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  Mestor grunted. He understood the reason for Dargon’s ruse. Zeus’s plans were important to their mission and if he was more worried about his Udens Mahte’lan than he already was, then nothing would get accomplished. He glanced at Sohm’lan, acknowledging that if his amor did something similar, he would be deeply hurt.

  The hail from the door made Mestor check the time.

  “Perfect. They are on schedule,” Azaes said.

  He rose to get the door but Sohm’lan hiss-clicked in warning. “I will escort the prisoner in.”

  He sank back down into his chair, unwilling to argue with his warlord. Sohm’lan rounded the table and crossed the room.

  “You did not discuss anything with him, did you?” Azaes whispered.

  Mestor gave his most innocent look, unprepared for the smack on the back of the head. “Successful relationships rely heavily on open communication, so Ariafella says.”

  He rubbed the sting away from his scales, glowering at his brother. “I am doing what is best.”

  “For you, perhaps.” Azaes narrowed his eyes. “You need to fix this before the Oethra 7 departs or you will have regrets. If you are wrong in your assumption that Zeus will be flying to safety and it is nothing but a hornet’s nest on the surface, Sohm’lan will be in more danger than we are.”

  He wanted to deny it, but Azaes’ warning had caused his blood to run cold.

  “Prince Azaes, Prince Mestor.” Sohm’lan’s formal address made Mestor turn. “This is Kryp Istere’Se.”

  The Dire D’Noss who stood next to Sohm’lan grinned, revealing razor-sharp teeth. His thin, powder-white wrists were shackled in front, the three fingers of his hands curled as tightly as his antennae. His extra-large powder-blue eyes lent Kryp an innocence that Mestor had not seen in the other captured Dire D’Noss. Was it a ruse? Sohm’lan believed he could be trusted to a point and that was what this meeting was about.

  “Welcome, Kryp Istere’Se.” Azaes gestured to a seat. “We will be connecting with the Overlord Wrik Brouq’yd’Se shortly. I must warn you that if you say anything without my permission, I will have you immediately removed.”

  “As you wish,” Kryp replied, his antennae unfurling a couple of centimeters. He looked adoringly at Sohm’lan with those big eyes and jealously ripped through Mestor.

  He hurriedly attempted to clamp down on his reaction, but it was too late, and his spines slid out of his ridge along with the warning scent of an angry bull flooding the room. Sohm’lan’s only reaction was the narrowing of his eyes that told Mestor he was acting like an idiot. Spinning and putting his back to the room, he crossed to the bar and drew a pitcher of water. He worked to withdraw his spines before they dripped venom. Though their bond, he sensed Azaes’ concern. Sometimes he wished that he shared telepathy with his twin, but at times like this, he was glad he did not. He was not prepared to answer any questions.

  Diligently, he packed away his emotions and forced his thoughts to stay on the upcoming meeting. By the time he returned to the table, he was in better control and offered a glass of water to Kryp. The young Dire D’Noss stared at him with obvious fascination.

  “That was so awesome! I cannot wait to tell my siblings!” Kryp was sitting up straight, his antennae a light purple as they unfurled more. “I had heard Mar’Sani royalty had poisonous spines but since there were not any pictures, I thought it was misdirection. They are going to be so jealous that I was this close to you when they popped out. Is it something you can control?” He pointed at his antennae. “I cannot control these no matter how I try. Wrik has perfect control over his but he is the Overlord.”

  The corner of Mestor’s mouth quirked up involuntarily at Kryp’s excitement. Now he felt like a real heel, but he also wondered how Kryp had survived with the other Dire D’Noss mercenaries. They were not known for their patience or kindness.

  Azaes’ data pad beeped, signaling the three-minute countdown to the meeting. The holoprojector, the Dire D’Noss preferred form of communication, was already situated in the center of the table where the holograph of the Dire D’Noss would appear on a miniature scale.

  Mestor took his seat next to Azaes, separating his brother from Kryp. Sohm’lan took the seat on the other side of Kryp. If the young Dire D’Noss did anything alarming, Sohm’lan would incapacitate him while Mestor protected his twin.

  Even in hyperspace, the holograph looked solid, the projected figure stood about two hands tall and wore yellow formal robes that blew in a non-existent breeze. The being’s skin was almost as white as Kryp’s but with an orange cast.

  “Greetings Prince Azaes Vondorian.” The Dire D’Noss bowed to Azaes, easily identifying the medallion with the royal crest that Azaes wore. “I am, Aest Kiv’eahg’xe, the personal assistant to Overlord Wrik Brouq’yd’Se who has been temporarily delayed and he—” The male’s gaze took in Mestor and then stalled on Kryp whose antennae were curled tight to his head, again. “If you will excuse me a moment.” The picture of the Dire D’Noss homeworld, Sirbolli, suddenly appeared where the assistant had stood.

  “I bet he is cursing himself for putting us off until now,” Mestor said smugly to his brother.

  Next to him, Kryp choked on his sip of water. It sounded suspiciously like a giggle, but when Mestor glanced at him, Kryp had a straight face as he wiped his mouth. He was contemplating if he should ask Kryp what the humor was about when the hologram changed and a formidable male stood in the middle of the projector, his stance wide with his hands braced on his hips. Unlike most of the Dire D’Noss that Mestor had seen thus far, the overlord was not lean and lithe. He was thick all over from his three-fingered hands to his tree-trunk thighs. Wrik Brouq’yd’Se was a renowned fighter and anyone who thought that thickness of body meant he was just another lazy ruler would be proven wrong as the overlord twisted their head off with his bare hands.

  “Prince Azaes Vondorian,” he said to Azaes, but his attention was solely for Kryp who shrunk down in his seat. Mestor watched Kryp closely and saw no covert hand gestures or any other non-verbal communication. Kryp’s antennae were once again curled closely to his hairless scalp, turning a bright yellow. Finally, Overlord Wrik Brouq’yd’Se turned his blue-gray eyes to Azaes. “I owe you an apology. I was not told that you have been waiting weeks for this meeting until a few moments ago. I promise you this delay will not happen again. You have my heartfelt thanks for finding my wayward grandson. I have been looking for him for several months.”

  Kryp had sunk so far in his chair that Mestor was surprised he was not under the table already. Sohm’lan nudged Kryp with an expression Mestor knew all too well from his youth. That was his mentoring look, urging Kryp to meet this discussion like the adult he had portrayed himself as since he had been taken prisoner. Azaes explained the situation to the Overlord, and like Kryp, the Overlord’s six antennae changed colors, predominately red with splashes of lavender and orange. The two in the forefront were tipped with what looked like feathers, the tendrils snapping down to hug the crimson stalk as the overlord listened.

  Sitting up, Kryp placed his cuffed wrists on the table. Oddly, well probably not since Sohm’lan was the one who had spent the most time with Kryp, the young Dire D’Noss looked up to Sohm’lan as if seeking reassurance, a motion that the overlord did not miss.

  “Who put you up to this… this… operation, Kryp Trou Brouq’yd’Se?” Overlord Wrik’s voice had a calm, deadly quality that promised heads would roll. Obviously, Kryp was important to him.

  Mestor made a quick note of the Dire D’Noss’s true name on his data pad. Kryp did not answer, looking to Azaes for permission to speak. Mestor’s estimation of his maturity went up a notch, well, a quarter of a notch, for following directions. He sensed Azaes’ humor, though his twin’s expression remained neutral as he nodded permission.

  “Grandfather! I am a grown male and I am the only one responsible for my actions. We needed to know what was happening and the only way to find out was to join the space-farers.” The more
Kryp spoke the more pride entered his posture.

  “And who have you been sending your reports to?”

  Dire D’Noss were not known for their protective instincts for their offspring. Mestor had read Sohm’lan’s reports and conducted his own research into the culture. The practice of a non-biological parent taming and raising the offspring was not new but millennia old. What was new was the offspring emotionally bonding with their adoptive parent and taking on their lineage, never honoring their biological parent by carrying their name. That the overlord showed genuine concern for Kryp was unprecedented and proved that the Dire D’Noss culture was shifting more quickly that anyone thought.

  “Grandfather,” Kryp said with just as much love and emotion, his large powder-blue eyes blinking several times. “Do not be angry with Drosl. They needed information and there were several of us who volunteered to help.”

  The fluff on the overlord’s antennae spiked out and he spun on his heel, giving his back to them. Mestor empathized, remembering how emotionally overwhelmed he and Azaes had been when Zeus disappeared.

  “I am sorry, Grandfather. I know you work hard to keep us all safe, but we wanted to do our part. You do not have the carry the weight of the entire planet alone. We are citizens and want to serve. I do not know what my cousins have found, but the information I collected will help to save lives, not only ours but on a galactic scale.”

  “He speaks truth,” Mestor added. “The Galactic Emperors and Crown Princes will be very interested and will want to meet with him once we arrive in Valespia.”

  “No, you cannot go there!” Kryp turned to Sohm’lan, sounding frantic. “Did you not tell them? There is a spy there. The mercenaries boarded your vessel because you harbored the Oethra 7 that carries someone they desperately want. Tell them, Warlord Sohm’lan!”

  Overlord Wrik spun back around. “Be calm, Kryp, and explain.”

  Kryp started talking fast and, when he finished, Azaes gave Mestor the look. Before the meeting they had discussed how much they would reveal to the overlord. If Kryp was truthfully spying for the Dire D’Noss and the overlord seemed to be unconnected to the apparent siege of Valespia, then they would attempt to recruit help, even though Sirbolli was on the other side of the galaxy. Mestor nodded, agreeing that they could trust the overlord with some information. Azaes then revealed the mission they had taken on by sheltering the Oethra 7.

  Overlord Wrik listened carefully, mouth pressed into a long, stern line. He motioned to someone not in visual range. “Try contacting Seclord Drosl,” he ordered. Turning his attention to Azaes, he bowed. “I know that there will be repercussions, but I am hoping that we can work out something to get Kryp out of your brig.”

  “Please, Grandfather, if I am taken away, then my cover is blown and I will lose their trust,” Kryp said quickly.

  Overlord Wrik sighed. “Nugget, your mission is over. Those with you will be dealt with by Galactic Imperial Patrol.”

  Kryp gasped as if he had been stabbed. “You just did not call me that in front of…” He covered his face and his antennae stood straight, turning bright yellow again.

  “I said it not to embarrass you. This old male is distraught that so many of his family have been putting themselves in harm’s way. Do you know how much danger you have been in? If they had discovered that you were of my family, I have no doubts they would have killed you without question. I cannot lose any one of you, Nugget.”

  “All right! All right. Just stop calling me that,” Kryp said, peering through his fingers before putting his hand down.

  “I am sure we can work something out,” Azaes said into the silence. “In anticipation of a positive outcome of this meeting, we have quarters set aside for Kryp.” Mestor caught Kryp’s sigh of relief.

  “If I could speak privately?” Overlord Wrik asked before looking to the side, cocking his head as if listening. “You cannot get through on any frequency?” he asked someone Mestor could not see.

  While the overlord dealt with that, Sohm’lan took off Kryp’s cuffs and escorted him to the door where he ordered a couple of guards to show Kryp to his new quarters after giving Kryp a tour of the common areas. When Sohm’lan returned, he sat on the chair next to Mestor, their shoulders brushing. Mestor’s senses were filled with Sohm’lan’s pheromones, and he closed his eyes, needing a second, otherwise he would pull Sohm’lan into the lavatory, again.

  “We cannot contact our Council of Neighn member either,” Overlord Wrik said to Azaes. “As you know, we Dire D’Noss are not allowed a fleet, but I do have contacts in the Mercenary Guild who I know are loyal to the Pact. I will connect with them and see if they can send a couple of starships. With luck, they will have something close.” He looked at where Sohm’lan sat in Kryp’s chair, his expression turning grim. “If I may ask, what physical state was my grandson in when you arrested him? Those who live off-planet are barely civilized and that generation of females does not know how to take no as an answer. Kryp is crafty and excellent when it comes to technology, but he is no fighter, and he would have to be one to keep from being forced into breeding.”

  A sour taste formed in Mestor’s mouth. Rape was not something the Mar’Sani took lightly. Those convicted were deemed a threat to society and put to death.

  “He carried extensive bruising which our medtech addressed,” Sohm’lan replied, his expression matching the overlord’s. “As for the other, Kryp has made no mention of it.”

  The overlord nodded as if he expected that answer. From that point, Azaes and the overlord made plans to speak again, after reaching Valespian space. The longer that Mestor sat next to Sohm’lan the more he waffled about whether or not he wanted to speak to him. He felt guilty for not discussing anything with Sohm’lan, and right then, he was contemplating asking for forgiveness. When Azaes signed off with Overlord Wrik, Mestor stood and hurried out of Azaes’ quarters, barely mumbling a good-bye before he ran.

  In all the time he spent methodically chasing Sohm’lan, he never believed that he would be the one turning tail, but there he was, trying to put distance between them simply because he was afraid of Sohm’lan’s anger and terrified of something he could not quite put his finger on.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sohm’lan

  * * *

  Sohm’lan pursed his lips as he watched the door slide shut behind Mestor.

  “He did what he thought he should,” Azaes said into the silence.

  “I am not angry with him,” Sohm’lan replied, perplexed by Mestor’s guilt-ridden behavior. He definitely did not like waking up alone and wanted an explanation as to why Mestor could not face him that morning. The multitude of possible reasons that assailed him had kept him on edge since he woke with Mestor’s side of the sleeping platform empty and cold.

  “He is terrified of saying good-bye. You better hurry and find him. There are only a couple hours left before we drop out of hyperspace,” Azaes encouraged.

  Sohm’lan pressed his forehead to Azaes’. “Be swift. Be sure. May your enemy fall upon your sword.”

  Azaes’ smile was all pointy, needle-sharp teeth. “May your enemy quake at the sight of you and your blade bite true. Now go, before my brother drowns himself in his self-induced misery.”

  Sohm’lan left Azaes’ quarters determined to catch his amor, but he did not give chase yet. Mestor expected immediate pursuit. He would give his prince space, allowing him to relax and become complacent, then come at Mestor from a different angle. Instead of checking Mestor’s location on his data pad, he returned to his cabin and packed a travel bag. He did not want to take too much, but he had always been one to anticipate trouble.

  When he finished, he knelt before Niobe’s memory altar. He did not light the incense, instead flicking on the holo-imager and watching as his mate gazed at him with those big brown eyes of hers. Her creamy scales turned a light brown along her ridge where her barbs lay slack against her back. He had always loved her smile and how she saw good in even the most disreput
able. Her dark blue robes flowed around her distended stomach. She had claimed she carried a bull though she refused to have the doctors tell her the sex.

  Sohm’lan wondered what she would say about Mestor, instinctively knowing she would want him happy. He had resisted that knowledge for so long that he was surprised how easily acceptance had come to him in the last few weeks. His heart hurt looking at her image, but these days the ache did not numb him but rather left him feeling bittersweet.

  As Niobe stroked her stomach in the holo-image, the thought of Mestor one day wanting young intruded into his thoughts. It was something that kept coming up the closer to Valespia they traveled. He was not naive. He and Mestor had been existing in a happy bubble, their world limited to The Gorgon and its inhabitants. The courtiers of Haven would flock to Mestor for prestige alone. He growled in disgust but could not deny that one day Mestor would want a family, one that Sohm’lan could not provide. The noble houses would erupt in chaos if Mestor used the surrogacy agency. There was no way they would allow tradition to be shirked and lose the opportunity to betroth one of their daughters to a prince. If the female allowed Mestor to keep Sohm’lan as a lover… He could not breathe. Just the thought made him want to rage. He was possessive to a fault and refused to share Mestor, no matter how wonderful the female was.

  He fervently prayed that this issue was far in the future. He was not ready to give Mestor up. He was beginning to suspect he never would be.

  Rising to his feet, he grabbed his bag and left his quarters. He checked Mestor’s location, glad to see that he had not made his way to the Oethra 7 yet. One of the warlords assigned to Zeus met him on the dock. The soldiers were arriving and assembling in their cohorts. He issued his orders and once he was confident they would not need him, he boarded the Oethra 7.

  One of the Orion met him at the top of the ramp. They wore what looked like a belt around their mantle and they tapped a device that resembled a buckle. “Greetings, Warlord Sohm’lan. I am Rhee, your guide. I will show you to your quarters and orient you with the bays the soldiers will be secured in during flight.”