Ardor's Leveche (19 page)

After a brief moment or two Ardor cut her engines, letting the Fiach stand idle.

Within the scope of a few seconds two guards materialized at the rear of the runabout, their laser pistols pointed at her heart.

“I am asking for sanctuary,” she said, unbuckling her safety harness and getting up from the command chair. She raised her hands. “I am unarmed.”

She could hear the muted voice of Captain Sanchez as he ordered one of the men to fly the Fiach to Storian airspace, bidding him be very careful of Prince Gabriel’s property.

“
Me or the ship?
” Ardor sent to Gabriel.

“Both are mine, wench
, came the amused reply.

“Are you safe?”

“I’m on my way back to R-9.”

Ardor allowed one of the guards to take hold of her arm and in the blink of an eye she was standing on the bridge of the
Banderola
, Sanchez’s warcruiser, and facing a rather nice-looking Storian male with a small goatee and a stern look in his black eyes.

“What is your name, wench?” the captain asked.

“Lucia Gaspar,” she replied, giving him the name Bowen had chosen for her.

Sanchez came up to her and took her chin in his hand. He seemed to be studying her face and when his dark eyes locked with hers, he smiled slightly. “I can see why His Grace was anxious to reclaim you, wench.”

Ardor jerked her chin from the man’s grasp. “Aye, well, I had no desire to stay with that beast.”

Sanchez tilted his head to one side. “Beast?” he questioned, then nodded slowly.

“So it is true. Lord Savidos is a Reaper. This explains how he survived the fire pit, glory to Alel that he did.”

“I demand asylum,” she said. His unwavering stare was unnerving and he seemed to be sniffing her, and that made her very uneasy.

“I will take you to His Majesty,” Sanchez said. “I am sure he will grant you sanctuary.” He snapped his fingers and a young man came quickly. “Take the wench to one of the cabins set aside for visiting diplomats. See that she has something prettier to wear than this prison jumpsuit. She will want to look her best for King Alejandro.”

There was something in the way the captain was staring at her that set off alarm bells in Ardor’s head. His midnight eyes seemed to be peering into her very soul and there was a slight smirk on his thin lips.

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Before she could say anything further to him, he turned his back on her, dismissing her and walked back to the command chair. The young man took her arm and led her away.

Locked in a somewhat utilitarian stateroom that contained few furnishings and fewer distractions, Ardor began pacing. She knew herself to be in top physical shape but the inactivity of the past few days—not to mention the transference of the parasite—

had lowered her energy. She would need all her abilities to take out the king and keep herself long enough for Gabriel to come to her rescue.

“My guess is as soon as the king’s assassination becomes public knowledge, there will be controlled pandemonium for a bit,” Breva had suggested. “No matter who steps up to claim the throne, he will demand the assailant be found and executed. It is imperative Ardor keeps hidden until my men and I can come for her.”

“Until
I
can come for her,” Gabriel had corrected.

“There is still the matter of the bounty placed on you,
chanto
,” Breva had reminded him.

“Do you honestly believe the people were behind that, Raoul?” the Reaper challenged. “As I remember hearing it, there was a hue and cry when it was announced.

The people look to Lord Savidos as the only sane voice among the howls of the war-jackals.”

“That is true, Gabe, but we have no way of knowing who is loyal to us and who is not. All I am suggesting is caution.”

“I’ll not allow my lady to come to harm,” Gabriel had told him. “Neither will I allow myself to walk into a trap. Have no fear on that account.”

“Are you sure only the royal family knows of the hidden chamber beyond the throne room?” Ardor had asked.

“It is a safeguard our father would guard zealously,” Breva answered. “It is his bolt-hole and he would never have its whereabouts become common knowledge.”

Pacing the nearly bare room aboard Sanchez’s warcruiser, Ardor could feel the sweat gathering in the palms of her hands. She still had a headache—had had it all day—and her stomach felt a bit queasy. Unconsciously, she reached up to rub where the implant had been inserted, soothing the flesh there.

She was worried about Gabriel more than she was her own safety. If his father’s people caught him, he would be summarily executed and she wasn’t sure she could survive without him.

Stopping in mid-stride, Ardor examined that feeling. It was completely unlike her to consider any one man as a lifelong mate but she was already beginning to think of the Reaper in that way. Such uncustomary thoughts surprised her yet there she was concerned more for him that herself. Going against all her training, her honor, her beliefs, she was contemplating throwing aside all she had stood for with the Riezell Guardians. She would complete this last assignment and never return to Riezell. That 107

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

much she was sure. She, too, would have a bounty on her head for there had never been a Guardian to side with the enemy, much less go to live with him.

“What are you doing to me, Reaper?” she questioned softly.

“Loving you?”
came the immediate answer.

Ardor drew in a breath. Perhaps she had heard him wrong.

“Search your heart, wench
, he said.
“You’ll find the answer there.”

And it was there, she realized—in the way he looked at her, touched her, made love to her. It was there in his voice, in his body.

“When I have you safely in my arms once more, we will set a date for the Joining
,
”
he sent her.

Married?
she mentally asked herself. Was she ready for that?

“You’d best get ready for it
,
”
he whispered and she could almost feel his warm breath in her ear.

Sitting down on a very uncomfortable settee, Ardor drew her knees up into the perimeter of her arms and sat staring at the far wall. Her nervousness was still there but slowly it was dissolving and she knew her lover was sending her reassuring sublims.

As long as she could hear his voice, she was all right.

* * * * *

King Alejandro looked at the lovely woman walking toward him and felt an immediate tightening in his crotch. Sanchez had informed him the Cenguvian woman was beautiful but the good captain had not done her justice with his description.

Shapely with a tiny waist and buxom, the wench had thick chestnut-colored hair that gleamed with vitality. There were roses in her cheeks, her lips looked soft and he was sure must taste of cherries. With a flawless complexion that hinted of a bit of time spent out in the sun, she carried herself well and walked with the grace of a lady rather than the peasant Sanchez suggested she was. Her green eyes were almond-shaped with long, thick spiky dark lashes. She had elegant hands with short, well-cared-for nails that gleamed with health.

“Come,” the king ordered, “and sit by me.”

Ardor nodded demurely, casting her eyes down for a moment as she curtsied deeply before the Storian monarch. She was quick to do as he bade.

Alejandro Leveche had quite the reputation as a ladies’ man and although he was an older, slightly taller version of his eldest son, he did not possess the same striking handsomeness Gabriel had. Good-looking in a sneering, jaded sort of way, the king took it as his due that any woman upon whom he bestowed his slightly off-kilter grin would fall willingly at his feet, turning over on her back like an eager puppy, her legs in the air, thighs spread.

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“You are Lucia, is that correct?” he asked as she seated herself in the chair that sat one level below the throne. “You may be free to answer as you will.”

“It is my great pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty,” she said in a throaty voice she knew he would find sensual.

“Cenguvian by birth?” he asked.

“Aye, Your Majesty.”

“Married?”

“No, Your Majesty,” she replied. “I was training at the shivabot near J’baen when I was captured by Coalition Forces.”

“Ah,” the king said, drawing out the exclamation. “Training to be a swordswoman.” He leaned forward. “Which is your favorite weapon, pretty one?”

“The saber, Your Majesty,” she said softly.

“The saber,” the king repeated. “A quick and proficient weapon.” He sat forward and reached out to take up a lock of her hair. “Were you any good with that devilish little weapon, wench?”

Knowing he would have seen her forged papers by now—taken from the pouch she had hidden in a pocket of the prison jumpsuit—she suspected he already had the answer to his question, but she tilted her chin upwards a bit and admitted to being the first in her class and champion of her squadron two years running.

“And are you loyal to our person, sweet one?” he asked, lifting the lock to inhale its fragrance.

“I am your most loyal subject, Your Majesty,” she said, putting a breathlessness and innocence in her words and expression that caught his eye immediately.

He let go of the heavy lock of hair and ran the tips of his fingers down her smooth cheek. “You are a very beautiful woman,” he said then leaned back in his chair. “I enjoy having beautiful women about me.”

“I am sure you have many such, Your Majesty,” she acknowledged.

The king smiled. “One can never have too many beautiful women about him.”

Ardor dipped her head and looked down at her hands, which were crossed casually in her lap.

“Sanchez says you were a prisoner of Lord Savidos,” he said and Ardor could hear the anger in the older man’s tone.

“He took me from the Coalition penal ship
Borstal
, Your Majesty.”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “Did he lay with you, wench?”

Ardor forced her eyes wide. “No, Your Majesty, but he tried to. I fought him as hard as I could. All he got was…” She stopped and bit her lip.

“All he got was what?” the king pressed.

Ardor made her lips tremble. “He laid hands to me, Your Majesty, but he did not compromise me, Alel be praised.”

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“Are you aware Lord Savidos is my disinherited son Gabriel?” he asked, locking his eyes on hers.

Ardor allowed her lips to part as though in shock. “No, Your Majesty!” she said. “I thought he had been executed!”

“So did I,” the king snapped and his jaw clenched. “It seems he is now of the Undead, a Reaper.”

Ardor frowned. “A Reaper, Your Majesty? I am not familiar with the term.”

The king waved a dismissive hand. “It matters not. I have sent a fleet of ships after that treacherous offspring of mine and when I have him, I will make sure my torturers turn him inside out before they are through with his worthless hide!”

Shuddering, Ardor could think of nothing to say to such an evil statement. She was staring at the king in what he thought was respect, when in actuality it was disgust. She knew this for he preened as he spoke to her again.

“What would you say if I were to offer you a position with my household guard?”

he asked.

Ardor slipped from her chair and bent forward, placing her head on the king’s boot as a Cenguvian would at such an honor. “I am unworthy, Your Majesty!” she exclaimed through clenched teeth.

She felt hands on her shoulders and flinched inwardly. Forcing herself to look up, she found her face only inches from the Storian king’s.

“I am,” he said, his eyes roaming over her face, “in need of protection at all times.”

He licked his lips. “Even in my bedchamber.” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip.

“Even in my very bed.”

Swallowing the bile that was creeping up her throat, Ardor forced a smile to her lips. “It would be my honor to watch over your safety, Your Majesty.”

He leaned closer still, his lips only a hairsbreadth from her own. “Even beneath my sheets am I in need of protection.”

Steeling herself for the lips that settled over hers in a wet, repulsive kiss, Ardor squeezed her eyes shut, blotting out the florid face so close to her own. In the next moment, his fingers clasped her breast and it was all she could do to hold still. The moment his mouth left hers, she felt like wiping the back of her hand across her lips.

“Perfect,” he said, molding her breast, squeezing it a bit too hard for comfort. He switched to the other and manhandled it in a like manner before sighing loudly. “Alas, diplomatic matters await my attention, my dear.” He released her. “I will have my trusted servant escort you to your room where you may rest and refresh yourself for my visit later this afternoon.” He leered at her.

“I will eagerly await you, Your Majesty,” she said, her eyes downcast.

Someone took her upper arm to help her up, and when Ardor turned to thank the person, she was surprised to see Captain Sanchez. His knowing look gave her a sinking feeling in her gut.

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“See to her for me, Diego,” the king said as he stood. “This one garnered Gabriel’s lustful eye so she is to be treated with all due respect.”

“Your wish is my command, Your Majesty,” Sanchez acknowledged. He pulled Ardor back from the dais and bowed deeply as the king walked off.

The Storian captain’s hand was tight on her arm so that when she curtsied to the king, Ardor could feel the strength in that calloused palm restricting her.

Alone with the powerfully built man, Ardor felt vulnerable and she didn’t like the feeling at all. Trying to ease her arm from his grip only made him tighten it more.

“I will keep my hold on you until we reach your room, wench,” Sanchez told her in a dry voice. “Do not attempt to break free else I will be forced to hurt you.”

Clamping her jaws together, Ardor made no reply to his threat. She allowed him to usher her from the throne room and down a long corridor at the end of which was a curving stairway leading upward.