Wicked Empress: The Onic Empire, Book 4 (17 page)

In her heart, she knew she’d done the right thing. Taking advantage of helpless individuals wasn’t right. Another smile lifted her lips when she thought of those two
peckards
trying to force Viltori to satisfy their needs. They were lucky he’d left them intact. She knew he could have severely injured both of them if they’d tried to force him. And then her thoughts returned to last night. To see such a powerful man as Viltori humbled by the touch of another brought a spate of fresh tears. Never had she seen a man so unashamedly cry.

Determined to hurry back to them, Bithia strode to her advisor’s room. Once inside, she was taken aback at how many had come. Cast in a circle, the seating ranged from low and primitive, to very high and luxurious. Her chair was the grandest of all. When she entered, the silence almost slapped her. Glaring eyes followed her mercilessly as she settled herself. She flipped the switch below the right armrest, and her amplified voice floated out over the room, bringing the meeting to order.

Another flick and a blue screen of text floated before her face. On the agenda were several items, mainly issues that mattered little, but she noticed a new addition slipped in near the bottom. This is what brought out not only all the heads of the Houses and most of their lesser members, but also representatives of the closest villages, and it had nothing to do with her edict last night.

Because Drahka had not climaxed in full view of the audience for their bonding, the magistrate had declared their ceremony invalid. Any child that came of their pairing Ambo decreed illegitimate and thus unfit to rule. He had petitioned the advisors and all had signed an order for her to immediately surrender herself for examination. Something in her heart broke. Bithia didn’t know if she carried Drahka’s child or not, but this would devastate him. Stunned beyond words, Bithia sought out the next highest chair. There Ambo Votny sat in all his blubbery glory. Narrowed eyes peered back at her, malice clearly etched into the lines of his aged face. His silver uniform reflected light around him, making him sparkle, but also showed a plethora of snot swipes. Ambo’s most disgusting habit was his chronic nose picking and his inability to wipe the gunk anywhere but on himself. Gifts of handkerchiefs went unused. As she considered the patterns of nastiness, and the fact that Ambo had more slaves than most of the Houses combined, and had subjected those slaves to more perversities than all the Houses combined, she understood why he’d waited to do this. Right after the ceremony, he could have declared it void, but he’d waited. Last night had everything to do with this.

If she wouldn’t have stood up for the servants he and the rest of the elite used and abused, Ambo would have let the glitch with her bonding ceremony slide. Or he would have simply held on to that to use against her whenever he needed leverage. Bithia could do nothing against the petition. Should she choose not to surrender herself for examination, she wouldn’t be stripped of her crown, but any child she brought forth would bear the stigma of illegitimacy. Her own half-sister, Kasmiri, had abdicated the throne before Ambo could have her executed.

Turning to her guards, Bithia ordered them to bring forth Undanna, her protocol liaison, so she could explain what options Bithia had at her disposal.

“Undanna is dead.” Ambo delivered the information without a shred of compassion. He didn’t grin his nasty smile, but his glee was apparent nonetheless.

Respectfully, Bithia lowered her head, offering up her prayers for Undanna’s soul. “When did she die?” The woman was old, but not that old.

“Last night.” Ambo shrugged, dragging his snot-covered uniform up then down. “In her sleep. She just stopped breathing.”

Bithia didn’t bother to ask if there would be an inquest. Ambo would see to it that there wouldn’t be one. So determined to keep the status quo, he would kill an innocent elderly woman who delighted in pageantry and protocol. Somehow, Bithia knew the parade of wigs had been Undanna’s doing. Bithia had never really listened to her, not with all her rules and endless rites, but Undanna had been kind and endlessly patient. Now that she was gone, there wasn’t a single person who could help Bithia make sense of the rules and regulations she’d so despised but now desperately needed.

“You will, of course, give me time to find a new protocol liaison.” Bithia didn’t ask so much as she commanded.

Again, Ambo shrugged. “I ask all here if there is one among you who will stand beside the empress. Is there one who will willingly take the position of interpreting the old ways from the old books?”

Another slap in the face by silence. Bithia didn’t know how or where, but she would find someone. “It is my right, Ambo, and those here are not the only people who can take Undanna’s place.” As if she’d trust any of these worthless fools. Bithia would have a better chance of grasping the rules by casting stones like the soothsayers on Beserrah.

“You still must submit to the examination.” Ambo put a heavy emphasis on the word submit, as if seeing her brought low would please him greatly. Apparently, he’d been most happy when she’d been an absentee ruler who didn’t bother to show up to meetings. One well-intentioned decree and he was ready to wrest control right out of her hands. Bithia knew all this was to put her back in her place: right under Ambo’s thumb.

Even though she wanted to slap the eyes right out of his skull, Bithia rose like the empress she was. When Ambo bustled up to lead the way, she held him back with an uplifted palm. “I will go alone. I trust you will accept the word of the royal physician?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Ambo’s face, but he relented. Settling himself back into his chair, he said, “We will wait.”

The entire group settled in, all eyes watching her, most of them filled with gleeful revenge. She’d taken something from them, the right to use and abuse their slaves, so they took something from her, the right to love and honor her consort and their children. Bithia did not see how one equaled the other, but in their minds, they probably thought her punishment wasn’t harsh enough.

Bithia left the circle with her head high. With her two guards attending her, she made her way to the royal physician. She’d met the man once, when she’d first come to Diola. He’d been the one to prove her parentage. Bithia couldn’t remember his name, but he’d been as baffled as she had about her origins. He had known Clathia all of her adult life and he knew she’d never carried any child but her daughter Kasmiri. Which could only mean someone else carried Bithia. Someone had combined the elements of Clathia and her official consort then implanted the embryo into some unknown woman. But as to who and why? There still were no answers.

Bithia walked along endless hallways, her decorative sandals slapping from her great strides, creating so much clatter she removed them and flung them aside. As she continued on now with only the pounding of her guard’s boots, she thought on her sister.

When Bithia found out she had a half-sister she’d been overjoyed until she discovered her sister wanted nothing to do with her. Kasmiri refused to even meet her, let alone speak to her. Bithia had no idea why Kasmiri hated her without even knowing her. Bithia didn’t know Kasmiri, either, but her rejection still hurt. So far, not one member of her actual family had ever spoken a word to her. Bithia pushed the bitter emotions away. Right now, she needed strength. She would submit to this vindictive examination and then she would find a new protocol officer and then…she didn’t know.

What if she couldn’t bond to Drahka a second time? What if there was some ancient rule that forbad her from ever taking a bondmate? What if any child she had, even a legitimate one, was so hated that the elite would refuse to follow their rule, or worse, they chose to simply kill them? After what she’d seen in their eyes today, she had no guarantee they wouldn’t just assassinate her.

Overwhelmed, she pushed all the nagging questions away. All her life she’d lived without thinking things through. Going from one decadent pleasure to another, losing herself in mindless bliss to obliterate her feelings had served her well then, but not now. She took a deep breath. She felt her apprehension and continued anyway. Running away would solve nothing. Panicking would not help, either. If she wanted Drahka and Viltori, she would have them, no matter what she had to do to get them.

When she entered the physician’s rooms, he bowed graciously. He’d known she was coming because he didn’t ask why she was here. Cold hands probed her skin without emotion as he pinched the flesh of her upper arm. After a little poke, the test was done. She wasn’t pregnant. Part of her was relieved, but another part despaired. It would have been something to see Drahka’s face if she could have told him she carried his child. She had yet to see him smile—a grin, but not a full-blown smile that transformed his entire face—but she had a feeling that news of a child would spread his grin from ear to ear. And Viltori, what would he think? Bithia imagined he too would be pleased. Her child would be blessed by not one, but two proud fathers.

Turning away empty-handed, for the physician had already sent the test results to the waiting advisors and House heads, Bithia clutched her hand into a fist and brought her clenched fingers to her mouth to stifle a scream. Her guards moved back as six guards carried in two brutalized men.

Blood covered their faces and their clothing, obliterating their features, but there was no mistaking the identity of the man it took four guards to carry. Only one man on all of Diola was that massive and had such long, beautiful black hair. As she looked to the other, she knew there was only one man who wore a white shirt and brown pants.

Chapter Seventeen

Drahka woke to the most glorious sensation. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Viltori teased his lips along the rapidly hardening length of his cock. Moaning, he stretched his arms out across the surface of the bed. No shame touched him, only a wonderful exhilaration. After feeling so lost for so long, he was home. He would have pulled Bithia into his arms, but he’d felt her slipping from bed before first light.

As the twin suns rose, the snow-covered dome above blazed brightness into his face. Growling, he pulled the covers up over his head, making crimson darkness for him and Viltori. Blinking in the sudden shadows, he looked down to see glittering eyes looking back at him.

“You don’t want to watch?” Viltori teased, licking his way from base to tip.

“I’ll watch.” Drahka lifted one leg, bending his knee, creating a tent filled with a soft, ruby glow as the light slipped through the red bedcover. “But I do not need that much light to see your wicked mouth working such magic.”

Chuckling, Viltori maneuvered his hand between Drahka’s legs, cupping his balls as he swiped his tongue up again. “I can taste Bithia on you.” Both his words and the moist heat of his breath aroused Drahka, causing him to groan and press back into the bed.

“A pleasing flavor, no doubt.” Just thinking of her slick sweetness made his mouth water. The memory of Viltori’s gushing tide also caused him to lick his lips. Two such wonderfully different and yet similar tastes stirred his senses. For a moment, he thought of having them both before his hungry mouth. Her succulent cunt, his luscious cock. From one to the other he would revel in the unique flavor of each.

“Utterly wonderful.” Viltori smiled. “Directly she is much sweeter, but she still tastes good on you too.” Lifting up, Viltori took the tip of his cock into his mouth, causing Drahka to grit his teeth and arch back. Viltori’s mouth felt far hotter than his sleepy body.

As he drew him within, Viltori teased his tongue under the loose skin that covered the tip of his penis. Sensitive flesh below responded to the rough texture as he swirled his tongue around the tip while sucking at his foreskin. So expertly did Viltori move his mouth he almost pushed Drahka over the edge. Viltori didn’t just suck his cock, he worshiped his cock. Body and soul, his teacher pleasured him so enthusiastically Drahka lost his mind.

“Don’t take me to the end too fast!” Drahka blurted the request half in Diolan and half in Oughunian. In his panic, he spewed words rather than doing the same with his climax. His hand gripped Viltori’s head, ready to push him away, but he relented. “Forgive me, my friend, I do not wish to rush through this moment.”

Viltori released him, smiling up in the ruby light. “I can tell you are flustered. You always mix your languages when you are.”

Uttering a laugh, Drahka touched Viltori’s mouth. “You are far more skilled than I.”

“Partly.” Viltori lowered his mouth along his shaft. “An uncut cock is far more sensitive at the tip.”

Drahka cupped Viltori’s head, twining his fingers through his golden strands. “Giving you an unfair advantage.”

“Completely unfair.” Viltori cradled his balls in his palm, lifting them to his mouth so he could tease his tongue across the flesh. “I’m not sure what we can do to make things even.”

Drahka considered. “You could be less skilled.”

“Be less skilled or act less skilled?” Viltori asked, sliding his hand leisurely along Drahka’s prick while licking his balls. “I can fake ineptitude if you wish.” Viltori slid his finger up between his inner thighs, then right between his cheeks. “Or I can use everything I know against you.” Teasing his finger against Drahka’s ass caused him to clench his cheeks together.

“That is not what I desire,” Drahka said, causing Viltori to withdraw his hand. “I meant your behaving unskilled.”

“No?” Viltori returned his softly probing finger. “How about I touch lighter?” He kissed the tip of Drahka’s cock with barely any pressure. “How about slower?” Viltori gently drew his prick between his lips. Lifting away, he asked, “How about I use my hands more than my mouth?” One fist wrapped about his shaft, cupping snuggly, but not too tightly.

Deliberately, looking right into his eyes, Viltori drew his fist down. When he hit the base of Drahka’s cock, he squeezed, forcing a pearl of moisture to leak from the tip. Thumbing it down into his fist, he lifted up, milking the next drop to the top of Drahka’s cock. Just as the cream threatened to spill down, Viltori lapped it up.