Between Two Evils - Chapter 14
Jun. 22nd, 2009 11:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
botiasThis chapter ended up being pretty long. Warnings for torture and menace and sexual menace. Lotor gets his evil on, thanks in large part to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cleoius who likes it when Lotor is nasty. I do too, actually, very much, but it's easier to read than to write. Keith experiences a surprising change in his opinion of the Prince, and Allura... well, guess you'll have to read if you're inclined.
Previous Chapters Here
Lotor tightened his fingers until he felt bone give under his grip.
Matheus screamed, but the gag reduced the sound to a muted wail.
Lotor would have liked to hear him scream. He would have liked to hear him speak, posture—beg, but he didn't want to call attention to what was going on in this particular tomb. Even at this hour, there were sightseers strolling in the honoreum above.
To his amusement, this little get-together was not taking place in the Aolani family tomb as he would have expected. Muriel's family had probably been pleased to think the worst of him, but apparently they had been even more happy to think the worst of Aolani and had spurned him to the last.
He let go of the boy's crumpled hand and drew the dagger from his boot.
“Recognize this? It was a little gift from your father.” Lotor tapped the boy on the nose with the blade, making him flinch. Its ornate handle made it no less deadly.
“I'm sure he would have wanted you to have it,” he said, smirking. He heard some of his men snicker as he looked the boy over, letting his gaze linger on a number of vital areas. Matheus had his gaze fixed on him, his hazel eyes bright and dazed in his red, puffy face, but he didn't answer unless you counted the choked sounds he made around his gag.
All around, forming another pale and silent audience, statues of his maternal ancestors stared solemnly down at them.
“Where did he stab me with it? Was it the shoulder?” With one swift, powerful motion, he drove the dagger to the hilt.
Even with his men holding him, the boy sagged under the force of the blow. Another muffled scream, followed by retching noises.
Lotor left it the dagger where it was for the moment, rubbing a thoughtful finger over his lower lip as though trying to decide.
Appearing in public had failed to draw the boy out, but as soon as he'd heard that Matheus was to be exiled, he'd gotten an odd but entrancing idea, and sure enough—Matheus had come to say good-bye to his dear departed mama. Now perhaps, Matheus was wondering if he were going to join her instead. It was fear as much as pain that had him struggling to remain upright; Lotor could see it in his face.
The boy looked more like his father than his mother though, and that made it so much sweeter.
All the fear had been on his side the last time he'd seen Lord Aoloni. He'd been well trained in the arts of war, both by his father's commanders and at the academy, but he'd always taken full advantage of his station. Situations with true danger or risk were for lesser men. That night, nude, unarmed, drunk on wine and pleasure, was the first time he'd looked into another man's eyes and seen his own imminent death. The memory of that terrifying vulnerability still made his stomach clench. If Aoloni had not moved to unman him first, he'd almost certainly be dead.
Sneering, Lotor reached for the dagger.
“It's been a long time. Perhaps he stabbed me here instead—” With a practiced twist he freed the blade--and drove it into the boy's upper thigh, right about where he'd received it in his own flesh. No scream this time only a choked shout followed by more gagging.
That night had marked the last time he had consumed anything to the point of impairment, and just as well: it had only been the beginning of defending his life. Many had chosen to believe that he had been raping Muriel, and then had killed her and her lord when he was discovered. He had bested five challengers before the Regent had put a stop to it.
Not long after, his father had given him a command, and war and power politics had only increased his enemies and his caution. He'd begun keeping a harem, finding that he preferred to take his pleasure under more... controlled circumstances.
Abruptly, Lotor lost patience with his little game.
He wanted to be back with Allura. It had been difficult to leave her behind even in such a guarded place; it was so soon after he had almost lost her. He pulled the dagger free for a second time. Blood poured out, creating a spreading stain on the boy's trousers.
He would have lost more than Allura. Merta might have been made suspicious by her pregnant state—but more likely she would have simply remedied it. He had a sudden image of finding his wife crying and bleeding—too late. His gaze locked with Matheus's.
He raised the dagger, holding it idly between his fingers. His soldiers braced themselves, tightening their hold as Matheus began to struggle in earnest, jigging on his good leg; the pitiful sounds the boy was making only sent an eager shiver down his spine. There was nowhere for Matheus to go; the unyielding marble of his mother's monument was at his back.
“Lotor!” Admes's outraged voice rang out behind him.
He turned.
Admes was standing in the entrance of the tomb, a drawn sword in his hand.
Lotor had no doubt he would make himself difficult with it if necessary. He was not alone. Behind him were a number of determined-looking gentlemen.
“We had a bargain, Lotor.” Admes did not look pleased.
“I wasn't going to kill him,” he said, feeling rather sullen under that accusing gaze.
He might have known that Admes was having the boy watched, or himself.
He turned his gaze back to Matheus and smiled, not surprised when Matheus did not return the gesture. “I learned a long time ago that it was dangerous to meddle with other men's wives. It's so important to share one's hard-earned knowledge with the next generation. Don't you agree, Lord Admes?”
He seized Matheus by the scruff and turned, sending him staggering and whimpering in the direction of his champion.
Admes caught him, seemed relieved to discover the boy was able to stand under his own power more or less, though when he looked up again, it was clear that he was still angry.
“You're lucky you're so damned pretty,” he said, sheathing his sword with an abrupt, practiced motion.
When Lotor returned to his home, satisfied enough with his night's work, a servant was waiting to inform him that Allura was with her little pets.
It seemed she had taken to heart his words about her wandering off. He'd been completely in the right that morning, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he had overreacted somewhat. In a rare spirit of conciliation, he decided to go in search of her instead of sending the servant to bring her to him.
He heard his wife before he saw her. She was in the main kitchen. The children, being neither servants nor quite guests, were being kept there at night until more permanent arrangements were made for them. He stopped in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
She was sitting on the floor, her back leaning against the broad hearth. The children were on scattered pallets surrounding her; wavering orange light from the low fire burnished their outlines. He frowned to see that one of them was curled against her side. At least, coming from Merta's, they weren't likely to be infested with anything.
He stood there for some time, liking the sound of her voice sweetened by laughter. It reminded him of the morning when she had kissed him, smiled at him.
Unfortunately, she hadn't been like that since. If anything, there had been a return to her wariness she'd shown him in first weeks of their marriage. It was too bad. He'd liked her kissing him, smiling at him, very much.
She couldn't seem to appreciate the great favor he'd bestowed on her with his proposals; he'd adopted, out of necessity, a more straight-forward approach to making her his wife—but perhaps he'd never stopped wanting the admiration he was due.
She hadn't been smiling when he'd left her tonight. She was the oddest mix of fierceness and softness. She would break her hand on the boy's face, and yet trouble herself about his fate.
Allura noticed him then. She gently disentangled herself from the slave and rose to join him.
“Good evening, my Lord,” she said.
“My Lady,” he said, bowing slightly as she approached.
“Remember your manners. Say 'good evening' to the Prince,” she said, inspiring a chorus of unenthusiastic murmurs.
When she reached him, she put a hand on his arm. She leaned close.
“You're frowning,” she murmured.
“Yes?”
“I think it's frightening them,” she said.
When he continued to frown at her, confused, she turned back to the children.
Lotor watched as she waved a little, smiling brightly. “Good night!”
His gaze dropped to her hand on his arm, noticed the relaxed ease of her body so close to his. She had come a long way since she had pulled away from his most gentle touch. She would soon be kissing him again, smiling at him again; he was sure of it.
The alert claxon ceased just as Keith left the shelter of the castle's south entrance and ran out into the cloudless autumn morning. Behind him he heard the running footsteps of Coran and the other lion pilots—all but one of them anyway. The claxon seemed louder than he remembered. There had been a time when they were nearly routine.
“They're kids!” Pidge said, expressing what he had just noticed himself.
Confused now, as well as suspicious, they all came to a stop.
Leading this strange landing party was a male who was dressed for battle, but not in a uniform like the rank and file. That and his size, heavily muscled and well over six feet tall, marked him as one of the Imperial High Command. Behind them, three dark ships rested on the great expanse of pale concrete in front of the castle. In spite of the chill, the air still shimmered and danced from their landing burn. As the alien came closer, Keith could see that he was spoiling for a fight: his blue hands were clenched into fists, and he was walking with long, determined strides that had his young charges trotting to keep up. Without conscious thought, Keith shifted into battle readiness, his weight on the balls of his feet, his hand just a little closer to his weapon.
But, whatever the commander's inclinations might have been, his weapons remained at his side, and he came to a stop before them without incident.
“Sit here, slaves, and be quick about it,” he said. The children scurried forward to the spot he'd indicated with one clawed finger, and dropped to their knees in a huddle.
His querulous, surprisingly high-pitched voice might have been comic in another man. So might his horned helm, but Keith didn't find anything about him to be funny. The commander rested a hand on the pommel of his sword and looked them over with an expression that mirrored Keith's lack of enthusiasm.
“I am Commander Cossack. I've come to deliver property belonging to Her Imperial Majesty, Princess Allura.”
The sound of her name sent a little shock through him. She was alive!
Keith said nothing, held by this realization, turning it over and over in his mind.
“I can accept such a charge,” Koran said, stepping forward and looking over the children, clearly taken aback. “But who are these children? Why did the Princess send them here?”
The alien's scowl deepened. “Do I look like a singing telegram?” Commander Cossack made an impatient sound and turned away, flinging his cloak aside. He gesturing to the drones who had brought up the rear of the group. “I must look like a delivery boy to some people.” he complained to no one in particular as he stalked back toward his ship.
Keith watched him go until the bay doors closed behind him, watched until the ships lifted off.
His jaw tightened. Yes, Allura was alive, if living as Lotor's wife could be counted for that.
The commander's tone when he had said Allura's title was terse but surprisingly respectful. He was referring to her as a princess of his own people—not as an enemy sovereign. These barbarians thought Allura belonged to them now.
“Polish my brassies.”
The awestruck words distracted him from his thoughts. He looked to the source to see one of the children rising slowly to his feet.
Bemused by the child's turn of phrase, Keith followed his astonished gaze.
He was staring at Black Lion.
Though nearly a half a mile away, the machine looked impressive, fantastical, even to Keith who was more familiar with it than anyone. The lion's proud head seemed to brush the bottoms of the clouds.
“Guess she weren't crazy after all...” the boy continued.
She?
Before he quite knew what he was doing he stepped forward and had taken the boy by the arm, “Who weren't—” He shook his head impatiently, “Who wasn't crazy?”
Later that evening, long after everyone else had gone to bed, Keith sat down at the terminal with a feeling of anticipation. He was still technically an officer with the G.A. and had access to basic military intelligence. There had been plenty of information about Zarkon. But Keith had given more information on Lotor's whereabouts than he had received, and there had been nothing on his missing Princess. Now, after talking to the children, he at least knew where to look.
It still wasn't easy. Keith spent some time looking through the legitimate media with no success. Finally he turned to the gossip pieces. They were like graffiti, furtive and lurid, and probably equally illegal under Nephalem's strict privacy laws.
It was the scale of the thing—and the brothels—that caught his attention. A certain un-named Royal had used his soldiers to close every one of Nephalem's brothels on a festival night, except to himself and his party.
There was more, but Keith had read enough. Grimacing in disgust, he give the clear, if oddly framed, images a cursory glance. That was him alright: colorless hair, nasty expression, creepy yellow eyes... This explained where the children had come from. And here he'd been sure his opinion of Lotor couldn't go any lower.
It sort of explained why they were here as well, though what had happened to the others of the 'more than a dozen' he...
Keith froze, eyes fixed to the final image on the screen.
He had never seen her without her circlet before.
Seeing her stripped of it was almost as shocking as seeing her with a slave mark would be. He stared at the image with growing rage even as he had the impulse to turn his eyes away, to do her the courtesy of not seeing her like this. She stood tall though her expression was faintly weary, looking radiant and little fragile against the gray material of the cloak, against the wide, gray-clad chest of her jailer—tormentor—despoiler.
“He shouted at her when she came to visit us,” one of the girls had confided, her upper lip frosted by the milk and cookies that had fueled her temerity. Another had piped up then, “Yeah, he yelled, and he told her that he was going to make her wear a leash and collar all the time!'”
Keith zoomed in on the image until Allura filled the screen. She held the cloak close around her with one small hand, but some of it had slipped aside, revealing a bare shoulder. Keith stared at the bruises for a long time—and at the Prince's long, cruel fingers that curled possessively just below.
The wind was cold and cutting, and Allura was still dressed for Nephalem's warmth.
She tightened her arms around herself—and winced. Her breasts were very tender. It must be about time for her period, though the tenderness never been so bad before. Absently, she wondered if Lotor were squeamish about such things. Head down she walked toward her lion, the dry stems crunching under her feet. He'd offered to stop at Arus instead of going straight back to the dark, barren world where he was stationed. She'd accepted, but she was in no mood for a balmy hideaway; she'd asked him to take her to her lion instead, but it hadn't occurred to her that it would be like this. She came to a stop at its foot.
The mecha was as ageless as ever. The shining metal mirrored the changing winter sky, uncorroded and uncorrupted, but other things were different. Allura looked in dismay at the dead vines that twined around its claws.
She lifted her head to look around; the wind immediately pulled strands of her hair across her face. She smoothed them away with one hand. The trees that dotted the plain had only begun to turn when she'd been here last, now they were nearly bare. Patches of white lingered in their sparse shade.
“Lotor, how long have we been wed?”
She turned her head to look at him. He'd come to a stop a few paces behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. His ice and snow coloring looked very at home in the winter landscape. If the cold bothered him, he didn't show it; he was utterly still except for his long white hair, lifted and tangled by the wind. He too was looking at the lion. The rather... possessive look on his face made her frown, but she had other concerns, and there was nothing he could do with the lion anyway.
He turned his gaze on her and his expression warmed subtly. “Forty-seven standard days,” he said.
“Forty-seven—” They'd lingered on Nephalem even longer than she'd thought.
He smiled a little, “Forty-eight, counting today.”
Allura was aghast. She looked away, unseeing.
She had told herself that the past was too painful to think about, and not to be regretted in any case; she had told herself that the future was out of her control. She supposed that was all still true, but—she was still shocked at how much time had passed while she had been existing only in the present moment.
She stole another glance at her husband. He was looking at her still, with those amber eyes that missed very little. Large and clear and intensely colored, they still made her stare sometimes, wondering if she would ever grow used to seeing a beast's eyes staring out of such a human face. It looked as though she would get a chance to find out. In the beginning, she hadn't thought to live out a week as Lotor's wife.
Things were turning out differently than she had expected.
Looking at him stirred the same uncomfortable mix of feelings she'd confronted in Nephalem. When she measured the foreseeable future in hours it was bad enough. Now though... she began to see a future for herself again. A future that looked to become more closely entwined with Lotor's before it ever became less.
Still holding her hair from her face, she turned away, tipping back her head to look up at her lion. Its head was turned a little to the west as if it were watching something on the far horizon.
“Are you going to take it up?”
“No,” she said. She reached out and laid a hand on it. The metal was very cold and smooth under her hand; she thought she could feel the life in it, humming beneath its still surface. “That's not what it's meant for,” she said, feeling the truth of the words as she spoke them.
After a moment he said, gently, “Then let us go somewhere warmer, Allura. It pains me to say it, but that shade of blue suits me much better than it does you.”
“No, could we please go home?”
The words horrified her as soon as they were out of her mouth. She glanced at Lotor, but he seemed not to have placed any significance on her choice of words. She had certainly never imagined she would call that dark, dead world, place of so many horrors, 'home'.
Lotor followed Allura into his quarters and watched the subtle twitch of her hips as she walked to the entrance to their bedchamber.
He took off his gauntlets. Arus usually soothed her. Today it had made it worse rather than better. After so much time spent in places without season, the winter landscape had seemed to dismay her.
He would never have thought he would spend the start of his married life in some of the most isolated parts of a world that was itself of no consequence. He ought to have been thoroughly bored, but there had been compensations. Allura was extraordinarily beautiful with the Arun sun on her skin. It had eventually turned her a pale gold, which delighted him and made her eyes look impossibly blue. It had brightened her hair as well; now she seemed to glow with it still even when she was here in his quarters.
Smiling, he walked into the bedchamber as she was taking off her shoes. She didn't look up as he took off his sword and belt and set them next to the bed. He sat on his heels next to her and picked up the shoe she had removed, turning it over in his hands. Not for the first time, he thought her footwear looked as if it belonged to a child; he said as much.
Allura stilled.
She was quiet so long that he looked up at her, curious. She was staring at him, lips parted a little. She blinked, then looked away, her hand came up to play absently with her collar. For a moment he thought she might have guessed about being with child, that she might be about to tell him, but there was no sign of the pleasure he anticipated. She seemed to be so fond of the little things.
“Do you—have any children?” she asked.
“No,” he scoffed. At least, not yet. “Bastards can be dangerous, and what good are a lot of fat, moody harem slaves?”
Allura snatched the shoe out his hand and got up, brushing past him. “And how many harem slaves do you have?”
The corner of his mouth curled up at her tart tone. There was distress there too: jealousy perhaps? The thought pleased him.
“None,” he said, rising and toeing off his own boots. “My father gave them all away to soothe the egos I bruised by courting you instead of marrying the bride he had contracted for me.” It had been one of father's more poetic attempts to show him the error of his ways.
“Those poor women... ”
“Indeed.”
He glanced over; the glare she was giving him was everything he'd hoped for. He smiled when she turned away and shut the drawer with a snap. “Some courtship,” she said. She began to undress, her back to him.
He laid back on the bed to watch her, hands behind his head. “Forgive me if I forgot the flowers,” he drawled, “I was practically exhausted by the time you came to your senses.”
Allura turned around with a speed that made him blink. “'Came to my senses'? You kidnapped me! You—you blackmailed me!”
For a moment he stared at her, taken completely aback.
He couldn't recall her ever mentioning the circumstances of their marriage before, much less sounding so bothered about it.
“Enough about me,” he said, after a moment, “Let's talk about you. You were out wandering around by yourself in the middle of the night; you knew I was in the area. You had gotten out of your lion. The only thing you didn't do is send up a signal flare, and that's probably only because I arrived first.”
From the look on her face, this was the very last thing she had expected to hear.
Then her expression hardened.
She took a few steps toward him, her little hands curled into fists. “It wasn't like that. It wasn't like that at all. My father came to me in a dream that night; he told me I would be safe from you if I got far away from the castle!”
Lotor closed his eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed. “So, you subconsciously came to your senses.”
“That is not true! You don't understand—those dreams have never led me wrong before...”
“They haven't led you wrong now.” He reached out, tugging her half-naked body onto the bed next him, and gathered her close. How was it that she always felt so perfect in his arms? “Except in the very best way.”
He bent to kiss her, but she turned her head away. He registered the stiffness of her body just before she shoved out his embrace and sat up.
Her actions made so little sense to him that for a moment he simply lay there.
He shifted up onto one elbow, and frowned at the line of her back, graceful and completely unyielding. He began to get an idea of what was required of him tonight, though he had no idea why and why now. He'd never seen the point of hashing over what could not be changed.
“Allura,” he made his voice as gentle and conciliatory as he could manage, but even he could hear the annoyed edge to it. “Time was running out for both of us. I didn't blackmail you. I forced you to make a choice while you still had one. Blackmail threatens to make things worse. I offered to make them better.”
She had turned her head in an attitude of listening.
He could see the sweet curve of her cheek, the sweep of her lashes. His annoyance faded. His expression softened in a way that would have shocked anyone who knew him. He reached to touch her hand where it rested on the bed. Allura had such an idealistic view of things which no doubt extended to sex and marriage. Perhaps if he spoke to her of affection.
“I have affection for you, Allura,” he said, watching for her reaction with interest.
Her response wasn't long in coming. Allura yanked her hand from under his as though it had contaminated her.
“You offered to make things better for a price!” she said, with an angry glance over her shoulder. “If you had 'affection' for me at all, you would have let me choose my own husband!”
The rejection stung, deep and sharp, worse for being unexpected.
Lotor scowled. “If caring for you means watching you die at another man's side in some futile war of resistance, then believe I dislike you very much!”
Allura turned on him then, quick as a cat, the light of battle in her eyes. She planted her hands on the bed. “At least it would be a man and not a monster!”
For a time they were both silent in the wake of those last words, then something in his expression made Allura start and push back from him, eyes wide.
She slid off the bed and kept going. Her fear pleased him. For once he had her full attention, Lotor, not that wretched planet of hers or some miserable peasant.
He came off the bed in one smooth motion and padded after her. She thought him a monster did she?
“Make no mistake. I am the very worst of monsters. And you did choose your husband.”
Allura made a startled sound when her back hit the wall. She shook her head in rapid denial.
He planted one hand on the wall next to her head, and then the other, very aware of how much larger he was than she, of his clothed state and her dishabille; he leaned down. Her eyes got even bigger.
“I let you go, Allura,” he said flatly.
“No—”
“I let you go, untouched, and you came back, and then you asked me to take you down into the grass and—” Allura made a distressed sound and tried to duck under his arm. He blocked her, feeling a surge of triumph. She gasped and flattened herself against the wall again, head turned away.
“Admit it! You came to me because I keep the lesser monsters at bay—” His mouth curled, and he leaned in so that his lips brushed her ear...
“—or was it just because you couldn't help yourself any longer?” She wanted him. She always had. It was past time she admitted it!
For a moment she went completely still. He pulled back to look at her as her head came up, eyes shining in the dim light. He felt his skin prickle as he stared down at her, sensing a will as strong as his own. Not for the first time he felt certain that this woman was for him.
She looked up at him with those big round eyes, staring as though she were seeing something new. In the darkness her eyes seemed infinitely shadowed and deep, with just teasing hints of their spectacular color, pools to drown in. Was she finally ready to admit that he was the one for her? His breath stopped as she began to speak, her voice low.
“You vain, insufferable— Why would I ever come to you?”
He blinked, feeling suddenly off balance. He hadn't known how much hope he had harbored until she'd begun carving it out with her scorn.
“Ever. Even now I think you will go back on your disgusting bargain as soon as you tire of me!”
He stared down at her, part of him not able to believe what he was hearing.
“That is not true,” he said, his voice hoarse and strange, feeling the beginnings of anger and frustration. All this time, everything he'd done, all nothing to her.
“Because you never lie, I suppose—”
He snarled.
“—or your famous sense of fair play, perhaps?”
“NO!” His palm slammed against the wall next to her head. The words came from him with all the force of truth. “Because I love you with all of my black heart.”
In the complete silence that followed his declaration, Lotor stared at her shocked, pale face. The place where those words had lodged inside of him felt hollow and strange. He shook his head, but they still echoed in his ears, beat against his skin.
“Lotor, I—”
Her voice cut through his growing panic, spurring him to action. He leaned down and scooped her up.
“It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.”
A few swift strides and he was dropping her on the bed. “You are mine. You share my bed and will bear my heirs.” She lay there incredulous and unresisting as he came over on top of her and freed himself from his clothes. He wrenched her underwear aside; he had been hard for her ever since her back had hit the wall. He found his mark and shoved.
On to Chapter 15
cleoius who likes it when Lotor is nasty. I do too, actually, very much, but it's easier to read than to write. Keith experiences a surprising change in his opinion of the Prince, and Allura... well, guess you'll have to read if you're inclined.Previous Chapters Here
Chapter 14
Lotor tightened his fingers until he felt bone give under his grip.
Matheus screamed, but the gag reduced the sound to a muted wail.
Lotor would have liked to hear him scream. He would have liked to hear him speak, posture—beg, but he didn't want to call attention to what was going on in this particular tomb. Even at this hour, there were sightseers strolling in the honoreum above.
To his amusement, this little get-together was not taking place in the Aolani family tomb as he would have expected. Muriel's family had probably been pleased to think the worst of him, but apparently they had been even more happy to think the worst of Aolani and had spurned him to the last.
He let go of the boy's crumpled hand and drew the dagger from his boot.
“Recognize this? It was a little gift from your father.” Lotor tapped the boy on the nose with the blade, making him flinch. Its ornate handle made it no less deadly.
“I'm sure he would have wanted you to have it,” he said, smirking. He heard some of his men snicker as he looked the boy over, letting his gaze linger on a number of vital areas. Matheus had his gaze fixed on him, his hazel eyes bright and dazed in his red, puffy face, but he didn't answer unless you counted the choked sounds he made around his gag.
All around, forming another pale and silent audience, statues of his maternal ancestors stared solemnly down at them.
“Where did he stab me with it? Was it the shoulder?” With one swift, powerful motion, he drove the dagger to the hilt.
Even with his men holding him, the boy sagged under the force of the blow. Another muffled scream, followed by retching noises.
Lotor left it the dagger where it was for the moment, rubbing a thoughtful finger over his lower lip as though trying to decide.
Appearing in public had failed to draw the boy out, but as soon as he'd heard that Matheus was to be exiled, he'd gotten an odd but entrancing idea, and sure enough—Matheus had come to say good-bye to his dear departed mama. Now perhaps, Matheus was wondering if he were going to join her instead. It was fear as much as pain that had him struggling to remain upright; Lotor could see it in his face.
The boy looked more like his father than his mother though, and that made it so much sweeter.
All the fear had been on his side the last time he'd seen Lord Aoloni. He'd been well trained in the arts of war, both by his father's commanders and at the academy, but he'd always taken full advantage of his station. Situations with true danger or risk were for lesser men. That night, nude, unarmed, drunk on wine and pleasure, was the first time he'd looked into another man's eyes and seen his own imminent death. The memory of that terrifying vulnerability still made his stomach clench. If Aoloni had not moved to unman him first, he'd almost certainly be dead.
Sneering, Lotor reached for the dagger.
“It's been a long time. Perhaps he stabbed me here instead—” With a practiced twist he freed the blade--and drove it into the boy's upper thigh, right about where he'd received it in his own flesh. No scream this time only a choked shout followed by more gagging.
That night had marked the last time he had consumed anything to the point of impairment, and just as well: it had only been the beginning of defending his life. Many had chosen to believe that he had been raping Muriel, and then had killed her and her lord when he was discovered. He had bested five challengers before the Regent had put a stop to it.
Not long after, his father had given him a command, and war and power politics had only increased his enemies and his caution. He'd begun keeping a harem, finding that he preferred to take his pleasure under more... controlled circumstances.
Abruptly, Lotor lost patience with his little game.
He wanted to be back with Allura. It had been difficult to leave her behind even in such a guarded place; it was so soon after he had almost lost her. He pulled the dagger free for a second time. Blood poured out, creating a spreading stain on the boy's trousers.
He would have lost more than Allura. Merta might have been made suspicious by her pregnant state—but more likely she would have simply remedied it. He had a sudden image of finding his wife crying and bleeding—too late. His gaze locked with Matheus's.
He raised the dagger, holding it idly between his fingers. His soldiers braced themselves, tightening their hold as Matheus began to struggle in earnest, jigging on his good leg; the pitiful sounds the boy was making only sent an eager shiver down his spine. There was nowhere for Matheus to go; the unyielding marble of his mother's monument was at his back.
“Lotor!” Admes's outraged voice rang out behind him.
He turned.
Admes was standing in the entrance of the tomb, a drawn sword in his hand.
Lotor had no doubt he would make himself difficult with it if necessary. He was not alone. Behind him were a number of determined-looking gentlemen.
“We had a bargain, Lotor.” Admes did not look pleased.
“I wasn't going to kill him,” he said, feeling rather sullen under that accusing gaze.
He might have known that Admes was having the boy watched, or himself.
He turned his gaze back to Matheus and smiled, not surprised when Matheus did not return the gesture. “I learned a long time ago that it was dangerous to meddle with other men's wives. It's so important to share one's hard-earned knowledge with the next generation. Don't you agree, Lord Admes?”
He seized Matheus by the scruff and turned, sending him staggering and whimpering in the direction of his champion.
Admes caught him, seemed relieved to discover the boy was able to stand under his own power more or less, though when he looked up again, it was clear that he was still angry.
“You're lucky you're so damned pretty,” he said, sheathing his sword with an abrupt, practiced motion.
When Lotor returned to his home, satisfied enough with his night's work, a servant was waiting to inform him that Allura was with her little pets.
It seemed she had taken to heart his words about her wandering off. He'd been completely in the right that morning, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he had overreacted somewhat. In a rare spirit of conciliation, he decided to go in search of her instead of sending the servant to bring her to him.
He heard his wife before he saw her. She was in the main kitchen. The children, being neither servants nor quite guests, were being kept there at night until more permanent arrangements were made for them. He stopped in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
She was sitting on the floor, her back leaning against the broad hearth. The children were on scattered pallets surrounding her; wavering orange light from the low fire burnished their outlines. He frowned to see that one of them was curled against her side. At least, coming from Merta's, they weren't likely to be infested with anything.
He stood there for some time, liking the sound of her voice sweetened by laughter. It reminded him of the morning when she had kissed him, smiled at him.
Unfortunately, she hadn't been like that since. If anything, there had been a return to her wariness she'd shown him in first weeks of their marriage. It was too bad. He'd liked her kissing him, smiling at him, very much.
She couldn't seem to appreciate the great favor he'd bestowed on her with his proposals; he'd adopted, out of necessity, a more straight-forward approach to making her his wife—but perhaps he'd never stopped wanting the admiration he was due.
She hadn't been smiling when he'd left her tonight. She was the oddest mix of fierceness and softness. She would break her hand on the boy's face, and yet trouble herself about his fate.
Allura noticed him then. She gently disentangled herself from the slave and rose to join him.
“Good evening, my Lord,” she said.
“My Lady,” he said, bowing slightly as she approached.
“Remember your manners. Say 'good evening' to the Prince,” she said, inspiring a chorus of unenthusiastic murmurs.
When she reached him, she put a hand on his arm. She leaned close.
“You're frowning,” she murmured.
“Yes?”
“I think it's frightening them,” she said.
When he continued to frown at her, confused, she turned back to the children.
Lotor watched as she waved a little, smiling brightly. “Good night!”
His gaze dropped to her hand on his arm, noticed the relaxed ease of her body so close to his. She had come a long way since she had pulled away from his most gentle touch. She would soon be kissing him again, smiling at him again; he was sure of it.
***
The alert claxon ceased just as Keith left the shelter of the castle's south entrance and ran out into the cloudless autumn morning. Behind him he heard the running footsteps of Coran and the other lion pilots—all but one of them anyway. The claxon seemed louder than he remembered. There had been a time when they were nearly routine.
“They're kids!” Pidge said, expressing what he had just noticed himself.
Confused now, as well as suspicious, they all came to a stop.
Leading this strange landing party was a male who was dressed for battle, but not in a uniform like the rank and file. That and his size, heavily muscled and well over six feet tall, marked him as one of the Imperial High Command. Behind them, three dark ships rested on the great expanse of pale concrete in front of the castle. In spite of the chill, the air still shimmered and danced from their landing burn. As the alien came closer, Keith could see that he was spoiling for a fight: his blue hands were clenched into fists, and he was walking with long, determined strides that had his young charges trotting to keep up. Without conscious thought, Keith shifted into battle readiness, his weight on the balls of his feet, his hand just a little closer to his weapon.
But, whatever the commander's inclinations might have been, his weapons remained at his side, and he came to a stop before them without incident.
“Sit here, slaves, and be quick about it,” he said. The children scurried forward to the spot he'd indicated with one clawed finger, and dropped to their knees in a huddle.
His querulous, surprisingly high-pitched voice might have been comic in another man. So might his horned helm, but Keith didn't find anything about him to be funny. The commander rested a hand on the pommel of his sword and looked them over with an expression that mirrored Keith's lack of enthusiasm.
“I am Commander Cossack. I've come to deliver property belonging to Her Imperial Majesty, Princess Allura.”
The sound of her name sent a little shock through him. She was alive!
Keith said nothing, held by this realization, turning it over and over in his mind.
“I can accept such a charge,” Koran said, stepping forward and looking over the children, clearly taken aback. “But who are these children? Why did the Princess send them here?”
The alien's scowl deepened. “Do I look like a singing telegram?” Commander Cossack made an impatient sound and turned away, flinging his cloak aside. He gesturing to the drones who had brought up the rear of the group. “I must look like a delivery boy to some people.” he complained to no one in particular as he stalked back toward his ship.
Keith watched him go until the bay doors closed behind him, watched until the ships lifted off.
His jaw tightened. Yes, Allura was alive, if living as Lotor's wife could be counted for that.
The commander's tone when he had said Allura's title was terse but surprisingly respectful. He was referring to her as a princess of his own people—not as an enemy sovereign. These barbarians thought Allura belonged to them now.
“Polish my brassies.”
The awestruck words distracted him from his thoughts. He looked to the source to see one of the children rising slowly to his feet.
Bemused by the child's turn of phrase, Keith followed his astonished gaze.
He was staring at Black Lion.
Though nearly a half a mile away, the machine looked impressive, fantastical, even to Keith who was more familiar with it than anyone. The lion's proud head seemed to brush the bottoms of the clouds.
“Guess she weren't crazy after all...” the boy continued.
She?
Before he quite knew what he was doing he stepped forward and had taken the boy by the arm, “Who weren't—” He shook his head impatiently, “Who wasn't crazy?”
***
Later that evening, long after everyone else had gone to bed, Keith sat down at the terminal with a feeling of anticipation. He was still technically an officer with the G.A. and had access to basic military intelligence. There had been plenty of information about Zarkon. But Keith had given more information on Lotor's whereabouts than he had received, and there had been nothing on his missing Princess. Now, after talking to the children, he at least knew where to look.
It still wasn't easy. Keith spent some time looking through the legitimate media with no success. Finally he turned to the gossip pieces. They were like graffiti, furtive and lurid, and probably equally illegal under Nephalem's strict privacy laws.
It was the scale of the thing—and the brothels—that caught his attention. A certain un-named Royal had used his soldiers to close every one of Nephalem's brothels on a festival night, except to himself and his party.
“The carouse of regal proportions came to an exciting end after someone set fire to Merta's. An entire unit of the watch was called to 'escort' the Pretty (Deadly) Prince back to his family estate in Seven Hills. But even though the private tour was over, the debauchery was not. He brought more than a dozen shockingly young party favors along for later... and this fly also got a rare glimpse of the grown-up goodies on offer behind the golden door before the prince hooded his acquisition. As you can see the rumors are not exaggerated. Is she soon to be playing schoolmistress to his headmaster? This fly hopes she's practiced her safe word. Head reattachment surgery hasn't come that far since...”
There was more, but Keith had read enough. Grimacing in disgust, he give the clear, if oddly framed, images a cursory glance. That was him alright: colorless hair, nasty expression, creepy yellow eyes... This explained where the children had come from. And here he'd been sure his opinion of Lotor couldn't go any lower.
It sort of explained why they were here as well, though what had happened to the others of the 'more than a dozen' he...
Keith froze, eyes fixed to the final image on the screen.
He had never seen her without her circlet before.
Seeing her stripped of it was almost as shocking as seeing her with a slave mark would be. He stared at the image with growing rage even as he had the impulse to turn his eyes away, to do her the courtesy of not seeing her like this. She stood tall though her expression was faintly weary, looking radiant and little fragile against the gray material of the cloak, against the wide, gray-clad chest of her jailer—tormentor—despoiler.
“He shouted at her when she came to visit us,” one of the girls had confided, her upper lip frosted by the milk and cookies that had fueled her temerity. Another had piped up then, “Yeah, he yelled, and he told her that he was going to make her wear a leash and collar all the time!'”
Keith zoomed in on the image until Allura filled the screen. She held the cloak close around her with one small hand, but some of it had slipped aside, revealing a bare shoulder. Keith stared at the bruises for a long time—and at the Prince's long, cruel fingers that curled possessively just below.
***
The wind was cold and cutting, and Allura was still dressed for Nephalem's warmth.
She tightened her arms around herself—and winced. Her breasts were very tender. It must be about time for her period, though the tenderness never been so bad before. Absently, she wondered if Lotor were squeamish about such things. Head down she walked toward her lion, the dry stems crunching under her feet. He'd offered to stop at Arus instead of going straight back to the dark, barren world where he was stationed. She'd accepted, but she was in no mood for a balmy hideaway; she'd asked him to take her to her lion instead, but it hadn't occurred to her that it would be like this. She came to a stop at its foot.
The mecha was as ageless as ever. The shining metal mirrored the changing winter sky, uncorroded and uncorrupted, but other things were different. Allura looked in dismay at the dead vines that twined around its claws.
She lifted her head to look around; the wind immediately pulled strands of her hair across her face. She smoothed them away with one hand. The trees that dotted the plain had only begun to turn when she'd been here last, now they were nearly bare. Patches of white lingered in their sparse shade.
“Lotor, how long have we been wed?”
She turned her head to look at him. He'd come to a stop a few paces behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. His ice and snow coloring looked very at home in the winter landscape. If the cold bothered him, he didn't show it; he was utterly still except for his long white hair, lifted and tangled by the wind. He too was looking at the lion. The rather... possessive look on his face made her frown, but she had other concerns, and there was nothing he could do with the lion anyway.
He turned his gaze on her and his expression warmed subtly. “Forty-seven standard days,” he said.
“Forty-seven—” They'd lingered on Nephalem even longer than she'd thought.
He smiled a little, “Forty-eight, counting today.”
Allura was aghast. She looked away, unseeing.
She had told herself that the past was too painful to think about, and not to be regretted in any case; she had told herself that the future was out of her control. She supposed that was all still true, but—she was still shocked at how much time had passed while she had been existing only in the present moment.
She stole another glance at her husband. He was looking at her still, with those amber eyes that missed very little. Large and clear and intensely colored, they still made her stare sometimes, wondering if she would ever grow used to seeing a beast's eyes staring out of such a human face. It looked as though she would get a chance to find out. In the beginning, she hadn't thought to live out a week as Lotor's wife.
Things were turning out differently than she had expected.
Looking at him stirred the same uncomfortable mix of feelings she'd confronted in Nephalem. When she measured the foreseeable future in hours it was bad enough. Now though... she began to see a future for herself again. A future that looked to become more closely entwined with Lotor's before it ever became less.
Still holding her hair from her face, she turned away, tipping back her head to look up at her lion. Its head was turned a little to the west as if it were watching something on the far horizon.
“Are you going to take it up?”
“No,” she said. She reached out and laid a hand on it. The metal was very cold and smooth under her hand; she thought she could feel the life in it, humming beneath its still surface. “That's not what it's meant for,” she said, feeling the truth of the words as she spoke them.
After a moment he said, gently, “Then let us go somewhere warmer, Allura. It pains me to say it, but that shade of blue suits me much better than it does you.”
“No, could we please go home?”
The words horrified her as soon as they were out of her mouth. She glanced at Lotor, but he seemed not to have placed any significance on her choice of words. She had certainly never imagined she would call that dark, dead world, place of so many horrors, 'home'.
***
Lotor followed Allura into his quarters and watched the subtle twitch of her hips as she walked to the entrance to their bedchamber.
He took off his gauntlets. Arus usually soothed her. Today it had made it worse rather than better. After so much time spent in places without season, the winter landscape had seemed to dismay her.
He would never have thought he would spend the start of his married life in some of the most isolated parts of a world that was itself of no consequence. He ought to have been thoroughly bored, but there had been compensations. Allura was extraordinarily beautiful with the Arun sun on her skin. It had eventually turned her a pale gold, which delighted him and made her eyes look impossibly blue. It had brightened her hair as well; now she seemed to glow with it still even when she was here in his quarters.
Smiling, he walked into the bedchamber as she was taking off her shoes. She didn't look up as he took off his sword and belt and set them next to the bed. He sat on his heels next to her and picked up the shoe she had removed, turning it over in his hands. Not for the first time, he thought her footwear looked as if it belonged to a child; he said as much.
Allura stilled.
She was quiet so long that he looked up at her, curious. She was staring at him, lips parted a little. She blinked, then looked away, her hand came up to play absently with her collar. For a moment he thought she might have guessed about being with child, that she might be about to tell him, but there was no sign of the pleasure he anticipated. She seemed to be so fond of the little things.
“Do you—have any children?” she asked.
“No,” he scoffed. At least, not yet. “Bastards can be dangerous, and what good are a lot of fat, moody harem slaves?”
Allura snatched the shoe out his hand and got up, brushing past him. “And how many harem slaves do you have?”
The corner of his mouth curled up at her tart tone. There was distress there too: jealousy perhaps? The thought pleased him.
“None,” he said, rising and toeing off his own boots. “My father gave them all away to soothe the egos I bruised by courting you instead of marrying the bride he had contracted for me.” It had been one of father's more poetic attempts to show him the error of his ways.
“Those poor women... ”
“Indeed.”
He glanced over; the glare she was giving him was everything he'd hoped for. He smiled when she turned away and shut the drawer with a snap. “Some courtship,” she said. She began to undress, her back to him.
He laid back on the bed to watch her, hands behind his head. “Forgive me if I forgot the flowers,” he drawled, “I was practically exhausted by the time you came to your senses.”
Allura turned around with a speed that made him blink. “'Came to my senses'? You kidnapped me! You—you blackmailed me!”
For a moment he stared at her, taken completely aback.
He couldn't recall her ever mentioning the circumstances of their marriage before, much less sounding so bothered about it.
“Enough about me,” he said, after a moment, “Let's talk about you. You were out wandering around by yourself in the middle of the night; you knew I was in the area. You had gotten out of your lion. The only thing you didn't do is send up a signal flare, and that's probably only because I arrived first.”
From the look on her face, this was the very last thing she had expected to hear.
Then her expression hardened.
She took a few steps toward him, her little hands curled into fists. “It wasn't like that. It wasn't like that at all. My father came to me in a dream that night; he told me I would be safe from you if I got far away from the castle!”
Lotor closed his eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed. “So, you subconsciously came to your senses.”
“That is not true! You don't understand—those dreams have never led me wrong before...”
“They haven't led you wrong now.” He reached out, tugging her half-naked body onto the bed next him, and gathered her close. How was it that she always felt so perfect in his arms? “Except in the very best way.”
He bent to kiss her, but she turned her head away. He registered the stiffness of her body just before she shoved out his embrace and sat up.
Her actions made so little sense to him that for a moment he simply lay there.
He shifted up onto one elbow, and frowned at the line of her back, graceful and completely unyielding. He began to get an idea of what was required of him tonight, though he had no idea why and why now. He'd never seen the point of hashing over what could not be changed.
“Allura,” he made his voice as gentle and conciliatory as he could manage, but even he could hear the annoyed edge to it. “Time was running out for both of us. I didn't blackmail you. I forced you to make a choice while you still had one. Blackmail threatens to make things worse. I offered to make them better.”
She had turned her head in an attitude of listening.
He could see the sweet curve of her cheek, the sweep of her lashes. His annoyance faded. His expression softened in a way that would have shocked anyone who knew him. He reached to touch her hand where it rested on the bed. Allura had such an idealistic view of things which no doubt extended to sex and marriage. Perhaps if he spoke to her of affection.
“I have affection for you, Allura,” he said, watching for her reaction with interest.
Her response wasn't long in coming. Allura yanked her hand from under his as though it had contaminated her.
“You offered to make things better for a price!” she said, with an angry glance over her shoulder. “If you had 'affection' for me at all, you would have let me choose my own husband!”
The rejection stung, deep and sharp, worse for being unexpected.
Lotor scowled. “If caring for you means watching you die at another man's side in some futile war of resistance, then believe I dislike you very much!”
Allura turned on him then, quick as a cat, the light of battle in her eyes. She planted her hands on the bed. “At least it would be a man and not a monster!”
For a time they were both silent in the wake of those last words, then something in his expression made Allura start and push back from him, eyes wide.
She slid off the bed and kept going. Her fear pleased him. For once he had her full attention, Lotor, not that wretched planet of hers or some miserable peasant.
He came off the bed in one smooth motion and padded after her. She thought him a monster did she?
“Make no mistake. I am the very worst of monsters. And you did choose your husband.”
Allura made a startled sound when her back hit the wall. She shook her head in rapid denial.
He planted one hand on the wall next to her head, and then the other, very aware of how much larger he was than she, of his clothed state and her dishabille; he leaned down. Her eyes got even bigger.
“I let you go, Allura,” he said flatly.
“No—”
“I let you go, untouched, and you came back, and then you asked me to take you down into the grass and—” Allura made a distressed sound and tried to duck under his arm. He blocked her, feeling a surge of triumph. She gasped and flattened herself against the wall again, head turned away.
“Admit it! You came to me because I keep the lesser monsters at bay—” His mouth curled, and he leaned in so that his lips brushed her ear...
“—or was it just because you couldn't help yourself any longer?” She wanted him. She always had. It was past time she admitted it!
For a moment she went completely still. He pulled back to look at her as her head came up, eyes shining in the dim light. He felt his skin prickle as he stared down at her, sensing a will as strong as his own. Not for the first time he felt certain that this woman was for him.
She looked up at him with those big round eyes, staring as though she were seeing something new. In the darkness her eyes seemed infinitely shadowed and deep, with just teasing hints of their spectacular color, pools to drown in. Was she finally ready to admit that he was the one for her? His breath stopped as she began to speak, her voice low.
“You vain, insufferable— Why would I ever come to you?”
He blinked, feeling suddenly off balance. He hadn't known how much hope he had harbored until she'd begun carving it out with her scorn.
“Ever. Even now I think you will go back on your disgusting bargain as soon as you tire of me!”
He stared down at her, part of him not able to believe what he was hearing.
“That is not true,” he said, his voice hoarse and strange, feeling the beginnings of anger and frustration. All this time, everything he'd done, all nothing to her.
“Because you never lie, I suppose—”
He snarled.
“—or your famous sense of fair play, perhaps?”
“NO!” His palm slammed against the wall next to her head. The words came from him with all the force of truth. “Because I love you with all of my black heart.”
***
In the complete silence that followed his declaration, Lotor stared at her shocked, pale face. The place where those words had lodged inside of him felt hollow and strange. He shook his head, but they still echoed in his ears, beat against his skin.
“Lotor, I—”
Her voice cut through his growing panic, spurring him to action. He leaned down and scooped her up.
“It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.”
A few swift strides and he was dropping her on the bed. “You are mine. You share my bed and will bear my heirs.” She lay there incredulous and unresisting as he came over on top of her and freed himself from his clothes. He wrenched her underwear aside; he had been hard for her ever since her back had hit the wall. He found his mark and shoved.
On to Chapter 15
