Between Two Evils - Chapter 9
Nov. 9th, 2008 05:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
botiasLotor's plans re: Allura? Situation Normal. How to rate this chapter? Some smooches, some mild violence and peril, some cross-dressing. No brothels yet.
Previous Chapters Here
Allura followed Lotor's gaze and saw that while she had been otherwise engaged, the character of the city changed yet again; there were now kiosks and shops and open-air restaurants and everywhere masked people, overflowing into the streets. Their vehicle, already moving at a sedate pace, slowed still more.
To her surprise she saw someone dressed as Zarkon. The mask he wore was exaggerated—and it was all the more unmistakable for it. She looked back at Lotor.
He shook his head. “During the festival a person can be anyone. I could punish him—as would the rest of the crowd—if he were doing a bad impression. It looks to me like he's got it right.”
It was true. People were bowing exaggeratedly low as the figure strode forward, his robes stretched to bursting with padded 'muscle'. A few even threw themselves down to be trod over or fell dramatically when he pointed his scepter at them. Allura made herself look away then, until he was lost in the crowd; even the clownish imitation stirred deeply unpleasant feelings.
She shook her head, seeing one fantastic sight after another. “It's like a fairy tale,” she murmured.
“I doubt you will like it later. The festival doesn't officially begin until moon rise and will go on for weeks. There will be a great deal of drink and other intoxicants, and when you combine that with the anonymity of the masks...” He shrugged. Allura bit her lip. Then she felt his hands close around her ribs, just under her breasts. He shifted her from the window and settled her against him; her hips and belly rubbed against his in a warm, silky slide.
“I foresee us having an early evening,” he told her with a straight face. “That big bed is calling to me. The one in my quarters was only ever intended to sleep one.” His gaze fixed on her mouth just as a teasing fingertip ran up the back of her calf; he lingered in the sensitive crease behind her knee, escalating to a palm when he stroked up her thigh. She felt a shiver of pleasure at his touch. He smiled then, letting his mischief show; the upholstery scrunched as he settled them deeper into it. “I know you find beds mundane,” he murmured, “perhaps we can... explore the possibilities on the way home.”
Allura stared at him; he looked so bright and cold against the rich, dark leather. No flush ever showed through his silver-blue skin, but the heat and life beneath it warmed her where her body touched his. She already knew how it would be between them, how it would feel. All that muscle and power under her, she would feel every shift, every shudder under her palms—and deep inside, in a place that sent pleasure singing along every nerve and fibre of her body. The warmth of his amber gaze, and the sly, pleased look on his face said he was enjoying his own imaginings.
She shut her eyes. It would be a long, slow ride. Her prince might be quick with a sword, but he liked to wallow in his pleasures; even more so now than in their first days together. She wasn't sure who moved, but their foreheads brushed and then their noses.
Not that he was her prince, except in a strictly legal—he kissed her, the press of his mouth firm and soft at the same time. He pressed a little more, and she opened to him. His hands came to her face, thumbs brushing at the corners of her mouth even as his tongue slid past her lips for a leisurely stroke against her own. The taste of his mouth was almost as heady as the wine...
The wine. The reminder of his little joke brought a surge of anger that provided welcome clarity. When he finally broke the kiss and set her back from him, she was pleased to see that he seemed to be more affected by their embrace than she was.
Lotor looked discomfited for a moment, then he regained his self-satisfied equilibrium.
He flipped the lid off the box on the seat next to him and pulled out something that flashed scarlet. Smirking, he planted it on her face like a pie in a village farce.
Allura jumped in surprise, and then realized she could still see. It was a mask.
“Let me see you,” the woman said.
She'd already pulled off her own mask and was sweeping back the veil on her stylish little hat.
Flickering golden light from the wall sconces that lit the colonnaded walkway revealed a glowing complexion, a determined jaw, and a full mouth that twitched with private laughter. Allura was not surprised to see that she was human—Nephalem's population was extraordinarily cosmopolitan, but its ruling classes were not.
Lotor obediently pushed back his hood and removed his mask to smile down at her. He inclined his head slightly. “Lady Admes, you're looking very well. How did you know it was me?”
Admes seemed to find this amusing; she laughed, low and warm, and dropped into a curtsy. “Shoulders like that are not soon forgotten,” she said easily, smiling up at Lotor with sparkling dark eyes.
Allura tensed, suddenly pleased that she was wearing a mask.
Once she had the mask on, the beautiful scarves she wore had made a new kind of sense: they covered every strand of her hair from her crown to where it fell down her back, bound in place with strands of jewels and a simple gold coronet. She was quite anonymous—and apparently invisible. After one glance that had not been unkind, but that left Allura certain Admes knew what sort of underclothes she was wearing, the noblewoman had ignored her completely—and so was Lotor doing for that matter.
She was relieved to avoid awkward questions but also disappointed. She suddenly realized that it had been some time since she'd had anyone but Lotor to talk to.
“Now tell me everything.” Admes said, reaching to touch his arm, her eyes brightening more at the prospect. “You would not believe the rumors I've been hearing! I heard that you had thrown over your engagement to wed some impoverished title—that the lost technology of Arus has been flying about trouncing everything the empire can throw at it!”
At the mention of her warcraft—and herself, Allura blinked and looked at Lotor. His amused, indulgent expression didn't change. “The lost technology of Arus,” he scoffed. “Next you'll tell me that someone's spotted Father in trousers.”
“Any truth to any of it?”
“I am wed. No one you know.”
“Really!”
“Really.”
“Sahlia will not be pleased to hear that,” Admes confided, “I suspect she thought it was all a part of the negotiations. And what is she like, your wife?”
“She absolutely adores me, doting on me day and night.”
Admes opened her eyes wide, “Nearly half the attention you deserve!” She seemed to find this as diverting as Lotor did.
Allura quelled the urge to give him an 'adoring' punch, half as hard as he deserved. To this end, she looked out onto the courtyard instead of at her extremely annoying husband.
As her eyes adjusted, the starlight revealed the smooth shapes of a carefully manicured garden and a large fountain.
The night was warm, and the air was was redolent with the scents of warm stone and herbs. She let the soothing patter and play of the water drown out their conversation. She thought she could hear, faintly, the sounds of revelry, either from the elaborate ball being held here or the party going on out in the streets.
She found herself drifting toward the garden, pulled in by the romantic scene, coming to a stop beside a statue of a lion. Unlike the regal pair that had framed Admes' door, this one was 'dying', its head resting on its forelegs, a memorial to fallen soldiers.
A small sound made her look down just as it lifted a head wider than her shoulders and looked at her. Allura froze.
The statue yawned, revealing teeth the size of her fingers and a wide curl of barbed tongue. The great jaws came together again with an audible snick. As it blinked at her with growing interest, she felt a rush of adrenaline, and wonder, and primal recognition.
Matheus threw in his hand and stood up from the table.
“Thank you, come again!” one of his friends quipped, raking in the pot. Matheus only nodded, grimacing behind his mask. It wasn't the first time he'd lost a tidy sum, but the twist of panic in his stomach was a new thing.
At first he hadn't quite believed it. The idea that that ruddy little bean counter would steal from someone like him, could steal from someone like him, and get away with it seemed too fantastic to be real. Nevertheless, as the weeks passed since his late parents' accountant had disappeared, along with their legal executor, the balance in his accounts had gotten lower and lower, and nothing had replenished them again.
His eighteenth birthday had come and gone two days ago. He should have been taking over the reins of his inheritance; instead, he was coming to terms with the fact that most of it was gone. If that weren't bad enough, his new loss seemed to renew the old one. The nightmares had started again.
Embarrassing as it all was, it was past time he confided in Admes.
As soon as he admitted that, he felt immediate relief. Though more than a decade older and only remotely related, Admes had taken him in hand after his parents died, and, unlike others who had tried to befriend him, had never pressed for lurid details or given him false sympathy.
His friend and confidant had left the game abruptly a short time ago, pleading the need for fresh air; the east garden would be the best place to look. Unfortunately. Those damn cats gave him the crawlies for all that Admes insisted that they were harmless. Mostly. Matheus made his way through the gaming tables with a new sense of purpose and skirted the dance floor. He had almost reached the end of the darkened hallway that would take him to the garden when he heard Admes' voice—and then another.
It was disorienting, a voice from his nightmares that sent a wash of cold over his skin. He shook his head, his steps slowing. It couldn't be.
His feet continued to carry him forward until he stood in the open doorway watching his best friend share a joke with his parents' murderer.
Lotor glanced over his shoulder at Allura. Or rather tried to. Frowning, he turned and looked over his other shoulder.
His flash of annoyance changed to something else. Allura had wandered off, a tendency that had once been to his advantage.
He watched her, so elegant and still, looking down at that great beast at her side and wished he could see her face. He'd looked forward to seeing her expression when she saw them for the first time.
It was not the first time things had gone ary where Allura was concerned and probably would not be the last. He felt a fierce rush of pride and pleasure; she must have been surprised at the very least, yet she showed no sign of fear or shrinking away.
Allura was every inch the queen she would one day become—his queen. He smiled, vaguely aware that Admes had stopped speaking. He had long dreamed of the throne, well-pleased with his destiny. Until the day he'd laid eyes on her, he'd thought nothing would be more sublime than being crowned King, but Allura completed his perfect dream in some way, re-doubled it.
The lion yawned then, displaying an impressive set of teeth that gleamed in the lamplight.
Lotor scowled.
Admes' little pets were well-behaved, but wasn't that far too close? Really, if there were more than a foot between the tip of her delicate slipper and its massive paw, he'd build a home for halfwits.
“Back away, Allura. Slowly, if you please. Do not stop until I say.”
To his relief, Allura did as she was told, keeping her attention on the lion all the while. Lotor did the same. The lion seemed to find Allura as interesting as she did him; it sat up.
When it shifted its weight in her direction, he drew his sword. Behind him he heard Admes protest.
The animal seemed not to care for the sound of the blade. It turned its attention to him and surged to its feet with a snarl; the blue light made bright pinpoints in its eyes. Behind the big cat, no small number of what had looked like mounds of vegetation lifted their heads; the seemingly empty garden was suddenly full of shining eyes and annoyed huffs.
“Lie down, Nero—there's a good puss.”
Admes bustled past him, and before long seemed to have things well in hand. Lotor risked an annoyed glance over at his wife. “Must you pet every—”
Allura was gone.
At first she was barely aware when the hand lifted from her nose and mouth, her head drooping on her neck. Then, as if a switch had been struck, she arched back and began to pull in deep, gasping breaths; there was a dull red flash when her head struck against the hard, rough wall at her back. The pain sharpened her awareness still more, allowing her to focus on the pale mask that floated in front of her, its expression cruel in its very neutrality in the face of her struggle.
She remembered the lion, remembered bumping into something—someone, a hard arm banding her ribs and a hand clamping over her mouth before she could turn completely. Her cry of surprise had been drowned out by the angry animal's full-throated snarl. The last thing she remembered clearly was the stranger's hold tightening as Lotor ran past the dark alcove where they hid. Her abductor's breath had been so loud in her own ears that she had felt astounded and dismayed that Lotor hadn't heard it.
The white mask was pushed back then to reveal the face of young man who hardly looked any older than herself. His face might have been handsome if it weren't tight and twisted with anger. Allura felt a mix of relief and confusion. She had never seen him before in her life. How could he be so angry at her?
Then her own mask was tugged down off of her face, the stiff fabric crumpling under her chin. As she watched, the anger disappeared from her captor's face, replaced with something like astonishment.
It wasn't the first time someone had reacted to her looks in that way, even worldly Lotor had stared—but rarely had she cared for it less. She looked around then, instinctively looking for aid. They were in some dark narrow street or alleyway: light shone from second-story windows, a single lamp lit a solid-looking, iron-studded door, but other than that, the street level was dark and shuttered—empty.
She turned her attention back to her captor. “I am his wife—Prince Lotor's wife,” she gasped, “Take me back, and I won't tell him anything.”
Instead of looking intimidated at the sound of Lotor's name, the young man's look shifted to an nasty sneer.
Oh, dear.
Allura went still. He spoke then, his smooth tones having the same distinctive lilt as Admes'. “He always did have excellent taste.”
He stroked a finger over the smooth, gleaming stones at her throat. “If you are the Demon's wife, then why are you attired as a slave?”
Allura frowned in confusion, still breathing deeply. He began to look very angry again, and the hand on her shoulder tightened painfully.
“If you were his wife, I would leave you dead in the council square!” Looking into her eyes, he drew a finger across her throat. “Perhaps, I would cut you here, like he did my mother.” He nearly spat the words. He moved his finger just below her right breast and slashed a burning line over the rise of her ribs and across her torso. She gasped and shrank from the touch. “And here, like he did my father!”
Allura stared at him in mingled horror and disgust.
“Have you killed anyone before?” she asked in a small voice.
For a moment he actually looked taken aback, a lost boy rather than an angry man, even pulling back from her a bit. “No. But—”
“I have.” She brought her knee up between his legs with all her strength. When he wheezed and doubled over, she hesitated and then followed with a round house to the jaw that sent him the rest of way to his knees.
It hurt, and would hurt even more later, but it was worth it. Finally, someone making her very angry whom she could fight.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, threatening an innocent woman that way!” she said, with a final kick. Then she picked up her skirt and ran.
Allura emerged from the side street onto a wide boulevard, crowded with festival goers. Catching her breath, one hand pressed beneath her breasts, she looked around. To her relief, she saw strolling toward her a man that was nearly Lotor's size and height: he was wearing some sort of uniform and looking out over the colorful, rowdy throng with an air of watchfulness. Unlike everyone else in sight, he was not wearing a mask.
She quickly closed the distance between them and caught his attention with a hand on his arm. She pitched her voice to carry over blare of bands and noisemakers, and the noise of the crowd, “Please sir, I need help. I've been abducted.”
Allura saw the man's eyes drop to her necklace, but the concerned look on his face did not change. “Hold on, we'll get you straightened out,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile, and began to speak into a device on his shoulder. “Hey Carlie, I've got a stolen property over on Alverado--”
He turned his attention to her again, “Who did you say you belonged to?” he asked.
Before Allura could answer, she heard a voice behind her that raised the hair on the back of her neck.
“Go ahead, Starshine, tell the nice watchsir who you really belong to.” Her abductor had caught up with her. His tone was light and condescending, but she could hear the anger underneath.
Allura spun around and scowled at the nasty young man, or rather at his mask. She pointed at him, “Arrest that man.”
Speaking over her, he came closer as if she hadn't spoke. “I'm sorry, watchsir. She's managed to get a bit full of the moon already, I'm afraid.”
She turned back to the 'watchsir', and saw with a sinking heart that her captor's confidence and cultured tones had hurt her case.
“Hold on,” he said, and took his hand off the device on his shoulder. “Who do you belong to?” he repeated, frowning a little now.
Allura stared up at him in dismay, seeing the trap. Nasty Man had seen her with Lotor, but the officer had not. She could also see that every second that she searched for some plausible lie was increasing the man's doubts.
“Prince Lotor,” she said, without much hope.
The officer's brows shot up, and he laughed. “The Prince Imperial's are you?”
“It's the truth! I'm Prince Lotor's wife!” she said, as she felt the Nasty Man's hand close none too gently on her arm.
The officer laughed still more. “And I'm the Bower Fairy!”
Allura literally growled with frustration as she was pulled away. The last thing she saw before her abductor yanked the hood of his cloak over her head, was the burly guard turning to show the gauzy wings he was wearing on his back, shimmying his shoulders to make them flap.
Lotor found himself moving faster and faster until he was nearly running when burst out onto the dance floor. No Allura.
He caught sight of a gaming room. He ran to it and looked around the tables. No sign of her. As he scanned it, one of the occupants stood, masked face directed at him. As more stood, Lotor remembered he was not wearing his own mask.
Scowling, he spun on his heel, and dashed back through the ballroom towards the entrance, shoving open the huge doors before the servants could get to them. Standing at the top of the stone steps he searched the crowded square outside for a shimmering scarlet mask and silver-blue gown.
With a tight, clawing feeling in his gut that stifled his breath, he surveyed the noisy throng of hundreds, perhaps thousands that filled the huge square alone. The instant he realized the feeling was panic, he shoved it away. He would find her.
He turned back, unsurprised to find Admes following in his wake. What did surprise him was the lost, even shell-shocked, expression on his host's face.
Admes had lost someone too.
“You know who took her,” he breathed.
Admes looked up, thick, dark lashes spiky with tears. “I'm so sorry, Lotor. Was she a particular favorite?”
“Who took her?” He closed his hand on Admes' shoulder, hard—he was at the end of his indulgence.
“M-Matheus is gone.”
Lotor froze.
“Matheus Aolani. They said he went to find me. I—”
Lotor was already turning away. “Contact the Regent now, and tell her to ground everything.”
For a moment Admes was stunned into silence. “At the start of festival!?”
“Tell her to do it," he snarled over his shoulder, "or she will need a new planet to hold festival next year.”
Chapter 10
Previous Chapters Here
Chapter 9
Allura followed Lotor's gaze and saw that while she had been otherwise engaged, the character of the city changed yet again; there were now kiosks and shops and open-air restaurants and everywhere masked people, overflowing into the streets. Their vehicle, already moving at a sedate pace, slowed still more.
To her surprise she saw someone dressed as Zarkon. The mask he wore was exaggerated—and it was all the more unmistakable for it. She looked back at Lotor.
He shook his head. “During the festival a person can be anyone. I could punish him—as would the rest of the crowd—if he were doing a bad impression. It looks to me like he's got it right.”
It was true. People were bowing exaggeratedly low as the figure strode forward, his robes stretched to bursting with padded 'muscle'. A few even threw themselves down to be trod over or fell dramatically when he pointed his scepter at them. Allura made herself look away then, until he was lost in the crowd; even the clownish imitation stirred deeply unpleasant feelings.
She shook her head, seeing one fantastic sight after another. “It's like a fairy tale,” she murmured.
“I doubt you will like it later. The festival doesn't officially begin until moon rise and will go on for weeks. There will be a great deal of drink and other intoxicants, and when you combine that with the anonymity of the masks...” He shrugged. Allura bit her lip. Then she felt his hands close around her ribs, just under her breasts. He shifted her from the window and settled her against him; her hips and belly rubbed against his in a warm, silky slide.
“I foresee us having an early evening,” he told her with a straight face. “That big bed is calling to me. The one in my quarters was only ever intended to sleep one.” His gaze fixed on her mouth just as a teasing fingertip ran up the back of her calf; he lingered in the sensitive crease behind her knee, escalating to a palm when he stroked up her thigh. She felt a shiver of pleasure at his touch. He smiled then, letting his mischief show; the upholstery scrunched as he settled them deeper into it. “I know you find beds mundane,” he murmured, “perhaps we can... explore the possibilities on the way home.”
Allura stared at him; he looked so bright and cold against the rich, dark leather. No flush ever showed through his silver-blue skin, but the heat and life beneath it warmed her where her body touched his. She already knew how it would be between them, how it would feel. All that muscle and power under her, she would feel every shift, every shudder under her palms—and deep inside, in a place that sent pleasure singing along every nerve and fibre of her body. The warmth of his amber gaze, and the sly, pleased look on his face said he was enjoying his own imaginings.
She shut her eyes. It would be a long, slow ride. Her prince might be quick with a sword, but he liked to wallow in his pleasures; even more so now than in their first days together. She wasn't sure who moved, but their foreheads brushed and then their noses.
Not that he was her prince, except in a strictly legal—he kissed her, the press of his mouth firm and soft at the same time. He pressed a little more, and she opened to him. His hands came to her face, thumbs brushing at the corners of her mouth even as his tongue slid past her lips for a leisurely stroke against her own. The taste of his mouth was almost as heady as the wine...
The wine. The reminder of his little joke brought a surge of anger that provided welcome clarity. When he finally broke the kiss and set her back from him, she was pleased to see that he seemed to be more affected by their embrace than she was.
Lotor looked discomfited for a moment, then he regained his self-satisfied equilibrium.
He flipped the lid off the box on the seat next to him and pulled out something that flashed scarlet. Smirking, he planted it on her face like a pie in a village farce.
Allura jumped in surprise, and then realized she could still see. It was a mask.
***
“Let me see you,” the woman said.
She'd already pulled off her own mask and was sweeping back the veil on her stylish little hat.
Flickering golden light from the wall sconces that lit the colonnaded walkway revealed a glowing complexion, a determined jaw, and a full mouth that twitched with private laughter. Allura was not surprised to see that she was human—Nephalem's population was extraordinarily cosmopolitan, but its ruling classes were not.
Lotor obediently pushed back his hood and removed his mask to smile down at her. He inclined his head slightly. “Lady Admes, you're looking very well. How did you know it was me?”
Admes seemed to find this amusing; she laughed, low and warm, and dropped into a curtsy. “Shoulders like that are not soon forgotten,” she said easily, smiling up at Lotor with sparkling dark eyes.
Allura tensed, suddenly pleased that she was wearing a mask.
Once she had the mask on, the beautiful scarves she wore had made a new kind of sense: they covered every strand of her hair from her crown to where it fell down her back, bound in place with strands of jewels and a simple gold coronet. She was quite anonymous—and apparently invisible. After one glance that had not been unkind, but that left Allura certain Admes knew what sort of underclothes she was wearing, the noblewoman had ignored her completely—and so was Lotor doing for that matter.
She was relieved to avoid awkward questions but also disappointed. She suddenly realized that it had been some time since she'd had anyone but Lotor to talk to.
“Now tell me everything.” Admes said, reaching to touch his arm, her eyes brightening more at the prospect. “You would not believe the rumors I've been hearing! I heard that you had thrown over your engagement to wed some impoverished title—that the lost technology of Arus has been flying about trouncing everything the empire can throw at it!”
At the mention of her warcraft—and herself, Allura blinked and looked at Lotor. His amused, indulgent expression didn't change. “The lost technology of Arus,” he scoffed. “Next you'll tell me that someone's spotted Father in trousers.”
“Any truth to any of it?”
“I am wed. No one you know.”
“Really!”
“Really.”
“Sahlia will not be pleased to hear that,” Admes confided, “I suspect she thought it was all a part of the negotiations. And what is she like, your wife?”
“She absolutely adores me, doting on me day and night.”
Admes opened her eyes wide, “Nearly half the attention you deserve!” She seemed to find this as diverting as Lotor did.
Allura quelled the urge to give him an 'adoring' punch, half as hard as he deserved. To this end, she looked out onto the courtyard instead of at her extremely annoying husband.
As her eyes adjusted, the starlight revealed the smooth shapes of a carefully manicured garden and a large fountain.
The night was warm, and the air was was redolent with the scents of warm stone and herbs. She let the soothing patter and play of the water drown out their conversation. She thought she could hear, faintly, the sounds of revelry, either from the elaborate ball being held here or the party going on out in the streets.
She found herself drifting toward the garden, pulled in by the romantic scene, coming to a stop beside a statue of a lion. Unlike the regal pair that had framed Admes' door, this one was 'dying', its head resting on its forelegs, a memorial to fallen soldiers.
A small sound made her look down just as it lifted a head wider than her shoulders and looked at her. Allura froze.
The statue yawned, revealing teeth the size of her fingers and a wide curl of barbed tongue. The great jaws came together again with an audible snick. As it blinked at her with growing interest, she felt a rush of adrenaline, and wonder, and primal recognition.
***
Matheus threw in his hand and stood up from the table.
“Thank you, come again!” one of his friends quipped, raking in the pot. Matheus only nodded, grimacing behind his mask. It wasn't the first time he'd lost a tidy sum, but the twist of panic in his stomach was a new thing.
At first he hadn't quite believed it. The idea that that ruddy little bean counter would steal from someone like him, could steal from someone like him, and get away with it seemed too fantastic to be real. Nevertheless, as the weeks passed since his late parents' accountant had disappeared, along with their legal executor, the balance in his accounts had gotten lower and lower, and nothing had replenished them again.
His eighteenth birthday had come and gone two days ago. He should have been taking over the reins of his inheritance; instead, he was coming to terms with the fact that most of it was gone. If that weren't bad enough, his new loss seemed to renew the old one. The nightmares had started again.
Embarrassing as it all was, it was past time he confided in Admes.
As soon as he admitted that, he felt immediate relief. Though more than a decade older and only remotely related, Admes had taken him in hand after his parents died, and, unlike others who had tried to befriend him, had never pressed for lurid details or given him false sympathy.
His friend and confidant had left the game abruptly a short time ago, pleading the need for fresh air; the east garden would be the best place to look. Unfortunately. Those damn cats gave him the crawlies for all that Admes insisted that they were harmless. Mostly. Matheus made his way through the gaming tables with a new sense of purpose and skirted the dance floor. He had almost reached the end of the darkened hallway that would take him to the garden when he heard Admes' voice—and then another.
It was disorienting, a voice from his nightmares that sent a wash of cold over his skin. He shook his head, his steps slowing. It couldn't be.
His feet continued to carry him forward until he stood in the open doorway watching his best friend share a joke with his parents' murderer.
***
Lotor glanced over his shoulder at Allura. Or rather tried to. Frowning, he turned and looked over his other shoulder.
His flash of annoyance changed to something else. Allura had wandered off, a tendency that had once been to his advantage.
He watched her, so elegant and still, looking down at that great beast at her side and wished he could see her face. He'd looked forward to seeing her expression when she saw them for the first time.
It was not the first time things had gone ary where Allura was concerned and probably would not be the last. He felt a fierce rush of pride and pleasure; she must have been surprised at the very least, yet she showed no sign of fear or shrinking away.
Allura was every inch the queen she would one day become—his queen. He smiled, vaguely aware that Admes had stopped speaking. He had long dreamed of the throne, well-pleased with his destiny. Until the day he'd laid eyes on her, he'd thought nothing would be more sublime than being crowned King, but Allura completed his perfect dream in some way, re-doubled it.
The lion yawned then, displaying an impressive set of teeth that gleamed in the lamplight.
Lotor scowled.
Admes' little pets were well-behaved, but wasn't that far too close? Really, if there were more than a foot between the tip of her delicate slipper and its massive paw, he'd build a home for halfwits.
“Back away, Allura. Slowly, if you please. Do not stop until I say.”
To his relief, Allura did as she was told, keeping her attention on the lion all the while. Lotor did the same. The lion seemed to find Allura as interesting as she did him; it sat up.
When it shifted its weight in her direction, he drew his sword. Behind him he heard Admes protest.
The animal seemed not to care for the sound of the blade. It turned its attention to him and surged to its feet with a snarl; the blue light made bright pinpoints in its eyes. Behind the big cat, no small number of what had looked like mounds of vegetation lifted their heads; the seemingly empty garden was suddenly full of shining eyes and annoyed huffs.
“Lie down, Nero—there's a good puss.”
Admes bustled past him, and before long seemed to have things well in hand. Lotor risked an annoyed glance over at his wife. “Must you pet every—”
Allura was gone.
***
At first she was barely aware when the hand lifted from her nose and mouth, her head drooping on her neck. Then, as if a switch had been struck, she arched back and began to pull in deep, gasping breaths; there was a dull red flash when her head struck against the hard, rough wall at her back. The pain sharpened her awareness still more, allowing her to focus on the pale mask that floated in front of her, its expression cruel in its very neutrality in the face of her struggle.
She remembered the lion, remembered bumping into something—someone, a hard arm banding her ribs and a hand clamping over her mouth before she could turn completely. Her cry of surprise had been drowned out by the angry animal's full-throated snarl. The last thing she remembered clearly was the stranger's hold tightening as Lotor ran past the dark alcove where they hid. Her abductor's breath had been so loud in her own ears that she had felt astounded and dismayed that Lotor hadn't heard it.
The white mask was pushed back then to reveal the face of young man who hardly looked any older than herself. His face might have been handsome if it weren't tight and twisted with anger. Allura felt a mix of relief and confusion. She had never seen him before in her life. How could he be so angry at her?
Then her own mask was tugged down off of her face, the stiff fabric crumpling under her chin. As she watched, the anger disappeared from her captor's face, replaced with something like astonishment.
It wasn't the first time someone had reacted to her looks in that way, even worldly Lotor had stared—but rarely had she cared for it less. She looked around then, instinctively looking for aid. They were in some dark narrow street or alleyway: light shone from second-story windows, a single lamp lit a solid-looking, iron-studded door, but other than that, the street level was dark and shuttered—empty.
She turned her attention back to her captor. “I am his wife—Prince Lotor's wife,” she gasped, “Take me back, and I won't tell him anything.”
Instead of looking intimidated at the sound of Lotor's name, the young man's look shifted to an nasty sneer.
Oh, dear.
Allura went still. He spoke then, his smooth tones having the same distinctive lilt as Admes'. “He always did have excellent taste.”
He stroked a finger over the smooth, gleaming stones at her throat. “If you are the Demon's wife, then why are you attired as a slave?”
Allura frowned in confusion, still breathing deeply. He began to look very angry again, and the hand on her shoulder tightened painfully.
“If you were his wife, I would leave you dead in the council square!” Looking into her eyes, he drew a finger across her throat. “Perhaps, I would cut you here, like he did my mother.” He nearly spat the words. He moved his finger just below her right breast and slashed a burning line over the rise of her ribs and across her torso. She gasped and shrank from the touch. “And here, like he did my father!”
Allura stared at him in mingled horror and disgust.
“Have you killed anyone before?” she asked in a small voice.
For a moment he actually looked taken aback, a lost boy rather than an angry man, even pulling back from her a bit. “No. But—”
“I have.” She brought her knee up between his legs with all her strength. When he wheezed and doubled over, she hesitated and then followed with a round house to the jaw that sent him the rest of way to his knees.
It hurt, and would hurt even more later, but it was worth it. Finally, someone making her very angry whom she could fight.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, threatening an innocent woman that way!” she said, with a final kick. Then she picked up her skirt and ran.
Allura emerged from the side street onto a wide boulevard, crowded with festival goers. Catching her breath, one hand pressed beneath her breasts, she looked around. To her relief, she saw strolling toward her a man that was nearly Lotor's size and height: he was wearing some sort of uniform and looking out over the colorful, rowdy throng with an air of watchfulness. Unlike everyone else in sight, he was not wearing a mask.
She quickly closed the distance between them and caught his attention with a hand on his arm. She pitched her voice to carry over blare of bands and noisemakers, and the noise of the crowd, “Please sir, I need help. I've been abducted.”
Allura saw the man's eyes drop to her necklace, but the concerned look on his face did not change. “Hold on, we'll get you straightened out,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile, and began to speak into a device on his shoulder. “Hey Carlie, I've got a stolen property over on Alverado--”
He turned his attention to her again, “Who did you say you belonged to?” he asked.
Before Allura could answer, she heard a voice behind her that raised the hair on the back of her neck.
“Go ahead, Starshine, tell the nice watchsir who you really belong to.” Her abductor had caught up with her. His tone was light and condescending, but she could hear the anger underneath.
Allura spun around and scowled at the nasty young man, or rather at his mask. She pointed at him, “Arrest that man.”
Speaking over her, he came closer as if she hadn't spoke. “I'm sorry, watchsir. She's managed to get a bit full of the moon already, I'm afraid.”
She turned back to the 'watchsir', and saw with a sinking heart that her captor's confidence and cultured tones had hurt her case.
“Hold on,” he said, and took his hand off the device on his shoulder. “Who do you belong to?” he repeated, frowning a little now.
Allura stared up at him in dismay, seeing the trap. Nasty Man had seen her with Lotor, but the officer had not. She could also see that every second that she searched for some plausible lie was increasing the man's doubts.
“Prince Lotor,” she said, without much hope.
The officer's brows shot up, and he laughed. “The Prince Imperial's are you?”
“It's the truth! I'm Prince Lotor's wife!” she said, as she felt the Nasty Man's hand close none too gently on her arm.
The officer laughed still more. “And I'm the Bower Fairy!”
Allura literally growled with frustration as she was pulled away. The last thing she saw before her abductor yanked the hood of his cloak over her head, was the burly guard turning to show the gauzy wings he was wearing on his back, shimmying his shoulders to make them flap.
***
Lotor found himself moving faster and faster until he was nearly running when burst out onto the dance floor. No Allura.
He caught sight of a gaming room. He ran to it and looked around the tables. No sign of her. As he scanned it, one of the occupants stood, masked face directed at him. As more stood, Lotor remembered he was not wearing his own mask.
Scowling, he spun on his heel, and dashed back through the ballroom towards the entrance, shoving open the huge doors before the servants could get to them. Standing at the top of the stone steps he searched the crowded square outside for a shimmering scarlet mask and silver-blue gown.
With a tight, clawing feeling in his gut that stifled his breath, he surveyed the noisy throng of hundreds, perhaps thousands that filled the huge square alone. The instant he realized the feeling was panic, he shoved it away. He would find her.
He turned back, unsurprised to find Admes following in his wake. What did surprise him was the lost, even shell-shocked, expression on his host's face.
Admes had lost someone too.
“You know who took her,” he breathed.
Admes looked up, thick, dark lashes spiky with tears. “I'm so sorry, Lotor. Was she a particular favorite?”
“Who took her?” He closed his hand on Admes' shoulder, hard—he was at the end of his indulgence.
“M-Matheus is gone.”
Lotor froze.
“Matheus Aolani. They said he went to find me. I—”
Lotor was already turning away. “Contact the Regent now, and tell her to ground everything.”
For a moment Admes was stunned into silence. “At the start of festival!?”
“Tell her to do it," he snarled over his shoulder, "or she will need a new planet to hold festival next year.”
Chapter 10
