Empress Hiding Read online

  “Only a simple request for such,” Khitam’s voice was almost cold and calculating while still filled largely with the gruff intonations of his bear, “We need to be able to provide the surveyor’s mate with closure even if we cannot provide her his body.”

  Ferenti smiled and nodded his understanding.

  “And if Prince Hondo’s guards recovered any of his …,” the groveling assistant paused before finding a good enough cover phrase, “Personal belongings?”

  Khitam turned to stare blankly out his window.

  “Deny everything,” the Khedive paused to nibble on and subsequently lick the back of his hand and then continued as if the animalistic gesture had not happened, “Then ask if we can assist with any investigations.”

  Ferenti smiled and nodded once again, not even acknowledging the gesture.

  “Understood, my lord,” Ferenti seemed to knead his hands nervously, “And do you have any further instructions regarding the elimination matter?”

  Another low growl as Khitam’s lips quivered into the accompanying snarl.

  “Was he successful?”

  Ferenti’s nervousness outwardly increased as he slightly slinked a step or more away from the Khedive.

  “Doubtful, my lord,” the hand-kneading increased as well, “Shiarah was always very good about immediate notification.”

  Khatim’s claws burst forth from large partially-present front paws that he quickly turned on Ferenti’s neck – the Khedive’s murderous vision slamming into the shentalingra’s cowering one.

  “Then find someone who can finish the job,” Khitam’s voice was barely cognate and death hung on every word – his eyes wide with the light of madness, “That feral puta must be eliminated so that my heir and his sons can thrive as our successors. She is a curse to the Sadid name.”

  Ferenti’s entire body visibly trembled as he reached up to gently stroke Khitam’s arm as he allowed his shentalingra to hum deep in his throat in an attempt to soothe the mad ruler.

  Khitam’s paws and claws noticeably retracted at the attendant’s actions, and the Khedive lowered his hand from Ferenti’s throat as the sniveling male spoke.

  “We will handle it, my lord,” he took Khitam’s hand and licked it mollifyingly – watching to be sure the tensions in the Khedive’s face lessened as well, “Your will, as always, will be accomplished, my Great One.”

  And just like that, Khitam and his beast gurgled with pacification as an almost sickening grin graced his prematurely-aged face.

  “Mmmmmm,” the Khedive breathed in and rubbed his useless genitals, “We would taste you later when we hear of your plans – it has been too long for the great bear, sweet one.”

  Ferenti noticeably tensed at the demand – it had been tens of cycles since the Khedive had even remembered their two brief encounters shortly after he ordered his consort’s execution. Khitam had refused him numerous times since then, and the shentalingra had simply abandoned the idea. And now – now that the Khedive was without doubt tumbling headlong into dementia – Ferenti did not even know what to expect.

  Or what his Khedive would expect.

  If he even remembered his invitation later.

  “Yes, my lord,” Ferenti replied submissively, as he knew no other state of being around Khitam.

  And Khitam simply put his head back against the seat – his eyes visibly rolling back in his head as the bear growled long and low again – his tongue lolled almost uncontrollably out the side of his mouth, and he began to drool.

  Ferenti looked around the cabin nervously as he gently pulled the covers up over Khitam so that none of the others on-board the cruiser would see his obvious imbalance between cognate and beast.

  As sleep consumed the Preeminent Khedive of the Bohrean Empire.

  Chapter 13

  Kilgar activated his wrist comm combat channel to all Red Guards as he approached the hatchway that opened into the hangar – the same hangar in which he and Hondo had begun their day just a few madness-filled hurs ago. He told them all to prepare for the return of the Somdech’s party as well as ordered them to give him and the Prince a wide berth as his conversation with said Prince would likely result in the Prince’s being very pissed off.

  Entering the expansive area, the Captain’s survey of the room found Hondo in the center. His brother was in that “approach me and die” pose with his hands behind his back – one foot just in front of the other as he barely noticeably rocked his weight between the two. The Prince’s entire focus appeared to be only to the front but, Kilgar knew, both Hondo’s and his wartrige’s full awareness was at an easy three-hundred-sixty degrees as identified by the slight twitching in Hondo’s cheeks and shoulders.

  What a completely kahrolasd day! thought Kilgar as he purposefully made a noisy approach to Hondo – he would take no chances on perhaps surprising his Prince with all that was currently on his mind.

  Hondo took deep breath and turned in the Captain’s direction when he was still quite a few paces from him – his wartrige dangerously close to the surface.

  “What the godsfall was that comm about, Kilgar?” Hondo breathed, trying to contain the wartrige that wanted to attack anything and everything simply to relieve some pent up tension, as he sniffed the air surrounding Kilgar – the beast crawling even closer in his voice, “I smell Balstir on you – he was with …”

  Kilgar cut him off before the Prince got himself any more worked up.

  “Your family is unharmed, Hondo,” his voice was respectful yet firm, “They should arrive in no more than half an hur.”

  Kilgar watched as a shudder ran through his Prince before Hondo visibly relaxed at least a notch or two down from his full attack stance. Hondo breathed deeply, the muscles throughout his entire body flexing at the rivalry between cognate control and beast bloodlust.

  “Then what?” Hondo’s voice was a definite indicator of the conflict that still warred within the Prince – the wartrige was evident in both sound and inflection of his voice, “Why do you hold both a Perce chip and flesh in that bag?”

  Kilgar hesitated, his demercriere on full alert – it could sense the almost imminent attack from the animal it considered an ally. Kilgar tried to reassure his beast, but he, too, knew what was coming when the contents of the pouch and reasons behind them were revealed.

  Kilgar lifted the bag halfway toward Hondo, and halted.

  “Look at me, birader,” Hondo caught his breath, his beast stilled at Kilgar’s words, and looked his best friend in the eye, “They are unharmed, you have my word.”

  The wartrige’s growl of mollification emanated from Hondo’s being as the Prince nodded his understanding. Perhaps Hondo relaxed another notch and perhaps it was just wishful thinking on Kilgar’s part, but, whatever the case, Kilgar handed the pouch to his Prince.

  Hondo practically ripped the pouch at its opening in his haste to hold the contents in his hands, tossing the bag to the ground when he had done so. Kilgar reached across to take the chip from the grouping in Hondo’s palm, the action causing the wartrige to snarl and Hondo to bare his now slightly elongated teeth at his friend. But Kilgar put the chip into his sealed pocket for analysis later – the Captain letting his demercriere growl back as he bared his own fangs in answer to his Prince’s threatening gesture. Hondo acted as if nothing had transpired between them as did Kilgar – like such an exchange between the two strong beings was the norm. But, as he began to lift the uniform patch for examination, Hondo suddenly froze – even his breathing halted.

  A deep, deadly growl began in the depth of the Prince’s chest, and Kilgar felt his own beast growl in answer and rise in challenge. The Captain had known this was coming – both he and his beast had danced this dance with their brother before – sometimes for Kilgar, sometimes for Hondo – but the dance was the same. The music played every time one of these dangerous males needed to relieve some s
erious tension in a way that only deadly predators knew how to do.

  And this time it was Hondo who needed the relief because, well, as Kilgar had so eloquently stated earlier in the street talk he seemed to favor, it was a completely kahrolasd day.

  “Shelvana,” Hondo lifted his eyes to Kilgar, “Did anyone . . . ?”

  There was no more pretending Hondo was going to maintain control – the scent of their mate on the contents of the pouch had guaranteed the wartrige would attack – that was clear in the snarled pronunciation of the Somdech’s name.

  Kilgar hastily removed his utility belt and tossed it aside – his eyes never leaving those of his Prince – he trusted Hondo completely, but not so much the wartrige.

  Both males backed a few steps away from each other as the guards that had remained in the room’s perimeter quickly vacated the premises.

  “A few guards witnessed the kill, but they are her guards, Hondo, and they needed to know,” Kilgar stripped open the seals on his combat boots and threw them aside as Hondo ripped his deep red royal vestments and tossed them away, “It was an assassin, birader,” Kilgar let his demercriere have full access to his voice, “Your sire’s best.”

  Bare from the waist up, Hondo raised his head and opened his arms to let the wartrige cry out its anguish and anger – the deadly sound echoing throughout the large hanger. The action gave Kilgar enough time to strip open the seals on both his shirt and pants as Hondo – the wartrige already presenting its face – shredded the vestment bottoms from their body to allow himself the freedom for full beast presentation.

  The exercised wartrige rushed the demercriere who stood ready for the assault – the sound of their hard, muscular bodies crashing together and then to the floor echoing only until they were drowned out by the snapping of teeth and deep-throated growls of the two lethal beasts locked in seemingly deadly combat. When one would back off, the other would attack with a renewed viciousness – one pinning the other only to back off and begin the battle anew.

  The loud and violent dance continued until Hondo became present after his wartrige retreated from pinning the demercriere – a pin that Hondo, as the haze of bloodlust began to clear, was quite certain Kilgar had allowed to sate his Prince’s beast’s need for domination. Kilgar’s demercriere was undefeated in the beast-to-beast combat arena – had been for a solid decade now.

  Hondo sat – his naked buttocks on the solid floor – as he breathed heavily and licked his wounds. The complete frustration he felt still laced throughout his tone of voice, “How Kilgar?”

  Kilgar became present again as he, too, rolled to a sitting position – he did not face Hondo directly due to their states of undress.

  “He got past our best spotter/tracker – Guyanni, the genrathe – so, something is up. We will know more when we get a good look at all the evidence.”

  The wartrige growled in annoyance, but his lust for violence was sated for now so, Hondo was able to continue with sanity and a clear mind.

  “Do you think his visit here was just a distraction so that …”

  Kilgar interrupted his Prince with a sardonic laugh as he ran his palms over his face and through his nappy hair.

  “You realize that pich is kahrolasi gone, right Hondo?” Kilgar’s demercriere growled at the memory of Hondo and his sire’s conversation earlier, “I mean ‘scratch all you want, but nobody’s home’ gone, birader – he wreaks of it! The pich could not think straight to plan a distraction much less act one out completely.”

  Hondo shook his head and looked at the ground, his wartrige shifting restlessly inside of him as they both remembered, “He carries the stench of sickness and death,” Hondo paused and pounded the floor in aggravation, “His courtiers must sense it!”

  Kilgar laughed again, this time less enthusiastically.

  “Sure, but what courtier would kahrolasi say anything against a mad Khedive, Hondo?” Kilgar turned to look at him as his wrist comm alert sounded, “Only Rafal has ever stood against that kahrolasi pich and look where he is based on your crazy sire’s pronouncement today.”

  Hondo stood up, the wartrige clearly evident in his voice, “My brother is and will remain the Crowned Prince of the Bohrean Empire,” Hondo walked and offered his friend his hand to help him stand, “And he will be the next Khedive.”

  Hondo turned away and walked toward the wall to retrieve a pair of the spare pants – his vestments would, once again, need Yearlan’s talented hands for repair – as he spoke to himself. But Kilgar heard every word as he acknowledged his wrist comm alert and began to refasten his own pants.

  “If I have to kill the current nefret with our own hand.”

  And both Kilgar and his beast knew Hondo meant every word.

  The gentle Blood-borne host greeted Rafal and Chiyoto with guarded surprise and an almost apologetic air – it was obvious no one had alerted the formal dining area that the Prime Magistrate was actually on board this shuttle flight.

  As the host scurried away to arrange fulfillment of Rafal’s request for a secluded table, Chiyoto glanced around the room at the obviously well-to-do females – their hair carefully braided and twined with colorful ribbons and jewels. Chiyoto recognized the colors and jewels to be indicative of each female’s alter-animal’s classification – she had read all about the fashion of wings being represented by blues, canine dominants by reds, and so forth. It made her almost laugh to think that such a silly thing such as fashion mattered.

  Until she realized that a soft hush had come over the room and all eyes began to turn to her and Rafal … well, actually just to her – as if she was under some sort of inspection – many of the females almost scowling in her direction as they looked her up and down, a few of them shaking their heads and turning their attentions back to their company. Only one or two nodded in recognition and turned away. They were all so refined, so properly clothed and beautifully painted, so tightly fastened and almost stiff yet somehow graceful in all of their movements.

  And the auras that emanated from around the room indicated that nearly every one of them was Crimson – not to mention the undercurrents of disdain and revulsion emanating from the entire room. Those few females that were not Crimson were dressed and clothed as if they were such – the same looks of disdain emanating from those ill-clad Blood-bornes as well.

  The young Heiress breathed slowly in and out.

  And then it began to happen: slowly, Chiyoto began to feel more than a little out of place as she reached up to run a hand through her own unbraided hair. Why? She did not even really know. She had asked Runa before Rafal had belatedly arrived about her own appearance – her altre replying that the tunic and jonpurs were her favorite on Chiyoto – that the colors and the highlighting did wonders for her eyes and her skin colors. And, of course, they both despised fasteners – it did not matter how full Chiyoto’s breasts happened to be, the fastener always felt as though she were in chains.

  Animal harnesses, her Runa had reiterated.

  Mamere had always told her the loose tunic/tight pants look did best at flattering her more than full figure, but, perhaps, those days were past because these females were certainly quite critical of her appearance now.

  Of course, as Chiyoto’s ever-uncivilized altre reminded her, all of those females were Crimson jalangs who knew nothing of reality except the falsehoods they created for themselves. Their idea of beauty was making themselves look like all the others while under the guise of trying to stand out. It was, according to the already disagreeable Runa, all a sick game of female competition – their Crimson animal altre-beings did not even need to present themselves for the jalangs to act like the beasts that they were.

  In fact, Runa postulated that a roomful of their animals instead of their cognates might be quite a bit more palatable – no paint, not ribbons, just real beings.

  Chiyoto tried to stifle a giggle that wanted to bubble
up in response to Runa’s analysis, but Rafal looked over at her, a question in his eyes as the host reappeared. She squeezed his hand, slightly shaking her head and rolling her eyes in response, “Nothing,” she whispered up to Rafal as she thanked Runa for the smile – her churlish altre responding with a question as to what joke Chiyoto meant as everything the dragoness had said was completely serious and meant as truth.

  Again, Chiyoto had to chuffle.

  Rafal almost imperceptibly growled with laughter at her – his deep emerald eyes alight with affection and warmth, and Chiyoto felt herself blush again as Rafal directed her to lead them in following the host to their table.

  Because she was the Heiress, Chiyoto knew the host’s names, both cognate and altre, but she dared not reveal that fact. She simply acknowledged him with a warm smile.

  As they made their way through the crowded dining area, Chiyoto began to notice a number of females they passed ogling Rafal with blatantly sexual desire in their stares – one of them even openly licked her lips in invitation. And something flared inside of Chiyoto – it was wild, and it was possessive, and the inclination to inflict harm on each and every one of the drooling jalangs, as Runa had so accurately dubbed them, rose up suddenly inside of her.

  And Runa was delighted and giddy with excitement. Even if the dragoness was still unsure about this Crowned Prince, the uncivilized altre certainly enjoyed the emotions his presence seemed to bring out in her Chiyoto. Those emotions – mostly ones Mamere had warned them to always avoid – ones for which they were sent into exile to overcome and to conquer – made Chiyoto and Runa blend beautifully as one being. There was none of the emotional tempering that Junko had tried to teach Chiyoto, none of the hushed tones and soft footsteps – no, it was in these strong emotions that her Chiyoto truly shown forth with all the beauty that the Makers had given her.

  And it was not the magic that hummed so brightly through them during these moments, it was more the oneness and completeness they found in each other – the true high of being the Heiress and just how completely and totally awesome it was to be just that: more than any other being in the whole Empire. Runa breathed in her Chiyoto’s jealousy of the Crimson females, and, before they even reached the isolated table that had been prepared for them, Runa felt the tempered power run through and leave them and subsequently heard the surprised yelps from at least two of the jalangs as their drinks somehow spilled into their plates, splashing onto their beautifully painted necks atop their fastened breasts.