“Of course I will attend the conference,” he snapped as if it were preposterous to think otherwise. Everything hinged upon their attendance where they would make a formal bid for a seat on the board. That and their marriage alliance with House Eskridge would all but guarantee their position as one of the most powerful Houses of the Second Tier.
“Even if you don’t find your son today?” Dorian pressed.
“I will find Comron, and we’ll both attend as scheduled. Now if there is nothing else.”
Dorian stared at Crausin in that irritating manner that he had. It was a mixture of concern and regret. In a word, pity.
“As a contingency plan,” Dorian persisted, “I could make arrangements to attend … in case of any eventuality, however unlikely.”
Crausin approached the Vice Chancellor’s hologram and spoke in a low, menacing tone. “Haven’t you already done enough, cousin Dorian?”
Dorian’s eyes narrowed, but then the pitiful look returned.
Crausin would endure no more of it. “You will not attend the conference. Now leave my sight, you rancid sack of shite!”
Dorian’s mouth dropped open just before his image vanished from the room.
Crausin inhaled deeply endeavoring to steel himself against the onslaught. He could already hear Edred’s voice taunting him, humiliating him, calling him by the pejorative “Lamb.”
“Go away. Go away,” he said through gritted teeth. Comron where are you?
You had to send him on this trip. You destroyed him just assuredly as you killed your mother and me. You destroy all that is good in your life.
“No!” Crausin raked his fingers through his hair and clutched some, nearly ripping it from his scalp, to shut out the voices. “You’re dead, go away.”
Remember Meglyn? Good lord, what you did to that poor girl. You’ll burn for that. You will burn for all the misery you’ve caused.
Crausin fell to his knees and clamped his hands over his ears, trying to drown out Edred’s voice. “Please, no. Not her, not again. Please ….” He slumped over as the room spun around him. He was slipping again, uncontrollably, and there was no one to fend off Edred’s attack … all faded to black and then—
***
The flaxen-haired woman draped across Duke Edred’s arm smiled sweetly and spoke in hushed tones. Her shimmering gown swayed softly with the lithe movement of her hips. Seventeen-year-old Prince Crausin Van Laven followed a few paces behind the two down the dimly-lit corridor. He walked with shoulders hunched and eyes lowered to avoid the curious stares of passersby. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and exotic spices, reminding the prince of the many women who had frequented Northridge Castle as guests of his father, the duke. He could hear the sounds of music and merry-making emanating from behind the closed doors; an occasional sound of pleasure broke forth. He had been brought here for one purpose alone.
“You are seventeen today,” his father, Edred, had said earlier that morning. “It is high time that you pulled your nose out of those books and started learning your way around a woman. Consider it your birthday gift.”
The flaxen-haired woman giggled at something the duke had said. “You should be ashamed of yourself for saying such things, Your Grace,” she cooed.
With his mother deceased ten years now, Crausin had no one to argue compassion on his behalf, not that Cristalla would have taken up his cause. Why would she when she preferred death to being his mother? Ten years had passed but his heart still wrenched at the thought.
Please, no melancholy thoughts of her, not on your birthday, said Comron.
“Where have you been?” Crausin whispered fiercely.
What does it matter? I’m here now, aren’t I?
Crausin clenched his jaw.
Oh, stop looking so severe. You’ll scare off the girls and ruin everything.
“This place is perverse and obscene, I would save myself for my future wife, but he’s forcing me to this,” Crausin said, glancing at his father then back to Comron. “Why are you grinning? Angels have no interest in such carnal vices.”
Comron chuckled. I never told you that I was an angel, at least not the sort that you would find in one of the scrolls you’re always poring over. Comron gave him a sly grin. I am the sort that feels whatever you feel. When you touch them, I will be touching them. When you lay with them, I will be laying with them and when you finally enter them, I will—
“Stop it!” Crausin snapped, garnering a vicious glare from his father and a curious look from the woman. As usual, no one could see the Comron of his mind and would simply think Crausin mad. “I’m sorry …,” he said staring back at them. He’d learned long ago to make up excuses for such outbursts. “It still troubles me to see my father with anyone other than my mother.”
Duke Edred shook his head sharply, warning Crausin that he had no patience for any foolishness tonight.
“Oh,” said the woman before returning her attention to the duke. They continued on their way.
You see, if I stay, I will only cause you more trouble, said Comron. They can’t see me; they don’t understand.
Crausin’s eyes pleaded for Comron to remain.
No, Crausin. You must simply trust that I am with you, as always. He lingered a few seconds longer before fading away.
The party reached their assigned suite, the Emperor’s Chamber. Crausin entered behind his father, keeping his eyes to the floor until the flaxen-haired woman bid them farewell and excused herself. Duke Edred had already moved forward, warmly greeting the cadre of enticing young women awaiting them, calling each of them by name. The prince shrunk back, hoping to go unnoticed as he had in the past when his father dragged him to such events.
Crausin closed his eyes attempting to summon Comron to no avail. He opened them upon hearing the chorus of laughter being directed at him. Mortified, he went for the door only to find it locked soundly. One of the girls held up the key mockingly before dropping it down her blouse between her breasts.
They spoke of him as if he were not there, laughing and making sport of his discomfort. When one dark-haired beauty with large almond shaped eyes sauntered over to him, he grew afraid that he would knock something over from his trembling. She stood before him smiling disarmingly and moving to the music playing in her head. She drew closer, until her breast brushed against him. Unsure of how to respond to her overtures, he simply stood there as she pushed him back against the wall. All the while, Edred and the party made merry, shouting words of encouragement and instructions as to what he should do in response.
He looked down at the girl; his large green eyes searched hers for some sympathy, some sign of understanding. “Please,” he whispered to her, “I-I’ve only read about … I don’t really know what to do.”
To his horror, she turned to the others, her mouth wide with bawdy laughter. “The prince-son doesn’t know what to do. Are you certain he is of your loins, Sire?” she inquired of Edred.
Crausin’s face drained of color and his palms grew sweaty. He thought of tearing through the place and pulling down the candles to set the room ablaze. But the dark-haired girl was upon him once again.
“I assure you, Your Grace,” she said, as her hands slid down to his waist, “that you will not leave here tonight without knowing precisely what to do.”
She unfastened his belt and worked the closure of his pants, slipping them down from his hips until they dropped to the floor. Her eyes fixed upon the finely chiseled features of the prince’s face, his wide set eyes, high cheekbones, slender nose, and full lips. She smiled as her hand crept into his underpants, touching him in ways that slowly caused his anger and frustration to melt away.
She deftly worked him to full arousal, her eyes widening appreciatively at the look and size of it. She turned to their audience, taking a bow as she waved her hand toward the evidence of her endeavors.
Edred laughed heartily. “It seems the boy has inherited something of me after all.”
Crausin wa
s too traumatized by the public humiliation to properly cover himself with his shirt.
“What a beauty it is! And he’s got a handsome face too,” the golden-haired girl said as she crept toward the edge of the bed.
“ ’twould be a grievous shame to waste all of that, y’Grace!” said another girl with short ginger hair. “Poor cub, doesn’t know what to do with it.”
“About damn time he learned,” Edred said, turning to the buxom, red-headed girl called Meglyn. “Let’s give him a good show, shall we?”
“As you wish, Sire. But when we’re through, may I have the honor of deflowering the cub?” She asked as she slid her milky white legs around Edred’s waist.
“Be my guest,” he answered to the objections of the other girls. “Oh, quiet down. You will all have your turn unless you wear the boy out.” Duke Edred’s words were met with expressions of delight as their eyes gazed hungrily upon his son.
With no other choice, Crausin watched as the duke provided visual instruction as to how a man satisfied himself upon a woman. As Edred thrust and twisted rhythmically between Meg’s sinuous legs, Crausin tried to turn away in disgust but found that he could not tear his eyes from the undulating, hypnotic movement of their bodies. Soon his own blood was rushing forth filling his member till it ached and his heart pounded loudly in his ears.
When it was over, Edred climbed out of the bed and donned a robe before beckoning Crausin to come forward and have a go at Meglyn. When Crausin hesitated, the dark-haired girl took him by the hand and drew him to the bed.
“Come, darling,” Meglyn said, holding her hand out to him, her skin still pink from Edred’s exertions. “Look at you, so beautiful, you are. How sweetly you blush.”
Crausin looked into her lively green eyes, at her rose-colored lips, and then at the way her red hair fell about her shoulders. Suddenly his eyes grew large at the realization—Meg was the very image of Cristalla, his deceased mother! Was this some perverse joke that Edred intended to play on him? How did he imagine that Crausin could lay down with her? Horrified and repulsed by the prospect, he turned to run away but Edred was quick snatching him up.
“Damn you! For once in your life, act like a man,” he commanded, shoving him down upon Meg. “Just take her!”
“A different girl, please.” Crausin begged as he tried to get up. “Not her!”
Edred’s hand flew hard across the side of his head, knocking him back down. “Do it now or I swear I’ll cut it off! I swear it!”
Crausin’s ear rang from the blow and the familiar taste of blood filled his mouth. But he knew that this was nothing compared to what the duke would do if he failed to obey his command.
Meg gazed at Crausin, her eyes were softer now and her smile sympathetic as if she didn’t feel the collective stare of all upon them.
You must know how greatly you resemble my mother, Crausin thought, you are just as cruel as he is.
The prince pushed Meg down and moved over her, determined to unleash seventeen years’ worth of his anger and degradation upon her. He refused to accept any affection that she attempted to offer in exchange for his innocence. Fueled by rage toward his father, anger toward his mother, and resentment at the demands placed upon his life, he drove into Meg, repeating the act that he had witnessed Edred perform. He hated Edred for humiliating him this way. He hated Meg for looking so much like his mother. He hated Cristalla for abandoning him as a child when he had needed her most. And most of all, he hated his own body for betraying him by taking pleasure in the obscene act. He prayed that the whole place would burn down around them, bringing his hellish existence to an end. But, as his pleasure mounted, crowding out all other thoughts, it pleased him immeasurably that this time Cristalla could not elude his touch, that this time she would stay for as long as he needed her, until he was satisfied. To his shame, this thought quickly carried him to the most sublime release.
But, the moment it was over and reason returned, he could not bring himself to look at Meg. Disgusted with the memory of her still clinging to him, he moved away from her.
“Now there’s a good lad,” Edred said, clapping him on the back. “Well done, boy. Well done.”
It was the first and only time Crausin had heard any words of praise from his father’s lips.
This is what it took to win your approval?
The room seemed to spin around him as the emotions battled for control—pride at finally having pleased his father, guilt over the vulgar indulgence, and anger over the humiliation. He managed a weak smile as the other girls pressed in, caressing him and boasting about their talents, enticing him to lay with them next.
Crausin could not deny the allure of the exquisite pleasure, but what had triggered the powerful response in his body? Was it the feel of Meglyn’s supple body writhing beneath his, or was it the thought of possessing Cristalla—the object of his father’s affection—the beautiful young mother who had abandoned him as child? The answer made Crausin want to draw Cristalla’s dagger across his own wrists.
***
When Duke Crausin opened his eyes he was grateful to be back in the present and free of that painfully paralyzing memory. But he knew they would come more powerfully and with greater frequency without Comron to help keep them at bay.
Comron! his mind cried out.
CHAPTER 16
Comron glanced at his wrist chronometer. It was the third hour of the afternoon and the coast was nowhere in sight. Comron’s head ached as the thoughts kept tumbling over in his mind. His maternal house had intentionally sabotaged the Mobias transport and sent an assassin to put a bullet through his head. Sheally was innocent, of this he knew. She practically worshipped Crausin and adored all of her sons. She’d sooner throw herself off a building than ever conspire against her beloved family.
Sheally’s uncle, General Lugen Undersoll, was a different matter altogether. It was no secret that great animosity existed between Lugen and the duke. Lugen’s orthodox views of the holy faith and matrimony were diametrically opposed to the way Crausin had conducted his life, in particular, the way he treated Queen Sheally, Lugen’s cherished niece. More importantly, Lugen had been held in check by Crausin limiting military expansion and his own popularity in the assembly.
Lugen’s attack at the execution was directed at both Crausin and Comron. He’d intended to remove them both from power likely believing he’d have less difficulty controlling Rhence or Gavin.
He gazed up at the cloudy sky. Crausin, time is against us. You must find me soon.
The sector banking conference would begin tomorrow evening. If this incident caused them to miss out on the rare opportunity to advance Nethic, Crausin would have Lugen’s head on a stick, regardless of House Undersoll’s position in the realm.
If he were traveling alone, he could have made much better time but, as it was, Vaush and Wensel were like an anchor weighing him down.
He turned back, giving Vaush a harsh look. But he knew they were doing their best and had barely complained about the grueling pace. Guilt began to gnaw at him; they had scarcely stopped to rest since ridding themselves of the assassin nearly five hours ago.
Comron waited for them. Wensel was a raw bundle of nerves as Vaush pulled him along. She was drenched in perspiration and aggravated as hell. Even still, she looked incredible.
“We’ll break for thirty minutes.” Comron swung the backpack and blast rifle off his shoulder. “Get some water and rest your legs,” he said as he proceeded toward the stream to fill his canister.
They joined him, filling their own. Vaush took a few hearty swallows and gazed out onto the sparkling water.
“Do you think it would be safe to take a dip?” she asked.
Visions of Vaush frolicking bare skinned in the crystal-clear water flashed before Comron’s eyes, quickening his pulse.
He looked away from her. “We hardly have the time.”
“Just ten minutes would be heavenly.”
“I really don’t advise it.” Hi
s tone was firm.
She shrugged. “Then don’t.” She got up and slipped away to undress behind the bushes.
He and Wensel exchanged glances. “H-how much further do you think we have to go?” Wensel asked.
“How the hell should I know?” Comron snapped and moved away, irritated that Vaush would force him to endure this. Seven hells! This was the last thing he needed.
He turned his back to Vaush and forced his thoughts down a different path. Crausin must be going out of his mind by now searching for him. Comron did his best to help the duke keep his mental afflictions under control. But when they were parted for too long, Crausin would often lose the battle for his sanity. The stress of not knowing whether Comron was dead or alive would certainly send him over the edge. And all of this was on the eve of the sector banking conference!
The sounds of splashing water and Vaush’s elation caught his attention.
The Prince of Nethic allowed his gaze to drift toward the forbidden Ti-Larosian woman. The water rose to her collarbone, the straps of her brassiere indicated that she wasn’t completely naked. Her dark silky curls were slicked down her back. Her hazel eyes were dazzling, her smile playful, her lips inviting ….
Kraiten in the sea! Why must she torment me this way?
Wanting the Ti-Larosian this way was every bit as treasonous as the assassin’s murderous intentions. He would not betray Nethic, not for a fleeting moment of bliss. But there was something that he feared more … that a few moments with Vaush Bastionli would not nearly be enough to satisfy him. He’d spent the previous night more worked up and bothered than a hormonally charged teenager. And, from this morning, he remembered the swell of desire that rushed through him when she pressed in close to him. Her sweet scent, the way her hand felt upon his flesh, the way her enigmatic eyes drew him in and held him captive.
He even found himself wanting to confide in her, to share things with her he’d kept locked away from the rest of the world. Though she was Ti-Larosian, he instinctively knew that his secrets would be safe with her. That his very heart would be safe with this wondrous creature ….