Conquering His Queen: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance (Zalaryn Conquerors Book 1) Page 12

  “I trust you,” I say. And that’s true. I trust that he’s doing everything in his power to help us all. It’s just that there doesn’t seem to be a way out of it, a way that leaves everyone happy and safe.

  “No going out alone,” he says. “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” I say. “I do admit, it felt odd going out without Yar. Where is he? I haven’t seen him since he delivered the sweet-cane nectar to my room.”

  “He’s safe,” Vano says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

  “I have Yar, Stine and Ardal Sunsweeper under constant surveillance.”

  “That is not possible,” I say. “You cannot watch them at all times. There are secret passageways all over this palace. Especially in the lower levels. The Astronomer could retire to his chambers only to slip out some back exit while your men lurk in the corridor unaware.”

  “That’s true,” he says, “which is why I have had the three of them confined to the dungeon until this is settled.”

  “The dungeon?” I strain to keep my voice down so that the servants cannot hear. “You put three highly-placed, high-born men into the dungeon on mere suspicion?”

  “No mere suspicion,” he says. “I can sense something wrong around them. Something beyond the petty little grudges and ill wills that humans have toward each other.”

  “That’s not how we do things here,” I say. “You have to have proof and a legal trial. You can’t lock someone up because you have a bad feeling about them.”

  “That might not be the way humans do things,” he says. He is looking me straight in the eye, and I feel pinpricks all over my skin. I do not fear Vano in the least, but I see what his enemies must see when he faces them down on the battlefield. “But this is the way that I do things. I am King, remember? It was you who made it so.”

  And was that the right choice? I wonder. I do not regret taking Vano into my bed, and I do not regret taking him as my mate. But perhaps I was hasty in proclaiming him King Regent. He is taking too many liberties, making too many important decisions without a firm understanding of how our society works. “You think you see enemies everywhere,” I say, “but that is because you create them with barbaric tactics like this.”

  “You’ll thank me when one of those kecklets keels over from drinking the poison that was meant for you.”

  “You’re just trying to scare me,” I say. “To make me go along with your unjust decisions. I let you evacuate half the planet because you scared me about the Rulmek. Now you want me to let you imprison three important men without any evidence because I’m scared of being poisoned.”

  “Female,” he growls. “You do not let me do anything. Do not accuse me of manipulating your emotions for political gain. That accusation hurts me more than you can imagine. I have always been absolutely forthcoming with you. I have never hidden a secret agenda. It is you who schemes in secret in hopes that I will allow your humans to stay on this planet. I have no ulterior motives. I have one motive only: keeping you safe. That is the force that drives all my actions. Your safety. There is foul play at hand. Holy Void, I’d lock you up in the dungeon without hesitation if I thought it would keep you safe.”

  “Lock me in the dungeon?” I scoff. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I would,” he says. “Don’t test me. Stop acting like a spoiled girl and start acting like a Queen. Queens are assassinated all the time. Even if you do not take this threat seriously, I do. I would lock you up and prepare all your meals myself to be sure they are free of the poison. And I would do it for your own good. Remember when I punished you for proclaiming me King? How I told you to spread yourself open?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. That memory sends a wave of heat rolling through my belly.

  “And you listened to me like a good little Queen,” he says. “You held yourself open so I could play with your tight little ass. You were humiliated. You were angry. But then what did I tell you? After you were dripping wet and coming all over my face? What did I tell you?”

  “You said that I needed to trust you,” I whisper. Truth is, I think I’m dripping wet right now. My anger has subsided, replaced with the need for carnal release. “You said, ‘I know what I’m doing. Everything I do is for your own good.’”

  “That’s right,” he says. “And so is this.”

  “But the kecklets are all still alive,” I insist. “How long will it take you to realize you’re wrong? A week from now, will you still have them locked up, still insisting that we need to wait until one of the kecklets succumbs to poison that wasn’t there?”

  “I’m telling you to trust me,” he says. His anger is back. I am provoking him, but I cannot help it. He is hot-headed, but I cannot hold my tongue. He has overstepped too much.

  “I demand that you let them out of the dungeon this instant,” I say. “The kecklets are all alive and well. None of those bottles meant for me were poisoned. The men are innocent and should be let out.”

  “I am not letting them out,” he says, “until I am sure.”

  “Then I will,” I say. I stand up and head for the door. He follows me, catching up and closing the distance between us with a few quick strides.

  “You will not,” he says. “And if you defy me in this matter—this matter of life and death—I really will punish your impertinence. It will not be a pleasurable punishment, either.”

  “You would punish your bonded mate?” I ask. “Or was that all a lie, too, to get me to spread for you? To get me to hand over power? To authorize the evacuations?”

  He takes my arm and pulls me close. Heat radiates from his body. Despite all the anger I’m feeling, my body responds to his on what feels like a cellular level.

  “I needed no sweet words to get your royal legs to spread,” he whispers in my ear. “And there is nothing more disgraceful, more profane, than manipulating the sacred bond of true mates. You shame yourself by suggesting such things.” He runs his hands down my waist, caressing my hips. His lips brush my earlobe as he speaks, and I feel myself melt in his arms.

  I feel it, our bond. It is as tangible and real as the plates on the dinner table. A calm washes over me. He will protect me. He will keep me safe. I was such a fool to doubt him. Such a cruel and spoiled wench.

  He scrapes his lips across my cheek until they graze my own lips. I lean forward to kiss him, to know the warmth of his mouth, but he holds me just out of reach.

  “Know that our bond is true,” he says. I can feel the deep reverberations of his voice right down to my core.

  “I know,” I whisper. My voice is hoarse with the shame I feel for doubting him.

  “And know that everything I do, I do for our bond.”

  I close my eyes, ready to fully surrender, fully submit to his will. He can take me upstairs, he can bend me over his knee, and I will apologize. He was right, so right, and I am stubborn to resist him.

  He grips my hips, and my feet are lifted off the floor. He hoists me over his shoulder. He carries me as effortlessly as he would carry a sack of laundry.

  I let out a little moan as one of his hands trails up my leg. But it stops at my knee.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  And the next thing I know, we are downstairs, underneath the palace.

  Then comes the soft clink of iron on iron as he locks me into a dungeon cell.

  What have I done? My precious little Queen, in the dark, dank bowels of the palace.

  It’s for her own good. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

  “Bantokk,” I call, summoning my right-hand man from the hubbub of evacuation. We are out in the cold, overseeing humans onto the evacuation ship. The humans are not giving us much trouble. I can see the hopelessness in their eyes as they file past me.

  “Captain?” he answers.

  “Did you bring Bryn the necessary items?”

  “Well,” he begins. I know that’s a bad sign. In my haste, in my anger, I threw her over my shoulder and put her in a cell.


  My own fingers turned the key inside the lock.

  “Well what?” I ask. The cell was bare, furnished with a moldering straw mattress and a clay chamber pot. I tasked Bantokk with bringing her the comforts that any noble-born female of her position would require. A feather mattress, furs, wine, books.

  Apparently, she refused them all.

  “She told me to take them away,” Bantokk says.

  “What did she say? Exactly.” I need to know. I can’t stand not knowing what Bryn is thinking about me. I know our bond is strong and true…yet at the same time I worry. Humans are temperamental and irrational. One little snag like this… Who knows what lasting effect it will have on our life together?

  “She refused the items I brought,” he says. But he looks down toward the ground, fixing his gaze on a crack in the palace masonry.

  “I understand that,” I tell him. “But what were her exact words? What did she say?”

  “I don’t think my grasp on the human language is strong enough to understand the nuances of her curses,” Bantokk says.

  I can tell that he’s trying to shield me. I have known Bantokk since we were green and inexperienced raiders thrown on a ship together. We were bunked together, equals in rank and everything else that matters on a warship.

  “That’s fine,” I say. “Don’t tell me.” I can imagine the vitriol, the curses, the colorful invectives. I wouldn’t mind that so much because I know that she’s safe.

  I had to stop her from running around the palace, getting guardsmen to follow her to the dungeon to liberate Stine, Yar and Ardal Sunsweeper.

  Because that’s what she was about to do. I could sense her tension, her energy. She was going to call on her loyal guardsmen to unlock the three dungeon cells. And I would have been powerless. Who would her guardsmen listen to? The Queen that they loyally serve—or the alien invader?

  She was a split-second away from rising from the table and collecting guardsmen to go to the dungeons.

  I had to do something to stop her.

  But it probably shouldn’t have been this.

  I console myself with the knowledge that she’s safe in her cell. Her poisoner is still locked up, unable to scheme against her.

  If only I knew who it was.

  I don’t want to punish Bryn. I’m not trying to assert my dominance or teach her a lesson or get back at her for defying me. But I couldn’t have her running around demanding the release of the three suspects. I couldn’t let her free the poisoner—she’d have been at more risk than ever.

  “You should go down there and talk to her,” Bantokk says. “Then you should let her out.”

  “I’m not going to do that until one of those Void-damned kecklets keels over in its cage and we know who the poisoner is. If I let her out now, she’s going to be very upset.”

  “Obviously,” Bantokk says.

  “Upset I can handle,” I say. “But she’ll release all three of the suspects just to spite me. And her poisoner will be roaming the palace, free as a summer wind—and forewarned with the knowledge that he needs to be more careful.”

  “Tell her you’ll let her out if she promises not to,” Bantokk offers.

  “She wouldn’t do that,” I say. This much I know is true. “She’d agree then release them anyway. On a good day, she defies me on general principle. On a day like today? She’d probably issue a royal decree that all Zalaryn males had to cut off their right feet.”

  “You have a leonid by the tail,” he says. “Can’t keep holding on to it, can’t let go.”

  “When did you last check the kecklets?” I ask again.

  “Before I went to Queen Bryn,” he says. “One of them should be experiencing the effects of the poison by now.”

  “I know that,” I snap. “That’s the problem.”

  “Have you considered—”

  “No,” I say.

  “—that you were wrong?” he finishes.

  “No,” I repeat. “I am not wrong. I just—” If anyone will understand, it will be Bantokk. “Remember our last mission? I hesitated. I was weak. I got people killed. It was my fault because I wasn’t ruthless enough.”

  “I never want to know the burden of being captain,” Bantokk says. “I cannot act under that sort of pressure.”

  “Do you understand?” I feel like I need him to understand; I need my friend to tell me I did the right thing. “This is no time to be weak. A little time in a dungeon will not hurt her.”

  “I do understand,” he says. “But go down and see her. Explain it to her. Once she sees you’re not vengeful or gloating, maybe she’ll relax a bit and you can explain it to her. Maybe she’ll calm down and you can let her out.”

  “You’re right. After I finish up here, I’ll go down. Thanks for your counsel.”

  “Any time you need it,” he says. “Whether you want it or not.”

  “Wise counsel is normally not asked for or appreciated,” I say. “But I do appreciate it, Bantokk.”

  “Then heed it,” he says and walks away before I can give any more sorry excuses. He’s right, of course. It was a foolish thing to put her in a cell, but sometimes foolish things are necessary.

  I hope that she understands. I hope that one of those kecklets will hurry up and die. I never would have thought I’d be the sort of madman who was rooting for an innocent animal to die, but here I am, checking the cages several times a day, hoping that one of them has stopped breathing.

  Speaking of which, I haven’t checked on them since before the morning meal. I’ll take another look right now, then go see Bryn. Maybe Bantokk’s right and she’ll agree to keep Stine, the Astronomer and Yar jailed for a few more days.

  If not, well, I’ve already gone this far. It pains me to know that my bonded mate is locked away, but at least this way I know she’s safe. It would pain me much more to know she was in the palace with the poisoner lurking in the shadows.

  That sort of pain, I can’t conceive of it.

  That sort of pain would kill me.

  I probably shouldn’t have sent Bantokk away. He offered to bring me food and furs, but I was so mad that I told him to leave, that I didn’t want his pity. Now that my anger has subsided a little (just a little), I realize how cold it is down here. I am surrounded on all sides by icy stone blocks—except the one side where I face icy steel bars. I cram my hands into the pockets of my gown, but my fingers are still stiff with the cold. I flex my fingers, but movement is difficult. Bantokk had furs and a modest feather-tick mattress, but I sent him away, cursing his name and all of his foul race.

  It is late—or perhaps early morning—and a mattress would be nice right now, a barrier between the cold floor and my bare legs. And a fur to wrap around my shoulders. He brought me a plate of food, too, which I did accept only to throw back at him. But now my stomach growls, churning an emptiness as vast and sour as the dungeon itself.

  I seethe at Vano most of all. He put me in here for my own protection? I do believe that, I really do. I know he thinks this is the best place for me.

  He thought that I was about to get a handful of royal guardsmen and demand the release of Stine, Yar and the Astronomer. Well, he was right about that. I was going to get some guardsmen and demand that the three suspects be released.

  He had to act fast; he stashed me away down here so I could not release the prisoners. He thinks that I’ll be safe in here, that no poisoner or assassin will be able to get through the guards and steel bars.

  Though I do care for Vano—we are bonded—he is a brute from a barbaric race after all. He is quick to anger, quick to act rashly, quick to lock me up like a prized gemstone in a steel safe. His protective streak, his possessive attitude—it reminds me of my father. Kept safe, kept guarded, kept under lock and key. Because I was a princess, valuable, never trusted to make my own decisions. Or my own mistakes.

  There’s a children’s story about a songbird. Every morning he perches on the palace window and looks inside. As he sings, he looks
in at a pet bird, envying the wooden perch, the bounty of seeds and berries in his dish, the clean, cool water in the bowl. The songbird would then go fly about the town, drinking the foul water in the wheel-trough trenches, scavenging roots and dry bark from the trees, dodging hungry cats and other, bigger birds, all the while thinking of that lucky palace bird who was free from the drudgery and danger of the world at large. The moral of the story was that the palace bird might have had food and safety—but it also had another thing the songbird did not have: a cage. All the perceived luxury and safety was at the expense of its freedom.

  That’s what I’ve felt like my whole life: the bird in the gilded cage. I thought when my father died and I became Queen I might have a little freedom. I mean, who tells the Queen what to do?

  Turns out Captain Vano tells me what to do.

  It’s not like he forced me into anything. I approached him. I propositioned him. Surrendering my body and my freedom to him was not that big of a deal. Those things never really felt like mine anyway. I was kept under guard in the palace, my so-called virtue protected so that I might be married off as a virgin. Freedom? Body? I never controlled them anyway.

  Even though it started out with Vano as an arrangement—an exciting, sexy arrangement, but still a business transaction at its core—I had started to think something had changed.

  He said we were bonded mates, that our chemicals were bonding to each other’s, that our fates were intertwined.

  My mistake was thinking that would change things, that I would get a measure of freedom. That he would respect my judgment, would take my opinions and insights into consideration.

  But things are just as they have always been—the King telling me what to do.

  And why did I think it would be different? Because of the bond? Because we share a bed? He’s a barbarian from a barbaric planet—why did I think he would treat his mate any different? The Zalaryns see their mates as their property, just as my father saw me as a commodity rather than his own daughter.