Empress Hiding Read online

  “Because my time is simply never to be, my Chiyoto.”

  It was a fact that had never seemed to bother the humble and peaceful Blood-borne Grande Dame to all of their kind – even though no Crimson and only a select few Blood-borne servants knew of her dwelling place.

  Chiyoto stopped short of the door and turned to look out over the vast expanse of their property as they both snorted in unison – a faint wisp of fuschia-tinted mist escaping through Chiyoto’s nose.

  “No, it was always because of the inbred Crimson prejudice, Mamere,” Chiyoto murmured to herself as her Runa joined her with a resentful and almost threatening growl.

  It was a fact that would forever color the perception and decisions of Mamere’s already extremely powerful and lethal Heir whose dragoness altare’s already potent magic still lacked a number of cycles to find its full maturity.

  A maturity that promised to be stronger than any Heiress or Empress to pass before them.

  Chiyoto let her Runa’s savage spirit fuel them as she set about preparing for tomorrow’s departure.

  And Runa chided her that, perhaps, their personalities were not so different after all.

  Chiyoto did not respond.

  As his trusted steward, Dalis, hung the Prime Magistrate’s cape on the proper hook, Rafal collapsed his royal vestment-adorned self into the large cushioned chair – unceremoniously cramming a meat-blended roll-up Dalis had handed him into his starving mouth. He subsequently reached almost desperately for the dark fermenti Dalis now offered. It was obvious from Rafal’s lack of manners that the mature prince’s comfort in such regal robes was practically non-existent – he scratched quite inelegantly and almost exaggeratedly at an itch that seemed to have annoyingly manifested on his lower back and proceeded to travel to his buttocks.

  And both he and his beast growled in unison at the confinement they felt in the heavy, black garments.

  The aged yet spry Dalis smiled much more inwardly than outwardly as he lowered the tray on which the fermenti had stood and raised another containing more of the Prime Magistrate’s preferred roll-ups. Rafal’s deep emerald eyes lit with enthusiasm as his free hand finished scratching and immediately honed in on the food tray – leaving his vestments a rumpled mess in its wake.

  “How long have you worked for us, Dalis?”

  The fact that Rafal looked at their relationship as one of employment was one of the reasons Dalis had signed on to serve in the Magistrate’s household even before they had officially left the Royal Palace – he was not treated as a servant or, worse yet, a slave as many of his friends and acquaintances in their service roles. In fact, Rafal had always compensated him well – even supplying a dwelling for him and his mate and their two offspring – when they had still lived at home – near the Magistrate’s residence where he was employed.

  To be fair, Crowned Prince Rafal outwardly treated all of his servants as employees – there was no belittlement or even reminding of who was in charge – that was simply understood. A basic respect for his employees seemed evident although, because of his proximity to the Crowned Prince on a regular basis, Dalis was under no illusions that Rafal saw him as an equal being. But the truth of the Crimson/Blood-borne caste system put bloodily into place centuries ago was only vaguely evident in much of Rafal’s attitudes and in the Prime Magistrate’s behavior – which was baffling to both Dalis and his altare given that Rafal had been raised as the eldest prince in the Ruling House of Sadid.

  Simply the thought of the surname made Dalis shudder and Mischief, his usually playful altare, cower inside.

  But there were other reasons that kept Dalis in his station – reasons that were not so apparent to most.

  And this day, Dalis almost playfully hrumphed to himself as he busied with removing Rafal’s tight-fitted and ornate dress boots so that his master could relax during this interlude in his trade route contract negotiations. The old steward’s response betrayed none of his amusement although it was a good thing that he did not face Rafal because his playful eyes would have given such away – that was the nature of his altare: a bushy-tailed monger affectionately named Mischief by Dalis’ progenitor so many cycles ago.

  “Would that be as a whole, Magistrate, or since the last time I was graciously re-hired?”

  Rafal’s face hardened as did his voice, although his strident tone did not seem to even phase Dalis.

  “Overall, you disrespectful steward!”

  Dalis placed the first boot on the floor and began working on the second, but he could already feel Rafal’s tension level fall at the removal of the first.

  “I believe it has been nearly thirty-eight cycles, Magistrate,” Dalis replied blandly as he worked on the second.

  Rafal grunted as his beast stretched lazily with the release of the first boot and in almost desperate anticipation of the second.

  “More than enough time,” Rafal drank deep from his fermenti and subsequently let his head covered with those extremely long, richly-curled auburn locks fall across the back of the chair, “You shall complete these Gods-forsaken negotiations for us so that we may enjoy a much-needed hydro-workout.”

  Rafal’s beast was a rare, amphibious Crimson predator that apparently only occurred once every five or even six generations – uncharacteristically large, extremely dangerous in fight and deadly venomous in sting and bite with no known match in the Bohrean animal kingdom – and both it and Rafal preferred the water to the land for relaxation. Rafal’s sire, the Preeminent Khedive Khitam Sadid, had been unable to find written record of another beast such as Rafal’s, although there were rumors of a prominent one serving as Captain of the Royal Guard of the last reigning Empress that had been “put down” due to his role in the murder of said Empress. The elder members of Khitam’s court had tried to reassure the Khedive that there were always females lined up to consort with a Prince and that mating would definitely tame even the wildest of beasts.

  If only.

  Because the prophecies had stated otherwise.

  And the shallow, meaningless reassurances from self-serving courtiers did nothing but inflame the Khedive’s already angered state.

  In fact, Khitam had ordered his own Royal consort’s execution upon first appearance of his eldest son’s beast when Rafal was just shy of adolescence – it had taken the whole Perce Guard Detail and then some to control and calm the huge and hideous creature enough for Rafal to regain his cognate form – and a number of those guards had lost their lives before it had been calmed. Khitam had placed the blame for the existence of the beast solely on the shoulders of the consort – that damning birth prophecy being the first stain on the consort’s doomed life.

  For Rafal, his beast was unwieldy and hard to control, and it certainly lurked much closer to the surface in Rafal’s personality and actions than did most beasts – but Rafal was of over-whelmingly strong character and personality himself, and the conflicted and mostly non-existent relationship he had with his beast was mostly unknown to those outside the Royal Family. However, the terrifying creature’s reality was well known among his commanders and by anyone who had had the misfortune to challenge Rafal on just about anything – most beings simply steered clear of him and his much-acclaimed volatile personality.

  Dalis grinned at his master’s frustration, Mischief’s jocosity trying to get the best of him.

  “But I did not bring the proper vestments, Magistrate,” the second boot finally pulling free of Rafal’s thick, muscular leg – the abrupt motion putting the old steward off-balance initially such that he stumbled a bit with its release. He turned and held the large footwear in line with his own markedly smaller limb – Rafal’s knee boot nearly as long as Dalis’ entire leg – a mischievous smile broaching the servant’s diminutive lips, “And neither of us could ever hope to don yours, oh Magistrate.”

  Rafal’s hard, somewhat frightening face actually relaxed
somewhat as a small yet thunderous rumble escaped him – even his beast enjoyed their trustworthy steward’s antics – as he downed the remainder of the fermenti and shoved the empty glass in Dalis’ direction.

  “Fine. Then, refill this while we try to find the resolve to do so, you idler.”

  Dalis placed the boot down gingerly next to the other and took the glass from Rafal – a smile still adorning his face. Dalis bowed obediently to Rafal as he took the glass on his way to the small kitchenette at the back of the room.

  Rafal and his beast grunted and growled as they attempted to find some comfort in their favorite chair while still trapped in the uncomfortable garments.

  “What would you like to do for dinner tonight, Magistrate?”

  Rafal growled long and low again as he once again re-adjusted their position.

  “Is there somewhere on this Gods-forsaken ICT that you think I could eat alone and unrecognized, Dalis?”

  The jovial steward was already headed back toward him with more roll-ups and fresh glass of fermenti.

  “I assure you, my Prince, that the unrecognized portion of your request is next to impossible, but I can certainly arrange for alone and even unencumbered if you would not mind more meager surroundings than that to which you are accustomed.”

  Dalis was the only being that Rafal actually allowed to call him ‘Prince’ – Dalis had served him in the years prior to his maturity date and into his subsequent placement as Prime Magistrate. However, Rafal despised the royal title because it tied him directly to the Khedive – and Rafal and his father saw eye-to-eye on absolutely nothing. Thus, ‘Prime Magistrate’ was the title by which he commanded he be addressed by all. Truth be told, Rafal did not trust his father nor the Khedive’s right-hand advisor, Ferenti. In fact, the only member of his own family – indeed of the entire ruling household – that Rafal trusted was his beloved brother, Hondo.

  And Hondo could almost be his son in many ways – their age difference of twelve cycles and Hondo’s scant age of two when Khitam ordered their mother executed laid the groundwork for the unbreakable bond between the two brothers.

  To Khitam’s chagrin.

  Dalis presented the tray to Rafal as the large, not-so-regal male enthusiastically grabbed the glass and two more roll-ups and proceeded to shove nearly one whole roll-up into his mouth.

  “Ah puhfer meegah ta dis,” his speech was garbled with his mouth full as he grabbed the heavy velvet-like vestment with the same hand in which he still held the other roll-up, “Ha-brow maalkie dung.”

  Maalchies were the rodents that inhabited the inner-city slums and the deserted basements of more well-to-do neighborhoods.

  Dalis nodded understandingly.

  “Then I will contact my cousin that runs the small inn and pub at the far corner of the entertainment level, Magistrate,” he placed the new tray of roll-ups on the table next to Rafal, “It is purposefully designed not to attract a lot of attention, and I am sure he would be accommodating to the Prime Magistrate of Bohrea Cardinal.”

  Rafal nodded his head in approval before downing half the fermenti and sloppily taking another large bite of roll-up – a number of large crumbs tumbling onto his vestments.

  Both Rafal and his beast growled almost mirthfully as he blew the crumbs haphazardly onto the floor with breath blown purposefully and forcefully through his sharp nose – making Dalis grin again.

  “I will be back to help you to prepare to depart,” he bowed and began to walk away, “And I will clean after that, Magistrate,” Dalis’ older face shown amusement, but his mind thought for the ten thousandth time that it was no wonder it had been prophesied at his birth that Crowned Prince Rafal Sadid would never have a Crimson mate nor willing consort – his beast was far too uncivilized and, yes, brutish – not to mention the rage and the unbridled fury to which Dalis had been witness during his service to Rafal. Dalis even momentarily felt – as his soft-tempered altare with the huge heart had a tendency to do – some twinge of pity for the unknown innocent Crimson female that would one day be forced to serve as the crowned prince’s consort. But the elder steward quickly shook off that pity as he reminded himself of one simple fact:

  Crimson Raksasa was a term developed for the Crimson ruling class as a whole for a reason.

  But things were definitely not always as they seemed for individuals such as Prince Rafal and his brother, Hondo.

  Mischief laughed mirthfully deep inside of him because they both knew that to be the truth.

  Because there was much more to their Prince Rafal Sadid than most in the Empire knew.

  Chapter 2

  Chiyoto sat in the passenger seat of the small ag-runner distractedly fiddling with the Keeper she had fitted onto her right hand before departure this day. Runa still grumbled within her – the dragoness altare’s protests at the Keeper’s donning almost more than Chiyoto could contain on an empty stomach – and Chiyoto knew the burning she felt periodically in the tender joints throughout her body was her Runa’s expression of extreme displeasure at her continued magical imprisonment by the Keeper.

  Even though Chiyoto had had to wear the magical restraint almost constantly when she lived on Bohrea Cardinal beginning with Runa’s first presence, it had been over two decades since she had worn it on Haven. The whole purpose of their self-exile to the uncharted planetoid at their age of fourteen cycles had been so that they would learn to live in balance with each other – with Chiyoto in charge. And they had done so.

  To a point.

  But Chiyoto was not ready to test the limits of that point – especially not with a crowded ICT full of Crimsons for which Runa had little to no patience. The Crimsons’ feelings toward all Blood-bornes – Greens, as the Crimsons had dubbed them because of the color of the blood that ran through their veins – and even their scents brought out the immature and the uncivilized parts of her altare’s personality.

  Probably more so than they both wanted to admit.

  Thus, Chiyoto had chosen to wear the powerfully magical restraining bracelet so that she could concentrate on her own outward behavior – it had been far too long since she had been integrated into society and would have to be wary of not only herself, but of everyone around her until she re-learned some of the accepted societal norms. She whispered a silent prayer of strength for the voyage to which Runa responded with a disgusted howl inside her head – Chiyoto sighed as she tried to soothe her inconsolable altare. Runa felt caged and collared – her strong desire to protect Chiyoto from harm the major factor in her unrest – which was the only reason Chiyoto felt as guilty as she did.

  But Chiyoto had to try to make this journey with the Keeper on – she had to be able to act and to function without the added concern of losing control of Runa – because, oh Great Makers! what a bloodbath that would be.

  For every Crimson on-board the ICT.

  And probably her beloved Runa (and herself) in the end.

  Raylen’s voice startled Chiyoto out of her thoughts.

  “May I ask you a question, Chiyoto-sama?” the young male’s voice was low and respectful.

  “Aye, my faithful attendant,” her voice low and measured – no outward sign of the conflict within her – as she continued to stare out the viewport, “I will answer if I am able.”

  Raylen swallowed hard, and Chiyoto sensed his muscles tense even further as he cleared his throat to continue.

  Chiyoto turned as she placed a hand on his shoulder and breathed across the space between them, “I am your Empress-Heir, Raylen, not someone to be feared,” she smiled warmly and let her eyes flash magenta at the young male as she released just a hint of soothing power into his neck and back from their point of contact. She also felt Runa huff at her use of peaceful communication – Runa’s tactics would always be a bit more … okay, yes, uncivilized.

  She felt Raylen’s entire body physically respond almost imme
diately as a heavy sigh escaped with his relaxation.

  “Is it true that Crimsons cannot scent you or even sense you?” he paused before hesitantly adding the last part, “Either of you?”

  A faint smile broached the powerful yet diminutive female’s lips.

  “Aye, Raylen,” her voice still as smooth as the dunes that bordered the desert near their tiny village on Haven, “Which is why I choose to disguise my hair with the ink instead of magic – in addition to the distinct color difference, the ink itself gives the Crimsons a scent on which to cue – an unpleasant scent they would no more attribute to another Crimson than they would to themselves. Therefore, they recognize me as a Blood-borne that probably works in the factories and such on one of the moons or stations or even in the manufacturing districts on Bohrea Cardinal.”

  Raylen cut his eyes in disbelief at Chiyoto and swallowed hard as he nearly imperceptibly shook his head – the young male stifling a growl from his hydenna in response.

  Knowing that Raylen had not a disloyal bone in his body, Chiyoto’s smile widened at the young male’s reaction – although she felt Runa bristle at what her altare considered insolence on his hydenna’s part – and she pressed him gently for an explanation.

  “Was my explanation naught reasonable, formidable one?” she caught a glimpse of blush inch up Raylen’s hard yet handsome face as he looked down and then to the side opposite her to avoid her gaze. Yet, she hid her recognition of such as she waited patiently for him to find the words for which he seemed to be searching.

  “Twas reasonable yes, Chiyoto-sama,” Raylen paused and swallowed again, but then it was as if he steeled his resolve and machine-gunned out the remainder of his answer – his gaze holding hers with a ferocity that could only come from his altare, “If you were hard or scarred or even rough-skinned in any way, but you are not. You are soft and female and …”

  He trailed off in what Chiyoto could only read as embarrassment as his eyes drifted with his voice.

  “And what, Raylen?”