Unbound Page 11

  “Are you suggesting the Princess ought to stay cooped up indoors and out of the sun?” the Queen demanded. “She’s already too pale and pasty as it is! She has to look presentable at the ball tonight if we’re to secure an advantageous match with her new suitor.”

  “New suitor?” Varin felt a rush of possessive rage which he struggled to push down. In the back of his mind, he had known this day would come. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Brynn was his. The idea of her with any other male drove him into a murderous rage. But he couldn’t show that to the King and Queen—not if he wanted to be able to continue to guard their daughter. Instead he cleared his throat and said, “I have not heard that you had found someone you considered a worthy candidate to wed the Princess.”

  “Worthy candidate?” The Queen gave a derisive laugh. “Please—it’s been no secret that we’ve been seeking her a husband from the moment she came back from the Sisters of Chastity and Obedience. Her brother the Crown Prince will take the throne once the King and I are gone—we don’t need a second heir.”

  “I see.” Varin nodded, striving to keep his face calm and emotionless. “And as the Princess’s protector, may I know his name?”

  “The impertinence!” the Queen exclaimed but the King made a dismissive gesture.

  “Peace, Isolde. It makes no difference if the slave knows or not. He is Sovereign Ysldred X’izith,” he said, addressing himself to Varin. “Ruler of a planet somewhere outside our sector. Zelum or Jelum—something like that.”

  “Somewhere outside our sector? You don’t even know the exact name or location of his planet?” Varin demanded.

  “We know that he’s wealthy and he’s expressed interest in the princess,” the Queen snapped. “And that’s a good deal more than you need to know. Your only function at the ball tonight is to guard the princess from afar and don’t interfere! I won’t have you ruining this chance for her!”

  This chance for you, you mean, Varin thought bitterly. The chance to sell away your only daughter like a trinket you don’t like very much.

  He felt a helpless rage sweep over him. These two had never cared about Brynn—especially after they had a male heir! Packing her off to a convent for the first eighteen years of her life so they wouldn’t have to be “bothered” with her…never visiting her a single time…and Brynn had told him herself, in a shamed whisper, how the Queen had called her a “disappointment” at their very first meeting.

  Varin struggled with himself for a moment, fighting to keep his composure when what he really wanted to do was knock their royal heads together for being so callus and uncaring towards the beautiful, sensitive girl who should have been their most precious treasure.

  “Was there something else, slave?” the King asked, frowning at him.

  “Yes, your Majesty—there is.” Varin took a deep breath. “This is a delicate subject but…there were some rumors about a possible ‘deflowering.’ I normally would never ask you such a thing but as Princess Brynnalla’s protector, I need to make certain that’s all they are—just idle rumors with no basis in truth. The old customs were barbaric…brutal. I cannot see the Princess subjected to such cruelty.”

  “Well!” The Queen sounded offended but the King answered, still frowning.

  “I will answer only because you are, as you say, the Princess’s protector. As you know, the royal females of our lineage used to have…difficulties in accommodating their new husbands when they were first joined. But that was in ancient times, before our blood was somewhat diluted and thinned. We no longer have this problem, and so the deflowering ceremony and the equipment used to perform it is no longer needed.”

  “Good.” Varin felt a rush of relief. “Thank you for reassuring me, your Majesty. The Princess is too delicate for such treatment.”

  “Yes, yes…” The King waved one hand in irritation. “Now go—Queen Isolde and I have other matters to attend to—you have taken up enough of our time.”

  “Yes, your Majesty.” Varin bowed stiffly. “I thank you for your kind indulgence.”

  “Very well, then go.” The Queen sounded irritated. “And be certain you’re on your best behavior tonight!”

  Varin simply bowed again and left. There was nothing else he could do or say except stay as close to Brynn as he could and protect her with his life.

  Chapter Twelve

  “My Sovereign, your costume and mask are ready.” The buzzing hum of the worker in his ear drew Ysldred X’izith’s attention from his view of the small blue and pink world outside his window.

  The Hive had been scouting Galen Prime for some time now, considering whether to make it their next conquest. The world was rich with resources but it was also overrun by a fleshy, humanoid species that might prove to be troublesome. X’izith had been weighing his options, waiting to see if they were good for breeding, as well as for meat. Some fleshers were incompatible with his species—in which case it wouldn’t be worth the risk to the Hive to expend the energy and resources to take them.

  About two solar weeks ago, the scout he had sent to the planet had returned with a flesher female with long yellow hair and pale skin. She had shouted and screamed, the strange water the fleshers called tears pouring from her green eyes, until the workers had drugged her with the Blood Honey.

  After she was brought to heat, X’izith had implanted her with multiple common grubs—(he would not risk royal grubs on a female of uncertain pedigree.) The implantation had been somewhat problematic, though—there had been a barrier between her legs, in the way of his breeding barb which he disliked, for it impeded the proper implantation.

  But his barb was sharp for a reason. After piercing the flesher female’s abdomen multiple time from above, he had finally implanted the grubs. And, to his intense satisfaction, they appeared to be thriving within her—at least, if the ripples in her distended belly were anything to go by.

  Of course, such methods would not do for royal grubs and anyway, he preferred sheathing his breeding barb between a female’s thighs rather than stabbing it into her abdomen. The pleasure was much more intense that way.

  Upon accessing, translating and reading more about the fleshers of Galen Prime, he found that this abnormally tough membrane was common to Galen females who had yet to be bred—those of noble or royal blood, anyway. But they appeared to have a method of dealing with it, which would take care of the problem. X’izith had filed the information away and promised himself that with the next female—the royal female he would take—things would go more smoothly.

  But the fact that the breeding was possible at all, decided him. Accordingly, he had made plans to take the small world of Galen Prime, but it had to be done stealthily—which was where his new costume came into play.

  “Bring it to me,” he ordered the worker, clicking his mandibles eagerly. “Let me see how it fits—it had better be perfect!”

  “Yes, my Sovereign.” The worker scurried off, his many legs clacking over the metal floors of the stolen flesher spaceship. Of course, the Hive had their own ships for space-faring but they tended to look different and alien to flesher eyes. X’izith had found it was best to disguise his outside appearance in every way—including the ship he took—until he was certain a target was within his grasp.

  This was the same reason he had kept the original crew of the stolen ship—for their humanoid appearance as well as their piloting abilities. Of course, they could no longer think for themselves. They had blank looks on their fleshy faces, staring straight ahead as they worked the controls of the ship. X’izith had injected a special serum only he could make into the base of their skulls which gave him complete control over them. They were most useful as a backdrop for his disguise, which the worker was currently fetching.

  “Here you are, my Sovereign.” The worker was back, grasping the flesher clothing carefully in several appendages. “This new disguise should fool even the most discerning flesher. The artisans have worked for many long solar hours to complete it.” He held
out the strange two-legged trousers. “Here, try these first. I believe you will need to put two legs in each of the long, cloth tubes,” he added helpfully.

  X’izith stepped into the trousers, keeping his breeding barb tucked in as he pulled the flesher clothing up to the narrow joining of his abdomen and thorax. He then cinched the trousers tightly with a long, narrow leather strap. This area—the fleshers called it a “waist”—did not look right. It was much too narrow for a flesher male, but he had ordered the top part of the outfit to cover it.

  Indeed, as he pulled on the items the fleshers called a “shirt,” pushing two long, many jointed, chitinous limbs through each arm hole, he found that it fell past his narrow waist, disguising it quite well.

  Next came gloves, made to look like flesher hands and wrists. In point of fact, they were what they looked like because they had been made from the parts of captured and dismembered fleshers from another conquest planet.

  Tiny pumps implanted under the skin kept the blood circulating and the tissue alive quite nicely and X’izith had been practicing with them so he could use them convincingly. The finely haired claws at the ends of his own four arms fit into the hollowed out flesher fingers allowing him to do even the smallest task with deft precision.

  His wings he could do nothing about but when he folded them neatly along his back, they looked very like a kind of long, stiff cloak, which fell past the high brown boots that covered his four feet—two in each boot.

  The face and head was the trickiest part. With his gold tipped antennae, vast, black compound eyes, and curving, serrated mandibles, X’izith looked nothing like a flesher. The mask that covered his entire visage, therefore, had to be nothing short of a work of art.

  It opened in the back, where it would be least noticeable, hidden by the ridiculous fur the fleshers called “hair.” X’izith looked at the inner workings, appreciating the intuitive interior switches he would be able to work with his mandibles to approximate the same expressions the fleshers themselves used for social interaction.

  The skin of the face and head mask was pinkish-tan in color and the eyes—which looked like the pitiful and inadequate pair most fleshers had—were purple. Of course, they were set in the wrong part of the head for X’izith to actually see with—his eyes were located on the sides of his head in a sensible fashion, instead of up front. To fix this, see-through mesh was hidden on either side of the mask, concealed, as was the closure, by the brownish-green hair.

  The nose and mouth and eyes of the mask were worked by his mandibles but though he had read and internalized the Galen flesher language, X’izith considered that his true voice was still too high and hissing to sound like them. Luckily, the throat of the mask had a tone modulator built into it so he could speak without fear of detection.

  Once the outfit was on, he examined himself before the viewer. Yes—he looked exactly like a flesher. He would fool them all—for as long as he chose to, that was.

  “How is the fit, my Sovereign?” the worker asked anxiously. “Shall I give the artisans extra blood rations or order them dismembered and thrown into the flesh pits by the guards?”

  “Extra rations, I think,” X’izith hissed thoughtfully. “Though the mask does constrict my antennae somewhat.” Indeed, the golden tip of his left antenna was folded over and trying to poke out the mesh beside his eye. He would have to be careful of that.

  “May I be so bold as to ask why you are bothering with such subterfuge?” the worker asked. “Why do we not simply overrun the planet, as we usually do, and take what we want?”

  “Because what I want most is a Breeding Queen—one with a proper pedigree,” X’izith explained. “Fleshers with the correct DNA sequences which make them compatible for breeding are becoming rarer and more difficult to find. Among the Galens, only the royals have them, due to their unbroken lineage. I must secure the young female they call “Princess” for breeding the royal grubs, before I overtake the entire planet.”

  “Ah, very good.” The worker nodded. “But…what if the fleshers will not release this “Princess” to you?”

  “They will—I have sent a message containing golden ore mined from the last asteroid we harvested to make them believe I am a flesher of wealth and means. They should be eager to sell her to me for the correct price.” He shrugged, his wings moving with the motion. “Naturally I shall simply regain the gold once we take the planet—so there will be no loss—only gain.”

  “What if they take a disliking to you and decide to withhold the Princess no matter how much you offer?” the worker wanted to know.

  “Then the time for niceties will be over and I will make a show of strength.” X’izith gnashed his mandibles together which contorted the flesher mask he wore alarmingly. “Have our fleet waiting behind Galen’s moon—either way the conquest will begin within the next twenty-four solar hours after I attend the flesher gathering they call a “ball.”

  “Very well.” The worker bowed, grooming his antennae obsequiously. “It shall be as you say, my Sovereign.”

  “Good.” X’izith looked in the viewer again, practicing moving the purple eyes from side to side, and opening and closing the mouth. “The Hive will feed and brood and swarm and soon there will be royal grubs again.” He looked at the worker. “Who knows? You may even serve one of them if he grows large enough and is able to best and consume me.”

  “The Nameless Ones, Gods of Nothing, grant it shall be, that the Hive shall live forever,” the worker answered reverently.

  “Yes.” X’izith nodded. “That the Hive shall live forever.”

  The worker scuttled off and X’izith resumed practicing his flesher facial expressions. Tonight’s “ball” should be entertaining in the extreme and he didn’t intend to leave it without the Princess.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I can’t wear this! It shows much too much skin!” Brynn stared down at herself in dismay. The gown was a muted gold with a flowing, pearlescent pattern worked into the fabric and full skirts that fell to the floor. The color was rather nice—just a few shades lighter than Varin’s eyes, Brynn thought. However, it wasn’t the color that was upsetting her.

  The bodice of the ball gown—if it could be called that—was simply a small piece of material which came up from the full skirt and barely covered her top. Her back was completely bare and the cups sewn inside the gown, which thrust her small breasts up and out, made Brynn feel horribly exposed. Back in the convent, wearing only the modest gray robes that covered her from neck to toes, she would never have dreamed of putting on such a garment, even in private. Now she would be forced to wear it in public!

  She tugged futilely, trying to get the golden fabric to come higher— it barely covered the small pink arcs of her areolas and she was afraid if she raised her arms to dance, it might flash her nipples. But it was no good—the dress had been tailor-made for her and it stayed where it was, despite all her pulling and tugging.

  “This is what your Lady-mother the Queen sent for you,” Lady Tasmina, her new head lady in waiting said, frowning. “You must wear it, Princess.”

  “But you and the other ladies in waiting don’t to have to wear such…such revealing gowns!” Brynn glanced resentfully at Tasmina’s dress—a vivid turquoise blue with a much more reasonable bodice which actually covered her back and all of her breasts, except for a tiny bit of cleavage.

  “I’m not the one Sovereign Ysldred X’izith is coming to see,” Tasmina said blandly. “I think it is your Lady-mother’s wish that you stand out.”

  Ysldred X’izith…the whole palace was buzzing with the name of her new suitor—supposedly the ruler of a rich new world in a different sector of space than Galen. He was coming to the ball tonight to meet her and Brynn knew she ought to feel excited…yet all she could feel was a nameless dread in the pit of her stomach.

  I thought I had more time! she couldn’t help thinking. More time before they got rid of me. I’ve only been back from the convent for two solar months!
How can they already be sending me away?

  But it wasn’t just the prospect of leaving the Galen royal palace and going to a whole new planet that had her palms cold and damp. It was the idea of being with a strange male. Just admit it, Brynn, whispered a little voice inside her head. To you, strange means any male besides Varin.

  It was true—try as she might, Brynn simply couldn’t imagine herself being with any male but the big Kindred. Especially not when it came to making love. Every time she used the little tickle-teaser (which she had done several times, after getting over some of her guilt) she imagined Varin touching and kissing her and giving her pleasure…and herself giving him pleasure in return.

  Of course, Brynn knew it could never be—his obedience band would never allow it and it would be considered wildly inappropriate for the Princess to join with her slave. It was neither proper nor practical for her to imagine such a thing.

  But she couldn’t seem to help it—all the practicality and propriety in the world couldn’t stop her mind from showing her vivid images of Varin the moment she started to explore herself at night, under the covers.

  She and Varin no longer dared to go inside her room and talk anymore and the big Kindred couldn’t touch her, even with a sheet or cloth between them, for fear that they might be watched somehow. But they still had long conversations, carried out in whispered voices, as they sat on a broad window ledge conveniently close to her doorway.

  At least if I have to go with this new male—this Ysldred X’izith—I’ll be able to take Varin, she thought. He said he would never leave me and he’s bound to me as my personal guard—my parents will have to let him come with me to see that I’m safe on the new planet.

  Of course, maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Maybe Sovereign Ysldred X’izith wouldn’t like her at all and no offer would be made for her hand. Maybe this was all a false alarm.