To The Princess Bound (24 page)

“My father is trying to kill me,” Victory said.  When the man didn’t laugh or look even remotely surprised, she squinted at him.  “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

He lowered his head until his forehead was resting against the bedpost.  “I saw something in his
au
when you were yelling at him.  I was hoping that wasn’t what I saw.”  He sounded miserable and tired.  Very tired.

Victory
refused
to feel sorry for him.  “My exchange is this:  Aside from my brother, I have no allies that my father cannot bribe or control.  I have nowhere I can hide where he doesn’t have eyes and ears.  But I do have something he hasn’t foreseen.  I have you.  An Emp.  If you can keep me alive long enough for me to prove to the Imperium that my father is a murdering criminal, I shall send you home with enough wealth to turn your little village into a kingdom.”

His deep, pained sigh was not what she expected.  “It would be easier to keep a rabbit alive in a den of lions with the tools that you’ve given me, Princess.”

Victory’s mouth fell open.  She hadn’t actually thought he would refuse, and hearing it from his lips was a whole new humiliation.  “You mean you won’t even
try?
”

For some time, he didn’t reply, merely stared at the chain connecting his throat to the bedframe.  Then he turned his head where it rested on the post so that he could see her with one eye.  “I have another exchange for you, Princess.”

She frowned at him.  “You didn’t think mine was reasonable?”

“Disappear for awhile, come back to my village with me, and live there under my care and protection until such time as your father is brought to justice.”

Victory’s heart stopped.  That was an alternative she hadn’t considered, having automatically written off all native territories in her mind as possible places of refuge, and hope suddenly rushed into her being.  Considering what had been done to her, the
last
place her father would look would be one of the native villages.  She felt excitement threading through her being, the first real optimism towards the whole affair that she had encountered since realizing her father was going to assassinate her. 

Then she realized what living with the Emp would entail, and her eyes dropped to his arms.  She felt herself stiffen.  “You can’t be serious.”

“You can even bring a couple of your Praetorian,” the Emp said softly, watching her reaction.  He gave her a weak grin.  “Just to make sure I don’t do anything stupid like slap a princess’s hand away from my food.”

“Or tear off my clothes?” Victory growled.

He flinched and dropped his head back down to face the chain.

She hated to admit it, but he had given her the best alternative she had seen yet.  Reluctantly, she leaned forward and unclipped him from the post.  “Tell me more about your village,” she said, as she released the chain.

The slave groaned and slumped forward, his massive body stretching out on the floor on his stomach with a moan.  He took several deep breaths, letting them out in relief, before he craned his neck to look at her.  “It’s small,” he said.  “About thirty families.  Lots of children.  We Mercerians have much larger families than those of the Imperium.”

“Because you breed like rabbits,” Victory snorted.

He gave her a long look.  “Because we have to.”

Victory remembered the freighter’s cargo list, packed with over thirty thousand slaves, all for ‘Delinquent Account.’  With each slave worth a good two hundred thousand credits—often three-fifty to five-hundred for healthy males or attractive females—that one freighter alone would have been worth at least six billion credits.

She cleared her throat.  “The people in your village…  Would they not suspect something if three foreigners simply showed up with you?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders on the floor.  “I’ll tell them I was rewarded for services rendered, a healing of one of their princesses.  The Imperium deals in slaves.”

Victory frowned at him, not understanding.  “My father would know instantly if I paraded you around as my slave in some native village.”

He gave her a sheepish look.  His face reddened.  “Uh.”

Suddenly, Victory understood what he was suggesting, and she lunged to her feet.  “
Never
,” she growled.

He sighed.  “It’s not like you haven’t done it before, Princess.  At least a dozen lifetimes.  I didn’t hurt you then, I won’t hurt you now.”

Lying there on his stomach, trussed up on the floor as he was, his promise was almost laughable.  But Victory didn’t laugh.  “You’re
insane
if you think—”

A heavy knock on her door stopped her.  It was followed by a Praetorian stepping inside, a nervous look on her face.  Victory frowned.  “Yes?”

Lion was sweating, and worried.  “As you commanded, milady, I have been keeping someone at the kitchen to watch it at all times, in plainclothes, registered as a cook’s assistant.”

Victory nodded.

“The woman died last night, inside the kitchen.  It was said that she was stealing food and choked on a cherry.  Her face was blue.  It was found blocking her esophagus.”

Victory fought a horrible welling of dread.  “She didn’t choke on a cherry.”

Lion shook her head.  “Milady, she was allergic to most fruits.  She couldn’t even touch them without a reaction.”

“Were there marks on her throat?” Victory demanded.

“Yes,” Lion said.  “But the doctor said that such marks could be made by a woman trying to remove the object from her throat as she panicked.  The case is being dropped, as no one is going to look deeper into the death of a servant.”

Victory’s eyes narrowed and she wondered if the doctor, too, might be taking payments from her father’s accounts.

“If we revealed she was a Praetorian, though…” Lion suggested.

“No,” Victory said.  “We can’t let them know we suspect.”

Her captain’s mouth tightened, but she nodded.  “The cherry was stemmed,” she growled.  “Who puts a stemmed cherry into their mouths?”

“She was murdered,” Victory said.  The coldness of her voice surprised even her.  “Any idea what was disturbed in the kitchen?”

Lion’s face darkened.  “The death was labeled an accident, milady, and no investigation took place.  There was a great uproar about the new assistant, stealing food, and the Cook made much ado about finding good help.  He shooed everyone from the room and refused to let anyone linger.” 

It pained Victory to think that Cook was part of the conspiracy, but she nodded.

“I slipped back when he was off to the privy and had left the kitchen to his assistants.  I entered the kitchen saying that milady was hungry, and that she needed a snack.  No one would dare stop a Praetorian in full regalia.  None of those fools, anyway.  Your favorite cheese, milady.  It was laced with tiny syringe-marks.”

Victory stood up.  “I need to speak with my brother.”

Lion flushed.  “He was out on a barracks inspection, but he’s on his way.  I hope you don’t mind, milady.  I figured that you would want to speak with him.”

“I do,” Victory said, then she hesitated.  The thought of her brother, coming
here,
was triggering another bout of nerves.  She hadn’t been able to meet with him alone since she had caught him in the sunroom, still powered by raw fury.  Aside from dinner, when she specifically chose seats at the table surrounded by women, she hadn’t seen him.  In fact, aside from the slave, she hadn’t had to converse with a man in over three days.

She glanced again at Dragomir.  She needed her wits about her for her brother’s visit, and there was only one way she knew to ensure that…

“Wait for him outside,” Victory told her Praetorian.  “Don’t let him in until I am ready.  I will…”  She bit her lip. “…prepare.”

Lion followed her glance to the man on the floor, then her eyes widened and she bowed and backed away.  A moment later, the door shut, leaving her alone with the native again.

“My brother is coming,” she said stiffly.  “I will require my full faculties for my dealings with him.  In return, I will allow you use of the bed while he and I talk.”

Hearing his native tongue once more, the slave craned his head again to glance at her, his blue eyes tired.  He seemed to consider a moment.  Then, softly, he said, “I’ll need my hands.”

Victory snorted.  “You’ve proven you don’t.”

“That was before yet another nine hours of crouching on my knees while you slept,” he snarled.  For the first time, Victory saw bitterness in his eyes.

Victory straightened, not about to be manipulated by a slave.  “I
command
you to flush my fears aside for my brother’s visit.”

He snorted and dropped his chin back to the floor.  To the stone, he said, “You can capture an artist, put a gun to his head and command him to paint, but he can do nothing if you leave him tied.”

Facing his disdain, Victory’s face hardened.  “If you hate me so much, why did you fix my ankles again?”

He twisted to look up at her, his blue eyes gentle.  “Because you were in pain, Princess,” he said.  Then, more softly, “And I don’t hate you.  I hate myself, for being stupid, and I hate your father, for being cruel.  Doesn’t change the fact that I’m too tired to work that kind of energy without full use of my hands.  Even with them free, it might be a stretch.  I’m exhausted.”

And, even as Victory watched, he fell into a light doze.  Victory examined him, caught yet again by how beautiful he was.  Like one of the great cats in her father’s menagerie.  She hesitated a moment, then nervously found the key between her breasts, knelt beside him, and began unlocking the cuffs.

As his big wrists slid free, they slumped to the floor and stayed there.  He started to snore. 

Victory crawled around in front of him.  “Hey,” she said, gently putting a hand on his shoulder.  His body dwarfed hers, and she was once again aware of how much larger a creature he was than she.  “Dragomir.”  When that didn’t wake him, she gingerly shook his huge shoulder, calling his name some more.

He continued to snore, oblivious to her touch.

Victory narrowed her eyes.  “
Slave
.”

Dragomir jerked and opened his blue eyes, startled.  He put his hands on the rug in front of him and started pushing himself into a sitting position, then stopped and stared at his arms, then at her.

“You’re free,” she said, trying to ignore the fears that were building within her.  She gestured at her ankle.  “I’m waiting.”

Instead of rushing to do as he was told, a slow grin spread over Dragomir’s face.  He moved forward and, before she could pull away, took her hand in his.

Seeing her fingers swallowed by his big palms, Victory cringed.  “I’d prefer you use my ankle,” she said, trying to tug her hand away.  “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with—”

He kissed her knuckles, gently but firmly keeping it in his fist.  She was just about to call for her Praetorian she felt the rush of energy flooding through her arm, washing into her core.  She felt herself go limp under the golden glow, reveling in the total relaxation it left behind.

The Emp’s power blazed through her, burning away her fears, leaving her utterly calm and secure.  Then he opened his eyes and gave her a weak smile.

“Thank you,” Victory managed.  “I—”

He tilted forward, falling face-first onto her lap, where he started to snore.  Victory was still staring at his huge body, pinning her to the carpet, when she heard the knock on the door.

“Victory?” her brother shouted.

Startled, Victory scrambled to get out from under him.  She was only halfway free when her brother threw the door open and stepped into the room.  He glanced at the slave, then at her, then at the slave again, a startled expression on his face.

Victory flushed until she thought her face would explode.  “We didn’t do anything,” she growled, wriggling the rest of the way out from underneath his huge form.

Her brother lifted a hand to his face and coughed, obviously hiding a smirk.  “Your guard said you needed me?”

Victory finally worked her foot free and stood up, brushing herself off.  Looking him in the eye, she said, “I need you to make me disappear.”

Her brother laughed.  Then, when she did not share his amusement, he blinked, looking as if he thought he may have misheard.  “…disappear?”

Victory told him what she had found in the Constabulary of Numbers.

“He always liked you more,” Victory told her twin, as her brother’s face reddened.  “I think he’s been planning for you to be on the throne since I hit puberty.”

Matthias’s look was darkening to a stormcloud.  “If only this wasn’t making perfect sense.”  He balled up a mailed fist and slammed it into his thigh. “I
thought
it was odd that he was planning a pleasure cruise.  Seemed like a real spur of the moment kind of thing, and Father doesn’t do that.”

“He does when you make him angry enough,” Victory said dryly. 

Matthias shook his head.  “The Imperium needs to know about this.  The records should be easy enough to track…”

Victory snorted.  “We’re talking about Father, here.  He’s probably got a completely separate set of accounts that he shows to Imperial auditors.”  She gestured in the general direction of her father’s chambers.  “He’s an insomniac.  What do you think he’s been doing in there every night?”