To The Princess Bound (21 page)

Victory narrowed her eyes.  “Don’t you dare call me a rabbit, you insensitive pig.”

Her father raised both blonde brows.  “And quite feisty, it seems.”  He leaned back in his chair, reaching for his wine.  “Tell me, dear.  Are you quite done with your tantrum?”  He took a sip, eying her over the lip of his glass.

“That was not a tantrum, father,” Victory said, so full of rage that all she could get to come out was a whisper.

Her father cocked his head, a smile playing upon his lips.  “I’m sorry.  What was that?”

Victory swallowed her fury and tried again.  “You are going to remove this slave from my belt.”

“My dear,” her father said, swishing his wine, “You’re trembling.”

“That’s because,” Victory managed, “I’m trying very hard not to slap that smile off your face, you pathetic old man.”

Her father’s gray eyes darkened to the color of storm clouds.  Slowly, he put his goblet down and leaned back in his chair, idly tapping his fingers upon the tabletop.  “Though I must admit that this latest change in your demeanor better behooves a Princess of the Imperium than a whimpering coward,” he finally said, “It would be in your best interest to watch your tongue, girl.”

“I am a
woman
, not a
girl
,” Victory snapped.  “I haven’t been a
girl
since a group of rebels took me off my ship and raped me until I had their seed puddled between my legs.”

He gave her a distasteful grimace.  “That disgrace would never have happened to Matthias.”

Victory could only stare at her father in utter flabbergastation.  “Are you trying to imply I could have stopped them?”  Her voice was a tight whisper of rage. 

Her father snorted.  “He would have fought to the death before he surrendered to rebels.”

For long moments, Victory found she could not speak.  She was so utterly furious that she couldn’t even think of a way to form a response.

Casually, her father continued, “Women are not meant to rule.  They don’t have the heart for it.  If the Imperium didn’t have such strict rules regarding succession, I would have put your brother in your place twenty years ago. 

“
I
am the next Adjudicator,” Victory snarled.  “Whether you like my brother better or not, it is going to be
me,
and you are going to die knowing I’m taking your place.”

She thought she detected a hint of amusement in his face.  “My,” he said.  “You
are
feeling better, aren’t you?”

“I’m fixed,” Victory snarled, slamming the chain onto the table between them.  “Take it off.”

Her father met her eyes and watched her closely.  “No, I don’t think you are.”  He leaned forward, smiling, and tapped her upon the side of the skull.  “That frightened little child is still in there somewhere, hiding, waiting for a chance to get out.  Until you’ve burned her silly antics from your memory, you’re still going to lapse into tantrums.”  He leaned back, waving a dismissive hand.  “Give it a month or two.  Then come back to me.”

“It was
not a tantrum!”
she screamed.

He tisked.  “That’s not what your staff tells me, when I caught them disposing of your collection,” he said, and tilted back his goblet to drain his cup.

Victory slapped it out of his hand, hurling wine and goblet across the room. 

Her father tensed, looking down at the crimson spatter upon his embroidered silk shirt.  For a long moment, neither of them spoke.  Then, very softly, he said, “You walk a very delicate line, Victoria.”  His voice was cold, emotionless.  In her childhood, that voice had terrified her.  Now, it only made her laugh.

“What are you going to do to me?” Victory laughed.  “Throw me in a cell?  Starve me?  Disgrace me in front of the masses?”  She flicked a bit of wine spatter from her arm.  “Sorry, father.  You’re too late for that.  It’s
been done
.”  She gave him a cruel smile.  “I will see you at dinner, you disgusting waste of human flesh.  I’m sure I can find some interesting stories to tell your guests.”

Then she turned and stormed from the room, dragging the slave with her.

She found her brother reclining on a couch in the sunroom, enjoying the afternoon rays as he looked thoughtfully out over the valley below, a pitcher of mead on the table beside him.

“You!” Victory shouted, stepping past his Praetorian.  “How the
hell
could you let him do this to me?!”  She jerked the chain at him, making the slave stumble behind her.  “Were you a part of this madness?  Whose idea was it?  His or yours?  Did you actually think it would
work?!
”

Matthias scrambled to his feet, his green eyes wide and shocked.  “Victory, you’re—”

She bowled over him.  “I know you had something to do with it.  I know you picked him.  I know what he is.”

Her brother’s eyes widened and he glanced at the slave.  “He
told
you?”

Victory narrowed her eyes.  “I want him gone, Matt.  Send him
home
goddamn it.”

Matthias gave her a nervous look.  “I could find someone else.  A non—”  He glanced at the exit and lowered his voice.  “A normal man.”

“That,” Victory snarled, “Is not the problem.”  She yanked the slave closer, forcing his big bulk to bend down beside her.  “The problem,” she snarled, “Is that there is something slow and heavy connected to my waist, and it is limiting my freedom of movement.”

Matt looked uncomfortable.  “I just got a courier from Father.  He said you are to remain in the belt for three months.”  He glanced at the Emp.  “I could switch him out, though, if he has displeased you.”

Victory screamed and kicked an ancient ceramic pot off of the end-table, spilling plant, soil, and decorative statuary onto the floor, breaking open the root-ball contained within.  Panting, she picked up the plant by its long wooden stem and, wielding it like a bat, started slamming it into the wall, throwing dirt and leaves everywhere.

Matt caught her wrists gently.  “Victory,” he whispered, when she dropped the plant and started kicking at it.  “Dear,” he said, tugging her away from the plant.  “Should I call for a doctor?”

“
I don’t need a doctor!
” she screamed, shoving him.  “I need this
slave
off of my
waist!
”  She grabbed the tether and held it out to him, fury burning like fire within.  “I know you can do it, Matt.  Take it off.  Now.”

Matt gave the chain a nervous look.  “You know the way Father thinks.  If you find a way to take it off, he’s only going to make it worse.”

In a scream of frustration, Victory picked up the pitcher of mead and hurled it at the window.  Instead of cracking the bullet-proof glass, however, it simply shattered against the barrier, mead and stoneware dripping down to the window-seats below.  Furious, Victory slammed herself backward into the seat that her brother had just occupied and kicked the coffee table out of her way.

Matt watched it go crashing across the room, his nervous look growing.  “Did the slave do this?” he asked.

“The slave did
nothing
,” Victory snarled.

Matthias’s face seemed to fall.  “Oh.  But I heard—”

“Your reports were
wrong.
”  She stared at the opposite wall, feeling bad about the plant, not wanting to destroy anything else, yet boiling with anger inside.  Years and years of fury, all twisting within her like a cyclone.  She was finding it hard to breathe through her hatred.

“Perhaps,” Matthias said, gingerly taking a seat beside her, “He truly did help, after all?  You are out and facing the world…”

Victory gave him a cold look.  “That was my doing.  Not his.”

“Oh.”  Her brother looked confused.  Then he seemed to search for words before saying, “Is there anything I can do for you, then?  Aside from relieving you of your burden?  Not even I am willing to brave Father’s wrath for that.  The courier said he was having trouble dictating, he was so angry.”

“Good,” Victory said, feeling a small flash of triumph at making her infamously cold and analytical father angry, despite the desperation rising from his edict.

“It’s not wise to make him angry,” Matthias said.  “He has a long memory.”

“I couldn’t care less about making him angry,” Victory snapped.

“I can see that,” Matt said.  He looked concerned.  “Do you want me to call a doctor?” he asked again.

Victory turned to him and met his eyes.  “I don’t.  Need.  A
doctor
.”

Her brother blinked and looked away.  “Sorry.  You’re just…”  He swallowed.  “Not what I expected.  Last I heard, you collapsed into a ball when father walked into the room and had his Praetorian pound your slave senseless.  Now you’re…”  He obviously struggled for the right word.  “…different.”

“I realized I was being childish,” Victory said.

Her brother frowned.  “Is that what Father said?  You don’t actually
believe
that, do you?”

Victory frowned at him, reminded of what else she found hard to believe.  “Matt, what is Father charging the natives of this planet by way of taxes?”

“Twenty percent,” her brother replied.  He gave a small frown.

Victory glanced at the Emp, then at her brother.  “How long would it take to get a copy of the reports?”

Matt shrugged.  “An hour.  Two.  Mother would have known.  She was constantly hounding the Constable after you disappeared.”

After I disappeared…
  Victory frowned.  “Why was that?”

Matt grunted.  “She told me something once about discrepancies in the staff wages.”

The staff wages.
  Victory once again remembered the ice-blue eyes of the young man from the hall, his scarred bottom lip.  His sneer as he looked her up and down.

“What are Mercy’s biggest exports?” Victory asked.

He frowned at her, curious, now.  “Is this a test, sister?” he asked, giving a chuckle.

“Tell me,” Victory growled.

“Slaves and stone,” he said, his frown deepening.  “Everyone knows that.”

“How many slaves a year?” she asked.

He gave her a curious look.  “I’m not sure.  Somewhere in the millions.”

“And our slaves are all obtained legally?” Victory demanded.

“Of course.”  Then his eyes flickered to the Emp and he said, “Well, most of them.”

Victory ignored that.  “There are only a hundred million people on this planet, brother.”

“So?”  He seemed perplexed.  “The planet is in a state of rebellion.  Has been since the occupation.”

“Forty
years
have gone by since Father landed with his Imperial fleet,” Victory said.  “It takes most new Imperates four years to restore order.  A few have taken six.  Why would the planet still be rebelling after so long, unless there was a root cause behind it?”

Matthias sighed and slumped back into the sofa, staring out over the valley.  “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”  She knew he was the General Commander of the Imperial Fleet, acting as her father’s right arm in everything military ever since his father had forced him to take the job when he was fourteen. 

She also knew that the war had been wearing at him.  While his sigil was a sword—chosen for him by his father—and while he inspired a loyalty in his troops that most leaders would give their firstborn children to obtain, he much preferred to wield a pen.

Victory stood up.  “I’m going to go figure it out.  If you see Father before dinner, give him my
warmest
regards.”

“Wait!” Matt said, jumping to his feet with her.  “It’s been so long since I’ve talked with you.  Perhaps you would walk through the gardens with me—”

“Not now,” Victory said.  “I have business that needs attending to.”

And then, despite Matthias’s protests, she stalked from the room, dragging her slave with her.

She found the office of the Constable of Numbers deep within the bowels of the palace, near the treasury.  When she stepped to the door, the soldiery guarding it stepped quickly aside, their eyes round as they watched her and her entourage pass.  This deep in the palace, they probably only saw a Praetorian a few times a year, from a distance.  They gave her a wide berth, which was probably a life-saving measure for them, considering Victory’s mood.

The Constable himself was a large, flushed fat man, sitting behind a desk stacked with sheets of numbers and built-in computers.  When he saw her, he straightened rigidly, sweat breaking out on his overly-red brow.

“I want to know why my request was not fulfilled,” she growled.

The Constable of Numbers licked his lips and glanced down at the reports on his desk.  “Request?” he asked.  “What request, Princess?” 

“The one that Kiara made at my behest,” Victory snapped, tired of the games.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, looking genuinely perplexed.  “There must have been some mistake.  I never received a request from your staff.” 

“Then do it now,” Victory said.  “I’d like to see tax documentation for the native populace of Mercy.”

“I’m sorry, milady,” he said, making a nervous chuckle.  “Such a monumental task takes time.”