Mastered By Love (34 page)

Dario rolled, got his feet
under him, began to rise. He didn’t know where he was going or how
he was going to get there, just that he had to get away. He
couldn’t allow them to do this to him.

The guards screamed orders. A gang of
males dashed up to the dais as he bent his knees to leap to the
floor. They tackled him en masse, bearing him to the floor of the
platform under a heap of bodies.

A voice roared. He recognized dimly
that it was his own.

The men shoved him hard against the
floor, pinning him down by his arms and legs. There were too many
of them to fight effectively, despite the fact he was a trained
warrior and they knew nothing of battle. They held him down by
sheer weight and number.

Rosaria bent over the horde
of males, her face rigid with some intense emotion he couldn’t
read. She disconnected the chain that connected his collar to his
wrists and pulled it until she could clip it to his ankles instead,
forcing his head and torso down.

“
Turn him,” she
said.

They pushed and lifted him onto his
elbows and knees. Now he rested on his own forehead, his hands
bound awkwardly behind him, his ass in the air.

A cold sweat broke over
him. This was a position used in Saturnios for taking a woman. He’d
used it himself, many times ... and now he was the one being used.
His body began to shake.

Get hold of
yourself.
But he couldn’t seem to control
the trembling.

Someone snapped her
fingers. The slaves kneeling at the queen’s feet jumped down to his
level of the dais. One of them carried an ointment jar. They were
really going to do this. They were about to... .

Show no fear. No matter
what they do.

“
Prepare him,” the queen
said.

The jar opened. A broad finger spread
oily stuff over his anus before forcing its way inside him. He
flinched, a strangled moan escaping him at the ruthless invasion.
The watching women began to murmur, little bursts of laughter
coming from the crowded room.

The second slave pushed his
hand between Dario’s belly and his curled thighs, found his cock,
began to rub. He jerked. The slave worked him expertly, and somehow
Dario’s body responded with shameful arousal – shameful because it
was being forced on him.

He’d never been with
another man, had never wanted to. Never thought he could possibly
respond to such a thing. But his cock couldn’t lie. It throbbed,
thickening as the slave continued to stroke him and his partner
probed his ass.

The finger retreated.
Something larger, more blunt, probed his hole. Dario choked back a
sob. The man behind him shoved his cock into Dario’s body inch by
torturous burning inch, stretching and opening him, and he was
helpless to do anything but submit. The relentless stroking at his
cock brought dark waves of pleasure while the other man plunged
deeper and deeper into his body until at last he was in up to the
hilt.

The slave behind him groaned. Dario
bit his lip and tasted blood. This was worse than the whipping,
although it hurt less.

The slave flexed his hips,
driving his cock deeper into Dario and then retreating. He groaned
again as he pumped rhythmically, using Dario’s ass while his
partner kept up a matching rhythm on Dario’s cock. The invading
penis struck something inside him that responded with gleeful bliss
and Dario’s hips bucked. His balls tightened and a climax erupted
from him as he gasped beneath the other man’s assault.

Now the women laughed
openly.

My God. I did this to
Tariza. I debased her in the same way.

The slave inside him roared
in triumph. Hot jets of come spurted into Dario’s ass. The slave
smacked him on the hip as he withdrew, laughing. The slave who’d
had Dario’s cock jumped to his feet.

“
My turn.”

Before Dario could protest, the second
man had mounted him. This second invasion was smoother than the
first because of all the lubrication, and the pace was faster. He
had no more climax left in him. All he could do was kneel
helplessly while the second slave used him, his moans of pleasure
loud in the otherwise silent room.

The slave gasped, his
fingers digging into Dario’s hips. More fluid pumped into Dario’s
body. He pushed his face into the stone floor, wishing he could go
blind so he wouldn’t have to see all those Concordian women
laughing at him.

But this was only the same
thing that had befallen Tariza. A fate he’d brought on her. It was
only what he deserved, wasn’t it?

Sticky fluid trickled down
his thighs as the second slave pulled out of him. Rosaria’s shiny
black boots entered his field of vision. She’d want him to get up,
but he was shaking so badly he wasn’t sure he could do
it.

“
Shall I take him away,
Your Majesty?” Rosaria said. Strangely, her hand stroked his
hair.

“
No. Let him stay there for
the afternoon.”

Rosaria left him there
alone. The slaves departed. He was on display on the lower dais,
while Concordian courtiers milled around him, pointing at his
chilled, trembling and violated body, talking about him. About the
show he’d given them.

Was this really what Tariza
had experienced at his hands? It must have been. He’d taken her
against her will, forced her to climax. Exposed her to other men,
some of whom had raped her.

What he’d just survived –
the helplessness, the utter invasion, the involuntary arousal – all
of that she had suffered first. All women in Saturnios suffered the
same. Dario shuddered. He hadn’t known, hadn’t understood what he
was really doing.

But that was no excuse.

He was seeing himself from
the other side, from the perspective of a slave. Looking at his
behavior from this angle made his heart shrivel in self-loathing.
How could he possibly have justified what he’d done to her? How
could he have thought it acceptable?

Someone shoved him hard, and he lost
his balance and tipped over onto his side. He stared dully at the
crowd of Concordians. They were nothing but a blur of noise and
contempt, nothing but a mirror of the contempt he now held for
himself.

Was Tariza here? Had she seen
what they’d done to him? Had she enjoyed it? Maybe if she’d been
here to witness his punishment, it would give her some
peace.

Tariza sat
in bed and stared out the window at the falling
snow. She really ought to get up and move around, try to get her
strength back. Lying in bed all day was unhealthy and she’d been
doing it for nearly a week. But she couldn’t seem to care enough to
make herself get up, although the court doctor had cleared her for
light activity.

Dario was gone. Gone. She could hardly
believe he was dead. How could all that male vitality be wiped
away? She would never see him again, never touch his warm skin,
never kiss his mouth.

Every day she missed him.
His body, his arms around her, the music and conversation they’d
shared. She missed his friendship in a way she’d never missed
anyone before. There was an enormous, Dario-shaped hole in her
life, in her heart.

He’d wronged her by
kidnapping her, by enslaving her, and yet somehow that central fact
had ceased to matter. He’d been so much more than a conqueror and a
master.

She’d missed her period two
months in a row, now. It was possible she carried his child. That
thought gave her a tiny, fragile crumb of comfort in an utterly
bleak world. But her child would grow up without a
father.

I loved him.

A dull shock beat in her
chest. She’d been in love with him, but she’d managed to convince
herself that because they’d argued her love wasn’t real. She’d been
so caught up in holding on to her Concordian identity that she’d
refused to acknowledge how deeply she’d come to care for the man
who’d abducted her. Pride had kept her from seeing the
truth.

Tears seeped from her eyes.
She hadn’t told him how much she loved him. He’d died not knowing,
and now it was too late.

If only he were still alive,
somewhere. If only there was a chance to rescue him, they could be
together again. She would give anything to have him back, even her
Concordian identity. Anything.

Get up. You’re not a slave
anymore, and Dario is dead. Get up.

Still crying, she pulled
the covers back and swung her legs off the bed. Her broken arm
ached, but not as much as her heart. Yet she couldn’t spend the
rest of her life mourning him; she had work to do.

The door opened and her
sister Lenora came in to the room. “Good morning!” She’d been
offensively cheerful ever since Tariza had returned.

“
Morning,” Tariza muttered,
wiping surreptitiously at her eyes.

“
You’re crying.”

“
Go away,
Lenora.”

“
He’s gone. He’s not coming
back. You’re home, safe. There’s nothing to cry about.”

She glared at her sister.
“How would you know? You weren’t there; you have no idea what
you’re talking about.”

Lenora winced. “I’m sorry.
I wasn’t thinking.”

Tariza took a calming
breath. She couldn’t blame any of this on her sister, who’d been so
supportive since Tariza had come home.

“
It’s all right.” She
sighed. “I’m just – I haven’t gotten used to being home yet.” She
hadn’t gotten used to being without Dario. Everything in her
yearned for him, yet she couldn’t tell her sister that.

Lenora laid a hand on her
shoulder. “Would you like to talk to someone? Maybe one of the
priestesses?”

“
Goddess, no. Thank you for
the suggestion, but no.”

“
Not even me?”

She sighed again. “Lenora,
I can’t.” Her sister would never understand.

“
Whatever he did to you,
it’s over.”

“
I know that,” Tariza
snapped. That was the problem; she didn’t want it to be
over.

“
Then what is it? What’s
wrong?”

She gave another, heavier
sigh and reluctantly met her sister’s gaze. “I miss
him.”

The younger woman recoiled.
“Miss him?” she whispered in horrified tones.

Tariza’s shoulders slumped.
She never should have opened her mouth.

“
How could you miss him?
After what he did to you?”

“
I knew you wouldn’t
understand.”

Lenora paced along the side
of Tariza’s bed. “They broke your will, your spirit. That’s the
only explanation.” She glanced sidelong at Tariza. “You began to
believe their lies. I’ve heard of that happening to prisoners of
war.”

“
He didn’t break my
will.”

Are you sure about
that?

Her sister quit pacing to
take Tariza’s good hand in both of hers. “He wronged you terribly.
He’s a criminal, from a barbaric society. He hurt you, Tariza.
There’s no reason to miss him.”

“
It wasn’t like that. He
protected me.”

“
He kidnapped
you.”

“
Yes, but he did it to keep
his uncle from getting hold of me.” She squeezed Lenora’s hands.
“King Grasos wanted me for his personal slave, and he truly abuses
women. I saw one of his victims. She – she’s Concordian, Lenora. He
made her into something that didn’t even seem human. She was
broken. Dario kept me safe from that.”

Lenora gave her a level
stare, her brown eyes unflinching. “He could have warned you. He
didn’t have to kidnap you.”

She closed her eyes.
“That’s true.”

He’d desired her for
himself. He’d said it more than once. But she couldn’t – she just
couldn’t – regret being with him. Maybe it was wrong; maybe it was
vile of her to feel this way. Maybe there was something broken in
her, too, but that didn’t change the fact that she loved Dario. She
wanted him back.

“
Come down to the great
hall with me,” Lenora said with a little tug on her hands. “You
need to get out of this room, spend time with other women. You need
a good Concordian feast to take your mind off all this.”

She’d been refusing all
efforts to get her out of her room. She didn’t want to see anyone
except Dario. But he was gone and she had to start living again.
What could a visit to the great hall really hurt? At least if she
made an effort, Lenora would stop pestering her.

“
All right. Yes, I’ll
come.”

“
Wonderful!” Lenora beamed.
“And when you feel well enough, you can take lessons in flying the
float cars. They’re even more fun than racing on
horseback.”

The great hall seemed
noisier than she remembered. Lenora had helped her dress in her
favorite winter gown in honor of the holiday they were preparing to
celebrate. It was pale blue wool with deep purple trim and had a
row of matching purple buttons down the front. Her hair was pulled
up and coiled on her head, her broken arm in a decorative sling,
and she looked more like a princess than she had in months – since
long before Dario had taken her.