The Empress' New Clothes Page 14
“I’m sorry.” Cam flushed. As spent as he was, his flag still rose full mast for Muta’s mouth. She mewled. He whimpered, then turned to face Zor. “She is missing?” he asked anxiously.
“Nay, not exactly, but should she come here, tell her I needs speak with her.”
“For a certainty, Your Majesty.”
Zor nodded, then made to leave. He hesitated. “One more thing, Cam.”
“Aye?”
“Be at practice on the morrow.”
Cam’s face flushed scarlet. “Aye, Your Majesty,” he mumbled.
When the door closed behind Zor, Cam craned his neck to gaze at Muta. She was such lovely, blue perfection. He could still scarcely believe she belonged to him for all times.
“You are still hungry, my sweet?” At Muta’s mewling sound, he settled himself back upon the vesha hides and closed his eyes in bliss. “Then feed, my lovely. Milk me of all that I have. ‘Tis yours.”
Chapter 18
It was another hour before Zor had his worst suspicions confirmed: Kyra was nowhere within the perimeter of the palace.
“We are sorry, Excellent One,” a fierce looking warrior guardsman demurred to him. “We had no orders to stop the High Queen from leaving and she refused to tell us her destination.”
“In the future you are to tail her does she leave without me!” Zor roared, his nostrils flaring. “Am I clear?”
“Aye, Your Majesty. Again, I apologize for all of—”
“Save it.” Zor held up a large hand. “I haven’t the time for words. Sound the alarm. Send out as many hunters as can be spared.”
Moments later, a shrill blaze of horns rang throughout the castle. The warriors scattered throughout the palace suites alighted from their beds, quickly donned their leathers, and ran full speed to the conveyance hatch. Zor waited until he spotted both Kil and Cam amongst the throng, knowing they were the last he waited on. From their disheveled looks, ‘twas apparent they had both converged upon the conveyance hatch with all due haste.
Zor came right to the point, his bellow loud, carrying throughout the gigantic launching pad. “The High Queen is missing.” At the sound of disbelieving rumbles, he hastened to add, “’tis possible she seeks to flee Tryston, which of course, cannot be allowed.” He paced back and forth atop the raised launching pad, his features grim. “I want all of you to go hunting. You are to check in with the tower and let my man know the very moment she is spotted.
“Have a care not to harm her whilst bringing her back, but no matter what she says to you, what threats she delivers to you, you are to bring her back. You answer to me above all others, aye?”
“Aye,” the warriors repeated.
Zor took a deep, steadying breath. He needed these men—the finest warriors in existence, the finest hunters in any known dimension—to leave the soonest, yet he also needed them to understand the gravity of the situation. “The insurrectionists on Tron have been brought to heel for the most part, yet are there a few foolhardy enough amongst them to attempt a kidnapping if they were able to smuggle themselves into Sand City, spotting your Empress unawares.”
A rumble of outrage swept throughout the conveyance hatch, to which Zor held up a silencing hand. “Each squadron leader is responsible for assembling and dispersing his men to various points throughout Sand City and beyond.” He stopped his pacing and came to a halt in the very middle of the din, looking every inch the feared, proud warrior he was. “Whoever amongst you is the one to bring my nee’ka back to me will be richly rewarded, no matter your rank.”
“What will you give us?” one bold young buck called out, inciting bouts of lusty laughter to ring throughout the hatch.
Zor had to smile back. Then he very seriously raised his voice and bellowed, “a suite of honor your very own in the south wing”—He held up a palm for silence when the warriors began to whistle through their teeth—“Plus five of my favored Kefas to see to your needs.”
Kil’s lips curled wryly as the sound of enthusiastic shouts and boasts rippled throughout the conveyance hatch. Feeling an unexpected and unfamiliar rush of guilt for the part he had unwittingly played in Kyra’s disappearance, he jumped up onto the raised launching pad where Zor stood. Whistling shrilly to garner everyone’s attention, he then bellowed, “I would add to my brother’s booty, men.”
That got their attention.
“To the warrior that finds my brother’s nee’ka, two bound servants each owing five Yessat years worth of duty will be yours.”
Zor clapped him on the back as a series of stunned murmurs echoed throughout the hatch. “They are freshly broken in, recently captured on Tron,” Kil boasted, “and are much starved for a warrior’s ministrations.”
Pandemonium broke out amongst the gathering. Warriors ran to catch up to their squadron leaders. Bound servants were even more costly than Kefas and everyone knew it. Since they were typically given as goodwill gifts to lesser kings and high lords, the average warrior on Tryston rarely owned such a prize.
“Now go,” Kil bellowed, slashing his hand tersely through the air. “The hunt is on!”
* * * * *
Kyra took another swig from the bottle of moonshine matpow, then swiped her arm across her mouth. Belching, she put her fingers to her lips and hiccupped. “Sorry.”
“Do not apologize, Empress.” An extremely large, heavily tattooed ex-convict who went by the name “Death” saluted her with his bottle of moonshine. Kyra stared at the large skull tattooed on his forehead, thinking it the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. Of course, she was also stone drunk.
Death nodded. “This moonshine is sweeter than the tit of a heeka-beast, is it not?”
Kyra clicked her teeth shut when she realized how moronic she probably looked, her mouth drooped open as she listened to Death speak. She was having a difficult time hanging onto a single thought though. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “I’ve never tasted one.”
Laughter roared throughout the smoke-filled room of Pika’s Place, an establishment catering to the lowest class of clientele on the outskirts of Sand City. Bruisers, thugs, and men who made less than respectable livings made up the majority of the bar’s patronage. The blue crystal structure of the shabby bar had more holes in it than a piece of Swiss cheese. The ventilation system could have been better, but a fan overhead served to cool the room’s atmosphere to an acceptable level.
“I never knew royal wenches could be so much fun,” another shady character named Glok called out. Apparently this one made his living importing illegal moonshine, or some such thing. Kyra licked her lips, deciding that the outlawing of moonshine was a dumb law. Almost as dumb as that gentling business was.
“I wasn’t raised royal,” Kyra admitted to the men gathered about. “I was a tax accountant on the planet I came from.”
“Oh yeah?” Death asked, his mammoth biceps flexing as he handed a lit mooka, a cigar-like smoking device, to Kyra. “Sounds to me like a good thing. The big house needs a hot piece of art like you to shake things up a bit.”
Kyra sucked on the end of the mooka, swaying back and forth on the cheap crystal barstool in time with the blues-like music playing in the background. “They don’t want me to shake things up, Death. They want me to conform.”
“Fuck the establishment!” Glok cried, slapping his fist on the bar. “How could they not see you for the fine woman you are?”
“Aye,” a barrel of a man named Hod concurred, shaking his head. “By the goddess, I would want you just the way you are.”
Kyra’s hand flew to her throat. She whimpered. “That’s the sweetest thing a man has ever said to me,” she sobbed, drunk and emotional. “I think I’m going to cry again.”
“Don’t do that, little fire-berry,” Death gruffly ordered her, clearly glad they had gotten past that. He patted her on the back in an awkward attempt to comfort her, nearly knocking her off the barstool in the process. “’Twill make your eyes go blotchy and send your nose off into running fits again.”
“Aye,” Glok answered for the lot of them. “I’ve a special liking to that ditty you taught us, what was it called again, Your Majesty?”
“YMCA.”
“Aye, the YMCA. Let us partake of that ditty.”
“Okay.” Kyra took another swig of moonshine, then jumped from her barstool to the ground. “Would you like me to teach you the dance that accompanies it?”
“For a certainty,” Hod beamed, jumping up to join her on the dance floor.
Kyra swung around, looking Death up and down. “Aren’t you going to join us?”
“Aye,” Death grumbled as he stood up and headed her way. “But you best be easy with me this time, little fire-berry.”
* * * * *
Cam and two others from the same squadron were the first to arrive at Pika’s Place, having spotted the High Queen’s golden crystal conveyance from the air. The team was the youngest at the palace and therefore a randy bunch. Cam was the only among them to possess a Kefa and he had obtained Muta only the day prior.
The trio of friends had agreed amongst each other before beginning the hunt to share in their spoils. Since one suite in the south wing was nigh as big as ten suites in the common barracks put together, they had decided prior to the hunt that should they stick together and win, all of them would move into the honored rooms of the new suite, sharing in the delights of their new Kefas and bound servants.
“By the sands,” Mik whispered to Cam, “my staff is nigh unto bursting just thinking of what awaits us upon our return to the palace.”
“Your staff is always close to bursting,” Cam retorted affably.
“As was yours,” Mik countered with a grin, “before you were nigh unto suckled to death by your Kefa last moon-rising.”
Cam smiled as a vision of Muta came to mind. “She is sore talented,” he mused, missing the feel of her warm mouth moving up and down his cock already. “Muta was a gift from the High Queen, you will remember. Gladly will I share with you her charms, but if ever I leave the palace, she is mine to take with me.”
“Of course.” Mik nodded, realizing that was a given conclusion. Anxious to return to the palace, he looked around for their friend. “Has Gio returned yet from signaling to the tower?”
“Nay, he—ah, here he comes now.”
Gio’s seven-foot, three hundred and thirty pound frame, which was fashioned of the same raw muscle and handsome looks Cam and Mik were carved of, jogged up to their sides smiling. “The hunt is over, my friends. We win.”
Clapping each other on the back, the three of them grinned like green boys attending their first consummation feast.
“Tell us our orders then,” Mik urged Gio, careful to keep his tone hushed, lest those inside Pika’s Place call out a warning to the High Queen.
“The High King wishes for us not to alert his nee’ka of our presence. We are not to go in unless it sounds like things are getting out of hand in yon bar.” Gio shrugged. “Otherwise, we are to remain outside. The High King and his brother are on their way.”
“We did it then!” Mik laughed, clapping his friends on the back. “We’ve six Kefas between the three of us, including Muta, plus two bound servants and an honored suite!”
Gio was grinning from ear to ear. Unfortunately, Cam wasn’t. His smile faltering a bit, Gio turned to him. “What is it, my friend? What ails you?”
Cam shrugged, uncomfortable discussing his feelings with other warriors. “’Tis just…” He sighed, running a hand through his golden locks. “The High Queen has been naught but good to me. I cannot help but to feel I have betrayed her in some fundamental way.”
“You speak untruths,” Mik consoled him, clapping him on the back. “What if she had been ill-used by an insurrectionist from Tron? Would you say this then?”
“Nay, but…”
“Then don’t feel that way now,” Gio cut in. “Someone had to find her. Why feel guilty for proving ourselves able hunters?”
Cam sighed, but eventually relented with a nod. “You are right. ‘Twas necessary to find the High Queen.”
He just hoped the Empress saw it that way.
* * * * *
Zor had never been so relieved in his life as when his man in the tower put the call through to his high-speed conveyance that Kyra had been located by Cam and two other warriors. He felt so much joy upon hearing she was well and unharmed that he decided to throw another bound servant into the booty, so each of the randy young warriors would possess two Kefas and a bound servant apiece.
Gio had told the tower guard that Kyra was inside of Pika’s Place, a seedy establishment on the outskirts of Sand City. The sordid bar having gained something of a reputation from its disreputable goings on, Zor wouldn’t be completely relieved until his nee’ka was safely ensconced within the palace perimeter. He could only imagine what sorts of cutthroats and swindlers frequented a place such as Pika’s.
“We are here,” Zor called out to Kil as he landed the conveyance.
Kil alighted from the conveyance alongside Zor, his features harsher than normal. “What goes on in there?” he asked the three younger warriors as they approached.
Cam stepped forward to bring them up to par. “We have heard no shouts, no screams, only music and laughter. We could not know for a certainty what transpires without alerting them to our presence, but we have been listening through holes in the shabby crystal walls and find naught amiss.”
Zor nodded. “You have done well. Accompany us inside as back-up, for we know not what we are up against.”
“Aye, sire.”
A minute later, the front doors of Pika’s Place were kicked in and five warriors armed to the teeth rushed into the decrepit crystal bar. ‘Twas so noisy inside, not even one of the patrons heard them.
The warriors stood there, mouths agape, unable to believe what it was they were seeing. The High Queen was perched atop the shoulder of some mammoth-sized man sporting the markings of a skull across his forehead. She had a bottle of illegal moonshine in one hand and a lit mooka in the other.
The Empress appeared to be directing the two score of patrons in the bar in some sort of primitive dancing rite. The criminal element in Pika’s was currently contorting their arms and bodies to make odd shapes as they chanted something about Ys, Ms, and a CA character.
Zor caught his brother’s eye to gage his reaction. Clearly, Kil was as stunned as he.
Kyra’s laughter forced Zor’s attention back to her. The big man with the tattoo was now twirling her around, apparently much to his nee’ka’s delight. The man’s hands were clamped around Kyra, one of them right on her creamy sekta pearl thigh.
His nostrils flaring, Zor bellowed his war cry.
Chapter 19
“Forget it!” Kyra announced in slurred tones. “I’m not going anywhere with you, you jerk!”
Zor tried to hold onto his temper as his nee’ka out and out defied him, in front of a chamber filled with people no less. “Kyra,” he snarled, the muscle in his cheek ticking, “we will discuss our troubles at home. You will come with me now that there might be no bloodshed.”
“Nope.” Kyra crossed her arms under her breasts and raised her eyebrows defiantly. “Death here says I can stay with him.” She patted the huge man gently on top of his shiny head, an act that elicited a grunt of approval from the towering eight-foot giant. “He’s niiiice”—she slurred the word—“to me. He cares about my…my…uh…”
“Feelings,” Death supplied.
“That’s right,” Kyra announced, her chin set at a stubborn angle. “He cares about my feelings.” During a series of hiccups, she studied the wicked tic in her husband’s jaw, noted the grim size of his flaring nostrils, but decided she didn’t care. “Death would never send me to another man’s bed.”
Zor flushed at the sounds of Cam, Gio, and Mik sucking in af
fronted breaths. “She speaks of the gentling,” he heard Kil murmur in explanation.
“Kyra,” Zor bit out, spacing his words evenly, “I give you one minute to come to me, else will I come to you.” He shook his head and smiled without humor. “’Twill not be pretty if I needs take you, that I can promise.”
Glok and Hod pulled out some sort of weapons, the kind of which Kyra had never seen. They were long, black, and sleek, and had a pulsing of neon colors running through them. “Pretty,” she announced, running her fingertips over the barrel of Glok’s weapon.
The warriors retaliated at once, training their weapons on the men aiding Kyra. Kil aimed his site directly for the skull on Death’s forehead. “If you care at all for your friend, Kyra,” he murmured, “you will keep him from dying this moon-rising.”
That announcement sent a shiver down her spine, sobering her up a bit. She didn’t know what to do. She was drunk, emotional, and knew little beyond the fact that she wanted to go nowhere near that prison of a palace. “I cannot live with you, Zor!” she yelled, hoping to draw Kil’s attention away from Death. “Leave me be. Go away. Do you hear me?” she shrieked. “Go away!”
Zor heard her loud and clear. He felt every word cut straight to his hearts. His features remained impassive, yet like a mortally wounded animal, he made a small dying sound in the back of his throat.
“Your nee’ka is sotted,” Kil reminded him quietly, his weapon still trained on Death. “Do not listen to her words, brother.”
“Don’t let these men scare you!” an outlaw next to Hod snarled, aiming his zykif at Kil. “We have them outnumbered.”
Faster than Kyra thought was possible, Kil snatched a second weapon from his leather pants and without even taking his eyes off of Death, sent it whirling across the room until it met its mark. The outlaw released his weapon and grabbed his throat, dead before he hit the ground.
Kyra’s hand flew to her throat as she gasped. She couldn’t believe it. She was too stunned to believe it. A man had died for aiding her.