts bitten and clawed, rushed over her and she froze, her body going rigid. Rastrath instantly lifted his head and studied her face. “Did I hurt you, sweetheart?”

“No,” she said, but she could hear her voice trembling. She took a deep breath and tried again. “No, you didn’t hurt me. Please continue.”

“Hm. I don’t think so.” Moving very slowly, he started to stroke her arms, hands warm and comforting on her suddenly cold flesh. Her panic eased, and she felt ashamed. Dammit. She couldn’t risk a chance of freedom because of her memories.

“Really. I’m fine.” Determined to continue, she grabbed his hands and brought them back to her breasts. Somewhat to her surprise, they still felt good, but more comforting than arousing. She put her hands over his, urging him to squeeze the overflowing flesh, to resume his actions, but he gently removed his hands and pulled her close instead. She wasn’t sure what he wanted her to do, but he simply held her, waiting until the warmth of his body and the soft susurrus of the ocean in the background eased her tension and she relaxed against him.

“That’s better.” He dropped what felt like a kiss on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, mas...Rast. I’ll try to do better.”

“There’s no hurry, sweetheart.” He headed for the table but kept his arm around her in a way that felt oddly date like. As if you could have a date with a demonic looking alien who had bought you from a slave trader.

“Why isn’t there a place for you?” He was frowning at the table and her stomach fluttered.

“I…I didn’t know if you would want me to eat with you.”

“I said dinner for two,” he reminded her, but he didn’t look angry. “Do I need to call for a servant?”

“No, I have more dishes.” Slipping free of his arm, she went to get another place setting.

Rastrath leaned back and sipped his wine, studying the woman across the table. She was watching the last remnants of the sunset, faint streaks of rose and gold that lingered above the horizon and reflected on the water. As the sun had set, the night had cooled and now her nipples thrust impudently against the thin gown. His mouth watered as remembered the feel of her lush breasts, overflowing even his large hands, as he sucked on the tantalizing nubs. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted a woman this badly.

It wasn’t just her luscious body, although it was undeniably tempting, he thought as his gaze wandered down over the gentle swell of her stomach to round hips perfect for his hands. She had been an entertaining dinner companion, quick-witted and thoughtful with a sly sense of humor which emerged as she relaxed. Perhaps most of all, her bravery in the face of her fear and her determination to overcome it so that she could provide for her child, tugged at him. He watched as she caressed her stomach and felt a sudden fierce jealousy for such a fortunate child.

He couldn’t imagine his mother ever making such a loving gesture. In fact, he suspected that she would have happily aborted him if his grandfather hadn’t found out that she was pregnant before she had the chance. His grandfather wasn’t about to pass up the chance to improve his position by adding another heir to their House. The fact that his father was Sheraen had been unfortunate, but at least he had been a king and that was enough for the old bastard.

“What are you thinking about?” He looked up to see that she was no longer watching the sunset but studying him, instead.

“My grandfather,” he answered honestly.

“Is he still around?”

“No, he died several years ago.”

“I’m sorry. Were you close?”

Did being summoned to the old man’s study once a week for lessons in how a prince should behave count as close? But at least he’d been interested in Rastrath, and to a boy who was ignored or bullied by everyone else, it had been a welcome change.

“Not exactly. He wasn’t the type to allow anyone close to him.” He intended to stop there, but found himself adding, “At least he paid attention to me. I think he even might have cared for me in his own way.”

“What about your father? Was he really Sheraen?”

“Gossiping?” he asked sarcastically, but when she flushed, he softened his tone. “Yes, he was. He came to the Imperial Court on business and had a short, torrid affair with my mother. I was the result. Is it so hard to believe?”

“You don’t look like a Sheraen. You must take after your mother.”

“Ah, but not as far as the Kaisarians are concerned. My skin isn’t red enough, my hair isn’t dark enough, and my eyes are blue. These are all failings.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re very attractive.” Her cheeks flamed. “I’m sorry.”

“For thinking I’m attractive? Don’t be.”

Their eyes met and everything else faded away, until he was drowning in those big dark eyes. His body hardened as he felt the heat flare between them, but he held his position, waiting for her to rise, waiting for her to come to him, waiting for her to put her hand in his, waiting until she whispered, “I’m willing.”