Empress Hiding

By Y. M. Roger

The Bohrean Empire is inhabited by dual-entity beings: a cognate (think human) formthat interacts with other cognates in daily lifepaired with an animal alter-being that, although in communication with its cognate, needs to be controlled to prevent its animal presence in cognate-governed society. Once a righteous monarchy with the usual predator/prey issues between cognates, the empire is now deeply divided by prejudices fueled from the crimson Khedive currently occupying the throne. The unknown yet powerful empress and her cognate find themselves inexplicably drawn toward the preeminent heir to that throne. But is that attraction worth risking both themselves and all the blood-bornes in the Empire? Or is hidden a state that should remain their refuge for life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543412178

Book preview

Chapter 1

The day could not have been any more perfect – the setting stars’ rays reflected off of and warmed Runa’s colorfully plated skin as the breezes buffeted her face and full, magenta-sprinkled-with-chartreuse mane. She ran at full speed on all fours across the field as the shadows of late evening crawled across the land – robust wings held tightly against her – powerful, armored tail roiling with her sizable, clawed-foot strides. Her destination in sight, the magnificent dragoness was simply enjoying the temperature differences across her colossal muscular and iridescent frame. The run was a trade-off for her allowing her Chiyoto – her Treasure – a diving and swimming workout in the filled quarry back around the bend. No, Runa had never enjoyed full water immersion the way her Chiyoto did – the beautiful altare deemed it unsettling and unnecessary. But even in her own absence, Chiyoto could almost feel Runa’s eyes glow that – what was it Mamere had always called it? Yes! Amaranthine. She could feel them heat to amaranthine in unison with Runa’s mane because of their mutual happiness.

It was rare that both Chiyoto and Runa found mutual anything – perhaps it was simply that each had very dominant and demanding yet so very different personalities. But Chiyoto knew the real reason: it was because Runa could be so querulous in the use of their magical abilities and definite preeminent predator status while Chiyoto had to hold onto control so that they could live a peaceful, unburdened life.

But it was times like this – times when their magic thrummed like omnipotent music through their veins, practically igniting the air around them with a kind of magical electricity that soothed their entire being from the depths of their soul – it was this state of existence that made Chiyoto doubt Mamere’s warning to always stay humble and to shy away from civilization. Because at times like this, the feeling of invincibility could be intoxicating … and Mamere had known that.

Chiyoto needed to hide.

She needed to be isolated.

But with a good, reliable source of nourishment.

Otherwise, she would …

Chiyoto swallowed hard and pushed the thought away with the power she now felt with Runa in control. It almost seemed that in this magical state of existence with its physical and emotional high that nothing – no Crimsons, no Green Prisons, no Executioners nor even the Preeminent Khedive himself – nothing would dare even feign to approach them.

Runa halted at the outer gate rather than trample her Treasure’s carefully planted garden on the interior and let out an ear-splitting victorious cry that seemed to still even the breezes. As they reared on incredibly strong back legs and spread her astonishingly large yet nearly transparent wings, the dragoness’ breath sent a hail of magenta-hued energy that matched her eyes into the now-silent air – her tail slashing menacingly at enemies that did not exist.

At least not here.

The piercing sound echoed between the mountains beyond where they had just come from their swim and the hills that separated this valley from the single tiny village on the surface of this small and yet officially uncharted celestial rock that was their Haven.

After letting her beautiful altare root around a bit, Chiyoto pulled hard to push Runa back into absence – herself to presence, the dragoness altare certainly not in any mood to be restrained at the moment. Oh, Runa was the wild part of them alright – strong, cunning, and more than a little uncivilized, no matter how much Chiyoto worked to the contrary. And, yes, Runa was the reason they could never live in a populated area and would, without question, never mate. But – as Chiyoto had discovered since their re-location to this isolated planetoid over twenty-four Bohrean cycles ago – when you have never known something, it is impossible to miss or even long for that something.

Alone was peaceful.

Alone was free and unchained and unhindered.

Alone had provided Chiyoto and Runa ample time to come to a somewhat harmonious state of existence – somewhat being the operative word here.

Because they still had their disagreements.

Sometimes.

And, besides, the other Blood-bornes that lived in hiding here had kept her in constant supply of magazines and novels and other reading materials through which to experience those population and relationship issues and concerns – and neither she nor Runa had any desire to experience first-hand even a whit of which they read. In fact, they both had veraciously scoffed at the whole idea of a mate in this current reality in which they would probably exist for the remainder of their lives.

However interminably long that turned out to be.

Chiyoto smiled up into the dual-starshine as she secured her fitted jodhpurs and slipped her large, over-sized tunic over her head. Her thoughts wondered back to Mamere as she remembered her beautiful yet so very old progenitor’s statement as they had shopped for clothing once puberty had hit Chiyoto.

Never have any in our line been so finely and fully endowed like you, my beautiful Chiyo, she had smiled that old and loving smile at her extremely late-in-life daughter, You should always wear very loose-fitting clothing or fasten yourself firmly so as not to attract the wrong attention.

She felt Runa growl within her chest at the memory – the sound being borne mostly of the animosity engendered with Mamere’s use of the term wrong attention.

Now, Runa, Chiyoto chided to herself, There are no Crimsons here on Haven, she giggled to herself because she knew there was part of Runa’s protest that was not related to the ‘attention’, And there will be no fastener today, my wild altare.

She felt Runa try to nervously re-settle herself as she donned her tall, Neltskin boots – a trophy they had fashioned from the amazingly tough hides of one of Runa’s prize kills a few cycles back. But as she stood to walk to the deep-well cooler – beautiful lilac and aquamarine hair shimmering in the starlight – she warily acknowledged that had been her second prominent recollection of Mamere this day.

Chiyoto brushed away the feeling of unease as she focused her attention on the raising of the heavy box from deep beneath the water at the base of the well. Although the box was definitely not a hardship for her – the strength they harbored within themselves was easily two or three times that of a an average predator Blood-borne – she had to be careful not to start the box swinging such that it banged up against the stone walls of the well itself. Chiyoto did not want the box to break: building a new one that fit so perfectly and then cooperating with Runa in finding just the right magic with which to infuse it – enough to protect but not to raise any suspicions – was not a task on which she would choose to embark this day.

It had actually been a very good day, and Chiyoto preferred to keep it that way. She felt a slight purr beneath the skin of her back and up through her neck – it seemed that her Runa preferred it that way as well.

But even as she heard the first of the small yet distant hurried footfalls on the trail from the village, another vivid memory of Mamere smiling and waggling that familiar, timeworn finger in Chiyoto’s face surfaced,

As Empress, we do not choose our destiny, its time, or its day, my Chiyo, she leaned over and gently kissed Chiyoto’s forehead, All are chosen for us.

Chiyoto almost unknowingly released the rope she had been working and let the box fall back into the depths at the base of the well as she sat quietly on the stones surrounding it trying to quiet both Runa’s and her own imagination.

And waited for the approaching young messenger to arrive.

Three recollections from old will call forth a journey of new.

Those words from one of the spinning Elder Volutes in the Blood-Borne Pantheon on Bohrea Cardinal kept echoing through her head as she sat and tried to calm Runa until the tenderfoot messenger hydenna – his flat and stiff green-brown coat glistening with his sweat from the run over the hills, and his overly-muscular build screaming of the dangerous predator he was becoming – stood at the edge of the trail and stepped behind a tree. The young male that stepped out had donned a pair of hunting britches and carried his messenger pouch on his bare shoulder rather than strapped across the back as worn by his altare.

Raylen was even built like a predator in his svelte cognate form.

Chiyoto tried to smile warmly, although she felt nothing of the sort as Raylen approached her position with marked humility and reverence. About four paces in front of her, he fell to one knee and extended the missive he had pulled from his pouch.

This came on today’s supply transport, Chiyoto-sama, he maintained a head-down posture as she stood and approached, My sire thought it best you receive it straight away.

Probably because she never received anything.

Ever.

Outside of Haven, no one even knew Chiyoto existed except Mamere. Sure, the Blood-bornes knew an Empress must be alive somewhere – there had to be for them to still be in existence – but no one knew of the Heiress officially, especially not what she actually looked like.

Besides, Mamere was still their Empress.

She smiled inwardly at that irony as she reached out with both hands – one in which she received the simple yet unmistakably magic-sealed envelope and the other’s whose palm she laid firmly on Raylen’s solid shoulder and squeezed gently.

Thank you, my formidable attendant, she forced Runa’s voice away from her own right now as she stepped back, You may rise.

Raylen stood although he remained with his head-down posture as Chiyoto breathed gently upon the envelope to break the seal.

Before she even pulled the parchment from between the folds, she inquired.

When is the next transport, Raylen?

Not pausing to look at him as he answered, Chiyoto unfolded the paper and read the few words scrawled in a seemingly ancient handwriting on the parchment.

There is not another supply transport for another fifteen days, Chiyoto-sama, Raylen raised his face with anticipation, But I recently received my flight warrant and would be honored to deliver you safely to the ICT just four hurs from here if need be, Raylen smiled enthusiastically, And meet you there on your return.

Chiyoto looked up from the missive and almost through the handsome young male as a million thoughts ran through her mind. Intra-system Commerce Terminals were not only crowded, but they were very, very crowded. She felt Runa grow restless at simply the thought of traveling to one, although her altare’s usual dominance and defiance were quite tempered now with the words of the missive.

She glanced back down at the date on the parchment and sighed.

Do you have some of the old black ink in storage, Raylen?

Raylen bowed and answered.

We do, Chiyoto-sama.

I would ask that you deliver a vial back to my doorstep just as soon as you are able, my faithful one.

Raylen looked a bit confused, but did not hesitate.

Straight away, Chiyoto-sama, but he waited obediently to be dismissed.

She sighed again.

And I will be down on the morrow to depart at first star, Raylen, she gripped the paper tightly in a fist as she reached over and touched the youth’s shoulder in dismissal and parting, You are certainly a blessing from the Makers.

She stood in place as Raylen raced off behind some trees, and subsequently tore off over the hills in his altare’s impressive hydenna form.

Like the other families on Haven, Raylen’s people lived here in exile: predator Blood-bornes – or Green Killers or Yasaks as the Crimsons had named them – had been sentenced to death on their home planet of Bohrea Cardinal and, yes, throughout all of the entire Bohrean Empire simply because of whom they were. They had been supposedly hunted to extinction there because they were deemed a threat to the grisly Crimson rule that had heavy-handedly risen to tyrannical power some three or four centuries ago.

And they were executed on sight when an adolescent Blood-borne presented as a predator.

At least that was how the law was stated – there had been rumblings to the contrary over the past few cycles or more. But Chiyoto knew nothing more than the whispers of some secret band of warriors that fought for those targeted by the insane law laid down all those centuries ago by the murderous Crimson traitor to the Empress’ line.

Under that same law, from what Chiyoto could recall, the non-predator Blood-bornes were allowed to live only as a lower class of servants and slaves to the ruling Crimsons – their lives a mere subsistence compared to the harmonious reality Bohrea had been prior to that blood-bath. The before times were a reality now only known to the general population in verbal tales and, perhaps, in artwork that had survived the abhorrent Speciatic Cleansing.

But those before times were a reality depicted and described in the finest detail for Chiyoto by Mamere from the time she had been old enough to understand – from lips so old the female should never have birthed an heir – all of the facts of Mamere and Chiyoto’s line in-grained into every fiber of the young female Blood-borne Heiress’ being.

Runa growled restlessly at her Treasure’s thoughts – the dragoness’s wild, vengeful visions and thirst for the taste of Crimson blood trying to spread through Chiyoto even above the serene acceptance they both had felt through the reading of the missive.

We are ready to move on, my beautiful heir.

We will expect you within ten days.

Mamere

The date on the parchment left only five days for the approximate three to four day voyage to the heart of the governmental seat on Bohrea Cardinal.

Because it was a voyage Chiyoto had no choice but to make.

She squeezed the parchment even tighter in her fist as she began to run through all the things in her head that needed accomplishing before tomorrow’s first star. Chiyoto turned toward their dwelling and mounted the stairs.

Mamere was prepared to pass into the heavenly realm of monarchs – even though she had never worn a crown and had lived a poor and simple seamstress’s existence for centuries.

Because my time is simply never to be, my Chiyoto.

It was a fact that had never seemed to bother the humble and peaceful Blood-borne Grande Dame to all of their kind – even though no Crimson and only a select few Blood-borne servants knew of her dwelling place.

Chiyoto stopped short of the door and turned to look out over the vast expanse of their property as they both snorted in unison – a faint wisp of fuschia-tinted mist escaping through Chiyoto’s nose.

No, it was always because of the inbred Crimson prejudice, Mamere, Chiyoto murmured to herself as her Runa joined her with a resentful and almost threatening growl.

It was a fact that would forever color the perception and decisions of Mamere’s already extremely powerful and lethal Heir whose dragoness altare’s already potent magic still lacked a number of cycles to find its full maturity.

A maturity that promised to be stronger than any Heiress or Empress to pass before them.

Chiyoto let her Runa’s savage spirit fuel them as she set about preparing for tomorrow’s departure.

And Runa chided her that, perhaps, their personalities were not so different after all.

Chiyoto did not respond.

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As his trusted steward, Dalis, hung the Prime Magistrate’s cape on the proper hook, Rafal collapsed his royal vestment-adorned self into the large cushioned chair – unceremoniously cramming a meat-blended roll-up Dalis had handed him into his starving mouth. He subsequently reached almost desperately for the dark fermenti Dalis now offered. It was obvious from Rafal’s lack of manners that the mature prince’s comfort in such regal robes was practically non-existent – he scratched quite inelegantly and almost exaggeratedly at an itch that seemed to have annoyingly manifested on his lower back and proceeded to travel to his buttocks.

And both he and his beast growled in unison at the confinement they felt in the heavy, black garments.

The aged yet spry Dalis smiled much more inwardly than outwardly as he lowered the tray on which the fermenti had stood and raised another containing more of the Prime Magistrate’s preferred roll-ups. Rafal’s deep emerald eyes lit with enthusiasm as his free hand finished scratching and immediately honed in on the food tray – leaving his vestments a rumpled mess in its wake.

How long have you worked for us, Dalis?

The fact that Rafal looked at their relationship as one of employment was one of the reasons Dalis had signed on to serve in the Magistrate’s household even before they had officially left the Royal Palace – he was not treated as a servant or, worse yet, a slave as many of his friends and acquaintances in their service roles. In fact, Rafal had always compensated him well – even supplying a dwelling for him and his mate and their two offspring – when they had still lived at home – near the Magistrate’s residence where he was employed.

To be fair, Crowned Prince Rafal outwardly treated all of his servants as employees – there was no belittlement or even reminding of who was in charge – that was simply understood. A basic respect for his employees seemed evident although, because of his proximity to the Crowned Prince on a regular basis, Dalis was under no illusions that Rafal saw him as an equal being. But the truth of the Crimson/Blood-borne caste system put bloodily into place centuries ago was only vaguely evident in much of Rafal’s attitudes and in the Prime Magistrate’s behavior – which was baffling to both Dalis and his altare given that Rafal had been raised as the eldest prince in the Ruling House of Sadid.

Simply the thought of the surname made Dalis shudder and Mischief, his usually playful altare, cower inside.

But there were other reasons that kept Dalis in his station – reasons that were not so apparent to most.

And this day, Dalis almost playfully hrumphed to himself as he busied with removing Rafal’s tight-fitted and ornate dress boots so that his master could relax during this interlude in his trade route contract negotiations. The old steward’s response betrayed none of his amusement although it was a good thing that he did not face Rafal because his playful eyes would have given such away – that was the nature of his altare: a bushy-tailed monger affectionately named Mischief by Dalis’ progenitor so many cycles ago.

Would that be as a whole, Magistrate, or since the last time I was graciously re-hired?

Rafal’s face hardened as did his voice, although his strident tone did not seem to even phase Dalis.

Overall, you disrespectful steward!

Dalis placed the first boot on the floor and began working on the second, but he could already feel Rafal’s tension level fall at the removal of the first.

I believe it has been nearly thirty-eight cycles, Magistrate, Dalis replied blandly as he worked on the second.

Rafal grunted as his beast stretched lazily with the release of the first boot and in almost desperate anticipation of the second.

More than enough time, Rafal drank deep from his fermenti and subsequently let his head covered with those extremely long, richly-curled auburn locks fall across the back of the chair, You shall complete these Gods-forsaken negotiations for us so that we may enjoy a much-needed hydro-workout.

Rafal’s beast was a rare, amphibious Crimson predator that apparently only occurred once every five or even six generations – uncharacteristically large, extremely dangerous in fight and deadly venomous in sting and bite with no known match in the Bohrean animal kingdom – and both it and Rafal preferred the water to the land for relaxation. Rafal’s sire, the Preeminent Khedive Khitam Sadid, had been unable to find written record of another beast such as Rafal’s, although there were rumors of a prominent one serving as Captain of the Royal Guard of the last reigning Empress that had been put down due to his role in the murder of said Empress. The elder members of Khitam’s court had tried to reassure the Khedive that there were always females lined up to consort with a Prince and that mating would definitely tame even the wildest of beasts.

If only.

Because the prophecies had stated otherwise.

And the shallow, meaningless reassurances from self-serving courtiers did nothing but inflame the Khedive’s already angered state.

In fact, Khitam had ordered his own Royal consort’s execution upon first appearance of his eldest son’s beast when Rafal was just shy of adolescence – it had taken the whole Perce Guard Detail and then some to control and calm the huge and hideous creature enough for Rafal to regain his cognate form – and a number of those guards had lost their lives before it had been calmed. Khitam had placed the blame for the existence of the beast solely on the shoulders of the consort – that damning birth prophecy being the first stain on the consort’s doomed life.

For Rafal, his beast was unwieldy and hard to control, and it certainly lurked much closer to the surface in Rafal’s personality and actions than did most beasts – but Rafal was of over-whelmingly strong character and personality himself, and the conflicted and mostly non-existent relationship he had with his beast was mostly unknown to those outside the Royal Family. However, the terrifying creature’s reality was well known among his commanders and by anyone who had had the misfortune to challenge Rafal on just about anything – most beings simply steered clear of him and his much-acclaimed volatile personality.

Dalis grinned at his master’s frustration, Mischief’s jocosity trying to get the best of him.

But I did not bring the proper vestments, Magistrate, the second boot finally pulling free of Rafal’s thick, muscular leg – the abrupt motion putting the old steward off-balance initially such that he stumbled a bit with its release. He turned and held the large footwear in line with his own markedly smaller limb – Rafal’s knee boot nearly as long as Dalis’ entire leg – a mischievous smile broaching the servant’s diminutive lips, And neither of us could ever hope to don yours, oh Magistrate.

Rafal’s hard, somewhat frightening face actually relaxed somewhat as a small yet thunderous rumble escaped him – even his beast enjoyed their trustworthy steward’s antics – as he downed the remainder of the fermenti and shoved the empty glass in Dalis’ direction.

Fine. Then, refill this while we try to find the resolve to do so, you idler.

Dalis placed the boot down gingerly next to the other and took the glass from Rafal – a smile still adorning his face. Dalis bowed obediently to Rafal as he took the glass on his way to the small kitchenette at the back of the room.

Rafal and his beast grunted and growled as they attempted to find some comfort in their favorite chair while still trapped in the uncomfortable garments.

What would you like to do for dinner tonight, Magistrate?

Rafal growled long and low again as he once again re-adjusted their position.

Is there somewhere on this Gods-forsaken ICT that you think I could eat alone and unrecognized, Dalis?

The jovial steward was already headed back toward him with more roll-ups and fresh glass of fermenti.

I assure you, my Prince, that the unrecognized portion of your request is next to impossible, but I can certainly arrange for alone and even unencumbered if you would not mind more meager surroundings than that to which you are accustomed.

Dalis was the only being that Rafal actually allowed to call him ‘Prince’ – Dalis had served him in the years prior to his maturity date and into his subsequent placement as Prime Magistrate. However, Rafal despised the royal title because it tied him directly to the Khedive – and Rafal and his father saw eye-to-eye on absolutely nothing. Thus, ‘Prime Magistrate’ was the title by which he commanded he be addressed by all. Truth be told, Rafal did not trust his father nor the Khedive’s right-hand advisor, Ferenti. In fact, the only member of his own family – indeed of the entire ruling household – that Rafal trusted was his beloved brother, Hondo.

And Hondo could almost be his son in many ways – their age difference of twelve cycles and Hondo’s scant age of two when Khitam ordered their mother executed laid the groundwork for the unbreakable bond between the two brothers.

To Khitam’s chagrin.

Dalis presented the tray to Rafal as the large, not-so-regal male enthusiastically grabbed the glass and two more roll-ups and proceeded to shove nearly one whole roll-up into his mouth.

Ah puhfer meegah ta dis, his speech was garbled with his mouth full as he grabbed the heavy velvet-like vestment with the same hand in which he still held the other roll-up, Ha-brow maalkie dung.

Maalchies were the rodents that inhabited the inner-city slums and the deserted basements of more well-to-do neighborhoods.

Dalis nodded understandingly.

Then I will contact my cousin that runs the small inn and pub at the far corner of the entertainment level, Magistrate, he placed the new tray of roll-ups on the table next to Rafal, It is purposefully designed not to attract a lot of attention, and I am sure he would be accommodating to the Prime Magistrate of Bohrea Cardinal.

Rafal nodded his head in approval before downing half the fermenti and sloppily taking another large bite of roll-up – a number of large crumbs tumbling onto his vestments.

Both Rafal and his beast growled almost mirthfully as he blew the crumbs haphazardly onto the floor with breath blown purposefully and forcefully through his sharp nose – making Dalis grin again.

I will be back to help you to prepare to depart, he bowed and began to walk away, And I will clean after that, Magistrate, Dalis’ older face shown amusement, but his mind thought for the ten thousandth time that it was no wonder it had been prophesied at his birth that Crowned Prince Rafal Sadid would never have a Crimson mate nor willing consort – his beast was far too uncivilized and, yes, brutish – not to mention the rage and the unbridled fury to which Dalis had been witness during his service to Rafal. Dalis even momentarily felt – as his soft-tempered altare with the huge heart had a tendency to do – some twinge of pity for the unknown innocent Crimson female that would one day be forced to serve as the crowned prince’s consort. But the elder steward quickly shook off that pity as he reminded himself of one simple fact:

Crimson Raksasa was a term developed for the Crimson ruling class as a whole for a reason.

But things were definitely not always as they seemed for individuals such as Prince Rafal and his brother, Hondo.

Mischief laughed mirthfully deep inside of him because they both knew that to be the truth.

Because there was much more to their Prince Rafal Sadid than most in the Empire knew.

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Chapter 2

Chiyoto sat in the passenger seat of the small ag-runner distractedly fiddling with the Keeper she had fitted onto her right hand before departure this day. Runa still grumbled within her – the dragoness altare’s protests at the Keeper’s donning almost more than Chiyoto could contain on an empty stomach – and Chiyoto knew the burning she felt periodically in the tender joints throughout her body was her Runa’s expression of extreme displeasure at her continued magical imprisonment by the Keeper.

Even though Chiyoto had had to wear the magical restraint almost constantly when she lived on Bohrea Cardinal beginning with Runa’s first presence, it had been over two decades since she had worn it on Haven. The whole purpose of their self-exile to the uncharted planetoid at their age of fourteen cycles had been so that they would learn to live in balance with each other – with Chiyoto in charge. And they had done so.

To a point.

But Chiyoto was not ready to test the limits of that point – especially not with a crowded ICT full of Crimsons for which Runa had little to no patience. The Crimsons’ feelings toward all Blood-bornes – Greens, as the Crimsons had dubbed them because of the color of the blood that ran through their veins – and even their scents brought out the immature and the uncivilized parts of her altare’s personality.

Probably more so than they both wanted to admit.

Thus, Chiyoto had chosen to wear the powerfully magical restraining bracelet so that she could concentrate on her own outward behavior – it had been far too long since she had been integrated into society and would have to be wary of not only herself, but of everyone around her until she re-learned some of the accepted societal norms. She whispered a silent prayer of strength for the voyage to which Runa responded with a disgusted howl inside her head – Chiyoto sighed as she tried to soothe her inconsolable altare. Runa felt caged and collared – her strong desire to protect Chiyoto from harm the major factor in her unrest – which was the only reason Chiyoto felt as guilty as she did.

But Chiyoto had to try to make this journey with the Keeper on – she had to be able to act and to function without the added concern of losing control of Runa – because, oh Great Makers! what a bloodbath that would be.

For every Crimson on-board the ICT.

And probably her beloved Runa (and herself) in the end.

Raylen’s voice startled Chiyoto out of her thoughts.

May I ask you a question, Chiyoto-sama? the young male’s voice was low and respectful.

Aye, my faithful attendant, her voice low and measured – no outward sign of the conflict within her – as she continued to stare out the viewport, I will answer if I am able.

Raylen swallowed hard, and Chiyoto sensed his muscles tense even further as he cleared his throat to continue.

Chiyoto turned as she placed a hand on his shoulder and breathed across the space between them, I am your Empress-Heir, Raylen, not someone to be feared, she smiled warmly and let her eyes flash magenta at the young male as she released just a hint of soothing power into his neck and back from their point of contact. She also felt Runa huff at her use of peaceful communication – Runa’s tactics would always be a bit more … okay, yes, uncivilized.

She felt Raylen’s entire body physically respond almost immediately as a heavy sigh escaped with his relaxation.

Is it true that Crimsons cannot scent you or even sense you? he paused before hesitantly adding the last part, Either of you?

A faint smile broached the powerful yet diminutive female’s lips.

Aye, Raylen, her voice still as smooth as the dunes that bordered the desert near their tiny village on Haven, Which is why I choose to disguise my hair with the ink instead of magic – in addition to the distinct color difference, the ink itself gives the Crimsons a scent on which to cue – an unpleasant scent they would no more attribute to another Crimson than they would to themselves. Therefore, they recognize me as a Blood-borne that probably works in the factories and such on one of the moons or stations or even in the manufacturing districts on Bohrea Cardinal.

Raylen cut his eyes in disbelief at Chiyoto and swallowed hard as he nearly imperceptibly shook his head – the young male stifling a growl from his hydenna in response.

Knowing that Raylen had not a disloyal bone in his body, Chiyoto’s smile widened at the young male’s reaction – although she felt Runa bristle at what her altare considered insolence on his hydenna’s part – and she pressed him gently for an explanation.

Was my explanation naught reasonable, formidable one? she caught a glimpse of blush inch up Raylen’s hard yet handsome face as he looked down and then to the side opposite her to avoid her gaze. Yet, she hid her recognition of such as she waited patiently for him to find the words for which he seemed to be searching.

Twas reasonable yes, Chiyoto-sama, Raylen paused and swallowed again, but then it was as if he steeled his resolve and machine-gunned out the remainder of his answer – his gaze holding hers with a ferocity that could only come from his altare, If you were hard or scarred or even rough-skinned in any way, but you are not. You are soft and female and …

He trailed off in what Chiyoto could only read as embarrassment as his eyes drifted with his voice.

And what, Raylen?

Raylen breathed a frustrated breath.

"And so very not factory-worker," his statement was followed by an equally frustrated growl and a small strike of his fist on the control panel.

Chiyoto let out a slight chuckle.

I accept your compliment, formidable one, she paused to think and mull over the young male’s assessment in her head – Runa preening and purring in the glow of the adolescent crush the hydenna seemed to have on them, As well as your honest assessment – you have pointed out an aspect of this scenario I had not considered. Chiyoto took a deep breath and let it out, It is no wonder we trusted you with our lives in both the beginning and the end of this voyage.

She watched as Raylen’s back stiffened with his pride in response to Chiyoto’s words and a small, satisfied grin tried to pull across his face – although it was also evident that the young male fought its appearance there. She could also feel and almost see Runa roll her huge, partially-segmented eyes.

I will remember to come to you, Raylen, whenever I need an honest assessment of anything. Thank you, my faithful attendant.

Raylen sat straight and proud.

I am honored to serve Chiyoto-sama.

Chiyoto and Runa spent the remainder of the trip in quiet conflict about the Keeper until the Commerce Terminal loomed large in the viewports. So large, in fact, that one could make out beings on both the docking platforms ahead as well as on the some of the observation levels that looked out over the docks.

At that point, it took all of the will inside of Chiyoto to let the Keeper remain clasped around the base of her middle finger and firmly fastened around her wrist even though she continued to roll the small unbreakable chain that connected the two.

She blinked and wiped her eyes more than once to make sure she was not seeing things.

Because it was then that she latched onto Runa’s resolve and channeled her altare’s strength for them both – it seemed their magic had not only strengthened but had evolved over the past two decades. In Chiyoto’s sight, the Crimsons now carried a distinctive aura about them – making them easily distinguishable from the Blood-bornes – who had always been recognizable – or any other species for that matter.

And she felt Runa hum with satisfaction.

But what ate at the back of Chiyoto’s mind – what scared her such that she felt Runa try to reassure her in her unique and uncivilized manner – was the question of how much her empathic senses had changed.

Or, more importantly, had been heightened.

When they had left Bohrea Cardinal over two decades ago, Chiyoto could just barely sense the negative feelings of the Crimsons toward her and her people.

If those empathic senses were now magnified like her sight recognition obviously had been, how could she ever hope to stay sane over the next seven days?

More importantly, how could Runa?

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The crowd parted quite a ways ahead of them as Prime Magistrate Rafal Sadid and his Black Guard Detail strolled toward the meeting halls on the far side of the Terminal. Their trek took them through the outskirts of the loading docks and directly across one of the main walkways that ended in one of the few large viewports of the entire Terminal: the ones over-seeing arrivals and departures into the multiple bays beneath the structural behemoth.

Already distracted at not wanting to attend this second round of negotiations, Rafal found himself slow his pace and slightly angle his steps toward the viewport. As the intimidating Prime Magistrate did so, the many children that had been glued to the glass watching the outside activities were quickly and, yes, fearfully whisked away by their parents and older siblings, thus leaving a sizeable opening to look over the bustling ships.

The onlookers’ attitudes and stares did not so much as phase the towering Rafal – he had stopped noticing such actions toward his family and, especially, toward himself, cycles ago.

Hurt was an emotion he did well without – he mentally filed it all as respect for him and his position.

He felt his beast rumble with discontent inside.

But Rafal simply let it be.

Look at that old runner, Jaylis, Rafal indicated the antique ag-runner that was currently docking – his emerald eyes alight with an almost childlike interest. Although an older vehicle, it was, without question, one of the ships in the best condition in one of the designated Green Slots on the far end of the area – in fact, it was in what collectors might call mint condition.

The Captain of his Guard stepped up to stand beside Rafal, the guard’s lethal although smaller than his Magistrate’s muscular build no less frightening to the pedestrians in the area – that fright clearly on display as many of them chose to simply leave the viewport area altogether. Jaylis lifted his hunter-specialized glasses to attentively follow Rafal’s indicating finger as his other men stood warily at the ready surrounding them.

Impressive, Prime Magistrate, Jaylis’ tone was all formality as he raised a questioning eye-brow, It does not look anywhere near its easily fifty or sixty cycles of age – the Green owner must have some semblance of intelligence and mechanical ability.

Rafal glanced over at the older soldier who commanded his personal Guard at the behest of his sire, the aging and increasingly paranoid Khedive. The mature Magistrate took but a moment to discern the male soldier’s insincerity and speciatic jab, and a threatening growl rolled up from his beast inside as a result.

Siktir git, Jaylis, Rafal’s tone was cold and aggressive and the emerald of his eyes darkened with his mood, Step away from me. Now.

It was not just Jaylis that instantly gave Rafal the extra space he demanded, but the entire Detail did as well – save the Guard with the unusually long, ebony braid. And, as Rafal breathed deeply and fisted and opened his hands slowly to calm both himself and his beast, a small bundle of energy clothed in very worn clothing – but with giggles that reached inside of the tense Magistrate and calmed something there – barreled past the guards and right into Rafal’s booted shin.

Rafal’s first instinct was to growl and swipe at the child who unmistakably scented of Green blood, but she looked up at Rafal with a grin on her little face as well as in her white, sightless eyes as she grasped his boot for leverage to shakily stand, all the while her little nose obviously discerning Rafal’s Crimson make up as well.

And he saw the unease begin to slowly rise in her gaunt features.

But the smile quickly ran away from her face to be replaced by stark fear as Jaylis’ hand reached down to grasp her roughly by the nape and lift her unceremoniously off the ground.

Rafal’s beast roared inside of him in protest of Jaylis’ handling of the small and obviously malnourished blind child, and before panic could completely overtake the innocent little female face, the massive prince had reached across with one hand to grab the child around her fragile waist and the other to grab Jaylis tightly around the throat.

The entire viewing area fell ominously silent as Rafal ground out his two words between bared, clenched teeth.

Let. Go.

It was at that tense moment as the child was being held by both neck and mid-section that her visibly panicked mother broke through the wall of silent and staring observers, both Crimson and Blood-borne alike.

And the mother immediately threw herself on the ground prostrate at Rafal’s feet and fell into sobbing imploration to the Prime Magistrate for the life of her child, her weeping easily heard above the silence that was now spreading beyond the immediate viewing area.

There was not a hole big or deep enough that Rafal would have been happy in which to crawl at that moment – he absolutely hated public spectacles, especially when he seemed to find himself at the center of them. Because no matter how an incident began or transpired or even ended, it would be written of or spoken of from the perspective that, somehow, the Prime Magistrate had been the aggressor with an evil or some sort of malevolent-like intent.

Such was what fit with his rumored reputation – a reputation his sire encouraged heartily.

Such was the presence his build and his aura seemed to project.

Getting angry or hurt would only reinforce any or all of it.

So, Rafal just let it be.

And, as Rafal’s beast clawed him from the inside in defense of the child, Rafal tightened his grip on Jaylis’ throat as another growl rolled up from the agitated animal inside of the Prime Magistrate.

Jaylis reluctantly released his handhold on the tiny neck only to have his body flung against the other Guards as Rafal gently and without formality placed the little female beside her mother’s sobbing form.

The little female’s hands gently brushed aside her mother’s hair and tears as she was swept up into those loving maternal arms and whisked quickly away from Rafal and his Guards.

Without any explanation or further ado, Rafal stood to full height, adjusted his annoying and heavy garments, and continued walking through the viewing area – his long, wavy auburn hair flowing behind him along with his onyx vestments as the silent and fearful crowds parted in front of him.

The Black Guards quickly re-grouped and caught up to their charge somewhere just beyond the edge of the crowd with Jaylis quickly re-positioning himself at Rafal’s right side.

It was almost as if the entire incident had never happened.

At least to Jaylis and the other Guards.

At first.

The Captain spoke with a noted rasp in his voice but did not focus anywhere but straight ahead of them.

One day you will realize that showing mercy for the Green trash does nothing but erode your authority, Magistrate.

As they entered a more deserted hallway and without warning, Rafal stepped and spun toward Jaylis and pinned the Captain to the wall in a grip similar to the one in which he had just held him – only this time the hold immobilized the Guard Captain against the wall with his feet suspended above the floor.

Growls and snarls emanated from Rafal and his beast as the talons in his hands began to extend, and the irate Prince felt his beast tried to present as he struggled both physically and mentally to hold onto his cognate form.

"One day, I will be Khedive and you will be clothed as that child, Jaylis, the hatred seethed from Rafal’s pores as well as his lips, And I will be sure to guarantee your eyesight is just as exceptional as hers."

Rafal simply let Jaylis drop, choking, to his knees as he turned to continue walking.

Three of the Guards stayed behind to help Jaylis stand.

But one Guard ran ahead to keep up with Rafal, his sleek, midnight braid bouncing along his spinal column as he resumed his silent, steady pace just behind and to the left of his Prime Magistrate.

Rafal made a mental note to himself regarding the unique Guard but did not slow his pace.

The heir to the throne of the Bohrean Empire had a contract to negotiate.

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As she followed the gentle male into the sleeping quarters, Chiyoto took a deep breath to try to contain her Runa’s shock at how small their housing would to be for the night. A quick three-sixty showed a small bunk, a two-drawer chest, a sink with mirror on the wall and a smallish door that must lead to a bilikman, of sorts.

Very small sorts.

Runa could no more fit into four such rooms than she could fit into this one.

All the more reason the Keeper had to stay on – what if Chiyoto had one of her nightmares that had recently returned? Runa’s unleashing would blow out walls up and down this Blood-borne segregated housing area.

Chiyoto sighed as she found herself once again concentrating on calming her incensed altare.

The older, slow-moving male, whose name was Harnon, meticulously placed Chiyoto’s pack on the bed and turned to face her, the worry clearly displayed on his face.

Are the accommodations not satisfactory, Chiyoto-sama? Perhaps, I could talk to Franjin about …, his words were halted as she gently placed three fingers across his lips and released just a slight bit of soothing magic into his skin.

Please, my faithful servant, just Mistress for now, the older male calmly nodded his understanding as she continued, And the accommodations are wonderful – she heard and felt Runa protest vehemently from within – this was so not the open plains to which they had become happily accustomed, but Runa was going to have to deal – you and Franjin are both a blessing for their provision. It has simply been a very long day.

Harnon smiled and bowed his head to Chiyoto.

May we do anything else to serve you, Mistress?

Chiyoto smiled in return as she asked, Could you recommend a noshery where I may obtain sustenance? It seems we have gone through our provisions much quicker than expected.

Harnon shifted his somewhat hefty weight back and forth as his eyes darted about.

True sustenance is now banned off-planet, Mistress, he looked and sounded genuinely apologetic, "But the owner of the Midori Moon would be able to supply anything you may require. It is at the lower end of the food wing near the docking security exit – it is a very small establishment so, do not look for all the flash of the larger places."

It was Chiyoto’s turn to nod her understanding – besides, nodding was the most appropriate response on her part rather than opening her mouth and shocking poor Harnon and his docile pack-animal altare with Runa’s howling outrage at the nourishment ban. The Keeper kept Chiyoto’s presentation under control, but Runa was still part of her – besides she was quite sure poor Spirit was cowering in fear inside of their gentle Harnon. Yes, Runa was still living inside and entwined with her very being.

And still very pissed off at the moment.

Chiyoto swallowed Runa’s bellow and spoke slowly and intentionally so as to mask her altare’s growling.

Our thanks to you, Harnon, she smiled and reached up to lay her palm flat against the large, humble male’s chest, Both you and Spirit.

Harnon smiled at the fact that she knew his altare’s name without even asking – yes, she was their Heiress. He bowed with his whole body this time before turning to leave.

I am thinking of taking a walk before evening meal, Harnon, Chiyoto turned to pull from her pack her small tinted glasses to disguise her unusually colored pale pink eyes and a colorful scarf to tie around her hair which, in reality was much more of a mane and a long scarf was the best way to disguise such – she knew she had to stay out of this enclosed room until her and Runa were both well-fed and ready to collapse from exhaustion, Where should I avoid?

Harnon let out a long, ragged breath.

Stay in the well-lit, open areas, Mistress, he turned to glance over his shoulder in dismay, And please, Mistress, avoid any lower-lit areas with red or pink lights – even if there is the slightest tinge to the lighting, do not chance it – it is considered trespassing if you venture there.

Trespassing, Chiyoto knew, that was punishable by public beating or death.

Or both.

The defeat and desolation that rang in every one of Harnon’s syllables nearly broke Chiyoto’s heart – Runa wanted to strike some one or some thing, and Chiyoto fisted her hands in response. Chiyoto could tell by the hurt and the pain in Harnon’s voice that he had lost a special someone to the penalty for such, but his emotions were so raw that she could not bring herself to inquire further.

We will be especially careful, my faithful attendant, she tried to reassure him.

Harnon continued walking out the doorway as he spoke, See that you do, Chi-, the slow-moving male caught himself, "Mistress. For if anything were to happen to you, we would all surely die of heartbreak and hopelessness if not from the fulfillment of the ancient prophecy."

He turned out into the passageway and was gone.

Better that the prophecy come to pass than to endure these Makers-forsaken rules, Runa growled in her head.

Chiyoto finished tying the bright scarf behind her neck as she sank onto the side of the small bunk and closed her eyes tightly in whispered prayer.

Oh, sweet Makers, why? How much more? They are all so fragile, so beautiful … why do you continue to allow it?

Runa had no patience for such appeals that obviously fell on deaf ears – afterall, the useless appeals had been sent to the heavens for nearly four centuries now with no response. Even when Mamere had withstood from intercourse over two centuries to stop the cycle – to let the killing and suffering end with her death – still, the short-sighted and stupid Makers had sent Runa with her beautiful Chiyoto from the beyond without a sire (a fact of which her Treasure remained unaware) to continue the grisly cycle of Crimson on Blood-borne violence.

Chiyoto began to sob with grief as she implored – in vain, in Runa’s opinion – for mercy from the Makers.

Without the gift of passing sight that would be given her in the joining ritual with Shizu, Runa had simply given up on the Makers and had solely committed herself to the protection of her innocent Chiyoto – her beautiful and precious Treasure. Perhaps the Makers enjoyed the blood and the strife that existed in this realm, but Runa would not let her Treasure be one of its victims. If Runa had to kill every last Crimson to protect Chiyoto, she would do so.

Without hesitation.

Yes, they would go to Capital City and send Mamere and Shizu on their way, but then they would return to Haven as soon as possible – get as far away as they could from this violence and desolation about which they could do nothing.

That exact and final resolve flowed from Runa into Chiyoto’s prayers and spurred her forward.

Aye, my beautiful altare, Chiyoto whispered through the tears that had fallen down her cheeks, and she wiped them away stridently as she stood, Let us explore and find some nourishment. We depart on the morrow and will return to Haven as soon as possible.

As Chiyoto carefully locked the hatchway behind them, Runa put herself into full protection mode – such was better than an entire guard detail for Chiyoto.

Because guards had no magic.

And Runa was by far the strongest dragoness ever sent to this realm – such was why Junko, their Mamere, had sent them away so young to Haven to learn each other – even the smaller incidents could not have been hidden in a populated area with a magic and physical build so substantial.

The Keeper did prevent Runa’s physical form from appearing for now – and, thus, the full extent of her magic – but it had only a dampening effect on the real magic that ran through both their veins.

In fact, Runa knowingly gambled that soon the Keeper would have not the strength to continue to hold her physical form prisoner – it was, after all, designed for an adolescent Heiress just learning to control her altare, and both she and Chiyoto were way beyond adolescence.

But there was no need to trouble Chiyoto with that particular knowledge.

The young Heiress had enough on her mind for now.

Runa purred and caressed the veil that separated her from Chiyoto, and Chiyoto sniffled one last time and then sighed contentedly in response to her altare’s stroking.

I love you too, my Runa.

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Chapter 3

The determined and swift pace Rafal set on his return from the finalized negotiations was making his Detail’s job rather difficult – keeping pace and trying to keep an eye out both ahead and to the side was challenging to even the best bodyguards. But Rafal did not care – he was determined to get back to his suite, shed these tight-fitting boots and horribly heavy garments and have a time in his hydro-spa. And his beast was in full agreement even without commenting.

But Rafal had not taken three steps into the large common area when he felt his skin begin to tingle just in the slightest as his beast rose to full attention inside of him – there was a presence here, in this vicinity, that Rafal had not sensed before now.

Had not sensed ever.

He noticeably slowed his pace as both he and his beast used their acute senses to find that which had brought them both to attention. Rafal realized that his entire Detail immediately shifted gears and began to move into a more protective stance to surround him. And his beast did not like that – did not like it in the slightest – because the beast wanted to be near whatever creature was affecting them.

For some reason the beast thought the Detail would spook the creature and prevent their meeting – and his beast wanted the meeting.

Wanted it badly.

Rafal fought the internal objections – after the incident a few hours ago, he knew there was a possibility of trouble, of some sort of retaliation from the Blood-bornes who probably interpreted the scene such that he was the aggressor – but his ornery beast persisted in its protestations until Rafal motioned for the Detail to stand down.

Jaylis walked cautiously to stand beside Rafal – the Captain’s eyes, although hidden in his hunter’s glasses, were constantly scanning the multiple levels that opened into this large forum. Small groups had begun to form to catch sight of the fabled and over-sized Prime Magistrate of the Bohrean Empire, and, although his heightened senses found no animus emanating from them at present – at least none on a threatening level of concern – Rafal’s safety was his only priority.

We should not dally here on the Commons, Magistrate, Jaylis’ voice was barely audible, but he knew the Prime Magistrate could hear him, There are many Greens out this evening, and your continued presence is simply an open invitation for trouble.

Rafal growled chidingly at Jaylis’ implication that there would be problems simply because the make up of the crowds happened to be over-whelmingly of Blood-bornes. A growl to which Jaylis simply shook his head in response.

Rafal only chuckled in response as he began to enjoy the sensations that continued to play along his nerve endings.

Relax, Jaylis, there is no trouble, only an anomaly which …, At that very moment, Rafal’s olfactory found that for which he and his beast had been searching, and he inhaled deeply, There you are, Rafal heavily breathed the words rather than spoke them. He slowed even further and did a wide three-sixty to the dismay of his Detail as well as Jaylis because, as usual, the Prime Magistrate completely ignored the crowds, leaving it to his Detail to assure that there was a safe perimeter around his being.

The scent was one that fully enthralled both Rafal and his beast – it was completely unique to them even given Rafal’s wide travels and meetings with so many other races and cultures. There was a slight hint of musk and of salt water that swirled intricately with the flavor of his favorite creamy peppermint tea. But the most intriguing accent of all was the fact that it was laced through and through with the unmistakable essence of strong yet innocent female – how he knew that the lacing was female or, more importantly, that said female was unclaimed, he did not know, but his beast and he were in full agreement: the unique and intoxicating scent definitely belonged to an undefiled female predator.

And they really did not agree on anything most of the time.

Rafal raised his head to visually scan the faces of the crowds as the tingling across his skin, especially that of his neck and chest, increased substantially.

When he had only just begun to look up, Rafal’s beast began to buck at the reins onto which Rafal continually had to fight to hold him – the beast obviously sensed or saw something Rafal did not.

And it was definitely not danger the beast detected.

Because this reaction was his dangerous and deadly amphibian’s let me out to play fighting at the reins – the same fighting Rafal had to battle every time they arrived home and his beast wanted to swim in the large recreation havuz Rafal had constructed just for the beast’s enjoyment.

Rafal immediately stopped his scan as he waged his own internal battle to hold onto his cognate form, and although his visage looked as if he stared at something in particular, the reality was that the Prime Magistrate was focused on nothing outside of himself. It was in that state of conflict that Rafal felt the tingling cease entirely, and the intriguing scent he had found almost completely dissipate except for that portion that was obviously a lingering remnant within his olfactory.

As the beast completely relented, an uncharacteristically mournful yet thunderous growl – from both Rafal and his beast – escaped him at the loss.

And the crowds quickly scattered in response to that growl.

And, to tell the truth, so did his entire Detail – all, that is, except the same one Guard with the black braid. That Guard simply stood at the ready near Rafal, his eyes continuously in motion from Rafal to their surroundings and back to Rafal. It was clear he was some sort of Blood-borne or mixed blood predator with good eyesight as he did not need the hunter glasses here on the lighting of the Common area as Jaylis did. And long-braid was the only one of his Detail that showed no fear of the obviously dangerous Prime Magistrate in his actions or reactions