Ardor's Leveche (23 page)

“
El Granizo, Rey Gabriel. ¡Vive de largo el rey!
”

A wizened old gentleman came shuffling forward carrying a plush velvet pillow upon which rested a golden crown. His sliding gait looked painful and from the vast 127

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amount of wrinkles on his aged face, he was but a hairsbreadth from meeting The Gatherer.

“The Lord High Steward, His Grace Duke Jorge Dias, Lord of Limosa!” Diego called out as the elderly gentleman came to stand in front of Gabriel.

The prince looked into rheumy eyes that seemed only marginally aware, but when he did not immediately take the proffered crown, the lord high steward snapped at him.

“Take the bloody thing, boy. I don’t have all that many years left to me!”

It was a hideously ugly crown that was shoved at the Reaper. Though it was thousands of years old, the golden crown gleamed with a fresh polishing and the gaudy jewels that adorned it sparkled with a high brilliance. The garish colors were enough to make a man wince if he gazed at it long enough and Gabriel was determined to have a new one—perhaps a simple circlet with a dignified seal—minted for state affairs.

“I hear you do not want pomp and circumstance, young man. Is that true?” the lord high steward demanded, his rubbery lips sputtering spittle.

“Aye, Your Grace, I—”

“Then put the damned hideous thing on your ratty noggin and let’s be done with it!”

The Archbishop of Vespertine was not pleased his authority had been usurped by the old man. He stood by with a jaundiced look that suggested he had eaten something that had not digested well, but he made no comment as the young prince reached out and took the crown.

Gabriel turned to Ardor and held the crown out to her. “Would you do me the honor, milady?” he asked.

Her hands trembling, Ardor took the crown from him and when he knelt at her feet, his head bowed, heard sighs from among the women in the gathering. She exchanged a look with Breva then slipped the heavy crown upon her lover’s dark brown curls.

Gabriel blessed himself with the Sign of the Slain One then got to his feet. He took his lady’s hand in his and looked to the archbishop. “Would you bless us with the words of Joining, Your Excellency?” he asked.

Rolling his eyes to the heavens for protocol—richly observed over the years—was being tossed out the window, the archbishop came forward reluctantly. He bestowed a disapproving look upon his new monarch. “I suppose you want to dispense with all the flowery words and such, Your Majesty?” he asked, letting his annoyance make his words brittle. “I imagine there is no need for banns to be read since we all know the two of you already have carnal knowledge of one another.”

“That is my desire, aye,” Gabriel answered, a light blush staining his cheeks.

He went to his knees once more, Ardor at his side, her face a decidedly darker shade of red than his.

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“And do you desire such plainness for your Joining day, Your Grace?” the archbishop asked Ardor.

Ardor looked up. “I do,” she answered meekly.

The archbishop leaned down, speaking directly to Gabriel in a low tone. “I baptized you, young man. I gave you religious instructions until you went off to the Academy where obviously you embraced the radicalism of that suspect assemblage,” he reminded the Reaper. “I tried to instill in you the correct moral and ideological concepts of your mother’s forefathers and not the pettiness of your father’s. I see I failed in my role as teacher.”

“No, Your Excellency,” Gabriel disagreed. “If you had failed, I’d have simply kept the lady as my concubine, slapped the crown on my head, propriety be damned.” He looked the man in the eye. “I am asking for the appropriate blessing for our Joining for I wish to do right by the woman I love.”

Sighing as though the weight of the world had descended upon his shoulders, the archbishop raised his hands over the couple’s heads. “By the power invested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. May the gods bless you with children who will strive to carry on the rich traditions of their Storian ancestors and listen to the reason of their elders!”

Ardor couldn’t help but giggle for the pompous man’s words had no doubt been meant to chastise. She glanced at her Reaper and found his lips twitching with amusement, too.

“Well, get up,” the archbishop snapped. “I’m not getting any younger here than Dias is!”

There was a hardy cheer as the archbishop introduced the newlywed couple to the assemblage. He waddled away shaking his head. Later he was heard to comment that their new king would certainly shake things up.

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“The king is dead?” Bowen demanded of Sanchez.

“Aye, King Alejandro has gone on to his just reward.”

“And my operative?”

“I have her safely on my runabout, Colonel,” Sanchez replied. “I was sure you would want me to see to her wellbeing.”

“Aye, that I do,” Bowen said and relief seemed to flow over his florid features. “I am grateful for your forethought. If you will provide her with a runabout, she can—”

“In order for Major Kahn to leave Stori she must exit The Web, as I am sure you know. For her to do that she must be accompanied by a high-ranking officer of the Storian Fleet. I am the highest ranking officer at this time.”

Bowen frowned. “I see. Yes, of course. That makes sense. You will bring her to me?”

Sanchez shook his head. “Colonel, must I remind you that it was your intent that I assume the crown of my homeland once the king was eliminated. As such, the new king must look to his own safety and venturing to Riezell would not be the wisest thing to do under the circumstances.”

“You dare to suggest I would renege on our deal?” Bowen snarled.

“I am suggesting no such thing, Colonel. I am merely suggesting an alternative venue in which to turn the major over to your safekeeping.”

A haughty look lifted Bowen’s square chin. “In other words you want to meet on neutral ground.”

Diego Sanchez smiled. “Aye, Colonel. That is precisely what this new king wishes to do.”

“All right,” Bowen said, waving his hand. “Where do you suggest? Amerigen?

Cengus? Rabushu?”

“All worlds currently held in Coalition hands?” Sanchez questioned. He shook his head. “No, I would prefer Aduaidh Prime.”

“Out of the question,” Bowen disagreed.

Sanchez’s smile turned nasty. “Then Major Kahn will stay on Stori to become the queen of our illustrious land.”

“No!” Bowen shouted, coming to his feet. The sound of his chair crashing behind him could be heard on the Vid-Com link. “You will bring my lady to me!”

“Your lady?” Sanchez queried in a silky tone.

“My operative!” Bowen corrected himself.

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An ebony brow arched. “I think I begin to understand the situation, Colonel, and again I state my choice of meeting places. It will either be Aduaidh Prime or nothing at all.”

Bowen lifted his hand and chewed on his thumbnail, his eyes ranging back and forth as he contemplated the demand. When at last he looked up, fusing his gaze with Sanchez’s, his features were devoid of expression.

“The Burgon must be consulted,” Bowen said. “He might not give his permission to…”

“I took the liberty of contacting His Excellency and he has granted his consent for the new king of Stori to conduct a short course of business on the Plaines of Geschäft.

He has assured us of complete privacy and protection while we accomplish the task at hand.”

“The Plaines of Geschäft,” Bowen repeated. “Is that not a rather isolated area?”

“Indeed it is and only three humanoid life forms are allowed access to that region at any one given time. Non-humanoid forms such as cybots and the like are expressly forbidden as are weapons of any kind.”

“No weapons?”

“That is Aduaidh law, Colonel.” Sanchez frowned. “Why should that concern you?”

“It doesn’t,” Bowen was quick to say.

“Then it is agreed? Major Kahn will meet you on Aduaidh Prime?”

Bowen’s sigh was loud. “Aye, I agree.”

“Good,” Sanchez said. “We will meet at 0900 tomorrow on the Plaines of Geschäft.”

That said he broke the Vid-Com connection.

* * * * *

Gabriel and Ardor walked hand in hand up the stairway that led to the royal apartments. They had left behind them a large assemblage of well-wishers who were still partaking of free-flowing wine and mead along with a luxurious repast hastily prepared for the new king and queen. It was almost midnight and both of them were tired and more than a little anxious to take to their bed. As they neared the king’s chamber, Ardor’s footsteps slowed.

“I can’t,” she said as she stared at the two guards who were stationed beside the double portals.

The thought of sleeping in the same bed where his lady had taken the life of his father—no matter how much he had hated the man—did not sit well with Gabriel, either. They were paused beside his mother’s old room and he also knew he could not sleep there.

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“The other chambers, my old one in particular, are much too small for a man and wife, wench,” he said.

Ardor tucked her bottom lip between her teeth—a habit of hers he found very endearing.

“How many other rooms are on this floor?” she asked.

“Five,” he answered. He pointed down the corridor. “Two on the left and three on the right.”

“What if, just for tonight, we sleep in your old room then while we are on Aduaidh Prime having the walls between those three rooms on the right removed and turn it into one large room?”

Gabriel nodded slowly. “Aye, that would work. The rooms only have copper tubs but we could have one large bathing pool…” He stopped, his face clouding.

“What if,” she said as though she hadn’t heard the grief in his voice, “we have the copper-wrights fashion us one very large tub in which we could both bathe?”

His eyes lit. “An oversized tub in which we could do other things as well?”

Ardor sighed. “Naturally you would come up with that notion.”

“I’ll come up with a lot more than that if we share a tub, wench,” he said, wagging his brows.

“Where’s your room?” she asked.

“Down there,” he answered. “The first room of the three.” He pointed to the room beside his mother’s old room. “That is the nursery and the one beside it is for the nanny.”

“Um,” she said, pulling it toward his room. “We’ll most likely have need of them both before all is said and done.”

Gabriel slipped his arm around her waist. “What will we do with the two other chambers?”

“Divide them into smaller bedrooms, naturally,” she replied. “We’ll have the bathing pool removed and in its place, what do you think of a sandbox?”

“A sandbox?” He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Are you planning on having cats up here?”

“For our children to play in, silly!” she told him, swatting at his arm. “An indoor sandbox for when the weather turns foul—as I’ve heard it does quite a bit of the time on Stori.”

The Reaper threw back his head and laughed. “You think of everything, wench.”

He reached down and swept her into his arms, kicking the door to his room open as they came to it. “I’ve got a few notions of my own!”

Ardor winced at the scuffmark his boot left on the door and she made a mental note to discuss his wantonness with him. All that flew out of her mind as he whirled her around and dropped her on his boyhood bed amidst a plush coverlet of silky fur.

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“Oooh!” she said, running her palms over the smoothness.

“You like that?” he asked as he kicked off his boots.

“I love it!” she replied while he tugged off her boots.

“A gift from my maternal grandfather,” he said, flopping down beside her on his stomach.

She gave him a heated look. “I am willing to bet you took matters in hand quite a bit on this coverlet when you reached puberty.”

He shrugged. “I must admit it does feel wondrously good on a naked cock, wench.”

“On a naked anything else, I’m thinking,” she said, sitting up to work the buttons of her black shirt.

He turned so he was lying on his side, his head propped in the cup of his hand, one knee crooked. “Are you trying to entice me?” he asked, his attention locked on the creamy expanse of flesh revealed when she undid the buttons at her wrists then peeled the shirt from her body.

“I merely want to experience firsthand the feel of this delightful fur on my naked flesh,” she said, her chin in the air.

Ardor lay down, sighing contentedly as her back touched the soft pelt, but even as the sigh ended, she was unbuttoning her leather britches and wriggling out of them.

She closed her eyes as her bare bottom came into contact with the fur and crooked her knees to finish removing the britches.

“See why I say Reapers have no need of underwear?” he asked.

“A definite advantage for males, aye,” she replied, “but not always so advantageous for females.”

“Why not?” he queried. “Is not the feel of nothing between you and the leather or the silk not a glorious sensation, wench?”

“It is, but you forget one thing, Reaper.”

“What?”

“That time of the month when a female needs a bit of protection.”

“Ah,” he said. “And how close are you to that time?”

“A couple of weeks.”

“I am that close to Transition,” he said, reaching out to take a lock of her chestnut hair between his fingers. “That is something else we will need to have the carpenters build us before we return from Aduaidh Prime.”

Ardor turned over to face him, completely at ease in her nudity though his gaze was wandering over her as though he was a starving man before whom a banquet had been laid.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“A containment cell,” he replied. “A place where we will both need to go when Transition is upon us so we do not harm anyone.”

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“Oh,” she said. Her face mirrored her concern and he reached out to cup her face.