Perfect Master
Authors: Ann Jacobs
Perfect Master
Book 5 in the Pleasure Partners series.
Crown Prince Arik needs a consort to breed
his sons but is afraid no woman will have him voluntarily once she sees his scars.
He will meet his bride for the first time at their public mating, with Arik
covered from head to toe in black leather—except for the bare essentials.
Emerald is alarmed yet highly aroused as
the palace eunuchs fondle and stimulate her in preparation for Arik’s mating.
But afterward, he pulls from her body, escorts her to his tower and leaves her
alone.
Emerald once saw her prince from a distance
and admired his beautiful form. Confused by Arik’s behavior, she insists she
has the right to see her mate and he reluctantly accedes to her demand. Arik is
afraid for the first time in his life and filled with regret that he refused
the help of the cyborg maker. Their future rests on this fateful revelation.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Perfect Master
ISBN 9781419932502
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Perfect Master Copyright © 2011 Ann Jacobs
Edited by Pamela Campbell
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication August 2011
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of
Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not
be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written
permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home
Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or
distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without
the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including
infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is
punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
(http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print
editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of
copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The
characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the |
The publisher does not have any control over,
and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or
their content.
Perfect Master
Ann Jacobs
Prologue
“Work your magic on my son, cyborg maker,
and I will see you well rewarded.” Gawain, Obsidion’s ruler, stared down from
the Diamond Throne at his subject, Pak Song, the galaxy’s most renowned master
of bionic and robotic engineering.
Pak Song bowed to his king then met the old
man’s tortured gaze. “Cannot fix man who refuses to allow it, sire.”
Gawain’s left eyebrow rose. “Not even on
the order of your king?”
“With all due respect, sire, no. If patient
is unwilling, results are likely not what you’d like to see. Man’s state of
mind has much to do with how well he heals.”
Not even the direst threats or most
outrageous promises of reward could sway Pak Song. Once the cyborg maker backed
away from the Diamond Throne, King Gawain slumped forward, the weight of his
crown suddenly more than he could bear.
When Gawain thought of his beautiful second
son as he was now, so damaged he would only venture from his tower swathed in
leather from head to toe, the primitive hook that replaced one hand sparkling
silver against the all-encompassing black suit and hood, guilt and regret
practically prostrated him.
Arik was a monster. And Gawain had caused
him to be so. He choked back a sob, but not before it drew the attention of his
assembled courtiers. Quickly he reclaimed his composure and reminded himself
that none of this could be helped.
His memory took him back twelve years, when
he’d lain in bed, assured by the idiot doctors that he was about to die. He’d
had no choice but to ensure the succession of his eldest son by ordering that
Arik and his royal cousins be castrated according to the law, or by hiring
mercenaries to find and kill Arik once he’d fled from Obsidion to avoid the
surgeon’s laser knife.
Thank the gods that his hirelings had
failed in their duty to commit murder, and that his emissaries had been able to
find Arik after Tabor’s death and bring him home, sexually whole but horribly
maimed.
Thank the gods Arik fled before…
Gawain let his gaze rest on the four royal eunuchs, his dead
brother’s sons who served him now as servants.
Thank the gods Arik is not
like them.
Gawain realized no woman would willingly
take Arik as her mate, not with the scars he refused to allow the surgeons to
mitigate. The royal line would die with him, unless… “Summon the matchmaker,”
he shouted to his chief of staff.
* * * * *
“The lady Meredith, sire,” one of the royal
eunuchs announced an hour later as he prostrated himself on the floor in front
of Gawain.
Behind him stood Obsidion’s matchmaker,
garbed in rich black velvet, her eyes wide at the pageantry of the royal court.
She inclined her head, her manner more one of respect than obeisance. “How may
I serve you, your majesty?”
Can I do it?
Could he sentence an innocent woman to look on Arik and his grievous scars
every day for the rest of her life? There was no question in Gawain’s mind.
Someday Arik would be king, and a king required a consort. Heirs. He cleared
his throat. “You will make a match for Crown Prince Arik.”
Shock was evident on the matchmaker’s
attractive, unlined face. “Yes, sire. But might I ask why the prince wouldn’t
prefer to choose a princess for himself?”
“Arik is…shy.”
Would that this were
true.
Meredith hesitated a moment then nodded. “I
believe I can find a proper match for such a prize as your son. Tell me, what
sort of woman does your son desire?”
One who is blind to his scars.
Gawain held back that thought. Better that the matchmaker not know
about those, even in the abstract. “A beauty, with the bearing of a princess.
Intelligent. A woman with uncommon tact and an ability to inspire the love of
her subjects.”
“What dowry do you expect?” Meredith’s
shrewd look reminded Gawain her business was matchmaking and that she was
successful enough at it to command high prices from her customers.
“The dowry is unimportant. My concern is to
see my son settled and, with the gods’ blessing, to see my first grandsons.”
Chapter One
“You’ve arranged a marriage for
me
with one of Eli the jeweler’s beautiful daughters? I’d sooner take a whore from
one of the sex slave markets on the Street of Pleasure.” Arik, newly named
Crown Prince of Obsidion, clenched the fist on his remaining hand and shoved
his right arm with its vicious-looking hook practically into his father’s face.
“A sexbot would be an even better choice.”
King Gawain shuddered, obviously pained to
have to look upon the ravagement he had caused. “You cannot mean that, my son.”
Arik took pleasure in the way his father
cringed when he had to look into Arik’s remaining eye. It gave him fiendish
pleasure when the old man quickly looked away and focused his gaze on the
priceless carpet at his feet. “At least a whore would close her eyes and give
me my money’s worth. And I would walk away satisfied, with no obligation to
provide her pleasure in return. A bot would care nothing about anything, even
this
sight that makes you look away.” Arik lifted his hand and touched the empty
eye socket and a mass of scars that crisscrossed that side of his face and
neck.
The king’s eyes dimmed when he glanced up
Arik’s body, his gaze settling this time on the hideously scarred surface of
his son’s cheek. “The one named Emerald will not dare reject you.”
Arik curled his lip in disgust. “So you’ve
bought me a princess with Obsidion’s gold. Do you think that will buy my
forgiveness for you having sent a horde of mercenaries to chase me through the
galaxy and destroy me?”
“There can be but one heir to the Diamond
Throne. Tradition dictates that its heir be my eldest son.” The king’s
expression softened. “The palace physicians told me I was dying. After you fled
to avoid being made a royal eunuch along with your cousins, I ordered your
death to prevent the battle that would have been inevitable between you and
Tabor if both of you were alive and whole at the moment of my death. The gods
must have foreseen that I would recover and that Tabor would fall in battle, to
have looked over you and nursed you back from what must have been certain
death. I am grateful I still have a son to continue Obsidion’s rule.”
“A son for whom you must
buy
a
consort since your thugs failed to kill me.” Arik pondered the irony of it all
as he limped across his tower chamber, the translucent robe that indicated his
princely station flapping against his legs. “If you had left me to live my life
peacefully in exile rather than hiring mercenaries to kill me, you would not
now find yourself with an heir no woman will willingly take to her bed.”
“I did not buy a woman for you, though I
would gladly have done so had it been necessary. Meredith the matchmaker
brought me much gold from Eli. Apparently his spoiled eldest daughter insists
she must have a prince for her mate.”
“I take it I was the only prince in
Meredith’s inventory of possible mates for Obsidion’s sheltered beauties.” Arik
made no effort to disguise his sarcasm as he looked out toward the twinkling,
multicolored lights from businesses on the Street of Pleasure.
The king followed Arik. As though almost
afraid to touch him, he reached out and laid a hand on Arik’s damaged shoulder.
His gaze fastened on the scarred arm and the hook Arik now used after losing
his hand and the lower part of his forearm on Eastphalia, where more modern
prostheses weren’t available. He realized that while the device functioned
reasonably well, it looked more beastly than human.
As beastly as his scarred face and missing
eye, more so than the scars that ravaged his body. Wearing the hook gave Arik a
perverse sense of satisfaction, every time he saw the regret and horror
reflected in his father’s eyes. No way would he allow the king to salve his
conscience by submitting to the lengthy plastic surgery the surgeons had
proposed to restore his appearance, even though the old cyborg maker had
tempted him with promises of functional prostheses for some of his missing
parts. “The hook unnerves you, doesn’t it, Father?”
His expression stoic, King Gawain met
Arik’s gaze. “I admit it does. It looks as though it might become a lethal
weapon.”
“I promise not to use it to maim you as
your hirelings maimed me. But I will not submit to the knife to make it easier
for you to look upon me.”
Arik watched a tear slide down his father’s
cheek. “Perhaps you will do it for the fair Emerald, if not for me or your
future subjects. You mentioned being the only prince in Meredith’s inventory.
You may be right about that. It is of no importance, however, for you are to
mate with Emerald tomorrow. I pray to all the gods that she will soften your
heart.”
It served his father right, having to see
the results of his actions each day. Perhaps someday he would believe his
father’s suffering had accumulated sufficiently to compensate him for all he’d
lost. But it hadn’t yet.
The king cleared his throat as he stood by
the door, ready to escape. “Your bride has been certified fertile, and I cannot
doubt her beauty will stir your loins. I expect she will produce you an heir
some ten moons hence. Now I bid you good night.”
