The Claiming of Moira Shine

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

The Claiming of Moira Shine ISBN # 1-4199-0749-2 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Claiming of Moira Shine Copyright© 2006 M.A. Everaux Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication: September 2006

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Content Advisory: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

THE CLAIMING OF MOIRA SHINE M.A. Everaux

M.A. Everaux

Chapter One It was another gray, overcast day, Moira noted as she closed up shop midafternoon. Not a surprise, of course. She couldn’t remember the last time the sun managed to beat through the clouds and bathe the ground with its warmth. It had been a long time ago. Years and years, in fact, when she’d still been a child. She could clearly remember her mother stepping outside their weaving shop onto the filthy narrow street, tilting her head up to the sunlight and laughing. It was her favorite memory of her mother, and one she always thought back on whenever she wanted to remember her. But, like so many other things, sunshine was no more. A distant memory, along with soft rains, snow and clean water. No more than a story to be passed on to one’s children, if they managed to survive the barrage of childhood illnesses that rampaged through the city. So many children didn’t. Moira’s hadn’t. And she could count more than twenty others living close by whose children had perished from one sickness or another in the last few years. Soon the existence of babies in the city would be added to the string of tales passed on. But by then, there’d be no one to pass them to. Moira shook the thought away as she closed the shutters over the window that, fifty years before, had been glassed and sparkling, large enough to display wares. Before ducking back inside, she waved to Mrs. Hendelson across the street, who was going through the same process of closing shop. The older woman waved back before disappearing inside her store for the night. Moira closed and locked her door and turned to study her small shop. It was neither the most glamorous nor most destitute weaver’s shop in the city. She had two large looms, several smaller ones and a spinning wheel she used to make specialty fabrics. Not that there was a great demand for that sort of thing anymore. Specialty orders were going along the same vein as good weather and money—nothing but a fond memory. Now the wheel just sat in the corner collecting dust. She had a cheery fire going in the hearth, a small stack of firebricks lined up neatly beside it. The smell they gave off as they burned wasn’t pleasant but they were the only option available to poor people, and they kept the shop warm despite the dropping temperatures. A large area rug covered the majority of the main room, hiding the scarred, dull floor beneath. It was rough stone, the same type the rest of her shop was built from. It was grungy-looking, a pale brown, pocked where stones had come loose and worn down, cracked where time and weather had beaten their presence. But it was home, as was the poor district of the city she lived in, along with countless others living in poverty and filth, barely managing to scrape a living together. It was what she knew.

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She hummed softly as she went over to the opposite wall lined with shelves, some empty, others filled with neat, orderly stacks. Quickly, Moira counted through a pile of small rugs she always had on hand. Blankets were two shelves over and there were fewer of those. She made a mental note to start on more the next day, and moved down the shelves to where she kept bolts of thick cloth. They were finely made and of a heavy, sturdy material that was barely even remembered. There were only two bolts and neither held more than a few yards of material. With the lack of coin and business being so poor, there was no need for more. Few people had the money to purchase cloth anymore. Those who did belonged to the upper classes and frequented the wealthier shops where off-world cloth and clothing was carried. She stood back, looked up and down the shelves once again then gave up worrying about her stock. No one was purchasing it anyway, and the colors she used didn’t make a difference. All anyone in her district cared about was staying warm. Old sacks and rags worked just as well as anything else, and had the added benefit of being cheap. In her neighborhood, a person was wealthy if they had enough food. Most people didn’t, making food a much more valuable bartering tool than money. There was so little of it people were literally starving in the streets just for a small piece of bread or fruit. If there’d been more children, she knew she’d have seen them being turned out of their homes for the simple fact that no one could afford to feed them. As it was, the adults were having a difficult enough time just trying to feed themselves. She shook the thoughts away. Worrying neither altered nor helped and was a pointless endeavor. She was getting by—barely. But for now, barely was all that mattered. The future would either take care of itself or it wouldn’t. And there was no arguing about it one way or another. She neatened her wares, swept the rug and finished the night before the fire, on her knees, her head tilted up and her eyes glued to the three ceramic jars on the rough stone mantel. They were rather crude, created out of clay and mud. They sat in a row in the center of the mantel, each with a small lid, each housing the remains of the only three people in the world she’d ever truly loved. Her mother—so beautiful, so courageous. The type of person who saw love and kindness in everyone she met and could love the child of a brutal rape without regrets. She was a woman who laughed and smiled no matter how bad life got. It hadn’t mattered to her one whit that Moira looked like the man who’d attacked and raped her, or that vandals broke into their store searching for money. No matter how bad the situation seemed, Rose Shine had been able to get through it, still cheerful, until the day she’d died with a knife in her chest. Moira had been just twelve. Hers was the first jar, and Moira bowed her head and said a quiet prayer to the spirit of her mother. The second jar, identical to the first in that they were both ugly and of equal size, held the remains of the man she’d accepted as her father, though they’d shared no common blood. It hadn’t mattered then and it didn’t matter now as she paid

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tribute to his memory. Moira had adored him just the same and had taken him into her heart. Goddard had been a cranky old man, even when she was just a child. He griped and complained, his hunched body accomplishing slowly what hers had been able to do in just seconds. For him to bend enough to reach the floor had taken minutes, and half the time he hadn’t been able to straighten up again without help. As the years passed his surliness had only worsened, but sometimes, when he wasn’t feeling the weather in his bones and he had a few pages of an old book in his hands, he’d glow with pleasure, and she’d see the man he’d been before the arthritis. At first he’d resisted her presence in his shabby hut. She couldn’t have been much more than five when she started going over to visit him. He’d attempted to scare her away and succeeded more than once, but she’d always run back for some unknown reason. And after a while, he’d grown to accept her presence. Eventually he began to expect it. Goddard was the reason she’d survived her mother’s death. If not for him she most likely would have run off, probably died of either disease or starvation. It’d been his prickly presence that had centered her, his ironclad control that stayed her. He had forced her to aid him, to forget her grief while she helped him through his body’s increasing weakness. And after several weeks, after he’d managed to move in and assist her with the running of the shop, Moira had looked up one afternoon from her work, frowning, and discovered that she would, in fact, go on. That life was still possible, even after loss. She’d had him with her until she was seventeen. He’d stayed with her those years, happy to abandon his own little house for the comfort of hers, and in payment he’d taught her survival skills unlike any she’d learned before. From Goddard, Moira had learned how best to hurt a man, how to fight to survive and when to run. He was the one who told her it was better to die at her own hand before the torture, than by her enemy’s after. One day, on a particularly gray, blustery morning, Moira woke to find him cold on his cot, his haggard face relaxed and released from signs of the pain that had plagued him for so long. She’d cried for him, wailed, but being older and wiser, she’d accepting his death more readily but felt the same sharp pain as when her mother had passed. Moving on to the last jar, Moira wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks. It was smaller, more finely made, and was the most painful for her to see, though she stared at it for a long while as she remembered the first days of her son’s life. Jonas. He’d been the very joy of her existence, her reason for living. Everything— the pain of birth, the sickness of pregnancy, terror at the thought she’d die in labor— had been worth it, and she would have willingly suffered ten times as much just to spend a single minute holding him. Her relationship with his father had been fleeting. Young himself, he’d died in a skirmish between cabals before he even knew of her pregnancy. Whether their

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relationship would have lasted, Moira didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Jonas had been her gift. A perfect baby, large and strong, he’d slid from her body, wrapped his small fingers around her heart and hadn’t let go until the day he died. His death eighteen months later had almost killed her. With each series of memories Moira felt her heart grow heavier and heavier, until finally she knew it was time to stop. Her dead were honored, prayers said for them, their images renewed so she could never forget. She said another brief prayer for them all before getting to her feet. She banked the fire before passing through the main room and into a tiny back area, slightly colder and damp from the misery outside. And it was there, surrounded by her few personal possessions, that she stripped her clothes and slid into the small cot against the wall. She fell asleep a few minutes later.

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Chapter Two There was no daylight when she woke hours later. The sky was still dark and covered in smog and clouds. The temperature had dropped, making the air even more frigid than it’d been the day before. Rolling from bed, Moira selected fresh clothes, tied her hair back in a tight knot and started her day. After building up the fire in the main room, she unlocked her doors and slid the shutters open. She frowned as she leaned forward enough to see the chipped step leading to her door. There was no water bucket waiting. She stepped out onto the stoop and looked first up then down the rambling street, straining as she examined the shabby shops that ran along either side. Not one of them had the familiar pail that signaled their water delivery had arrived. From where she stood, it looked as if the whole street had been abandoned. None of them had any fresh water for the day. “He didn’t come,” Nettie Bartel muttered from the shop next door, standing in her front door and shaking her head, looking far more worried than angry. “That boy didn’t come. He’s never done this before.” Since that boy was as old as she was, Moira didn’t bother commenting. Besides which, Nettie was right. If the regular deliveryman didn’t come by, then a replacement did. Always. Water was serious business in the cities. Without it, one simply couldn’t live for more than a few days, and with the rivers and lakes contaminated so heavily, delivery was the only way safe water could be obtained. “Maybe he became ill,” Moira suggested. It was always a possibility. Disease ran rampant through the cities. With sewage and pollution running unchecked, and refuse piled down every other street, it was impossible to avoid. Even those who should have been strong enough to resist sickness often times weren’t able to. Virulent strands of plague, flu, polio and measles were frequent all throughout the city. And no longer did anyone have the medicines to combat them. Even the wealthy couldn’t afford treatment, and often there simply wasn’t one. Polio no longer responded to any medicines. And the measles and flu were changing every day, morphing into something even the scientists didn’t recognize. Then there were the cabals to deal with, and their underground markets that hiked prices up so high that even the wealthy politicians could hardly afford medicine. “Honey, if he’s sick, then all of us better worry. That young man was in the peak of health.” Her eyes shifting uneasily down the street toward where it curved and the shops became unkempt, shoddy housing, Nettie added, “I heard there was another wave of TB going through.” 8

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Moira winced at the thought, remembering the last outbreak. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” “I know, honey,” Nettie said, slipping back into her home. “But what frightens me is how many it’s been hitting lately. Young, strong people just up and gone like a puff of air. If it’s hitting them, then I have no chance, do I?” It went without saying. Nettie was nearing fifty, a veritable ancient in any city. If there was a disease of one type or another taking out healthy young people, then undoubtedly Nettie would contract it. That thought just made the day that much worse. Moira spoke with a few more of the residents of her street before going back inside. One of them nominated himself as a runner to alert the water dispensary and the rest of them went on with their day, since there was no other choice. For some reason, as Moira returned inside to work at her loom, she just couldn’t shake off a feeling of expectation. Something was going to happen, something big. Only she couldn’t guess what. Worse, she didn’t want to. No one came into her shop that day. Not one person. It was a long, lonely day for her, and the minutes dragged by, each one slower than the last as she worked at her loom. When she didn’t hear from the others about the water situation by the end of the day, Moira abandoned any hope that the water delivery was just delayed. After taking stock of her emergency stores, she reluctantly took what she needed to get by, praying that the water situation was temporary. That evening, after closing shop and with a feeling of great change weighing on her, Moira prayed again before her dead, spending even longer on her knees. When she finally stood up an hour later, her body stiff and her legs numb, she finally felt a measure of peace. But it still took her a long while to fall asleep. She woke up some time later, when her rooms were chilly and the fire was little more than glowing coals. It was sudden—one second she was sleeping and the next awake, her eyes open in the dark as she listened to the panicked screams of her neighbors and friends. Screams. They were soft, muted by the stone of her house and the rain pelting down outside, but there all the same. And accompanying them was the muffled roar of something dangerous enough to make people desperate to flee their homes in the middle of the night. She stayed where she was in her narrow cot, her body locked with tension and fear, her heart racing. What should I do? She closed her eyes and tried to think clearly. Survival was foremost in her mind. To survive, she needed to assess the threat. Goddard’s words were etched in her brain and brought a measure of calm as she

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slipped from bed, put on her thickest, warmest clothes and tiptoed to the front of the store to peer behind the shutters. Her eyes went past the chaos of her neighbors running, screaming, and to the fire. It was destroying the shops and houses on the opposite side of the street, going from building to building as if it were a creature looking for the tastiest morsel it could find. It hadn’t crossed the street, though it was only a matter of time. Fire was the biggest threat to anyone in the city. Streets were narrow, buildings old. Roofs went up in flames from just a spark. Moira didn’t waste any time. She grabbed one of her cloth satchels and went through her shop, searching methodically through her belongings and taking the things she couldn’t survive without. She wrapped each of the clay jars in a small rug and put them in the bottom. She added a full canteen and the few coins she’d hoarded, along with a couple articles of clothing. She checked the window again, saw the flames advancing and, with a heavy heart, abandoned her shop. The wind and cold were even more biting than she’d prepared herself for. The gusts went right through her clothes and stabbed into her skin. The rain mixed in made the whole mess worse than anything she could remember. It should have helped, but the fire was simply too large. The rain came, blowing and gushing, and the fire burned brighter and hotter, hissing with resentment as it ate up the thatching on the houses and businesses of the street. She shivered and pulled her shop door closed behind her, clutching her bag tightly. The street was filled with people, some walking aimlessly, their eyes haunted and empty as others hurried away. She saw nothing to explain the panic except the fire, yet those running made her wonder. People didn’t run away from fire. They fought it because there was nowhere else for them to go. Yet from what she could see, no one even made a halfhearted effort. The blaze burned away, unchallenged. People went to and fro, yelling for family, their hands empty, most still in their nightclothes. Moira ignored her neighbors, the fire and even the possibility of raiders. Instead, she concentrated on what was most important. Survival. Survival meant getting away and finding shelter from the weather, finding food enough that she could endure another day. Her hair, still braided from sleep, hung down her back in a thick rope. She took a minute to tuck it inside her bulky shirt and stepped away from her shop, saying a silent farewell to the place that had been her home for so many years. Eyeing the rising flames, she knew it wouldn’t be long before they reached her shop. Already the fire had eaten up half the buildings on the opposite side of the street, and looked eager to consume the rest. With the flames growing higher and the wind stronger, it was only a matter of time before flames leaped across or burning debris landed on one of the houses on her side. A familiar face caught her eye when she was just a few feet from her door. For a minute she couldn’t place it but then realized it was the runner, sent out just that

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morning for water. Without thinking, she pulled him to a stop and shouted over the noise of the fire and the crowd. “What’s going on? Why is no one forming a line to the dust piles to stop this?” His mouth was slack and his breathing ragged as he shivered in the weather. His shirt was soaked through from the rain but it wasn’t the reason for his shivers, she realized. He was scared. His arm jerked in her grip. “They’re coming! For us! Run, before they catch you too!” He wrenched away as the crowd suddenly surged. Moira managed to stay on her feet but she lost him in the process. She was jostled from the side and then roughly pushed forward. She pushed back against the force of the crowd but was forced forward again. Then it was as if she were in a herd. Everyone started running, and having no other choice, Moira ran with them. The fire roared on, growing louder and stronger as she raced down the cobbled street, immersed in the crowd as it moved with the bend of the road. The whole street was maybe a mile or two in length from one end to the other, bracketed on each end by wider, noisier streets mockingly called Rubbish Lane and Refuse Road by the residents because of the garbage heaps found all along their lengths and alleys. On a normal day, Moira avoided the two streets like the plague. But it wasn’t a normal day, and with the crowd surging forth, she had little choice in the matter. The crowd came around the bend and immediately panicked cries rose from the front. Moira couldn’t see at first, but she knew something bad lay ahead when they abruptly stopped. Someone crashed into her back, almost pushing her over. Moira grabbed the man in front of her, ignoring his vicious cursing as he tried to dislodge her. She righted herself, fighting to stay vertical and at the same time see what had everyone so terrified. She stretched up on her toes, craning to see to the end of the street. She desperately wished she hadn’t. The street was drowning in fire. The flames stretched across, encompassing buildings on both sides and pooling in between along the cobbled street. Every building burned, down to the last hovel. Flames dripped off the roofs and shutters of the buildings to the foundations and the fire continued to rage, as if the stone itself was fuel. And it was moving toward them. Slower than the fire at the other end but moving all the same, eating everything in its path. Between the two, nothing would survive. Moira was shocked into stillness along with everyone else. How long they stood in the street, watching the blaze, unable to turn away, she didn’t know. Fear took away all sense of time, leaving her with just a vague sense of purpose. I need to leave. To go away, find someplace safe… A sparkling shine caught her eye and pulled her from her daze. She had just a second to see it before the crowd moved and she was forced in the opposite direction. But she knew what she’d seen.

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Armor. Glistening, shining armor on tall, tall forms. Seven feet, at least. And they’d come through the flames, seemingly impervious to the heat. She let the image go and concentrated on staying alive as everyone rushed onward, retracing their steps in the direction from which they had come, racing for the opposite end of the street. They passed the original fire and she almost stopped in her tracks in surprise at how large it’d grown. It leaped into the sky, cloaking the night with thick smoke and orange light. The crowd slowed to a fast walk as they moved past. The heat was nearly unbearable. It came off the blaze in thick waves, so hot Moira’s skin prickled. Carefully she slid between people, making her way to the edge of the crowd, all the while keeping her eyes on the street ahead. She expected the worst, but still, when it came, she almost lost control and screamed as loudly as everyone else. Where no fire had burned just seconds before, suddenly flames leapt up. It was just a tiny spark, no larger than the tip of her finger, but as soon as it touched thatching, fire whooshed and three roofs were aflame. This instant fire came from more armored men. They were identical to the others and now she could see them clearly, could easily make out the metal covering them from head to toe, making them shimmer against the backdrop of fire. It gave them the illusion that they were part of it. Her skin crawled with premonition and before she could reconsider, she swung around, looking behind her. Her hands clenched when she saw more armored men slowly advancing, no more than fifty feet away, tiny sparks of fire flying from their silver hands and bursting to life wherever they hit. She was bumped and jostled as others came to a stop around her, realizing the attack was coming from both directions. Panicked and with nowhere to go, screams quickly rose as the crowd began to circle with fear. Moira ignored everyone around her and hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. She was still breathing hard as she checked both directions. She bit her lip as she considered her options, her eyes narrowing with concentration and her heart pounding beneath her chest with uncertainty. Taking a deep, calming breath, she said a prayer and then did what no one else was considering. She dashed toward the burning buildings. She heard someone scream, even above the roar of the flames. Glancing back she saw the armored soldiers racing forward. Within seconds they had everyone on the street surrounded. The herding began immediately and her friends and neighbors were neatly forced in one direction, as easily as a field of cattle. After that, she didn’t dare chance a look behind. The heat of the fire was fierce on her face. She felt strands of hair, sopping and stuck to her skin seconds before, spring up and curl in the heat. Moira did her best to ignore the sensation and with a swift kick to the door, ducked inside the closest building despite the flames already eating away at the roofing. She rushed through the small home, not paying attention to what was inside or the bits of fire falling to the floor. Instead she focused on what might lie at the back.

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Ducking through the front room, she stopped inside the smaller back room and let out a short breath. Boxes were stacked high against the wall. With one swipe of her hand she dislodged half of them, knocking them to the side in her effort to uncover the small exit she knew had to be there and was, in fact, a facet of almost every building in the district. She had half the wall revealed and had to pull away a heavy stack of boxes before she finally saw the edge of a tiny exit, just large enough to crawl through. Adrenaline pumping through her, Moira was dragging more of the boxes away just as she heard the front door burst open. She glanced back to see one of the large metal figures coming toward her. He was so tall he had to duck just to enter. A huge sword was strapped to his thigh, along with several other items she didn’t recognize. Then she saw his eyes, visible through just a tiny slit in the fitted helmet over his head. Everything inside her seemed to shrivel on the spot as he stepped through the room, his gaze pinning her to the spot. He wasn’t human. She knew that by the shape of his pupils. Not human, she thought, and with a sharp jolt that snapped her back into action, she kicked the remaining boxes away. She heard him growl behind her but paid him no heed as she yanked the door open and slithered through. She had to climb a pile of garbage just outside the door that ran the length of the alley beyond. The stench was unbearable and she heard loud squishing noises as she pulled her body up the small mountain. But she was free. She was out of reach of the armored monster. In a back alley, yes, but at least she had a chance. Pausing momentarily at the top of the garbage heap, she tightened her grip on the bag over her shoulder and began her descent to the alley floor with just enough time to see her pursuer’s head pop through the small door. But that was all that fit. The rest of him lodged tight in the little bolt-hole, too big to fit through. Moira glanced at him one last time before running, her eyes on the entrance of the alley a hundred feet ahead of her. Over more garbage, around the puddles of filth and she was almost there, almost free… When the dark form stepped from the shadows at the mouth of the alley, she had no time to do anything but scream before the dart hit her. Moira fell to the ground, her body numb, her brain foggy. She succumbed to the drug before her captors even got to her.

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Chapter Three She woke up with damp stone beneath her cheek and her body aching in every way possible. Moira drew in a shallow breath and listened to the frightened, whispered words floating around her. Slavery. Auction. Sale. She sat up slowly and the conversation stopped. She was in a large cell, ten other people sharing the space around her. There were no benches or chairs, no rugs or blankets. And every one of her cellmates had a look of utter defeat on their filthy, smoke-stained faces. “Where are we?” She rubbed at her pounding head and winced as she edged over to lean against the back wall. She faced the barred door and the enemies she knew must lie beyond. A rough-looking middle-aged woman answered. “The Prison of the Condemned. We’ve been here for about ten hours, now. They threw you in just a few hours ago.” The Prison of the Condemned used to be a place to house the very worst of the city’s criminals. If ever a cabal master was caught by the politicians and lawmakers, he went to the Prison of the Condemned. And now it was being used to hold innocent people. Moira felt her stomach twist with nausea. As if some signal had gone off, the rest of those in the cell went back to their hushed conversations and ignored Moira as if she wasn’t even there. It suited her just fine. She didn’t see any familiar faces, and making friends wasn’t going to help the situation. After a few minutes she got to her feet and crossed the cell. She stood in front of the barred door, peering out, looking first up then down the narrow hall. It was terribly long and dark. She could barely make out the other cells taking up almost every available inch of space. Most were filled. Each cell she could see appeared to be bursting with people. “You all alone?” One of the men peeled off from the main group behind her and slid closer. He leaned his shoulder against the door and looked her up and down. “You don’t look so good.” Moira redirected her attention and blinked at him for a moment, her mind still foggy. “I’m sorry?” He was young, possibly younger than she was, and had just the beginnings of sparse stubble on his chin and cheeks. His skin was pale in a sallow way, making his chin look weaker and his eyes darker. “I asked if you were alone? You have a sort of—” 14

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Alone. Her eyes widened and then she moaned as her knees went out from under her. When she hit the floor, sharp pain resonated up through her hips but she barely noticed. “When they brought me in, did I have a bag with me?” He frowned in confusion. Moira screamed at him. “Did I have a bag with me? Answer!” He backed away. “N-No. You had nothing.” The pain of her loved ones’ deaths came back to her, as sharp as the day each had died. She’d lost them. Lost her mother, Goddard and her baby. She didn’t even realize she was wailing with grief until the boy backed away even farther and looked at the door in alarm. He practically scuttled back when it was opened suddenly. One of her attackers stood in the doorway. Still in his armor, his helmet was now gone, revealing a scaled, narrow face, a lipless mouth, small eyes bare of lashes and a large, bald head. Her estimation of height had been close—he was at least seven-feet tall, possibly a bit over. The creature focused on Moira before looking at the others. “Why does she do this?” He shifted and his armor shimmered. Moira stared, so completely mesmerized by the complexity of the material that her crying quieted. Armor it was, but there were few similarities between what her captor wore and what she knew the cabals used on raids. First of all, it wasn’t made of any metal she recognized. It was too shiny, obviously heat-resistant based on what she’d seen in the street, and made no sound during movement. It looked lightweight, too, and it was comprised of thin, flexible metal bands that somehow hooked together into a tight, formfitting protective layer that covered and moved fluidly with his body from neck to toe. The pattern of the metal pieces almost looked like the scales on fish. The cabal, in comparison, used armor made of thick, awkward pieces that could be heard blocks away and made movement stiff. The helmet, at least as she remembered it, was the only part of the ensemble that resembled the cabal’s protection. When her captor took another step into the cell, Moira found herself studying the way the armor moved. Looking for weaknesses. She found one. The guard repeated his question, obviously convinced one of Moira’s cellmates were responsible for her tears. It was then that Moira came out of her daze enough to realize he wasn’t speaking English—and she wasn’t the only one who understood him. They’d injected her with a translator. They’d injected them all with translators. He looked at her sharply, his mouth somehow thinning further until it was nothing but a black line across his face. “You. You will tell me what ails you.”

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Moira’s pain coalesced into one sharp spear of anger, so strong she could hardly see straight. “I had a bag when I was caught. Where is it?” “Slaves have no possessions. You have no bag.” She felt her heart lurch again even though she’d already known. The air around her crackled with tension and before she could even think about it, she screamed and launched herself at him, her hands going for his eyes. He knocked her away. She came up and went for him again, this time feinting in closer and bringing her knee up between his legs. Flexible as the armor was, the pain to her knee as it connected with the material was still considerable, but she worked through it. His flesh gave beneath the thin metal covering and she heard his hiss of pain. Satisfaction moved the fury aside for a second and she was out the door before he fell to the ground. Shouting rose up all around her. Cell doors rattled and both men and women screamed for their freedom. Someone else yelled over the din for the keys and she might have gone for them if she’d any idea where the keys were and had the time to do it. As it was, she was operating on borrowed time. She raced past cells, running as fast as she could through the darkened hall, praying the others in her cell were doing the same and providing a distraction. The floor was slippery from too much moisture and her feet slid across the surface with each step, impeding her progress. She kept her eyes forward as she closed on the end of the hall where it turned a sharp left. She put on more speed, felt her heart jerk at the thought of escape, and was just passing one of the larger cells when her arm was snagged. Fingers dug sharply into her skin as she was hauled toward the cell and slammed against the bars. Metal dug into her back as her captor snarled, “Get the fucking keys and let us out!” Moira cried out when his other hand clasped around her neck, squeezing even as she fought to free herself. “The keys! Now!” And then she was ripped from his grasp and thrown to the floor, coughing as she fought for air. Tall, metallic forms towered over her, each one almost identical to the other, even with their helmets gone. “I think you’ll be far more difficult than you’re worth,” one of them stated, a slight lisp to his words. Moira finally sucked in a painful breath and stared up at him from the floor, mutinous and silent. They dragged her down the hall, all the way back to her original cell and tossed her inside. She was thrilled to see her victim, now outside the cell but still on his knees and clasping his groin as he got his breath back. He shot daggers at Moira as he finally made it to his feet with assistance and growled at their cell, “Prepare. Your group will be taken to the baths for grooming next.” He walked away, limping with each step.

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Moira didn’t move from where she’d been thrown and stared doggedly down at the floor. She heard the murmuring of the others in the cell, but didn’t bother to listen. Twenty minutes later, when five of the guards returned, everyone in the cell quieted again. One of the guards stepped forward and unlocked the door. The others clustered closely around it as he stepped inside. He eyed Moira suspiciously as he said to the group, “You won’t be harmed as long as you obey our orders. Come.” He motioned everyone out with a sweep of his arm as he stepped aside. “Come, come.” The young man Moira had spoken with briefly was the first to inch forward. And then, in a giant mass, the rest followed, sticking closely together and making it easy for the guards to arrange them against the wall. Everyone was out and still Moira didn’t move. She knew the guard was looking at her, could feel it like a lead weight resting on the top of her skull. But still she refused to look up, and didn’t dare move. His heavy, metal-covered boots came into view and then he was kneeling in front of her, all seven feet of him. “You don’t follow your companions.” She turned her head and glared at the corner of the empty cell. “You won’t be sold if you maintain this filthy state. You cannot wish to remain here forever.” When she still said nothing, he grunted softly and, faster than she could see, his hand shot out, clenching tightly around her throat. He leaned close and hissed, “Get up. Go with your companions.” She knew she was shaking, knew she was close to crying again. But there was still the anger deep inside her, boiling and fierce, refusing to be shut down. She punched him on the side of his neck. It felt as if her hand shattered with the pain, but it was a good punch and he almost fell back from the force and surprise of it. His breath gurgled out. One of his mates yelled and then two of them were there, tearing her away from him and tossing her to another guard waiting just outside the cell. “Go!” one of the guards yelled as he knelt beside the one still gasping for breath and clutching his throat. “Get the cleaning done. I’ll stay and make sure Mitik is fine.” Moira’s guard kept a firm hold on her all the way to the communal showers, where he shoved her away roughly. It was a large, square room, wet and too warm, with multiple showerheads sticking out of each wall. The floor was made from ugly, chipped tiles and was already covered by a shallow flood of water despite the grated gutter running down the middle of the room. The other prisoners stayed in their huddle and stared blankly with wide eyes as another guard entered the room carrying towels and a jar of pale-colored cream. He set everything down on the floor near the entrance then, in a clear, deep voice, ordered everyone to strip and get beneath the showers.

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There was a moment of whispered questions before Moira’s cellmates immediately complied. Moira stayed where she was, half crouched in the center of the room, watching the guards warily. The one who’d brought the towels picked up the jar of cream and calmly walked to the nearest member of the group, a woman in her thirties with cropped hair and a round body. She shrieked and tried to escape. He caught her arm easily and leaned down to whisper to her. The woman calmed and then nodded. She stood completely still while he uncapped the jar and spread the thick cream over the hair beneath her arms, on her legs and covering her pubis. When she stepped into the water, the cream rinsed away with the hair and she was smooth all over. He stepped to the next person, a middle-aged man, and repeated the process. Moira stared in amazement as he moved from person to person. She turned when she felt a heavy tapping on her shoulder. One of the guards stood in front of her, his long neck and bald head the only parts of him not protected by the shiny metal armor. “Undress and wash. New clothes will be provided for you afterward. Go.” He pushed her toward one of the unused showerheads. Moira stopped just a step away from him. “What makes you think I’d do anything you tell me?” He sighed as if he was under a great deal of strain, and with a signal she didn’t even catch, two more guards were there, holding her arms while he stripped her clothing away carefully and tossed it haphazardly to the side, along with everyone else’s. Moira screamed, her body bucking as she fought to get free. She managed to land a solid kick to her undresser’s face, hard enough to cause his head to wrench to the side. She felt the jolt all the way up to her hip. His head swiveled back to her and this time there was no gentleness as he ordered cuffs. Within seconds, thick metal was clamped around her wrists, locking them tightly together as he finished ripping away the rest of her clothing. Before she could duck away, he brought out a second jar of cream, slathered the goop over her body and then pushed her toward a stream of hot water. Moira shivered with fury. Her breath was heavy and measured as she glared with contempt at her captors. She made no move to wash anything since her hands were shackled, just stood beneath the water, unable to move from beneath the stream because of the three guards surrounding her, penning her in. “Clean her up.” The one on her right stepped closer, reached for soap and, with quick, businesslike motions, lathered her body, gritting his teeth every time she slipped away. It did no good and only made him angrier. She was pushed back into position by the guards again and again, and was finally kept still when one of them caught her hair tightly in 18

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his grasp. While another finished washing her body, her hair was untied and loosed from its braid. “Hold this.” Her hair tie was handed over as her hair was soaped and rinsed. She was held beneath the spray long after her hair was free of suds and then taken out and forced to stand in the middle of the room while one of them fetched a towel. “Bring the comb, too,” a guard added. He took the towel his mate offered and began to dry her with brisk, unhurried strokes. Moira didn’t move a muscle, even when a second guard started untangling her hair. But she felt the leashed violence inside her build, knew her control was tenuous at best. She stayed quiet, waiting. “It’s lovely,” the guard combing her hair said, marveling as he ran his hands down its length. “So red. Like blood.” “She’ll fetch a nice price,” one of the other guards commented, coming closer and admiring her hair. His eyes quickly went over her body and he added, “If she can behave long enough.” He went away while the other two continued getting her ready for sale. They spoke of slavery as if she should feel honored to be forced into such a soulless industry. The guard combing her hair finally finished and stepped in front of her. He looked her over with a practiced air, tapping the head of the long wooden comb against his lip. “She’s too thin,” he commented. “Perhaps if we—” Moira didn’t hear the rest. She saw her chance and she acted. While he was still muttering nonsense about her salability, she sprang forward. She knocked the man with the towel aside with a swift kick, landed a solid blow to the other’s throat and went for the comb. With one man on the floor and the other fighting to breathe, she swiftly broke the fine teeth off the comb, leaving a thick, jagged spike. She turned and buried it in the throat of the man on the ground, her rage spurring her on. It was over in seconds. Buzzing filled her ears, even as she watched in fascination as blood welled up through the throat and mouth of her victim. He writhed on the floor, his hands clutching desperately at the wood, now slippery with his lifeblood. Finally she felt a measure of peace, the fury that had bubbled through her since she’d woken in the cell calming. Her heartbeat finally settled into the rhythm it was supposed to maintain, even when rough hands ripped her back, smashing her against a wall as one of the men knelt beside his companion and tried to save his life. It was too late. She knew it as she watched him. Too much blood had washed down the drain with the water from the showers and the comb wouldn’t come out. Her aim had been true and if somehow the makeshift weapon were removed, she knew, even if medical attention were available, the guard would die.

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She smiled to herself and sank to the ground, not noticing the fire in her back or the pain in the hand that had broke the teeth of the comb. One of the guards roared as his friend’s heart failed and his breathing stopped. He rose to his feet, fire in his reptilian eyes as he leapt at her. Moira welcomed him as his hands circled her throat. She expected death. Wanted it. The buzzing in her ears was still loud, even as her air was cut off. Blackness edged her vision and the world fell further and further away. Moira smiled, knew it’d spur his rage on. His companions wrenched him away just before she lost consciousness. His nails scored deep grooves into her skin as he was lifted off her, but the pain was distant as she watched him wrestled to the ground, roaring with fury. She wondered when death would come for her, wondered how long it would take. And prayed it’d be short.

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Chapter Four The planet was a hole. One giant cesspool, barely suitable for even human occupation. “I vow never to return here,” Marin DoTritus said to his guards. Each of them nodded in agreement as they moved forward, past the docking station for ships and through the greeting area. It was a small cluttered place with far too much furniture, too much metal and no plant life. Not such a surprise, considering how little vegetation existed on Earth, but still, it was a strange thing to be without after living among gardens and fields. There wasn’t a bit of living green for as far as the eye could see. The station itself was falling apart, a relic of times past. Though large, much of it was without power, in disrepair and outdated. Outside the station, the city sprawled in much the same condition. It was an urban pit, a place better suited to housing rats than intelligent life forms. Not that humans were terribly intelligent. But they served well as companions and slaves, and the ones on his home planet thrived among the healthy ecosystem. Decent food also helped. He and his men stopped in a small, filthy room with no windows and stale air. Marin impatiently tapped his foot as they waited, mentally going over the list of requirements he wanted in a slave. A few minutes later he heard the sharp, quick beat of approaching footsteps. Straightening, Marin pushed his long hair behind his shoulder and stepped before the door. Mitik was at the front of the contingent of Pembari. Marin paid him proper respect as they went through the protocol of bows, then dropped the formality and greeted the man with a hard clap to the shoulder. “Mitik. It’s good to see you again. I hear your capture this time rivals even that of the Misrai colonies.” Mitik inclined his head slightly. “My Lord DoTritus, it’s truly an honor you bestow upon us by visiting our humble collection. I hope you’ll be pleased with everything we’ve acquired here. I feel there are many possible matches for your particular needs. I have selected several and separated them for your perusal.” Mitik’s tall form led the way from the room and through the station, down halls in such bad repair that the lights flickered as they walked through them. They passed a huge room Mitik referred to as a “cafeteria”, and then they were outside in a sort of courtyard. Marin found the air so rank he couldn’t help but gasp with each breath he took. “And they live in this?” he coughed.

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“They live and survive in this. It’s a wonder, Lord.” Mitik shrugged and led them down a filthy path and up a steep set of stairs. A giant of a building loomed, half of which was falling down and no more than a pile of rocks. It was gray and dingy, and from the look of things, it was meant to be. The inside was worse. Filthy beyond measure and it didn’t get any better as Mitik led them through the maze of halls on the ground floor, up a narrow set of steps and into a rough-hewn room that had far too much in common with a cave, to Marin’s thinking. He could even hear water dripping somewhere. Most of the room was occupied by a barred cell, which held eight women. Mitik bowed again and held out his hand, gesturing to the cell. “The women I thought best suited, Lord. Each one has been examined and approved by me personally. I hope you are pleased with the selection.” Marin stepped closer to the cell, hardly even noticing as two of his guards did the same, each one staying close to him and just a step behind. He stopped in front of the bars, his eyes going over each of the human females. He smiled at the one with dark skin and black hair, but she turned and looked away from him, pulling her loose slave smock closer around her body. There was another he found intriguing. She was taller than most human females. Her hair was cropped short and curled wildly around her head like a halo. Her skin was lighter than the other woman’s, but still a creamy darkness he found appealing. She would look sensational against him, and would highlight his own white hair and pale skin beautifully. Her face, too, was intriguing, made up of soft lines and delicate curves. They gave her a gentle, ethereal quality. The other women in the cage barely warranted a second glance. Marin turned away from them, already looking forward to the auction ahead. “You’ve done well, Mitik.” He bowed to the Pembari. “The auction will start soon, I gather?” Mitik nodded and waved his hand toward the door. “This way, Lord. I was waiting only for you. The others are already in the gathering room, waiting for the bidding to begin.” Marin bid on both women, but in the end gave up on the darker of the two and bought the woman with the short hair. He sat through the rest of the auction, content with his purchase as he examined the other slaves forced into the small cage before the bidders. After the auction was finished, another Pembari led Marin and his guards through the winding halls, deep into the bowels of the building where Mitik’s office was located. The Pembari was already there, completing paperwork for other customers. He tried to excuse himself but was immediately bombarded by yet another man coming forward with his payment.

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Seeing Mitik would be some time yet, Marin slowly walked up and down the hallway, his hands clasped behind his back, his head up as he passed each cell. It was at the end, when he turned on his heel to start back, that he noticed the girl lying on the floor. At first he thought she was dead. The red surrounding her was so deep, so intense it could only be blood. Then she moved. Her shoulders arched and her head rolled against the stone floor, and the red moved with her. It was her hair. Each strand was glorious, absolutely rich with color. It actually made him breathless. She was pale white against the darkness of the stone floor, her body unclothed and open to his hungry eyes. He quickly looked over her body, finding it thin and unremarkable, and was soon staring at her hair again, unable to tear his gaze away. He didn’t even notice Mitik until the Pembari was standing beside him, a sheaf of papers in his hands, his eyes on the girl in the cell. “She’s a wild one. Completely untamable. I’ve slated her for execution tomorrow morning.” Marin turned, gaping at him. “You’re destroying her? Whatever for?” The Pembari’s jaw firmed and his thin pupils became mere slits in his yellow eyes. “She killed one of my men, injured another. She’ll never settle, no matter where she goes. It’s better this way.” Marin looked back at the human female lying so still on the floor. Her face, like her body, though nice enough, paled in comparison to her hair. But he still couldn’t take his eyes off her. And when her face angled toward him and her cold gaze met his, his breath hitched in his throat and he found himself murmuring, “I can tame her. I want her.” Moira knew she’d been darted again when she opened her eyes, but she didn’t know where she was. In contrast to the prison, it was warm and dry. And there was a green woven rug beneath her. She lifted her head groggily and immediately laid it back down, groaning. Nausea rose up, strong and urgent, along with a piercing headache. For several minutes it was all she could do just to keep from throwing up. “Ah, so you’re awake I see.” She forgot about her discomfort and snapped her head around. A man stood by the wall, leaning against it insolently. He was dressed well in tight pants, a thin shirt and a long overcoat, everything in white. His hair was just as pale and lay like a sheet over one shoulder. His eyes sparkled at her, full of mirth and arrogance. He wasn’t really beautiful, though the word did pop into her brain. “Startling” was a better description. And he was startling, in multiple ways. Though shorter than her Pembari captors, he was still larger than any man she’d seen before. With wide shoulders, a full chest and strong legs, he was so opposite of what she was used to that

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for a minute all Moira did was stare. His skin was very pale, but not in the sickly way common to people in her district. And his shoulders were straight and back, his posture flawless even as he reclined against the wall, not at all stooped like the men she knew. With his thick, long white hair, perfectly symmetrical features and elegant air, he was well worth looking at. But still strange, mostly because of what she didn’t see. He didn’t have any scars. Not one. No pockmarks marred his perfect complexion, no bump indicated where his nose had been broken or where his jaw had fractured, and his teeth, when he spoke, were perfect. Not one was missing or crooked, and there was no sign of decay. And then there were his eyes. The most obvious of all his features, his irises were the palest of greens, almost white, and gradually darkened until they were black at the centers. No human had eyes like that. She scooted away from him. He clucked his tongue and pushed away from the wall. “Come. Stand up. We’ve much to do and only a few short days in which to do it. I won’t have you looking like this when we land at my home. It would be utterly scandalous. Come along then.” He made an impatient gesture with his hand and strode to the door. It opened automatically and he went out. Moira stared after him. A minute went by then two similarly large men entered, one with pale yellow hair, the other with the lightest of browns. Their austere, coarse features and thick bodies were so similar, Moira decided they had to be related. They silently walked over to her, wrenched her to her feet and pushed her to the door, following close behind her until she was outside the room, in a hallway. It was empty. The walls were bare and the floor was covered in shiny tile. The white-haired man stood a few feet from the door, his hand on his hip and his jaw tight with displeasure. “You’re aggravating me, slave.” The word hit home. Slave. It sounded like a curse to her ears and rocked her back physically, sending a wave of icy pain through her heart. “I’m a…slave?” She looked away, only then noticing she was still nude. Automatically her arms came around, covering as much skin as they could, which was precious little. “Ioff, Wais,” he looked at his two men, “keep her close.” They nodded their heads and in tandem said, “Yes, Lord Marin.” Lord Marin nodded sharply then spun around and walked away at a fast clip. His two men took a step forward, motioned for Moira to follow and, when she didn’t, stepped closer still until they were crowding her. The meaning was clear. It was either follow or deal with the two guards. Moira followed.

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Down a lit hallway they went, Lord Marin walking a few steps ahead of her, the tails of his overcoat fluttering behind him like a wave. His hair, she noticed as she followed, fell to nearly his waist. “You will see,” he said over his shoulder, “that it’s much finer here than what you’re used to. You are to do nothing, ever, unless told or given permission. Your life depends on my generosity and good mood. You would be wise to ensure both.” They continued on, turned right and, halfway down another hallway, stopped. Lord Marin breezed into a doorway and disappeared. Moira stopped before entering and peered in, not wanting to go anywhere that would prevent her from protecting herself or escaping, if it was at all possible. It was a large room, and when she looked closer she discovered it was actually a suite. Two open doorways led to smaller rooms at the back. Probably bedrooms, she decided. The main room was richly furnished and decorated simply. The sofas and chairs were upholstered in thick, cushy materials in various shades of pale browns, and thick, cream-colored carpeting covered the floor from one end to the other. She felt the presence of the two guards at her back and turned to look at them over her shoulder. One motioned her forward with a quick shooing gesture of his hand, and when that didn’t work, he stepped close enough that he was almost touching her. Moira swallowed roughly and ducked inside, her heart pounding. Lord Marin smiled in pleasure and sank onto the sofa while his two men flanked the inside of the now-closed door. Marin’s eyes went slowly over her body. Moira looked away, staring through everything in the room to focus on the wall across from her. She tightened her arms around her body and did her best to think of nothing, to feel nothing. Lord Marin sighed dramatically. He turned from her and glanced at one of the doorways. “Pet, do come out and show our companion how a well-behaved slave treats her master, hmmm?” A woman came into the room. She was beautiful, with darkened skin and a riot of short curls surrounding her face. She was dressed in a low-riding skirt that fell to her ankles and showed slits at the sides, nearly to her hips. Beaded necklaces hung in a thick rope around her neck in blues and creamy whites. The rest of her skin was left bare, open to the warm air. Her breasts were high and round, her nipples puckered as she sank to her knees before Lord Marin. Dutifully, she bowed her head, and Moira noticed a pale tattoo marking her back, just at the top of her spine. The etching was a whitish-silver color, and the design was a series of circles within circles, each one smaller than the last, so finely done there had to be over thirty of them. The whole thing was no larger than an inch and a half, and so simple it was lovely. Lord Marin sighed in pleasure and placed his hand on the woman’s bowed head. “You are becoming more beautiful every day, my pet.” His eyes rose to Moira. “This is 25

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how you behave before all when greeting your master.” Abruptly, he wrenched the slave’s head back and leaned down to grind his lips against hers. Moaning, the woman’s mouth opened. Her hands were desperate as they immediately went to the drawstring of Marin’s trousers and untied them. She pulled at them even as he leaned down and bit at her neck. The woman’s hands delved deep into Marin’s pants. She practically shrieked as she brought out his huge cock, already stiff and ready for fucking. A shiny silver ball gleamed at the end of it. Moira couldn’t move a single muscle as she watched the play between the two. Lord Marin finally pulled away and shoved the woman’s mouth toward his sex. The woman didn’t even try to avoid it. Her mouth clamped on to his cock eagerly, sucking and pulling at his engorged flesh as if she were starving and trying to feed from him. Marin leaned his head back and smiled as his hips tilted up, thrusting into the woman’s mouth as his eyes rolled up to Moira’s. “It’s better not to resist, little slave. Remember that. Not that it matters if you do. Once I’ve had my cock buried inside you, there’ll be little you can do about the need. It’ll be there inside you, as strong as you see it in this pet here.” His hand came out and kindly wound its way through the woman’s hair, pressing her farther down on his cock until nearly all of it had disappeared inside her mouth. Then, gritting his teeth, his hips jerked sharply upward, his body tensed, and he came with a shout. The slave woman lapped every trace of his orgasm up, drinking it down with a satisfied sigh. And then, to Moira’s disbelief, she licked the lord’s cock from balls to tip, sat back on her heels and lifted her skirt to reveal her hairless pussy. With two busy fingers, she started pleasuring herself, whimpering as she came closer and closer to completion. Moira shook her head and couldn’t keep the shiver of fear from her voice as she asked, “What have you done to her?” Lord Marin slid from the chair, pushed the slave to the floor and almost absently impaled her. She bucked against him, screaming, her fingers still working her clit as he pounded inside her with so much force the slave woman was pushed across the carpet with each thrust. “I fucked her,” he gritted out, his brow becoming shiny with sweat. “My seed did the rest.” They went at it like animals and Moira could only stare. It should have hurt the woman. The way Marin moved would have caused pain in anyone else. But the slave woman merely screamed and clawed at him, demanding more. When she came, her back arched off the carpet. Her head went back, even as her hips kept pumping up to meet the thrusts that continued to come. Lord Marin gritted his teeth, clasped the woman tighter and latched his mouth around her nipple, sucking the tight flesh deeply into his mouth. It went on forever, it seemed. With each minute that passed, his possession of the woman got worse and worse. The slave woman, a woman who had just days ago been

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free, was an animal as she begged him to fuck her harder, to bury his cock inside her as deeply as it would go. She was in worse shape than any of the drug addicts Moira had ever seen. She had no shame, no pride, and only wanted one thing. Him. The woman came again, screeching so loud it hurt Moira’s ears. Lord Marin jerked the woman’s legs farther apart, surged into her one last time, harder than even before, and bowed his back with his orgasm. Moira understood then what he’d meant. His seed was addictive. The thought nearly sent her stumbling to her knees as it struck home. He’d even admitted it. He was an addiction, and he expected her to accept him as this other woman did. He levered himself off the slave woman, smiling up at Moira as he righted his clothes and slid back onto his seat. He didn’t look once at the woman lying at his feet, panting as her body recovered. He didn’t so much as cast a worried glance her way to make sure she was all right. Now that his needs were met, it was as if she didn’t exist. “You’re a pretty bit of goods,” he commented, stretching with a satisfied sigh. “I’ve already spoken with the doctor. He’ll be here shortly to complete your exam and take care of the details. I promise it won’t hurt you, and once it’s done you’ll be more satisfied than you ever were before.” Moira shook her head slowly. “If you touch me, I’ll kill you. I swear I will.” He threw his head back and laughed, even as a chime rang at the door. Wais looked at a small control panel beside the door and said, “The medic.” Marin slid deeper in his seat. “Let him in. Pet,” he looked pointedly at Moira, “do behave.” The doctor, though older, was like Lord Marin, whatever their race was. He was taller, thinner and looked more severe, though he was still a handsome man. His hair was steel gray and pulled back in a loose braid. He bowed to Lord Marin. “My Lord. It’s good to see you. I heard about this unexpected second purchase of yours.” He looked Moira up and down from where he stood before lowering his heavy case to the floor. “I see she’s as arresting as the others said. Glorious hair.” Marin smiled in pleasure. “Mmm. She wasn’t examined on Earth. I was hoping you could give her a quick look-over, and make sure everything’s as it should be.” Moira moved to the side, keeping her eyes on the guards, the doctor and Lord Marin. “Don’t touch me. I’m fine.” And what did he mean ‘on Earth’? “She’s still wild,” Marin was saying. “But I think she’ll be marvelous once she’s tame. Like this one here.” He toed the other slave, who finally lifted herself off the floor and went over to sit at his feet. “A matched set in their beauty and uniqueness, I think.” The doctor made some little noncommittal noise as he signaled to Moira to come over. “Come along. We haven’t all day. There’re only a few days on this journey and plenty others to look after.”

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Moira stayed where she was, locked in place, her knees slightly bent and her hands still clutched tightly over her body. “She does have a translator?” he asked, shooting a questioning glance at Marin. “She does.” He nodded then took a step closer to her. “Do come forward. It’ll do you no good to fight this, as I’ll only direct Wais and Ioff to fetch you for me.” His eyes gleamed as he stared at her, not threatening, just sure and determined. Moira chanced a quick glance back at the guards. Both of them looked right through her, as if she was the smallest of concerns, which she supposed she was. “Come, come,” the doctor said again. Swallowing nervously, Moira moved forward, knowing she had nowhere else to go and nowhere to escape to. He directed her to stand still and waved a small boxlike device over her body, moving from area to area—her heart, her lungs, around to her back. He frowned at the box then, sighing, returned it to his bag. He brought out a small hydraulic punch and loaded it. “Your malnourishment is astounding, but hardly surprising with the current state of things on your planet. This will help with that.” He laid the head of the punch against her arm. Moira felt some pressure but there was only a twinge of discomfort before the doctor removed the instrument and delved back into his bag. “Ioff, do come here and assist me. I think she may not like this part.” Even before Moira could react, Marin was standing behind her. He jerked her hands behind her, bending her elbows enough so the position caused her to arch her back in pain. “I think I’ll take care of this particular bit of it,” he whispered in her ear, laughing softly when she fought, trying to pull away. The doctor came up with what looked like a thin wand, slightly bulbous at one end. Ignoring Moira’s struggles, he placed his free hand low on her stomach and slid it down until he covered her pelvis. Then, with his brow furrowed, he placed the probe at the entrance of her body and pushed the head in. Moira screamed, doing her best to kick at him, to dislodge him from what he was doing to her. The probe didn’t hurt but it was cold and invasive, and she didn’t want it inside her. The shame and embarrassment made her want to weep and scream. “Hold her tighter please,” the doctor grumbled then with a sharp jab, pushed the thing all the way inside her despite her struggles. Once again he picked up the box, holding it poised just over her stomach. Marin pulled even harder on her arms, until she was almost sure they were going to pop from their sockets. “Behave,” he warned in her ear. Panting, she stopped moving and wilted where she stood.

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“She’s a fertile female,” the doctor announced, slightly surprised. “That’s unexpected.” “Why?” “So many of the females I’ve seen lately are not. The pollution, lack of food and unclean water all combine to interfere with their reproductive systems.” He shrugged and put the box away again. “Can you take care of it?” Lord Marin asked. “Of course.” “Then do so.” Moira’s entire body froze. She didn’t even breathe as Marin’s words went ’round and ’round in her head. Take care of it. Destroy my future babies. Take them away from me before I even have a chance… “No!” She screamed over and over again, pulling so hard against Marin he yelled in alarm and her shoulder separated. The pain dragged at her, spurring her onward even when an extra set of hands was added to restrain her. She didn’t stop, though. She couldn’t. So much more was at stake. They took her down to the floor. She hadn’t even realized the probe had been removed from her body, but as she fought, she felt a tearing pain leap up in her womb. It was heat and death, burning and shoving its way into her body. She wailed in terror of what was happening and what she wasn’t able to prevent. Marin slapped her, yelled at her to stop, but she barely heard him. She could scarcely hear anything over the familiar buzzing in her ears, so much a part of her now. She couldn’t tear her eyes away as the doctor stole her babies from her. “You won’t be able to have her for three days,” Doctor Vintaas said as he cleaned his hands and repacked his bag. “She was moving so much, and I’m afraid the lock caused more pain than was necessary, but there simply was no way to avoid it.” Marin stared at the woman lying on the floor, her body turned awkwardly, one arm still beneath her back and the other tilted at the shoulder in an angle that wasn’t entirely possible. She looked broken, and at the end of the process, before she’d been given the sedative, he would have sworn she sounded broken, as well. Her cry had held anguish. “Her arm?” The doctor sighed, closed his bag with a snap and, after bending beside her, pushed the joint back together with a thick, meaty thud. “All fixed. She’ll be a little sore but that’s all.” He stood up and dusted his hands off. “The sedative will take a day to wear off, but in the condition she’s in, I think that’s a good thing. She’ll need to eat immediately when she wakes, though. And keep her stress low until the three-day mark. I would hate to have to come back here because she’s developed a fever and sickness.”

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“But the lock is in?” Marin queried, turning away from his new possession and looking curiously at the other. She hadn’t needed to be treated for her fertility, which he hadn’t realized at the time, but was nevertheless an interesting fact. “I would hate to have her bonded to me only to discover months later she’s to give birth.” “The lock is in place, so you should have no worries on that regard.” He collected his things and with a respectful bow, exited the suite. Marin sighed tiredly. He motioned for the dark-haired slave, Tanya she’d said her name was, to come to him. She did so with great enthusiasm, and laid her head on his knee when he sank back into his seat. “I’d hoped to take her this night,” he said to the room at large, knowing his two men were listening. “Now that will have to wait.” And he didn’t like waiting. Luckily, the time wouldn’t be a complete waste. He did, after all, have more than one new acquisition. “Take her away,” he said finally, as he slid his hand into Tanya’s hair. It was light and soft, and curled around his fingers as if to keep them there. He let out a soft chuckle and lifted his slave onto his lap. She immediately curled against his chest. “Ioff, Wais, I’m putting her in your hands for the next few days. I want her trained and behaving as well as any slave. You’ve my leave to use the crop but if further punishment is needed, ask me first. Begin with deportment and manners, and move on from there.” Ioff appeared before him and bowed deeply. “Of course, Lord. It will be done.” “Make sure she’s ready for me at the end of the three days,” Marin added as Ioff lifted the red-haired slave off the floor. Her head nodded back limply and her hair fell like a bloody veil over his guard’s arm. He found himself entranced for a moment by the color. So red, so vivid. It took his breath away. “And remember what the doctor said—as little stress as possible.”

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Chapter Five She was no longer in the suite, she knew. The floor beneath her was hard and it was colder than that in Lord Marin’s rooms. She also knew someone was watching her. Moira lifted her head from the floor, blinked until her vision cleared and stared at the two guards standing across from her. Wais and Ioff, she remembered. Marin’s little henchmen, willing to do anything their lord wished. Her mouth was cottony, her voice gravelly as she said, “I’m no longer on Earth, am I?” Ioff shook his head slowly. “No.” “Which means there’s no one I can speak with to file a claim against all of you, and what you…did.” No more babies, no more children. She would never have another blood link with anyone. Neither man commented as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. She stared back at them, as willing to be silent as they were. “We are to direct you in protocol and proper conduct. Your lessons begin now.” Moira closed her eyes and drew up her knees. “Why are you taking my people?” “You truly don’t know?” She opened her eyes and shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t know. There was a moment of strained silence. The men looked at each other, then Wais said, “It’s the agreement reached between your planet and the Pembari.” At her blank look, he added, “The slave traders.” “And your people?” “Kinnains.” “You’re saying my own people arranged to have us captured and sold.” “It’s the only way,” Ioff explained. “Your planet is dying, and there’s little time left for the people who remain there. Your city is one of the last.” No, it couldn’t be possible. “So this was all arranged. For humans to be sold and bartered like…cattle.” “Not cattle,” Wais corrected softly. “Pets. Slaves. What is better, death or slavery?” She knew she was supposed to say slavery, but there was a part of her that knew it was death. “Enough of this now.” Ioff took a step toward her and tapped a short, tasseled stick against his leg. “You’re to be trained, and Lord Marin has charged us with the task. First and foremost, you need to be cleaned properly. Stand, slave.”

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Moira, still numb from the truth of her slavery, awkwardly got to her feet. Ioff inclined his head slightly. “Follow me through the halls, two steps behind. You stop when I stop, turn when I turn. You are my shadow, and should gain as much notice.” He turned and walked off, leaving the room at a fast clip. A sharp, hot lick of pain erupted on her back. Moira gasped, whipping around to see Wais with a similar crop and a glint in his eye. “Already you fail. Hurry on, slave.” She hurried through the door and closed in on Ioff, who hadn’t once slowed his pace. Since his steps were quite a bit larger than hers, she guessed on the distance she was to stay behind him and did her best to keep up. No one looked at her or commented on her nudity as she trailed behind him down the hall. It was as if she were invisible, something that didn’t even exist. Ioff made several sharp turns and they ended up at a public bath. He ordered her to wait while he went inside. Minutes later he came out, the crop still tapping against his leg. “You will bow and beg to be excused to see to your own needs.” Moira stared back at him. She dropped her eyes to the floor and bit her lip to keep from saying a word. Not once in her life had she begged for anything. There was no chance in hell she’d start now. Wais’ crop landed smartly on her lower back, a stinging reminder that her pride was misplaced. She jerked away and muttered through gritted teeth, “May I please be excused to use the bathroom?” Ioff’s brow went up. “That is not an acceptable plea. However, as you’re new to our ways and desperately in need of a wash, I’ll allow it.” Moira stepped into the room, grateful for the time alone. After relieving herself, she began to walk across the giant room, only to stop when the door opened and Wais entered. Her eyes went to him briefly, then widened at the rows of deep tubs sunk into the tiled floor. There had to be more than a dozen of them, each with its own separate faucets and soaps. Wais walked over and stood by one of the tubs at the far end. He crooked his finger at her. “Come, slave. You’ll bathe and I’ll correct any mistakes you may make.” What followed was a painful, embarrassing and lengthy process. Moira did what she thought appropriate for a bath, only to have every action chided and then corrected. Soap was not added until all the water was in the tub. Her hair was to be washed first, not last. She was to stand when using soap on her body… His directions went on and on, until she felt like she was performing an intricate dance rather than a simple bath. When she was finally allowed to step out, he made her stand still as he did a careful perusal, commenting on anything he found displeasing. Which ended up being everything.

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“You will stand still, slave,” he ordered for what had to be the fiftieth time. Moira barely managed to keep from fidgeting. “My name is Moira, not slave.” His head came up briefly and for the moment, he forgot about examining her hips and the points of her pelvic bone. “Moira? This is a name where you come from?” She counted to ten and let out a slow breath. “Moira Shine. My full name is Moira Elizabeth Shine. My mother named me after my aunt.” “Moira.” He said it again then nodded as if some great decision had been made. “It is acceptable.” “Acceptable? You’d change it?” He went back to studying her. “If it pleased the lord, it would be changed. Hold still, please.” He slathered her with the same cream the Pembari had used, spreading it thicker on all areas that had previously held hair. He made her get back into the tub to rinse off, then grudgingly proclaimed her fit for civilized eyes. The clothes he gave her were positively indecent. He handed her a skirt much like the one Lord Marin’s other slave had been wearing, except it was a deep green. He also held up a matching top, which was little more than a scrap of cloth with wide ties at the neck and breasts. Any other time she would have refused to wear them, except it wasn’t any other time. Her old life was gone, her independence in shreds and she had nothing else to wear. She put the clothes on then stood still, her arms wrapped around her bare midriff, as Wais pulled a comb from the pocket of his trousers and started on her hair. His strokes were quick and long, and pulled tangles out quickly and ruthlessly. She wondered idly if he’d heard what she’d done to the last man who’d combed her hair. “If you so much as move, I’ll break your neck.” He’d heard. He finished, released his hold on her hair so that it flowed loose and stood back to peruse his work. He ordered Moira to spin in a circle, which she did, too quickly for him to see much. He clamped his hand around her nape and growled low, “Again.” This time, she did it how he wanted. He made her do the following thing out of the bathroom, where Ioff was waiting for them. Ioff’s eyes went over her quickly before he gave a satisfied nod, and then the two men set off down the hall, clearly expecting Moira to follow along. She did, trying to keep track of all the hallways and turns, all the rooms they passed. There were so many she was completely lost after five minutes, and gave up the effort as worthless. They entered another room, this one smaller, and she thought it might be near Lord Marin’s suite. Not nearly as richly appointed, it was still a comfortable room with a

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large sofa and a small table in the main room. One bedroom sat off to the side and across from it, a small bathroom. Ioff directed her to the table. “Sit.” Moira made her way around to the sofa, only to shriek from pain as the crop landed on her back again. “Slaves do not sit with their masters. Their place is the floor.” She glanced at the floor, felt the anger rising up again, and stared back at Wais, her chin jutting out stubbornly. He took a threatening step forward and pointed the crop at the floor, across from the sofa. “Take your place, slave.” Her heart beat so loudly she could hardly hear him. She knew she was shaking as much with anger as fear. Which was dominant, she didn’t know. She wanted to attack him and run screaming in equal measure. Still staring at him, she walked stiffly around the table and lowered herself to her knees beside it. “Good.” Ioff and Wais sat across from her on the sofa. “A slave’s eyes are always lowered in respect,” Ioff informed her. Moira lowered her eyes to the table, but it wasn’t due to respect and she knew it. “Now, we will have food.” Their meal was delivered almost immediately. A serving woman came in, a laden tray held out in front of her, which she placed on the table before bowing and leaving as silently as she’d arrived. Moira eyed the filled tray with trepidation. None of the items on it were in any way familiar to her. There were several meat dishes, and one she was fairly certain was a vegetable dish, but exactly what each was made from was a mystery. “At mealtimes,” Wais instructed, handing a plate to Ioff, “the handlers feed the slave.” They proceeded to serve themselves food, speaking quietly of inane subjects. Each would, every so often, take a bit of their food and place it on a smaller plate. When it was nicely filled, Ioff placed it before Moira. “You may proceed.” Moira picked at the food hesitantly, not in a rush to put anything unidentifiable in her mouth, no matter how much her stomach grumbled at her. Wais, seeing her plight, set down his own utensils and pointed out helpfully, “Muka, ckrous and oris. Oris you will find most pleasant. It’s a bland meat, flavored only by the herbs with which the chefs use to cook it.” Moira examined it, frowned, but obediently popped a piece into her mouth. It was chewier than she liked but the flavor, as promised, was almost impossible to taste through the spices coating it.

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She found the other pieces not to her taste, but knowing she needed her strength, Moira ate them all, chewing as little as possible before getting them down. Ioff and Wais ate at a slower pace, and it wasn’t until thirty minutes later that they finished with their meal, went through a small prayer ceremony and rang for the server to retrieve the tray. “Because of your inexperience,” Ioff said, glancing at Moira, “Wais thought it a good idea for you learn what’s expected of slaves and pets.” “There’s a difference?” she challenged coolly. “Master,” Wais corrected. Moira raised her brows. “You will end each sentence with ‘master’. It’s a sign of respect and gratitude, and can be used as a generic form of address. If addressing a lord, then of course the title will be Lord.” Moira swallowed the retort rising up in her throat. “Very well. Is there a difference, master?” He nodded. “There is. A slave is simply that. One who is bought for the purpose of work only. A pet is a personal slave that often acts as a companion, and has intimate duties like bedsport. The term ‘pet’ is often used as an endearment.” Bedsport. Just the word sickened her. “And how do you intend to show me what these expectations are?” The crop landed on her shoulder. Moira gasped and pulled back, only to have another crack land on her opposite side. “Master,” Ioff corrected coldly. Moira gritted her teeth. “Master.” “We’ll take you to one of the recreation rooms.” Ioff and Wais stood up. Wais pulled out a leather collar and lead, and dangled them from his hands in front of her. “Stand, slave. When out in public, untrained slaves are collared.” Moira didn’t even realize she was scuttling away until the crop landed on her back. And by then, Wais was standing before her and pulling her to her feet. The collar was placed around her neck with barely any effort on his part. He tugged experimentally on the lead. When Moira pulled back, fighting it, he nodded and gave a sharp, short tug that sent her sprawling to her knees. Moira cried out in frustration, but no matter how she pulled on the collar and lead, they wouldn’t come off. Inexplicably, there was no buckle for her hands to find, no locking mechanism. It was a band of smooth, thick leather, and it wasn’t coming off. Moira grasped the lead and pulled to no effect. She turned her glare on Wais. “May you burn in hell!” His eyes rounded, then narrowed. He bared his teeth and the crop came down, harder than before, right across her spine.

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Moira flinched but kept quiet, waiting for another blow to fall. When it didn’t she looked up, only to find Wais’ hand had been stayed by Ioff, who was wearing a concerned grimace. “Come. We go now. You can discuss her punishment with Lord Marin.” Wais’ arm came down slowly but he nodded his head once in agreement. Ioff took Moira’s lead himself and, jerking hard, pulled her to her feet. “You will heel, slave.” And she did. He didn’t give her any other option as he pulled her down the hallway, through one corridor and up another, turning left, turning right. Finally they stopped at a clear double door. The sounds of laughter and joy floated through and were as easy to distinguish as the scene beyond. It was a large room, round in shape and lined with thick carpets. There were no furnishings other than a refreshment bar in the center and the occasional potted plant. Instead, the floor was covered in pillows. Large and plush and in a kaleidoscope of colors, they were tossed everywhere in a haphazard style. Lounging on them indolently were masters and their slaves. There had to be fifty people in the room at least. At a quick guess, Moira deduced a little less than half were Kinnain. The balance was made up of slaves, and they were serving their lords in every way imaginable. And unimaginable. Ioff pushed the door open, yanking her through and holding it for Wais. He led her around the perimeter of the room, found an empty pillow near the wall and sat down. With one sharp tug Moira fell to her knees, unable to fight the strength of the lead. “This,” he said, motioning toward the others in the room as if the debauchery were a perfectly ordinary event, “is how a true pet honors his or her master. This is what you will emulate, and this is what you will aspire to.” It was…revolting. Humiliating. Both men and women crawled around on their hands and knees, bringing bits of food and drink, rubbing their owners with feathered fans, complying with their every wish. And the Kinnains lay back, acting as if it was their due. Their superiority so great that all should bow down and worship the ground they walked upon. “See there?” Wais pointed to a lightly bronzed Kinnain with dark brown hair, lying on his back. He had one female slave rubbing oil into his shoulders while another sucked him off lustily. “See how she keeps her eyes lowered and her body positioned? She’s showing how much she reveres him simply by how she sits.” “And the other?” Moira asked before she could stop herself. He shrugged. “She is worshiping his cock, as is her privilege. As it will be yours if you behave well enough.” She bit off the retort that threatened to escape.

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“And there.” He turned her to the left, where a young Kinnain man, pale of hair and skin, stood on his knees, thrusting his cock into the ass of a human male. Another human stood over the slave’s back, pushing his cock into the mouth of the Kinnain. Even as Moira watched, he gasped and spurted his seed in such profusion it ran down his master’s chin. “He must be very well-behaved indeed if his master is sucking him off. Only the well-behaved are awarded as such.” “This isn’t good behavior,” she said dully. “Behavior is a conscious choice. You make these people into thralls and whores by raping them of their will and the ability to think for themselves.” Ioff’s eyes narrowed. “Your tone, slave.” He pulled sharply on the lead, making Moira gasp in pain. “And you will give me the respect I deserve by lowering your eyes as you speak.” Moira didn’t avert her eyes and she didn’t change her tone. “If this is my fate I pray you have pity and kill me now, because I’d rather die than suffer this type of pain and humiliation, master.” His jaw clenched just seconds before his crop whipped out, landing on her bent thigh. Moira bit her lip hard enough to taste blood but managed to keep from crying out. “You will, from this moment forward until we leave, remain quiet, slave.” Ioff gave the lead another sharp pull to emphasize his order. “Now watch and learn.” And she did, but not the lessons Ioff meant for her. The humans of the group seemed completely incapable of telling their owners no. One man was tied up and whipped, and from his cries he seemed to love every minute of it. A woman was restrained on the floor by one of the Kinnains while another fucked her, long and hard. And at the end of it, the one holding her wrists thrust his cock into her gaping mouth and came along with the other. The human woman screamed her pleasure. Whether these people had loved these types of activity before Moira didn’t know, and to her mind, it didn’t really matter. They were just two of the more obvious examples she kept in her mind, fresh for reviewing whenever her stubbornness and determination threatened to give. Their previous lives and experiences were inconsequential. Their previous desires gone. The fact was they were here now, and under the rule of people who thought nothing of abusing them in various ways. A hundred different ways. She mentally counted them off, listing them one by one. Collars, leads, rape, addiction, forced servitude, crushed independence, humiliation… Her list didn’t end, and as she saw more and more, it only grew longer. She wasn’t a fool. She knew people enjoyed different things. She’d seen enough in the city to realize what went on in people’s private lives was exactly that. Private. But she saw one large difference between the behavior of the people at home and the behavior the Kinnains engaged in. Choice. She would bet her life the Kinnains didn’t 37

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bother with something so trivial as personal choice, personal desire or even affection. It was obvious in the way they treated the humans serving them. Wais and Ioff were proof. They seemed to ignore her completely. She was simply another object. A shadow, they’d told her. Something that didn’t even rate its own identity, but instead took it from the one it served. It was enough to make her cry. They made her stay for several hours before the two men got to their feet and pulled Moira up with them. She dutifully kept her eyes lowered as she was led away from the room, and didn’t so much as speak on the way back to her holding room. Once she was back inside, Ioff removed the collar and lead, tucking them away into his trouser pockets when he stepped back. “Wais will speak with Lord Marin about an appropriate punishment for you, though I doubt it will come soon. Lord Marin is one who enjoys doling out punishment himself. I expect you’ll be sorry for your misbehavior then.” Wais brought in two blankets for her and left without saying another word. At the door, Ioff turned and said, “Your evening meal will come in another hour. You’ll sleep afterward, and we’ll continue your training on the morrow.” The door closed firmly and Moira found herself once again alone. The day of training that followed was similar to what Moira had already gone through, and had much the same outcome. She complied with the most basic of behaviors, but refused the demands that implied her dependence on and servitude to anyone. After fighting for survival her entire life, she simply couldn’t bow down. Even remembering to lower her eyes to the floor all the time was difficult. It was, to say the least, stressful and confusing. Everything she did was wrong, even when she was attempting to follow protocol and correct her manners. She didn’t sit correctly, she slouched, her feet weren’t together as she sat, her hands weren’t lying clasped in her lap. It would have helped if she’d actually cared. She would have put effort into memorizing the behaviors, would have practiced. As it was, she desired none of it, remembered little and made just the barest effort to comply, and even then only to stop the cracks of the crop, which struck often. Everything she did incorrectly earned her a taste of the crop. Both Wais and Ioff used it frequently and with great abandon. By the end of her second day of training, her entire body felt like one large welt. It ached when she walked, ached when she sat, ached when she slept. Her only hope was that God would take pity on her and steal her soul in sleep. She woke up after her second day of training knowing something was going to change. She couldn’t tell the hour, had no idea what time it was. Looking for a window

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would be of no help, as she suspected there were none on the ship, or whatever it was they traveled in. So she waited, and grew more nervous. Ioff and Wais came for her hours after she’d woken and like the day before, led her to the open bathing room. Afterward, rather than lead her to their quarters, she was taken back to Lord Marin’s suite. She found him waiting for her, lounging on his sofa, his slave rubbing his shoulders as he finished his meal. He smiled when they came in. Moira didn’t move beyond the door until Wais tugged on her lead, nearly taking her to her knees. She stumbled forward and looked up in time to see the corner of Marin’s smile dent in displeasure. “She’s hardly any better,” he commented, pushing the dark slave away as he got to his feet. “She was resistant?” He walked around her in a small circle. Ioff bowed his head. “She is very stubborn, Lord Marin. She listens to our teachings, and even complies. But only for a short time. She purposely disobeys for no other reason than her independence demands it.” Marin nodded and made a small noise of agreement in his throat. He stopped before Moira and took the lead from Wais. “Let’s see how well she does, shall we?” He turned and walked back to the sofa. Knowing she had no other choice, Moira followed, her resentment making her movements stiff. Marin seated himself on the sofa. “Tanya, you may return to your room, pet. I shall not be needing you for some time.” The other slave trotted off dutifully, but actually looked hurt at the dismissal. Moira watched her until she’d disappeared from view into one of the bedrooms, then looked down at the lord sprawled over the sofa, his dark trousers tight around his muscular legs, his shirt open halfway down his chest. “You may sit,” he told her, a small smile still playing on his lips. Moira clenched her jaw and sat on the floor. “You do it prettily enough. But you’ve forgotten something.” When she remained unmoved, he leaned forward and tapped her head. “A slave always lowers her eyes as a sign of respect. Of course, she may be more direct if she’s in need of a good fuck.” Moira moved her eyes to the side and focused on a potted tree in the corner. “You find the idea unnerving, slave?” “Repugnant.” He reared back. “Repugnant!? So the idea of my cock in your mouth holds no appeal?” Moira turned back to him. “Expect to have anything you put in my mouth bitten off.” Either Ioff or Wais sucked in a breath of shock. Marin’s mouth merely tightened with displeasure. “Then lower your eyes like a good little slave, and give the respect due to your master.”

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She looked at him scornfully. “Respect can’t be demanded. It’s earned, which you haven’t done. I hold nothing but contempt for you.” For a second, it was so quiet in the room she could have heard a needle drop. From the corner of her eye she saw Wais shake his head in disgust, but her attention stayed focused on Marin, even though he didn’t move a muscle. Then, in an instant, his gaze sharpened and grew cold. The smile disappeared from his face altogether and he sat up and tightened the give in the lead just enough that Moira could feel a slight, constant pull. “So that’s your problem.” The smile flashed again, cold and brief. “I was informed of your little…spat on the first day of training. I was told you needed a punishment befitting the crime.” Moira didn’t take her eyes off him, no matter how much she wanted. His sudden jerk on her lead had her falling forward, gasping. Her neck burned as she was unceremoniously lifted against his body, his hand grasping her waist. “I don’t let little slaves continue their outrageous behavior,” he whispered through gritted teeth, giving the lead another yank for good measure. “Never are they allowed to question my authority. Do you understand, slave?” “You have nothing on me. You don’t even exist for me. I know people like you.” She breathed through her nose as his grip on the lead tightened. “We had spoiled men on Earth, too. Men who thought they owned the world and everyone in it should worship them. I never did, and I’m certainly not going to start now.” His nose flared and his hand tightened painfully on her hip. “Don’t challenge me when you have no hope of winning. Once I get my cock inside you, you’ll be mine as much as that other pet. Then you’ll want me as desperately as she does.” Moira felt a spike of cold slither through her heart. “I’d rather rot in hell.” He jerked as if she’d struck him. His mouth opened but nothing came out. Roughly, he shoved her off him and stood up, still holding the lead. Moira rolled to the floor, the tension still on her collar. She’d gone too far and she knew it. “Ioff, Wais. Get me the ties.” The men ran to do his bidding, and it wasn’t until Ioff came back with two cuffs that she understood what was going to be done to her. Moira shook her head and tried to scramble back, only to be halted by the tension of the lead. “No—no, don’t do it, please…” Marin ignored her pleas as he pulled her to her feet, pinned her panicked hands behind her back and shoved her against the wall, where Wais readied the hooks already sunk into it. Moira fought him, but with the lead still in his hand it did little good. Marin pushed her chest to the wall and held her there while he locked a cuff around each wrist and

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attached them to the hooks above. He untied her top next, and let it flutter to the floor before he stepped back to admire his work. “She’s pretty this way. One of you get something for her hair. It’d be a shame to ruin it with the whip.” Moira’s eyes went wide and her head whipped around. On the sofa was a thick braided whip, supple and coiled as if it were a snake just waiting to strike. Lord Marin picked it up, uncoiled it with a practiced flick of his wrist—it was longer even than she was tall—and smiled benignly at Moira. “You’ll enjoy this or not. It matters little to me. What is important is that I shall. Immensely.” He smirked. Moira pulled uselessly at the cuffs around her wrists. The lead dangled harmlessly down her stomach and rippled like smoke as she continued to struggle. “Don’t. I’ll kill you for this, you bastard! I’ll hate you with every breath I take until the day I die!” Wais stepped behind her and with quick movements, had her hair braided and the end tied off. He hissed once, ducking when she threw her head back in an attempt to hurt him, and finished the job. He tossed her braid over her shoulder to rest against her breast. “Now…” Marin flicked his wrist after Wais got out of the way, and the whip lashed out like a living, breathing thing. Moira watched over her shoulder in horror as it moved, and for a second, even though she knew it touched her flesh, didn’t feel the pain. It came afterward, when the whip had already returned to lie harmlessly at Marin’s feet. Then the burn of the wound bloomed and overshadowed her anger. She gasped as her whole body clenched. Her cuffs rattled as she fought the pain. “You think to disobey me again. Let it out. It’s best to scream with each hit.” Marin laughed softly. “And I enjoy hearing it.” Moira breathed through her nose and closed her eyes, picturing him dead and lying at her feet, his whip tightened around his throat. “Let it out,” Marin ordered again. She heard the whip go out, heard it crack against her flesh and felt another flash of fire beneath her skin. She bit her lip and tasted blood. “Scream! Let me hear you!” The whip came out again and again. Each time he ordered her to break open, to let the pain free, to give it voice. And with each lash that landed, Moira closed up tighter and tighter, determined to disobey him because it was all she had. Her mouth was awash with blood and rivulets ran down her back. She could feel the heated warmth of it against her skin. It felt like hours went by. She was wilting, all her weight on her wrists when Marin appeared at her side, his face wreathed with displeasure, his whip flicking idly around his feet. “You make it worse on yourself. If you scream, the pain will become easier to manage. I may even stop if I’m convinced you regret your earlier behavior.”

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Moira finally let out her held breath and panted through the overwhelming need to cry. “I…don’t want…you to stop! I don’t want it…easier.” She closed her eyes and tried to pretend he wasn’t there, that she was someplace good, someplace special. Her baby was there, her mother and Goddard— Marin erupted. “Damn you! You will do as I say! You will obey me!” When she remained silent, he roughly grasped her jaw and turned her head toward him. “Scream, slave!” And just because she could, Moira clenched her jaw tight and gritted out, “I’ll do nothing for your pleasure.” “We’ll see about that,” he ground out, striding back and raising the whip. “We’ll see about that.” Later, after she’d been taken away, both her lip and her back bloody, Marin sat on the sofa feeling far more agitated than before. He didn’t get the satisfaction of breaking her, wasn’t awarded the pleasure of her screams. She hadn’t uttered a single sound. Not one. He’d finally had to give up or risk damaging her body permanently with the tail of his whip. And there would be repercussions for mistreating a slave in such a way. The Slave Council did not take malicious abuse lightly. “Lord,” Ioff began, returning from his trip to her cell. “She’s been returned. I arranged for the medic to visit her immediately.” Marin winced but pushed the guilt away. It wasn’t his fault. He’d told her what was needed, what would help her. She’d chosen to disobey. Worse, she hadn’t been even close to breaking and bowing to his order. Her mouth hadn’t opened the slightest bit, not even when her legs gave out, which meant the idea hadn’t been in her head at all. More frustrating still, when he’d helped Wais remove the shackles and she’d glanced up at him, the only thing in her eyes had been defiance and animosity for him. He hadn’t even seen a hint of fear, which would have at least been a start. “She is rather…difficult,” Wais said softly from where he stood near the hooks in the wall. “But still, I didn’t expect her to be so strong.” “Nor did I,” Marin admitted, propping his elbows on his knees. “She’s so resistant to my orders. It’s almost as if she’d rather…die.” “Surely she’s not that foolish,” Ioff scoffed. “She’s unwilling to bend, but there are difficult humans. She’ll learn over time, if you simply work with her. Extra care is all that’s needed, sir.” Marin raised his head. “Dose her evening meal.” Wais frowned. “Sir?” “You heard me. Dose her with Dramah. Give it to her tonight. We’ll get this business of her defiance out of the way, and then I can proceed with her training.” He sighed in pleasure at finally having devised a solid plan and relaxed against the plush cushions. “Yes, that is how we will take care of her.”

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Chapter Six She was…dying. Moira lay against the cool floor of her cell but was burning up from the inside out. She was nude because the brush of cloth was too much against her torn and heated skin, and she was lying down because it was the only thing that seemed to help. They’d drugged her food. She’d realized it as soon as the heat had started, low in the pit of her stomach. What they’d given her was still a mystery, but she knew what it was doing to her. It was killing her, as slowly and painfully as was possible. Her breathing was fast and shallow, her heartbeat far too erratic. She had no doubt that, if examined, she’d exhibit all the classic symptoms of a drug user. Dilated pupils, clammy and flushed skin, sensitivity to light and temperature. Except she was sure this was like no drug she’d ever heard of. She moved restlessly against the cool floor, which both helped and hurt. Her nipples felt like small diamonds and actually ached, they were so hard. And with every movement she made, the delicate flesh between her legs throbbed more. She was so aroused! It felt like death. And worse still, there was nothing she could do to take care of it. Her hands gave her no pleasure, no matter how hard she tried. If she hadn’t known better she would have sworn someone was controlling her body. She knew what was going to happen even before it did, but still, she was frightened when Ioff showed up in the cell and picked her up. Even more terrifying, she hadn’t the ability to fight him. She was too busy fighting off the pain of his touch and the heat of his body. It called to her. And his scent was divine. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he walked. “You…drugged me.” “Lord Marin ordered it,” he replied tightly, as if he didn’t approve. He’d done it anyway, though. He carried her into Marin’s suite and set her down on the sofa. Moira rolled onto her side and tried to sit up. Her head wobbled and her body tilted before she caught herself on the arm of the couch and used it to hold steady. The room swirled around her in a rainbow of colors. She hadn’t realized before, but the walls were beautiful. Painted a soft brown, they held her eyes for more minutes than she could count, and she still wouldn’t have looked away if Marin hadn’t entered the room. He was wearing trousers and nothing more, and as she looked at him her body clenched, needing something to fill it and still the heat burning inside her. He smiled when he saw her and leaned his shoulder against the doorway of his bedroom. “You look beautiful like this. Ready to fuck.” 43

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Moira tried to shake her head and almost tipped over altogether. “God, I…” She swallowed the moan that almost escaped. “Hate you. I despise you.” He shrugged carelessly and walked forward. “It won’t last much longer. Now, be a good pet and lay down for me.” She almost did. Her body wanted it, screamed for it actually. Like Ioff, he smelled wonderful. The scent coming from his skin was thick and rich and it called to her, urging her to obey. And she wanted to. Lord, did she want to. Which was what scared her the most and had her slithering down the sofa and to the floor, where she painfully curled her body into a tight ball. Her voice was slurred. “Juss, go ‘way.” She tucked her head in tight and started rocking. She shouldn’t have moved. The carpeting rubbed against her body and what should have been soft was painful against her skin. The welts were nothing compared to the feel of so many tiny bristles brushing her at the same time. “You know I can’t do that, pet. This is how it must be, and you need to learn your place.” His hand clutched at her hip as he pushed her onto her back. He rose over her, divested of his trousers, and pushed her legs apart. His hips fit easily in the space and his large cock nudged her entrance. Moira shook her head back and forth, over and over again. She weakly pushed at his chest, both wanting him and hating him. “No. Don’t.” “Sorry pet.” He smiled kindly and leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. Then he pushed into her, an inch at a time, and his smile became a delighted grimace. “Bless the Shadows you’re tight!” Moira felt the first tear roll down her cheek. It was followed by another and another, until she couldn’t hold them back any longer. She wept even as her body welcomed him. It delighted in his possession, and his cock felt so good inside her. Each surge inside sent her mind spinning and her back arching. It was wonderful…and the darkest form of despair she’d ever known. “Stop…please stop!” She turned her face away from him when he bent down to kiss her and batted at his head, knowing her hands did little to discourage him. In fact, they did nothing. He merely laughed at her and took her nipple into his mouth. He sucked lustily, his thrusts inside her becoming stronger and stronger. Low growls of pleasure came from his throat, each one making the pleasure in her own body coalesce into one tight, hot ball, lodged deep in her groin. With each pounding from his cock it loosened little by little, rising to the surface until Moira felt she would choke on it. “Ah,” he groaned, his speed increasing. “There it is. That’s right, my little pet. Come for me. Come.” And to make sure she did what he asked, he slipped his hand between their bodies and hooked his finger over her clit. Moira cried out, screaming both in horror and ecstasy from her orgasm. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life. Pleasure so great it was painful. And wrapped tightly with it was the humiliation and fury over her helplessness, rage that he’d been able to play her body like an instrument.

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Marin sighed and released his seed inside her body, stiffening above her as he came. His smile was smug and victorious when he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Good fuck, pet. We’ll get you trained yet, won’t we?” Time rolled to a stop. She wanted to turn away. Away from his arrogance and conceit. She almost did, but at the very edge of her consciousness was the unfurling tendrils of new desire, telling her to please him and give him what he wanted. His happiness was her happiness. Everything inside her went cold, tamping down on the false thoughts. With the fire in her body gone, she found herself lying beneath him, panting, her legs feeling as weak as blades of grass. “So now you’re mine,” he said, affection evident in his tone as he leaned down and pressed another kiss to her brow. “I trust your foolish disobedience is done with, pet. I won’t stand for it. Not from a slave.” Moira felt more tears slip down her cheeks. Marin leaned close and laid his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’ll obey my every word.” The words were there, at the tip of her tongue, wanting to come out. She could feel the urge to say them, strong and pressing. She needed to say them. And she barely managed to keep them from escaping. Marin lifted his head, his eyebrows raised. He absently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Tell me. I won’t allow you not to say it.” Moira swallowed. Her lips parted. “Tell me—or I’ll never fuck you again.” “I’ll obey,” she whispered, hating herself for being unable to resist. Even after the words were out her mind screamed at her, telling her she needed to say it again, stronger, with more conviction. Marin’s smile was quick and satisfied. He actually patted her, as if she were a small dog. “Again, pet.” Moira sobbed. “I’m yours. I’ll obey you in all things.” “Master,” he corrected. She found herself nodding in agreement before she could even stop herself. “Master.” His hand dropped down to her shoulder then lower to her breast. He squeezed it gently and played with her nipple. “If I fuck you again you’ll get past this first wave of the need. But you’ll require more of me, more often. If you’re a very good slave, I’ll fuck you every few days so the need never grows too strong.” He pressed another kiss to her brow and then swept his tongue across her lips. “Tell me you want my cock, pet, and we’ll see how strong you truly are.” She wanted to die. She wanted someone to kill her and stop the horror her life had become. 45

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She wanted him to take her again. Moira shivered and barely managed to keep from arching into his caress. He wanted her again. She could feel the hardening of his cock against her hip. She almost licked her lips and offered to take him into her mouth. Instead, she fought the urge and whispered, “Please, may I use the bathroom?” She swallowed, and felt the beginnings of chills running down her spine. “Please?” “Master.” “Master,” she added hoarsely. He smiled benevolently and slid off her. “Go. But come back immediately. I’ve plans for you yet, my little pet.” Moira got to her feet and somehow made it to the bathroom without falling over. When she closed the door, she sobbed quietly while leaning against it. He was there, foremost in her mind. Marin’s desires, his wants. She wanted to fulfill each one of them. She wanted his seed in her body and on her flesh. She needed it. But gritting her teeth, Moira stood up and went to the commode. She forced herself to wipe as much of his semen away as she could, then ran water from the sink and washed even more away. She hadn’t gotten it all, she knew. He was still inside her. “Slave?” he called through the door, tapping gently. Her heart gave a leap of joy. She almost went to pull it open, just to show him how much she wanted him. Instead, she locked her arms at her sides and wept more. He knocked again a minute later and called, “Come out, my pet. I’ve ordered food for our dinner…” She knew she couldn’t hold back any longer. After wiping her eyes and making sure she looked all right, Moira exited the bathroom with a smile and breezed right by Marin on her way to the sofa. She fell to her knees and kept her eyes lowered to the floor. She waited, her heart breaking with each second that passed. Marin patted her head as he went past. She noticed as he sat on the sofa that he’d put his trousers back on. “Very good. Now, let’s see how well your manners are during dinner, hmm?” Moira did her best to please him. Marin took Moira to his bed as a prize for her good behavior. He almost fucked her again, was prepared to. She wanted him to. There was pleading in her eyes, easy to read. But there was something more there, as well. Something that said she wasn’t completely his yet. He almost dismissed the notion, but then thought about the brief flashes of hate he’d seen in her eyes as they ate. She would be deep into the need in just a few hours. The pain of wanting him would drive her to her knees with desire. If he’d been a kind

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man, he’d have taken her again immediately after the first time to ensure she didn’t suffer. But he wasn’t a kind man, and despite the strong hold he had over her she needed to be reminded that she did belong to him. He wanted to see total devotion in her eyes. He slept with her at his side, and dreamt of all the ways he’d take her after she’d begged him. Moira, however, lay still on the bed, doing her best to resist every urge telling her to touch him. She wanted him desperately. She wanted him to take her, to praise her… To love her. She wanted that most of all. But there was also a kernel of outrage deep inside her, unaffected by his seed and what it did to her. It burned strong and bright, giving her hope but also more pain. Because it was that kernel that showed her how pitiful she’d become. It reminded her how each urge inside her, screaming for him, was false. And it was that kernel that she clung to with desperation. It was the only thing she had left that was still her. Everything else had been taken over by his essence and wanted nothing more than to please him. The kernel was all she had left of her soul. He talked to her until he fell asleep, telling her about the sights she’d see once they landed the next evening. He told her of his home, the palace, where he’d lived ever since the death of his father several years past. He told her of the two moons, the stars, the dark blue of the sky, the color of the water. And Moira listened. Worse, she wanted to listen, just to please him. Even after he slept she kept watch over him, battling with herself. She clenched her teeth against the need to touch him and assure herself he was well and healthy. She needed that knowledge. Yet it was the need itself, so contrary to her old self, which kept her from acting. She swallowed the sobs rising up in her throat, each one more painful than the last. After two hours lying in bed with him, her throat felt as raw as her back. But it was the pain in her heart that was the worst. And it was that pain that finally prodded her into action. The quiet sounds of the room faded away as the buzzing came back in her ears. She felt a measure of relief as she slid silently from the bed. The buzzing was stronger than ever, even stronger than when she’d been at the prison, and familiar as a friend as she slowly moved around his room, her eyes roaming over his things. She allowed herself to touch his hairbrush and then his clothes from the day, tossed to the floor in a messy pile. She ran her fingers over his journal and his identification cards. And she touched the knife she found in the second drawer of the dresser. It’s his, her senses told her. It held the feel of him and she clasped at it desperately. Slowly, ever so slowly, she crossed the room until she was standing beside the bed, and stared down at him. He’s so beautiful, she thought, fresh tears burning down her cheeks. So beautiful, so perfect… 47

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And she still hated him. Deep inside, beneath the warmth of false love, she knew it was true. Her nerves calmed as the buzzing grew even louder and forced the desire for Marin back. It filled her head, driving out even the need rushing through her body. It allowed her to focus completely on her task. And her task was fixing her problem. She needed to be free. Her eyes glazed, her hands steady, Moira brought the knife to his neck. Marin’s eyes flew open. He shouted even as he rolled away. The cold bite of the knife followed him, but was brief and shallow. He rolled across the bed and to his knees to see his assassin—and his eyes went wide. The slave girl stood over his bed, his knife clutched in her hands, a vacant look in her eyes. She lunged for him with a sharp scream. He dodged again, jumping off the bed, still in disbelief. Slaves weren’t capable of killing once they were subject to the need. Fucking became their only concern. That, and adoration for their owners. It was physically impossible for them to harm their masters. Yet, she was trying. Even as his brain registered that fact, she came around the bed toward him, her breath too fast, skin too pale. Marin prepared himself to duck and in that moment, both Ioff and Wais barged into his bedroom. She didn’t even hesitate. She lunged for him—only she didn’t attack. She threw. Marin shouted as the knife lodged into his arm. Then her shriek of pain and outrage rose up, its strength overpowering his own shouts as Ioff took her down. As Marin sank to the floor, his hand stilling the knife stuck in his flesh, he couldn’t help marveling… Slaves didn’t attack their masters.

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Chapter Seven The return to the palace was a relief. Even if everything else was going badly, at least he was in his own personal quarters, surrounded by his own furnishings, his own people. Marin was especially fond of his rooms. The decorating had been done by his mother when he’d still been a child, but rather than feeling aged the room was familiar and comforting. The rugs were thick, the furniture large and well padded, and the colors warm and inviting. Best of all, it always smelled of the gardens just outside his windows. He found the scent to be even more welcome after experiencing the rank misery of Earth. He sank into the overstuffed chair that was closest to the door, sighed tiredly and winced when he forgot not to move his bandaged arm. “Lord?” Marin sighed again. “Yes, Ioff.” Ioff entered, Tanya following close behind. Marin didn’t even bother trying to hide his disgust with himself, just shook his head. “Bloody hell. I forgot about her. Send her to the slave quarters, would you?” Ioff bowed and towed the slave out. Wais came in as soon as they were out of the doorway. He bowed deeply. “Lord, I believe we may have a problem with the slave.” The Slave. Until the day he died he would always think of her as such. The Slave. Capitalized. As if she were the only one. It was a title, and she didn’t deserve one. There were others far more worthy. Slaves who’d been at the palace for years and years, their only desire to please those they served. Those were the ones who deserved a title, not some disobedient girl whose very behavior made her a deviant. His seed hadn’t made her pliant—it had made her dangerous. He was still trying to discover why. “Tell me what she’s done now, Wais.” “Lord, it’s not what she’s done, but what she hasn’t done.” Wais clasped his hands behind his back and frowned. “She’s not eating.” “Not eating.” Marin straightened in his chair, frowning. “But that’s…it’s…ridiculous!” He bit back the additional words threatening to spill out. “Just today?” “No, Lord. She refused her meals yesterday as well. After her rather…unconventional behavior, I thought it not terribly unusual. However, to go without eating two days in a row? When she’s already malnourished?” He looked uneasy at the idea. 49

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Marin surged to his feet and started pacing. He idly tapped his lip as he went from one side of the room to the other. “What does this mean? What creature refuses to eat like this? She’s not permanently injured and the medic said her wounds were healing well. Perhaps she has an illness?” He lifted his head and raised his brow as he stared pointedly at Wais. Wais winced. “I’m sorry to inform your lordship, but the medic stopped by today after my initial bout of concern. He has confirmed she suffers from no physical ailment.” “Damn.” Marin resumed pacing. “What am I to do with her, Wais? I’ve tried everything. Nothing has worked.” Wais remained silent but Marin read his face easily. “What? If you have a suggestion, I’m willing to listen.” “There are only two options, Lord. Either you destroy her—” Marin stopped and stared at him. “No. I can tame her.” “Or you might go to one with more experience,” he finished carefully. “Though you have had a number of slaves, each one has been relatively easy to train. This one— Moira—is another creature altogether. She is…unique.” Marin paused. “Moira? That’s her given name?” “Yes, Lord.” “Hmm. Pretty.” “Indeed.” Marin returned to pacing. “You have a suggestion as to who might help, I assume?” Wais cleared his throat. “You would be correct, Lord. I thought perhaps Anath Miritis might be a useful man to speak with. He holds no slaves of his own, of course, but he has been used continuously by those in the palace who do. He has…tamed others, Lord.” Marin snorted in disgust. “You wish me to speak with Anath Miritis? A man with no rank?” Wais shrugged. “He serves the king and acts as his personal advisor. He isn’t a powerless man.” No, he was not powerless. But his lineage was deplorable and he had no family to speak of. The only exceptional factor was his wife. He’d somehow married himself to Bidar, personal attendant to the queen and a woman of great ancestry. “You’ve heard of his help with other slaves?” “I have.” Marin sighed and tiredly pushed his hair over his shoulder. “Where is she then? We may as well bring her with us when we find him. Seeing her can only give him a better idea of what hinders her progress.” Wais bowed again. “As you wish, Lord.”

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Marin accompanied his guard through the halls of the palace and to the locked cells, small rooms most often used for storage, but also used for slight upsets among the slaves. Usually the problem was jealousy among a master’s pets. It wasn’t usual, but it was known to happen on occasion, with small spats starting up between the warring slaves. His particular use for the room was uncommon. In fact, he didn’t think there was any record of the same thing happening with another slave. She was curled in a ball in the corner. She was cleaned and dressed, but he could tell by the wrinkles in her clothes and the tangles in her hair that she’d made absolutely no effort to remain attractive for him. Yet another anomaly in the behavior of this slave. “Moira.” He stepped inside the cell and bent down before her. “Come, pet. We’re off on an errand.” She didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t even seem to hear him. Sighing, he took the lead and collar from his pocket. He had to push her head back before he could fit the collar around her neck, not that it was a difficult thing. She didn’t resist him. She didn’t even seem to see him. He stood up, the lead in his hand. He gave a soft tug, then a stronger one. When he still got no response, he was forced to physically lift her to her feet. Only then did she stay standing and only then did she follow behind him. She functioned like one already dead. Her body moved but there was nothing behind her eyes. No thought, no emotion. Just emptiness and despair. It was the latter that had him walking briskly down the hall anxiously, Wais flanking him on one side, Moira’s small form just behind him, her steps awkward and uneven. “Where is he?” Marin demanded under his breath. “You do have his location handy, Wais?” His guard nodded. “Of course. He is presently in the South Wing assisting Lord Lakis with a matter. I believe we will find them in the sitting room there, Lord.” The South Wing. It was one of the more popular areas of the palace, known for the wildness of the nobles who resided there. They often were from the lower, heated regions of Kinnai and as far as Marin was concerned, they were barbaric, uneducated and poorly bred. Those from the deserts, especially, were known to be short-tempered and quick with their blades. Anath Miritis was a perfect example. The man was an animal. Why the king insisted on keeping him on when so many others of far nobler birth surrounded him, Marin didn’t know. He found the sitting room easily enough after getting its direction from one of the servants scuttling down the hall. It was a large room, opulent, made for relaxation and pleasure. Large potted plants weighted with leaves and flowers drifted lazily in the breeze coming from the open sliding doors. Furniture, heavy and low to the ground, was arranged in a way that sectioned the room into four smaller areas. There were four

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settees, each flanked by two armchairs. All were covered in thick leather and made the room look even larger than it really was. It was an attractive room. Pleasant, he thought. And it would have been even more so if not for the lords presently occupying it. There were eleven of them. Each one looked over when Marin entered, their raised brows inferring he was intruding. Marin tightened his hold on Moira’s lead and lifted his chin. Then he saw what the entertainment for the afternoon was. In the center of the room, tied to a hook descending from the ceiling, a young male slave stood on his toes, his body arched and sweating, blood flowing in rivulets down his ebony skin. His master stood at his side, an attentive look on his face as he looked his property over and studied each of the hundreds of thin cuts lining his body as if it were a living secret code. Anath Miritis stood in front of the slave, bare to the waist, his long black hair flowing down his back, its color nearly indistinguishable from his skin. In each hand he held a thin, curved blade, just shy of a foot in length. The shiny metal was thickly smeared with blood. “He is training,” Wais offered unnecessarily. Even as Marin watched, Master Miritis moved subtly. His arms came down, and with a quick, tight sweeping motion, both blades swung by, leaving two more bloody trails over the slave’s body. But there was no misunderstanding the slave’s reaction. It wasn’t pain he received from the thin cuts. It was pleasure. Enough pleasure to make the human’s cock harden even further as his body arched and he cried out loudly. When his master reached around and fondled his nipple, seed erupted in a small geyser from the slave’s cock, falling to the floor. One of the men lounging got up and knelt in front of the slave. He took the slave’s sex into his mouth and cleaned it thoroughly with long, slow licks. “Lord,” Wais asked softly, “would you like for him to examine Moira?” Marin tried to shake off the uneasiness he felt in the face of such brutality. Whipping was accepted, of course. As was the occasional paddling and various forms of bondage. But the instruments of true blood sport—knives, heavier whips—were rarely used. They were…unrefined. Rather brutal, to his way of thinking. Frowning to cover his discomfort, Marin looked over his shoulder at his slave. She stood completely still, her shoulders hunched, her glorious red hair dull and lank, nothing but a tangled mess down her back. He brought her forward with the lead and kept a tight hold on the strap before turning back to the show. The owner of the slave was now speaking softly to his recovering property, occasionally smoothing his hair back as he whispered endearments and praise. And Anath was looking directly at Marin as he cleaned his blades on a pale cloth.

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Marin’s frown deepened. Wais shifted beside him, his eyes narrowing as he studied the king’s favored advisor. “Perhaps I should inquire as to his availability, Lord? He already knows of your presence and it seems he may be interested in the opportunity.” The man kept staring at him and it was beginning to irritate Marin. He wasn’t friendly with the southern lords. He certainly didn’t care to have one looking him over so closely. “Go,” he ordered Wais. “Tell him I wish to speak with him then.” Wais bowed to him and carefully made his way to where Anath Miritis was now conferring softly with the slave’s master. The southerner finally turned away and switched his attention back to Marin as he continued to clean his knives, but Marin felt no satisfaction. Anath, with his mouth slightly quirked up and mockery in his eyes, made Marin almost certain he was the butt of some joke. Marin straightened his back even more and pursed his lips while he clutched at the slave’s lead. It was no wonder everyone despised the southerners. He watched Wais stop before Anath and bow low. The others in the room paid close attention as Wais spoke with the man briefly. Anath’s eyes again slid over and landed on Marin before moving to the side and staring just past his shoulder. Marin felt even more effrontery until he remembered what was just behind him. As if he couldn’t quite help it, he turned and looked at where his slave stood. Her eyes seemed huge as she stared out blankly at Anath Miritis, but there was no light or acknowledgement in them. She wasn’t really looking at him. She was looking through him. Marin straightened to the front and found the southern man once again studying him. Only now his eyes seemed infinitely darker, filled with an impossible amount of malice. Marin would have to be an idiot not to notice Anath shaking his head as his lips formed the word “no”. Wais stepped even closer to the dark man, his face filled with displeasure at being refused. But Anath’s refusal remained, and when Wais tried to continue the argument, Anath simply turned away and left, making his way easily through the room and out the door. Marin’s eyes narrowed on the man’s back. He didn’t even notice as Wais returned to his side, but his voice was sharp with anger as he snapped, “Who does he think he is?” Wais hesitated, his brow creasing as he said carefully, “He refuses to help. But he said when the time comes, he’ll purchase her from you.” Marin’s head whipped around. “Sell her?”

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Wais nodded and added reluctantly, “Master Anath said she is beyond your capabilities, but that he is willing to relieve you of the burden. He said he’ll be in the Great Room this evening if you care to discuss the sale.” Marin laughed brashly at the man’s gall. As if he’d allow such a beastly man to buy anything of his. Whirling away, he gave the lead a sharp tug. He turned just in time to see Moira’s small form jerk. The southern lords in the room looked at him with disapproval and censure. It only increased Marin’s anger. He turned away, pulling Moira behind him. “We’ll find someone else,” he declared, hauling her after him as he strode purposefully for the door. “In fact, I’ll find someone else. Someone better. Anath Miritis is an even bigger fool than I thought if he thinks I’ll ever beg him for anything. Sell her,” he sneered. “As if I’d ever sell anything to a southerner.” Wais lifted his brows in disbelief, but dutifully followed behind as Marin made his way back to his rooms. The problem was, he didn’t find anyone else. All inquiries led to one man. Anath Miritis. According to nearly everyone Marin asked, Anath was the best at taming a wild slave. He was professional, polite, and he got results with whips, knives and some blasted form of persuasion no one could quite describe. Marin stomped away before he could yell at his last messenger. He’d be damned before he begged anyone for anything, much less a southern bastard of no family like Master Anath. Marin gave up for the evening and returned to his quarters. Business awaited him, and he busied himself with those matters needing his attention just to get his mind off the problem of his slave. When the sky was darkening and his stomach rumbling with hunger, Marin looked up from the paperwork spread around him, suddenly remembering his slave’s most recent show of disobedience. He turned in his chair. “Did she eat?” Wais stepped forward. “I have sent for the serving woman, Lord. She was to report to me after retrieving the tray.” He bowed and returned to his post by the door, across from Ioff. Marin went back to sorting through the business papers, reading the letters included with the information. When there was a knock on the door a few minutes later, he sighed and hastily pushed the paperwork aside to focus once again on the issue of Moira. The servant was elderly and hunched, her hair thin and scraped into a tight knot at the base of her skull. She kept her eyes dutifully pointed at the floor. Marin stretched out his legs before him. “You are the woman sent to serve the slave kept in the solitary rooms. This is true?” The woman nodded.

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“You also retrieved the tray when she was finished?” Again, she nodded. Marin waited. When the woman didn’t say a word, he impatiently asked, “Did she eat, woman? Did she leave any food on her tray?” The woman frowned, her aged face creasing with deep lines. “She seemed as if she would. But when I came for the tray later, nothing much was touched.” “She seemed as if she would? In what way?” “She handled the utensils as if she meant to eat.” Marin blinked rapidly. She wasn’t to have utensils. It was the first thing they’d banned after she’d attacked him. His eyes went over to Wais and Ioff, who were suddenly tense. Wais even took a step forward, his face paling even as Marin watched. “The utensils?” he asked hoarsely, shoving to his feet and grasping the woman by her shoulders. “Which utensils would that be?” The woman’s eyes widened in alarm. She immediately started shivering, as if she expected to be cuffed. “Why, th-the ones on the tray, Lord. The knife and—” Marin didn’t wait for her to finish. He shoved her away and raced for the door, dread knotting thickly in his throat. The idea was unthinkable. No one on Kinnai would even conceive of a person being desperate enough to do themselves harm. But the idea was unshakable—it took root and wallowed in his brain, refusing to be dislodged. Marin ran faster. Wais and Ioff were already in front of him, clearing the way in the hall as they ran for the solitary rooms. He would have thought anyone else foolish for thinking something so outlandish. Except he wasn’t alone. The panic evident in both Wais and Ioff said it clearly enough. Not a word had been passed between them, yet he knew they all feared the same thing. They ran through the bustling halls, ignoring the cries of outrage and surprise, and headed toward the center of the palace where the solitary cells were located. When they got close, Wais and Ioff let him lead down the row of cells. Marin held his breath as he got to Moira’s cell. His eyes widened at the sight even as he wrenched the door open and his worst fears were confirmed. She sat in the middle of her cell, her wrist out, blood smeared across her pale skin and soaked into her skirt. Her dinner knife was held in the opposite hand, already slicked with blood as she busily sawed away at her flesh with the dull blade. Marin leapt forward and pulled her hands to her sides. She screamed and bucked as she tried to keep her hold on the knife, but with her hand slippery and his grasp tight on her wrist, the knife went clattering to the floor. Marin gritted his teeth as he tried not to hurt her any more than he had to. She was wild in his arms, her face no longer empty, instead filled with total despair as she screamed and cried. “Get in here!” he shouted at his guards. 55

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Ioff stepped forward and within a minute, they had her body pinned and her hands behind her back. “Can you hold her?” Ioff nodded then tensed as Moira suddenly went limp. Her body shook but she no longer struggled against his hold. Marin stepped back, wiping the sweat off his forehead. When he glanced down he was amazed to discover his hands shaking, covered in her blood. It looked garish against his pale skin. Almost the color of her hair. “Shadow Mother, forgive me,” he whispered, stepping back and shaking his head at her. “I don’t understand you.” She turned her head away, her body racked with sobs. “I’ll take her to the healer,” Ioff said quietly, picking her up in his arms as her body wilted. “I don’t believe the wounds are life-threatening. She didn’t have enough time to do herself true damage.” But she’d wanted to, Marin thought. She’d chosen death over a lifetime of serving him. It was a cold realization. He walked away stiffly, but he didn’t return to his rooms. There would only be work if he went back to his suite and his mind was in no shape to even contemplate business matters. Instead he wandered for a time, too bewildered to do anything else. When he next looked up, he found himself standing in front of the large doorway leading to the South Wing. He stared at the open double doors, wondering how in the world he’d arrived there in the first place. He turned and looked behind him, down the hall he’d just wandered, then turned back to the double doors again, his eyes not really seeing them at all. Instead he saw Moira, her hands coated in blood the same color as her hair, her eyes large and empty. The Slave Council would bring charges against him. Because of her, he had a good chance of losing his other slaves. Because of her he could lose his reputation. People would think he treated his slaves monstrously. They’d think he was a bad master, an evil man. So terrible slaves preferred death over service. He turned on his heel and marched back, muttering beneath his breath, his anger brushing away the shock and disbelief. There was no way he was going to let a slave ruin him in any way. His honor was greater than that. He followed the hallways through the palace, growing more resentful the closer he came to the Great Room. The fact that a mere slave, a human, sick and ill, was able to bring him down was inconceivable. He was better than that. Smarter. More cunning. That he’d allowed it to happen, had let her manipulate him so easily… He simply wouldn’t stand for it a moment longer.

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Marin burst into the Great Room, his fists clenched, blood soaked into his clothes. He quickly scanned the cavernous room. It was larger than most homes—several stories high and able to hold more people than any other single room in the palace, hence its name. Decorated sparsely and boasting multiple tables throughout, the room was one Marin had never favored. It seemed terribly plain to him, not nearly as grand as it should be. There were few wall hangings and no carpets covered the floor. Because of the Great Room’s size it took him several minutes to spot Anath Miritis. As promised, he was there, seated at one of the tables against the far wall, bent over cards and facing his opponent. Anath didn’t look up, even as Marin approached. His opponent, a southern lord by the name of Rievn De SeLiih, glanced at Marin briefly before returning his attention to the cards in front of him. “Young Lord.” Marin nodded to him before seating himself several spaces down and across from the king’s closest and most trusted advisor. Anath calmly reached over and took two cards off the stack in front of him. He slipped them into his hand but his face showed nothing. There was no glee or disappointment to betray his hand. Marin waited for ten minutes, growing more impatient with each that passed. Having nothing else to do but wait, he tapped his foot and stewed over his slave. When they continued to ignore him, Marin finally got fed up. “She tried to harm herself.” Neither of the men so much as looked at him. Once again, cards were exchanged. Anath took the two Rievn offered then slid one of his own into the pile in the center. Rievn drew three cards, slid over four and shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Did you hear me?” Anath exchanged another few cards then laid his hand out in an intricate pattern. A clear win. Rievn put his cards down as he got to his feet, glanced at Marin then said something softly in the desert tongue. Marin nearly exploded over the rudeness. Anath clasped hands with the other man. Rievn bowed mockingly to Marin and left the room. By the time he reached the doors, Marin’s hands were clenched so tightly they almost hurt. When he next looked back at Anath it was to discover the man studying him intently while he motioned for a servant to bring wine. “She tried to kill herself,” Anath said finally as wine was poured. “I didn’t say that,” Marin snapped. Anath’s smile was cold. “She’s broken. It’s what the broken do.” “She’ll ruin me. A slave.” Marin leaned back in his chair and laughed bitterly. “I should have let them destroy her.”

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She should have been pliable after he’d taken her. The need should have overridden all other feelings and left her only with the driving urge to please him. Why it hadn’t worked on Moira, he didn’t know. But one thing was certain—to take one’s own life was inconceivable to any Kinnain. Their survival instinct was too strong to ever consider such a thing. That Moira was at the point where death was attractive and preferred would not be viewed well by any who learned of it. “She’s under your care, and whether by her hand or another’s, she was harmed.” Anath’s eyes bored into Marin’s. “She’s your responsibility. Someone must answer for the damage.” Marin glanced away and snorted. “I’ll lose my other slaves over this.” “Possibly. It would serve you right for taking on something you have no understanding of.” Marin jerked around and glared. “You speak too freely, Master Miritis.” Anath leaned forward, the skin over his jaw and cheekbones growing tight with anger. “I speak how I see it, young Lord. You are in a difficult position of your own making. There’re only two options for you—lose your slaves and reputation, or make a deal with one whom holds the king’s ear and can make this matter disappear altogether.” He smiled malevolently and sipped his wine as he settled back in his chair. “I could fix the problem for you. Rather quickly.” Marin’s eyes narrowed on the other man. “You still want her, even after this mess?” He shook his head, amazed. Anath set his wineglass aside. “You will give her to me in return for making this problem go away.” “This little problem could come back to haunt you.” Marin dropped his eyes to the table. “She is…difficult. In the extreme. Even with the king’s ear, you won’t be able to escape notice if she manages to finish the job she began this night.” “Do you honestly care?” Marin’s emotions warred inside him. Pride nearly won. She was his. She was supposed to want him, to need him. She should have begged him to touch and stroke her. She should have panted in eagerness for his attention. But she hadn’t, and with no more time to consider, Marin found himself shaking his head slowly. “No.” “Then let me worry about it.” “I don’t understand her. She was so defiant when I found her. She was slated for execution for killing one of the Pembari.” Anath remained silent, sipping his wine. “She resisted immediately,” Marin said softly, gazing off into the shadows of the room, his fingers clenching at the idea of admitting defeat and getting rid of her. “All the training—it did nothing. I ordered her dosed, thinking once she was gripped by the need she’d become more manageable.”

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“But she didn’t.” “No,” Marin murmured. “She did not. She became…violent. Then withdrawn. Broken, as you say.” The dark man finished his wine and smoothly got to his feet. He dusted his hands off and pushed his hair over his shoulder. “Have your man bring her to my rooms after she’s done at the healers. I’ll take care of the rest immediately.” He walked away without another word. And Marin knew he would do it, because no slave was worth losing one’s standing and reputation.

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Chapter Eight Moira didn’t know where she was. Ioff had stopped before a large, dark wood door with scrollwork and monsters carved into its surface. It was massive, far taller than she, and not something she enjoyed looking at. Ioff’s face became austere as he knocked softly. He rapped the wood twice before dropping his arm to his side. He didn’t move a muscle as he stared straight ahead, waiting. “Where are we?” she asked hoarsely, more curious than concerned. He turned and looked at her, displeasure showing just briefly in his eyes. He opened his mouth but it was too late. The door opened before him and the chance was gone. Moira turned toward the open doorway and instinctively took a step back. It was the dark man. The one with the knives. And he was looking right at her. Ioff bowed sharply, formally. “Sir. Your slave.” Moira knew she was staring back, but for the life of her she couldn’t help it. Everything about the man was dark. His hair was black as midnight, his skin only slightly less so, and not in the way of darker-skinned humans. In fact, he was far more obviously not human than even Marin. His facial features were fine and elegant, and like Marin, didn’t possess a single scar or aberration. But whereas Marin appeared almost angelic, this man looked sinister. Cruel, even. Added to the blackness of his skin were his metallic-colored eyes. The color was arresting, impossible to ignore. His eyes were steel gray, but only at the outer edges of his irises. The color changed quickly, going to dark silver and then bleeding into jet black at the center. If his appearance wasn’t enough, then there was his presence. There was power coming from him in waves. Power and strength. Enough that she knew he could take her or anyone else down in an instant, without a second thought. She would be nothing to him. He was shorter than Marin, though it didn’t detract from his overall size. It was the width of his shoulders and the girth of his chest that gave him the added bulk. His chest, arms, legs—all were thick and well muscled. Moira looked between the two men, cold fear crawling up the back of her throat. “Wh-what’s happening?” If possible, Ioff’s demeanor became even more rigid. “Master Miritis has done Lord Marin the honor of allowing him to relinquish his claim on you. Master Miritis is now your master.”

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The dark man. Master Miritis. The man who’d wielded the knives against the other slave. He’d cut him until blood had flowed over the poor man’s body. And he was now her owner. She didn’t realize her legs were folding beneath her until she was lifted by the man himself. He picked her up easily. “The matter has been corrected and no longer exists. Do inform your lord.” He closed the door in Ioff’s face using his foot, and strode into his suite. Moira was utterly still, too frozen with fear. And now there was this, a new master. Probably new rules, new manners, new likes and dislikes. He’d order her about, tell her to lie down, to act the whore, to fetch him food, to bring him clothes. He’d tell her when to sleep, when to eat, bathe, cry, laugh… He’d crush her like a bug. He set her on a low chair near a merrily burning fire. She blinked at the blaze for a minute, slightly confused. Why didn’t he put me on the floor where slaves belong? She chanced a quick look at his face and wished she hadn’t. The warmth of the fire was welcome. The questioning in his eyes was not. They dropped to her bandaged wrists. When he spoke, his voice was deep and gravelly. “I was sent a message. It said the damage was not too terrible. That you would heal easily.” Moira lowered her eyes to her lap and noticed the bloodstains on her skirt. They were dark brown against the pale pink of the skirt. Ugly and stiff. “Your room is through the double doors there.” He pointed to a bedroom off the sitting room. From a distance, it appeared to be small but comfortable. He pointed to another set of doors, these across the sitting room from her bedroom. “I sleep there. Always. If you need something please let me know, and I will endeavor to get it for you.” And with a deep bow, he disappeared into the room he’d pointed out as his, leaving Moira to sit by herself before the fire, surprised and wondering what had happened. He wasn’t behaving like any of the other owners she’d seen since landing on this strange planet. When he didn’t come out after ten minutes, Moira got up and went to the bedroom he’d given her, expecting him at any moment to come out and make demands. When that didn’t happen after a few minutes, she pushed the door open wider, waited, and when no creaks in the floor signaled his arrival, stepped inside and stared in surprise. The bed was larger than it’d looked from across the sitting room, the chair against the wall far more plush. The room in general was wonderful, even lovelier than she’d realized. The walls were painted a comfortable warm brown and the rugs on the hard floor were made from heavy fibers dyed deep reds, blues and greens. She walked through the room slowly, trailing her hands over the furniture just to feel the texture of the fine materials. When she bothered to pull a drawer open, she found the dresser was

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already filled with clothing. Mostly the skirts and halter-tops she was used to, but there were other things there, as well. Thin, long nightgowns were in the very bottom drawer, shawls in the one above, and comfortable-looking trousers for lounging in another. Similar items of a finer quality were in the closet, hanging and ready for her use. She sat down in the chair as she considered her new circumstances. The room was almost as large as her shop. And the furnishings were much finer. “You’ve found everything you need?” her new owner asked, coming to the doorway. He stopped and looked in, his eyes going over the room absently. Moira looked over, dread rising in her throat. “I—yes. Everything is fine.” She clenched her hands together and waited. He nodded and stepped back. “Goodnight, then.” He turned away and disappeared as silently as he’d arrived. Moira stayed up most of the night, waiting. Eventually she fell asleep in the chair, jerking awake almost every hour in a panic. And throughout the night, she wondered when he was going to come back and treat her like a slave. He never did. She was in the bed when she woke up the next morning, the covers pulled over her body. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to decide if she’d crawled in or if she’d been put there. There was a soft knock on the door before it was pushed open and he came in. He stopped before the bed, looked her over dispassionately and announced, “The morning meal has arrived. If you’d care to eat, I suggest you hurry.” He turned away and left, as if he was the servant and she the master. She scrabbled up immediately, not wanting to stay in such a vulnerable position. But she didn’t change her clothes and she didn’t stop at the washroom. She left her assigned bedroom and entered the sitting room to find him seated calmly on the floor near a small table loaded with every kind of food she could possibly imagine. He was wearing forest green today, but his shirt was open, revealing his dark chest and the small tattoo etched into his skin, sitting like a spider just beneath his clavicle. In fact, it was a tiny spider, resting inside a thin circle. He served himself and continued eating. He didn’t look up once. Moira stood near the wall, waiting. “You don’t care to eat?” She stared down at the food and knew she was hungry, though it was an absent thought. She hadn’t wanted to be hungry with Marin. She didn’t want to be hungry with this man, but the way he said it… “You could just order me to eat.”

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He did look up then. His eyes narrowed when he saw she was wearing her soiled clothing but he didn’t remark on it. “Are you unable to decide whether you’re hungry? Are you a child? I thought not, in which case you’re able enough to decide for yourself whether you wish to eat or not. Is that not so?” He motioned toward a plate opposite him. “Eat or not. It makes no matter to me unless it affects your ability to complete the tasks I have for you.” And here was what she needed. Offered up on a platter, just for the asking. “And what would they be? Master?” He finished with the food on his plate and leaned back against the piles of plush cushions behind him. He studied her for a moment before speaking. “You will find that my uses for you are somewhat…clandestine. Suffice to say, not just anyone would do.” “Yet you think I would serve your purposes.” “If you’re strong, intelligent and determined, I do.” His eyes went over her again, slowly, as if he were weighing her abilities. “Are you those things?” Moira drew herself up. “When I wish to be.” “I need a fighter, someone able to keep the secrets I give them yet also listen for secrets from others.” He refilled his teacup and, after sipping, set it beside his plate. “I need a spy. A slave, working for me, able to go about unnoticed and accomplish small tasks that must be done with utmost secrecy. I need someone able to think for herself and determine what information is pertinent.” His eyes rose to hers again. “I need someone who understands that lives depend on her service and abilities and the information she gathers and passes on. Someone who can dedicate their life to serving those whose safety depends on the continuation of the kingdom and its monarchy.” Moira stared out blankly, her heart beating at an accelerated rate. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected. “Why? Why a slave?” “You can go places I will never be able to. You can get information I need. I haven’t any other slaves. I’ve no need of them. And I’m a southerner.” His lips quirked slightly. “Our proclivities toward slaves are well-documented. But I do need information, and I do need a messenger who’ll hardly be noticed.” She stared at the opposite wall as she reviewed what he’d said. “And you think I can do all this for you.” “I do, yes.” He sipped his tea again. “You’ve the drive, the anger and the intelligence I’m looking for. And you’re desperate enough to need this.” “What I need,” she shot back, “is to go back home. I want to go home.” His nose flared as if he smelled something foul. Moira was surprised he even had a reaction. Even from her brief interaction with him, she knew he could be emotionless when he wanted to be. That he showed a reaction at all made her uneasy. “You’ve no home to return to. Even as we speak, the last of your people are being removed. Some won’t make it. Your world is degenerating too quickly, the surface becoming too toxic to support any life. You were lucky to be taken.”

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She glared at him. “My dead are there.” He glared back. “Your dead are with the Gods, as they should be. Anything you had of them is just a shadow of their selves. Bodies are nothing more than vessels for the soul. Or do your people think differently?” “No, I…don’t know.” Moira stared back at him, stricken. “Do you really believe that?” He nodded. “I do.” Moira took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Is there anything else you wish to know, or will you eat?” He motioned toward the empty plate again. “We can easily continue this conversation while you break your fast.” Moira glanced at the food even as her hands clenched tight. She swallowed painfully as her eyes went over the steaming bowls and plates. “I won’t sleep with you.” Anath Miritis stared back at her. “I need to know…do you plan to use me? Like the others use their slaves?” “Use you? You mean fuck you?” Moira nodded stiffly. “Yes.” His eyes went over her again, this time with more interest than before. “Do you wish me to?” She shook her head immediately. “Then I will not.” Her breath whooshed out. “Swear it. On your life.” “You have my oath on it.” He bowed his head slightly in deference to her. “Now sit and eat while we finish this conversation.” Moira sat and filled her plate, wondering if she was making a mistake. He’d only promised, which was hardly anything at all. But somehow it felt right. The very air seemed heavy with his vow. “Will you do it?” he asked after several minutes. Moira looked up from her plate. She dusted her hands off on the napkin provided before setting it on the table. “What if I say no?” His eyebrows rose slightly. “I’ll find another. Not any slave would do, but there are others.” “And what about me? What would you do with me?” “Sell you.” “Sell me,” she repeated. “Just like that.”

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He shrugged. “You’re a slave. I have no use for slaves. There are professionals to relieve my sexual needs and I’m able to care for myself. There would be no reason to keep you.” She fiddled nervously with the utensils beside her plate as her mind whirled. “And if I agree…you’d guarantee fair treatment? You’d leave me alone as long as I complete my tasks?” “Yes.” She took a deep breath and nodded her head sharply. “All right then.” He didn’t seem pleased. Or displeased, for that matter. He merely topped off his tea and acted as if her decision was as unimportant as the lint collected in his pockets. “The tasks I give you will require patience and observation. Every detail needs to be remembered and recorded. You’ll have to send me reports of every—” Moira stopped with food halfway to her mouth. “I can’t write. Or read.” He looked blankly at her. “I’m sorry?” “I can’t read or write. I never learned.” “Neither?” “No. There was no need for it and few people on Earth can. Or did. Books were hard to come by.” She shrugged and continued eating, enjoying the food. “Then you’ll report in person,” he amended, leaning back on one elbow and watching while she ate. “I have other spies set out, even other slaves working for me, most serving in private quarters and not realizing who their information goes to. You’ll transport messages occasionally but for the most part, they won’t know you and you won’t know them. I won’t mark you.” “Mark me?” “The tattoo, declaring your ownership. All slaves have them on their back. Marin never gave you his. No time, I suppose.” She stared blankly at her plate. “No.” “Do you want him?” he asked abruptly, his voice becoming slightly deeper. It rumbled pleasantly from his chest and relaxed her. His smile was cool as he added, “The need is strong for all humans. Slaves go into withdrawal once they’re removed from their master, and remain inconsolable until they’re free of the addiction. No other Kinnain will satisfy them. It takes nearly a fortnight for their systems to return to normal. Sometimes longer.” “I despise him,” she whispered, choosing to ignore the remainder of the information he’d given her. “But he fucked you. The need should be driving you out of your mind.” She hesitated, considering how much to tell him. Finally she admitted, “I washed. Right after. I got as much of him off my body as I could. And I felt the need, but I

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fought it. I hate him.” She raised her head and met his eyes. “I would rather die than return to him.” “He’s considered an excellent master among the court.” “I am not an excellent slave,” she countered softly. “Nor do I aspire to be one.” “Because of the Dramah?” At her look of confusion, he amended, “The substance he fed you?” “Oh. No, not because of that.” His head tilted to the side. “So he did more. What else did he do?” Moira turned away and stared down at the floor. “I’d rather not talk about it.” He shrugged, unconcerned. “We southerners have an odd notion about slavery. We own slaves, of course. But we view their treatment and care in a much different light than others throughout the kingdom. We tend to be firm in our beliefs. Force, in its various forms, is something all of us find deplorable. And unnecessary with as many sex workers as there are.” Moira absently picked at the food remaining on her plate. “Is this your not-sosubtle way of telling me I don’t have to worry about you drugging my food?” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he focused on her. “I don’t need a drug to get a good fuck.” Moira let out a nervous breath and set her plate aside. He was looking at her as if he couldn’t stop. His eyes were narrowed and they stayed on her face, even when she bowed her head and tried to escape his examination. “You’ll work for me, with me. You’ll pretend to be a slave when in public, have duties in the kitchens and listen for any information I may use. In exchange, you will not be a slave in truth, and within these quarters will hold all the rights of any free man or woman. You won’t even call me master.” “Can I really not go back?” His brow furrowed. “To Earth? There’s nothing to return to. Your planet is dying. You would only be caught again, if you were even able to live long enough for it.” “So it’s this,” she said dully, slumping, “or back to being a slave in the true sense of the word.” “Is my offer so repugnant?” he murmured. “You won’t be in danger. Few will know the work you do for me, and fewer still will realize who owns you. The palace is simply too large for every slave to be remembered. Especially those working in housekeeping.” “I don’t have a choice, really.” He didn’t look at all sorry for that fact. “No, you don’t.”

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Anath strode through the palace halls, walking at a fast clip, ignoring most of those he passed and only bowing to nobles he absolutely couldn’t ignore. There were few of those. He made it to his king’s private suites easily, slid inside, and only after passing through the sitting rooms and meeting rooms did he enter the one room he thought of as his private domain. No one dared enter it. Not maids, not servants, not slaves. Not even the king’s own personal slaves. It was a small room, pleasant, with three chairs in a tight circle, a tidy desk in one corner and a small fireplace opposite the door. Nasir, his second-in-command and a fellow member of their covert profession, stood near the fireplace and looked up when Anath entered. He was a tall, pale man, his hair light brown, his features pretty but unremarkable. It was what made him so excellent at his job. Few ever noticed him, fewer still would ever think of him as a master spy. “I think she’ll suit,” Anath said upon entering. He closed the door, locked it and took one of the three seats. “And she’ll do it.” Nasir grinned and clapped him on the shoulder before taking the chair opposite him. “Well done. I’m surprised he let her go so easily. How much did he require in exchange for her?” “Nothing. She came to me free.” “Free? But he was so proud of her.” Nasir frowned. “He even bragged to the—” Anath interrupted. “She cut herself. Deliberately. She wanted to die.” Nasir stared at him blankly for a moment. “Cut herself? That girl?” He settled deeper in his chair and propped his chin in his hand. “She’s unwell, then. I’ve heard of slaves wishing to end the pain of the need, unfulfilled, but—” “No. She did it to escape him.” “Oh.” Nasir blinked in surprise. “She isn’t ill, just broken.” Terribly broken. One of the saddest creatures Anath had ever seen. And he was going to fix her, make her strong enough to fulfill his requests. “She’ll recover.” “But will she be able to work through it? That, plus whatever need she has for Marin—will she be able to handle so much at once? Will she even be able to serve as the eyes around Sakhr’s suite?” “She’ll have to. I won’t stand for anything less.” Nasir shifted uneasily. “We should perhaps consider another—” “She fights the need, Nasir. Do you know of another human with that strength and desire? Whoever you appoint to Sakhr’s suite will know too much. They’ll have to. I don’t trust any ordinary slave to it. Not when all it’d take is a hard fuck to loosen their tongues.”

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Nasir’s brow rose. “And if you put someone already claimed, all it’d take is a short time away and they’d talk.” “Yes. But Moira fights and, even more incredible, seems not even to feel the need from Marin.” “And the idea of someone wishing for death rather than slavery is just another safety measure,” Nasir added under his breath. Anath’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The thought did occur to me.” Nasir sighed tiredly and rubbed his temples. “All right. So you have an appropriately suitable slave to watch over Sakhr. I won’t say another word on the matter. We’ve other business besides. Savas is on the move again. He scheduled a dinner with the king for tonight. Our sources say he’s struck out yet again on locating the princess.” Grateful for the subject change, Anath clasped his fingers together and stared into the fire. “Did he? I’ll be sure to stay to dinner, then.” “But why the king?” Nasir demanded, getting to his feet and beginning to pace from one end of the small room to the other. “What could he possibly get from him? The king would hardly blurt out her location, even if he knew it. And he wouldn’t dare tell Savas, anyway. He despises the man.” “They have been…intimate. Several years past, Savas was a great favorite of the king.” Anath’s lips thinned with displeasure. “For a time, King Haidar even fancied himself in love with Savas.” Nasir’s mouth fell open in shock. “You joke.” Anath stared back at the younger man. “You don’t joke.” “No,” Anath murmured. “I don’t joke. Not about Savas. I believe their past is the reason the king’s forbidden me to handle Savas in the manner I wish.” Nasir resumed his pacing. “So Savas is going to try to seduce the king into divulging information. It’s still a risky deal. It could backfire on him as easily as work in his favor.” “It could. Their parting was bitter, but the king still harbors some feelings for him.” Nasir stopped again, facing Anath. “You think Savas could do it.” Anath hesitated. “He makes King Haidar weak.” “Bloody hell.” Nasir shook his head impatiently and went back to pacing. “Then you truly will have to be present for the meal. There’s no other way. The king would never deny you anything. You’re far too valuable.” “I’ll be present for the dinner,” Anath assured him, his mind wandering back to the slave girl. Moira. He closed his eyes and couldn’t help but wonder what else Marin had done to make her hate him so fiercely.

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Moira stayed in Anath’s suites for the day. The healer came and went, proclaiming her injuries too minor for another visit. She spent half the afternoon bathing, lounging in the deep tub and wallowing in luxury. She washed her hair, her body, spent an obscene amount of time choosing from the scented oils lining the tiled wall. Then, deciding she liked the sensation of bathing so much, she spent an extra hour enjoying the pleasure. It was such an odd thing to waste water in such a fashion. Her mind still rebelled at the idea, except bathing was too deliciously relaxing to abandon. There was still no hair growing on her legs or anywhere else it had been removed by the strange, magical cream. She frowned down at her bare skin and admitted to herself it probably wouldn’t grow back, and felt renewed anger. It was a minor thing. In comparison to everything else that had occurred, it shouldn’t have bothered her at all. But it did. For no other reason than no one had asked. They’d simply done it. She got out once her body felt languid and her skin was well pruned. She fell asleep in her bed, snuggling beneath the blankets wrapped in nothing more than a damp towel, and woke up several hours later crying, her son’s image fresh in her mind, sadness filling her heart at the thought of his jar lying smashed in an alley somewhere, along with those of her mother and Goddard. A shadow moved into the room. It lengthened, crouched over her and came into focus. “Why do you weep?” her new owner demanded. Moira shrank deeper into the blankets, praying for Anath to go away. She clenched her arms around her pillow and shook her head. He continued standing over her. “I’m fine.” “You have tears.” She closed her eyes. “I’ll be up momentarily. Please leave so I can dress.” He melted into the shadows of the room. Moira didn’t move for several minutes, until she was sure he was gone. She dressed in somber, dark gray pants and a matching top she found in the wardrobe. Like the shorter halter-top, this one was also merely a length of material to cover her front, with a thin ribbon for her neck and another around her waist, leaving her entire back exposed. Grabbing a shawl from one of the drawers, she wound it around her shoulders. Anath was seated on the long chaise, his shirt off and his hair falling in one thick braid over his shoulder. He looked over when she walked into the room but didn’t acknowledge her in any other way. The man sitting across from him in the armchair did. He was a plain creature with Anath in the room. On his own he would be merely lovely, which wasn’t saying much considering the beautiful creatures she’d seen in the palace. His hair was thick and fell down his back in a curtain of silkiness. His features,

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compared to the others she’d seen, merely passable. But she saw a quick wit gleaming in his eyes, loyalty and strength. He bounced to his feet and bowed before her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Moira.” Moira looked sharply at Anath. He gazed back, his eyes glittery spots of empty darkness. There was a huge void in him, just where his soul should have been. “I am Nasir Fi Injir. I’ll be working with you throughout the palace.” The young man smiled pleasantly and resumed his seat. Moira selected a second chair and sat. “There are others,” Anath said, answering her unasked question. “But most don’t realize they work for me. Most believe themselves to be in the employ of Nasir.” Nasir smiled smugly. “Indeed they do.” “Why?” she couldn’t help asking. “Why all the secrecy with your own people?” “Most believe me to be the king’s closest advisor,” Anath answered. “My true purpose in serving him is not known, because it’s dangerous for the two positions to be held by the same man. And because I like for my enemies not to know who their opponent is.” “So Master Spy and King’s Advisor are two jobs not meant to be put together. Because you have too much influence?” she guessed. “There are some who think so.” “But I know who you are. And I know the jobs you do.” He nodded. “Yes. But you’re mine in the eyes of the few who’ll know of my ownership, and an open kitchen slave to those who don’t. You needn’t worry about Marin—he’s hardly likely to boast of the slave he wasn’t able to tame.” He smiled, and it was anything but reassuring. “Should we begin?” Nasir asked, leaning forward in his eagerness. Moira looked between the two men. “What are you going to begin?” “Your training. Anath wants you familiar with every corridor, every room, every closet of the palace before you’re assigned to Lord Sakhr’s rooms.” Nasir cocked an eyebrow. “And he’s also adamant you know every lord or man of power. You’ll be able to give more detailed reports that way.” “And it’ll ensure you remain safe.” Anath stared at her from beneath his brow. “You’re no good to me if you become hurt or someone discovers your true purpose. No, we’ll proceed with caution. You’ll stay in my quarters, and until you are familiar with the palace, be accompanied by Nasir or myself when you go out. And you will act the slave at those times.” Moira clamped her mouth shut. Since her hands were shaking, she twined them together in her lap and waited for the rest.

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“We will,” Nasir added gently, “prevent any difficult situations you may fall into. Your purpose to any curious eyes will be that of house slave, or kitchen worker. You’ll carry buckets and clean when you go about the palace.” “Will we ever leave the palace?” she asked stiffly. Anath’s eyes grew colder. Nasir’s lips twitched. “Of course,” he said easily. “This is your world, now. You should see it as such. We’ll do a few outings until you get accustomed to everything. We have some lovely areas just beyond the palace you would likely find quite pleasing.” Outside. She’d be able to go outside, to see the vastness she’d glimpsed when she’d first landed on Kinnai. “Is that agreeable to you?” Anath asked darkly. “Have you objections to this plan?” Moira shook her head. “Excellent.” Nasir clapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly. “Shall we begin?”

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Chapter Nine After three weeks, Moira was seriously rethinking her decision. “Pay attention now, Moira.” She was sitting in a window seat in one of the smaller recreation rooms. She had her knees drawn up and her eyes glued to the view just beyond the window. It was a field spread out before her. A field of deep, violet-colored flowers. Their stalks were long, their blooms vibrant and fragrant. Or so she’d been told. She longed to discover for herself. She wanted very much to step through the clearness of the glass as if it didn’t exist and surround herself with the flowers. The last thing she wanted to do was study pictures and learn names. Again. “Moira,” Nasir said again. He tapped her on the arm to get her attention. “We have more pictures.” Moira reluctantly turned her attention to work. She sighed heavily with boredom when she saw the large stack of pictures. “I’m sorry.” He smiled warmly and handed them to her. “You’re getting better. You don’t have your face plastered against the windowpane again, and you haven’t cried since the first time I pulled the shade down over your bedroom window, so we’re making progress,” he teased. “I was happy,” she retorted primly. “I have my own window and I didn’t even know it.” And she’d spent hours and hours there since, gazing out for as long as she wanted. “Wait until we go outside. It’ll be even better than the windows.” “Why can’t we go out now? I’ve been working hard. You said I’m making good progress.” Nasir flicked a finger at the pictures. “Your immune system isn’t where it should be yet. You’ll go out when the healers have decided it’s acceptable. Now, work.” He lifted his eyebrows and pointed to the pictures in her hand again. “Study them, learn them. The one on top is Lord Rovik Mo Risit. He’s a northern man, with quite a lot of clout within the palace. He’s the only child of two wealthy families, and as such, inherited farms, trading routes and various properties.” Moira studied the picture in front of her. “If he’s the only one, who will get everything after he’s gone?” “His children, of course. He has two. A daughter and a son. Now, if you flip to the next picture…” Moira flipped.

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“Lord Rievn De SeLiih. You’ll be seeing much of him,” he told her, leaning forward slightly to see the picture better. “He’s a powerful southern lord, with properties all over the region. His primary estate is deep in the desert. His father was Anath’s overlord before he went into service for the king.” Moira set the picture aside. “Are they friendly then?” “Very. Rievn is the one who recommended Anath to the king.” “So the king also trusts this man.” Nasir nodded, though his expression darkened as he looked at the next picture. “He does. Now, the next one. Lord Savas Koraf. Memorize his face, his name and stay away from him.” The man in the picture was younger than Anath, and lovelier. With milk-white hair and skin and dark eyes, he was by far the most beautiful of the Kinnains she’d seen. But there was a cruel twist to his mouth and arrogance in his bearing. He didn’t look like a kind man. “Okay. Savas Koraf. What’d he do to make you dislike him so much?” She set the picture aside. Nasir inhaled slowly, glanced at the empty room and leaned closer. “Savas would very much like to be king.” “But…you already have a king.” “Yes,” he agreed softly, “we do. But that doesn’t stop others from coveting the position, does it?” She made no comment as she studied Savas’ picture again. “He has the power to do this, I’m assuming, or you wouldn’t be so wary of him.” Nasir nodded and smiled at her, obviously pleased. “Very good. And you’re correct. Savas is the first son of a wealthy family in the north. His mother’s lineage is exceptional, his father’s almost as much so. They control sixty percent of the waterways and are able to ship goods all through the kingdom. They also hold the allegiance of some two hundred lesser lords, all who have access to soldiers and warriors.” “And if he became king, things would be very bad?” He shrugged. “In my opinion, yes. Lord Savas is less than tolerant of the southern lords, though their lands comprise almost half of the entire kingdom. He’s also rather opinionated on men of low breeding. He has little use for the villagers, farmers, workmen and artisans of our lands, yet they provide the majority of our income and labor. Many of the lords choose to ignore that fact.” “So you work to protect your kingdom then, and the little people in it.” She studied him for a moment, wondering how little the other lords actually knew about him. “Why is it your duty? Why not someone else?” He gave her a quick smile and stretched his legs before him in his chair. “I’m good at it. And Anath asked me. Actually, there are many similarities between our situations.”

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“Except I didn’t come to mine willingly,” she argued. “I had little choice in the matter. Return to Marin or do as Anath asked.” “But you did have a choice. Not a good one, but a choice nonetheless. And you chose to work for Anath. There are worse situations in the world, Moira. He’s a good man.” “It doesn’t make any of this less boring,” she grumbled, turning back to the window. “I’d really like to go outside.” “I think not, my fragile bloom. We’ll wait until your petals have unfurled completely before we tackle the outside, hmm?” He picked up the stack of pictures, shuffled them and held one up. “Shall we get back to it then? This would be?” Moira sighed and looked at the picture. What followed were more weeks of nonstop studying. Moira studied faces, names, places, cities, populations and ethnic groups. She knew the palace’s most used pathways and halls, its kitchen backward and forward, and every closet and cupboard in case she needed to hide. Nasir made her study the layout of the palace until she was ready to go blind, and after, he made her stare at a map of the entire kingdom until she could name every major city, river and territory, and point to where they were. When she asked why she needed the information, he told her to ask Anath. Moira didn’t ask Anath. She tried not to ask him anything at all. In the first few days of training, she thought it strange that she saw only Nasir. As more time passed and Nasir remained her constant companion, she felt only a mild curiosity when she pondered Anath’s whereabouts. She even wondered if she should miss him in a vague sort of manner, just to keep up appearances and get practice in on behaving like a proper slave. Not that he disappeared completely. In evenings he’d return home from whatever job or errand he’d been completing. Occasionally he traded abrupt half-answers with Nasir that made absolutely no sense to her. Nasir would nod like clockwork before turning back to whatever he was drilling into Moira’s brain. And then just as reliably, Anath would head to his bedroom and behave as if she didn’t exist. “Where does he go every day?” she asked one evening, looking curiously after Anath as he went to his bedroom. Nasir laid his maps aside for the moment. “He meets with the king, looks at incoming reports, attends conferences with the king…things of that nature. It’s dreadfully dull.” He selected a map from a different pile and pushed it in front of her. “Somehow,” Moira said, sighing over the new map, “I don’t see him doing a job for years if it’s dreadfully dull.” Nasir cleared his throat and then tapped the new map. “Concentrate.”

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And then one night, while Nasir and Moira were studying yet another map at the low table, Anath came back out of his bedroom and sat on the settee. Moira nearly tipped her teacup over in surprise. Then, when she got up from the floor to take the tea tray away, she banged her knee so hard the whole table shuddered. Nasir winced. Moira flushed. Anath stared at her with emotionless, dark eyes. Limping back from setting the tray outside the door, Moira resumed her seat on the floor and kept her eyes lowered to the ground, not sure what Anath expected of her. “I must admit,” Anath said finally after a period of strained silence. “I never thought you’d turn out to be shy.” Her head came up. “What?” Nasir smiled from his seat. “She’s not. But she is dreadfully cautious. I noticed it on the first day we started all this. Whenever she’s put in an unfamiliar situation, she demurs. She becomes soft and passive…until she decides the proper course of action, and then she presses onward.” He winked at Moira. Anath made no comment as he continued to study Moira. Moira stared back. “What?” “You look healthier.” His head tipped to the side slightly. “I hear your education is nearly complete. You know nearly as much about our land as our children in their first years of school. This is a great achievement in the short time you’ve been here.” Moira twisted her fingers together and didn’t reply. “However, you need a bit of polish, I think.” Moira straightened abruptly. “Huh?” Nasir nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. You’ll be attending Lord Rievn’s affair tomorrow evening? It’s quite informal, isn’t it?” “Yes.” “Then you can take Moira. It’s just the thing. It will be a small gathering, just ten or so, I believe. And everyone attending is southern, so her presence won’t be remarked on.” Nasir rubbed his hands together and grinned deviously. “And there’s no chance any of them will speak of her to other regional lords.” “And Lord Khayri will be there with Noelle.” Nasir practically cheered. “Even better. You’ll have the perfect example of how to behave right before your eyes, Moira. She’s flawless. Exquisite. Possibly the most perfect slave in all the territories.” “Flawless,” Moira said snidely, glaring at the table. “Great. Just great.” The next evening Moira found herself dressed in a skimpy top and skirt, both in offwhite. Nasir had selected it himself and when she’d complained, he’d reluctantly allowed her to retain a shawl, which Moira used to cover up as much of her shoulders as she could.

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Anath didn’t say a single word when she met him at the door. He gave her a quick examination, nodded once and pulled the door open. Moira ended up following behind him only because Nasir pushed her out after him. The gathering was not what she was expecting. Anath led her down two short hallways and stopped before a door much like his own. He knocked once and then entered without waiting for a response. His eyes connected briefly with Moira’s while he held the door for her. She swallowed nervously and lowered her eyes to the ground. She nearly jumped when he leaned close and whispered against her ear, “Relax.” His hand squeezed her side gently, rattling Moira completely, and then he stepped away and joined the other men already present. The apartment was as nice as Anath’s, but different. It was decorated with more of a feel for light and openness. The furniture was covered in thick, pale materials, with pillows and blankets of jeweled greens and reds, and darker colors added for accent. A thick braided rug covered the majority of the sitting room, and only near the walls and corners was the dark wood floor revealed. A moderately sized stone fireplace was set deep in the wall about ten feet down from the entryway. A small brazier gently smoldered, emitting fragrant, spicy smoke into the air, aided greatly by the large window at the back of the room, left open for the evening. The furniture and decoration were minimal. At the back there were a few small tables, two big, leafy plants shoved in corners and an armchair before the window. Closer to the front there was a long, narrow chest of drawers against the left wall with various bottles on top filled with assorted colored liquids, and two settees sat several yards across from each other, perpendicular to the fireplace. A low, wide table sat between them, surrounded by thick cushions. It was on these cushions that the men of the south reclined. There were eight Kinnains in total and with them, three slaves. Though there was great variation in appearance, all but one were southerners, and had the dark hair and skin common to that region. Most had some version of gray for eye color, and though no names were given she recognized most of them from their pictures. Rievn De SeLiih sat on the left settee, and had a more austere appearance then she’d realized from his picture. Beside him was the only man in the room Moira thought wasn’t southern, though no one seemed to be terribly concerned. He sat close to Rievn, was a little larger, paler and absolutely beautiful. He was the first Kinnain she’d seen with shorn hair. His was a deep brown, clipped close to his skull, and looked harsh compared to the long, dark hair of the other men around him. He was one of only three she didn’t know. Sitting on the settee across from them were Lord Riyan and Lord Chima. She knew from Nasir that the two men were often together and even shared slaves between them. Then on the floor, leaning against the pillows, were the rest. The two remaining

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unknown men sat nearest the fire. Anath sat to the left of them, and across from him, leaning on his elbow, was Lord Khayri with a gorgeous blonde woman Moira assumed was the perfect Noelle. The two other slaves, a woman and man, hovered near the back of the room, their eyes darting continuously toward the desert lords. Neither looked as nervous as Moira felt, but then they were also subject to the need and it didn’t leave room for much else. Moira finished with her inspection of the room and inched forward. The conversation started up easily among the men, but even with the translator it was impossible to understand. Taking a deep breath, she made her way through the room and to Anath’s side as inconspicuously as possible. What followed was two hours of nerve-racking tension. Every action from slaves was supposed to be demure, practiced and graceful—everything from serving tea to taking requests from one’s owner. And it only made Moira more nervous. She felt as if every eye in the room was on her as she poured tea, making her hands shake as the hot liquid sloshed into the cup with anything but grace. She took her cues from Noelle and did her best to copy them, but ended up feeling like a clumsy oaf at every turn. It was harder than she expected. The incomparable Noelle was indeed flawless. Tall and lithe, she moved smoothly and silently as she completed her tasks. When she was with Lord Khayri, her beauty became even more stunning. She practically glowed when she sat beside the lord. Her adoration was obvious, but what Moira found even more amazing was the returned affection of Lord Khayri. He touched his slave often. Just little familiar touches—to her shoulder, her back, the curve of her arm—but each one expressed the feelings he held for her. None of the other men present seemed to find anything wrong with his behavior. From the disinterest on their faces, it was perfectly normal. Maybe even expected. Moira was so confounded she found herself staring at the two of them more often than not, thinking, I’d like that. One time, Noelle caught her. A small smile merely played on the woman’s lips at Moira’s obvious discomfort. In contrast, the other two slaves were completely uninvolved in the gathering. They stayed at the back of the room and kept silent, but their eyes continually went to the lords, over and over again. The evening progressed slowly. She tried to keep up with Noelle, and as more time passed and her nervousness abated somewhat she even decided she was doing a half decent job of it…until Anath tried to touch her. She was arranging pillows at his back so he could recline when he reached for her arm. Moira didn’t even stop to think. She reacted automatically and flinched away. The conversation stopped. Moira’s hands clenched a pillow and her face flushed. She bowed her head and went back to making Anath comfortable as if it hadn’t happened at all. When a minute passed and the conversation started up again, she let out a relieved breath and convinced herself the reaction wasn’t as bad as she feared.

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When they left not long after, Moira barely resisted the urge to cheer. It was over. She’d done her job and it had gone relatively well. No huge mistakes had been made, she’d remembered to keep her eyes down and she hadn’t spilled anything. Any other gatherings or functions would merely be more of the same, and if she’d done it once she could certainly do it again. The only thing that dampened her mood was the look Anath gave her when he led the way from Lord Rievn’s apartment. It was a steady, thoughtful look, one that made her distinctly uncomfortable because of its intensity. He looked at her often all the way to his rooms. When they got there, Anath held the door for her, still imposing and far too large. Moira rushed past. She mumbled goodnight and headed for the sanctuary of her room before he could stop her. She finally got to go outside three weeks later, and it was glorious. Nasir took her on a wonderful day. The suns were high and the clouds were thick in the sky above. She marveled at the magnificence of the view for a while, thrilled beyond anything just to have the sky open and uncovered by a blanket of murky fog. “It used to be like this…back home,” she said, following him through a small gate. “At least, according to all the stories Mum told me. We used to have clouds and sunshine and soft rains. Some places even got snow. Trees grew everywhere and there were fields and fields for farming, and no one had to buy water.” Nasir looked over his shoulder at her and smiled encouragingly. “Long, long ago.” “Yes,” Moira agreed. “It’s all gone now, of course. Now more than ever.” “And now you’re here, so there’s no need to be sad, is there? Come along then. This is your day. We’d best get to enjoying it.” He took her to the gardens outside the South Wing. He spoke easily as he led the way to a tall arch, thick with ivy. He went through, stopped just inside, and watched as Moira entered. It was, in a word, perfect. She spun around in a circle, her head tilted up toward the sky to let the light wash over her. “I never imagined sunshine was so warm! And look at the clouds!” They were huge, puffy and looked so soft she thought she could surely sleep on one, if only she could reach it. “This is much better than looking through the window.” She spent a while just admiring the shapes of the clouds, so caught up in the novelty she forgot about the garden. Only when Nasir cleared his throat noisily and gestured to her surroundings did she forget everything above and concentrate on what was below. The garden was smaller than the public gardens she’d spent hours examining through windows. It was quaint, with thick, trimmed grass and waving flowers as tall as her waist, their blooms nearly as big as her hands. Miniature trees were just a bit

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taller than Nasir, the branches heavy with glossy leaves and fragrant blooms. A small stone fountain, just a little taller than she was and composed of five tiered bowls, burbled softly in one corner and acted as the endpoint for a narrow stone path that meandered its way around trees, shrubs and flowerbeds. There was very little order in the garden. She couldn’t discern any type of pattern in the beds plopped here and there, or the small clusters of trees. The only thing reined in was the border. It was thick, high and trimmed, and didn’t encroach beyond its boundary by even a twig. She trotted around the perimeter, delighting in how tiny flowers peaked up through the grass to bask in the sunshine. “It’s divine.” Nasir grinned boyishly and spread a thick blanket over the ground. “Yes, we thought you’d care for the place. And now that you’re through training, it seemed an appropriate activity to occupy the day.” Training was finished. She felt like jumping for joy. Instead, she stopped near the boarder and tried to push up on her tiptoes to see over, which proved to be impossible. “What about tomorrow? Have you asked? Can I go?” He laughed softly and threw himself down on the blanket. “Anath is taking you. Today, however, was my choice, and you’d best be thankful for it. I almost decided it would be a fine day to start lessons on our history. However, you’d likely take my life if I did, so I chose the garden instead. Anath suggested it. He thought you’d prefer this rather than one of the large public gardens.” She turned, surprised. “Why? Is this one his?” And why in the world was he taking her on her outing tomorrow? True, she’d been seeing more of him in the last weeks—a fact she was secretly beginning to enjoy, though he still made her frightfully nervous—but he was always in the background. Scenery. Like the hedged border. Nasir was her primary companion. He was the one who talked with her, teaching and coaxing information into her brain. Anath was merely an afterthought, even though she thought sometimes he shouldn’t be. “In a way, I suppose. It’s part of the South Wing, and as such, falls under the jurisdiction of the southern lords. As you know, they are a very peculiar lot. Don’t share anything, including their private gardens. I only learned of it because of Anath.” “He’s not a lord, though.” She grabbed on to some leaves and branches and tried to boost herself higher on her toes to see beyond the border. Nasir shrugged as he pulled off his shoes. “May as well be. He’s a man with power, and for them, that’s rank. Southerners don’t view rank in the same manner as the rest of the kingdom. For them, it holds a deeper meaning than privilege. Come, stop abusing the hedges and sit down with me.” He patted the blanket before leaning back on his elbows. Moira gave up on seeing what was beyond the garden and with a last glance, went over and settled herself on the blanket. “What meaning?”

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“Duty. Honor. They think of themselves as servants, much in the way the king and queen do. Now,” his eyes crinkled as he grinned widely. “We are here, enjoying this very fine day. You’re far more comfortable than when you arrived and you begin your duties the day after next. How is that for progress, hmm? Except for the housekeeping duties, of course—not exactly an improvement over studying,” he chuckled. “Honestly, I’m relieved.” She raised her brows at the disbelief on his face. “Seriously. No more studying, no more memorizing. Work is easy. I’m used to work. Studying faces and maps day after day is very dull.” “Work.” He shuddered delicately. “You were meant for better things. You’re too fair a creature for drudgery, my dear.” Moira’s eyes narrowed and her back stiffened. “Drudgery is what helped me survive. I scratched out a meager living by what you call drudgery. It was hard, but I survived when so many others didn’t. Don’t scoff at what works.” His eyebrows rose but he said nothing more about it. They fell into silence. Moira smiled into the sunlight, pleased beyond anything. Returning to regular chores wouldn’t be fun, but at least she wouldn’t feel like ripping out her hair at the end of the day from frustration. She missed the tired, liquid feeling a person acquired after laboring for a day. “You’ll be with the house slaves as you work. People will think you a free slave as you go about your duties.” Moira cracked her eyelids open and tilted her head down. Nasir was on his back, one arm beneath his head and his eyes closed, looking, for all intents and purposes, asleep. “So?” “Free slaves are exactly that. Free. Available to claim.” “Which means what? That they’ll—” “Try to fuck you.” Moira blinked, the sunlight and garden suddenly forgotten. Nasir opened his eyes as he tilted his head to see her better. “They’d be honorbound to take you on afterward. The Council is very strict about such matters. Once a slave has been fucked and is subject to the need, the master must take them on for at least a period of one month.” “But I already have a master,” she mumbled blankly. “If they… If they—” “Anath would step in, of course,” Nasir assured her. “But by then it would already be too late. And there’d be a good possibility he’d be censured for not proclaiming his ownership openly. It’s not exactly illegal, but it’s not legal, either.” Moira stared across the grass, not even seeing the pretty flowers. “I understand what you’re saying.” He rolled to his side and propped his head on one hand. “Do you, Moira? Because I want there to be no misunderstanding. The more aware you are, the better your chances 80

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of avoiding a difficult situation. You’re young and lovely. Some lord will watch you in the hall, take a fancy and decide you’re the perfect addition to his collection.” Moira felt the color drain from her face. Nasir swore and sat up. “Lay down before you pass out. Bloody hell. Don’t faint on me, Moira.” She pushed his hands away even as he tried to press her down. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She took a deep breath. “I’m fine.” “You’re white as the bed linens.” He tilted his head to the side and studied her. “It’s not only your safety, but Anath’s as well. He could be challenged for you if it’s discovered you’re his and walking around unmarked. And while Anath is a master with a sword, he’s only one man.” “I’ll be careful.” Nasir cupped her chin and forced her eyes to meet his. “Good. The both of you are far too precious to chance on another’s whim. And I would hate for you to be taken by another who’d treat you as Marin did.” “So would I,” she replied softly. “So would I.”

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Chapter Ten The day before she was to begin her duties as a house slave, Anath took her outside the palace walls for the first time. Once outside the high walls, Moira stopped and tilted her head up, still too enthralled with the clearness of the sky to take it for granted. “I can see a cloud that looks like a chair.” Anath’s dark head tilted back. “So you can. Are you going to move on now, so we can get this visit done with?” She didn’t let his tone get to her. After weeks in his company she knew better than to pay much attention to his gruffness. He was always surly. It was as much a part of him as his quiet moods and his dark skin. “How much farther is it?” she demanded, skipping at Anath’s side and ignoring the curious looks they were getting from the villagers. “Nasir said they weren’t far.” She craned her neck and examined the small cottages they were passing, made of thick stone, with shingled roofs and glass windows. Even the poorest of the Kinnai were better off than she’d been on Earth. Anath kept walking and didn’t answer, his overcoat billowing out behind him like a black shroud. Moira sighed and continued to half trot at his side, just to match her smaller steps to his longer ones. Fifteen minutes later, they came out the end of a street and looked down on gently rolling hills and valleys clouded with fog. Long grasses gently waved in the breeze that toyed with the loose hair at her nape and temples. “There.” He pointed to one of the hills not far in the distance. “Do you see them?” Moira’s mouth fell open. She gasped in delight and bounced up and down. “Oh! They’re wonderful, aren’t they?” She looked to him, her grin foolish but she didn’t care. The day was too lovely, the sunshine and air too fresh. And then there were the mammoths. They were huge, even from a distance. Their bodies were half the size of the large buildings of Earth, their hides covered in thick, wooly hair. They grazed peacefully along the hills, tearing up grass with their long trunks, stuffing it into their mouths. Some had giant tusks, others didn’t, but they all had great, large ears, some flapping, others lying completely still against their heads. “Can we go closer?” She looked at Anath hopefully. “Please?” He nodded and together they walked closer, until Moira was so near she could hear the beasts’ gentle rumbles, their constant chewing and the occasional snort. Several of 82

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them had little ones at their sides, who looked exactly like shrunken-down versions of the adults, and were, in Moira’s mind, perfect. “Just wonderful,” she said again, sitting down on the ground, content to watch. “So large, yet they eat only vegetation. Amazing, isn’t it?” Anath didn’t look anything. Not amazed, not enthralled, not bored, not irritated. He was blank, a man of no emotion, or at least no visible emotion. “We took them from your planet when your scientists recreated them. Not so amazing, if you look at it that way. They’re engineered, stolen property. They don’t belong here any more than they belonged in your planet’s labs.” A sobering thought. Moira couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same about her presence, or the presence of humans in general. He allowed her to stay through the afternoon. Moira was thrilled. When one of the little ones came sniffing about, his little trunk gently snuffing at her chest, face and arms, she laughed and fell back to the ground, marveling at how something so young could still manage to weigh almost a thousand pounds. “This has been the best day,” she declared on the walk back to his suite. “Thank you for taking me.” He looked at her. His face was covered in shadows from the falling light, giving him a sinister air. “You’ve worked hard. Tomorrow you begin your new duties. You deserve to have your off days, as does everyone.” Moira remained silent as they crossed the quiet cobblestone street. Finally, when they were just a short distance from the palace, she mumbled, “The others don’t believe that. I’ve seen how slaves are treated by your people. They act like we’re unworthy. We don’t deserve an off day because we’re barely sentient.” “And some of the lords serving here are vicious, vile creatures,” Anath retorted, turning just enough to glare at her. “Quiet now, we draw near the palace.” Which meant she had to assume the proper place of a slave. She did so without argument because she knew it was an act. A ruse on her part. She wasn’t truly a slave, just playing the role of one. As soon as the door to Anath’s suite closed she could drop the role like old clothes. There, she had rights and opinions. There she could state her mind, speak when she wished and pose questions without being reprimanded. There she could eat food and not worry about drugs, because Anath had no interest in her in that way. The halls were quiet when they passed through. They only came across two Kinnains and a small group of servants. Moira dutifully kept the right number of steps between her and Anath, made sure her eyes stayed lowered to the ground and scuttled behind him like a proper slave. Dinner was waiting for them when they entered his rooms. Since there was steam rising from the tureens and dishes, Moira concluded that the meal had just been delivered and hastily went about arranging the plates while Anath disappeared into his

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bedroom. She was just wondering if he was going to stay there the rest of the night when he emerged in fresh trousers and shirt. He held a small box in his hand. He seated himself across from her, bowed his head and spoke a prayer in his native tongue, and then began dishing food onto his plate. Moira filled hers then got down to the business of eating, which she’d discovered to be far more pleasant here than it’d ever been at home. Almost everything tasted wonderful, and there was no need to worry about contaminated foods or poisonous plants, shipped on-world by mistake. She was busily cutting her food when he slid the box beside her plate. Moira stopped what she was doing and looked at Anath in surprise. She touched it hesitantly, unsure how to proceed. If it’d been Nasir, she would have smiled and let him tease her as she opened the box. But it was Anath, and he was much more complex. “What’s this?” His eyes rose to hers briefly before returning to his plate. “A gift.” Since he said it so stiffly she dismissed the notion and, after setting her knife aside, picked up the box and opened it. Inside was a round pendant, gleaming and brilliant, its metal flashing in the light. The pendant lay on a bed of satin, its flat surface etched with the same symbol scored into Anath’s dark skin. The little spider looked positively harmless on the metal, so very different than his tattoo. She looked up. “I thought you didn’t want me to carry your symbol.” “Nothing so obvious as ink. But for your safety, I had this commissioned. Many slaves wear them and it won’t be remarked upon.” “Many slaves wear them,” she agreed, glancing down at the pendant again. “But none of the others seem quite this fine. It’s too much, Anath.” She started to set the thing back on the table and return it to him. His head came up and his eyes glared fire at her. “You can’t even accept my gift? Am I so repugnant to you, then?” Moira was stunned. Her fingers clenched around the box and she hugged it against her chest. “I just thought…” She swallowed painfully and looked away. “It’s a beautiful gift, Anath.” Just an uncomfortable one. First he took her to the hills, now he was giving her a piece of highly valuable jewelry. She didn’t know what to make of either. “Thank you,” she said softly, laying the box in her lap before continuing to eat, though her appetite was suddenly gone. “Thank you very much.” He returned to his meal and said nothing more. She looked at the pendant again after readying for bed, and then reluctantly put it away in a box on her dresser.

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She woke early the next morning and dressed in the clothes Anath had gotten for her, appropriate for a house slave. The outfit was simple, sturdy and serviceable rather than attractive. The drab skirt was more modest than the others she’d seen on most slaves and the shirt baggy, allowing for greater movement. She wrapped her hair in a tight coil and firmly pinned it in place before tying a kerchief over it. She checked herself in the mirror, gave a nod of approval and left her room. Though the hour was early, Anath was waiting for her on the settee. After she sat down, he handed her a cup of tea and hard roll. She got both down, but the roll felt like a brick in her stomach and the tea just made her jumpy. Having Anath watching her didn’t help. He remained silent until she finished, then took her cup and returned it to the tray. “You know what I need of you,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. “Your duties are simple. Listen, watch and occasionally messenger. Nothing more. If you discover trouble, you’ll find Nasir or me and inform us immediately. If anyone makes any type of advance on you, or tries to involve you in one of their activities, you’re to tell them who owns you, even if it means ruining your setup. Do you understand?” “I’ll be fine.” “Yes, you will.” Moira got to her feet, dusted off her hands and straightened her spine. “Can I ask something before I go?” He stared at her, waiting. “You’re going to be dealing with me from now on, aren’t you?” She wasn’t sure how she knew she’d asked something hurtful. Maybe it was the way his jaw tensed or how the thin silver of his eyes darkened. Whatever it was, he suddenly looked stark, as if she’d struck him. He finally nodded and answered gravely, “Yes.” Moira rubbed her hands together and looked toward the door. “Okay. Well, I guess this is goodbye.” She tried to smile, gave up the effort and left before she could embarrass herself in any other way. After all, there was work to be done now. She didn’t have time for foolishness. She had a young lord to watch. His name was Lord Sakhr Heltus, and from the information Nasir had given her she knew he was wealthy, in high standing with the other nobles and came from a family with great wealth and power. Supposedly he owned the largest vineyards in Kinnai and supplied wine all over the kingdom, including the barbaric south. She’d been informed he’d even traveled there in an effort to renew contracts, which was practically unheard of, and that he’d done business with the nomads, which was inconceivable.

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She didn’t see him the first three days of her duties, though she became very familiar with the two women and the young man who were his slaves. But on the fourth day, he came into his quarters as she cleaned and looked just as she expected him to. He was fairly young, perhaps just a few years older than she was, quite pretty, with the white hair and skin that was so popular with the nobles of the palace, and blue eyes the color of the sky. She was at first so riveted by the color that she forgot herself and stared. He wasn’t a large man, but he wasn’t exactly small either, instead falling somewhere in between. He wasn’t weak, though. The power and muscle of his young body was obvious. His shoulders were broad and his arms thick. She decided he could very easily be a dangerous man. She returned to cleaning his rooms. With her eyes on her dusting and scrubbing, she imagined herself invisible and caught every word passed between the lord and his slaves. Within the first weeks of her duties, Moira learned to hate the kitchens and groaned every time she had to enter them, which ended up to be nearly every hour on busy days. They were beyond extensive and had more in common with a maze than any other kitchen she’d seen. The large and complicated area was made up of various stations, each one for food preparation of some kind or another. Humans and Kinnains alike scuttled throughout, constantly in a state of panic as they rushed to perform their work. Cooking and preparation of meals was the primary function of the place, of course, and with so much food to prepare, it was constantly overrun. Huge stoves were used to cook and bake items, and kept the temperature of the kitchen constantly high and humid. A whole team of people—twenty at least—were in charge of preparing the meat that was so much a part of Kinnain meals. They brought huge, hundred-pound slabs of meat, threw them onto a giant table and went about cutting, filleting, dicing, slicing…it was a lengthy process and it only continued when the cooking began. It seemed there were hundreds of different ways to cook meat, and the Kinnains enjoyed them all. In addition to the preparation of meat, there were also soups and sauces and the vegetable dishes that were favored, and each station had its own teams of cooks and assistants. Often the giant kilns, which had a side room all their own, would be heating and blasting in preparation for flatbread. Food was apparently serious business in the palace. If the kitchen staff wasn’t in an uproar over a meal, then preparations were being made for future meals, or there was cleaning to be done and stores to be restocked. The end result was that the kitchen was always full to bursting, no matter the hour. If she hadn’t been prepared by Nasir, she would have gone crazy the first day. With so many people bustling, yelling and shouting—coupled with the level of excitement,

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stress and anxiety—the place was a deathtrap for anyone without enough fortitude to go about their business and ignore the rest. In addition to the regular kitchen staff, there were people like her buzzing about, ducking into the kitchen to collect water pitchers and head to the laundry, the entrance to which was through the back of the kitchen. She and her fellow housekeepers would come in, dump soiled linens, refill pitchers with the favored drinking water routinely brought in from springs and stored in barrels, and take care of any other small emergency that came up. They had a constant string of duties, each liable to change at any minute depending on the circumstances and the lords’ whims. Sometimes the rooms she was in charge of needed extra water, other times fresh sheets, or clothes in need of pressing for an event that evening. Once, she even had to locate a hair specialist. The duties were diverse and never-ending, and between them, she also had to complete the tasks Anath gave her. In the first week alone she passed on three messages, each going to a different slave. She didn’t know their names, they didn’t know hers, and on Anath’s orders she didn’t exchange words with any of them. All she did was slip a note into the sheets where they could see it, nod quietly to the slaves and walk away. Where the notes went after, Anath didn’t say. And she knew better than to ask. For the most part, other than her trips to the kitchen, she enjoyed the work. She was used to the labor of keeping rooms from her own experience as a shopkeeper, and Lord Sakhr’s quarters were usually clean and well ordered. There was no evidence of slovenliness on his part, or that of his slaves. She would occasionally have to straighten furniture, scrub floors and run dust cloths over everything, but there was none of the filthiness which she routinely heard some of the other household slaves complain about. At the end of each workday, she finished her duties in the same fashion. She gathered soiled linens and towels that needed to be dropped off, collected the empty water pitchers and, with her eyes downcast and her hands full, she announced softly to whoever happened be in the room with her at the time, “I’ve finished for the day.” One of Sakhr’s slaves always dismissed her, sometimes with a gentle remark, sometimes with a distracted wave of a hand. It didn’t matter. She knew her place, and after bowing as well as she could with her arms full, Moira disappeared quickly, knowing the worst part of her day was still to come. Keeping Sakhr’s rooms clean wasn’t difficult, just merely time-consuming. The most difficult part of her day, even worse than the kitchens, came as she finished and was forced to traverse the hallways in the afternoon, when often many of the lords were just rising. They would step from their rooms whenever they heard someone walking down the long hallway. It didn’t seem to matter to any of them that she was housekeeping, and therefore off-limits as long as she was on duty. It was a fact Moira didn’t let them forget. She held on to the sheets for dear life, pretending they were a shield as she made her way past the men, praying for all she was worth until she reached the end of the hall and could bolt down a service hall. 87

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Anath strode through the halls, walking quickly to reach his king’s private quarters. Upon his arrival, the doors were opened immediately. He glanced casually over at his own office then walked through the sitting room, taking the first door on the left. He could hear the low moans coming from the room before he even stepped inside. The king’s bedchamber, like many of his private rooms, was opulent and large. The bed itself had more in common with a small pond than a bed, its large expanse covered in shimmering fabric of pale blue, slippery and lush. Thick carpets lined the floors and tapestries covered the walls. One wall was entirely taken up by the king’s own personal set of books, volumes he’d collected over the years for personal enjoyment. Anath closed the door behind him with a quiet click, stood just inside the room and waited, taking in the activities on the bed with a calm, cold eye. The king was still considered a man in his prime. His flowing white hair fell down past his waist, nearly to his knees now. His body was still strong and roped with muscle, and his face still that of a young man…unless one looked too closely. What most didn’t see was that the hair was thinner than it used to be, the body was beginning to wear down and the face, so full of life, now had tiny, nearly invisible lines etched into it. Lines from worry and duty, and the struggle to maintain his family and fulfill his obligations to Gods and kingdom. Few saw how each obligation weighed so heavily, but Anath did. He saw it every day and saddened further with every new sign, for each told him his king’s strength was waning. But then, that was what happened—duty called and its price was steep. Great glory came with the position, but also a high cost, one most didn’t even acknowledge. The king was relaxed and even smiling as he availed himself of his favorite slave. She wasn’t human—she was too tall, too large all around. Her breasts were heavy, her hips wide and very attractive. Her skin held a dark red color, her hair as black as Anath’s and reaching just past her shoulders. She also had gills at her back, but few were privileged enough to know that information. King Haidar looked up briefly before resuming his activity, which had him thrusting quickly into his slave. He had one of her legs hooked over his shoulder while the other pressed to the bed. When he pulled out briefly, Anath could see the wink of the silver bar through his cock. From the evidence—the stains already on the sheets and on the slave—they’d been at it for some time. “My King.” Anath bowed deeply. “I have news.” King Haidar’s thrust slowed and became almost lazy, although he moved into the slave deeply. Breathlessly he said, “I’m listening.” His free hand reached up and massaged the heavy breasts of his slave. “My informants tell me Lord Sakhr has been traveling through the countryside. To the regions in the east.” 88

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“The province?” “Tolliver.” There was a pause as King Haidar glanced up, his activity forgotten for the moment. His jaw loosened and he gaped as he stared at Anath. After a moment, he muttered, “I see.” Anath took a careful step into the room and folded his hands in front of him. “I can, perhaps, take care of this.” He saw the understanding in his king’s eyes, and added softly, “You are my king. I will protect your interests if you wish it.” King Haidar blinked then smiled sadly before his hips resumed their careful movements, though there was less enthusiasm in him now. “No. This is as it should be. Leave it, Anath. We both knew this day would come.” Anath bowed his head. “As you wish, my king.” “Next?” Haidar dropped the woman’s leg and lowered his body over hers. He took her nipple in his mouth, and his movements inside her became sharp and sudden, each one as if it could possibly be the last. The slave moaned beneath him. Her head was back, her eyes closed in rapture. “I have recently learned there’s a problem with Lord Palla. I received information about a small army being trained in the southeast countryside. None of my kinsmen know of him, or what he does there. But there are…rumors.” The king’s thrusting halted again. “What rumors? And what’s he doing building an army?” “He’s been meeting with some of the desert tribes. I’ve heard he’d like to be a king. It seems to me he’s decided to build his kingdom from the ground up rather than take yours. Only the tribes won’t stand for this. Your agreement with them…it’s tenuous at best, my king. The repercussions from this could be very harsh. The tribes do not suffer fools, or their kings.” King Haidar wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He patted his slave when she moaned but didn’t resume fucking her. “Palla’s always been an ass, but he’s never been a threat before. You know this information is good?” “Very good. I received the notice last evening.” “Perhaps it was tampered with,” King Haidar suggested. “My slave brought it to me. And it’s already been confirmed.” King Haidar smiled knowingly at Anath. “Ah, she’s working out well, then.” “Yes. Well enough she knew to bring me this information on Palla when she heard it discussed by the other slaves. He’s become too brash.” “Yes.” Sighing, King Haidar nodded and stared absently at the bed. “Fine. Lord Palla you may handle in whatever manner you see fit.” Anath nodded. “Very good, my king. I’d like to also speak with you about Lord Savas—”

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“Leave him alone.” King Haidar’s eyes flashed in warning. “Leave it, Anath. I’ll tell you once more, he’s not to be touched. He hasn’t insulted me, and he has as much right to the throne as anyone else if he can take it from me.” Anath’s hands clenched, but he bowed stiffly. “Yes, my king.” Haidar gritted his teeth as he finally returned to fucking his desperate slave. “Is there anything more?” “No.” “Then you’re dismissed.” Anath bowed and exited the room. “Slave!” Moira stopped where she was in the hall, closed her eyes for a moment and let out a slow breath. For three weeks she’d managed to get by without being accosted. It seemed her luck was at an end. And it was happening on an already bad day. Not only did she have the rather alarming events of the early day to consider, but now, a nerveracking encounter with an arrogant lord. The lord had been following her for several minutes, his calls louder and louder until he was practically shouting, and Moira knew she could ignore him no longer. To make matters worse, it was later than usual and there was no way she could use her duties to Lord Sakhr as an excuse for avoiding him. The hallway echoed emptily around her, its silence hopeless and oppressing. She turned, keeping her eyes downcast as the lord approached. She’d seen him several times before. He was one of the shorter Kinnains, just a few inches taller than she, but still lovely to look at. His face, small and angular, was narrower than most. He had the palest skin of anyone she’d ever seen, and blue eyes so light they almost had no dark center at all. His hair, she noticed in surprise, was as close to red as she’d seen among the Kinnains, though it was still more brown. She held the linens tighter against her chest and turned slowly. “Master?” He stopped before her, his lips twisted in a disdainful sneer, as if he saw her as something noxious and completely expendable. “You ran away from me, little slave. I’ve called you three times now. You could be punished for disobeying me.” Moira swallowed. “My apologies, Lord. It’s late, and I must return these items to the laundry.” Which was true, though not nearly as rushed an event as she made it sound, since the laundry would stay open long into the night. He circled her, his sneer turning into a snide smile. He was wearing the usual attire of the Kinnains—loose trousers and a thin shirt. His happened to be dark brown, which made his skin seem even whiter than it actually was. When he was behind her, he stopped and brushed her shirt aside at the nape of her neck. Moira nearly jumped. 90

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“You’ve no mark, I see.” She said nothing, and thought about the pendant Anath had given her. She should have worn it, as he’d suggested, hidden beneath her clothes. Except she was supposed to appear as one of the free slaves, owned and kept by the palace itself rather than a specific owner. The pendant was small but it was still a mark of ownership. And the last thing she wanted was to disappoint Anath or in some way betray her true purpose. He’d spoken far too casually about selling her to chance it. “You’re a pretty thing,” he went on, moving back around and stopping when he faced her again. “Come with me.” Moira stayed where she was, even when he walked away. He kept going, as if he expected her to follow, which he most likely did. Not once did he stop and turn to make sure she did. Moira raced as silently as possible in the opposite direction, anxious to be away before he discovered her absence. She felt particularly jumpy when she finally finished in the laundry room. After passing through the kitchens, she peeked out through the door into the servants’ corridor, just to make sure no one was there. When it appeared clear, she used all the back passages she knew, only traveling the main halls when necessary. It took her twice as long to make her way back to Anath’s rooms, but she felt safer. She took a bath when she returned to the rooms. As she lay in the water, willing her body to relax, she wondered if she’d be able to avoid the young lord in the coming months. When the thought merely increased her anxiety, she abandoned her efforts to relax and drained the tub. She spent a long time combing her hair before putting on fresh clothes and stepping out of her bedroom. Both Anath and Nasir were there, waiting for her. Nasir, always cheerful, got up from his chair and clasped her hands. To her astonishment, he even pressed a quick kiss to her brow. She jumped back in surprise. He grinned. “How was your day, my little spy? I trust uneventful?” She nodded and took a seat on the floor by the table. When Anath poured tea and handed it to her wordlessly, she took it and only then noticed the way his lips were pressed thin and how his eyes sparkled coldly. “I scrubbed the floor today, changed linens, took towels and brought fresh water. It was a normal day. In Lord Sakhr’s suites, anyway,” she added hastily. “And did you find Lord Sakhr in any interesting positions?” Nasir inquired, leering. “I do so love those stories.” Moira blushed. “Not this time. Just his slaves were in residence today.” His face fell for a moment then perked up. “And were they occupied with any interesting activities?”

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Moira shrugged and sipped her tea, desperately wanting to be done with the topic. “Not really. They slept.” Nasir sighed in disappointment and slumped in his chair. “Why so down?” Anath raised a brow. “I didn’t realize you had such a fondness for Sakhr’s slaves.” “It’s not his slaves. It’s the lord himself. If I’d known he favored men, I would have made a play for him years ago.” Nasir rubbed at his chest absently. “It’s not common knowledge. He’s more circumspect in his desires, and although there have been stories of him with his women, I had never heard he would take on a man until Moira’s told us.” Moira’s eyes widened. Her hand nearly shook as she returned her cup to the table. Nasir and Sakhr? She never would have even considered such a possibility. “You must not be a very good spy, then.” He shot her a look of disbelief. Moira smiled in reaction. “Now you know,” Anath said. “You can approach him if you choose.” “But now we’re in the middle of this,” Nasir complained. “I’ll have to wait until it’s played out and see where we stand. It’s safest that way. And never will I compromise my position and duty to the kingdom for a fuck.” Moira wound her shawl tighter around her shoulders before saying hesitantly, “There’s something else. At least, I think it’s something.” The feeling in the room immediately switched from relaxed and playful to one of tense expectation. “Yes?” Anath folded his hands together and watched her in a manner that had way too much in common with a predator species. Moira felt her mouth go dry. She swallowed, trying to work up enough moisture so her voice wouldn’t sound as strained as she feared when she finally managed to talk. It didn’t work. “In the kitchen this morning, I filled a pitcher of water for Lord Sakhr then stepped away for a moment. When I came back, another slave was nearby. He acted like he was just walking past, but I didn’t think so. And then there was the residue I found on the pitcher,” she added. Nasir’s features looked pinched as he leaned forward. “Residue? What kind? Did it have a color? Please tell me you didn’t give Lord Sakhr that water.” “No, of course not. I got another pitcher for him as quickly as I could.” Her gaze slid back to Anath. “I did try to keep the other for you, but…” She shrugged. “But what?” “I was very agitated and the kitchen was busy…I got bumped from behind and my hand slipped. I dropped it. Dropped both, actually.” She winced. “The dishwasher was not pleased. I had to listen to a ten-minute lecture on the price of pottery. The shards were cleaned up before I could get one.” Nasir snorted. “The slave probably bumped you when he saw you’d noticed.” 92

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Anath nodded. “Did the residue have a smell?” Moira shook her head. “No. But it was a really pale yellow. I wouldn’t even have noticed if the pitcher hadn’t been one of the older ones. The washers fell behind, so I had to get one of the others from storage.” She bit her lip, thinking about how close she’d come to using one of the newer, lighter-colored pitchers. It would have been impossible to see the substance on the pale surface. “The older pitchers are dark brown. It made it easier for me to see the yellow powder on the lip.” “Rhanthian?” Nasir suggested quietly. “I can’t think of another substance of that color, or one that works so well. If Sakhr drank it, he’d merely fall into a fever and his heart would stop. His slaves would exhibit the same condition and no doubt it would be assumed they’d all contracted some rare disease.” “The poison is rare enough that few would ever suspect it,” Anath agreed thoughtfully. “What about the slave?” he asked Moira. She shrugged. “I’d never seen him before. But there are a lot of people in the kitchen during the day. There are all the cooks and helpers, then the housekeeping people. Servers, washers, bakers…lots of people. I’ll keep an eye out, but…” She shrugged again. “Sakhr will have to be informed.” Nasir frowned in thought. “Moira could do it. Not anything as obvious as a warning, of course. It would cause too much suspicion. But if she were to appear at his apartments late one day, for instance, and perhaps offer an apology and excuse about someone tampering with the water, it would do the trick.” “But I could be punished,” Moira argued, alarmed at the idea. “Lateness is not tolerated.” Although the punishment for lateness didn’t scare her even half as much as the punishment that could very possibly be handed out for running away from the young lord she’d encountered in the hall—or Anath’s reaction if he found out. Nasir brushed her concerns aside. “Sakhr wouldn’t order it. He’ll be too busy taking precautions and too pleased to have discovered the plot.” Moira glared at the floor. “Can’t you do it?” Anath asked mockingly. “I can do anything I want,” she retorted, fuming at even the suggestion. “It’s just…I’d rather not. I’m never late.” Anath leaned forward slightly, his arms draped over his knees. “Moira, you will forget your pride. This is your order, the duty you agreed to. You will do what’s needed.” Moira stared at him for a moment before dropping her eyes to the floor. “Fine.” Nasir sipped quietly for a few minutes, looking as if he wanted to add something. After the silence had stretched out, he shrugged and brushed his toe at her knee until she looked at him. He smiled at her cheerily. “I brought some books for you today.” “But I don’t read.”

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“A problem soon to be corrected. Doesn’t that sound like a worthy task?” Moira looked between Nasir and Anath, wondering if it was to be a group effort. When Anath merely remained silent, drinking his tea, she assumed not. An hour later, she was ready to throw her hands up in frustration. Reading was more complex than she’d first assumed. And reading Kinnain seemed to be even more complicated than reading English ever would have been. Seated on the floor, bent over the text lying on the low table, Moira glared at the pages. Her finger tapped against the paper impatiently as she fumed. “This makes no sense.” Nasir leaned forward and pointed to the character he was attempting to explain. “See here? Clearly masculine. There’s no confusion over that.” “But you just said it could be feminine,” she complained. “If every character must have a gender assigned to it, then how can it possibly be a masculine pronoun?” He closed his eyes and blew out a slow breath between his teeth. “Now you’re confusing me.” “But you said—” “It will be feminine depending on the character before it,” Anath said calmly, still seated on the settee, watching them closely over the book in his lap. “There must be a noun, feminine-form character before it, and a feminine-form verb after for its nature to change to feminine. But it will still remain a strong pronoun. Most often, it’s used in its masculine state.” Moira stared down at the character, her mouth making a small “o”. Beside her Nasir nodded, satisfied with the explanation. “This is going to take a long time,” Moira complained, gently riffling through all the pages in the book. “Your language is complicated.” If only there was a reading translator to be injected as easily as the verbal one. Not that it would have helped her. One still needed a basis for comparison, and since she’d never learned to read any language, the injection would have been completely useless. “You’ve had enough,” Nasir declared, shutting the book with a snap. “And it’s late enough for you. You’ll have a busy day tomorrow. Off to bed, Moira. We wouldn’t want you falling asleep during your duties.” When she rose, he rose with her and gave her another kiss, this one on her cheek. Moira managed not to flinch away, but she found herself frowning at him. “What?” he asked, a tender smile on his face. “Why do you look at me like that?” “She doesn’t understand,” Anath said, rising from his seat. “She wonders why you kiss her.” “Because I can?” Nasir suggested. “But why now?” Moira demanded. “You never did before.” She bit her lip in worry. “You have always been…kind. But why now?” 94

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Nasir’s voice gentled and his smile became soft and almost parental. “Because I care for you, and wish for you to stay safe, healthy and happy. It would hurt me for anything bad to happen to you, even though Anath and I are putting you into situations that may compromise your safety.” “I’m not your slave,” she blurted, stepping away from him, still confused. “What do you want from me?” “I…hmm…” He looked at Anath again. “Nasir doesn’t take females to his bed,” Anath said simply, staring hard at Moira. “He prefers men as his bed partners. He has two slaves, both lovers, both male.” So he wasn’t expecting anything of her. He wouldn’t treat her like a pet, wouldn’t expect kisses in return and wouldn’t demand she lay her body down for his use. “I see,” she murmured, bowing her head. “Thank you.” There was a moment of awkward silence. She shifted uncomfortably then, feeling slightly foolish for misunderstanding, she looked at Nasir, smiled and whispered, “Good night.” He smiled back, open, friendly. It made her realize she wasn’t quite as alone as she’d previously assumed, and it was a pleasant thought to have as she fell asleep. Nasir watched her leave then resumed his seat and refreshed his cup of tea. “You met with the king?” “I did.” Anath paced around the room, going in a large circle. “He’s been apprised of the situation.” “And?” Anath spun around. “And what?” he seethed. “He’s forbidden me to move against Savas or Sakhr.” “So it begins then.” Nasir nodded tiredly. “I wondered. You’re aware, I’m sure, that if we know of Sakhr’s movements, then so does Savas. He’ll be watching this unfold as closely as we do. He has too much to lose not to.” “I’m aware.” “And you already have men watching him,” Nasir finished for him, shaking his head. “Has any information come in yet?” Anath stopped before the settee and sank onto it. “Not yet.” “So we wait for it.” “And while this plays out, I have to leave to take care of another situation.” Nasir looked at him, considering for a moment. “Lord Palla?” he guessed. Anath nodded. “He’ll stir up the tribes, and that mustn’t happen. I shouldn’t be gone more than a week.” Silence fell. Nasir looked back at the closed door of Moira’s room. “Are you sure she’s well? She’s still so skittish. At least she is tonight.”

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“What does that mean?” Anath growled, lying across the cushions, his legs crossed at the ankles. “I thought her more…accustomed to my presence.” Nasir shrugged. “She’s tense. She hasn’t been this jumpy in weeks.” Anath’s eyes met his. “She wasn’t treated well while with Marin.” “I know. But I think there’s something else. She’s unused to being cared for, in any way. You may want to work with her.” Nasir took another sip of tea before continuing. “When you go someplace where you’re expected to bring a slave, her behavior must be above reproach. The last thing she needs is extra attention.” Anath nearly snarled. “Do you think I don’t know that?” “I think you’re far more sensitive where she’s concerned than you admit,” Nasir said quietly. “And knowing her, I understand why you move so cautiously. I would too, if I were in your position. You southern lords are so protective of your slaves. So many of you keep just one for your beds. You grow so attached to them.” Anath sighed and laid his head back, too tired to fend off Nasir’s concern. “Because they’re special.” “I realize that, and while I may not understand the extent to which you go for them, I don’t judge it, either. You could change the terms of your agreement, Anath. She does belong to you. Legally, she’s yours to do with as you please.” “And that would make me a worse git than Marin. You know how he treated her.” Nasir nodded. “Like many of the lords treat their slaves. I’ve seen you helping the lords with them, Anath. There’re some in the palace who think the darker flesh games barbaric. You’re well known for your ability to wield knife and whip until the slaves scream their pleasure.” “I’ve never used them against a slave who didn’t find pleasure in pain.” Agitated, he sat up. “She’s too soft for such games. I’d be a fool if I didn’t realize it. And no, I’ll not change the nature of our agreement.” Nasir calmly sipped silently, his head tilted speculatively. Finally, when the hour was late, he said, “Are you sure her assignment in housekeeping is going well? I don’t want to see her hurt.” “She would tell me if it wasn’t.” Nasir’s eyes met his, and there was no hint of laughter or joy in them. “You best hope so.”

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Chapter Eleven Moira came out of Lord Sakhr’s suite, bowed again to the male slave who held the door for her and sighed when the door closed. Done at last, and in only— “So this is where you work.” She spun around, her mouth opening in surprise as she found the not-quite-redhaired lord standing just a few feet down the hall. He had the same cruel twist on his lips that she remembered, and looked just as regal and condescending. His hair this time was pulled back and tightly braided. Moira nearly dropped the pitcher she was carrying. “Master—” “You disobeyed me.” He stepped closer then followed when Moira stepped cautiously away from him. “I gave you an order to follow and you disobeyed. That’s a punishable offense.” “I-I needed to return to the—” She shrieked as his hand came out and caught her around the nape. The pitcher went crashing to the floor and the linens fell in a heap at her feet. It was all she could do to keep from stuttering in fear. He could do anything he wanted, make me do anything he wished… “Please, Master. I must return to my duties.” She stared up at him, pleading, then too late remembered that her eyes were supposed to be cast down. “Please.” His teeth flashed. “Your duties are about to change—” The door opened, interrupting him. Lord Sakhr stared out. His eyes went from her to the lord and back again. “Lord Jahan, I trust I can count on you to leave my housekeeping slave to her duties without worrying about being accosted. You realize I have terribly high standards when it comes to the care of my rooms. It took me months just to locate this one. I would hate to have to go through the bother of searching for another.” Moira felt a fresh swell of panic at hearing the man’s name. Lord Jahan. She knew the name. He was the lover and most trusted friend of Lord Savas. And Lord Savas she knew well. Lord Jahan’s steady glare moved reluctantly from Moira to Lord Sakhr. Then she saw cold resentment on his face, the same expression she’d seen on the faces of so many of her friends and neighbors whenever they spoke of the politicians living so easily while nearly everyone else starved. “This is your slave, then?” Sakhr ignored the derision in his tone. “She’s my housekeeper. If you wish to know her ownership, you’d have to ask her or speak with the head housekeeper himself. As 97

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for her duties, I assure you they are extensive and take most of her time.” Lord Sakhr smiled just as coldly. “She does an excellent job. I simply cannot be bothered with locating another individual at this time.” “She’s a free slave.” “Which is hardly my concern. She’s my housekeeper, will remain so, and will also therefore remain under my protection while she’s on duty. Your rooms are in another wing, I believe?” Lord Sakhr arched a brow at Lord Jahan. “I suggest you return to them—and your lord. As you can see, the girl has a mess to clean up now and she still has to get my linens to the laundry on time. She’s still on duty, after all.” Moira held her breath, sure it wouldn’t work. Lord Jahan was the smaller man, but he was vicious. She could see in his eyes how much he thought of his own importance. She wasn’t positive of the political standing of either man, but to Lord Jahan, Lord Sakhr was little more than dust beneath his heel. Lord Jahan’s hand tightened around her nape before it relaxed, but relax it did, and then he stepped away from her, his expression going stony with displeasure. He ignored Sakhr as he looked Moira over, his eyes skimming her body from head to toe in a far more intimate manner than she was accustomed to. “I’ll find you again. You’ve my word on it.” He moved off slowly, each step as if he were out walking through the gardens rather than the halls of a wing he didn’t even live in. Moira let out a deep breath when he was gone. She wilted with relief and only then noticed the nervous energy coursing through her limbs. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. Lord Sakhr turned to her, his lips pressed in a thin line. “You alerted me to a delicate situation last week, though you may not have realized it. Now I’ve handled Lord Jahan, so consider the favor returned. My warning comes with no obligation on your part. He’ll watch for you. I guarantee that. If he finds you away from your duties, there’ll be nothing I can do. Be careful, girl. And if you can, find yourself a master before Jahan claims you for his own.” He closed the door to his suites before she could thank him. Shaking, Moira cleaned up the water with the linens, collected the pieces of broken pitcher and hurried away. Anath was sitting on the settee when she returned. She was so surprised to see him after a week’s absence that she stared, completely forgetting about the open door. “You’re back.” He glanced at the darkened windows. “You’re late.” Moira let out a relieved breath and quickly pushed the door closed. She threw the lock then double-checked to make sure the bolt had gone through properly. She stood

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there for a moment, just relaxing and taking comfort in safety. No one could reach her in his suites. Especially now that he’d returned. When he continued waiting, the silence drawing tight and charged, she said, “There were extra…ah, duties to be done. Lord Sakhr and his slaves were in residence today.” She briefly considered telling him about Jahan then abandoned the idea, determined not to cause unnecessary worry or burden. Anath kept waiting, as if expecting something more. She pulled away from the door and headed for her room. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight. I’m feeling particularly tired.” He rose to his feet as she passed him. She almost flinched away, even though he made no move to touch her. It was his size, she knew, along with his overpowering presence. Anath was a man of mass, both in body and personality. “I’d like to take you to a small gathering this evening.” Moira’s jaw dropped. “Tonight?” “Yes.” She blinked slowly, wanting to argue. “You have to go?” He leaned forward slightly. “Are you going to dress or stand here and argue with me?” Moira snapped her mouth shut and practically stomped to her room. She slammed her door shut and only when she was nearly ready did she wonder if maybe she’d gone too far. He was sitting once again when she stepped out of her room far more demurely than she’d entered. He didn’t say a word as he got to his feet, straightened his clothes and strode to the door. Taking her cue from him, Moira followed. She almost turned around and returned to her room when she saw where he was leading her. It was a recreation room deep in the South Wing, a large room with a spacious, comfortable sitting area. There were several settees and chairs as well as more private areas with thick pillows and carpets set up near the corners. The three windows along the right wall facing a private garden were all open to allow the night air in. The light breeze made the incense burning throughout the room waver and dance, giving the aromatic smoke a ghostly appearance. Anath strode through the open door, nodding to men already present in a far corner of the room. Three of the men Moira recognized immediately. On a settee, Lord Rievn sat beside the shorthaired companion she’d seen in his rooms. Lord Khayri faced them on a second settee with Noelle lying beside him, her head cushioned on his lap. Anath made a beeline for them. He even smiled in greeting as he selected a chair and brought it closer to the little group. Moira was just about to step farther away,

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happy to disappear against the wall when Anath looked back and motioned her forward. “Come here, Moira.” Her whole body froze on the spot. He merely crooked his finger at her, waiting expectantly. Her hands clenched into fists. She took a deep breath, letting it out before carefully walking over and stopping beside his chair. Anath turned back to his companions. Moira let out a sigh of relief and nearly wilted. “You’re just in time,” Lord Khayri announced, his hand rubbing Noelle’s bared stomach as if it were a perfectly natural thing to do. “There’s an amusing little rumor going around about Lord Palla. It seems he’s passed on to the Shadowlands.” Anath grunted. “Pity. He was just coming into his prime. Has this rumor mentioned how?” Rievn glanced absently at his nails. “It seems a rogue tribesman took offense to some things he said. It was apparently quite messy. Veyen and I were just discussing the oddities of the situation. What was a western lord doing in the deserts in the first place?” “I was wondering the same thing,” Khayri murmured pleasantly. “It’s quite curious.” “I doubt we’ll ever find out,” Anath answered, his tone neutral. “Perhaps it’s best it remains that way.” Khayri’s eyebrows rose and a small smile touched his lips. “I see. Very well then, no more will be said on the matter. What’s the entertainment for tonight? Is Woden going to be tying Lilah?” “I thought so. It should be interesting. She’s a screamer.” Moira stared at the ground and counted to ten. She nearly shrieked when her hand was taken and she was pulled closer to Anath’s chair. Anath looked as if he was focused on the conversation. He spoke easily with the others, laughed when appropriate and supplied comments, yet his fingers slid between hers and he kept pulling her closer to his chair until Moira’s hip bumped into the side of it. She tried repeatedly and surreptitiously to slip her hand loose from his, with no success. His touch made her nervous, and oddly heated. Rievn’s companion, Veyen she thought he’d called him, lifted himself half off the settee then smiled and settled back. “Ah. They’re here. It seems it’s to be Woden after all. But he has a slave I don’t recognize.” The others turned and looked, except for Anath, who continued to manipulate her hand. With the others looking in the opposite direction, Moira took her chance and wrenched her hand away.

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Anath’s fingers locked around her wrist, holding her prisoner before her hand could escape completely. His head turned and then he was looking at her, his dark eyes boring into hers, warning her. She forgot to breathe. Applause rose up all around them but neither noticed as Anath leaned toward her, the easiness of just moments before completely gone. “Don’t,” he snarled. “Not here, not now.” She nodded sharply, her jaw clenched. He turned around abruptly and immediately assumed a pleasant expression, full of interest and good humor as his eyes went to the man tying up his slave. He held on to her hand until they left. They each remained silent, even after returning to his apartments. Moira watched Anath warily as she automatically made her way to her bedroom. She changed from her skirt into a pair of trousers, and when she came back out Anath was standing in front of the fireplace, watching the small flames lick at a log. She stood near the settee, waiting. “Nasir,” he said roughly, “has expressed concern over your discomfort with touching. I had hoped you’d gotten over the condition.” Moira folded her arms over her chest. “I was under the impression I wasn’t going to be touched.” “I promised not to fuck you, but I never promised not to touch you. Free slaves are often used by those living within the palace who haven’t a slave to serve them, or whose slaves are otherwise occupied. Both Nasir and I may have reason to use you for events and special occasions where you’ll be forced to serve us. Everyone must believe the ruse, Moira.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Slaves do not avoid touching. No housekeeping slave would ever insult a potential owner in that manner.” Moira hugged her arms tighter. Anath turned and slowly walked toward her. Moira tried but couldn’t hide the way her body reacted as he came closer, his arm brushing against hers. She practically jumped. He stopped and his entire body stiffened as if she truly had insulted him. His voice, however, was velvety smooth, if a bit deeper when he said, “That is what I mean. You react to me as if you expect pain. Which would be acceptable if you found pleasure in pain.” “But I don’t.” “No, you do not.” His head tilted to the side slightly and his lips pressed thin. “You don’t react to Nasir the same way.” “Nasir doesn’t touch me like that.”

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“But he touches you, which is my point. I’ve seen him touch your arm, your hair. The only time you reacted in this manner was the first time he kissed you.” Moira opened her mouth to argue, couldn’t, and closed it with a snap. “This cannot go on, Moira,” he growled, leaning closer. “It must be fixed. Your behavior has to be above suspicion.” She glanced at the floor, finding it far easier to study than his face as she fiddled with the ends of her shawl nervously. “What do you want me to do?” He moved away and sat in one of the armchairs before the fire. Then he crooked his finger at her. “Come.” Moira didn’t move. “Why?” His jaw tightened for a second. “If we’re in company, you won’t be able to ask me why every time I demand your attention.” Moira woodenly walked over and stood beside him. Slowly, she knelt at his feet and kept her eyes lowered. However, she couldn’t hide her surprise when his hand settled on the crown of her head—and she couldn’t help but respond by cringing. “Do you honestly think I mean to harm you?” She forced herself to still beneath his hand. Slowly, his fingers threaded through strands of hair before sliding down in a petting motion. “I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. He repeated the stroke, starting at the top of her head and going almost all the way down to her nape before beginning again. It went on for a few minutes, and with each movement the tension in her body lessened. “This is…different.” She raised her head cautiously and watched his face. His voice rumbled deep in his chest. “Every night until you’ve become accustomed to such treatment, I’ll sit here, and you will allow me to stroke you. It’s a common thing between slave and master, and it’s expected. It tells observers you’re favored and tame to me. And it’s one of the least threatening ways of showing affection between a slave and master.” “What else?” She arched slightly, giving him better access then sighed as his fingers slid deeper into her hair. It really did feel nice. Not only relaxing but also slightly intimate, as if he actually cared for her. “If we’re in a less formal setting, I may touch you in a more familiar manner.” “How?” He shifted slightly, his legs moving until his knee pressed tight against her side, as if she needed the extra support. “There are gatherings where one’s expected to participate in flesh games.” His hand kept moving over her head, massaging her scalp, smoothing over her hair. “Because you appear to be unclaimed, you needn’t worry about getting fucked, as it’s forbidden with an unclaimed slave unless they’re to be taken on. However, it may be expected that I hold you on my lap. Or you may have to serve me by brushing my hair or rubbing my back.”

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Rubbing his back and brushing his hair she could do. She’d be in charge, the one doing the touching. Sitting with him, however… “It’s not you,” she blurted suddenly, her eyes going up to his. “I mean about the touching. It’s just…Nasir spent time with me during training and everything. He’s my friend and I trust him not to hurt me.” “You don’t trust me?” he asked much too softly, his hand pausing in her hair. “I trust you not to hurt me and to keep me safe, but you and I aren’t friends. We’re…well, I guess we’re coworkers.” She frowned at how inadequate the word was for their situation. “I don’t know you in any other context except work, so you’re not familiar.” “I’m not familiar,” he repeated. “And I’m not your friend.” “No. We talk every day, but it’s about work. I report and you ignore me the rest of the evening.” She shrugged. He nodded and returned to petting her. “Then talk to me.” “What do you want to talk about?” “Tell me of your day.” Moira yawned. “And lay your head down if you’re tired.” When she hesitated, he gruffly added, “You trust me, remember?” Moira laid her head on his thigh, felt silly for all of half a second and then forgot about it as he continued stroking her. The material of his trousers was soft beneath her cheek and he smelled nice. Exotic, she decided, and spicy. She could feel the flex of muscle beneath her cheek as she sighed and closed her eyes. “Tell me of your day,” he repeated, his hand moving languidly through her hair. Moira let out a slow breath and felt her whole body relax. “It was a lousy day.” A burst of laughter escaped him, rough and surprised, as if he were unused to laughing. Moira smiled to herself and noticed his hand had stilled. “You stopped,” she reminded him, wiggling slightly until his hand came down once more on her hair and resumed its smooth strokes. “Lord Sakhr went through all the towels I brought him yesterday. I had to go back twice to the laundry to gather supplies, and then I discovered a mess on the floor and it took forever to scrub. I don’t even want to guess what it was.” His hand paused in her hair for a second before resuming its soothing motion. “He and his slaves enjoy a rather unconventional lifestyle. He likes to be whipped as much as he enjoys whipping. His male—Daren—fucks him while one of the females wields the whip on them both. It was probably from one of them.” Moira’s head jerked up. She didn’t even notice how Anath’s hand curved over the side of her head, covering her ear while his thumb lightly brushed her jaw. “You mean it was…was…” 103

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“One of them likely was on the floor when he came. You cleaned up the evidence.” His head tilted to the side. “You’re uncomfortable with this.” Moira forgot about being tired and stared down in horror at her hands. Another quick burst of laughter came deep from Anath’s chest. “Your eyes are so wide right now. You look as if—” Moira jumped to her feet and practically ran to her room. “I need to take another bath!” He laughed again, this time his head tilting back with it. She could still hear him chortling to himself even after she closed the door to her room. She discovered a set of jeweled hairpins on her dresser that night. She added them to the box with the pendant. The next night, when he crooked his finger at her, Moira went without being asked a second time. She sat down beside him, barely flinched when his leg brushed against her side and waited for him to begin. When he didn’t, she turned and looked at him, confused. “Did I do it wrong?” His lips thinned for a second. “No, you were correct. You sat gracefully, your head is down and you did exactly as I bade you.” “But you’re not petting me.” His eyebrows lifted even as his hand settled over her head. Moira waited, her breath held, and then his hand came down, gently smoothing her hair as he stroked her. “You may find that sitting between my feet will be more comfortable for you,” he suggested quietly. If anyone else had suggested it, Moira would have been suspicious. However, this was Anath, and he wasn’t like that. So without much thought to the request she moved and rearranged her body between his bare feet, half facing him, happy to let the petting continue as she rested between his legs. This time, it took less than a minute for her to relax enough to where she was resting against him, her head drooping. She didn’t even wait for him to offer before resting her head against his thigh as soon as she felt too tired to keep it up herself. Her eyes closed almost immediately afterward. “Your day?” he inquired neutrally, his hand pausing just a second on the downstroke. “Normal,” she said on a yawn. “No scrubbing today, but they wanted twice as much water and some type of fruit to go with it.” “Did you take the message to Saladin’s slave?” “Yes. It went into his towels. Said he’ll have a letter for Nasir tomorrow. He was nice,” she added, thinking about the old man she’d met in the laundry. “He even helped me refold the linens for Lord Sakhr.”

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“He’s been in Nasir’s employ for many years, that one. If I remember correctly, he was a scholar before the Pembari found him.” “He didn’t even say anything when I had to fetch leather straps to bring to Lord Sakhr’s rooms.” She frowned suddenly. “They hung them from the ceiling. I’m trying not to imagine what I’ll be cleaning up tomorrow.” “One of the females—” “No,” she interrupted, one eye opening. “I don’t care to know. I prefer ignorance, thank you. And please don’t laugh at me. I know you think me provincial, but I can’t help it.” “Not provincial,” he corrected gently, the tips of his fingers scraping lightly across her scalp. “Prudish.” Moira lifted her head off his thigh for a moment. Her eyelids felt as if they weighed a ton as she slowly blinked up at him. “Prudish? What’s that?” “Overly modest. Very concerned with what you perceive as proper.” “I’m not.” He raised his brows, challenging her as he continued petting her. “How many lovers have you had, Moira?” She laid her head back down. “And Marin does not qualify.” She stiffened and tried to move away, only to be stopped when his other hand landed on her shoulder, holding her still. “That,” he said tightly, all hint of humor gone from his voice, “is unnecessary. No insult was given. I merely asked a simple question. A question easily answered.” Moira glared at the floor. “But it’s not your business.” His hand fisted gently in her hair as he tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You are my slave. Everything about you is my business.” She bit her lip and dropped her eyes to his chest. “I would wager you’ve never had a true lover. Perhaps a hurried coupling or two, but no more. You still blush whenever the subject of fucking comes up.” As if to prove his point, she felt heat creep up her neck and into her face. “Lay your head,” he suggested roughly, pressing her gently to his thigh. His hand in her hair loosened and he continued the soft, easy strokes. “You’re a conservative person, and unfortunately, Kinnains as a whole are not. You’ll be shocked and appalled by many of the things you witness, but you mustn’t show it. You are a slave. Your role is to serve and please, not disapprove.” “I don’t disapprove or approve,” she retorted. He made a little noncommittal noise in his throat, which only aggravated her more. “If it’s so easy, then how many lovers have you had?” she shot back and then immediately froze, not quite believing she’d actually voiced the question. 105

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“Too many to count,” he said almost immediately. She sat up, surprised he’d answered so easily and also confused. “But…” She looked around the rooms. “Who do you go to?” His eyes narrowed then darkened to pitch black. His hair, pulled into a low ponytail and hung in a thick hank over one shoulder, gave him a sinister air. “I use the sex slaves—slaves kept expressly for the purpose of serving many. And unlike some, I consider anyone I give pleasure to be a lover.” She fiddled with the fabric over his knee for a second, deep in thought. “So,” she said cautiously, “the man you used the knives on—” “Is a lover.” “And you just use…whoever, whenever the mood strikes?” She couldn’t quite believe it. It seemed so cold, so heartless. “Yes.” She frowned and returned her head to his thigh, deep in thought. There was another question she wanted to ask him—the big one. But after the other answers he’d given so easily, she couldn’t get it out. It was too sensitive a question to inquire after his sexual preference, or if he even had one. Time went by and she felt sleepy again. With her eyes closed, she had nothing to concentrate on but the pleasure of being stroked, how it affected her and how relaxed she was. Her body felt heavy and languid. She doubted seriously if she’d even be able to get up. She heard the door open, felt Anath tense and then almost immediately relax. His hand never stopped its even strokes, not even when Nasir said softly, “Savas and Sakhr are gathering men close to them. It’s hard to get exact numbers but from the information I just received, both of them are courting lords and gaining favor.” Her eyes cracked open to see Nasir standing beside them. His head tilted to the side and he winked at her. “Good evening, pet. You look worn.” He straightened and waited. “There’s little we can do,” Anath rumbled. “Watch the numbers and keep track of the lords who support them. We need to be ready to move if the numbers go against our favor.” “How?” “Not blatantly. We’ll have to be subtle.” Nasir nodded. “I’ll go then. Good night, Anath. Moira.” He exited as quietly as he’d entered, and Moira gave up the battle and fell asleep against Anath’s gentle ministrations. Several days later, the rains began.

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The sky was still dark with night, the moon hidden behind clouds when the first drops hit. It was hard rain. Rain like Moira had never seen before. The sky was black with clouds and thick bolts of lightning crackled across its surface, breaking it into a million pieces. The thunder scared her to death. She woke up suddenly, the sounds of rumbling and crashing all around her. She screamed, sure the palace was falling down around her ears. It was then she saw the sky and all that was occurring outside, and she only became more frantic. With the next bolt of lightening a shadow burst through her door. She screamed again, huddling in her bed, and then Anath was before her, lying on the bed and pulling her to his chest. “Shh. It’s just a storm. There’s nothing wrong.” Moira clung to him, her fingers digging into the tight muscle of his chest and arms as she shuddered through another crack. The world split around her. “You haven’t heard thunder before?” He pulled back and in the white light of the storm she saw amazement on his face. “Surely you’ve been through a storm?” “Not like this!” Her eyes darted over to the window before returning to him, and it was then she realized his chest was bare and his hair loose and slightly mussed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He smoothed her hair back and watched through the window as another spike of lightning crackled the night sky. “I was already awake. It’s all right, Moira. Try to get some sleep.” Moira glanced back once more at the window then turned so she had Anath in front of her eyes, thick and solid and safe. She took his hand in hers and cuddled closer. Another boom shook the palace and she shivered. Anath tilted her head up. “It’s only thunder.” He leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. “Just thunder, Moira.” Moira closed her eyes and lifted her face just inches more. Please, she thought, the loneliness of her life finally too much for her with the violence of the storm surrounding them. She just wanted to pretend someone cared, even if just for a few moments. Anath hesitated then his lips touched hers, so softly they were just a brush of warmth, just the slightest glide of his tongue. Then he was gone. When she opened her eyes he was out of the bed, striding to the door. “Good night. Sleep well, Moira.” She didn’t sleep at all. The storm suited Anath’s mood perfectly. He rushed into his bedroom, closed the door and dropped his trousers to the floor. His fist squeezed over his cock at the same time thunder hit and his head went back.

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With her taste in his mouth, on his tongue, her scent in his nose, he pictured her in his head, beneath him, her body his for pleasure. He thought about sinking deep inside her, of fucking her until they both screamed, their bodies sweaty and exhausted. He worked his cock with his hand, moving over his flesh faster and faster. He bared his teeth and wondered how her pussy would taste, how she’d scream when she came. And he thrust harder with his hand, wanting the reprieve of release, knowing it would only be temporary, that he’d still dream of her after. His cock thickened and with his other hand, he gently squeezed his balls. Seconds later he felt the orgasm come over him and he groaned, her image growing brighter and stronger, her taste sweeter. The hot rush of his seed hit his skin, and finally he felt a small measure of peace. Anath’s knees gave out and he sank to the floor, his head bowing as he sucked in deep gulps of air. He thought about her in her room, small and delicate, hidden beneath her mounds of blankets yet shaking so much it’d been impossible to miss her. He thought about everything he wanted from her, had wanted for some time, and everything she should have wanted from him. And he thought of how impossible it was, all because of a young, arrogant lord.

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Chapter Twelve Anath was slowly going insane. Completely. And he couldn’t take it much longer. He continued staring into the fire, so wrapped up in his thought he didn’t even hear Nasir speaking. “Anath? Do you hear me?” Anath swiveled around and couldn’t help frowning. “I’m sorry, Nasir. My attention was otherwise occupied.” Nasir’s eyebrow went up but he didn’t press the issue. “I suggested you take Moira out for another visit to the hills. She’s becoming edgy. When she reported to me today she jumped again when I touched her. I thought we were beyond that stage. Just two weeks ago I had her out to a function and she performed beautifully. She was the perfect slave.” Anath glared down at the ground as he folded his arms over his chest. “She said nothing of any difficulties. Perhaps you merely startled her.” “I was petting her.” And she liked to be petted. It almost always put her to sleep and if it didn’t do quite that, it lulled her and made her extremely pliant. Her face softened and her eyes became mere slits as her lids sank down. At least when Anath did it. “How does she usually react when you stroke her?” “She doesn’t relax as much as she does with you, but she likes it.” Anath felt his fingers unclench slightly and he admitted to himself that he found pleasure in the fact. It was a weakness, but it couldn’t be helped. He desired her fiercely. And even more, he found her presence to be a balm to his soul. His life was about to change dramatically and he was finally ready for it, even with their relationship being what it was. He turned back to the window. “Take her back to the hills. She likes to watch the mammoths.” “I thought you’d—” “No,” Anath said sharply. “I haven’t the time, as you well know. I’ll speak with the head housekeeper and arrange for her to have a day next week.” He heard Nasir sigh heavily. “Very well.” Anath didn’t turn when his most trusted man left the office. He couldn’t—he’d go and stop him and take her himself. And it would be a mistake, because he wanted her too much. The one kiss had been a mistake. But if a second occurred he’d be gone, and he’d kill himself before he scared her like that. But he couldn’t live without her, either.

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He needed her, even if she never shared his bed. But it was agony. Every hour. And he’d done it to himself. He shook his head at his own foolishness. “Bloody hell.” The laundry was aflutter with activity. Sheets were being whipped up by servants and folded with quick, militant movements. Soiled clothes and linens were being dumped into the huge laundry pots and everywhere ironing was being done. Moira rushed to and fro, looking for the shirts she’d promised to deliver for one of the other servants—a kind, elderly woman known only as Rudy, who cared for one of the minor lords’ rooms. Since she counted Rudy as a friend, Moira had volunteered to take the shirts. Rudy had arthritis and knee problems, and the damp weather especially irritated her. And with all the rain in the last few weeks, the air was thick with moisture. Finally she located the missing clothing, and after ensuring every piece was there, Moira left the steamy laundry, made her way through the kitchen and went out into the halls, only then noticing the late hour and how crowded the halls were. She delivered the shirts easily enough and was on her way back, using one of the side halls, when she noticed the man walking toward her. Her heart leaped in her throat as her eyes strained to make him out over the shortening distance. When she made out the fall of brown-red hair, her heart stuttered with fear. Even before he was within twenty feet, she could easily read Lord Jahan’s expression—and he was not pleased. “Little slave, it seems we meet again.” Moira’s eyes went wide a second before she turned and ran, dashing through the halls as quickly as her feet could take her. She turned, ran down one of the servant’s halls, turned sharply again and quickly burst into a small common room. Several chairs filled one half of the area, set in a circle around the hearth. A large rug spread across the center of the room, making the sitting area blend into the open space behind, which led to the hallway. Nasir was nowhere in sight. Lord Sakhr, however, was. He looked up in surprise from where he sat near the fire, his feet propped up on a stool. One of his female slaves sat on the floor at his side while he absently fingered her hair. He got to his feet, his face filled with concern. “Is there something—” Just then, Lord Jahan ran into the room behind Moira. He stopped short, a low snarl twisting his lips until he saw Lord Sakhr standing. Then the snarl turned into a sneering grin. “Lord Sakhr. Imagine my surprise to discover you here. It seems she’s gotten into the habit of running to you whenever she’s misbehaving.”

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“I wasn’t—” Moira bit off her argument and dropped her head, remembering her role. “You interrupted my duties, Lord.” “Liar. The hour is late and all the housekeeping staff has been dismissed. Tell her, Lord Sakhr. Even your noble self can’t protect her now.” Lord Sakhr stared hard at her face. Then as if some decision had been made, he nodded his head briskly and spoke softly to his slave, who slunk away. He looked over at Moira. “Come with me. We’ll clear up this matter once and for all, shall we?” He strode forward and almost roughly clasped her arm and dragged her with him. “Good evening, Lord Jahan. Do give Lord Savas my best.” “Where do you take her?” Jahan demanded loudly. “The head housekeeper. He’ll be able to give me complete details on this slave and then I’ll put a bid on her.” Lord Sakhr looked over his shoulder at the other man as he left the room. “Not that it’s any of your business.” Moira opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off abruptly as Lord Jahan laughed coldly and followed close behind them through the hall. “You have other things to worry about now, young Lord. I think this little slave should hardly be one of them. Besides, I believe I was the one to first come upon her.” Marching quickly down the hall at a fast clip, Moira stumbling along at Lord Sakhr’s side, He didn’t even deign to answer Jahan as they came upon one of the main recreation rooms. Empty of furnishings, it was used mostly for hand-to-hand combat and for what both Anath and Nasir referred to as “flesh games”. Sakhr made as if to cross it and go through the door in the opposite side. He ignored the greetings called to him from several men grouped together at the back of the room, and was almost at the door when Jahan called out. “Coward!” Sakhr’s entire body stiffened even before he came to a stop. Moira felt the shiver of anger go through his body before he dropped her arm. She opened her mouth to finally admit the identity of her true master, but Sakhr didn’t even seem to remember her presence as he turned around and stared at Jahan. “I beg your pardon?” “You continue to run off with the little slave and refuse to fight me for her. That strikes me as being the act of a coward.” Lord Jahan’s lips pursed. “She ran from me, directly disobeying a command and slave protocol. I want her.” Sakhr’s smile was cold. “As I said, I’ll clear this matter up with the housekeeper.” The other men watching were silent, their eyes following the exchange between the two lords as Jahan stepped forward and repeated, softer, “Coward.” Lord Sakhr’s jaw bulged. “You’ll meet me with swords, then.” Moira turned to him in horror. “No, please don’t! He’ll hurt you and it’s not worth it. I’m already—”

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Lord Sakhr pushed her away gently. “Go, stand out of the way. Someone fetch swords. We may as well be done with this matter once and for all. Unless you object, Lord Jahan.” “Of course not. It’s the only way to settle the matter of ownership, don’t you agree?” Murmuring rose up. The other men in the room slid from their chairs and left their activities to mill around while swords were passed up. Moira wrung her hands and scanned the crowd, nearly swooning when she finally caught sight of Nasir’s familiar face. His eyes were locked on hers and he motioned her over. She went eagerly, desperate for help. He bent down and whispered, “What is this? What happened?” Moira did her best to explain quickly. Already the sounds of sword meeting sword filled the room. When she looked up it was to find the two men locked in battle, the flash of their blades nothing but a blur, too fast for her to follow. “So you ran and found Sakhr?” She nodded. “I didn’t mean to. I came on him by accident…I was looking for you but since he intervened before—” He shook his head and patted her absently. “Not to worry. It’s not your fault. We expected something like this to occur eventually. Come. We’ll move closer and see if we can’t see what’s going on.” When they got closer she saw why Lord Sakhr wasn’t worried about the fight. He was clearly the better swordsman. Each move he made was precise and calculated, and made Jahan look almost awkward in comparison. “He’ll finish him and then this will be over,” Nasir promised, pulling her to his side and patting her back. “And when it’s done, if he asks, I’ve already put a bid in for you, understand?” Moira nodded her head and cringed as Jahan lunged, almost catching Sakhr unaware. The other man jumped back just in time and parried the blow. With another two moves, Sakhr had Jahan’s sword wedged tight against the stone wall. His free hand caught the other man around the throat and squeezed. “Yield.” Jahan gasped, and after a few seconds nodded his chin, though his expression was—victorious. As if he knew something Sakhr didn’t. “You agree to relinquish your claim on her then?” There was another slight nod and Sakhr released him, tossing his sword away. He bowed mockingly. “Good day to you, Lord Jahan.” He turned to go, barely breathing hard. He scanned the crowd, saw Moira and opened his mouth to speak—which was exactly when Jahan’s knife flew out. Several of the men shouted warnings too late. The blade lodged and disappeared into Sakhr’s back. 112

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Sakhr’s eyes widened a second before his knees crumpled and he fell to the ground. Moira gasped. Nasir swore. “Mother’s Mercy!” Still holding on to Moira, Nasir dragged her forward and stood over the fallen lord, his mouth tightening with anger as he shot a look of disgust at Jahan. Jahan merely straightened his tunic. “In the back? You’d already lost!” Nasir shook his head and his lips curled as if he smelled something foul. Lord Jahan picked up his sword from where it’d fallen and advanced toward Sakhr, who was curled on his side, gasping for breath. “Step aside while I finish this.” Nasir stood firm. “No, I believe I’ll stay right where I am.” “Then put up a sword, Lord Nasir,” Jahan sneered. “If you’re up to it.” Nasir faced Moira, and for the first time she saw desperation and fear on his face. “Go,” he ordered harshly, taking the sword someone offered him. “Go find Anath and bring him here. Now. And Moira, run.” He pushed her away and held his sword up. Moira didn’t stay any longer—she didn’t even look back as she heard steel hitting steel. Instead, she concentrated on avoiding the people who filled the halls as they made their way to parties or dinners and ran as fast as she possibly could. She ignored anyone that shouted at her in anger, her only thought to find Anath. She exploded into his rooms. “Anath?” When he wasn’t immediately visible, she opened his bedroom door without even knocking. “Anath?” He was just sliding from the bed. She caught a glimpse of his backside as he tugged trousers up and tied them at his waist, but her mind was in such a state it barely registered. He turned, his face almost completely obscured by his hair. “You needed something?” She was breathless, and only managed, “Nasir…bring a sword.” He paused in the act of straightening his bed. “Sword?” She clung to the post of his bed as her body wilted. “Nasir’s fighting! Lord Jahan stabbed Sakhr in the back and Nasir’s defending him. You need to help him. Hurry!” Abandoning the bed, he shrugged into a shirt, reached behind the door and pulled a heavy axe off the wall. Moira’s eyes rounded slightly but she knew better than to argue, and together they left the room at a hurried pace. He kept it up all the way back to the recreation room while she filled him in on the details, Moira nearly running once again just to keep up with him. By the time they made it there, she could see immediately that Nasir was struggling. His face was wet with sweat, he moved awkwardly and his teeth were

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clenched tight. Across from him, grinning with triumph, Jahan looked over at the crowd. One of the men standing at the front—a tall man almost as wide across as Anath, yet his complete opposite in coloring and expression—gave the slightest of nods. Moira had no difficulty recognizing Lord Savas. Jahan turned back to Nasir, who was still doing all he could just to block the other man’s sword from his throat. “Get ready to die.” Anath took in the scene in an instant, pushed his way through the crowd and growled, “I heard you were looking for this.” He tossed the axe into the air. Moira screeched and turned her head away. Someone else shouted and then there was the clashing of screeching metal. She opened her eyes in time to see Jahan stumble back. Nasir grinned and hefted the axe higher, swinging it in an expert arc. “This is much better.” Anath moved back to the outer edge of the circle to watch the fight, his arms folded over his chest, a brooding darkness emanating from him. Nasir tossed his sword away. It slid across the floor and disappeared into the crowd. Then he sauntered toward Jahan, the heavy axe held at waist height, ready to go. “Let’s begin again, shall we?” Lord Jahan’s expression turned sour and he backed away cautiously. “I hardly think this is sporting. You’ve changed weapons in the middle of the fight.” “Ah, ah, ah.” Nasir shook a finger and continued stalking him. “I believe it was you who did that first—when you stabbed Lord Sakhr in the back. Remember?” The first swing of the axe was so fast Moira missed it. She stood among those at the front of the crowd, gaping at how graceful Nasir suddenly was. Where he’d been nervous and uncomfortable with the sword, with an axe in his hand, every move he made seemed purposeful and deliberate. He moved around Jahan, bringing the axe up, aiming it at his opponent as if he were dancing rather than fighting. Jahan clenched his jaw just half a second before he struck. His sword danced out, whipping at Nasir, aiming for his chest. Nasir ducked away and brought the axe up, easily blocking Jahan’s attack. His twisted his wrist, the double-bladed axe glittering menacingly as the head snagged on the sword blade. When Nasir pulled, Jahan’s sword jerked from his hand and clattered to the ground. Nasir kicked it away and looked at him expectantly. “I believe this is the part where you get on your knees and beg.” Jahan took a step back, his arms at his sides, one hand inching almost imperceptibly toward his back. “I’m not done yet!” Nasir smiled tightly. “You’ll be dead before your hand touches the hilt.” Jahan’s face showed his surprise.

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Nasir’s eyes were locked on Lord Savas even as he let his axe fly. There was a solid thunk as it cleaved through Jahan’s ribs and organs, followed by a heavy gasp of both disbelief and pain. Lord Jahan slowly sank, the axe head buried deep in his chest. Savas leaped forward and caught him before he tumbled to the floor and gently laid his lover on his side, his face twisted with rage and anger. “I will kill you for this!” His face glittered with tears when he raised his head. “He didn’t deserve this!” Nasir’s eyes became icy cool. “Neither did Lord Sakhr. I believe they took him to the healers, by the way. In case you’re concerned.” Without another word Nasir turned on his heel and left, calling behind him, “Slave, you will attend me.” Moira ran and caught up just as he was exiting the room. Nasir kept her arm in his grasp all the way to Anath’s quarters. Anath was waiting for them when they got in, sitting on the settee, a small glass of amber liquid in one hand and his other arm thrown out across the backrest. His eyes were hooded as they landed on Moira. She immediately froze on the spot, certain he meant to hurt her. “You failed to mention in any of your briefings that Lord Jahan was causing you trouble.” He said it softly, casually, but it felt threatening and dangerous. She looked over at Nasir, who barely shook his head at her before taking the closest chair and sitting silently. Moira nervously licked her lips. “I’m sorry.” “You’re sorry,” Anath purred. “What else did you leave out of your reports?” “N-nothing.” He shook his head slowly. “No. You’ll go over each event, tell me exactly what was said, what he did. Now.” “He—” “No. Here.” He pointed to the space between his feet. “You sit at my feet when you report.” Moira didn’t move. Not a single muscle. She knew the color was draining from her face, could feel the blood fleeing and leaving her skin cool and empty. Her brain felt similar, and for a second she wondered if she was going to fall over and swoon. She’d sat at his feet more times than she could count—but never when he was angry. And as he glared at her, she knew anger wasn’t the half of it. He was beyond angry. He was livid.

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“Don’t you dare fight me,” he warned, his face twisting with a snarl. “Not now. You won’t win.” She thought about it, thought about escaping him by locking herself in her bedroom. She even looked in that direction. It was a mistake. “Don’t. You. Dare.” Moira drew a deep breath and walked to him. She fell to her knees between his legs, her eyes downcast as she tried to clear the lump of fear from her throat. She started talking finally, rambling about the first encounter, her words soft and hesitant. “Look at me.” Her voice trailed off and she forgot where she’d been in the recitation. When his hand snapped out and grasped her jaw, tilting her head up, she didn’t resist. “Tell me now,” he ordered, his eyes glittering darkly. She swallowed then began again, continuing where she’d left off and not stopping until she got to the fight between Sakhr and Jahan, all the while staring into Anath’s eyes. Her mouth was dry and her hands shook when she finished, but she managed to get all the way through. “You said nothing of any of it.” He stared at her accusingly when she was done. “You didn’t even mention his name to me.” “I didn’t want to ruin your work.” “You honestly think I’d have let a fool like Jahan ruin my plans?” He clucked his tongue mockingly as his eyes narrowed. He finally released her chin. “I should punish you for this. You realize he could easily have you, right now, strapped down, a prisoner to his wants. You’d have gone into the need as soon as he fucked you and there would have been nothing you could do about it. He would have put in for your papers soon after so charges couldn’t be brought forward.” Her mouth went dry. “I thought—” “No! You didn’t think!” He stood suddenly and stormed away from her. “Go to bed.” Moira scurried out of the room, tears running down her face as she closed herself inside her bedroom. Nasir sighed tiredly, rubbing the strain in his neck. “You frightened her.” Anath turned on him. “She nearly got herself captured. By Savas and his lover! You know what they’d have done to her.” “They’d break her into pieces, discard her and go searching for another,” Nasir said solemnly. “She didn’t tell you because she didn’t want to disappoint you, Anath. You’re far too important for her to chance it.” Anath’s lip curled derisively. “Rubbish. She hardly even looks at me. She doesn’t wear the trinkets I give her. She speaks to me only when it’s unavoidable.”

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Nasir shook his head. “She looks at you all the time, my friend. She races home after her duties each night because she hopes it’s you waiting here, ready for her report. Every time she finds me, her smile disappears and her shoulders slump. You told me yourself,” he pointed out logically, “how much she relaxes with you. Never once has she fallen asleep in my lap, yet I’ve seen her do it with you countless times.” Anath glared at him as he sank back down on the settee. “Get the fuck out.” Nasir pushed himself out of the chair. “Think about it. And go easy on her. We both knew Savas would have one of his group make a play for Sakhr. It was only a surprise that he used Moira to do it.” Anath glared at the door, even after he was gone. The next day, Moira left her room far earlier than she usually did. She was dressed in her uniform and ready to leave before the suns were even in the sky, all in the hope of avoiding another confrontation with Anath. She’d disappointed him. Terribly. And she didn’t know if he’d ever forgive her. She knew his anger was based in fear—fear that she’d fall into someone else’s hands and speak of what it was she really did. Perhaps there was even fear on her behalf, for her safety and health, though she hated to speculate and get her hopes up. He’d been furious, all right. And if he’d been one to hit, he would have. She tried to lose herself in work, though she was unsuccessful. For once the duties were tiresome and inane. Each one seemed to drag on. She was forced to refold all the linens for her assigned rooms because someone had done a sloppy job of it the day before. Worse still, a few of the linens required fresh ironing since wrinkles had been pressed into the delicate fabric. After, she gathered fresh water and towels and made her way to Sakhr’s rooms. She set the pitcher on the floor and knocked, waiting. There was no answer for several minutes. Just when she thought no one was in residence, the door opened abruptly and Sakhr’s male slave popped his head out. He looked at her blankly, turned his head and said something to someone, then turned back to Moira. “Visitors are no longer allowed,” he declared. Moira glanced down at the towels and linens. “But…surely cleaning must still be done.” “We’ll take care of it. Your role now is simply to bring the towels, linens, drinking water and anything else we require. Everything else will be done by us. We will care for our lord.” Without another word, he emptied her hands of linens and towels and bent down to take the water. The door closed firmly in her face. Moira stared at it for a good minute, then turned and left.

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The next day was much the same. Sakhr’s slave handed her the soiled linens and towels and took the fresh stack she offered. The door closed and Moira prepared to leave. Just as she was turning away, the door opened again and the slave handed her an empty pitcher. “From yesterday,” he said unnecessarily, before slamming the door again. Moira returned to the laundry and helped one of the other girls with her rooms. All that week she was kept out of Sakhr’s suite. Her days became very dull. She stepped into Anath’s suites and closed the door. Her body wilted slightly as she turned around, nearly flinching in surprise when she saw Anath standing by the fireplace. “The same today?” he asked, staring into the flames. She swallowed and nodded, straightening. “Yes.” He made no other comment and she made her way to her bedroom. Once inside, she let herself fall apart. He didn’t touch her anymore. He didn’t ask her to sit at his feet and he certainly didn’t pet her. At night when she came home, he merely asked about her day then ignored her. It was painful to think about and, she admitted, it hurt. She missed being cared for and treated as if she were something valuable and dear. Depressed, she stayed in the tub just long enough to get clean. She dried off quickly and put on fresh clothes. When she was neat as a pin she hesitantly stepped from the room, hoping food was there. Immediately apparent, Anath was not. “He’s gone,” Nasir said simply, getting to his feet and motioning her over. “As soon as the tray was delivered he left, muttering something about visiting the king.” “He doesn’t care for my presence,” she said dully, leaving her room. She made her way to the low table and sat on the floor beside it. “I failed him.” Nasir seated himself on the settee and calmly began dishing out food, first to her plate, then to his own. “You’re being as foolish as he is. You didn’t fail him. Now eat. You’re getting too thin.” Moira ate but her heart wasn’t in it. She always enjoyed Nasir’s company, but he wasn’t Anath. Nasir laughed so often. Anath laughed rarely, but when he did it was a joy to witness. And Nasir didn’t have the same exotic look about him that Anath had. She found she craved it, even more than she’d realized. They finished their meal in silence. When they were done, Nasir collected their plates, piled the tray with the leftovers and carried it outside the door, where he left it for pickup. When he came back she knew he was watching her, and probably saw more than she wished. One thing about Nasir—he was terribly astute. He returned to his seat, sighed and said, “Come here, Moira. I can’t take that expression on your face any longer. It’s eating at my heart, pet.” She looked at him, forgot about fighting the tears and reached for him. 118

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Nasir gathered her up in his arms, rocking gently as she wept against his chest. “Shhh. There’s no need for all this sadness.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple and continued rocking. “I know how you feel, but you mustn’t. It’s not that terrible. I promise you.” “I failed him,” she said again, shuddering. “He won’t even look at me now. He’ll probably sell me.” “Such foolishness,” he muttered, tightening his arms around her and tucking her head beneath his chin. “He wouldn’t dare.” “But he could!” “Moira.” He pulled away and looked into her eyes. “He would kill himself before he’d sell you.” “But he could, Nasir. I’m only a slave and he has more important things to worry about than me.” She sniffed and tiredly rubbed her eyes. “I’m a failure.” “He will never sell you,” he promised. “If he does,” she went on, “would you buy me? Please? I know you wouldn’t have much use for me, but—” “Mother’s Mercy,” he swore, rubbing her back in quick circles. “I never thought it’d degenerate into this. Yes, I promise if he ever deigns to sell you—which he won’t—I’ll buy you before anyone else has a chance. Happy?” She shook her head and cried harder against his chest. And for the first time, Moira fell asleep while being attended by Nasir. Anath entered his rooms. He immediately stopped when he saw Nasir on the settee, his arms enveloping a wilted Moira. She looked shattered, her body tucked against his chest and her arms wrapped around his waist. More like a child than a woman grown. “Don’t growl,” Nasir said softly. “You’ll wake her and she’s only just gone to sleep.” Anath walked over and stood glaring down at Nasir, his jaw flexing. “She cried herself to sleep, Anath. She cried because of you.” Nasir tilted his head up. “She thinks you’re going to sell her because she’s failed you.” Anath’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Rubbish.” “I told her that, but with Moira there’s only so much consoling I can do. I’m not you.” He shifted, winced and said, “Take her, would you? I think she’ll remain asleep if you carry her to bed.” Anath shed his overcoat before bending down and taking the small female in his arms. She immediately rolled and cuddled against his chest. Her face pressed against his shoulder and her arm wound its way around his neck as he took her from Nasir.

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“She misses you,” Nasir told him simply, stretching and grunting as he worked the kinks out of his body. “It’s been nearly a week, and I can only fill in so much, my friend.” Anath nodded and walked to her bedroom. He didn’t turn on the light as he lowered her to the bed. But with no one there to witness, and Moira fast asleep, he pressed a gentle kiss to her brow and inhaled her sweet scent before he moved away.

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Chapter Thirteen Moira looked up from putting her clean clothes away. Anath stood in the doorway, his hands clenched, his normally still body practically trembling with tension. She stopped what she was doing and waited. In the three weeks since the fight he’d barely spoken to her, never touched her and certainly never entered her room. That he did so now immediately put her on alert. “A dinner has been organized,” he announced sharply. Then he sighed and the tension suddenly went out of him. His bowed his head. “The king has brought together his most trusted and powerful supporters. For a night of revelry.” Moira stared down at her folded clothes. “You’ll require my presence for it?” “Yes,” he practically hissed. “It will be expected that I have a slave. And the king wishes to see you.” “I see.” She smoothed the wrinkles in the material with her hand. “No, you don’t see. There’ll be flesh sports.” He strode in farther and stopped before her. Moira’s head came up in surprise. His eyes glittered dangerously as he continued. “They’ll behave openly there and you won’t be able to run from it.” “Will they be able to touch me?” she asked tightly. “Watching…I think I can handle it. But if any of them—” “No one touches what’s mine,” he growled, whirling away from her. He stopped before he got to the door and turned around to study her. “You choose not to wear the pendant.” Moira’s eyes immediately went to the box on her dresser. “I didn’t mean not—” She bit off the rest of her reply. “I meant to.” His lips thinned and his head lowered. “Am I so terrible you can’t even stand to have that much of me against your skin?” “You’re not terrible.” He stayed just a moment more, but there was such bleakness in his face she actually took a step back. Then he was gone in the blink of an eye and there was nothing she could do but wait until the evening. She dressed in one of the lightest outfits she had. The material was a fine lawn, thin and airy, a blue so pale it was almost white. She put her hair up in a loose series of coils using the fancy pins Anath had given her several weeks before. The studded beads on the ends of them glittered in her hair. Coupled with the light cosmetics she’d employed, as well as the skirt and top, she looked soft and mysterious. Pretty, yet vulnerable.

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Before leaving her room, she went to the box on her dresser and fished out the glittery pendant that bore Anath’s symbol. With her hands shaking, Moira clasped it around her neck, tucked the pendant inside her top and left her room. He was waiting for her, dressed completely in black. He wore a long, thin overcoat over his trousers and shirt, the hem of which fell nearly to the floor and was embroidered with hair-thin strands of silver in a vine pattern. It fluttered behind him as he paced from one end of the room to the other. His hair was tightly bound at his nape and hung down nearly to his waist. It slid across his back as his body moved restlessly. He stopped altogether when she stepped out. His eyes widened slightly, then his lips thinned and his face turned away. Moira stood woodenly, suddenly feeling awkward and ugly. “I can change. I won’t be a moment.” She turned to do just that, only to be stopped by a sharp curse and Anath’s large hand on her shoulder, restraining her. “Don’t.” That was all he said. But it was hoarse and filled with angst. Angst over what—the night ahead, his role in the changing political atmosphere or something altogether different—she didn’t know. Not that it mattered. The result was the same no matter the cause. “Are we ready, then?” She glanced down, straightened her skirt and then the hem of her halter. She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear and straightened her spine. “Are we?” His eyes closed. He breathed through his mouth for a second and then dropped his arm to his side. “I can’t do this.” “It’ll be fine. You’ve done it before, the acting and playing the part. I’ve seen you. And I’ll do my best to play my part well.” His eyes opened and he stared at her from beneath his brow. There was something so primitive, so dangerous in his eyes she had to look away for a minute. “It’s just for a few hours.” “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he whispered before turning away. When she next saw his face it was as if he were someone completely different. His face was now devoid of expression. “Come. We’ll be late.” Moira fell into the role of slave easily. After months in the kitchens observing how the others behaved, it was easy enough now to mimic their behavior. She stayed the proper distance behind him, did her best to keep up with his long strides and prepared herself for the spectacle about to be revealed. Just before they arrived at the king’s private wing, Anath stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall. Moira narrowly avoided running into his back. She stopped just behind him, a mere step away, and couldn’t help but admire the way his overcoat stretched across his back and over his shoulder, molding so tightly to his flesh.

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“Marin will be present,” he said roughly, jerking her from her thoughts. “Prepare yourself for it. If you feel for him any…desire, tell me immediately.” He didn’t wait for her answer and they finished the short distance in silence. Uniformed slaves held the doors to the ballroom open for them when they arrived. Someone announced Anath’s name and then it was too late for her to back out. She swallowed painfully and followed Anath through the crowd. It was a crush. The room was filled—guests, noise, food and drink, slaves and servants, all competed for dominance in the packed room. It was a kaleidoscope of revelry in all its various forms. Servers ran to and fro, carrying trays filled with cups of mead, wine and dark beer. The room’s floor was covered with thick carpets and mounded pillows grouped together all throughout, marking off separate areas and sections. At the front of the room, King Haidar lounged against a thick stack of pillows on a raised dais. He wore only his trousers and those were already untied. One slave rubbed oil into his chest and stomach while another massaged his feet. Around the king, his other vassals lay in various states of undress. Someone already had the manacles in use and had their slave secured to a hook against the wall. They were using a whip, and judging from the amount of semen on the floor, the slave was having a very fine time indeed. Anath wandered through the room, occasionally stopping to speak with those who greeted him, nodding to others. He kept his body relaxed and loose, and made sure his cool façade of indifference stayed in place. As he left yet another lord and approached his king, he wondered how long Moira would be able to take the gathering. His eyes went to the back of the room where slaves were receiving whippings. She would hate that. Worse, just seeing it would terrify her. He pushed the concern away and lengthened his strides. When he got close enough to the raised platform, he dropped to his knees before his king. When he got to his feet, Moira was to his left, still on her knees, her head bowed respectfully and her hands clasped in her lap. She emanated servitude. King Haidar laughed at something one of his slaves said then motioned for Anath to join him on the raised platform. He indicated the empty space at his side with a wave of his hand. “This is the one then,” King Haidar said after pushing his slaves aside. He looked Moira over slowly, his eyes gleaming when they came to her hair. “She’s a pretty thing, I suppose.” Anath inclined his head. “Indeed, my king.” “Ask her to join us.” Anath leaned back on one elbow and motioned with his other hand for her to join them. She did so, eagerness on her face, as if she ached to please him.

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His throat tightened. He looked away for a moment to find his king studying him. “You have a treasure, Master Miritis. I do hope you realize that, and treat her as such.” Anath bowed his head. “Yes, my king.” King Haidar smiled, then clapped his hands and laughed. “Excellent. Then let the revelries begin! Girl,” he looked hard at Moira, “you may begin by ensuring Master Anath is as relaxed as possible. I suggest you start by rubbing his shoulders, and then we’ll move on from there, hmm?” He winked at her. Anath closed his eyes and prayed for strength. Two hours later Moira was ready to fall down from fatigue and tension. However, two things were abundantly clear—Anath was very displeased with her, and the Kinnains were even more depraved than she’d previously thought, which was almost hard to believe but true nonetheless. The first of the two observations she didn’t understand. She’d watched the other slaves, seen how they treated their masters and emulated their behaviors as best she could. She fetched him wine, brought him fresh pillows, brought him food and, as ordered, massaged his back until her fingers ached. Yet, through it all, he became more withdrawn, his arms and shoulders hard with tension, his cheekbones and jaw more angular and obvious as his teeth clenched and his hands fisted. When he spoke to her, his voice was cold and clipped. And he hardly looked at her at all. It was as if her presence pained him. It hurt. More than she cared to admit. At some point he’d grown very important to her, and no matter how much she looked back she couldn’t see when it had happened. All she could do was admit the weakness and try to move past it. As she made her way through the crowded room for yet more wine, she pushed the hurt aside and distracted herself with the Kinnains’ outrageous behavior. With their love of flesh sports, their actions were so offensive she had trouble keeping normal thoughts in her head anyway. The debauchery was obscene. People were engaged in coupling throughout the entire ballroom, with no concern for who could be watching. In fact, there was more than one group actually demanding spectators. And though bad, it paled in comparison to some of the other activities being conducted. There were several groups where the slaves were acting more like little dogs than people. They wore collars, crawled around on the floors, and basically gave up any and all pride in order to please their masters. Making her way through the maze of blankets and pillows, she saw another group in which the slaves were ordering the Kinnains about, little short crops in their hands to enforce their will. The Kinnains all seemed very happy to obey and accepted their punishments readily. And at the back of the room there were actual whipping posts, where more than one slave was enjoying a sound whipping. Beside her was another girl

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recovering from a round of knives. Even though she was smiling, Moira couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of such a fate awaiting her. Dragging her eyes from the horror, Moira moved on and focused on something far less appalling—the musicians. They were a small group, made up mostly of humans though there were one or two Kinnains mixed in. They held claim over a small corner and drew out pleasant tunes, some heartrending, others cheerful and fun. There didn’t seem to be any rank among them. Within their small group, importance was relative. Everyone played his or her best, and that was the end of it. It was the first time she’d actually seen interaction between the two peoples where one wasn’t trying to get the upper hand over the other. Moving from the musicians, she decided dancing, behind sex and fighting, was another Kinnain passion. Theirs was very controlled and formal, and what little fluidity allowed was used sparingly. All the dancers had their place, all had their steps. Even so, it was a joy to watch. Moira didn’t see one person who didn’t look as if they belonged there. Obviously great time and attention to detail was given to the activity, as all the dancers always seemed to know every dance and she couldn’t find a hint of hesitancy in any of them. And though most of them were male, some Kinnains must have taken the time to train their slaves, because plenty of them—both men and women—were accompanying their masters. The dancers used the center of the ballroom, and wove intricate steps and hand movements together with such elegance it looked easy. Moira was so entranced she even stopped to watch for a moment, her errand for wine forgotten. She recalled herself when she was almost run over, and continued on her journey to the tables at the back of the room where refreshments were being served. She exchanged her empty goblet for a full one and started back, solely focused on her task. Her eyes were pulled like a magnet to the end of the room, where Anath lay sprawled across the pillows while the king enjoyed having his cock licked and sucked by his slaves. They were in the middle of a discussion as if nothing untoward was occurring. She was almost there when her arm was abruptly caught and she was hauled backward. The wine went flying and a soft scream escaped her throat. She was twisted around and then she was facing Lord Marin. By the flush in his skin and the vapid look in his eyes, he’d overindulged. “It is you,” he gasped, nearly falling backward and catching himself by clenching Moira’s shoulders. “Curse me twice, it really is.” “You’re hurting me.” Moira twisted, attempted to get away from him, but he remained firm, his hands moving down to grasp her arms. “Please, Lord. I have another master now.” “I swore I’d tame you,” he went on, slurring his words slightly. “I wanted you so badly. Why did you have to be so foolishly stubborn?” His fingers clenched, digging painfully into the soft flesh of her arms. “Why?”

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Moira chanced a quick look around, looking for help. Anath was still speaking with the king and only looking occasionally out at the ballroom, but with the crush it would be nearly impossible for him to spot her. “Lord Marin,” she said loudly, fighting to be heard over the din. “You must release me. Master Miritis will be unhappy if I’m detained any longer.” She did her best to add coolness to her tone. “I’ll already have to return to the tables for more wine.” Marin’s mouth parted as confusion crossed his face. She stared at him with as little emotion as she could manage and was rewarded for her efforts when his hands loosened, and he stepped back. He glanced down and flushed, then took another step back. “My apologies, slave. Go. Attend your master.” Moira bowed deeply and scuttled away, picking up her dropped cup as she went. When she chanced another look back he was still standing, watching her. Looking past him she saw Anath, on his feet now and staring out through the crowd, his eyes glittering darkly with displeasure as they chased her through the room on her way back to the tables. She exchanged her empty cup for a full one and hurried through the room, making sure to give wide berth to Marin’s rugs and cushions. Anath was waiting for her when she returned. He was sitting once again, his legs folded beneath him, and judging from his expression he was in an even worse mood than when she’d left him. Even the king remained silent as Moira bowed, offering the cup. “You kept me waiting,” Anath said far too mildly as he took the cup from her hands. Moira could feel his regard like it was a weight tied around her neck. She didn’t dare raise her eyes to his, afraid of what she might see. “My apologies, Master.” “Did he touch you?” “Wh-What?” “Did he touch you?” he barked. Then sneered, “The young lord, Moira. Did he at any time touch you?” She slowly raised her head and looked into his face. She could still feel the sting of Marin’s fingers on her skin and she unconsciously rubbed her hand down her right arm, over the area that still smarted. His eyes followed the movement. He face actually seemed to crumple for a moment before he got himself under control. “Punish her then, if it’s required,” the king demanded, groaning as the woman between his legs finished him off and practically purred as he shot his seed into her mouth. She licked him clean then sat up, eager for his praise. He patted her head indulgently before brushing his finger across the tip of her nose, as if she were a little dog. “Tardiness is hardly a quality one wishes to encourage in a slave.”

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From the other side of Anath one of the other Kinnains shouted his agreement. Anath stiffened, his shoulders becoming so tense Moira thought he resembled one of the statues so common down in the gardens. “You’ve yet to have your release,” the king reminded him, smiling. “You should relax at least that much. I realize you’re a cold bastard, but surely even you can indulge a little at a gathering?” Moira didn’t so much as shiver as she stared into Anath’s eyes, her body both burning and freezing at the idea. She’d rubbed his back but it’d been through clothes. She’d never been privileged enough to feel the heat of his skin for longer than a few minutes. Only on the night of the storm had he come to her without worrying about dressing first. Just the thought of touching his skin was enough to make her breath hitch in her throat and her heartbeat run wild. But he wasn’t going to allow it. It was there, in his face, as if he were disgusted with her and the idea was vile. He motioned her forward. “Come here.” “I want to see her eat his cock,” someone else yelled. “Or is he afraid it’s too small for her to find?” There was laughter. More pressure went into his jaw, until it looked like it was going to snap. She moved closer, stopping when she knelt at his side. “Master?” His breath hissed out. “Don’t.” She almost flinched. “I-I’m sorry. I just want to please you.” “You don’t—” “Sir Miritis?” They both looked over. A young Kinnain, his hair pale and almost lavender, his form long and thin, stared up at Anath, a curious, adoring light in his eyes. “Will you dance?” Anath straightened. “I must deal with this slave.” The man’s eyes darted briefly over Moira before returning to Anath. “She’ll wait. The next song is my request. I would be grateful if you’d stand up with me.” There was a moment of silence as everyone waited. Anath’s eyes darted to Moira’s before returning to the young man. “Very well.” He stood up fluidly, walked the few steps separating them and took the younger man’s hand when it was offered. Together they walked through the room and entered the throng of dancers. Moira watched them go. The current piece the musicians played drew to an end. There was a moment of silence then the sound of a lute began with a slow, plucking melody. It was beautiful,

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yet terribly sad. It pulled at her, urging her to watch as the dancers paired off, standing chest to chest, their hands joined together. The first lute was joined by another instrument, this one reedy and thin. There was a brief pinnacle of sound then the melody began in truth and the dance began in earnest. He danced beautifully. And he danced with the young man as if they were lovers, which, she admitted, was entirely possible and would remove any chance of desire for her on his part. She couldn’t even hope to compete with the beautiful pale man. “He dances well, doesn’t he?” the king asked, now lying on his stomach while his slaves massaged his back. “Jasper is very talented, but Anath—he’s superb.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He moved so gracefully, like a petal on the wind. There was no sudden movement, no awkwardness in how his body swayed. He closed in on the younger man, pulled him tight to his body, and they clung to each other through a crescendo of sound before splitting away. The audience exclaimed and clapped. And the dance went on, more intimate than any of the sex acts she’d witnessed since arriving at the king’s celebration. It didn’t matter that there was no actual joining of flesh. It was in their eyes, the way their hands smoothed over each other’s shoulders and back, and in the manner Anath cared for the other man, leading him through the dance, how he looked at him, both predator and protector. When it was over, everyone in the room was still. Then Jasper lurched forward, pressed a heated, hard kiss to Anath’s lips and turned away, disappearing easily in the crowd. Anath walked back to their rug, bowed briefly to his king and lay down, propping his shoulders and head up with one of the thick cushions. Conversation started up again as people returned to their previous activities. The musicians began again with something soft and dreamy, and Moira found herself the object of Anath’s heavy regard. She returned it, unable to do anything else. After seeing him dance—the passion in him, the beauty of his body in motion—she wanted him more than she’d wanted anything in the world. She bowed her head before he had a chance to speak. “I want to please you.” She looked up through her lashes and saw his face as it both heated and filled with fury. He bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Come here, then.” She moved closer, until she was nearly brushing his side. When she bent down his hand shot out, curling around her nape as he jerked her head forward and locked his mouth on hers. Moira froze. She couldn’t even move she was so surprised. He was hot, so very hot, his lips firm and moist and knowledgeable as they moved over hers, pushing, demanding, seducing until she responded to him.

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It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t like that at all. That too-brief kiss had been nothing but a promise, a mere whisper of what he would actually be like. This was the reality, and it was too much of everything. Too hot, too strong, too fast… And she didn’t care. And no matter how much that scared her, it also brought a flush to her skin and made her palms itch to touch him. When she opened her mouth over his, he growled and thrust his tongue in, stealing her breath and throwing her off balance. Moira ended up grasping his arms as she let him take her mouth in any way he wanted. She couldn’t regret allowing it—kissing him was glorious. He pulled her head away by grasping her hair and pushed himself up on his other elbow as he snarled quietly, “Don’t offer me anything I wish if you aren’t ready to give it. I’ve wanted you too long for such cruelty.” He released her abruptly and sat up, pulling his legs up and resting his arms over his knees, ignoring the mocking laughter coming from the northern lords, their attendants and friends. Moira didn’t move away from him, couldn’t move away from him. Her lips practically burned from the kiss. She kept looking at his face, finally realizing what it was she was seeing. Not disgust at all, but longing. For her. Softly, her voice just above a whisper, she leaned forward until her lips were nearly brushing his ear. “I want to please you.” He jerked then stared at her, his eyes going wide. Time seemed to come to a standstill. For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to do a thing. He was too still, his eyes too empty, too cold. Then she saw his shoulder quiver, and the way the muscles in his arms were trembling. A heartbeat later, he moved. He grabbed her, moving so quickly she wouldn’t have had time to escape even if she wanted to. He had her in his arms and pinned to the ground with his body in just seconds. Her legs were spread and he was kissing her hungrily, his mouth eating at her, lapping and taking all it wanted, and Moira was happy to let him. She reveled in the fact that he was touching her, holding her and caring for her. She opened her mouth wider still, brushing her tongue against his, wanting some of his taste for her own. It was scorching, like liquid gold. He had a rich flavor, so complex she had no way of defining it. But then, he was a complex man, as so many of the southern lords were. He finally pulled away, his breathing ragged. “Tell me now if you want me to stop. Tell me now, Moira, while I can still manage it.” Moira pulled his mouth back to hers, sucking on his tongue when it thrust eagerly inside. When he groaned and rubbed his massive erection against her belly, she repeated the action.

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“Listen to me…” He moved down her throat, nibbling and sucking at her skin. “I can’t fuck you here. Moira? Do you hear?” Her vision was clouded with lust but she didn’t care. He was the only thing that mattered. Just Anath, his body and his desires. She burned for him. “I want you.” The silver of his eyes became molten. “Look at me, my treasure. We’ve begun this and we must end it in some manner, but I cannot fuck you here, do you understand?” Cannot…fuck… She nearly thrust herself away from him when she finally remembered where they were, aided greatly by the shouts and whistles of encouragement, the king’s deep belly laugh, along with the scores of people that were watching them. She almost sat up and scrambled away. Almost. She would have, if he hadn’t held her down by the shoulder. “Listen!” He shook her gently until her eyes returned to his face. “Look at me, only me. And you will allow me to do all I wish, won’t you Moira?” There were no words in her throat. She was too nervous, too embarrassed, too afraid, too turned on. But there was Anath, leaning over her, his face large and dark, his familiar features reassuring. He wouldn’t hurt her. Ever. He’d promised. “Yes.” He bent down and pressed a quick, pleased kiss to her lips. “Now, don’t move.” He reached behind her, making her back arch up as his fingers slid beneath and worked the ties of her halter loose. She colored in embarrassment then completely forgot about everyone but him as his mouth licked across her nipples through the cloth, wetting and finally settling over her rounded flesh. He sucked at her gently even as he pulled the material down. He released her just long enough to toss the halter away but then his mouth was on her breast again, licking, sucking, doing things that made her breath whoosh out and her heart beat uncontrollably. Her hands fisted in his hair, holding him steady even as her body writhed. He laughed, deep and low, obviously pleased. When someone said something else, he grunted and moved over to the other breast. His fingers came up and tweaked the nipple of the first while he gave the second the same amount of attention. She didn’t think she could become hotter than she already was, but she was wrong. The heat only built, growing into an inferno as he attended her body. From her breasts, he slid his hands up and down her sides, rubbing and massaging her, working her into a state she hadn’t even known was possible. Her skin, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, felt ready to burst. Every nerve within her was pinging, telling her there was something big to come, something frightening and dangerous. And she fought her fear, fought as hard as she could. His eyes were on her as he moved down her body. As his hands danced over her flesh, plucking and soothing, his mouth traveled between her breasts, licking softly,

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across her belly and stopped for a moment at her navel. While his tongue flirted there, his hands tugged the front of her skirt up, bunching it at her waist. Then, before she had any time to prepare, he moved farther down and his tongue slicked over her sex. She screamed. Her back arched, her hands flexed and she was right at the pinnacle. When she bothered to glance down, embarrassed and aroused, it was to see his dark head between her pale thighs, to find his tongue deep inside her pussy, fucking her gently. And it was just too much. Her fight was over. She climaxed, hard and loud, her body drawing up like a bow as the orgasm released in her belly. It went on in waves, one after the other, rolling through until she was drained. She panted long after it was over, and stared out through glazed eyes as he moved up her body and kissed her, as hard and hot as before. She barely even realized he was picking her up but suddenly the room tilted and she was being clasped in his arms and carried. King Haidar said something and Moira could hear Anath reply, “I need my tools, my king. You know my fastidious nature.” The king laughed, and then amid shouts and more laughter, Anath carried her through the ballroom and out into the hall. She couldn’t help but move restlessly against him. She still felt swollen and wanting, and she knew he was as well. It was evident just from the way he breathed, from the pounding of his heart against his chest. “What was that?” She bit gently at his ear, wanting a part of him inside her, even if it was just a tiny bit of flesh. He chuckled again. “You came, pet. And you came hard. We’ll just have to go back to our rooms and see if we can’t get another, hmm?” “No knives,” she found herself blurting, unable to hold it in. Her desire quickly banked at the thought. “Please…no knives. No whips.” He stopped where he was in the hallway, halfway back to their rooms and looked at her solemnly. “You know I wouldn’t. You’re not the type to gain pleasure through pain. You’re far too soft for such an activity.” He resumed his quick pace and within minutes they were back at his suites. He didn’t stop at her room but continued on to his, and laid her down carefully on his large bed, stripping her skirt away with one quick motion. He added his own coat and shirt to the pile before walking slowly around the bed, his eyes feasting on her. “I’m not an easy man,” he said, stopping at the end of the bed and looking hungrily at her bare body. “I never will be. But I’ll always care for you, always want you. You do understand what will occur after this, don’t you Moira?” She pushed herself up on her elbows, frowning. “The need. You’ll feel it, and you’ll become addicted to my cock and my seed. I’ll come inside your body and you’ll be mine. You’ll desire it, will become sick without it,

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until your body goes through withdrawal. It’s the common effect on all races but our own.” She looked away. “I’d forgotten.” His eyes were steady, his face an empty mask again. “I don’t care if you did. I won’t step aside now. I’ve your taste in my mouth. I want it again, whenever I wish. I want my cock inside you, Moira. I burn for it.” “I don’t want…” She felt tears rise up and dashed at them hurriedly. “I don’t want to become mindless, like so many of the other slaves.” “You won’t. I would never allow it. I’ll never let you go long enough without my seed to drive out your mind or your spirit. I’m not like the northern lords, pet. I’m a southern man. We take care of what’s ours. We honor our women, even be they human slaves.” “You know it scares me.” His face relaxed with warmth. “There’s nothing to fear, Moira. I’ll care for you.” Slowly, his hands untied the string of his trousers and the pants fell to the floor. “Are you ready for me?” Moira wasn’t sure, but she found herself nodding anyway. Then she saw his cock and her eyes widened. “You…you have…” She swallowed painfully. “Dear God, you’ll kill me!” He chuckled as he climbed onto the bed. “We call it a rhyve.” “It doesn’t translate.” He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s the reason I couldn’t take you at the king’s gathering. You’ve noticed now that Kinnains—the northern lot, anyway—have the bars piercing their cock head.” He knelt beside her and fisted his sex. It would have been frightening anyway just because of the size, but there was more. As his hand worked over his flesh, a small, thin…something edged out. It was wet and hard, with a blunt tip, and even after staring at it she still couldn’t figure out what it was. The only thing she knew for sure was there was no way she could have it inside her. “I can’t take that,” she announced, drawing back slightly. He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “The bars in cocks are meant to simulate what I have naturally.” He masturbated faster and the rhyve slid out even more. It was several inches long and had a gentle arch to its length, giving it the appearance of being a narrow extension of Anath’s penis. “It won’t hurt you, Moira. It’s not sharp, just curved, with enough length to force ovulation in our females. It’s thought barbaric, though. Coarse, too. Those of us with it are said to be animals.” He gritted his teeth then groaned when a drop of fluid dripped off the tip of his sex. “The bars are thought to be more refined, a sign of nobility. Most of us from the south have a rhyve, though we don’t share the knowledge with many.” He flicked his thumb over the end of the rhyve,

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hissed and immediately tightened his fist. “It’s why Bidar chose me, despite my lack of pedigree. She was near the end of her fertile years and wanted a child. I gave her one.” At the thought of Anath’s child, Moira looked away despite the eroticism of the image he presented. “You have a child.” “A son. He’ll come to me when he reaches his majority, and then he’ll be mine.” “Don’t you want to see him now?” Her gaze went back to his cock, drawn there. “Wouldn’t you like to see him as a child?” His fist stopped its movement and the thin spine retreated back into his organ. “It’s not allowed here. The women keep the children. If it’s a boy child, we’re allowed to meet him after he’s of age. If it’s a girl child, she remains with her mother.” His eyes darkened dangerously. “Some tried to change the law but were refused. I want my son, but fighting with Bidar will get me nothing. I can’t win. Women make the laws here, Moira, for good reason. Don’t forget.” “Men almost destroyed your world,” she intoned softly, quoting the various stories she’d heard, all of which seemed to end in the same way. “I’m sorry I asked.” He nodded and lay down beside her. His cock was still large and ready, but the air of desperateness had dispelled in the wake of their discussion of his son. “I still want you,” he whispered, leaning closer and kissing her. “I want you very much. Will you release your hair for me?” She reached up and clumsily unpinned her hair, collecting the little jeweled pins in her hand. He took them from her and set them on the bedside table. Moira shook her head slightly and her hair fell down in a thick wave, its ends curling against the sheets. He spread it out across the pillows, then reached back and released the tie from his own hair. Moira’s breath caught at the beauty of the inky darkness, spilling out behind his black skin across the sheets. “You are so beautiful,” she breathed, and unable to resist, she drew her hand over his shoulder and up his neck to cup his jaw. She leaned down and kissed him softly. A harsh groan rumbled up through his throat. He rolled his body over hers, pulled her into position and lowered his weight over her. Her legs spread eagerly for him and she gloried in the feel of his sex pressing against her, almost as much as she feared it. “Wider,” he ordered, nipping at her bottom lip. “Open your mouth and legs wider. And suck my tongue.” She ran her hands over his back, pressing at his muscles and smooth skin as she did as he asked, sucking his tongue and spreading her legs. When he grew rougher, more hurried in his motions as he kissed her, she knew it wouldn’t be long before he was inside her. His hand cupped her pussy while his tongue fucked her mouth. His middle finger slipped just inside while his thumb pressed hard over her clit. Moira’s eyes flew open and she nearly screeched, both in pleasure and in surprise. But he didn’t let her mouth

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move from his. He pressed his lips harder over hers, demanding she take him in every way imaginable. When his middle finger slid all the way inside, she forgot to breathe. “Like that?” He pressed soft kisses over her jaw and down her neck. His head rested in the crook of her shoulder as he rumbled, “Then you’ll love this.” He removed his finger then she felt the head of his cock slide into place. She tensed, expecting discomfort and a measure of pain. He was large—far larger than Marin, and not just in length. His sex was thick, enough that she suspected her fingers wouldn’t reach all the way around. And then there was the rhyve. He pushed forward slowly, and with every few inches in he pulled back before sliding forward again, farther, stronger, pushing against her tight opening, working to fit all of himself inside. Moira lay as still as she could possibly manage. She knew she was clenching against him, knew she was making the whole thing worse than it needed to be, but her body seemed unable to relax. She felt so full, like a tiered fountain, always overflowing, except she wasn’t able to dispose of her runoff. It was locked tight within her skin. He groaned harshly as he slid even deeper. Moira squeezed her eyes closed, sure she was going to cry out no matter how hard she fought it. Then he stilled over her, his hips settled between her thighs. “Almost there, pet.” He grinned against her throat and as quickly as the snap of one’s fingers, his hips flexed, pulled out then surged back, shoving his thick cock deep inside her. The rhyve curved up and rubbed against her, deep inside. Moira went wild. Whatever it was doing, it was the sweetest pleasure she’d ever felt. It was high, it was hot and it hit just where she needed it, deep where nothing had ever touched her, caressing and aggravating a part of her that was just waiting for the right touch. He kept moving, fucking her hard, fucking her fast, and all Moira could do was cling to him and remember to breathe. His legs flexed and shook with every surge inside, his arms bunched as he clung to her, holding her in place even as the strength of his pumping hips threatened to push her across the mattress and into the headboard. They both shook, and as their fucking became wilder, more primitive, his hand grasped her hair and pulled her head back, baring her throat to his teeth, which clamped lightly on to her flesh. Moira felt her whole body go up in flames. One minute she was complete and the next, his cock burrowed inside her all the way, his rhyve reached higher and she broke apart. She clawed at his back as her body bucked, trying to get more, trying to get free as the orgasm took over. And all the while, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to escape such intense pleasure or make it go on forever. His arm wrapped even tighter around her. He moved the other to cup her ass, tilting her pelvis up, and then he was an animal, going at her like some rutting beast. 134

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His teeth at her neck, his hands on her flesh—he growled, thrust and stiffened. She felt his seed flood her body, so hot it nearly hurt. After, they both stayed where they were, locked together, afraid to move. Their breathing was labored and shallow, their heartbeats out of control, but Moira couldn’t find even a spare bit of energy to care. Until she felt the strange twining in her mind, telling her what she wanted, how much she wanted it and how much she wanted to please him. She stiffened at first, her breath hitching in fear as she waited for her own desire to flee. But it didn’t happen. The only thing that seemed to change was that her own desires were reinforced, as if Anath’s seed was more an afterthought. “It’s not that bad,” she whispered, slightly surprised. “It’s not like…before.” “You hated Marin,” he rumbled, his head moving slightly. And she didn’t hate Anath at all. She cared for him, had cared for him before he’d taken her to his bed. So maybe the effect of the need would be minimal. Hardly felt at all, even. She smiled in relief. They lay quietly for some time. She clearly felt the rhyve retracting as his cock relaxed. It scraped gently as it pulled back into his cock and he separated their bodies, rolling to his back and pulling her to his side. Moira stared at his cock, marveling at how normal it looked. In its relaxed state it was nearly impossible to tell what was hidden in its length, especially with the foreskin once again covering most of it. Even the bars in the sex organs of the northern Kinnains seemed almost normal to her now. Not nearly as primal as a rhyve. “How did Bidar know you were…had that?” His head rolled against the pillow until he was looking down at her. “She made inquiries. Though we’re careful about whom we take, some of the pleasure slaves talk amongst themselves.” “Oh.” She snuggled against his shoulder and let her hand relax against the thick muscles of his stomach. “Thank you.” “For what?” “For this. I didn’t know it could be like this.” “You don’t regret it, then? Not even with the need?” She thought about it for a minute. “No. Not really. I wanted you. Very much. You’re kind to me and you’re honorable. Other than when you petted me, it’s been a long time since someone…cared for me, or touched me in a kind way.” She smiled sadly and shrugged. “The need so closely resembles my own desires that it doesn’t feel like it did before. With Marin.” Then she wished she hadn’t added the last. His face darkened with displeasure. “I am curious…”

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She waited. His fingers feathered lightly over her jaw. “He didn’t use a whip on your stomach. But you have scars there. Pale marks.” His fingers continued to brush against the smooth skin over her jaw while his eyes searched her face. “You had a child.” Everything inside Moira froze. She felt the tears rise up, as if Jonas had just died and the hurt was still new. But added to all the pain was the fresh wound of her infertility, and the impossibility of any future children. Her voice wobbled as she finally spoke. “I had…a son. A beautiful son. Jonas.” She pushed herself up until she was sitting, facing him with her legs folded. She smiled through the tears rolling down her cheeks. “He was so wonderful. He was my gift, my reason for living.” The mask was in place again as he watched her. “Where is he?” “He died, over two years ago when he was still a baby. He got sick.” She hugged her arms against her stomach. “So many young children died. There was so much disease, and so little food and water. I was lucky to have him as long as I did.” She sniffed and dropped her eyes to her lap as she wiped at her tears. He moved suddenly on the bed. Her eyes automatically went to him, read the dawning on his face, saw the realization there. “Marin had the doctor…fix me.” Her hands clenched against her legs, driving her nails deep into her flesh. “I can’t get pregnant anymore.” “This is why you despise him so,” he said, his eyes softening with pity and understanding. “You didn’t want it.” She shook her head, even as her helplessness during the procedure came back to her. “I screamed at them, fought as hard as I could. They did it anyway and now it’s done.” He slowly reclined onto his side, facing her. His hand grasped hers and tightened reassuringly. “Would you have stayed with him if he hadn’t? Would you have wanted his children?” “I would never have stayed with him,” she declared heatedly. “But any children would have been mine, even before they were his. I would have loved them as I loved Jonas.” She knuckled away the fresh tears that escaped. “He acted as if the very thought of my children was…disgusting.” “Any child of yours would be beautiful,” he vowed roughly. “I’m sorry for your loss.” “It’s done. There’s nothing that can be changed now.” His lips pressed thin as silence stretched on between them. When neither of them seemed willing to break it, Moira sighed and let her shoulders sink down, both in weariness and sadness.

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“Come,” he said, pulling her body close and pushing her to her back. “We sleep. Doubtless I’ll wake you in the night anyway. This bond between us is still too new to let you go more than a few hours.” Moira pressed herself to his chest, sighing tiredly as sleep pulled at her. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even when she whispered, “We would have made beautiful babies, Anath.” She didn’t see his eyes close, or the sadness that crossed his face.

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Chapter Fourteen Anath woke her in the morning by sliding her legs over his shoulders and licking into her sex. Her taste was extraordinary. Sweet and heady. He dragged his tongue through her slick folds over and over again, smiling to himself when she writhed, still asleep, her body struggling for orgasm even as it slumbered. He caressed her hip with one hand and thrust the fingers of his other deep into her pussy, fucking her while his tongue worked her clit. He knew the exact instant she went over and felt a wave of triumph at the response he was able to get from her. When he rose over her body, his cock fit into her sex. His rhyve was already partially out, eager to get deep inside her willing body. He didn’t bother to wait for her to wake fully as he pushed inside. The slickness that wept from her pussy aided him greatly and made his entrance this time far easier. He kept his thrusts slow and easy. He kissed her face, her neck, her breasts, murmuring to her as he coaxed her awake. When her eyes finally opened the pupils were already dilated, her lips already full and lush from his kisses. She reached for him, her arms curving around his neck as she pulled him to her and opened her mouth against his. If he hadn’t already loved her, he would have then. “What time is it?” she murmured between kisses. “Morning. Early.” He bit down gently on her ear then laved the hurt with his tongue. “Very early.” She opened her mouth then gasped as her eyes rolled back. “Oh…” Anath grinned as he felt the rhyve scrape, then lengthen and curve deeper. He couldn’t stop the urgency spurring him on, making his hips move faster and stronger. “Like it, love?” She panted through her mouth and nodded. “Oh yes!” There were no more words. Anath kept his eyes on her face, watched every reaction she made to his lovemaking and put them away in his mind to cherish later. Every gasp was a treasure, every shiver of pleasure a gift. Her arms tightened around his neck the closer she came to release. He gritted his teeth, his own orgasm quickly closing in. When he couldn’t bear to hold back any longer, he shoved as much of his cock inside as he could, watched her release take hold, then let himself go. It was the best morning of his life.

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He insisted on bathing with her. Moira tried not to feel embarrassed as he turned off the taps and climbed into the tub. He really was beautiful to look at. Though he hadn’t the height of so many of the northern lords, his musculature more than made him stand out. He was a strong man, a powerful one, and his body reflected that. “Come.” He held his hand out, waiting. Moira gingerly took it and carefully stepped down into the tub. She would have sat on the end opposite him but he had her arranged on top of and across his lap before she could even suggest it. He sighed and laid his head back as the water lapped gently at his chest. Moira laid her head against his shoulder as her embarrassment fled and she relaxed enough to enjoy the novelty of bathing with him. “The man who gave you your son…what was he like?” “What was he like?” Surprise showed on her face. “In what way?” “Did you love him?” She thought for a moment. “I think I could have loved him. We were together just twice. He came by my shop to purchase rugs for his overlord. He was young, not much older than I was, and very charming.” She shrugged. “He died soon after. He never knew I carried his child.” “He was the man who was your first, then.” Moira dropped her eyes to the water, a flush heating her face. “Yes.” “And I am your first true lover. This young man—he didn’t make your body wake as I do.” “He didn’t.” He nodded, satisfied, a small smile on his lips. “Good.” “What about you?” “What about me?” “Your lovers,” she started hesitantly, staring very determinedly at his chest. “You said you’ve had too many to count.” He shrugged. “How many more will there be?” When she continued to stare at the water, he nudged her chin up and forced her to meet his gaze. “You think I wish for more lovers, now that I have you?” “I don’t know. I do know it would be…difficult for me to see you go off with someone. And although you’ve spoken of other lovers, you’ve never said if they were men or women or if you have a preference.” “Ah.” He nodded. “I see now. Then I’ll end the suspense. I have had men as lovers, but I’ve always been the one giving pleasure, usually with knives or whips. I prefer 139

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women. I always have. And I’ve already sworn I’ll have you with me always. We southerners are a monogamous lot, once we find the one we want.” “So you won’t be purchasing more slaves.” “No,” he answered solemnly, his eyes darkening. “I won’t be purchasing more slaves.” “Okay.” She rested her head against him again and ran her fingers over the tattoo just beneath his collarbone. “Will I be getting one of these?” He smiled again. “As soon as I can arrange it.” “Will it hurt?” She traced the mark softly with her fingertips. “I don’t like pain.” “I know. But it won’t last long and the mark will keep you safe.” He fingered the chain and pendant still hanging around her neck. “Safer than this.” “Then everyone will know I’m yours.” “I don’t care.” He bent, nuzzled her throat and kissed her. His tongue slowly swept inside her mouth as his fingers played over her rib cage before sliding up and cupping her breasts. “You are mine.” He lifted her higher against his chest and continued kissing her while he played with the weight of her breasts. When Moira straddled him and would have eagerly slid onto his cock he stopped her, holding her hips still against his stomach. She wiggled against him. “I want you.” “Turn over,” he ordered, his voice rough with desire. “I want to watch your breasts as I move inside you.” She moved over him and, as he groaned from the slide of her skin, Moira turned until her back was against his chest. He used his knees to spread her legs. Tilting her head back to kiss her again, he pushed his hand beneath the surface of the water and softly teased her clit, making her squirm. She moaned against his mouth. “Ummm. Do it again.” He sucked at her bottom lip while his fingers slid over her clit, bringing her so close to the edge she thought he’d push her over. He shifted beneath her, lifting her higher yet and then his sex was thrusting forward, brushing against her as it pushed between her legs. “Touch it,” he urged roughly, his free hand cupping her breast again. “I want to feel you holding my cock.” He pressed his face against the curve of her neck and tilted his hips higher. She reached down her stomach, following the line of his arm to where it disappeared between her legs. And there, brushing against his wrist while he fingered her, was the thick length of him, thrusting up and proud, just the barest hint of the rhyve pushing through the head. She touched him hesitantly at first. She used her fingers to softly brush against his taut flesh. He hissed, then his mouth sought hers and his tongue pushed into her

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mouth, taking away her ability to think for a moment. She forgot her embarrassment as she kissed him back, accepting the heavy thrust of his tongue as her fingers wrapped around his cock as tightly as they could. His hips bucked beneath hers. She felt the hard nub of his rhyve as it inched out farther, but it was hardly a thought as her fingers felt their way down his length. She slid her hand up then down, and repeated the motion when his entire body shuddered with pleasure. She laid her head on his shoulder and watched his face as she held his sex, noting each change in his expression. “It’s amazing,” she whispered, more to herself than him, “that I can do this to you.” He inhaled sharply when her hand slid all the way down and cupped the soft orbs of his testicles. She gently massaged them with her palm before sliding her hand back up to the tip of his shaft. She circled her finger around the head of his penis a few times and then got curious about the hard protuberance of the rhyve. Slowly, she slid her fingers up its thin length almost to the tip, where she hesitated. His hand stilled between her legs and his whole body stiffened in preparation. “Do it,” he snarled, his features harsh and drawn. His fingers pinched her nipple, rolling and then pulling it. “Touch it.” She did. She used her index finger and thumb to lightly caress his rhyve, first back down to the bottom and then all the way to the blunt tip. Anath’s head went back against the tub and his eyes closed. His jaw went slack and he swallowed convulsively as her fingers stilled at the very tip of him. She squeezed ever so slightly. He shivered in reaction. “Again…” She did it again, this time adding more pressure between her fingers. His hips, as if unable to remain still, thrust up, urging her to do more, to take more of him. “It’s terribly sensitive then,” she murmured, moaning herself at the way he looked. He was a creature of pleasure. He seemed to revel in it, as if it were a part of him. “I—” He sucked in a breath and his entire body trembled. He cupped her sex and thrust a finger deep inside her. “Lord and Mother, yes! I feel…everything.” He pulled his finger out of her, jerked her hand away and in one smooth motion, slid his cock deep inside her. Moira’s body bowed away from his and he slid even deeper. She clamped down against the pleasure as he moved beneath her. Water sloshed over the edge of bath but neither of them noticed as he fucked her. He wound his arms beneath her legs, pulled them wide, and went at her as his control snapped. He snaked one hand between her legs and stroked her clit. With every thrust inside her his fingers slid against her sex, pushing her closer and closer to release. Moira loved every minute of it. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and she watched through glazed eyes while his fingers worked between her legs, making her hotter and wetter. When his other hand rubbed across her breasts, pulling and

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massaging the small peaks of her nipples, it was too much. She splintered as her body went over into orgasm, then almost immediately did it again, the second hitting her unawares. Anath’s hand left her breasts to clamp over her ribs, pulling her tighter to his chest. His fingers over her clit softened their ministrations to slow petting even as his hips angled higher and sharper. He thrust into her twice more and then his jaw tightened and his cock thrust home even higher. The heat of his release washed through her, sparking off a third, smaller orgasm that left her gasping. “I don’t think I can move.” Moira let out another breath. “I don’t think I want to.” Anath pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “Then I’ll do the moving for us, hmm?” He straightened her legs, pressing her knees down, and winced when Moira groaned. “Was I too rough?” “No. You were wonderful.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “Really, really wonderful. If you give me a few minutes, you can be wonderful again.” He laughed softly against her shoulder. After separating their bodies Anath washed her, taking his time while he cleaned her hair and rinsed the suds away. He used a soft sponge over her body, being especially gentle when he slid it between her legs and cleansed the sensitive tissues there. “How would it feel if we don’t do this every day?” she wondered aloud, sighing as he squeezed water from the sponge over her breasts. “Would I really go out of my mind?” “You’d become desperate and panicky. Your heartbeat would become fast, your breathing shallow and your body would go through the beginning stages of withdrawal. Sweat would dot your skin, your pupils would dilate. You would feel as if your body were breaking and burning at the same time.” She turned sharply, her eyes going round. “It sounds terrible.” “It is,” he admitted, setting the sponge on a marble shelf. “There are some masters who allow their slaves to get to such a state regularly because they like the power it gives them. I find it to be particularly disgusting. You needn’t worry over it—I’ll never allow you to go without.” “How long would it take?” “It’s different for everyone.” His eyes met hers briefly before dropping back down to her breasts. He rubbed them gently, chafing her nipples just enough to make them harden and bead up. “Some can’t go without for more than a few hours. Some are able to last for a week.” “What if I can’t go more than a few hours?” “We’ll take care of it. No worries,” he crooned. “No worries,” she echoed, snuggling against his chest. She prayed he was right.

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She returned to her duties the next day after Anath left to visit with the king. Since she hadn’t told him she would be going, she hurried out while she had the chance and prayed he would be gone late. She spent several hours in the laundry, helping the staff with the folding and ironing. When that chore was finished, she collected the things she needed and made her way to Lord Sakhr’s apartments. The halls were particularly quiet, as if everyone were still asleep, which was quite likely she decided, despite it being midday. The one good thing about merely exchanging linens and towels was that she no longer had to go through the halls with men’s eyes following her every move. She was done with her duties far too early. Her arms loaded, Moira knocked and waited. When the door was pulled open, she wordlessly handed her bundle over to the slave, who looked extremely haggard. “Wait, please,” he said tiredly before stepping away from the door. Moira waited a second before chancing a quick look into the rooms. She saw the other two slaves immediately. One was pacing in front of the cold fireplace, the other sitting near the window at the back of the room, her hands clasped together, looking even worse than the man who’d taken the sheets and towels. The door to their bedroom was open while the male slave rustled around, collecting sheets and towels. The room was a mess. The wardrobe was open and clothes were all over the floor. Lord Sakhr, however, wasn’t there. The male slave exited, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him before returning to Moira and handing her the small bundle. Moira glanced down at the items then waited. The slave stared at her, his brow furrowed. “Yes?” “This is all?” “Yes.” He closed the door soundly. Moira looked again at the bundle in her arms and then back at the door. Without another second to waste, she dropped everything to the ground then tunneled through, separating the sheets from the towels. There were only three towels. There were never just three towels. Sometimes there were six or seven, but never fewer than four. It verified what she already knew. She gathered everything up again and practically ran back to the laundry. She dropped everything there then raced to Anath’s quarters, hoping he was in. She burst through the door, saw the sitting room was empty and immediately went to his bedroom. Just as she was about to open the door she paused, wondering what the proper protocol was for a true slave with her master. He’d promised she was free within his rooms, but he’d also promised he’d never take her to his bed. Things had changed between them and she didn’t know the new rules. 143

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She knocked softly and when he answered, she calmly entered, her excitement pushed down for the time being. He was naked, his dark skin and heavy muscles completely uncovered as he lounged on the bed. His hair lay loose and smooth over the sheets and even as she watched, his cock sprang to attention, as if to acknowledge her presence. His eyes took in her uniform at a glance. His cheeks hollowed slightly as his jaw clenched and the skin over his cheekbones thinned with displeasure. “I thought you understood, Moira. You no longer serve on the housekeeping staff. In the eyes of all in the palace, you’re now a bed slave, personal attendant to my physical needs.” “He’s not there,” she announced abruptly. “I mean, unless Sakhr’s somewhere else in the palace. But he’s not in his rooms.” He paused then sat up and crooked his finger at her as his feet hit the floor. “Come here.” She went to the side of the bed and without being told, sank to her knees between his feet. When his eyes widened in shock, she merely said, “I missed it. I like it when you pet me as I report.” Hunger quickly replaced the darkness in his eyes. “Remove your uniform and I shall.” She shucked it quickly, then leaned against his thigh and waited. His hand came down, unwound the coils of her hair from its knot, and with smooth strokes, began. “I brought the same things I bring every time—fresh sheets, water and towels. Four always, at least. Sometimes more if they request it, but never less than that. Today I saw inside their rooms and Sakhr wasn’t in there. Then I received back only three towels.” The petting stopped briefly then continued. “Perhaps whoever attended the room yesterday only brought them three.” “No one did. I asked in the laundry.” “And the sheets?” he questioned. “Were they in the same condition as usual?” She frowned and glanced up at him. “What do you mean?” He looked down at his own bed, a small smile of satisfaction creasing his face. “On my own we have your fluids, mine, and there’s the smell of sex.” She blushed. “Oh.” Then she frowned. “Actually, they seemed to be almost too clean, as if no one actually slept on them at all. And the slaves didn’t look well. They looked worn-out and tired. But not like they’d been busy all night. Just tired. Worried, maybe.” “So he’s gone, then.” “Just because he’s not in his room doesn’t mean he’s not in one of the recreation rooms or something. The palace is huge. He could be anywhere,” she argued.

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“He hasn’t left his rooms since he was hurt. If he left them to roam the palace, it certainly would have been noticed. I’d have been informed by Nasir or one of his spies immediately. He isn’t here. It’s the only explanation,” he told her softly as his hand caught her hair and pulled it down her back. Moira mulled over the information for a minute. “What does it mean that he’s not here? Is it bad?” He sighed and shook his head. He looked almost sad, she thought. Sad and also determined. “No, not bad, just expected.” He bent down, kissed her and said, “How do you feel? Is there any anxiousness in your belly?” “I…don’t know.” She thought about the question and what it really meant. Was the need stronger? It was, but in a mild sort of way. The touch of his skin made her feel heavenly, as if she’d drunk too much wine. And there was his scent, always something she enjoyed. But other than a slight note of desire, she felt well enough. “No, I think I’m all right.” He glanced over at the window. “Then we know you can go at least eight hours. I have to inform Nasir of Sakhr’s movements. I shouldn’t be gone more than a few hours. If it gets bad, send for me.” He got to his feet, gave her one final stroke then went to the wardrobe to pull out fresh clothes. Moira crawled up in the bed, watched as he dressed and, after the door closed behind him, fell asleep wrapped in his scent. “So he’s on the move then,” Nasir said, staring into the flames of the fire in the office, a steaming mug of tea in one hand while he contemplated the information Anath had brought. “I thought he was perhaps acting too much the invalid. The man’s a fast healer. Always has been. This goes nicely with what I just discovered.” He pulled a small envelope from inside his overcoat and held it up. Anath took it from him and looked it over carefully. On the outside, it was completely unremarkable. The seal was plain, just the generic sign from the palace scribes, the penmanship neat and small. But the name on the front made him pause. “This is to the princess.” “I filched it from Savas’ messenger. He knows her location, as well.” Anath flipped it over and removed the letter. He read the three lines quickly then looked up at Nasir, a grin spreading across his face. “What did you substitute?” Nasir smiled back and shrugged magnanimously. “It wasn’t nearly as pretty a forgery job as you can accomplish, but I must say it wasn’t bad. I merely changed a few details of the letter, and as we both know the princess has no fondness for Savas, although he likely thinks differently, I informed her that Lord Sakhr was attempting to arrange for her release, and perhaps included a few details of Lord Savas’ own campaign neatly woven in. Enough that she’ll be able to take precautions against him.

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Perhaps change locations. I also insinuated, as Lord Savas, that I would be coming for her immediately and she should remain just where she is.” “She’ll move her household, then,” Anath commented. “Yes.” “She’ll head west. Likely to her second-cousin’s estate.” “And since her second-cousin is Sakhr’s sister by marriage, I thought the place rather ideal. I’m sure they’ve already discussed the similarities they have in relations.” Anath nodded then tossed the letter into the fire. “Well done.” “Thank you.” Nasir nodded his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. “And now, since we’ve discussed work, you can tell me how Moira is and what you plan to do with her.” Anath glanced at him, his eyes narrowing. “She’s mine, as she was before.” “But what are you going to do with her? Surely she’s not going to sit in your quarters every day, bored out of her mind while you perform your duties for the king. She’s an active woman, used to working to survive.” “She no longer needs to work to survive.” Nasir snorted and rolled his eyes. “I know that. But she’s hardly one to sleep through the day. Her life’s been too difficult for her to waste her time with nothing. You could procure a loom, allow her to occupy her time with her trade. I’d enjoy seeing the type of weaving she was doing. She has a good eye for color.” He paused, then turned and stared into the fire “There is something you should know perhaps. About a small rumor going ‘round.” Anath lifted is left brow. “There’s always a rumor, and you always hear them.” “This one deals with Marin—and his resentment that you were able to tame her. I’ve heard he’s sided with Savas so he can get her back.” “He thinks he can get her back?” Anath shook his head slowly. “He’s more a fool than I suspected.” “He is a fool,” Nasir agreed. “But not as much as some. He’s good with a sword, yet he’s smart enough to let someone else do his work for him. Marin will side with Savas in the hope that he will beat you. And Savas will try, for no other reason than we took Jahan from him.” “We?” Nasir rolled his eyes. “You’re the king’s advisor, I’m the master spy. He knows where my orders come from, whether he realizes you hold both positions or not. I have no doubt he’ll eventually try to take me, but he’s always hated you more.” “Then he’ll come for me. Actually, I’m looking forward to it.” Nasir leaned forward, his face creased with worry. “I’m serious, Anath. I’ve seen you fight, but I’ve seen Savas as well. He’s good. And in his favor, he’s younger, taller and his reach is longer.”

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“Then when the time comes, put your money on him.” Anath glanced out the window, noted the time and walked to the door. “I’ll meet with you on the morrow. Good evening, Nasir.” When he returned to his quarters, he found Moira exactly as he’d left her—curled up on his bed, her body covered by a sheet, her hair spread out around her like a sea of red. He lost his breath for a minute just looking at her. She’s mine, he thought, and the knowledge thrilled him as much as it aroused him. He shed his clothes and crawled up on the bed next to her. Her eyes were partially open when he reached her, and there was a pleased little smile on her lips as she reached for him. “Hello,” she whispered, her voice husky with sleep. “I’m beginning to feel it.” “Eleven hours, then. I’ll be sure to see to you before those hours have passed, every day.” He kissed her, his tongue licking over her lips before diving deeply into her mouth. He moaned. “You had a bath.” She pulled the tie from his hair and pushed her fingers into the dark mass, spreading it over his back. “I did. I like taking baths.” She smiled shyly and lifted her head for another kiss. “You finished your business with Nasir?” Her hand slid from his hair, across his back, down his side and to his stomach. She trailed her fingers across his navel, over and over again, until he thought he’d go insane. He kissed her again because he couldn’t seem to stop. “It’s done.” He moved down to her throat and gave her a bite on the side of her neck. “Are you teasing me on purpose? You may not like what it gets you, woman.” She laughed, a happy, light sound that made his pulse race. Her hand slid lower and her fingers danced softly just above his cock. He held his breath, waiting. His eyes met hers and he smiled wolfishly, promising retribution. “Big man,” she murmured, grinning mischievously. “You scared me to death when I first saw you. I was sure you were going to chop me up in little pieces, roast me and eat me.” Her fingers slid a hairsbreadth closer to his sex. “If you don’t finish this,” he growled, “I just may, though chopping and roasting won’t come into it.” He waited with bated breath, urging her to do what he wanted. She raised her mouth to his and the second their lips met, her hand slid down and closed over his turgid flesh. Anath groaned. He slid his hand into her hair and cupped her skull, tipping her head to the side so his tongue went deeper into her mouth, taking her while she handled his cock. He thrust against her hand, gaining even more pleasure when the rhyve came out and rasped against the soft skin of her belly. “Have you always been good like this?” she asked, her head falling to the bed while she caught her breath. “What do they do with all of you? Make you go to school to learn how to love properly?”

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Anath grinned and, reaching down, pulled her hand from his cock. “Southern men do.” She rolled her eyes and wound her arms around his neck. “Figures.” “Or it could be merely a fascination with your body,” he purred, lowering his hips over hers. “I haven’t told you enough how lovely you are.” He gave her a quick kiss. “Or how much you please me.” “Right. Because I’m gorgeous as anything and have a wonderful body,” she replied sarcastically. “Don’t bother. I’m satisfied enough that you even want me. There’s no point in mooning over things that aren’t true.” “Not true?” He reared up, frowning down at her. “You believe this?” She shrugged. “None of us are that attractive. We’re scarred and marked, but even if we were as perfect as can be, humans are nothing in comparison to the people of Kinnai.” She said it so matter-of-factly that for a moment he was shocked. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she would think that way. That any of the humans believed it. “You don’t know, then?” She frowned and absently played with his hair. “Know what?” “How mesmerizing we find you.” He tipped his head to the side and knelt over her body, straddling her legs. When she tried to sit up, he pushed on her shoulder and kept her captive. “No. Stay. I wish to show you.” “There’s nothing to show,” she argued. “Hush.” He leaned down and kissed her. “Why do you think we want humans so badly? Because you’re inferior creatures?” He clucked his tongue at her and shook his head. “No. We want you because you’re so vibrant. You make us feel alive.” “But…you call us barbarians.” “Yes. And in many ways, you are.” He trailed the backs of his fingers across her breasts then gently caught her nipples between his fingers. “Your people are rough, uneducated and in poor health. You kill each other in droves, battle each other with no thought to consequences, and fight for things that have no meaning.” She glowered. “Hey!” He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “But you’re passionate, fiery and have so much vitality. We pale in comparison to you. Such color, such intensity…” He abandoned her breasts and smoothed his hands over her flat stomach. “Such desire to live and die. We haven’t any of that. We don’t even understand it. But it’s that very thing that we find so riveting. So attractive.” He smiled down at her before leaning down and kissing her again. Pulling away, he stared into her eyes, forcing her to see. “You are beautiful. Your differences make you beautiful.” Her mouth formed a small circle. “However,” he added. “I do believe you have even more passion than most, which pleases me greatly. And then there’s your hair.” He leaned forward and smoothed it 148

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over the pillows. “I find myself wishing I could drape it across my body, but then I want to fuck you and I forget about your hair, and dream of your skin, your scent, your taste.” He lifted his brow. “Do you understand now?” She nodded slowly and swallowed. “I think so.” “And you want a fuck as much as I want to give it to you.” He lowered himself beside her and pulled her forward until she faced him. “Your nipples are still hard.” She flushed. Anath laughed softly before pulling her mouth to his. “You have so much desire for such a small person.” “I’m not that small for a human,” she pointed out, splaying her hand across his chest. “Compared to all of you, all the humans are small.” She rubbed her fingers back and forth over his nipple then smiled when his breath hitched. “Enough,” he growled, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her forward until they were flush. “Attend me, woman. I have needs.” She murmured, “As you wish,” and put her mouth on his chest, right above his nipple. When he groaned, she pushed him to his back and crawled over him, her mouth sliding down and latching firmly on to his nipple. Anath’s hands clenched in her hair, holding her there while her tongue swirled and lapped at his flesh. She used her teeth then did it again when he pressed her mouth harder against his chest. Anath curled his fingers against her scalp and shivered in reaction. She lifted her head finally, her eyes dark and liquid, her lips flushed and swollen. “Is it always like this?” Anath smoothed her hair back from her face and answered her honestly. “No. With us, it’s better. Stronger. As it should be.” “This is why you southerners are so picky, then? You wait for this. You look for it.” “Yes.” He pressed her mouth to his other nipple and arched beneath her. “This is why.” She stayed at his nipple for a few minutes more then languidly moved lower, nipping and kissing down his ribs, across his stomach and lower to his hip. When her fingers circled his cock, Anath knew he had to have more or he’d explode. He pulled at her shoulders, forcing her up his body. “Come here, Moira.” She was at his side in an instant. Her face showed her confusion as he tugged at her legs, but she didn’t argue as he arranged her body until she straddled him, her pussy looming over his face. Facing his body, Moira couldn’t see Anath’s face but he buried his tongue in her immediately. She sighed in pleasure, she arched back and gripped the headboard behind her to stay upright. Anath spread his legs and pushed his hips up, hinting wordlessly. Carefully, Moira lowered her body over his and stretched out until her head was level

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with his cock. While he licked at her folds, her hot little hand wrapped around him and began a gentle rubbing motion that quickly had him out of his mind. He spread her thick juices all along her slit, smiling with every tremble that rocked her body. He thrust his middle finger deep into her cunt, then pulled her hips lower and sucked her clit into his mouth. She screamed and came apart at the ministrations of his skillful tongue. The insides of her thighs became as slick as her sex. He absently wiped his chin off, blew a soft puff of air over her then went back to feasting on her sex. He was concentrating so hard on pulling another orgasm from her body, he didn’t even realize what she was doing until it was too late. Her fist slowed on his cock. Her fingers tightened for a second while her other hand reached beneath and cupped his balls. He gritted his teeth for only a moment, then kept his mind focused on her cunt and barely gave another thought to his own pleasure. But when her tongue hesitantly came out and licked over his rhyve, he couldn’t hold back the shout of surprise and extreme pleasure that locked his body tight. “Shadows take me!” His head dropped back and his eyes closed as he fought the release threatening to spill over him. “Moira—don’t.” She looked over her shoulder at him, a shy smile on her face. “You didn’t like it?” “You do it again and I’ll come. I’d rather be inside you.” She smiled wider and returned to what she was doing. She bent her head and then her wicked little tongue was flitting over his cock again, lapping at the hard rhyve as delicately as a cat licking cream. He couldn’t take any more. With a growl, he shoved her off him. Her eyes widened in surprise but he couldn’t wait. He pulled her up, pushed her to all fours in front of him and drove his cock home. His rhyve hit her deep inside immediately. Small, panting gasps escaped her mouth. Her hands fisted in the blankets and she pushed back on his cock, wanting more. She hummed beneath her breath in exertion as each thrust rocked her, bringing her closer and closer. Her pussy clenched hotly over him, then again in warning. Anath gripped her hips harder, fought the release that was so close and then gave up. He reached around her, pinched her clit and, when she screamed, let go and flooded her with his seed. He rolled to his back when he could move and pulled her to his side. “Next time you do that, be prepared to have me come in your mouth.” She smiled and flushed. “Okay.” A second later, she fell asleep.

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She woke up to the oddest sensation. She was being fucked but also licked, and the thing surging between her legs was cool and hard, not hot and hard, like she was used to. Her eyes popped open and she stiffened. Then she saw Anath’s head between her legs, and what he was doing there. “What is that?” He cocked a brow and the speed of the phallus he was using on her suddenly increased. Moira almost closed her eyes again. Almost. “It’s a cock, just not mine.” He bent down and licked her clit with the slightest of touches. “Don’t you like the feeling of being full while I eat you?” “I…don’t know.” He used the flat of his tongue to lick her. When she shuddered in reaction, he did it again. But it still didn’t feel right. It wasn’t real. Wasn’t his. “I don’t like it.” He lifted his head from her cunt. “Why?” “It’s not you.” He smiled, pleased, and withdrew the object. When she saw it, she was even more certain she didn’t want it. It was too pale, too cold—just a smooth, narrow piece of lacquered glass made to simulate coupling. He reached down and set the piece on the floor. “Tell me what you’d like instead.” “You can do anything.” He shook his head at her. “Tell me what pleases you and makes you wet.” Her mouth opened but she was too embarrassed to say it. “Do you like it when I tongue-fuck you?” he suggested. She nodded. He bent down and slid his tongue through her folds, then lower and dipped it in the hole of her sex. He licked her there for a few minutes, watching as the fire in Moira’s body grew then lifted his head. His hands absently rubbed over her hips as he said, “What else?” “Your fingers,” she practically moaned. “I like it when…you put them inside me.” He smiled and inserted two fingers inside her. He thrust them inside slowly, over and over again, then mildly said, “And?” Moira barely heard him. How he could carry on a conversation in the middle of sex confounded her. “I—oh God, more!” His smile became wolfish as he pushed his fingers deeper. “Would you like me to lick your pussy while I do this?”

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She nodded jerkily and then screamed when his mouth opened over her sex, sucking, pulling, licking. When she climaxed just a minute later, she was breathless with pleasure. Anath let her calm. His licks became soft, his fingers gentle as they continued their thrusts inside her. When she was breathing normally again, he pressed a kiss over her clit then crawled up her body. He hitched her leg over his forearm and easily slid his cock home. He bent down, kissed her hungrily and whispered, “Now I shall tell you what I like.” Moira held still as he whispered in her ear, dark, forbidden words all strung together. They went on forever, repeating in her head even after he’d stopped, and all she managed to do was suck in short breaths as she tried to get air into her brain. His hips didn’t so much as twitch all the while. “Well?” His eyebrow arched up. “What do you think?” “My breasts aren’t that large.” “You have lovely breasts.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to each rosy tip. “One day, perhaps. What about the other?” He finally did the tiniest of movements and his cock pushed all of a centimeter inside her. Moira gritted her teeth and barely kept from bashing him. “What about it?” “Would you do it for me?” He leaned down and kissed her. “Please?” Moira held on to his shoulders and felt the heat of embarrassment climb her neck and face again. “Uh…I don’t know.” Anath grinned. Still smiling, he rolled them together until he was on his back. Moira held on tight, and once they’d stilled she sat up straight. Anath groaned. His cock went impossibly deep inside her. “Moira,” he rasped, “move.” Moira lifted herself over his sex, felt the rhyve scraping inside and sank back down, moaning from the sensation of fullness. He was almost too much at that angle. She moved again, a little faster this time before sinking down abruptly. Anath helped her by pushing his hips up at the same time. Her head fell back, she let a slow breath out and then moved again. Anath gritted his teeth and grabbed on to her hips, forcing her to move faster. “Will you?” he demanded, pushing her over his cock and bringing her down hard. “Moira…will you?” Moira closed her eyes and hummed, so caught up in fucking him that she didn’t even realize he was talking to her until he tweaked her nipple. Her head came up and she blinked at him. “What?” Anath’s fingers flexed against her skin. “I want to watch you,” he sucked in a sharp breath as she swiveled her hips, “pleasure yourself. Moira…please!”

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Moira smiled to herself and increased her tempo. She rose over him and sank down faster and faster. Her breath escaped her in quick little pants and her heart raced with excitement. The building orgasm was close…very close. “I don’t know,” she whispered, rising up again. “How badly do you want to see?” Anath groaned and then suddenly grabbed on to her, forcing her to stop. His gaze met hers and his sinister smile came back. “How badly do you want to come?” Moira tried to wiggle against him. It didn’t work. “That’s not fair.” “Ah, and when has life ever been fair?” Glowering, Moira slapped his chest and tried to escape his imprisonment again, with no success. “Anath, stop.” “I want to see,” he whispered. “I want to see what you look like when you bring yourself over. Is that too much to ask?” Moira huffed and glared at the ceiling. “I have never done that.” “But you will,” he promised, letting her go and thrusting his hips up. He cried out and with a small heave, rolled them both over until he was on top of her. Moira glared. “I was having a nice time up there.” He stroked her jaw. “So you were—and so was I. But I believe we’ll try this, hmm?” He pulled her legs up and slid her ankles over his shoulders. “Ready?” Moira opened her mouth but no words came out. Anath’s cock slid forward and his rhyve scraped deep. Moira bucked against him, straining and sweating as his cock burrowed into her, over and over again. When she came, her mouth fell open and her eyes went wide. She felt as if she couldn’t get enough air as the orgasm exploded and the world went black around her. She came to slowly. Anath was beside her, a look of utter satisfaction on his beautiful face. He was petting her stomach softly, occasionally dragging his hand upward to stroke her breasts. “How do you feel?” he asked smugly. “Good?” He snorted. “You feel far better than good.” Moira didn’t say anything else. “You’ll show me one day, won’t you?” She sighed. “Yes. I’ll show you.” “I thought you would.” And his smile only grew more smug.

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Chapter Fifteen As the suns rose in the sky, Moira slid from his bed and dressed for her duties. Anath watched her through narrowed eyes, his body somehow managing to look even thicker and more threatening in the bed, even covered by the sheet as it was. “Why? For what reason do you insist on this?” She paused in the act of putting up her hair. She looked at him over her shoulder as she pushed the pins in and finished up. “I’m used to work, Anath. Cleaning is no bother to me. Besides, in an hour you’ll be up and seeing to duties of your own. At least this way I can be useful.” She looked away, straightened her uniform and tied her kerchief over her hair. He slid from the bed and pulled her tight against his chest. “Be careful,” he said stiffly. “I would be most unhappy if you were somehow hurt.” She patted his arm and pulled away. “I’ll be fine.” Pushing up on her tiptoes, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips and darted away. She hummed on her way to work. She again aided some of the other servants with their rooms and only attended Lord Sakhr’s suite at the end of the day. It was as brief a transaction as before. She exchanged sheets and towels and went on her way with a quiet nod. She was on her way back to the laundry when she felt a disconcerting presence behind her. The hair at the back of her neck prickled in warning and a strong shiver of alarm raced down her spine. She looked back cautiously, telling herself there was no reason to be alarmed since Jahan was gone. She expected to see one of the younger lords there, but what she found caused her more concern. It was one of the female Kinnains. And she was watching Moira expectantly. Moira stopped and turned, her eyes still on the woman standing just fifteen feet behind her. She’d heard stories of the women of Kinnai. She’d been told of the power of the queen, how she ruled, how her word was law. She’d even caught sight of a female from a distance. But to see one up close was altogether different. This female was tall—taller than some of the men. She was covered head to toe by a long veil and thick skirts, with only a small slit for her to see out of. And she was thick, her body wide and husky, her back slightly hunched over as if she were well advanced in years. Her voice was deep and scratchy when she spoke. “You are Anath’s slave girl.”

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Moira gaped for a moment. Finally, she managed, “I am.” The covered head dipped slightly in acknowledgement. “I’ve heard about you. He’s become quite attached.” Moira didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent and waited, clutching desperately at the bundle in her arms. “You may give him this for me.” The woman’s hand came out and held up a small square envelope, barely larger than Moira’s hand. “You may tell him his wife sends her regards.” Moira nearly fell over. “You’re…his wife?” For a moment there was no response. Then the veil was pulled aside and Moira was given her first true view of what the Kinnain females looked like. She was horrid. The woman’s face was wide and flat, her eyes sunk deep into her face, and her skin held an unattractive, blotchy color. Moira’s first impression of age seemed correct—the women had to be well into her middle years and apparently hadn’t bothered to try and keep herself together. “Surprised?” Anath’s wife asked, her fleshy lips spreading into an obscene smile. “No one’s explained to you the particulars of the Kinnain female’s mating cycle, have they?” Moira shook her head. “Go on, girl, take the bloody letter. It’s important. And do give him my best. I doubt I’ll have any need to speak to him after this.” She waved the letter until Moira walked forward and took it from her. “Also, tell him his son grows large and strong. He will be proud.” The woman walked away without another word, pulling her veil forward as she did so. Moira was left in the hall, her hands filled with linens and the letter dangling from her fingers. After Anath’s wife had disappeared, she walked numbly to the laundry, turned the sheets and towels in and made her way to Anath’s rooms. She dropped the letter on the low table in the sitting room and went to bathe, still in shock over what she’d seen. Anath, she knew, was more than ten years her senior. Possibly fifteen, though she didn’t quite know how to equate the Kinnain years with those on Earth. His wife looked to be at least fifteen years older still, and it seemed those years had not been easy on her. When she got out of the bath she felt the first twinges of longing deep in her belly. Glancing at the window, she saw the hour was later than she’d thought. She dressed quickly, her mind still occupied with the Kinnain woman as she prepared to go find Anath. She was just finishing up when there was a knock at the door. Thinking it the servants with the evening meal, she answered it. “Good evening.”

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The lord facing her was young and mildly pretty, his skin darker than most, although it was nowhere near the dark hue of Anath’s. His dark brown hair was braided tightly and fell just below his shoulders in a thin rope. His lips twisted in a sneer as his hand snaked out and clamped roughly on her arm. “You are coming with me.” Moira pulled back abruptly, knocking a painting from the wall near the door. It clattered loudly to the floor and hit her foot, causing her to lose her balance as she tried to loose herself from the lord. She used the heel of her hand and aimed for his eye. He turned at the last minute, and her punch landed on his jaw. It still sent his head back, but when he swung around again, his eyes blazed with fury. Moira opened her mouth to scream. He hit her before she got the chance and then everything went black. She woke up cold, hungry and with pain churning in her belly. All around her was darkness and quiet. Sweat beaded lightly on her skin and her breath came out panicked and too fast. She was suffocating. She was sure of it. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t seem to get enough air. She screamed and pounded on the hard surface just a few inches in front of her. There was hardly even a thud. She clawed at it as tears rolled down her face. “Anath! Anath!” Violent shivers racked her frame, making the pain rolling through her even worse. “Please!” Her sobs grew even stronger and as she wilted against the hard slabs imprisoning her, she wondered if he even missed her. If he even realized she was gone. She pounded until her fists bled. Anath raced through the halls, Nasir at his heels as he made his way through the East Wing. He stopped in front of an arched door and ignored the knocker as he pounded against the thick wood. Savas pulled it open almost immediately. His eyes danced with mirth and his lips pressed as if to hold back a smile. “Master Anath. It’s a delight to see you. I do hope you’re doing well.” Anath barely kept himself from killing him. “Where is she?” “Where is who? Have you lost someone? Your little slave perhaps, since I can’t imagine who else you could possibly mean.” Savas cocked a hip forward. “Imagine that, the king’s senior advisor being so careless as to lose his slave. I don’t suppose you’ve considered the possibility that the little bitch ran from you?” Anath heard Nasir’s breath draw in sharply but it was already too late. He saw red, and had his hands wrapped around Savas’ throat in a second. He slammed the other man against the wall beside the door and leaned forward, his lips almost brushing his.

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“Tell me where she is before I rip out your heart, you evil prick.” Savas’ eyes went wide. His lips parted slightly. He rolled his head against the wall, back and forth. Anath squeezed harder. “Anath,” Nasir said carefully, coming up to his side. He laid a restraining hand over his wrist. “Let him go.” “He took her.” “I know that and you know that, but we have no proof. If you kill him, the king will have no choice but to charge you with his death.” Nasir’s solemn eyes stared into his, urging him to be careful. “You’ll do her no good if you’re dead.” Anath squeezed his eyes closed then all at once released Savas and stepped back, sucking in several quick, deep breaths before speaking. “I’ll kill you for this!” Anath raged. Savas massaged his throat and straightened against the wall. “I can only hope you’ll try. I welcome the chance to shove my sword through your gut, you worthless bastard.” Nasir gently pushed Anath in the back, urging him away. “Come on. If we’re lucky, one of my informants will have returned.” Anath walked away, his body screaming at him to finish what he’d begun and kill Savas. But it would have to wait—only Moira mattered now. They had to find her. Mother’s Mercy, he needed her. “How long can she go?” Nasir questioned, lengthening his steps. “Does the need affect her under twelve hours?” “Yes. She begins to feel it at eleven. It’s near fourteen since I’ve taken her.” Nasir swore and walked faster still. “Come on. You’re about to meet one of my best men. Let me do all the talking and hope the withdrawal symptoms are slow to take her.” Anath prayed. The twisting pain in her belly was now a wicked cold that resonated all through her body. It was unbearable. It tore at her, piece by piece, and she just wanted to die so it would end. Every thought in her head swirled in a circle, fracturing her mind more and more, everything leading to Anath. It’s all my fault. I have displeased him. He’s had me taken away as punishment. If I’d behaved as a proper slave, none of this would have happened. He’d still want me, still care for me. Just the thought of his hand on her hair was enough to send her wailing and writhing. It made the pain ten times worse and the misery of her solitude more unbearable. If I’d only been better…

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Anath had his knife out and was digging into Lord Marsie’s throat before the man even had a chance to run. This time Nasir didn’t even try to interfere. Moira’s scent was all over the man and then there was the bruise on his jaw, too small to be made by a Kinnain. “Where?” Anath growled, leaning forward and watching the drop of blood bead up around the tip of his knife and trail down the man’s throat. “You took her early this eve. Where did you put her?” The man’s pulse beat like a drum, hammering in a hurried tempo. He nervously licked his lips but stayed silent. Anath gave up on subtlety and with a quick slice, drew a thin line across Lord Marsie’s neck. “If you tell me, you’ll live. If you don’t, you die. It’s your choice.” The young lord closed his eyes. Anath slammed him against the wall, so hard the knife clattered out of his hand. Lord Marsie shrieked and fought, but it was no contest. Anath punched him, heard the young lord’s ribs snap and hauled him up again, even as the man gasped for breath. “I’ll repeat once again,” Anath gritted out, his hands fisting in the man’s shirt. “Tell me where you put her or I’ll show you pain you’ve never even imagined.” Marsie’s lips parted. “He’ll kill me. He won’t let me live if I tell you.” “Then you die by my hand or his. I can promise he’ll kill you far faster than I will.” “Anath—” “Then kill me.” “Anath!” Anath swiveled around to find Nasir staring in horror at the wall. Then he heard it. Just the barest of sounds, the noise would have been impossible to hear if he wasn’t straining to do so. “No,” Lord Marsie stuttered. “There’s nothing there.” Nasir knocked on the surface and his face blanched. “Mother’s Mercy, Anath—he’s got her in the wall.” Anath forgot the lord and let him fall to the floor as he hurried over, certain the guards he’d posted at the door would prevent the man from escaping. “There has to be a way to open it,” he snarled, his hands going over the smooth stone surface of the wall. “There must be something here to release—” He stopped when he felt the slight change in the texture of the stone. It was a line, impossible to see but more obvious to touch. He followed it up, over and back down on the other side. “It’s a table. For flesh sports.” He stepped back and studied the wall, looking for the slightest hint of a lever. He found it on the left side, a small square of stone that pressed in on a spring. Lord Marsie stepped forward and feebly tried to push Anath away. “You’re mistaken! It’s simply a table, nothing more, for banquets and—”

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Anath punched him again then tossed the young lord away without worrying where he landed. He pushed the square, Moira’s muted screams hitting him like balls of fire. He thought he was prepared for her condition, but he was wrong. The table came down and he saw her. He nearly fell to his knees. Her screams were devastating. They cut at him, punishing him for not caring for her better and seeing to her safety. Every inch of her was shaking uncontrollably. Her skirt was soaked with sweat and her legs gave out beneath her as she slid off the table and to the floor. As if he were a magnet, her wild eyes immediately went to him. She was on her hands and knees and pleading with him before he could stop her. “I-I’m so s-sorry! Please forgive me! I promise I’ll be good, I promise I’ll do anything you wish. Please, d-don’t send me away again. I’ll do anything! Just…” There was no hint of the self-control or the pride that was so much a part of her character. They had been washed away by the need, and now it was on her too strong for anything else. Nasir stepped up to his side, his eyes wide and his hands trembling. “Anath, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.” Anath stiffened his resolve. “Moira—stop.” She fell silent but the trembling continued. Her tearstained face pointed up at him and he saw pain and hope there. Anath looked at Nasir. “Take that…thing out of here. Lock him up. I’ll inform the king of his activities later.” Nasir nodded and went to collect Lord Marsie. When they were gone and Anath saw the door close behind them, he turned back to Moira and prepared himself to deal with a slave well into the need. She was still staring at him with rapt attention as if the suns rose and fell on him alone. He hunkered down on his toes and crooked a finger at her. His throat closed when she nearly fell flat to the floor in her eagerness to get to him. When he held his palm out she pushed her face into it, rubbing as much of herself on him as she could. He could smell the lust on her, the heady liquid dripping from her cunt and coating the insides of her thighs. But there would be time for that later. First he needed her back, which meant the need had to retreat. “Kiss me,” he ordered hoarsely. She clawed at him as she stretched her neck up and captured his lips. She did it hesitantly, as if afraid to offend him lest he leave her in such a state. Anath grabbed at her roughly, his hands quickly divesting her of her top as he pushed her to her back and came down over her. “Do you want my cock, little slave?” He fisted his hand in her hair and pulled her head back. “Do you?” 159

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“Please,” she moaned, begging. “I hurt. I promise I’ll be good…just make it go away. Please, Master. Please…” He reached down between them and freed his cock. He didn’t bother with preparing her—she was already more than ready. He shoved the front part of her skirt out of the way before punching his hips forward and burying his cock deep inside her. He didn’t hold back at all, knowing it was his seed she needed inside her. He rode her rough and hard, through her own orgasm until he found his own. And he kept going, his cock barely even softening as it released. Her screams echoed off the stone walls. Her eyes were still wide and vacant, her pupils dilated and her breath more of a pant than anything else. Her fingers clutched at him in a panic, as if she were afraid he’d disappear on her at any second and leave her in pain. Anath bit back his fury and guilt, made his voice smooth and calm as he whispered, “Shhhh, Moira. I’ll take care of it, love. I’ll never let you go again…” He kept pumping, going at her even after the tears stopped. His fingers held her hips still, holding her so tight he knew there’d be bruises afterward. He felt the pulsing flutters of her sheath as she reached her peak yet again. Her eyes rounded and then went empty and rolled back in her head. She fainted.

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Chapter Sixteen Moira woke up in the healer’s quarters. Her eyes opened, looked around the sterile room and then she saw the dark form slumped in a chair against the wall. Her throat was dry. She had to try twice before she was able to croak out, “Anath?” He jerked as if he’d been struck and was on his feet and beside her in seconds. He took her hand and pressed a hard kiss to her lips. “How do you feel?” “Sore,” she managed. “Thirsty.” He turned and bellowed. One of the healers bustled over, held a cup and helped Moira drink. She got down half of it before she’d had enough and lay back down against the bed, exhausted. “I want to go home,” she said simply, holding on to Anath’s hand as hard as she could. “Take me home.” He nodded. It took five days before she began to feel normal again. The first two, she could hardly even bear to be away from Anath. She required his presence, the feel of his body and his cock, on a regular basis. He fucked her constantly, in every way imaginable and a few that weren’t. He took her against the wall, on the floor, on the table, on the settee, each of the chairs, standing, bent over…it didn’t end and he was always ready to serve her, his cock eager to please. “Aren’t you tired?” she asked him after one particularly memorable session when he’d put her on top and let her do the work. He slid his fingers into her hair and stroked down her back. “Yes, but so are you. And it’s not as if the desire ever wanes. It’s always there, ready.” She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his face. “I’ll try harder so you can at least attend to your duties.” “You’ll do no such thing,” he growled, rolling over and pinning her beneath him. “You’ll heal at your own pace and I’ll remain here with you. If I’d been doing my duty to you, none of this ever would have happened.” “But it’s not your fault!” He gnashed his teeth as he held her wrists above her head. She could feel the bulge of his cock against her stomach, lengthening and thickening in readiness. “Of course it’s my fault! Do you realize who Lord Marcie serves? He’s part of Lord Savas’ court. He

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took you on his order. If I’d been more careful, the fucker never would have gotten close enough to you to make kidnapping an option.” He slipped inside her with little effort and began shallow, slow thrusts. Moira gritted her teeth against the sounds threatening to come from her throat. With effort, she managed to get out, “You do…protect me.” Anath swooped down and kissed her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he suddenly thrust deeply and heavily. “I do now. Don’t move.” She fought him as he returned to the shallow thrusts. She squirmed, screamed, cried—anything to get him to come inside her fully. To make it worse, his rhyve didn’t hit high enough. It didn’t even seem to be all the way out and just scraped lightly against her flesh, not at all where she needed it to be. He drove her out of her mind. He denied her then pushed all the way in, only to go back to the small, unsatisfying thrusts. It was as if he were trying to make her crazy. “The…letter,” she panted, straining and rubbing her breasts against his chest. Anath’s eyes closed as he groaned. His hips stilled completely, which wasn’t at all what she wanted. “From my wife,” he said, going back to the shallow thrusts. “Yes.” Thrust, thrust. “You found it?” He nodded, then suddenly lunged, his hips pumping as his cock buried deeply inside her. And finally…finally…his rhyve arched high. “I found it.” She bit her lip and felt the delicious pull deep inside as he drew out and slid back in. “Oh, more!” There were no more half-thrusts. He went wild on her. He pushed her legs so wide it felt as if her pelvis would split in two, but she didn’t complain. He was doing exactly what she wanted. To make sure he didn’t pull away at the last minute, she clung to him and wrapped her legs around his waist, holding on tight as he worked himself in and out of her body. He buried his head against her shoulder and breathed harshly in and out. His cock kept up its hurried pace, shoving deeper and deeper inside her body, drawing out shiver after shiver of longing and excitement. She was covered in sweat, from her brow down to her calves, and she slid against him, harder and faster with each minute that passed. Moira had to clutch his shoulders tight just to keep from whapping into the headboard. “This…shouldn’t be possible…again!” She sucked in a lungful of air and squeezed her eyes closed. “Oh God!” Anath cupped her ass, tilting her pelvis higher, forcing her take more of his cock, more of his rhyve. “You’re holding back.” He leaned down and bit her on the shoulder. “Moira, come for me.” She shook her head. “It’s too big!” She shuddered. “No.”

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“You will.” His hips slowed and his tempo changed. It became smooth, expert, and had the most devastating roll that angled his cock higher rather than deeper. With his rhyve fully extended, the result was devastating. Moira’s eyes popped open and she was forced to hold her breath just to focus. Her fingers dug deep into the muscles of his shoulders as she tried to keep her head on. She shook her head at him, even as he nodded in answer. “You will come,” he promised, leaning down and kissing her. “You will.” She tried to resist, for no other reason than because he was just as determined to push her into climax. Moira locked eyes with him, bit her lip, forgot to breathe and clutched at him as tightly as she could manage, all to remain in control. It was all swept aside by the slightest adjustment in his hip angle. He suddenly smiled at her, pushed at her hips and then, so slowly she almost went insane, thrust inside her body. His rhyve scraped everything. And the giant orgasm held within her body imploded on itself, and sent racking shudders all through her. Anath held still until she was finished, then with ragged movements, fucked her a minute longer until he, too, went over. His body shuddered, a deep growl issued from his throat and his head tucked against her shoulder. Moira held on to him and softly crooned a lullaby as they both calmed. She slid her hand into his hair and gently brushed the strands from his damp forehead. Sweat cooled on their bodies. She shivered and sighed against him, happier than she ever thought possible. It was disturbing that she was so wrapped up in him, but it was there, whether she liked it or not, and the best consolation was the feeling that he was as dependent on her as she was on him. “How much older is she than you?” she asked dreamily. He shifted and then he was looking at her, his face creased with confusion. “Who? Bidar? She isn’t.” Moira’s mind blanked. “But…you said she was near the end of her fertile years when you married.” “She was.” “But she’s so old!” she practically shouted. “I don’t understand.” “She’s not old. Just beyond her fertile years. Kinnain females are only fertile for a six- to eight-year period, anytime between the ages of twenty and thirty. Each woman may peak differently. Bidar was twenty-six when we wed.” “And that was how long ago?” she pressed. He thought for a moment. “Eight years past.” “You mean she’s only thirty-four? But she looks…fifty!” He shrugged and rolled to his side, pulling her along so she faced him. He brushed her hair back as he said, “It’s the way it works here. Their fertile days are shorter, but

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our women are far better at governing and ruling the kingdom. They’re hardly inclined to be influenced by a pretty face or a fine body, as they’ve no use for such things once they’re past their fertility.” “So this happens to all your women? They age rapidly like that?” “Just to a certain point. You look surprised.” He smiled. “Is this so difficult to understand?” “Well, frankly—yes.” He shrugged again. “It’s how it is. It’s how we were created. The men of our race were made to be strong and to defend, the women to rule. It works well.” “But will she live as long as you?” she asked. “Because you don’t look nearly as old as she does.” His teeth flashed as his grin widened. “The life expectancy for men and women is nearly the same here.” She mulled over that information for a moment. “She said your son is doing well. When she gave me the letter, I mean.” “I know. It was in her letter.” Silence reigned for a while. Then Moira opened her mouth again, only to be interrupted as Anath shook his head at her, a sleepy smile curving his lips. “Go to sleep, Moira.” She did. She woke up the fifth day after her ordeal and felt almost normal. The ache that seemed to have sunk deep into her bones was completely gone, as was the panicky feeling at the thought of Anath leaving her. She still didn’t like the idea, but she was able to stay rational when she thought of the possibility. He was still sleeping when she slipped from bed. She watched him for a little while, admiring how lovely he looked, before bending down and pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, you know.” He shifted slightly and she realized too late he wasn’t nearly as asleep as she’d thought. She scampered away toward the bathroom and prayed he hadn’t heard her. “Good. I love you, too.” She stopped her retreat halfway across the room, her back straight in shock. She turned back to look at him, his eyes still closed, and wondered if he’d truly meant it. He’d said it as if he did. He’d said it easily, almost automatically. She smiled as she entered the bathroom. It was after she’d bathed and was tying her halter in place that she felt the slightly raised edge of the mark just below her nape. With her back to the mirror, she used a hand mirror to look and saw Anath’s mark neatly tattooed there in black ink. It was already done and she hadn’t even realized it. She was his. Permanently. 164

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There was so much satisfaction she couldn’t stop smiling while she finished dressing. And because she wanted everyone to see, she put her hair up. She was just sitting down to breakfast when Nasir entered the suite, a dazed, harried look on his face. He came to a sudden halt in front of her, wiping sweat from his brow with a shaking hand. “Where is he? Lady, tell me he’s here. I need to speak with him before—” Moira cut him off by pointing to the bedroom. Nasir passed her in a rush and went through the door. Moira hesitated only a moment before getting up and following. “…said he’s on his way. It should only be a matter of hours now before it’s done.” She stopped in the doorway to see Anath toss the covers aside. He grabbed a pair of trousers and pulled them on with quick movements and took the shirt that Nasir got from the wardrobe and handed to him. “Your man’s trustworthy?” Nasir nodded. “One of my best. Anath, we have to do something about Savas. He can’t interfere.” “I know.” He tugged his hair back, tied it with a band and turned to take in Moira. “You’re coming with us if we both have to leave.” She blinked. “I am?” “You’re not staying here. I don’t trust anyone besides Nasir to keep you safe, so there’s no choice, is there?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Is that the breakfast tray I smell?” Over breakfast, Nasir and Anath discussed timing, distance and the possibility that Sakhr wouldn’t make it. Moira tried to pay attention but when her third question went unanswered she gave up and decided it was a Kinnain affair, and not something she cared to worry about. Things didn’t get any better after the tray had been taken away. Both men were tense. Nasir paced back and forth, while Anath disappeared on some order of business or another. He kissed Moira quickly before leaving and shot Nasir a warning glare, saying, “If something happens to her, I’ll never forgive you.” Nasir stopped in the middle of the room. “Nothing’s going to happen. Get out and go take care of this mess.” He was gone over three hours. When he finally returned he seemed just as wound up as when he’d left, but he nodded firmly at Nasir’s questioning gaze. Moira looked up from the reading primer Nasir was making her study. “What?” “Get your shawl,” Nasir said calmly, getting to his feet. “It’s time.” She rushed to her bedroom, grabbed a shawl and raced back. Anath waited by the settee for her. He caught her in his arms for a brief hug as he asked, “How do you feel?” “Fine. Where are we going?” He didn’t answer as he turned to Nasir. “Everything’s ready.”

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“As I expected,” Nasir replied, going around Moira and disappearing into Anath’s bedroom. When he came out he was carrying a long sword. He handed it wordlessly to Anath and stopped beside Moira. Moira’s eyes rounded as she watched Anath belt the sword at his waist. “What’s going on?” Anath tucked a loose strap of leather behind the belt. “Promise me,” he said roughly, his eyes still on his hands as they worked the leather, “that you’ll stay with Nasir.” “I shouldn’t need to—” His head jerked up. His eyes were steel gray, almost piercing. “Promise me, Moira.” She swallowed nervously, the desperation in his eyes making her fear worsen. But she nodded just the same. “I promise.” Anath let out a little sigh, dropped his hands to his side and nodded his head once. “Good. Nasir, we’re ready.” “It could go differently, you know,” Nasir said carefully. “Savas is—” “I’ll handle it.” “Yes, that’s what I thought you’d say.” Rubbing his brow, Nasir pulled the door open and disappeared into the hallway. Once they were all out and the door locked, Moira tried again. She stared hopefully at Anath, ready to plead if need be. “What’s going to happen?” He stared coldly over her head. “When it’s over, I’ll answer anything you wish. For now, we haven’t time.” Nasir tapped her shoulder. “Come.” She didn’t have a chance to argue. Nasir tugged on her arm, forcing her to follow him as he walked down the hall. Because others were around she couldn’t take the chance of outright rebellion, so she fell into the guise of slave, even though she wanted nothing more than to shout and demand answers. Anath stayed just behind her as they walked at a fast clip down the hallway. They turned sharply left. Down two more halls, and after two right turns, Moira could hear the very distinct, staccato sound of approaching footsteps growing louder and louder. There had to be at least ten men, and from the sound, they were coming right for them. Nasir glanced over his shoulder, nodded once and faced front. His shoulders lifted and straightened, making him look as if he were prepared to face the world if necessary. Moira gulped for breath and prayed. They turned another corner. She saw Nasir falter before she noticed the men approaching them. And it was many more than ten. It was twice that, possibly more, and each one of them was armed to the teeth. “Lord Sakhr,” Anath said from behind her.

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Moira flinched in surprise. Her eyes immediately went to the warriors and she scanned the group, looking for Sakhr. He stepped forward before she’d even found him. Only this time there was nothing helpful or kind about him. His eyes flashed and his teeth were slightly bared as he bowed shallowly. “Master Miritis.” Anath bowed back. “I trust you haven’t come for me.” Sakhr’s mouth quirked in a small smile. “Indeed, no.” Moira lowered her head and tried to seem inconsequential, even as she snuck a glance upward. “Then we may continue on our way,” Anath said, moving forward into her line of sight. “We’ve an appointment, you understand. I’d hate to be late.” Sakhr’s head tilted slightly to the side. His hand clenched tighter around the hilt of his sword, as if he were readying himself for a battle. Anath’s eyes followed every tiny movement. “You know what I’m here for.” Anath’s eyebrows went up a notch. “You know what I’ve come to do. I find it hard to believe you don’t intend to interfere, Master Miritis.” Anath’s smile was quick and brutal. “I’m sorry, but I simply haven’t time. You have your duties, Lord Sakhr, and I have mine. Please excuse us.” He bowed sharply, grabbed Moira’s arm and towed her past Nasir, who marched quickly after. When Moira glanced back over her shoulder, Sakhr was watching them leave, a surprised look on his face. A few minutes later, when Moira again heard the sound of hurried footsteps, Anath dropped her arm and reached for his sword. “Nasir.” Nasir hooked his arm around Moira’s waist and pulled her against him as he angled left. “I’ll handle it. Don’t worry about her.” Another group of armed men came around the corner, only this time it was Lord Savas leading the assemblage. Moira gasped, struggling against Nasir’s arm, and glanced at Anath, only to see Sakhr’s group had returned and were approaching behind him. “Come on,” Nasir growled, tightening his grip on her waist. “It’ll all be over in less than an hour.” “No, I have to—” He jerked her around and forced her to stay in front of him. “To what?” he snapped. “They’re going to fight in the hall and his only request was that you stay safe. Are you really going to refuse him that?” She shivered with dread. “I don’t want him hurt.” 167

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“Neither do I, pet.” Nasir’s eyes lost some of their impatience. “But things are about to happen, and we need to ready for it. Now come with me and no matter what happens, you stay with me, understand?” Moira nodded and when he walked forward, she followed him. Anath didn’t move until Moira and Nasir were out of sight. Only then did he turn his attention to Lord Savas and Sakhr. Savas put his arm up and the men behind him came to a stop. His eyes briefly went over Anath standing to the side, but abandoned him in favor of Sakhr. “We’ve business, you and I.” Sakhr shook his head slowly as he and his men stopped ten feet away. “No, Lord Savas. We do not.” “Ah, but we do.” A wide smile spread across Savas’ face. “I believe there’s a challenge here between us.” “You know you cannot interfere. I don’t—” Anath lifted his sword and stepped between the two men. Looking at Savas, he let the man see his rage. “How right you are, Lord Savas. We’ve waited far too long already, wouldn’t you agree?” He didn’t bother waiting for the other man’s answer. He lunged for him. Savas’ eyes widened just seconds before he brought his own sword up to crash into Anath’s. He stumbled back a few steps from the strength of the blow before recovering and pressing forward. “I have not issued a challenge to you, Master Miritis. My fight is with Sakhr.” Anath didn’t bother hiding the eagerness he felt for the other man’s blood. “Then you never should have touched her. Your fate was sealed the minute you took her from me.” He brought his sword up again and brought it crashing down against Savas’. The lord growled and charged him. “Why are we waiting here?” Moira whispered. They had gone through a narrow door into a large room, entering it from the side. It was cavernous really, but almost plain, with little in the way of decorations or furnishings. The place had the feel of neglect about it, as if rarely used. Narrow steps led to a raised dais that took up a good amount of space at the end of the room furthest from the huge double doors. It was made of dark stone, roughly fifteen feet wide and ten feet deep. On it sat King Haidar, a few of his advisors grouped together at his side, talking quietly, and a flock of his guards standing at attention behind him.

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The huge, near-empty room didn’t bother Moira. Neither did the guards or the presence of the king. What did bother her was the crowd surrounding the dais. Dozens of people stood at the front and sides, some talking in hushed tones, others silent. “Shh!” Nasir shook his head at Moira as he made his way around the crowd. He stopped while they were still some distance away from the dais, but didn’t seem particularly put out by the people blocking their way. He watched the dais, though, and King Haidar. Moira shifted uneasily beside him and tried to see over the crowd. “But—” The crash of the double doors made everyone start. Moira’s question died quickly as a hush came over the huge room. King Haidar got to his feet, his eyes narrowing at the men approaching. Moira turned, her breath held. It wasn’t Anath, as she’d prayed, but Sakhr and his men. His sword was up and his eyes piercing as they locked on to King Haidar. The people surrounding the dais whispered hoarsely. Soon, speculation was thick in the room as Sakhr led his men down the center of the room, splitting the crowd as if it were the Red Sea itself. He raised one hand and his men came to a stop before the king. Sakhr said not a word. The king’s guards swarmed around him protectively. As if they had been waiting for this sign, Lord Sakhr’s men leaped forward and up the steps, easily closing the distance as they engaged the soldiers in battle. The flash of steel filled the room as swords were drawn, heavy grunts and clashes ringing in Moira’s ears as fighting commenced. And beyond all of it Lord Sakhr stood, sword in hand, his eyes still on the king. Moira grabbed on to Nasir’s arm as the swords drew ever closer to the king. “They’ll kill him!” “No.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes on the fight and the crowd. “It’s Lord Sakhr’s place to do that—” He stopped, his eyes spotting something in the crowd. “Blast it! They’re going to interfere.” She whirled around, scanning the crowd. “Who?” Nasir slid through the throng, his body shaking with adrenaline. Moira followed right behind him, eyeing the fight with trepidation. No longer was the crowd parted, which left no space for the clashing men as they spilled off the dais. Everyone sort of blended together. Unarmed men hurried to get out of the way before soldiers and warriors, battling for dominance, crashed into them. If she’d had a choice she would have left the room altogether, but apparently no one else had that idea. She nearly lost Nasir in the mêlée and had to hurry to catch up. Only when he was almost on a golden-haired, slim young man—who held a throwing knife poised for action—did she realize what he was about to do. Nasir stopped behind the man, pulled his head back before the knife could fly and neatly clubbed him first in the neck, then in the kidneys.

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The man fell to the floor, rolling in pain. His knife clattered harmlessly beside him, where it was kicked away by the roiling crowd. Moira looked where the man had been standing, followed the direction the knife would have flown—and only then realized it had been aimed at Sakhr. Her eyes widened as she faced Nasir. “What are you doing!?” she demanded hoarsely, clutching at him when she was almost knocked off her feet from behind. “You’re supposed to be defending the king, not taking out his protectors! You and Anath work for King Haidar!” He grabbed her arm roughly, hauling her close. “Do you trust me?” She opened her mouth but no answer readily came. Nasir gritted his teeth. “Moira, we haven’t time. There’s bound to be more than one assassin in the bunch. Tell me now—do you trust me? Do you trust the work Anath and I do?” After a second’s hesitation, she nodded mutely. He released her before straightening. “Then trust that I know what I’m doing. If anyone but the guards or Sakhr’s men tries to interfere, they have to be taken down.” Moira swallowed painfully and followed his eyes to the rest of the crowd, which was writhing and shouting as the fight raged on. “I’ll help.” He looked skeptical but didn’t argue as he moved deeper into the mass. “Stay close and if you need me, yell.” She followed behind him—and saw another man almost immediately. With dark brown hair and pale skin, he was easy to spot in a vibrant yellow tunic. He became even more obvious among the soldiers and spectators by the insidious way he wove between them, into a position that would give him access to both Sakhr and the king. Moira wasn’t sure which man he was going for, but she was sure he wasn’t a guard. Smaller and more adept at squeezing past people, she left Nasir and easily made her way to the man, just in time to see him remove a small air dart from inside his pocket. Without thinking, she kneed him in the groin and pulled the dart from his hand. He fell to the floor, his eyes bulging and his hands cupping his genitals. She turned as Nasir reached her. He grabbed on to her shoulder and hauled her away even as the fight came closer. Two men broke through the spectators nearest them, their swords flashing as they battled. Moira and Nasir made their way to the side of the room, pushing past others who moved forward intent on seeing the show. She saw King Haidar standing near his throne, alone except for his advisors, who stood huddled together against the back wall. His skin was flushed and his hands clenched as he quickly scanned the room, his eyes going over the few of his men still standing and fighting.

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Suddenly he leapt off the dais and darted between fighting bodies, a heavy sword in his hand. His body rippled as he came to a stop several feet from Lord Sakhr and brought his weapon up. Lord Sakhr bowed his head regally. “King Haidar, I challenge you.” King Haidar’s response was immediate, and, to Moira’s ears, almost sounded relieved. “And I accept, Lord Sakhr. If this is to be my end, then so be it.” Moira’s knees went weak. She clutched at Nasir’s arm. “Aren’t you going to help him?” Nasir’s eyes stayed on the king, watching him face Sakhr. “No.” Moira bowed her head. What had she done? Savas used his sword like an axe, crashing it again and again at Anath. His face dripped with sweat as they battled and he lunged, aiming for the soft flesh of Anath’s stomach. Anath danced away at the last minute, striking his own blow against Savas. When he saw the telltale sign of fresh blood flowing down the other man’s side, he gritted his teeth and gripped his sword tighter. Savas had dared to hurt Moira. The man would die. The fight began, but almost immediately it was apparent the king’s heart wasn’t in it. Lord Sakhr’s sword moved quickly, elegantly, tossing away the king’s halfhearted attacks as if they were child’s play. Sakhr’s face was stony and cold as he battled his king, but in it, Moira saw determination. The same emotion wasn’t present in the king’s countenance. Sakhr jumped toward the king, his sword flashing. A stripe of blood appeared on King Haidar’s sword arm. Sakhr danced away and circled his king. He jumped in, feinted left and struck two more blows, each of them drawing blood before he whirled away again. The king’s arms shook and his breath was labored as he tried to keep up. Then Sakhr came straight at him, his sword out, his jaw set. King Haidar’s skin went gray at the exact moment Lord Sakhr struck his death blow. He opened the king’s neck and stepped away. Haidar fell to his knees, his sword dropped and his hands clutched desperately at the open neck wound. He blinked slowly up at his killer… And smiled. Sakhr bowed his head and said reverently, “May I meet you at the Gods’ Hall, my king.” King Haidar died mere minutes later.

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“All this,” Savas grunted, blowing air as he dodged Anath’s sword, “over a woman?” He laughed roughly then gasped as Anath’s sword bit deep into his back. Anath smelled blood and barely kept rein on his restraint. “My woman,” he growled, eagerness flooding his veins as he went for the kill. “My slave, my woman.” Savas half tripped but recovered his footing and dodged Anath’s next advance. “You’re a fool! She’s nothing but a common whore, as all the humans are. She’d belong to anyone whose dick rutted into her.” “You’ll wish you never spoke those words!” Anath brought up his sword even as Savas came at him, a deadly gleam in his eyes. The northern lord’s weapon was half aloft when Anath’s sword pierced him in the chest and stopped his heart. Anath watched as Savas fell to the floor. Calmly, he wrenched his sword from the man’s body and went to find Moira. There was utter silence in the hall. It seemed to go on forever, but in reality couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes. Moira stared in shock at the dead king. He wasn’t her king, but still, he had been the crowned monarch. He’d protected his people and kingdom, and now he was dead…and she’d helped kill him. It was a startling revelation. She was so disturbed by the thought she didn’t see the line of veil-covered women enter the hall until they were striding across the wide floor. Everyone immediately sank to their knees. Nasir pulled Moira down with him. Sakhr stayed standing, straight and tall. The veils ranged in color from dark violet to the palest of greens. But only one woman wore white. It was that tall form that stepped forward, and it was from her that a scratchy voice said, “So you are to be my new king.” Lord Sakhr shook his head slowly, but it was a woman who answered. “No, Mother. He is to be my king.” “Princess Amana!” The hushed whisper rose up all around Moira as another line of ladies entered, all free of veils, their fresh young faces open to the eyes of everyone in the room. The one in front was tall and perfect, her white hair piled in a complicated coil atop her head. Her features were regal and elegant, a perfect match for Lord Sakhr. She stopped before her mother and looked down her nose at her. “Bow and prepare yourself for the Hall of the Gods.” The queen bowed her head and, to Moira’s surprise, did as she was told. In a quick, deft movement, the young woman had her mother’s veil thrown off and her neck sliced open. Blood flowed, slow and dark with age. The new queen caught some of it in a chalice and drank even as her mother’s body fell to the ground. Moira felt ill. She turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to drown out the scene. It didn’t work. 172

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“Not long now,” Nasir whispered in her ear, still holding her down. He forced her face forward and Moira opened her eyes again, determined to stay vertical if it was the last thing she did. The new queen shed her clothes quickly and stood before King Sakhr, while he did the same. They coupled there, in the blood of her parents, for all to see. He took her quickly, coldly. It was hard and fast and over within a matter of minutes. When they were done they still seemed formal and distant, but together they approached the bodies of her parents—she to her mother, he to her father, each with a knife poised, and in front of everyone in the hall, removed her parents’ hearts and ate them. They were covered in blood when they both stood. Her ladies immediately came forward, her robes held out and ready for her. She stepped into them while Sakhr donned his own clothes. It was a man Moira had never seen before who got to his feet and shouted, “Hail the king and queen!” Everyone in the room echoed him. The new queen’s ladies closed around her. Her voice boomed out. “I trust you to choose your men wisely, my husband, for my safety now rests in your hands.” King Sakhr bowed to her, and in a cloud of ladies the queen left the room, walking tall and straight past the hunched and aged forms of those who’d served her mother. After she was gone, everyone rose to their feet. King Sakhr’s men came forward and surrounded him, each bowing to him in turn, dedicating their lives to serving him. Throughout the room yet more people swirled, becoming agitated in their eagerness to do the same. Moira let out a slow breath. “I take it this means we won’t have to worry about being arrested for treason.” Nasir looked at her in surprise. “Treason? We haven’t committed treason.” “You practically handed Haidar over to him. If that isn’t treason, I don’t know what is.” Nasir faced the king again, a thoughtful glint in his eyes. “This is the succession. For hundreds of years, our monarchy has continued in this manner. No one can interfere between the king and his challenger. It’s law. If Haidar had survived, no charges would be brought up. I’d have protected Haidar in the same manner if any of the assassins had been for him.” “Assassins,” Moira scoffed, impatiently looking through the crowd for Anath’s dark head. He still wasn’t there. She glanced worriedly at the door and wondered if he was still battling Savas. “They were just trying to protect their king.” “They were trying to destroy Sakhr so Savas could kill Haidar himself,” Nasir retorted. “He didn’t find the princess, and therefore could not claim the favor of the Gods. He needed to establish himself in another way.”

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Moira looked at him, confused. “What?” “The assassins didn’t work for the king. They worked for Savas. If Sakhr died, Savas would be able to claim the princess and he could take the throne after killing Haidar. But as I said, interference of any kind is prohibited. I did my best to prevent any disturbance in the challenge. Just as Anath did.” The doors opened farther and more people flooded into the hall. Moira pushed up on her tiptoes to see, looking for anyone dark enough to be Anath. “So this is what you were working toward, then,” she finally said. “You and Anath were working to make sure the succession went through without a hitch.” Then she frowned. “Was it really necessary for them to kill the king and queen?” “Hundreds of years,” Nasir said under his breath, with absolute conviction. “It’s the way of succession. Our monarchy is a direct line through our queens. After birth, princesses are taken away, protected and hidden. The eldest daughter is next for the throne and it is through her that the future king is chosen. He who takes her is touched by the Gods themselves. It’s a great honor, but also a great burden.” “So anyone can be king, then,” Moira reasoned. “Anyone can marry the princess.” “As long as he’s strong enough. As long as he finds the princess, which according to our beliefs is fated. This is a centuries-old process, Moira. It hasn’t changed in all that time. There’s no reason it would now.” “And Savas?” she asked, looking into Nasir’s face. “You interfered with him.” “He hadn’t found and claimed the princess. He was interfering with the succession of the man who had.” A door crashed against the wall. Moira forgot her questions about the monarchy and peered over the crowd. This time, sweaty and coated with blood, Anath came through.

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Chapter Seventeen Anath was pacing back and forth through his sitting room, into the bedroom and back. It was beyond nerve-racking, as far as Moira was concerned. Even though the whole thing was over—there was a new king, a new queen and there would, no doubt, be a slew of new advisors—Anath behaved as if it were only beginning. She watched him cross the room again and sighed heavily as he spun on his heel and returned, past the doorway and into his bedroom. She stayed where she was, on the floor near the fireplace, content to watch. There was certainly no point in both of them being anxious. He kept glancing at the window as he continued, his eyes reading the time from the sinking suns. When both round orbs had sunk just beneath the horizon, he stopped in front of her. “Come. We need to prepare for the dinner.” Moira frowned and kept her knees drawn up. “What dinner? I thought we’d eat in here.” “There’ll be a dinner. Celebrating the rise of the new king and queen. It won’t be…comfortable.” She studied her knees for a moment, recognizing his tone. “I’ll be the slave.” “I need you to be,” he agreed tiredly, once again looking at the windows. “Moira— it’ll be strict and formal. I’ll feed you and you’ll be expected to obey my every command.” “I understand.” “There may be…” He shook his head and clenched his teeth. “Nothing. We’ll go at this one step at a time. Come.” He brought her clothing in the same dark blue, almost black that he so often chose. Her halter and skirt matched his trousers and shirt exactly. In fact, since he gathered both their clothes from his bedroom, Moira was positive he’d had the clothes made for her especially. Whether it was for this reason or not she didn’t know, and decided it didn’t matter. He bathed with her and rather than the hurried, distanced attention she expected, he was tender and warm, touching her body lovingly, rubbing his hands all down her shoulders, her arms, circling her waist. He swept her hair forward and buried his nose in it while he breathed her in, as if she were the air itself and his lungs were burning for oxygen.

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“Tell me you’ll be careful,” he whispered, making the water lap at the edges of the tub as he gathered her up against his chest. “Tell me you won’t look at anyone save me. Promise.” Moira frowned and put a comforting arm around his neck as she hugged him. “I promise.” “Even if Lord Marin is there? Even if he tries to get your attention?” She froze at the thought. She still hated him, of course, but the hate had died down and become a cold steadiness that wasn’t nearly as volatile as it had been. “I’ll be fine.” She slid her hand over his head, trying to comfort him. “I promise, everything will be fine.” He tweaked her nipple absently then tipped his head back to look into her eyes. “I’ll be sure to seat myself next to Nasir. If anything happens—anything—you are to stay at his side. Understand?” “Of course.” She frowned, thinking. “But what could possibly happen?” He shook his head and covered her mouth with his. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and when she opened them, he took her very breath. “Nothing will happen,” he moaned, his teeth clamping down gently on her bottom lip before letting go. “Just in case.” Moira completely forgot what they were speaking about and gave herself up to the heat of passion. She directed his mouth back to hers and while he was occupied kissing the breath out of her, she traced her fingertips over the breadth of his shoulders, over the tight muscles of his chest and stomach, down past his belly button and into the sudsy water hiding his cock. She grasped it eagerly, squeezing and sliding her hands up and down its thick length. She delicately fingered the hard tip with one finger and sighed as Anath shook against her, suddenly unable to wait. “I’m going to fuck you hard,” he promised, wrenching his mouth away and surging to his feet. Water rolled off him in rivulets. He hardly seemed to notice as he pulled her up with him and stepped from the tub. He tossed a towel at Moira while he hastily went over his own body. He dropped the towel to the floor when he was done and pulled her against his chest, bending her back as he feasted on her neck and breasts. When his mouth latched on to her nipple, Moira forgot to breathe and let the sensations take her. His hand plumped her other breast while he continued licking her tender flesh. Moira closed her eyes and did her best to keep her legs firm beneath her. When it felt like she was losing the battle, she dug her fingers into his shoulders and used him as leverage to stay on her feet. He slid one leg between hers, moving it gently against her groin as he continued laving her flesh. Moira felt her breath whoosh out from the sensation of his heated skin

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pressed so intimately against her. She closed her eyes and rocked against his hard, muscled thigh. In just seconds, his skin was slick with her arousal. Then he drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked at her skin. Moira almost tipped over. “You could sit,” he purred after righting her with a gravelly chuckle. “Right there on the ledge of the tub.” He gave her a gentle push backward. Moira sat hard with a sudden jolt that was quickly forgotten when he spread her legs wide and fell to his knees between them. “Do you know how I love to look at you?” He tilted his head back and smiled at her, sexy and full of heat. “Your body pleases me, Moira. Do you realize how much?” Her throat went dry. Unable to speak, she simply threaded her fingers through his damp hair and pulled him to where she wanted his mouth. He laughed again, deep and throaty, and with no preliminaries burrowed his tongue deep in her pussy, licking at her, taking her taste into his mouth and down his throat. He actually hummed in pleasure. “You’re so wet. And you taste so fine. Wider, love.” Moira let her head fall back, felt the brush of her wet hair against her back and arched, thrusting her pelvis outward, needing more contact. He gave it to her immediately. His mouth began a quick series of movements, up and down her sex, his tongue flicking over her clit before moving downward and fucking her hole. Over and over he went, and with each pass he became faster, stronger, his tongue hotter and slicker with her moisture and his. When Moira couldn’t stop the orgasm from rolling over her, she opened her mouth and screamed. The first, strong flutters of completion were in her belly when Anath pulled away and she felt the unmistakable heat of his huge cock sliding home. The orgasm suddenly increased in strength. She nearly tipped back into the tub, only avoiding it when he suddenly clutched at her shoulders and brought her forward. At the same time his hips pulled back then thrust home again. It was a fast, hard fuck he gave her, just as he’d promised, and over in minutes. But when it was, both of them were panting and warm with exertion, and Moira knew there was no other place she’d rather be. His cock was still semi-erect when he pulled it from her body. Then, to her shock, he bent down and put his mouth over her sex again, this time petting over her recovering flesh delicately with his tongue, as if afraid to abrade her while she was overly sensitive. He got up after only a few licks but he looked pleased and satisfied, as if he’d assured something. Moira unsteadily got to her feet. “What was that about?”

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He shrugged and returned to the bedroom. Moira followed right behind him, still frowning. “You smell and taste of me. I like it.” He took the clothes off the bed and began dressing. “It’s strong on you. Anyone will know you’re mine just by smelling you.” She stopped where she was, a few feet from the bed. “You can smell me like that?” He didn’t bother answering as he buttoned the sleeveless shirt. “Dress, Moira. We’ve little enough time as it is. And the sooner this is over, the sooner we can move on.” She didn’t know what he meant, but given his obvious uneasiness she did as he asked, and within minutes Moira was dressed and fixing her hair in the simple knot that served her so well. She used the jeweled pins again, but otherwise didn’t bother to go overboard with her appearance. He was still fretting over her safety, she knew. He was pacing again in the bedroom, going back and forth while she finished. She hurried through the rest of her preparations, made sure her clothes and hair were tidy and neat and stood before him, ready to leave. “Remember,” he reminded her, taking her hand in his as he headed for the door. “Stay near Nasir if anything happens.” But what could possibly happen? It was merely a dinner. The celebration, as it was being called, in honor of the new king and queen, was set up in the Great Room. Over a hundred tables were spread throughout the hall, with six men at each table. It was at one of these tables that Anath and Nasir sat, and considering how close they were to the table of the king and queen, Moira suspected their position was favored, and the table had been reserved for those who served the monarchs. She barely noticed the other four men at their table. They, like almost all Kinnains, were tall, well-built and fairly lovely to look at, though with Moira’s eyes downcast she hardly had a chance to study them. Both Nasir and Anath seemed familiar with them, and the conversation, hushed as it was, flowed easily enough. The dinner itself was far different than she expected. Formal. No one laughed and all conversation was quiet and subdued. Moira had expected it to be a free, joyous occasion. Why it wasn’t, she didn’t know. She simply couldn’t tell. As a slave, she was given little thought as she carefully and dutifully fetched wine for Anath, as well as food and fresh napkins if they were called for. She didn’t mind. It wasn’t unusual, her presence hardly got a glance and she was treated especially well, considering how some of the masters treated their slaves. She’d just brought Anath a fresh plate as well as flatbread when he crooked his finger at her and pointed to the floor. Moira bent to her knees before him, her head bowed and her hands on her lap. When the first bit of food was offered, she stared at it in confusion and surprise before she remembered what he’d said about feeding.

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“Open,” he ordered, sounding almost bored. Nasir had one of his slaves—Keith, she thought he’d called the blond man—at his feet, and was already feeding him. Even knowing how kind Nasir was, it still seemed embarrassing. Embarrassing or not, she wasn’t able to get out of it. Dutifully, Moira opened her mouth and when the food was popped in, chewed and swallowed to take the next he offered, and the next after that. She didn’t eat much. She didn’t like being fed like a wild bird kept in a cage. When Anath accepted she’d had her fill, he had her lean against him and absently petted her head while he finished eating and spoke with the other men sitting around the table. To outsiders, he must have appeared a relaxed man enjoying the celebratory dinner of his king and queen. Only Moira knew how tense he was, and possibly Nasir, who kept sending him curious glances. She puzzled over it for a moment, wondering why he was so on edge when everyone else seemed to be pleased by the changes in their monarchy. She found no answers, however. When the guests were approaching the end of their dinner, one of the king’s men stood. He tapped his knife against his glass to get everyone’s attention before returning to his seat. Nodding his thanks, Sakhr got to his feet. In regal maroon, with his hair left loose and flowing down his back and a thin gold circlet on his brow, he looked every inch the monarch. With her eyes cool and feral, as if she were the true danger in the room, his queen carried more menace than her husband. There had to be many reasons why the women of Kinnai were the ruling class. Moira doubted very much it was simply because the men were unfit for the duty. In her experience, nothing was ever that simple. “My people, my queen.” He bowed to the new queen sitting at his side. “It is with the greatest pleasure that I call the priests forward to bless our union.” He bowed again to the room in general and slid from behind the table to drop to one knee before it. The hushed whispers of the guests quickly died away. Moira sluggishly raised her head from Anath’s knee to look around in the direction the reverence seemed to be coming from. When she saw, she nearly shrank back in fright. She’d known a priest when she was a child. He’d been an old man, his hair long gone, his body withered to frail bones and paper-thin skin that somehow never seemed to have color. He’d died not long after she’d turned five, but Moira still remembered him, remembered the way he’d talked about his service to the God he believed in, and what was to come in the afterlife. These priests were nothing like him. There were three in total, their bodies covered in diaphanous, translucent black material, and only one of them was male, though it wouldn’t have been quite so obvious if they were only viewed from the back. None wore veils, although Moira wished they had. The women were revolting. Their faces were haggard, their eyes small, hard and beady, sunk deep into their skulls,

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and their jowls shook with each step they took. The male was different. Still young and healthy, he looked his age and was quite lovely. All three had shaved heads and complicated black designs tattooed over their scalps that twisted and swirled across their pale skin. In the low light of the hall, the tattoos almost seemed alive. They didn’t bow to the king when they stopped before him, but waited solemnly and quietly for his head to come up, acknowledging them before sinking back down again. The queen, after getting to her feet and moving to join her husband, did the same, though she somehow seemed less reverent to them. It was the wider of the two women who spoke, and her voice was hard and piercing as it echoed throughout the room. “You believe yourselves to be worthy of this duty? Worthy enough to fulfill your Gods’ wishes, to act in Their best interest, to govern Their people, and ensure the continued safety and welfare of Their kingdom?” Both the king and queen murmured and nodded. The priest looked to her two companions and gave the barest of nods. Then together, standing in a line before their monarchs, they joined hands, bowed their heads and began praying. All in the hall closed their eyes and did the same, and the powerful words of the Kinnain prayer filled the hall, growing louder, stronger with each word. Moira stared up at Anath, entranced by the joy in his face and the obvious belief he held for the words he spoke. It was the same on every other man she looked at. Nasir looked perfectly serene as he prayed, and for the first time as beautiful as the most attractive of Kinnains. The prayer died off and there was silence. Then the three priests fell to their knees before their king and queen, and King Sakhr helped Queen Amana to her feet. Their appointment was complete. Everyone in the room cheered and screamed with joy, celebrating the rise of their renewed king and queen. Through the din, the king shouted, “May my reign be as much a success as that of King Haidar!” More cheering ensued, so loud Moira clapped her hands over her ears just to keep from going deaf. But it was a sign. Men jumped to their feet to cheer and soon after, they began departing. They left the dining area in groups, still effused with the glory of their monarchy and its succession. It was with a start several minutes later that Moira realized the queen and her ladies had already departed, and that King Sakhr was striding down the center of the room toward them. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Anath…” The skin across his cheekbones seemed stretched taut, giving him a gaunt appearance that had nothing to do with starvation or illness. His eyes narrowed on his approaching monarch in what was either fear or caution.

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He nodded once. “I know.” King Sakhr stopped before their table. His eyes went first over Nasir and Anath, then down to Moira, still at Anath’s feet. She didn’t hide her face but stared back at him, too caught up in the moment to remember her training. “She’s been yours the entire time.” “Yes.” Anath’s eyes rose to meet the king’s when they switched back to him. “She has always been mine.” “She was in housekeeping—for what? To report on my activities?” Sakhr asked, surprise and disbelief in his voice. Anath smiled. “Yes, my king.” The king snorted. “Preposterous.” His eyes slid to Nasir and narrowed. “You, too, have known of this.” Nasir inclined his head. King Sakhr tapped his chin as his eyes went from Anath to Nasir, and finally back to Moira. “I think,” he began slowly, “I am owed an explanation. From all of you.” Anath stared at Sakhr, his own gaze solemn and unflinching. “You were his choice. I merely helped assure the outcome when the time came for the succession. He knew he was failing.” King Sakhr’s eyes widened as understanding came. “It was you,” he marveled. “You were the one who alerted me to my queen’s hiding place at the beginning.” Anath said nothing. His face showed no hint of emotion. “This is most unexpected,” the king rambled, still dazed. “I knew someone from the king’s own court was aiding me, but I had no idea that your reach was so great.” He shook his head slightly. “Bloody hell. This was supposed to be the will of the Gods.” “Is it so impossible that They put me here, gave me this duty to ensure the right man rose to the throne?” Anath challenged. “You have my apologies if we’ve displeased you, however—” The king rolled his eyes in annoyance. “You don’t sound apologetic.” Anath shrugged. King Sakhr sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There’s a more pressing issue than my reticence over your interference. Your slave—” Anath’s body practically vibrated with tension. “There is no issue with Moira.” “Lord Marin has filed an injunction against you. His claim says she belonged to him first, that her transfer to your care was undocumented.” Nasir surged to his feet and paced out several steps before whipping around and coming back. “The bloody little bastard!” Moira’s nails dug into Anath’s thigh as a shiver of fear rattled through her body. She made herself breathe slowly and work through the fear before it overran her completely. Losing control wouldn’t help Anath or her situation.

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The king’s eyes were cold and steady as they studied her. “I could take her from you. He wouldn’t challenge me…and I want her.” Anath laid his hand against the back of Moira’s skull and growled, “No.” Sakhr glared back. “Fine. We can discuss the issue later. For now, there’s Lord Marin. You agree to meet with him?” Anath pushed to his feet readily. “I do.” The king motioned for one of his men before turning back to Anath. “It’ll go to a challenge. He doesn’t strike me as being willing to release her.” Anath’s grin was little more than a baring of teeth. “Good.” The three of them all turned when the door of the Great Room banged open and Marin barged through, his sword at his hip and his face red with fury. Moira gripped Anath’s pant leg without even thinking. Marin strode through the room as if he owned it. “I’ve come to reclaim what’s rightfully mine.” Nasir swore under his breath before turning away from him. “Moira, come here.” Moira took the hand Anath offered to help her up. “Anath—” He pulled her into a tight hug before pushing her toward Nasir. “Go.” Her heart fluttered with panic even as she grasped Nasir’s arm for strength. He pulled her with him, away from Anath, and held her tight. He watched from the side as Marin stopped before the king, bowed and then turned to Anath. “You’re prepared to relinquish your claim, then?” Anath shook his head slowly. “I’ve agreed to the challenge.” Marin’s eyes darted out, landing briefly on the king before flitting back to Anath. “I hadn’t thought—” Anath interrupted, putting his hand out toward one of the guards. “Your sword.” The guard handed it over without a word. Anath tossed it up in the air and caught it, testing the balance before bowing regally to Marin and taking five steps back. “Your choice, Lord Marin.” Marin’s eyes widened then his lips pressed thin and his eyes narrowed. With more flourish than was needed, he pulled his sword from its sheath and circled around Anath. “I’ll flay you!” Anath merely smiled as he followed the other man’s movements. “Perhaps.” They circled for a minute then Marin made his move. He was so quick she couldn’t even see it. In the space of a heartbeat, his hand moved and they were engaged in a fight. The guards moved closer, making a loose circle around the two battling men. Anath skittered away and made his own attack. Their swords clashed and then they broke apart, moving off to opposite sides of the circle before turning back. Only this time,

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Marin didn’t wait to attack. He practically leaped at Anath, aiming to spear him through. Anath barely got his own sword up in time to stop the blow from becoming lethal. Marin rebounded and flicked his sword in a shallow arch. A long slice suddenly appeared in Anath’s side and sent him stumbling back. Moira knew she cried out, but it was drowned by the excited speculation of the guards. A few cheered, some booed, but all appeared thrilled. Sakhr stood at the head of the circle, his arms folded over his chest, a speculative gleam in his eyes. Moira clutched desperately at Nasir, her eyes locked on the circle. “Please,” she begged him, “stop this!” Even to her, it was clear Anath was flagging. He circled Marin but one side of his body was practically immobile from his wound, and though he was an expert with the sword, he didn’t have the same amount of energy Lord Marin did. His earlier fight against Savas was taking its toll. “I can’t,” Nasir whispered back, wincing as Marin got in another hit, this one to Anath’s shoulder. “It’s sanctioned by the king. There’s no turning back. Besides, even if I could stop it, Marin would get you and Anath would kill me if I allowed that to happen.” The two men continued battling within the circle. Anath attacked, feinted left, and barely managed to duck the blade of Marin’s sword when it came down. Then it was Marin’s turn to come forward and attack, only each of his attempts seemed to be far more successful than those made by Anath. Anath’s movements just weren’t as quick, each attack just a little less accurate. And with each missed blow, time was running out. Anath would die and she would have to watch it. Tears were rolling down her cheeks when Marin moved suddenly forward and to the right, neatly herding Anath toward the guards even as he leapt to avoid them. At the same time Marin’s sword engaged him, forcing Anath not only to fight the sword off but also to avoid the grasping hands of the guards. It was just too much. Their swords locked. Anath held on to his sword with one hand. His other he used to beat back the interfering guards. His jaw was clenched and his eyes glittered as he glared into Marin’s face. But it was a lost cause. Marin grinned, and with a sharp twist of his wrist he whipped Anath’s sword from his hand and sent it flying through the crowd to land with a clatter behind them on the floor near the wall. No one went to fetch it. “Now,” Marin said, taking another step forward and forcing Anath to back even closer toward the men. “You die—and I take everything you ever had, you southern mongrel.” He attacked again, his sword aiming smartly for Anath’s chest. When his sword landed, Anath was no longer there.

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Ducking, Anath rolled to the ground and popped up behind and to the left of Marin. He left blood trailing behind him on the floor, but it hardly seemed to matter. Suddenly the fight took on a new feel. The desperateness was gone. Now it was Marin who had to work so hard to get in his hits, because Anath was never quite where he thought. Each time his sword lashed out Anath had already ducked, escaping his attacks again and again. Anath grinned back at him once, after having whirled away and appearing halfway across the circle from him. “Tired, Lord Marin?” Marin gritted his teeth and came forward again, his sword still up and ready. He slashed it heavily through the air in the general direction of Anath and actually managed to get a hit to his opposite shoulder, but it was shallow and hardly a scratch. Anath didn’t even seem to feel it. Moira squeezed Nasir’s hand, needing to know she wasn’t alone. When she looked at him, Nasir no longer looked as worried as she felt. He looked relieved, as if everything were equal between the two in the circle. Turning back, she was shocked to see Anath once again penned in against the crowd, only this time he wasn’t trying to escape as Marin approached, once again smiling in victory. “It’s time,” he said, even as he struck. Marin’s sword flashed, and before Moira could even guess what Anath was about to do, he ducked, threw off Marin’s balance by kicking his knee and reached up to grasp the blade of his sword. He then ripped it away from Marin and threw it over the guards. Marin stood where he was for a moment, empty-handed, his face darkening with fury. Screaming in rage, he jumped on Anath, his fists lashing out but doing little damage. Nasir turned and grinned at her, his eyes sparkling as if he were being told some glorious joke, a joke no one had bothered to share with her. When Moira tried to turn away from the fight, he held her still, forcing her to watch. “Don’t you dare! He’s doing this for you. He’s fighting for you!” “He’s going to get himself killed!” she yelled over the cheers, fear making her voice sharp. Nasir shook his head, his eyes glittering with excitement as he watched the fight. “He’s humiliating Marin. Look how he chases after Anath. Notice how few hits he’s getting in, how clumsily he moves. I wondered why Anath was fighting so badly with his sword. Now I know.” Marin managed to get in a solid blow to Anath’s ribs. Moira winced. “Well, I don’t!”

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“Marin would never have accepted the fight if it were hand-to-hand. Anath had to allow Marin to take his sword. Only then would weaponless fighting be permissible. Look at him…” Moira turned just in time. She held tightly to Nasir’s arm as Anath approached Marin, blood making his shirt stick to his side as he lunged for the other man. Marin ducked at just the right time and managed to get Anath pinned beneath him. Moira’s knees went weak. Anath grappled with Marin, got his hand around the other man’s neck and headbutted him. There was a loud, thick thud, a sickening sound that reminded her of heavy fruit falling to the kitchen floor. Marin reared up, his eyes widening a split-second before his forehead broke out in streams of blood and he fell backward. Anath came down on top of him, his eyes wild and his teeth bared as he leaned down, his lips almost brushing Marin’s ear. “You don’t deserve her!” He held Marin’s head in his hands as his breath hissed out between his teeth. When he moved, it was so sudden and fast, Moira flinched. It wasn’t until she noticed the awkward angle of Marin’s head that she realized Anath had broken his neck. There was utter silence around the room. No one said a word as he got to his feet, his chest heaving with exertion, fire in his eyes. King Sakhr raised his brows, a small smile on his lips. He motioned to his guards. “You may remove the body.” He turned to Anath. “So it seems this is settled. For now.” Anath inclined his head. “Then we can continue with business?” Sakhr motioned for the guards to disperse and stepped closer to Anath. “You will continue in your current position. I trust—” Anath’s chest still heaved as he rasped, “I wish to retire.” King Sakhr fell silent. “What?” “I’m going to retire.” King Sakhr’s eyes widened. “Retire? You’ve a web around me so extensive I can’t even hope to ever understand all it encompasses. And you wish to retire?” “There’s another who would serve you well,” Anath continued. “Perhaps even better than I. You’re acquainted with Lord Nasir, I believe. He would suit your needs very well. And he’s far more devious than I ever was.” Moira felt the wave of shock go through Nasir and then it was her turn to hold him up. “Breathe,” she reminded him, wrapping her arm around his waist. “And don’t you dare fall.” He smiled weakly at her but his eyes were all for King Sakhr, who was looking at him curiously.

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“Your protégé, I assume.” The king’s head tipped to the side, considering. “In addition, the man who interfered on my behalf when Lord Jahan attempted to run me through. Yes, I know of Lord Nasir. The two of us have much to talk about, I believe.” Anath clasped his hands behind his back and gazed fully at Nasir. “He has the energy and drive I find myself to be lacking lately. And he’s the man who arranged the very extensive network of spies we already have in place, my king. I believe he would be of great use to you.” Turning from Nasir, Sakhr asked curiously, “What will you do without court intrigue and politics, Master Anath? And I do intend to grant you a title, no matter what you choose. After your service through King Haidar’s reign, you deserve it.” Anath bowed his head. “I’ll retire, as I stated, and return to my trade.” This time, when he looked over, his eyes were for Moira and Moira alone. “I find I’m anxious for the quiet life, now that I have something to keep boredom at bay.” King Sakhr looked skeptical. “And she’s able to do that? All by herself?” “She is and then some, my king.” Anath’s lips twitched. “Moira, do come. I have need of you.” Moira eagerly moved to obey him. “Wait—” Sakhr’s arm went out, halting her progress as she attempted to pass him. “Come here, slave.” Moira paled as the king reached for her. She barely managed to keep from flinching away but she stared at Anath, needing at least that small connection to him. “Look at me,” King Sakhr ordered harshly, grasping her chin and turning her head so she was forced to meet his eyes. He studied her for a moment. “I could take you.” She felt the tears begin again, almost immediately. “I could,” he said again, his jaw jutting out arrogantly. “I am king. Tell me why I should let you remain with him when you’re obviously such a treasure.” “I love him,” she said simply, hoarse from the fear lodged tight in her throat. “It’s the need speaking.” “No.” Moira shook her head. “I loved him before he ever took me to his bed. Please, don’t take me from him.” “You served him and spied on me. I think that should grant me a few liberties with you.” And this time, when he moved his hand and brushed her cheek, Moira couldn’t hide her reaction. She cringed. “Moira,” Anath warned darkly, taking a step forward, his jaw clenching. “She’s so wild,” the king marveled, his eyes going wide as he took a step back from her. His hand fell away as he slowly shook his head in confusion. “Why is she still so wild? You’ve had her all this time, yet it’s as if she’s new to touch.”

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Anath crooked his finger at her. Moira went to him as quickly as she could, before the king could contradict the order. When she fell against his chest and his arm caught her, she snuggled as close as she could manage and held on to him tightly. “Why is she still so wild?” the king demanded, raising his voice. “She’s not. She’s merely skittish because of past treatment from Lord Marin.” Anath bowed his head and rested his chin in her hair. “And though it pains me to deny my sovereign anything, even you could not take her from me without a fight challenge. The law is clear. Besides which, she’d never survive the separation.” King Sakhr snorted in disbelief. “You jest.” Anath stared at his king, so solemn the other man took a step back. “No, my king. I do not.” Nasir’s tone of voice was just as sobering. “She would not survive.” King Sakhr looked between them, unconvinced. Anath sighed. “If you care to hear the tale, I’d be pleased to tell you of her origins if you’ll call a healer. I think I’ll need stitches.” King Sakhr called for one of his guards and the man immediately left on a mission for a healer. Turning back to Anath, Nasir and Moira, Sakhr nodded. “Yes. Tell me this story. I think I’m very curious.” While they waited for the healer, Nasir and Anath told their king the entire story.

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Chapter Eighteen Anath pulled Moira into his arms the minute he had the door shut on his apartments. And other than a slightly surprised look on her face she stood perfectly still against him. After a while, she shifted slightly and said, “Is it over? Can you explain it all to me now?” He pulled her in tighter, winced at the resulting pain in his side and sighed. “I’ll tell you anything you wish. Only let us do it in bed. You can brush my hair.” She laughed softly as he dragged her behind him to the bedroom. She had to help him off with his shirt and she clucked her tongue in concern as she again saw the stitches running up his side. “So close,” she murmured, stepping back and waiting for him to crawl into bed. “It was so close, Anath. A little deeper and it would have been over. A little farther back and he could have damaged your spine…” She shook her head slowly. Anath looked at her over his shoulder as he flopped down on his stomach. “Does my health and safety mean so much to you?” She dropped her eyes to the floor and toed the carpeting. “You know how much I love you.” He smiled at her as he brought his hand up and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Moira, get the brush.” She went to his bathroom and came back carrying his brush and also a small bottle of oil. Setting both items on the table beside the bed, she climbed up on the mattress beside him, pulled his hair down his back and picked up the brush. She began with slow, even strokes. “Tell.” He sighed and closed his eyes, becoming more languid with each stroke of the brush. “The position of queen is passed most often from mother to daughter. King is an appointed position, and happens to be anyone she marries.” “I get that.” She continued brushing for a moment then paused. “She ate her mother’s heart.” “Yes. It’s how the knowledge of the one before passes on. She has her mother’s wisdom, as well as her grandmother’s and so forth. The king, as well. It’s why the monarchy is so able to deal with problems that may come. There’s little known about the actual process, however. After the ceremony, no monarch speaks of it.”

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Reaching over, Moira uncapped the oil and upended it until several drops lined her palm. She set it aside and rubbed her hands together, then smoothed them over his hair. He immediately smelled a light, spicy scent. “So when they begin to wear down,” she said, making him groan as she rubbed her fingers along his nape and beneath his hair, “their daughter will come forth with a husband and kill her parents.” “Yes.” “It seems a very violent system to me.” She picked up the brush and continued. “But effective,” he said, closing his eyes and sighing. “Gods, you do that well. I don’t think I could move even if I wished to.” “Then don’t wish to. Tell me about after. After you fought Lord Marin. The king offered you your same job. Tell me what all that meant.” And this was the tricky part, because Anath wasn’t sure of her reaction. The palace was all she knew. Her home was here and he wasn’t at all sure how she’d react when he suggested change. “He offered me the position of chief advisor,” he began carefully. “I declined, since I intend to retire.” “Retire where?” “To the south, where I come from. I have an estate there.” The brush halted, halfway buried in his hair. “And where will I be?” “With me, wherever I happen to be. Does this displease you?” The brush continued its journey down his hair. “No. I don’t care where we go as long as I’m with you.” He sighed and relaxed again. “Then you’re not upset you don’t belong to the king? He wanted you. Very much.” “But he won’t take me from you,” she said immediately, a note of panic in her voice. “You said you won’t allow it.” Anath looked over his shoulder at her. “No,” he agreed. “He won’t. I would never agree to part with you. Besides, Nasir will move on him quickly now and then he’ll have more lovers than he knows what to do with.” “Really?” She smiled hesitantly and absently fingered the bristles of the brush. “Really.” She waved the brush, relieved. “Turn your head, please.” He complied and folded his hands beneath his pillow. “So you’ll be content to go south with me? It’ll be very different than it is here. The people are more open. Our beliefs differ, as well.” “How’s it different?” She set the brush aside again, gathered his hair in her hands and parted it into three sections. He could feel her fingers moving deftly through his hair as she braided.

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He hesitated before speaking. “I’ll have different work there. I’ll return to my trade and take commissions.” “Commissions?” She paused again. “Doing what?” “I’m a glass-smith. At least, I was. Long ago, before I ever became involved in court politics.” “And that’s what you intend to return to?” It sounded almost…incredulous. “You had something different in mind?” he asked stiffly. “My trade disagrees with you?” It did with most in the palace. That he had a trade at all was considered common. “No.” Her fingers began moving again. “It’s just that I hadn’t realized you had an artistic side. It’s alarming, Anath. Sometimes I feel like I know nothing about you.” “We’ll learn about each other.” He made himself relax again. “Besides, my profession hardly changes things. There are other differences to contend with in the south. The weather, for instance. My tribe is just over the border, near the desert. We sleep often through the day, and go about our business in the early evening and night because of the heat. And it’s far less populated there.” “That’s okay. I don’t mind.” “And you’ll be considered a concubine, rather than a slave.” He felt her stiffen, then she was reaching over and he knew she was tying his hair off. She finished, dropped the thick tail of his braid and flopped down beside him. She stared into his face and said, “What does that mean?” He smiled at the vexation in her voice. “Does it really sound so terrible, my treasure? Do you despise the idea?” “I don’t know what a concubine is, and I don’t understand how that’ll change my status. I’m considered a slave to your people. I know that and I understand it now. To change things again…” She shook her head. “It’s difficult. And a little scary.” He laid his hand on the side of her face and gently traced his thumb over the soft slope of her cheekbone. “A concubine is a beloved. As you are mine. Slavery is a different status in the south. It comes with more protection, more understanding and the realization that the slave is still a sentient, thinking being.” “Unlike here,” she filled in. “Unlike here,” he agreed. “A concubine is the one chosen by her master as his permanent bedmate. As you are mine.” “So I guess we’re going south, then.” “Yes.” Then she smiled and snuggled closer. “I love you, Anath.” He held on to her, once again feeling the familiar panic that had wrapped around his heart when the king had touched her. He squeezed her tighter and said, “I love you too, Moira. I love you too.”

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Chapter Nineteen They stayed ten weeks. Ten long weeks while Anath prepared things for their departure and assisted Nasir in assuming his old position. Ten weeks while he assured himself the new reign began with a smooth transition. And it did. Nasir fell into his role easily after having assisted Anath for so many years. There were questions, however, inevitable questions that would often keep the two men up late on many nights. Their conversations were quiet, dealing with the minutest of details, things Moira would have thought hardly important. However, from the way they discussed them, each tiny concern was of far more relevance than she ever suspected. King Sakhr visited them once and she saw how Anath tensed, as if he expected to be attacked by his sovereign. When she asked him about it later, he pulled her to him and took her roughly against the wall. He didn’t even bother undressing either of them, just pushed her to the wall, hiked her dress up while he untied his trousers and took her so hard and passionately that Moira had a hard time walking afterward. But she’d smiled. It’d been hard not to after being loved so well. She felt quite sure all was going well—the travel arrangements were coming along, the transition was going smoothly and Nasir was more than prepared for the job— when the very worst happened. She began to fall ill. The first time, it struck out of the blue. She fell to her knees in the early morning just after having eaten. She was sick right there on the floor, nearly incapacitated by the nausea that hit her. She wasn’t able to stop until her stomach was completely empty. Then, after getting shakily to her feet, she cleaned up the mess and did her best to recover. She didn’t mention the incident to Anath when he returned later that morning, deciding it was just an isolated incident and hardly worth worrying him over. She threw up again that evening and then again two days later, at midday. When that happened, she gave up on kidding herself and admitted she was ill. Just how ill was too frightening to contemplate. All she could think of was the multitude of diseases that had run rampant through her home on Earth. But there were none of the same diseases on Kinnai, which meant it had to be something else. She prayed it was nothing more than a food allergy. The next day she felt slightly better. She kept her breakfast down, and then lunch. She was feeling nearly jubilant, sure she’d kicked her bit of sickness when it hit her all of a sudden at dinner. She dropped her knife and jumped to her feet.

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Anath raised his head in surprise. “Moira—” She didn’t wait for the rest in her rush to the bathroom, knowing it would be a miracle if she actually made it. She did, but it was a close thing. And then Anath was there, standing over her and pulling her hair away while she vomited. When she was done, her body completely drained, he wordlessly handed her a cup of water, watched while she rinsed her mouth, then lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. “How long?” he asked tightly, setting her down as if she were made of spun glass. “You’ve been acting strangely all week. How long has this been going on?” She rolled her head weakly against the pillows and tried to curl into a ball. When he prevented that she almost argued, then fell silent as he removed her clothes. “A few days. But don’t worry. I’ll be better any day now.” He lifted an eyebrow in disbelief, but wisely remained silent as he finished with her clothes. He tossed his to the floor and got into bed with her. When he curled up beside her, pulling her to his chest, Moira thought there was no way she’d be able to fall asleep, not with her stomach in such turmoil. She was completely wrong. He was still there when she woke in the morning. He looked at her questioningly for a moment. She said nothing, then remembered and shook her head. “I’m okay. Maybe in an hour, though. Sometimes it hits later.” He nodded, got out of bed and went to the bathroom. He came back with a damp cloth and proceeded to bathe her on the bed. And because Moira was feeling weak and wimpy, she allowed it. When he was done, he tossed the cloth to the floor and climbed up on the bed with her. He pushed her to her back, laid her limbs out straight and, as if she were something newly discovered, he examined her body with his fingers, going over every square inch of it. Moira watched him, sometimes smiling at the concentration he used while examining her, other times frowning by how he was behaving. What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with me? The two questions marched through her brain repeatedly but she had an answer for neither, and she wasn’t going to kill herself trying to find something that wasn’t there. “You’re fuller here.” He cupped first her right breast and then her left. He tweaked her nipple, then bent down and slipped it into his mouth, where he both sucked and laved it with his tongue. Moira forgot about everything in the world except what he was doing to her. Because it felt too divine. He switched from one breast to the other, giving them both the same treatment. And every few minutes, his eyes would flicker up to hers and watch as she reacted.

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She almost came just from his mouth at her breasts. Finally, when she was moaning and writhing, her breath whooshing out of her lungs like she’d run miles, he lifted his head. “Your nipples are very sensitive. They peak faster. Very pretty, my pet. Very pretty. Did this happen before?” Moira had a difficult time following the conversation. She rolled her head on the pillow, felt the tight coil of desire deep in her belly and knew it wouldn’t take much to send her over. And he was leaning on his elbow, talking. Talking when they could so easily be doing something else, something far more pleasurable. “What?” His mouth tipped up at the corners. “I asked if your nipples became this sensitive with your first pregnancy. Was it like this when you carried Jonas?” She froze and for a whole minute, didn’t move. Nipples…pregnancy…Jonas? “What are you saying?” “You honestly don’t know?” She shook her head but she did know. Except it wasn’t possible. Marin had taken care of that. “I can’t be pregnant. Marin ruined—” “And I had you fixed,” he interrupted, pulling her over and hauling her beneath him. “A lock prevents conception and ovulation. I had it removed. You now carry my babe in your womb. Do you regret it? It can be undone.” The tears started before she even realized she wanted to cry. She dashed her knuckles beneath her eyes and tried to get her thoughts together and out of the swirling mess they’d become. “But…but I can’t be pregnant!” He groaned and buried his face in her hair. “Shh, love. All will be well. We can have it undone if you’re truly so upset—” Moira nearly wrenched herself away from him. “No one’s touching my baby!” He blinked in surprise then he smiled again, just the tiniest of smiles, but there was satisfaction on his face like she’d never seen before. “No worries. We won’t do anything you don’t wish.” “How?” she demanded, sitting up and staring at him. “How did you do it? Is it because of your rhyve?” He shook his head. “I had the lock removed when you were with the healers. While you were gripped by the need,” he reminded her softly. “Once removed, the body resumes its normal functions. I said nothing, in case it didn’t work.” In case she’d remained barren. But she hadn’t, and now the sickness made sense. “So I’m pregnant,” she said with awe. “You’re pregnant,” he agreed softly, pushing himself up so that he sat across from her, his legs folded. “You’re pleased, are you not?’

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She laughed even as her arms curved around her belly. Her head went back and she felt lighter and freer than ever before. “Dear God, I’m happy! I don’t think I’ve been happier. Ever!” “Ah, so these are tears of joy.” He pushed to his knees and towered over her, his fingers picking up the traces of moisture from her cheeks. “Are you truly so pleased then? You realize our children will be viewed as tainted by many of the Kinnains.” “But they won’t be slaves.” “No, they won’t be slaves. And among those in the south, they’ll merely be the children of my concubine. They’ll be of my line.” “Then it’s okay. They’ll be okay.” And they would. With luck, her children would grow up happy and healthy, untouched by the diseases that had existed on Earth and taken Jonas from her. Unable to stay separated from him any longer, Moira threw herself at his chest and held on to him as tightly as she could manage. “When can we leave?” He kissed her temple and stroked her hair. “Soon, love. Soon we’ll leave, and I’ll take you to your home.”

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About the Author M.A. Everaux has never been to Canada, nor has she met a werewolf. Yet. She hopes to head an expedition soon, and in the meantime, spends most of her time at her computer, clacking away and putting the things that pop into her head on paper. The author welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Also by M.A. Everaux North Wolf

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