The Sunfire (21 page)

Jon shook his head anxiously. No, the whole idea was crazy.
Not feeling in the mood to return to the party, Jon made his way back to the
apartment he shared with Sofia, but was unable to let go of the troubling
thought.

*****

Jon sat on the bed in their apartment, watching Sofia brush
her hair. She had arrived back only a short while ago, before abruptly
informing him she could not stay long, as the Senate was setting up a committee
to explore ways to harmonise the tax system across all the planets that now
comprised the Confederation.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jon broke the stifling silence
in the room.

“Sure, but you will need to be quick,” Sofia replied, giving
the chronometer a glance. “I need to be back in the Senate in the next five
minutes or I will miss the start.”

Jon nodded despondently, the Senator’s earlier words still
troubling him. “Did you and the Emperor, your father, ever talk about me?”

“Of course,” Sofia laughed. “I told him many times you
deserved more time off, to go and get a life.”

Jon smiled at her often-used statement, when they were still
aboard the
Imperial Star.
“That's not quite what I mean,” he said,
wondering how to rephrase the question. “Did you and your father ever talk
about you and me together?”

Sofia frowned, finally noticing the troubled expression on
his face. “I don’t know what you mean. He talked about you and me all the time.
Told me I needed to stay close to you, so you could protect me. Not to sneak
off.” Sofia’s smile faded as she realised the joke had completely passed Jon
by. “Look I am late for this committee, I’ll be back in a couple of hours and
then we can talk about whatever is bothering you, okay?”

Jon barely acknowledged her promise, so lost was he in the
past.

Standing at the threshold of the door, looking back at Jon,
concerned, wondering if she should stay and accompany him, as they had little
time together these days. However, instead she decided to reassure him. “Jon,
my father loved you,” she insisted firmly. “He once told me he would have been
proud to have you as a son.” With that she turned, hurrying out the door so as
not to be late.

Completely missing the look of absolute despair on Jon’s
face.

For with Sofia’s parting words, Jon felt as if a door had
suddenly opened in his mind and a million and one pieces fell into place and he
knew with absolute certainty what the Senator had said was true. Everything he
thought to be true, he now knew was a lie. For the Emperor, a man who spun plans
within plans had ensnared both Sofia and him in the cruellest web of all
—deceit
. For what Jon had thought was the gift of Sofia’s love,
freely given, was nothing of the sort. For her father had manipulated her just
as much as he, they were two pawns moving across his chessboard in perfect
harmony. Jon wondered what his plan had been? To continually throw them
together until they fell in love? Maybe instead to use Sofia as the ultimate
bargaining chip if he agreed to succeed him, to become the next Emperor. As a
gift? A reward? Jon felt sick to the stomach at the same time as he felt his
anger, his sense of betrayal growing.

As the door to the apartment finally slid shut, so did Jon’s
naivety, as reality came crashing down upon him. He knew that for the rest of
his life he would doubt Sofia’s feelings for him. Were they truly her own? Or
had her father and his schemes so conditioned her into believing what she
thought was true?

Jon loved Sofia utterly. He loved her so much that he
realised he would never tell her about her father’s deception. As she had lost
her mother while so young, her father and her memories of him were all she had
left of her family. Jon would not tarnish that, not for anything.

Not even for his own selfish desires.

As if in a daydream Jon stood, glancing around the apartment
that for a short while had been theirs. Committing everything to memory, the
bed in which they had first made love and the shower where she had first called
out his name in ecstasy. The couch where they had embraced and watched the
sunrise. Jon drew it all into him, the sights, the smell, the touch, drawing on
all his senses, to sustain him for the long dark road ahead.

Then without a glance back, he left. Forever.

*****

Forever, however, was a long time and in that time, Jon did
not get far. As far as the Senate bar, to be exact. For Jon knew Sofia, knew
that if he were to just disappear she would look for him, demanding answers.
Answers he was not prepared to give. Similarly, he could not simply reject her.
Jon doubted he had the strength of will to actually look her in the eye, lie to
her and then discard her. And anyway Sofia was too astute and would similarly
want to know why.

Staring down into the now-empty whiskey glass, Jon raised
it, motioning to the bartender for a refill.

“Leave the bottle,” Jon slurred. As the bartender prepared
to move away once the task was complete. The bartender simply shrugged and left
the bottle on the dark granite surface and went away.

Jon’s thoughts were already a tangled mess. Was this the
sixth, or seventh glass he had consumed? He could no longer remember. The first
glass had been to dull the pain, the second for courage to walk away from
Sophia and the third? Who the hell knew? Jon was not a heavy drinker and one
glass had just blurred into another. That was not the only thing that had
started to blur, as with no idea what to do next or where to go, the bottle had
seemed increasingly inviting.

A commotion behind him had Jon slamming his glass down
loudly against the bar, growling in frustration. What was it with people?
Couldn’t they even let others drink themselves into a stupor without
interruption?

“Whore!” The loud
crack
of a fist and a cry of pain
behind him had Jon turning in his seat to observe a woman sprawled on the floor,
one of the Senate guards, wearing a furious expression, standing over her. Jon
had a distinct dislike for men who hit women and stumbled to his feet, having
to pause for a moment to stop the scene spinning, before weaving drunkenly in
the direction of the pair.

The guard’s eyes widened momentarily in surprise at the
sight of the officer, but his lips soon upturned in a sneer when he observed
his drunken state. “Stay out of this,” he insisted. “This is none of your
business.”

Glancing down at the blonde woman, who was wearing a silken
red dress and had a trail of blood from a cut lip, he insisted, “I am making it
my business.”

The guard simply shrugged. “Your funeral Jack.” he said,
before swinging at Jon. Bleary eyed from the alcohol, Jon barely had time to
react to the blow. Fortunately while the drink had clouded his mind, it had
done nothing to slow down his body’s instinctive reactions and he ducked under
the blow, delivering a heavy blow of his own, in return, to the pit of the
guard’s stomach.

The guard went crashing, face down, to the ground. “Shit,”
he winced. “I think you broke my nose.”

Jon just stared at him, unconcernedly, observing the blood
streaming from his nose. “No, it’s not broken,” he reassured him. Then he hit
him in the face again. “But now it is,” he added, turning his back on the now
unconscious man and retaking his seat, nursing his bruised knuckles.

A finger being run down the back of his neck caused the
whiskey glass to stop inches from his lips. Turning in his seat he observed the
blonde woman who had been lying on the floor only moments before, eyeing him
curiously. She had pouty lips, stained by the colour of blood, matching the
colour of her dress. The woman’s breasts straining the confines of the
revealing dress, which barely reached her hips. It made Jon’s fingers itch to
slide along her thighs to compare the texture of the dress with that of her
skin. He just shook his head distractedly, trying to focus on the woman in
front of him.

The woman continued her physical exploration of his body,
running a finger along his biceps, down the length of his hand, to come to a
stop resting in the palm of one of his hands. Jon could only stare, completely
raptured, his gaze fixated on her cleavage.

Deciding she should not be the only one to be allowed such a
physical exploration, he ran the palm of his hand down, skimming the curve of
one breast, along her waist, over her hips to the edge of the dress, where his
fingers lingered, enjoying the difference in texture between the cold silk and the
warm flesh.

Eyes darkening in desire, the blonde leaned forward, pushing
her breasts into Jon’s chest, making him slide backwards in the seat only at
the last moment, to avoid having his face impaled by her nipples.

“I wanted to thank you for what you just did, but
—
”

The woman tried to explain, but Jon quickly placed his
finger over her lips, interrupting her. Rubbing them softly against the cut on
her lip, he stared at the blood that had congealed on them. “Doesn’t matter,”
he insisted, breathing harshly. Rubbing his fingers further across her
blood-red lips, wondering idly why this action did not smear them, before
shaking his head and dismissing it as unimportant. At the same time he made
small circular rubbing motions with his thumb on her upper thighs, at the very
edge of her dress.

Breathing heavily, the blonde goddess whispered into Jon’s
ear. “Your place or mine?”

The question startled Jon back into reality. What the hell
was he doing? Glancing at the chronometer out of the corner of his eye, he realised
Sofia would be finishing the meeting soon then heading back to their apartment.
What would she say if he appeared drunk up to his eyeballs, smelling of cheap
perfume with lipstick smeared across his lips? However, this was almost
immediately followed by another languid thought, curling through his
consciousness like smoke, to take up firm residence. It didn’t matter what
Sofia thought, for it would be the perfect solution to his problem. For Sofia
would be too shocked, too hurt and far too damn angry to even consider why.

“My place is closer,” Jon urged, running his hand further
down her dress, caressing her.

*****

Jon remembered little about the journey back to his
apartment, too intoxicated by the alcohol and the feel of the woman pressed
intimately against him. He vaguely remembered stopping frequently to take her
in searing kisses, her constant stroking and teasing only encouraging him
further.

Finally they arrived outside his apartment, only a few
meters away from the one he had shared with Sofia. However, she was nowhere in
sight. Damn. Cursing, Jon twisted the woman in his arms, pinning her against
the door to his apartment with his body, his arms framing her face, as he
forced his tongue into her mouth.

Finally Jon heard footsteps approaching, stopping a few feet
away next to the entrance of the apartment. Jon could imagine Sofia’s curiosity
at who the couple were that were so closely entwined at the entrance to his
apartment, for Jon still had his back to the corridor.

Therefore once again twisting, so this time he had his back
against the apartment door, Jon broke the kiss and looked up into the stunned
eyes of Sofia Aurelius. Smiling lazily at her, he started to stroke the woman’s
lower back. The woman arched into his touch, rubbing herself against him. Jon
forced himself to stare into Sofia’s eyes a heartbeat longer, so she could be
absolutely certain it was him and what he was doing. Her expression finally
changed from stunned disbelief, through to hurt, to finally absolute anguish.
Ultimately too much for him to bear, he let his eyes flutter shut, running soft
kisses against the nape of the woman’s neck, hitting the door control behind
him with his free hand. Off balance, the pair stumbled through the doorway into
the dark apartment.

Leaving Sofia standing alone, inconsolable, in the middle of
the corridor.

*****

Paul was woken from his slumber by the chime of the door.
Opening his eyes blearily he glanced at the chronometer, not believing the
time. Rubbing his eyes repeatedly he glanced at it a second time, but it still
stoically reported that the time was three in the morning. The door chimed
again, followed a few seconds later by a pounding on the door.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” he grumbled, looking around for a
pair of pants. Finally managing to find a pair and slip them on, he stumbled
towards the door, calling out. “Come in.”

The door slid open to reveal the dishevelled figure of
Princess Aurelius, eyes puffy and tears streaming down her red cheeks.

Paul could only gape. “Sofia?” he asked, astonished.
However, before he could utter another word she collided with him violently,
sobs racking her body. Still half-asleep and with no idea what to do or say,
all he could do was to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, as her
tears streamed down his bare chest.

Embarrassed, realising he was a little underdressed, he
moved to try and reach for a shirt, but with Sofia attached to him like a
barnacle, he was rooted to the spot. Admitting defeat, he took a step back
until his legs hit the bed and, seating himself on it with Sofia in his lap, he
could finally look into her red, tear-stained face.

“Sofia? What is it? What has happened?” He asked, seriously
concerned to see the woman so obviously inconsolable, fearing the worst.

“It’s, it’s Jon.” Sofia sniffled.

“Jon? What has happened to Jon?” He asked urgently, taking
her by the shoulders so he could look her squarely in the eye.

“He’s, he’s, betrayed me,” Sofia stuttered.

“What? What do you mean?”

“He’s with another woman!” Sofia wailed.

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” Paul replied.
Unable to believe what she was telling him.

“I saw them. I saw them kissing in the corridor.”