Warlord and the Waif by Chloe Parker
CHAPTER FOUR
CALDER
FROM THE MOMENT I saw her, I had to have her.
Selecting this waif from the lot of new arrivals was a foolish mistake; I know this. I’ve never purchased contracts for my own household, and Lucien hates changes in staff. But when the little alien’s holo settled on the human when he want to market this morning, her boldness captured me right away. She seemed fiery and confident, and her defiant laughter sparked something in me that I haven’t felt in centuries.
Even now, standing before me, she does not fear me. Even after I diminish her, she stares me down. Even in the face of all this strangeness — which it must be, for a lower order life-form such as she — her gaze remains fierce.
And she tells me “no,” a word I haven’t heard in a long, long time.
I know that I will have to break this woman to ensure she follows Hyperborean Law, insidious as it is. But some pleasure may be taken in the breaking.
“She is… outspoken,” Lucien says as Portia leads her out of the throne room. “Are you sure this was a wise choice?”
I lean back in my chair, stroking my beard.
“Are you questioning my judgement?”
“Merely posing a question,” he says. “I’ve never known you to suffer fools, and we’ve known each other quite a long time.”
“I don’t believe she is a fool.”
“Perhaps not,” Lucien says, treading carefully. “It simply puzzles me that you would choose a species so temperamental and yet so primitive.”
“The Hyperboreans once said the same thing about my people.” I give Lucien a warning glare and he shrinks. “I would warn you against underestimating her.”
Lucien shuffles his feet on the floor.
“Forgive me, m’lord.”
I wave my hand, letting him stew in his uncertainty.
“Is everything in order for the Hyperborean Delegation’s arrival next month?”
“Not quite yet, but with the new help I’m sure we can manage to get the guest quarters clean and functioning,” he replies, clasping his hands behind his back, “We’ll contract bots in the city for the visit itself, but I see no need when we can spend these next weeks in preparation.”
I nod in approval. “If they’re pleased with our handling of Oddí, they may be willing to—”
I can’t even finish my sentence as searing pain suddenly tears through the scars painting my torso. It’s like someone is running a blade straight across my nerves, the sensation bruising and burning all at the same time. I try to maintain a facade of strength, but I find myself bending in my throne, gripping the arms of the chair until my fingertips are numb.
Lucien is by my side as I get my bearings.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” he asks quietly.
I brush him off by swiping at him, and he steps back with a cool glare. I know that I shouldn’t treat him so badly, but the pain…
“See to it that Kaer Idunn is made ready for our guests,” I growl, the pain still searing in my chest and shoulders, “I want them to see that all is running smoothly here. It’s high time we showed them that I’ve paid my dues.”
“Of course, m’lord,” Lucien nods.
“You’re dismissed.”
The little Ardaxian gives me a slight bow and shuffles out of the throne room, leaving me alone as he makes his way to the kitchens.
Another wave of pain goes through me in the dark, and I clench my fists again. I feel such rage when under the influence of my curse. I can’t help but slam a fist into the obsidian throne behind me in an attempt to release my rage, but the split knuckles from my last outburst stop me. I hiss and shake my hand, gathering my silken cloak around me to ease the pain.
I stalk from the room, even the cool air irritating my scars.
The Hyperboreans must be wooed during this visit. They’ve promised my salvation, and my pain grows worse with each passing century. I require a cure now, while there’s still time, before the agony drives me completely mad. If my masters find that I have adequately served them, I can finally be rid of these scars and leave this planet for good.
I pace the halls often at times like these, unable to rest when the pain roars through me. I climb the stairs and wander aimlessly, turning down random hallways to find deeper darkness in which to hide.
I’m surprised when I hear voices.
When I’ve collected my thoughts, I realize that my feet have carried me toward the servant quarters. Portia’s soft voice drifts down the hallway, joined by the dulcet tones of another woman. I step toward them, doing my best to stay light on my feet. I can see our new arrival through a crack in the door at the end of the hallway, her red hair pulled away from her shoulders as Portia helps her dress. Though the clothes must seem alien to her, they suit her.
Especially the corset.
Portia is lacing the girl up, standing in front of her and tightening the strings of her bodice. I’m captivated by the picture, Portia’s violet hands barely visible as they work against the tension. The newcomer’s hair is in front of her face as she looks down, ignorant to my presence, and I can just barely see a blush on the tip of her sun-kissed nose. Her curves, invisible under her loose layers earlier, are perfect in the new garb, her breasts pushed up toward her delicate collarbone.
I suck in a breath when I hear her gasp, and her chest heaves at the pressure from the bodice.
Were I the man I was six hundred years ago, I would burst through the door and have my way with her as I desire, have her on her back with her skirts hitched around her waist and begging me for more. But this pain and my long years without the hunt have changed me, made me patient.
As I stride away from the servants’ quarters, my limbs burning for want of her, I decide that I can be patient.
But I will convince her to want me in the end.