Chapter Sixteen

J’Ssett was waiting at the base of the ramp when Kievan strode into the dock.

“She is in her cabin, my lord. Squad Leader Mikaroz volunteered to fly the ship.”

Unable to help himself, Kievan growled. J’Ssett looked at him silently and even after all these years, Kievan could not read the other man’s expression.

“I ssent him away,” J’Ssett said quietly. “Captain Khibren is on his way.”

“That’s not necessary,” Kievan replied. “I intend to pilot the ship myself.”

“My lord?”

“You have full authority while I’m gone. I’ll communicate as often as possible.” Turning his back, he strode to the ramp, already focusing on the trip, but J’Ssett’s soft voice stopped him with one word, “Kievan.”

From the time they met, J’Ssett insisted on using a title rather than Kievan’s name no matter how often Kievan protested. After a few years Kievan had stopped suggesting it. Now the sound of his name brought him to a halt. He closed his eyes briefly, then turned to face J’Ssett.

“Thiss will not help her. She is…destroyed. Let her go.”

Kievan’s fists clenched. “I’m not ready.”

“Will you be any more ready when you have to hand her over to Prince Ustrod?”

“No,” he said, and heard the bleakness in his voice. “But I have no choice.”

J’Ssett studied his face. “You could refuse.”

“You know what will happen if I do. I don’t have a choice.” Refusing to discuss the matter further, Kievan turned and walked up the ramp.

Just before the door closed, J’Ssett spoke. His voice was soft but Kievan heard it anyway.

“There is always a choice.”

Kievan loved his private yacht. He had won it from another overconfident gambler and the small ship was fast, powerful, and luxurious. Each of the two lush staterooms had a private bathroom. In addition to the cabins, there was an intimate dining area and an elegant saloon. He could control the entire ship from the small but functional bridge. On the lower deck, the engines, engine room, and a crew cabin shared space with a small cargo hold. The hold was supplemented by a number of hidden storage compartments which Kievan had frequently put to profitable, if not legal, use. Now he stood in the larger stateroom, staring at the silk covered bed, and fighting down the urge to blow the ship to pieces.

The auto-pilot was engaged and other than regular monitoring, he had very little to do until they reached Prince Ustrod’s palace on Bharvugo. Five interminable days stretched out ahead of him until they reached their destination. Cam’s presence just across the corridor in the other stateroom was an almost unbearable temptation. The memory of her face when he told her she had been sold, haunted him. He wanted to go to her, erase that look, and bury his body inside her until the last possible moment, but J’Ssett was right, it wouldn’t help her. He also had an uneasy suspicion that he wouldn’t have the strength to put her aside again.

Desperate for a distraction, he remembered the Sardoran conditioning exercises. Starting at the age of seven, he had performed them daily, only stopping in the past few years as the demands on his time increased. Moving in to the first position, he let the movements take over, seeking the sense of peace that accompanied the demanding repetitive postures.

Two days later, he was sitting at the table in the dining area, staring bleakly into a cup of cafir. J’Ssett sent daily reports and he managed to occupy most of his days with work, although his nights still stretched long and endless. The Imperial battle cruiser had departed. It could have moved just out of sensor range but he doubted it. Once Kievan had capitulated, Prince Ustrod had moved on. Unfortunately, the cruiser could be recalled as easily as it had left.

A slight noise and a hint of sweetness in the air disturbed his tortured thoughts. Cam was standing in the doorway. She hesitated almost imperceptibly before coming forward and kneeling at his feet, head lowered. Despite the fear of what he would see on her face, he grasped her chin and raised her head. He saw nothing. A tiny tremor shook her body at his touch but her face was dead and expressionless. Her eyes were open but unfocused. Every trace of her personality: the warmth, the affection, even the intelligence, everything was gone—replaced by the mask of the perfect slave.

The combination of her soft skin beneath his hand and her sweet scent tempted him beyond his ability to resist. Moving cautiously, he lowered his mouth to hers. As their lips touched, she didn’t flinch, he did, but he didn’t release her mouth. She accepted the kiss passively, not resisting but not opening for him either. He didn’t force it, just enjoying the feel of her soft lips beneath his until he tasted salt. That was when he raised his head and saw that her eyes were closed, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

Clenching his jaw, he released her chin. “You may leave. Food will be brought to your cabin.”

“Yes, Master.” Ignoring the tears still sliding down her face, she rose gracefully to her feet and left the galley. As soon as her cabin door closed, he followed, standing outside the thin panel and listening intently. He heard the silent tears turn to gut-wrenching sobs; he heard the agony in every breath. Each muffled sound sliced into him like a knife. He leaned his head against the cool metal door, his hands clenched on the door frame, fighting the urge to go to her and forcing himself to listen to every sob wracking her body. When her cries finally subsided to a few hitching breaths, he released the door frame and straightened. He noticed that the frame had crumpled beneath his hands, blood staining the metal where the sharp edges had scored his flesh, but he dismissed it and returned to his empty cabin.

He didn’t see her again until it was time to disembark. True to his word, he left trays of food outside her door. Even though he deliberately chose her favorites, she ate almost nothing. Each time he removed a barely touched tray, his instincts roared at him, demanding that he feed her, provide for her. Each time he forced them down, retreated to his cabin, and worked his body until his muscles were on the verge of collapse. Exhausting his body did nothing to shut off his mind.

When they landed on Bharvugo, Cam emerged from her cabin. He caught his breath at the sight of her. Once again, she was composed, her face dead and empty but alarmingly pale. Her bones seemed to be etched against her skin and although she was as beautiful as ever, she looked impossibly frail. She was wearing the gold sarong and halter she had worn the first night she came to him and Kievan had to look away, the memory tormenting him.

Unable to speak, he led the way silently from the ship. They had landed on a small airstrip within the grounds of the palace. Two guards met them and escorted them wordlessly through elaborate gardens to the even more elaborate palace. The palace was predominantly carved from white marble but unlike the cool serenity of Kievan’s quarters, every inch was carved, embellished, and decorated, all designed to impress the viewer with the prince’s wealth and power.

The guards came to a halt in a huge, tiled reception room. An intricate mosaic beneath their feet was composed of semi-precious stone tiles, the walls were covered with tile frescoes depicting major events in the prince’s life—events that Kievan had reason to believe were mainly apocryphal. Between the frescoes, tall arched openings led off into multiple corridors.

“Wait here, Lord Kievan,” one guard said, and the two men disappeared.

Cam stood correctly, one step behind and to the right. Reluctantly compelled by the need to see her face, he turned his head. No emotion disturbed the blank mask. He wanted to kiss her, scream at her, even strike her; anything to bring the life back to her face. Instead, he forced his eyes away, clenched his fists, and stared into the distance.

After a long silence, a richly dressed and very overweight man appeared in one of the corridors. Kievan recognized him as Prince Ustrod’s chief eunuch. The eunuch bustled forward to meet them.

“Master Kievan, a pleasure. And is this our newest guest?”

His mouth tightened but he managed to force out an assent.

“Excellent, excellent.” The eunuch circled Cam appraisingly. She stood motionless, her gaze unfocused. “Very nice. Remove your clothes, girl, so I can get the full picture.”

Kievan clamped his jaw to prevent his instinctive protest. Cam’s eyes flickered momentarily but her blank expression did not change. Calmly, she unfastened the halter and the sarong and let the pieces drift to the ground.

“Excellent,” the eunuch repeated as he began his second circle. He paused as he reached her back and saw the clan mark. “Oh, dear. Now the prince will not like that at all. Can it be removed?”

“No,” Kievan ground out between clenched teeth.

“Oh, well. We should have cosmetics that will cover it but it’s most unfortunate, most unfortunate.” His gaze went to the bracelets around her wrists and ankles. “And those will need to be removed as well.”

Kievan did not think his body could get any tighter but he forced himself to nod and remove the jewelry. For one brief second her eyes flew to her bare wrists, pain so naked on her face that he almost weakened. But then the blankness was back, watching without expression as he offered them to the other man. “She can keep them.”

“Oh, no. Slaves are not allowed personal possessions.”

“It was my understanding that she was to be granted concubine status.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but my instructions were quite clear. She is to be added to the general harem. But she is promising, quite promising, and she may very well work her way up. You can safely leave her in my hands.”

“I will not be leaving until I have seen the prince,” he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“Of course, of course. A servant will take you to your room. She will see to all of your needs.”

Did her eyes flicker again? He couldn’t be sure and in studying her face he almost missed the next words.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I will have your slave…” The eunuch laughed lightly. “Your former slave, I should say, installed in the women’s quarters. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything you need. Follow me, girl.”

Without a backward glance, Cam followed the man down the corridor. Kievan locked his muscles in place. If he moved the slightest fraction he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going after her, throwing her over his shoulder, and killing anyone who got in his way. Instead, he stood motionless as he watched them go, his heart splitting open.

He was still staring at the empty corridor, when he heard a voice behind him.

“Kievan Rus, this is a pleasant surprise.”

Muscles tense, he turned to face the person addressing him. He relaxed a little as he recognized Prince Rastrath. Of all of the royal princes, Rastrath was the most agreeable. Rather than devoting himself to politics and jockeying for power, the prince seemed focused on a life of pleasure. He not infrequently visited Sigrast, indulging in gambling and throwing extravagant parties with a great deal of zest, although Kievan had occasionally wondered if there was more to the man than his lifestyle suggested.

“Your highness.” Kievan bowed his head.

“What are you doing here, my friend? You so rarely leave your station.”

“I brought a… slave for Prince Ustrod.” The words were so bitter in his mouth that he almost choked on them but he kept his face composed.

Prince Rastrath arched a brow and stared at him. Kievan returned the look. Like the entire royal household, Rastrath was built tall and lean, although if Kievan hadn’t trained with him, he would never have known. The prince liked to conceal his physique behind extravagant outfits like the gold pantaloons and heavily embroidered sapphire robes he was currently wearing. The blue of the garment matched his eyes, the startling color one of the few signs of his mixed heritage. The other was his red hair, only a few shades darker than his skin, but he wore it proudly, combing it away from the small horn on each temple to stream down his back.

“She must be something special,” the prince said after a long pause.

Kievan could barely force the words out. “She is.”

The prince gave him a surprisingly discerning glance but didn’t pursue the matter.

“My cousin isn’t back yet. I understand that you are staying to meet with him?”

Kievan nodded.

“In that case, let me take you to your quarters.”

The prince led the way, chatting idly about his latest run of bad luck and sharing tidbits of gossip about mutual acquaintances. Kievan responded when required, but he was preoccupied with fighting the impulse to go after Cam.

Stopping at last, Prince Rastrath opened the door to a room. Kievan followed him inside, noticing absently that it was large and ornate. The prince walked across to the tall windows lining one side of the room, opened them, and stepped out on to a small balcony. Kievan joined him and together they looked out over a formal garden. Another wing of the palace was directly in front of them. The prince nodded at it.

“Those are the women’s quarters. My cousin likes to keep his women close for whenever he is ready to… play.”

Kievan was staring at the other wing, wondering if Cam was close, but something in the prince’s tone caught his attention.

“Play?”

Prince Rastrath shrugged, not looking at Kievan. “Ustrod’s tastes are a little more… sophisticated than mine. I don’t really find inflicting pain enjoyable, let alone causing permanent damage.”

Anger roared through Kievan’s veins, his eyes going white. His hands clenched the balcony railing in an effort not to move and he felt it start to give. Through the blood pounding in his ears, he barely heard Rastrath bid him good night as he left.

Kievan stayed at the railing, fighting his anger, fighting his instincts. All the discipline he had learned during his years of warrior training, the harder discipline he had learned once he was Outcast, the rigid control it had taken to conquer his enemies and run the station, he forced them all on himself until his heart slowed and he could hear the birds singing in the garden below.

He stared down into the garden, not seeing the ornate pattern of carefully chosen plants. If he was honest with himself, Prince Rastrath’s words had not come as a complete surprise. Rumors of Prince Ustrod’s proclivities were kept quiet but were hardly unknown. Somehow between his furious resentment at being forced to obey the prince’s commands and the pain of losing Cam, he had lost sight of what her new life would actually entail. Now the worst of the rumors came flooding back. The thought of Cam’s creamy skin torn open almost sent him back into battle rage but he managed—barely—to control it and finally gave in to everything his body, his instincts, and his heart had been telling him all along. No matter what the price, he was getting her back.

A discreet knock sounded at the bedroom door.

“Come,” he called impatiently, his mind already considering options.

A slave girl entered, crossed the room, and knelt in front of him. She was very attractive, small and slender but nicely curved. A sheer green gown accented the short creamy fur that covered her body and matched her wide, tilted eyes.

“May I service you, Master?” she asked, her hand going to release the shoulder catch on her gown.

“Not right now.” He hesitated and then grasped her chin and raised her face to his. She had the same blank, calm look that Cam had maintained and when he looked into her eyes, he realized that she was completely broken.

“Does your master mistreat you?”

Her eyes flickered but she answered at once. “No, sir. He is very good to us.”

“Look at me,” he demanded. Determined to get an honest answer, his hand tightened on her chin. She flinched. He swore under his breath and released her. “I won’t tell anyone but I need to know. Does he mistreat you?”

Something flared in her eyes as she met his gaze. After a long moment, she held out her hands. He could see the scars where her claws had been removed. When his eyes left her hands, she opened her mouth. Her fangs had also been removed. She took his hand and stroked it along her back. Beneath the soft, concealing fir, he could feel the scars. She had given him the answer but she opened her mouth and confirmed it. “Yes, Master. He mistreats me.”

This time he managed to lock on to his control before the rage overtook him. He studied the slave in front of him and took a chance.

“A new girl came in today. Do you know where she is?”

Wide green eyes studied him.

“Why?”

He considered his options. Trust did not come easily to him, but he needed her help.

“I am taking her away,” he answered honestly.

A shiver rippled over her fur. She bowed her head and was silent for so long he thought she wouldn’t answer.

“She’s on the lower level, third door on the right.” Her voice was the merest thread of sound. “I can take you there but you’ll have to get out on your own.”

That didn’t present a problem; he’d kill every damn guard in the palace if he had to in order to get Cam out.

“Take me there,” he ordered.

She nodded, rising silently to her feet and heading for the door. An unexpected feeling of compassion hit him as he watched the small figure walk away.

“What’s your name?”

His question stopped her in her tracks. After a frozen instant, she turned to face him. “Diandra, Master,” she said softly.

“Is there something—” he started.

“It’s too late for me.” A dark shadow flickered across her eyes. “But it won’t be for much longer.”

Kievan had seen that shadow before in the eyes of men wounded in battle. They didn’t recover from their injuries. He nodded.

“Thank you for helping me, Diandra.”

“I’m not helping you; I’m helping her.” Without another word, she led the way from the room.