I want to be sick. How did one scrawny girl from Earth cause all of this trouble?
Relieved of his duty? What does that mean? Is that some sort of euphemism for he’s going to be excommunicated? Executed?
I don’t know where it comes from, but a fire inside me blazes hot and furiously. I straighten up to my full height, I clench Droka’s hand so tight that I feel the tendons in his hands creak. I take in a big breath of air… But when I open my mouth to speak, the King is already talking.
“The position of Captain of the Imperial Guard is hereby abolished,” he says. “Therefore, you cannot be arrested and tried for any crimes pertaining thereto. I have instituted a new position and you are hereby appointed the Commander of the Imperial Guard. Kneel before me, and swear your new oath.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Droka drops to his knees and presses his forehead to the toes of the King’s boots.
“I pledge my fealty, service and anankah to the service of the King,” Xalax says. Droka repeats. “I shall protect the royal family,” he says and Droka repeats. “And always act with the good of the planet and our race firmly rooted in the forefront of my mind,” he says and Droka repeats.
“Rise, Commander,” the king says.
There was nothing in that new oath about mates or offspring.
Droka is free.
They embrace like old friends, and something tells me that they are. Queen Resa gives Droka a polite peck on the cheek, but when she comes to me, she gives me a hug—putting her mouth close to my ear. She whispers something, and I feel the gravity of her words like a stone in my stomach.
The king and queen leave us. For the first time, we are alone and at peace. The feeling of being relaxed is quite foreign to me, but I think I can get used to it.
Droka leads me into the back of the house and says, “I want to show you something. I think you’ll like it.”
It is a large wash basin. Large enough for me to stretch out and soak my entire body at once.
“It will take forever to fill it,” I say. “By the time I boil the last bucket of water, the first bucket I poured in will be cold.”
“Ah,” he says. “Xalax said you would enjoy this.” He bends over and touches a button. Water begins to pour into the tub. And… Are my fatigued eyes playing tricks on me? Is it steam I see? I put my hand under the stream and have to pull it back immediately. It’s hot. Hot water? Just like that? On demand?
“Then the King is a wise man,” I say.
Droka puts his hands underneath my tunic and cups both of my breasts. He holds me close and kisses the back of my neck. “Let me bathe first,” I say. I feel filthy from being in that auction house.
“No,” he says. “I can smell your arousal. You need to be mated.” He pulls the tunic off over my head. I’m bare underneath it—the rough-spun thing was draped over me at the auction house and I do not have underclothes. Droka notices that my body is shaved smooth and a devious smile spreads over his face.
“Hmm,” he says. “This is different.” He puts a finger between my lips and presses it to my clit. The heat of his finger pressing against me causes a flood of desire to pulse through me. “I like being able to look at this little thing,” he says and starts to stroke my clit up and down. Soon his finger is coated and slippery, and it glides over my swollen clit, making me pant and tremble like an animal. He withdraws his hand and I let out a little whiny protest.
“No,” I say. “Please touch me.” He is still smirking, though I can see the bulge of his erection underneath his breeches.
“Your little nub is getting bigger,” he says, “and it’s getting wet. I can see it better when you are aroused.”
“I am,” I say.
“Then bend over and offer your body to your mate,” he says.
I put my hands of the rim of the large wash basin and bend over, arching my back. “That’s a start,” he says. He puts his booted foot between my ankles and puts his knee between my legs to spread them wider apart. “That’s better. A female should learn the proper way to present herself to her mate.” He steps behind me, and I hear him unlace his breeches. They drop loudly as his waist-pouch and weapon thud on the floor. He takes off his hooded cloak and throws it recklessly. Then he traces one finger down my slippery slit and slides it inside me.
His finger already feels so big, so thick, and my cunt grips it tightly as he pulls it in and out over and over. He leans forward and puts his mouth to my ear. I hear him breathing, and it sends a shiver down my body. “Are you ready to take it?” he asks. His other hand is guiding his erection towards me, pushing his tip against my opening. It still feels like there’s no way it will fit, even though I know it will.
“Yes,” I gasp, “I’m ready for it.” He presses it harder against my opening, using his hand to guide it. When he pushes inside I cry out. His hot and thrumming erection inside me feels so good. I like being spread open for him. I like offering myself to him. I like hearing his low moans of pleasure as he thrusts inside me.
He reaches for my breasts and kneads them, flicking my nipples with his fingers—pinching them gently and pulling on them as he thrusts. That’s enough to push me over the edge. I feel that hot tingling start to gather, low in my belly.
“Not yet,” he says. He pulls out and lifts me up, setting me down on the floor. “I want to watch you come.” He repositions himself between my legs and enters me again. He puts his hands underneath my ass and tilts me up—and something about the angle he’s positioning me in feels even better. I get that feeling again, like my orgasm is close. “Touch yourself,” he says, “Rub your clit for me while I watch.”
His voice is commanding, authoritative and I can’t refuse. I don’t want to refuse. I reach down and touch myself, rubbing frantically like some sort of deranged pervert. But I don’t care. I feel no shame in my actions. We are mated, bonded, and our bodies are uniting right now in the same fashion as our spirits.
I tense, and feel the release as my orgasm takes control—clenching my body into a rictus of pleasure. It’s intensified by Droka’s urgent thrusting. I can tell that he’s close too. He grips me tight, and plunges into me deeply, groaning loud in his release. He stays inside me for a moment, then withdraws and collapses on the floor next to me.
Before I can relax into him, there is a sound that I can’t immediately place. “Bah,” he says and jumps up. It’s the water, overflowing onto the floor.
He turns it off and then, in a quick motion, reaches down and lifts me up—setting me into the tub. My weight displaces even more water, and it pours onto the floor. It’s all the way up to my chin and it splashes a little in my face. I stick out my tongue to lick the water off my lips and Droka warns me. “Don’t drink this water,” he says. “The faucet in the kitchen is the only one that delivers filtered, potable water.”
But I’ve already tasted the bathwater. It’s slightly salty and tastes like rocks.
“When you grow things on this planet—” I start to ask, but he doesn’t let me finish.
“I have told you, we grow very little.”
“Yes, but when they try, do they use filtered water?”
“Of course,” he says, scoffing at the idea. “We always use filtered water. The only reason this water is not is because Xalax—High King though he may be—connected this tub directly to the old deep well on the property. It’s suitable enough for bathing, but not for drinking.”
But I’ve stopped listening to him. I remember what the Obsidian Queen Resa whispered in my ear and I leap out of the tub and run outside.