Blood Crown (32 page)

“General Karolov’s spies brought him news—the Crown,” Nic places a kiss on my temple, “and the dire condition of the West. He contacted me an hour ago—he is with us.”

“But your father.”

Nic shakes his head while he finishes off his food. “Father does not approve. Karolov left a contingent with the
Capital
, but he is bringing five war ships to this battle. Against Father’s wishes.”

Our symbiants sing together.
We might just win this war
.

For the next few minutes Nic contacts the rebels, leaving the coms open to the other ships. I believe it earns him more respect from the Eastern generals, as they listen to the rebels reminisce about Nic’s strong leadership. Off-screen, I smile into my lap as I listen to the words of his admirers and see replays of his heroic adventures from Nic’s symbiants.

I flush with pride as I feel Nic’s humility—and witness for myself that his heroics were usually even more heroic than anyone else realizes.

But the conversation fades as Nic comes to the latest developments. Nic takes a deep breath and looks at me.
Ready?

I give him a tight nod before I send the camera back a bit so both of us can be seen on the screen.

“There’s something all of you need to know before we go any further. It changes everything as we know it.” He looks at me, and takes my hand. “Everything.”

We watch our screen, a montage of various generals and captains across thirty-two vessels, as their eyes grow wide. The reactions range from exuberant shouts to reverent whispers.

Nic and I wait them out, but instead of feeling joy or elation like many of the men and women on screen, we feel the burden of the Crown. We can’t fail these people. We can’t fail
our
people—all those craftsmen, farmers, mothers, fathers, all the children who reside on our ship-states. We are the promised ones, the ones expected to give birth to a new race, an evolved race. But first we have to survive.

It isn’t long before the soldiers put aside their wonder and begin to discuss the specifics of the war. Nic and I take turns debriefing them, and I am surprised at the natural inclination the Westerners have to honor
me
, even though it is Nic who has served in their ranks. I question Nic privately about it, while we talk with the generals, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. I am the Daughter of the West, and he the Son of the East. The Crown will unite both empires, but the Westerners are of the West first, as his people are of the East. He seems to think it perfectly natural that they should align themselves this way.

I am also pleased that no one questions my ability to lead—though I doubt any of them could guess I’d been a kitchen servant until two days ago. I promise myself, though, that even if that information reveals itself, I will own it. I will never be ashamed of the work I have done for I feel certain it will one day be to my advantage. I know firsthand how people live beneath the Mind’s oppression.

The day grows long and it becomes more and more difficult to stifle the yawns—they travel among us like a bad virus. Finally Nic says, “We are settled then. Inform your fleets and be ready. We’ll meet in our designated positions tomorrow at oh-six-hundred hours.”

With various nods and words of agreement, the cameras blink out until we are finally alone.

Nic turns to take my hands in his. “Until I had you, I didn’t care whether I lived or died. I didn’t have any interest in being king in the manner of my father. But things are different now.” He gazes earnestly into my eyes. “You know how things have changed.”

Through his touch, he lays his heart and mind bare. He loves me. Yes, love. A word I never dared to hope would be associated with me. And he believes in the future we can provide for our people—our united people.

We will have a shipload of babies, my love
. His thumbs caress the tender skin on my wrist, sending pleasant shivers up my arms and straight into my belly. My need for him awakes like a roaring waterfall and I stand, pulling him to his feet.

I won’t comment on the ship full of babies. Yet.

How can it be that this is the worst time and yet I feel happier than I have ever been? Whatever happens, I will go to the stars a grateful man.

We take the transport up to the royal level, but it doesn’t occur to me until we step into the hall that this is perhaps not the best place to be. “Maybe we should see if one of the other apartments are available.” I’ve just realized my parents’ bodies are still in there and I’m not prepared to face more death right now. I begin to lead Nic back into the transport, when Dillon steps into the hall from the royal suite.

“My Lords,” he says. He tries a bow, but he has no finesse and I’m just tired enough that I laugh. His face flushes with embarrassment.

Nic reaches forward and claps him on the shoulder. “You’ve no need of such formalities, Dillon. Not now, not ever. Understood?”

Probably unconsciously, Dillon’s eyes flick up to Nic’s forehead where the Blood Crown remains in view—we decided that it should stay as long as we are in public; and it seems a thing we can control. But Nic continues to grip Dillon’s shoulder in a friendly manner and finally Dillon relaxes and nods. “Sure.” Then he grins and Nic grins and I find I am
happy
. Despite everything, there is happiness, goodness in my world.

“Come in—we’ve a little surprise for you,” Dillon says, motioning toward the royal apartments.

I hold my breath as we cross the threshold, unwilling to see my parents, or even the chair they had sat in for the past nine years. But the room has been so changed, it is like entering an entirely new space.

Minn stands beside a long, white couch, a roaring fire—a fire!—behind her. The chair and my parents—and, it seems all the trappings of their suite—are gone.

“I hope it’s all right M’La—” Minn stops at the sharp nod Dillon gives her and a short laugh bursts from me again.

“Just call me Sera, Minn. Like always.” I step forward and hug her, but not before I notice her eyes, too, flick toward the Crown on my head. When I step back, I hide the Crown once more.
We don’t need to wear them in our own apartment, do we?
“And everything looks amazing—thank you!”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Dillon takes Minn’s elbow. “We took great care with your parents. They are prepared, should you wish to honor them.”

Minn sighs and gives Dillon a grateful smile. “We put your parents’ things into storage and brought in some items we found in the other rooms.”

“We thought you should have a place of your own,” Dillon adds.

“Oh,” I exclaim. “I could kiss you for this. It’s perfect!” And so I kiss her cheek, anyway.

I spin around, noting the mirrors on the walls, the white rugs on the floor—and a warm glow coming from the room beyond—the sleeping chamber. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as I take Nic’s hand. I want Minn and Dillon to hurry and leave, but I don’t have the heart to send them away just yet.

My stomach growls so loudly Minn jumps and Dillon barks out a laugh. “We have food for you, M’L—Serantha. Come, sit.”

Nic leads me to the small round table tucked in a corner beneath a charming hanging lamp alight with small bulbs. Dillon opens a door in the wall near us and the scrumptious smell of food, fresh and warm, envelopes the whole room. I sigh, only now giving in to the hunger that grips me.

Dillon places plates piled high with meat and bread, vegetables and cheese. He pours us drinks and leaves the bottle of thick red fluid—wine, Nic supplies—as he steps back.

“We’ll retire for the night, My—uh. If you need anything,” Minn says, stepping closer to Dillon, “just ask the ship and it will be alert us.”

“Thank you,” I say while Nic nods, his mouth full of food.

As they leave the room, Minn reaches out for Dillon’s hand and I feel as though, for right this very moment, everything is right with my world.

We eat in silence while I access everything Archibald had stored in his database about how to act like a princess. I am not very good at it. I feel confident in my abilities to lead—I’d been leading myself my entire life and I figure it can’t be much different than that. Except instead of watching out for myself, I will watch out for everyone.

Yet I might not survive this dinner.

Nic chuckles in that soft way of his, like he is laughing for his own amusement and not to be overheard by anyone.

“What?” But I know what. I’d just dropped my fork for the third time because I couldn’t coordinate my knife and fork the way he does. “Oh, forget it.” I stab the meat and use my fingers to pull off a piece of it. I shove it into my mouth—with my fingers—and glare at him.

He gets up from the table, shaking his head and chuckling all the while. I pretend to ignore him. But when he leans in behind me, pressing his cheek to mine and taking each of my hands in his, I can’t ignore him no matter how hard I try.

He shapes the fingers of my left hand around the fork, and then my right around the knife. With gentle pressure he helps me cut the meat with ease. A piece free, he helps me spear the juicy morsel and place it in my mouth. While I chew, his thumb caresses my left wrist and his lips wander down my neck, leaving kisses like whispers against my skin. At some point I stop chewing and close my eyes, savoring his kisses instead of the food.

Nic releases the knife and fork from my fingers and I swallow with a gulp. Then he trails his hands upward where he sweeps my hair over my right shoulder. His fingertips and kisses chase each other at the nape of my neck and I gasp when his tongue flicks my skin.

His fingers slip beneath the collar of my shirt and I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I might explode if something doesn’t happen soon.

And because he knows me, truly knows me, Nic steps back and holds the chair so I can scoot out from the table and stand. I turn to him, finding his eyes dark with desire and his pale cheeks flushed a warm pink. He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom.

Inside, Minn and Dillon have worked wonders—this isn’t my little girl princess room, nor my parents’ royal bedchamber. This room is all ours. The four poster bed has been draped with sheer fabric of the palest pink, the bed a wonder of fluffy, white blankets and pillows. Lights that mimic the look and feel of candles flicker from sconces on the wall and stand alone on the tables at either side of the bed. I breathe deeply, both to steady my nerves and to drink in the sweet, clean smell.

And then Nic steps closer and all I want to smell is him—a dark, leathery scent that makes my thighs tremble. I find the hem of his shirt and I tuck my hands inside—we both gasp when my fingers brush his skin. He sighs and leans into me, pressing his forehead against mine.

I begin to unbutton his shirt, one . . . two . . . and feather kisses over his skin. Nic groans and grabs my face, raising me up, then presses a hot kiss to my mouth. He wraps his arms around me as he deepens the kiss, drawing me up onto my toes.

When desire elicits a soft moan from my lips I think Nic will go wild. He lifts me off the floor and walks the few steps to the bed where he leans against me until we both fall onto it, pillows and blankets billowing up around us.

In our fervor, we struggle like little children to remove our clothing. Nic’s throaty laughter washes over me and I add mine to his, like a song meant only for us.

But when the frustration and laughter fade away, and we feel our skin touch . . . his kisses slow, and my touches linger. In the quiet, we help each scoot beneath the sheets. I close my eyes as Nic presses his body to mine and tears burn against my lids.

I have never hoped to feel such belonging, such love. And it isn’t just the Bond—it is more, it is everything. If Nic and I had had time to get to know one another, if we hadn’t been Bonded since we were children, if the Bond had never been created—I am certain I would choose him, still.

As I would choose you
, Nic says.