The Alliance

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resem-blance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. 
LionHearted Publishing,® Inc. 
P.O. Box 618 
Zephyr Cove, NV 89448-0618 ™ 888-546-6478 
Send us email at admin@LionHearted.com Visit our website www.LionHearted.com Copyright © 1999 by Patricia Waddell 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photo-copying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except for excerpts used for reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information contact LionHearted Publishing, Inc. 
ISBN: 1-57343-014-5 
Printed in the U.S.A. 
To DanaRae Pomeroy

Without your guidance and encouragement THEALLIANCE would have remained an idea.Your friendship allowed it to become a reality.Here’s to the future and all it holds.

 “A personal keeper in my ebook library.” 
Romance Communications 
Reuel Shatar, the handsome Governor of Pyrali and its three moons, is noble to his galactic core and duty bound to produce the next ruler of the Alliance. His choice is to blackmail a beautiful dissident into his mating chamber or have the House of Shatar fall into disgrace. 
Christa Kirklan is as stubborn as her Earthling heritage and as unpredictable as a cosmic storm. Faced with exile to a frigid asteroid for her treasonous dialogue, or marriage to the man who represents everything she hates, Christa reluc-tantly chooses marriage. 
What better arena to voice her discontentment with the empire’s prejudice and archaic social culture than the Alliance’s own dais?  What better way to raise her people from outcasts to noble citizens than to put an Earthling on the future throne of the galaxy? 
Pyrali watches as Lord Shatar pledges his allegiance to an alien, while Christa vows to find the real reason behind Reuel’s seductive scheme. United in a political union, forged by a man’s hid-den shame and a woman’s quest for freedom, the Alliance trembles under the final test of their love. 

Table of Contents

Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21

Chapter 1

   
The Alliance Empire Reign of the Sixth House The Planet Pyrali 
“I have found a suitable female, my lord.” 
The advisor waited patiently for the Governor’s reaction. His master, Lord Shatar, was Cadish of the Seventh Noble House, a rank honored throughout the Alliance. 
“So, Minlim, am I to mate with a Zadoc or a Jabecian?” Reuel Shatar finally asked. His com-posure was deceiving. The necessity of taking an alien female to produce an heir for the Seventh House of the Alliance was just that—a necessity. 
Minlim smiled, allowing his pale eyes to show the humor so few knew lay beneath them. “I fear a Jabecian could not carry your seed to completion, my lord. They are an extremely industrious species, but dwarfs, nevertheless.” 
“I would have no need of any female, but an Adarian, if fate had not set its hand against me,” Lord Shatar replied harshly, rubbing the small scar on his forearm. It was ludicrous that an insect, no larger than his thumbnail, had changed destiny with a single nibble of flesh. 
“I think the female will be adequate for your purposes, my lord. She is young, healthy and, as you requested, slightly less docile than a kisla.” 
The corners of Reuel’s mouth lifted, stopping just short of a smile. There were several kisla in the palace. The large felines were known for their insatiable appetites for sleep. They woke, blinked opaque eyes, stretched furry limbs, and then ate. Once done with that task, they curled their long, bushy tails over their noses and went back to sleep. The one slumbering on the bench under the viewing window had been there for the last three days, unconcerned that he’d trespassed into the Governor’s private office. 
“I have yet to have a female fall asleep while I am mounting her, Minlim, but I appreciate your concern.” Green eyes, framed by ebony brows, reflected the Governor’s amusement. “Now that the issue of her alertness has been addressed, tell me more about the female who will bear the next Cadish of the Seventh House. What species will have the honor of mixing their blood with mine?” 
“She is an Earthling, my lord.” 
Standing up so quickly, he almost overturned the goblet of wine resting by his right hand, the Governor of Pyrali reacted just as Minlim had 
anticipated. 
“An Earthling!” 
Minlim said nothing as he rubbed the jeweled amulet around his neck. Etched with the insignia of the Seventh House, it designated his rank as advisor. 
“You expect me to plant my seed in an Earthling’s womb? Have you finally reached the age where your wisdom no longer lingers in your head?” Reuel roared the insult. Adarians were born warriors and leaders, a heritage he was proud to claim. As Governor of Pyrali he was second only to the Cadish of the High Council in rank and importance. 
Minlim continued stroking the amulet. 
“Don’t just stand there. Tell me why this female is so suitable,” Reuel grumbled, pacing the length of the office adjacent to his private sleeping quarters. He stopped midway in the room, giving Minlim a skeptical look. “I warn you, old friend, your logic had better be impeccable. I am not in the mood to play one of your ethereal mind games.” 
“It is, as always, my duty to serve you,” Minlim replied, speaking in the low, leisurely tones that so often tested his master’s patience. 
“I ask for an amiable female to sire my son and you offer me an impulsive Earthling. I know little of the species. What I do know, tells me they are irresponsible, ill-mannered and unworthy.” 
“They have only been with us a few short years, my lord. Although, I must admit I find their spirits adventurous,” Minlim added. 
“Adventurous.” The Governor of Pyrali practically snorted the word. “They are rude and insolent. Thank the stars, they’re confined to Pyrali. I shudder to think what rebellion they could foster were they spread throughout the galaxy.” 
“Each race contributes to the Creator’s plan in their own way, my lord. Granted, Earthlings can be somewhat illogical in their attitudes.” 
“You mean irrational,” Reuel responded harshly. “I understand there is an Earthling, confined to the Penal Quarters at this moment, who has the impudence to ask that their race be given a seat on the Planetary Council. They compose less than five percent of the planet’s population, yet they think they have a right to raise their voices in its governing. The idea is preposterous.” 
“Perhaps this individual thought they could contribute to the advisory panel, my lord. Although the Earthlings comprise a small portion of the population, they are a highly intelligent and creative species. They have adapted well in the three generations they have been among us.” 
“They have adapted, because we have encouraged them to do so. There were barely four hundred of them alive when their transport vessel crashed on the third moon. Without the compassion of the Ruling Council, their race would have been left to survive on its own. They owe the Alliance their loyalty, not their ridicule.” 
“Be that as it may, my lord, would you place the imperfections of an entire race on the shoulders of one female?” Minlim inquired calmly. 
He should know better than to debate with a Haodai. In the twenty years since Minlim had come to him, Reuel had yet to win an argument with the silver-haired mystic. 
Reuel walked to the large windows which comprised the western wall of his office. Regardless of his emotions or his preferences, the Alliance must survive. The peace that prospered in the galaxy was due to the strict code of honor and discipline the founding families believed was more precious than individual life. It was order, irreversible loyalty to an idea, that maintained the peace. It didn’t matter if Reuel wanted a wife. Duty demanded that he take one. It didn’t matter that the thought of mating with a female of another species did little to arouse him. It was necessary, therefore it would be done. 
“Why an Earthling? There are hundreds of species in the Alliance, surely one of them has a female that will serve my purpose as well as this one?” 
“Only half of those species are biologically compatible with Adarians, my lord. Earth women strongly resemble your own race. Their reproductive organs are almost identical. The female’s genetic patterns have shown the mixed breeding would be successful. She can give you the heir you require.” 
Reuel was relieved that he wouldn’t have to mate with an undersized Jabecian or a gangly Zadoc with yellow eyes. If he had to take an alien to his bed, he supposed an Earthling would be more sexually compatible. Performing the act wouldn’t be the difficult part. Taking an Earthling as his wife was an entirely different matter. Adarian females were soft-spoken and graciously obliging. The thought of spending the remainder of his life bound to an unpredictable, impulsive Earthling had little appeal. 
“Favian, my flight lieutenant, took an Earthling to his bed. He said he could barely tolerate her impertinent behavior for the short time he kept her in the mating chamber.” Reuel turned around and looked at his advisor, his hands fisted behind his back. “I forewarn you, Minlim, if this female cannot keep her opinions to herself, I will abide her presence only when I am joining with her. I’ll not have my duties interrupted by a disruptive woman.” 
The advisor’s response was delayed by a request to enter the Governor’s presence. Silence greeted the Adarian female with dark hair and pale eyes as she entered the private office. 
She stood quietly until Reuel gave her permission to speak. 
“Forgive my intrusion, lord brother, but a communication has arrived from Lady Katala. She wishes that I inform you of her arrival.” 
The Governor turned his face, hiding his frown from Taraza, his only sister. She served as hostess in the Governor’s Palace, a role that would shortly be assumed by his wife. 
“I was not aware Lady Katala planned on visiting Pyrali,” Reuel remarked, silently cursing fate once again. Katala was the daughter of Lord Dyson, his father’s closest friend. It had been assumed for years that one day the two families would be joined by marriage. An assumption circumstances now forced him to end. 
“When?” Reuel asked, knowing his sister presumed Lady Katala’s arrival would be the prologue to a wedding announcement. 
Taraza smiled. “She has taken passage on Suriel’s ship. They will arrive within the week. Our brother said to tell you he is anxious to see you again.” 
“As I anxiously await his arrival,” Reuel replied, intentionally omitting Lady Katala’s name. His sister noticed the exclusion. 
“Should I reply to Lady Katala, my lord?” Taraza inquired, her eyes asking the question Adarian protocol restricted her tongue from speaking. 
“No,” Reuel said. “I will contact the star cruiser after my discussion with Minlim has ended. You may go.” 
“As you wish, my lord,” Taraza replied softly, bowing her head before she turned and left the room. 
The Governor waited until the doors had closed before turning to Minlim. “My family will think I’ve lost my mind.” 
“Unless you explain the necessity of taking an alien as your wife, there is little you can do, my lord, but let them think as they wish.” 
“Don’t be so irritably diplomatic, old friend,” Reuel snapped. “I made no secret of my plans to take Katala to wife once she reached the age of agreement. Now I must insult her as well as my family’s friendship with her house.” 
“You must do what you must do,” Minlim pointed out. “To produce the next heir is your function as the eldest son. The stability of the Alliance depends upon your dedication.” 
“I need no reminder of my duty,” Reuel said harshly. “It is, and always has been, the core of my existence.” 
The advisor remained silent. 
“Tell me about her,” Reuel finally said, returning to his panoramic view of the capitol city. 
“She is, as I said, young and healthy,” Minlim replied before calmly reciting the facts outlined in the female’s biological records. “Her grandfather was the operations officer on the transport ship that crashed on Belina. All of her kinsmen are dead except for one uncle who is assigned to the Agricultural Bureau. She was educated in the communal schools, excelling above many of her Pyralian classmates.” 
Reuel turned around. His muscular frame cast an ominous shadow on the metallic floor as he fisted his hands over his hips and stared at the one person he could truly call a friend. 
“I’m more concerned with her attitudes toward the Alliance than I am with her academic achievements. I have never been of the opinion that educating females beyond their maternal duties classified a species as progressive. Earthlings are far too generous in their attitudes toward their women to please me.” 
“The Creator gave male and female to each species. Each to perform an appointed function, I agree, but each having gifts only fully appreciated when joined in harmony,” Minlim replied patiently. 
“We can debate the Creator’s galactic wisdom another time, old friend. You have found an Earthling female for me. I wish to know what it is about her that makes her more suitable than another.” 
The command was given in the authoritative tone of a Governor. Minlim responded, plainly stating the reason he had selected the Earthling over the other candidates he had screened for Reuel’s purpose. 
“The medical scans have been run three times to confirm their accuracy. Your genetic patterns are extremely compatible. If mated with you, there is no doubt she would provide you a son. Statistically, there is a strong possibility that if she bore you ten children, eight of them would be males.” 
The implication of Minlim’s words vibrated against the walls of the oval suite, returning to Reuel’s ears again and again. To know his seed could bring forth sons quickly dispelled any arguments he might have found against the advisor’s choice. He must have a son. To have more than one son meant the security of his house. If the original heir was felled by disease or death there would be another to take his place. The House of Shatar would prosper if his seed proved fruitful in the Earthling’s womb. 
“You are certain?” Reuel asked bluntly. 
“I am certain, my lord,” Minlim replied, knowing the debate had come to an end. 
“Where is she?” Reuel inquired, sounding uninterested. One of the few times Favian had commented on the Earthling female he’d taken to his mating chamber had been to say that mating with her had been most pleasurable. It seemed, in spite of their many irritating tendencies, Earthling females were quite passionate. Reuel had to admit that discovering for himself if an Earthling female’s sexual appetite could match his own was somewhat intriguing. 
The Governor’s thoughts didn’t keep him from seeing Minlim’s reluctance in answering the last question. 
“Where is the female?” Reuel repeated the question, something he rarely did. 
“In the Penal Quarters, my lord. She is the Earthling who requested representation from the Pyrali Council.” 
“By the Martyrs of Bagali, have you lost your senses! First you want me to mix the seed of a noble family with an Earthling. Then you have the audacity to tell me the Earthling you have selected is now being held in the Penal Quarters for speaking treason.” 
“You commissioned me to find a female who could conceive the next Cadish. I have done so, my lord. My most humble regrets if my service does not please you.” 
Reuel was more shocked than angry. He’d viewed the transcripts of the preliminary hearing held in the Gallery the previous day. The female had announced that any government which refused its citizens representation was comprised of nothing more than prejudicial tyrants. Reuel had thought the words eloquent, but foolish. The Ruling Council was an advanced form of government. The majority ruled. Not even the High Cadish could overturn the final decision of the Council. 
“I sought a compliant female, not a rebel,” Reuel said, marching across the room and pouring himself some wine. 
“Freedom to voice one’s thoughts is a granted right of the Alliance, my lord. To seek that right before a planetary council is given to any citizen of the empire. The female did not breach the law.” 
“Not until she had the eyes and ears of the Council, my trusted friend. Then she came close to treason with her vicious accusations of sup-pression and prejudice. Erling was within his rights to hold her for further questioning. Her own words cast her in a cloak of suspicion, not the government she so strongly criticizes.” 
“She is young, my lord, and perhaps overly exuberant,” Minlim defended the woman who was scheduled to face the Council the next day for further interrogation. 
“She is rebellious, ungrateful and very close to being exiled to Ritsa,” Reuel stated firmly, ignoring Minlim’s compromising tone. “Perhaps a few years in a habitation hut, with only her thoughts as company, will gain her the maturity you seem to think she will one day find.” 
“Perhaps, my lord. Though I have found maturity is more easily gained if one is guided by a patient hand.” 
Reuel laughed. “You think the warrior in me will rise to the challenge of taming your little Earthling.” 
“You have trained squadrons of starpilots, my lord. Young males, once unseasoned and foolish, line the ranks of our First Forces because of your tutelage. Does not patience usually achieve that which impatience so often leaves undone?” 
“I’m not a patient man, Minlim, and well you know it,” Reuel retorted. 
“I must disagree, my lord. You can be most patient when you know your forbearance will gain that which you seek.” 
Reuel’s emerald eyes took on a look of anticipation. “You’re right. It is time I met this Earthling. I wonder how your little rebel will react when she discovers her body will soon nurture the next High Cadish?” 
“I fear she will be less than receptive to the concept, my lord,” Minlim replied, following his master toward the doors that led to the main hall of the Governor’s Palace. “She is, as you so eloquently described, an unpredictable Earthling.” 
“As long as her womb is predictable,” Reuel said, motioning for his private aircoach to be readied. “As for her defiant nature, that can be easily tamed. Once inside my mating chamber, she will be too busy breeding my sons to breed rebellion.” 
Her accommodations were quite elegant for a prison. The small parlor and bedroom, decorated in shades of dark green and gold, the colors of the Alliance, offered Christa ample room to pace as she contemplated the consequences of her actions. 
Brushing a wild lock of tawny hair away from her face, Christa walked to the balcony. Stepping outside, she watched the Gallery guards change shifts in the courtyard beneath her comfortable cage. Though it was the middle of Pyrali’s summer, Christa wrapped her arms around herself to ward off an inner chill. 
She’d done it this time! 
Daran had warned her repeatedly that her impulsive tongue would get her into trouble. Knowing that her outspoken opinions would once again cause her good-natured friend to worry made Christa sad. They’d grown up together, an adventurous little girl and a cautious young boy. They’d been playmates, then friends. Daran seemed to be the only person who understood she didn’t intentionally cause trouble. 
Since graduating from the Academy, they’d remained friends, but their relationship had changed. Daran had grown into a man, one who wanted to succeed in his vocation and eventually take a wife. Christa had accepted a position teaching in the small academy reserved for children whose parents traveled throughout the Alliance, requiring her to live on the private campus and be guardian as well as instructor. The position suited her purposes for now. She enjoyed working with the younger members of the various species that inhabited Pyrali. 
Daran said it was because she’d yet to grow up herself. Christa insisted it was because she preferred to surround herself with those yet untutored in prejudice and bigotry. 
If Daran was here now, he’d lecture her until she yawned. As always, she’d let her zealous enthusiasm overrule her common sense. Why hadn’t she merely smiled at the Council and sweetly asked them to consider allowing one, solitary Earthling to join their ranks? Why hadn’t she blinked her dark eyes and coyly suggested that their foresight would become legendary, if they gave her people representation? Why? 
Because she didn’t have a coy bone in her body and she hadn’t smiled sweetly at a man since her sixth birthday, when she’d convinced her father to give her the present he’d hidden in his pocket. Christa had dedicated her life to learning the history of her people, not acquiring the flirtatious skills other women used to get a wedding amulet. She wanted nothing to do with being legally bound to a man who would quickly change from admiring lover to domineering mate once the ceremony had been performed. 
Since crashing on Pyrali’s moon, the males of her race had unfortunately regressed, quickly adapting the archaic social standards of the Pyralians and the Adarians. In the study of her people’s history, Christa had learned that Earth females had long ago reached the status of equals. 
After only one hundred and fifty years on an alien planet, the men of her race had conveniently forgotten the equality of the sexes. Aiding the regression was the Alliance’s firm belief that males reigned supreme. 
When she’d suggested that a woman might best represent the cause of her people, Counsellor Erling had turned pale. Moments later, he’d gritted his teeth. By the end of Christa’s appeal, the honored legislator had ordered her removed and confined for further questioning. 
She’d managed, in less than fifteen minutes, to be labeled a fanatic and a rebel. The High Counsellor was probably having a difficult time deciding which asteroid out of the millions that comprised the Great Barrier Zone would be her future home. 
Christa watched Pyrali’s second moon rise slowly into the evening sky. The gates of the Gallery became dark shadows, blocking her view of the freedom just beyond their locked doors, as muted twilight turned into night. A sharp beep, signifying the door of her cell being unlocked, interrupted her thoughts. 
When Daran stepped inside the small parlor, Christa smiled and raced into his arms. 
“I wasn’t sure they’d allow me visitors,” she said, hugging the young man she loved liked a brother. 
“If you’d told me you’d requested an audience with the Council, I would have gone with you,” Daran scolded, pushing her back so she could see him frown. 
“You would have tried to talk me out of speaking,” Christa said, frowning in return. 
“You did more than speak, Christa. Speaking doesn’t get you locked in the Penal Quarters. Treason does.” 
“I am not a traitor,” Christa insisted, looking at her friend over her shoulder as she walked to the serving table across the room and sat a small carafe of herbal tea on the warming sensor. “What got me locked in this cell was the courage to disagree with the mighty Alliance.” 
Daran shook his head. Taking off his cloak, he offered Christa a small smile. “Couldn’t you have disagreed a little less forcefully? I had hoped you could join me to celebrate my application review.” 
“Not again, Daran? You’ve applied to the Mining Administration for the last three years. No Earthling has ever been allowed to supervise one of the Alliance’s precious halamyte mines,” Christa replied, wishing Daran would understand one of the reasons she had spoken so forcefully to the Council was to rectify that kind of prejudice. 
“There will be a first time, Christa. I hope it will be my application that breaks the tradition,” Daran said optimistically. “I am concerned since the underwater mining has been escalated. There have been reports of some minor tremors on the southern continent.” 
“And you want to help.” Christa managed a weak smile, then handed him a cup of tea. “I know you could, if only they’d let you. That’s why our voice, as a people, is so important. That’s why I had to risk speaking out.” 
“You have risked much,” Daran replied, his optimism fading as Christa sat down beside him. 
“I know,” she whispered, cradling her cup of tea in her hands. “I’m to be questioned again tomorrow. I suppose, unless I can convince the Council I’m an emotional female who’s let the moons effect her thinking, I’ll be…” Christa couldn’t bring herself to say exiled. The word held too much finality. 
“Then convince them,” Daran said. “The same way you convinced your uncle to let you live with my family and attend the Academy. I have yet to see such an inspiring performance from any of Pyrali’s renowned actors.” 
Christa didn’t say anything. Bowing to the Council wasn’t a scene she planned to play. She’d spent most of her life fighting the patriarchal attitudes that ruled Alliance culture. She’d continue to fight them. 
“I’ll be with you,” Daran said, reaching out and taking her hand in his. “You won’t be alone.” 
“Thank you.” Christa clutched his hand. “But, I’d rather be alone. Your reputation has been tarnished enough as it is. Gloriana wouldn’t talk to you for weeks after she found out you and I were friends.” 
“She’s forgiven me.” Daran’s amber eyes sparkled. “So much so she’s agreed to marry me.” 
“That’s wonderful,” Christa shrieked, sitting her cup on the floor, then throwing her arms around Daran’s shoulders. “She’s been in love with you for years.” 
“And I with her,” Daran laughed. “I thought, perhaps once I’d married Gloriana, I might be able to persuade you to accept her brother’s invitation to attend the Feast of Belina with us.” 
“Stop matchmaking.” Christa wiggled her nose at him. “Matheli is a very handsome man, but I’m not interested in men.” 
“They’re interested in you,” Daran persisted. A slow, repetitive beep told them his allotted time had come to an end. 
“Not once they get to know me,” Christa replied, wishing Daran could stay and dispel her worry with another of his smiles. “Once they find out I can think for myself their interest fades like snow in sunlight.” 
“You’ve never seen snow,” Daran said, tossing his cloak over his shoulders, then pulling her into his arms for another hug. 
“Grandfather wrote all about it in his journal,” Christa said confidently. “It’s as white as starlight and as cold as an Adarian’s heart.” 
“Be careful of your tongue, Christa,” Daran warned in a low whisper. “This isn’t the time or place to be insulting your hosts.” 
Christa shrugged. “I already have. That’s why I’m here.” 
“I’ll come and see you again tomorrow,” Daran assured her, leaning down and planting a chaste kiss on her forehead. Neither of them admitted that tomorrow evening might well find Christa on her way to a penal colony. 

Chapter 2

The sentry came to attention, his booted heels clicking together, as his body went rigid inside the confines of his green uniform. The single gold braid adorning his left shoulder declared him a veteran of service to the Alliance. The elderly soldier now guarded any suspected enemies of the empire. 
“The Governor wishes to see the prisoner,” Minlim stated, stepping silently in front of Reuel. 
“She has a visitor, my lord,” the guard said, looking past the advisor to his commanding officer. 
“Where is the viewing room?” Reuel asked, curious, but hiding it under the mask of indifference he’d learned as a child. 
“There, my lord.” The guard pointed toward a door, directly across the hall from his post. 
Reuel nodded, then walked toward the viewing room. 
Minlim followed. The metallic door closed behind them with a hiss of compressed air. Reuel walked to the monitoring console and punched in the numerical code for the female’s cell. The image of Christa Kirklan being embraced by her visitor filled the screen. Reuel listened attentively as his future wife described snow. 
Her features weren’t as displeasing as her opinion. In fact, she was strikingly beautiful for an Earthling. Reuel qualified the thought as he watched her follow the man to the door. 
When she turned her back on the monitor Reuel had selected to view the holding cell, he quickly reached out and selected a multiple view of the room. Five additional monitors allowed him to see his intended bride from various angles. 
Telling himself it was only curiosity, Reuel concentrated on the female’s movements. She was taller than most women of her species. Her hips pressed against the soft fabric of her mynara. The dark-colored dress flared into a full skirt as it reached her knees, stopping an inch above feet encased in soft leather slippers. 
Reuel frowned when the viewing monitor offered him a profile of the female’s upper body. No matter how many species he encountered, he’d never grown accustomed to seeing females with permanent breasts. Adarian women were slenderly curved. Their milk glands only became prominent when they were suckling their young. 
When the female smiled at her visitor, asking him not to worry over her situation, Reuel felt the muscles in his body clinch as though he’d received a blow to his midsection. 
When she turned around, unintentionally facing the main scanner, Reuel felt his supposedly superior Adarian senses react again. This time the sensation surged upward from his groin, spiraling through his chest like a cosmic cloud. Christa Kirklan had the smile of an innocent child, formed by lips meant for a man’s kiss. 
Disgusted with himself for losing his control, if only momentarily, Reuel reached out and turned off the scanning sensors. Minlim’s subtle smile told Reuel he hadn’t been able to shield his thoughts from the Haodai’s receptive mind. Inherently trained never to let anyone get an advantage, Reuel marched toward the door, refusing to acknowledge the vulnerability his advisor had sensed. 
“It seems our little rebel hasn’t yet learned to temper her tongue,” he said, stopping for a moment while the doors slid silently into the wall pockets that housed them. Stepping into the corri-dor, Reuel waited for Minlim to join him. Once the advisor was outside the monitoring room the sensors allowed the doors to close. 
“So it would seem, my lord,” Minlim said, staying a respectable distance behind Reuel as they approached the door to Christa’s cell. 
“Perhaps she’ll change her opinion once she’s spent a few nights in my bed,” Reuel said gruffly, motioning for the guard to unlock the cell. 
When Christa saw the man strolling into her cell as though he owned the galaxy, she opened her mouth to protest the rude invasion of her privacy. She clamped it shut, keeping her words inside, when she saw the gold insignia on his uniform. 
This man wasn’t another penal guard, sent to escort her to the medical unit for another barrage of tests. He moved too gracefully to be a jailer. The dark green of his uniform was the rich color of a high ranking official in the Alliance govern-ment. The silver cape, anchored with metallic braids at the top of his shoulders, fanned out behind him as he marched into the room like a conquering hero. 
Christa studied her uninvited guest and felt her senses go numb. Adarian males weren’t uncommon on Pyrali. They commanded almost every aspect of the planet’s economic spectrum, especially the vast wealth of minerals hidden beneath the seas. She was accustomed to their size and appearance as well as their aloof behavior and intimidating stares. 
There was nothing vague about this Adarian’s gaze. He was looking at her with the jeweled stare of a predatory animal. Christa felt trapped in a magnetic current, unable to move, held motionless by invisible bands of pulsating energy. Looking into his emerald eyes, Christa saw more than a ruggedly handsome face etched with lines of experience. She saw the essence of a man who commanded respect with nothing more than his attitude. 
Christa couldn’t keep from feeling his presence. It spanned the short distance between them, filling it with a power that lacked physical substance, yet shouting its existence in a silence that made her head spin and her pulse race. 
“Christa, this is Lord Shatar.” 
Minlim’s softly spoken introduction shattered the delicate intensity that had held Christa captive. She stepped back, still staring at the tall Adarian. It took a moment for Minlim’s declaration to pen-etrate the haze seeping through Christa’s senses. 
Lord Shatar was the Governor of Pyrali! He was also a member of the Alliance Ruling Council. The combination made him one of the most pow-erful men in the galaxy. 
Was she to be banished without having an opportunity to defend herself in front of the Council? The Governor had the power of the Alliance on his side. He could wield it like an ancient sword. If he believed her a traitor, his words could send her into exile. 
“My lord, this is Christa Kirklan,” Minlim continued the introduction, coming to stand at Christa’s side. 
Something about the advisor’s closeness eased the tension in her body. Christa didn’t bother to question her reaction. Instead, she tried to tap into the tranquil aura surrounding the slender gentleman, needing the composure it offered. 
The Governor continued to stare at her. Christa knew he was waiting for her to display the cus-tomary sign of greeting, one designed to show a woman’s subservience in a society ruled by men. She neither bowed her head nor lowered her eyes. Motionless, except for the blood racing through her veins, Christa waited for the Governor to decide her fate. 
“Would you add insolence to the charges against you?” Reuel asked, demanding the respect that was his due. 
His tone was as arrogant as his stare. He was appraising her like a merchant inspecting bottles of sangra for shipment to the northern sectors. The longer he looked the shorter the fuse on Christa’s temper became. She reminded herself that her tongue had gotten her into enough trouble for one day. 
“No, my lord.” Christa almost choked on the greeting. “I seek only my freedom.” 
“With words that hint of treason?” He eyed her suspiciously. 
“My words hinted at nothing, Lord Governor. They simply stated a desire to see my people represented on a world they now call home,” Christa said distinctly, her courage returning as the Governor’s gaze grew harder. 
To show the fear making her feet cold and her mouth dry would be admitting guilt. She wasn’t guilty of anything except wanting what every other species on the planet took for granted—the right to have an Earthling sit on the planetary council. 
The Governor took a menacing step toward her. Christa didn’t move. 
“A world that offered them shelter after the crash of a colony ship. A world that allowed them to remain, alien or not, offering them a home they now seem to think unsuitable,” Reuel retorted. 
Watching the female on the viewing screen had disturbed him. Standing so close he could smell her scent was having an even stronger affect on him. An affect he didn’t like. 
“My people do not think Pryali unfit, my lord. They merely want what others have been given freely. Representation to have their concerns voiced and their opinions heard.” 
“Your people, or yourself?” he asked, folding his hands behind his back as though he was ques-tioning a wayward child. 
The gesture pricked Christa’s temper. Her eyes grew even darker. “What difference does it make, my lord? The Council didn’t seem interested in hearing even one Earthling voice a complaint.” 
His little rebel had courage, Reuel thought. She had yet to learn the art of tempering it with wisdom —but she would. By the time she delivered his first son, Christa’s fiery personality would be gentled to warm embers. The female had the audacity to think herself equal to a noble of the Alliance. She had a lot to learn. Reuel decided it would be his pleasure to teach her. 
“The Council is willing to hear any complaint from a citizen of Pryali. But you didn’t complain, cassana, you ranted like a wuta in the midst of a mating frenzy.” 
Having her appearance in front of the Council compared to the erotic dance of a tree frog did little to improve Christa’s mood. She was about to tell the Governor what he could do with his opinion when she realized his voice had changed. He’d called her something…cassana? His eyes had changed, too. For the short span of a second they’d softened. 
Christa’s curiosity, her greatest downfall, according to Daran, overruled her temper. 
“What does cassana mean?” 
The Governor smiled, or at least Christa thought it was a smile. It was hard to tell, when his eyes had turned to stone. 
“Nothing,” Reuel said quickly. The endearment had slipped out. If he told the Earthling the word’s meaning, she’d probably reach for the small dagger sheathed and hanging from his belt. Reuel didn’t doubt that if provoked, her anger would be an interesting display of female emotions. 
“I prefer to hear insults tossed at me in a language I can understand, Lord Governor. It makes them easier to return.” Christa clasped her hands behind her back, imitating his stance and hiding her trembling hands at the same time. She hadn’t won more than one political debate at the Academy by being afraid of words. 
“I have better things to do than throw insults at an Earthling,” Reuel said impassively. “The expression was merely descriptive of your actions.” 
“Then, am I to assume you’re here to hear my defense against the suspicions cast by the Council?” Christa asked, hoping it wasn’t true. The thought of pleading for anything from this man made her stomach knot and her self-respect go into revolt. He was the most arrogant man she’d ever encoun-tered. No wonder he was Governor. The Ruling Council couldn’t have chosen a better example of male conceit. 
Reuel knew he should answer the question affirmatively. It would give the impudent Earthling something to worry about. Minlim had been right. The female sparked his sense of adventure. Taming the fire burning in her dark eyes challenged his masculine senses in a way no other female ever had. If joining with her was half as enjoyable as conversing, there’d be no duty in producing his son, only pleasure. 
“I am here because I found myself curious about a female who dared to call my Counsellor narrowed-minded and short-sighted.” Reuel quoted her words back at her. “Erling is an honorable man who has served Pyrali most of his life. When you face the Council tomorrow, be sure your tongue finds the appropriate words to apologize to him for the insult he has done nothing to earn.” 
Christa felt adequately chastised by the time Reuel finished. She met his gaze again, then softened her tone. “I tend to get overly enthusiastic at times, my lord.” 
“Then I suggest you find another release for your eagerness,” he recommended dryly, denying the smile her reply inspired. “Insulting officials of the Alliance will gain you nothing but an isolation hut on a frigid asteroid.” 
“My people’s history is filled with those who willingly died to gain their freedom,” Christa said, inflamed that he thought so little of what she held so dear. 
This time Reuel did smile. 
“I think the Alliance can find a more useful purpose for your enthusiasm, cassana.” 
Before Christa could ask what purpose, the Governor turned and left the room. Minlim gave her a fleeting smile before he followed his master from the penal cell. 
Reuel maneuvered the aircoach through Dacla, the capital city, with the skill of a garment maker weaving thread. The city’s crystal towers flashed by in a rainbow of refracted light. As he steered the anti-gravity aircoach toward the inland sea of Saionge that separated the Governor’s Palace from the large city, his mind returned to the dark-eyed maiden with a stinging tongue. 
She was, as he’d expected, undisciplined and overly vocal. She was also extremely desirable. He found himself wanting Christa Kirklan with an urgency that made his loins knot and his palms sweat. He’d been too long without a female. It wasn’t like him to react so fiercely to the mere sight of a woman. 
They had almost reached the palace when Minlim asked the inevitable question. “Shall I have the lady moved to the palace, my lord?” 
“Not yet,” Reuel replied. “Time for her to think will serve my purpose.” 
“She is quite charming, don’t you agree?” 
“She is what she is,” Reuel replied, knowing the advisor had sensed his strong reaction to the female. 
“Shall I present your proposal?” 
“No. I want the pleasure of telling the lady her fate.” 
“Then you expect her agreement?” 
The governor laughed. “No, I expect her wrath. But that is of little consequence. She will be whatever I want her to be.” 
Minlim’s expression said he wasn’t so sure. “Perhaps diplomacy would work better than tyranny, my lord?” 
“You must defer to my experience, old friend. 
Your race is not burdened by sexual need. The way to the female’s cooperation is not in her head, it’s in her body. I will not hesitate to exploit that need if it will gain her assistance. I have no intention of revealing my motive for taking her as my wife, nor are you to tell her anything that will make my position less than what it will be, her husband and lord.” 
“As you wish,” Minlim replied. 
Regardless of Minlim’s advice, Reuel knew it wouldn’t be advantageous to let Christa know he wanted her in any way other than as a vessel to relieve his sexual appetite. He wasn’t a fool. This lushly curved female was entirely too smart for her own good, no doubt the result of too much academic freedom and too little male supervision. 
Christa had to accept his authority. She had to accept him as her lord and master. To let her do anything less was inviting disaster. Once he took her as his wife, he would be as committed to her life as she must be to his. Christa would test his patience, but in the end he would have what he wanted. 
An heir. 
Still, he preferred his life orderly. If Minlim, in his unique way, could soften Christa’s resistance, it would help to expedite her assimilation into Adarian society. No easy task if the lady was to be judged by her actions. 
“How would you convince our rebel to give up her defiant ways?” Reuel asked, turning the aircoach 
toward the north gate of the Governor’s palace. 
“Logic, my lord.” 
Reuel laughed. 
“If properly enticed, the feminine mind has an impressive ability to analyze,” Minlim stated pos-itively. 
Reuel didn’t bother to ask how his advisor had reached such a ridiculous conclusion. “Let her doubts increase until tomorrow. Then plant your diplomatic seeds, if you must, but keep them discreetly evasive.” 
The palace guards stepped aside as the aircoach floated into the docking area. Minlim waited until the coach had been secured and the guards dismissed before speaking again. 
“What of Lady Katala, my lord?” 
“I seem to be surrounded by female induced problems,” Reuel sighed wearily. “I can only hope the insult to her will not shatter the bond between our families.” 
“Time will vindicate your actions,” Minlim said assuringly. 
“Perhaps,” Reuel remarked. “Unfortunately, I have little of it. My brother’s cruiser will be arriving very soon.” 
“Then the wedding should take place immediately,” Minlim suggested. 
“I agree, but it will take time to prepare our rebel for her wedding day. Tradition demands our vows be spoken in the ancient tongue. I doubt she knows it.” 
“Few in the empire do, my lord.” Minlim pointed out. 
The doors to Reuel’s private chamber opened. Stepping inside, he removed his cloak. In his haste to meet Minlim’s selection, he’d neglected to eat the evening meal. His sister, devoted as always, had left a tray of fresh fruit and spiced meats on the serving table next to his desk. Reuel filled a crystal plate with the food Taraza had prepared. 
Time. 
It was the one thing his rank and wealth could not purchase. There was much to do if the marriage was to take place before Suriel’s ship docked on Pyrali. First he had to convince Christa to agree to the marriage. Then he had to face his brother and Katala. Neither task would be easy, even for a man of his persuasive abilities. Although it wasn’t illegal for an Adarian nobleman to wed outside his species, it was extremely rare. His position as Cadish of the Seventh House would make his actions unquestionable, but he had no desire to disturb his family with unsettling thoughts. The next few weeks would be difficult ones, beginning with the impetuous female he would soon honor with the title of Lady Shatar. 
But first things first. Protocol required that she be schooled in the old language as well as the duties she would assume once she became his wife. Turning to Minlim, Reuel took the initial step toward finalizing his plot. 
“You speak ancient Adarian better than I do,” Reuel noted. “Who better to instruct our little rebel than the man who thinks she is so suitable?” 
“I am flattered you think I can accomplish so great a task in such short a time, my lord.” 
“I have faith in your ability to see all is done as it should be,” Reuel said, smiling. 
“I am honored,” Minlim replied. 
“And I hope I haven’t lost my noble mind,” Reuel countered, wishing for the first time that duty didn’t dictate his life. 
Christa stood in the center of the tiled floor, embossed with the emblem of the Alliance, and stared at the closed door. The Governor of Pyrali had been curious about her. For some unknown reason, simmering in the depths of her mind, she knew it was more than inquisitiveness that had brought the planet’s magistrate to her cell. A reason, Christa sensed, she wasn’t going to like. 
She dimmed the lights by speaking softly into the command panel and turned toward the small, sleeping room where she’d found little slumber the previous night. She undressed, folding her smock and mynara before slipping between the temperature-controlled bedding. Folding her hands over her stomach, Christa stared at the metallic ceiling. 
She might be impulsive, as Daran insisted, or temperamental, as her uncle often complained, but she wasn’t dishonest. Not with others and never with herself. She’d felt something pass between herself and Lord Shatar. She’d felt the power of his gaze. In the short seconds before he spoke to her, she’d experienced a riotous sense of expectation so strong it had been almost prophetic. The puzzling sensation had started in the center of her body, then expanded its domain. At first, she’d been frightened, then the sensation had changed, becoming more a tingling surge of anticipation than fear. 
Christa forced herself to close her eyes and take deep breaths. She needed to sleep. She’d need her wits about her to keep from falling into the trap the High Council no doubt had planned. She’d insulted their male egos, a sin considered intolerable in a nation ruled by men. 
If she had any hope of walking out of the Gallery a free woman, she needed to concentrate on her own eloquent trap. Hopefully, she’d be able to convince the Council of her sincere regrets without actually saying she was sorry. If not, she’d bear their verdict with a head raised high in defiance. 

Chapter 3

“Counsellor Erling is here, my lord,” the Borkian servant announced in the raspy voice associated with his species. 
“Let him enter,” Reuel replied, barely noticing the docile attendant. The Borkians had been mem-bers of the Alliance for several hundred years. Unlike a certain Earthling who was occupying more of his thoughts than the Governor liked, Borkians seemed content with their place in the galaxy. 
Counsellor Erling stepped into the arched entry, awaiting the Governor’s permission to enter. Reuel waved him inside with an impatient hand. 
“Sit, Erling.” 
The stout Pyralian complied, accepting Reuel’s offer of an early refreshment. Sipping the strongly spiced beverage known as kafae, the Counsellor waited for Lord Shatar to speak. 
“Tell me about the Earthling,” Reuel demanded abruptly, shutting off the console in front of him. 
“I assume you’re referring to the Earthling female I had confined for her exuberant tongue?” Erling asked, knowing the Governor could be referring to none other, but wanting a few moments to plans his words. 
Reuel’s subtle nod told Erling to continue. 
“Politically, she is of no concern. She voiced her opinions with more emotion than reason. Earthlings are many things, but they aren’t fools. The majority of them are satisfied with their lot. Have no fear, I didn’t lay awake in my bed, waiting for a rebellion to erupt in the middle of the night, spurred by the dramatic words of a foolish female.” 
“Then you think her ideas foolish as well?” 
“Freedom is never foolish, Lord Governor. It is what we all strive for in one form or another.” The Counsellor reached for one of the pastries lying in front of him. 
“Then what? Should I appoint an Earthling to sit on Pyrali’s Council, as our foolish female suggests?” Reuel was surprised Erling hadn’t condemned Christa immediately. 
Erling laughed. “Have mercy, my lord. I have but four more years to serve before I retreat to my family village and live out my life in peace.” 
“Then stop talking in riddles. I get enough of them from Minlim. If you found her words inspir-ing, then why did you hold her for questioning?” 
“I thought a few days in the Quarters might teach her patience. She has no husband for me to lecture about keeping her under control.” The Counsellor’s smile turned pensive. “As I said, she’s no danger politically, but I pity the man who ends up trying to domesticate her. She’s an avid student of Earthling history, which means she thrives on rebellion. Since I’m not her father, I couldn’t send her to a meditation chamber, so I used the next available option. Has someone complained about my decision?” 
“No,” Reuel smiled. “She thinks she’s going to be exiled.” 
“Good,” Erling said, reaching for another pastry. “Then prison served its purpose. Females need to know their perimeters. Pity she didn’t voice her ideas on Lyona Four. The Council there has the right to appoint an unbound female a husband.” 
Reuel thought of the small planet in the southern quadrant. Lyonan custom matched females to males at a early age, then confined the young women to chastity colonies until they were claimed by their husbands. If a woman outlived her mate, the Council appointed her a new one. The Governor thought the idea had merit, especially after meeting Christa Kirklan. 
“What are your plans for her?” Reuel asked. 
“I’m going to have her brought to the Gallery, give her a stern lecture on controlling her tongue, then send her home.” 
“With your permission, I’d like to be the one to deliver the lecture.” 
Erling’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t question Reuel’s petition. 
“Of course, my lord,” Erling said, standing. “Inform my assistant as to a convenient time. He will see that the chambers are empty.” 
Reuel nodded, dismissing the Counsellor, as he reached out and turned on the console again. The Counsellor’s footsteps echoed through the large chamber as he departed, but the Governor was too engrossed in studying the personal files of Christa Kirklan to notice the politician’s retreat. 
The Governor of Pyrali and the Counsellor weren’t the only ones who’d suffered the young woman’s defiant tongue. Although she’d graduated from the Academy with prestigious marks, several of her professors had noted her lack of cooperation. It seemed she had a reputation for starting debates they’d found difficult to end. Reuel wasn’t surprised. She’d matched him retort for retort the previous evening, until he’d scolded her for insulting Erling. Her acceptance of the mild reprimand had been short, but noticeable. Still, it hadn’t kept her from challenging him with her eyes. She hadn’t liked his admonishment, no matter how deserved, and she’d let him know it, flashing her resistance with ebony flames. The Governor found himself wondering if her eyes would burn as darkly in passion as they did in anger. 
Minlim was right, the warrior in him wanted to tame Christa Kirklan. The thought of those dusky eyes watching him as he joined with her, taking her from innocence to the passionate realm of womanhood, made his heart begin to pound. He wanted to take her so deeply, so thoroughly, that she’d never again be able to look at him without remembering his touch. 
Reuel frowned, confused by his attraction to the woman. Pleasure wasn’t required for concep-tion. His seed would take root, regardless of whether or not the female enjoyed its planting. Reuel switched off the console. 
Standing up and walking to the western wall, he stared through the transparent shielding, forcing reality to replace fantasy. 
The capitol city lay before him. Dacla was more than a governmental seat of power, it was the hub of the industrialized planet’s markets, an economic metro of crystal buildings and nature parks. 
Reuel smiled as he watched a covey of wild birds gather on the inland sea’s western shore. They strolled along the water’s edge, scooping up the cool water in their massive beaks, then straining the tiny waterlife from its liquid home and into their own bellies. 
He watched the long-winged Farins for a few moments longer, wondering how he was going to convince an unruly female to be his wife. 
Christa was too emotional to accept logic. 
Foolish woman. No one, male or female, controlled their own destiny. The Cadish of the Seventh House knew that fact better than anyone. 
Reuel reviewed his plan like the military strategy it was as he walked back to his desk and signaled for Minlim to join him. His training as a leader was going to prove invaluable in his new conquest. The best way to out-maneuver his little rebel was to keep her on the defensive. 
Thinking he’d found the answer to one dilemma, Reuel looked up as his sister entered the room. 
“You have neglected to eat, lord brother,” she said, placing a tray on the desk. 
“Thank you, Taraza,” he replied, giving her a warm smile. His sister was the youngest of four children. Delicately built, with dark hair and eyes a shade lighter than his own, she was dedicated to him. Meeting her pensive gaze, he knew the food she was serving was only an excuse to seek him out. 
“Is there something on your mind, little one?” 
“You haven’t contacted Suriel’s ship,” she said hesitantly. “Lady Katala will be concerned.” 
“Being Governor is an absorbing task.” Reuel wanted to tell Taraza the truth. But he didn’t. No one knew the reason for his actions except Minlim and the physician who had diagnosed his disability. The decision couldn’t be undone in order to appease his sister’s curiosity. 
“You work so hard, my lord, and you rarely smile,” she replied. “Hopefully, Lady Katala will remedy both.” 
“You are being presumptuous, Taraza,” Reuel scolded her, laying the foundation for what was to come. 
“I meant no offense, my lord,” she apologized instantly. 
“Lady Katala is the daughter of an honored friend. I will greet her with the same kindness I show anyone who supports the House of Shatar. To put more into my actions is to think you know my mind better than I know it myself.” 
His sister’s expression said she didn’t under-stand why he was reprimanding her. As much as Reuel regretted censuring her, he had no choice. His authority could not be questioned. 
“If I may be excused, my lord,” Taraza asked, lowering her head. 
“I will see you at dinner,” Reuel replied, offering what comfort he could. “If my duties do not require my presence elsewhere, we will play trits.” 
“It is my favorite game, my lord,” she said, raising her head and smiling. 
“Then I shall think about letting you win,” Reuel teased. 
Taraza was waiting for the doors to open when Reuel stopped her with his voice. “Have Peecha prepare the matron’s suite.” 
“For Lady Katala?” His sister’s smile said she found the thought pleasing. Installing Katala in the suite joined to Reuel’s by the mating chamber substantiated the role Taraza assumed she would fill. 
“No,” Reuel replied curtly. “Lady Katala will be housed in the east wing with the other women in the palace.” 
“Then who…” 
“That is of no concern to you,” Reuel cut off her question. “Do as I request.” 
A reluctant nod accompanied his sister’s acceptance. “As you wish, my lord.” 
Christa paced the room until she was certain her footprints would be as permanently embedded in the metallic tile as the Alliance’s insignia. It was past the high hour of the day and she had yet to be called to the Gallery chambers. The guard, who had brought her noon meal, had completely ignored her inquiry as to when she could expect to be called for her audience. 
As much as she dreaded the confrontation, Christa wanted it over. Watching the day slip away one second at a time was making her ner-vous. She’d rehearsed her appeal, hoping it would satisfy the Council’s concerns that she wasn’t a troublemaker. She’d even practiced looking remorseful, praying she could maintain the facade long enough to be convincing. The longer she had to wait, the harder it was to ignore the sense of trepidation seeping into her resolve. 
Christa wheeled around at the sound of her cell being opened. Minlim stepped into the room, his cloak sweeping the floor behind him. Her heart eased its rapid pace as his calming blue eyes met hers. 
“Forgive me,” Minlim smiled apologetically. “I have left you to yourself too long. I meant to share the noon meal with you, but unfortunately my master had need of my services, thus my delay. I seek your forgiveness.” 
Christa smiled at the gracious apology. The moment the aging advisor had stepped into the room she’d felt her spirit lifting. She’d never encountered a Haodai before, although she’d heard of their psychic powers. Minlim had assured her he couldn’t read her thoughts, but he was able to sense her moods. Christa suspected he’d been overly pleasant on purpose, sensing her frustration. Whatever his motive, she was glad to have someone other than herself to talk to. 
“Please, sit down. I was going to have a cup of tea,” Christa offered, motioning toward the long bench beside the balcony entrance. 
“Thank you,” Minlim replied, walking slowly toward the cushioned seat. 
Christa waited until she’d poured their refreshment, before speaking again. She handed Minlim the steaming cup, then smiled. “You were so silent last evening, I thought I had offended you. If so, please accept my apology.” 
The slender advisor gave her a warm smile. “You were too busy offending my master.” 
Christa flinched slightly with guilt. 
“I seem to offend most men,” she said softly, walking across the room and seating herself in the small parlor’s only chair. 
“Do you enjoy offending other men, as much as you enjoyed offending Lord Shatar?” 
Christa laughed. “I must confess, bantering with a Governor did lighten my day.” 
“Reuel is unaccustomed to having a female meet his gaze or question his authority.” 
“Reuel!” Christa exclaimed, then laughed again. “I should have known. The name suits him to perfection.” 
“Do not make the mistake of thinking you understand him, Christa. Lord Shatar is a very complicated man,” Minlim warned softly. “He does not use his powerful selfishly, but that doesn’t mean he will not use it to serve his purpose, if you provoke him.” 
Christa’s humor fled with Minlim’s final words. 
“Is that why my audience with the Council has been delayed? Is Lord Shatar deciding my fate in their stead?” 
“You will have your audience, Christa.” 
“When?” Christa asked, sensing from the Haodai’s tone it would be soon. 
“I am to escort you to the Gallery,” Minlim said, taking another leisurely sip of his tea. “But there is time. I find myself curious about your ideas. Tell me what it is about your life you find so unsatisfactory you would risk exile to change it.” 
Christa frowned. “I’m not unsatisfied with my life.” 
“I sense otherwise, fair lady,” Minlim gently contradicted her. “It is often in finding what we lack that we realize what we seek.” 
“Is that a Haodai truism?” 
Minlim chuckled. “No. Merely a piece of wisdom over a hundred years of living has gained me.” 
“The only thing I’m seeking is equality for my people,” Christa stated. 
“Your people seem pleased with their life on Pyrali. They have prospered and multiplied,” Minlim reminded her. “You, yourself, were born on this world.” 
“A world I can’t call home,” Christa complained, feeling the frustrations surfacing again. “I was born here, but I’m as alien to this world as the dali ferns in the courtyard. I’m here because of a freak act of fate, a ship that survived the Barrier. 
“No amount of assimilation will change the fact that I’m an Earthling. My world lies beyond the Great Barrier, unreachable by even Alliance starcruisers. My identity is there, not here. My heritage is forever out of my grasp. Is it so difficult to understand why I want my people to be proud of who and what they are? If we allow ourselves to become just another humanoid form bent to the will of the noble Alliance, we will eventually forget that we once ruled a solar system.” 
“Pride often fuels adventure,” Minlim noted. “It can also aid disaster.” 
Christa wasn’t to be dissuaded. “Or fire inspiration.” 
“Would it not be best to wait until inspiration flows naturally? Freedom can be won easily in battle, but being free quickly binds one with obligation and duty.” 
“My people aren’t afraid of obligation,” Christa replied with conviction. “I think the Alliance fears us more than we fear it. If not, why would they insist on restricting us to this planet? Because our muscles provide ample strength for their farms and mines or because they sense we would prosper no matter where we went?” 
“The reason your race has been confined is not as glamorous as you would like to believe,” Minlim explained. “There are very few of you. To allow you to roam the galaxy at will would decrease the number of your breeding couples. Your race could easily disappear if not properly procreated. That would be the greatest loss to your people.” 
“So the Alliance Ruling Council has said,” Christa admitted unconvinced. “If we are such a prized people, then why are we refused a voice in the government that considers us so valuable?” 
Minlim smiled, then stood up. “Perhaps that question is best asked of one who sits on the Ruling Council.” 
“Governor Shatar?” Christa tried to hide her apprehension although she knew the Haodai would sense it. 
“Come, he awaits us,” Minlim stated, walking toward the door. When he noticed Christa wasn’t following, he turned around and gave her a reassuring look. “Do not be afraid, fair lady. No harm will come to you.” 
Christa wished she shared the Haodai’s faith. She didn’t. She followed Minlim to the door, stepping into the corridor. The moment she was outside the room, six guards surrounded her. Gasping in surprise, Christa stepped back, only to feel the cold metal of the door against her back. The Adarian guards stared at her impassively. 
“Come,” Minlim said, gesturing for her to walk beside him. “They are my master’s personal guardians.” 
Christa gave the sedate soldiers a suspicious look, then stepped forward. Minlim’s silent footsteps were joined by the booted feet of the Governor’s guards as they walked down the corridor that led to the Gallery’s main hall. Once they’d reached the ornately decorated doors, the soldiers stopped. 
“My master awaits you,” Minlim said, stepping aside as the doors opened for her entry. 
Christa stepped inside, blinking for a moment after the doors shut behind her with a soft hiss of air. The Gallery was unlit except for the hazy light that filtered through its crystal dome. She could see the glazed floor of the room, the symbol of the Alliance inlaid in its center. The highly pol-ished tile reflected the sun’s light, sending a shimmering rainbow of golden colors through the circular room. Small parapets, sprouting from the second floor of the huge chamber, lined the walls, each assigned to a representative. 
The Gallery was a combination courtroom, voting chamber and public arena. Today it was empty except for the man standing in the center of the room outlined in golden light and resembling an ancient warrior awaiting his bounty. 
Christa inhaled, gathering her strength around her like a talisman. She started the walk down the slanted runway that would take her to the main level of the three-tiered auditorium. When she reached the bottom tier, she hesitated. 
The Governor of Pyrali was smiling. The expression seemed out of place on his angular face. He was toying with her, hoping to make her nervous. Not that she needed any assistance. Forcing herself to stay calm, she stepped into the muted light, determined not to give Lord Shatar the satisfaction of seeing her fear. 
“Pyralian law states I’m to be allowed an audience with the entire Council,” Christa said, hoping her voice sounded more convincing to the Governor’s ears than it did to her own. 
Finding herself alone with the Cadish of the Seventh House upset Christa in ways she didn’t care to analyze. The man oozed authority. His dark hair was pulled back from his face, its tendency to curl tamed by a tightly knotted thong at the base of his neck. His uniform fit him perfectly, emphasizing his wide shoulders and long limbs. The silver cloak, draped and clasped over his shoulders, accented jeweled colored eyes staring at Christa with a such a fierce intensity they held emotions she couldn’t read. 
“Pyralian law states whatever I wish it to state,” Reuel replied calmly. “Come closer, cassana. I can hear your complaints better if I don’t have to strain my ears.” 
“I’m honored, Lord Governor,” Christa said, remembering this would be her only opportunity to vindicate herself. She had to control her temper. As much as Christa wanted to choke on the words, she said them. “Perhaps I forgot my manners when we last met.” 
Reuel laughed. “Are you trying to placate me, cassana? It isn’t necessary. I’m a fair man. I’ll hear your appeal and render an equitable judgment.” 
Christa’s reply was meant for the Governor’s arrogant smile, rather than his words. “Will you, my lord? I fear you may be biased. Minlim told me you are not accustomed to having females disagree with your royal opinions.” 
Reuel’s smile changed, becoming more suspi-cious than amused. “Did he? What else has my esteemed advisor told you?” 
“Nothing that I didn’t already know,” Christa said calmly. “I’m a very good observer of people. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.” 
“And what have your observations told you of me, cassana?” 
When the huskily whispered question reached Christa’s ears, it sent shimmering fingers of sensation down her spine. It wasn’t the Governor of Pyrali asking the question, it was the man. 
Reuel stepped forward, shortening the distance between them. He moved into a shaft of light, his image quickly changing from that of a specter profiled in amber hues to a predatory animal whose sensual stance was pure male. 
Christa swallowed hard, forcing her apprehension to remain inside. She met his emerald stare. His eyes, slanted slightly upward like those of a big cat, seemed to penetrate her resolve, wrapping it in velvet fingers and pulling it slowly away. The primitive sensuality that had invaded her thoughts the previous evening returned, seeping through her determination to remain indifferent. 
Afraid she would surrender to his proximity, Christa stepped back, gathering her restraint. “The same things I observe about most males, my lord. Governor or not, you are still a man. Which means you prefer my gender subservient and submissive. To find us otherwise irritates you.” 
“I do find you irritating, cassana, but I also find you extremely desirable.” 
The sensuous declaration lingered between them, filling the air with a tangible tension that turned Christa’s skin warm and sent her mind racing. She’d come to the Gallery expecting rejection or exile. Her judge’s words, spoken in a soft whisper that accented the vehement gaze of his luminous eyes, didn’t offer retribution. Instead, they promised a seductive reward the woman in her found almost impossible to refuse. 
Christa had seen few Adarian females. Those she had come in contact with seemed almost docile. Kept inside the shielded walls of the inner city they claimed as their domain, a female Adarian was not allowed beyond the perimeter without an escort. That fact brought Christa back from the sensual abyss where Reuel’s words had sent her. An Adarian mating chamber or an isolation hut, both were ostracism. 
“That’s unfortunate, Lord Governor,” Christa said coldly. “I can’t see myself as an obliging female on an invisible leash of custom and protocol, smiling up at my noble master, because he’s favored me with a walk in the plaza.” 
Reuel had prepared himself for Christa’s resistance. He’d expected nothing less of his enthusiastic separatist. Stepping closer, he reached out and lifted the plait of gold hair off her shoulder, lacing it through his open palm before letting it fall behind her back. 
“Can you envision yourself as my lover, 
cassana?” 
Christa fought the erotic concept, struggling against the tingling shudders that racked her body. The potent illusion refused to retreat, filling her mind with pictures of tangled bodies and exotic pleasures. She blinked her eyes, forcing the images away. 
She wasn’t being judged. She was being seduced. 
The Governor of Pyrali was making a mockery of the very rights she’d stood in front of the Council to petition. 
“No, Lord Governor,” Christa said neutrally, “I can not.” 
Reuel knew Christa was fighting the attraction between them. His first thought had been to fight it himself, but then he’d decided to use it to his advantage. Earthling or not, Christa was a passionate female. That passion could be harnessed and used to accomplish his goals. The Cadish of the Seventh House had no hesitation in doing just that. Friend or foe, Christa would accept his proposal and bear his child. 
As much as he wanted to pull her into his arms and make her admit, that very second, how much she wanted him, Reuel returned to the center of the room, planting his feet firmly in the center of the circle that represented his duty. When he turned to look at her, there was nothing reassuring in his verdant eyes. 
“Then, perhaps, you can envision yourself as the sole occupant of an asteroid in the western sector of the Great Barrier?” 
Christa gasped. She’d anticipated indifference, if not exile, but she’d never expected blackmail. Her fists clinched unconsciously, her eyes blazing with indignation at being so blatantly proposi-tioned. The temper she’d momentarily caged erupted into instant fury. She was too angry to be eloquent. 
“I’d gladly spend eternity on a clump of cold rock, if it meant seeing the last of you, my lord!” 

Chapter 4

Minlim must have sensed Christa was about to add murder to her growing list of infractions. The doors of the Gallery hissed open as the venerable advisor entered the chamber. 
“My lord,” Minlim said softly. His words resonated in the stark silence, following Christa’s retort to the Governor’s suggestion. “Perhaps, it would be best if you and the fair lady continued your discussion in the garden.” 
“I have nothing left to discuss with the fair lady, Minlim.” Reuel gave Christa a mocking bow, then walked toward the far side of the Gallery. Before reaching the doorway, he turned, rendering the judgment he’d promised her. 
“You wanted freedom, cassana. You have it. The freedom to choose between a desolate asteroid or my mating chamber. I’ll give you until tomorrow to decide your fate.” 
Only the firm grasp of Minlim’s hand kept Christa from running after Lord Shatar and cheerfully killing him. She’d never been so out-raged. Christa’s nails dug into her fisted hands as she used every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from screaming. 
How dare he? Noble or not, the Governor of Pyrali was disgusting. He actually believed she’d accept his contemptible proposition. She’d sooner mate with an Melackian mud ox. 
“Calm yourself, fair lady,” Minlim said, releasing Christa’s hand once his master was safely outside the chamber. “Come, we can sit in the garden. The day’s light is most pleasing and the naturas are in bloom.” 
“I’d rather murder your master,” Christa hissed between clinched teeth. “The man’s insufferable. He’s beyond arrogant. He’s…” 
“Come,” Minlim soothed, motioning for her to follow him. 
Christa followed, describing a dozen hideous ways she’d like to bring the noble Lord Governor to his knees. Her last suggestion made the aging Haodai flinch in sympathy. 
“Surely, a lady with your gentle hands is not capable of such an act?” Minlim said, stepping aside, as the door to the Gallery’s meditation garden opened. 
“Please, sit,” he said, indicating a small bench positioned under an Elamaso tree. Its massive boughs shaded the private garden used to clear one’s thoughts after hours spent hearing the petitions of Pyrali’s citizenry. “Would you prefer tea or sangra?” 
“You can inform your pompous master, I’d prefer exile to sharing his bed,” Christa replied sharply. “And you can tell him, there’s no need to wait for Pyrali to complete another rotation for me to reach my decision. I’d rather mate with a Hatanian sea sloth than an arrogant Adarian who thinks my principles can be bought for a few moments of pleasure.” 
Minlim poured a generous helping of sangra into a crystal goblet and pressed it into Christa’s trembling hands. 
Christa sipped the sweet wine and tried to stop shaking. Her composure had vanished when the Governor had announced her choice of options. Exile or his bed. She’d wanted to slap the pre-sumptuous smile off his face. Of course, he fully expected her to choose his mating chamber. 
While she was telling herself she wouldn’t, the seductive tone of his voice kept creeping back into her head. Even her anger hadn’t been able to banish the sensual suggestion. 
His lover. 
The idea had fueled a curious tingling vision in her mind; the image of a man, broad-chested and tall of frame, a man with emerald eyes and ebony hair, a man seducing her senses with masculine strength and gentle whispers. Christa closed her eyes, trying to force the vision away. It refused to leave. Shutting her eyes only made the image clearer, adding substance to the illusion. The enticing scent of naturas magnified the intensity of the fantasy. The exotic flowers, blooming in shades of dark red and purple, filled the small garden with a pungent fragrance, that tantalized her already heightened senses. 
“Is the Governor a Haodai?” she asked, giving Minlim a skeptical look. 
“No, fair lady,” Minlim replied. “He is merely a man.” 
Christa didn’t want to believe the gently mannered advisor. Being able to explain her inability to get the Governor out of her mind would be easier to accept if he was controlling her thoughts. If he wasn’t, then she was having a control problem of her own. In the past, whenever she’d found herself attracted to a man, she’d made a mental list of his faults. The allure normally subsided within minutes. The longer Reuel Shatar’s list became, the stronger he seemed to influence her body and her thoughts. 
She didn’t like being attracted to any man. Being attracted to an Adarian was even worse. Being attracted to an Adarian of noble birth was quickly pushing Christa to the limits of her toler-ance. She didn’t like knowing she was susceptible to desire. She’d always viewed it as a weakness. 
Christa’s honesty forced her to admit she was battling a rather large dose of the emotion. Truth be told, she’d been fighting it since the previous evening when the Governor had paid an unexpected visit to her cell. She’d called it attraction then, using the feeble description to lessen its affect, but she’d been fooling herself. 
As much as she’d like to deny it, it was there. And Reuel Shatar knew it. He was also using it to gain an advantage over her. But why? 
“I don’t believe for one minute that the Governor’s shocking proposition is fueled by desire alone.” Christa told Minlim. “I admit he’s a very handsome man who undoubtedly has females vying for his attention. But why would the Governor want me when he can have any woman in the empire?” 
“I cannot answer for my master, my lady,” Minlim replied. 
Christa sipped her wine, reciting the plausible motives in her head. 
The male satisfaction of turning an unwilling female into a willing one? Perhaps. The satisfaction an Adarian would feel making an Earthling bow to his demands? Perhaps. A sense of power, both politically and sexually satisfied, by turning a rebel into a harem slave? Another, perhaps. 
Yet, Christa knew there had to be more. She didn’t have the mental powers of a Haodai, but she could see what was in front of her face. Reuel Shatar was a nobleman of the Alliance, the Governor of its wealthiest planet, a man who wouldn’t waste his valuable time on an alien female who posed him no threat. His solicitation wasn’t logical. 
Christa struggled with her own illogical response while the image of being held in Lord Shatar’s arms lingered in the back of her mind. The Governor was an extremely impressive man. Visualizing him as a lover was more than Christa’s sexually naive mind could manage at the moment. It was more comfortable to think about the purpose than the results. 
“I must apologize for my master’s lack of courtesy, fair lady,” Minlim said, intentionally interrupting Christa’s thoughts. “He is more accustomed to dealing with soldiers than females.” 
Christa’s unladylike snort said she agreed. 
“I beg your indulgence,” Minlim continued. “Lord Shatar is not a cruel man. The choice he offered you is not so difficult a one to make if you consider its possibilities.” 
“It wasn’t a proposal, it was an insult,” Christa countered, more harshly than she wished. She wasn’t angry with the Haodai, only his master. And herself for giving credence to Lord Shatar’s absurd suggestion with her thoughts. “I’m sorry. My temper is formidable once it’s roused. The meditation garden doesn’t seem to be working very well.” 
“Your temper is one of the things my master finds so appealing.” 
“If I’d known that, I’d have controlled it better,” Christa said, her frown deepening. 
“You cannot be anyone but who you are.” Minlim sat down beside her, the metallic threads of his robe shining in the afternoon sunlight. He folded his wrinkled hands in his lap, then looked at Christa. “A minimal amount of effort on your part could easily groom the way for my master’s cooperation.” 
Christa gave him a bemused look. “He didn’t seem very cooperative to me. I can either spend the rest of my life on a remote asteroid or I can become a member of his harem. The first one doesn’t fill me with anticipation. The second one offends me in ways a man couldn’t possibly understand.” 
“Most females would consider my master’s proposal a compliment. To be desired by a Cadish is an honor sought by many, but found by few.” 
“I’m not most females. Call it vain, if you like, but the idea of sharing a man with a flock of other females doesn’t appeal to me, any more than being treated like a possession used for pleasure does. I won’t be coerced into becoming his love slave.” 
“My master did not clarify his intentions,” Minlim replied. “Lord Shatar’s wants to take you as his wife.” 
“His what!” 
Christa didn’t believe it. The Governor of Pyrali wanted her to marry him. She glanced down at the crystal goblet in her hand. Had the Haodai slipped an hallucinogen in her wine? 
“The possibility of finding myself your master’s legal possession is even more appalling than finding myself his sexual one,” Christa stated with a conviction she didn’t actually feel. The thought of being claimed publicly by the Governor of Pyrali did have a certain appeal. The idea that she could proudly claim him in return fueled a feminine expectation she wished would go away. 
“Does it, fair lady?” Minlim urged. “I sense you think otherwise.” 
Christa shrugged. “I’m not denying Lord Shatar is attractive or that I’m attracted to him. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to marry him. The possibilities you mentioned include being treated like a mining drone. Earthlings are too emotional to respond to one word commands. Besides, we’re totally incompatible. Marrying a man who thinks being female is synonymous with being senseless would make me as foolish as he thinks I am. Marrying an Adarian who thinks my species is inferior would make me stupid. I assure you, I’m neither.” 
“Yet, he desires you and you desire him,” Minlim responded. “Could not your mutual attrac-tion be used to bridge the differences between you? In my service as a diplomat, I have often found that once two adversaries discover a common ground, it is not difficult to expand their viewpoint to encompass that which they once thought offensive.” 
“You mean I should trade my body for a chance to broaden your master’s narrow mind,” Christa stated her interpretation of the advisor’s proposed diplomacy. 
“Would it not be satisfying to one day have Lord Shatar admit he is wrong?” Minlim suggested. 
“I have to confess the concept is tempting,” Christa said, conjuring up a smile for the seasoned mediator, before remembering her common sense. “But the consequences far outweigh the benefits.” 
“The benefit of having the position and respect due a wife of a member of the Alliance Ruling Council is not something to disregard without thought. The House of Shatar is next in the line of ascension. My master has no male children. If you become his wife, it will be your son who sits on the dais of the Ruling Council. It will be your son who will one day rule the very empire you believe holds your people in low esteem.” 
Christa knew her mouth was gaping like a farin’s beak. The tongue Daran had so often described as invincible had gone mute. 
“Spending the remainder of your life in exile will gain nothing for you or your people, Christa. Sharing your life with a man who has the power to change that which you believe needs changing could be a sacrifice worth making.” 
Minlim stood up, delivering his final salvo in a peaceful voice. “Think about the consequences of having a High Cadish who is half Earthling ruling the Alliance. Think about the benefits a ruler who can claim your heritage as his own can bring to your people.” 
Think. 
Christa couldn’t stop her head from spinning long enough to make a coherent thought out of the images dancing inside it. 
Marry Reuel Shatar. 
Bear his child. 
Watch that child one day become ruler of an empire. 
Pressing her palms against her temples to slow down her racing mind, Christa closed her eyes against the suggestive visions. 
Shutting her eyes didn’t work. The images, previously cloaked in sensual shadows, suddenly turned vibrant with color. The sun was shining and she was laughing as a dark-haired little boy toddled across the plaza to her. 
Christa’s eyes popped open. She was going mad. She glared at Minlim. 
“Two days ago I stood in front of the Council and voiced my opinion of the Alliance regime. Less than an hour ago I told the Governor of Pyrali I’d rather face exile than share his bed. Now you want me to think about being the mother of his children. 
“No wonder my head’s throbbing. It can’t con-tain the ludicrous idea.” 
Standing up, Christa started pacing the meditation garden. The insignia of the Alliance was etched into the white marble. Its circular pattern seemed ironic. Christa ran her finger over the design, tracing the never-ending line. A line that suddenly looked more like a maze than a circle. 
“Wanting to help your people is not ludicrous, my lady. It reveals the compassion that will one day be passed onto your son.” 
“My son!” Christa swirled around. “You mean the Governor’s son.” 
“A child is the combination of both parents,” Minlim replied. “A joining of minds and bodies.” 
The observation didn’t answer Christa’s immediate problem. 
If she refused the Lord Governor’s proposal, she’d be exiled. Christa didn’t doubt the Governor’s sincerity in issuing the ultimatum. Scorning a man like Reuel Shatar wasn’t something one did without repercussions. His pride wouldn’t leave her unscathed. Her punishment for refusing him might be less than banishment, but she would be punished. One word from the Governor of Pyrali and she’d be tossed out of the academy, without a twinge of remorse on her superior’s part. One communication memo originating from the Governor’s console and she’d be earning her keep washing dust off mining lasers. If she could manage to smuggle herself on board a trading cruiser, it would only be a temporary reprieve. Reuel Shatar’s arms reached across the galaxy. She’d find herself being hauled back to Pyrali with a penal collar adorning her throat until he could exile her for real. 
Minlim joined her by the garden wall. 
“If you accept Lord Shatar’s offer of marriage, your people will be respected. Your son would be the High Cadish. The honor would instantly elevate your people’s social and academic status. You can accomplish what you’ve dreamed of achieving for years.” 
Christa frowned. 
“Obedience doesn’t come naturally for me. It rarely comes even when I work at it. It’s not that I want to be disruptive. I don’t. I simply find noth-ing reasonable about bowing to thoughts and opinions that aren’t my own. My nature is independent, not dependent. Openly pledging submission to anyone, male or female, sticks in my throat like an unchewed piece of meat.” 
“Lord Shatar will expect obedience, not submission, my lady. As his wife, he will respect your role, as you must respect his.” 
Christa gave him a cynical look. “You expect me to believe that your master is going to respect me.” 
“I expect you to believe that my master’s proposal is being offered willingly,” Minlim reminded her. “He offers it because he does respect you.” 
Was Minlim right? Did her unorthodox person-ality appeal to Lord Shatar? Or was he simply bored with compliant females? 
Christa shook her head. Noblemen didn’t get married because they were bored. There had to be a purpose behind the Governor’s proposal. One she was too befuddled at the moment to see. It had to be something logical and pragmatic, some-thing that would make perfect sense to Reuel Shatar, no matter how bizarre it seemed to a befuddled Earthling. 
Running her finger along the delicate rim of a natura’s bloom, Christa recalled the unexpected caress the Governor had given her hair. He’d intentionally taken his time, letting her braid flow across his skin. For a brief moment his eyes had softened as if he’d found pleasure in touching her. Perhaps that was the answer. 
Maybe she was underestimating the power of desire. After all, she’d never experienced the true force of the emotion until recently. Even then, Christa knew she’d felt only a tiny drop of its potency. 
If the smallest inkling of desire was capable of turning her thoughts inside out at the same time it made her body shiver and her skin tingle, what would it be like to experience its full potential? What would it be like to feel Reuel’s hands on her skin, his lips on hers? What would it feel like to touch him in return? 
She swallowed hard and met the advisor’s searching eyes. 
“I do want children.” 
“Then what is your objection to at least considering my master’s petition?” Minlim asked her. 
“Prejudice.” She said bluntly. “Male over female, Adarian over Earthling. It’s wrong. Marriage is a partnership, not a dictatorship.” 
“Lord Shatar is not a tyrant.” 
“That’s your opinion,” Christa scoffed. 
Marriage to an Adarian! 
The concept was ridiculous, absurd. She should be disgusted with herself for even consider-ing the idea. But she wasn’t. 
She was… Curious? Apprehensive? Tempted? Insane? 
They all seemed to apply at the moment. 
It wasn’t the physical attraction for an Adarian nobleman that shook Christa’s resolve. It was the intangible fear that she’d unwillingly surrender her principles along with her body. 
For the first time in her life, Christa felt vulnerable. 
   
Reuel leaned back as the automatic security belts of the pilot seat loosened around him. He’d taken up the sleek spacecraft to enjoy the freedom of flight. The single seat machine was also one of the few places that offered him privacy. He’d needed time alone to think. The plan he’d set in motion by planting the suggestive image of lovers in Christa’s mind would have a lasting effect on the galaxy. The son his rank required him to produce would be her son as well. 
Reuel’s eyes scanned the console, quickly registering that the star fighter’s systems were secured. As he released the hatch and climbed out of the sleek vehicle, Reuel thought about his son suckling at Christa’s full breasts. The image was highly erotic. 
By the time Reuel walked away, leaving the fighter on the oval pad, he’d reached the conclusion that after one night in his mating chamber, Christa would be purring like a newborn kisla. He’d sensed the passion in her. He’d seen it burning in her dark eyes and he’d heard it in her animated retorts. Tossing his helmet at Favian, the Governor gave his flight officer a smug smile and strolled toward his private quarters. 
Reuel was taking off his cloak when Minlim’s courtly voice came through the door monitor requesting an audience. 
“Did the flight calm your spirit, my lord?” Minlim asked, walking to the serving table and pouring two goblets of refined water. 
“My spirit was not the one in need of calming, old friend,” Reuel said, taking the goblet from Minlim’s hand and sitting down in one of the plushly cushioned chairs that faced the viewing window. He stretched out his long legs, crossed them at the ankle, and gave his advisor a satisfied smile. “How many of my guards did it take to restrain the female?” 
Minlim smiled, settling himself into a vacant chair. “Only one elderly Haodai, my lord.” 
“Then she was pleased to discover my intentions weren’t totally selfish. You told her I will take her as my wife.” 
“I told her, my lord,” Minlim replied, sipping the chilled water that was pumped from the depths of Pyrali wells, then refined by adding dietary supplements. 
“She accepted,” Reuel said confidently. 
“She is taking your option under consideration, my lord,” Minlim informed him with a sparkle of amusement in his turquoise eyes. 
“She’s what?” Reuel exclaimed, not bothering to hide his surprise. He’d expected Christa to vent her female frustrations, then accept his proposal. 
“If my aging memory recalls her words properly, my lord, she would rather mate with a Hatanian sea sloth than an arrogant Adarian.” 
Reuel laughed. “Did you inform your defiant Earthling that her wishes have very little to do with what will or will not happen?” 
“I encouraged her to consider the benefits of becoming your wife, my lord.” 
“What benefits?” Reuel asked, raising an eyebrow. “Except, of course, the pleasure she’ll receive occupying my bed.” 
“The benefits of having one’s son as High Cadish,” Minlim answered. 
“I should have known you’d play diplomat,” Reuel grumbled. “Wouldn’t it have been enough to remind the female she faces exile if she refuses?” 
“Since that seemed her preference, my lord, I thought it best to remind her that the goal she wishes to achieve would be more easily obtained if she graced the House of Shatar as wife to its eldest son.” 
“Do you have to remind me of the less pleasant aspects of taking an Earthling as my wife?” Reuel frowned, before tipping his goblet and draining the mineral enriched water. 
“I only sought to enlighten the female as to what might be gained by an alliance with the Cadish of the Seventh House,” Minlim responded in his usual logical manner. 
“An alliance!” Reuel choked back a laugh. “I’m sure your analogy was received enthusias-tically by our little dissident.” 
“She found it somewhat interesting,” Minlim said. “I left her meditating the advantages of becoming your wife.” 
“Excellent.” Reuel smiled. “One more night in the Penal Quarters should add its encouragement.” 
“I gave the guard your instructions. Christa will not be allowed any visitors,” Minlim added. 
Minlim gave the Governor a wary look before continuing his report. “Counsellor Erling agreed to have the Gallery cleared tomorrow afternoon. He was curious about your plans for the female.” 
“His curiosity will be satisfied soon enough,” Reuel said, selecting a piece of fruit from the serving table. “When the female agrees, everyone in the Alliance will know my plans for her.” 
Minlim nodded. “I assume you will follow tradition and state your vows in the plaza.” 
“As much as I’d prefer to pledge my house and honor to an Earthling in private, I have no choice. Duty requires our vows be spoken publicly.” 
“Then I will arrange for the plaza guardians to make the arrangements, if Christa agrees to the marriage, of course.” 
“If she agrees?” Reuel’s frown deepened. 
“Need I remind you that Earthlings are unpredictable, my lord?” Minlim said calmly. “The Creator blessed me with many gifts, but they do not include knowing an answer before it is given.” 
“You’re the one who thinks she’s so damn suitable,” Reuel snarled, giving the impression he didn’t care one way or the other. Both men knew he did. 
“The longer I know her, the more convinced I am that she will make you a fitting mate. She has a strong spirit.” 
“She has a stubborn head,” Reuel complained. 
“One I’m sure your patience can soften, my lord.” 
“I’m not the one who requires diplomacy, old friend. As much as I dislike the fact that she’s an Earthling, I do find her somewhat appealing as a female.” 
Minlim knew Reuel was understating his attraction for Christa. The advisor stood up to take his leave. “Then may I be the first to offer my congratulations, my lord.” 
“Aren’t you being premature? I thought you weren’t blessed with knowing an answer before it was given,” Reuel said sarcastically. 
Minlim smiled. “I said I did not know what the female’s answer would be, my lord. Had you asked whether or not I could discern if the marriage would take place, I would have replied differently.” 
“That’s a diplomatic exit if I’ve ever heard one.” 
“In the twenty years I have served you, my lord, I have yet to see you not achieve that which you set out to attain.” 
“I want the female because I want the son she can bear me.” 
“The noble in you wants the benefit of her womb, my lord, but the man in you wants the woman.” 
Reuel’s only response was a wide smile as he raised his goblet in a mock salute to his advisor’s keen perception. 

Chapter 5

Christa stopped in the middle of the room. Her feet hurt. Since Minlim had left her alone in the meditation garden, she must have walked a hundred miles trying to sort out what was fast becoming a bigger and bigger dilemma. The Governor’s private guards had escorted her back to her cell shortly before sunset. Once she’d eaten her evening meal, she’d started pacing again. She’d paced most of the night, finally stumbling to bed exhausted and worried. 
Standing in front of the viewing mirror, dressed in the colors of the Alliance, Christa found her thoughts wandering from Governor Shatar’s motives and returning to the man. 
Reuel Shatar wanted her for his wife. 
But why? 
No matter how many plausible reasons she conceived, none of them rang true. Whatever was prompting Lord Shatar’s action was enough to make Christa’s curiosity go wild and her suspicious nature run rampant. The only way she’d ever know would be to marry the Governor of Pyrali. The thought should send her into a fit of hysteria, but it didn’t. Running her hands over the lush fabric of the mynara, its hem trimmed with gold braid, Christa relented, allowing the dreams she’d held at bay to fill her mind. 
She closed her eyes and envisioned herself sitting under a tree in one of many private gardens that adorned the Governor’s Palace while she listened to her husband describe the lava falls on Adara, promising to share their fiery glory with her one moonlit night. 
When a fantasized kiss, applied expertly to the curve of her throat, sent a shiver down her spine, Christa started pacing again. 
She was measuring the cell, wall to wall, when a soft whoosh of air announced Minlim. The advisor gave her a gracious smile as he entered the room. 
“I trust the day finds you well, fair lady.” 
Christa frowned. “Not exactly.” 
Minlim didn’t comment. He poured them a cup of tea, then motioned for Christa to join him on the balcony. It was late afternoon and a pleasant breeze was caressing Dacla’s fertile valley. “Come, we will enjoy the sunlight together.” 
Christa followed the Haodai outside, taking the cup he offered, while she resisted the impulse to leap from the bastion in frustration. She knew Minlim had come to accompany her to the Gallery, just as he had the previous day. His presence comforted her, but it did nothing to absolve her from the choice she had to make. 
Exile or Reuel Shatar. 
The closer it came to making the decision, the harder it was for Christa to focus on the issues that had consumed her life since early childhood. The nearer the time came to seeing the nobleman again, the more difficult it was for her to remember anything but his heated gaze and husky voice. 
“He’s waiting for me in the Gallery, isn’t he?” Christa asked, already knowing the answer. Minlim nodded, then took a sip of herbal tea. “Sit. Relax. Enjoy your refreshment.” Christa tried, wanting to please the aging Haodai. 
“You will accept my master’s proposal?” Minlim asked, looking at her over the rim of his cup, his turquoise eyes searching her face. 
Christa sighed heavily, setting her cup on the ledge of the balcony’s metallic wall. The railing was made of halamyte. The sturdy metal had been crafted into an open weave of lacy fingers that fisted under the flat banister where her cup now sat forgotten. 
“Do I have any recourse?” she asked grimly. “Your master’s choice was no choice at all.” 
“He is a good man.” 
“I’ll assume you’ve reached that conclusion willingly,” Christa replied, staring at a cluster of gray clouds threatening another summer shower. The wind lifted her freshly brushed hair, blowing it away from her face. She inhaled a deep breath of the moisture-laden air, needing its regenerating power. She wouldn’t let any man rule her. Married or not, she’d be who she was, what she was, and if the Cadish of the Seventh House didn’t like it, he could… 
“I look forward to seeing you smile on your wedding day,” Minlim said, sensing Christa’s answer. 
“Not unless the ceremony includes bloodletting,” Christa remarked sardonically. 
Minlim allowed himself a wide grin. “The ceremony will include many things, lovely lady. One of them will be my master’s pledge to honor you above all.” 
Christa swirled around, piercing Minlim with dark eyes that showed her apprehension and distrust. “How can a man threaten me with exile one day and honor me the next? There’s no honor in being forced to give my future to a man who cares for nothing but his own pleasure.” 
“Lord Shatar is not without compassion, Christa. You will have a comfortable life as his mate and children to fill your days with joy.” 
The thought of how those children would be conceived sent Christa’s senses into turmoil. She flushed, hoping her mystic friend hadn’t sensed her thoughts. She forced herself to concentrate on the things about Lord Shatar she didn’t like. 
“You think I’ll be content sitting in the Governor’s Palace, watching my children grow between visits to the Lord Shatar’s mating chamber.” 
Minlim didn’t reply to the heated question. He stood, extending his hand. “Come, our master awaits.” 
“Lord Shatar will never be my master,” Christa said, straightening to her full height and fisting her hands at her side. “I’ll marry him, but I refuse to bow before him like a Borkian servant, grateful for the honor of serving a noble house.” 
Minlim stopped at the entranceway, his expression suddenly serious. “You have made your choice, Christa. The pledge you will make to Lord Shatar is one honored and respected throughout the Alliance. Do not speak it if you cannot fulfill it.” 
Christa’s shoulders slumped, her eyes unable to meet the Haodai’s piercing gaze. “He’s forcing me to marry him. Maybe if I could understand why it wouldn’t be so difficult to cooperate.” 
The advisor knew only time and patience would help Christa gain that wisdom. Until then, Minlim’s commission was to make her transition from imprisoned Earthling to noble wife as smooth as possible. 
“Come. All will be well. Only the future holds the answers you seek.” 
“I’m still trying to figure out the questions,” Christa mumbled, accepting the advisor’s aged hand. 
“At times it is best not to try so hard,” Minlim said softly, placing Christa’s trembling fingers over his arm and giving her an understanding smile. 
“I’m scared,” Christa confessed, tightening her grip to absorb the solace Minlim was offering. “The Governor’s too arrogant. I’m going to lose my temper and get exiled anyway.” 
“My lord will demand your respect, but he does not want you to be afraid.” 
Christa frowned as her free hand clinched in the folds of the green mynara. Its color already proclaimed her association to the noble house of Shatar. Soon she would be more than associated with the Governor, she’d be his wife. 
“A wife should be respected in return,” she voiced the thought as they crossed the room. 
“My lord would never do anything to cause you disrespect, fair lady. He is as noble as his birth.” 
The advisor stopped before their proximity to the cell’s door triggered it to open. Reaching out, Minlim gently uncurled Christa’s fisted hand. Cupping both of her hands in his, he held them and patiently waited for her to meet his gaze. 
“My master’s race has been honored by ruling for years. Their customs and beliefs are very important to them. The Adarian culture has many mysteries, but it also holds many joys. Do not blind yourself to what Lord Shatar can offer you. In doing so, you will only postpone that which will one day bring you both happiness.” 
If Minlim’s words hadn’t been spoken with such confidence, Christa would have protested that she’d never be happy married to a member of the Ruling Council. But Minlim’s belief, displayed in soft eyes that glowed with kindness and gentle hands that offered consolation, kept Christa’s doubts silent. Instead, she looked at the door and smiled. 
“Then let’s not keep the noble Governor wait-ing,” she said, lifting her chin and hoping with all her heart that Minlim’s prophecy would come true. 
If it didn’t, she was in for a very long, very unhappy life. 
Her only solace, as she walked toward the Gallery where the Governor was waiting, was knowing her husband would find his life just as miserable. 
It wasn’t much consolation, but it was all the moment had to offer. 
Reuel entered the large court chamber. His eyes swept the empty room as he continued walking until he reached its center. Rain pelted the Gallery’s transparent dome, filling the circular room with a melodical chorus of crystal sound. 
The Governor folded his arms behind his back, his feet braced apart. His stance was that of a warrior meeting an adversary, not a man awaiting his bride. 
Reuel had surprised himself when he’d admitted he didn’t want Christa coming to him shrouded in apathy, like a sainted sacrifice. He wanted her the way she was, spitting insults and daring him with defiant eyes. He wanted her fiery spirit and her lush body. He wanted all Christa had to give and more—things her innocent, but educated mind had no idea lay dormant, waiting to be discovered by a man’s touch. 
The fact that she was an Earthling was fast becoming secondary to Reuel’s reasoning. His great-grandfather had taken an alien princess to wife. The warring race had been quickly defeated by the Alliance’s superior forces. Reuel’s ancestor had accepted the leader’s peace offering, his daughter. The alien female had given the previous Lord Shatar four children, once she’d been cured of her annoying demands for freedom. Her legacy to the House of Shatar could be seen in the emerald eyes of its sons. 
Reuel’s image of dark-eyed offspring was interrupted as the Gallery’s doors opened and his advisor entered the chamber, escorting a reluctant Christa. 
“Come closer, cassana,” Reuel said, feeling victory within his grasp. 
Minlim released Christa’s hand. She hesitated for a moment, then walked toward Reuel, her emotions veiled behind silent eyes. When she reached the center of the room, she stopped. Her calm expression reminded him of the placid moments before battle. The slightest provocation and Christa would unleash the temper seething under her ivory skin. 
Reuel rose to the challenge, deciding it was time to begin the first of many lessons. 
“Have you decided your fate, cassana?” he asked, keeping his tone uninterested. 
Christa’s frazzled nerves ignited as the well-planned retort hit its mark. “You left me no decision to make, as was your intention.” 
Reuel smiled, his emerald eyes softening, then just as quickly returning to a hard, cold glaze of indifference. “As a student of political history, you should know Adarians never begin a campaign they cannot win.” 
He was talking about her future as though it was nothing more than a game of chance, her life nothing more than a handful of grones to be won or lost with no impact on his vast wealth. He wanted her, an admission his proposal reiterated, yet he was treating her as though she was an inconvenience he had to suffer, a distraction he found more annoying than desirable. 
Christa stepped back, her hands fisted at her side, her eyes blazing with indignation. “Adarians have never battled Earthlings, my lord. If they had, perhaps your prestigious history would read differently.” 
“I doubt it, my little rebel,” Reuel replied, making sure his eyes didn’t linger on the lush curves of the gold smock that covered her upper torso. His fascination with her breasts wasn’t something he wanted to become a topic for dis-cussion, not in front of Minlim. The Haodai was barely containing his amusement as it was. “Your species is no match for mine. If you think differ-ently, then it will be my pleasure to instruct you in the superior ways of my people.” 
“By exiling me to a meditation garden to patiently await my next summons to your mating chamber?” 
Christa clinched her hands more tightly, resisting the urge to reach out and slap the conceited look off his face. 
Reuel’s feet didn’t move, but his eyes closed the distance between them, reaching out with a seductive gaze that rocked Christa’s resolve. 
“Claiming you as my wife is not meant to be punitive, cassana. Nor will it be, if you would only stop ranting about exile and accept your fate.” 
“Oh, yes, my fate,” she purred sweetly. “The fate of becoming one of half a dozen wives. The fate of being allowed the pleasure of sharing your bed. And, of course, the great honor of bearing your children.” 
“Your tongue is quickly becoming unruly, cassana. Be careful of your words or they will be the only company you have for a very long time,” Reuel warned coldly. 
Christa gave Minlim a quick glance. The Haodai’s solemn expression said she’d better retreat while she had the chance. Taking a deep breath, Christa said what she had to say before she lost her courage. 
“If I agree to marry you, I want a promise in return.” 
“What?” Reuel asked, giving her a suspicious look. 
“Promise, on your family’s noble name, that I’ll be your only wife,” Christa said quickly. “I refuse to be a member of a harem.” 
“And if I refuse to promise that which you have no right to ask, then what? Will you choose exile rather than share me with other females?” 
Christa knew his smug remark was meant to send her into another fit of temper. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. She might have to surrender to this Adarian, but it wouldn’t be unconditionally. 
“You will not share me with other males,” she replied calmly. “Why is it so unacceptable for me to ask the same in return?” 
Reuel laughed. “You try to make me your equal.” 
“What is so foreign about the concept of men and women being equal? I have a brain and the ability to use it, the same as any man.” 
“If you do not know what is unequal about us, cassana, then it is time you shared my bed,” he replied huskily. 
Christa felt the heat of his words the same way she felt her skin heat as his eyes swept her from head to toe. Frantically wishing she could run from the Gallery, she forced herself to endure his sensual scrutiny while she waited for his promise. 
Time stopped as they faced each other. Reuel stood unmoving in his desire to have the woman standing so courageously in front of him. Christa had determined to keep her dignity. 
Finding the promise easy to make, since he’d never planned to take more than one wife, Reuel nodded. His voice was low, but clear, as he recited the pledge. 
“I swear on the noble name of the House of Shatar, that you and you alone will bear my name and my children.” 
Christa blinked in surprise. She’d won. She’d gotten an Adarian to compromise. Why didn’t she feel as victorious as the man making the concession looked? 
“The marriage will take place in three days,” Reuel said, moving toward her. 
“I haven’t agreed to marry you, yet.” Christa held up her hand, warding off his advance. 
“Do not think to play games with me, cassana.” Anger accented Reuel’s words. 
“I’m not trying to trick you,” Christa defended herself. “It’s just that three days is too soon. I need time to get to know you better.” 
“You will have three days,” Reuel stated with finality. 
Christa glared at him, wanting to argue, knowing it was pointless. She’d thought her demand to be his only wife would anger him. It hadn’t. In fact, he didn’t seem the slightest bit upset over being asked to forfeit what most Adarian males assumed was their universal right. 
“Make your decision, cassana.” 
“I’ll marry you,” Christa sighed, accepting her fate with the enthusiasm of a worm being gobbled up by a hungry bird. 
Stepping forward until he could inhale the scent of the woman standing so proudly in front of him, Reuel softened his voice. “If sharing the name of my house, as well as my bed, is so dis-gusting to you that you’d rather be banished, then I will order the guards to prepare a starcruiser so you can begin your journey quickly.” 
“Isn’t it enough that I’ve agreed to the mar-riage?” Christa defiantly refused to be shamed any more than she already had been. “Or does your over-inflated Adarian ego require me to fall at your feet before the betrothal is complete?” 
Reuel jerked her against his chest, her insult ringing in his ears. Her breasts were pressed against his chest. The hard muscles beneath his tunic pressed against Crista as he lifted her face with one hand and forced her to meet his gaze. 
“Beware, cassana, that my Adarian temper isn’t pushed too far. You’re to be my wife, an Adarian wife. That means you will obey me. I will not tolerate disrespect or disobedience, not even from a lushly curved female.” 
To emphasize his words, Reuel’s hand moved, brushing the side of her breasts. His smile added to the offense, though Christa’s body responded to the unsolicited caress. 
“Damn you!” she shouted, swinging her fist at him. 
“Calm yourself, cassana,” Reuel hissed, holding her arms at her sides as she struggled to wrench free and finish the intended deed. He subdued her with little effort, his greater height and strength easily allowing him to lift her off the floor and bring her eyes level with his own. His imperious tone quickly quieted her protests. 
“Leave us, Minlim,” Reuel said, holding Christa against his chest, her feet dangling above the embossed insignia of the Alliance. “It is time our insolent Earthling found out this Adarian will not abide her lack of manners.” 
The advisor left the chamber. 
As the Gallery doors closed, Christa gasped for air. Reuel was holding her so tightly, he wouldn’t have to beat her, she’d smother to death. When he literally dropped her on her feet, it took Christa a moment to gain her balance. 
“The wife of a nobleman does not raise her hand in defiance.” Reuel recited the dictate as if it was written in a sacred chronicle. 
“I’m not a wife, yet,” Christa said angrily. “And you don’t have to call your guards, I’ll fly the shuttle myself. The sooner I’m off Pyrali, the better.” 
“A wife of a nobleman does not raise her voice. She quietly obeys her husband and does whatever pleases him.” 
Reuel continued the lecture, ignoring Christa’s mumbled curse that she hadn’t been born a robot. 
“A wife of a nobleman offers her master pleasure, not rebellion,” Reuel raised his voice, bringing Christa’s contradictory complaints to an abrupt end. 
They stood in the center of the Gallery, their eyes locked in a battle for supremacy. Reuel’s arms were folded behind his back, his stance the same one he’d taken upon entering the chamber. Christa’s fists were clinched so tightly her fingers were numb from lack of blood. The moments turned into a timeless span of confrontation. She watched the unwavering glare of his emerald eyes. He watched the enticing rise and fall of her breasts. She felt his invincibility. He felt her passion. 
It seemed like an eternity before Christa’s gaze wavered. Reuel hid the smile that threatened to surface as her dark eyes lowered slowly to the floor. 
“That’s better,” Reuel said, lifting her face and rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip. It trembled under his touch. He wondered if she was reacting to the sensual caress or fighting back tears. 
“It is foolish to begin a war you cannot win, cassana,” he said quietly, letting his hand trace the curve of her jaw. 
Christa looked into the emerald depths of his eyes, wanting to say she’d never stop fighting, but unable to utter the words. A yearning, so keen it took her breath, kept her silent. The feel of his hand fitted under the tip of her chin warmed her against the chill of the rainy afternoon. She fought the overwhelming desire to bury herself in his arms, to give herself over to his care. 
“Come, cassana, there is much to do before the ceremony.” 
The gentle command shook Christa out of her dazed defeat. She jerked her head back, wishing Reuel’s touch wasn’t so disturbing. There was more to be settled between them, much more. 
“What is it, cassana?” Reuel asked, his hand returning to his side. 
“We need to talk,” Christa stated firmly, knowing she’d surrendered all she could for the time being. She didn’t want to be just another female, used to produce offspring, then discarded once her womb had served its purpose. If she couldn’t have love, she’d at least have respect and common courtesy. 
“Of what? You will be my wife, there is nothing left to be said.” Reuel walked to the long table, positioned strategically in front of the High Counsellor’s balcony and poured an amber liquid into two crystal glasses. He carried them back to the center of the room, then offered one to Christa. 
She took the drink, not knowing what it was, but needing something to calm her stomach. Lifting the glass, she sipped what she assumed was the nectar of an alien fruit. The taste was tangy, but pleasing. 
“It is aballya juice,” he said, taking the glass, once she’d emptied it. “On Adara, it is served with the first meal, but I enjoy its flavor, no matter the time of day.” 
“I’ve never been to Adara,” Christa replied, watching the thick muscles ripple in his throat as Reuel lifted his own glass and drank. Her fascination with his physical presence, and her frustration over feelings she didn’t want to feel spurred her next words. “As your wife, will I be allowed to leave the confines of Pyrali or will my Earthling heritage keep me imprisoned in spite of my new rank?” 
Reuel knew she was baiting him. It would probably take the greater part of a year to teach his wife it wasn’t proper for her to speak without him first soliciting her comments. There was a great deal for her to learn. He’d begin with teaching her patience. 
“You will go wherever I choose for you to go, cassana,” he said, returning the empty glasses to the table before motioning for her to come to him. 
Christa didn’t obey the silent command. 
Standing in the shadowy light, the storm still spitting rain against the crystal dome, the sound filling the room now that their voices were silent, Reuel looked more like a mercenary than ever before. His dark uniform, stretched tautly over his wide chest and shoulders, reminded Christa that her future husband was the commander of the First Forces. The Adarian army had never been defeated. Was she insane to think she could fight this man, trained to win at any cost? 
Christa thought of Daran. Her friend’s pleasant smile was so different from Reuel’s penetrating eyes and dominating attitude. Daran had promised to visit her again, but she’d waited in vain. She suspected, although she had no basis for her presumption, that the Governor had left instruc-tions she was to be left alone with her decision. Knowing Daran would be frantic with worry, she needed to let him know she was all right. 
“Could I send a message to a friend?” She hated having to ask. 
“And who would this friend be, cassana?” Reuel asked casually. “The young man who came to see you in the Quarters.” 
So the Governor did know about Daran. Of course. He probably knew every sordid detail of her life, including the scar on her right knee she’d earned falling off a hovercraft. She’d jumped off the small anti-gravity unit, rather than run into a tree outside Daran’s home. If he knew about Daran, then he knew the young man was her only real friend. Surely a race that bragged of honor and duty understood friendship. 
“His name is Daran,” Christa explained, forcing her voice to maintain a reasonable amount of courtesy. “We’ve been friends for a long time. He… he tends to worry about me.” 
“Why? Were you pledged to him?” His use of the word “were” clearly stated that whatever had been planned now ceased to matter. Reuel waited for her to answer. 
“No, my lord. We are only friends.” 
“Friendship between a male and female is often based on other things,” the Governor stated suspiciously, piercing Christa with eyes that reinforced his belief. 
“I’m sure you reviewed my medical file, Lord Governor. The scans would declare my lack of experience in matters beyond friendship.” 
Reuel’s mouth lifted slightly as he motioned again for her to come to him. 
Christa had hoped their conversation would make him forget he’d summoned her to his side. It hadn’t. She willed her feet to move. As she approached him, his smile widened. He was looking quite pleased with himself by the time Christa stopped inches away from the toes of his polished black boots. 
“If you had shared your body with another, cassana, there would have been no proposal of marriage.” 
“I know,” she grumbled, wishing she hadn’t been so old-fashioned in her sexual attitudes. If she wasn’t a virgin, she wouldn’t have to be worried about being a wife. 
“For your friend to worry, he must first feel concern. It is that concern I wish explained, cassana. This man is not of your house, yet he looks after you. Why?” 
“Earthlings don’t have to have biological or political ties for a man to feel concern, my lord. I lived with Daran’s family after my parents died. We are friends, nothing more.” 
“Then I shall be glad to let your friend know his concerns are now mine.” 
Christa flinched as Reuel’s hand stroked her hair, slowly lifting it and placing it behind her back. She could feel the heat of his body as he moved closer to accomplish the task. 
“I’ve agreed to call you my husband, under protest, of course. I doubt that we will ever be friends,” Christa stated softly, wishing it could be otherwise. 
Reuel’s hand moved slowly, his strong fingers caressing the side of her neck as he lifted her face. She trembled at his touch, but didn’t withdraw from it. 
“We will be many things to each other, cas-sana.” His suggestive tone made his words even more potent. 
“Will we, my lord? What? I a slave and you a master?” Christa retorted, hating herself for looking into his Adarian eyes and seeing only the tiny gold specks that danced around their black pupils, instead of the cold heart of an Alliance nobleman. 
Reuel’s annoyance was apparent as he dropped his hand. “You will be my wife, a role thousands of females would take, were it offered.” 
“Then by all means offer it, my lord. I’ll gladly step aside if it means giving another happiness.” 
Furious, Reuel wrapped his hand around her upper arm and began leading her toward the arched doors at the north end of the massive chamber. 
“You will soon learn to keep your sarcastic wit behind your teeth, cassana.” 
“I’m afraid my sarcastic wit goes along with my rebellious spirit, Lord Governor,” Christa informed him as she tried vainly to free herself from his grip. He continued dragging her toward the doorway. 
“Your spirit will tame easily enough once your tongue is clipped,” Reuel threatened. 
Christa hoped the last part of Reuel’s threat had been exaggerated. On Talrari, women convicted of malicious gossip had their tongues secured with vile metal clips that prevented them from inflicting further verbal damage. The thought sent a shiver down Christa’s spine that had nothing to do with the heat of Reuel’s hand on her upper arm. 
“I see that lovely head holds some intelligence, after all,” Reuel said, his voice a rough purr as Christa ceased struggling. “You will keep your mouth closed and your thoughts to yourself until we reach the privacy of the palace. To do anything less is a guarantee that you’ll wake up tomorrow on an asteroid.” 
Christa conceded, silently cursing the entire Adarian race and its noble families. 
“Come,” Reuel ordered, releasing her arm and giving her a cold stare that said his threats weren’t to be taken lightly. “It’s time to leave the Gallery and your rebellion behind us.” 
Christa followed him through the doorway, stopping momentarily when she found six gaunt-faced guards, complete with phasers and Adarian daggers, waiting on the other side. She quickly gathered her composure and followed Reuel down the corridor that led to the private entry used by the Council’s members. The guards fell into step behind her, their boots clicking rhythmically on the metallic tile. 
Reuel stopped once they’d entered the area reserved for aircoaches. Christa didn’t have to ask which sleekly styled open-air chariot belonged to him. The emblem of the Seventh House, engraved into the vehicle’s door, proudly proclaimed the largest vessel as the Governor’s. 
Reuel stepped inside, motioning for her to join him. Christa did as he wished, firmly gripping the stabilization bar. Moments later, the aircoach hovered above the ground. Reuel engaged a pul-sating energy field to shield them from the rain once they’d left the shelter of the Gallery. 
“Are you cold?” Reuel asked. 
“No.” 
Ignoring her reply, Reuel took off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. Christa found herself engulfed in a shroud of silver fabric that smelled disturbingly like the man next to her. She had been cold, but she hadn’t wanted to show any sign of weakness, thinking Reuel would quickly use it against her. 
“Hold on tightly. Unless you’re accustomed to an aircoach, you can find yourself resting on your bottom instead of your feet.” 
Christa scowled at him as the coach lunged forward. She held onto the railing, feeling a rush of gratitude when the sleek vehicle skimmed through the air, leaving the Gallery and its adjacent penal quarters behind them. 
It was late afternoon. The storm was passing, as they always did, leaving the fertile valley dressed in shades of damp greens and browns. The air was fresh, washed clean by the summer rain. Reuel guided the agile vessel toward the Governor’s palace as Christa stood by his side. 
In spite of her forced proximity to the man she was determined to dislike, Christa found herself enjoying the ride. Dacla lay before her, its crystal towers reflecting the gold rays of Pyrali’s setting sun. On the horizon, barely visible, was Gaela, Pyrali’s first and smallest moon. Before night had completely covered the city, two other moons would rise to join their sister in the evening sky, each uniquely beautiful in its own way. 
Gaela was small and golden, its ragged craters rimmed in ice that glistened like dancing fairies. Daida, the largest, glowed with a silver hue that belied the mines and industrial complexes on its surface. Belina glowed red in its lower orbit, announcing the rich ore deposits that gave the moon its rare color. 
The red ore was used in the complex process developed by an ancient Pyralian to refine sea-water. Planets once covered by water, fit only for the fish that lived in their seas, were now teeming with human life, because a plump scientist had decided there had to be a useful purpose for the reddish mineral or the Creator, in his galactic wisdom, wouldn’t have created it. His unwavering determination had won out over his colleagues’ 
cynicism 
Determination. 
Christa couldn’t allow herself to forget that the only person who had the power to defeat her was herself. As long as she kept her determination, and her wits, she’d survive whatever fate had in store for her, including the Governor of Pyrali. 

Chapter 6

Minlim was waiting for them at the palace. A young Adarian female, dressed in an elegant green smock and mynara, stood by his side. 
“This is my sister, Taraza,” Reuel said, helping Christa from the aircoach. “Taraza, this is Christa Kirklan.” 
Christa smiled as Reuel’s sister bowed her head in greeting. 
“Please escort her to the matron’s suite,” Reuel said. 
Taraza didn’t have to say anything. Christa could read the surprise on the young woman’s face. Apparently the Governor hadn’t discussed his wedding plans with his family. It was also very apparent that Reuel’s sister didn’t care for her brother’s choice of females. When he’d instructed Taraza to escort her to the matron’s suite, the girl had gone pale. 
“If you require anything, ask for Minlim,” Reuel said, giving her a glare that warned if she didn’t behave herself she’d regret it. 
“As you wish, my lord,” she replied with false sweetness, adding a brilliant smile just to confuse him. 
“This way, please.” Taraza said, motioning for Christa to follow her. 
“You will address Christa as “my lady”. She is to be my wife.” Reuel said, sounding more arrogant than Christa had ever heard him. 
Christa thought his sister was going to faint. Her mouth gasped open and her green eyes went wide in shock. There was a stiff moment of silence as Taraza regained her composure. Although she offered Christa a weak smile, disapproval shone brightly in her eyes. 
“I beg your forgiveness, my lady,” Reuel’s sister said, bowing her head. 
Christa was tempted to say she had nothing to forgive. But seeing the stern set of Reuel’s face told her she’d gain nothing by interfering where, as yet, she had no right. Holding her tongue, Christa followed Taraza down the long corridor. 
Reuel’s sister stopped at the lift station that would take them to another floor of the massive palace. Christa stared at a mural depicting the battle of Yamala, the confrontation that had won the western sector of the galaxy for the Alliance. One of the embossed warriors, dressed in ancient armor, reminded her of Reuel. Once inside the elevator, Christa lifted her head and stared at the transparent walls surrounding the lift station. When they reached the third floor of the royal residence, Taraza motioned for Christa to follow again. She tried not to appear overly curious as they approached a large set of doors trimmed in white wood. If the doors were any indication of what lay behind them, Christa’s quarters were fit for a queen. 
She stepped inside the elegant room, immediately approving of the large janiber lamps that lit its imposing interior. Suspended from the ceiling by delicate chains, the large oval basins were filled with the simmering oil that gave them their name. They produced no offensive smoke or odor, while their subtle light gave the room a pleasant countenance. 
“I will have a servant bring you tea,” Taraza said, nodding respectfully. 
“You don’t like me, do you?” Christa asked, knowing the answer. Taraza’s mild manner didn’t expose her revulsion at being informed her brother preferred an Earthling over an Adarian. 
“It is not my place to question Lord Shatar,” Taraza answered. 
“Why? You have a mind of your own. Just because the Governor is your brother doesn’t make his thoughts your thoughts or his wishes your wishes.” She removed Reuel’s cloak and tossed it over the back of a plushly cushioned chair. 
“My brother is a Cadish,” Taraza replied, as if the five words explained everything in the universe. 
“Why are Adarian women so afraid to say what’s on their minds? Meditation chambers aren’t fatal. If enough of you shouted loud enough, you might be able to change things. Don’t you want to be who you are instead of who the men in your race demand you be?” 
Taraza’s expression returned to one of objec-tion. “We are Adarians, my lady.” 
Well, that said it all, Christa thought. 
“Meaning Lord Shatar and his equivalents throughout the galaxy will continue to get what they want simply because they want it,” Christa replied dryly. “Don’t worry, my Earthling mind has grasped the concept. That’s why I’m here. Believe me, if I had a choice, a real choice, you wouldn’t be looking so puzzled and I’d be a lot happier.” 
“I do not understand.” 
“The Governor is forcing me to marry him.” Christa offered the information, curious to know if Taraza’s loyalty was totally blind. 
Taraza gasped. “That cannot be so. Reuel is a good man. He would never force a female to…” 
“Wouldn’t he?” Christa drawled. “Then why are there guards outside my door, and why didn’t he tell you he intends to marry me?” 
Taraza took a shaky breath before answering. “The guards are here to protect you.” 
The girl really needed to have her eyes opened, Christa thought. No wonder the Adarian females she’d encountered in the plaza looked like pale androids. They actually believed the males of their species were superior. 
“Why didn’t he tell you he planned on marrying an Earthling?” she repeated the question, hoping to shake some small part of Taraza’s individuality loose. 
Taraza’s head went up an inch or two. “My brother is Governor of Pyrali. He is not required to seek the approval of others.” 
“He may be Governor, but I know enough about Adarians to know they value their families. Marriages, especially noble ones, are usually arranged years ahead of the ceremony.” 
She was getting close to something. The look in Taraza’s eyes was almost mournful. Thinking she knew the answer, which would make her opinion of the Lord Governor sink even lower, Christa pushed the issue. 
“There is someone, isn’t there? You don’t dislike me because I’m an Earthling as much as you dislike me because I’m not the lady you thought your brother was going to marry.” 
Taraza’s silence was all Christa needed to hear. 
“That lying, conniving, blackmailing son of a…” she looked over to see Reuel’s sister backing toward the door. Taraza actually looked frightened. Apparently she didn’t share her brother’s thick skin. 
“It’s okay,” Christa said apologetically. “I’m not angry with you. It’s your brother, I’d like to… Never mind. That’s a battle the Governor can fight on his own.” 
“You really don’t want to marry Reuel.” Taraza gave her a blank stare. 
“Who is she?” Christa demanded. Reuel had promised she wouldn’t be humiliated by being a harem member. He’d duped her. But then, she should have known a man who’d use blackmail to get what he wanted, wasn’t above lying. 
“Lady Katala,” Taraza whispered. 
Christa repeated the name, knowing in her heart that it belonged to a beautiful Adarian woman. 
“The marriage was anticipated, not announced,” Taraza added, coming to her brother’s defense. “Our families have been friends for many years. Katala’s father is a counsellor in my father’s service.” 
There were tears in Taraza’s eyes when she looked at Christa again. “I am being disloyal to my brother. It is not my place to choose his wife.” 

“You haven’t been disloyal, Taraza, any more than you insulted me by neglecting to address me as “my lady,” Christa said, feeling guilty over upsetting the girl. It wasn’t Taraza’s fault that her brother was a two-faced tyrant. 
“It’s okay,” Christa said, walking over and taking the girl’s hand. It was shaking. “I’m not offended that you find my acceptability in question. 
I agree it’s absurd to think of an Earthling as the Governor’s wife. I’m sure Katala would be more suitable for Lord Shatar.” 
“My brother would not have brought you to the palace and announced his intentions if he thought to change to his mind.” 
“That doesn’t mean I can’t change mine,” Christa said, hoping Taraza got the hint. 
“You can’t think to repeal the announcement.” 
“I was thinking more along the lines of getting out while the getting’s good, to quote an old Earth adage.” 
“You mean you would run away?” 
“Faster than a six-legged Gasparian horse.” 
Another long silence filled the luxurious room as Christa waited for Taraza to weigh the conse-quences. She could either help an Earthling escape or she could standby mute while one become her sister-in-law. 
Christa felt her hopes evaporating as Reuel’s sister stood up and walked to the door. Just before the door opened, Taraza turned back to her. “There is a gate in the garden below your balcony. It is rarely locked.” 
Christa smiled. It wasn’t much, but it would get her outside the palace. Once out, she’d swim the Saionge if it meant seeing the last of Reuel Shatar. 
“A toast, old friend,” Reuel said, raising his glass. “To the next Cadish of the Seventh House.” 
Minlim smiled, then followed suit, raising his glass for a moment before lowering it and himself into one of the large chairs in front of the Governor’s desk. “You do not appear so reluctant this evening, my lord.” 
Reuel smiled at his advisor’s observation. “I will finally have a son, Minlim. You’ll find no reluctance in me where that is concerned.” 
“And what of the woman who will bear him?” the advisor asked. 
“She will accept her life quickly enough, once she has a child to occupy her time,” Reuel stated firmly. 
“She is not an Adarian female. Although her body will accept your seed, it may take more than one mating to ensure she carries your child.” 
Reuel didn’t frown at the thought of joining his body frequently with the lushly curved Earthling. “As long as her body accepts my seed, I care not how many times I must plant it.” 
The next few moments were filled with silence while Reuel thought of the mating to take place in three days. 
“I shall leave you to your thoughts, my lord,” Minlim said, standing up and placing his empty glass on the desk. “You have the Gasparian Ambassador to face in the morning. Knowing how much you dislike the talkative man, you will need rest to keep your temper intact.” 
“The plump merchant tries my patience,” Reuel agreed, frowning. 
“Gasparians haven’t become the master mer-chants of the galaxy by being shy, my lord,” Minlim reminded him. “Reluctant buyers have been known to sign trading treaties to gain their silence.” 
Reuel laughed. “Perhaps I should have my intended bride negotiate for me.” 
“It might be an interesting confrontation, my lord,” Minlim agreed. “She has a talent for words.” 
Reuel was about to bid his advisor good night when a sentry’s voice came through the monitor. “Forgive the intrusion, Lord Shatar, but an Earthling is requesting an audience.” 
“What is his name?” Reuel asked, confident he already knew. 
“Daran Berkloft, my lord.” 
“Bring him to me,” Reuel answered, then switched off the monitor. 
“Do you wish me to remain, my lord?” Minlim asked. 
“No,” Reuel dismissed him. “I think it’s time I met Christa’s friend.” 
The advisor bowed and left the room moments before the palace guard escorted Daran into Reuel’s private room. The young engineer was dressed in a dark cloak and the standard uniform of a lower ranking assistant in the vast Pyrali community services. 
“I appreciate your time, Lord Governor.” 
“The hour grows late. I assume your request is urgent,” Reuel replied curtly. 
He knew almost as much about Daran Berkloft as he did about Christa. Personnel files could be quite helpful in gleaning information about one’s opposition. In spite of Christa’s insistence that she and the young engineer were only friends, Reuel had yet to learn Daran Berkloft’s feeling on the matter. 
“The urgency involves a friend, Lord Governor.” 
“A friend?” Reuel asked suspiciously. The young man seemed nervous, but not overly so. 
“I was at the Gallery, intending to visit Christa, when I saw her leave in your aircoach,” Daran said, holding Reuel’s gaze. 
“Ah, yes, Miss Kirklan.” 
“I know she was to be questioned by the High Council. I wanted to be with her, but she insisted she’d rather face them alone. I was waiting for their decision when I saw you take her away.” 
“I assure you, Mr. Berkloft,” Reuel replied, indicating for the engineer to take the seat Minlim had previously occupied. “I have not taken Christa anywhere she did not choose to go.” 
The engineer weighed Reuel’s words before replying. “I’m not sure I understand, Lord Shatar? Why would you bring Christa to the Governor’s palace. If she’s to be charged with a crime, why isn’t she still confined to the penal quarters?” 
“Perhaps because no charges have been brought against her.” Reuel folded his hands on the top of the desk and looked Daran in the eye. “Christa has agreed to become my wife.” 
“Agreed?” 
“You seem somewhat skeptical.” 
Reuel could sympathize with the young man’s confusion. He’d been slightly disoriented since meeting Christa himself. 
“I mean no offense, Lord Shatar, but hearing that Christa has agreed to marry anyone is surpris-ing. She’s never been inclined to be agreeable and she’s fiercely independent.” 
“Having met her, I understand completely. But regardless of her unpredictable nature, I find her pleasing. The wedding will take place in three days.” 
Daran looked at his surroundings, then back to Reuel. 
“May I see her?” 
Reuel didn’t miss the sound of distrust in the man’s voice. The concern Christa had spoken of was surfacing. While it was insulting, it also gave Reuel a certain respect for the Earthling. Few men would dare to challenge a Cadish of the Alliance, no matter their species. 
“The last few days have been trying for Christa. She is resting. If you return tomorrow, you may assure yourself that she is here of her own accord.” 
“It was not my intent to suggest otherwise, my lord. It’s just that…” 
“You’re curious how our sudden engagement came about?” 
“Yes.” 
Reuel decided to offer the young man a portion of the truth. “My advisor witnessed her performance in front of the High Council. Knowing I like spirited women, he told me of her. Once I saw her for myself, I agreed. She was reluctant to accept my proposal, at first, but fortunately, I was able to persuade her.” 
“I see,” Daran said, although it was obvious he didn’t. 
“You think I am holding Christa against her will?” 
“I’m not sure what I think,” Daran admitted, coming as close as he dared to calling the Governor’s word untrue. “I’ve known Christa since she was a child. We grew up together. She’s never been interested in marriage. And I’ve never known her to be interested in a man. No insult intended, but she’s never been overly fond of Adarians.” 
Reuel laughed. “You think I’ve seduced her.” 
“Did you?” Daran asked, standing up. 
The engineer looked like he was ready to challenge him. His question, issued in a severe tone, demanded an answer. 
“Seduction is not performed in the main plaza for all of Pyrali to witness. Christa will be my wife. There is no greater honor I can bestow upon 
her.” Reuel said with conviction. 
Daran relaxed his stance. “Then you love her.” 
The statement surprised Reuel, but his expression didn’t change. “I find her beautiful, extremely desirable, and somewhat challenging.” 
“That’s Christa,” the young man’s expression turned friendly. “She’s got a way of getting a man’s attention.” 
“She has mine,” Reuel conceded, offering the engineer a mild smile. Reuel wanted the issue of the young man’s concern put to rest as quickly as possible. Deciding Christa’s friend could be a hindrance in her cooperation, he repeated his invitation. 
“Return tomorrow. I’m sure Christa will want to see you.” 
“Thank you,” Daran said, standing up to take his leave. “I’ll return before the evening meal.” 
“By all means,” Reuel replied. 
He summoned the guard to show Christa’s friend out of the palace. Before Daran Berkloft left he turned back to give Reuel a pensive look. “I didn’t mean to imply Christa would never agree to marriage, my lord.” There was an unspoken closure to the statement Reuel found upsetting. 
“Go on,” Reuel prompted. 
“If this marriage isn’t what Christa wants, she’ll never say the vows, no matter how many citizens fill the plaza.” 
“Then may I take the opportunity to invite you to the ceremony.” 
“I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss Christa’s wedding day.” 
Reuel waited until the young engineer had left the room before leaving his desk and entering his private suite. Crossing the room, he headed for the door that led to the mating chamber. The memory of Christa’s initial refusal flashed through his mind. “I’d rather spend eternity on a cold clump of rock.” 
It took forever for the door to Christa’s room to slide silently into the ornate panel that concealed it. The moment Reuel stepped into her room, he knew she wasn’t there. 
A light breeze, drifting in from the balcony’s opened door, cooled his skin. Hurrying outside, he cursed out loud at the sight of his cloak, knotted over the top railing, its silver tail lost in the darkness. 
   
Christa prayed the makeshift rope she’d manufactured from Reuel’s cloak was long enough to keep her from breaking her neck once she let go. Her arms were aching from ripping the thick material into strips, then knotting them tightly enough to hold her weight as she shimmied over the balcony rail and into the subtle darkness. Taking a deep breath, Christa held it, and released the silver rope that was her avenue to freedom. 
She landed with a loud thud as her slippers met the damp ground then slid out from under her. Finding herself bottom down in a patch of exotic flowers, she looked up at Pyrali’s three moons. After several heartbeats, Christa stood up, cau-tiously surveying her surroundings. The small garden was lit by muted moonlight, allowing her to see only dark shapes and suggestive shadows. Hesitantly, she took a step toward what she hoped was the garden wall. She held her breath as she inched her way through the artfully arranged plants and trees, afraid that the slightest sound would alert one of the palace guard. Her out-stretched fingers finally met the rough texture of the stone wall as she probed her way in the darkness. 
Taking another deep breath and using the wall’s firm surface as a guide, she began inching herself toward what she hoped would be Taraza’s gate. 
After what seemed like an eternity, the rough surface under her hands changed to a smoother one. Her fingers traced the metallic surface of hinges adjoined to polished wood. She was reaching for the latch when a larger hand clamped down on hers. 
“Going somewhere, cassana?” 
Damn the man! 
Reuel swirled her around, pulling her away from the gate. It was too dark for Christa to see his face, but she’d heard the anger in his sound. 
“Let me go!” She struggled, knowing she was defenseless against his larger size. Freedom had been at her fingertips. 
“There is no place for you to run, cassana,” he whispered cruelly in her ear, “no place I cannot find you.” Knowing she could have hurt herself, running from his evil clutches only fueled his temper. 
“I hate you,” she hissed, hating herself more. His arms felt wonderful. Strong and safe after the lonely darkness. 
“You could have broken your foolish neck,” he said, pulling her tighter against him. “You belong to me, cassana, and I keep what is mine.” 
His words sounded like a prison sentence to Christa. Knowing he could enforce them left her limp in his arms, silently struggling against tears she vowed he’d never have the satisfaction of seeing. 
Realizing Christa was finally in his arms, Reuel’s anger quickly took a different direction. He’d let her have dinner alone, thinking to give her time to adjust to her new home. Instead, she’d been shredding his cloak and plotting escape. Fury combined with a passion that raked his soul. He brought his hand up to back of her head and held her still while his mouth came crashing down over hers. 
The kiss wasn’t the first tender embers of passion. It was a fire burning out of control. His tongue brushed against her teeth as his other hand came into play, caressing her throat, tracing her pulse to where it began, over her heart. When Christa gasped in protest, Reuel deepened the kiss, wanting everything at once. To touch her, taste her, consume her until there was no thought of flight left in her foolish head. 
Christa thought she’d die before she could breath again. After a few short seconds, she didn’t care. All that mattered was the steely strength of Reuel’s arms as they lowered her to the ground. She could smell the damp grass and the pungent odor of night-blooming flowers as the garden turned into a gallery of smells and sensations. When his weight pressed her into the soft ground, she moaned. He lifted his head, letting her take a breath before his mouth returned, hungrier than before. 
She could feel the cool dampness of the ground and the heat of Reuel’s body as it covered her. He pressed his knee between her legs, pressing himself against her. The contact was shocking. She’d never felt a man’s body this closely. She could feel every inch of him, warm and conquering, as his hands began exploring her. They were bold, moving up her legs and over her hips, leaving a burning need behind them as they moved to her breasts. When he cupped one soft globe, rubbing his fingers over its aroused tip, she moaned into his mouth. 
Christa’s response was Reuel’s undoing. Brushing kisses over her face and throat, he began unlacing her smock, wanting to feel the heat of her skin under his hand. Wanting what he’d never wanted before, to press his mouth over an alien breast and taste it. Needing it in a way he’d never needed anything in his life, his fingers slipped inside her smock. 
The sound of a farin calling its mate with a high screech broke the heavy silence and the fragile shell of sensuality Reuel was weaving around her. 
Christa turned her head to the side. “Get off me.” 
He knew her demand was forced. He could feel her body trembling under his, wanting what his was willing to give. For a moment, Reuel thought about ignoring her protest. He’d meant the kiss to reaffirm his authority. He hadn’t expected to be engulfed in a wave of passion so strong it threatened his control. He’d never been this ravenous for a female before. 
Slowly he stood up, reaching down to bring her to her feet. 
“You are right, cassana,” he said softly. “The time has not yet come for me to carry you to my mating chamber.” 
Shaking with more than indignation, Christa forced herself to concentrate on why she’d decided to escape, anchoring her emotions in the image it sent flashing in front of her eyes. The image of another woman. 
“Won’t Lady Katala feel crowded?” 
“I see my sister and you found something to discuss.” His voice was hard. It wasn’t unusual for females to be jealous. He found the emotion encouraging. 
“You lied to me,” she said harshly, wanting to shout, but afraid it would draw the guards. 
“There is no lie between us, cassana, except the one spoken by your own tongue.” 
“I never lied to you,” she retorted. Her hands were shaking so badly she didn’t dare try and straighten her clothing. She’d been angry, then afraid, then swallowed up in a sensual storm. Now she was angry again. She was starting to get dizzy from the emotions. 
“You agreed to marry me. That agreement included accepting my home and my authority, as you well know,” Reuel stated firmly. “Sneaking out of your room isn’t acceptance, it’s deception.” 
“You’re a fine one to talk about deception, Lord Shatar.” Christa’s voice was thick with disdain. “You use your noble name to pledge fidelity while another woman is waiting to become your wife.” 
He was so close she could see his smile in the faint moonlight. He reached out and ran his fingertip down her cheek, stopping at the corner of her mouth. The caress, so unlike his previous passion, surprised Christa so much all she could do was stare up at him. 
“Is that why you risked injury to flee me, cassana? Does the thought of me being with another female upset you?” 
She slapped his hand away. “You’re insane.” 
Reuel watched her as she stomped away. When she stumbled over a small hedge, landing on her bottom, he went after her. 
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped angrily when he put his hand around her right arm and turned her in the direction of the door that led into the palace. 
“Be quiet,” he commanded sharply, ignoring her futile attempts to pull free. His boots crushed the soft gravel that covered the narrow path. 

Chapter 7

“Aren’t you going to double the guard,” she snapped, tripping over the hem of her wet dress. 
Reuel’s grip kept her from falling on her face. He gave her a gentle shove through the servant’s door that led to her suite. Once inside, the door closed silently behind them. 
“I have something much more persuasive than palace guards, cassana,” he said smiling. 
“Nothing could persuade me to marry you, now.” She clutched the unlaced top of her smock. 
“Not even your friend, Daran?” Reuel asked, walking toward her. Her outrageous behavior had to be stopped. 
“What about Daran?” she demanded. 
“He was here,” Reuel replied casually, filling two crystal goblets with warm wine. He handed one to Christa. “He was concerned that I may have seduced you.” 
“You blackmailed me,” she snapped, relieved that Reuel had referred to Daran’s visit in the past tense. She returned the wineglass to the table without tasting its contents. She didn’t need anything else unbalancing her senses. The Governor of Pyrali was more than enough. 
“Call it what you will, cassana. I have what I want.” 
Christa didn’t like the look on his face. It was too confident, as if she’d already surrendered. 
“You’ll never have me, not the way you want. I’ll never be docile and obedient.” 
When he reached for her, she backed away, knowing his touch would unravel her resolve. The memory of his hands roaming over her body, caressing her breasts, was too fresh. 
“Ah, I think you will be whatever I wish you to be… in time,” he added softly. 
“Is that what you told Daran. That I fell at your feet.” 
“No. I told him the truth. I saw you and I wanted you.” 
“Daran has no place in this,” she insisted, blushing. She’d had men imply their desire, but she’d never had a man look her straight in the eyes and blatantly announce he wanted her. 
“I think he has a very important place.” Reuel walked to the balcony. When he returned, he was holding the remains of his cloak. “You will not leave this suite again without my permission, my lady. If you do, your friend will spend the remainder of his life shoveling ore dust from one cargo ship to the other.” 
“You…” She clinched her fists, more angry than she’d ever been in her life. She couldn’t think of enough contemptible words to throw at him. 
Reuel laughed. “Blackmail can make a very effective cage, don’t you agree, cassana?” 
He watched her, regretting that he had to use anything to keep her caged. He’d openly admitted that he wanted her. And they both knew he could make her want him in return. She’d been trembling in his arms only moments before. Still, she fought him. She was a paradox, this woman whom fate had graced with the ability to carry his child. 
Christa wanted to scream that nothing could keep her caged, but knowing the authority he wielded with full support of the Ruling Council, there was no denying Reuel Shatar had the power to make Daran’s future a bleak one. 
“There will be no games between us, cassana,” Reuel replied firmly. “You will not try and escape me, again.” 
“You have no right to do this,” Christa argued, her hands shaking as they fisted over her unlaced smock. “You told me I was wrong to question the Alliance and its motives, yet your blackmail proves you wrong, not me. You’re as contemptible as the government you hold so dear.” 
“Your insolence will not be tolerated, cassana. Keep your tongue silent until you are asked to speak or you will find my displeasure more intolerable than my presence,” he warned, deliberately walking toward her. He tossed the ruined cloak to the floor, stepping on it as he closed the distance between them with a determined stride. 
“I find everything about you intolerable,” Christa snapped, knowing she was challenging his authority, but not caring. 
The longer he remained in the room, the stronger the sensations swirling around in her body became. Whatever consequences she’d face for trying to escape him were worth suffering, if it meant not having him so close she could reach out and touch him. 
“Do you, cassana?” Reuel said, continuing to walk toward her. “Then, I am to assume it is anger that tints your cheeks and causes your body to tremble, not the memory of my hands caressing your bare breasts.” 
Christa looked around, frantically searching for something to throw at him. The only thing within her reach that didn’t weigh more than he did was the wineglass on the table. He stopped, inches away from her, but the brazen look in his eyes didn’t ease Christa’s apprehension. 
He kept looking at her, his expression blank except for the emotion in his eyes, an emotion even Christa’s innocence could recognize. Desire. 
Reuel watched the pulse beat rapidly at the base of her throat. A throat he desperately wanted to kiss. Her skin was flawless. Her face, framed in waves of gold hair was lovely in spite of the fear clouding dark eyes Reuel knew could burn with passion once he’d gotten past her anger. 
“I’d like to be alone now,” Christa said, forcing herself to meet his heated gaze. 
“What you want is irrelevant, cassana. What you need is to learn your place.” 
“Since that place is being forced on me by a blackmailing nobleman, why should I become a willing pupil of Adarian pleasantry?” 
Reuel’s emerald eyes took on an almost transparent quality, as he reached out and lifted a lock of silken hair off Christa’s shoulder. “Because it will please me.” 
“I have no wish to please you or any other Adarian, Lord Shatar,” she replied, stepping back until her bottom met the garment chest. 
The Governor’s hand returned to his side, but his eyes remained suggestively dark. When he didn’t reach for her again, Christa used her last ounce of courage to get him out of the room. 
“You can force me to become your wife, but you can’t force me to enjoy your touch or anything else about your dominating society. I’ll never submit to you willingly. Never!” 
Reuel’s jaw tightened slightly, then relaxed. During Christa’s studies of history she had learned some interesting military strategy. It wasn’t that dissimilar to his own, in fact. The more she tried to convince herself she didn’t want him, the more vicious her insults, the more reactionary her temper, the harder it would be to surrender when the time came. 
“You will submit, cassana, and it will be much sooner than you think,” he said, reaching out and touching a cheek flushed with anger and embarrass-ment. “You made your choice. Forced or not, it has been done. There is nothing left for you to do but accept that which you cannot change.” 
“I hate you,” Christa hissed the words. She was close to tears, but she’d be damned if she’d shed them in front of an arrogant Adarian. 
“Hate is one of the emotions that had kept your species isolated to a single solar system,“ Reuel stated calmly. “They have spent years fighting among themselves, instead of using their capabil-ities to a more prosperous end. Perhaps, one day they will advance. Until then, you are one Earthling, who is in danger of finding herself confined to a meditation room until she learns to control her emotions.” 
“At least a meditation room can be locked,” Christa snapped, knowing she had lost the argu-ment, but still unwilling to submit, verbally or otherwise. 
“There will no locks between us,” Reuel said. He pulled her against him as his mouth came down once again to prove his power over her senses. 
Christa pounded his shoulders with her fists, but to no avail. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold on her hair, holding her still. The kiss was like before, hot and totally domi-neering. Then it changed. His mouth softened as his hand touched the pulse in her throat. His lips followed, pressing lightly. When his tongue licked the sensitive skin, she jumped. 
“Don’t.” She mumbled the protest, but there was no strength in the word. Reuel was draining it from her, leaving her weak. 
He ignored her rejection, knowing it was only an attempt to hide what she was feeling. He patiently began a new assault, this time tracing the ridge of her spine from the nape of her neck to the base. She pressed her body against him, unable to deny she liked the feel of his hands. 
“You will soon be my wife, sweet one, there is no shame in my touching you, or in you liking my touch.” 
“I don’t like it.” 
“Don’t you, cassana?” he whispered in a husky voice. “I think you do. Why else would you tremble like a leaf in the breeze?” 
Christa couldn’t answer, not without lying to him… and herself. She did like his touch. Too much. 
“Look at me.” 
The command, whispered like a lover’s caress, brushed across her throat, sending tiny fingers of anticipation down her spine, wrapping her senses in a hazy mist. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her, his eyes lit with emerald fire. 
His mouth took possession of hers again. His lips were warm and patient, seducing her, coaxing her to respond. The tip of his tongue teased her, enticing her to open her mouth for him. When she was able to resist the sensual command, he pulled her closer, pressing his body against her, forcing her to feel every inch of him. Holding her hips, he pressed his aroused flesh into the natural cradle of her body. 
Christa’s resistance was replaced, pushed aside by longings and dreams. When he deepened the kiss, slowly sliding his tongue inside her mouth, Christa purred deeply in her throat. Her hands found his shoulders, pulled upward by an invisible force she could no longer deny. 
The kiss went on forever, robbing her of reason, melting away her resolve until all she could hold onto was Reuel, needing him in ways that both tempted and terrified her. 
Reuel forced himself to break the kiss, knowing if he didn’t they’d be mating on the floor. When Christa collapsed against him, her breathing ragged and her hands knotted in the sleeves of his tunic, he felt extremely satisfied. 
Unfortunately his body didn’t. He was throbbing with want, his loins hard and aching. The physical discomfort was something he could bear, at least for the moment. The desire rushing through his body like a comet hurling through space was so different from anything he’d ever felt before, he found himself wondering who had conquered who. 
Slowly Christa remembered they’d been arguing. Damn the man and his kisses, she thought, pushing against him, until he released her. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she walked to the table and sipped the wine he’d poured earlier. 
Reuel smiled while her back was turned. Earthlings were definitely stubborn. Deciding he’d won, he turned toward the door. Christa hadn’t seen him enter the room through the mating chamber. The less she knew of its existence the better, until the time came for her to occupy it. 
“I will send a servant to prepare your bath,” he said. 
“I have no need of a servant,” she replied quickly, wanting to be alone. “You made your point, I value Daran’s friendship too much to climb over the balcony again.” 
Reminding him she preferred the life of a fugitive to being his wife made Reuel stiffen with renewed anger. He picked up the rope and left the room without giving her a second glance. 
Christa’s shoulders slumped as her temper faded and reality returned. She wouldn’t be in this mess if she hadn’t lectured the planetary Council on its attitude toward Earthlings. The blame was 
hers to share, like it or not. So were the consequences. 
Reuel stripped out of his uniform and strolled naked into his bathing chamber. The water cooled his excited manhood, but it did little to wash away the tempestuous fever raging in his blood. He told himself to stop thinking about Christa’s breast, crowned with hard nipples. Breasts he’d thought alien until he’d felt them in the palms of his hands. Breasts he’d wanted to suckle like a newborn babe. 
Walking into his office, Reuel called himself a fool for letting a female’s mammary glands get the best of him. It was her womb that made Christa valuable, not her defiant eyes or the lush swell of her breasts. Forcing himself to think of the duty that compelled him to mate with an alien didn’t eliminate the heat in his loins. 
Engaging the large viewing screen, Reuel punched in the necessary response code. A few seconds later his brother’s face appeared on the screen. 
“Greetings, Lord Shatar,” Suriel Shatar said, breaking into a wide smile. 
“Greetings,” Reuel replied. “I wasn’t aware you had scheduled a stop on Pyrali until our sister informed me.” 
“Am I being scolded for not following proper procedures, Lord Governor?” 
His younger brother had always had an unusual sense of humor. Most of the time Reuel found it amusing. “I am more interested in your passenger than your procedures.” 
“Ah, the lovely Lady Katala,” Suriel said. 
“She is well?” Reuel inquired, trying to remember what she looked like. A vague image of dark hair and azure eyes drifted across his mind, but he couldn’t bring it into focus. Christa kept getting in the way. 
“Lady Katala is well, my lord, and anxious to speak with you,” his brother told him. “As am I.” 
“We are speaking,” Reuel reminded him, sensing more to Suriel’s words. 
“Father is expecting you to join him on Lyona Four,” he replied, changing the subject. 
Reuel frowned. Then it would be on to Adara for the next session of the Ruling Council. He’d have less than two weeks to wed his bride and mate with her. The Council meetings could last three days or three weeks. There was no way of knowing until each noble presented the agenda for his sector. Once the issues were cited, they were discussed, debated and frequently argued over before a final vote was taken. 
If he took Christa with him to Adara their mating could continue. The thought of leaving his new wife unattended while he was occupied with politics was enough to abolish the thought as quickly as it came. 
“Are you planning on going directly to Adara after the trade conference?” Suriel asked, bringing Reuel back to the matters at hand. 
“I’m not sure,” Reuel said, evading the question. Until he had Christa legally bound to him, there would be no certainty to his life. 
“Would you prefer to speak with Lady Katala?” Suriel asked, noting his brother’s distraction. 
“No,” Reuel replied too quickly for his brother not to notice. “I will speak with Lady Katala upon her arrival.” 
“Will you announce for her?” 
The question wasn’t unexpected. Reuel had planned to do just that on his next trip to Adara. Unfortunately, things had changed. Since Taraza already knew of his intentions, there was no point in keeping them a secret from his brother. 
“There will be no announcement for Lady Katala. I have chosen another female.” 
His brother didn’t respond immediately. Katala’s family was very close to the House of Shatar. The insult would not be easily overlooked. 
“Who?” Suriel asked, understanding the implications of his brother’s decision, but not looking overly upset by it. 
“She is an Earthling.” 
This time his brother did react. “An Earthling!” 

Chapter 8

Christa woke up when an elderly woman entered the chamber, carrying a tray filled with kafae, fresh fruit and lightly baked pastries. 
“I hope my lady finds the food agreeable,” the servant said, sitting the tray on the table. 
“What’s your name?” Christa asked, getting out of bed. 
“Peecha, my lady.” 
“My name is Christa.” 
The servant’s lustrous eyes widened, as she stepped back. “It is not permitted for a servant to address her lady in such a manner.” 
Christa should have known the first words out of her mouth would breach the impeccable standards of Adarian nobility. 
“I don’t need a maid, although I have to admit being served breakfast in my room is nice. Perhaps we can be friends.” 
Her second suggestion was met with the same shock as the first one. 
“This is delicious,” Christa commented, sampling a bite of the exotic fruit. 
“It is wangeta, my lady,” Peecha answered, her hands folded in front of her. The gray robe she wore, belted with a gold sash, accented her unusually pale skin. Her silvery hair was pulled back into a neat coil at the base of her neck. Other than the burnished amulet she wore around her neck, the servant was unadorned. 
“I’ve never eaten it before. What planet in the Alliance grows such wonderful fruit?” Christa asked, as curious as always about anything beyond Pyrali. 
“Adara, my lady,” Peecha explained, in a raspy voice just above a whisper. 
Christa tasted a less appealing piece of fruit on the other side of her plate. The green melon wasn’t as succulent as the wangeta, but it would satisfy her hunger just as well. 
Taking a sip of the hot kafae, sweetened just the way she liked, Christa realized her head was stockpiled with information about Adara, but she actually knew very little about its people. The military units assigned to Pyrali were mostly seasoned soldiers ready to defend the empire’s border in a moment’s notice. The remaining Adarians were scientists and engineers assigned to the halamyte mines. The few female Adarians that could be found on Pyrali were cloistered in Dacla, restricted by customs Christa found distastefully archaic. Thinking she would be better prepared to defend her Earthling position if she knew more about the Adarian culture, Christa looked at Peecha. 
The servant hadn’t moved. 
“Have you served Lord Shatar long?” Christa asked, letting her natural curiosity guide the conversation. 
“I have served the House of Shatar all of my life, my lady.” 
“Borkians aren’t slaves. You could do something else.” Christa regretted her words the moment they left her mouth. “I’m sorry, I have a tendency to do other peoples’ thinking for them. Your race has a proud heritage. Please accept my apology.” 
Peecha nodded. 
Christa wasn’t sure if the servant was accepting Christa’s right to insult her or the apology she offered. It was hard to tell when the woman insisted on remaining blank eyed and silent. 
“I’m to marry the Governor,” Christa informed her casually. She watched for a reaction, but saw none. 
“Lord Shatar told me, my lady. The House of Shatar is honored by your presence.” 
“Is it?” Christa asked, wondering how honored the noble house would feel once its members found out she’d been preparing to defend herself against treason when the Governor had proposed marriage. “I’m an Earthling. I doubt the House of Shatar will welcome me with open arms.” 
“My master’s house will honor you, as do those who serve him.” 
“I think you’re wasting your talents serving meals, Peecha. You’d make an excellent diplomat,” Christa said, smiling. “There is one thing you should understand about me. I am not of a race who thinks their existence somehow exalts them over another. There is no need for you to pretend you like me, or even to be pleasant. I prefer to be dealt with honestly.” 
“My master’s house will honor you, as do those who serve him, my lady,” Peecha repeated, moving forward to refill Christa’s cup. “The son you will bear my master will one day rule the empire. Its citizens can give you no greater honor than the one Lord Shatar has already bestowed upon you.” 
Christa sighed. Being reminded of the mating she would be forced to endure because of her wedding vows made her appetite disappear. 
Standing up, she carried her cup of kafae with her to the window at the opposite end of the room. Christa kept her back to the servant now busily clearing the table. Deciding to be more tactful in her inquiry, Christa asked another question. 
“You were born on Adara, then?” 
“Yes, my lady,” Peecha replied, making sure the warming plate under the kafae canister was set to keep the beverage at a drinkable temperature. 
“And you’ve traveled with Lord Shatar during his command of the First Force?” 
“Yes, my lady,” Peecha answered, looking up from her duties for a moment. “I left Adara at Lord Shatar’s summons. He asked that I oversee his serving staff.” 
“That’s a strong endorsement of your loyalty, Peecha. I’ve only known the Governor for two days, but I know he isn’t easily impressed.” 
If the servant found it odd that her master would ask a stranger, an Earthling of all things, to be his wife, Peecha did a very good job of hiding her surprise. Once she’d removed the dishes from the table she walked to the large chest and began sorting through smocks and mynaras. Apparently the servant’s next assignment was to help Christa dress for the day. 
“Does this please you, my lady?” Peecha asked, holding up a green smock, trimmed in gold with a matching gold mynara. 
“I can’t see much difference in any of them. They’re all green, gold or white,” Christa said, setting her cup down and walking across the room. 
“The colors of the Alliance, my lady,” Peecha said. “White is the color of the House of Shatar.” 
“I see,” Christa mumbled. 
It would be hard to dispute Reuel’s claim on her if she was dressed like a ceremonial banner, proclaiming the ownership of his house. She took the gold mynara from Peecha’s hand, thinking that even dictating the colors a wife wore was simply a subtle form of control. An extremely stylish one, but control, nevertheless. 
She’d been foolish enough to accept the clothes the prison attendant had given her. Her own clothing was still in the holding cell, left behind once she’d agreed to become the Governor’s wife. The only thing she had, she could call her own, were her thoughts and her determination to keep them from becoming Adarian. 
“This will be fine, Peecha,” Christa replied, knowing her only recourse was to go naked, something she knew would please the Lord Governor. 
Once she’d dressed, Christa walked into the bathing chamber looking for the hairbrush she’d seen the previous night. She returned to the larger room intending to brush and braid her hair. She’d barely unfastened the clasp that held the plait in place before Peecha’s hands took over. 
Deciding it would be easier to convince Pyrali’s moons not to rise than to convince a Borkian not to serve, Christa relented and allowed Peecha to dress her hair. When the servant was finished, Christa’s hair was pulled back from her face, her customary braid beginning at the nape of her neck rather than higher on her head, near the crown. The effect, accented by thick curls that had escaped the brush, made her look more feminine. She knew Peecha had chosen the style thinking Christa wanted to impress Lord Shatar. She didn’t have the heart to tell the servant otherwise. 
“Thank you, Peecha,” Christa said, standing up and wondering what she was suppose to do next. She’d eaten and dressed. For what? To spend the remainder of the day locked in an elegant room. 
Shortly after Peecha finished cleaning the chamber, Minlim arrived, his smile eagerly received by the new lady of the house. 
“I trust everything is to your liking, fair lady?” the advisor asked, entering Christa’s room once she voiced her approval through the computer console that activated the doors and windows. 
“The room is lovely, Minlim. What could I find to complain about?” 
“I am pleased you are comfortable.” 
“I’m glad you’re here,” Christa said, getting up from the windowseat she’d forced herself to sit on since Peecha’s departure. She’d vowed not to spend another day pacing holes in the floor. 
“Now that the Governor has me in his evil clutches, what I am suppose to do with my time?” 
Minlim smiled. “There is much to do before the ceremony, my lady. You must learn the Adarian ancient vows and the proper manner in which to receive the guests who will be attending the wedding celebration afterwards. Adarian protocol is extremely complicated.” 
Christa frowned. If it was any more complicated than understanding a certain Adarian Governor, she was sure to make a shambles of it all. Forcing herself to be optimistic, she turned her frown into a smile. “I’ve been told I’m an excellent student. Where do we begin?” 
“With the genealogy of the Alliance,” Minlim replied, walking across the room. “Each noble house has a specific order of ascension in the empire. Lord Shatar is from the Seventh House. Although his house is numbered last, it has always been the most prosperous and formidable in the ruling class.” 
“Of course,” Christa mumbled, knowing the Haodai could hear her. 
She didn’t have to pretend she liked Reuel Shatar, not around his advisor. Minlim knew she’d been blackmailed into accepting the Governor’s proposal of marriage. She wondered if Reuel had told his trusted advisor that she’d tried to escape. Christa didn’t think he had. How complimentary would it be for a leader of the First Forces to admit he couldn’t contain one female Earthling? 
By the time Peecha brought their noon meal, Christa could recite each house, along with the rulers it had supplied to the Council. She already knew most of the facts, learning to enumerate them in a language that confused her tongue was an entirely different matter. 
Ancient Adarian, hah! The language had been forced into virtual oblivion because it had made mumbling idiots out of the people who’d tried to speak it. 
Sipping a cup of herbal tea, Christa relaxed for the first time in hours. Minlim wasn’t an easy taskmaster. He’d patiently listened while she’d recited her future husband’s family tree, then corrected her pronunciation, and asked her to begin again. If learning Reuel’s crude ancient tongue was a requirement of becoming the Governor’s wife, Christa doubted she’d be married anytime in the near future. 
She was just beginning to enjoy the meat pie Peecha had served them for lunch when Reuel entered the room. Seeing him again, dressed in a black flight suit that hugged his body like a second skin, was a reminder of why she didn’t like him. He was the commander of the army that kept her people imprisoned on Pyrali. 
He was also the man who’d tried to seduce her in the garden last night. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, trying to forget his kisses. Then, just before dawn, she’d drifted into a mindless sleep and the dream had come. They were in the garden again, but this time, sunlight was covering them like a gold blanket. Reuel was kissing her and she was kissing him back, laughing and teasing and acting like a woman in love. 
“Is your pupil being cooperative, Minlim?” the Governor asked, ignoring the pupil herself. 
“She has a gift for language, my lord,” Minlim replied, giving Christa an approving look. 
“Good,” Reuel said, finally looking at Christa. “Who was the twentieth Shatar Cadish to ascend to the High Council?” 
Reuel would probably gloat if she gave him a reason to rebuke her in front of others. Instead, Christa dutifully recited the name, knowing she’d pronounced it properly when Minlim gave her a small smile. 
“When you meet my father, how will you address him?” Reuel asked the second question, as he accepted a cup of kafae from Peecha. 
Christa was surprised by the question. She hadn’t expected to meet Reuel’s family, not unless he took her to his homeworld. If he did, she would be the first Earthling to travel beyond Pyrali. 
“I have yet to instruct your lady in the proper manner of addressing personal members of a noble house,” Minlim spoke up, saving Christa from the embarrassment of not knowing. 
Reuel turned his attention from Minlim to Christa. “When you meet my father, you are to address him as Lord Shatar, Kendrick. His given name is to follow his title.” 
Christa nodded. Reuel hadn’t said if, he’d said when. That meant he did intend to take her with him when he traveled to Adara. She’d expected to be left behind, locked away and forgotten. The possibility of finally seeing other worlds, cultures and peoples, she’d only been able to read about or view on academy screens, filled Christa’s head. She barely noticed Reuel’s frown, but she wasn’t able to ignore his sharp command for her to pay attention. 
“When I speak, you will listen.” 
“I was listening, my lord,” she replied sweetly, holding back the profanity she’d much rather hurl at him. “I was wondering if your parents plan to attend the wedding.” 
This time Reuel was surprised. He hadn’t expected Christa to be concerned who would witness the ceremony that would seal her fate. “My father is currently attending a trade council on Lyona Four. His duties are too important to the Alliance to be interrupted for personal matters.” 
“Oh,” Christa tried not to sound disappointed. If having a son marry wasn’t important enough to interrupt a father’s schedule, then she had to assume the only thing that mattered to the males of a noble house was their precious Alliance. She’d been told the government was the soul purpose of their existence. From Reuel’s remark, Christa was beginning to believe it was true. 
Hearing the disappointment in Christa’s one word reply, Reuel felt a twinge of guilt. He pushed it aside, reminding himself that his duty came first. 
Reuel gave her a lengthy look, one Christa sensed pushed the perimeters of acceptable behavior, then handed his cup to Peecha and left the room. When the doors closed behind him, Christa found herself smiling. 
Minlim’s pupil remained light-hearted for the rest of the afternoon, until he began explaining the intricate steps of the wedding ceremony. He’d barely completed the description of the closing vows, the part where Christa was expected to kneel and kiss Reuel’s hand, when the elderly Haodai found himself in the midst of a galactic storm. 
“Not until Mount Tola is an anthill,” Christa shouted, standing up so quickly she knocked over the table where she’d been practicing the language she was learning much faster than Minlim had anticipated. “I’ll pick out my own asteroid before I’ll kneel in front of the entire population of Pyrali and kiss any part of that arrogant Adarian’s anatomy.” 
Minlim listened in amazement, quickly learning how adept his new mistress was with alien dialects. She stomped around the room calling her soon-to-be husband some of the most creative adjectives the elderly Haodai’s ears had ever heard. Finally out of breath, Christa stopped and picked up the small writing desk, righting it and mumbling an apology to the artfully designed piece of wood. 
“I can’t do it,” Christa said, looking at Minlim. 
“You might as well call the guards and tell them to prepare a starcruiser. If I’d known I’d be expected to subjugate myself in such a humiliating fashion, I’ve have chosen exile. A wedding cere-mony is suppose to symbolize unity, not slavery.” 
“Kissing your husband’s hand is a symbol of your faith in his ability to protect you,” Minlim explained the ancient ceremonial act. “It is a gesture of trust.” 
“It’s a gesture of male supremacy,” Christa argued. “A gesture that belongs in history books, not in a world whose inhabitants have supposedly progressed beyond the stage of eating raw meat and huddling together for warmth.” 
“The ceremony joining a Cadish and his wife dates back to the beginning of Adarian civilization. The first noble families were survivors of a war so cruel it left half the galaxy destroyed. Seven men were determined to stop the bloodshed, to end the destruction. They vowed to stop hating. The first Cadish, the eldest son of the House of Nadali, took a warring chief’s daughter as his wife. His vow to her was to spare the people she loved. She knelt and kissed his hand, pledging her life to him in return. Each noble wedding has repeated the act, not to enforce male dominance, but to reaffirm the principles of the Alliance. Peace and prosperity.” 
Minlim made the ridiculous ritual sound romantic. 
Christa slumped down on the sleeping couch, her head spinning from names she’d never remember once Minlim left the room. She was exhausted from learning which nobles were which, not caring about any of them, but wanting to please the gentle advisor by correctly reciting the line of ascension. 
Minlim came to her, taking her hand in his and smiling. “Adarian history recorded that the beautiful Seraphina was the grandest of our noble ladies. She taught her sons to honor the traditions of other worlds, to care about the people they ruled. There is a mural of her wedding ceremony painted on the east wall of the High Council chamber. She was strong of heart and fair of hair, very much like you, Christa Kirklan.” 
The tears that had been threatening to fall for days finally did, wetting Christa’s face as she smiled at her new friend. “I’m afraid.” 
The confession was spoken so softly even Minlim’s keen ears had to strain to hear it. 
“I know, my lady,” he replied, lifting her hand to his lips and placing the lightest of kisses upon it. “Admitting our fear is the first step in conquering it. You hold the destiny of an empire in your hands. Don’t be afraid to open them and clasp it to your heart.” 
“You should be a poet,” Christa sniffled. “But I’m glad you’re here. Now, if you can figure out a way for me to keep from strangling my Adarian groom before the wedding, I might manage to get past the ceremony.” 
“Just keep being who you are. Lord Shatar will soon come to appreciate what my eyes have seen from the beginning. Be patient.” 
“My patience is shorter than my temper,” Christa said, standing up and wiping her face on the sleeve of her smock. 
She might as well accept the fact that no matter how much she ranted and raved, or screamed and cried, she couldn’t change what was expected of her. Minlim had told her the announcement of her marriage to the Governor had been posted on the communication channels that morning. If she backed down now, every Earthling on Pyrali would be shamed. Her only consolation was knowing that the symbolic performance would be an empty act. She’d never trust an Adarian who continued to prove he couldn’t be trusted. 
“Perhaps knowing your friend will be coming to the palace this evening will strengthen your patience and enable you to continue the lesson,” Minlim said. 
“Daran’s coming here, again?” Christa asked. 
“He expressed his concern to the Governor. Lord Shatar invited him to return this evening and see for himself that you are well.” 
“You mean Lord Shatar wants me to convince him I am, even if I’m not.” Christa interrupted the advisor’s meaning immediately. 
“Are you not resigned to your decision, fair lady?” 
“You know I’m not. Your master may be an expert blackmailer, but he’s lacking in more things than I can count. I agreed to marry him, and I will, but that’s as far as my cooperation is going to go.” 
“Let us return to our lesson, my lady.” 
Apparently Minlim wasn’t in the mood to discuss his master’s character. Christa suspected it was because he didn’t want to lose the debate. 
It was almost dark when Reuel came to her room. Instead of his customary uniform, he was wearing tight fitting black trousers tucked into boots of the same color. His tunic was the same emerald as his eyes, making them seem even more intense than usual. He was, as always, a very impressive man. 
Looking at him, Christa couldn’t forget how he’d kissed her the previous night. She’d gone to sleep with the taste of him on her lips, waking to wonder how long it would be before he kissed her again. 
Peecha had sent one of the younger servants to help Christa dress. She’d selected a gold gown. The shimmering fabric, woven by Solarian spiders, bared Christa’s right shoulder. With her hair swept into a loose coiffure of curls atop her head, she looked like the noble lady she would soon become. 
Reuel’s stare told Christa he approved of her selection. 
“Come, cassana, you have a visitor.” 
She stepped forward, but she didn’t take the hand extended to her. 
“My touch was not so unpleasant last night,” Reuel said, wondering if she’d chosen the dress to please him or Daran Berkloft. It outlined her breasts in exquisite detail, no doubt because it had been designed for an Adarian female. 
“That was last night, my lord,” she responded scornfully. “Today is another matter.” 
“Today changes nothing,” Reuel remarked, knowing she wanted anger between them again. It was her only defense against what he’d proven he could make her feel. 
“And nothing has changed,” she told him. “I am still marrying you because you’re a selfish, arrogant blackmailer.” 
His mouth lifted into a smile. “Tell me, cassana, is your cage still intact?” 
If only he knew how much she wanted to slap him he’d be backing away from her. He might hold the key to her jail, but she’d never give up her dignity. 
“Don’t worry, Lord Governor, I’ll convince Daran accepting your proposal has made me the happiest woman in the galaxy.” 
“I’ll pretend to be flattered,” he said sarcastically. 
“Let’s get it over with,” she said, masking her anxiousness to see Daran again with a cold smile. 
He escorted her to the main reception room. Although he didn’t try to touch her again, Christa could feel his presence only inches away. By the time they reached the large doors, bordered by two stately guards she had a pounding headache. She’d overstated her acting ability. She’d never been able to hide her feelings from Daran. His soft brown eyes had always been able to see through the veneer she painted on for the rest of the world. Praying she could convince her best friend she was in love with the Governor of Pyrali, Christa took a deep breath as the guards opened the doors. 

Chapter 9

She was barely inside the room when she saw Daran. Not thinking of how her reaction would seem to anyone who didn’t understand the extent of their friendship, Christa ran to her friend, embracing him exuberantly. 
She was mumbling in Daran’s ear that she was fine and for him not to worry, when Christa realized he wasn’t returning her greeting. He’d always hugged her like a little girl, scolding her when he thought it necessary, smiling when he was simply glad to see her again. Moving away from him, Christa looked into Daran’s face, searching for the reason his attitude had changed. She knew the answer immediately. The Governor of Pyrali. 
“Hello, Daran,” Christa said, keeping her own attitude nonchalant. “I bet you never thought you’d see the inside of the Governor’s Palace.” 
“No,” Daran replied, finally smiling. 
Christa intentionally kept her back to Reuel, determined not to let his presence ruin the few moments she had with her friend. 
“If you wish to speak with your friend, cassana, then by all means sit down and converse,” Reuel said, his tone leaving no question that he’d found her greeting offensive. 
Christa hadn’t realized Minlim and Taraza were also in the room. The advisor looked serene, but serious. Reuel’s sister was watching her with cautious eyes. She hadn’t seen the young Adarian since Taraza had shown her to the matron’s suite and told her about the garden gate. She doubted Taraza knew she’d actually tried to escape. Christa wondered if the reason she hadn’t seen Reuel’s sister was because he’d confined her to a meditation chamber for telling his blackmailed bride about Lady Katala. 
“I’d like to talk to Daran in private.” Christa said, testing the strength of her cage. 
“That cannot be allowed, as you well know,” Reuel replied, as she turned to look at him. “Your friend seems pleased that you’ve decided to become my wife.” 
“You are?” Christa asked Daran, swirling around. 
“Yes,” Daran smiled. “I know you would never marry a man you didn’t love.” 
Christa knew Reuel could hear the question in Daran’s words as clearly as she did. She looked into her friend’s eyes and smiled. “I suppose I’ve proven the impossible can happen,” she said whimsically. “But then, I can always use the excuse that falling in love has temporarily pickled my brain.” 
Daran laughed. “I’ve already offered the Governor my congratulations. But knowing you, I think he’d be better off with my sympathies.” 
“I thought you liked me,” she pouted her lips, remembering to act herself, or at least, the person she’d been before meeting the illustrious Cadish of the Seventh House. 
“I do,” Daran replied, still grinning. “But I have to admit I’m glad someone else now has the privilege of sprouting gray hair over your shenanigans.” 
Deciding she might as well play the role for all it was worth, and thinking she deserved at least one ounce of flesh for all the humiliation the man had made her suffer, she walked over to Reuel and laced her arm through his. She almost laughed when she felt him flinch. The proud Governor had no idea what she was going to do next. 
She flashed him as impish smile. “After I reform my handsome husband, I’m going to start on the Alliance. Who knows, if I can accomplish one impossible feat, why not another.” 
“Don’t look so surprised, Daran,” Christa continued. “After all, you’re the one with the fondness for ancient literature… “the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world”, remember.” 
“That’s enough, cassana,” Reuel interrupted harshly. “Go with Minlim.” 
A wave of Reuel’s hand silenced Christa’s protest. She followed the Haodai out of the room, knowing she hadn’t seen the last of Governor Shatar for the night. The cold glare he’d given her promised retribution for her outrageous remark. She’d told Daran she was in love. The lie was all Reuel had asked of her and it was all she was willing to give. 
Christa didn’t notice where Minlim was taking her until they entered a small chamber. 
A meditation room. She should have known. 
“You will wait here, my lady,” Minlim said, sounding too sympathetic for Christa to feel comfortable about being left alone in the serenely decorated chamber. 
“For what, the Governor’s wrath to be visited upon my head?” Christa wasn’t about to relent. Reuel Shatar deserved every insult she could think of, plus a dozen more. 
Minlim didn’t answer. Instead, he nodded politely and left, locking the door behind him. 
Christa was left alone with her frustrations. Of course, that was the purpose of the room. Its walls gracefully draped in soft fabric, the floor carpeted to dull the sound of one’s footsteps, and the two small janiber lamps that offered soothing light had been designed to induce placid thoughts. The chamber was meant for ruminating, spending time with one’s self. Of course, the occupant usually entered willingly, seeking solitude. She’d been locked in as a punishment for breaching Adarian etiquette. 
Christa started pacing the unpretentious room, knowing if she sat down on the cushioned stool in its center, she’d start worrying. And that’s just what Reuel wanted her to do. The more she worried, the less she’d be able to think of the underhanded way he blackmailed her into lying to her best friend. She might not be the Governor of Pyrali, or the Cadish of a noble house, but she wasn’t powerless. She still had the ability to resist Reuel Shatar and his seductive kisses. 
Brushing aside the memory of his touch and his promise of sensual pleasures, Christa kept pacing the room. The only thing she wanted to think about was how she was going to make the Governor of Pyrali rue the day he met her. 
“Christa’s always had a problem keeping her thoughts to herself,” Daran defended the beautiful woman being escorted from the reception area. “Of course, you already know that.” 
“I am learning very quickly,” Reuel mumbled, motioning for Christa’s friend to sit down. 
“Don’t be too upset with her,” Daran said, accepting the goblet of wine Taraza offered. “She has a warm heart underneath that seemingly invincible armor.” 
Reuel waited until Taraza had poured his wine, then dismissed her. 
“Does she?” The Governor asked, suddenly wary. “I chose her for my wife because of her spirit, as well as other things. However, she must learn to temper her tongue if she is to please me.” 
“I’m not sure that’s possible for Christa,” Daran said, frowning. “Not that she can’t be charming when she wants to be. She can. It’s just that she doesn’t understand why everyone can’t see the universe the way she does. “ 
“And how does she see it?” 
“In black and white, like stars against the cosmic sky,” Daran replied, finally smiling again. “Christa doesn’t see anything in shades of gray. It’s either right, or it’s wrong. It’s either fair, or it’s unfair. It’s either honest, or it’s a lie.” 
“An admirable perspective, but an immature one,” Reuel said, beginning to understand Christa’s bizarre attitudes. “Life is always changing, forever blending one color into another. What was wrong a year ago may be right for today. What was unattainable a generation ago is now considered history. It is the way of things.” 
“Try telling Christa that,” Daran laughed. “I’ve been debating with her since she was six years old. She doesn’t give up easily.” 
“I do not plan on debating with her at all,” Reuel stated firmly. 
Daran gave the Governor a skeptical look. “I know I’m being bold, Lord Governor, but are you sure you want to marry Christa? I agree she’s beautiful, but there are lots of beautiful women in the galaxy.” 
“The ceremony will take place in two days,” Reuel replied, not commenting on Christa’s beauty or the boldness of the Earthling’s statement. 
The two men conversed for another hour, Reuel occasionally hinting at his fondness for Christa, the young engineer, seemingly acceptable to the fact that a certain affection existed between the Governor and his unlikely choice for a wife. 
The conversation helped distract Reuel from what he was determined would be the last confrontation between himself and his intended bride. 
Christa’s blatant audaciousness had to stop. As much as he desired her, he couldn’t allow her to continue defying him. The one thing he wouldn’t tolerate was disrespect. It was time Christa learned that once and for all. 
Reuel occupied himself for another hour, reading the communication files and reviewing plans for the grand ceremony to take place in the public plaza. Once he finished his administrative duties, he turned off his console and went to the meditation room, set on teaching a certain unruly female a much-deserved lesson in respect. 
The doors of the chamber opened silently, giving Reuel a clear view of the small room. Christa was standing in its center, her brown eyes blazing with anger. Entering the room, Reuel kept his tone neutral and his expression indifferent. 
“Whatever rebellion you’ve been conspiring inside that impertinent head of yours, you can forget. I assure you it would be foolish to test my patience any further.” 
“You’re the fool if you think I’m going to bow at your feet and beg forgiveness for simply being who I am,” Christa snapped back at him, sounding more confident than she was. 
The small room seemed smaller now that Reuel was sharing it with her. She didn’t need a Haodai’s psychic link to know he was furious. She wasn’t looking at the same man who’d kissed her in the moonlight. She was staring at an Adarian nobleman, the Governor of Pyrali. The longer she looked at him, the more Christa began to think she’d have been wiser to have greeted him with false meekness. But it didn’t matter now. She’d matched him word for word and he wasn’t about to let her win now that she had tossed the gauntlet. 
“You will remain silent, until I give you per-mission to speak again,” Reuel replied, walking toward her. “If not, you will find your insolent tongue locked away, along with your temper, until both of them learn respect.” 
Christa remained silent. She’d gain nothing by making a bad situation worse. Until she knew what he planned for her, she’d let him do the talking. 
“Sit down,” he barked the command at her. 
Christa sat. 
Reuel nodded in satisfaction, then crossed his arms behind his back and stared at her, his eyes turning dark with restrained anger. “If a soldier under my command showed the disrespect you did this evening, I’d have him sent to a penal colony until he was too old to remember how he got there. If a member of my staff used your impertinent speech, he would soon find himself mining halamyte.” 
Christa flinched, thinking of the dark, laser-drilled mining tunnels that honeycombed Pyrali’s moons and oceans. When Reuel walked around the stool to stand behind her, she began to worry. She’d never seen him like this. 
“But what do I do with a disobedient female who thinks she can best me with rebellious remarks?” 
The feel of Reuel’s hand caressing the back of her neck almost sent Christa off the stool. His touch felt menacing, making her worries escalate. She sat perfectly still, waiting, although she wasn’t sure for what. His next words sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing do with the hand, tracing her shoulder bared by the gold dress. 
“Adarians don’t beat their females, although the idea might prove beneficial in your case.” 
The threat had the desired effect, stiffening Christa’s back until Reuel could see the ridge of her spine pressing against the lush fabric that separated his hand from her skin. 
“I could confine you to your room for the rest of the year, except, of course, for the time you will occupy my mating chamber.” 
Christa forced herself to keep silent. He was trying to scare her. One of the reasons she’d reacted so violently at being confined to the meditation chamber was that she was going crazy being locked up in one room after another. She wanted to be free to move from one point to the next without being followed by palace guards or watched by Minlim’s pale eyes. She wanted to stroll in the lavish gardens under her balcony and enjoy the fresh air. She wanted the freedom to express her thoughts and voice her opinions, agreeable or not. She wanted the freedom she’d given Lord Shatar the right to take away when she’d agreed to become his wife. 
Turning her anger inward defeated Christa faster than any words Pyrali’s Governor could say. Unconsciously her shoulders slumped, displaying a change in attitude Reuel noticed immediately. He wasn’t aware, however, that Christa was blaming herself for not being strong enough to accept exile in exchange for the principles she believed in so strongly. All he saw was her sub-missive stance. 
“That’s better, cassana,” he said softly. He walked around, stopping in front of her. 
Christa looked up at him, her neck slightly arched, exposing the slender column of her throat. She’d expected to find his expression washed by victory. Instead, she found herself staring into the same pair of apathetic green eyes that had greeted her moments before. What more did he want from her? Reuel’s next words clarified any doubts she still had roaming around in her head. 
“I will tolerate your Earthling heritage, cassana. I will even tolerate the impulsive female emotions your species cannot seem to control, but I will not tolerate your continued disobedience. I am Governor here and Cadish of my house, but most of all, I am your lord. You can either pay me the respect I am due, or I will teach it to you.” 
Any illusion Christa had that Reuel would compromise on his Adarian beliefs vanished as his words echoed in the dimly lit chamber. There was no concession to be found in his cold tone, no compassion in his emerald eyes, and no hope in his mandate. She either agreed to behave in a manner he deemed appropriate or she faced his wrath. A wrath she sensed would fall very quickly and very heavily upon her head. 
“Do you understand me, cassana?” 
Christa didn’t move, or reply. She would do what he demanded because she had no choice, but she wouldn’t let him see her cry. 
Reuel wondered what schemes were being spun in Christa’s lovely head as she continued to stare at him, her dusky eyes void of the turbulent emotions he was accustomed to seeing. She looked like a different woman, sitting silently like a statue carved to adorn the room and give the illusion of life, but cold to the touch. 
She looked defeated. 
He realized he didn’t want Christa vanquished. He wanted her yelling at him, cursing his Adarian ways and the empire that had sired them. He wanted her eyes blazing with fury and her body trembling with passion. He wanted the woman who’d stood toe to toe with him in the Gallery and shouted she’d prefer banishment to sharing his bed. 
Turning around, seemingly contemplating his conquest, Reuel stared blankly at the draped walls of the meditation chamber. He wanted what Christa had given freely to another man. 
He wanted her smile. 
He wanted her eyes sparkling with delight when she walked into a room and saw him. He wanted her purring with pleasure, not because he knew how to arouse her sexually, but because she was truly enjoying his touch. He wanted her to want him with the same desperate desire that had him counting the hours until he saw her again. 
What was happening to him? Was Christa an Earthling enchantress? In less than three days she’d stolen his will, making his body throb with want and his thoughts stray from his duty. A duty he’d taken her to serve. A duty that seemed suddenly secondary to the needs she aroused. 
Reuel turned around to look at Christa again, angered by his silent confession. When he saw the glossy evidence of tears, moistening her dark eyes, his anger melted. He went from wanting to shout at her to wanting to hold her in his arms until she’d spent her tears. He wasn’t aware he’d reached out his hand until he saw it extended to her, offering what he hoped she would accept. 
Christa looked at Reuel, his stately image blurred by tears she’d sworn not to shed. His eyes had gone from ominous to concerned, his face from threatening to consoling. She looked at his hand, held palm up in a reconciliatory gesture she hadn’t expected after being told to submit or face the consequences. It was a strong hand. A hand she longed to reach for, but feared she’d find pulled away the moment she displeased him again. 
She felt her chin trembling, felt her resolve disappearing under emerald eyes that looked like soft jewels in the flickering light of the janiber lamps. Who was this man? First, he lectured her like a wayward child, threatening to punish her if she didn’t submit to his demands. Now he was looking at her as if he wanted her to give him absolution. 
“Come to me, cassana,” Reuel said in a low voice. 
Not understanding the power he had over her, but too weak to fight it, Christa reached out. The moment she touched his open hand, his fingers closed around her, pulling her against his chest. She buried her face against his tunic, unable to keep her tears from falling. He rocked her gently against him, one hand still entwined with hers, the other rubbing slowly up and down her back. 
Christa wished she couldn’t smell his musky scent or feel the sinewy strength of his chest. She didn’t want to need the warmth of his embrace or the masculine security his presence offered, but she did. So she let him hold her, thinking he would soon gloat over the victory. When he raised her chin, forcing her to look at him, she closed her eyes. She felt the rough pad of his finger brushing away her tears and shivered under the gentle touch. Christa remained silent except for a shaky breath, his command for her not to speak still fresh in her memory. 
“Look at me, cassana.” 
It wasn’t an order this time. The huskily whispered request brought her eyes open to find him smiling at her. He brushed away another tear, then wrapped her in his arms again, pressing her face against his chest. Christa listened to the steady resonance of his heart as it pumped blood through his veins. For several moments it was the only sound in the room. 
“Is it so hard to obey me?” Reuel asked, rubbing her back again. 
“Yes,” she mumbled, wishing for a brief moment that she could be what he wanted her to be. 
“Yet, you must, cassana,” he said, smiling again at the reluctant admission. “It is the only way there can be peace between us.” 
Christa looked up at him, her damp eyes wide in surprise, her naturally curious mind needing an answer. “You want us to get along?” 
Reuel kept smiling. “Unlike you, my lovely rebel, I do not thrive on contention.” 
Hope flared within Christa’s heart, then faded. Reuel wanted them to get along, but on his terms. As much as she wanted to interpret his unexpected concern as affection, she couldn’t. His attitude toward women hadn’t changed. He still thought her gender insubordinate and her role in his life secondary to his role as Cadish of a noble house. No matter how tempting it was to label it something else, it was still prejudice. Discrimination born of social standards upheld because it was easier to accept than fight. 
Bigotry was wrong. It robbed people of their dignity and shamed them with its blind disregard. It made one race inferior to another. It made women less than servants and men unknowing tyrants. 
“I’ll keep my insults to myself,” Christa said softly, her voice full of regret. Minlim was right. 
If she took on the Alliance and its customs, she’d lose. Her only hope was the future. A future in which her son would rule. 
Reuel wished he could penetrate the psychic barrier of Christa’s thoughts and understand the sadness glowing like dying embers in her eyes. The compulsion to apologize seized him as he raised a hand and smoothed back a wayward wisp of gold hair. He’d never seen a woman look so strong, yet vulnerable, at the same time. Her eyes were still moist with tears, but she possessed a strength of spirit he couldn’t help but admire. Perhaps that was what was drawing him to her, an indefinable radiance of purpose he always associated with warriors. 
“Come, cassana, it is late and you need to sleep.” With a haggard sigh, Christa stepped out of his arms. 
“I am tired.” 
They left the meditation chamber, Reuel walking by her side. When they reached the doors to her room, his curt nod dispatched the guards. Christa wondered if they would be back after the Lord Governor returned to his own suites. Surprisingly, she wasn’t afraid to be alone with him now. Reuel might force her to obey ridiculous customs and bite her tongue whenever she wanted to shout that he was wrong, but he’d never take her against her will. 
Once the doors had sealed behind them, Reuel strolled across the room. He poured them both a glass of wine. Christa watched the fluid motion of his body as he went about the simple task of filling their goblets. He moved with the confident grace of a man accustomed to being in control of himself and his surroundings. But then, why shouldn’t he. Reuel Shatar was the Cadish of a noble house. He’d been born to power. Christa’s eyes were drawn to the slender strength of his hands as they returned the crystal carafe to the table and picked up the delicate goblets. Noticing the dark stands of crisp hair on the back of his hands, she found herself wondering if his chest was covered in the same ebony shade. Her face flushed with the thought when he stopped in front of her, extending one glass. 
“I find myself facing a paradox, cassana,” he said in a low whisper. “I must insist that you leash your tongue, but when it is silent, I find myself missing the musical quality of your voice.” 
The unexpected compliment brought her eyes up to lock with his for a long moment. Christa felt the quiet power of his gaze all the way to her bones. His eyes softened under the muted light of the janiber lamps as he continued to stare at her, their green depths offering a promise of things to come. 
“Talk to me, cassana.” Reuel asked, wanting to understand her as completely as her friend. 
For the life of her, Christa couldn’t think of a single word. She’d measured the length and width of the meditation chamber for over an hour, reciting the stormy lecture she’d planned to deliver once she saw him again. When he’d faced her with cold indifference, she’d kept her words to herself. Now that he was asking her to speak, she couldn’t. 
“About what?” She managed to get the question out, mesmerized by his heated look. He looked like he wanted to kiss her again. Christa realized she wanted the kiss. 
“About anything that pleases you,” Reuel replied, finally diverting his eyes. If he kept staring at her mouth, he’d kiss her. If he kissed her, he wouldn’t be able to stop until he loosened her hair and buried his hands in its tawny richness, until he stripped her of the gold cloth that shielded her body from his eyes, until he buried himself in her warmth. 
Christa chewed on the corner of her mouth, trying to think of a topic that wouldn’t result in another argument. After a moment, she gave him a wary smile. “Tell me about your family.” 
The inquiry surprised Reuel. He’d expected her to engage him in a political debate or list his seemingly endless Adarian faults. He sat down in the large chair next to the sleeping couch, motioning for her to sit as well. 
“My father is an ambassador for the Ruling Council. My mother supervises our house and its many occupants. I have two brothers and one sister.” 
“I mean tell me about your family,” Christa urged, adding a scowl for emphasis. 
“My mother’s name is Subrala. She is a very gracious lady who never loses her temper,” Reuel grinned, looking at Christa over the rim of his glass. “My only sister is Taraza. She has a talent as an artisan. My mother’s garden is filled with statues created by her magical hands.” 
“Are you angry with Taraza for telling me about Lady Katala?” Christa asked, not wanting the young girl to dislike her anymore than she already did. 
“What is between us is between only us, cassana. It was not my sister’s place to discuss such a personal issue with you.” 
“Did you toss her in a meditation chamber, too?” 
“No,” he laughed. “I merely informed her that you are the woman I have chosen to be my wife. There will be no others.” 
Christa wanted to believe him. She hadn’t wanted to admit that thinking he cared for another woman had crushed her hopes of one day having him care for her. 
“I don’t pledge my family name lightly, cassana,” he said, as if he knew her hopes. 
“Tell me about your brothers,” she prompted. She wasn’t ready to face her feelings for this man, nor was she ready to let him suspect them. 
“My brothers both serve in the First Force. Suriel commands a garrison of patrol cruisers. My youngest brother, Mathia, will soon graduate from the Military Academy, although he has no desire to be a warrior. His skills will serve the Alliance by designing its next fleet of starfighters.” 
“While your skills allow you to rule Pyrali,” Christa said, paying him her first compliment. 
“My first duty is to the Alliance,” Reuel replied, thinking it was a good time to reiterate that fact to himself as well. When he was with Christa he seemed to forget his allegiance. He seemed to forget everything but the dark mystery of her eyes and the sweet taste of her mouth. 
“Of course,” she mumbled, lifting her glass to sip the tepid wine. 
Reuel sensed her change of mood immediately. She had gone from curious to preoccupied. What did she want from him? He’d offered to make her his wife, the highest honor he could pay any female. She would spend the remainder of her life in luxury, wanting for nothing. 
“What does cassana mean?” 
“It’s Borkian,” he said, remembering her initial curiosity over the endearment. “The term has many meanings, depending upon who uses it and to whom it is addressed. It was a favorite of Peecha’s when I was younger.” 
“You’ve been calling me a brat, haven’t you,” Christa scoffed. “You were probably as arrogant as a child as you are now.” 
Reuel laughed, a sound Christa thought unusual under the circumstances. She’d just insulted him again. 
“I see it will take more than kisses to tame the rebel in you.” 
“I’m not a rebel,” Christa protested, relieved at being able to argue with him again. Arguing was something she knew he understood. The feelings Reuel created were frightening. 
“Yes, you are. A very beautiful, very talkative rebel I find myself wanting to kiss” he stated, easily assuming the arrogant role she’d accused him of. 
“I’d rather talk.” 
“Would you?” he asked, standing up. He crossed the room, put his unfinished wine on the table, and then walked back to her. “I’d rather kiss you.” 
No words were exchanged as Reuel wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her to him. When he took her mouth, gently as first, then more aggressively, Christa submitted to the kiss. 
Reuel’s embrace became more possessive. His hand moved to the bared flesh of her shoulder and arm. 
“Please,” Christa pleaded, her voice strained. Her body wanted his touch at the same time her mind told her to refuse it. 
“Please, what?” he prompted softly, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin of her throat. He felt her tremble in his arms as he traced the edge of her ear with his tongue. 
He made love to her with his mouth, kissing her until she was trembling in his arms, her body pressed so tightly against his he could feel the hardened tips of her breasts. His hands roamed freely, kneading the soft flesh of her hips as he moved her suggestively against his arousal. When he knew he either had to let her go or carry her to the mating chamber and end the desperate need that was quickly stealing his mind, Reuel broke the kiss. 
Christa slumped against his chest. 
“Rest well, cassana,” he whispered, brushing his lips over her forehead before letting her go completely. Using the last of his control, Reuel left the room. 

Chapter 10

Christa stood still as Peecha slipped the sheer under-garment over her head. The silver cloth felt decadent against skin that had been pampered by scented oils added to her morning bath. Her hair had been pulled back into a thick braid laced with gold and white ribbons. When the Borkian servant began unfolding what would be Christa’s wedding dress, she found herself staring in disbelief. The gown was a pristine white, covered with tiny gems that sparkled like droplets of water on the gossamer fabric. 
Once donned, the dress fit Christa to perfection. Its scoop neck, stopping just below her collarbone, was edged with gold threads. The wispy fabric flowed out behind her, dragging the floor as she walked. When Peecha added a gold cloak, folded back and fastened at her shoulders by jeweled clasps, Christa barely recognized herself. 
“Lord Shatar will be honored by your beauty, my lady,” Peecha said, stepping back and smiling with approval. 
“I feel like a fairy princess,” Christa said, turning around and watching the gown flow with each motion of her body. Peecha’s puzzled look made Christa smile. 
“On earth, years ago, people made up stories, legends of a sort, about imaginary creatures. Fairies were tiny people who lived in flowers. The fairy princess was alleged to be the most beautiful creature in the forest.” 
Peecha’s silver eyes sparkled with amusement. “On my world, the old people tell the children the same stories. Our fairies live in the center of the planet and sneak out at night to cause mischief. Their queen is called Cassana, and she is reputed to be the instigator of their constant misbehavior.” 
Christa laughed, grateful that she was able to release some of the tension lying in her stomach like a rock since waking up and discovering her wedding day at hand. “So that’s why the Governor calls me cassana. He thinks I’m a troublemaker.” 
Peecha nodded, pleased that her mistress was smiling again. “It is spoken with affection, my lady. I often called him a cassana when he was young. He was forever leaving the house to wander about and discover the universe, getting into mischief as all males of that age do.” 
“The Governor feels no affection for me, Peecha,” Christa said stiffly. She looked at herself in the large oval mirror, then turned away. She might be a lovely bride, but she wasn’t loved. Holding her chin up, Christa turned toward the door as the monitor beeped, announcing Minlim. 
The advisor’s approving smile did little to lift Christa’s spirits. As they walked through the palace corridors, followed by a small entourage of guards, Christa felt her composure slipping with each step. The aquamarine beauty of the Saionge went unnoticed as their aircoach skimmed above its glossy waters. Dacla lay on the other side of the inland sea, its crystal towers ablaze with the afternoon sun. She could see the plaza was filled to capacity, its normally spacious walkways flooded with Pyrali’s citizens, dressed in their finest attire. She knew most had come to honor, but there were also those who’d come to satisfy their curiosity. The Governor was taking an Earthling for his wife, surely an odd occurrence. 
“Do not be afraid, my lady.” Minlim’s soft voice assured her. 
“I’m not afraid,” Christa lied. She was terrified. 
She sucked in a deep breath of air, hoping it would calm her. As the aircoach approached the landing pad to the right of the main plaza area, it was immediately surrounded by Alliance guards. The tall soldiers formed a ring around the transport, their backs to her as they faced the throngs of people filling the public park. As Minlim helped her from the coach, Christa vainly looked for Daran and Gloriana, but she couldn’t see through the defensive circle the guards had formed around 
her. 
“The Governor awaits you, my lady.” 
Minlim’s steady hand held hers as they began walking toward the large platform that adorned the center of the plaza. Rising above the pale tiles that paved the city’s largest park was the three-tiered crystal rostrum which would be her wedding altar. As they reached the transparent incline that led to the highest level, Christa looked up. Reuel was waiting for her at the top, dressed in a green uniform, the silver cloak that signified his rank fanning out in the soft breeze that brushed across the Saionge. 
Christa thought he looked like a god, come down from the heavens to bless mortals with his presence. His bronzed skin and angular face looked regal and saintly. Minlim’s steady hand was the only thing that kept Christa from stumbling as she began ascending the walkway. The fear that had her insides churning vanished, replaced by a numbing apathy. 
She was walking, but she couldn’t feel her feet. Her hand was clutching Minlim’s, but she barely felt the contact. Her vision was blurred, seeing only the gold aura emanating from the man waiting at the top of the platform. She was impervious to the cheers of the citizenry, yelling their approval of the Governor’s selection. From the moment her eyes met his, shining like green gemstones, time and space ceased to exist for 
Christa. 
All and everything had become one man. 
“Come, cassana.” 
The sound of Reuel’s voice kept her from swirling around and dashing off the platform. 
She stopped at the top of the incline, her hand so tightly clasped around Minlim’s the advisor had to pry her fingers away. Reuel stepped back, nodding for her to take her appointed position at his side. Christa walked the short distance, then turned and faced the crowd, looking, but not see-ing them. She listened as Counsellor Erling announced the purpose of the gathering, reciting the lengthy tradition that required the eldest son of each noble house to publicly claim his bride. The politician spoke proudly of Reuel’s allegiance to the empire, of the honor his Governorship brought to Pyrali, and of his decision to take a Pyralian bride. Christa smiled at the last comment, knowing it was the one and only time Pyrali had claimed an Earthling as one of its own. 
When the Counsellor had finished his speech, he turned to the bride and groom, his amber eyes shining with approval. Continuing the tradition established by generations past, he instructed Reuel to recite the ancient pledge. 
Focusing on the huge metallic emblem, decorating the center of the plaza tower directly across from the podium, Reuel repeated the oath he’d learned as a child, an oath first recited thousands of years before. As the morning sun heated the mountaintops overlooking Adara, he proudly stated his allegiance to the Alliance, pledging his fidelity and honor to the empire he now served. His eyes drifted to the woman at his side as he declared his house to now be hers, giving her the honor of his rank. His vows were complete when he announced her to be his wife. 
Christa waited until the white mat had been placed in front of Reuel by the Counsellor’s hon-ored hands. Then, repeating the ritual, rehearsed a hundred times in the last three days, she knelt, lifting her face to the man who had publicly claimed her. She repeated the age-old vows, her mind remembering the crude language, her tongue pronouncing each word with a fluid grace that impressed every Adarian in the audience. She accepted the honor bestowed on her by a noble of the Alliance, declaring his honor was her honor, his allegiance now her allegiance. When she vowed the fidelity of her womb, proclaiming her body to be his and his alone, she felt his hand tighten around hers. When she brought it to her mouth, pressing her lips against the tanned flesh, his thumb caressed the inside of her palm. Christa felt the small intimacy and looked up at him. Reuel’s eyes possessed her with an intensity that frightened her. She belonged to him now, and his blatant stare was telling her so. They looked at each other for what seemed an eternity, but was less than a second. Christa’s heart pounded against her ribs as Reuel’s solicitous stare grew even more intense. A second before she thought he was going to pull her into his arms, he seemed to remember the whole city was watching. His hand wrapped around hers as he helped her to stand, bringing her to his side. 
Minlim stepped forward, a small tray cradled in his outstretched palms. Christa stood quietly as Reuel placed a small gold medallion around her neck. Draped from a finely woven mesh chain, the oval signet displayed the symbol of the Seventh House. Once his agile hands had locked the small clasp that held the medallion around her throat, Reuel stepped back, the final act of his public possession complete. 
They turned to face the plaza again as the crowd burst into cheers, chanting their names. Christa stood silently by Reuel’s side as the population of Dacla shouted their congratulations. Her husband raised his hand, signaling for silence. As though their vocal cords had been severed by the movement of the his hand, the assembly went quiet. 
Reuel addressed the people, thanking them for their allegiance. Then he led Christa from the platform. She was almost to the aircoach when she saw Daran and Gloriana. Her friends had watched the ceremony from the private balcony of the plaza tower reserved for honored guests. They could only be there by invitation of the Governor. As Reuel helped her into the aircoach, Christa smiled, remembering an ancient Earth tradition. Her husband, unknowingly, had given her a wedding present. 
“Be careful, cassana, or I’ll think you’re smiling because you enjoyed becoming my wife,” Reuel whispered, entering the coach to stand at her side. 
He could finally relax. He’d managed to hide his apprehension from everyone but Minlim. Their psychic link had shaken with the anxiety Reuel had felt during the ceremony. In spite of her promise to accept the situation, Reuel had expected Christa to rebel at the last moment, turning to the crowd and charging him with blackmail and tyranny. When she’d knelt in front of him and recited the ancient pledge, he’d felt the stress of the day leave him. Looking at her as she’d lifted her face to him, her dark eyes focused on him alone, he’d been awed by the serenity of her expression. When they’d stood together, side by side, finally husband and wife, he’d felt unexpectedly proud. 
Christa ignored her husband’s smug comment and waved at Daran and Gloriana. She reached for the railing as Reuel maneuvered the aircoach and turned it toward the Palace. They were nearing the Saionge when she leaned toward him, finally replying to his remark. 
“I was smiling because you invited Daran and Gloriana to the wedding.” She turned to him, saying the words she’d thought would never cross her lips. “Thank you.” 
Reuel smiled. “Your uncle was there, as well, although being a small man, he was hidden by the other guests. It is customary for the bride’s family to witness the ceremony.” 
“My uncle!” Christa said, realizing she’d completely forgotten about the only person she could biologically claim as family. It had been years since she’d seen her Uncle Rouland. He was a shy man who preferred growing vegetables to talking to people. When she’d asked him if she could live with Daran’s family after her parent’s death rather than leave the academy and her friend, he’d agreed instantly. 
“I met him this morning,” Reuel replied. “He seems pleased that you’ve finally decided to marry.” 
“He’s so shy, I’m surprised he didn’t faint the moment he realized he was meeting the Governor of Pyrali.” 
“I didn’t find your uncle timid. He’s merely a man who waits until he has something worthwhile to say before he says it. An admirable trait,” he teased, feeling suddenly jovial. 
He was also feeling extremely impatient. Once he’d landed the aircoach, he wanted to carry Christa into the mating chamber and finish what the day’s ceremony had begun. 
Reuel had thought her beautiful before, but seeing her dressed in the colors of his house, her pale hair shining like a gold scepter, the jewels on her dress dancing in the sunlight, had made him the envy of every male in the plaza. Feeling the heat of her body as she stood by his side, the wind bringing a pink tinge to her cheeks, her eyes absorbing the beauty of the Saionge, he wanted her more than ever. 
But duty required him to wait. 
There would be a formal reception at the palace. Christa would be personally presented to his officers and staff. A wedding banquet would bring the day’s events to a close. It was the banquet he dreaded most. His brother’s ship had arrived that morning. Time had allowed for nothing more than the announcement of his marriage. While his younger brother stood in silent shock, Taraza had seen to Katala’s comfort. He’d expected her to remain at the palace, forgoing the ceremony and the embarrassment it would surely cause, but she hadn’t. Just before he’d escorted Christa from the platform, he’d seen both his brother and Lady Katala on the guest balcony. 
Christa accepted Reuel’s hand as they disem-barked from the aircoach. She walked by his side, entering the Governor’s Palace, its wide gates decorated in metallic ribbons that fluttered aimlessly in the breeze. Walking across the threshold of the massive mansion she would now call home, Christa’s apprehension over the night to come returned with unrelenting clarity. There would be no privacy for her thoughts this night. She wouldn’t be allowed to brood in her private chamber, torn between feelings of wanting and disdain for the man who’d blackmailed her into marriage. 
Tonight she’d promised to submit to him. Standing at his side, his arms wrapped possessively around her waist, Christa felt an odd exhilaration stirring in her blood. The kisses they’d shared had made her vividly aware of his maleness. He’d made her body want his, wooing it with an ancient song of touch and taste that had left her wanting more. She’d tossed and turned for two nights, trying to fight the primitive urges he’d aroused, cursing herself for responding to him. Finally, she’d slept, only to have him return in her dreams. His conquest had been imaginary then, but no less arousing. She’d awakened to the memory of his touch, the fervent longing he’d created still unanswered. 
Reuel’s hand felt warm and strong, wrapped securely around her waist. Christa fought the urge to ask him to stop and hold her, knowing he would find the impulsive request another breach of etiquette. She was glad she’d been able to speak her vows without stumbling over the words, not because of their meaning, of course, but because she had wanted to please her teacher. 
Minlim’s patience had been her only solace during the last three days, his gentle smiles a silent encouragement. She’d wanted to make him proud. Knowing her people, Earthlings confined to an alien planet, were viewing the ceremony as well had given Christa another incentive. Her marriage to Reuel Shatar would benefit her people. She hadn’t wanted to embarrass them by fumbling her way through the intricate ritual. 
Reuel stopped in front of the entrance to the palace’s main reception room. He turned and looked at Christa. 
“My staff and senior officers are waiting inside. They will be presented to you in order of their rank and position. It is permitted for you to speak to them if you desire.” 
“I know. Minlim told me.” 
“Good. Then let us begin.” 
The doors opened, revealing the long elegant room. Christa followed Reuel inside. 
The first person to greet them was Taraza. Dressed in an elegant robe of gold and white, she smiled, then stood on her tiptoes and pressed her cheek against Christa’s. 
“Welcome to the House of Shatar, my lady, may your life enrich ours,” she whispered softly, then stepped back. 
“Thank you,” Christa replied, shocked by Taraza’s greeting. She’d expected cool indifference, not a hug. 
Christa felt a change in Reuel as a young Adarian male approached them. He was slightly shorter than her husband. She smiled when she found herself looking into a pair of green eyes so like her husband’s. When he stepped closer and pressed his cheek against her, the same way Taraza had done moments before, Christa knew she was meeting one of Reuel’s two brothers. 
“Welcome to the House of Shatar, my lady,” he said, his voice as friendly as his eyes. “I am Suriel. I needn’t ask that your life enrich ours, seeing you is enough to know it will.” 
Turning to Reuel, Suriel smiled again. “I apologize for doubting your choice in wives, lord brother. She is beautiful.” 
Christa wondered how long Suriel had known about the marriage. And how long he’d been on Pyrali. Reuel had told her he was a commander in the border patrol. 
“My brother arrived only hours before the ceremony, cassana,” Reuel said, reaching down to take her hand and move her closer to his side. “Like most brothers, he often forgets his place.” 
Suriel’s response was a hearty laugh. Christa found herself liking him in spite of his Adarian blood. 
“May I present Lady Katala,” Suriel said, stepping aside and holding out his hand. A young, and very lovely, Adarian female stepped forward to take it. 
For a moment, Christa didn’t know what to say. She looked at the woman clothed in a beautiful robe of dark blue and gold. This was the woman Reuel had planned to marry. Christa met her gaze, expecting to find resentment or even hatred in her light blue eyes. All she saw was acceptance. It was unnerving. The woman didn’t seem the least bit upset that Reuel had taken another woman as his wife. But then, Adarians were experts at hiding their emotions. 
“Lady Shatar,” Katala said, bowing her head. Her hair was dark and woven into an intricate braid laced with blue ribbons. 
Christa looked at Reuel. His expression was tense. She knew he expected her to insult the attractive woman. 
When Katala raised her head, Christa smiled. “Welcome to Pyrali, Lady Katala. I have been told of your father’s service to the House of Shatar. It is honored and appreciated.” 
Her husband relaxed. Then, to Christa’s sur-prise, he squeezed her hand. 
“Come, cassana, you have a roomful of people to meet.” 
Within minutes her head was swimming with Adarian names, her memory desperately trying to record each individual’s position in the hierarchy. When Reuel introduced his flight officer, a slender Adarian by the name of Favian, Christa noticed a difference in her husband’s tone. She smiled at the handsome officer, knowing instinctively that he was Reuel’s friend. 
“I am pleased to meet you, Favian,” she said softly, nodding her head slightly in a show of respect. 
The officer smiled, his blue eyes immediately friendly. “I am honored, my lady.” 
“Favian is my finest pilot. He’s the only warrior in the First Force I can’t leave quaking in the exhaust of my starfighter.” Reuel said, pleased that Christa had sensed the camaraderie between himself and the loyal officer. 
Christa wanted to tell Favian he needed to practice his flying skills, so that one day he could surpass Reuel. A little humility would do her husband good. She didn’t, knowing the remark would turn the entire room into a whirlwind, and her husband back into the cold dictator she’d encountered far too often. Another time, perhaps, when she’d established her position more firmly. She might not be able to change the staunch exterior of the empire, but she could put some dents in it. 
Once the introductions were complete, Reuel led her to the far end of the room. A curt wave of her husband’s hand emptied the hall. 
“Now Peecha will present the servants,” he said, leaning down and speaking softly in her ear. “You can select any of the Borkian females you wish as your personal maid.” 
“I’m pleased with Peecha,” Christa replied, looking up at him. She was slowly establishing a rapport with the elderly woman she hoped would one day grow into friendship. 
“Then your lord is pleased also, cassana.” 
Her hand went to the gold medallion snugly hugging her throat. It felt warm next to her skin. Christa’s sense of adventure returned as she watched Reuel’s eyes soften approvingly. “I do not wish to cause mischief, my lord.” 
Reuel laughed. “Peecha told you, did she. You may not like the diminutive, cassana, but it suits you well. You are, my lovely wife, a very trouble-some female.” 
If he hadn’t called her troublesome in such a suggestive tone, Christa would have taken Reuel’s words to heart. However, the sound of his voice, low and husky, combined with the seductive look in his eyes, had changed his insult into a compli-ment. She flushed under his hot gaze, reminded again of the night to come. 
As the servants filed into the room, each nodding their head respectfully to the Governor they served, Christa’s mind wandered again. Reuel’s kisses had been very nice, the texture of his lips warm and beguiling. Realizing she was staring at his mouth, Christa jerked her head around and prepared herself to meet the dozens of Borkians that served the Governor’s Palace. 
After each servant had introduced themselves and pledged their service and loyalty, Reuel dismissed them. The tiled floor shimmered in the twilight of the dying day. Reuel stepped in front of her, his expression blank of intent. 
“The banquet hall awaits us now,” he said softly. “Are you hungry?” 
“I don’t know,” Christa replied shyly. “I think I left my stomach in the plaza.” 
Reuel smiled, amazed by her sudden bashfulness. Had the ancient pledge she’d recited, giving herself to him, taken root and brought about the change he was seeing, or was it the anxiety of a maiden he was witnessing? Either way, it pleased him. 
It would also please him to kiss her. 
He did, pulling her into his arms before he could remind himself he was supposed to feel nothing for the beautiful woman looking up at him with timid, dark eyes. 
Once his mouth was sealed over hers, tasting her again, savoring the sweet pleasure of her mouth, he couldn’t seem to stop. The kiss ended only because they had to breathe. 
“You have done well today, cassana,” he whispered, as he rested her head under his chin, until they could regain the composure the kiss had stripped from both of them. “I am very pleased.” 
Christa wanted to argue that she’d only behaved herself because she hadn’t wanted to bring shame on her people or the kindly Haodai who’d befriended her, but she didn’t have the strength to form the words. Reuel’s kiss had stolen her thoughts, robbed her mind of its wit, and left her trembling. How was she ever going to keep her heart safe if his touch kept invading her senses, leaving her at the mercy of emotions she couldn’t control? 
Resting against his chest, Christa allowed herself the luxury of being held in her husband’s strong arms. There was a strange sense of rightness about being cradled against his hard body that annoyed her at the same time it delighted her. Christa sighed, puzzled by her reaction to the day’s events. She should be feeling devastated from the loss of her freedom, not elated. She should be brooding over being forced to marry a man who’d clearly stated his motives for marriage were based on hormones, not affection. What she should be feeling was so completely opposite from what she was feeling that she was beginning to think she’d lost her mind. When Reuel tilted her chin back and kissed her again, brushing his lips so lightly over hers, Christa wasn’t certain if the caress qualified as a kiss. She gave up trying to find a logical explanation for what was happening. 
“Come, cassana,” he whispered hoarsely, stepping back from her. “We must first fulfill the duties of our rank before we can fulfill our own pleasure.” 
Christa felt the sensual magic of his words as he led her toward the door. There was no point denying she wanted Reuel Shatar. If his expert kisses hadn’t proved it, her shaky composure did. Christa walked by her husband’s side, her hand resting on his arm, her mind swirling with the implications of the night to come and the complicated man escorting her to a royal banquet. 
The last few days had been spent learning about her husband’s culture and memorizing the countless rules and regulations he now expected her to live by, but she knew nothing about the man. Nothing beyond his deep voice and authoritative manner, nothing beyond the power he wore as comfortably as his cloak, and the sensual mystery that burned in his green eyes. 
The Governor of Pyrali tried her patience and fueled her temper. The man triggered her insa-tiable curiosity, making her wonder what lay beneath the dangerously cool exterior he showed to the galaxy. Did he ever laugh for the pure enjoyment of hearing the sound? Did he ever worry about anything or anyone unless they had some affect on the precious empire he’d promised to serve with body and soul? Were his kisses only meant to seduce or did he feel something else? 
Christa took a deep breath, preparing herself. The banquet would allow her to mix and mingle with the guests. It would also allow her to satisfy her curiosity about Lady Katala. 
As if he sensed her trepidation, Reuel stopped, dismissing the guards standing on each side of the doorway. She looked at him, surprised to find him smiling. 
“I find myself regretting my duty, cassana, I 
am reluctant to share your beauty with our guests.” The compliment worked its intended magic. Christa smiled. She stepped to his side, wondering how she 
could commit her body without losing her heart. 

Chapter 11

Christa was surprised to find Daran and Gloriana among the banquet guests. Her eyes quickly scanned the room. Taraza was talking to her brother. Lady Katala stood next to them. The room was filled with Adarian and Pyralian digni-taries, including Counsellor Erling. Reuel guided her to the head of the table, seating her to his left. Christa’s eyes went wide when she found herself facing her uncle. 
“Hello, Christa,” Rouland Kirklan said, his plump face shining with pride. 
“Hello, Uncle Rouland,” she said, quickly looking from her kinsman’s face to her husband. “You’re full of surprises today.” 
“It is customary for the eldest male of the bride’s family to be seated at the groom’s right,” Reuel explained. Then, in a firm voice, he announced for the guests to take their seats. 
The meal was delicious. The first course, eaten in silence, gave Christa time to gather her composure, not only recovering from the wedding ceremony, but from seeing three Earthlings eating at the Governor’s table. She was surprised again, when the second segment of the meal was served. Among the delicate fare was one of her favorite dishes, a mildly spiced dish her mother had prepared for special occasions. Christa looked across the table at her uncle when the serving maid placed the fragrant fare in front of her. 
“I was asked about your favorite foods,” Rouland said, his eyes reminiscent of her father’s. 
“I haven’t eaten rocha pie in years.” Christa’s voice was warm with appreciation. She’d thought herself merely an inconvenient niece her uncle had been forced to remember on holidays. If he remembered she liked rocha pie, then he probably remembered teaching her to catch the wily fish in the small lake behind her family home. Memories of her family—her baritoned father who’d always called her his princess, and her soft-spoken mother, who’d taught her how to play the flute—filled Christa’s heart and mind. She felt a tear threatening to display her emotions for all to see. 
“Peecha will be pleased to know she prepared the dish properly,” Reuel said, watching the play of emotion on Christa’s face. 
“It’s perfect,” Christa replied, finding the smile that had been temporarily hidden under melancholy memories. 
“Then I must taste it as well.” He cut into the steamy crust of the pie, then scooped out a piece of the tender meat, bringing it to his mouth for sampling. After several moments, he smiled, nodding his approval. 
“I am pleased you find an Earthling dish to your liking, my lord,” Christa couldn’t resist teasing as Reuel returned his fork for another helping. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet.” 
Before Reuel could counter her remark, Christa’s uncle burst into laughter. 
“I warned you her tongue’s faster than an Adarian antelope,” Rouland Kirklan said, his plump belly quivering with laughter. “She’s been sassing me since she learned how to talk.” 
“A quality I am fast becoming familiar with,” Reuel stated calmly, giving his new bride a stern frown that quickly turned into a smile. “But one that can be easily untaught, given a patient hand.” 
Her uncle grinned. “You’ve never met a Kirklan before. We learn fast, but we don’t give up easy.” 
Christa wanted to remind the two men that she was still in the room, but her uncle’s lop-sided compliment, undeniably voicing his approval of her stubbornness, made her smile instead. “The Lord Governor has much to learn about our species, Uncle Rouland.” 
“And you’ll be more than happy to teach him, right, Christa?” her uncle grinned, adding a quick wink of his brown eye to the prophecy. 
“I will endeavor to do my best,” Christa replied sweetly, looking at the man who had suddenly found himself a victim of his own tradition. She and her uncle were discussing the Adarian nobleman as though he wasn’t there. 
Priding himself on being as quick-witted as his lovely bride, Reuel turned the conversation to more masculine topics, easily leading her uncle into a discussion of crop rotation and production. 
Christa spent the remainder of the meal listening to the newest agricultural discoveries. She had to admit she was amazed by her husband’s grasp of anything that concerned Pyrali. He seemed comfortable talking on any topic, be it military aircraft or the latest hybrid of beans. 
The festive dinner came to a close when Reuel stood and announced wine would be served outside. Christa found herself being escorted on her husband’s arm into the lush garden to the west of the mansion. The night air felt pleasantly cool as it blew across the Saionge. More Borkian servants dressed in gray robes silently filled wine goblets with sangra for the honored guests. Reuel kept Christa by his side as the visitors mixed and mingled, each of them taking a turn to voice their personal congratulations to the Governor and his new wife. 
When Daran and Gloriana approached them, Christa smiled, wondering if the increased pressure of Reuel’s arm was real or imagined. 
Daran introduced his intended bride to Reuel, clearly proud to call the slender brunette woman his prize. Adhering to the strict code of Adarian behavior, Daran did not address Christa until Reuel formally introduced her as his wife. 
Gloriana followed her introduction to Reuel with a perfectly executed nod, her eyes lowered demurely. Christa waited until all etiquette had been satisfied, hoping Daran would address her so she could speak with him. When he did, she wasn’t sure how to reply to his statement. 
“I wish you all the happiness you deserve, Christa,” Daran said, adding a wide smile to his words. 
The greeting seemed ironic to Christa. But then, Daran didn’t know she’d been forced into the marriage. Keeping her smile intact, Christa continued the facade of willingly becoming Reuel’s wife. 
“And I wish you and Gloriana the same,” she replied, knowing the two people loved each other, something destiny seemed determined to deny her. She might be able to find a tolerable existence with the man by her side, but without love, she’d forever be lacking what was shining in Gloriana’s amber eyes. 
Daran had one last surprise up his sleeve. He looked at Reuel, then bowed elegantly and requested the unthinkable. 
Christa felt Reuel stiffen, his body going taut with the unexpected and totally unpermissible solicitation. 
“She’s been under my care for a long time, Lord Governor, and it’s an ancient custom among my people to kiss the bride. Surely, a race as steeped in tradition as the Adarians can understand my request?” 
Reuel was silent for several moments. Christa watched as the two men exchanged stares, her husband’s green eyes literally glaring. Once, satisfied his silent warning had been received and understood, he relaxed the arm that had Christa bound to his side. 
“Then the tradition must continue.” 
Daran stepped closer to Christa and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. 
The moment Daran released Christa, Reuel pulled her back to his side, anchoring her with a firm hand. 
Christa wasn’t surprised. She’d already sensed that Reuel was a possessive man. The idea that Daran’s modest kiss had stirred her staunchy Adarian into displaying his ownership made Christa wonder what other emotions she might find lurking underneath his arrogant guise. 
She didn’t fool herself into thinking she could make him love her, but it was comforting to think she might be able to shake up his complacency once in a while. Christa occupied her thoughts with the endless possibilities, trying to forget what would happen once the garden was void of guests. She was sipping her second glass of sangra when Minlim approached her, his mouth lifted in a wide smile. 
“My lady,” he said, bowing his head. “May my service be pleasing to you.” 
“As long as you don’t make me learn the entire genealogy of Adara, I’ll be very pleased,” Christa teased, feeling the effects of the wine she’d been sipping all evening. 
“What you learned was spoken eloquently, fair lady,” Minlim replied, nodding to Reuel in affirmation of the compliment. 
“She did well, Minlim. I was very pleased,” Reuel said, his arm still wrapped possessively around her waist. He could feel the heat of her body through the fabric of her wedding gown. He was also pleased that the more wine Christa consumed the closer she pressed against him. 
“As I am sure you will continue to be, my lord,” Minlim said, knowing Reuel understood his underlying innuendo. 
Christa’s apprehension returned when Reuel’s brother appeared with Lady Katala draped on his arm. “Minlim tells us you were a teacher at the local academy. An admirable profession.” 
Although it looked and sounded as if he was complimenting her, Christa wasn’t sure. Adarian women had no occupation other than their devotion to their husband and children. 
Since Suriel was a member of the family, she didn’t need Reuel’s permission to address him. “I 
taught history.” 
“Ah, one of my favorite subjects.” 
If she didn’t know better, she’d think Reuel’s brother was teasing her. As much as Christa wanted to pursue their conversation, she couldn’t ignore the lady standing by his side. Katala seemed totally at ease with the situation. Her blue eyes moved to Reuel, but didn’t linger. When they finally met Christa’s, they seemed friendly. 
Since she’d been the perfect example of a perfect Adarian wife for over twelve hours, Christa decided it was time to test the sociability of Lady Katala’s actions. She’d learned very quickly that Adarians too often had hidden agendas. 
“I didn’t know my lord’s brother would be attending the wedding,” Christa said politely, then gave Katala a smile. “Nor did my husband inform me that you would be among our guests. Had he, I would have found some time for the two of us to become better acquainted. Taraza has told me so much about you.” 
Christa watched as Katala’s eyes went to Suriel. Could it be, she wondered. Was the lady’s compo-sure actually relief? When Reuel’s brother gave Katala a reassuring smile, she looked back to Christa. 
“I fear I was neglectful in informing Lord Shatar of my intentions until we were but three days from Pyrali,” Katala replied, returning Christa’s smile. 
“I must take responsibility for Lady Katala’s neglect,” Suriel said, interrupting them. “Pyrali is a routine stop on my patrol. I often arrive unannounced.” 
Christa looked up at Reuel. He was smiling. 
“You like disrupting my plans,” her husband remarked. 
Suriel laughed. “As a younger brother, it’s my duty to keep my older siblings from becoming complacent.” 
“We are not the only ones with something to celebrate, cassana,” Reuel said. “As Cadish, my brother must gain my approval to marry as well as my father’s. He came to Pyrali to seek permission to announce his intentions for Lady Katala.” 
So she was right. There was more to Katala’s composure than Adarian control. With Reuel married, his brother was free to propose. So much for jealousy, Christa thought. Or course, she had a dozen other reasons to dislike her husband. 
“By agreeing to become my brother’s wife, you have saved me from begging for his forgive-ness, my lady,” Suriel said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. 
“I’m glad for you, Suriel, especially since my lord is not a forgiving man.” She looked at her husband again. The frown he sent her way wasn’t nearly as intimidating as his hand. It was resting on her lower back just about her bottom. 
Christa decided to tempt fate one more time. 
“May I be the first to offer my congratulations, Lady Katala,” she said. “I’m sure your life will be as blessed with happiness as mine.” 
Reuel’s hand moved an inch or two lower. Christa kept smiling. 
“Come, Lady Shatar,” Reuel said, enunciating her new title. “It is late and we must not neglect to speak with each one of our guests.” 
He led her away, then stopped and leaned down to whisper in her ears. “Tonight may bless you with a child, cassana. If so, then I will be the happy one.” 
She had to force a smile when Counsellor Erling stopped to offer his congratulations. Christa’s wits weren’t so dimmed by the wine that she didn’t notice the satisfied smile displayed on the politician’s face. His words made her even more curious. 
“I am thankful you had the opportunity to meet the woman of your dreams before I was forced to banish her beauty,” Erling said much too smugly. 
“Yes,” Reuel said, although his tone belied the word. 
Being reminded that her wedding was the result of blackmail brought Christa’s congenial mood to an abrupt end. She pulled away from Reuel, setting her wineglass on a passing servant’s tray. 

Christa’s change of attitude didn’t go unnoticed. Reuel dismissed the Counsellor with a cold stare that warned him to keep his thoughts to himself. When he reached out, bringing Christa back to his side, she came with a stiff reluctance. 
After the last guest had taken their leave, Minlim bid them goodnight, his silver robes disappearing behind a towering Elamaso tree. 
“Come, cassana, it is time for us to go inside,” Reuel said, taking her hand. 
He led her from the garden, his steps confident as they echoed on the tiled floors of the mansion. Christa was surprised when she found herself outside the door of the room she’d occupied for the last three days. Her bewilderment must have been showing on her face because Reuel smiled and edged her toward the door with the palm of his hand pressed firmly against the small of her back. 
“I will give you some time to prepare yourself,” Reuel said before he turned around and walked away. 
Stepping inside, Christa found Peecha waiting. The servant helped her out of her wedding dress and into a sheer gown that left little of her body to the imagination. The silky fabric clung to Christa’s breasts like a second skin, then cascaded to the floor in waves of shimmering white and gold. Once her hair was brushed and arranged seductively over her shoulders, covering her almost bared breasts, Christa felt like the nervous bride she’d sworn not to be. 
Peecha gave her mistress a reassuring smile, then left the room. 
Christa stood in the middle of the chamber, wishing she’d drained the last of her wine. Finding herself adorned like a sexual sacrifice irritated her already frayed nerves. She was about to find the robe she’d worn earlier in the day when the wall in front of her started to move. 
Quickly recovering from her surprise that the door had been intentionally designed to conceal its existence, Christa realized she was being silently summoned into the dreaded mating chamber. 
She walked toward the open panel, telling herself she didn’t have any choice. If she didn’t enter the mating chamber willingly, Reuel would simply march across the secret room and drag her inside. He’d made his intentions clear from the beginning. He wanted her in his bed. The vows they’d exchanged gave him every right to expect she’d get there of her own volition. 
Once Christa stepped through the doorway, she stopped again. She blinked her eyes, until they focused in the dimmer light. Although three crystal janiber lamps hung from the ceiling, the chamber danced with shadows. The walls were covered in soft fabric, pale tones of gold and white that floated from ceiling to floor. The only furnishings were a large sleeping couch covered with an inviting fur, a small serving table complete with a carafe of wine and two crystal goblets, and a cushioned bench placed strategically in a dimly lit corner. Christa wiggled her nose, smelling flowers, but not seeing them. It took her a moment to realize the janiber oil was scented with the subtle fragrance of freshly crushed naturas. 
The mating chamber was a den of seduction. 
How was she suppose to resist a man, especially a man like Reuel Shatar, in a room that had been designed for sensual pleasure? But, then, of course, she wasn’t suppose to resist him. The mating chamber had been designed for pleasure, for the enticement of one’s senses. Sensations were already making Christa’s skin tingle. 
She was calling herself a frightened virgin, and rightfully so, when the panel across from her opened and Reuel walked into the room. He was wearing a green robe, loosely sashed with a gold cord. 
As Reuel stepped forward into the center of the room, both panels closed, sealing the Governor and his nervous bride inside. Christa heard the soft sound of the door locking as loudly as her own heartbeat, pounding away inside her chest like a military drum. She’d come into the room a maiden, she’d leave a woman. 
As much as he wanted to begin the mating, Reuel told himself to be patient. Christa was a virgin. She needed to be tenderly tutored in the art of passion. He thought about using a senseenhancer to help her past her fear, then decided against it. The enhancers, usually scented oil or a tasteless elixir added to wine, were frequently used by experienced males to overcome a virgin’s modesty. The mild agents, distilled to stimulate a female’s senses, heightened the sexual experience. 
“Come, cassana, sit next to me,” he said, patting the side of the long couch. 
When she didn’t move, Reuel smiled. 
“There is no reason to be afraid.” 
As Christa’s feet carried her toward the mating lounge, she told herself countless women had lost their virginity and survived. She wished he’d just get it over with, her nerves weren’t up to his seductive whispers and provocative stares. 
“I’m not afraid of you,” Christa said, her bravado disappearing as she sat down on the thick fur coverlet. Reuel covered the hand she’d placed palm down to support her weight as she turned to face him. When his fingers began to move up her arm toward her heart, Christa pulled back. 
“Relax, cassana, trust me,” he whispered. He lifted the hair off her shoulder, then leaned over and placed his mouth against the exposed skin at the top of her arm. “It is time you learned about pleasure.” 
Christa didn’t reply to the suggestive comment. She closed her eyes and tried to resist the warm pressure his lips were applying to what she hadn’t known until now was a very sensitive part of her body. His mouth continued to move, gliding from her shoulder to her throat, then back again. His hand repeated the same rhythm on her arm, sliding as gentle as air over water. 
He brushed his mouth over the edge of her left ear, issuing a husky command. “You must trust me, cassana. I will give you as much pleasure as I can.” 
That’s what she was afraid of. 
She was starting to feel the same strange sensations his presence always invoked. They were starting in the pit of her stomach, then spreading, tingling throughout her body, as his mouth began nibbling on her neck. One hand now pressed against the back of her spine, the other supporting his weight on the lounge next to her. 
The heat of his hand easily penetrated the thin fabric of the gown. Christa fought the desire to press her body closer to his. When he lifted his mouth and looked at her, he was smiling. 
“I have wanted you in my bed since the moment I saw you,” he murmured softly. His mouth was warm and irresistibly inviting when it covered hers. His tongue probed gently inside, coaxing her to return the kiss. His hand moved suggestively up and down her body, its touch so light it was almost an illusion. 
Christa’s hands found their way to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the plush fabric of his robe, as he gently pushed her back until she was lying under him. She broke the kiss, turning her head, but it only gave him better access to her throat. 
“Please, stop,” she whispered, wanting to scream, but not having the strength to utter more than the softly spoken plea. 
“Why, cassana? Why stop when you want my mouth as much as I want yours?” he asked, cup-ping her face in his hands and forcing her to look at him. “In this room, I am neither Governor nor Cadish, I am only a man. Be what is burning in your eyes and singing in your body, cassana. Be my woman.” 
“I…” she pushed him away, sitting up and gasping for air. “I need more time.” 
Christa knew she sounded like a desperate woman. She was. Desperate to understand why her head was spinning and her body throbbing to answer his. She was desperate to find the anger that had sustained her for days. But it had vanished, melted by the soft glow of janiber lamps and heated wine. In its place was a growing need for the one man she shouldn’t want, but did. 
Reuel maintained his control. He knew Christa wanted the joining. All he had to do was convince her body to surrender and her mind would follow. When she tried to turn away from him again, he held her fast. 
“There is no more time, cassana. There is only now. Accept what you are feeling. Don’t fight me, relax and let me teach you the greatest pleasure in the universe.” 
His words were followed by another kiss, his tongue pushing past her protests to the sweet hollow of her mouth. She pushed against his shoulders as he pressed her back into the fur again. He became a master of persuasion, his mouth gentle, but demanding. The sheer gown was no barrier to the heat of his hands as he molded it against her body, feeling the curve of her hip and the slight indentation of her waist. When his hand moved, cupping her breast, his thumb teasing its yearning crown, Christa moaned. 
Reuel lifted his mouth, looking at her with eyes that glowed with a primal victory of male over female. When he kissed her again, his mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue plunging in to take what she could no longer deny him. He reached under her, cupping his hands under her bottom and lifting her until she was molded to him, unable to ignore what she’d aroused. 
She was burning alive. If only he’d stop long enough for her to remember why she should fight him. But he didn’t. When her hand slipped off his shoulder, accidentally finding his bare chest under the half-opened robe, Christa spread her fingers wide, combing them through the dark mat of hair that suddenly fascinated her. She wanted to touch more of him. Her hand moved hesitantly as first, finding the flat male nipples buried under the crisp hair. When he moaned softly against her throat, telling her he liked her touch, she became bolder. He felt hot and wonderfully male. She pressed her open palm over his heart, feeling it pound wildly against her hand. 
Reuel wanted to rip off the gown and touch all of her. He told himself to be patient. Christa had to surrender to him completely. There could be no other way. She could rant that he’d blackmailed her into becoming his bride, but she would not be able to say he’d taken her against her will. He would control his desire until she asked him to join his body to hers, begging for the pleasure that would follow, needing it so desperately she’d forget all else. Until then, until that moment, he’d wait. 
“I need to touch you, cassana.” 
Christa heard the mumbled words, felt Reuel’s hand moving, but it was the scorching contact of his chest against her bare breasts that sent wild shivers racing through her. She gasped when his hand found her breast, lifting it, kneading it with agile fingers that made her want more, not less. 
Reuel raised himself up, supporting his weight on one elbow, and looked at her. How could he have ever thought her breasts strange? They were beautiful, the color of ivory, their tips dark and pouting under his caress. He watched his hand as it teased their rosy crowns. Lowering his head, he flicked his tongue on one bud, smiling when it brought a soft moan from Christa’s throat. Then he surrendered to his own need, closing his mouth over the flushed peak and suckling her. 
Reuel lost himself in the dulcet texture of her flesh. He was mindless to his hand rubbing across her stomach, pressing gently over the concave space between her hips. All he knew was that he couldn’t touch enough of her, couldn’t get enough of her. 
When his hand found the tawny mass of curls between her thighs, Reuel thought he’d die if he didn’t join with her that instant. When her legs tightened, refusing him entry, he left her breasts and sealed her protests with his mouth. Soon she began to relax again. His hand returned to gently persuade her to allow him the intimate caress. She shivered under his tender exploration, lifting her hips to follow his hand when he moved it away. 
“Look at me, cassana,” Reuel ordered harshly. 
She shook her head. 
“Look at me.” This time his voice was hard, demanding. 
Christa’s eyes fluttered open, dark with the passion he’d brought to life. 
“Tell me what you want, cassana,” he urged, his hand returning to the core of her womanhood to tease the sensitized flesh. 
She couldn’t. Her voice was gone. Her mind was gone. She didn’t exist except for the burning sensations that was consuming her. 
“Tell me,” Reuel demanded, his voice thick with his desire as he felt the warmth of her response on his fingers. 
“You. I want you.” 
He moved over her, pushing her legs further apart, then settled himself in the soft cradle they formed. He took her mouth, absorbing Christa’s small cry of pain, as he claimed her with an expert thrust of his hips. He pushed forward, filling her with his throbbing manhood. Christa moaned into his mouth, then tightened around him. Reuel kept his body pressed firmly into hers, giving her time to accept his presence. Moments turned into an eternity as he waited for Christa to relax again. When she did, he began rocking against her, slowly letting her know the feel of him, gently conquering the last of her fears. Soon she was rising to meet him, her body responding to his, her passion growing to match his own. 
He watched her, glorying in her response. Her face was flushed, her hair scattered over the white fur like a gold web, her eyes closed. Reuel increased the pace of his thrusts, pushing her past the point of sensation and into the realm of ecstasy. 
“Don’t fight it, cassana, give yourself to the pleasure,” he mumbled, brushing a light kiss over her mouth, leading her the last step of the way. “Give yourself to me.” 
Christa allowed herself to be pulled into the sensual vortex Reuel was creating. She arched against him, wanting the shimmering promise he pledged with each stroke of his body, needing it until she felt the universe begin to shake around her. 
Reuel gritted his teeth, his face taut, his muscles tightening until he was on the verge of pain. He surged against her, harder, faster, burying himself in the hot channel of her body, wanting it to go on forever. With one last thrust of his hips, his moan of pleasure mixed with Christa’s tiny cries. 
Reuel was suspended in time, as desire turned into satisfaction and passion beget contentment. He held her close, helpless to still the soft tremors that consumed them both. 
He slumped against her, his face tucked in the curve of her throat, his body appeased. His seed finally planted in a womb that would allow it to grow. 

Chapter 12

Her senses dulled by a blissful lethargy, Christa didn’t protest when muscular arms pulled her close and wrapped her in a blanket of warmth. Sighing contentedly, she mumbled Reuel’s name and cuddled closer to him. He’d won, but she didn’t feel conquered. She felt wonderful, more wonderful than she’d ever thought possible. Drifting off to sleep, Christa decided she’d argue with herself tomorrow. For now, all she wanted was the assurance of her husband’s arms. 
Reuel smiled as he watched Christa relax, then sleep. If the female in his arms was Adarian, he’d carry her back to the sleeping chamber, their joining quickly forgotten once performed. But Christa wasn’t Adarian, she was an Earthling, whose tender caresses and shy kisses had melted his control. He’d thought to overwhelm her with his sexual prowess, seducing her with expert hands and an experienced body he’d always been able to control. Instead, he’d been seduced, brought to the brink of ecstasy by a virgin who hadn’t wanted to share his bed. 
Even now he was rubbing her back, reluctant to stop touching her, loath to separate himself from her and seek slumber in his own chamber. He didn’t like knowing she had that power over him. He should be able to distance his mind from the physical enjoyment of joining their bodies, but he couldn’t. His thoughts seemed to be rooted in the unique pleasure she’d given him, one so intricately woven into the other he couldn’t sep-arate them. 
Reuel was used to sharing his psyche with Minlim, but he wasn’t use to having another possess his thoughts so fiercely that they ceased to be his own. He hadn’t been able to get Christa out of his mind since their first meeting. He hadn’t thought beyond the mating and the accomplishment of his goal. Once he had a son, the future would be secure. As for his marriage, that would take care of itself. Christa would settle into the role of a noble’s wife while he concentrated on the rearing of the next High Cadish. 
Christa mumbled softly in her sleep, his name a faint purr of breath that warmed his skin. The unconscious admission that she was thinking of him in her dreams brought Reuel’s body to attention. His unabated response angered him. The female in his arms was only that, a female. A vessel to house his seed, a womb to supply the future ruler. Nothing more. To cloud his mind with other thoughts would only distract him from his course. 
Sitting up, Reuel cradled Christa against his chest. He walked to the concealed panel and waited for his personal biological code to open the entryway. Carrying Christa to her sleeping couch, he leaned down and placed her in the middle of the long bed, then covered her. She turned her face into the plush fur and mumbled his name again. Reuel’s masculinity responded to her sleepy summons. He looked at the gold mass of hair falling over the edge of the lounge and caressing the floor. He wanted to comb his fingers through the tawny waves and inhale the scent of her. He wanted to trace the pale curve of her throat, feel the pulse beating under the ivory skin. He wanted to kiss her mouth, taste the succulent flavor of her, lose himself in the warm depths of her body until ecstasy claimed him again. 
Reuel cursed his lack of control. He was about to turn away when Christa whispered his name again. The small encouragement melted his resolve. He knelt down by the sleeping lounge and leaned over her, wanting, needing one more kiss before he walked out of the room. His mouth settled lightly over hers, his lips applying a mini-mum of pressure. When Christa’s lips parted, begging him to taste her more fully, Reuel couldn’t refuse the temptation. He deepened the kiss, savoring the ripe taste of her mouth. 
As he broke the kiss, knowing it was now or not at all, Reuel told himself the deep satisfaction he felt was because he’d been right. He’d told Minlim he could win Christa’s cooperation by teaching her body to want his. They’d mated only one time and already she was reaching for him in her sleep. 
Reuel turned away from Christa’s tempting femininity and strolled militantly across the room. The muscles in his neck and shoulders were taut, his back rigid with determination. He walked through the mating chamber, his eyes straight ahead to avoid looking at the bed he’d shared with a passionate virgin. Once the panel had closed behind him, sealing the mating chamber, Reuel exhaled, willing the tension from his body. He poured himself a glass of water, drinking it slowly, then stretched out on the wide sleeping couch and stared at the shadows on the tiled ceiling of his room. 
It had been a stressful day, not knowing until the ceremony was complete if his rebellious bride would stop in the middle of her vows and declare him an oppressor of innocents. He’d been forced to watch her charm his officers and serving staff with her dusky eyes and beguiling face. Then, he’d had to spend an extraordinarily long time soothing her resistance away. Finally, he’d experienced the most dramatically pleasing release of his life. 
He should be exhausted, instead of wondering if Christa would wake in the middle of the night and call out his name. 
Reuel cursed out loud. He was being ridiculous. If Christa did wake up, she’d remember their joining, curse him for seducing her, then lay awake and plot some irrational scheme to make him pay for proving that she enjoyed the mating, just as he’d predicted. She certainly wouldn’t want him to soothe her back to sleep with whispered words or kiss away her anxieties. 
Reuel’s mouth lifted into a devilish smile as he watched the amber oil swirling lazily in the janiber lamp beside his bed. Christa would no doubt keep causing trouble until she was so heavy with his child she couldn’t rush about the mansion proclaiming the sins of the Alliance in an outraged voice. He seriously doubted he would ever enjoy the peaceful relationship marriage normally entailed among those of his rank. Christa was as vibrant in her dislikes as she was passionate. If he wasn’t careful, his impish Earthling could cause a galactic war. 
Reuel fell asleep after deciding to assign Minlim’s watchful eyes the task of making sure Christa didn’t bring chaos down around his head. 
Christa woke to find herself clutching the thick fur to her breast instead of her husband. She sat up, slightly disoriented, until she realized she wasn’t in the mating chamber. Reuel must have carried her back to her own room sometime during the night. She frowned, uncertain if she should be disappointed or grateful. 
If she had awakened lying next to Reuel, he would have greeted her with a smug smile. She wouldn’t have liked that. Her frown deepened as she realized she would have liked his morning kiss. 
Christa faced the dilemma as she put on her robe. Wrapping the garment around her nakedness, she remembered how swiftly her husband’s hands had removed her gown, and how little she’d resisted while he’d done it. She poured herself a cup of herbal tea, still surprised by Peecha’s ability to enter the room and go about her tasks without making a sound. 
Walking onto the balcony, Christa sipped the steamy beverage and watched the sun bathe Dacla in its morning light. She fingered the dewy petals of an indigo natucera, before walking to the other end of the balcony and sitting down on a marble bench. When she began counting the aircoaches gliding effortlessly across the Saionge filled with occupants bound for the crystal towers of Pyrali’s capital city, Christa stood up, grumbling under her breath at her own foolishness. 
She freshened her tea, then started pacing the room. Why was she trying to pretend she was the same woman who’d gotten up yesterday morning and been carted off to a wedding against her will? That woman no longer existed, thanks to Lord Shatar and his lovemaking. Christa stopped in the middle of the room, a silent tear breaking through her diminishing resolve. There was no point denying she’d enjoyed becoming Reuel’s wife. She had. Until last night she’d never allowed herself to explore her own sexuality, never permitted herself to acknowledge her own wants and needs as a female. It had been wonderful to be held in Reuel’s arms, to be surrounded by his scent and his strength. He’d found the part of her she’d suppressed for years, the part she’d convinced herself was a hindrance. 
His patient seduction had discovered it, and now, no matter how much she’d preferred otherwise, it couldn’t be hidden again. 
She’d experienced the power of her own sexuality, the alluring pleasure of sharing her body with a man. Christa started pacing again. It had been more than feeling sexual pleasure. Being with Reuel had been like floating, leaving the restrictions of gravity behind and soaring into another dimension where only energy and emotion existed. She’d felt whole, completely and totally alive. 
Thus her dilemma. She was falling in love with the Governor of Pyrali. But what did he feel for her, if anything? He’d wanted her. He’d had her. 
What would happen now? Would he give her a few more nights of sexual bliss until he became bored? Would she be delegated the role of honored wife, the female who appeared beside him in public when tradition dictated, then forgotten as other females frequented his mating chamber? Would she bear his children, only to share them with a stranger? 
No. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow what she’d given him to be assigned a secondary role in his life. She was his wife. The title might have little significance to him, but it meant something to her. 
Setting down her cup, Christa walked to the monitor panel by the door and summoned Peecha. She needed to bathe and dress before she put her mark on the Governor’s mansion. It was time Lord Shatar and his faithful staff realized there was a Mistress Shatar, a mistress who didn’t intend to be ignored or forgotten. 
Dressed in a white mynara and a gold smock, Christa surveyed herself in the oval mirror. She’d had Peecha braid her hair and coil it around the crown of her head. All in all, Christa thought she presented a rather formidable appearance, one she hoped would add to the self-confidence she was going to need to bluff her way out of the palace. 
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she spoke into the monitoring panel and waited for the doors to open. As expected, there were two sentries on the other side, staunch faced and silent. Unlike two days before, they didn’t try to block her path. 
Lifting her head, Christa walked by them, smiling to herself when they fell into step behind her. She was halfway down the corridor when Minlim greeted her. He was unable to hide his surprise at finding her outside the allotted chamber. 
“My lady,” he said, nodding his head. 
“Good morning, Minlim,” Christa replied. “You’re just the person I’m looking for. Please have an aircoach summoned for me. I have some personal items at the academy I would like to collect.” 
Christa resumed walking toward the lift station, containing the laugh bubbling up in her throat. So far, so good. Her authoritative voice had worked on the advisor. She stepped into the lift. Minlim was scurrying toward her, his robes fanning out behind his spindly legs as he hurried to catch her before she directed the lift to take her to the ground floor of the palace. 
“Have you acquired permission from Lord Shatar to leave the palace grounds, my lady?” Minlim asked, squeezing in beside her moments before the transparent panels closed, sealing the lift and leaving the two guards staring at them. 
“No,” Christa said firmly. “I’m Lord Shatar’s wife now, and although I find my chambers quite satisfactory, I would like to have a few of my personal items. The academy isn’t far. I can be there and back before the noon meal.” 
“That is not the issue, my lady,” the advisor noted, giving her a wary look. “Lord Shatar is to be notified of such decisions.” 
Christa kept her eyes forward, knowing Minlim was being diplomatic again. Reuel would be furious, and they both knew it. “Then tell Lord Shatar I wish an escort to my previous quarters. Surely, even the noble Governor can understand my feminine desire to have that which I value around me.” 
The lift door opened. Minlim stepped outside. “I will seek Lord Shatar’s approval.” 
“Very well. I’ll wait in the garden. But don’t make me wait too long.” 
Minlim nodded solemnly, as he watched Christa stroll casually toward the wide doors that led to the garden. He waved for the two guards disembarking from the lift across the hall to keep her there, then went in search of his master. 
Reuel looked up from his desk to find his advisor’s anxious face staring back at him. He didn’t have to ask what had Minlim looking worried. 
“The sun has barely lit Pyrali’s sky. What has Christa done this time?” Reuel asked, reaching for the cup of kafae beside his communication console. 
“Your wife has requested an aircoach to take her to the academy which employed her as an instructor,” Minlim replied, bracing himself for a burst of gubernatorial temper. 
“I assume you told her I would deny the request,” Reuel said calmly. 
“I thought it best if the answer came from you, my lord,” Minlim stated. 
“Where is she?” Reuel said gruffly, turning off his console, then standing up and glaring at the door as if he expected his wife to come sweeping into the room any moment. 
“In the west garden, my lord,” Minlim replied, following his master’s angry strides as Reuel headed for the door that led to the main corridors of the palace. 
Reuel stepped out into the hallway. What was his little rebel up to this early in the day? Was she plotting to leave the palace to seek sanctuary with one of her friends, thinking he couldn’t find her? Had his male instincts been wrong in thinking she’d enjoyed their mating? And why did the thought of Christa leaving the palace send him into a panic? 
He found her sitting on a marble bench and looking as serene as an Adarian sunset. For a long moment, he simply stared at her, absorbing her beauty like the garden flowers absorbing the day’s early light. The deep gold of her smock seemed dull compared to the vibrant color of her hair, the brightly blooming naturas looked dreary next to her loveliness. Reuel felt his hunger for her renewed as he studied the perfection of her profile and the graceful curve of her throat. 
He wanted her. 
“What rebellion are you plotting today, cas-sana?” he asked, stepping out of the shadows of a giant Domatti tree. 
Christa swirled around, surprised that she hadn’t heard the garden doors. When she found Reuel’s green eyes staring at her, his thoughts as unreadable as his expression, her resolve evaporated. She’d planned to face him with cool tolerance, determined not to let him know how dramatically their one night together had affected her. 
Seeing him again was entirely different than thinking about him. Before she could reply to his first insult of the morning, Reuel stepped in front of her, forcing her to arch her neck to meet his gaze. 
“Actually I was planning on something more domestic,” she replied. Reuel’s eyes were dancing like green fire in the morning sunshine. “I’m not usually sentimental about possessions, but my grandfather left me some history tapes and several of his prized books. I’d like to retrieve them from my quarters at the academy.” 
“A courier can be dispatched for that purpose,” Reuel replied. He hadn’t thought of her previous life until Minlim had come to his office to deliver her request. For him, Christa had begun to exist the moment he’d marched into her holding cell and looked into her defiant eyes. 
“I also owe the children I’ve taught for the last two years a formal good-bye,” she replied stiffly, wishing he’d back away so she could stand up and state her case more firmly. She didn’t like negotiating her freedom sitting down, it lessened her power of persuasion. 
“This is important to you? Saying your good-byes,” Reuel asked, surprised by her concern. 
“Yes.” 
“Then I will escort you myself.” 
“I don’t want to interrupt your duties as Governor,” Christa stammered, taken back by his offer. She’d expected him to greet her with noble indifference. 
“I will escort you.” 
The statement was spoken like a royal decree. 
When he motioned for her to lead the way, Christa stood up and walked toward the door. She was maneuvering her way around a bed of white and blue flowers, artfully arranged along the garden’s stone wall, when Reuel’s hand closed around her upper arm. She didn’t have time to ask him why he’d stopped her. One moment he was turning her around to face him, the next his mouth was claiming hers in a kiss that left her knees weak and her hands trembling. 
His mouth was masterful. Christa yielded to its ardent demand. She arched against his body, desperately needing his touch to reaffirm last night hadn’t been a dream. His mouth explored hers, his tongue probing deeply then withdrawing, demanding everything she had to give. Reuel released her just as suddenly as he’d instigated the kiss. 
Christa’s wide-eyed gaze told him he’d taken her by surprise. 
“I have not forgotten the pleasure we shared, cassana,” he whispered, returning to her mouth for another tempestuous kiss. When he pulled away this time, Christa was leaning against him. “You pleased me.” 
As much as Christa wanted to say something, she couldn’t. She was still recovering from his debilitating kisses. He pressed one hand against the small of her back, bringing her against his body. She could feel every inch of him, tormenting her recently awakened senses. He held her for several seconds, then brushed his mouth over the top of her head. 
“Come, cassana.” 
Christa followed him from the garden, the ambiguity of her situation returning full force. She’d planned on upsetting his routine day, thinking to establish the fact that she wasn’t going to allow herself to be treated with the nonchalant attitude for which Adarian males were legendary. Instead, he’d scattered her well-laid plans with seductive kisses that had left her wanting more. 
As they walked through the shadowy corridors of the palace, Reuel’s boots drummed out a male melody echoed by the four guards following them to the north gate where an aircoach was waiting. When her husband’s warm hand helped her inside the sleek vehicle, Christa’s heart skipped a beat. When he leaned over, brushing his mouth across her ear to remind her that she was not to leave his side while they were in public, Christa nodded numbly. At that moment, leaving him was the last thing on her mind. 
The aircoach skimmed inches above the glossy waters of the Saionge as three matching cruisers followed them at a discreet distance. Christa clutched the railing above the navigation panel, her eyes forward, her thoughts on the man standing at her side, his hands expertly maneuvering the sleek anti-gravity unit toward the capital city. Reuel hadn’t activated the energy shield over the top of the open-coach. 
Christa closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the feel of the cool breeze over her face and throat. 
Once they’d reached the city, Reuel guided the aircoach through the plaza. A few Pyralian citizens could be seen, lounging under the shade of the sprawling Domgatti trees that graced the square. Several waved energetically at the newlyweds when they recognized the Governor’s insignia on the side of the coach. Christa waved back, then looked at her husband to make sure she hadn’t broken a rule she hadn’t learned yet. Reuel smiled, letting her know she’d done well. 
“The academy is in the eastern quadrant, next to the Gasparian market,” Christa said, gripping the railing as her husband initiated a sharp turn around one of the glass towers on the north side of the plaza. 
Reuel nodded, then turned the aircoach again. This time Christa bumped against him, her hand losing its hold on the railing. By the time they reached the eastern quadrant she suspected her husband had intentionally made their ride more thrilling than necessary. He seemed to enjoy having her body pressed against his. Gliding the aircoach over the thick grass of the small park in front of the school, Reuel let it hover for a few moments while he watched her face. Christa knew she was smiling. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the children until she saw them shrieking with delight at her unexpected arrival. 
When Yolanda, one of her favorite students, came scrambling toward the aircoach, her arms open wide, her ebony eyes flashing with enthusiasm, Christa waved to her. 
“She’s Egonean,” Reuel said, recognizing the striking features of the slender child running toward them. 
“She’s a brilliant child,” Christa said, accepting Reuel’s hand as she exited the coach. “She’s barely eight years, but she can speak fourteen dialects. It’s hard to keep up with her.” 
Reuel was forced to release Christa’s hand as an energetic bundle of Egonean genius literally jumped into his wife’s arms. The Governor of Pyrali watched as the gangly child hugged his wife around the neck, scolding Christa for not telling anyone she was going away. 
“I’ve been very worried about you, Miss Christa,” Yolanda said, rearing back and giving her teacher a deep scowl. “Where have you been?” 
Christa smiled as she put Yolanda down on the thick grass, taking a moment to right the young girl’s academic uniform. 
“I’m sorry if you worried, Yolanda.” Christa smiled reassuringly at her best pupil. “I didn’t mean to leave without saying good-bye.” 
“Is that big man going to take you away again?” Yolanda inquired, looking up at Reuel. 
“Yes,” Christa whispered, kneeling on the lawn and pulling the young girl back into her arms. “But not so far I can’t come and visit you.” 
“Promise.” 
“I promise,” Christa replied, giving her another hug. “Would you like to help me pack my things?” 
“Oh, yes,” Yolanda said, always eager to help. 
“Come along then,” Christa instructed, taking the child’s tiny hand. She looked over her shoulder at Reuel. He nodded, letting her know he would follow. 
Christa greeted several more of the students as she walked across the small campus toward the unprestigious building that housed the faculty. The older boys recognized the insignia on her husband’s uniform and immediately stiffened with respect. They stared in wonder at both the guards and the aircoaches littering the finely manicured lawn. Christa smiled, thinking Adarian uniforms might be just the thing to calm a pack of young, unruly aliens. 
Stopping outside the small apartment she’d called home for the last several years, Christa punched in the access code and waited for the door to open. Yolanda waited with her, the child’s small hands knotted possessively in Christa’s mynara, her ebony eyes scrutinizing the tall Adarian man standing quietly behind them. 
Reuel smiled at the wane-haired child clinging to Christa, her adamant black-eyed gaze plainly stating she didn’t care for the man who’d taken her teacher away. All of Christa’s students seemed to share a deep affection for her. Each of them had greeted her enthusiastically, asking if she was leaving them again, and visibly disappointed when she replied that she had come to pack her personal things. She’d encouraged them to continue working hard and promised each a special award, if they graduated at the top of their class. 
Reuel followed Christa and Yolanda into the small apartment. Although lacking space, it reflected his wife’s vibrant attitudes. The walls were covered with sketches, gifts from her students, no doubt. The furniture was standard Pyralian, accented with exotic pieces from every corner of the galaxy. Along the east wall, over her bed, was a long shelf. Christa sat Yolanda on the edge of the sleeping lounge covered with a glossy Gasparian quilt while she sorted through a row of computer files. She handed the small oval cases to the child, then reached under the lounge for a transport case. Once the computer records were packed, his wife turned to a small chest sitting next to the sleeping lounge. She lifted the cover, then started handing Yolanda her grandfather’s prized books. 
Reuel waited patiently until each of the valuable manuscripts had been packed gingerly inside the transport case, each handled with exquisite care by the child’s slender hands. After Christa sealed the case, she stood up and looked around the cramped apartment. Reuel saw her smile collapse as she tried to decide what to take and what to leave behind. He wanted to tell her he would give her whatever she needed, but he remained silent, letting Christa have the farewell he hadn’t realized until that moment was the real reason for her visit. 
She needed to put her past behind her. Taking her from the Gallery so suddenly, keeping her with him at the palace, and then rushing her into a marriage she still hadn’t accepted had left a void in her life. As she opened the clothing chamber in the corner of the room, removing several garments, then frowning and tossing them back onto the metallic shelves, Reuel knew Christa was trying to fill that void. She was trying to bridge the gap between her old life and her new one. 
A twinge of guilt crept over him as he watched his lovely wife struggle to say good-bye to a part of her that had ceased to exist. When she turned to look at him, her dark eyes full of bewilder-ment, he walked across the room and pulled her into his arms. 
“Peecha can send a servant to pack the rest of your things. They will be at the palace if you want them.” 
“Thank you,” she mumbled, her face pressed against his chest. 
She hadn’t expected it to be so difficult. She’d never liked the cramped apartment, complaining constantly to the academy administrator that the faculty living quarters were an insult to their profession. Leaving the apartment wasn’t what had her depressed. Leaving her students was one reason for her sudden melancholy, but its main source was the finality of leaving her old life behind. Once she returned to the palace, placing her grandfather’s treasured volumes of history on the ornate shelf in her private chamber, she’d be claiming the Governor’s mansion as her home. 
Reuel rocked her against his chest, his chin resting on the top of her gold hair, his eyes offering a reassuring smile to the now teary-eyed Egonean child standing by the bed. 
“It is time to go, cassana,” he whispered softly. 
Christa nodded, then disengaged herself from his comforting arms. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she turned around and held her arms open wide. Yolanda rushed into them, making her teacher promise again that she’d come and visit. 
Reuel escorted Christa back to the aircoach, carrying the small transport case that housed her most valuable possessions. He secured it inside the coach’s cargo well, then helped his wife into the coach. A wave of his hand sent the three guardian vessels into the air. Moments later, the gubernatorial vessel followed, leaving a swarm of waving children on the lawn. The academy supervisor watched speechlessly as Christa was lifted into the air and swished away in the Governor’s private vessel. 
Neither Christa or Reuel spoke as the small aircraft glided through Dacla’s busy business center. Minlim was waiting for them when they arrived at the palace. Reuel gave him Christa’s case, informing him that the contents were quite valuable, then assisted his wife from the aircoach. 
“I have duties that await my attention,” Reuel said, reluctant to release her into the care of his advisor. “I will see you at the evening meal.” 
Christa didn’t show her disappointment when her husband walked away. He’d never kissed her in public, and she didn’t have the slightest idea why she wanted him to begin doing so now. Following Minlim inside the luxurious palace, Christa didn’t speak to the elderly advisor until they reached her chamber. 
“I’d like some time alone,” she said, taking the metallic valise from his wrinkled hands. 
“As my lady wishes,” Minlim replied, nodding his head respectfully before disappearing down the corridor. 
Christa went inside her room. She unpacked her grandfather’s books, placing them gently on the shelf next to the small oval table she used for studying while Minlim was drilling her in the genealogy of the Alliance. She stored her computer files, mostly historical accounts of the Alliance planets and a few scattered works of galactic fiction, in the monitor table. The communication unit had been disconnected since she’d begun occupying the chamber. 
She’d asked Minlim to reinstate the communication link tomorrow. She didn’t have many friends, but she wanted to keep in touch with Daran and Gloriana, and her Uncle Rouland. 
The transport case now empty, Christa stretched out on the sleeping couch and stared at the ceiling. What was wrong with her? She felt tired, but she’d done nothing strenuous to cause her fatigue. Of course, her emotions had been worked like a Borkian servant for the past few days. She was exhausting herself trying to sort out the emotional salvos the Governor of Pyrali seemed to be firing at her on a daily basis. 
She’d been dazed by Reuel’s ravenous kisses in the garden, and his bold statement that he’d enjoyed their mating the previous night. The bumpy aircoach ride had left her leaning against his side most of the journey, only confusing her more. Her husband seemed to like her, not just desire her. His actions, or reactions, were giving her a throbbing headache. 
He’d escorted her to the school himself, something she was certain hadn’t been on the Governor’s agenda for the day. He’d been very sensitive to her needs at the academy, letting her visit with Yolanda even though she knew he hadn’t liked being temporarily displaced by a white-haired Egonean child. 
Then, the moment they’d returned to the diplomatic grandeur of the palace, he’d reassumed the role of Governor, strolling away and leaving her without a fleeting glance. 
She’d wanted him to kiss her goodbye. 
Love was very confusing. 

Chapter 13

Reuel spent the remainder of the day distracted and frustrated. He’d been caught in his own trap, kissing Christa in the garden, then not satisfying the need she’d aroused in him. After seeing her at the academy, her maternal side in full view, he’d felt even more strongly drawn to her feminine grace. She would be an excellent mother once her adventurous spirit was tamed. 
Dismissing his administrative staff, Reuel looked at the time monitor on his console table. He’d told Peecha to serve them a small, intimate dinner in his private dining area. Unfortunately, he needed to find something to occupy his thoughts for another several hours. Deciding the best release for his newly found frustrations was flying, Reuel ordered his starfighter prepared. 
He was putting on his flight suit when Favian came into the pilots’ room. 
“Are you planning on escorting your senior officer?” Reuel asked, propping his foot on the bench in front of his uniform closet and lacing the soft, leather leggings worn while operating the Alliance’s fastest spacecraft. 
“I haven’t chased your plasma trail for a while, my lord,” Favian said, giving his commanding officer a wide smile. “From the look on your face, I think its best if someone more experienced with your moods escorts you today.” 
Reuel’s frown deepened. “My mood is fine.” 
Favian chuckled, his white teeth flashing against his bronzed skin. “It is not my place to disagree with a noble officer of the Alliance.” 
Reuel finished lacing his boots, then turned around and gave the impudent officer a cold stare. “I’ll make sure to test your skills in case you forget who you’re following.” 
The Governor not only tested his senior officer’s skills, he tested his own. He was so engrossed in thinking about the night to come, he almost forgot to compensate for Daida’s gravitational pull. If his keen reflexes hadn’t taken over at the last moment, he’d have ended up buried in the side of Pyrali’s second moon. When he landed the starfighter and stepped out onto the launch platform, Favian’s deep scowl told him what the junior officer didn’t dare verbalize. He’d forgotten the primary rule of flying: never allow anything to distract you. Even more frustrating than admitting to himself that he’d mishandled the sleek fighter, was admitting that a female had him so disturbed he didn’t know up from down. 
Reuel marched toward the pilots’ room, ignoring Favian’s disapproving look. He was fastening his cloak when the junior officer poured him a glass of wine. Favian’s expression was sympathetic as he handed it to Reuel. 
“When I had Twila in my mating chamber, I often forgot which end of a starfighter to point up.” 
“I must confess my thoughts were not on navigating a full turn around Daila,” Reuel began, choosing his words carefully. 
He and Favian had served together for many years. He’d personally selected the young officer as his chief pilot, but he’d never discussed his personal life with anyone but Minlim. Still, Favian had an expertise Reuel could use to his benefit. He couldn’t allow Christa to know the peculiar power she held over his sexual appetite. If he did, he’d quickly find himself the hunted instead of the hunter. 
“Earthling females are different, are they not, my lord?” Favian said, setting his wine aside as he began unlacing his flight boots. “Twila was the most beautiful female I’ve ever had in my mating chamber, yet she could never adjust to our customs. After we’d mated, she wanted to stay with me.” 
“Stay with you?” Reuel asked, keeping his voice neutral. 
“She liked sleeping with me,” Favian said, shrugging his board shoulders, still encased in a 
silver flightsuit. 
“Sleeping?” 
Favian nodded. “She wanted me to spend the entire night with her. I did once,” the young officer explained, reaching for his wine again. “It was unusual, but not unpleasant.” 
“I knew Earthlings had some bizarre customs, but actually sleeping together. It seems a waste of time to me. How can a man rest properly if he must be concerned that he might awaken his wife during the night with his restlessness?” 
“Twila said she liked feeling my body next to her.” 
Reuel sipped his wine, the young officer’s remarks causing him thought. Would Christa like his body next to hers during the night? Would she feel more secure if he took her to his sleeping lounge after they’d shared the mating chamber? Would sleeping with her aid his campaign to gain her cooperation in becoming more Adarian in her speech and manner? 
Finding the concept as alien as his wife’s demands for equality, Reuel changed the subject, turning it to the newly arrived recruits he and Favian would be training. After the junior officer had excused himself, Reuel finished his wine, analyzing the pros and cons of keeping Christa with him through the night. 
The idea was appealing, if for no other reason than the fact that he’d be able to mate with her again, should he wake up and find his desire as unsatisfied as he’d discovered the previous night. The negative aspect was compromising his demands that she learn and accept Adarian tradition by adopting an Earthling custom himself. 
Reuel decided to put the question to his trusted advisor. 
“The custom is not totally unique to Earthlings, my lord. Many species, once mated, share the same bed. It is said to strengthen the bond between male and female.” 
“Then you think the idea has merit?” Reuel inquired, keeping his opinion to himself for the time being. 
“I think your wife is trying very hard to find her place in a new, and perhaps frightening, environment, my lord. Regardless of Christa’s independent personality, she is still female. Female needs are frequently perplexing to a logical mind.” 
“You seem to understand her,” Reuel said gruffly, “and your mind is far more logical than mine.” 
Minlim smiled. “Perhaps because I am not the one who has mated with her.” 
Reuel frowned, an expression that seemed synonymous with discussing his wife. “I’ve been mating with females since my sixteenth year, old friend. Taking my bride was no different.” 
“Then why are you pacing the floor like a caged kisla?” Minlim replied calmly. 
“I am not pacing the floor because a female you selected is more than she is,” Reuel defended his frustrated behavior, glaring at his advisor. 
“Then you found her performance in the mating chamber less than adequate?” 
“I found her adequate,” Reuel conceded under his breath. 
Minlim stood, excusing himself. “I will leave you to dine with your wife, my lord. May your endeavors in the mating chamber this evening be both adequate and fruitful.” 
Casting his advisor a menacing look, Reuel turned on his heels and gave Minlim an excellent view of his back as the elderly Haodai smiled and left the room. 
In spite of Reuel’s reluctance to admit mating with Christa had been far more than adequate, his advisor’s words spurred an idea. Christa wanted equality. Although she’d responded to him last night, he’d sensed her reluctance. This morning, he’d sensed it again as if she regretted her passion. 
Walking into the mating chamber, Reuel opened the small vial of sense-enhancer. Its pungent fragrance filled his nostrils. He decided to use it. Once Christa understood she didn’t have to regret passion, she’d embrace it more willingly. 
Christa followed Peecha toward the main dining hall. Reuel’s invitation had been an unexpected surprise. After waking up from her nap, Christa had decided she’d misinterpreted her husband’s actions at the academy as concern. When she’d asked Minlim if she could have the communication console in her room activated and been told that the action would require her husband’s consent, she’d once again delegated Reuel’s role to that of domineering male. 
Peecha stopped in front of an impressive door, inlaid with the insignia of the Seventh House. When the doors opened, they revealed a room very much like the man. 
Every line, every curve, every shade that met Christa’s eyes shouted discipline. Even the janiber lamps gave off an unwavering light. The Alliance insignia rested above a marble mantle, dramatically displayed over two crossed swords, the ancient symbol of Adarian warriors. The man standing in front of the mantle was just as impressive, his emerald eyes beckoning her toward him. 
Christa waited, just inside the doorway, for Reuel to come to her. After several long moments, she knew he wasn’t going to budge. Taking her cue from Minlim’s perfected art of diplomacy, Christa decided to pick her battles. Challenging the Governor of Pyrali in his private quarters wasn’t a winning scenario. 
Giving him her best smile, Christa walked across the room, nodding her head respectfully. When she lifted her face to his, their eyes locked, each seeing a replay of the previous night’s passion burning brightly as they stared at each other. Christa remembered the naked warmth of his body. Reuel was recalling the exact moment when she relented to his control, giving herself to him unselfishly. 
“Come, cassana,” he said softly, reminding himself it wouldn’t be dignified to pick her up and carry her into the mating chamber before eating their dinner. He motioned her toward the balcony. 
Christa allowed herself to be seated, grateful she’d declined Peecha’s suggestion to wear a gown that bared her neck and shoulders. She’d intentionally chosen a white mynara and smock, trimmed in gold cord. Her hair was loose, pulled back and tied at the base of her neck with a white ribbon. Although the smock was too warm for a summer evening, it didn’t expose her skin to Reuel’s expert caresses. Christa knew he intended for her to join him in the mating chamber later, but until she did, she’d use whatever resources were available to resist his touch. 
“I hope you’re hungry, cassana,” Reuel said, taking his seat across from her. “Peecha has prepared one of my favorite dishes.” 
“I’m famished,” Christa replied. “I slept most of the afternoon.” 
Reuel gave her a concerned look. “Are you ill?” 
“No.” Christa shook her head. “I usually sleep when I get bored.” 
She didn’t realize how insulting the comment sounded until she heard it herself. 
“You find being my wife boring?” Reuel challenged her in a low voice. 
“No,” she sputtered, knowing she’d offended him. “I’m used to being busy all day. You saw the students at the academy. I rarely had time to myself. Now, time is all I seem to have.” 
Reuel didn’t comment. He reached across the table and began preparing her plate. Christa looked over her shoulder, surprised to find her husband had dismissed Peecha and planned on serving them himself. He sliced the tender roasted meat, then spooned a thick layer of white sauce over it before setting the plate in front of her. 
“Eat, cassana, then I will see if I cannot find something to keep your idle hands occupied.” 
Christa ate slowly, trying to think of anything but what Reuel’s sultry tone had implied. She couldn’t. Every time she looked up from her plate, his mesmerizing eyes were on her. When Reuel stood up, announcing the end to their meal, she wanted to jump off the balcony to avoid what she knew he fully intended to be a lesson in what not to say to an Adarian husband. 
He was going to seduce her again, but this time it would be even harder for her to resist him. Because this time she knew how pleasurable joining with him could be. 
“Come, cassana, I find myself needing the services of an obedient wife,” Reuel said, walking back inside. He didn’t look to see if she was following him. 
Christa gritted her teeth in frustration. Then, looking up at the night sky, she prayed for the patience to get through her lesson with some of her dignity intact. If she melted in Reuel’s arms again tonight, she’d never be able to convince her arrogant husband, or herself, that her principles couldn’t be swept under a proverbial rug by his sexual aptitude. When she joined him inside, Reuel was waiting for her. He held out his hand in a blatant command that said she was to come to him. 
Reluctantly, Christa walked across the room, wanting and not wanting the joining ahead. When she put her hand in her husband’s open palm, his fingers closed around her, capturing her instantly. He turned around, speaking softly into the monitor. The door opened. Christa found herself staring at what could only be Reuel’s bedroom. 
He stepped inside. Christa knew his nonchalant attitude was deceiving. Underneath his seemingly calm disposition, he was plotting a seductive revenge. She followed him into the room, curious to see if his sleeping chamber was as reflective of his personality as the outer room. It was, but even more so. 
The large sleeping couch occupying the center of the room was draped in a white fur similar to the one in her own room, but much larger. At the foot of the lounge was a bench, its curved arms sloping gracefully above ornately carved legs. Janiber lamps, encased in gold webbing, hung from the ceiling at each corner of the room, their amber light adding to the sultry domain. 
Christa was frantically searching for her own nonchalance when her husband began stripping off his clothes. She stood numbly watching him, unable to move while he bared more and more of his body to her eyes. Once he was completely naked, he turned to look at her. Her eyes absorbed his sleek, perfectly proportioned body. He was the same beautifully bronzed color all over. Ebony hair sprinkled his legs, thickening around his sex. His chest was covered with the same dark hair. 
“You must remove your garments, cassana, they will hinder your movements.” 
The husky order brought Christa’s gaze up to meet the piercing depths of Reuel’s green eyes. He advanced toward her, naked and wonderfully male, his expression as taut as the muscles bulging across his chest and shoulders. 
When she simply stood there, staring at him as though she’d forgotten her own name, he smiled. Reaching out he began unfastening the lacings that held her smock together. Again, Christa couldn’t resist him. She was locked in the magical power of his eyes, untamed and sensually primitive. 
She felt the white smock leave her shoulders, felt the subtle caress of air across her bare skin as the garment fell to the floor. When Reuel’s hands unlaced her mynara, his fingers agilely loosening the flowing skirt, Christa closed her eyes to keep from seeing her own desire reflected in the emerald depths of his eyes. 
“Now you are as I have wanted you all day,” he whispered, finally touching her. 
His hand glided over her collarbone, stopping for a moment to lift the gold medallion around her throat, the only thing she was left wearing. His caress continued, ending at the top of her right shoulder, then moving downward until his tanned fingers traced the back of her hand. Then his touch vanished. 
Christa opened her eyes. Reuel was standing in front of her, slowly surveying each inch of her body. She blushed under the gentle scrutiny. Even though she’d mated with him the night before, he hadn’t looked at her, not the way he was looking now. His gaze was purely predatory, like he wanted to devour her. 
Frightened by the intensity of his stare, Christa stepped back. Reuel moved away from her, giving her the space she needed to regain her composure. He walked to the opposite side of the room, standing for a moment in front of the wall, like a finely sculptured statute, before the panel opened. When it did, sliding silently aside, he turned around and held out his hand again. 
The mating chamber was the same as before, seductively lit and sensually intimate. Reuel stretched out on the lounge on his stomach, his cheek resting on the back of his hand. 
“There is oil on the table, cassana,” he instructed, closing his eyes. “I wish to have the pleasure of your hands.” 
The oil he’d selected was known for its enticing scent and aphrodisiac qualities. She thought of him as the seducer. If the oil was worth the grones he’d paid for it, tonight would reverse their roles. 
For a moment, Christa stared blankly at the man stretched out in front of her. He expected her to rub oil over his naked body at the same time she was naked. If the idea wasn’t so frightening it would be funny. How was she supposed to main-tain a detached attitude, while she was massaging his muscles with oil? She couldn’t, but then that’s exactly what he’d planned. There was no way she could rub her hands over his skin without responding to him. And the arrogant man knew it. 
Remembering the desire smothering in his eyes moments before, Christa decided two could play his sensual game. She walked to the small table beside the bed and uncapped the bottle of oil. Its heavy scent filled the room. 
Turning back to the bed, she filled the palm of one hand with the thick oil, then placed the small vial on the floor. She hesitated for another moment, not sure where to put her hands first. Then rubbing her palms together to warm the oil, she placed them in the center of his back, stroking upward toward his neck. 
Reuel didn’t move. His eyes still closed, he allowed her to spread the oil over his upper back and shoulders. When Christa reached across him to cover his right shoulder with the gold oil as thoroughly as she had his left, her bare breasts pressed against him. She sucked in her breath, her nipples reacting instantly to the contact. At the same time her lungs filled with air, she felt her body flush with heat. Suddenly she was warm, from the inside out. Her palms began sweating, making them slide even more easily over Reuel’s bronzed skin. 
She looked down at him, wanting to resist the urge to touch him again. Placing her hands in the middle of his back, she moved them upward, until she was lying on top of him. She was too busy being flooded with pleasure to hear the soft moan that came from her throat. 
Reuel gritted his teeth. The sense-enhancer was working. Christa was stretched out over him like a female blanket. He could feel the hard tips of her breasts pressing into his back. The soft, unconscious sounds she was making told him she didn’t realize her inhibitions were vanishing. Her hands were driving him closer and closer to the limits of his control. When they inched down his sides, lingering over his buttocks, then moving down to his thighs and inching between his legs to touch him even more intimately, he almost came off the bed. 
What had he been thinking of to put Christa in an aggressive attitude. He’d be lucky to survive the night. He was already fully aroused. 
“You must straddle my hips if you are to perform the task properly, cassana,” he said hoarsely, his eyes still closed. 
She raised up, then did as he’d asked. The center of her body was pressed against his hard buttocks. 
Reuel held onto his control. He’d wanted to teach Christa to accept his body. Using the oil to encourage her to touch him was the easiest way, or so he’d thought. Unfortunately, the lesson was threatening to steal his sanity. He could feel her heat. 
His muscles were melting under her timid hands. His resolve was vanishing just as quickly. Reuel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore his throbbing manhood as it strained against the lounge beneath him. When Christa’s fingers slid down the middle of his back, tracing his spine, Reuel cursed softly and pushed up against her. He felt the warm center of her body, covered with soft down as it pressed intimately against his but-tocks. His control fled. 
He turned over, catching Christa before she tumbled off him. He righted her, bringing her to rest over his enlarged sex. His eyes moved over her, slowly absorbing each detail of her body, the rosy nipples pouting for his mouth, the flush of her skin, and the gold amulet that proclaimed his ownership. 
He watched her as his hands moved from her hips to her breasts, opening to cup their weight in his palms. She moaned softly and closed her eyes. 
Taking a deep breath of the scented air, Christa opened her eyes and looked down at her husband. “You feel wonderful, my lord.” 
Reuel moaned as Christa’s palms, gleaming with oil, moved over his chest. They slid slowly downward, stopping at his navel. Her smile was pure seduction, when she leaned down and kissed him. Her mouth was provocative. It teased and toyed with his, making him burn hotter than he’d thought possible. When she raised up, the small bottle of oil was in her hand. 
Instead of pouring the oil in the palm of her hand, Christa tipped the bottle. The thick amber liquid covered his stomach. Her hands followed, rubbing it into the hard muscles of his abdomen. Reuel closed his eyes, savoring the texture of her damp palms as they moved over his body. When her hands found his manhood, he groaned out loud. 
Christa didn’t think about being bold. She wasn’t thinking at all. Her body was demanding more than her mind could comprehend. She measured the length of Reuel’s desire, then smiled wickedly when he told her to stop. 
“Touch me,” she moaned softly, leaning back and giving him full assess to her body. 
He stroked the hard nubs crowning each breast with his thumbs. She trembled under his touch. His hands continued their bold exploration, playing her body like a fine instrument, making it sing with desire. When she was shaking with need, he lifted her, bringing her down on his hard flesh, pressing himself into her sultry heat. 
Soon desire’s sweet flames engulfed them. Reuel’s hands clasped the back of her thighs as he encouraged her to ride him harder. Christa could feel his velvety hardness as it pressed into her, wanting more of her with each thrust. She bit her lip, then quivered as spasm after tingling spasm sent her body toward the stars. 
Reuel groaned as Christa’s pleasure became his, raging through him like a phaser blast, burning away his reason, devouring his control in a hot blaze of ecstasy that left him gasping for air. 
By the time Reuel could breath normally again, Christa was stretched out over his chest, their bodies still joined, her eyes closed in blissful pleasure. He stroked her back, loving the feel of her skin under his hands. She purred under the gentle caress, wiggling closer to him. He smiled, then flipped over, pinning her beneath him, and giving her a devilishly arrogant smile. 
“You were instructed to soothe my muscles, cassana, not test their strength.” 
Christa kissed the tip of his chin, then matched his smile with one that could only be described as impish. “If you find my wifely service unsatisfac-tory, you can always send me back to the Gallery.” 
Reuel raised up, looking leisurely down the length of her body, then covering her again. “You have yet to learn the strength of an Adarian, cassana, we are far superior to other males in the galaxy.” 
Christa laughed, enjoying her husband’s teasing. “A fact I have yet to be convinced of, my lord.” 
Reuel’s warrior eyes glowed with the challenge. Lifting his head, he smiled. “A fact you will be well versed in by the time Dacla sees the sun again, my lady.” 
When Reuel carried her to his sleeping couch, Christa was too satiated to do anything but mum-ble his name and cuddle against his chest. Their bodies gleamed with oil. Reuel stretched out beside her, bringing her as close as possible with-out joining with her again. Feeling the soft brush of her breath over his bare chest, Reuel covered them with the fur, then closed his eyes. 
He woke the next morning thinking the strange custom of sharing his bed with a female wasn’t as unpleasant as he’d first imagined. Christa was nestled against his side, her arm draped over his chest, her legs entwined with his. Reuel watched her sleep for several minutes, before leaving the bed to bathe and dress. It had been almost dawn when he’d finally carried her from the mating chamber, his body exhausted from their lovemaking. She’d been insatiable in her desire to keep touching him. 
Leaning over to place a chaste kiss on her forehead, his hand ventured under the fur to rest on the soft swell of Christa’s stomach. Soon, if not already, his child would be growing inside this beautifully spirited woman. Soon, his duty would be fulfilled and the future of the Alliance assured. 
Reuel walked into his bathing chamber. After he dressed, he gave Christa one last, lingering look before leaving the sleeping chamber and going to his office. He had a meeting with Counsellor Erling scheduled for early morning, followed by a training session with the newly arrived recruits. He didn’t like leaving Christa to wake up alone, but duty required his presence elsewhere. Reuel summoned Minlim for their morning conference, his thoughts quickly occupied with the obligations of his office. 
The two men had just finished their morning kafae when Counsellor Erling was announced. The plump, amber-eyed Pyralian entered Reuel’s private office, bidding Minlim a courteous hello after greeting the Governor. The Counsellor was settled in one of the large chairs in front of Reuel’s desk, sipping a cup of kafae when he looked up and smiled. 
“I hope your marriage is pleasing you, my lord,” Erling said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I must admit my surprise at finding the bride to be the very persistent young Earthling who lec-tured me in my own justice chamber. 
Reuel smiled. “My marriage is pleasing, Counsellor, and my bride is still as persistent as the day you locked her away.” 
Both men laughed, each appreciating Christa in their own way. 
The subject of their amusement, sleepy but curious, had just turned on the monitoring console in her husband’s room. Christa rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she listened, unintentionally, to the conversation she’d discovered by pressing the com link on the monitor panel. She’d thought to summon Peecha. At the sound of her husband’s deep laughter, Christa smiled. 
Her smile faded, when she realized the two men were laughing at her misfortune. Her hand hovered above the communication link, knowing she should switch channels. When Counsellor Erling spoke her name again, Christa’s curiosity won out over her manners. 
“Then you are indebted to me, my lord. Had I returned the female to the academy after giving her a firm lecture on keeping her tongue quiet, you would not have found your wife.” 
Christa went as stiff as stone. 
“As you say, Counsellor Erling, I am indebted to you. I not only have the most beautiful female on Pyrali as my wife, I have the most out-spoken one. But do not concern yourself, I will make certain our little rebel is too busy pleasing her lord and master to bring disruption into your Council chambers again.” 
Another deep laugh sent Christa’s suspicions over the edge. 
Reuel had tricked her. 
Counsellor Erling had never intended to charge her with treason. Exile had never been a real threat, only an imaginary one the noble Governor of Pyrali had used to intimidate and manipulate her in order to gain what he wanted. 
The warm feelings Christa had awakened with died, replaced by an anger so intense she had to close her eyes to keep from screaming her indig-nation to the entire palace. Reuel had tricked her, and Minlim had been a party to his selfish scheme. Her husband’s passionate kisses and loving caresses were forgotten as she picked up her clothes. She was shaking with fury by the time she braided her hair, tying the end with the white ribbon she found draped over the bench at the end of Reuel’s bed. The bed she had shared with him while he gloated over his victory. 
Christa sat down on the cushioned bench, fisting her hands in her lap to keep from waving them in the air. Reuel’s betrayal went deeper than frightening her into submission, it pricked the very core of her heart, making tears flow down her face with the realization that it had all been a lie. He’d wanted her, had blatantly told her his proposal of marriage had been based on desire, but then he’d changed, treating her tenderly, smiling when he spoke of the pleasure she gave him, laughing when she’d teased him about his Adarian virility. 
She’d begun to care for him, finally seeing past the facade of the Governor to the man who lay beneath, the man Minlim had promised her would eventually learn to care. The Haodai’s betrayal hurt almost as much as her husband’s. The advisor had plied her with stories of past Adarian wives, making her dream of a future that would never be. 
Christa wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. Crying wouldn’t undo the disaster she’d been forced to partner. 
She looked around the room, determined never again to be so naive. Then with her chin up and her determination intact, she walked through the mating chamber, refusing to look at the bed where she’d behaved so wantonly, giving herself to a man, who’d used his power to exploit her. 
The scent of the gold oil still lingered in the air. Christa felt a flush of heat as she inhaled the fragrance. 
It couldn’t be? 
She walked to the bed and knelt down. Lifting the small vial of oil to her nose, she inhaled it deeply. Her body started to tingle. Standing up, before the oil’s fragrance drained her resistance, she threw the crystal bottle against the wall. 
She’d heard of sense-enhancers. But she’d never thought Reuel would be so low as to use one. No wonder she’d encouraged his mating, wanting it so much she hadn’t been able to realize the passion was just another deception. 
Hating what he’d done to her, Christa ran into her room and onto the balcony. Standing in the early morning sun, she took long deep breaths to free herself from the influence of the enhancer. 
Minutes later she was bathing in the marble tub, scrubbing vigorously to remove Reuel’s touch. When Peecha brought her breakfast, the ignorant female, who’d willingly given herself to the Governor of Pyrali, had been washed away. In her place was a woman determined to change the rules of the game. 

Chapter 14

Reuel stretched his arms over his head. Six hours in the navigation seat of his starfighter had left his muscles cramped and tired. He stripped off his uniform, then walked into the bathing chamber. An hour later he was sitting on the balcony of his suite, sipping a glass of sangra and thinking about the night to come. 
The day’s activities had kept him busy, but not busy enough to push away his desire. He was anxious for the evening and the sight of his wife. Christa’s passion had surpassed his dreams. Without the inhibitions of feeling forced to mate, she’d responded with such sweet honesty, he’d found himself pulled into a sensual world even his experienced years found overwhelming. Minlim’s bid for entry interrupted Reuel’s fantasy about another night with Christa’s warm body snuggled next to his. 
“Pour yourself a glass of wine, Minlim,” Reuel said, content to sit and watch Pyrali’s day become night. 
“Thank you, my lord,” Minlim replied. 
Although Reuel’s ability to understand Minlim’s thoughts wasn’t as finely honed as the Haodai’s, he recognized his advisor’s reluctant tone. 
“What’s on your mind, old friend?” he asked, extending his glass when Minlim offered to refill it. 
“A puzzle, my lord,” Minlim replied, sitting down on the bench across from his master’s. 
“The only puzzle in this palace is my lovely wife,” Reuel said, smiling. 
His smile disappeared as Minlim’s eyes clouded with the unpleasant task ahead of him. 
“What has she done now?” Reuel insisted, taking a long breath to fortify himself. 
“Your wife has declined your invitation to dine,” Minlim replied, his low voice unable to soften the impact of his statement. 
“Declined my invitation?” Reuel stood up, the front of his robe flapping open to show muscular legs and bare feet. 
“Quite enthusiastically, my lord,” Minlim said calmly. 
“Did she say why she didn’t wish to share the evening meal with me? It is Suriel’s last night on Pyrali. He will be returning to Adara.” Reuel said, feigning indifference after he realized his initial reaction had revealed his disappointment. His inability to hide his desire for his wife was quickly becoming a weakness he could not afford. 
Minlim cleared his throat, then looked at his master. “She said she didn’t feel inclined to share a table with a Gasparian sand slug.” 
Reuel’s jaw clinched with outrage. “Leave me,” he said, waving his hand. 
Minlim nodded, then exited the balcony, avoiding his master’s wrath. Unfortunately, that fate would fall on the Governor’s wife. 
Reuel waited until Minlim had left the suite, before marching through the mating chamber and into his wife’s room. Christa was curled up on the sleeping lounge with one of her grandfather’s treasured books on her lap. 
When she looked at him, Reuel stopped. Whatever had caused his wife’s insulting remark was still burning in her eyes, blatantly cold and staring at him with disdain. He didn’t give her time to sling another insult. 
“You will stand when I come into the room,” he ordered harshly. 
Christa took an extraordinary amount of time to close the book and place it gingerly on the lounge before standing up. She faced him, her hands at her side. 
Reuel studied her, trying to understand the disgust in her dark eyes, wondering what had turned the woman who had clung to him in passion the previous night into an enemy. 
“This evening’s meal is to honor my brother and sister, before they return to Adara. Lady Katala will be returning with them.” 
“Enjoy your meal, Lord Governor.” 
“You will dine with us,” Reuel retorted, his anger reverberating in each word. 
“No, Lord Governor, I will not,” Christa stated firmly, meeting his piercing gaze with one of her own. 
Reuel could not remember the last time anyone had refused a direct order from him. He wasn’t sure anyone ever had. He was the Cadish of the Seventh House. His word was law. 
“It is not a request, cassana,” he said sternly. “When an Adarian lord bids his wife to his side, she comes.” 
“I’m not Adarian,” she hissed at him, hours of fury simmering to the boiling point. “Nor will I ever be.” 
“You are my wife. That means you will obey me,” Reuel roared, his hands fisted behind his back to keep from grabbing Christa and shaking her until she admitted she belonged to him. He would not lose the battle she was forcing on him. 
He couldn’t. 
To give into whatever female emotion had triggered her renewed rebellion was unthinkable. 
“Then I’m the wife of a lying, egotistical Natarian dung fly,” she spit at him, her temper erupting with a fury that left him staring at her in disbelief. “The wife of a conniving, pompous —” 
Furious, Reuel jerked her to him, his ears ringing with her offensive opinion, his patience at an end. He held her anchored against his chest, dodging her flailing fists. When one of them made contact with his shoulder, he cursed under his breath and pinned Christa’s arms behind her back. Her body was immobilized against his stronger one, but that didn’t stop her tongue from heaping the name of every vile creature in the universe upon his head. 
“Stop this outrageous behavior immediately,” he snapped at her. 
“Or what, my noble Lord Governor,” Christa said tautly. “You’ll exile me to the end of the universe.” 
Reuel heard the sarcasm in Christa’s words as fiercely as he felt the tremors shaking her softly curved body. The words were filled with hatred. He didn’t release her, instead he bent her over his arm, forcing her to look at him. 
“What in the name of Pyrali’s three moons is wrong with you?” he asked, deciding he was no closer to solving Minlim’s puzzle than he’d been when the advisor had told him of Christa’s refusal. Reuel saw the repulsion in his wife’s eyes, but he didn’t understand it. 
Christa glared up at him, her face flushed with anger, her arms throbbing from the strength of Reuel’s loveless embrace. 
“What’s wrong with me, my noble lord and master, is discovering I was raped.” 
Reuel released her so quickly Christa stumbled back against the sleeping lounge. 
He stared at her, his green eyes clouding with the dishonor she’d laid at his feet. The silence stretched between them, filling the room with a tangible quiescence. After a few moments, he relaxed, thinking he understood the reason for her unexpected behavior. 
“If you think to vindicate your response to me, by calling our joining rape, think again, cassana. You enjoyed our lovemaking. So much my back is covered with scratches your eager hands left from trying to bring me closer to you.” 
Being reminded that she’d been tricked into giving herself so wantonly to the man she now hated only added fuel to Christa’s humiliation. She stood up, straightening herself to her full height, meeting his arrogance with the only weapon she had—her tongue. 
“You threatened me with banishment for a crime I never committed. Counsellor Erling was going to release me. I was never in any danger of being exiled. You lied to me. You lied to take the one thing I would never give you willingly—my freedom. You used your power as a Cadish to bend justice, to distort it to serve your own selfish purpose. You used it to threaten and intimidate someone you thought unworthy of the principles you defend so piously. You forced me to marry you, forced me to share your bed by using that power against me. Then after I’d submitted to you, you added to the crime by seducing my will with a drug until my actions weren’t my own. That’s rape, my noble Lord Governor. A crime I cannot forgive or forget.” 
Reuel remembered leaving Christa in his bed that morning. The console panel in his room would have allowed her to overhear his conversation with Counsellor Erling. Whatever explanation he could offer for his actions would require the disclosure of his disability to give its credence. Telling Christa his seed needed an alien womb to prosper would give her a weapon she would quickly turn against him. Trying to convince her the oil had been meant to increase her pleasure, would never be believed now that she’d condemned his actions. 
His own foolishness was as much to blame for Christa’s insults as her wounded pride. He’d kept her with him, allowing her to awaken in his bed, putting the temptation of his private console within reach of her curiosity. Had he returned her to her suite instead of thinking to breach her defenses by adopting a practice her race associated with mar-riage, she would not have learned of the scheme he’d used to make her his wife. As much as he’d enjoyed waking up to find her soft body pressed against his, he shouldn’t have forgotten the Adarian ways that were his heritage. He’d com-promised his traditions for one that had brought disaster. A mistake he would be sure not to repeat. 
Telling himself his duty had to prevail over his own wants and needs as well as the woman who’d just stated her hatred for the actions his obligation to the Alliance had spurred, did little to make Reuel’s next words easier to utter. He spoke them, nevertheless, knowing they would only widen the gap he’d thought finally bridged. 
“If your foolish female mind thought me dif-ferent than any other man, it is your own fault, cassana. I wanted you, enough to use whatever means were at my disposal to have you. And I have had you.” He finished, his eyes lowering to the breasts pushing against her green smock. His tone clearly stating he intended to have her again. 
“You’re despicable,” Christa said. Reuel’s conceit, predictable and expected, shouldn’t hurt, but it did. Somewhere tucked between the anger and humiliation she was feeling had been the small hope that Reuel would try to defend himself against her accusation. That he would offer her some explanation that would soften the lie he’d used against her. 
There was nothing Reuel could do but follow the course he’d set in motion. 
“I’m your husband, whether you like it or not.” 
Christa couldn’t argue. She’d pledged her life to a man she’d begun to think could come to care for her. That illusion had been shattered, broken into a thousand irretrievable pieces, by the sound of his mocking laughter. Unlike Earth, there was no provision for divorce in Adarian law. Once joined to a man, a female had no recourse but to spend her life bound to him. The finality of her plight only made her anger more potent, her humiliation more permanent. 
“You will join me for dinner,” he ordered. “You will speak only when directly addressed. If one word leaves your mouth that is offensive to others, I promise you, my reluctant wife, you will regret speaking it.” 
The curse Christa shouted at Reuel’s back was wasted as the doors of the mating chamber closed behind him. 
Christa refused to look at Reuel as he seated her at the table. Nor did she return his brother’s smile as Suriel took the seat across from her. Lady Katala was to her right, while Taraza took the seat next to Suriel’s left. Reuel nodded for the meal to begin. The small, intimate dinner was being served on the large balcony overlooking the west garden. 
She stared at a Pyralian moth, its brightly colored wings fluttering rapidly as it flew from a branch of the Elamaso tree towering next to the balcony to the janiber lamp hanging from the tree’s lofty branch. 
As the servants began serving the second course, Suriel opened the conversation, addressing his brother. Christa heard only the mumbled sound of mixed voices. Her mind was set on ignoring anything Adarian. 
Reuel didn’t need Minlim’s insight to understand Christa’s game. She could ignore him until Pyrali’s three moons became four, but she would sit at his table. She would do whatever he asked of her, because it had to be. He couldn’t allow his desire for her to undermine his authority. Each time he relented in forcing her obedience, it encouraged her, letting her think his demands could be lessened, his resolve weakened. 
She’d accused him of rape, an accusation that had ripped at his Adarian pride like a twisted dagger. If he forced himself on her now, it would only validate her charge. 
Reuel sipped his wine, watching Christa over the rim of his glass. Her fervent reaction to dis-covering she’d been tricked into marrying him only reinforced her passionate nature. Knowing that passion, once discovered, was not easily forgotten, Reuel decided to use time as his ally. Left to sulk, his fiery wife would soon find life outside their mating chamber tedious. 
Christa sat placidly, her appetite forced, the food untasted though eaten. 
“I regret that my schedule forces me to return to Adara so quickly,” Suriel said, directing his words to her. “Hopefully, my brother’s duties will not prevent him from bringing you to our homeworld. 
Perhaps for our wedding, Katala’s and mine?” 
“Perhaps,” Christa said neutrally. 
“I will be returning to Adara with my brother,” Taraza said, speaking softly. “Reuel has no need of me, now that he has a wife to assume the duties of his house.” 
“I hope you have a pleasant trip,” Christa said, her voice dull, but placid. 
“Are you ill, Lady Shatar,” Katala asked, giving Reuel a questioning look. 
“No,” Christa replied in an inert tone. 
The meal continued. Reuel engaged his brother in an enthusiastic conversation, centering on politics, while Taraza and Katala listened. Whenever she was addressed, Christa answered with the least amount of words possible. Finally, the meal ended. 
Bidding their guests good night, Reuel gave both his sister and brother an affectionate embrace. Christa’s despair was renewed when her husband placed his cheek next to Katala and wished her a safe journey home. 
Suddenly, they were alone. Reuel turned to her. 
“You may return to your room.” 
His cold dismissal rekindled Christa’s anger. 
“What do you have planned for tonight, Lord Governor? Are my senses to be tricked by drugged wine or have you filled the janiber lamps with scented oil?” 
Reuel jerked her out of the chair, crushing her against his hard body. There was no time to struggle. His mouth covered her. He kissed her long and hard. Christa clinched her fists, praying she could resist him. As before, the kiss changed, becoming a sweet mingling of breath as his tongue licked and teased. She felt her body betraying her will. Her response was limited, but her husband was too experienced not to notice the change in her breathing and the aroused breasts pressed intimately against his chest. 
When he released her, he was smiling. Christa lashed out, reacting to what he’d forced her to admit. 
He caught her wrist, forcing her arm behind her and bringing their bodies even closer. “I have no need of anything, cassana, to arouse you.” 
“You’re despicable!” 
“Return to your room, now, Lady Shatar.” 
Christa walked across the room with as much dignity as her trembling insides could muster. She could throw insults in Reuel’s face or sit silent as a stone across the table while he sipped wine and stared at her, but he’d proven she couldn’t resist the touch of his hands. 
Returning to her suite, she stared across the Saionge at Dacla’s crystal towers, shimmering like glass ghosts in the moonlight. Reuel’s duty demanded he sire a son. Until she conceived a child, she would have to bear the shame of sharing his bed. 
She could request a medical scan, hoping her womb had already accepted his seed, but Christa wasn’t sure even that would keep Reuel from forcing her back into the mating chamber. Although her insults had bounced off his Adarian ego, she’d still defied him. She’d called him a liar, a cheat and a deceiver. He’d retaliated by defeating her with more kisses. 
Christa felt a tear moisten her cheek. She wiped it away, then walked into the bathing chamber, stripping off her smock and mynara with trembling hands. She wouldn’t beg for mercy, pleading that he forego his physical pleasure and not take her against her will. She’d be damned if she’d beg him for anything. 
The tears stopped, dried by another burst of anger. Christa stood up, reaching for the robe by the marble tub. She had no more choice now than she’d had that day in the Gallery, when Reuel had tricked her into accepting his proposal of marriage. The man she’d once thought was beyond using force to obtain what he wanted wasn’t the same man who’d used a sense-enhancer to turn her into a insatiable lover. She didn’t know that man. She couldn’t trust his cold green eyes or his unyielding tone. 
Even Minlim had been party to the egotistic wiles of his master, gently persuading her to open her heart to a man who didn’t want it, who’d blatantly told her she’d been a fool to think otherwise. The advisor’s betrayal was almost as hard to bear as her husband’s. More so, because he’d offered friendship along with his skillfully spoken words of hope. He’d planted a dream in her mind, a dream that had sparkled with possi-bilities and a future where her people were accepted as equals in the empire. Now that dream had shattered, along with the hope that one day Reuel Shatar would love her. 
Wondering if Reuel would appear in the door of the mating chamber holding out his hand in a silent command for her to once again submit to him, Christa found herself staring at the ornately carved wall that housed the door. She was surprised out of her stupor when the guard at her suite’s main door announced that Lady Katala sought her company. 
She gave her permission for the Adarian female to enter. 
“I hope I am not disturbing you, my lady,” Katala said, floating into the room. 
“Please, come in,” Christa said, curious as to why Suriel’s fiancée would want to see her. 
Katala sat down in the same chair Reuel had occupied when he’d told Christa that he hadn’t pledged his family’s name lightly. Remembering she had no quarrel with the Adarian woman, Christa offered her a cup of herbal tea. 
After commenting on the beverage’s unique flavor, Katala gave her a pensive look. “You told me you are not ill, my lady, but I find myself concerned for you nevertheless.” 
“Why?” Christa asked. She’d regretted not being able to talk privately with Katala before, but now, more suspicious of her husband than ever, Christa wondered if her conversations were being monitored. Thinking it was a very strong possibility kept her words reserved. 
Katala hesitated, then gave Christa a timid smile. “It is difficult, is it not, to speak with a stranger?” 
“You mean an Earthling?” 
“No,” Katala replied immediately. “If I have given you the impression that I have a displeasure with your species, please forgive me, it was never my intent to insult you.” A long pause filled the air as she lifted the cup to her mouth and sipped the tea. 
Katala’s tasteful apology made Christa feel ashamed. 
“I am the one who should apologize, Lady Katala,” she said. “I was rude at dinner. Please don’t think I’m that way all the time. There are actually a few people who like me.” 
“Lord Shatar is one of them,” Katala smiled wryly. 
At the mention of Reuel’s name, Christa went cold. “I assure you, Lady Katala, Lord Shatar feels nothing more for me than the necessity of a female to bear his children.” 
“I cannot help but hear the unhappiness in your voice, my lady.” Katala sat the cup aside. “I know little of things not Adarian, but if you did not wish Lord Shatar’s announcement of intent, why did you accept it?” 
“At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do,” Christa replied, coming as close to the truth as she dared. She’d gained nothing by telling Taraza that she’d been forced into marriage. 
“I was surprised to arrive on Pyrali and find the plaza being decorated for Reuel’s wedding. But after I watched you speaking your vows, my heart was content.” 
“Because now you can have the brother you wanted all along?” Christa remarked. 
Katala nodded. “I have known Reuel since I was a child. But Suriel has always been closer to my heart.” 
“I didn’t think Adarians considered matters of the heart?” 
Katala looked at the richly colored carpet, then raised her eyes to meet Christa’ questioning gaze. “Adarians are very private people. We do not find it easy to speak of that which touches our hearts. For some of us it is even more difficult.” 
Christa knew Katala was referring to Reuel. 
“Earthlings are much more open about their emotions. When we’re angry, we shout. When we’re sad, we cry. When we’re happy, we laugh.” 
“As do we,” Katala said. “But I fear the man by which you are measuring all Adarians is quite unique. Reuel was born Cadish of his house. It is a responsibility he has carried since birth, one that has kept him from being like other Adarians. To understand that duty is to understand the man.” 
Duty. She’d heard the word until she was sick of it. 
Christa stood up. “Thank you for your concern, Lady Katala. I wish you and Suriel a safe journey and a prosperous future.” 
Katala got to her feet, trying to hide her disappointment in being dismissed before Christa had grasped the mysteries of an Adarian relationship. 
“Good night, my lady,” she said, nodding respectfully. “Since I will soon join the House of Shatar, as you have, we will be sisters. I hope one day we can be friends.” 
Christa wasn’t sure what to say. The woman who should have been Reuel’s wife was offering her friendship. Before she could respond, Lady Katala left the room. 
   
“Do all Governor’s work so diligently?” Suriel asked, walking into Reuel’s office. It was well past the time when everyone in the palace should be asleep. 
“I have much to do before I leave for Lyona Four,” Reuel replied. The truth was he hadn’t been able to sleep. Christa’s charge of rape was still ringing in his ears. 
“Is that why you haven’t found an hour’s time to offer your younger brother?” Suriel questioned, sliding gracefully into one of the large chairs that faced Reuel’s desk. “Or should I assume you’ve been busy with your new bride? If that’s the case, you’re forgiven. After getting over the shock of finding out she’s an Earthling, I’ve decided I like her.” 
“What about my shock over discovering you want Katala?” Reuel countered, deliberately changing the subject. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his wife. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 
Suriel’s tone turned more serious. “You are the Cadish of our house.” 
The statement offered Reuel a unique insight into how his family viewed his role. As Cadish, had he chosen to marry Katala, both she and his brother would have kept their feelings silent. He would never have known. Suriel’s honor would not have allowed him to know. 
“Is that what has you pondering in the middle of the night? My affection for Katala?” 
“No,” Reuel confessed. “I wish you both a prosperous life.” 
“As I you,” Suriel said, grinning. “Although I fear it will not come easy. Being born Cadish has its disadvantages as well as its honor, lord brother. Seeing you now makes me grateful fate made me the youngest son.” 
“Had you been born first, you would do the same as I.” 
“And what is that?” 
“What must be done,” Reuel replied, meeting his brother’s inquisitive gaze. “The Alliance must come first.” 
“I know. It is the way of things with us.” Suriel stood up, his gaze determined and direct. “But I fear it is not the way of Earthlings. What little I have seen of Lady Shatar tells me she doesn’t understand the duty of your rank.” 
“Lady Shatar will understand my duty once she understands her own.” 
Suriel stood up, looking skeptical. “Be careful, brother, that your duty doesn’t end up being your downfall.” 

Chapter 15

Peecha gave Minlim a questioning look as she refilled Reuel’s cup and stepped back. Her master was too busy roaring into his communication console, verbally thrashing his flight officer over the day’s schedule, to notice the smile on his advisor’s face. Minlim waited until Reuel had turned off the console before he spoke. 
“Good morning, my lord.” 
“I can find nothing good about it,” Reuel growled, sipping his kafae, then complaining that it was too cold. Peecha quickly replaced the cup with a fresh one. 
“I regret you did not rest well,” Minlim said sympathetically. 
Reuel gave the aging Haodai a fierce scowl, but said nothing. He dismissed Peecha, telling her he planned to spend the day helping Favian train the new recruits and would not be back until the evening meal. 
“I want to leave for Adara in three days,” Reuel said. 
“That is three days sooner than the trip will require,” Minlim commented. 
“My father wants me to attend the last session of the trade conference on Lyona Four,” Reuel replied, his unhappiness at being summoned to the merchant planet apparent. 
“Will your wife be going with you, my lord?” Minlim inquired, sensing the reason for his master’s foul mood was that he’d be traveling alone. 
“No,” Reuel said sharply. “My lovely wife has yet to convince me she’s trustworthy outside the confines of this palace.” 
If Minlim thought the remark unusual, he didn’t comment. He spent the next hour with Reuel deciding which administrative functions could be postponed until his master’s return from Adara. After Reuel had decided what would or would not be occupying his time for the next three days, he leaned back in his chair, finally venting his frustration over the current state of his marriage. 
“The Earthling you selected for me is beginning to be more trouble than an invading army,” he grumbled. 
“I can sense your dissatisfaction, my lord,” Minlim stated. “As I sensed Christa’s the last time I saw her. However, I cannot advise you how to deal with it unless you are willing to tell me the cause.” 
Reuel sighed, eyeing his advisor for a long moment. “I took Christa to my sleeping lounge the night before my meeting with Counsellor Erling. Whether the action was accidental or the result of my wife’s abundant curiosity, I’m uncertain. Regardless of why, she overheard the Counsellor congratulating himself on waiting to release Christa, thereby allowing me to find my lovely bride.” 
“She realized the threat of exile was merely a ploy you used to gain her acceptance,” Minlim analyzed quickly, finally understanding Christa’s eloquent refusal when invited to dine with her husband. 
Reuel’s silence was answer enough. 
“Knowing how reluctant she was to agree to the marriage initially, I must assume what little cooperation she gave is now nonexistent.” 
“Oh, she’s cooperating. Her performance at dinner last night was more than dutiful. She sat at the table like one of Taraza’s prized statues.” Reuel said in a sardonic tone. 
Minlim raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “As you once said, my lord, Haodai are not burdened by sexual needs. Perhaps my lack of experience in this particular area accounts for my inability to understand your dilemma. If your wife is assimilating herself to Adarian ways, why are you worried?” 
Reuel shrugged, thankful Minlim could read his moods, but not his thoughts. “It’s only my impatience showing, old friend. It has been over two hundred years since the House of Shatar sat on the dais of the Ruling Council.” 
“Once your son is born, you will find the time allotted to prepare him for ruling too short,” Minlim replied. “Enjoy the child, before you instruct him in the ways of a man. Until then, enjoy the woman who will give him life.” 
Reuel smiled, remembering Christa’s passion. “If I enjoy my wife any more than I have so far, I’ll be too weak to rule Pyrali.” 
“There is more to enjoyment than physical pleasure, my lord. You cannot appreciate that which you do not know.” 
“I know my wife is stubborn, temperamental, and blatantly disrespectful.” 
“She is also compassionate, courageous and intelligent,” Minlim added. 
“She’s more trouble than a pack of wild utegas,” Reuel countered. Comparing his lovely wife to the ravenous, razor-fanged wolves that roamed Adara’s northern mountains seemed quite appro-priate at the moment. Christa’s sharp insults had been slicing away at his pride for five days. 
“She is a female, my lord. In all the years the Creator has blessed me with life, I have yet to encounter one I understand.” 
“Am I suppose to find encouragement in that small bit of Haodain wisdom?” 
“No, my lord, only solace in knowing that you are not alone in the universe,” Minlim said, before departing to begin the list of tasks assigned to him for the day. 
Reuel frowned as the doors closed, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He’d hoped Minlim’s Haodain intuition would help him gain some insight into his wife’s unpredictable behavior. Turning off his console, Reuel walked to the viewing window. 
He was a soldier. He’d spent his entire life studying military strategy, learning the precise moment when to turn a defensive posture into an offensive one. The wisdom had served him well. He’d earned the rank of Commander of the First Force using his intellect and his instincts to serve the Alliance. He’d never been defeated. Until now. 
He was at a loss when it came to comprehending his lovely wife. He’d told Minlim he was struggling with impatience. Christa had returned his passion each time they’d mated. If she wasn’t already carrying his child, she soon would be. Siring a son for the Alliance wasn’t what had him staring out the window. The physicians had confirmed Christa’s biological compatibility. It was her cultural incompatibility that had him worried. 
One moment she was angry, cursing and ranting. The next, she was complacently silent. Her agreeable moods could just as quickly turn sarcastic and insultive. 
He’d taken a wife thinking sexual satisfaction would be their bond. Instead, he found himself staring aimlessly into space, filled with a plaguing discontentment that was slowly turning him inside out. 
His father’s request to attend the conference on Lyona Four had added to his frustration. Although he had decided not to take Christa to Adara, he’d hoped to spend the next week breaking through the frosty barrier she’d erected around herself. Now, even that was being cut short. His duties, training the new recruits and administrating Pyrali’s complex government, would demand all his time and energy until his departure. 
Minlim was right. The mating chamber wasn’t the place to talk to his wife. He needed to negotiate a truce between himself and Christa. Knowing how difficult it was going to be to gain his wife’s cooperation, Reuel returned to his console and began rearranging his schedule. 
When Christa didn’t greet him with her cus-tomary smile, Minlim braced himself for a burst of her Earthling temper. 
“I see you are enjoying the morning sunshine, my lady,” he ventured carefully, taking a seat across from her. The small garden, adjacent to the east wing of the palace, was filled with exotic plants. 
Christa brought the freshly cut bloom of a Jolomar tulip to her nose. She inhaled the subtle fragrance of the white flower. 
She’d awakened determined not to think about her husband. After eating breakfast, she turned on her communication console and browsed the planetary information files that updated Pyrali’s citizens, frowning when she read that another spasm of mild quakes had shaken the southern continent. The Administrative Offices had ana-lyzed the quakes as nothing more than a shifting of the ocean mantles, a natural phenomenon which occurred every few hundred years. 
“If you would prefer to be alone, I will leave you to your thoughts,” Minlim said, rising to leave. 
“Sit down,” Christa said, motioning for him to resume his seat. 
Minlim did as she requested, his pale eyes impassive, his mind frantically trying to sort through the emotions emanating from the young woman sitting in the shadow of a jungle fern. 
“I can understand my husband’s deceit. It’s as natural as being Adarian. But I can’t understand yours. You’re a Haodai. You aren’t suppose to have the capability to lie.” 
There was no mistaking the disappointment in Christa’s words or the regret in her eyes. 
“I have spoken no word that was not the truth, my lady,” he responded calmly. 
“I confided in you, told you my hopes and my fears,” she said bitterly. “I thought you were my friend. I needed you to be my friend, but all you were, and still are, is a servant of my husband’s self-indulgence.” 
“You knew I was never in danger of being exiled. You knew Counsellor Erling planned to release me. You knew the Governor, your noble master, was playing a selfish game with my freedom, my life,” she added harshly, glaring at him over the Jolomar blossom. 
Minlim met Christa’s hardened look with pale eyes that showed no remorse for his actions. “I have never spoken that which I did not believe to be true, my lady. I sensed your strength of spirit, as I still do. I sensed that your spirit would call to my master’s. I served him, as you charge, but only with the best intentions. I wish him the happiness you can bring him, the children you can give him, the love your heart already holds for him.” 
Christa stared at Minlim, moved by his words, but troubled by his prophecy. Reuel might be happy having her in his bed. He might want the children she would bear him, but he didn’t want the love she felt for him. She couldn’t allow the loyal advisor’s eloquent words to overshadow that essential fact. 
“It seems choices are always being taken from me,” Christa finally replied. “I was tricked into thinking I had no choice but to marry Lord Shatar. 
Now, having spoken the vows, I have no choice but to fulfill them.” 
“Would you allow me the pleasure of escorting you to the noon meal?” Minlim asked, standing up and offering Christa his hand. 
She hesitated, wanting to think the advisor’s offer of friendship was sincere, but remembering his words, truthful or not, had cloaked Reuel’s deceit, making it palatable. If she had the Haodai’s abilities she’d be able to sense the hon-esty of his words. However, like most humans in the universe, she had only her instincts to guide her. At the moment, the pain of being betrayed was too raw for her to trust anyone but herself. 
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” Christa said, returning her attention to the blossom in her hand. She didn’t look up as Minlim nodded, then left the garden. 
Reuel walked into Christa’s chamber only to find her sleeping. Her face was nestled into the thick fur of the coverlet, her hair fanned around her like a halo spun from Aramaean gold. He stood over the bed, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest. The fragrance of naturas, blooming under the balcony, mixed with the uniquely feminine scent he now identified with his wife, filling his nostrils. Reuel inhaled deeply, savoring the nearness of her. 
He’d returned from the training maneuvers to find his communication files filled with administrative memos demanding his attention. Fulfilling his duties as Governor had consumed most of the night, adding to the fatigue that had his back aching and his senses dulled by legislative responsibilities. 
Too tired to question his motives, Reuel lifted Christa into his arms. He smiled as she clung to him like a vine, tucking her nose into the curve of his neck, and mumbling his name in a drowsy whisper. He walked across her suite, then through the mating chamber, stopping once he’d reached his own sleeping lounge. 
He held Christa against his chest with one arm, using his free hand to jerk back the coverlet. She moaned softly as he lowered her onto his bed. Moments later, Reuel joined her, his arm curved around her, pressing her against him. 
“Reuel?” 
Her sleepy inquiry, breathed against his bare chest, made his body tighten with desire. 
“Sleep, cassana,” he replied softly, grimacing as her knee came up to rest over his groin. His stubborn wife had no idea she was seeking him out in her sleep. If she didn’t move her leg, he was going to find the rest he so desperately needed postponed even longer. Careful not to wake her, Reuel turned her over, settling her curved bottom against his middle, and cradling her in the circle of his arms. Christa wiggled against him, making his jaw clinch with need. She mumbled his name once more, then relaxed. 
Reuel felt the stoic mask he’d forced himself to wear for the last twenty-four hours melt away. Christa was so close he could feel each breath she took. He lay there beside her, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her body, feeling the soft fullness of her bottom as it pressed against his groin. There was a contentment in holding her that surprised him. 
He’d been prepared to fight her attitudes, thinking them nothing more than foolish Earthling ideas grounded in feminine misconception. Her notions of equality had amused him. His defenses had been well laid, based on military training and experience. They’d also been misdirected. He’d been so busy fighting her insulting tongue and unorthodox ideas, he’d exposed himself to the one weapon he’d never expected her to use. Herself. 
He’d never imagined the innocence of her smile to become his weakness, or the dusky gaze of her eyes, after she’d found her pleasure, to seep into his heart and steal what he’d thought no woman could ever claim. 
A frustrated breath escaped him. He could fight her political ideas, eventually opening her eyes so she could see the empire from a clear perspective. He could outlast her female stubborn-ness and tolerate her Earthling emotions. But nothing had prepared him for the courage he’d discovered in her impulsive retorts and her infallible wit. There was nothing in his arsenal that could fight the pleasure her smile stirred in him or the joy she brought him when she reached for him instinctively in her sleep. 
He’d been trained as a warrior, a defender of the empire, but he was ill-equipped to handle the maze of emotions his reluctant wife fostered in him. 
Drawing Christa even closer, Reuel relaxed, ordering himself to ignore the sweet pressure of her body against his. Tomorrow’s demands would be even more grueling than today’s. His duty to the Alliance and Pyrali had to come first. There was much to be done before he left for Adara. Once he’d fulfilled those obligations, he could address his personal concerns. 
He’d rearranged his schedule so that he could have some time with Christa. It would only be a few hours, enough for them to enjoy the soothing waves of the Saionge if the weather favored them with sunny skies. 
When Reuel had told Minlim of his plans to take Christa sailing on the inland sea, the advisor had remarked on the romantic nature of his choice. Reuel hadn’t commented. If he was going to be alone with Christa, unrestricted by the palace’s administrative atmosphere and constant interruptions, he wanted a place where he’d be forced to concentrate on the practical side of their relationship. She’d complained of being confined. Reuel hoped the Saionge would offer her some solace. 
He rested his chin on the top of Christa’s head, and closed his eyes. His hand sought the soft skin just below her breasts, his arm supporting their womanly weight. Finally, he slept, his hand resting lightly over the soft swell of his wife’s abdomen, his thoughts turning into dreams that curved his mouth upward into a contented smile. 
Christa woke early the next morning to find herself cuddled next to her husband, her hand entwined in the thick hair on his chest, her leg draped wantonly over his upper thighs. How had she gotten into his bed? 
Knowing the answer didn’t ease Christa’s startled senses. Some time during the night Reuel had carried her from her private suite into his. But why? He hadn’t mated with her. She hadn’t been so exhausted from agonizing over her situation that she wouldn’t have remembered his lovemaking. The soft light of dawn filled the chamber with gold shadows and a gentle silence that made waking up next to him seem natural. 
She should hate the man lying so peacefully beside her. She should fight the love she felt for him, knowing it doomed her to a painful future. They were so different. They came from different races, different cultures. The strength and power that had first angered her now seemed to draw her toward him, both emotionally and physically. 
Christa turned her head, careful not to disturb his slumber. His dark hair was tousled, hanging over one eye. When she reached out to brush it back from his forehead, he mumbled her name and smiled. The expression endeared her to him, allowing Christa her first unguarded glimpse of the man Katala had asked her to try and understand. Unconsciously, her fingers tightened in the crispy mat of hair that covered his chest. He smiled again, and Christa felt the love stirring inside her. 
“Good morning, cassana,” Reuel said drowsily, opening his eyes then closing them again. His arm flexed, pulling her closer. Christa blinked. Her nose was buried against his chest, her palm covering a hard, male nipple. 
Reuel was drifting back to sleep when she sneezed. His arms relaxed. She was scratching her nose, when she looked up and found herself staring straight into a pair of sleepy green eyes. “The hair on your chest tickled my nose,” she explained. 
Another smile, this one sleepy, but seductive, lightened his face. He turned over on his side, pulling her back into his arms. “Go back to sleep, cassana, it’s too early to argue.” 
Christa was about to tell him she hadn’t been arguing, but it felt too good being sheltered in his arms. She slept again, content for the moment. 
The next time her eyes opened, Christa was in her own chamber. She vaguely remembered Reuel carrying her back to her solitary sleeping lounge, then kissing her, before he told her he’d be too busy to have dinner with her. Her drowsy brain had registered his words, then fallen back to sleep. 
When Minlim requested her company at dinner, Christa accepted, thankful for an excuse to leave her suite. She’d spent the majority of the day pacing her room, between intermittent bouts of self-pity. When Peecha delivered the advisor’s invitation, Christa willingly accepted, thinking she’d go mad if she had to eat one more meal alone. She wasn’t used to the non-activity associated with being a noble’s wife. What did Adarian women do all day? 
She was too curious about life, too naturally energetic to spend her hours watching the naturas in the garden blooming. Although she kept her greeting courteous, but short, Christa knew Minlim sensed she was glad to see him. He seated her at a small table on the balcony. 
Minlim filled her wineglass. “I am grateful for your company, my lady. Having your lovely face across the table from me will ease the memories of a very, long and tiring day.” 
“You don’t have to flatter me, Minlim. I’m so bored with being locked up in that elegant suite, I’d have dinner with a Gasparian, just to hear another voice,” Christa said, being her usual undiplomatic self. 
Minlim smiled. “I will endeavor to make the conversation interesting then.” 
“Just talk to me.” 
Christa took a sip of her wine, then glanced out over the balcony railing at the lights of Dacla. “Of course, after a few more days of being the Governor’s wife, I’ll probably be talking to myself. I’m going crazy sitting around all day with nothing to do.” 
“Lord Shatar’s sister occupies her time with art,” Minlim replied. “She is very talented.” 
“I’m not very artistic.” Christa shrugged. 
“How did you fill your time before coming to us, besides teaching at the academy, of course?” Minlim asked. 
“When I wasn’t with the children, I studied.” 
“What else?” 
“I’d spend time with Daran, when he wasn’t with Gloriana,” Christa answered, realizing her former life had been lacking in diversity. The uninterested way she was pushing the food around on her plate told Minlim more than her words. 
“Are you so unhappy here, my lady?” 
“I don’t know,” Christa said softly. “I feel like an android, waiting for its circuits to be activated.” 
“What would you like to do with the time you seem to find so abundantly on your hands?” Minlim asked sincerely. 
“I don’t know that, either,” Christa admitted, feeling more discontent by the moment. 
“Whatever dreams I had of helping my people rise above the prejudice they experience being second-class citizens have been squelched with reality. Until the son I’ve yet to conceive, assumes the dais of the Alliance, there seems little need for me to cling to my grand ideas of equality for my race.” 
“You think you have nothing to offer?” 
Christa put down her fork and frowned. “I think whatever I have to offer isn’t particularly wanted.” 
“Ahh,” Minlim mumbled. “My master’s inability to see past your lovely face makes you think he is unaware of your other qualities. I assure you, he is not.” 
“I think your loyalty keeps you from seeing past his arrogant nature,” Christa grumbled. 
Minlim’s round-about compliment didn’t make her feel any better about being ignored by the man who supposedly desired her above all others. The fact was her husband was too busy fulfilling his duties to the Alliance to care if his wife was bored and frustrated. 
Tactfully, Minlim changed the subject. By the end of the meal, Christa was surprised how much the Haodai knew about Earth. Her appetite returned as she debated the pros and cons of democratic government over the second course of dinner. When Peecha served a fluffy pudding, topped with crushed nuts and cream for dessert, Christa stopped listing all the reasons the Alliance would crumble if true democracy was instigated long enough to eat the sweet conclusion to their meal. 
“The Alliance is no longer the immature government it was centuries ago, Christa,” Minlim said, knowing he wouldn’t get the last word. “The first worlds to fall under Adarian rule were unfortunately conquered, but now any planet seeking admission does so willingly.” 
“What else can they do? The Alliance controls the trade routes, thus controlling the economical stability of a galaxy that is vast in size, but small in each planet’s ability to remain isolated. Each has become dependent upon the others. Pyrali wants Barmanian silver, Barmana wants Pyralian halamyte. Gaspria wants Mallesan oil, while Jyalians want anything the universe has to offer that will make their lives more pleasurable. Interdependence breeds more interdependence. I may not like the Ruling Council, but I’ve never said they were foolish.” 
Minlim smiled. “Your sharp mind has a quick tongue. But I cannot argue your conclusions. The only flaw in your logic is your concept that dependence is unacceptable. It is not. Each of us, either Gasparian or Earthling, needs another. The Creator did not make us solitary creatures to go about life in isolation. If that had been his inten-tion, he would not have bothered to make us so diversified.” 
“Perhaps he enjoys seeing us blunder about the universe,” Christa said. 
Minlim smiled. “I think he enjoys watching us overcome our differences.” 
Christa met the advisor’s diplomatic eyes. “I think our debate has advanced to incorporate a topic I would prefer not to discuss.” 
“If you wish, my lady,” Minlim replied. 
They finished the meal in silence. 
Christa bid Minlim goodnight, thanking him for the stimulating conversation. She returned to her room, followed by silent guards. The doors closed, sealing her inside. 

Chapter 16

Christa changed into her sleeping gown and robe. She was brushing her hair when the door to the mating chamber slid open. 
Her husband stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his green eyes clouded with fatigue. Christa was so surprised by his appearance, all she could do was stare. 
When she’d awakened next to her husband that morning, she’d hoped he’d carried her to his bed to offer the apology she deserved. But he hadn’t seemed the least bit remorseful over his deception. He’d taken away her personal freedom to choose. She had little control over the strenuous rules the Alliance imposed on her people, making her personal liberty even more precious. Was her husband’s Adarian head too thick or his noble heart too cold to understand how deeply he’d hurt her by robbing her of that freedom? 
“Would you like a glass of wine, my lord?” she asked, needing to say something to fill the silence. 
“Thank you,” he said, walking across the room and slumping into a chair. He stretched his legs out, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. 
Christa poured him a glass of sangra. He opened his eyes long enough to take the wine, then lifted the crystal goblet to his mouth before closing them again. He sighed as he lowered the goblet. The sound was as endearing to her ears as his sleepy smile had been at dawn, revealing a part of him normally hidden by gubernatorial duty and Adarian pride. 
“Did you enjoy your dinner with Minlim?” he asked, not opening his eyes. 
“Yes,” Christa replied, taking the empty glass from his hand and returning it to the table. She hoped he didn’t fall asleep in the chair. She’d have to summons the guards to put him to bed, something she was sure would do little to enhance his image as a warrior. 
“You need to sleep, my lord,” she whispered, returning to stand in front of him. 
One green eye opened reluctantly, looking at her. A second later he smiled, reaching out his hand. Christa took it, feeling the inner strength no amount of administrative obligation could siphon from him. 
“Then let’s sleep, cassana,” he said, standing up and pulling her to his side. He led her through the mating chamber, stopping once he reached his own suite. Moments later his uniform was tossed to the floor and she was being pulled back into his arms. He kissed her leisurely while his hands stroked up and down her back. He untied her robe, pushing it off her shoulders until it slid down her arms, pooling in a cloud of white at her feet. She could feel every inch of his body as he pressed her more firmly against him. Of their own volition, her arms wrapped around his neck, her mouth opening to give his tongue access. He groaned, deep in his throat. The kiss became more insistent, more demanding, brewing like a storm on the horizon. 
Christa gasped at the wild, exquisite pleasure the kiss sent surging through her body. Her hands clenched, her nails digging into the taut skin across his shoulders as Reuel’s mouth seemed to draw the very life from her. 
When he released her, Christa wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or disappointed. She was trying to decide, when he jerked back the fur coverlet and tucked her under it, getting in beside her. Another kiss, this one barely more than a brush of his lips, and he was asleep. 
Christa found herself staring at the ceiling, listening to her husband’s deep, even breaths, and wondering why she wasn’t upset over his presump-tuous action. Deciding she could wonder for a millennium and never understand, Christa snuggled closer to Reuel’s warmth and slept. 
Her eyes were rudely opened by a not-so-gentle slap on the bottom. Rain beat sedately against the windows as Reuel bent over her. His angular face revealed nothing in the dim light. His mouth brushed her cheek, lingering for a moment over her temple, then tracing her eyebrows. She closed her eyes again. 
“No, cassana,” he whispered. “Look at me.” 
She obeyed, not knowing why his husky tone compelled her eyes to open. His hair was tousled from sleep, falling to his shoulders in an ebony cloud of disarray that made him look like a little boy. His emerald eyes were still drowsy with sleep as he looked at her, his gaze becoming more intense as the morning light flooded the room with a colorless light. 
“I find I like your Earthling custom of husbands and wives sharing the same bed. You will continue to sleep with me,” he stated firmly as his hand moved from Christa’s thigh to her hip, then higher, teasing her breast to attention. 
“As my lord wishes,” Christa said forcing all feeling from her voice. It was the most difficult thing she’d ever done, Reuel’s hand was bringing her body awake. 
“Your lord wishes for you to stop playing the part of a disgruntled female,” he replied, raising up and glaring down at her, plainly annoyed. “It is no longer important why we married. What’s impor-tant is the fact that we are. It is time you put your frivolous ideas of equality and justice behind you. 
You are, and will forever be, the wife of an Adarian nobleman. You will come to accept our customs the same way you have learned to accept my touch. I will not have you staring at me with those dark, soulful eyes of yours feigning persecution.” 
“Perhaps not, my lord,” Christa said, her voice calm in spite of the feelings swelling up inside her like an ocean tide. “As you said, I cannot change that which is here and now, but that does not mean I have to like it. I will share your bed without the benefit of sense-enhancers. I will give you the children you have said you want, but I do not have to be who and what you demand. 
“You married an Earthling, Lord Governor, and no matter how many times you order me to be otherwise, I cannot change what the Creator’s hands molded.” 
“Then I must be satisfied with what I can do, cassana,” Reuel said roughly, before he claimed her mouth. 
The explicit kiss, meant to declare his dominance, grated at Christa’s already raw nerves. She stiffened in protest. 
Reuel changed the kiss. His mouth, hard and aggressive, became suddenly gentle. His hands moved over her body as light as a summer breeze, teasing her skin until she wanted to scream with frustration. 
When he pulled away from her, she realized he had no intention of finishing what he’d started. 
“If you behave yourself today, cassana, I’ll treat you to an afternoon away from palace guards and locked doors.” 
Christa squinted against the light filtering through the viewing panel. Reuel was lacing the dark tunic of his uniform. His eyes were once again shining with the confidence of a nobleman. She stared at him, suddenly reminded of their wedding day, when he’d stood so proudly on the plaza podium waiting for her to join him. The memory had a companion. She closed her eyes against the deception that had flavored their vows, turning sweet words into a sour aftertaste of trickery. 
“I do not recall misbehaving, my lord,” she retorted, more harshly than she’d intended as she clutched the coverlet to her bare breasts, shielding them from his view. “Unless, of course, you are referring to my dislike of your overbearing mannerisms and your arrogant method of twisting fate to your advantage.” 
Reuel stiffened, his fingers pausing momentarily over the laces of his tunic. His eyebrows rose, his face deepened into a significant scowl before he turned his back and walked across the room. He sat down, pulling on his boots, his movements too rapid to hide the anger she’d roused with her sharp tongue. 
“I thought to spend a few hours with you before I leave for the conference on Lyona Four,” he said dryly. “If you would prefer to spend another day confined to your room, then I will honor your preference.” 
Christa flinched with guilt. 
“I’d like a change of scenery,” she whispered, looking down at her hand knotted in the white fur. 
“Then you shall have one,” Reuel said, strolling to the bed and sitting down. Christa could feel the heat of his body through the thick covering that separated them. When he looked down at her, she felt the regret of her tart response replaced with the warm heat of his smile. 
“Where are we going?” she asked, her dark eyes narrowing suspiciously. 
“I think I’ll surprise you,” he said, bending down and placing a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. “If you’re wondering about our afternoon rendezvous, you might be too busy to scold Minlim again.” 
Christa frowned. “I was angry.” 
“Whatever Minlim is, he is not a slave to my whims. Whatever he did, or said, was because he believed it necessary at the time,” Reuel said, defending his friend. 
Christa didn’t elaborate that the real cause of her anger had been the dreams Minlim had planted with his talk of the future. Dreams that now seemed unattainable. 
Reuel looked into the velvety depths of his wife’s eyes and felt his chest gripped in the same sweet vise that had been squeezing him for the last week. 
“I will come for you as soon as my morning duties are fulfilled,” he whispered softly, bending down to brush a light kiss over her mouth. “Behave yourself until then.” 
Christa scowled at him to let him know she found his redundant references to her conduct unflattering. When he gave her a lop-sided grin in return, she turned over, offering him her back. His laughter, added to another firm pat to her bottom, was all the farewell she received. The doors closed behind him, leaving Christa filled with anticipation. 
Where was Reuel taking her, and why? 
It was customary to see Adarian men strolling with their wives in the plaza in the late afternoon, stopping in the shadows of Dacla’s crystal towers to barter with Gasparian merchants. Somehow Christa knew Reuel wasn’t planning on touring Dacla’s open park with her. She’d seen the anticipation in his emerald eyes as strongly as she’d felt it bubbling up from her own depths. 
Christa returned to her room, thinking of ways to keep herself occupied until Reuel came for her. She selected one of her favorite books, only to be interrupted by the communication monitor. Minlim’s voice requesting her presence in the governor’s parlor to see visitors surprised her. It had to be Daran and Gloriana. 
Remembering her cloak, a garment no respective Adarian wife would forget, Christa hurried to the door. She was fastening the shoulder clasps, when the door opened to reveal Minlim and two guards. Excited over seeing her friend again, over seeing anyone that didn’t belong to the disciplined environment of the Governor’s palace, Christa gave the two tall Adarian sentries a glowing smile and followed her husband’s advisor down the hallway. 
She entered the reception area expecting to see Daran’s smiling face. Instead, Christa found herself staring at two strangers. The men were Earthlings, but she’d never seen either of them before. She looked at them for a moment, then remembered her manners, nodding as they greeted her. Minlim stepped forward, his naturally diplomatic nature coming to Christa’s rescue. 
“My lady, these men are from the agricultural community of Orlina. They have requested an audience. This is Mister Simmons, Ghalayha’s farming superintendent, and his assistant, Mister Breley.” 
The two men didn’t look like farmers. Mister Simmons was overly plump with blue eyes and dark, brown hair streaked with gray. His assistant was taller, but not much younger. Mister Breley looked at her, then as if he’d done something he shouldn’t, he looked away, showing an unusual interest in the mural that decorated the room’s eastern wall. 
“Please sit down, gentlemen,” Christa said, wondering what the two men wanted of her. She sat across from them in a straight-backed chair made of dark wood, freshly polished by one of the palace’s many servants. 
“Thank you for seeing us, Lady Shatar,” Mister Simmons said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I hope we have not come at an incon-venient time.” 
Her visitor’s nervousness and his use of her title made Christa aware of her new position. She was the wife of the Governor of Pyrali. It wouldn’t be proper to tell him she’d only been reading to pass the time. “Seeing one of my people is never an inconvenience, Mister Simmons. What can I do for you?” 
Clearing his throat, Mister Simmons looked at Minlim, then seemed to find his courage. “The Feast of Belina is almost upon us, Lady Shatar. Our village won the lottery to host the event. We would be honored if you will conduct the opening ceremonies.” 
Christa was too stunned to reply. Minlim gave her a few minutes to recover from the shock of being asked to host the prestigious event by offering their guests some refreshments. While one of Peecha’s staff served herbal tea and fried pastries, Christa tried to remember where Ghalajha was located. Her visitors had to share at least half the village with Pyralians. No town, inhabited totally by Earthlings, could place their name in the lottery. 
The Feast of Belina was one of Pyrali’s oldest festivals. It honored the harvest season, begun when Pyrali’s third moon aligned with its largest sister. Shrouded in antiquity, the festival had evolved into a lavish celebration that lasted three days. To be asked to begin the festivities was an honor. 
Christa searched her memory for a time when the Feast had been opened by a female. She couldn’t think of one. She didn’t have to try and remember if an Earthling had ever conducted the opening commemoration, none had. Watching the two men watching her, Christa realized the impact her marriage to an Adarian of a noble house was already having on her people. She had, by design or deceit, become the leader of her race. 
Orlina was a Pyralian village, yet they had sent her own kind to speak with her. 
The burden of representing her race came crashing down on Christa. She’d desperately yearned for her people to be given the status of other Pyrali citizens. To find that happening, almost overnight, was staggering. 
“I would be honored to open the Feast of Belina,” she announced, sounding as proud as she felt. 
Mister Simmons and his up-to-now silent companion stood up. 
“When I heard our Governor was marrying an Earthling, I couldn’t believe it. Now that I’ve seen you, I understand why,” Mister Breley said, turning to Christa and giving her a wide smile that made his face seem years younger. 

“Beauty is something any man, regardless of his species, can appreciate.” 
Her husband’s deep voice made Christa swirl around. Reuel was standing in the doorway of the reception room, looking blatantly masculine. He walked toward her, moving with the muscular grace of an animal. He stopped next to her. Christa could feel the heat radiating off him the same way her visitors could feel the power he wore as easily as the silver cloak draped over his shoulders. 
Minlim introduced their guests, then motioned for the serving maid to pour Reuel a glass of wine. Christa stood silently by her husband’s side, wishing Adarian customs gave her the freedom to explain why the two men had requested an audi-ence. She was watching her husband out of the corner of her eye when she realized Reuel already knew the purpose of their visit. 
Mister Simmons wouldn’t have asked her to host the festival without consulting her husband first. Adarian customs strictly prohibited any man addressing another man’s wife without permission. 
“Our village will be honored to have the Governor and his wife at the Feast,” Mister Simmons said, hoping to turn Reuel’s attention from the man who’d improperly commented on the beauty of an Adarian’s mate. 
Reuel studied Mister Breley for a long moment before turning to their older guest. “I look forward to attending the festival.” 
“Thank you,” Mister Simmons said, nodding respectfully, then giving his assistant a look that said it was time for them to go. 
After the doors had closed behind her unexpected visitors, Christa turned to Reuel. He looked at her, his eyes slowly losing the displeasure they’d shown when he’d found her talking with two Earthlings. 
She smiled. “Thank you.” 
“The village petitioned me the day after our wedding. I thought you might enjoy the festival,” Reuel said, surveying her from head to toe. His gaze stopped for a moment at her breasts, then continued downward. 
Christa knew he was remembering how she’d looked with nothing but the faint light of dawn covering her skin. She flushed under his possessive gaze. 
Christa couldn’t help but think how wonderfully handsome he was. She found herself hoping he was going to take her for a walk in the public plaza. It was vain, she knew, to want the envious stares of other females to follow her as she walked by Reuel’s side, but she couldn’t stop the pride swelling up inside her at the thought that this magnificent man belonged to her. 
“Come, cassana,” he said softly, reaching out and taking her hand. “I promised you an afternoon away from the palace.” 
“You promised me many things, my lord,” she said, needing to remind herself that revealing her feelings would only add to her husband’s victory. 
Reuel looked at her. There was more to his wife’s remark than a softly spoken reminder that he’d lied to her. Her eyes were veiled by a deeper emotion. Wanting to find the key, Reuel ignored the insinuation and smiled. 
“This morning I promised you some time for us to talk,” he said, unaware that he was offering her what she wanted most. “If you still wish an outing, we will leave the embellished walls of the palace behind and enjoy the afternoon.” 
“I would like that very much, my lord,” she said softly. 
Christa reveled in the strong touch of his fingers clasped around her as she followed him out the door. By the time they reached the front gate she was bursting with curiosity. “Where are we going?” 
“There,” he told her, pointing toward the Saionge. 

Chapter 17

“We have a great deal to talk about,” Reuel replied, leading her toward the dock. “The Saionge is more conducive to conversation than a mating chamber.” 
Christa wasn’t sure if he’d just paid her a compliment or not. She held onto his hand as they walked through the palace gates, wondering what they had to discuss that required the sanctuary of the Governor’s sea coach. 
The craft was designed with the sleek elegance of a star cruiser. Once on board, Christa strolled around the massive desk while Reuel charted their course and programmed it into the computer that ran the watercraft. When he joined her on the pas-senger deck, she noticed they were lacking the guards who normally followed her husband everywhere. 
“I told Favian to keep his bodyguards at home,” Reuel said, sensing her surprise that they would be entirely alone. 
Christa smiled, relishing the freedom she’d been denied for so long. She stood beside Reuel, soaking up the beauty of the Dacla valley as the small craft glided soundlessly over the inland sea’s tranquil waves. The inland sea, normally busy with fishing crafts and small sailing ships, was uncrowded. Christa wondered if Reuel had ordered the fisherman and pleasure seekers ashore for the day. The translucent panels of the large sea coach would maintain their privacy. Christa felt herself blush when she realized she was assuming Reuel planned on mating with her again. Her thoughts were becoming as wanton as her body. 
Turning her attention to the foamy waves that lapped at the coach’s metallic sides, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the wind blowing over her face and neck. A loud squawk brought her eyes open to find a large black farin waving his wings at an intruding male. She laughed as the female farin, smaller, but boasting white tips on her black wings, strolled unconcerned by the water’s edge. 
Reuel turned toward her. He’d never heard Christa laugh without a hint of sarcasm to her tone. Her head was tilted back as though she was trying to absorb the sunshine. The soft sound of her laughter touched something deep inside him. Walking toward her, he realized she was watching the farins. 
“It seems the larger farin is having trouble con-vincing the female he is the better choice,” Reuel said, smiling as the smaller male darted under the larger one’s wing and headed for the female. 
“Most females want more than flapping wings,” Christa said, wondering if Reuel would ever let his thoughts go past his duty. 
“Hold on,” Reuel said, ignoring her remark. He reached out and punched several small buttons on the navigation panel. Christa tightened her hold on the railing as the sleek vessel picked up speed, leaving the dock and the Governor’s palace behind them. 
Reuel pulled her to his side as he switched the navigational command to manual and maneuvered the sea craft with the skill of a practiced pilot. Once they’d reached a more secluded part of the waterway, he slowed the sea coach to a more leisurely pace. 
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, still clinging to his hand as she turned around, feeling free for the first time in weeks. 
Christa watched clouds moving lazily across the sky, so close she thought she could touch them if she but reached out her hand. 
“Peecha prepared a meal for us,” Reuel said, using his free hand to return control of the sea coach back to the computer. “Are you hungry?” 
“Famished,” Christa said, letting go of his hand and reaching down to open the small cargo compartment that also doubled as a seat. Her husband hadn’t brought her to this majestic setting just to have lunch, but she wasn’t going to let the apprehension of not knowing his real purpose overshadow the beauty around her. Christa lifted the food container out of the cargo compartment and handed it to her husband. Reuel offered her his hand. She clutched it like a lifeline as he led her toward the center of the deck, covered by an opaque canopy. 
Christa made herself comfortable, watching her husband as he served the food Peecha had prepared for their special outing. When he handed her a glass of sangra, his eyes darkened. 
“There will be no angry words between us here, cassana,” he said roughly. “We will enjoy our meal, then we will say what must be said.” 
Christa didn’t like Reuel’s domineering tone or his choice of words. Whatever he thought needed to be said was undoubtedly going to prick her temper or he wouldn’t have warned her to keep it under control. 
“If you brought me so far away from another pair of ears so no one could hear me yelling, then you must intend to deliver another stirring lecture on the virtues of Adarian wives,” Christa replied dryly. 
“Eat,” Reuel said stiffly, putting a plate in front of her. His eyes promised retribution if she disobeyed him. 
Deciding she had all afternoon to engage in verbal warfare, Christa took the fork her husband offered and began eating. 
The food was delicious. Christa ate slowly, listening to the soft melody of the wind. No words passed between them until the meal was finished. Reuel poured her a second glass of wine, then packed the container, setting it aside. When he sat down across from her, his eyes dark and determined, Christa braced herself for another of his arrogant reprimands. 
“I will be leaving for Lyona Four as soon as I return you to the palace.” 
“I know,” Christa replied. “I also know you’re leaving Minlim behind to keep an eye on me. He told me this will be the first time you’ve attended a Ruling Council meeting without him. I suppose I should be flattered.” 
Reuel ignored the hint of sarcasm in her tone. He was determined that Christa understand what he expected of her while he was gone. He was also determined, for the sake of husbandly discipline, to make sure any flicker of rebellion she thought to weave during his absence was snuffed out. 
“While I am gone, you will remain in the palace,” he said, keeping his voice soft but firm. “Minlim is too old to go chasing about the planet looking for you.” 
“Why don’t you just lock me in a meditation chamber until you return?” Christa replied sullenly. 
“Are all Earthling females born as stubborn as you?” Reuel asked, suddenly angry with Christa on every front. The only time she wasn’t baiting his temper was when she was in his arms—the one place he didn’t intend for her to be until she understood he wasn’t going to be swayed by her sharp tongue. 
“Being out-spoken doesn’t make me stubborn,” Christa defended herself, remembering to keep her voice low. She didn’t want to argue, either. 
She wanted to talk to him, sharing more than her body. All he wanted to do was lecture her on what she could and couldn’t do. 
Reuel gritted his teeth. He should have known it wasn’t going to be easy to convince Christa that his restrictions were necessary. He was having a hard enough time keeping his hands off her. 
Struggling to maintain his resolve, Reuel continued listing his demands. “I will allow you a limited communication link. You may contact your students or your uncle, if you so desire. You may also have access to the library files. You may indulge your natural curiosity about galactic history while I’m away.” 
Christa was glad she’d be able to check on Yolanda and the other students. She missed their energy and enthusiasm. What she didn’t like was her husband’s intentional omission of Daran in his short list of people she could contact. 
“I’d like to talk to Daran.” 
“You know I cannot allow that,” Reuel said curtly. 
“He thinks the mining operations on the ocean bottom are a mistake,” Christa said, refusing to acknowledge the finality of Reuel’s tone. “There have been more quakes. Your engineers are explaining them away as nothing more than the ocean mantle shifting. I don’t think they want to admit they’re endangering the southern continent.” 
“That’s ridiculous. They are engineers, not fools. What would an Earthling know about mining halamyte?” 
He didn’t want to talk about Christa’s friend, and he certainly didn’t want to talk about mining. 
“Maybe nothing,” Christa replied smugly. “But he knows enough about Pyrali’s underwater mantles to be concerned that your mining lasers are damaging the integrity of the ocean floor.” 
“The engineers in charge of the mines are the best in the galaxy.” 
“Maybe,” she said sweetly. “And maybe they’re as arrogant as the rest of the Adarians I’ve met.” 
“There are three engineers in charge of the mines, only one of them is an Adarian,” her husband replied, his deep voice flowing on the wind as it brushed over the deck. “One is a Pyralian and the other is a Hatanian.” 
“They’re also anxious to please the Ruling Council,” Christa pointed out. “And what could please them more than halamyte?” 
“You think you know more than you do, cas-sana,” he replied, regaining his patience. His wife’s education was tainted by her narrow-minded view of the Alliance. She didn’t want to see the good in the empire, therefore, she didn’t. Reuel wasn’t angered by her perception. It was, to his way of thinking, purely female. 
“I know Daran isn’t a fool, and his ideas aren’t ridiculous,” she said fervently. “If he wasn’t an Earthling, you wouldn’t toss his opinion aside so lightly.” 
“I did not come here to discuss the imaginary prejudice you think everyone in the galaxy holds against Earthlings,” Reuel said angrily. “You are my wife, an Adarian wife. When are you going to stop pouting like a scolded child?” 
Christa gave him a piercing glare, then stood up. “The prejudice I feel isn’t imaginary. It’s real, and you know it. The only reason you got away with tricking me into marrying you was because my people are the only ones on this planet without the right of appeal to any authority higher than your own. You can tell me how open-minded and compassionate the Alliance is until you run out of breath, but that won’t change the fact that my people are tolerated, not accepted.” 
Reuel came to his feet. He towered over her, covering her in his shadow. “That’s enough,” he barked, his green eyes shooting fire. 
“Shouting at me to be quiet won’t change what I think or feel,” she snapped back at him. “Every time you demand something from me in that aristocratic tone of yours, you’re only confirming what you insist on denying. You think your Adarian blood is purer than mine. Well, it isn’t,” she continued, releasing a week of caged-up frustration. “Your thoughts don’t hold any more wisdom than an Earthling’s. Your heritage may be noble, but it doesn’t give you the right to take what isn’t yours. It doesn’t give you the right to decide what is or isn’t right for the rest of the universe.” 
Reuel listened as Christa laid the sins of the galaxy at his feet. He didn’t like being reminded that he had deceived her into marrying him. A deception he had felt necessary to gain the son his duty demanded he sire. Being reminded of his inability to father a child with a woman of his own race only added to his frustration. He reached out, jerking her against his chest, angered by her loyal defense of another man. Her loyalty belonged to him. Everything about her belonged to him. 
He didn’t think as he pulled her down with him onto the deck of the sea coach, his hands ripping at the lacing of her smock. 
Reuel saw the conflict in her velvety eyes. He’d seen it before, on their wedding night. Her eyes had held the same doubts moments before he brought her to her release. 
Christa struggled against him, trying to push him away. His mouth was hard, almost bruising, as it claimed hers. Then, as if he suddenly realized what he was doing, he broke the kiss, lifting his head and staring down at her with eyes that glowed with anguish and desire. She’d gazed up at him, confused by the unnerving passion. 
His warm body molded intimately against her, while the deck, cool and hard, pressed against her back. She lifted her hand, tracing the sensuous curve of his mouth, unable to look away from the intensity of the desire she saw burning in his eyes, wanting to understand the pain she saw reflected in their gold and green depths. Emotion surged through her, heightening her senses as he leaned down to take her mouth in a feverish kiss. Christa closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensual kiss. She lost herself in the deep, husky tones of Reuel’s voice as he told her over and over that she belonged to him. She submitted to the bold explo-ration of his hands and mouth as he undressed her. 
“You are mine, cassana,” he said fiercely, ripping at his uniform in his impatience to join his body to hers. “In this,” he said, his gaze roaming over her, hot and possessive, “we are equals.” 
Christa didn’t argue with him. He was right. She could debate the rights and wrongs of the universe with him, but she couldn’t deny him the one thing she wanted to give. Her body was aching, wanting, needing him so badly she closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip to stop herself from confessing how much. 
“Look at me,” Reuel ordered, tossing his tunic aside. 
Christa opened her eyes slowly, knowing she would see the passion that was her undoing reflected in his eyes. 
“You are mine, cassana,” he said, lowering his body over hers until she could feel every hard inch of him. “Admit it.” 
“Admit it,” he ordered, cradling her face in the palms of his hands as he slowly entered her, making her gasp with pleasure. He pulled away just as slowly, torturing her senses with his sensual retreat. She lifted her hips, not wanting to let him go. 
“Admit it.” He inched away from her. 
“I belong to you,” she moaned softly, reaching up to pull him down to her, meeting his hungry mouth with her own. 
He surged into her, filling her with his hard flesh. His mouth was demanding, tormenting her with kisses that made her ache. She forgot that they were in the Saionge Sea, forgot that she was an Earthling and the man holding her so passion-ately was everything she’d vowed to hate. All she knew was the ardent hunger of his body as it claimed hers, the heat of his mouth as he suckled on her breasts, the feel of his hands as they moved over her possessively, coaxing her toward the pinnacle of passion. 
It came, hurling her though space and time, shaking her body with tiny tremors. They began in the very core of her being, then moved outward, until she was sobbing, her nails digging into the bare flesh of Reuel’s’ back. He plunged into her again and again, intensifying her pleasure, then he grimaced with the same, pleasing pain. 
For a long, sweet moment she clung to his body, united as one soul. 
Slowly her breathing returned to normal. Christa felt the soft rhythm of the sea coach rocking them as the sky floated overhead. She closed her eyes, wanting desperately to hold the moment inside forever. 
Reuel rolled onto his back, bringing Christa with him. She moaned softly, pressing her cheek into the thick mat of hair that covered his chest, then raised her head to look at him, expecting to see another of his arrogant smiles. When he gave her a disgruntled frown, she laughed. 
“What have I done now that displeases you, my lord?” she asked, puzzling by Reuel’s expression. 
“I brought you here to talk,” he grumbled, holding her against him when she tried to pull away. “I did not plan on mating on the deck of my sea coach.” 
Christa laughed. 
“What is so amusing?” 
“You’re mad at me because you couldn’t control your supposedly non-existent Adarian temper,” Christa laughed again, reaching down to plant a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. “Is it my turn to lecture you on controlling your unpredictable behavior?” 
Reuel’s scowl deepened. “You’re the one at fault. If you didn’t insist on arguing with me, after I explicitly told you not to, I wouldn’t have lost control of anything.” 
“If you’d stop trying to make me into something I am not, we wouldn’t argue at all.” 
“You are my wife, by your own admission,” he said more harshly than he intended. His body was still humming with the intense pleasure of their lovemaking, but regardless of her passionate confession, Reuel knew he was no closer to making Christa accept her circumstances than he’d been an hour ago. 
Christa didn’t want to forsake the aftermath of their joining, but she couldn’t ignore the feelings of frustration that forced their way back into her mind. 
“If you told me why I’m your wife, I’d be able to understand what you expect from me,” she said, meeting his satiated eyes with her question-ing ones. “You didn’t have to marry me to get me into your mating chamber. You’re the most powerful man on this planet. You could have dragged me there, kicking and screaming, and no one would have stopped you. Why, Reuel? Why did you trick me into marrying you?” 
“Because, sweet cassana, I wanted you all to myself,” he said, sitting up and lifting her away from him. He stood up, gathering the garments he’d discarded wildly in his haste to mate with her. “I must confess my Adarian control seems to disappear at the sight of you. A weakness I find as difficult to explain as you do to understand,” he said, tossing her the white smock he’d practically ripped off her body. “As to why I married you, the explanation is simple enough. I want a son. Having met you, I agreed with Minlim that once your rebellious spirit is properly squelched, what remains would compliment my seed.” 
Christa pulled on the smock, then gathered the green mynara Reuel has tossed at her feet. She stood up, jerking on the underskirt and glaring at her husband’s back. “I hate to disillusion you, my lord, but Earthling spirits aren’t squelchable.” 
“My son will be Adarian,” Reuel said sternly. 
“Only half,” Christa retorted, fumbling with the lacings of her smock. 
Why couldn’t she remember her husband’s unbending arrogance when he was making love to her? Why did she constantly let down her defenses to feel the pleasure of his touch only to have the pain of his rejection come crashing down on her moments later? 
Reuel finished dressing in silence, hating the half-truths he felt compelled to give his wife. If she discovered the real motive for their marriage, she’d turn away from him so completely even the passion he could kindle in her would turn to cold ashes of contempt. He didn’t know when it had happened, or how, but Christa had reached a part of him he’d thought nonexistent. Something bound him to her, something stronger than sexual desire or masculine pride, something that tightened in his chest, taking his breath when he thought of her willing body turning as cold as her insults. 
Reuel turned around, watching her straighten her clothing. His eyes were drawn to the soft breasts he’d suckled, his mind imagining a child in his place. Was his seed already growing, or had he planted it today? He hoped so, although his motive wasn’t as clear as before. 
The Alliance was waiting for his son, but he found himself wanting a child regardless of the empire’s needs. Fastening his cloak, Reuel stepped up behind her, his arms encircling her, his hands finding the soft mound of her stomach. 
“Must we spend our lives naked in a mating chamber for there to be peace between us, cas-sana?” 
Christa stiffened under the gentle caress, then relaxed against him, asking herself the same question. “It would seem so, my lord. I fear the only time my doubts are dulled is when you hold me in your arms.” 
Christa waited breathlessly, wondering what affect her words would have on her husband. His hands tightened over her abdomen, then relaxed, moving up to cup her breasts. His breath was warm against her throat as he brushed his lips over the edge of her ear. 
“As are mine,” he whispered, nibbling the tip of her ear before pulling her tightly against his chest. 
Christa could feel his lungs expanding, taking in the cool air from the sea. His musky scent lingered on the soft breeze, reminding her of their joining. At that moment, Christa wanted nothing more from life than to stay in Reuel’s strong arms, forgetting everything but the security of his embrace. But it was not to be. She couldn’t forget, and he couldn’t change. 
Turning around to face him, she looked into eyes burning with as many unanswered questions as her own. “I do not wish there to be disharmony between us, my lord, but I am as helpless to control my Earthling curiosity as you are to control your Adarian arrogance. It would seem our compatibility is limited to the physical.” 
Reuel met her dusky gaze, drowning in the softness of eyes still glowing from the pleasure he’d given her. 
“Then let it be enough.” 
“I can’t,” she whispered, fighting back tears. “It isn’t enough. It will never be enough.” 
Reuel released her, his eyes flat, his jaw clenched. “It is all I can give you.” 
“I know,” Christa mumbled weakly. 
There was no victory in his wife’s defeated tone, only a deep aching that seeped through his bones, leaving an empty feeling in its wake. 
Reuel went taut. Dragging in a long, steadying breath, he stepped back. “It is time for us to return to the palace.” 
Christa nodded, turning her attention to the clasps that held her cloak in place. Her hands were trembling. Reuel pushed them aside, seeing to the task himself, then turned and walked toward the navigator panel. 
The sun was setting, flooding the valley in currents of red and gold that seemed to set fire to the very air. She stood staring at the beauty of the world she had every right to call home, but couldn’t. 
Christa shivered, although the summer air was warm. The only place she felt at home, the only haven that offered her security, was the circle of her husband’s arms. 
Reuel watched her. The blank expression on her face gripped at his heart like a steel talon. No female had ever made him flinch with guilt, or mourn the effects of his words. Why did this one? Why did her stubborn pride call to him, first to dominate, then to heal? Turning her around to look at him, Reuel kept his hands on her shoulders, needing to feel her again. “Will you do as you must while I am gone?” 
Christa sighed. “Do I have a choice, my lord?” 
“No,” Reuel said, wishing it could be otherwise. 
Christa lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. Eyes that had once glared at him, thunderously daring and bold, were now clouded by subjugation. Reuel felt his chest tighten, threatening to crush a heart that beat with a purpose which had nothing to do with sending his blood through his veins. 
For what seemed an eternity, they stared at each other, Christa feeling the pain of love instead of its joy, her husband hating, for the first time in his life, the duty that called him away. 
The palace guards secured the sea coach while Reuel escorted Christa to her chambers. 
“I must go,” he said, wishing he didn’t feel like he was deserting her. 
“Give your father my regards,” Christa said, her voice respectful, but cold. 
Reuel lifted her face to his, holding it in place while he claimed her mouth in a fierce kiss. “Have mercy on Minlim and behave yourself, cassana.” 
He stepped back, leaving her slumped against the doorway, fighting the tears that filled her eyes as she watched him walk away. 

Chapter 18

“Would you like a cup of kafae, Lord Shatar? We won’t dock on Lyona for another six hours,” Favian said, filling two cups before Reuel could reply. 
Reuel turned away from the cruiser’s viewing port. He’d spent the last two hours staring at the black void of the eastern sector, his wife’s image dancing through his head in an endless ballet of confusion and longing. 
“Perhaps you should have brought Lady Shatar with you, my lord,” Favian said. 
Reuel gave his second in command a warning glance, then sipped the hot beverage. “The trade conference is too important to risk having my Earthling wife disrupt it with her charming wit.” 
“Am I wrong in assuming you would prefer otherwise?” 
“No,” Reuel conceded reluctantly. “I have never met a more unsettling female. Yet, I find myself missing the sting of her defiant tongue.” 
“Good,” Favian said, sounding very pleased. 
“I would like to know what good you find in my thoughts being so distracted that I do not know if the cruiser is charted for Lyona Four or Lisan Two?” Reuel grumbled as he began pacing the length of his spacious cabin. 
“It is good to know you are happy with her,” Favian explained patiently, knowing his command-ing officer didn’t have any idea that he’d fallen in love with the dark-eyed Earthling. Lady Shatar had charmed the palace with her beguiling smile and flaring emotions. 
“Happy,” Reuel growled. “If happiness is fearing the planet I rule will be seething with revolution when I return, then I am happy. If worrying that my lovely bride will be the death of my advisor before I can return and relieve him of the duty of overseeing her irrational behavior, then I am a very happy man.” 
Favian laughed. “She will settle down once she has a babe. All females are restless until they fulfill the Creator’s purpose.” 
“I doubt a dozen babes will settle my unruly wife,” Reuel rasped. 
“Then let us hope siring them will settle your restlessness,” Favian chuckled. “Half the crew is cringing in fear of whose head your temper will sever next.” 
“When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed,” Reuel gritted. “They handled the launch as though they were putting a mining shuttle into space, not an imperial starcruiser.” 
Favian chuckled. “Perhaps your reluctance to leave your wife has something to do with your displeasure at leaving Pyrali behind in the wake of our thrusters?” 
“She is a wife, nothing more,” Reuel snapped, pouring himself another cup of kafae. If Favian wasn’t one of his best officers, he’d have him confined to a penal cell for being insubordinate. The fact that the junior officer’s words rang so closely to the truth only made Reuel’s temper flare higher. 
“Unless you have nothing better to do than console your commanding officer,” Reuel said, turning around and giving Favian a cold stare. “I suggest you return to the bridge and make sure your competent crew doesn’t fly us into a meteor storm.” 
Favian nodded curtly, then left. As Reuel found himself alone, once again, a haunted sense of regret flared in his chest. His entire life had been dedicated to the Alliance, to his role as eldest of his house. He knew nothing else, had wanted nothing else, until he’d met Christa. Now, staring at the muted blaze of stars hurling past the starcruiser as though they were racing toward the center of the universe, he wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. 
Doubt was an alien emotion in his gut, twisting him in bands of uncertainty, slowly growing stronger than the duty that had, until now, been the focal point of his life. 
What was he to do? He couldn’t release Christa from the vows they’d spoken publicly, nor did he want to release her. He couldn’t cure the malady that had cursed his seed with infertility if planted in the womb of an Adarian female. Would telling Christa that the freedom she’d cursed him for stealing didn’t belong to him either, make the pain of his deception less sharp? 
No, Reuel decided. It would serve no purpose to tell her more than she already knew. Favian was right. Christa would eventually accept her fate, just as he had to accept his. 
The Alliance needed his son. 
To allow the pain in his wife’s dark eyes, or the cold acceptance of her whispered words to distract him from his duty to the empire was to forget who and what he was. He couldn’t allow that to happen, no matter the cost to Christa’s pride. 
For the briefest moment, Reuel saw the anguish in his own eyes reflected in the dark panel of the viewing port. Then, calling himself a sentimental fool, he turned away. His life, once orderly and focused, had become suddenly complex. Emotions spawned by an alien with velvet eyes and a body that fit his to perfection were slowly driving him to the brink of insanity. 
It had to stop. 
His father was waiting on Lyona Four. He had obligations that required his total concentration. The Ruling Council was to vote on the entry of another planet into the Alliance. He had no time to waste, staring into space, mulling over the incomprehensible workings of a female’s mind. 
Duty called. 
Christa sat listlessly on the balcony, watching the moons rise over the Saionge and missing Reuel more with each glimmering wave of light that reflected off the sea’s tranquil water. It had been almost a week since he’d left her with the lingering taste of his kiss and a whispered order to behave. A week that seemed like an eternity. 
Walking back into the chamber, she offered Peecha a weak smile as she sat down to dinner. Minlim had joined her for the evening meal every night since Reuel’s departure, but he’d sent his regrets tonight, telling her he had to attend a Daclaan Council meeting. Christa ate her meal alone, her only company was Peecha as she served her in silence. 
“Your appetite declines each day our master is away,” Peecha rebuked her softly, taking away the plate still filled with food and replacing it with a smaller one that held Christa’s favorite fruits. “It is not good.” 
“I’m sorry,” Christa said, forcing herself to eat. 
“Once Lord Shatar returns you will feel better,” Peecha replied, turning toward the bathing chamber to draw Christa’s bath. 
Christa stared after her, wishing Reuel’s presence was all she missed. She seemed to be burdened with so many wants, her shoulders ached carrying them. She missed jousting with Daran, debating political issues and laughing when he told her she was too stubborn to concede on the slightest point. She missed the enchanting smile on Yolanda’s young face and the thousand questions the tiny Egonian always seem to have swirling around in her head. She missed having the freedom to stroll across the plaza, stopping to buy a cup of herbal tea and then enjoying it under the shade of the city’s towering Elamaso trees. She missed the person she had been, and would never be again. 
But most of all she missed the man who had tricked her into marriage then stolen her heart. She missed Reuel’s arms wrapped possessively around her while she slept. She missed his frosty stares and disapproving frowns. She missed his arrogant smiles and his heart-throbbing kisses. 
Deciding she could brood just as easily in a tub of warm water as she could staring at a half-eaten plate of fruit, Christa followed Peecha into the bathing chamber. Later, she settled under the thick fur of her sleeping lounge and stared at the ceiling. It was almost midnight when she gave up trying to force her body to rest. Reaching for her robe, Christa sat down at the computer console her husband, in his generosity, had ordered activated. She called up a history file on Hatania and began reading. 
Bored with history, Christa began scanning the computer’s main file for anything that seemed interesting. If she was going to fulfill the role of ambassador for her people, beginning with the opening ceremonies for the Feast of Belina, she needed to learn all she could about the Alliance. Several files, undoubtedly the most interesting, were guarded. 
As persistent as she was curious, Christa kept trying to access the main index, hoping that she’d eventually get lucky and find a way past the security locks. She was about to return to the academic files when she got lucky. 
Within seconds she had the entire Pyralian library at her disposal. Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity before she was discovered, Christa poured herself a glass of wine and began reading. She’d never realized how many com-munication memos passed between the Ruling Council and her husband. It seemed the High Cadish preferred comments from all his advisors before rendering a decision. 
After several hours of reading Reuel’s private communiqués, Christa realized her husband’s opinion was highly valued by his peers. They sought his advise on numerous topics, often delaying a decision until they consulted with him. The communication files told her a lot about the Governor of Pyrali, but little about the man she’d married. 
Nothing in her husband’s private memos hinted at the reason he’d taken an Earthling bride. Although, there had been numerous congratulatory messages, his replies had been courteous, but impersonal. The puzzle was still unsolved, and would continue to be, until either Reuel revealed his true reasons for forcing her into marriage, or she could decipher the riddle herself. 
She knew the main reason any Adarian nobleman married was to maintain the circle of power founded on the prolongation of his house. Knowing Reuel’s son would ascend to the dais of the Ruling Council, and knowing her husband’s sense of duty to the empire, Christa could accept the plausibility of him marrying for no other reason than to beget an heir. Still, logic would dictate that he marry a female of his own race. 
Closing her eyes to soothe the headache she felt coming on, Christa remembered the medical scans she’d been subjected to during her confine-ment in the Penal Quarters. She’d assumed the first scan was simply routine procedure. The second and third had been more intense. She’d been so preoccupied with being jailed, and the possible fate that awaited if convicted of treason that she hadn’t asked why the other scans had been run, nor had she been told their results. 
Christa started searching the computer files for her own name. Finally, after several dead ends, she found her file. She was amazed to see how thoroughly she’d been investigated. The normal personal and biological files she’d seen on students being enrolled at the academia hadn’t been as detailed. No wonder her husband thought he knew her so well. There wasn’t a single incident in her life that wasn’t listed. Her medical history was even more detailed. When she read the results of the genetic testing, Christa choked on the bittersweet emotions its results revealed. 
Reuel hadn’t married her because he’d desired her. He’d married her because her womb would accept the seed no Adarian female’s body would nurture. 
Christa sat numbly, staring at the answer to her riddle. She wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. Fate had tricked her husband as cruelly as he’d tricked her. 
Lord Shatar had married her, taken her to his bed, made love to her, not out of desire, but out of duty. His unwavering allegiance to the empire had aroused his manhood, not the woman he’d professed to desire above all others. 
Christa didn’t know what hurt the most. Knowing Reuel didn’t want her, had never wanted her, or knowing she was being used like a breeding incubator. He hadn’t only stolen her personal freedom, he’d used her in the vilest way a man could use a woman. He’d enslaved her, lowered her to the level of a biological drone, all because her body could give him what he wanted—an heir for the mighty Alliance. 
Christa stood up, her fists clinched with outrage, tears of humiliation running down her face. How could she have been so stupid? Through all the anger and confusion, she’d let the small hope of love live. She’d nurtured it with dreams, fed by Minlim’s prophecies of happiness, letting herself believe that one day Reuel could come to love her. She’d even convinced herself to try and accept her new life, hoping to win some small crumb of affection from him. 
When she’d suggested that afternoon on the sea coach that their compatibility was physical, she hadn’t known how close to the truth she’d been. 
But Reuel had. 
He’d known from the moment he’d walked into her penal cell that she could give him a child. He’d manipulated her from the very beginning. Every word he’d spoken had been a lie, every kiss filled with deception, every caress only a means to gain a goal. The memories of their lovemaking, once joyous, now held only shame. 
Knowing what she knew now, that the bite of an insect, not fate or divine plotting, had placed her into Reuel’s passionate arms, Christa didn’t know whom she hated more—herself for being a naive fool, or her husband for using her folly against her. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the memory of his gentle touch, wanting to forget the soft words he’d whispered while he’d seduced her senses. Had he taken a drug, forcing his manhood to perform the unpleasant deed of coupling with an alien? 
Numb with anger, Christa walked back to the computer console. She was reaching for the glass of wine she’d poured earlier when she saw it begin to quiver, sliding toward the table’s edge. She picked it up, then felt the floor shaking under her feet. Moments later, the faint trembling stopped. She looked around her. The janiber lamps were swaying, but the air was still. The fur coverlet had slipped off the bed, laying on the floor, along with the book she’d put aside earlier in the evening. 
She was punching in the communication code to Minlim’s quarters, when the advisor’s face flashed across the computer screen. 
“My lady, are you all right?” 
“I’m fine, Minlim. What in the name of Pyrali’s three moons is happening?” she asked, her husband’s betrayal forgotten for the moment. 
“Peecha is on her way to your chambers, my lady,” Minlim said, not answering the question that had Christa’s eyes wide with concern. “Please dress as quickly as you can, you must leave the palace immediately.” 
“Why? What’s wrong?” Christa insisted, pulling her robe closer to warm herself against the chill of fear creeping up her spine. 
“I will explain everything to you once we are on board the Korana.” 
“That’s a starcruiser,” Christa said, feeling the floor begin to tremble again. She reached for the console table, supporting herself, while the building quivered around her. The glass she’d returned to the table slid off the edge, shattering on the tile floor. 
“Please, my lady,” Minlim urged. “Dress quickly, the guards will escort you to the launching bay.” 
The screen went blank, leaving Christa alone with her fear. She hurried to the chest at the end of her bed, jerking it open and pulling out a green smock and mynara. Tossing her robe on the floor, she began dressing. Something was wrong with Pyrali. So wrong the very ground was shaking with indignation. 
Christa was braiding her hair when Peecha came into the chamber. The servant, normally the epitome of composure, began scurrying about the room, packing what her mistress would need on the cruiser. 
“Come, my lady, the guards are waiting,” Peecha urged, waving her toward the door as she picked up the gold cloak that proclaimed Christa’s rank. 
The moment Christa stepped outside her chamber she was surrounded by a dozen palace soldiers. She followed them, her fear of the planet’s unexpected behavior dispelling her renewed dislike of anyone Adarian. 
“Do not fear, my lady,” the oldest of the guards said as he helped her into the aircoach that would take them to the military launch bay where the Korana was waiting. “No harm will come to you.” 
The guard stepped in beside her, making room for another at her back, then eased the anti-gravity craft forward. Christa gasped in disbelief as they glided north up the banks of the Saionge. She could see Dacla, swaying in the darkness, its crystal towers quivering in the lights of the janiber lamps that lit its massive plaza. The buildings were moving, swinging back and forth like glass goblets on an unsteady serving tray. She heard herself scream as the tallest building pitched to the right, then crashed into the plaza. 
“The people,” she cried out, knowing at this hour of the night everyone would be in their beds. 
“We are evacuating everyone we can,” the guard replied, his eyes focused on their destination. The military launch pad was several miles north of the city. 
“There’s not enough time. They’re all going to die,” she wailed in a soft whisper of desperation, watching another towering complex of crystal shatter behind them. 
“I must get you to safety,” the guard said, ignoring what was happening around him. His orders had been explicit. Under no circumstances was he to stop to aid anyone until Lord Shatar’s wife was safely abroad the starcruiser. Every sol-dier on Pyrali had been called to alert at the first tremor. 
The quakes had started on the southern continent, working their way north. The mining facilities in the Icarian Sea had exploded. The coastal com-munities were sure to feel the blunt of the sea’s anger within the hour. They would save those they could. The rest of the population had been warned to take shelter on the inland plateau. 
Christa watched, speechless. The aircoach she occupied was circled by six others, hovering so close, she could reach out and touch them. The night sky was filled with Alliance aircraft; air-coaches like the one she was traveling in, taking as many citizens as they could hold to safety. Cargo transports, large enough to hold hundreds of people, moved sluggishly toward the military base. 
Christa was amazed that the airships, filling the heavens above her, weren’t crashing into one another. She knew the empire had always main-tained a large fleet on Pyrali for defense, but she hadn’t realized just how massive the fleet was, until she saw them dotting the night sky, blocking out the planet’s three moons with their bulk. 
Looking down at the Saionge, Christa felt her stomach clinch with fear so intense it almost brought her to her knees. No matter how many imperial ships filled the sky, there weren’t enough to hold the entire population of Pyrali. The water below her suddenly surged upward, splashing over the edge of the aircoach and wetting her feet. 
The guard cursed out loud, then turned the aircraft, lifting it over the angry waves that lapped at the banks with a vengeance born deep in the planet’s bowels. 
Christa held her breath, fear pooling in her belly, then creeping into her throat until she thought she’d be sick. Seconds later, the military base was in front of them. Alliance soldiers were everywhere. She could hear orders being shouted, aircraft directed to land while others were dis-patched to the city to evacuate more people. She felt herself being pulled from the aircoach, then lifted, carried like a child in the arms of her Adarian guardian. 
“This is Lady Shatar.” 
Her identity opened a wall of bodies, allowing them entry. Christa looked at the large, looming shadow of the Korana as it sat on the flat platform of the empire’s largest fortress. She was carried up the boarding ramp, then set on her feet, only to have another guard, this one younger, but just as determined to obey his orders, pulling her down a narrow corridor toward safety. He nodded respectfully, then pushed her inside a cabin, leaving her staring at him as the doors closed in her face. 
“Come, my lady, you are safe now.” 
Christa swirled around to find Minlim. He was pouring her a cup of herbal tea, his silver robes hanging gracefully from his slender shoulders, his voice a thousand times calmer than the chaos she’d just witnessed. 
“What happened?” Christa asked, her hands knotted in the cloak Peecha had tossed over her shoulders before giving her over to the guards. 
“We are not certain,” Minlim said, handing her the cup of tea. “There was an explosion in the Icarian facility. Less than an hour later, the first quake was felt on the southern continent. Apparently, the ocean floor has cracked from the stress of being mined.” 
Christa closed her eyes. “I knew it. Daran said it would happen sooner or later.” 
Thinking of her friend, Christa’s eyes widened with panic. “We have to get Daran and Gloriana out of the city.” 
“All is well, my lady,” Minlim assured her with a calming smile. “His sector is being evacu-ated now, and your uncle has already gone. He’s on board one of the cargo ships.” 
“The children,” Christa moaned, relieved to find out her uncle and friends were safe, but remembering the students who’d become her second family. 
“The schools were the first to be evacuated. Do not worry. They are safe.” 
“Thank you,” Christa mumbled, slumping into the cushioned chair by the door. “But it’s too late. If Daran had been allowed into the Engineering Bureau, instead of being ostracized because he was an Earthling, he might have been able to prevent this.” 
She didn’t say that the prejudice her friend had suffered was only another example of the bigotry her people were forced to endure. Her husband’s selfish scheme, momentarily forgotten in the panic of having the planet fall apart under her very feet, came racing back into Christa’s mind. Her Adarian husband and his advisor hadn’t thought twice of using her to gain their objective. After all, she was only an Earthling. And a female. Her feelings were of little consequence. 
“Our scientists think the worst of the quakes will be over by morning. You are safe now,” Minlim said, hoping his words offered a small degree of comfort. “Lord Shatar will be concerned about you. I must send him a message and assure him you are all right.” 
“By all means assure my noble husband that my womb is intact,” Christa replied dryly. “I doubt his concern goes beyond that.” 
Minlim gave his mistress an accessing glance. “You are tired and frightened.” 
“Yes,” Christa said wearily. “But I’m also well aware of the reason Lord Shatar forced me to marry him.” She returned Minlim’s seeking stare. “You should tell your palace librarian to be more diligent. The files weren’t all that difficult to access.” 
Minlim considered defending his master’s actions, then decided any explanation he could offer would only add to the anger he felt flowing from his mistress. The situation on Pyrali had to take precedence over anyone’s personal needs. 
Once the crisis had past, his master and Christa would have to face the reality of their feelings for one another. 
“What are we going to do?” Christa asked, thinking of the thousands of people left on Pyrali who wouldn’t be able to escape the planet’s wrath. 
“We will orbit the planet until we receive orders from Lord Shatar. A message was sent to Lyona Four seconds after the explosion was reported. Lord Shatar’s starcruiser is the fastest in the fleet. He should arrive before the end of the day.” 
As much as Christa didn’t want Minlim’s words to reassure her, they did. 
She nodded, then leaned back and closed her eyes. She was probably overloading Minlim’s psychic circuits with her thoughts. Mixed in with the anger she’d felt since discovering the true motive for her husband’s desire, was the anguish she felt for a world falling needlessly apart. 
The Alliance, in its greed for the minerals buried on the ocean bottom, was the reason Pyrali was suffering. Christa felt another tremor as the Korana rose off the launch pad, hovering momentarily like a giant, metallic moth, then surging forward. She watched as the night sky of the planet was replaced by the utter blackness of space. 
“Babbling Gasparians,” Reuel grumbled, lifting his wine goblet. He met his father’s amused eyes across the table. 
“For all their jabbering, they’re the keenest merchants in the galaxy,” Kendrick Shatar said. 
“I don’t belittle their skill as traders,” Reuel muttered. “But do they have to tell everyone with a pair of ears how wonderful they are.” 
Kendrick Shatar laughed, his eyes, a shade lighter than his son’s, gleaming with mirth. “Why don’t you stop complaining about our valued allies, and tell me about the Earthling you chose as your wife.” 
Reuel sighed and glanced around the room. He and his father were waiting for the starcruiser to begin its journey toward Adara; the conference finally concluded, and its talkative members dispatched. Reuel was overdue on his home-world, but the Cadish had insisted he stay for the duration of the trade agreements, before traveling to Adara and the Council meeting. The delay hadn’t been welcomed. Reuel wanted to conclude his administrative duties and return to his wife. A wife he’d avoided discussing with his father until now. 
“She’s as beautiful as she is troublesome,” Reuel confessed, looking at the man who had taught him responsibility and duty. 
“So I’ve heard,” Kendrick replied, giving his son a wary look. “So beautiful I find my son daydreaming when he should be listening to the conference speaker.” 
Reuel grimaced at being chastised like a child. “I grow impatient to find my way to Adara.” 
“You grow impatient to find your way back to your wife,” his father said, giving him the smug look of a man who wasn’t easily fooled. 
“I have the duty of siring the next ruler of the Alliance,” Reuel defended himself. “I cannot do that if I am away from the female who will bear him.” 
“I think you are more anxious to plant the seed than to see it grow to completion,” Kendrick said, teasingly. “But why choose an alien for your wife? We had thought you would announce for Katala.” 
Reuel sipped his wine. When he’d discovered his disability to sire a child with a female of his own species, he’d decided to deal with his shame alone. There was nothing to gain by sharing it with his father. “I found Christa curiously appealing.” 
His father lifted a dark brow. “I’ve never met an Earthling, but I understand they stray toward impulsiveness.” 
Reuel laughed. “Christa thrives on rebellion. She rants about equality for her race and its females.” 
“You cannot allow her to be disruptive,” his father warned. 
“Unless I want to lock her in a meditation chamber for the rest of her life, I fear I don’t have much choice,” Reuel said, echoing the words Christa had once raved at him in anger. 
“Well, she can’t be all that threatening or you wouldn’t be smiling,” Kendrick Shatar said, chuckling. 
Reuel smiled. “She can be pleasing at times.” 
“Then she pleases me as well,” his father said sincerely. “Although I fear I will have to visit Pryali and make sure my grandson doesn’t become more Earthling than Adarian.” 
“Then plan on visiting soon,” Reuel said confidently. “If she isn’t already carrying my child, she will be, as quickly as my duties on Adara are seen to and I return to Pyrali.” 
“I pray the Creator will allow me to live long enough to see him ascend to the dais,” Kendrick commented. 
“He will need the wisdom only his grandfather can teach him,” Reuel replied. 
“Whatever he needs he will glean from his sire,” Lord Kendrick said confidently, reaching out and refilling his son’s glass. 
Reuel frowned. “I have known my duty since the day you took me to the Ruling Chamber and taught me the genealogy of the House of Shatar. But now that it grows near, I find myself wondering what I can teach my son that will enable him to rule an empire.” 
Kendrick smiled. “Teach him to be a man of integrity. Anything else he requires will follow.” 
Reuel flinched mentally. He’d set aside his own integrity when he’d deceived Christa, holding the non-existent threat of exile over her head. 
“How will you vote on the admission of Ardonia?” Lord Kendrick asked. 
Before Reuel could answer, the door to his cabin opened. His second in command came rushing into the room. One look at Favian’s expression brought Reuel to his feet. 
“What is it?” 
“A communication alert from Pyrali, my lord. The planet is suffering a severe series of quakes. Your return is requested immediately.” 
Reuel felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “My wife?” he demanded hoarsely. 
“The alert did not speak of Lady Shatar,” Favian replied, then softened his voice. “But Minlim will make sure she is safe. He will give his life to do so.” 
Reuel nodded, knowing his advisor would have seen to Christa’s safety at the first sign of any danger. “Turn the ship around, chart a course for Pyrali, and don’t worry about overtasking the thrusters. I want to reach Dacla as quickly as possible.” 
Turning, Favian left as quickly as he came. 
“You will be meeting my bride sooner than you expected,” Reuel said, looking at his father. 
“I will contact the Ruling Council,” Kendrick said, walking toward the console at the opposite end of the room. “There will be a fleet of relief ships launched within the hour.” 
Reuel swallowed the bile raising in his throat at the thought of Christa being in danger. All he’d been able to think about for days was their last hours together. Christa’s accusation that he con-sidered her and her race inferior was still ringing in his ears. He was still battling with the riot of emotions she’d evoked by finally admitting she was his. He hadn’t wanted to leave her. 
He shouldn’t have left her. 
The fear and guilt eating at Reuel’s heart kept him from hearing himself moan Christa’s name. 
“Calm yourself, my son,” Kendrick Shatar said gently, crossing the room to place a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. “You must believe she is safe. Until you can be with her yourself, keep your mind occupied with what must be done for your people.” 
Reuel went to the bridge to begin directing the largest rescue effort the Alliance had ever seen. Ships from every sector were re-routed to the suffering planet. Reports of the damage coming over the communication links, telling of cities tumbled into ruins while Pyrali’s fertile valleys were being ripped apart by the last of the violent tremors made Reuel’s heart pound with fear. 
Christa! His beautiful, defiant rebel. His wife. 
Reuel prayed she was safe, prayed he’d be able to tell her what he knew now with absolute certainty. 
He loved her. 

Chapter 19

When Reuel reached Pyrali, he ordered his starcruiser to join the hundreds of smaller ships orbiting the planet. The worst of the tremors had stopped, although reports from the planet’s surface spoke of smaller quakes that were still wrenching the fragile world. 
“Find my advisor,” he ordered Favian. The young officer was scurrying around the navigation deck, trying to make sense of the hundreds of distress calls coming through the communication module. 
“I’m trying, my lord. The frequencies are flooded with alarm calls.” 
“Patience, my son,” Kendrick Shatar said quietly. He hadn’t left Reuel’s side since they’d learned of the disaster. 
Reuel nodded, knowing he couldn’t clear the communication channels by sheer will. Thousands of people were screaming for help. He felt each cry as though it was coming from his own throat. 
He paced the command room for another hour. Finally, Favian smiled and waved him toward the monitor. 
“Is my wife safe?” Reuel asked the moment Minlim’s tranquil face filled the viewing screen. 
“She is well, my lord,” the advisor replied, sensing his master’s fear through the void of space that separated the two starcruisers. 
“I’m shuttling over,” Reuel replied, anxious to see for himself. 
“Perhaps it would be better if I came to you, my lord,” Minlim inserted. “The Korana is crowded with refugees from Dacla.” 
Reuel sensed there was more to deal with than the planet below them. Relenting, he ordered his advisor aboard the command ship as quickly as possible. “And bring whatever’s left of the prestigious Mining Bureau with you.” 
A short time later, Minlim was standing on the deck of the Quantra. 
“What happened and why?” Reuel demanded, looking at the group of guilt-ridden engineers standing behind his advisor. 
A tall Pyralian stepped forward. “The ocean mantle cracked under the strain of the lasers, Lord Governor. The Icarian facility exploded, ripping the hole even larger. Until the molten core, seeping into the ocean bottom, seals the hole, there is little we can do but wait.” 
“Did you know you were endangering the integrity of the ocean floor?” Reuel barked, wanting to lash out at someone for the destruction he’d found upon his return. 
“We thought the mantle would hold, my lord,” the Pyralian replied, looking at the tips of his boots. 
“I ought to have the lot of you shipped down to Pyrali. Maybe the planet you mined so thought-lessly can abide the sight of you. I cannot.” Reuel turned his back on the elite men who he’d once honored for their persistence in refusing to let Pyrali keep its treasures hidden. A persistence he’d been assured time and time again was totally safe. 
“Get them out of here, Minlim, then find Daran Berkloft.” 
“Yes, my lord,” Minlim replied, waving the engineers out of the room. 
“Who is Daran Berkloft?” Lord Kendrick asked. 
“An Earthling,” Reuel replied, “One who, according to my wife, feared the very disaster we have returned to find would one day occur.” 
If Lord Kendrick thought summoning a perspective Earthling unusual, he didn’t comment. He returned to his position at the communication console, while his son ordered Favian to begin deploying troops to the planet’s surface. The worst of the quakes were over. Now came the task of discovering how much damage had been done. 
Minlim returned to the control room several hours later with Daran Berkloft in tow. The young Earthling seemed shaken by the events of the last few hours, but not shocked. He’d been on board one of the larger transport cruisers, now orbiting next to the command ship, when he’d been sum-moned by the Governor’s advisor. 
“Favian, take charge of the command room,” Reuel said, turning toward the small captain’s office adjacent to the main bridge. 
Minlim and Daran followed him inside. Reuel seated himself behind the desk situated in the center of the private office, motioning for the other two men to be seated as well. “Christa told me you’ve been predicting this disaster for years.” 
“Not predicting, my lord,” Daran said, gratefully accepting the glass of sangra the Governor’s advisor offered him. “But I have been concerned that the Icarian facilities were mining too close to the ocean’s southern fault.” 
Reuel didn’t bother to ask why no one had commented on the young engineer’s concern. The answer was obvious. Daran was an Earthling. 
“My engineers tell me the ocean will heal itself.” 
Daran nodded in agreement. “The planet’s core is spewing onto the ocean’s floor. Once the core begins cooling, the hole will seal. How long that will take depends on the how deeply the lasers cut. The quakes have stopped, or so your advisor tells me, that’s a good sign. Once the mantle stabilizes, the planet should recover from the effects of having its belly ripped open.” 
“Can we expect others?” Reuel asked, watching the sensors embedded on the ocean floor, detail Daran’s words. The Icarian’s floor was oozing molten lava slowly, but steadily, like blood seeping from a wound. The molten rock was creeping into the water, cooling, then turning into lumps of smothering rock. There was no sign of the mining facilities or the lasers that had been responsible for the damage. 
“Not unless you start mining again,” Daran said. 
“The Alliance will have to be content with the halamyte it finds on Pyrali’s moons.” Reuel muttered across the table, meeting Minlim’s pale eyes. “I’m assigning you to the Mining Bureau,” he said, turning his attention to Daran. “Make sure they don’t send Pyrali’s moons crashing down on us next.” 
Daran’s shock was apparent. He stammered, then shook his head in disbelief. Finally, he found his voice. “Thank you, my lord, I am honored.” 
“Minlim can show you to wherever he sheltered my boggling engineers,” Reuel said, dismissing him with a curt nod. “If they don’t cooperate, let me know. At the moment, I’d like nothing better than to exile the whole lot of them into oblivion.” 
Minlim asked Daran to wait for him in the control room while he talked with his master. 
“Now, tell me why you felt it necessary for me to wait to see my wife?” Reuel demanded sternly. 
“I fear greeting your wife under the present conditions would not aid you in dealing with the crisis at hand, my lord,” Minlim replied. 
“I’ve got a whole planet to worry about, old friend. Putting aside my concern for my wife’s safety should ease my mind, not add to its burden,” Reuel said, standing up and walking to the small viewing port. “I don’t have time for your diplomacy. Tell me what’s amiss with Christa.” 
“She accessed the medical files, my lord, although I am unclear on how she managed it,” Minlim explained. “She knows of your inability to sire a child with an Adarian female.” 
Reuel stared out the window, telling himself he’d done what had to be done. His defiant wife, proud to the bitter end, would scorn any defense he had to offer, along with the love he knew now had been beating in his chest from the moment he’d first seen her. 
“I need to talk to her,” Reuel said tautly. “There’s no point in postponing the inevitable.” 
“Shall I have her brought to the Quantra, my lord?” Minlim inquired, wishing fate had chosen a better time for the final confrontation between his master and Christa. 
“No,” Reuel replied, heading for the door. “I’ll go to the Korana.” 
“I’ll arrange for a shuttlecraft, my lord.” 
“No,” Reuel said curtly, stopping his advisor before Minlim could activate the door sensors. 
“Not now. You’re right. There’s too much to be done here. My lovely wife and her temper will have to wait.” 
“I agree, my lord,” Minlim replied, sensing Reuel had finally come to terms with his true feelings for Christa. “Time will deal with your lady’s temper. Once it has settled and Pyrali is safe, you will have time to deal with her heart.” 
Reuel didn’t deny what his friend had sensed. “Let’s hope her heart isn’t as stubborn as the rest of her.” 
“I think you will find your lady’s heart quite cooperative, my lord,” Minlim said, giving his master a wide smile as he left the room. 
Reuel held onto the hope Minlim’s words offered. Loving Christa as deeply as he did, he didn’t want to think of not having her love in return. 
“I don’t care what Minlim’s orders were,” Christa said furiously. “I’m going to go mad if I stay locked up in here any longer.” 
She didn’t give Peecha time to argue. The moment the doors of her quarters opened, Christa stepped into the hall. She was met by two Adarian guards. 
“Get out of my way. This ship is loaded with people who need help, and I intend to help them,” Christa hissed, pushing her way past the two tall soldiers. She didn’t look back as they fell in step behind her. 
Christa didn’t have the slightest idea where she was going, but she kept on walking, sensing she would eventually find the hundreds of people Peecha told her had been evacuated to the Korana along with the Governor’s wife. 
Christa turned a corner and stopped. People lined the hallway directly in front of her. Some were standing, but most were slumped wearily on the floor, their faces a frightful portrait of what had happened to their world. She edged her way down the corridor, overwhelmed by her own inadequacy. What could she offer these people that would replace the homes they’d lost, the loved ones who had died? 
She stopped in front of a young Pyrali woman, rounded with child. Two smaller children clung to the woman’s mynara, their faces streaked with recent tears. 
Christa turned to the taller of the two guards, standing inches behind her. “What’s your name?” 
“Rossra, my lady,” the guard replied, looking down at her. 
“Rossra, take this woman and her children to my quarters. Tell Peecha to make them as comfort-able as she can.” 
The guard looked at Christa for a moment as if weighing the consequences of leaving his ward. Then, he lifted the woman in his arms, speaking in a low voice and reassuring her that she and her children would be fine. Christa watched, tears brimming in her eyes as the two children followed the guard and their mother. 
Blinking back her unshed tears, Christa continued down the hall, stopping to talk to each and every person. Some barely acknowledged her presence, still lost in the horror they’d witnessed. Others smiled up at her, telling her she needn’t worry about them. Still others clasped her hand and cried. 
By the time she reached the medical unit, Christa didn’t know if she had the strength to continue her pilgrimage. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside. 
The room was filled with people who’d been in the way of crashing buildings and broken trees. The smell of blood permeated the air, filling Christa’s nostril with a coppery scent. She moved to the first bed. 
She recognized the physician tending to a young Pyralian’s leg. Before being evacuated to the Korana, the healer had been assigned to the Penal Quarters. He’d performed one of the three medical scans Minlim had required to confirm her biological compatibility with Lord Shatar. 
“Can I help?” Christa asked. 
The physician jerked around, plainly annoyed at having his task interrupted. He flushed when he recognized the young woman who’d become the Governor’s wife. “Do you know anything of healing?” 
“Not really,” Christa said shyly, “but I can cleanse a wound and apply bandages. It’s not much, but I’ve two willing hands.” 
“Don’t wrap them too tight,” the physician warned, stuffing a coil of medicated bandage into her hand. “If you’re not sure what to do, call me.” 
He walked to the next patient. 
Christa smiled at the young man, lying on the examination table. “I’ll try not to hurt you.” 
“You’re Lady Shatar,” the man said weakly, his amber eyes dulled by the drug the physician had administered before cleansing the wound. 
Christa nodded, then began her work. When she’d finished with the young Pyralian, she followed the doctor around the room, bandaging arms and legs, soothing fretful brows, and holding anxious hands. The hours slipped away, filled with the needs of her people. 
Christa wasn’t sure when she stopped being an isolated Earthling and became the Lady of Pyrali. It might have been when she was holding an elderly woman’s hand and assuring her the patrols would find her son. It might have been when she was wiping the tears of a frightened child who’d been separated from his mother, or when she helped the physician bandage a severed limb. The transformation wasn’t as shattering as the quake that had rocked the planet beneath her, throwing an entire culture into disarray. It came more subtly, seeping into her heart with each tear she dried and each hand she held. When she left the medical unit, Christa was exhausted. The guard followed her back to her quarters. 
“Goodnight, my lady,” Rossra said, nodding respectfully. 
Christa looked up him. It was the first time he’d spoken to her unbidden. 
“Goodnight,” she replied. 
When she stepped inside the lush quarters, Christa realized she’d sent half a dozen women and their children to the private refuge. Peecha was stepping over sleeping children in her efforts to serve their mothers. 
“My sleeping couch is in the far corner, my lady,” Peecha said softly, pointing to the only unoccupied piece of furniture in the room. “You need to rest.” 
“I don’t want to take your bed, Peecha,” Christa said, knowing the servant had to be exhausted as well. 
“I will sleep on the floor with the children, my lady,” Peecha said, waving her toward the narrow lounge. “They are restless and need the reassurance of a female voice should they wake.” 
“I fear what we will find on the planet, once it is safe to return,” Christa said, keeping her voice low. 
“The Ruling Council will send help,” Peecha said confidently. 
“But can they rebuild a world?” Christa asked doubtfully. 
“They will do all they can, my lady. Lord Shatar will see that all is returned to the way it was. He takes his duty very seriously.” 
Christa understood the depths of Reuel’s duty better than most. It gnawed at her heart, slowly devouring her from the inside out. Duty had forced Reuel to take an alien as his wife, forced him to feign passion in order to sire the child the empire required of him. Duty would keep him bound to her for life. Duty, not love. 
“Wake me if you need help with the children,” Christa said, walking wearily toward the sleeping lounge. She stretched out, turning her back to the others who shared her room. The tears Christa cried were silent, but plentiful, sliding down her face onto the soft blanket Peecha had used to cover her. 
She cried for Pyrali, lying ravaged and wounded. Then she cried for its people. Finally, she cried for herself, letting the tears wash the last vestiges of her anger away. 
Her problems seemed insignificant compared to the suffering she’d witnessed. The people she’d seen, huddled in the rooms and corridors of the starcruiser, Pyralians, Earthlings, Egoneans, species from every corner of the empire, filled her mind. She couldn’t dislodge the images of their weak smiles as they looked up at her and thanked her for caring. 
For a brief time, Christa had understood the duty that had forced Reuel into her arms. She’d felt the need to be what others needed her to be, strong and vigilant. She’d felt the weight of trust bearing down on her shoulders as she’d assured the people crammed on board the Korana that they would soon be able to return to their homes. 
She felt the duty of being Lord Shatar’s wife. 
The duty was real, stronger than she’d ever felt for the theoretical concepts learned from the pages of a book she’d left on the floor of her palace chambers. She’d touched these people, felt their pain and their hope. The contact had left her exhausted. They hadn’t seen an Earthling looking down at them, they’d seen their Lady. Being acknowledged as their matriarch had brought humility, not conceit. Each hand that had reached out to her had touched Christa with its humanity. Each appreciative smile and mumbled thank you had stirred her heart. 
Despite Minlim’s part in her husband’s scheme, he had been right about one thing. She could make a difference. Her husband may not want her love, but his people did. They had a world to rebuild, lives to start anew. She could be a part of that. Hopefully, the Creator willing, it would be enough. 

Chapter 20

Reuel boarded the shuttle, slumping wearily into the co-pilot’s seat. The young officer assigned to be his pilot guided the small space-craft out of the launching bay and toward the Korana. Reuel watched as the starcruiser that housed his wife filled the viewing screen. 
Rubbing the taut muscles of his neck, he couldn’t remember when he’d ever been so tired. He’d spent the last two days directing the relief efforts on the planet’s surface. The latest tally put the death count on the southern continent at over twelve thousand. The heavily populated hemisphere had suffered the brunt of the quakes. Its cities, lining the shore, had crumbled under the force of the ocean’s wrath. It would take years to rebuild. 
The northern continent had been spared the large tidal waves, but its fertile valleys were strewn with splintered trees and crops uprooted by the violent tremors. Dacla, its crystal towers once a symbol of Pyrali’s prosperity, lay shattered on the banks of the Saionge. The Governor’s Palace had survived, although its lush gardens and ornate gates had toppled under the planet’s convulsions. 
The Alliance fleet was within hours of the planet. Ships filled with food and medical supplies were destined for the ravaged world, their help both needed and welcomed. Emergency shelters were being erected wherever possible. 
Once Reuel saw Christa, he planned to move his command post on the Quantra to the palace. Whether or not his wife returned with him would be up to her. 
As much as Reuel wanted Christa at his side, he wouldn’t force her to join him on the planet’s surface. The damage waiting to be viewed was devastating. His duty to Pyrali would consume his life for months to come. All he could give her for the time being was the opportunity to release the anger he knew was building by the minute. Putting off their confrontation would only postpone the inevitable, not change it. No matter how furious Christa was over discovering she’d been chosen for her biological compatibility, he’d withstand the storm. 
Then, hopefully, once his immediate duty to Pyrali was fulfilled, he could begin winning the woman he’d taken as his wife. 
Reuel acknowledged the captain’s greeting, then impatiently asked for his wife. 
“I believe you will find Lady Shatar in the medical unit, Lord Governor,” Captain Julian replied, smiling. “She insisted on helping the physicians with the injured. I would have a ship of wailing, worried people on my hands if not for your lady’s soothing voice and caring hands. I will be forever grateful for her presence during this time.” 
Learning that Christa hadn’t spent the last two days pacing her quarters relieved Reuel of some guilt. Minlim had told him one of the numerous complaints she’d voiced over being a nobleman’s wife was the lack of something to keep her busy. His engineers had provided her with more than enough to fill her idle hands, damn their souls. 
Reuel gave the Korana’s commanding officer a curt nod, then began the search for his wife. She was, as Captain Julian had suggested, in the medical unit. 
Reuel stood inside the doors of the medical ward and watched in amazement as Christa worked her charm on the victims of Pyrali’s recent disaster. Her smock was smeared with blood, her mynara wrinkled, her braid slowly unraveling from the confines of the ribbon tied at its end, but Reuel thought she was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. 
Christa was helping an elderly Pyralian female to her feet while she gave one of his guards orders. 
“Rossra, I’ve discovered this woman’s husband is being housed on the lower level. The apartment next to the eating gallery. Please escort her there. She will rest much better once she is with him.” 
“As you wish, my lady,” the soldier replied eagerly. He held the woman’s arm, then helped her gingerly toward the door. Stopping to salute his commanding officer, Rossra smiled. “Your lady has been a blessing, my lord.” 
The Governor’s smile said he agreed with the guard’s assessment. Reuel walked toward his wife, wanting to pull her into his arms and offer her a husband’s comfort. Not certain if she would accept or reject the gesture, he stood silently in front of her, his eyes absorbing her tired, but always lovely, face. 
“My lord,” Christa whispered, unable to deny the relief that flooded through her at seeing him again. “I apologize for not greeting you properly, but the people have need of me.” 
“So I have been told,” Reuel replied softly. “Yet, I find their lady in need of rest as well. Come, I will escort you to your quarters.” 
He glanced around the room, every eye was on them, filled with respect and adoration for the woman standing in front of him. 
“I fear there is no place on the Korana that will offer us the privacy you request, my lord,” Christa replied wearily. “I have given my cabin to those more deserving of its comfort than myself.” 
“I see no one more deserving, cassana,” he responded, unable to hide the pride he felt at being able to claim this woman as his wife. “Come, I have a small amount of influence with the captain. We need to talk before I am forced to leave you again.” 
Christa followed him out of the medical unit and down the corridor. She stopped occasionally to say a soothing word to the still frightened people lining the hallways. 
Reuel spoke lowly to one of the guards, then led Christa to the end of the ship’s main corridor and into a small hall that led to the officers’ quarters. Moments later, he motioned her inside a small cabin. 
Christa turned to face her husband. Her resolve to remember that she meant nothing to the noble ruler was weakened by two days of tending injuries and comforting frightened people. Looking into the handsome face that had haunted her dreams for weeks, Christa saw the small lines of fatigue etched around his eyes and felt overwhelmed to comfort one more soul. “You need rest as desperately as I, my lord.” 
Reuel sighed deeply, then tossed his cloak onto a nearby chair. “If I sleep now, I may never wake up.” 
Christa looked around the small cabin, then walked to the serving table and filled a small goblet with water. She carried the glass to him, her hand stopping in mid-air as she found herself immersed in the emerald depths of his gaze. 
“Thank you,” he mumbled, taking the goblet from a hand she hadn’t realized was trembling. He sipped the cool water, then lowered the glass, looking at her over its rim. “You are unhurt?” 
“Yes, my lord,” Christa answered, finding her voice. Seeing Reuel again, knowing he was back and bringing order to the chaos swirling around the planet beneath them, gave her the security she’d missed since he’d left her leaning against the door of her chamber, dazed by his kiss. 
“Then what’s wrong with you?” Reuel asked impatiently. “Minlim told me you discovered the medical files that explained my reason for taking you as my wife. Are you so exhausted from taking care of Pyralians that your temper has lost its bite?” 
Christa smiled. “My temper is as healthy as my womb, my lord. Do not fool yourself into thinking I do not intend to hold you to account for your lies.” 
“Then why aren’t you heaping curses upon my head?” 
“As you said, my lord, I am tired. I need sleep before I can properly deliver the reprimand your actions deserve. Until then, you will have to be content knowing I find your motive for marriage as detestable as your threats of exile.” 
“Do you find me detestable as well, cassana?” Her eyes were so clouded by fatigue. Reuel couldn’t read the emotions he knew lay beneath her polite demeanor. 
She gave him a scathing look. “Know this, Lord Governor, I will not abide another lie.” 
Knowing he deserved her anger inflamed the need in Reuel. He reached out and pulled her close, needing to touch her to ensure himself she was with him again. When she didn’t resist his embrace, he lowered his head and kissed her. 
Christa felt her carefully constructed wall begin to crumble. The harder she tried not to feel the warmth of Reuel’s arms, the hotter they burned. The more she fought the desire he was igniting in her body, the higher it soared. His mouth moved greedily over hers. 
Her fingers stretched out to encompass as much of his body as they could touch. Christa moaned when his mouth lifted. 
Reuel celebrated the moment. When he raised his head to look at her, the quiet intimacy of her eyes made his heart slam against his ribs. He traced her swollen lips. Their silky warmth brought a soft rumble from his throat. He feathered kisses across her face, his lips both soothing and arousing. Christa was too stunned by the power of his touch to protest his hands when they moved to her breasts. 
Reuel looked at her, his eyes smoldering and hungry, his breathing uneven with the exertion of controlling his need. 
A fierce tremor surged through Christa’s body. 
Christa’s hand moved down his back. She lifted toward him, her silence accented by the chaste kiss she placed on his lips. 
With an anguished moan, Reuel took her mouth under his, possessing her. He kept kissing her, his hands massaging the pouting tips of her breasts as he pressed her against his apparent need. 
Christa became as greedy as her husband. She arched against him, her body demanding what he was willing and ready to give. 
“Yes, cassana, yes,” Reuel moaned, his face contorted with the cost of controlling himself. He wanted to drag her to the floor and bury himself in her silky warmth. “There is no lie in what happens between us.” 
Christa closed her eyes as tiny, teasing fingers of passion started her body trembling and stopped her heart for a brief moment that was so intense it was almost painful. 
Christa clung to him. Reuel lifted his head. He kissed her so tenderly Christa had to fight back tears. 
“I have missed you, cassana.” 
She cuddled against his chest, knowing she’d never be able to deny the need Reuel aroused in her, knowing it as surely as she knew she loved him. 
When he looked at her again his eyes were the same determined shade of green she’d seen that night in her holding cell. 
“You’ll remain on the Korana until the palace has been scanned and I know it’s safe,” he said. 
Christa reached out, stopping him. “I want to go with you.” 
Reuel shook his head. “No.” 
“Yes,” Christa said just as adamantly. “I can help, if only to serve Peecha’s herbal tea to the people in the shelters.” 
“No.” 
“I’ll find a way to get there,” she insisted. “I’ve gained some friends among your First Forces, my lord. I’ll find a shuttle pilot to look the other way while I board.” 
“I don’t doubt your ability to charm, cassana, you’ve been doing it since the day I brought you to the palace,” Reuel said with an admiring smile. He had to touch her again. Reaching out he drew his hand down her flushed cheek. She trembled. 
No more of your sensual games, Lord Governor, she thought. 
“You have nothing to blackmail me with this time, my lord. There is much between us that needs to be discussed, but now is not the time. A world lies in ruins below us. When Pyrali can once again think of tomorrow, then we, too, will face it. Until then I am going where I am needed.” 
He tossed his cloak over his arm and gave her a frustrated frown. “Very well, come with me. But I warn you, it will not be pleasant.” 
“I know,” Christa whispered sadly. “But I have to go.” 
Reuel didn’t question the need, thankful that he would have Christa by his side. Her strength had taken her out of the safe haven of her cabin and into the fear and pain that lined the corridors of the Korana. In spite of his years of military training, he needed that strength. 
They walked silently to the launching bay. Christa stopped when she saw Minlim with another Adarian. She didn’t need an introduction to know she was looking at Reuel’s father. Her husband had gotten his height and muscular frame from the man walking toward her with a questioning look on his face. 
“I assume this is the Earthling you married,” Lord Kendrick said as he looked Christa up and down. 
“This is Christa, my lord,” Reuel said respectfully, his hand closing around his wife’s. “She will be returning to Pyrali with us.” 
Christa returned her father-in-law’s stare with serious dark eyes. As they appraised each other, Lord Kendrick’s face lightened with a friendly smile. “Captain Julian tells me that you have honored the Seventh House by your service to the refugees housed on board the Korana. It seems you have won the heart of Pyrali as easily as you have won the heart of its Governor.” 
Reuel’s hand tightened around hers. She didn’t reply to Lord Kendrick’s remarks. Instead, she bowed her head respectfully, playing, for the moment, the role of an obedient Adarian wife. 
“Pyrali is waiting,” Reuel said, ushering them toward the shuttlecraft that had brought him to the Korana. He seated Christa next to Minlim, then dismissed the pilot and offered his father the honor of co-piloting the small craft. 
The shuttle was hovering for launch when Minlim placed his hand over Christa’s, bringing her eyes up to meet his. 
“I find myself seeking forgiveness,” the advisor said softly, keeping the words between himself and Christa. 
“As do I,” Christa said, clutching the advisor’s hand. “With my lord away, you became the target of my wrath.” 
“As you charged, I joined in his deception.” 
“Not entirely,” Christa said. “Your first duty is to Reuel, as it should be. I was too angry to realize how strongly duty can sway a heart.” 
“Not as strongly as love,” Minlim said, his pale eyes gleaming. 
A wink of Christa’s dark eyes was her only reply. 
She’d told herself she was prepared for her first sight of Dacla, but she wasn’t. As the aircoach approached the once shimmering city, her heart wrenched with grief. Its crystal towers, once glittering in the sun, lay broken and shattered like a goblet thrown to the floor in anger. She blinked back the tears that threatened to become a reality as they glided over the plaza. The park was cluttered with crystalline debris. Trees, once tall and stately, lay twisted and dying on the stone walkways, their limbs no longer offering shade to the shoppers that had once filled the city’s colonnade. 
Christa saw Reuel stiffen when they passed over the giant medallion that had graced Dacla’s tallest structure. The symbol of the Alliance was broken, laying scattered among the uprooted trees and crumbled benches of the main promenade. 
“It’s only a piece of metal,” Christa found herself whispering, leaning over to place a hand over Reuel’s larger one. “The Alliance still stands.” 
Reuel gave her a skeptical look. “I thought you’d be pleased to see the symbol of a suppressive government broken like a dinner plate.” 
“The only thing I want broken in the Alliance is its narrow-mindedness,” Christa replied, meeting her husband’s gaze. 
“What happened to the over-zealous rebel I left behind?” 
“She was never a rebel, my lord, only a woman who wanted equality for her people,” Christa replied sadly, wanting to add that the same woman who wanted equality also wanted love. 
She turned her attention to the Governor’s Palace, resting on the opposite bank of the Saionge. The massive mansion hadn’t gone unscathed. It stood regally in the afternoon sun, impressive in spite of the ruined gardens and broken gates. The aircoach skimmed over the deep, blue waters of the inland sea, bringing Christa closer to the palace. She no longer saw the grand structure as a prison. 
Despite her protests, Reuel lifted Christa out of the aircoach and carried her into the palace, not stopping until he’d reached his sleeping chamber. Only one janiber lamp hung from the ceiling, the others sent crashing to the floor during the quake had been cleaned away by the large staff of servants Peecha had sent to restore the Governor’s house. 
Reuel placed her on the sleeping lounge, then looked down at her. 
“Sleep, cassana,” he said softly, brushing back a wayward curl that had fallen over her left eye. He held her gaze for a long moment, then stood up. 
“I’d rather be in my chamber,” she argued, lying to both herself and her husband. 
“I want you here,” Reuel replied, keeping the explanation for his actions short, but truthful. “When you wake, Peecha will have your dinner waiting.” 
Christa didn’t say anything. She snuggled her face into the soft pillow and went to sleep, too tired to notice her husband’s attentive hands as they draped the coverlet over her, or the gentle brush of his lips when he kissed her good-bye. 
Christa didn’t wake up for eighteen hours. She stretched languidly, feeling ashamed that she’d slept so long. When her foot brushed against her husband’s bare leg, Christa froze. 
Reuel was lying beside her. His dark hair was tousled and the coverlet was pulled up just above his waist, leaving his chest bare for Christa’s eyes to feast upon. She allowed herself the pleasure of just looking at him. His chest, covered with the same dark hair that crowned his head, was rising and falling in the rhythmic patterns of deep sleep. In spite of her determination to remember his betrayal, Christa found her hand reaching out to touch the hard muscles of his shoulder. She pulled it back. 
How had she fallen in love with an Adarian? His arrogance sent her patience to the brim of non-existence, his narrow-mindedness kindled her temper, and his archaic views of men and women made her want to scream? But still she loved him. 
Telling herself she could rebuild Pyrali with her bare hands easier than she could understand what drew her to this man sleeping peacefully at her side, Christa got out of bed. She went into her own chamber. Peecha had, as usual, anticipated her needs. Clean clothing was spread out on the sleeping lounge and a carafe of herbal sip was warming on the serving table. Christa poured herself a cup of the steaming elixir and went into the bathing chamber. After she’d bathed and dressed in a dark green mynara and smock, she was pleasantly surprised to find no guards outside her door as she began her quest for Minlim. 
Christa had another surprise waiting for her when she found the elderly advisor. Minlim was in the command center talking with Daran. Seeing her friend safe and sound sent Christa running toward him with a smile on her face. 
“Daran,” she said, hugging him affectionately in spite of the taboo against such behavior. “I was so afraid for you.” 
“I’m fine, and so is Gloriana,” he said, returning her hug. 
“What are you doing here?” Christa asked, giving Minlim a skeptical look as she stepped back from her friend. 
“Lord Shatar reassigned me,” Daran replied, beaming with pride. 
“He what!” 
Daran laughed. “From what I understand I owe my promotion to the Engineering Department to a certain out-spoken female who insisted that my talents were being ignored because I was an Earthling.” 
“That’s ridiculous,” Christa stammered, shocked by Daran’s revelation. “If Reuel had you transferred it was because he decided you could help Pyrali. He needs someone to make sure this never happens again.” 
“As I said, my out-spoken friend, I am indebted to you for bringing my talents to light,” Daran said, giving her another brilliant smile. 
“I’m pleased, of course,” Christa replied. “But I doubt that anything I said was the reason for my husband’s decision. Lord Shatar has his own agenda. Regardless of what else I may think, his loyalty to the Alliance is beyond question.” 
There was a short silence, since neither man could disagree with her. 
Minlim gave her a small smile. “The communication channels to the rest of the Alliance have been reestablished, my lady. Lady Katala sends her sincere thanks that you escaped injury, and asked me to convey her appreciation of your devotion to Pyrali’s victims. Her sentiments were repeated by Taraza and her mother. Lord Shatar’s brother, Suriel, is returning. He should arrive within the week.” 
“Be sure and return my regards to Lady Katala and Taraza,” Christa replied, remembering the Adarian woman’s offer of friendship. “I’m sure my husband will find his brother’s presence supportive. This tragedy weighs heavily on his shoulders.” 
“I have assigned Rossra to be your guard, my lady,” Minlim said. “He is waiting to take you to the shelter in Dacla.” 
“Thank you,” Christa said, turning to Daran. “I will leave you to solving Pyrali’s geological problems while I tend to its less scientific ones,” nodding her head to the two men. 
She left the room, wondering how the Pyralian and Adarian engineers who now worked with Daran had reacted when her husband had placed an Earthling in their midst. 
Once Rossra had escorted her to the shelter constructed on the western edge of Dacla, Christa’s questions were pushed aside by the need she found there. Thousands of Pyralians and other species who had once called the grand city their home were being housed in small habitation huts along the banks of the Saionge. The apprehension and anxiety she’d witnessed on the Korana were nothing compared to what she found waiting for her in the shelters. 

Chapter 21

The day turned into night as Christa served food and comfort to the masses of people displaced by the largest disaster in Alliance history. 
She found herself working along side Egoneans, Gasparians and Adarians. Every planet in the Alliance was represented in the relief forces that were pouring into Pyrali’s atmosphere. When Rossra firmly, but gently, told her it was time to return to the palace, Christa discovered her once suspicious views of other species had changed. 
No matter what race, the workers had all shared one common goal—to help the people of Pyrali. For the first time she was able to see the unity she’d thought more forced than voluntary. 
She pondered the concept over the small dinner Peecha served her in Reuel’s chamber. Her husband had left specific orders that she was to sleep in his room. Too tired to analyze his motives, Christa slumped onto the sleeping lounge she’d shared with him the previous night and slept. 
When she awoke, Reuel was sitting on the balcony staring at the morning’s panorama of destruction. Walking to his side, she placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. How did a woman comfort a man who felt personally responsible for the destruction of an entire planet? Regardless of his valiant attempt to appear untouched by the disaster, Christa knew Reuel was burdened with a guilt she’d helped create with her countless charges of prejudice. 
“I must go to the southern continent,” he announced. 
“It’s too dangerous,” she said, barely containing her panic. “The quakes haven’t totally stopped.” 
“I am Governor of the whole planet, cassana, I cannot hide in safety while those under my rule still fight for survival.” 
“I know,” she relented in a low whisper. 
“Do you?” he looked up, his eyes searching her worried face. 
“Yes,” she replied, her heart aching to tell him how much she’d learned in the past week. How wrong she’d been to think he didn’t care, at least about the people he ruled. 
“Minlim will remain here to supervise the relief efforts until Suriel arrives. My father will accompany me.” 
“I want to go with you.” 
“No,” he said, standing up. “And don’t think to change my mind this time with threats of smuggling aboard a supply ship. I will not endanger you again.” 
“You didn’t endanger me the first time,” she said, wanting to shake the guilt from his shoulders. 
Christa watched as regret clouded his eyes. 
“You tried to warn me this might happen, but I refused to listen. You were right. My Adarian pride wouldn’t allow me to see past the incom-petence of my engineers. I couldn’t let myself believe that an Earthling knew more than Alliance scientists.” 
He brushed a soft kiss across her forehead, then left her standing on the balcony. 
Christa didn’t fight the tears that flooded her eyes. Minlim had once asked her if she wouldn’t like to hear Reuel admit he was wrong. She’d answered the advisor with an adamant yes. 
Hearing the torment in her husband’s words as he blamed himself sent an excruciating pain through her chest, breaking her heart. 
Reuel had been gone for eight days when Christa looked up from one of the medical beds she attended daily to find her brother-in-law walking toward her. She smiled as Suriel pulled her close and pressed his cheek against hers. 
“You are fast becoming a legend, Lady Shatar,” he said, smiling down at her. “Your compassion has gained the respect of the Alliance.” 
“Right now, I’d settle for ten hours sleep and a cup of Peecha’s herbal tea,” Christa said, pushing back a wayward curl. Without Reuel by her side, sleep evaded her. She’d been working day and night since he’d left. 
“How about a cup of kafae while I get used to seeing Dacla shattered like a crystal goblet,” Suriel said, looking around the once grand plaza. 
They found the remnants of a stone bench and sat down while a young worker poured them a cup of the strong beverage that had become Christa’s source of energy. 
“Have you heard from Reuel?” Christa asked anxiously. Her husband’s communications had been limited to brief greetings and constant reiterations for her to remain in Dacla. 
“I spoke with my father before I docked,” Suriel said, losing his smile as an aging Pyralian limped across the plaza stones toward the food center. “The southern continent is even worse then we thought. The coastal cities have been totally destroyed. Every time a gravity crane lifts a lump of debris, they find more bodies.” 
“When are you leaving?” Christa asked, seeing the same anguish in Suriel’s eyes she’d seen in the eyes of every Adarian since the quakes had begun. Pyrali belonged to the Alliance, therefore, it belonged to all of them. Its destruction was being mourned to the bottom of hearts she’d once foolishly thought didn’t exist. 
“As soon as my ship can be refueled,” he finally replied. Then forcing a smile for her benefit, he saluted her with his cup. “I will try very hard not to tarnish the glorious standard you have set for the House of Shatar.” 
“Would you say the House of Shatar is in my debt?” she asked, her spirits soaring as her disobedient mind formulated a plan. 
“All the Alliance is in your debt, my lady,” Suriel replied humbly. 
“Good,” she said, standing up and dusting off her smock. “I’ll have Peecha pack for me while you plot your course to the southern continent.” 
“Reuel will kill me,” Suriel protested, shaking his head. 
“Don’t worry,” Christa said, smiling brightly. “He’ll be too busy killing me to notice how I got there.” 
When Christa requested Rossra to order an aircoach to take her to Suriel’s patrol cruiser, the young officer obeyed immediately. When she stepped outside her bedchamber, she found Minlim waiting in the corridor. 
“Lord Shatar will not be happy, my lady,” the advisor said, walking at her side as she headed for the lift station. He stepped in front of her as the door opened, blocking her entrance. 
“I warned your master I would never be an obedient wife,” Christa said, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m going to the southern continent, Minlim. You can either go with me or get out of my way. The choice is yours.” 
Christa didn’t try to explain that she had a feeling Reuel needed her. Minlim’s link to Reuel was the psychic one. She couldn’t sense her hus-band’s thoughts, but she could feel her heart calling out to him. This time she was going to listen. 
When she boarded Suriel’s patrol ship, Minlim and Rossra were with her. Christa greeted a still reluctant Suriel. 
“How long?” she asked, settling into one of the flight chairs. Much smaller than the Korana, the patrol ship had been fashioned to outrun invading cruisers. It carried six men housed in the small living quarters beneath the command deck. 
“An hour, my lady,” her brother-in-law replied, then took the captain’s seat and began issuing orders. 
The patrol ship lifted off the launch pad with the grace of a dancer. Christa’s heart soared with the sleek craft as it headed for the southern tip of Pyrali. She didn’t have the slightest idea how she was going to go about telling her husband that she loved him, but she was determined to get it said. 
She was drifting off to sleep when Suriel ordered the viewing screen disengaged. Sensing he didn’t want her to see the devastation on the continent below them, Christa unfastened her security belt and moved to the vacant seat, normally occupied by the co-pilot. 
“I need to see,” she said, sliding into the molded chair bordered on either side by complicated control panels. 
Suriel gave her a questioning look, then counter-manded his initial order. The viewing screen came to life. Christa swallowed the lump in her throat. The coastline, formerly dotted with industrial com-plexes, had been hacked away by the ocean’s vio-lent waves. Large chucks of earth that had once held cities aloof over the grand Icarian Ocean had disappeared into the turbulent waters, leaving great gaps in the planet’s surface. 
The destruction was irreversible. Instead of shattered cities and tangled buildings, everything was gone. Emptiness filled the place where one of the planet’s largest industrial cities had once stood. 
“Where’s my husband,” she asked breathlessly, wanting Reuel’s strong arms more at that moment than she’d ever wanted them before. 
“The command center is inland, just over that ridge,” Suriel said, pointing toward a row of ragged peaks that separated the coastline from the inland valleys. 
Christa sat quietly while Suriel began the landing procedures. Once the patrol ship was secured on the temporary pad, she unfastened her security belt and stood up, inpatient to see her husband. The exit door slid silently aside. When Christa stepped out, aided by Rossra’s devoted hand, she came face to face with her father-in-law. 
One look at his eyes and Christa knew she’d arrived on the heels of another disaster. Tossing off Rossra’s hand, she ran to Lord Shatar, Kendrick. 
“What happened?” She gasped out the words as the blood rushed from her heart, leaving her weak and almost hysterical. 
Minlim was beside her before Reuel’s father could answer. When the Haodai reached down and took her hand, Christa knew the advisor was sensing something. No, she prayed silently, don’t let it be. 
“Reuel was inspecting one of the damaged buildings,” his father began, looking as solemn as his tone. “There was a slight tremor. He’s trapped in the rubble.” 
Christa stood silently in front of the crumbled building. Reuel’s father told her it had once been an academy of learning. Reuel had gone inside with one of the Pyralian engineers to inspect the structure and determine if it was safe to use as a shelter. A mild shock wave had hit the fragile coast, bringing the center of the building down on her husband’s head. 
“Where’s Minlim?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the twisted lump of rock and metal. 
“I am here, my lady.” 
“Can you sense him?” Christa asked, not bothering to hide her tears. She didn’t care who knew she loved Reuel Shatar. All that mattered was that he was still alive. 
Minlim stepped closer to the building and closed his eyes. Christa held her breath as the Haodai emptied his mind in order to feel Reuel’s presence. When he turned around and smiled, Christa felt life returning. When she’d thought that Reuel might be dead, she’d died, too. 
“He’s alive. The link is weak, but it exists,” Minlim said. 
“The engineers are on their way,” Suriel said, putting his arm around her. Under normal circum-stances the gesture would have been inconceivable. “We’ll get him out.” 
An aircoach, crowded with uniformed men, hovered for a moment, then landed. Christa stood quietly, clutching Minlim’s hand and praying as a plump Gasparian started issuing orders. 
“Who is he?” she asked Suriel. 
“The head engineer for this sector.” 
“I want to talk to him,” she said, walking toward the air coach. The man ignored her completely until Christa reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. 
“The area needs to be cleared,” he said, looking at Suriel. Her brother-in-law had followed her. “I’ve ordered a gravity crane. If the beam can’t hold the debris anyone standing too close could be injured.” 
“What do you mean, if?” Christa said, stepping in front of the fat man until he’d have to be blind not to see her. “Lord Shatar is in that mess,” she shouted, pointing toward the hill of rubble. “I don’t want ifs, I want him out.” 
“This is Lady Shatar,” Suriel said. 
“My apologies, my lady,” the Gasparian said, stepping back. 
Christa didn’t like him. It wasn’t prejudice. She’d left that behind her. There was something about the man’s eyes that said he thought he was there to dig out a corpse. Determined to prove him a liar, Christa turned around, the hem of her mynara swirling out around her feet. 
The one-time building looked like a cracked farin’s egg. The roof had collapsed inward, forcing the corners of the building out and upward like the jagged peaks of a volcano. She wasn’t an engineer, but she knew enough to know if the rubble wasn’t removed properly, the rest of the building could come tumbling down like a deck of trit cards. 
“Minlim,” she yelled, over the murmur of voices as the workers began setting up the large crane that would be used to lift the wreckage. 
The advisor rushed to her side. His gray hair fluttering like a silver spider web in the brisk wind whipping over the ruined landscape. “Yes, my lady.” 
“Find Daran and bring him here immediately,” she ordered. “I don’t trust anyone else to get Reuel out alive.” 
“What of the rescue team?” he asked. 
Christa looked around her. Reuel’s father and brother were watching her. Rossra was standing behind them. The Gasparian looked like he wanted to add her to the wreckage currently encasing her husband. Finally, she forced her eyes back to the crumbled building. Lifting her chin, she did what no female in the Alliance had ever done before. She took charge. 
“The rescue team can wait. Lord Shatar is alive, and that’s how he’s going to stay, the Creator willing. If anyone touches so much as a stone of that building before Daran says it’s safe, I’ll have his head to decorate the palace gates.” 
“Lady Shatar!” Lord Shatar, Kendrick said, stepping forward. 
She held up her hand before he could suggest she return to the command post. Tears filled her eyes as she met his gaze. 
“He’s my husband.” 
Christa stepped around her father-in-law, willing to take on the entire First Force, if neces-sary. “Rossra, have this area cleared, Minlim can concentrate better if he’s alone.” 
“Yes, my lady,” he replied immediately. 
“What can I do?” Suriel said, stepping forward. 
“Pray,” Christa whispered, then walked toward a small tree that had survived the planet’s wrath. She leaned against the tree’s rough trunk and closed her eyes. 
“My lady?” 
Christa looked up to find her father-in-law standing beside her. His uniform was covered with dust, but she could still make out the insignia of the Alliance imprinted into the fabric just over his heart. 
“My son would want you to rest,” he said, handing her a cup of water. She knew it was a symbolic apology. 
“Not until I know he’s safe,” she said, before taking a long drink. Christa longed to comfort Reuel’s father, but she’d run out of emotions to share. All her thoughts were centered on the man she hoped to hold in her arms once again. 
She stared at the wreckage until Minlim said her name. 
“Lord Shatar’s father is right. You need to rest. Your friend will not arrive for another hour.” 
“How can I rest knowing my husband might be dying?” Christa asked, her voice shaking so badly she sputtered the words. The fear that had clutched her heart when she’d been told that Reuel was lying under a mass of twisted halamyte cables and rock walls was still holding her hostage. The more she thought about her husband the tighter the fear gripped her. She could barely breath for the pain. 
“He lives,” Minlim said, taking her hand and holding it close to his heart. “He is thinking of you.” 
“Me?” 
He nodded, smiling in the gentle way that always made Christa trust him. “You are his hope.” 
The words inflamed the small spark Christa had been carrying in her heart since the day Reuel had boarded the Korana. 
“He doesn’t know how much I love him,” she confessed, using the last of her strength to put her head on the Haodai’s shoulder and cry. 
“He will, fair lady,” Minlim assured her. “He will. You must be patient.” 
Patience had never come easy to Christa. By the time Daran stepped out of the aircoach, the waiting had become unbearable. Christa ran to her friend, hurling herself into his outstretched arms. 
He hugged her close, then sat her gently aside as Reuel’s father and brother joined them. 
“I need to see the building,” Daran said, meeting the nobleman’s gaze. “It will be dark soon.” 
Not wanting to waste a moment of precious light, everyone moved toward the wreckage. Christa followed as her friend walked around the building, stopping now and again to look at the mangled debris. 
“Have you tried to locate him using his communication module?” Daran asked Suriel. 
“Yes, but it must have been damaged. We can’t pick up a signal. The only reason we know he’s alive is because Minlim can sense him. They’ve always had a strong link.” 
Daran turned to the Haodai. “Where is your link the strongest?” 
Minlim walked to the southeast corner, where a large chunk of the building’s roof was lying on its side, forming a lethal tent over the academy walls. The apex of the tent was the gigantic beam that had once supported the central hall of the university. “Here.” 
Daran joined him, then started climbing on the ragged wreckage. The beam groaned as if in pain. Christa held her breath as Daran jumped to the ground, bending his legs to absorb the shock. 
“Can you get him out?” Reuel’s father asked. His face had aged ten years in the last two hours. 
“Not with a gravity crane,” Daran said, dusting the dirt off his uniform. “That beam is more fragile than Dacla crystal. One wrong move and it’s going to break into a thousand pieces. If Minlim is right, Lord Shatar is under it. What saved his life when the shock wave hit could kill him if we do the wrong thing.” 
“Talyn, the Gasparian engineer, doesn’t agree,” Suriel said. “He thinks the gravity crane can lift the beam long enough for us to get my brother out.” 
Christa noticed Suriel didn’t refer to Reuel as Lord Shatar. 
“A gravity crane works well on a solid piece of debris,” Daran explained. “But that beam isn’t solid. It only looks solid. If we had time to get a vibration camera here, I could show you, but we don’t have time. I don’t recommend you try lifting anything.” 
“Then how do we get him out?” Christa asked, needing an answer before she lost the last of her sanity. It was getting darker by the minute in spite of the solar candles the guards were placing around the perimeter of the building. 
“With our hands.” 
“Ours hands?” Suriel said in disbelief. 
Daran nodded. “There’s a small hole in the corner of the east wall. If we enlarge it enough to get a man through the opening, we can get to the Governor without bringing the roof crashing down on him. But the only way to make sure we don’t dislodge the beam is to do it one stone at a time.” 
“Are you sure?” Christa asked. 
“If Gloriana was under there, I wouldn’t do it any other way,” Daran replied. 
“Then that’s how we do it,” Christa said, glancing around to make sure she didn’t have to argue with anyone. 
The plump engineer was standing behind Reuel’s father looking skeptical. “You’re an Earthling,” he said, unaware the man he was talking to had been assigned to the Engineering Department by the Governor himself. “What do you know about such things?” 
Christa scorched the Gasparian with a ferocious stare. “He knows enough for me to put Lord Shatar’s life in his hands, not yours.” 
Minlim stepped up to the engineer. A quiet exchange of words turned the disagreeable Gasparian into a silent observer. 
“Where do we start?” Suriel asked, taking off his flight tunic and tossing it to his father. Realizing the Governor’s family intended to follow the Earthling’s advise, the unwanted engineer turned and walked away. 
“I’ll show you,” Daran said, heading for the fractured corner where he planned to start digging. 
Time stood still as Christa watched the small blocks of rock tile being cut with laser saws. The narrow beams of light glowed like blue fire in the darkness as the workers cut away the corner of the east wall one cubic at a time. She wasn’t sure when Minlim had draped Reuel’s cloak around her shoulders. Lifting a corner to her face, Christa inhaled the faint scent of her husband, left behind on the thick fabric. 
“You are his hope.” 
She clung to the words. 
The fragile truce she and Reuel had formed on the Korana had left so much unsaid. She longed to tell him that, while she didn’t condone his actions, she could finally understand them. 
His duty was, and would always be, a part of him. It was what gave him strength and purpose —what fired his passion and his honor. 
Remembering how often she’d slandered that duty, Christa prayed he could forgive her. While she’d been hurling insults at his head, condemning him as a bigot, she’d been the one too blind to see. 
Daran was hovering over the workers, supervising each intricate slice into the fragile wall. Occasionally, he’d look her way and smile. Night had brought colder temperatures and a fierce wind blowing in from the Icarian. Christa wrapped Reuel’s cloak more tightly around her as it started to rain. 
“Come, my lady,” Minlim said. “The shelter isn’t large, but it will keep you dry. Lord Shatar will need your strength once he is freed. You must rest.” 
“Why is it taking so long?” she asked, allowing herself to be coaxed under the metallic hut that had been constructed next to the crumbled academy. She programmed the doors to remain open. She couldn’t take her eyes off the hole that was slowly growing larger. It was her husband’s gateway to freedom. 
“It should be soon,” Minlim assured her. “The last cuts are being made now.” 
“He is…?” 
“He is still alive,” the advisor said, stepping inside the small shelter. He poured her a cup of tea, placing the metal cup in her hands. “Drink.” 
The tea was hot. She sipped it, wishing it could melt the cold fingers wrapped around her heart. 
Nothing could, except the sight of her husband. 
Christa tossed the cup to the ground when Daran waved at her. She hurried to the hole, expertly carved out of the rock wall. Two of Reuel’s guards were shedding their tunics and preparing to enter the dark cavity. Suriel handed each of them a small solar candle. The men dropped to the ground and crawled through the narrow opening on their bellies. 
The light of their solar candles disappeared with them, leaving Christa staring at a black crevice. It took every shred of self-control she possessed not to crawl after them. 
After several long, breath-taking minutes, one of the candles reappeared, its owner covered with rock dust. “We found him. The Pyrali engineer is dead, but the Governor’s alive. He’s unconscious, but we can pull him out.” 
Christa slumped to the ground, flooded with relief. 
When the guard reappeared, his arm hooked around her husband’s limp body, she crawled forward on her hands and knees. She cradled Reuel’s head in her lap, washing his face with her tears while she told him over and over again how much she loved him. 
Christa didn’t see Minlim’s smile, or the respect shining on the faces of every man in the crowd. She didn’t hear the Gasparian engineer beg her forgiveness, or the shouts of jubilation coming from the command post. Like her wedding day, all and everything had become one man. 
“You have to let him go, my lady, the physicians are waiting.” 
Christa heard Minlim’s gentle plea. Relinquishing Reuel to his care, she watched as they placed her husband on an anti-gravity litter, its small engines humming softly as two medical technicians guided it toward the aircoach. Christa climbed inside, clutching her husband’s hand to her heart. 
He was pale. His dark hair was matted with dirt. He was bruised and battered, but Christa thought he’d never looked more handsome. She leaned over the litter and brushed her lips across his still mouth, needing to feel his breath to assure herself he was alive. 
The men watching her went unnoticed as she pressed her cheek to his and whispered in his ear. “I love you, Reuel Shatar. I love you.” 
“You disobeyed me again,” he said, the words barely more than a whisper. 
She jerked back, wondering if she’d dreamed them. 
Dark lashes fluttered, then opened slowly. Emerald eyes full of life looked up at her. When her husband’s mouth curved into a weak smile, Christa buried her face against his chest to hide tears finally shed in joy. 

Epilogue

   
“I have neglected you,” Reuel said, walking into the garden below her balcony. “It is time to put Pyrali’s needs behind us for the moment and see to our own.” 
Christa assumed her husband was talking about physical needs. It had been two weeks since their return to Dacla. He was fully recovered from the accident and back to being Governor. 
He sat down beside her, clasping her hands firmly in his. 
“It is my duty to provide the Alliance with a ruler,” he said, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her hand. “I took you as my wife, doing what I thought was necessary to fulfill that duty.” 
Christa didn’t say anything. They hadn’t spoken of the reason for their marriage since returning to Dacla. 
Reuel reached up and traced the outline of her mouth, his touch seductively light. “I knew you would fight me if I told you the truth. You were such a fiery little rebel. But I wanted you then as much as I do now,” he admitted honestly. “You aroused more than my flesh, cassana, you aroused the warrior in me who isn’t used to losing battles.” 
“Have you lost, my lord?” Christa asked, suddenly afraid of the answer. As always, Reuel held her life in his hands. 
“I fear I have lost the biggest battle of all,” Reuel whispered against her mouth. “I lost my heart to an impulsive Earthling.” 
Her lips trembled as he kissed them ever so gently. 
“Your tongue lashes at my arrogance, your stubbornness tests my temper, and your smile warms my spirit. Your passion steals my soul, but the times I’ve held you sleeping in my arms gives me a peace I’ve never known. You have filled my life with chaos, yet I find the thought of a future without you by my side as barren as I once found the despair of never siring a son.” 
“I’ll always be an Earthling,” she reminded him. 
Reuel kissed her again, telling her with his touch what she needed to hear. Christa wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to the man she loved as though the world had started shaking under her feet again. 
“The Alliance still requires an heir, my lady.” 
Christa smiled as Reuel began unlacing her smock. “Lady Shatar would never think of neglecting her duty to the noble Alliance, my lord.” 
THE END

About the Author
Patricia Waddell

Patricia writes for the pure joy of escaping the day to day confines of reality. The reason she thinks most of us pick up a book. A graduate of the University of Cincinnati, Pat grew up in the Mid-West, where old-fashioned values grow like corn. After a full day as a professional accountant, she races home to her keyboard and walks through the looking glass into the world of romantic fiction. 
Her first two books, historical romances set in Texas, were inspired by growing up with Zane Grey on the bookshelves and Bonanza on the TV screen. The Alliance is about love in a galaxy far far away with a reflection of the past. 
“I wanted to write a story that transcends time and space. After all, that’s what love does.” 
A firm believer that life can never have too many happy endings, Pat enjoys creating strong, out-spoken characters with a touch of humor and a sprinkling of the unexpected. 
Pat currently resides in Florida with her husband, Phillip, where she juggles two careers; one fact, one fiction, but both filled with romance. 
Email her at P.A.Waddell@worldnet.att.net.