But the Special Active team was nothing average when
it came to the IM and its rules. They took on the highest-risk jobs, used abilities that no others had, and, for the most part, had no idea what kind of physical strain their job might put on their bodies. No two Chosen Ones were ever the same, it seemed, and even if they had been, Ravenna and her Chosen Ones had been routed out of their temple in the dead of night, making a hasty escape without any opportunity to bring any historical scrolls of written histories with them. All they had to go on, in fact, was whatever she as High Priestess could remember from her studies and readings.
“Are you all right?” Bronse asked, sliding his hand down her arm to cover hers.
“I’m fine. Just … it was a very violent vision, Bronse. Your princess …” Bronse turned the VidPad toward her and she grabbed for it, thumbing rapidly through the mission file’s photos. “Here.” She turned it back to him, her hands shaking visibly as she showed him the face of her attacker. “But it wasn’t me he was attacking. When he brought me close enough, I saw my reflection in his eyes. It was your Princess of Allay.”
“This is her uncle,” Bronse told her grimly. “The would-be emperor of Allay. Far be it from me to doubt one of your visions, Ravenna, but you know very well that what you see is not always what you get.”
“Well, I hope not, or otherwise he is going to wrap his hands around her neck and throttle her to death,” she snapped irritably. He lifted a brow at her tone and she sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I have never felt such virulent hatred before, Bronse. Such all-consuming rage. That man is dangerous. Deadly.”
“And proven to be both,” he agreed with her. “It’s not that he isn’t capable of doing harm to Ambrea, Rave. It’s that it would be political suicide if he did. If he wants this throne, he has to be more than a bully to get it. And
Balkin has proven himself very wise when it comes to walking the line between what is legal and what is not.”
“Sometimes it’s not a matter of what is right or what is wrong, what is logical and what is illogical. Sometimes it boils down to an evil temperament finally snapping, finally losing all control. Doesn’t it follow that these circumstances might produce just that sort of environment for someone so violent?”
Bronse frowned. “True, love. But the fact remains, we’re the IM. Whether Balkin Tsu Allay follows the rules or not, we have to. And we cannot interfere in the ruling of a government on any of the Three Worlds, unless—”
“Unless the ruler of that government asks you or the government has fallen into chaos. Yes, I know.” She gave him a wry little smile, reaching out to rub warm fingers over the well-shaped curve of his pectoral muscle. “Lucky for us, tomorrow the empress of Allay is going to ask you for that help.”
“She is?” He tossed the VidPad down to the foot of the bed and moved closer to her. “Did I ever tell you I think you’re sexy when you make my job easier?”
She snorted out a laugh. “I must have missed it between you yelling at me for letting Kith get away with murder or for not letting Devan come on mission with you.” She pulled back a little when he went to kiss her. “Or perhaps it was a few days ago when you were ordering me not to accompany you on this last mission because I’m pregnant.”
Bronse had the grace to wince.
“I panicked,” he said with a shrug. “And anyway, you weren’t exactly chasing me down demanding otherwise. You were just as stunned as I was, just as afraid of something happening to you.”
“Regardless, you shouldn’t have been so bossy.”
“I’m your commanding officer,” he reminded her
dryly. “It’s kind of in my job description. And by the way”—he leaned in to kiss her gently, and she didn’t move back from him this time—“you do let Kith get away with murder.”
She wrinkled up her nose, but they both knew that her empathic brother was a pain in the ass, only marginally improved over the years as the structure and discipline of the IM shaped him into a pretty decent soldier.
“I am, perhaps, a bit too tender with him. But he is my brother, after all. I don’t think I am any more or less so with my sister.”
“Hmph. Your sister, Ophelia, is a damn angel. Far too sweet for this kind of work, but stronger than Kith is in many ways. And I don’t just mean in the sheer power of her healing ability.”
“I know you don’t. But why is it that every time we argue, it has something to do with Kith or one of the other Chosen Ones?”
“Because that’s work and we each have a vested interest in goals that are naturally counter to each other. Your job is to protect the Chosen Ones; mine is to put them in harm’s way. Outside of work, we’re perfect. You’re perfect.”
Bronse quit playing her game of doling out sparse little affections. He wrapped an arm around her and hauled her up against his body, rolling her beneath him while he seared her with a demanding kiss. Once she was suitably breathless and quieted, he took a moment to inspect the damage she had done to her throat.
“It’s nothing,” she breathed softly, not wanting him to be deterred from the promise of that fiery kiss of a second ago.
“Damn woman, must you contradict me before I even say anything?”
“I thought I was perfect,” she said with a laugh.
“A perfect pain in my—”
She didn’t think the remark was worth finishing so she cut him off with a kiss of her own.
Ambrea looked at herself in the mirror and felt as though a stranger was staring back at her. After living such an austere and simple life in her exile, and then surviving with even less while incarcerated by her uncle, the extravagance and luxury of the gown she now wore, the jewels that Suna had carefully dressed into her hair, and the soft perfumes and cosmetics that had been made available to her were like a layer of alien things all over her body. It wasn’t that she didn’t look pretty. Quite the contrary. She had never realized she could look so beautiful. Her hair was upswept, weaving in and around itself, long coils then falling loosely from the crown of her head and onto the nape of her neck. It shone with a cleanliness it had long been denied in prison. Suna had chosen jewels from the array offered to them—the many shades of green, from the purest to the near-blue of her own eyes, were perfectly displayed against her red-gold hair. Ambrea had been unaware that Suna knew how to create such an intricate look. Her companion had always seemed to have such simple skills. Now Ambrea realized that Suna had adapted to the simplicity of their imposed lifestyle.
Suna had insisted on placing a simple Delran platinum wire tiara at the crest of her curls. Ambrea knew it was her companion’s way of making it very clear to all who saw her that she was an empress. Born. Bred. Destined.
The woman looking back at Ambrea from the mirror certainly looked the part of an empress. Without the crown and the imperial jewels, of course. Those awaited her on Allay. But first there was something else that must be done.
She must stake her claim.
Every time she thought of the confrontation to come
her heart began to thunder in her chest. It wasn’t that she feared her uncle any longer, was it? After all, she was in the position of dominance now, her claim legal and powerful, backed by the indomitable power of the IM. Her uncle would be a fool if he took a stand against her. Not only would the IM not tolerate it, she was certain that the beleaguered people of Allay would not stand for it either. She felt badly for her people. A constantly shifting seat of government made people feel insecure, exposed, and confused. It probably mattered little to them who had what rights to the throne. It mattered more to them where their daily bread was coming from, whether the free flow of trade would continue, and whether their borders would remain safe and controlled. True, the IM kept watch over part of that, but if the government fell apart, the country would fall under IM control until it could restructure the government. Times like that almost always made for hardship on the common man, confused the natural order of things. The military had a very different way of doing things, and difference meant trouble.
But worse than all of that would be a woman taking power who had no idea what to do with it. Oh, she had seen enough to know what she didn’t want done, what she wouldn’t do to others. She had faith in her moral beliefs and the religious tenets that she used as a guide in her daily life. But there was so much more to being a good sovereign than good intentions.
“Perhaps, though, it is a good start,” Suna said comfortingly, making Ambrea realize she must have spoken her final thought aloud. Ambrea bit her lip even as she squared her posture. She would not let anyone see her fear, her insecurities. All she could do was her best. She would learn as she went.
“Madam, the judiciary awaits your—”
Rush came to an abrupt halt, all that massive male
energy going amazingly still as Ambrea turned away from her mirror and slowly rose to her full height. He was staring at her with blatant surprise in his russet eyes.
“Holy shit,” he said with genuine intensity. It made her smile, a warmth spreading throughout her entire body as she understood his stark appreciation for what it was. She could easily return the sentiment. There was something to be said for Rush in full dress uniform. The sharp black jacket, the gold and crimson epaulets, the high shine of black jackboots, and the smooth sheen of the dress breeches that clung to every last contour of his powerful thighs—it all made for an official and impressively powerful-looking figure. It was as though the bare-chested, tattooed Tarian had utterly disappeared. She could understand his sense of shock. She was feeling it herself, both looking at him and when looking at herself. “I mean …” He tried to recoup, but floundered as he continued to stare at her.
“I’m sure I don’t look much like the helpless prisoner of the past two days,” she said quietly.
“Hell no.” He moved a little closer to her and she felt her breath catch when he reached toward her. She found she craved his touch, wherever it might land, however simple it might be. She supposed she ought to be afraid of it in light of the burns she had suffered, but his repetitive flouting of propriety had spoiled her. Instead of touching her, though, all he did was catch up one of her curls between two of his fingers, rubbing the texture of it slowly.
“Rush, I need to ask a favor of you,” she said suddenly. For an entire day, all throughout her debriefing with the IM, and an entire night when she should have been sleeping and recovering the strength and rest she had been long in desperate need of, she had been trying to figure out how to ask him this favor.
His gaze flicked away from its apparent fascination with her hair and met with hers. The instant intimacy that had been stirring between them came into play, and she felt as if everything outside their immediate sphere simply melted away.
“Ask,” he said quietly.
“I need you with me,” she said with quick heat. “I need your strength and protection. Especially these first weeks. I am not a fool. I know there is danger around me still. Making this claim will make me tremendous enemies in a court designed for the comfort of my father and uncle. A court that thought they would be serving my prodigal brother and not the dirty-blooded castoff they have shunned for almost all the cycles of my life.”
She saw his expression darken and, thinking he was going to dismiss her out of hand, she hurried onward. “I have already made a formal request with your superiors and they have given clearance. They are willing to detach you from the Special Active squad for as long as I might need while I stabilize my government around me. But … I don’t want you to be ordered to my side, Rush. I want it to be your choice. Your desire. I can see that the Special Actives are what you love, that they are where you belong. But …” She looked down and away from him, twisting one hand within the other. “I honestly believe I won’t survive a week without your protection. And I know of no one else. No one impartial or trustworthy. I will have no friends around me other than Suna. I need, at the very least, someone who I can depend on to watch my back and defend me.”
The bald truth of it was, Rush thought, Ambrea could have forced him into her service one way or another. She could have demanded it of his superiors, and they, wanting to cultivate good faith and relations with the imminent ruler of Allay, would have quickly ordered him to comply. Or she could have blackmailed him into it, used
what she knew about him to force him to her side. But Rush realized that none of that would ever even occur to her. As ruthless as others had been to her, she was unwilling to be so in kind.
It was going to be her downfall, he was sure of it. Ambrea was too gentle a soul to navigate the cutthroat world she was about to enter. She did, indeed, need his protection. Not that spending months cooped up in a single assignment really appealed to his adventurous nature, but he had done it before. Anyway, it would be only a couple of months. Just until she got her feet under her.
He reached to touch a finger under her chin, pulling her head up and making her look him dead in the eyes.
“From now on, Empress of Allay, when you make a request or a demand of those around you, you will use that steady, penetrating stare of yours and make them see it for unwavering strength and sharpness. When you look away like that, you make them think you are unsure and weak. I know you
are
unsure,” he acknowledged softly, “but there is no reason why others should know it.” He held that teal gaze a moment longer. “And you are not in any way weak. Your survival all these cycles has proven that.”
Rush watched her draw a deep breath, saw her visibly gather her strength and stoicism around her. Again, in his mind, he uttered
holy shit
. It was like looking at a completely different person, and yet there was no mistaking that it was the same woman he had rescued from the catacombs. He would have thought that all this polish would make her look as plastic as he thought it made other high-society women look, but she wore it in a way that was more earthy than elite. She was no doubt reeking of refinement and royalty. It wasn’t as if that were lacking. Nor had it ever been. But despite all of these accoutrements, she still reflected that wholesomeness he
had found so appealing from the start. He wondered if she would be able to hold on to that or if, with the weight of years of governing, she would lose that quality.