Courting Kel Read online

  At first glance, Basalia’s receiving room differed from Kel’s only in size and seating capacity. Aren gauged it as three times larger with twice the number of chairs, divans and low tables. One table, larger than the others and round—like everything else he had seen so far—stood near the window seat where Basalia sat, looking like the queen she was and a lot like her daughter. But he noticed differences as well. Her skin was paler, likely due to spending little time outside. Her bare arms seemed rounder than Kel’s—not saggy, just…round. He darted a glance at Kel’s breasts, which were definitely rounder than before he’d gone to see his father. Then he looked back at her mother. No discernable difference in their bosoms. He was growing quite fond of roundness and wished he could see Basalia’s ass to assess how Kel’s might look as she grew older. Since the queen was seated, her emerald-colored skirts pooled around her, he could only imagine that her hips were slightly wider than Kel’s, her waist a modicum thicker. More glimpses of what Kel would look like as she aged.

  “Come closer,” Basalia said, her husky voice much like Kel’s. So much like her daughter’s that, were he not looking at them both, he might not have known who spoke.

  Two older women, still striking in appearance and strength, drew heavy high-back chairs to the window seat. A third placed a laden tray on the table. The three left without saying a word. They did, however, smile at Kel, who smiled back.

  “Sit.” Pouring amber liquid into three crystal goblets, Basalia handed one to Kel then one to him. Raising her own goblet, she inhaled. “This is our version of your winale, Aren. A tastier brew and even more potent.”

  They drank, Kel quaffing hers while her mother sipped. Interesting. Is Kel so uncomfortable in her mother’s presence she wants to get drunk? And why hadn’t the queen greeted her daughter?

  “It is lighter in taste than what we brew but pleasant,” Aren said, wondering if Basalia intended to offer it in trade for Ondrican goods. That possibility kept him from proclaiming it the finest winale he’d ever tasted.

  “Basalia developed the recipe.” Kel spoke for the first time since entering her mother’s quarters.

  Basalia smiled as if pleased by Kel’s proud tone. But her remarkable green eyes held a trace of sadness. She banged the goblet on the table, startling both him and Kel into looking directly at her.

  “To the depths of our deepest swamp with all this polite nonsense. Has Keleos acknowledged your marriage or not?”

  “Mother!” Kel protested with an embarrassed glance at Aren.

  Basalia turned her narrow-eyed gaze on him.

  “According to Ondrican law we are married, Majesty.”

  “We. Are. Not. Married.” She shot her mother a “so there” glare. “I lied earlier, Basalia. Sorry.” But she neither looked nor sounded apologetic. In truth, she seemed downright proud of lying.

  “According to Ondrican law we are married,” Aren insisted, his focus on Basalia. “Moreover, her breasts are fuller, her nipples tender. She may carry my babe.”

  Kel groaned. Basalia nodded.

  Surging to her feet, Kel shouted at him, “Now you’ve done it! Whether I will it or not, Basalia will insist that we remain on Amazonia until the baby is born. Whether I will it or not, she will keep a female child here. Whether I will it or not…” Kel collapsed in her chair, burying her face in her hands.

  “I’ve been told hormonal overload is common at this early stage of pregnancy,” Aren felt compelled to say by way of excusing Kel’s outburst. Guanshit! Now I sound like a royal ass!

  Basalia grinned as if she knew a secret Aren did not. But she said, “By all the gods, Keleos, behave like the princess you are!”

  Kel’s head snapped up. Her spine stiffened. Her eyes swirled so many colors Aren lost track and found gauging her true mood impossible.

  “As to whether you are married or not…” Leaning against a pile of pillows, Basalia folded her hands in her lap.

  “What?” Kel demanded, thrusting out her chin.

  Bewildered, Aren leaned back to watch the fireworks he sensed coming. In this instance being ignored worked to his advantage.

  “I think we can arrive at a compromise,” the queen said, her voice calm, her eyes sly.

  Kel snorted, disbelief all over her face.

  When the silence lengthened to unbearable Aren risked saying, “Compromise?”

  “She doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” Kel sniped. Mimicking her mother’s nonchalance, Kel leaned back. But Aren could almost feel the tension vibrating through her.

  “I grow weary, Keleos.”

  Kel’s gaze sharpened but she remained still and silent.

  “I grow weary of the constant stream of invaders who lust for our women. I grow weary of the constant need to stay on guard. Of the constant lack of a moment’s respite from worry. Will we have enough rain for our crops or will storms destroy them? Drought or deluge, starvation for us all.”

  Covering his mouth, Aren hid his smile. Basalia played guilt like a virtuoso, striking its chords not for herself but for her subjects. Storr should take lessons from this woman. For that matter, so should he, noting how Kel now leaned forward—her concern for her people obvious and fully engaged.

  “What do you propose we do, Mother?”

  “Somehow we need to establish a truce with Ondrican.”

  “Somehow,” Kel echoed. “You’ll use the sham of our marriage—mine and Aren’s—to make this desired truce a reality.”

  Marriage, he thought, ignoring the word sham.

  “If Aren agrees.”

  Seeing Kel’s mouth gape and her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline, Aren wondered if Basalia had ever asked for a man’s agreement. “That depends on what’s offered by way of compromise,” he said, choosing his words with care. He had his own people to consider as well as his father’s wishes.

  “We’ll have a wedding ceremony here on Amazonia. The public mating—”

  “No,” he and Kel said together, Kel’s objections preceding his by a nanosecond.

  “Ondrican has similar marriage rituals, which Kel and I chose to ignore,” he said cautiously. As stubborn as Storr was he could deny their marriage and force Aren to wed another. Or Aren could take a stand—for himself as well as Kel. Consequences be damned.

  Aren asked, “Do you acknowledge Kel—Keleos’ marriage to me?”

  As if her answer mattered little, Basalia shrugged. But her eyes told a different story—one of deep concern and abiding love for her child. “That decision lies with my daughter.”

  A soft knock delayed Kel’s answer.

  “The council awaits, Majesty.”

  Aren expected “Let them wait” from Basalia. Instead, she stood and settled her skirts, saying, “Good. I’m starving.” Motioning her guests to her side, she looped her hands around their elbows and led them to her dining room.

  Sly vixen. A familial introduction to what might become a different world. For her subjects and Storr’s.

  Only after he and Kel returned to her quarters did Aren wonder at how real the entire evening had seemed.

  * * * * *

  “Have you a guestroom?” Aren asked, shutting the hallway door to Kel’s suite.

  “Are you a guest or a husband?” Kel countered, her eyes unreadable.

  “I’d rather—” Quickly deciding actions spoke more clearly than words, he swept Kel into his arms.

  “We still need to talk, Aren.”

  “Can’t…no, I see talk can’t wait.”

  Carrying her to the window seat, he sat with her in his arms. Waving his hand he dimmed the lights. “Amazing. I wondered if my skills would still work—” Before he named one of Ondrican’s lesser moons, he caught himself. “Would work so far from home.”

  Kel looked puzzled by his comments but soon brightened. “Good! Perhaps we can trade for them after all.”

  “Flame, look out the window and tell me what you see.”

  “Moonlight. Amazonia has only one.” She sounded so a
pologetic Aren laughed. “Starlight.”

  Her frown made him hold his breath. Now she would discover the ruse he, Storr and Basalia had created to fool her. Now she would denounce him as the liar he was. Demand he take her to her real homeworld.

  “Ours stars aren’t so different. Perhaps our worlds aren’t as far apart as I thought.”

  Aren’s breath eased out.

  Flinging his arms away, Kel sprang to her feet. “But that doesn’t mean I forgive you. Making me think we shared a dream—a dream—when you knew it was foretelling!” she shouted. “Now thanks to your guanshit tricks, you’ve given my mother the perfect weapon to use against me.”

  “What weapon?” He sounded as belligerent as Kel. But—guanshit!—he was every bit as angry.

  “Our marriage, you idiot! Our marriage!”

  Kel, her chest heating with anger, noticed Aren’s matching anger fading. The wretched man seemed about to smile, making her want to box his ears. Never mind how stupid that was. Almost as ridiculous as shouting at him.

  “It is up to us, Flame. Neither Basalia nor Storr can dictate whether or not we are married or where we will raise our children.”

  Kel snorted. “If we remain on either homeworld, they’ll try to run our lives.”

  Standing, Aren paced to her side. He took her hand and led her back to the window seat, resettling with her on his lap.

  “I don’t know why I let you coddle me as if I were a child.”

  “It is cuddling. And we both enjoy it.”

  He leaned against the pillows, gently forcing her to rest her head on his chest. His heartbeat drummed in her ear, as steady as his arms around her. Groaning a sigh of contentment, she said, “Where shall we live?”

  “If we had no responsibilities to our people?” She nodded. “I’d steal The Herald, load her with a hundred men and seek a new homeworld. After stopping here to pick up a hundred women, of course.”

  “Of course,” she agreed. “But what if none of the women liked any of the men?” Her soft laugh said she knew the improbability of nobody liking anyone.

  He tugged on her braid. “You are far too logical, Flame.”

  “One of us must be. If we run… Is there anyone on Ondrican who can replace you? Tage, perhaps?”

  “He could, but I doubt he’d do so. He enjoys gallivanting about the galaxy too much to give it up. Moreover, he lacks the royal coloring. Erland’s another possibility but—” He traced the whorls in her ear. Tickled, she shrugged away his hand.

  “He’s still young. Besides, the pressure to learn everything you’ve learned over years at Storr’s side—”

  “Unfair to him, yes. Not that I doubt he could do it but unfair. What about you? Have you a sister who could take your place?”

  “A cousin. Who could be your half-sister, now that I think about it. She’s a few years older than you and has Storr’s hair and eye color.” Ruffling his hair, she kissed the underside of his chin. He shifted so she could no longer reach him there. Grateful just to be with him, she settled against his chest.

  “Which coincides with Storr’s tales of sowing his oats on Amazonia before marrying my mother. And again after her death, when he sired Storrone through Storrsix.” Against Kel’s cheek, Aren’s chest rose and fell. “Best keep your cousin to ourselves. If she is his, Storr would have the perfect excuse to overthrow Basalia and put her on the throne.”

  Kel bared her teeth. Not that Aren could see, but it made her feel better. “He could try.”

  “We need a better solution.” He tiptoed his fingers down her spine and she reciprocated, running her hand from his knee toward his cock. Catching her hand, he pressed it high on his chest.

  “We could live apart. You on Ondrican—”

  “No.”

  Pleased, Kel snuggled closer. Aren’s cock pulsed against her hip. Her breasts swelled and her nipples pearled. As always, his nearness increased her appetite for mating, she admitted to herself, sitting up. “Aren.”

  “I can’t hide that I want you, Flame.” He stroked her rigid nipples, the bodice of her gown feeling deliciously rough over them.

  “Neither can I.” She rose, tugged on his hands until he stood chest to breast with her.

  “I chose well,” he murmured in her ear, his breath hot and moist. “Our heights allow us to feel every inch of skin.”

  “My skin feels only material,” she countered, trying to open his robe but unable to find a way in.

  Laughing, he pulled it over his head. Catching her hands before she could pull off her gown, he gazed into her eyes. “I’m going to undress you, Flame.”

  When he linked their fingers Kel said, her voice breathless, “Any time soon?”

  “Soon enough.” Glancing around the room, he frowned. “I find your architecture inconducive to fucking. Is everything round?”

  “Oh yes.” Freeing her hands she grabbed his cock then led him into her sleep chamber. “Though the bed is round, I think it large enough to accommodate us.”

  “And several more.”

  Hearing the jealousy in his voice, she said, “Until this very moment, Aren, no man has entered this room. And I think there is another architectural feature you’ll enjoy.” She looked up as she tugged on a rope that ran through a series of pulleys. He looked up as well, his mouth gaping as the ceiling and roof slid back, revealing the high-riding moon and countless stars.

  “There are few nights I can do this. Usually it’s too hot or too cold. Or it’s raining too hard.”

  “Beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you, Flame.”

  He untied the ribbon in her braid, ran his fingers through the strands until her hair cascaded down her back. All the while his dark gaze held her still. Mesmerized. His willing captive.

  She felt her heart pounding against her ribs, heard every beat thumping in her ears. Saw his hands rising to cup her face and his head lowering to kiss her brow, her eyes, her cheeks. Sipped the lingering taste of winale from his gently probing tongue. Smelled the scent of sandalwood lingering on his freshly shaved cheeks.

  When she dressed earlier tonight, her multicolored gown had wound around her like a cocoon, leaving only her hands and neck exposed. Now as Aren’s fingers glided up her arms, her sleeves fell open as if cut by a sharp blade. His warm hands cupped her shoulders, seeming to melt the fabric with his touch. Melding her bared breasts to his palms.

  “Neat…trick,” she managed to say, feeling her gown sliding down her body and pooling around her ankles.

  Chuckling, Aren carried her to the bed. Easing them down, his dark eyes intent on hers, he said, “If we must fuck in public, Flame, this is the image I’ll hold in my mind. The moon and stars floating in black velvet. Your satin flesh beckoning like realloppas, the rarest treasure amongst all the gems. Your silky hair bright as glittering rubies in sunlight. Your eyes swirling colors, a kaleidoscope meant only for me.”

  They lay on their sides, content for the moment to simply gaze into each other’s eyes. She had to touch him, to assure herself he was more than a dream she’d conjured to ease her loneliness. His hair felt cool, the silky locks sliding through her fingers like water. Stroking his eyebrows, she laughed, saying, “The hair here is almost as coarse as the hair on your balls.”

  “While your hair—like your skin—is soft everywhere.”

  “Mmm.” Tracing beneath his brow ridges, she explored his eyelids, giggling when his thick lashes grazed her fingertips. When she slid her finger across his lips, he sucked it into his mouth, laved his tongue around it as if it were her clit. Her nub pulsed, wanting his mouth and tongue on it. Her nipples rose, needing his touch there as well.

  “Flame.” His low voice contained a world of longing as he gathered her against him, heating her from breasts to knees.

  Sliding his fingers into her hair, he drew her face to his then kissed her, a brush of mist over her lips. He returned to linger a little longer. Craving more, she caught his chin to hold him still while she explored his lips with her tong
ue. He opened his mouth. Sucking her tongue, he drew her deeper until she moaned and her body surged against his. She needed him more than she needed her next breath.

  Their hands got in each other’s way as they groped and stroked and writhed. But at last they settled, her hands fondling his rigid cock and heavy balls, his cupping her mons as he plucked her clit.

  “Hot and slick,” he murmured against her sensitive nipple as he slid his fingers between her folds.

  She whimpered, thrusting her hips to take his fingers inside her empty pussy. “Need you inside me. Now.”

  “Not yet. Lie still so I can worship you as you deserve.” A gentle shove on her shoulder rolled her to her back.

  “Aren, please.”

  Lying on his side, his head propped on one hand, he raised a lock of her hair to his nose. “Soon I’ll discover if your cunt smells so sweet.” Sucking the lock into his mouth, he moistened it then stroked it over her nipples. “Tastes so sweet.”

  Gooseflesh dotted her skin. Her aching nipples rose in her puckered areolas. “Cruel, cruel man,” she told him, reaching for his cock, intending to make him suffer as much as she did.

  He shifted his hips, taking his cock beyond her reach. “If you try to touch me again I’ll tie your hands.”

  “You can try,” she said, her attempt to sound menacing making him laugh.

  Leaning over her, he kissed her until every muscle in her body tightened with need. She wanted to touch him but couldn’t. Her bones had dissolved and she couldn’t move.

  The tips of his fingers feathered over her body as if he hadn’t decided where he would touch her. She held her breath, waiting, needing, craving.

  Touch me! I don’t care where, just—

  “Ohh,” she sighed when his hand descended on her mons and his fingers worked their magic on her clit and filled her pussy. As if he had freed her from invisible bonds, she pumped against his hand, her heartbeat pounding in her ears and in her pussy. When he sucked her nipple into her mouth, she cried out, her voice a wail of bliss as her climax tore through her. And all the while, she gazed into his eyes. Watched him watching her and saw how his gift to her darkened his eyes as he absorbed her every tremor.