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Daemon & Sunny Ch. 02

By: ladyofthemasque



{Author’s Note: This is a part of a larger story, which may one day be published. All rights reserved, yadda yadda, blah blah blah… I got pestered by several of you to hear more of this tale, so here’s another sexy snippet. Enjoy! ~Lotm}

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When he didn’t come back by the time her heartbeat had slowed and her strength had resurfaced, Sunny once again rolled her sore body off of the bed. This time, she went into the bathroom and shut the door, wishing the thumblock on the knob would respond to her. Using the facilities only proved how tender she was; hobbling to the edge of the huge bathtub and its raised, marble dais, she figured out how to activate its controls and filled it with warm water. Investigation of the bottles to one side of the platform uncovered masculinely-scented oils, and even a foamant. Squirting a heavy amount in, she eased herself into the water as the bubbles started to form.

The gentle heat was soothing to her body…and arousing as the oversized pipes filled the tub quickly. It swirled around her thighs, crept up and caressed her belly, and tickled her breasts with the mounting foam. Tipping her head back against one of the curves of the scalloped tub, she sighed and closed her eyes. The water shut off automatically, leaving her in blissful silence. Until the door clicked and swung open. She tensed, her eyes flying to the doorway.

Daemon had panicked for a moment when he hadn’t seen her in his bedroom. Just a moment, but he felt relief now to see her in his tub. He would have to do something to keep her from wanting to escape. Seeing the wariness in her eyes, the edge of fear in those rich turquoise eyes before she looked away again, he planned his campaign. Striding to the edge of the platform, he sat on its edge. The water swished as she shifted forward, away from him. Reaching out, he caught her by her bare shoulder, pulling her insistently, gently back against the rim next to him again.

“That’s better.” A wisp of her hair, red and curling, brushed over the back of his hand. Tickling his flesh. There were any number of wisps and large curls that had worked their way loose by now. Those locks were rich and silky, springy to the touch. Daemon slid his knee up onto the marble rim and started hunting through her hair, picking the pins and combs out, loosening the rolled bun and fingering out the artfully looped braids. “Red hair is rare in Astorra,” he murmured conversationally, pleased to discover that, the more he untangled, the more her hair looked to be waistlength, as long as his own. “Long hair is a sign of good health, and good fortune.”

“…I should shave you bald,” Sunny muttered under her breath, sinking lower in the water. The prickling, tickling pull of his fingers through her hair was arousing her, and she didn’t want to be aroused. Not again.

Daemon heard her. He struggled a moment to contain his laughter—she might have been named Sunny, but she was definitely prickly—and finished stroking out the last of the swirled locks, spreading them out over his knee and lap. Catching a few in his fingers, he lifted them and brushed the dangling curls over her shoulder.

It was one more unwanted stimulation. She jerked her forehead forward protectively. “Don’t.”

He tugged on her hair, pulling her gently but insistently back. Tickled her again, until she jerked forward once again.

“Don’t!”

Daemon brought her back more firmly, using her own hair as her leash. “Did I not hear you swear you would stay and be my concubine?”

Sunny, remembering the exact circumstances, blushed red. She tried to think of any way to get out of it. “…I only swore I’d stay; I didn’t say anything about being y—”

Daemon buried his hand in her hair and brought her head back. His other arm bracing his weight on the edge of the tub, he leaned over her with soft, slow, coaxing kisses between his firm words. “You swore to both, Consort.” Leaning closer, he kissed the protest from her mouth and out of her head. When he lifted his head, he smiled, satisfied by the dazed desire deepening the color of her eyes. “I will be glad to remind you of the exact circumstances any time…and gladly with another demonstration.”

Her face on fire, Sunny wished for something—anything—to take that smug smile off his face. The only thing she could think of was making him as embarrassed and furious as she was, and she acted without thinking. Grabbing the lapels of his dark blue, silk robe, she hauled him into the water. Caught off guard by her attack, he slipped over with a satisfying splash, legs and arms flailing too late to prevent the results of her attack.

Again, the auburn wench had felled him! Daemon struggled towards the surface as the water slapped in around him and his backside hit the hard bottom. Something shocked the water near his hip and he jerked and twisted, getting his legs under him. Standing up with a gasped, half-choked curse, he dug his hand into his robe’s pocket. Out came the sodden control box for her slave collar.

Sunny stared at it. She grabbed it from him, found the collar release button, and jabbed it. Nothing happened. She pressed the other buttons, even the prominent pain button. Nothing. “You broke it!”

Daemon, water still dripping from his nose, narrowed his eyes. “You pushed me into the water!”

She stood up to face him, hooking her thumb under the inch-wide metallic ribbon circling her throat and waved the box under his nose threateningly. “How am I going to get this off, without this thing working?!”

Bright Astor, but she’s magnificent…  Daemon followed a puff of bubbles slithering down from her collarbone, followed it dip into the valley between her full breasts. He dragged his gaze up from her glistening, dripping body and fitted his finger under the band circling her throat. Sliding his finger under the slave collar, he tugged her close, taking the defunct control box from her hand and tossing the useless device away. “You’ll be free…when I decide you are free.”

She shoved him again as he pulled her in for another kiss. Unfortunately, his legs were better braced than her own…including the soles of her feet. They slipped out from under her and Sunny fell back. He yanked on the collar, saving her from a concussion or worse against the curved but hard stone rim of the tub; her hands flew up to his thighs as she splashed down onto her knees, water swirling around her breasts. Just like that, she was on her knees in front of him, her hands clutching at the backs of his thighs, her fingers splayed over the wet satin clinging there. Her eyes level with the wet satin clinging to the bulge at the apex of those thighs, fastening her gaze with the pull of a magnet and nail. Air caught in her lungs, arrested in her throat as Sunny stared.

Astor! One hand still with a finger hooked in her collar, holding her close, Daemon followed the intensity of her gaze…and fumbled at the wet knot of his sash with his other hand. He managed to get it unknotted, but his impatience for her direct attention was too much.

“Open it. Open it.”

The hoarse longing in his command numbed any resistence she might have had. A small portion of her mind wondered if he’d used some sort of drug that had attuned her mind to the sound of his voice, making her aroused and willing to do whatever he commanded her, whenever he commanded it, but her trembling hands had already come around to the front of his thighs, and peeled back the wet, clinging fabric. Revealing the prize already straining and growing to greet her. Daemon watched her mouth part softly in confrontation with his need, watched the slightest flick of her tongue and the rub of her moistening lips as she stared at his masculinity. He wanted to be the next thing that tongue dampened, those lips caressed.

“Taste me.”

More erotic words had never been spoken, Sunny was sure. This was something sacred on her world, the Prayer for Rain was the proper name for it, and one of the recommended religious activities during the first quarter of a woman’s month. She had never done it before, though its theory had been included in her general education as a Craidan, somewhere between reproductive education and religious theology. It was meant as a prayer of fertility, for the land, for the couple having sex, even as a fun prayer-ritual to end a hot summer day. To do it with this offworlder, this non-Craidan, bordered on the forbidden.

But he already did the Prayer for Sun with me, almost the very first thing… As his manhood finished most of its expansion and twitched in front of her, waiting for her bidden taste, Sunny gave in with a groan. She had already had her first experience without the proper preparative rituals—what was one more rule bent almost into taboo? Her tongue licked the underside of that cherry, velvety head, then her lips came sliding around him as his fingers held her throat close to his body, giving her no room to back away from her intimate kiss. He moaned and clutched her head, burying his fingers in her auburn curls as she tasted him with lips and tongue and even the light touch of her teeth, licking away the slight flavor of soaped water for the warmer one of his flesh. But he pulled her away before she could taste the flavor of his rain.

Daemon couldn’t, daren’t let her take him any further than that. He almost lost control, closing his eyes on a shudder when he lifted her by her arms and his turgid manhood slid down the rising curves of her skin. He shouldn’t take her; she was undoubtedly sore, perhaps even raw from their near-constant coupling. Once more would make eleven times, barely within the space of a full day’s cycle. Holding her on her feet, slightly away from his turgid need, he sought for control to leave her alone at least for a few more hours, and opened his eyes.

Sunny didn’t know why he had stopped her. Until she saw the look in his eyes. Untamed, unabridged, impassioned need. He wanted her to fulfill him another way. Her core was still sore from the last time, and the time before that…but it was also still slick with his seed, deep inside. Even though her sensitivity to her body told her the contraceptive was working, that she wouldn’t get pregnant, Sunny found the idea of his liquid seed inside of her incredibly arousing. Her hand came up, feathered along the underside of his shaft, then wrapped around him just as he groaned and caught her wrist. Holding her still, though if his intent had been to remove her hand, he didn’t move it. Lifting her lashes, Sunny looked up at him. Her master. Her owner, damn his eyes.

Her lover.

Seeing the unshuttered passion in her jewel-bright eyes, Daemon groaned and hauled her against him, angling his head down for a hot and devouring kiss. She met him mouth to mouth, breasts to chest, belly to groin, her arms freely wrapping around him. Her fingers dragged down at the wet silk clinging to his skin. Impatiently, Daemon freed first one arm, then other for her to scrape off the damp fabric; he barely heard the robe slapping into the water behind him because he had returned his arms to her waist, and his palms to her buttocks. Lifting her by them, he grinned in savage, masculine satisfaction as she lifted her legs and wrapped them around her waist, clinging to him automatically. It brought his manhood to the edge of her womanhood, and he slid automatically, instinctively, primally inside. Wiping his smile away with a groan of deep sensation as she sank down onto him. It was insane, possibly suicidal to take her like this here in his bathtub, the water swirling around his thighs as he rocked his hips into hers. Where a simple fall like the one she had experienced before tasting him could end his kingship and his life as surely as it had his father’s and his brother’s.

Daemon didn’t care. All he cared about was pounding into her, and the way she gripped him with her inner muscles, something no Astorran woman had ever done so thoroughly, so strongly, so willingly before. She clung to him on a breathless cry as his savage possession shuddered her through a hard and fast climax, and he poured himself into her with a shout. When the long, trembling moments of passion had eased, he felt actually surprised to still be standing. Bending down into the water, her hips still clasped to his, her flesh still surrounding him, he dropped to his knees. The water swirled around them, bobbing her breasts against his chest as he kissed her.

When Daemon slipped out of her, she winced and caught her breath, grimacing for a moment against his lips. He felt a bastard for making love to her until she was sore…but even as he felt a touch of remorse…he also still wanted her. Even though his body was exhausted of its readiness at the moment, he still wanted her. Marshalling strength for his will, he reached behind him, found the raw silk scrubbing cloths by awkward touch, and managed to wet the rag and squirt soap onto it from the chased gold dispenser, all with one hand. All while kissing his incredible concubine.

Massaging the rag to create the cleansing foam, he pulled back from her mouth, both pleased and distracted when she followed his own, seeking more. Wrapping his arm around her waist, her legs still straddling his hips, he lifted her up out of the water and set her on the marble edge.

Sunny, her world turned topsy-turvy by the events of the last few days, wished she didn’t feel so confused. She wanted to flee, wanted her freedom. She needed his touch, needed to stay and know this physical bliss he could give her. She needed to keep him away from her, to avoid whatever drugs and their effects his palace servants had given to her…and she wanted to succumb again. So she didn’t protest beyond a soft sound when he picked up one arm and started soaping her fingers, then moving up to lather her arms. The brown spots of her odd line of freckles showed through the white foam, and when he got to her shoulder, the newly crowned king of Astorra trailed his finger from the edge of her wrist, past her elbow, to the spiralling ring that circled her bicep.

“I’ve never seen anything like this. Is it…natural? Or some sort of tattoo?” Daemon lifted his paler gaze to her own, his fingertip gently rubbing the flesh of her upper arm.

“I…don’t know.” Sunny glanced down at her arm, and found herself confessing the whole thing. “They were just…there. When I bathed in the slave house, the day they brought us in.”

“They? Us?” Daemon questioned. Normally, he tried to keep slavery out of his kingdom; he had no experience, no knowledge of how slavery occurred—he didn’t even know the full reason why he was keeping her as his slave as well as his concubine, other than he didn’t want her leaving him.

“The pirates that attacked the archaeological dig I was on. They killed two of the others, and dragged us off to another world…Tovedd, I think. We were only in space for a few days away from Tarkat, and that’s the nearest non-Imperium world that far away, out on the Fringe near the Tarkat system.”

“You’re an archaeologist?” Daemon asked, surprised. When one thought of slaves being taken by stellar pirates, one thought of the working classes, of farmers and spaceport workers. Not of scientists.

“Historian. Imperium Historian,” she corrected him, eyeing her other, unsoaped arm. He brought the rag over as she lifted and studied it, and Sunny let him bathe her. For a moment, she was distracted by the oddity of the king of a ten-world empire bathing a mere slave, but then his thumb brushed over her freckle line again and she was caught back in the original subject. “I should be freckled all over, but…”

“All over?” Daemon asked, intrigued by the idea. She gave him a quelling, narrow-eyed look for the direction of his thoughts, and he laughed softly, soaping up over her shoulder. “I’m not sure which I would have preferred: you with these…intriguing lines,” he stated, trailing the soapy, raw silk down and around in its spiralled path over her breasts, “…or you with freckles everywhere for my exploration.”

She wanted to hit him for his possessive tone and words. She wanted to have him investigate personally with a little Prayer for Sun to make sure there weren’t any where there had used to be some. Sunny settled for breathing hard a few moments.

He wanted her again, when he looked up into her eyes and saw her passion there. Their color was a little more turquoise, her air annoyed with him…but she wanted him; Daemon could tell. That passion gripped him. Deliberately, he massaged her breasts with the rag, and listened in masculine satisfaction as she let out a faint groan of pleasure. “So you were brought in and bathed. What happened to all the freckles that should have been here, and here…and here?”

Shuddering as his soapy, rag-clenched hand brushed her breasts, her belly, and finally her feminine curls, Sunny closed her eyes for a moment. He tormented her a moment longer, just the lightest, wisping touches, then pulled back and waited for her answer. Pulling her scattered thoughts together, she picked up the thread of her story again. He started bathing her body again. “There I was, in the communal showers, scrubbing away—I was happy to be able to bathe.”

“You were?”

“We’d been three weeks at that dig site, inside a camouflage dome tent, in summer jungle heat. The tent was to hide us from pirate raids, though we’d already been attacked once before. Anyway, we didn’t have much water to spare for washing, and I didn’t get much of a chance to bathe locked up in the pirate’s slave cell, and I was dying for a decent bath. My people believe in cleanliness,” she added as he started working on her toes. She frowned at him. “Are you sure you should be doing that?”

“Bathing you? Why not?” Daemon asked.

“You’re a king. I’m a…” She flushed, unable to bring herself to say it.

Daemon shifted forward on his knees, water swirling around his chest. He slipped his soapy hand behind her back, bringing her close for a swift kiss. “I’m your lover. And if I want to bathe every inch of you, then that is what I will do. Continue with your story,” he ordered her, working his way to the top of her knee, then on up her soft, freckle-seamed thigh. “You were in need of a thorough washing.”

“So I scrubbed myself. Thoroughly,” she added as he skipped the very top of her thigh, where it joined to her hip and buttock, and worked on her other foot. “When I stepped back under the spray…it was like my freckles just…washed away. And I suddenly had more, all compressed into these.”

She nodded at her arms and legs, lifting her feet from the water to display her striped calves better. Daemon slipped between her thighs and gently scrubbed her back, enjoying the slick feel of her lathered skin against his own as her thighs and breasts rubbed. Startled, her eyes flew to his. “Go on. Were you scanned by any medical equipment?”

“I’m sure I was—everyone claimed I was healthy. That the freckles are natural…for all that they’re definitely not in a natural pattern,” she added as he urged her back to arch, rubbing her breasts against him as his rag-soaped hand rubbed her back. His head was only a few inches below her own as he lathered her body. For a moment, her breath caught, then she cleared her throat and continued. “They even took an exfoliant soap to my skin, and nearly scrubbed me raw. I know it isn’t some sort of tattoo, and it isn’t bodypaint, and it doesn’t hurt in any way… I suppose I could have contracted something while I was on Tarkat II…but no one’s ever contracted a freckle-striping disease there, as far as I know. No one’s ever caught a virus like this before, if it’s the side effect of some bug bite or germ.”

“No other side effects?”

“Not unless you count your drugging me,” Sunny pointed out dryly. Letting some of her earlier displeasure surface again in her tone. She squirmed as he slid his hands down to her buttocks and urged her forward, onto her feet in the water. Standing, her belly was about the same height as his head, sending wanton images through her thoughts. “How long does this stuff last, anyway? How long do I have to keep wanting you?”


Daemon & Sunny Ch. 02



Daemon started to chuckle at her plaintive tone, contrasting with her sensual shifting as he lathered her backside, then trailed the rag around to the front of her hips. Then her words caught up with his mind. She still thinks she’s drugged? Her responses are that strong to me? Bright Astor! His breath caught in the back of his throat. His own responses were incredible, and he was a male Astorran, considered to be highly sexed compared to the majority of the males on the other humanoid worlds out there.

“—Well?” Sunny demanded impatiently.

He debated telling her the truth. Debated not telling her the truth. Deliberately, he soaped her crevasse, rubbing gently, aware of how tender her flesh had to be. “Do you feel that?”

How can I not? Sunny asked silently, rhetorically as she squirmed and gasped, half from raw soreness, half from instant, hot arousal. “…Yes!”

Keeping up his touching, he roused her until she was gasping with every breath, her hands braced on the rim of the tub behind her. Daemon rose to his feet, his hand still gently busy, and kissed her mouth. “That is entirely natural, Sunny; you want me. The drug you were given actually wore off before we finished…last night.”

Her eyes, almost closed in her pleasure, snapped open. Her lips parted, closed, parted, closed, her throat swallowed—and she shoved him. “You—!”

Daemon laughed, catching and sliding his fingers along her soapy arms and wrists. She jerked free to pummel him and he twisted her assault aside and pushed her face-first into the water. Sunny came up gasping, still furious, still embarrassed, intent on denying everything. She splashed water back at him, he flinched, still laughing, and pushed her under again, dunking her a second time. Hauling her upright, he held her soft, slick curves against his hard, wet body and kissed her streaming-wet protests away. Those shoving hands became resting ones that quickly turned into caressing ones. It was hard to think of her tenderness, but Daemon managed to put space between them again.

Taking her hand as soon as she was out of her daze enough to stand, he turned her palm up and placed the soapy raw silk rag in her grasp. His paler gaze met her brighter blue. “Bathe me, Sunny.”

It was not an order. It wasn’t a plea, either, and it wasn’t exactly a request. Sunny wasn’t sure what it was…but it didn’t rile her, for all it was phrased as a command. Hesitating a moment, she lifted her rag-filled hand, paused a moment more, then laid the lathered scrap on his shoulder. He backed up, hitched himself onto the edge of the broad basin where she had sat only a few moments before, and lifted one masculine, muscular leg from the water. Like everything else about him, even his foot was masculinely attractive. Trained from childhood to look upon the nude form as something holy, something to be praised and enjoyed and worshipped as a part of the magnificence of nature, Sunny had to admit he had a magnificent body.

She scrubbed between his toes, over the calluses and arch of his foot, and up around his ankle to his calf, feeling the muscles there. “Do you exercise a lot?”

“I’m an Astorran prince…I was an Astorran prince,” Daemon corrected with a slight grimace. Half from knowing he was now the king, and that the next best candidate was a second cousin at best, and half from the relaxing, arousing massage of her scrubbing.

“So? I’m a Craidan, and an Imperial Free Citizen—and I still am,” Sunny added with an edge to her voice, meeting his gaze boldly.

Daemon chose to ignore her challenge, her deliberate pattern of thought. If he didn’t think she was still so interested in gaining her freedom, which looked like she meant leaving him…he’d give her that freedom. Until he was sure she would stay of her own will, however, he didn’t want to risk it; not when he’d found a woman who could satisfy the emptiness inside of him. At least for the moment. “An Astorran prince is required to be proficient in all forms of combat, from starship weaponry to weaponless battle.” He sighed. “Not necessarily expert, but proficient as in familiar and somewhat accurate and skilled, at the very least.”

“You’re not very skilled, I take it?” Sunny asked with a touch of humor, remembering how easily she had downed him that first time with the carafe.

“Actually, I’m very good at it. I was going to become Assistant Warlord within another year or two…if my father and brother hadn’t died like they did.”

Sunny shook her head, still smiling to herself as she worked on his other leg next, avoiding the joint of his groin. She still wasn’t convinced it was something natural, the powerful attraction between them; Sunny didn’t want to chance rousing it again while she was still very sore. “I knocked you out with one blow—and I’m about as far from a warrior as you can get. I wouldn’t call that very skilled.”

Daemon hooked his finger under her collar and hauled her close. “Your acting skills are superb,” he murmured, reluctantly praising her for them. “You caught me by surprise. The queen-like slave who refused to kneel before me, even under the duress of pain, would never have stooped to bashing a fellow monarch on the head.”

Sunny blushed and ducked her head. She’d been pretending she was some ancient queen, some equal of his, to preserve and retain her dignity. And I still am, she reminded herself firmly, lifting her head and her gaze stubbornly. “I am a Free Citizen—as far as I’m concerned, I’m your equal. The equal of any queen in this galaxy.”

Lifting her chin a little higher with the edge of his finger, Daemon whispered his lips over her mouth, teasing at its edges until she was following him, seeking harder contact. Subduing her with her own desire for him was a heady thing. “You are my love slave.”

Just like that, she was snapped from desire to outrage. Sunny punched his muscular stomach. She didn’t even make a bruising dent as he caught her arms and held her still. “I am not your slave!”

“Oh, you are,” he assured her, searching her furious gaze, thrilling to the war between the turquoise of her outrage and the aquamarine of her desire. “The day you prove things the other way is the day I set you free.”

Sunny frowned. “What do you mean?”

Smiling, he picked up her soapy, rag-clenched hand and slid it over his chest. “Bathe me. And we’ll see.”

She hit him in the chest. He grinned, barely rocked by her efforts. She attacked him, scrubbing hard, finding the dispenser and creating so much in the way of suds that his tanned skin disappeared beneath a thick coating of lathered white. His arms, his chest, his back, his buttocks—he grabbed her wrists when it looked like she was going to be just as ungentle with his gentlemanly parts, then coached her hands in how to scrub him, coaxed her into scrubbing him gently. And moaned deep in his throat, an almost purring sound, as she slowly lathered his shaft and its sack.

This was what he had meant. If she was willingly his concubine, willingly encouraged his passion because she wanted that passion, the fire that lay between them…he would set her free. Because she would be willing to stay for their combined passion. When he had suffered enough of her touch, he pulled her hand free and submerged himself out in the middle of the broad, deep bathing pool. Once, twice, then came up and wiped the water from his face, pushing back his long, wet, black hair.

Sunny, unable to help herself, watched his magnificent male body streaming with water. The sun was on the other side of the palace from the bathing room window, but there was enough reflected light from the whitewashed garden walls to make his shoulder gleam in one long, dappled line down to mid-arm, wrap around his bicep with a sprinkling of light, and trail down past…his…elbow…

Her gasp distracted him. Wiping a second time at the water on his face, Daemon looked over at her just as she grabbed his arm. “What?”

“Your arm! Look!”

He followed her gaze. Saw a raggedly inch-wide ribbon of small, pale flecks marring his formerly smooth, uniform, rich Astorran tan. Saw the way they came around from behind his shoulder, looped around his muscled upper arm, and trailed down over his elbow to the outer edge of his wrist. They looked like anti-freckles, pale on his tanned skin instead of the other way around.

“You’ve got it, too!” Sunny exclaimed tightly. “It has to be some sort of virus…”

Glancing down at his chest, Daemon saw that instead of a spiral like the pair circling her breasts, his chest muscles were outlined with a simple, single curve below his nipples. The line did continue down from his collarbone, no doubt from his face, and slipped down the sides of his hips into the water.

Sunny caught his chin and scrubbed at the side of his hairline. Scooping up a palmful of water, she rinsed the suds away. Revealing the same faint ouline of freckles there, too. Only his were pale on light brown skin, and hers were light brown on pale skin. She waded through the bathwater to look behind him. The same up the spine and split pattern prevailed there…but something about his arms nagged at her. Catching one, she laced her fingers in his and compared their upper arms, stretched out side-by-side.

“What is it?” Daemon asked. “It’s almost exactly like yours, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly—mine spirals this way, on my arm, and yours…that way,” she stated softly, eyeing their counter-spiraled flesh. “I think your thighs might be the same way. But…none of the slaves serving in the slavehouse got these lines—neither of the two women attending me on the two-week trip here got these lines.”

“I’ve shared bodily fluids with you; some infections are transmitted that way,” Daemon reminded her, studying his arm a moment more. He looked up at her, then freed his hand and climbed out of the tub.

Sunny leaned on the rim of the tub and watched him cross to a metallic closet door. Only it wasn’t a closet, she realized in shock—it was a medbox door! She blinked in shock, forgetting just for a moment how he could afford something like that. He stepped inside, murmuring instructions to its control pickups for a full medical scan and sweep, leaned back against the padded, angled interior, and stayed there as the door swung shut over him. Only the wealthiest could afford a personal medbox; major hospitals could sometimes afford one, but the technology was so difficult, secretive, and expensive, that only kings, nobles and extremely wealthy businessmen and –women could readily afford them for personal use… Natura, you’re slow! Sunny thought at herself in disgust. Of course he can afford it! He is a king, after all.

It took several minutes for the diagnostic scan and health-sweep to run. She used the time to shampoo her hair, and had started draining the tub of its soapy water when the medbox door beeped and swung open again. Glancing his way, she watched him step out, look at the control panel, and bow his head a moment. Shaking it, he faced her.

“Nothing. Nothing at all—unless you count the fact that, according to the medbox, I’m in the best health of my life,” Daemon muttered, confused. His concubine looked just as confused. “I even asked the damned thing to cross-reference with my last checkup, to check for any anomalies such as a toxin or a virus…” He frowned, holding her stare, then crossed to her and held out his hand. “Come.”

Sunny climbed out, stood beside him on the tiled floor, then balked as he started to lead her towards the medbox. “Oh, no!”

“It’s just a medbox—it won’t harm you.”

“I’m a Craidan,” she protested, resisting him as he tucked an arm behind her back and urged her forward. “It’ll hurt!”

“It didn’t hurt me,” he pointed out. “I’ve used medboxes dozens, hundreds of times. They’re quite safe—really!”

She balked when he got her to the door. “Can you program that thing for Craidan physiological responses?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it.”

“Why?” Daemon asked her, growing impatient.

“Because I’m a Craidan. We’re sensitive to our bodies,” she explained as he gave her a dark look. “I nearly lost my lunch yesterday after being shot with that contraceptive one of your palace servants gave me. Climbing into one of those things is going to drive me out of my mind with prickling, even anesthetized—it does that to every Craidan who enters a medbox!”

Daemon hadn’t heard of such a thing, but then, he hadn’t heard much about Craidans, either, given that their world lay halfway across the Imperium from his royal empire, and they were but a single, independent world, not very important in Imperium politics where royal rank was counted by the number of worlds held within each smaller empire within and without the Imperium. Impatient, he programmed the box, and ushered her inside.

The machine beeped halfway through, informing him it was giving its current subject a sedative to keep her still inside. On top of the tranquilizing anesthetic used to put its occupants out to give the scanners time and immobility to function. The door swung open a few minutes after that, and a bemused, drugged Sunny blinked at him. The display screen announced in Astorran characters that her vaginal soreness had been repaired, and the contraceptive left in her system, if toned down to an acceptable level for her world and race. She smiled at him from inside the padded box.

His heart skipped a beat, it was such a sweet, calm smile. Serene. The ravages of his own body had been removed, leaving him ready, and that welcoming smile was making him randy. She, too, had an extraordinarily clean bill of health. There was nothing that the medbox’s sophisticated sensors could detect, and this particular model, made on Deducia—the world where medboxes and other such rare, high technological marvels were made—was only a year old, a top-of-the-line model.

“We’re both healthy,” he murmured. She smiled serenely at him, under the effects of the lingering sedative.

“…That’s nice.”

“There’s nothing wrong with either of us.”

“…That’s nice.”

Daemon studied her. “I’m really a purple frog in disguise.”

“…That’s nice.”

He tried a different tactic. “Sunny?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you want me?”

“Mm-hmm.” She came out of the box and looped her arms around his neck, slouching into him. “You’re great. Shoulda gone to Temple and had the ritual just for you…”

He didn’t know exactly what she meant—he’d have to get some research on her homeworld’s culture—but her tone was quite lascivious. Sultry, even. When she leaned in and inhaled the clean scent of his body, cleaned to microscopic level during the scan and sweep, one that had apparently removed the rest of the false tan clinging to his hairline as her own normal freckles clung to hers, he thought it was the most sensual act she had done with him yet. Because she moaned softly and buried her nose and mouth against his skin, inhaling deeply, devouring his personal scent like it was a feast. Resolving to get to his questions again—another time, much, much later—Daemon picked her up and carried her back into the bedroom.

She giggled when he laid her on the bed, and rolled across the sheets, sprawling on her stomach. The sight of her backside, with its dipped spine and round buttocks, called to him. Daemon grabbed a spare robe from his wardrobe and quickly went out to the sitting room. The tray of food ordered from earlier was in there on one of the tables. Picking it up, he carried it back into his royal bedroom, and relocked the double doors behind him.

They would need privacy for a little while longer. Daemon was going to take advantage of her current, relaxed willingness. He was also going to feed her, because the medbox had done nothing about their respective hungers…and food was definitely considered a part of foreplay in his kingdom.



Daemon & Sunny Ch. 03



…The White Dragon arched over her mate as he crossed under her belly. She came down beside him and eyed him as they continued their Eternal curve. Not yet, but soon, she would arch under him as he arched over her, submitting to him again, then again he to her. It was their nature. It was their touching, their making, their doing and undoing, their loosing and binding and circling to whole.

He was magnificent…and he thought she was, too…

She woke as she had awakened the last time. With her body being invaded by an insistent, hard erection. This time, she was lying half on her stomach, half on her side, and a knee had inserted itself between her thighs from behind. Sunny sucked in a breath as Daemon eased into her partway, slipped out just a little, and pushed in deeper, more insistent the second time. And a third, seating himself as fully as their respective positions could get. He stayed there a moment, buried inside her, then kissed her shoulder, brought her upper leg back over his own, and stroked into her. Over and over, as the early light of dawn slid into the first golden rays spearing through the forcefielded window. One of his hands had wormed its way under her ribs and around to palm her breast, and the other slid down her waist and soft belly, to her auburn curls and their sheltered pearl.

Flicking it softly, repeatedly, he made her climax, squeezing around him with a ragged groan. Pulling out, ignoring her weak, disappointed protest, he spread her out on her back, slipped between her thighs, and thrust into her again. Rode her arousal-slick body until he poured into her, matching her shudder for shudder. Daemon relaxed over her, holding her replete flesh to the bed under him until both of their hearts slowed. He lifted his head and kissed her thoroughly, then pulled out of her and got off the bed. Heading for the bathroom, he paused and looked back at her. She looked incredible, limp and sated and sheened with sweat. With his sweat.

Crossing back to the bed, he grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet, ignoring her protest. "Come. Breakfast will be arriving shortly, and I will have you cleaned before I leave."

That woke her out of her half-sleepy, half-sated stupor. "Leave? You're going to keep me in here all day?"

"No. I'm going to attend to all the things I cancelled yesterday, and you," he said pushing her into the large showering stall ahead of him, "are going to the saeda."

"Saeda?" Sunny asked, finding the word vaguely familiar.

"Your new home," Daemon informed her as he turned on the sprayers and reached for the soap. "Where all royal concubines stay."

More than a hundred concubines, Sunny recalled suddenly, remembering that Lord Crellan had used it when he had bought her. The ambassador had informed her that there were more than a hundred other concubines attatched to this young king who was scrubbing her skin and his own. She simmered her emotions, the jealous hurt at the thought of him treating her as just one among a hundred-plus women. Didn't want to respond when, no sooner than they were clean, he pinned her against the tiled wall and took her in the middle of the warm, pounding spray, tasting her warm, clean, wet flesh, driving into her with undiminished enthusiasm for their coupling, firing her responses to him with deep moans under the pattering spray. She did, but she didn't want to. Sunny even found herself letting him dry her off, then wrap her in one of his robes and bring her out into the sitting room.

Just in time for breakfast to be served. She ate it hungrily, but even as she did, Sunny plotted her next escape attempt. The Grand Chamberlain arrived as they were finishing, both clad in satin robes and started marking out King Daemon's day, barely even giving her a second look. And then the wall off to the side chimed, shimmered and vanished along one stretch, revealing a door that opened at an acknowledgement from Daemon. The slightly plump man from the other night, Armon, entered with a smile and a bow.

"I've come for the Consort, as requested," he said, and the Grand Chamberlain's eyebrows shot up, confusing the Consort in question. Sunny looked between the three men, watched Daemon rise and cross to her side of the sitting room table, and rose as he urged her up with a hand.

He kissed her, one hand along her jaw, the other wrapping low around her waist, bringing her body very intimately against his. Telling the lower end of her belly just how much he still wanted her, brushing her protests aside with the passion in his grip and in his kiss. When he released her, it was with a gentle push towards the man Armon.

"Go. Enjoy your new home…and remember your promise." He held her gaze steadily, reminding her of her promise to stay.

Sunny lifted her chin slightly, turned, and strode for the door the servant had come through. He quickly escorted her out, and the door sealed shut behind them. They were in a short, round hallway, the length of a large room, with a pair of guards at the far end, on the near side of the round, barred gate separating them from the chamber that lay beyond.

"You'll like it, here in the saeda," the man Armon chatted amicably. "Of course, it'll be a bit lonely, now, but there'll still be plenty of people in here to keep you entertained. His Majesty has given orders that almost anything you wish for will be granted to you—a most generous arrangement."

Really? Sunny thought. "I want my freedom."

Armon gave her an apologetic smile as the guards opened the gate and let them through. They clanged shut behind him and Sunny, putting a finality on his words. "I'm afraid that's the one thing I can't give you."

Sunny bit back her urge to flee and stared around at her. The chamber they had stepped into had to be the main hall; it was too large to be anything else. It was huge, and high-ceilinged. Tall windows let in air and sunlight far overhead, above the third floor, with chandeliers hanging down partway, carved balconies ringing the chamber with door after door spaced with window after window, all overlooking a huge, marble-patterned floor covered here and there with costly woven rugs, planters with live flowers, bushes, even living trees rising up into the air. Fountains trickled in the four corners of the room, adding a soft, gentle, liquid background noise, and as they crossed to a set of steps and went down to the next level, Sunny realized there was a huge pool, with smaller, hotter soaking pools, and a waterfall that one could shower under, sculpted to look both natural and artistically planned.

Armon led her to a bridge arching over the swimming pool and over it, towards a cluster of men and women all clad in similar uniforms of shoulder-fastened tunics that fell to mid-thigh, all in black and white, standing out against the colorfully painted walls and flowering greenery around them. "I am the Chief Eunuch of the saeda, and these are the saeda's servants; they will be serving you for as long as you stay here in the concubinal quarters. Chefs, waiters, laundrers, masseusses, tailors, instructors in the arts of a concubine, of dancing and singing and lovemaking, all are here to serve you."

"And the other hundred-plus concubines," she muttered under her breath. Armon heard her and blinked.

"Oh, my, no! His Majesty ordered the others dismissed, even the other three ‘gifts' presented to him at his coronation. You're the only concubine in the whole of the saeda!"

Sunny blinked herself at that. The only one? He dismissed all the others? But…why?

Armon continued. "Even when he was still the prince, King Daemon was considered…particular in his tastes in sexual partners. The Grand Chamberlain might have been surprised, but I wasn't, when he ordered their dismissal. He's been unusually celibate for roughly a year, until now. I was far more surprised that he insisted on keeping you. I'm actually rather relieved, though; I was beginning to wonder about his libido. Astorran men are known for their vigor, you know."

Sunny caught his lascivious smile as they headed for a set of stairs leading up towards the gilded entrance to what looked like the grandest living quarters of all in the saeda. It clashed with his title. "You're a real eunuch…aren't you?"

"Bright Astor, no! The title is left over from Astorra's pre-stellar days," Armon informed her. "It was discovered that even after…you know…a man could still be interested in women. So all eunuchs have since been selected based on our sexual preferences. I much prefer men to women, as do all of the other men you'll see working in the saeda and guarding it. Which makes us the only choice for safeguarding the king's women," he informed her, and nodded at the tunic-clad men who had hurried up ahead of them to throw open the carved doors. "Here we are: the Consort's Hall. These quarters will be yours for as long as you're His Majesty's Consort."

"Consort? What does that mean?"

The eunuch who wasn't a eunuch smiled broadly at her. "It means you're the most favored of concubines! You have the largest quarters, have the highest paycheck—doubled, actually, at His Majesty's order—and have the right to enter the king's private quarters at any time, though of course you must make a request to see him in any other place, at any other time, which only the queen can do freely."

A horrible thought crossed her mind. "Is he married?"

"King Daemon? No! In fact, he was supposed to attend a ‘marriage mart' last night," Armon chatted as she took in the silk drapings of the air conditioned front room. At her puzzled look, he blushed slightly. "Forgive me—that's what I think of them, at any rate. Formal Familial Ball," he explained with a graceful gesture of his hands. "All of the noble and royal families around the Astorran Empire bring out their families for an introduction. Especially their virgin daughters. The Astorran king isn't required to be married by his coronation, like some cultures require their royalty, but what with the accidental deaths of his father and older brother, King Daemon is under pressure to provide heirs so there won't be any cousinly or dynastic contentions for the throne, should something happen to him."

"I see…" Sunny ran over his comments in her mind, anything to distract her from the sharp pain inside at the thought of him marrying some royal or noble-blooded woman. She frowned, halfway up the stairs to the next floor of the lavish suite. "Did you say…paycheck?"

"Well, yes, of course! All concubines are paid; it's considered the choice job for a lovely young virgin. And to be paid double the salary of a Consort—why, that makes you the highest paid employee of Astorra!" Armon exclaimed, hurrying after her. His sashed tunic and trousers looked like they should have been a little warm for him, but he wasn't even sweating.

"Great. I'm a whore."

"Certainly not!" He mounted to a step above her and glared down at her. "Concubinage is a very honorable and exclusive position for a young woman to hold! Only virgins may become concubines; when they want another line of work, they simply resign from their job. And it is a job, with duties, performance expectations, health benefits, and retirement compensation pro-rated to how long a woman's been a concubine. Some of the women who've retired yesterday have gone home quite wealthy, and that's not including the trinkets bought for them by the last two monarchs! And some of them didn't want to be dismissed. I think those ones were hoping the new king would choose them for his Mistress, maybe even angle for Consort. And some of them have opted to become virgins yet again and seek concubinage posts elsewhere."

Sunny eyed him, puzzled. "How do you become a virgin again? I thought, once it's gone…"

"It requires a special trip through the saeda's medbox—it's tradition that all the concubines from the last king become the concubines of the new king, because their employment is considered to be a part of Astorran civil service, and the new king is responsible for their employment. So they go through the Deducian medbox here in the saeda, and the machinery restores their virginity, their untried dimensions and hymen, that sort of thing." He fluttered his hands in explanation, then led the way up the rest of the curved stairs. "Up here are your private quarters; they're cleaned once a day, unless you're entertaining the king here, in which case you'll of course be left alone. Your bedroom, bathroom, dressing chamber, and private study."

"Private study? What does a concubine need with a private study? I thought that was the bedroom," Sunny quipped sarcastically as she inspected each room. Her sardonic tone was partly a mask to hide her surprise at the genuine and lavish quality of the chambers—nothing but the finest furnishings. And the most erotic carvings, paintings, tapestries and statuary in the bedroom and bathroom, which like the king's quarters had a large showering stall and an even larger, deep-basined bathtub. The dressing room lacked clothing, and the study was a sensible, comfortable contrast compared to the sensuality in the other rooms.

"Oh, no—concubines are encouraged to pursue other interests as well; there's nothing worse than a bedpartner with no brains at all," Armon declared on a shudder. "Had one of those myself—all brawn, no brains, dreadful bore outside of the bedroom, though he was good between the sheets. As Consort, you'll be expected to accompany His Majesty on most of his outings—at least until there's a queen—and of course whenever he travels to any of the other Astorran worlds. That means you'll have to know how to make small talk and at the least appear to understand the conversations at the parties you'll be attending."

"I'm a Historian of the Imperium," Sunny informed him. "I probably know as much about the ins and outs of politics and formal gatherings as you do."

"More, even," the Chief Eunuch admitted freely with a dismissive waive of his hand. "I'm just in charge of everything here; you'll have instructors to teach you all the niceties of Astorran life and Court small-talk…but first things must come first," he added, circling around her, a finger curled around his neatly bearded chin as he studied her satin-robed figure. "My instructions are to see you're kept available at all times, and this simply won't do!"

Crossing to a golden chain, he pulled on it. A trio of bells rang melodically, with pure notes. Sunny lifted her brows. "What's that for?"

"The gold chain summons the servants. And since you're the only concubine in the saeda, service for you should be very swift. If it is not, inform me, and I will correct the matter…ah, there you are!" he exclaimed, his trademark smile rarely ever far from his rosy features. He addressed the black-dressed, white-aproned woman who appeared in the doorway of the study. "Masrie, summon the bathers, the masseusse, and the tailors at once! We'll meet you downstairs at the milkbaths."

"As you wish, sir." She bowed to him, to Sunny, and departed as quickly as she'd arrived.

"I just bathed! And I can bathe myself," Sunny added pointedly.

"I know you just did, but there's a difference between getting clean and bathing, and your skin is just crying out for the nutrients of a milkbath! Hurry along!" He shooed her ahead of him, down the stairs and back out into the open. "Where are you from, anyway? Ruyikan?"

"Craida."

"Never heard of it. Does your culture have any…hesitancies about nudity, or sex?" he asked, managing to sound both blunt and delicate at the same time, bemusing her.

"Craidans believe the naked body is holy, something to be revered, and as for sex…we believe that sex is an integral part of our religious life as adults."

"Yet you were a virgin?"

"I never bothered to go through the preparation rituals—I was too busy studying for my history degree, and working jobs to pay my way through school," she informed him as he led her around the side of the Consort's Hall and through an archway, into a bathing chamber. Male servants, fellow ‘eunuchs' like Armon, were carrying in steaming, flower-decorated urns from what looked like a servants' entrance and pouring the heated, transluscent white liquid into the rectangular basin sunk in the floor.

"If you wish to continue your studies, I'll do my best to supply you with whatever you need," the Chief Eunuch assured her, then gave her a slight bow. "Now, with all the respect due your world's beliefs, Consort, I request that you remove your robe and step into the milkbath, while it's still warm and the enzymes in the milk are still fresh."

"I'm not used to being called by a title," she informed him, unknotting her sash and slipping out of the robe. One of the servants behind her took it as it slid down her arms, and another one quickly circled her, scanning her physical dimensions with a tailor's scanr.

"What shall I call you, then?" Armon asked her pleasantly, helping her down the steps into the milkbath. The urns were poured over her shoulders, even over her head, though with enough skill that not more than a single drop trickled down her forehead.

"My name is Sunny."

"Your parents must have guessed you would have a sunshine disposition when you were born."

"It's short for Sundrea. Sundrea Dannonee."

"That's a beautiful name, Sunny," he praised her. "Now, you just rest and relax in the milk for ten or twenty minutes, and then we'll bathe off the excess milk and see if His Majesty is going to be occupied long enough for an algae-and-clay mudbath, or if we should proceed straight to the light oiling and the massage before seeing what the tailors have come up with for your first garments."

They were scandalous. Not by Craidan religious festival standards, but definitely by the Imperium standard recommended for female travellers, which was based on the conservative side of the cultural apparel median. Dark reddish, translucent harem trousers for her legs, slit not only along the outer seam, but along the inseam all the way up to the crotch…which wasn't there. The yoke was a shade of burgundy satin to match her rich auburn hair, and the chiffon panels, gathered both at the lower edge of the pointed yoke and down at her ankles, were a lighter, matching shade. Bells had been stitched along the hemmed outer seams, tinkling musically as she was assisted into the pants. As for her breasts, the triangular scraps were slit into three sections, two in satin and one of chiffon between the two, sheer enough to display the dusky shade of her nipples and the curve of her spiralling freckles right through the fabric. Tiny bells had been stitched to the outer edges of the slits, along the satin side.

Sunny took one look at herself in the angle-walled, mirrored alcove in her dressing room, and put her foot down. "Absolutely not! I am not going out in public like this."

"It isn't for wearing in public, Consort," the seamstress checking the lie of her gathered ankle cuff stated calmly. "It's for His Majesty's private pleasure."

"Is this what all concubines wear in private?" Sunny asked, dismayed. The chiffon panels were attatched via snaps, and could be removed to bare her nipples fully; with her full breasts, Sunny was afraid to inhale too deeply, in case she popped a snap. With the inseam nonexistent, the soft skin of her upper, inner thighs would threaten to chafe, too, if she had to walk around in this so-called outfit all the time.

"My orders are to see you're kept ready for His Majesty at all times," Armon reminded her lightly. "That one will do; let's see the next outfit."

The next one seemed innocuous enough—even rather like the short togas given to the other slave girls back at that slave house, except it was made of a fine white silk instead of a plain white synthcotton. Except it was tied at each side of her waist rather than wrapping around her body, baring her hips every time the thigh-high skirt swayed, tied over one shoulder, leaving the other one bare, and was apparently meant to be worn without any underpants at all.




Daemon & Sunny Ch. 03



"We'll keep it as a lounging robe—it's too plain for anything else. Next!"

The third one was a bodysuit in deep red. It covered her from ankles to wrists to the edge of her slave collar…except it was crotchless and had peepholes for her nipples to poke through. She was getting a solid feel for what ‘kept ready' meant. The color of the bodysuit wasn't the only red she was beginning to see.

"Armon," Sunny stated, holding onto her temper, "if I don't see some real clothes, pretty soon—you can kiss your ‘tailor' goodbye!"

"There's no need to threaten, Sunny. The next few outfits are proper Astorran gowns. In fact, their measurements were based on the one you arrived in." Armon gestured and a trio of servants came out, one carrying a red gown, one carrying a blue gown, and one a green gown; the only differences were the lighter weight of the green brocade and the shortness of the sleeves, in deference to the warm weather.

Sunny suffered through their fitting, then through silk pantsuits, cloaks, and somewhat decent lingerie, though all of it was made with sheer silk and soft lace fitted to her proportions. A servant came hurrying in as Sunny was removing the latest garment. The woman bowed hastily.

"Consort—you are summoned!"

Armon moved faster than the tailor, snatching up one of the new gowns from the hangar it had been placed on. He slipped Sunny's arms into the green sleeves, buttoned up the inside buttons, reached in unceremoniously to readjust her breasts so that they weren't squished, and fastened the rest of the buttons from shoulder to hip. "Slippers!"

"Excuse me—I haven't got any underwear on!" Sunny pointed out, wobbling first one way, then the other as the seamstress's assistant fitted the left slipper on, and the seamstress the right one, the low-cut footwear fashioned from a matching brocaded satin. With a deft twist, Armon snatched up the side and front locks of her hair and fixed them in place with an emerald-studded haircomb. "Ow! Hey!"

"No time to waste, my dear—when you're summoned, you're supposed to be ready…and in more ways than one," he added, snatching back the underpants she had snagged from the shelves holding her new clothes. Tossing them at the tailor and her assistant to put away, Armon hustled Sunny out of her dressing room, down the stairs of her suite, and out across the main hall of the saeda, the maidservant hurrying ahead of them, leading the way across the pool and at an angle to the entrance Sunny and the head eunuch had used before. They picked up a pair of guards for escort, moving from the privacy of the saeda into the halls of the palace proper. The incredible thing was the startled looks the men and women she passed gave her, and the way most of them bowed out of her way.

Her thighs were chafing uncomfortably by the time they reached a formal sitting room. Daemon was within, seated in a vaguely throne-like chair…and Lord Chellan, the Ruyikan Ambassador whom had bought her, was seated on the sofa. The latter rose as she came into the room with a broad, false smile.

"Ah, Deena, child—how are you faring?"

She gave him one dismissive look, then ignored him. Pointedly. Sunny turned and surveyed a painting of fruit on the wall as if it were actually fascinating.

"Speak to your betters when they address you, slave!"

Daemon, already having to put up with the old man's insistent demand—however politely phrased as a request—to see his former slave, did not care for the ambassador's tone. Before he could say anything, however, his Sunny replied. In a calm, even bored, tone of voice.

"Sodder off, you fart-faced pile of sloppy craker."

Daemon saw the box the ambassador pulled out of his clothes, but not in time to stop that thumb from jamming down. He could feel the pain she suffered with a choked grasp, an echo of agony radiating out as if from his own throat—a very strange sensation--and lunged, grabbing the box out of the ambassador's hand. She gasped a second time as the pain faded, and Daemon found and thumbed the collar-release control, aiming the box at her throat. His eyes were pale, cold, aquamarine fire as he fixed them on the startled ambassador while she quickly removed the awful thing.

"She is mine, to punish or pleasure, Ambassador. You will stay away from her. Is that clear?" he snarled softly, not even stopping to wonder why he was acting this possessive, this protective.

Lord Chellan swallowed and nodded. He had just made a serious mistake, one his queen might not be willing to forgive if it cost her the expansion of her empire. He bowed as his gift slave tossed away the ribbon-like collar in disgust. "…Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was merely deeply concerned that her insolence had given you offense. Forgive my protectiveness towards your sanctity."

"CrakerM.Uhim."

"Sunny—" Those accusations were rather blunt; Daemon didn't need a diplomatic incident on his hands. She ignored him, however, stalking towards the ambassador like a queen traerr stalking a trespasser trying to encroach on her pride's territory.

"The only reason why you demanded to see me is because when all the other concubines were dismissed, most of the serving staff was also dismissed, and there went your saeda spies." The more she looked into his eyes, the more certain her knowledge grew, almost as if she could pick the knowledge right out of his frightened hazel eyes. "The more your ‘gift' pleases His Majesty, the more favorable you think he'll be inclined to be towards you. Because you're sitting there, hoping he'll be more amenable to unit—"

"—I will not stay here and be interrogated like this!" Skirting her, he left quickly, rudely, ignoring the guards just inside the room, and the maid, the guards, and Armon waiting just beyond the open door.

Sunny blinked. She had been so close to finding out what the man wanted. Something to do with his queen, something about ambitions…but he had left too soon for her to find out.

Daemon faced his bewildering concubine. "Sunny. Sunny!"

"What?" She looked back at him.

"Are Craidans telepathic?"

She blinked in surprise. "No. Why?"

"Because you…looked and sounded like you were extracting all of that straight out of his mind."

"I…I'm not telepathic," she stated, but it came out partway as a question as she lifted her gaze to his. "I just…knew. He's ambitious," Sunny found herself warning him. "He and his queen want something from you."

"Everyone wants something from me, Sunny," Daemon retorted, running his hands through his hair. "I'm the king, remember?"

"No, something…more. Something they still want. Something they didn't get," she murmured, trying to make sense of the fleeting impressions she'd had. She shook her head.

Daemon didn't know what to make of her. He stared at her, let his eyes trail down over her tumbling curls, swept back from her face, down over the attractive green gown she was wearing, down the cloth-covered buttons to her hip…and back up again. It was slightly wrinkled. Her dress was mis-buttoned, offset by one button all the way down. That suggested it had been thrown on in haste to meet his summons. Wondering what else she had missed in dressing made him flick out his hand, dismissing the guards inside the room. They bowed and left, closing the door behind them as his concubine chewed on her lower lip, deep in thought.

Closing the few steps that lay between them, he took her hand and tugged her over to the coffee table where his and the ambassador's abandoned drinks sat. She lifted her bright aquamarine eyes to his, startled by his touch, and sat down on the low surface at his urging with a puzzled frown. "What?"

"You," he answered just as succinctly, then smiled and undid her buttons. "You were in such a haste to dress for me, you left the job undone."

"Armon did it. I was in the middle of trying on some of the most ridiculous outfits I've ever s…ohhh…" He had undone the inner panel, kneeling in front of her, and had suckled her nipple into his mouth. Distracting her words right out of her head. Pushing the gown off her shoulders, baring her naked body, he worked on the fastenings to his own, unbuttoning his tunic, his trousers, and pressed himself into her core. He was ready, though she wasn't quite as slick as he wanted her to be. He couldn't wait, though.

Pulling her to the very edge of the table, he buried himself in her as deeply as possible, forcing her knees wide, her thighs parted to accommodate his hips. Sunny gasped as he held her there, so deep he was touching her deep inside, and sucked in a second sharp breath as he rotated his body, grinding his pelvis into her own, mashing her pearl, stimulating her nerves. A moan escaped with effort from her suddenly tight throat at the incredible sensations.

"That's it…yes, Bright Astor!" Daemon tightened his jaw when she clamped around him in her quickly mounting pleasure. He kept up the stimulating pressure, kept his attention firmly on arousing her pleasure, until he felt her grow rather damp. Then he pulled back and thrust in, attending to his own. Pushing her down against the surface of the table, shoving the cups off the table, uncaring if they broke as well as spilled their half-drunk contents, he drove into her as she cried out with each rhythmic thrust. Driving him higher with each of her feminine sounds. Driving him wild.

She was addicted to him. He was a drug to her, in and of himself. It was the only explanation for the strength of her reaction. Whatever had altered her freckles, made her mind unnaturally perceptive, it surely also had to be responsible for making her so physically sensitive, so responsive to his passion. And if it's out of my control…like my new freckles…why shouldn't I enjoy it?

He gasped when she rocked her hips enthusiastically up into his. What had been planned to last longer didn't last very long at all. Just long enough to drag her into completion with him.

…The White Dragon dove under and around her mate, brushing against him. One cycle complete. There were a few more to go, as they arced together at the border between Day and Night; it didn't matter how many. The first had begun; the rest waited patiently to be done…

Daemon and Sunny both opened their eyes with a frown. Both remembering the odd moment and its even odder image.

The image made no sense to Daemon. Kissing his concubine, he pulled out of her, kissed his way down between her breasts, over her belly, and down between her thighs for a sensual, thanks-giving taste. She shivered in an aftershock of pleasure and he grinned against her flesh, licked her one more time, then pulled back and started reassembling his clothes into the neat arrangement his valet had given them that morning.

For Sunny, the brief flash of two serpentine dragons, one white with the odd feeling of it being herself, the other black and with the equally odd sensation it was Daemon, held her attention. Until he distracted her with his intimate, brief feast. When he stopped, Sunny felt like throttling him, caught still aroused on the tail edge of yet another orgasm. With her new determination, feeling rather bold, she sat up, grabbed him by the ears, and yanked him down as she fell back onto the coffee table again.

Daemon grunted at the painful tugging, frowning until his nose bumped into something curly, damp and passion-scented. He managed to lift his head just enough to look up her body, at the impatient fall and rise of her chest, then allowed her hands to guide his head further down into her feminine nest. Burying his smile there, he did as she silently demanded, and finished what he had started. And when he was done, or rather, she was done, he couldn't resist; he surged up over her and reburied himself inside her still quivering flesh, taking her hard and fast with the taste of her pleasure's essence moistening his lips. The sight of her lazy, blissful, feminine smile put a triumphant, masculine grin on his own face. A fierce, intent stare when he released himself into her. And a rather sated smile when he pulled out of her and refastened his clothes.

Feeling him tugging the panels of her gown back into place, Sunny stretched languidly. Soft black hair tickled her belly as he pressed a kiss above her navel, then he buttoned her up properly this time. She let him pull both of them to their feet, accepted his deep, relatively brief kiss…and widened her eyes as he lightly swatted her backside.

"Go back to the saeda, Sunny. I have more work to do."

Sunny saw red. "Excuse me! I had work to do, too, before those pirates stole me! It may not have been running an empire, but you're not the only one in the universe with an important job!"

Hauling her against him, catching her hands as she tried to shove him away, Daemon met her furious gaze with a chiding one. "I meant simply that you have the power to seriously distract me. And your previous job no longer exists—the pirates saw to that. Your job now is to make love to me. To keep me satisfied." He rubbed his nose against hers, smiling to lighten her mood. "But since I do have an empire to run…we are making my Grand Chamberlain seriously unhappy with this delay in his impossible to keep schedule. And he's already irritated with me for missing all of yesterday."

"I'm a historian!" Sunny asserted. "Not a courtesan!"

Freeing her hands, he slid his own into her swept-back hair. She pushed against him as he brought his mouth down to hers, but her strength wasn't in the halfhearted shove. Within moments, she was returning his assertive kiss. Daemon pulled back just as he was beginning to rouse again and regarded her. "You are both. Now, go."

She shoved at him again. "I want my freedom."

He kissed her a second time, a soft, brief, tender time, then shook his head slowly. There was no way he was going to let her leave him, so there was no way he was going to let her go. "You are bound to me, Sundrea. You belong to me. Return to the saeda; I will come to you tonight."

The promise in his words made her shiver. Sunny backed up a step, another, and turned and quickly left. Armon had a big smile, waiting for her with the two saeda guards outside the room, and he quickly caught up with her and guided her back towards her vast, luxurious prison.

"He is positively besotted with you," Armon whispered to her as they strode along. "The whole Court is a-buzz with gossip about his entire missed schedule yesterday. And once it's widely known that you're his Consort—why, I can only think that there'll be some noble-born young ladies weeping in despair tonight that they cannot capture a heart that you own."

Sunny stopped and faced him. "He doesn't have a heart! He just has a big pe—"

Armon clapped a hand over her mouth, blushing and giving her a stern look. Luckily, there weren't any people around in the corridor they stood in at the moment, but that could change. "Listen to me, young lady," he lectured her, keeping his palm planted over her lips. "The only reason why you would be named Consort is because you've caught his heart. Because otherwise, you'd be called Mistress, which is the next highest title, and the one most commonly given to a favored concubine."

Sunny peeled his hand away and gave him a dry-voiced reply. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Armon sighed and urged her down the corridor again with a hand on her elbow. "You aren't by any chance noble-born or royal blooded, are you?"

"No. Why?" Sunny asked, suspicious.

"Because if you were, you could marry him. But Astorran law is quite firm on that point—the queen has to be either a noblewoman or a royal one."

"Marry?" she spluttered, shocked in her disbelief. "What makes you think I'd marry that arrogant…!" She couldn't come up with an appropriate label. "I wouldn't want to marry him even if he were the soddering Empe—"

She stopped. Mid-sentence, mid-stride, mid-thought. The white, serpentine dragon inside her mind brightened in triumph at her awareness. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to deny it.

"No. No. It can't… I can't…"

"Sunny?" Armon asked in concern. "What's wrong, dear?"

She remembered. Touching the box, righting it. The slight shock, and the opening of the lid.

Remembered the Matrix filling her. Imbuing her with the power of the White Dragon Remembered…the Matrix choosing the king, the moment their hands had touched, when she had been hanging outside his bedroom window. Her Black Dragon. Her mate.

"Soddering Hell!" She opened her eyes with the angry epithet…then remembered Armon. She blushed. "Sorry, Armon; I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't," he reassured her with a pat to her arm. "Astor knows I use it myself often enough. Sort of like shouting ‘rape', yes?" he asked with an amused smile. He patted her arm again, her elbow still cupped in his other palm. "Now, what was bothering you, just now?"

She had to think about it before she could confide in anyone. So Sunny shook her head, and let him guide her back to the saeda. "Nothing Armon. Just…an unpleasant thought."

"Well, you're due for your first lesson in pleasure-dancing, so hopefully that'll get your mind off of it," he reassured her.

"Great. Now I have to learn how to dance." But her attention wasn't fully on her complaint.



Daemon & Sunny Ch. 04



Tarkat II

"That is it? That stupid box?" Ragor, self-proclaimed Pirate King, kicked Davrol Saunders. "You brought me all the way out here with promises of the Matrix for a stupid, ugly box?"

"It contains the Matrix—it has to!" Saunders swore through pain-clenched teeth. "All my research pointed to the Matrix being on the ship that crashed here!"

"Prove it." Ragor planted his boot on Saunder's shoulder and shoved him into the pit. Saunders, who had made this bargain, to find the Matrix for his new, cruel master and gain his freedom with its ransom, gingerly touched the box. And stared. There was no protective field. He gripped it more firmly, pulled it out of the dirt, and righted it. The pirate crouched with a hiss, staring at that torn-centered ouroboros. "It is the funerary box! The ashes alone will be worth a fortune!"

There was no protective zapping; Saunders could only think that the Matrix was no longer there. His first thought was that Saumwe had taken it somehow, but then the image of the stupor-quiet Dannonee woman came to him; she'd had time alone with the box, and Saumwe's encounter had seemed like a rejection. Ms. Dannonee's encounter seemed more like she had been lost in the secrets of the Matrix when the pirates had grabbed her. He thought quickly with the mind that had pieced together all the puzzles this far, found the funerary box's resting place for the past forty years. "Worth my freedom?"

"You bargained the Matrix for your freedom," Ragor reminded him with a cruel smile. "So where's the Matrix?"

"It's not here." Saunders flinched from the other man's raised fist and spoke quickly. "I had to be sure that bitch Dannonee hadn't stolen it by checking here first! Think of the valuable ashes as a bonus, Master!"

Ragor liked being called master. He lowered his fist, smiling cruelly once more. "So where is this 'bitch Dannonee'?"

"She was sold in the same slave house you bought me from. Master," Saunders added. "All we have to do is trace her sale, track her down, and force her to tell us where the Matrix is."

"If she managed to steal it, she might have managed to make herself the new Empress," Ragor pointed out. "And that would make the Matrix, and by extention you, useless."

"There may still be time to make yourself Emperor!" Saunders countered, appealing to his owner's ego. "That's assuming she's been chosen—she didn't strike me as the empress type. If she just stole it, you can steal the Matrix from her, and if she was chosen, you can marry her and become Emperor—she's a woman, Master," he coaxed. "All you have to do is beat her to put her in her place and keep her there, and you'll be the ruler of the Imperium, with the power of a god at your fingertips!"

Ragor smiled. He took the box from Saunder's hands. "These ashes aren't yours to bargain with, slave. But once I'm Emperor, I'll give you your freedom. You'll be too small and insignificant to torment, then. I'll have whole worlds to plunder."

"Yes, Master." Saunders bowed his head subserviently. Secretly burning inside to possess the Matrix for himself, to shred this bastard cell from cell with the power of the Matrix at his own command. "No one deserves it more than you."

Astorra Prime

One moment she was undulating in front of her instructors and their musicians, her hips twisting subtlely, carrying her body around in a small circle in time with the slow, sexy beat, her arms and hands flicking above her head like the hem of her tasseled, high-slit skirt, eyes demurely lowered. A gong shattered the music, interrupting it between one beat and the next. Instantly, the saeda servants scattered. Sunny lowered her arms and looked behind her. Daemon was striding over the bridge, his hands impatiently stripping at the buttons of his jacket, dropping it behind him on the stone-tiled span. Interrupting her dancing lesson and the late evening quiet of the all but empty saeda. By the time he reached her, they were alone in the great main hall.

It was just as well; he pushed her down into the large silk cushions scattered on the floor that the instructors and musicians had been seated on, freed himself, bared her own flesh simply by pushing her skirt out of the way, and buried himself in her, impassioned intensity in his pale blue-green gaze, his attention entirely on her. He took her fast and hard, impatiently. Relentlessly. The intensity of his wanting, the thoroughness of his driving thrusts, shuddered through her in erotic ecstasy. Just like that, Sunny came undone, but he wasn't done. He stroked into her over and over, strong and full, and utterly, ruthlessly relentless, until she was clawing at his back, crying out over and over as she writhed under his mastering. When he poured into her, she screamed from the sheer sensation of it, almost fainting as she felt his own pleasure coupled to hers.

When he rolled them over and impaled her over him for a second round, she whimpered and rocked onto him, willing and wild to go even more. She tore at his clothes, forcing the rest of them off of him so she could feel his flesh against hers even as he stripped her of the skirt and breastband she was wearing. They twisted together, writhed around each other. Culminated together. He rocked into her, over her once again, slowing down, his weight heavy over her once more, as his head dropped down onto her sweat-dampened shoulder. A few last, languid thrusts and he stilled, relaxing on top of her, pressing her down into the soft cushions lumped under them.

It took Sunny a few seconds to realize he had fallen asleep. Limply, reluctantly, deeply asleep. She lifted her head slightly, saw the red scratches on his back from her wilder moments, and dropped her head back with a heavy sigh, then had to suck in a deep breath; he weighed more than she did. Moving him was not exactly an option just yet, though breathing at least was still viable.

It did give her time to think, though. Or rather, rethink the things she had spent all afternoon and evening puzzling out.

Everyone knows the Emperor and Empress are marked by the Matrix, both by the glow of their eyes at the full manifestation of their powers, by those manifestations themselves...and by a physical, paired mark on their skin. If our complimentary, counterchanged freckles aren't a blatant, paired marking, I don't know what is. And the dragons I keep seeing—I see myself as the White Dragon, him as the Black Dragon. The marks of the Emperor and Empress are of the twinned, twined, ouroboros dragons devouring each other's tail, one white, one black; sometimes the white is female, sometimes it's the male...and I'm the white one in the images and impressions I've seen. And then there's that moment facing the Ruyikan Ambassador—all the chronicles say that the Emperor and Empress have godlike powers to read others' minds, to survive any attack unscathed...to alter the very face of reality with scope unmeasured and limits untold.

And the Emperor and Empress are always lifelong mates. In love with each other because it's their Destiny, a side-effect of the Matrix binding them together.

I have no choice—I never had any choice, Sunny realized slowly. The Matrix Chooses...and it Chose me. And him.

She looked at him, or rather, at his tangled black hair and the shadowed curve of his ear, the only parts visible of his head at that close of an angle. He murmured something in his sleep and nuzzled closer, nibbling on her shoulder before relaxing back into sleep. For a moment, Sunny wondered if the Matrix had somehow arranged everything; the theft of the funerary box, the crash of the pirate ship, her inclusion on the archaeological team, the second pirate attack, her sale and its subsequent arrival here, where the Matrix had selected her mate...

But...I forced Lord Crellan to buy me, she realized slowly. I imposed my will on his, because I wanted him to buy me, as opposed to the other two. That was my will, backed by the Matrix...wasn't it? And we're supposed to be in love with each other, me and Daemon here, if we're the new Empress and Emperor—but how can I love him? I don't even know him! How can he be in love with me, for that matter, when he thinks of me as his possession, his slave?

...I can't tell him. If he doesn't know, he won't believe me. The Emperor and Empress are absolute equals, absolute co-rulers—which we can't ever be, so long as he keeps me as his concubine and slave. Sunny lay there under the sleeping Astorran king and worried. Wished for a brief moment she had never seen the box, never linked the message on that scrap of puterium with the Riddle of the Matrix. It came to her again as the lights dimmed around them automatically, sensing no movement in the atrium-like main hall and the lateness of the evening hour.

"That which Cannot,

And that which Can Be,

Touched if by Thou,

And Made if by Thee,

The One Chooses the Other,

And the Other Chooses the One,

What cannot be Touched or be Made,

Can always be Done or Undone."

I was the one who did all the touching, first the funerary box and the Matrix, then Daemon. Made...that would be his completing the Matrix, taking up the other dragonage, the other half of the power—wouldn't it be? She didn't know for certain, but there had to be more to it than just that. The dreams—we're not completely twined like the ouroboros just yet, though we're getting there.

She thought a while more, not sleepy yet. The images...when he first curved over and under me. We made love. Each time, we had made love, though not every time that we did make love. This last time...

This last time, I gave in to the lust between us. And lust is known to bind two people closer together, at least in the beginning. But the priests and priestesses back home always said that lust was never enough. That one had to have love in a relationship as well as sex. If we're the new rulers of the Imperium...we need to have love between us before we ascend the thrones. I've got to make him fall in love with me, to free me and see me as his equal, before he realizes what we now are.

Sweet Natura! I can't even do that until I can get him to see me as a real person, not just his concubine-slave...

She didn't know how she was going to do it. But because Destiny had something else in mind for her than a tenured Historian's post at some Imperium University somewhere...she had to try. Her mind whirled this way and that in her thoughts, until the langor of their lovemaking finally settled her thoughts. She began to relax, to grow sleepy. Until she became aware of the suckling, scraping sensation of lips and teeth supping on her shoulder.

"Now you're awake..." Sunny muttered under her breath.

"You wore me out, yesterday. I must have needed more sleep today." He confessed it between kisses, working his way up from her shoulder to the side of her neck, then to the underside of her jaw. When she tipped her head slightly to give him better access to her tender flesh, Daemon let out a sound somewhere between a growl, a groan and a sigh; definitely a masculine one of appreciation. "I don't know what I was thinking, sleeping, when I could have been doing this..."

Sunny sucked in a sharp, appreciative breath as he tickled his fingers up from her hip to her ribs and caressed there with a light and ennervating touch. "Roll over."

Daemon stopped and blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Roll over. On your back," she ordered him. His brows lifted a moment, then he complied. And smiled when she rolled over on top of him and straddled him.

"Are you going to make love to me?"

"Mm-hmm. But for a price," she asserted, kissing his collarbone.

"I'm not setting you free," he warned her.

"I didn't think you would," she returned just as flatly. She bit at one of his pectoral muscles, then soothed the spot with her tongue. "I want you to tell me about your day."

"I came here to leave all of that behind," Daemon pointed out, catching her arms. "My intention is to forget about it."

Sunny pulled free and shoved off the cushions. She gave him a smile. "Goodnight."

"Sunny!"

Turned to leave him, she glanced back over her shoulder, knowing he was taking in her naked figure. "After I left you at breakfast, you...?"

"Why do you want to hear about my day?" he countered, sitting up to study her.

"Why not? You should talk about it with someone, and I'm someone."

"I don't want to talk about it," Daemon asserted, dropping back onto the piled cushions. "I didn't even want to be the king."

If you didn't want to be king, you're not going to be happy about being Emperor, either, Sunny thought. "If you talk about it, it'll become a burden shared. Maybe a fresh perspective will help with any problems you might be having. Even just talking about it will help your own mind to deal with the events of your day."

"I thought you were a historian, not a psychologist."

"Then do it because I'm bored, and I'm used to spending my day dissecting the day-to-day life of an empire. Or rather, the Imperium, but in a pinch Astorra will do."

He considered that. Eyed her from under his lashes. "Will you be making love to me while I talk?"

"The more you tell me..." she bargained, letting the rest trail out unspoken.

Daemon tucked his hands under his head and smiled. "Then be prepared to go into exhaustive detail, my Consort."

"Considering you fell asleep earlier, that shouldn't be difficult," she snorted, coming back to him.

Laying a hand over his wounded heart, Daemon grinned at her. "I'm twenty-five, an old man! But now that I've had my nap, I'm rejuvenated—I can go for hours..."

Considering her past experience with him, Sunny didn't have much doubt about that. She started with his feet, massaging them, and paused and looked at him expectantly.

Daemon sighed and tucked his hand back behind his head. "The first thing I did was argue with Lord Estoll—my Grand Chamberlain—about cramming so much stuff into my schedule. By the grace of our god, Astor, I did not bean him with a cinnin roll. It wouldn't have worked, anyway; I'm never served stale ones. I think there's a law against it, or something," he added sardonically. "Then I suffered through four hours of morning Court instead of the normal three, greeting more dignitaries that hadn't made it to the coronation, or hadn't been included on the oritinal greeting and oathtaking list, seeing petitions for this problem and that, receiving gifts and such. I had to sentence two criminals against the empire to death, pardoned a third... Think of the most tedious lecture you've ever attended in college and multiply it until it lasts four hours long. And it's one of those classes where the teacher will mark you down if you fidget too much, and that's what Court is like, only everyone thinks of you as the captain of the fencing team, and they're constantly whispering gossip about you and wanting to catch your eye and your favor..."

...

Her days followed a cycle: she woke up being made love to by the insatiable Daemon, wherever they had fallen asleep, in her bed or his; she shared breakfast with him wherever that was, then they parted company. She then had lessons in concubinage, which ranged from dancing and singing to the biological science behind passion and how to arouse it to its full with various touches, erotic pressure points, and positions; a bath and a massage usually followed. He sent for her at lunch or thereabouts, sometimes earlier, sometimes later, but rarely to eat food with her, then she came back and had another round of pampering.

During the pampering and afterwards, until he sent for her again at late midafternoon or so, Sunny studied. Armon lived up to his promise to get her anything she desired, and within a short time, the study in the Consort's Hall was filled with data crystals, books, and comp net hookups while she researched every scrap of information she could find on past Emperors and Empresses, their bonds, the Matrix, and the extent and uses of their powers. Then she rested for a little while, swam, had another pampering session, ate dinner, and spend time studying either her own pursuits or more concubinely ones. Whereupon she was either summoned to Daemon's quarters, or he came to her in the saeda. And every evening, Sunny insisted on listening to his day.

And in offering advice. A week into her new life, she even argued with him.

"...No, no, no!" Sunny removed her mouth from its prayers and scowled up at him, interrupting his evening recital. "Imperium law states clearly that you cannot give that much preferential treatment in tariffs and exports with an empire outside the Imperium. Within, yes, because that empire follows Imperium law for its interstellar commerce, but the Ruyikans are outside the Imperium!"

Daemon, irked that she had stopped what she was doing, and to all but yell at him at that, frowned back. "Since when have you been an Imperium attorney?"

"Since I studied the formation and reasoning behind Imperium Law as an integral part of its history and custom!" she shot back, shifting upright and sitting back on her heels, hands on her hips. "You give a non-Imperium empire preferential treatment, and they think the Imperium's weak, and start carving out pieces of the Peace!" Sunny pointed out, using the other name for the Imperium. "Firm and fair!" She chopped her hand through the air. "You give them the same deal you give everyone else, unless and until they agree to join the Imperium and abide by its laws—and that includes abolishing slavery and the slave trade, drug smuggling, artifact fencing, interstellar government-assisted money laundering, and other interdicted activities, and it also includes paying the Imperial Tax, to support the Imperium and its protections and intercessions on the behalf of its member worlds."

"They can't join the Imperium, because there aren't an Emperor and Empress to swear allegiance to!" he shot back, sitting up, balancing his weight with one hand dug into his bed. "The Ruyikans manufacture some of the best hoverfields out there, outside of Deducia—and certainly a lot cheaper," he argued. "If I agree to this trade deal, it'll mean revitalizing Astorra's hovercraft industry with the import of superior parts to those that we can manufacture on our own, and keep the costs low enough to be widely affordable."

"I told you the Ruyikan Ambassador and his queen want something from you," Sunny reminded him. "First it's favored trade. Then it's mutual assurances of peace, then mutual assistance accords, then the next thing you know, you're linking your two empires closer and closer! What's her name... Queen Astrida proposes that, in the absence of the Emperor and Empress, she marries you to be able to 'join' the Imperium without having to go through the oathtaking—and the moment you do, that traps the Querridans, Solustrans, and Arbenites between Astorran and Ruyikan borders, so of course you'll have to extend your protections to them, first with reassurances, then with treaties, and the next thing you know, you've got this huge chunk bitten out of the side of the Imperium under the ambition of an outsider with the taste of forty worlds at her command!"

"You just don't want me marrying her!"

"You're right; I don't." Her flat-out admission caught him with his counter-arguments stumbling to a stop in his throat. "But I don't have to worry about that. Because I told you they want something from you. You said yourself that this was the same treaty that your father and your brother turned down; I told you that Ambassador Crellan had spies here in the palace, and your father died in a fall down the stairs, and your brother when his saddle girth broke."




Daemon & Sunny Ch. 04



"You overstep yourself!" Stung by her chain of logic, touching on suspicions Daemon himself had harbored, he felt the need to defend his leanings.

Sunny counterattacked before he could lash into her any more than that. "You overstep yourself! You took an oath the day you put on that crown, to obey the laws of the Imperium. Now you're going to break a second one!"

"A second one? What other Law have I 'already' broken?" he demanded.

She tapped her throat, where the ribbon of the slave collar used to be. It wasn't there anymore, but the implication was. He colored. Sunny went on, driving her point home. "Keeping me as a slave only affects you and me. Signing this preferential treaty will affect everyone in both empires, and not necessarily for Astorra's good! And as Astorra's king, you must take the long-term view into consideration over the short term—and before you can make a soddering crack about my not knowing what I'm talking about, I am a historian. The long term view is my speciality." She thumped the covers of his bed with a finger, staring him down. "I know whereof I speak, Daemon Astorre! Now, if you're doing this because the Ruyikans pleased you by giving me to you, then you're definitely considering the treaty favorably for the wrong reasons."

Daemon had the grace to blush at that accusation. He lifted his chin and stared her down. "How else do I show my pleasure in you? And what makes you so sure the Ruyikans' spies should be linked in the same breath as the deaths of my father and brother?"

"I don't know. All I know is, Lord Crellan threatened me when he was bringing me here—threats that sounded like he could kill me at will once I was in the saeda, and not fear any repercussions from it. Things from what I sensed from him a week ago, when he demanded to see me because most of the saeda's staff had been dismissed, when he didn't have his spies in the saeda anymore. The feeling I got that he and his queen want something from you as the Astorran king—a sense of a pattern forming whenever I think about it. Maybe I've been exposed to something that's heightened my instincts, maybe even given me a latent psychic awareness along with my odd freckles, or it could be natural—spontaneous psychic sensitivity may be rare, but it does occur on worlds other than ones such as Azran, or Mindrel, or far off Kintaka! All I know is, I don't trust him. For your own safety, I suggest that you don't, either."

"If you really are growing mentally sensitive," Daemon challenged, "if I refuse, and my predecessors' deaths are linked to their refusal of this treaty—what happens to me if I refuse it?"

Sunny opened her mouth to answer with the truth, that he wouldn't be harmed in the least...then sealed her lips. He still wasn't treating her as an equal yet, wasn't accepting her advice on a par with a co-ruler's. She couldn't tell him he was the future Emperor, and that the Matrix would protect both of them from anything but a natural, old-age death from now on, when it was their proper time to die and for the Matrix to pass on to new keepers. Not yet. "I don't know. Tell the Ambassador that you need more time to consider the treaty—tell him that all of your new duties as king occupy so much of your attention, you want to wait until you have time to devote more of your attention to it. If he presses you, tell him you find the idea is intriguing and has merit, but don't say anything more, and that should settle his pressing for a little while. At least long enough for you to decide how much you believe in the laws of the Imperium, and how much you believe in my instincts. Don't make this decision immediately. The art of dangling hope in a bid for more time is a vital skill for a monarch to possess. If you intend to die of old age, you're going to have to start practicing it right now."

Her words made sense to him. Daemon did believe in Imperium Law—he'd taken history courses, and knew about the constant battle and strife that had plagued the member worlds before the Pax Imperium had been imposed, knew that the Imperium's authority, even weakened as it was right now, was better than a continuing threat of strife. He wasn't sure if he believed in her instincts, but her comment about his urge to please the ambassador had the sting of truth to it. Not entirely, but it had been a factor in his leanings. Raising his knees from the mattress, he leaned his elbows on them and rubbed at his face with his hands.

"You can practice your monarchial skills now, whether or not you agree with me. Just say, 'I'll take that under advisement,' and you'll be the perfect king," Sunny prodded, daring to tease him a little now that he was thinking instead of defending.

"I'd rather practice my lovemaking skills," Daemon stated, uncurling and hauling her down to the bed under him with a lithe twist of their naked bodies. He nibbled his way around her face, across her cheekbones and nose, over her forehead and down around her chin, brushed his lips over hers, then pulled back. A wicked spark lit up his pale sea eyes. "I am grateful to Lord Crellan for his excellent taste in concubines. You never answered my question—how should I reward him for giving you to me?"

"Reward him?" Sunny asked, pondering his question lightly as he returned to nibbling here and there with soft, savoring kisses. "I was thinking more along the lines of torturing h...hee hee! Dae, that tickles!"

He grinned and stroked his tongue around the curves of her ear a second time. He liked the sensual way she squirmed under him. "Mmm, good..."

"You haven't told me about the rest of your day," she reminded him, firmly gathering her scattering wits, doing her best to ignore his onslaught.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Oh, for the love of Natura—! Give him one of those ugly, eyesore artworks every palace has lurking somewhere as a gift from someone a past king couldn't offend."

Daemon pulled back and studied her with a mock-frown. "Are you sure you aren't actually a queen in disguise? Because that's exactly the sort of junk we've got crammed into the palace attic."

Sunny grinned. "A queen? No, I'm not a queen," she answered truthfully. Now, empress was something else entirely... "I'm a historian, Daemon Astorre. Part of my education was learning how to glean history from lists of all sorts of things—guest lists, gift lists, grocery lists... It's a historical fact that someone in almost every culture gives something grossly useless to someone else, at some point in time."

"What is your last name, anyway?" Daemon asked her, curious. "Or do your people have any last names or clan names, family names, that sort of thing?"

"Craida follows a geriartrichal clanship—the eldest same-gender member of a direct descent family is the keystone for drawing relations. Dannonee was the name of the eldest woman on my mother's side still alive when I was born, my great-grandmother."

"So...if you outlive all the other women in your family, you'd eventually have a couple of girls running around calling themselves...Stasrie Sundrea, or Andranna Sundrea?"

"They'd have to be my own kids and grandkids, but yes. If you were a Craidan, or married to one," Sunny added, deliberately keeping her tone light, "some distant grandson or great-grandson could be Grant Daemon, or Rajo Daemon."

"Rajo? That's the name of Armon's lover!" he exclaimed in mock-dismay. "The man has no taste! Did you see the hideous vase he gave me for my coro—oh, now there's an idea..."

"Now, Daemon, you can't give anything that someone still alive might remember," Sunny cautioned him. "There's a definite line between discreetly offloading something old that you don't want to keep, and blatantly offloading a new monstrosity in front of its previous giver."

"Then how about you picking out the tacky, tactless offering?" Daemon returned. "That way you can torture him with someone's long-dead bad taste, and I can offload my gratitude, all in one gesture."

"Deal. Now, while I'm on a bargaining roll..."

Daemon eyed her warily. "What do you want now?"

Tempted, Sunny didn't press for her freedom—it was symbolic at this point; necessary, but not immediately so. Instead, she pressed for something more. With her hips arched up and rubbed against his. "I was wondering if I could lure you to the, ah, negotiating bed."

He grinned. "Why not a table?"

She gave him a hard look. "Because the last table you had me on squeaked rather distractingly; it was rather alarming, constantly wondering if it was going to collapse under us. And I still want to know what happened after you saw Lord Crellan's treaty petition."

"So you can pry at my duties and and argue with my decisions?"

"You're just soddered that I'm right."

"You are not!"

She stuck out her tongue at him. He dropped down and caught it in his mouth, sucking on it. Coaxing her into sucking on his. The rest of his day got set aside in favor of exploring a little more of his night. 



Daemon & Sunny Ch. 05



Author's Note: KatLady, please contact me at my new email--I can't help it if my castle is one giant Portkey with an unknown activation sequence (damned house-elves)! I am also not responsible for half the hot-tub contents sloshing out during the sudden jolt of Portation... Anyway, at least you and your fellow Mob of Irate Laser-Wielding Fans should be happy; I'm updating this thing a lot sooner than anticipated...and actually working on finishing the rest of it! ~Lotm

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It was hideous. Confirming Ambassador Crellan's opinion that the new king of Astorra was not up to being more than a barely adequate king. First his admission that his duties were swamping him so much he needed to wait until the first post-coronation rush passed to study the tariff-lowering treaty, then his admission that part of the problem was his spending so much time with his new concubine, a distraction no Ruyikan ruler worth his weight in Occampan pearls would have admitted, let alone permitted. And now this...this personal display of utterly bad taste in gift-giving.

Crellan wasn't even sure what the object was, other than it was raggedly, asymmetrically, approximately three feet tall, writhed this way and that, was made of gilded, glossed ceramic, and sported exaggeratedly endowed, naked women wrapped in—of all things—frogs and snakes in all the strategic places. None of them in anything very close to a 'natural' shade for their coloring. There were openings that looked like they could be used as vase mouths for flowers, but they were shaped like lamprey mouths, replete with gilded, glazed rings of 'teeth' in an undercoat of dull and murky versions of mustard, from yellowish to brownish, all on a dull, pale beige background. And there were a trio of arching, eel-like fish that looked rather phallic, except they had serrated fins on their backs and under their arched bellies, and that ruined them for handles, if that had been their purpose for being a part of the...thing.

That was not all there was, though, on the almost sublimely hideous sculpture. Zeerdorqs, with their six legs and three snakes springing symbolically from between each pair of legs, cavorted here and there among the disproportioned women and frogs. What one of the zeerdorqs was doing to one of the fish, making the whole piece look even more lopsided, the ambassador did not want to know.

"Lord Ambassador." One of his entourage servants bowed low before him, thankfully providing a distraction. "Our Queen summons you to speak."

Grateful to leave the hideous thing out of his sight, he entered his private chamber and sat down in front of the private communications relay smuggled into the suite for secure, coded conversations. The message, travelling through nilspace, a place so small that all messages were instantaneous, but too small for ships to travel through, took no time at all to switch from the holding pattern to the face of Queen Astrida the moment the machine had scanned his thumbprint and genetic code.

"Your Celestial Sovereignty. How shall I serve you?"

"Report. The treaty?"

"He says that he is overwhelmed by the duties of his new office, Sovreign," Lord Crellan offered, eyes lowered in deference to her sanctity. "My observation is that this may very well be true. The concubine-slave I purchased for him is occupying more of his attention than is prudent, though I have observed that Astorran men are more...vigorous than most. But he should have more self-control to be a successful ruler. He also has...poor taste in his gift of appreciation for our gift of the slave, another indication that his judgement may not be as keen as that of his predecessors."

"What you tell me is not encouraging. Tell me something encouraging, Lord Ambassador," Queen Astrida ordered him. When he chanced the briefest of glances up, her eyes, the only part of her visible from behind her disguising coif and veil, were not angry. Yet.

He did his best to keep them from turning angry. "Celestial Sovreign, he has admitted the treaty idea is interesting, which is far more than his brother or father considered it. Their refusals were outright and blunt, as were my discreet probings into a potential marriage-alliance between our realm and theirs. And that brings me to my second encouragement, my Queen."

"That would be...?"

"The first night after his coronation, King Daemon was supposed to be introduced to eligible young women. Noblewomen from Astorra from the most part, but there were some princesses from within and from without his kingdom. The banquet and ball have been set back, and will occur in three weeks from now. At that time, he will be expected to start selecting his future queen. If your Celestiality were to propose a royal visit to coincide with this event..."

"I could present my suit more directly..." She considered his suggestion. "Arrange it, Lord Crellan. Make sure my arrival is timed to arrive just a little before this ball, so that I am fresh in his mind when I am presented again at it. Will there be any other eligible queens attending?"

"Not as far as I've heard, Sovreign."

"I will have no one disrupt my standing. Make sure no others of my rank attend."

He bowed to her as she ended the connection. Her last request would be extremely difficult to fulfill, but Crellan had enough spies in the palace proper still that could get their hands on the guest list for him. He didn't think any other queens eligible for marriage would be attending, but he would have to make sure. Queen Astrida was not known for her tolerance of mistakes, especially not if she felt her status as a queen was being slighted.





Daemon & Sunny Ch. 05



"Mm-hmm..."

Bliss was what Daemon was feeling, as her moist heat snugged down around him. He loved the unconcerned, unhesitating way Sunny bared her body for him, bra and dress barely hanging onto her shoulders. He'd read a report on the Craidan ways of life and sexuality just the other day, something he'd asked Armon to collate for him so that he could understand his Consort better. Her people had integrated their sexuality into their nature-oriented religion. Even the days of a woman's fertility cycle were associated with promoting various areas of good fortune.

The contraceptive she'd been given had no doubt reset her biological schedule; tallying up the days, Daemon smirked and asked, "...Speaking of Agriculture, I believe today is the correct day to, ah, 'encourage' the Blessings of the Beasts?"

Sunny's eyes widened. "You know about that ritual?"

"You're not the only one who's taking a few extra courses in their spare time," he returned smugly. Grasping her hips, he coaxed her to circle them. "I believe the prescribed ritual is four rotations clockwise, followed by four counter-clockwise, then seven hard thrusts...?"

He was willing to learn her people's sexual-rituals! Sunny let her eyes roll up and her head drop back, shuddering with pleasure. "O Blessed Beasts! Be healthy and multiply within our fields!"

"'O Blessed Beasts! Share with us your strength and grace'!" Daemon agreed as he urged her hips to flex the other way. Together, somewhat raggedly, they chanted the ritual words that went with the seven thrusts.

"—Blessed Beasts, Be Fruitful Now!"

There were other verses to follow—Sunny had danced them in a line with the other under-age girls at festivals, learning them alongside her fellow Craidans from an early age—but the feel of him inside of her coupled with the feel of the words on her lips triggered a spasming orgasm. Swaying, she collapsed forward, slumping against Daemon's chest. He was still hard and ready, but didn't take advantage of her insensate state to complete his own desire. Instead, she felt him gently kissing her on the temple as she rested her cheek on his shoulder.

"If I'd known religion was such a powerful aphrodisiac for your people," he dared to tease her after a few moments, "I'd have converted to Craidanism the moment I met you."

Snorting, Sunny smacked him lightly on one arm. "Ha, ha, very funny. But I'm glad you're willing to give it a try."

"Sunny...I want you to stay here." That wasn't what he'd intended to stay. Daemon felt her arms, loosely wrapped around him again, tighten a little. "I want you to be happy, here." That was what he'd meant to say. "And I want to know more about you, and your people, and...your expectations in a..."

He winced. It would sound so stupid to say it out loud. She was his gift-given concubine, his slave, though he wasn't supposed to have any slaves, as a king of the Astral Imperium. Daemon faltered and fell silent.

"My expectations in a...what?" Sunny asked him, wondering what was going through his mind, and whether or not she should try to use the Matrix to read his thoughts as she had the Ruyikan Ambassador's.

"...In a relationship." There. He'd said the words.

That made her sit up. Sunny stared at him, studied the Astorran king she was straddling. "...A relationship?"

"Yes. You, and me. I want to know if a relationship is possible, between us."

It was so temping. Sunny chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then sighed. "Free me, and you'll find out."

"If I free you, what's to keep you from walking away?" he pointed out, chest feeling squeezed by the possibility. He was just getting to know her, and the more he knew, the more he liked.

Sunny could see the panic he couldn't quite conceal in those aquamarine eyes. "Free me, and you'll find out."

"Do you give your word to not leave? Unless I say you can?" Daemon pressed, anxious.

That made her sit back. Not to give him pleasure—though the move certainly did—but to plant her hands on her hips. Sunny gave him a firm look. "What would be the difference, if I did so, Daemon? Right now, the status of my slavery is entirely in your mind. If you demand a vow for me to stay until you say I can leave...it is no different than what I already endure now, save for one factor: my vow would make me a slave in my own mind, too. I am a Free Citizen, not a slave. A true relationship between two people must be predicated on an understanding of partnership and equality. How can I be equal to you, if you consider me your slave?"

"I am royalty, Sunny. You are not. We will never be equal," he explained to her.

That did it. Dismounting, Sunny moved away from him, out of armsreach, and faced him proudly. "I am a Free Citizen. That makes me the equal of anyone. But until you can understand and accept that concept, we will never have a real relationship." As he blinked, she fastened her bra and dress with quick fingers. He'd certainly given her a lot of practice in the task over the last three weeks. "Now, if you don't mind, I've lost the mood to continue. I'm going back to the saeda."

Turning as she fastened the last button, Sunny caught the fabric strap of her satchel from where she'd left it on the table and headed for the door. Behind her, Daemon stared at her, stunned. He drew in a breath to say something, anything, but she whirled on him, pointing her free arm back at him even as the other one economically used the momentum of her turn to shoulder her bag.

"Do not even presume to order me to come back to you and pleasure you. That would be exactly the sort of arrogant, inconsiderate, unequal behavior of which I speak!"

Datacrystals clattering in her bag, she swung around again and strode out the door, leaving the Astorran king to pull his clothing—and his whirling thoughts—into some semblance of order. 



Daemon & Sunny Ch. 06



She wasn't in the saeda. Daemon eyed the maidservant who had informed him of this, still caught in her respectful bow. "What do you mean, she isn't here? She's always here at this time!"

"I do not know, Majesty. I'm sorry. She has not returned from the Imperial University, yet."

"Well, is she still there?" he asked, feeling his heart thump unevenly in his chest. After this morning's argument, he'd done a lot of thinking, though very little had been resolved in his mind. Some things, yes, but little else of his confusion.

"I will go check, Your Majesty." Another bow, and the woman hurried away.

Daemon looked around the grandly decorated foyer of the Consort's suite, then headed up the stairs with a sigh, retreating to Sunny's private study. Gilded artworks and costly fabrics weren't his Sunny. Datacrystals and reference tomes were. Entering the room, he crossed to her chair and dropped into it, eyeing the scattering of rods and pads on the surface of her desk. Idly picking one up, he turned the transparent rod over and over in his fingers, thinking.

How angry was she, this morning? Angry...angry enough to leave me? She knows she isn't a slave. She's within the reach of the Pax Imperium; there are no slaves. All she'd have to do was assert her legal rights, and I'd have no way to keep her here. Astor...please let her not have left me!

At first, he'd been overwhelmed by his lusts for her, lusts which hadn't been roused by any other woman with any real strength for nearly a year. He'd hidden it from everyone, performing almost mechanically when necessary, but Daemon's libido had slowly been dying out, leaving him disinterested in sex. Still capable of performing, thank Astor, but unable to summon his prior levels of enthusiasm.

Until Sunny. She'd revitalized something within him that was as necessary to an Astorran male's sense of sexuality as religious rites were to a Craidan's. But the fear of her abandoning him had nothing to do with the prospect of a future with little true desire. No, the anxiety was entirely placed in his heart.

I did right, instinctively naming her Consort. She's enslaved my soddering heart. Tapping the crystal against the blotter on her desk, he wondered what he should do about that. She was funny, vivacious, intelligent, beautiful, audacious, witty, knowledgeable, sexy...just hearing her voice today in Council had made him ache with two needs: the hardening of his loins, and the desire to just sit and listen to her forever.

What he wanted most of all, Daemon acknowledged ruefully, was to be able to listen to her forever. Eventually his libido would fade—hopefully at the correct age, somewhere in his seventies—and when it did, well, modern medicine ensured that most people lived to see a healthy centennial birthing-day. That left roughly thirty years of...what? Without sex, a relationship had to rely upon other values. Compatibility, trust, a shared sense of humor, intellectual stimulation...they were compatible, they shared the same sense of humor, she intellectually stimulated him—soddering hell, she challenged his mind! Yes, she challenges my authority and my decisions, but in a way that opens my eyes to the way these worlds should be run, under the hand of a caring, competent leader.

That was one of the other reasons why he needed her. Daemon hadn't expected to be thrust into the position of king. He was beginning to enjoy the work, knowing he had the power to make wise, helpful decisions, but he wasn't trained for these decisions. Not as fully as his brother Trevid had been. Daemon had been given a certain amount of training in statesmanship, but only as a contingency. He wasn't supposed to inherit the throne through the deaths of his father and brother, who should have lived to a ripe old retirement age, allowing a nice, orderly succession to the throne of Trevid's firstborn daughter or son. Modern medicine could take care of almost any ailment, after all...save for a snapped neck, of course. Or a badly trampled body.

He pushed away those thoughts. His most important problem was his quarrel with Sunny, and how to repair the rift between them, not his lingering questions over his family's misfortunes. She wants a relationship of equals. Yet she's not royal, nor even noble. The only way we could have a relationship of equals is if she were to be my Queen, and Astorran law is very clear on that point: royalty must marry either royalty or nobility.

...Am I, or am I not the king? Can I not just repeal the silly law? he wondered suddenly. Well, I'd probably have to get my Council to ratify it; without their support, it'd be a hard battle against a millenia of tradition. Or...or I could have her ennobled. Now there's an idea. Yes, that would be the easiest way, really, even though I'd have to get five nobles to agree to the elevation. No fighting against tradition, laws, or their ratifiers. I just have to explain to her that I cannot marry her unless she's nobility, then tell her I'm going to see that she's made a noble, and...and beg her to be my Queen.

His heart thudded even as his mind squirmed. Yes, beg, Daemon told the more prideful parts of himself, silently ordering them to sodder off. We're compatible on so many levels, I cannot allow her to slip through my fingers. Assuming she hasn't already fled...

Armon bustled into Sunny's study, distracting Daemon from that glum thought. The eunuch beamed a smile at him. "Worried about our sweet Sunny's little delay, are we, Your Majesty?"

"Your sense of humor might get you beheaded, Armon," Daemon groused, giving him a dark look. The eunuch didn't even bat an eyelash at his king. Of course, that would've gotten him beheaded, too; the eunuchs of the saeda were forbidden to flirt with their royal employers.

"Well, it turns out there was a hoverball game at the University stadium, and there was a bit of a scrum, accusations of cheating on both sides, a bit of violence among the fans, a number of people got hurt, and the campus security had to put a ban on anyone leaving until the mess was sorted out. The city's peacekeepers have enforced the ruling, too. I've managed to get them to authorize her departure, however; the hoverlimo's finally on the way, and she'll be here within fifteen minutes." Dropping into the chair placed at the end of the desk, Armon folded his hands together and eyed his king. "So...how badly are you missing her, right now?"

Daemon bit back a retort for the other man to mind his own business. As Chief Eunuch, it was Armon's job to counsel his king. Instead, he sighed roughly. "Badly."

"Well, you shouldn't have been an idiot, earlier—and I say that with respect, Your Majesty."

Suppressing a groan, Daemon eyed the other man. "She told you about our quarrel?"

"She muttered something about it, yes. Along with several uncomplimentary names, and dire grumbles about leaving this planet and you behind. But they were just grumblings," Armon reassured him blithely. "By the time she was ready to go to class, she wasn't angry with you anymore. Trust me, I know the way a woman thinks. You have to give them time to calm down; it's the way the adrenaline spikes in their bodies, slower to build than a man's, but longer-lasting in nature. Now, why don't you tell me what's wrong between the two of you, and we'll see if I can't patch things up for you."

"You can't work your magic on this one, Chief Eunuch," Daemon told the other man. "I took her on as a slave, as you know, because I didn't want her to leave before I was through enjoying her, but now...now I'm the one who's enslaved. I don't want her to leave me, but I want her to be happy with me. I cannot force her to be happy, and if I try to make her promise to not leave me...it's just a different form of slavery, and she's right about that. I want..."

"You want...?" Armon prompted him as he fell silent.

It was awkward, voicing these words to another soul. "I want to marry her, Armon. But she's not a noble. She's not royal. Either I have to get the stupid law repealed, or I have to find a way to ennoble her."

"Hmm, getting the required five nobles to agree to make your Consort a noble will be very difficult, Your Majesty," Armon murmured pensively, lacing his fingers together and resting tips of his forefingers against his lips. "The problem is, the Marriage Mart is coming up, and every noble within a parsec will want to parade their eligible females in front of you. They certainly won't want the one woman who's captured your heart to be ennobled so that you can marry her, instead of some more politically advantageous arrangement. Hell, we even have a self-invited queen from outside the Imperium who's insisting on showing up for a State Visit that is also coincidentally just in time for the Formal Familial Ball."

"Which queen?" Daemon asked idly, his thoughts circling back to the idea of repealing the idiotic, inbred law.

"Queen Astrida of Ruyika."

Daemon's instincts sharpened. That woman is coming here, during the Marriage Mart Ball, as Armon so astutely puts it? Perhaps Sunny's instincts are right. Perhaps Her Majesty thinks she'll be able to press a marriage alliance as well as a favored-trade-status treaty between our realms. It would certainly be one way of joining the Imperium without needing an Emperor and Empress on the throne...

Sighing heavily, Daemon ran his fingers through his hair, scraping his fingerlength bangs back from his brow for a moment. Glancing at him, Armon narrowed his eyes, making Daemon arch a brow in enquiry. Armon voiced his thoughts. "Majesty...I just noticed the marks on your skin, at your hairline. Are you alright?"

"—What, the reverse-freckles? I'm fine. Leastwise, the medbox couldn't find anything wrong with me," he added. That was another matter, a mystery Daemon had yet to solve. "It happened the morning after I joined with Sunny. The pattern is similar to hers, too, save that mine spiral the other way around my arms and legs, and there's a bit less on the chest for me...but she doesn't know how she got hers, and she doesn't know how she passed it on to me. Have you ever heard of an ailment that does this? Some sort of virus? Bacteria? ...Fungus?"

The Chief Eunuch shook his head slowly, but the look in his narrowed, speculative eyes was too thoughtful. Daemon drew in a breath to ask what he was thinking. Something beeped. Armon jumped, smiled sheepishly, and fussed in the pockets of his tunic, pulling out a communicator. He read the screen and smiled more broadly. "Ah, they've arrived. She'll be up here in three or so minutes. I guess traffic was really light, for her to arrive so fast."

"Out. And don't let her know I'm in here, but tell her there's a present waiting for her in her bedchamber," Daemon ordered, rising and shooing the other man out of the office. Thoughts of his freckles vanished, as a different idea took shape in his mind. Grinning at his sovereign, Armon complied.

Removing himself to Sunny's bedroom, Daemon quickly stripped off the long-sleeved tunic, trousers, boots and undergarments he had donned this morning. Crawling onto her bed, he arranged himself so that he knelt facing the foot of the broad, velvet-draped mattress, hands clasped behind his back and knees parted. His plan had his flesh hardening with hope; the sound of her voice as she entered the upper floor made his manhood twitch and harden further with anticipation.

"...A present?" he heard her ask outside in the corridor. "For me? In my bedroom? What is it?"

"You'll see!" Armon's lilting voice teased, before he clapped his hands and ordered all the servants and guards that had accompanied her out of the Consort's suite. A moment later, Sunny entered the chamber, and stopped, eyeing the naked king kneeling on her bed.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm your slave. Where else should I be?" Daemon returned, hoping his ploy would work.

Her narrowed eyes and the grim line of her mouth didn't give him much hope. Removing her shoulder bag, she slung it into a chair and planted her hands on her satin-clad hips. "Slaves cannot own other slaves, Daemon."

"I free you from all bonds and responsibilities," he murmured, heart pounding in his chest as her eyes widened. Shifting his stance, Daemon climbed down from the bed, moving on hands and knees across the carpet as he literally crawled up to her. Lowering his head, muscles flexing and tensing, he brushed a kiss on the top of her foot, where the cut of her footwear bared her stocking-clad flesh. "And I enslave myself to you."

The breath left her body. Sunny stared down at him in shock, not expecting this. The sight of such a gorgeous, muscular man crawling to her feet, abasing himself gracefully, was a sensual image that she knew would stay burned in her memory for its sheer eroticism. But this...! He freed her from her status in his mind as a slave, freed her even from her position as Consort and Councillor if she read his words right, and then in practically the same breath, vowed to be her slave?

The way he continued kissing her feet, shifting gracefully from one to the other, worshipping her through her tights, distracted her. Needing to sit down, Sunny shuffled out from under his mouth, careful to not step on his fingers. As soon as she was free, she crossed to the bed and sat on its edge.

He watched her almost warily, wondering what she might do, then crept back to her feet and started kissing them again. Daringly, he started kissing his way up her shins, though not quite to her knees. Not yet. As he did so, Daemon spoke, putting his feelings into words. His words were all he had left to chain her to him, the most gossamer of bonds. He prayed silently to Astor that they would be strong enough.

"All I knew, back when I met you, Sunny, was that I wanted you. I wanted you as I had not wanted any woman in more than a year. An Astorran's sexuality is like a blazing fire...and mine had started to die down, to bank itself, though it shouldn't have done so for another forty or fifty years. But then you were given to me, so proud, so regal, a visiting queen. You ignored the subjugations they tried to force upon you, not wanting to be there, but determined to endure with dignity. I saw much in you that I felt within myself, for I didn't want to be there, either, yet I had to be. I would've set you free, save that the Ruyikans would have known you were untouched, and I didn't want to risk offending them my first day on the job, so to speak.

"And then I saw you in private, and you roused my passions, and I knew I had to have you—and when you fought me, bold and breathtaking, I knew I had to keep you." Now he kissed her knees between words, nuzzling his mouth under the hemline of her gown. "You roused more in me than just the desires I thought had ebbed into nothing more than a mechanical need, like eating or sleeping. You engaged my mind...and you ensnared my heart. I vowed I would set you free the day you proved that I was your slave, and not the other way around...because I knew even then that you had already ensnared me, and could bend me to your will.

"So I free you, Sunny. From slavery, from concubinage, from counselling me, from anything you do not want to do...and I enslave myself to you. Because I find I cannot live without you in my life," he told her, sliding his palms up her calves, caressing her through her tights. "Where you go, I will go."

Flabbergasted. That was how she felt. Sunny's heart twinged at his soft-spoken confessions. His final words gave her something to grab onto. "But...but your kingdom—if I leave Astorra, how will you rule?"

That made him snort with laughter. Looking up at her, Daemon grinned, his aquamarine eyes dancing with humor. "Ever heard of nullspace communications, Sunny? I can teleconference with my Council from just about anywhere in the civilized galaxy, and even hold vid-Courts, if need be."

His smile faded into something too serious for laughter as he held her gaze.

"...I just know I don't want to be without you. I want...I want to marry you, even though there's that stupid law between us. You complete me, Sunny," Daemon confessed, hands tightening slightly on her knees. "With you, I'm a better man, and a better ruler. You challenge my mind, and make me think, and give me a different perspective on life. You make me laugh...and I want to make you laugh. I want to be a source of inspiration for you, too, as you are for me. I want to argue with you, for the stimulation of our two minds...and I really want to be able to make up with you afterwards, whenever we quarrel."

Sliding his hands up her skirt—on the outside, not underneath—Daemon caught her hands with his, lacing their fingers together.

"I want you to be my Queen, my equal...and if it takes me abasing myself to convince you, that is what I am willing to do. So I will enslave myself to you for the next two weeks, obedient to your schedule and your whim, so that everything will be equal once again between us," he told her. "That is my present to you, Sundrea Dannonee. All I beg is that you let me stay with you that long, so I can prove my love for you. Please."

Tears prickled in her eyes. His pleading was unexpected. It was also both welcome and embarrassing, in a way. She didn't want him to abase himself for her; she just wanted to be his equal. And yet there was some symmetry in his request. If he really was sincere, if this wasn't a ploy to get her to stay...he'd really obey. Sniffing a little, blinking hard, Sunny freed her hands. "On the bed, slave."

He blinked as well, then scrambled to obey. Resuming his original kneeling position, Daemon reviewed that look in her eyes, examining it in his mind. Was she really moved by my words? Is she going to stay? What is she going to order me to do?

For her part, Sunny was torn between ordering him to wait on her hand and foot for the next few days—to give him, a privileged royal son a taste of what it was like to be one of his subjects, caught under the whims of those more powerful than himself—and being very careful about not diminishing his status in the eyes of anyone else. There were already rumors running rampant around the capitol of how the Consort of the new Astorran King had him wrapped around her little finger. Some of her classmates had even dared to ask her about it, during lulls in the roundtable lectures she was attending. She'd quelled them with a look and a blunt statement that she was there to study the impact of the Matrix upon the Emperors and Empresses of the Imperium, and that their off-topic questions were detracting from precious classtime.

...Yes, I'll have a delicate balance to tread, she knew. Moreover, I have to be careful how I treat him, so that it's no worse than he treated me. Equals, on both sides of our relationship. In how we treat each other, and how we perceive each other.

He was waiting for her instructions. Eyeing the submissive way he knelt on the bed behind her, Sunny felt a rush of desire within her. Standing and facing the bed, she spread her arms. "Undress me."

"As my mistress commands," Daemon murmured huskily, aroused by the demand. He'd made the conscious choice to put himself into her hands, under her control, and now he found it was erotic to give up all control of where their activities were headed. Crawling up to her, he began unbuttoning her gown. Deliberately, he caressed her curves through the silky material as he worked, seeking to arouse her as well as undress her. By the time he peeled back the inner panel of her gown, her nipples had beaded in the cups of her bra.

Sliding the dress from her shoulders, Daemon swayed forward, nudging one of those turgid peaks with his mouth, nipping softly at it. His fingers unclasped the support garment, caressing it off of her body as he recaptured the flesh he had just bared. Her own hands buried themselves in his black mane a moment later, kneading his scalp as the steady rate of her breathing faltered, shuddered. Hands stroking down her back, Daemon deftly inserted them beneath the waistband of her tights, pushing them down over her hips.




Daemon & Sunny Ch. 06



Forced to break away from her breasts in order to finish undressing her, Daemon twisted his head, kissing his way down her abdomen. She gasped when he licked and laved at her navel, gasped and then giggled, pushing him lower. Bypassing her lower curls—he'd never finish undressing her if he gave in to his lusts—Daemon slid off the bed and pushed her tights all the way to her feet. Removing her slippers, he peeled off the last of the fine mesh material. Only then did he start kissing his way back up her body, savoring the softness of her inner thighs against his lips.

She twisted away; from the confused look in his eyes, that disappointed him, but Sunny knew her limitations. He was simply too good at the Prayer for Sun for her to remain standing. Climbing onto her bed, she adjusted the multitude of pillows so that she relined in the middle, spread her legs, and patted the inside of one thigh. "Come here, Daemon. Make love to me."

The sinuous speed in which he climbed on the bed told her how eager he was to comply. Catching her ankle, he lifted her leg and suckled on her littlest toe, working the tiny digit with lips and tongue. Sunny gasped as pure pleasure shot straight up her leg to her groin. She'd never considered her feet to be such an erogenous zone, and yet they clearly were!

Prying open the eyes that had involuntarily closed, she couldn't prevent a moan from escaping her throat. That look in his gaze, dark and knowing, relentlessly masculine, told he knew exactly how strongly the warm, wet glide of his tongue between her toes was affecting her. How comparable it was to the gliding of his tongue, when focused at the other end of her legs.

Head thumping back onto the pillows, Sunny gasped and writhed, feeling the ticklish caresses stimulating all the way up into the depths of her belly. He was slow, relentless and methodical about making love to her toes. Frustration rose within her, making her grit her teeth against the urge to beg. Until she realized she didn't have to plead, tonight. Panting heavily, Sunny focused on the pattern-painted ceiling of her bedchamber, and growled, "Prayer for Sun! Now!"

Daemon eased his suckling, wracking his memory for what that phrase meant. It was in the information Armon had gathered for him. The Prayer for Rain, he knew, was the religious phrase for fellatio, and the Prayer for Sun was... Ah, yes. Cunnilingus. I'm most happy to oblige, my queen...

Releasing her toes with a last lick that made her whimper in sexual frustration, Daemon kissed his way up the inside of her calf, her knee, her thigh... Her fingers fisted in his hair, pulling his face exactly where she needed it to go. Compliant, Daemon inhaled her musky scent, and buried his nose and mouth in her warm, damp, fragrant folds. Her arousal was so high and tight, she keened and thrashed within bare minutes, forcing him to grasp her hips and hold them still to prevent injury. When he finally eased her down the far side of the slope of her desire, he enjoyed the dazed look in her blinking, unseeing eyes. Backing up, Daemon picked up her other foot, raising her toes to his mouth.

"Sweet Natura...no...no...nooo..."

He might have put her foot down, not wanting to do anything against her wishes...if it were for the way she thrust her foot at his face, and once planted on his jaw, wriggled her toes against his lips. Smirking, he gave her the same treatment. In turn, he was treated to the sight of her writhing voluptuously, then frantically, then finally—from the way she gasped and keened, clutching at the covers as she shuddered—orgasmically. Delving between her twitching, splayed limbs, Daemon devoured her again, driving her right back up to the peaks of her climax.

"Ah, Goddess—yes!!"

Now that was a sound to please a man's ears, deafening though her volume might be. He chased her from peak to peak, keeping her orgasms going, until her moans were one constant, gasp-punctuated song of need. Gentling his touch, he licked her as clean as he could, then crawled up her body. Not over her, but beside her. Collapsing onto his side, lungs heaving, loins aching, Daemon waited for her senses to return. Finally, her deep aquamarine eyes blinked, focused, and shifted to his face.

"You..." Her voice was hoarse from all that groaning. He'd loved her with his mouth, satiating her needs, but had done nothing for his own; his manhood still jutted hard and hot from his groin, rubbing lightly against her hip as he lounged beside her. "You haven't...?"

"I am at your command, Sunny. You own me," he reminded her, catching her hand and bringing it to his bare chest. "Body...heart...and soul."

Her eyes darkened with need, and something else. Something stronger, fiercer. "Take me!"

Her demand woke an answering force within him. Rolling over her, their near hands still clasped, Daemon sought and tangled his other hand with hers, pinning her willing body to the bed. Roughly, he parted her thighs with his knees, stooped just enough to position himself, and thrust, slamming home in her hot, wet depths. She cried out, head tossing back, knees lifting to twine her calves behind his thighs, his buttocks, his back with each stimulating, hard stroke.

...

Black and White intertwined, doubling the loop, and curving further into the Greater Circle. Scales slid sinuously, seductively together, drawing their bodies closer together. The tips of those long, draconic tails were coming into view, coming into reach. Almost...almost was the ouroboros of the Imperial Dragons complete...almost...

...

His Councillors gaped at him. Lord Chancellor Estoll recovered his voice first. "You want to...to abolish the Royal Marriage Laws?"

"You heard me. It is an antiquated notion, that royalty should only marry royalty, or nobility. And genetically an unstable one," Daemon stated. "Inbreeding is always a threat, when you limit the ability to select a mate in a particular segment of a population."

"Not with the assistance of modern genetics! Any potential flaws can be detected early on in a pairing, and corrected if necessary in the resulting offspring," Lady Vinalya, the Chancellor of Medicine, asserted.

"Isn't it better to not have to worry so much about potential flaws?" he pointed out.

"There's always the risk of flaws in any pairing, Your Majesty," she dismissed.

This wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. "It's still an antiquated notion. A sovereign should be free to take anyone as their spouse."

"Politically, it's not advantageous, Your Majesty," Lord Estoll reminded him. "You need to build strong trade relations with your neighbors, if you would look beyond the borders of your kingdom for fresh genetic material, and strengthen your ties to the leaders of your communities, if you wish to build stronger loyalties among the Astorran people. Those leaders are nobleborns." He glanced sideways at Sunny, his middle-aged mouth tightening slightly. "I think we all realize you're...quite taken with your Consort, but that doesn't mean she brings in the political and financial resources that a marriage with someone of status and connections would provide. Consorts are for love," he continued, face flushing a little as he spoke, "and if you love her, then I say, may Astor's blessings be upon the two of you. Marriage, however, is for power and heirs. Not love."

Sunny, leaning slightly forward, caught sight of the impending protest on Daemon's face, and decided to intervene. "Your Majesty, perhaps this discussion could be set aside for another time?"

He frowned at her, she lifted her brows encouragingly, and he furrowed his own. Sighing, he sat back, heeding her counsel. "I suppose there are more important matters to discuss."

"Yes, like the impending visit from Queen Astrida," Lord Faragullan asserted. "No offense to you, Consort, but that is a woman who could bring a great deal of power and prestige to Astorra!"

Daemon remembered to close his eyes before rolling them. A glance at Sunny showed her smiling slightly, one corner of her mouth quirked up. He wondered what she was amused about, then recalled her prediction of just such a possibility being foisted on him. If I'd never been made king, I could've married anyone I wanted. Such as her. Of course, I'd have needed to meet her, first. Damn, I wish I'd met and married her before I wound up on the throne! Then it would be a fait accompli...

"Oh, I'm not offended," Sunny drawled as the others echoed the Advisor's sentiments. "I'm just thinking we shouldn't be hasty in accepting any marriage proposals for His Majesty just yet."

"—Shouldn't be hasty? He's the last in the immediate line of succession!" one of the other males protested.

"He has to beget an heir!" one of the older women asserted, thumping her finger on the table.

"—Or at the very least, designate a successor, to prevent a civil war!"

"Gentles, please!" Sunny's voice cut firmly, if politely, through the hubub. "I am simply saying that we should not start assigning a potential wife right now. We have the Marriage...erm, the Formal Familial Ball to enjoy, first. Let His Majesty see a suitable selection of all the eligible women available before you try and make up his mind for him! He's the one who'll have to endure living with whoever he winds up with, after all. There may be someone even more suitable for him to wed than some queen from outside the Imperium."

"You would not press the suit of the nation that gifted you to His Majesty?" Lady Grunger, Admiral of the Astorran Navy enquired, arching her brow at Sunny.

"I was kidnapped and sold into slavery to the Ruyikans outside the borders of the Pax Imperium. I'm a Craidan, and my people don't believe in slavery, which is a strike against them for harboring that ill-favored act," she reminded everyone dryly. Then added lightly, "Of course, I'm also very grateful I wound up here, so that's a strike for them...which means they currently stand at neutral equilibrium in my eyes. I'm simply saying that there's a greater choice out there than the impending visit of Her Majesty. A greater choice than any of us yet know, because the future is so mutable. A few measly weeks aren't going to matter, ladies and lords," she added, looking around the room. "Even with the miracle of modern medicine, that's not enough time to find a bride, marry her, and conceive an heir. Not without rushing things so hastily, one runs the risk of overlooking several important factors along the way in selecting a truly suitable wife.

"As hard as it may be for the rest of you to imagine, since I do love him, I, too, want His Majesty to make the most suitable marriage possible for him. After all, I'll have to deal with his choice of bride, too."

"Sunny—" Daemon started to protest.

"—We should probably discuss that later, Your Majesty," she demurred.

He wanted to discuss it now...but her careful phrasing reminded him that he wasn't allowed to protest. Not in a way that would make him sound petulant, which protesting right now would. Good kings, unfortunately, were not supposed to be petulant. Clearing his throat, he sighed.

"...My Consort is right. It is not a decision that should be made quickly, or lightly. Though We do acknowledge the importance of assuring an heir for Our throne," Daemon added formally, if dryly. Concubines—Consort or otherwise—weren't allowed to beget royal-blooded children, since that mucked up the lines of ascention and created dissention and the breeding grounds for a civil war. Not for the first time did he wish circumstances were different. "Very well. Let us discuss Queen Astrida's arrival...without further commentary on her potential as a possible mate, if you please. I'll make no decision about wedding a foreign ruler before I've considered closer, less politically risky candidates."

Sunny restrained the urge to nod. She didn't want anyone thinking that she was pulling his strings like some piece of puppetry. Not within his own Council. The Ruyikans could think whatever they wanted, based on how he treated them; she simply wanted Daemon to appear strong among his own people.

As for a suitable wife, well, he had one coming to him, whether he knew it or not. The White Dragon had first and foremost claim on the Black Dragon...and from that latest vision, it wouldn't be much longer before their infinity-ouroboros was fully conjoined. The Marriage Mart Ball might be a good time to assert those facts to the universe.

That made her struggle against the urge to roll her eyes, though. She would have to consult with Armon on something suitable to wear, and from what she'd suffered through so far, the Chief Eunuch was a bit of a clothes-concubine. Or at least the kind of man who loved playing 'dress-up' with life-sized dolls.



Daemon & Sunny Ch. 07



"...Could I have a serious discussion with you, Sunny?" Armon asked her the next day, after Daemon had left for a morning appointment. They had an hour before she was due in Court, so Sunny gestured for Armon to join her at her desk.

"Sure. I was actually going to ask to have a discussion with you, too," she returned.

"Really? What about?" the affable man asked, settling himself in the other chair and crossing his legs neatly.

"I need a gown suitable for attending the Marriage Mart Ball." She might have had to be careful what to call it during the Council meeting, but Sunny knew Armon preferred the more honest title for the affair.

He sucked in a breath, grimacing. "—Well, that's going to be a little bit difficult. You see, Sunny, the Consort's not allowed to attend. None of the concubines are, simply by ancient tradition, but the Consort is specifically forbidden to attend by law. That's because the Consort is the beloved of the Sovereign, and the objective of the Formal Familial Ball is to introduce His Majesty to eligible bride-candidates. It's considered an impediment to an arranged marriage if the king is too busy thinking of his beloved to pay any attention to anyone else. Besides, all of the attendants are either royal or noble, by tradition. You're a Free Citizen, which isn't quite the same thing in the eyes of Astorran tradition."

"...What if the Consort is herself royal or noble? Wouldn't she have the right to attend under that guise?" Sunny asked.

"Well...technically, she couldn't be barred from attending, if she attended as a noble or a royal. But it's never really come up, because it's considered bad form to make someone of royal or noble birth a mere concubine." Armon paused, then gave her a wry look, clasping his hands around his knee. "But that does bring me to my own question. Sunny, sweetie...your beautiful but highly unusual freckles seem to be echoed by certain marks I've just noticed on His Majesty's own skin....reversed but complimentary markings that form 'white freckles' on his gorgeous, tanned hide.

"Now, you should know this, too, as an Imperium historian, because it's somewhat known among the better-educated circules," Armon started to babble, "if not often widely discussed, that, erm...I can't believe I'm suggesting this," he muttered self-deprecatingly, shaking his head slowly. "I mean, how could it possibly have happened? I—"

Sunny put him out of his misery. "Let me guess: you were wondering if our paired marks might have anything to do with the way the Empress and Emperor usually have some sort of complimentary, paired marking on their own bodies after they've been selected by the Matrix...right?"

"...Right," he sighed, visibly both relieved and uncomfortable at having the notion aired. "I mean it's a silly suggestion, isn't it? The last Emperor and Empress lived over forty years ago! No one's seen hide nor hair of the fabled Matrix since then. It's a very silly idea..." He looked away, sighing. "I'm an old fool. It was a stupid observation."

"Actually, I'd say it was a rather astute one."

Armon blinked and did a double-take, looking at her sharply. "An...astute...one?"

"Yep. And you'd only be a fool if you discussed this with anyone else, at this point in time," Sunny confirmed with a slight grimace of her own. He blinked, and she drove the point home, no-holds-barred. "Yes, Armon, your suppositions are correct. I am the White Dragon, the Empress-Elect. Daemon is the Black Dragon, Emperor-Elect. Of course, he hasn't exactly realized this, yet...and we're still working out a compromise in how we should consider and treat each other," Sunny added calmly as the Chief Eunuch gaped at her, grateful her private quarters were guaranteed surveillance-free, usually through daily sweeps of hand-picked counter-espionage teams. She'd come to trust Armon and his staff, over the few weeks. She'd certainly come to like the andro-oriented man, and thought of him now as a friend. "I also won't tell him unless and until we're equals in each other's eyes. If Daemon figures it out on his own...well, we're almost there, anyway, so it won't matter as much as it would have a few weeks ago, when I myself first figured out what was happening."

"How...how is this possible?" Armon demanded, eyeing her askance. "How did you...?"

Her sense of discretion kept a lid on the details of that secret, but she did give him the general timeline.

"I acquired the, uh, seed of the Matrix within me shortly before I was kidnapped by the pirates who stole me and sold me on the slave-markets. But I didn't know it, at first. The Matrix then selected Daemon for my partner shortly after we were left alone together—pretty much from the moment we first touched—and it has been growing within us ever since. At its current rate, it will probably be ready for completion by the Marriage Mart at the latest...which would be an excellent moment for me to step forward and assert my place as his intended wife."

"Why don't you just tell him right now?" he asked her, curiosity lacing his tone, mixed wth confusion and puzzlement.

She'd given that some thought. "For one, he needs to come to realize it for himself. I've tried to access the powers of the Matrix, and I can only do minor things at the moment; we are not yet complete. I think we are already fully protected, physically...but I cannot be completely sure. If Daemon knew, he might want to immediately assert my rightful position at his side, Armon, and that would put us in the spotlight," she told him. "Which could in turn—quite conceivably—put us in danger from those wanting to either attempt to capture and torture or kill us for the secrets of the Matrix, or to 'prove' our indestructibility as proof that we do, indeed have the seed of the Matrix within us. And if we aren't yet indestructible...well, I like being alive, intact, and unharmed a lot more than the idea of finding out otherwise.

"There are other factors, too," Sunny continued with a sigh. "I have certain suspicions about the Ruyikans, and the troubles plaguing Daemon's predecessors, but I haven't been able to prove anything. I think Queen Astrida knows what really happened, and so I have to wait until she's here, on Astorra, before I can try probing her mind for the truth. But since I don't have full command of the Matrix just yet, I can't get anything more than impressions from the minds of the people around me, including from her ambassador. All of the accounts I've researched on the powers of the Matrix point to the telepathic properties being a lot stronger and more precise than mere 'impressions'," she added. "If Daemon and I have enemies lurking in the wings, now is definitely not the time to draw them out into the open. We're just not ready for it."

"I see... So, you're really the Empress-Elect? Can you, erm...prove it?" Armon asked her carefully, his expression somewhere between askance, apologetic, and dubious. "No offense or anything, Sunny, but you just can't go around claiming something like that without backing it up!"

Nodding, waving off his apology, Sunny held out her hand towards one of the blank datarods on her desk. She willed it to rise. It did, wobbling a little. Narrowing her eyes, she focused her will...and the crystaline rod altered. One end thinned and elongated. The other end thickened and turned into a transparent blob. A second blob formed closer to the midway point. A bit more concentration, and the midway blob formed itself into a tear-drop, slightly serrated leaf-shape. The blob at the end rippled and formed ridges as the former datacrystal rotated under the touch of her mind. Eventually, the ripples turned into recognizable petal-shapes. A last bit of concentration, and small, hooked projections extended out from the stem, thorns to compliment the half-bloomed rose she had created.

Releasing it from her grip, she let the tough crystal drop to her desktop, where it bounced off the leather-padded blotter and clattered on the polished-wood surface. Telekinesis was a trick of some of the psychic races, and a rare few individuals from those races reportedly could grow and even alter natural crystal formations...but there were no reports of anyone who could alter the artificial material of a datacrystal, since it was a special polymer, not an actual mineral. Picking up the rose, Sunny offered it to him. Armon accepted it wordlessly, testing the thorns, running his fingertips along the edge of the leaf and over the half-budded petals.

The base of the stem still had the terminal-end of a datarod. Picking up one of the datapads on her desk, Armon inserted the base of the crystaline rose into the port slot, and activated the pad. Data blinked onto the screen, detailing a series of notes on the powers of the Empresses of over half a millenia ago. The rod was still completely functional...which should have been impossible, once it had been warped out of its proper configuration.

Finally, he lifted his eyes to hers; reverence shown in their hazel depths. "Your Majesty..."

"—Please, just call me Sunny," she dismissed. "Even after we ascend, Armon, call me Sunny unless it's absolutely necessary to be formal. You're my friend, and I don't believe in distancing myself from my friends."

That made him smile, almost shyly. Twirling the rose between his fingertips, Armon dipped his head in a formal, if abbreviated, bow. "...Alright, Sunny. I'm glad I got to know you, first. Wow...the Pax Imperium has a new Emperor and Empress again...wow!" His hazel eyes widened sharply, focusing on her clothes, a simple summerweight tunic and shorts. "Oh, good heavens! This simply will not do!

"You look like a wreck, and we'll have to find and make a whole new wardrobe suitable for an Empress, and there's so much to do and less than two weeks in which to do it!" Jumping up from his chair, he hurried towards the door, then turned back to her with an accusatory look. "—Why couldn't you have told me this earlier? Do you know how long it'll take to arrange everything, and to do it discreetly enough that no one will know until your big debut at the Ball? Oh...oh my goodness...!"

The Chief Eunuch slumped against the doorway of her study, clutching at his chest, eyes wide as he stared at her. Alarmed, Sunny rose from her chair. "What is it, Armon? What's wrong?"

"By Astor's sweet little fanny! I get to play fairy godfather to the Empress at her debut ball! This is just like all those fancy fairytales I used to read as a child!" The smile he beamed at her was positively radiant, then he whirled and darted out of the doorway, shouting over his shoulder, "—Don't you worry about a thing, Sunny! You'll practically be a goddess, by the time I'm done with you!"

Dear Natura, what have I gotten myself into? Sunny wondered, as visions of endless milk-baths, body-oilings and gown-fittings lurched into her head. For that matter...what are 'fairytales'?

...

"Ms. Dannonee?"

The familiar voice turned Sunny's head. She hadn't heard that voice since...since the pirate attack, that was when. Saunders. Eduard Saunders, the younger of the two brothers. As her honorguards stiffened, Sunny turned her head and peered at the lean, balding man. The last she had seen him, he had been carted off into the male pens back at that slaver's trade-center. "Mr. Saunders? You're here on Astorra? How did you get here?"

"I..." His eyes crawled over her face, taking in its nearly unfreckled state...and the distinct, unique gathering of little brown spots at her hairline. His eyes looked a little glazed, as he took in the changes in her appearance.

Sunny's instincts sharpened. Instinctively, she dove her mind forward, into his. The impressions she could sense were growing stronger with each passing day, and today was thankfully no exception. A cruel master, some sort of pirate or bandit...the funerary box, the one with the ouroboros on its torn lid...a circle of fellow-pirates attempting to close around their current position...a wish-thought of him personally beating the secrets of the Matrix out of her, since she was clearly now marked by its presence, and of using the powers he'd gain from her as her somehow forcefully destined mate to brutalize his captors, and anyone else who got in his way.

Appalled, Sunny masked her dismay. She had no idea what to do about what she read in his mind, and decided to bide her time, to see what he wanted. As her expression remained carefully polite, he cleared his throat and spoke carefully. "You're looking...well. I understand you're now, um...a paid courtesan to the local king?"

Well, at least he tried to be tactful, and didn't call me a 'whore'. "I'm the Royal Consort, yes. What are you up to, these days?" Sunny asked him courteously, stalling so she could think. Or rather, so she could continue to sense his thoughts. There was something not quite right about her current position in the hallway, not quite perfect for the pirates' ambush needs...but unfortunately, Saunders only knew he needed to get her to the next junction, as opposed to staying at this one. "How did you get free? Or did you?"

"Well, it's a funny little story. Why don't we keep walking?" he offered, gesturing in the direction she had been headed. "You look like you...and your companions...were headed somewhere," he added, glancing at the uniformed quartet of guards flanking her. "I wouldn't want to delay you any further."

What was that code-phrase they said I should use, if I thought I was in danger? Sunny wracked her memory. Her gaze fell on a nearby display panel. She smiled after a moment, a cordial, polite smile, speaking the code-phrase. "Things are just fine as they are. I actually wanted to read this bulletin board," she added, gesturing to the side as her guards stiffened slightly. "So there's no need to go any further at the moment. Actually, I'm having a lot of fun, attending the university," she added casually, shifting a little closer to the panel. That unfortunately brought her closer to Saunders, but her guards closed in, two of them coming close enough to stop Saunders if he tried anything, the other two guarding her back.

He noticed their protective stance. "Your, ah, companions seem very protective of you."

"Well, of course they are," Sunny demurred. "Their job is to castrate any man who dares to touch me, and to behead anyone who harms me. Those are vibroswords, at their hips, and blasters, and who knows how many other weapons—ooh, look, someone has a sports hovercar for sale! I really should get one of those. At least now I've got the salary to pay for it," she added, stalling for more time as she read the notice board. She had no idea how long it would take a security team to to intercept the pirates and rescue her, but she didn't want to seem like she was artificially delaying things. "It was a great opportunity, working on that dig for you, sir, but frankly I'm earning a lot more in my current employment.

"I'd never have been able to afford something with a moon-roof and a genuine praxian-leather interior before now," she added, squinting and reading the notice that had caught her eye. "At least, not on the salary you paid me. Not even a 'gently used model' being sold for a pittance at a university. I'll bet the seats are stained, or ripped or something. Or probably there's a funny smell... Of course, when I was working for you, I was doing the work I was originally educated to do, and I did enjoy it very much. And I'm being allowed to finish my degree by His Majesty, which is a very nice thing for him to permit. There's nothing worse than someone who's all brawn and no brains in bed, as a friend of mine once said.

"I've even got a bit of a job working on his Council, as an advisor on the nature of the Imperium. Still, I miss handling historical articfacts. The closest I'd get to that now are some of the objects d'art at the palace, and the only dirt I'd ever clean off of them would be the dust of some attic. Presuming I could get a servant to let go of it and let me do the 'excavation and cleanup' work myself."

Rhythmic noises approached in the distance. It evolved into the tromping sounds of many feet. They emerged as a column of uniformed guards, clad in the stark white and black of the Royal Guard as they marched into view. Saunders blinked at their approach, then looked at her. "What...what are they here for? You don't normally have this big of an escort, do you?"

The head guardsman stopped next to Saunders and dropped his gloved hand on the slimmer man's shoulder, making her former employer wince. "Is this man giving you trouble, Consort?"

Sunny abruptly realized she didn't know what to do with Saunders. He apparently believed she had been invested with the Matrix, something she didn't want widely known just yet. He also had associates waiting to kidnap her, brutal sorts who, if the impressions she was getting from him were true, were waiting to beat the secrets of Imperial power out of her, too. She'd acted on impulse, calling the guards in to rescue her, when she could've simply retraced her steps and taken a different route out of the university building, avoiding the ambush. A stupid mistake.

But then again, that would've left them free to come after me on another day, without any advanced warning through Saunder's presence; they could attack without warning, and then where would I be? Peering into Saunder's eyes, Sunny dug for more information. She got numbers.

"...There are five men surrounding the junction up ahead, and two more waiting in a hovervan out in the parking garage; all seven of them are armed and should be considered dangerous," Sunny related, holding her former employer's gaze. "Having weapons on the university grounds without a special license to do so should be sufficient reason for their arrest. This man is an unwilling accomplice to their intent to kidnap me and hold me for ransom. I want you to take him into protective custody and hold him out of communication with anyone for two weeks, then arrange for his deportation offworld. Preferrably to an Imperium world. Give him a change of clothes and a thousand creds when you send him away, and take it out of my personal account. We used to be business associates, so I owe him that much.

"It's been nice chatting with you, Saunders," Sunny added, gesturing to her original contingent of bodyguards to head with her in the opposite direction of the ambush. "I hope your brother and other partners are alright."

"How... You really do have the Matrix in you! The markings on your face—" Saunders gasped, as most of the squadron marched off to take care of the intruders.

"—Please! What a load of craker," Sunny shot back with an impatient roll of her eyes and a sardonic drawl. "The marks were just a bit of fancy resequencing done to make me look more exotic and jack up the slaver's profits, that's all."

"But, how did you know about the ambush we'd...?" Saunders' voice trailed out as he realized what he'd just admitted, potentially making him an accomplice.

"Just because my degree is aimed at the past doesn't mean I don't have access to modern surveillance methods. I don't hold it against you, Saunders," she added gently as he blinked and frowned, thrown off track by her subterfuge. "You thought one thing, based on the information we were uncovering, but that it actually turned out to be something else wasn't your fault."

"But, it had to be there! All the evidence pointed to that wreckage!" he insisted as the guardsman continued to keep one hand on his shoulder, a warning to not resist his pseudo-arrest.

"Oh, it was there, alright...but it had already moved on to a new host. It happened back when the box was originally damaged," Sunny improvised. "Remember the torn lid? My research suggests it had to move on to a new host at that point in time...so either it's gone dormant, or it went to a pairing who had no interest in revealing themselves to the rest of the galaxy. It happens, now and again," she added, shrugging. "Not everyone is interested in power and politics."




Daemon & Sunny Ch. 07



"You knew...you knew all along what we were looking for?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid, Edouard. I figured it out early enough. And I knew you were hoping to either take it over yourself, or sell it to the highest bidder. That's what most people want out of it. But it's currently beyond our control, and you're just going to have to accept that fact."

"Currently beyond 'our' control?" he asked her. "You'd want it for yourself?"

"I used to have ambitions of being Imperial Historian," Sunny admitted freely enough. "And I'll admit that, when I was a little girl, I used to pretend I was the Empress, as billions of little girls tend to do. But now, I have serious influence with the sovereign of Astorra—influence without needing to actually do any of the tedious ruling itself. I like the position I'm in right now. Why should I aim for something too improbable, and far too complicated to achieve?" It was a rhetorical question, of course. She shrugged eloquently. "Why should I grasp at something blatant, when subtlety is far more powerful? Subtle power is far more overlooked, and thus unchallenged, and unquestioned. But I'll tell you what: I don't hold any ill-will over your subterfuge during the dig. I won't hold a grudge over your not telling me what we were looking for, and not offering to cut me in on the deal.

"You can go free in two weeks, once I'm done overseeing some delicate negotiations," she added with a negligent shrug. "I don't need you stirring things up and causing me trouble with such silly, unsubstantiated rumors before His Majesty is done selecting a bride.

"Take him to a safehouse and hold him there for two weeks," she reminded the guardsmen. "I don't think he was a willing accomplice, but there might be more than the ones your security sweep is hunting, and I don't want them contacting him right now."

"Yes, Consort."

"As for these rumors about the Matrix...if it hasn't shown up in over forty years, Saunders, then it's quite clear to me that the Matrix has its own reason for going into hiding," Sunny reminded him. "If so, there's nothing any of us can do about forcing it into the open before it's ready to be seen once again. The Matrix chooses, and no one knows who, or when, or why. Reflect on that, while you wait for your release."

A nod, and she strode away, her original quartet plus another four bodyguards escorting her down a side-corridor. Sunny resisted the urge to rub at the sweat on her forehead, though she did permit herself a sigh. Well, that was badly mangled. I don't even know if I convinced myself, let alone him. The problem, I think, was in trying to do it without technically lying, and I couldn't really manage that. I'm clearly not very good at truth-skirting improvisation...

Damn, I hope Daemon figures out what's going on with us and the Ouroboros soon. I hope we also complete the circle very soon, for that matter. I'm getting as nervous as ritual-paraders under a looming thundercloud, over the whole 'are we or aren't we protected by the Matrix, yet' question...

...

"Ambassador Crooks of the Imperium Regency has a Personage to present to Your Majesty," the Court Herald murmured in Daemon's ear. Nodding, Daemon waited as the man was formally announced. The man strolled up the aisle with years of trained grace, bowing at the midway point. Clad in the silvery-grey tabard of the Regent, with its intertwined white and black serpents forming a broken ring instead of the normal solid one, the Ambassador escorted a beautiful young woman, her brunette curls artfully arranged over her sleeveless, sideless, collar-clasped gown.

Made from a peach-colored, metallic-shimmering material, the fabric of the gown looked like it had been glued onto her skin, it clung that closely to her curves. Two years ago, she would have drawn Daemon's interest; now, all he could do was compare her to his Sunny, and sigh. He wondered if he could get a message to Armon to find out the girl's tailoring secrets; that dress would look spectacular on his Consort. A true pity Sunny was banned from attending the Formal Familial Ball. She would outshine them all.

"King Daemon, I wish to introduce to you the Regent's own granddaughter, né-Princess Irisia, who has come here on behalf of her grandfather to see the wonders and delights of Astorra."

And conveniently she comes in time to attend the Marriage Mart in five more days, Daemon sighed silently, even as he sat forward slightly and gave her a courteous head-bow. "Your Highness is welcomed to Astorra; may you enjoy our national delights on your own behalf, as well as your ancestor's."

"Your Majesty is most kind," she murmured smoothly, curtsying gracefully again. Daemon had to admit she did it better than Sunny did, but then the girl had probably been trained from birth for such niceties. His Sunny wasn't bad, but she was a Free Citizen, not a nobleborn. He pulled his attention back to the né-princess' next words. "I bring greetings of peace from His Regency, and wishes that your reign continues to prosper after such an auspicious beginning. I can only regret I was unable to attend your coronation; I heard it was magnificent."

Asteroid-kisser. He didn't think it with much rancor, however. There were always social-climbers, in direct proportion to the heights of society they infested. She was no doubt here, on dual behalf of herself and her grandfather, to try and secure blood-ties as well as political ties, by putting herself on display for the Marriage Mart Ball. Even if a new Emperor and Empress showed up overnight and took up the throne of the Pax Imperium by tomorrow morning, the current Regent no doubt wanted to have some sort of political ties to some sort of royalty, to remain powerful in the game of interstellar politics. Resigned to listen to her polite small-talk, Daemon glanced at the Ambassador, wondering what angle he would play in this matter, to push for the né-royal alliance, or to 'be against it' in the quest for reverse-psychology.

The man's tabard caught his attention. The broken Ouroboros was the traditional symbol of a Regency, while everyone was waiting for the Matrix to choose a new partner, for the Ouroboros to be complete once more. It had become a common sight over the last few decades...but not until now did the symbology strike Daemon, as surely as a laser between the eyes.

The White and the Black Dragons, intertwined, looping around together, jaws gaping as they reached for each other's tails...but not quite close enough to clasp them in their teeth.

Just like the last vision he'd had, while making love with Sunny after humbling himself before her.

A memory surfaced in his stunned mind. His suite, the night she'd been gifted to him. He'd clasped her hand as she'd dangled outside his window on that rope of torn silken sheets...and Something had filled him, the moment he had touched her. Something had chosen him, even as he'd claimed her. It felt as if someone had wiped away a heavy fog from the mirror-surface of his mind, revealing a truth that had been there all along, obscured and ignored until now.

I'm the Black Dragon...and Sunny is the White. We're... Somehow, we've been chosen by the Matrix. How could this have happened? he wondered as he bid his newest Marriage Mart guest a good day, and watched her back up gracefully the requisite number of steps before turning and retreating back down the carpeted aisle. Does Sunny know about this?

...How could she not? Images of all those datarods flooded his thoughts as his Court Herald summoned the next petitioner before him. She's researching everything about the Emperor and the Empress, and the Matrix between them, that she can get her hands on...but why hasn't she told me any of this? Why is she keeping it a secret from me?

Does she have some secret agenda?

Even as he thought it, Daemon discarded the idea. Sunny was a little too straightforward for secrecy of that sort. Or even for potential power-grabbing of a more overt nature. She could keep a secret, yes, but she wasn't the sort to plot that deviously. Still, there had to be a reason why she hadn't discussed this with him...

Unless...now it makes sense. She wouldn't dare say anything to me otherwise, not while I still stupidly thought of her as a lesser person, simply because she wasn't noble- or royal-born. I made a right asteroid of myself, insisting we weren't equals...and there she stood, Empress-elect of the Imperium, being insulted by a lowly king.  He admitted with another sigh that she'd probably been very right, in holding back this information from him. If I'd known she was the Empress-elect...I wouldn't have had the opportunity to come to respect her for the woman that she is. I might've never respected her as simply Sunny Dannonee, Free Citizen. I would've respected her position as Empress, but not her. Now I see her as my equal. Now we can work together as a team—intertwined and whole, rather than one trying to be superior to the other. Two strands do not make a rope until they are twined together, both relying upon each other's strengths to compensate for their weaknesses. Equal, and all the stronger for it.

Damn, she's wise beyond her years. No wonder I love her. But...what are we going to do about it? If those visions are right, Daemon thought, paying only partial attention to the corporation president outlining some function he was inviting his sovereign to attend,  we'll soon be intertwined in the full, tail-biting Ouroboros. We'll be the new Emperor and Empress...but how will we announce that to everyone? When will we announce it to everyone? God, I hope it doesn't mess up the Marriage Mart—

He almost burst out laughing, at that. Suppressing the urge down into a mere smile, he let the CEO think he was happy about the invitation being offered. Stupid idiot! I'm now immune to the matchmaking efforts of the Marriage Mart! Everyone knows the White and Black Dragons are lifelong mates; all question of a 'suitable partner' will be thrown out the window, the moment it's known who we really are...and that explains why she was so calm about that stupid royals-and-nobles-only marriage clause. She already knows she's the soddering Empress-elect—she outranks everyone in the whole Imperium, to begin with! Not to mention she has priorty claim on me...

It's tempting to make the announcement here and now, he thought, glancing at her. She had a seat to one side, a step lower than his own portion of the royal dais, but close enough that she could whisper advice to him if need be. It was a good thing she was paying attention to the presentation, because Daemon certainly wasn't. Flicking his gaze out over the court, he wondered if he should do it, in the lull between this and the next presentation.

"...Majesty," his Court Herald murmured in his ear, leaning close for a quiet, discreet word. "The ships bearing the Queen of Ruyika have just entered the home system. They'll be in orbit within five hours, according to Insystem Control."

Nodding his understanding, Daemon marshalled his thoughts, and made up his mind. ...Not right now, I think. If I reveal what I know right now, I won't ever learn what that woman is up to. Sunny's strange ability to read minds, right after her arrival...that wasn't faked. I don't think she knew what she was doing at the time, but she certainly knows now. It was tempting to test the ability himself, but he refrained. No, it's better to string the Ruyikan Queen along for a few more days. There's still those questions about my father's and brother's deaths to answer, and Sunny seemed to think the Ruyikans were mixed up in it, somehow.

Indeed, the best place to make the announcement that we're the new Emperor and Empress would be at the Formal Familial Ball. That would squash all ideas of pairing me with anyone else, and it would give me a few days to experiment in private to see if I've developed any powers. It would also give me the chance to speak with Armon privately about arranging suitable attire for my bride-to-be, he thought, glancing at his Consort.  They'll not be able to bar her from attending, as the Empress-to-be. I want no doubts as to who she is, to the universe and to me; the broadcast of the ball across the nation will help ensure that.

Pleased with his plotting, Daemon nodded and reassured the corporate president that he'd carefully consider the invitation. Of course, as the Imperials-elect, his and Sunny's schedules would be shot to hell and back in the need to attend to their Imperial Coronation, and to start dealing with the needs of the whole Empire. It would take some very careful planning, he realized, to not let his own people feel neglected by a king suddenly elevated above and beyond their traditional reach.

...Oh, sloppy craker, he thought, borrowing one of Sunny's favorite curses. I just realized I'll not only be stuck for the rest of my life as a king, but as the Emperor, too. So much for living a quiet life in the shadow of my father and brother!

...

"You've been rather quiet, since Court," Sunny observed a little while later as they entered the privacy of the saeda. The original plan had been to retire to his quarters for a couple hours of rest before the formal arrival of Queen Astrida, and the banquet to be held in her honor. "Something on your mind?"

"Yes. But I'd rather give it some more thought before I discussed the matter," he demurred. Catching her hand, he laced their fingers together, drawing her towards the plant-edged, artificial lake meandering through the center of the complex, with its splashing waterfalls and steaming pools. "And I'd rather not think at all, for a little while. At least not of anything other than you."

"Sweet-talker," she teased. "What did you have in mind?"

"Swimming, lovemaking, and a pampering massage, not necessarily in that order. With Astrida's arrival, my usual schedule has been set aside in favor of getting ready for her welcome into my court. But I'd rather not think of her, when all I can think about is you." Drawing her to a stop near the curved bridge over the stream formed by the water, he kissed her lightly on the mouth, hands still clasped. "What would my beloved like first? A massage? A swim? An earth-shattering orgasm?"

"Mmm, you tempt me with so many possibilities," she purred against his lips. "Who would be giving me the massage? You, or the masseusse?"

"Whoever you like."

She pretended to consider the matter. "Let's save that for the masseusses giving both of us massages...after a swim and a bit of lovemaking. That way we'll be pleasantly limp from all that exertion."

"Good idea." Raising his free hand, Daemon flicked it in an imperious gesture. A gong rang out, and movement at the edges of the large chamber showed the discreetly placed servants obediently withdrawing from view. "Shall I undress you?"

"Nope. This time, I want you to strip for me," she returned, stroking her own free hand down the sapphire blue center of his tunic-covered chest. "Entice me. Dance for me, if you can."

"Alas, I have no musicians, and no real training in such matters...but if my fumblings will please and pleasure you...?" he offered solicitously.

"Tsk tsk," Sunny chided him. "What a double-standard, demanding that your concubines know how to dance, yet not learning the art yourself. Whatever am I going to do with you, Daemon?"

Taking her hands, he drew her close enough to brush his lips against hers between words. "Stay with me...love me...rule with me...love me..."

"You said that one already," she reminded him, slipping her hands around his waist.

"Well, it is twice as important as the others," he pointed out logically, cupping her shoulders as their bodies drew close enough to brush against each other. He knew the answer was guaranteed by the Matrix, but he wanted her to admit it aloud. "Possibly even three times as much. Will you love me, Sunny? As much as I love you?"

"I already do," she murmured, her mouth ghosting against his.

Daemon smiled. Their mouths mated as their hands stripped away each other's clothes. She pulled away after a few moments, giving him a chiding look. Reminding him silently that he was supposed to be stripping for her benefit. Humming a song as silly as his heart felt, Daemon started unfastening the buttons of his tunic. He even took a few steps to the left, a few to the right, and kicked out his ankles as he shrugged out of the deep blue material. That made her laugh and shake her head ruefully, but he continued.

It was fun, making his Sunny laugh with his absurd shoulder-shimmies and pelvic gyrations. It was also awkward, getting his footwear off elegantly—one boot ended up thumping into a bush, the other nearly tripping him as he crossed its path while swaying and shaking his trousers to his ankles. That sent her into peals of laughter. Gasping for breath, she clutched her stomach, guffawing with abandon as he blushed and strutted for her benefit. Her laughter died down—and with it, salvaged the shreds of his male dignity—when he removed his undershorts, letting the silky material flutter to the ground. Instead, she stared at his rampant masculinity, eyes gleaming with a hungry, feminine appreciation.

Tossing his dark hair back over his shoulder, Daemon caressed his body as she watched, proud that she found his lean, muscular frame so enjoyable. Deliberately, he traced the path of the anti-freckles lining his face, spiralling his arms, and curving over his chest. He couldn't trace the path of white freckles lower than his groin, since it would have been awkward to bend over and caress the natural tan of his thighs, but he did trace something else that she found fascinating.

Sunny couldn't resist anymore. He'd taught her passion, and in doing so, instilled a stimulus-response within her. Not even bothering to strip off her own clothes, she closed the distance between them, dropped to her knees, and guided his erection to her lips.

"Sunny—! Ah, sweet Sundrea!" he gasped, hands clutching at her curls as she swallowed his hot flesh as deeply as she could without gagging. "Sweet...sweet...love..."

Pulling back, she swirled her tongue around the ridge of his glans, the move taught on her world as an invocation for cooling winds, in the Prayer for Rain. The breath that shuddered out of her lover's lungs was probably hotter than the kind the ritual sought to create, but it was a satisfying sound all the same. The taste wasn't bad, either, though it was the texture of the soft, velvety skin that her lips and tongue enjoyed the most. And she did enjoy exploring it, until he shuddered, gripped head firmly, and pulled himself away.

"No," Daemon panted; more of that, and her talented mouth would have him forgetting his own name, nevermind his vows to her. "Your turn. I promised to pleasure you."

"But it pleases me to do that to you," she pointed out. "If you want to please me, why shouldn't I do that to you?"

"Because I want to do the same to you." Giving her a hand up, he unfastened the froggs of her tunic-dress. Peeling away the rose-pink material, Daemon cast it aside, then scooped her up in his arms. She laughed softly, looping her arms around his neck.

Carrying her to one of the padded loungers, Daemon lay her on the soft-sueded cushions, then crouched and parted her thighs. Sunny shook her head, clamping her legs together. "Uh-uh. You get your feet up here," she ordered him, patting the space by her head. "Come on! Lie down with me, and we'll do the Rainbow Prayer."

"The Rainbow Prayer?" Daemon asked, bemused by the term. "What's that one?"

Sunny rolled her eyes. "You silly Astorran—what do you get when you mix sun and rain at the same time, but a rainbow?"




Daemon & Sunny Ch. 07



"Oh... Oh!" Scrambling onto the lounger, he twisted onto his side, while she squrimed down a little bit, but didn't quite give him enough room to lie on his back. "Um...do you want me on top, or you...?"

"It's done on our sides, actually. Lift your upper leg," Sunny directed him, demonstrating with her own by bending her knee and planting her foot on the padded bench, tucking it behind the other knee. "Yes, like that... And now we pray!"

"I have got to visit Craida..." Daemon muttered, before pillowing the side of his head on her thigh. He felt her grasping his penis in one hand, his scrotum in the other, and attended to his own 'religious' tasks, sweeping the musky seam of her flesh with eager licks, determined to give her as much pleasure as she could handle in the next hour. They only had a couple hours in which to get ready, and some of that had to be spent bathing and dressing, after all. 



Daemon & Sunny Ch. 08



Queen Astrida, Daemon and Sunny discovered a few hours later, was a gold-wrapped enigma.

"You are most welcome, Your Majesty, here in the interstellar kingdom of Astorr," Daemon stated to the veiled woman flanked by her courtiers, servants and bodyguards. He had come down off of his throne and his dais, save for a single step; she was technically his equal in the hierarchy of things, but this was his kingdom, not hers. Only for the Emperor or Empress would an Astorran king have descended that last six inches on his home planet. "We are gratified and even flattered by such an auspicious State Visit so early in Our reign, and look forward to the events of the coming days."

"We are flattered in turn that We have been received so hospitably," the veiled woman stated smoothly. She was clad in shimmering cream garments edged in gold, only a pair of dark eyes surrounded by skin the color of coffee laced with cream visible; even her hands were gloved, decorated in glittering rings. She stood maybe two or three inches shorter than Daemon, perhaps four or five taller than Sundrea, but it was hard to tell without getting closer. She held herself regally tall, too. The impression was furthered by the way her people kept their eyes on the floor around her, never quite looking at her. "We look forward to Our State Visit to your realm as well."

That was all that was really necessary to this formal, Court-held meeting, aside from maybe a few holopics captured while the two of them clasped hands and smiled next to each other. Well, Daemon would smile. He doubted Astrida would doff her headcovering long enough to show whether her teeth were straight or crooked. Straight, he'd bet; the Ruyikans were rich enough to afford a medbox or two, and he had the feeling she was just vain enough as a woman to want to fix any 'imperfections'. Sunny, on the other hand, had a slight gap between one of her front and canine teeth on her lower jaw; he doubted she'd ever get that fixed. She just wasn't into such things. But it was hard to tell with Queen Astrida.

He wondered idly how she would handle eating at the buffet at the Formal Familial Ball, with that veil.

Still, there was a little bit more to this situation than posing for the 'peaceful first meeting' holopics and flatpics that were one of the more tedious parts of being a ruler. There were three visitors in his court who were of sufficiently high enough rank that they needed to be introduced. "It is our privilege to introduce Your Majesty to Our other State Visitors." Turning slightly to the side, knowing he was doing them a high honor in introducing them personally—but knowing also that he could cut through all the boringly long titles and affiliations and get away with it, being the king—he indicated the three women in question. "Queen Astrida, these are Princess Filini of the Zagros Cluster…"

An asiatic woman gave a half-bow to the Ruyikan queen, clad in a bodysuit of sea blue spangled with crystals, her stance and demeanor a bit militaristic.

"…né-Princess Irisia, granddaughter of the Imperial Regent…"

The né-princess curtsied gracefully, clad in a somewhat more demure but still body-clinging gown in a blushing shade of pink.

"…and Queen Nulkuta of Chonbei."

Those dark eyes narrowed above the edge of her gold-spangled veil, but Astrida merely nodded. As did the other queen; Nulkuta, a pale-haired, pale-faced stern beauty, inclined her own head slightly, politely. Not that she could do more than that; the collar of Nulkuta's shirt stood up to her ears before flaring out, matching the fanned-out display of her hair forming a bizarre sort of starched collar above her head. "We are honored to meet a royal cousin from the Rimworlds."

Dark eyes hardened again, but her voice was smoother than the silk of her gown as Astrida replied, "…I've always heard the Chonbei were charming. How refreshing to see it is true."

Sunny, still seated on her one-step-lower chair next to the top of the dais, bit her lip to keep from laughing. Calling any interstellar kingdom a 'Rimworld' was an insult, within the Empire. Even if the Ruyikans did live outside the boundaries of the Empire. Still, she couldn't help smiling. Those dark eyes flicked her way, and Sunny found herself the focus of the Ruyikan queen's attention.

"We see Our coronation gift has found favor in your Court, Your Majesty. We trust she has pleased you properly?"

Daemon, himself biting back the urge to smile at the Chonbei queen's insult, found his humor fading rapidly. He couldn't think of a way to answer her without either admitting too much of his intimate life in open Court—which would be an insult to the princess from the Zagros Cluster, whose people believed such activities were to be kept strictly private, never to be discussed before more than three people at most at a time—or hinting too much at what was going to happen. Still, the implication that his Sunny was nothing more than a thing to be handed off and expected to perform like a clockwork irritated him.

He hit on the perfect reply when he glanced at his Consort. "Her name is Sunny, and I love her," Daemon asserted calmly, looking back at his latest visitor. "She is the living light of Astorra, in my eyes."

That caused a rustle of amazement among his own courtiers. Belatedly Daemon realized he'd just stated the opening line of the Astorran marital vow. He'd meant it as a play on her name and his feelings for her, not as a shocking departure from tradition, where Royal Consorts were concerned. Castigating himself silently, he seized the moment, and everyone's attention, by focusing it on the real reason behind all four royals' coincidal visits.

"But you are not here to be bored with such intimate matters; you, like Their Highnesses and Her Majesty, are here to attend the Formal Familial Ball," he stated, dropping the formal, stuffy 'We' pronouns. "I know that Queen Nulkuta and Princess Filini have brought offers of merging their kingdoms with mine in a marriage-alliance. They will be making these offers within the next few days; based on our previous conversations, I would imagine you have a similar offer to lay upon the negotiating table. I would be delighted to hear what you would have to say on the matter, and have taken the liberty of scheduling a time for discussing such matters in anticipation of that event. All three kingdoms have much to offer that would be beneficial to Astorr; I look forward to reviewing any proposal you may care to make, if you care to make one during your visit."

"…We have come with the possibility of such a merger already in Our mind, and have prepared accordingly for such discussions," Queen Astrida replied smoothly, keeping to the formal, royal pronouns.

Sunny, carefully keeping silent through the whole exchange, wondered idly if the woman was so stuffy because she was suffocating behind that veil of hers.



…



Dressed in a pale pink Astorran gown cut exactly like most of the others she had worn on this world—Armon had mourned that it was so tempting to dress her in "fancy feathers" as he called them, rather than such "plain plumage", but he was trying to save the most spectacular gowns for her "coming-out", whatever that meant—Sunny entered the conference room the next day, following in Daemon's footsteps.

"What is she doing in here?"

Daemon bowed slightly to the Zagros princess and gestured at Sunny as the Astorran guards closed the door behind them. They were in a conference room with a huge plexi window overlooking one of the palace gardens, where Princess Filini's guards could watch them from outside and be assured of her safety, yet the three of them could speak in privacy, fulfilling the codicils of her people's culture. "Sundrea Dannonee is my Consort. A third party is required by Astorran law to be present during the preliminary discussions of any marriage contract. Marriage contracts include clauses discussing obligations of intimacy. Zagrosian culture forbids the discussion of intimacy among more than three people. Yet as Royal Consort, she has a legal right to be present during any discussions of intimate obligations, and the right to give her opinions.

"I therefore thought it would be fitting for her to be the third party in these negotiations," Daemon concluded. "Do you object, Your Highness?"

Princess Filini eyed Sunny for several seconds, considering the question carefully. Finally she leaned towards Daemon and whispered with disconcerting eagerness out of the corner of her mouth, "—Do I get to have sex with her, too? I do like women as much as I like men."

Sunny blushed, and Daemon stammered, trying to find something polite to say in response to that.



…



"…And we will copulate for an hour and fifteen minutes per session on Tuesdays, forty-three minutes on Thursdays, sixteen minutes twice on Saturdays, and for seven climaxes apiece every time the three moons of Chonbei are in conjunction, which is precisely once every one hundred thirty-seven Astorran days, seventeen Astorran hours, thirty-six Astorran minutes, thirty-seven Astorran seconds."

Eyes met across the table. Neither Daemon nor Sunny could tell if they'd finally developed the rumored ability for the White and Black Dragons to speak telepathically with each other, but they could tell that the same, exact thought was running through each of their minds. Bright Astorra/Sweet Natura—tell me she's not serious!

…

By the time they met with Queen Astrida for the 'intimate section' of the negotiations, which were being held with just the three of them at a time—as a cultural courtesy to the Zagrosians' beliefs, so that all three petitioners knew they were being treated with equal respect and consideration—Sunny didn't want to sit through another hour-long interrogation on what Craidan same-gender sexual practices were, and Daemon didn't want to see a single datapad, for fear it contained a timetable of When and Where Sex Is Required.

Queen Astrida swept into the conference room, nodded regally at Daemon, ignored Sunny other than to flick her eyes at the other woman, and waited until the door was closed behind them. Reaching up once they were technically alone, she unhooked one side of her face-veil, dropping it. As suspected, her features hinted at the sculpted perfection of a medbox; she had a charming, flattish nose pierced in three placed by gold studs, high cheekbones, delicate brows, perfect white teeth, and a heart-shaped face. Her chin was a little stubborn-looking, but it suited her features. And probably her demeanor.

She kept her back to the window, accepting the chair Daemon held out for her, and settling across from Sunny. "So. We are here to discuss possible intimacies. We are aware you are enamoured of your concubine, and are prepared to overlook that aspect. This is a merger of two nations, after all, not a mere marriage. We would prefer to have access to your body and your bed, given how We have heard Astorran men have higher libidos than most, but are prepared to forego such pleasures; in vitro conception of heirs is an acceptable practice in Ruyika, and We have heard it is acceptable within Astor as well. However, if Our intimate needs are not to be met by Your Majesty personally and frequently, then We insist on the right to keep sterilized male concubines of Our own, to attend to Our personal pleasuring needs. Does Your Majesty have an objection to this?"

Daemon and Sunny stared at each other. She was the first one to find her voice. "…Actually, it sounds like the best offer, so far."

Astrida narrowed her eyes slightly. "You were not addressed, concubine. Be silent."

"She is Our Royal Consort," Daemon returned coldly, giving the Ruyikan queen a quelling look. "Sundrea has the legal right to preside over all intimate aspects of Our marriage contracts, and as Our Royal Consort, her permission must be obtained beforehand for Our Royal Wife to have any intimate congress with Ourself. As you said yourself, conceiving an Astorran heir in a petri-dish is an acceptable practice, here."

Astrida slid her gaze back and forth between the two of them for a few moments. When she spoke, her tone was more temperate. "No offense was meant, merely a difference in cultural viewpoints. We would prefer to have access to male concubines of our own. Do you object to that?"

"Not at all. It would be hypocritical to claim otherwise," Daemon replied. "Though it has been more than six generations since there was a Sovereign Queen of Astor, the saeda has been filled with male concubines, before. There have even been instances of joint reigns where both royals maintained a suitable number of concubines each in their half of the saeda. Provided the males are indeed rendered infertile, I would not object. Sundrea?"

"I see no reason to deny her an equal chance for physical pleasure," Sunny agreed, shrugging. "Especially as I would prefer to not share you. I'm certain there would be any number of young Astorran men who would be honored to be selected as a concubine for Her Majesty, if this particular marriage is arranged."

The corner of Daemon's mouth twitched up as he studied his lover. He had to admire her neat turn of phrase. Later, when the craker hit the coolant device, it could be said truthfully that she'd said if the marriage was arranged. Turning his attention to the queen, he leaned his mind towards hers and asked casually, "Would you mind if I stipulated the conception of more than one heir? As you may know, my father and brother both died under less than satisfactory circumstances; had I not been the 'spare', there might have been trouble finding a close enough cousin to take the throne without invoking civil disorder."

Astrida blinked, returning his gaze levelly. Daemon couldn't sense a thing from her mind for a long moment, even though he tried hard to lean his mind into hers. Relaxing with a sigh, he sat back, still looking at her…and found himself falling into the other woman's mind.

A jumble of images, flickers of memory, of faces on viewscreens, flitted through his mind as he stared into those dark brown eyes. Fragments of vid-calls. Conversations. Frustrations at not being able to convince his father or brother to marry her so that she could have a pipeline to all the best aspects of life in the Empire, without having to give up the attitudes that kept her kingdom among the Rimworlds. Like slavery. And getting away with murder.

Murder.

If he will not cooperate with Our plans, then perhaps his son will be more malleable as a ruler. Arrange it…

…He is as stubborn as his idiot father. If the brother is untutored and naïve, then place him upon the throne. Eventually We will find someone We can manipulate into giving Us what We desire…

The salver on the table, containing a pitcher of icewater and a trio of glasses, started to rattle, as Daemon balled his hand into a fist. A moment later a sharp pain down at his shin broke his rising fury. Sunny glanced at him, her aquamarine gaze subtle yet sharp with warning. They were not Empress and Emperor, yet. They didn't have full access to the powers of the Matrix. And they could not accuse the Ruyikan queen of treachery and conspiracy without having the strength to deal with the fallout of such claims. He wasn't happy to have to acknowledge such facts, but Daemon acknowledged them, unclenching his hand. Busy controlling his temper, he almost didn't hear her reply.

"We are pleased to hear female Sovereigns are acceptable on Astor; We would not object to donating two or even three gametes to such a proposition. Regarding the carrying of said heirs, does Your Majesty have a preference for surrogate mothers, or womb-pods, or would you insist upon the original mother enduring the risks and pains?"

"Astorrans prefer living mothers, as they feel the natural way is better for the soul of the child, even if a womb-pod will care for its body perfectly…but a surrogate might be acceptable, if you are not inclined to carry the child to term yourself," Sunny filled in for him. "Craidans feel that the mother herself should do the bearing, unless there is a medical or safety reason otherwise, but I can understand how the pressures of ruling might not leave you with the time or energy to spare for such matters."

"Hm." It wasn't a friendly sound, but it wasn't an overly hostile one, either. Apparently Queen Astrida simply didn't like Sunny opening her mouth and joining the conversation like an equal. "A surrogate might be acceptable…" Her gaze sharpened on Sunny's face. "What is the Astorran law regarding concubines being surrogate mothers? You would not be able to bear your child for His Majesty, but you could bear a child or two."

"Concubines are not permitted to have anything to do with the conception and bearing of heirs," Daemon murmured, meeting Sunny's gaze with regret. Until he realized she wasn't phased by disappointment. That was when he remembered she wasn't his Consort. She was his future Empress; she could do whatever she damned well pleased with her fertility and her body. "However, a Royal Consort is permitted and encouraged to interact with the royal heirs, so that they may grow up understanding what a loving relationship is like…but that is the extent of their interaction. This ensures that there is no mistaking just whose child the heir is, physically."

"Hm. A wise course of action. There must be no mistaking the merging and joining of our two kingdoms through the physical body of an heir, and no doubt over that heir's parentage," Astrida pointed out. For a moment, Daemon felt dizzy with a new thought of hers, one he could see lurking behind those dark, dark eyes. Of her having him murdered as another accident, and her being able to claim regency over the Astorran worlds, once a child of theirs was born. She continued smoothly. "We admire the thought and care that has been invested into the Astorran system."

"…Your admiration is appreciated," Sunny filled in for him, covering as Daemon stared at Queen Astrida. She'd tried reading the woman's mind, but hadn't gotten very far, unfortunately. Whatever had unnerved him, Daemon wasn't in a position to share. Not at least until they were fully bound into the Matrix. "You are a very open-minded woman, Your Majesty. I think I shall look forward to dealing with you in the future."

Queen Astrida looked a little smug, at that. No doubt she thought Sunny's words were a reassurance that she had the Royal Consort's approval. Sunny simply meant what she'd said, with no such strings attached. There were no strings, after all, just a pair of dragons circling ever-closer in her and Daemon's minds.

…

Queen Astrida lowered the painbox, releasing the button under her thumb. Lord Crellan's back arched one last time, then he shuddered and slumped to the carpeted floor, gasping for air. She gave him a few moments to come back to his senses, then stuck out one gold-slippered foot. Crawling shakily towards her, the Ambassador kissed the tip of it, then laid his cheek on the carpet. His sovereign put her foot on his head, pressing it into the ground.

"Tell Us why We should not kill you," she murmured, rocking his head a little under her cloth-of-gold covered toes. "You were supposed to ensure that only We were of the highest rank. Yes We come here to find another sovereign interfering in Our plans. Why should We spare you?"

"You…you should not, august Majesty," he managed. "I know I have…failed my queen. The Chonbei delegation is securely guarded; they do not accept Astorran servants into their quarters, and at other times are under strict surveillance."

"Were the negotiations for a marriage contract not going Our way, we would have you kill or be killed…but We are pleased with this prince-king. He is easily moulded, save for where his gift-concubine is concerned. You still have servants among the saeda staff?"




Daemon & Sunny Ch. 08



"…No, Your Majesty; I have failed you again. They were among the ones dismissed, as they were lower-ranked staff."

She thumbed the button again, pressing his head firmly to the floor with her foot as the rest of his body writhed in a soundless scream of agony. Releasing him after a minute, she let him catch his breath, then continued. "Find a way. Hire an assassin, and ensure that the assassin dies before he, she, or it can be interrogated. If you fail Us, We will ensure that you take all of the blame, and suffer the slow and excruciating death of a traitor of Ruyikan. Even if We must eviscerate you Ourselves."

"—Yes, Your Radiance!" Lord Crellan gasped, as she removed her foot from his face. Once more, he shifted himself shakily into position to kiss the foot that had crushed his face to the floor.

…

Ragol paced the deck of his ship. He had withdrawn from Astorran orbit, sending out a signal to the other ships in his fleet of pirates. He did not rule a planet, but he did rule over a lot of ruthless, greedy, power-hungry criminals. That took brains, power, persuasion, confidence…and cunning. There was some sort of formal gathering going on, down on the surface. Something at which princesses and queens were gathering.

The doors to the recreation lounge hissed open, and a dark-haired young woman stalked inside, an ops patch over one eye, her hand on the butt of a blaster slung at her hip. "You ordered me here, Father?"

"Shut your mouth, you insolent brat. The Matrix is somewhere down there on the surface, in the hands of some Craidan bedslave. The last time I tried to get close to her, she captured the party I send to kidnap her. The direct approach has failed. So we will try the indirect approach. As I am a Pirate King, that makes you a princess, being my brat. You will dress up yourself befitting such a noble title, and go down to the surface with a delegation of your and my men. You will pretend to be a Princess of Praedo…which is an old, obscure word for 'pirate'," he smiled, enjoying the irony, "and claim to be from an asteroid mining-colony deep in the Rim. Since our main base is hidden in an abandoned mining colony, it won't even be a lie."

She looked up him and down contemptuously. "…And why should I do this? What's in it for me?"

"Fine food, fine clothes, a chance to knobble with the rich and powerful, and laugh behind their backs while you're smiling at their faces. A chance to lie and get away with it—though you should skirt as close to the truth as possible. I still don't know how my men were discovered and captured. Oh, and if you can discover the whereabouts of that little worm, Edouard Saunders…kill him for Daddy, won't you?"

She mulled that over. "…Does it have to be quick?"

"Preferably not."

"Are you footing the dress-bill?"

"Already bought, paid for, and shipped up from the surface. Providing you haven't bloated yourself since I bought you that dress for your birthday."

The face she made at him was not very princess-ly. She fingered her gun. "Do I have to go unarmed?"

"Claim your culture is very martial," he directed her. "But wear your weapons discreetly, and do not attack anyone. At least until you can kidnap Sundrea Dannonee. That's the name of your target—oh, and don't think you can sell the Matrix off to someone else. I brought you into this galaxy, and I can and will take you out, if you try to double-cross me."

A snort was her only reply. Ragol debated backhanding her for her insolence, but the bruise from such a blow would show, and people would wonder if a 'princess' showed up with marks of abuse on her body.

"Go. The crates with your gear are in cargo deck 3. And for stars' sake, take a bath!"

"Why? You don't, and you're my daddy. That makes you the swaggin' king."

"Princesses don't smell like a cross between a dockworker and a cheap whore."

No, that definitely wasn't a princess-ly face.

…

"I was wondering if you would lay an offer on the table, Your Highness," Daemon addressed né-Princess Irisia. "It almost seems as if everyone's daughter wants a chance at being an Astorran Queen."

"Astorr is one of the strengths of the Imperium, Your Majesty. It is important to maintain ties to these strengths, to help cement the fabric of the Empire, and maintain what we can of the Pax Imperium."

Sunny smirked. She couldn't help it. Daemon glanced her way, trying not to smile himself. He scratched idly at his hairline; his lover and he had rushed through a quick, hot, sweaty encounter before coming to this meeting. What he really wanted to do was to cool off under one of the waterfalls in the saeda, preferably with his Sunny in his arms. Not be stuck here, pretending to feign interest in marriage proposals he had no interest in, and no intention of pursuing…

The né-Princess was staring at him. Daemon quickly reviewed his memory for what she had said while he was distracted, and found nothing. Yet she was staring at him as if he'd gained a Tarkelian tail or something in the last few moments. Her gaze flicked to Sunny's face, then back to his…and her eyes widened. "…Your Majesties…"

Daemon stared at her. "So. You've figured out what we are. Or rather, what we will be."

Sunny snapped to attention, at that. Daemon knows? …Well, it's about time! The other woman wasn't an idiot; she'd probably just noticed the faint white freckles lining the edge of Daemon's naturally tan face, and her own freckles were always on display, given that Armon preferred the maids to style her hair with the golden locks pulled back, accenting her unique appearance. "Highness, I would be very careful in mentioning anything like that. In fact, I think it would be wise if you did not pursue such a line of thought."

"As you wish, Your M…Royal Consort," Irisia murmured, confusion in her eyes. "But…I don't understand. If you are…why have you not said so?"

"Our situation is more complicated than you know," Daemon demurred. "It is not yet time for the revelation of such things. We trust you will be a loyal citizen of the Imperium, and not reveal what you know to anyone?"

"—Not even to the Regent's Ambassador," Sunny added. "We do not want anyone in the Imperium to know, just yet. When it is time, everyone will know. Until then…"

"You will be silent, and respectful, but no more so than you would have been before you realized," Daemon instructed the other woman.

"I…I think I shall withdraw my petition for a marriage alliance, if it's all the same. I think I shall retire to my quarters and rest, if you will please excuse me," the né-princess murmured, rising and curtsying before letting herself out of the conference room.

Sunny looked at Daemon. There was no audio recording equipment allowed in this room, no video surveillance, just the thick, buffered window through which guards could watch them. The Regency guards had departed from view, leaving a few of their own guards loitering in the sun-drenched garden outside. They were as alone as they were going to get.

"So. You've figured out what we are," she murmured, echoing his own words deliberately.

"White, and Black," he agreed, holding her gaze. "I realize why you didn't tell me, earlier. I was…well, I was a bit of an arrogant brat, wasn't I?"

She smiled at that. "Yes, you were. Although I didn't really realize it myself until that time in the saeda, the first time you came to me right after my dancing lessons."

He nodded, tapping a finger idly on the tabletop. "So…what happens now?"

"I don't know. Other than that Armon is ecstatically planning my 'coming-out party', whatever that means, during the Formal Familial Ball."

"I really don't pay him enough," Daemon muttered, smiling at her. "He's going to break the Marriage Mart wide open with your grand entrance, isn't he?"

Sunny rolled her eyes. "I haven't been so sick of dress fittings since he first put me through the grinder… Natura, it's hard to believe it was less than a month ago that I was gifted to you, and not long before that when I encountered the box. I don't know why it happened, or why we were chosen, but we were."

"And I thought ruling a kingdom would be bad. How do I make sure my people don't feel neglected?"

"You can always hold holographic Courts," she demurred, smiling.

"I don't want to leave Astorr if I don't have to—"

"—I meant, you can hold the other Courts holographically. From here, on Astorr Prime," Sunny corrected him.

"Oh. I suppose that could work. At least our firstborn son or daughter wouldn't have to languish in the hopes of receiving a Regency," he allowed. "They'd have this kingdom to rule, after our passing. Or even before it, once they're of-age and mature enough to handle the responsibilities."

"Agreed. I'd rather we had enough kids that one of them would prefer to rule, and be good at it, and we could pick that one, rather than following the rule of primogeniture," she sighed, "but traditions are traditions…"

Daemon snorted at that. "—We're going to crack tradition wide-open, at the Marriage Mart, my love. Speaking of which, I should probably insist that Armon send his wardrobe designers my way, so that we could wear coordinated outfits. I want the whole galaxy to know that I am yours. When the time is right."

"Instead of just all of Astorr?" Sunny quipped.

"The whole universe needs to know that I am yours and you are mine," he whispered, glancing at the window, "…but they don't need to know it graphically. Shall we retire to the saeda, light of my eyes?"

"Gladly." Accepting his hand, Sundrea rose and walked with him out of the conference room.

…

"If I may speak boldly in this moment, when we are more or less aurally alone," Princess Filini murmured to Queen Nulkuta, "I heard a rumor that Your Majesty proffered a time-table to His Majesty for…certain intimacies?"

Queen Nulkuta wrinkled her nose. She glanced around the garden discreetly, but both their guard contingents were located a discrete distance from them. Close enough to protect both women, but far enough to give them privacy. "…Truth be told, I'm being forced into making an offer by my council. I can't stand men, sexually. I just threw out that absurd schedule in the hopes that he'd reject it. You should've seen the look on his face."

Her smirk was buried in the rim of her goblet as she sipped at some of the fruit juice supplied by the palace servants. Princess Filini arched a brow, but sipped at her own crystal cup. Clearing her throat, she spoke delicately. "So you prefer…women?"

"Most definitely. A man just has no idea how to properly please a woman. How can he? He is male, not female. There is no way for him to tell what a woman really wants."

"I see."

"Have I spoken too bluntly for you, Your Highness?" the Chonbei queen enquired, arching a brow.

"No, actually, I do know what you mean. There are times when I prefer the feel of intercourse, but women are…more. I don't know how else to explain it. I do like being with women."

"There are strap-on devices to simulate penetration; they can be pleasurable with an experienced partner. One doesn't need a man for that—one doesn't even need a man to beget an heir, provided one doesn't mind the heir being guaranteed a female, and if one allows certain medical techniques to be practiced.

"True…"

"The Zagros Cluster is only a couple systems from Chonbei's borders. Independent worlds, but civilized."

"Yes, they have been good buffer-states between our two realms. We have also had good trade between our own worlds. Our treaties have been mutually favorable for a couple of generations."

Nulkuta eyed the other woman over the rim of her goblet. Her tongue snaked out and licked the rim suggestively, gaze bright with undisguised interest before she sipped again. "…Perhaps we can arrange a different sort of marriage treaty? I find you attractive and intelligent. Shall we retire to a more private location, and…negotiate?"

Princess Filini's dark eyes gleamed with desire. "I would be honored, Your Majesty. I find you attractive and intelligent as well…"



Daemon & Sunny Ch. 09



The Zagrosian quarters were closer. Princess Filini glared her guards out of her bedchamber, and Queen Nulkuta dismissed her own. Their protectors weren't happy, but they left the two women alone, as requested. For a moment, awkwardness reigned between the two, then Nulkuta reached up and unfastened the snaps of her top. With the release of each dark jeweled snap, a little bit more of her pale flesh came into view, including the curves of her breasts, thrust up as they were by a tight corset-like garment.

Filini shook her head to clear it, and began unfastening her own garments. It was hard to concentrate on what she was doing, however; the more she saw of the pale blond queen, the more she wanted her. "You are incredibly attractive, Your Majesty."

"Kuta."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We are two women who are interested in each other, at this moment. Negotiations and formalities can commence after we've seen if there's enough passion between us to start those negotiations," the Queen of Chonbei corrected her. "You may call me Kuta. I reserve it for my friends…and my lovers."

"Ah. Call me Fil," the shorter, tanned woman returned, balancing on one foot at a time to pull off her boots. She had to un-strap the knife sheaths wrapped around her calves, but at least the woman across from her was doing the same. Or rather, removing a small hold-out blaster from a pocket just under her cleavage. Filini eyed it in curiosity. "Wow. That's rather cute--where did you find one so small?"

"It's a special import from Tarsetti V. It only holds a few charges, but it's enough to give a woman a fighting chance." Kuta smiled slightly.

"Tarsetti V…I'll have to look into that." Fil looked down at her own cleavage, covered for the moment in a silken camisole that had been hidden under her uniform-like shirt and jacket. "But I don't know if I could hide it under my own breasts."

"I like small breasts. I like breasts of all sizes, really," Kuta admitted, "so long as they're shaped enough to be breasts. Flat chests never really appealed to me; they're rather unfeminine, and I don't like that."

"A true lover of women, then. Me, I like all sorts…but I do like a woman to be feminine, as I like a man to be masculine," Fil muttered, removing her pants. They were both almost naked now, leaving only their panties. "I've been visited by dignitaries from Gynandro, and they had about as much sexual appeal as a pile of sloppy cra…uh… Forgive me."

The Chonbei ruler merely laughed. "I'd heard you Zagrosians could be forthright. I like it. Everyone else soft-foots their speech around me."

"Well, we're usually soft-spoken in public, but we Zagrosians always speak our minds in private."

"Good; I like knowing where I stand with people. Shall we put our weapons by the bed?" the taller, paler woman asked politely. "I'm sure your guards are monitoring our situation, as are mine to some extent, but a woman can never be too careful about her personal safety."

"Quite. Though my people train in weaponless combat, it never hurts to have a few weapons on hand," Fil added as she put her knives on the bedside table, along with a small electro-prod.

"What ruler wouldn't, if she wished to survive a long and prosperous reign?" Kuta asked her rhetorically, adding her mini-blaster and a couple of sharp hairpins to the growing pile. "Fil…come, it is time to kiss."

Princess Filini narrowed her eyes. "I thought you said that ridiculous schedule of yours was an illusion to throw off King Daemon's interest in your bid."

"It is…but I really want to kiss you, right now." Taking her hand, Kuta drew the asiatic woman closer. Gently spearing her fingers through Fil's silky dark hair, she angled her head and brushed her lips against that soft, dusky pink mouth. Their first kiss was soft, but didn't stay that way for long. Fil sighed, parting her lips. Kuta met the exploratory touch of her tongue with a sweep of her own.

Arousal flared between the two women, sharp and sweet pangs racing through their nerves as Fil palmed Kuta's breasts, testing their shape, their weight, their softness. Kuta tilted her partner's head back, kissing her way down the other woman's throat. Nibbling along that naturally tanned collarbone, Kuta slid her hands to the ties that held Fil's hair in place. As Fil rubbed and rolled her nipples, as she kissed her way up the other side of that naturally tanned throat, Nulkuta unfastened the braid confining those dark locks. Only when she had finger-combed them out over her partner's shoulders did the blond queen pull back.

A sigh escaped her. "You look like an erotic dream I once had, Fil."

Filini blushed. "Thank you. Could you…could you undo your own hair?"

"Of course." Reaching up, Kuta pulled out the pins holding it in its severe bun at the back of her head. Fil took advantage of her raised arms to massage her uplifted breasts. "Mm, that feels nice. That damned bustier itches after a while."

"The effect it has on your cleavage is worth it," Fil told her, dipping her head to suckle one pert, pink nipple.

"Mmm, only if you promise to massage it whenever I take it off for you."

"…If not me," Fil offered, lapping around the shriveled skin of her areola, "then you can borrow my masseusse. She's about the Royal Consort's size and shape, but with strawberry blond hair, and freckles everywhere. And she likes women, too."

"Sounds lovely." A last shake to let her straight blond locks fall just past her breasts, and Kuta slid her hands over Fil's arms, down past the dip of her waist to the pink silk panties she wore, a match to her discarded camisole. The muscles she found and kneaded made her sigh with happiness. "You must run, or bike, or something, to have such a delightfully firm backside."

"Calisthenics every morning. The Heir has to be the Warleader for the Cluster, which means I have to…mmm," Fil sighed, enjoying the feel of their breasts rubbing together, "…have to be as physically fit as any of our warriors."

"I appreciate your diligence to your duties." The dry-voiced quip made both women laugh. Laughter led to a grope, a kiss, a shedding of the last two barriers. They sprawled on the bed, content for a while to just kiss and caress. Kuta stroked that soft black hair, while Fil played with her own platinum locks. One hand swept down to the dip of a waist, another to the curve of a hip as their mouths met languidly. Urgency rose, however, when Fil boldly slid her fingers from Kuta's hip to her inner thigh. The paler woman's kisses grew bolder as her knee lifted, parting her legs in open invitation.

Too polite to refuse even an unspoken request from someone of higher rank, Fil slipped her fingers down to the soft, trimmed mound being exposed for her. Encountering slick warmth, the smaller woman groaned softly and pushed the queen onto her back. Lips sealing around the tip of one breast, Fil worked her fingers gently into her partner's folds, circling teasingly around the turgid little peak of her clitoris.

Kuta moaned and spread her legs wider, tilting her hips up. Obligingly, Fil pressed one finger into her depths, enjoying the sultry texture. Extracting the digit after a moment, she brought her hand up to her mouth and tasted the liquid that coated it.

"Mmm, delicious. Do you mind if I…?"

"Please, do--on your side; I'll do you, too," Kuta added. A bit of squirming on the bed, and they each pillowed a head on the other's thigh. The ruler of Chonbei had to arch her back a little, since she was taller by nearly half a foot, but it wasn't too awkward or unmanageable. And it was fun to lick each other simultaneously.

Delicious fun…

…

Daemon let out the breath he'd been holding in a sigh, as his flesh sank into Sunny's. Bracing much of his weight on his elbows and his knees, he looked down at his beloved. As much as he wanted to move--as much as his body craved rhythm and release--he held himself still. Licking lips that had gone dry, he asked, "So…what now?"

"What do you mean, what now?" Sunny asked, licking her own lips in subconscious echo.

"Well…you're the Imperial expert. How do we…you know…complete the Matrix?"

"That part's never really been discussed anywhere," Sunny informed him dryly. "So I wouldn't have a clue. Other than some vague reference to 'an opening of the mind and the heart' and 'an acceptance of responsibility'. But I don't know how to do that."

Pondering that, Daemon shook his head slowly. "I don't know how to do that, either. My mind is now open to the fact that we've been chosen, but…the only thing my heart accepts is your place in the center of my universe. As for responsibility…I'm just as responsible for the people of my own kingdom. The thought of adding a crumbling interstellar empire to that is unnerving."

"But modern technology makes it possible to rule from anywhere in the world," Sunny reminded him. "I wouldn't think of it as suddenly gaining a whole new empire as, um…as just expanding Astorran borders a bit."

"'A bit'," he snorted. "That's like saying Armon is 'a bit' off the idea of dating women."

"Well, would you try to treat everyone in the Pax Imperium the same as you would an Astorran citizen?"

"Of course," he agreed. "Wouldn't you?"

"Well, I've never ruled, nor been raised to rule…but I'd treat them all as if they were fellow Craidan Citizens. I do care about the people of the Empire. I'd certainly do my best to respect everyone, via the Common Rights Charter."

"I could do that, too," he agreed. "I just wish…"

"Yes?" she encouraged him when he fell silent for a moment.

"I wish I knew what the Matrix is, and why it exists. Then I could know whether to accept the weight of the Imperium on our shoulders or not."

"As do I. If we could only ask it directly--" Sunny said.

Darkness descended, blocking out the sight of her bedchamber in the saeda. Darkness, and weightlessness. Out of that darkness a dark shape uncoiled itself. Light exploded, and out of that light a brilliant form writhed into sight. They twined and twirled around each other, swerving around the sexually entangled couple with a silent rush of noise, a shining streak of darkness. Spiraling faster and faster, whirling closer and closer, the White and the Black Dragons enfolded the two of them in a dizzying blur.

No words were spoken. No gestures, no images. Just a sense of knowing pervaded them. Alien. Benign, and incredibly powerful, advanced beyond mere mortal understanding, but irrefutably alien. Aged. Spry with vitality but bearing the weight of eons. Intimate, and yet distanced by the weathering of time. Overflowing with knowledge, yet parceling out only just enough for their minds to comprehend at one time.

The Matrix was comprised of a pair of aliens born long ago, their minds forged long ago into the purity of immortal willpower. The White and the Black had slipped the bonds of matter to explore the universe, and in reaching this corner of it, found worlds in strife…and a pair of lovers who wanted what the White and the Black had learnt in their metaphysical interbreeding of philosophy and practicality: the power to impose just enough peace on everyone to stop the bloodshed, without denying the little turmoils that shaped most lives for the better, like the way an archaic winnower would toss grains into the air to let the unwanted chaff blow away with the wind.

There was more to it than that, much more--a compatibility of ethics blended with expediency, an understanding that the best leader was one capable of both action and compassion, a hunt for someone who understood the difference between restitution and retribution, someone who preferred to choose the latter. A mind capable of opening itself in acceptance of a wide diversity of cultures, to help promote peace and understanding. A pair of minds, rather.

The words of the Matrix Riddle fell from Sunny's lips, echoing into the light-filled darkness surrounding them.

"That which Cannot      And that which Can Be, Touched if by Thou      And Made if by Thee, The One Chooses the Other,      And the Other Chooses the One, What cannot be Touched or be Made--      Can always be Done or Undone." 

The Matrix was nearly impossible, both in conception and contemplation: two intertwined alien consciousness evolved to a level beyond comprehension, yet still tied to the mortal realm by a compassionate, driving need to…to what? …To give the other, lesser races enough peace and time to evolve themselves into higher beings? And to that end, they, or it, or whatever the Dragons had become now chose to spend eternity selecting two like-minded individuals from among lesser beings. As like-minded as could be found among such limited creatures.

It was definitely annoying, Daemon and Sunny both realized, to be considered akin to bugs meant to be prodded around by the will of creatures vastly greater than themselves, on the evolutionary scale. And yet…humbling and awe-filling at the same time. Of all the sentients in the galaxy, the two of them had been chosen. Both had great compassion within them, and yet a great practicality. The White and the Black approved of that.

Utter chaos impeded growth, yet true peace was little better than stagnation. Their job wasn't to remove all strife from the universe, but they weren't to allow strife to have the upper hand, either. The Dragons--for lack of a better racial name, since the consciousnesses of White and Black were unlike anything Sunny or Daemon had ever encountered--had grasped enough of the workings of the universe to bend whole galaxies to their will, if they so desired. Enough power to enslave everything within their vast reach. But they did not do so. Neither did they chose those who were driven by ambition or greed. It was…it was like a parent who encouraged a child to explore on their own, yet constantly watched for hazards, and encouraged the child occasionally in one direction or another, to further their pursuit of learning.

They saw everything on a vaster scale than mere mortals. They had certainly seen the potential for love between Daemon and Sunny, had read the interweaving threads of the tapestry of the universe, and knew that if, if they plucked situations just so, she would come to him, touch him, choose him, and he would choose her, make her, and when the moment was right…they would Become.

If…

If they accepted what they needed to become, and what they needed to do.

They didn't have to become the next Emperor and Empress.

…And yet, how could they refuse? It was hard to think in as great an abstract as the betterment of an interstellar Empire. It was easier to think in more local, concrete terms. Queen Astrida of Ruyikan, who had ordered the deaths of Daemon's brother and father. The pirates, who were probably still going to try to steal the Matrix for themselves…though at least that much was impossible by the very nature of the Matrix--water and fire did not mix well. And themselves; they were meant to be together, the Dragons reassured them wordlessly, yet how could they be together if she was nothing but a Consort?

That wasn't enough to convince them. Not enough…until a tendril of awareness speared out through the shining shadows enveloping them. An image formed in their minds, a tiny, slender figure creeping through ventilation ducts that wouldn't have fit someone of a more normal stature. The reek of poison clung to a vial in a pocket on the dark-clothed figure's arm; how they knew it was poison, neither one knew. But the Dragons knew. The Dragons even knew the target.

Two lovers, one petite and dark-haired, the other taller and fair. Bodies writhing, hands groping, lungs panting, mouths nipping. An assassin had been sent by someone to kill one of them, either the Queen of Chonbei or the Princess of Zagros. It was within their power to save the pair, and prevent a massive political disaster…

If…

Neither Daemon nor Sunny had an emotional attachment to either woman…but they knew it would be wrong to let the two women die. It would not only cause a political nightmare for the people of Astorra, if the heir to the Zagros Cluster and the sovereign of the Chonbei worlds died while in Daemon's care, it would just be wrong for them to not do something to stop it from happening. Yet, in order to act, they had to accept all of the responsibilities that came with the powers of the Matrix.

But it wasn't any different. 

It did not matter if they helped two royals, or two commoners, two friends or two strangers. Reaching out with her mind in that same way she'd reached into the Ruyikan Ambassador's thoughts, only much easier and with the assured skill of the White Dragon within her, Sunny dove into the assassin's mind, seeking her patron-hirer with the eyes of the Matrix. Daemon reached out with the claws of the Black Dragon and neutralized most of the poisons and explosives secreted about the diminutive woman's lithe, acrobatic body. Metals weakened, molecular bonds withered. A thought flashed between the two of them, and the duct floor collapsed, along with the ceiling directly underneath it.

The world came back with a jolt not unlike the slamming of the assassin's body into the floor at the center of a room filled with Chonbei and Zagrosian warriors. Sunny blinked, looking up at Daemon. He blinked as well, staring down at her. They now had the power to touch, to make, to do and undo. But they'd always had the instinctual wisdom to know when to interfere, and when not to. Somewhere, elsewhere in the palace, the assassin was being dealt with; that was all they needed to do about that problem, for now.

It wasn't just about wielding an alien, incomprehensible, instinctual power; it was about knowing when not to wield that power.

Relaxing, Daemon pulled his mind back into far more mundane--and pleasant--matters. Such as the fact that he was embedded in his beloved Sunny's body, with her legs and arms entwined around his torso. It was time to make love with her. Rebuilding the Empire could wait another day or two…

A knocking on the door to Sunny's bedchamber interrupted them just as he started to move within her. Armon's voice cleared itself nervously on the other side of the panel. "Ah…Majesty? Sunny? I do hate to interrupt, but…we have a new princess in orbit, Princess Shirra from some Rimworld nation called 'Praedo'. I've never heard of it, but she's demanding the right to land and be welcomed by you immediately, and wants an invitation to the Familial Ball."

Groaning softly, Daemon dropped his forehead to Sunny's. "Sweet Astorra's headache…you realize the interruptions are only going to get worse, sitting on the thrones of the Pax Imperium…"

Sunny stroked his dark locks back from his forehead. "Shh. I'll take care of it… Armon?" she called out, raising her voice to penetrate through the door. "Tell this princess she can come down, and come to the Ball tomorrow night, but that the next Court session is tomorrow morning. She can be introduced then!"

Kissing her, Daemon withdrew partway and rocked back inside, enjoying the wet warmth clasping his erection. His whisper accompanied an amused smile "You always know what to say to make me happy."

"…Majesty?" Armon prompted through the doorway.

"You heard her, Armon! Now, go away! My Consort and I are in a closed conference over who I should take as my Royal Wife!"

The eunuch's chuckle was faint, but audible. "'Closed conference'… I'll have to remember that one for the next time I need to 'confer' with my own bedpartner. As you wish, Your Majesty--have fun 'conferring', both of you!"

"Oh, we will!" Sunny called out, and laughed as Daemon retaliated for her lack of attention to him by blowing a raspberry against one of her breasts. She tried to do the same to him against his throat; he tickled her in retaliation, and thrust deep into her flesh.




Daemon & Sunny Ch. 09



Breathless laughter turned to breathy moans as he showed her that, Emperor or not, he was still very much an Astorran male.

…

Armon hesitated outside the door to Sunny's private chamber a few minutes later. He had to tell His Majesty that an assassin had just been caught creeping into the Zagrosian quarters; the woman had been discovered and trapped when the duct and ceiling had 'inexplicably' given way in the outline of a crawling midget. From the passionate moans and lusty growls on the other side of the door, however, he doubted an interruption at this juncture would be welcome. In fact, it might cost him his masculinity, if he was any judge of voices raised in mounting passion. Just because his title was Chief Eunuch didn't mean he wanted to actually be one.

Ah, well. A quick peek by first a Zagrosian bodyguard, then a Chonbeian one, had reassured both sides that their royals were undisturbed. Happily undisturbed…and probably making the same, general sort of throaty cries as these two. The Chief Eunuch had his suspicions on exactly how a sturdy ventilation duct, several structural supports, and an inch of ceiling plaster just happened to collapse in the exact outline of a crawling midget assassin, mid-crawl.

It seemed everything was on-time, in all matters, for Sunny's spectacular coming-out party. Turning around, Armon resolved to tell them later about the assassin; it was likely that they already knew. Maybe had even had a hand in the woman's revelation. The important thing right now was to leave the two lovebirds alone, and to check on the tailors working on that new outfit for Daemon's own appearance at the Ball. Armon had always wondered if he should've gone into the fashion industry instead of working his way up through the saeda ranks; it was important that his sartorial choices reflected beautifully on the start of the next Imperial reign. He had a reputation as Chief Eunuch and Palace Busybody to maintain.



Daemon & Sunny Ch. 10



Daemon discovered two things during Court the next morning: that the Matrix conferred telepathic communication between him and Sunny; and that it could be used to keep himself from growing bored. Mainly because he glanced at Sunny and thought with a disgusted sigh, as the spoilt, forceful Princess Shirra postured and preened in front of them, I could be suckling your breasts right now, instead of listening to this piece of crap. Hell, I'd rather you were suckling mine! 

Wow...that's better than what I was wishing! And certainly far more legal...

Sunny and Daemon looked at each other, startled.

You heard that?

You heard that, too?

Wow...cool—I can make all sorts of comments to someone who understands, without fear of anyone overhearing me complain about these...people!

Yeah, but what if we start laughing in the middle of it? Sunny pointed out dryly, returning her gaze to the princess. People would wonder why we were laughing, and it could be politically disadvantageous. Before we're revealed as the new Imperials, that is.

True. Unfortunately. But if I could, I'd still rather be suckling your breasts right now. I can taste your flesh on my tongue, feel the softness of your breast with my lips, tease the crinkled little peak with my lips...

Sunny's eyes widened. Through the layers of her Astorran gown and the bra underneath, she could feel lips on the left peak. His lips. You're...you're imagining it so vividly, I can feel it...

Really? Quick, imagine you're licking your way down my chest, Daemon shot back.

Focusing, she imagined rimming his navel with her tongue. She heard him suck in a short, sharp breath.

...That's not my chest, woman.

She smiled, unable to help herself. But I like your belly-button. It's tasty.

...Are you imagining licking lower?

Yup.





Daemon & Sunny Ch. 10



"Queen Astrida; you sought a marriage-alliance between our two kingdoms, to bring your people into the benefits of the Empire while there were rulers upon the Dragon Thrones. As you can see, those thrones have now been reclaimed...and you now have the opportunity to swear yourself and your nation directly into the service of the Pax Imperium, and thereby gain its protection." Daemon waited for his words to sink into her. She stared at him, eyes wide over the edge of her half-veil. He stared back, his smile still seemingly genial. For a moment, his voice dipped, speaking for her ears alone. "I already know what you have done; I am fully aware of the orders you gave, and the consequences thereof.

"I suggest you take this generous offer, for the sake of your people, who shall be treated with as much consideration and care as any within the Empire." He paused, then spoke normally again, lifting his palms and offering them to her. "Astrida, ruler of the Ruyikan nation, you are offered this opportunity to swear yourself, your people, and your kingdom in fealty to the Pax Imperium; to abide by the laws of the Pax Imperium; to benefit from the Pax Imperium; to strengthen the Pax Imperium with your cultural diversity and your economic resources; to join your brothers and sisters in the harmony of the Pax Imperium. What say you to this?"

"We do not understand," the gold-clad queen whispered. "By your powers, we should be condemned, and dead."

"Accept, or decline," he murmured back. "Accept, and your people will be sheltered. Decline, and they will be outcast. Are you the leader of your people, concerned with what is best for them...or a leader of only yourself, focused only upon your own selfish ends?"

Brown eyes held blue, until she lowered her gaze. Sinking to one knee, she placed her hands on his. "...We pledge Ourselves, Our people, and Our nation unto the laws and protections of the Pax Imperium. So say I, Astrida...and so say We, Queen of all Ruyika."

"Your pledge is accepted. Be it known that all activities illegal within the Imperium are now banished from Ruyikan lands, including the custom of slavery. And be it known that, for the crime of ordering the deliberate murders of my father and elder brother, you are stripped of your titles, your powers, you wealth, your lands, and your possessions, including the clothes upon your back," Daemon asserted, gripping her hands tightly as she jerked in surprise and tried to withdraw. Black spun out from him, cloaking her body. When it faded, she was clad in the uniform of an Astorran servant. No veil covered her face, and no hint of gold graced her grey-clad body. "A Ruyikan regent of suitable ethics shall be selected to oversee the transition from Rimworld nation to Imperium state, taking your place in the leadership of your people.

"You shall be given enough mercy to be allowed to live; without your interference, the Matrix would not have chosen the circumstances that brought Sunny and myself together, when your ambassador bought her as a coronation gift for me, and the Empire might not have regained its leadership quite so quickly." The statement was an irony, of course, given it had been roughly forty years since the last Emperor and Empress had lived. Daemon's mouth twisted from a different source of irony, however. "But you shall not live unpunished."

Freeing his hands from hers, he clasped her temples between his palms; energy flared for a moment between them, then he released her.

"You are cursed to suffer the perspective of each of your victims in nightmares each night, until you have learned the error of your ways, and truly, sincerely repented all the harm you have ever done. Sweet dreams, Astrida." Lifting his hand, Daemon motioned for Armon to join them. "...See that she is taken down to the laundry facilities, and have them teach her the value of honest labor. We would not have her languishing without enough employment to pay for food, clothing, and shelter, after all."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Armon agreed, and clapped her hands in front of the stunned ex-queen's face. "Get up, girl! Your life has been spared, but if you make either of Their Majesties mad with any resentments or slothful ways, they might not be so merciful the next time they have to deal with you..."

Turning away from her, Daemon sought out the Queen of Chonbei, next. The tall blond was standing next to Princess Filini. Holding out his hands to her, he expected her to join him on the dance floor. Instead, she dropped to one knee.

"I pledge myself, my people, and my lands to the Pax Imperium, as Your Majesty's faithful servant."

"Your oath is accepted," Daemon returned, even as he absorbed the thoughts uppermost in her mind. His mouth twitched into a genuine smile. "And I thank you for the deception you tried to play upon me, though you can see it turned out to be unnecessary. May I congratulate you and Her Highness on your impending merger?"

Rising—almost threatening him with the crisp edge of her tall, stiff dress-collar—Nulkuta smiled smugly at him. "Yes, you may. And I will congratulate you upon your own choice of mate. You are a very smart man, to have ensnared the heart of such an intelligent, attractive woman. A pity the Matrix only takes on opposing genders."

Those thoughts in her mind, Daemon didn't want to sense. He danced with her, then moved to the né-princess. Irisia sighed as she knelt, offered him her fealty—on behalf of only herself and her family—and rose into his arms for the stylized dance. She sighed again, meeting his gaze. "I suppose I should dust off my degree in teaching, now that I'm no longer a political figure."

"Why don't you stay on for a little while longer, and your father as well?" Daemon asked her, watching as Sunny swept past in the arms of a visiting outworld duke. "After forty-plus years, I'd say he probably knows how to run the Empire very well. An experienced man such as himself would make an excellent Imperial Advisor, for a start. And I'm sure you know quite a lot of the rulers around the Empire. At least among the younger set. I doubt I'm the first one you were sent to meet like this."

"I suppose. But now that I've had a chance to think about being free from my dutiful-daughter responsibilities," Irisia returned, "I think I'll be happy, retiring from public life."

"Don't remind me," Daemon muttered. "I never wanted to be king in the first place, let alone Emperor..."

Princess Filini was next, and she looked relieved as she swore fealty on her father's and people's behalf before dancing with him. They exchanged a few words, he complimented her on her forthcoming marriage-alliance, she blushed and complimented him on his choice of life-partner, and they parted. That left him with Princess Shirra.

Being a Rimworlder, she didn't kneel and offer her fealty. She did let him lead her into the next dance, leather garments squeaking softly with each crisp move. Spinning her out, he brought her back into him...and found a mini-blaster pressed into his stomach. Her mouth curled in a half-smile, half-sneer.

"Let's see if you're really the frakkin' Emperor!"

Her finger jerked. She jumped, hissed in pain, and looked down at the...bundle of roses in her hand? Instead of squeezing the trigger of her weapon, she'd impaled her finger on one of the thorns. Daemon hadn't done that, though; he'd tensed himself to absorb and neutralize the energy weapon. Bemused, he looked up in time to see Sunny winking at him as she danced in the arms of one of his Council members.

"Suckin' craker!" the red-clad woman swore, staring at the posy.

"I suggest you quit the pirate's life and start looking for more honest, legal work," Daemon suggested. "Oh, and you can tell your father that the guns on his little fleet of ships orbiting my beloved homeworld will not work, not while they're still within Imperial Space. The Peace of the Empire will be enforced, for as long as you choose to stay."

Breaking away from him, Shirra threw the roses on the floor and stomped one foot, hands fisting at her sides. "—But I wanted to be a princess!"

"Princess is as princess does," Daemon quipped half to himself, watching her stomp away. Sunny's voice interjected her own comment into his thoughts, accompanied by shimmering light coalescing into six very stunned but formally dressed figures.

The only royal thing about her upbringing was the fact that her father raised her to be a royal brat. By the way, I've brought my family to the party. Go dance with my mother; she's the one with the dark hair, not red. Her name is Galatea Sharelle, and my father is Ordannon Jonsen. The other redheaded woman is my father's sister Haleea, and the three younger ones are my sister Faithen, and my brother Jacksen and Fellin.

Great; you pick the one thing even the Black Dragon himself would be nervous about: meeting hiss for the very first time.

I love you, she offered in compensation.

I love you, too. Don't forget to dance with Vizier Hopwitt. He's not going to be too happy that I didn't pick a nice, local Astorran for my wife...

...

The Black and the White nibbled each other's tails, content with the Choosing they had made...

...

Astorra Prime, 26 years later

Clad in the sun-changed black of her coronation robes, Daena Astorre eyed the man who approached. He was clad in a black tunic and trouser set, the rich satin highlighting his tanned kin, short-cropped black hair, and exotic, slanted eyes. Accompanying him was a man in the grey tunic of an Imperium servant, marked with the black-and-white ouroboros dragons of her parents. As the younger male knelt gracefully, the Imperial servant passed a letter to one of her servants.

Cracking the seal, Daena pulled out the sheet of paper, and unfolded it. Her mother's handwriting made her smile at first, then her eyes widen. A faint blush stole across her cheeks as she read the contents, between glancing at the man in his mid-twenties before her.

'Dearest Daena;

You know your father and I long to be there for you, proud as can be, but we didn't want to overshadow your ascension to authority, now that you're experienced enough to rule on your own. We're watching on the holovid, though! The rest of the Empire can sodding well wait—our little baby's all grown up!

Okay, now on to business. Since we couldn't be there for you, and because we wanted to get you something extra-special on your Coronation Day, your father and I stretched the rules just a teeny bit, and used the Matrix to find you your perfect mate. Having the right partner really, really helps when it comes to ruling a nation, however large or small. And by perfect partner, we made sure to set the search parameters for someone who's emotionally, physically, intellectually, and politically perfect for you. Well, maybe not politically perfect, given that he's not from some clout-riddled family, but he's not imperfect by any means. In fact, he's something of a scholar of leadership, like myself.

Anyway, his name is Liam Hawkwine, and he comes from Emon V. Yes, he's an Emo; according to my research, they make even better lovers than Astorran men do. Not in quantity, of course, but definitely in quality. Of course, you can refuse his suit, but I do ask that you allow him to clasp your hand, first. He's been searching for his own perfect mate, and your father and I have reassured him that yes, the Matrix is capable of playing matchmaker outside of the heirs to the Dragon Thrones.

Oh, and we've ennobled him, to get around that stupid royalty-only-marries-nobility clause your father and I never got around to throwing out. I think we made him a Count, or something...

Anyway, hugs and kisses, and do everything that I would do. Except hit him on the head with a silver carafe. (...It's an old joke between your father and I.)

Love,

Sundrea

P.S. Hugs from your father, too. We're very proud of you! ~Daemon'

Folding and tucking her mother's letter into a pocket on her coronation clothes, Daena rose from her throne and descended the steps, stopping in front of the supplicant her parents had sent. He was rather cute, from this angle. And those dark brown eyes were rich with emotions, almost like a visual caress.

"Rise, Count Liam," she murmured, offering her hand to help him stand. He slid his fingers around hers, both hands cupping her own from above and below...and sent a pulse of emotions through her. Hope, attraction, admiration... Daena shivered and wondered briefly if this was what her parents felt, whenever they wrapped themselves in each other through the Matrix.

Gaining his feet, Liam lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips against her fingers. This time a pulse of desire rippled through her body. Daena wondered distractedly how many more of these presentations she would have to endure, and felt her knees tremble when he murmured in a soft baritone, "A pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty."

Damn. Even his voice was sexy! Licking her lips, she composed herself and replied, "The feeling is mutual. Will you be attending Our Formal Familial Ball, tomorrow night?"

"Most assuredly. I wouldn't miss it for the Imperium. Is there a place for me to stay, in your court?"

"Yes, there is." Lifting her free hand, Daena beckoned her chief euness to come forward from her post at the side of the room. She whispered in the muscular woman's ear as soon as the other woman was close, hiding the urge to tremble as Liam's fingers subtly massaged her hand. "Quarter His Excellency in the saeda as an honored guest...and dismiss the others with severance pay. Somehow, I don't think their services will be needed, anymore."

One didn't argue with the judgment of one's Emperor and Empress, after all...

[The End]