Wicked Empress: The Onic Empire, Book 4 (13 page)

Viltori felt the eyes of the elite upon him, the looks on their faces puzzled as they considered the curious colors he wore. However, once they saw the brown of his trousers, they dismissed him, their eyes now riveted to the couple before him.

As Bithia and Drahka settled at the high table, he stood behind, unsure of exactly what he should do. A servant rushed forward and pointed at the floor between Bithia and Drahka. After a moment of confusion, the order was clear; the servant wanted Viltori to kneel down by Bithia’s side.

Viltori refused.

The last thing he would ever do was sit at her feet like a domesticated animal. Baffled by his resistance, the servant finally left when Bithia waved him away with a flick of her wrist.

“You may stand, then, if you wish.” With that, she turned her attention to Drahka.

Standing between them, Viltori kept his hands clasped behind his back, leaning forward when she or Drahka needed something translated. Food-covered platters weighted down the table as wine flowed freely. Viltori had to stand and watch as servants filled Bithia and Drahka’s plates and cups to overflowing. His empty belly rumbled. Drahka glanced at him, concerned, then frowned at Bithia. He leaned near and said something to her that Viltori couldn’t hear, but clearly, Drahka did not like the way she was treating his teacher. Whatever he said, Bithia ignored him. Deliberately she turned to the person on the other side and began chatting about the woman’s dress.

Excusing himself, Viltori headed toward the basin rooms in the back. Pushing open the door, he walked into the middle of two men conversing. They stopped for a moment, considered his odd combination of colors, and then dismissed him. Only the elite could snub so thoroughly when they saw the color brown. Viltori moved to the basin at the back to relieve himself.

“I’m amazed she even showed up,” one man said to another, inspecting his deep blue-green jacket.

“And dressed!” the other quipped. Fastidiously he picked bits of lint off the back of the man’s suit.

“What do you make of her consort?” the first asked, turning this way and that, making sure nothing else marred his fancy clothing.

“The idiot?” The two men switched places so the other man, in a slightly less bright blue-green suit, could examine his clothing for wayward smut. “I imagine the only thing he has going for him is that enormous cock!” Leaning over to the mirror, he smiled, exposing his teeth. He picked out a bit of food, flicked it away, and then rinsed his mouth.

“He’d have to be an idiot to bond to Bithia,” said the first. “No man on Diola would want a woman who found it impossible to keep her legs together.”

Snickering, the other said, “Even with her legs glued together all she would have to do is bend over.”

Viltori finished and turned to the long row of sinks. Washing his hands, he felt the eyes of both men on him. They considered the red sash around his waist.

“You belong to the empress?” the second one asked, his voice a curious mixture of disdain and dismissal.

A thousand denials sprang to mind, but in the end, he softly said, “I do.” How he wished he really did belong to her, and not as her servant.

The first one approached. His face was flushed red and his eyes were glittering from too much drink. Possessively, he ran his fingers along the sash. “Then she must have you well trained.”

Viltori stood silently, unsure of what, exactly, the man was implying.

His intent became clear as he nodded to the other, who grinned and moved over, blocking the door.

Fumbling, the first began to lower his trousers. “Show us how a slave of the empress sucks cock.”

Both men focused intently on his face, waiting to see if he would comply willingly, or if they would have to force him. Viltori was convinced they would enjoy the latter.

“On your knees, slave,” the first said, pointing to the floor as if Viltori might be too stupid to know what he meant.

“Why don’t you get on your knees?” Viltori settled his hands on his hips. Slave or not, he was not a toy to be passed around.

Snarling, the man lunged for him, but Viltori stepped aside, sending the man into a drunken sprawl on the floor. He let out a blood-curdling howl when he landed on his penis.

“I will have you put to the stone!” he sputtered, rolling over and glaring up at him. He cupped his hand over his rapidly deflating prick.

“And you will tell of what happened here?” Viltori cocked his head to the side. “You will stand at the inquisition and tell how you tried to force a servant of the empress to suck your cock during her bonding celebration?” Viltori plucked his white shirt away from his chest. “Do you know what this color means?”

Both men did, but they’d never seen the white of an acolyte mixed with the brown of a slave.

“I am a teacher. I am the translator for the empress and her consort. Do you think Bithia would let any harm befall me?” Even as he asked the question, he felt sure of the answer. Bithia would protect him, if only so that she could play with him herself. “If you are in dire need to have your cock sucked, ask him to do it.” Viltori pointed to the man blocking the door. “The bulge in his trousers indicates he is in need himself. You two could assist one another.” Viltori walked toward the door, but the second man took a solid stance, refusing to move aside. Viltori asked him politely to step away. He refused. Using the palm of his hand, he shot his arm forward in a quick snap, smacking the heel of his hand into the center of the man’s chest. He
oofed
out a breath, then slowly sank. Leaning over him, Viltori said, “Before I was a slave, I was a recruit.”

Viltori pushed the man aside and left before they could say anymore. Nevertheless, they had said enough. Bithia’s subjects mocked her reign and her consort. Something in his heart hardened. As the door
whooshed
shut behind him, his eyes sought out the high table. Bithia’s gaze met his. Despite her forced gaiety, he saw the vulnerability in her eyes. Did she know her own people had no respect for her?

Chapter Thirteen

Bithia saw something in Viltori’s gaze she had tried very hard not to see—concern. Not for himself, not even for Drahka, but for her. When he’d whispered his oath to her ear, she thought he was only doing so to increase her passion in that moment, but he was serious. He would not have his release until he could be with her as her consort. Swallowing down the sudden fear that filled her, she turned her gaze away as she reached for her drink. Strong, the wine flowed over her tongue with the lightest burn. Warmth filled her belly first, then spread out along her limbs. Tension faded, allowing her to return her gaze to Viltori.

He was moving toward her, the lights gleaming in his golden hair. Bouncing steps caused strands to lift and fall, giving life to his features. She avoided looking directly into his eyes and instead looked at each part of his face from the dark brows slanted sharply above his brown eyes, to the harsh set of his lips, to the barest bit of stubble darkening his cheeks and chin. Open against his chest, the white shirt only accented the darker skin that peeked through the V. Intrigued by his mixture of light hair on top and dark hair below, she let her gaze fall naturally down to his hips. Brown trousers were loose against his muscular body, but each step he took pushed the fabric against his cock. He wasn’t hard, but he didn’t have to be. She licked her lips, thinking that one kiss would awaken his member to full attention. Now that he’d put the thought in her head, she could not stop thinking of having him fully inside her. To feel him erupt within the grasping strength of her cunt caused her to shiver.

Viltori was a master of sex. She would never admit that to him, but she had to acknowledge in her own mind he knew more about pleasure than she did. His knowledge had turned her opinion of Drahka around. Never had her body been so sated. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel an obsession to find new and greater pleasures with another man. All she wanted was the two men she already had. She tried to push that truth away, but there it was. What had the man done to her? Bithia couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t feel a constant ache so deep inside she feared it would never be filled. Now, that pain was gone. Viltori had eased her compulsion and yet started a new one: She had to have him.

Without turning, she felt him come up behind her. Blinded in a room full of men, she would know Viltori and Drahka without touching just by their presence. Each man gave off strong, unnamable sensations she responded to. If she were a believer in mystical powers, she would think the men had bewitched her. Although, only children and the foolish people of Beserrah believed in such occult powers.

Stepping between her and Drahka, Viltori bowed slightly to her, then clasped his hands behind his back. Despite her treatment, he continued to show her nothing but respect. He was not a weak man, or submissive in any way. He was simply trying to show her without words he would be a man who would stand by her, no matter what happened. Bithia was on the verge of clasping his and Drahka’s hands and leaving this dull party behind when a cry rose up from the back of the room.

Turning her attention to the noise, she saw an overdressed
peckard
in blue-green fuming and pointing in her direction.

Viltori leaned near to her ear and said, “Forgive me, my lady, but I may have created trouble for you.”

She considered the first man as another, dressed in almost the same color, stumbled out of the basin room clasping a hand to his chest.

Out of the side of her mouth, she asked, “What did you do?”

“They wanted me to suck their cocks. I said no.”

“Said no?” she asked.

“Said no forcefully,” he amended.

Bithia smiled. Unlike the rest of the elite, she would never force someone, servant or citizen, to her bed. However, that didn’t stop many of them from taking liberties with any slave they happened across, no matter who owned them. Her magistrate, Ambo Votny, was the worst offender. Lately it seemed to be a game for them to abuse the highest-ranking servants they could find. And what higher slave was there than one who belonged to the empress?

Rising to her feet, she drew attention to herself without saying a word. She knew it wasn’t just the glittering crimson dress but also her commanding height. Conversations fell away as everyone hung silent, awaiting her words.

“You.” She pointed at the man who’d been blathering and gesturing her direction. Knowing he was pointing at Viltori didn’t matter; none should dare to even think of pointing in her direction with fury on their faces.

Eyes wide, he stumbled forward until he stood before the high table. “My lady.” He bowed low, his thinning brown hair allowing the light to bounce off his pale skull.

“You touched my servant?”

His gaze darted to Viltori as a snarl darted across his face. Quickly, he looked to the floor. “I did not, my lady.”

Bithia turned to Viltori. “Did he touch you?”

“He touched my sash.”

Nodding, she again considered the man before her. “You asked him to do something for you. What was that?”

Squirming, clearly embarrassed, the man mumbled something into his chest.

“Speak up.”

Lifting his head, glaring at her, he snarled, “I wanted him to suck my cock. He is a slave, after all.”

“My slave, not yours.” Lifting her chin, Bithia called forth two guards. “Remove him. Keep him until I decide on his punishment.”

A collective gasp almost changed the air pressure in the room. No member of the elite had ever been punished for taking advantage of a servant. At the far right end of the high table, Ambo hauled his ponderous weight up, his finger lifted to pontificate at length, but Bithia cut him off before he could utter a word. His ass slapped back into his seat long before he’d risen fully to his feet.

“Let it be known that from this day forth, any citizen caught forcing a slave to perform sexual acts will be punished.” For too long she’d turned a blind eye to what her people did. No more. Letting Ambo and the others run her empire had let the elite believe they could do whatever they pleased with no repercussions.

“But what about the
ungati
?” called a timid voice from the back of the room.

It took her a moment to remember that the
ungati
gave pleasure as part of their obeisance to their gods. “Slaves crafted for pleasure still have the right to refuse.” Bithia let them grumble and moan. It was all they could do. She was the empress and her word was law. “I will not tolerate the use of force against those who have no voice to protest. Is that clear?”

The room fell so quiet she could hear her heart beating against her chest. Had she pushed them too far?

“You have your pleasure. Let us hear if your slave welcomes what you demand of him.”

Her eyes sought out the speaker, but the man was smart enough to hide himself away after he spoke.

“I have never forced any.” She lifted her hand to Viltori. “Ask him if I have ever compelled him to my bed.”

After a moment, several people posed the question. In a timeless moment, she realized Viltori could have his revenge upon her now, if he chose. If he said yes, she would be deemed a hypocrite. The elite would continue with their ways, mocking and laughing openly at her. She realized just how vulnerable she’d made herself.

Viltori’s gaze met hers, the cool brown of his eyes soft in the light. “Bithia has never forced me.” He bowed as she released a tense breath. “Beautiful women such as Bithia need only a wink and a smile to make any man a willing slave.”

There were those who might have scoffed at him, but there was such a note of truth in his words, they ended up believing him. She felt something give in her heart, something she swore she would never feel toward any man again. Slow tender strings of tentative love began to wrap around him, binding her to him in ways that terrified her. Why did he have to be so blessedly perfect when she simply could not have him?

Once she gave Drahka a daughter, then she could have him, but that was a long way away. Bithia didn’t think she could resist Viltori that long. Already she hungered for him. Even now, as he simply stood there, she wanted him.