Chapter 22: Par Contest

A Prince of the Nobillo

Chapter 22: Par Contest

"Oh!" His claw clipped her nipple.

"Did that hurt?"

He is always so adorably concerned with hurting me! she thought. Then again, unlike Sirix, he probably actually could tear me apart with only half his strength. She took his hand and kissed it.

"No, it felt good." She took his hand and placed it back on her breast, showing him how to knead it, to rub it in circles with his palm, to tease the nipple just so. She moaned as he did, taking his other hand and nuzzling her cheek into the palm, kissing the pad of his thumb. She indulged herself in the full pleasure of that one breast. In her mind she wasn't in that little white cell, she was in paradise, on a beach, in Hawaii, with the sun warming her, her nipples erect from the cool shade, her lover looking down at her in pure adoration. "Carak, do the other one."

He moved his hand to the other breast.

"No, you can do both at once."

He began rubbing both. She moaned, her body squirming with pleasure.

"Could you kiss my nipple?" she asked.

He lowered himself down and took her nipple between his lips. It rose slightly as he pulled up.

"OH! Yes! Like that!" She couldn't even reach his back, grabbing onto his triceps instead. "Do it again!"

He did it again, holding it in his lips longer this time. And again. Then the other one as she made little grunts of pleasure.

"Could you lick the tip with your tongue? Oh yes! Just like that. Mmm Carak! You're wonderful!" Her grip on his arms tightened, she ached with desire for him. "Kiss my neck! Oh! Oh Carak!"

His hands caressed her sides, then under to her back, pulling her up to him as her head hung down, long hair brushing the concrete floor, her whole neck exposed to him, trusting him. He kissed up and down it. She felt the tickle of his tongue as it traced the lines of her neck muscles, and then down through her breasts, to her stomach where it circled her navel.

"Carak... could you penetrate me with your tongue again?" she asked, hesitantly, remembering her first reaction earlier in the day. "It felt really good."

He stopped what he was doing and smiled at her, a small smile but so genuine it made her heart break. "Like before, or would you prefer to remain lying down?"

"You won't be able to go as deep if I'm lying down, will you?"

"No."

"Like before, then."

He lifted her up, again she was stunned by how effortless it seemed. Opening his jaw as wide as it would go, he placed her inside. His tongue teased its way into her labia, licking down until-

"Oh! Mmmm... oh Carak..." She let her head fall back as his tongue traveled up her vagina, pressing and probing the supple inside. She gripped his large hands as she lost herself to his paradise. "Oh Carak, it feels beautiful..." she moaned as her upper body swayed. "Oh yes, right there. Oh yes! OH!"

His powerful tongue pressed against her g-spot, running back and forth over it, pressing harder.

The flames of pleasure licked up through her vulva into her stomach, her chest, she squeezed his hands. "Oh Yes! Yes! Don't Stop!" Her butt clenched as her hips began to shake. "YES! OH MY GOD!" She screamed. She howled. She shrieked like a demon.

He pulled her back up and lay her down, climbing on top of her shaking, heaving body. She pulled him in for a kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck for a brief moment before he pulled up, his arms level with her head. She let her arms fall behind her head, gazing up at him as she spread her legs wide. She gasped as her vagina parted for him. He was so big! Only Donil had stretched her this much.

"Uh..." she grunted as his first thrust pushed him deeper inside. "Uh...uh uh uh uhuhuh Aah! AAAH! AAAHHHHHOHHHH!" The rapidity of her breathing was matched only by the shaking of her hips as his thrusts came fast and hard. Her vulva shook against him, her body trying to gain every last ounce of pleasure that could be gotten. Orgasmic euphoria filled her mind as her hands jolted to his arms, clinging to them for dear life. She screamed with complete abandon as ecstasy blinded her to all but her beloved's beautiful face. She'd wanted this for so long and now it was finally hers. He was finally hers.

He let out a loud grunt and she felt him flowing into her, moaning as he gave a final few thrusts. She groaned as she felt him leave her body and his lips return to her neck. She buried her fingers in the deep gorges between the muscles of his back, kissing his brow as he continued.

She stroked his cheeks and turned his face to hers. "You're beautiful, Carak," she said, her fingers rounding his ears. "I wish I had the words to tell you what you are to me. When I'm with you it's like this overwhelming sense of peace just covers me, even in this horrible place."

"Ataraxia," Carak said.

"What is that?"

"It's an old word the Korsuch stole from the humans. It means: peace of mind."

"That sounds about right. You're my ataraxia."

He kissed her. "And you're mine."

________________________________________

"She. Is. My. Wife." Rivuk heard himself say through clenched teeth in an interview with Yasolina.

He stood from the desk in his room. It was time. He walked out the window, falling. He spread his wings mid-dive, allowing the air currents to carry him above the palace walls.

He'd never forgive Carak. He'd been her closest friend. She'd trusted Carak, more than even him.

The arena was all he could see, all he could think about. He couldn't lie down to sleep at night without going back there. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing her naked body on the arena floor. He'd thought he was stronger than this. That he could bear it. But hearing her scream his name, seeing the blood on his hest as he came out of her broke him in ways he didn't know he could break.

He had to make it worth it. He had to make this pain worth it. Her sacrifice worth it. That thought was the only thing keeping him going, like a drumbeat sounding in his brain, driving him ever forward. Days didn't flow like days anymore. It was only one long day now, punctuated only by brief periods of unconsciousness. He wasn't himself anymore. He was whatever was left when every ounce of the man he'd been was stripped away and only the bones remained. He was the Third Prince, a monster every bit as terrifying and vengeful as his two brothers. And he would revenge himself upon them so completely there'd be nothing left of the monarchy for them to rule.

He walked quickly through the pitch black of the moonless midnight. He veered down an alley, through a series of closed stores. A flash of red hair under a black cap. She was there. He handed Augusta a vial of his own blood as she passed him a package.

He heard the whistle of a knife behind him, glancing the rose gold blade before instantly turning it around with his mind and sending it back from whence it came. There was a garbled scream from the darkness. He sensed the hidden pair. His pupil dilated. Instantly, they began hacking each other to pieces at his merest suggestion. He made a slight motion with his hand and the little rose gold blade, now dripping with sangria colored blood, flew to the throat of the woman, resting right against the vital artery. He glared at her. She grabbed the knife and cut.

Rivuk caught the vial of his own blood before it could shatter on the paving stones and drank it, pocketing the empty tube. There would be no trace to implicate him. He scattered a small bag of glinting coins on the ground in front of Cyril's body for good measure. One less ferryman in his city.

As he strode through the palace to the office of Commander Julanty the next morning, he heard the voice of a newscaster.

"The body of a Korsuch scientist was found in what was, apparently, a robbery gone bad..."

Lindsay yanked back by her hair as she tried to run away. That look of pure terror as Carak held her above him. That horrible shriek. The sight of Carak's long tongue coming out of her. Rivuk He winced as he heard her screams echoing in his head.

"Who is your best scout?" Rivuk demanded of Julanty.

"Felden," the old Child of the Immortal commander answered.

"Thank you."

"A covert mission?" the commander asked.

"Something like that," he said as he walked away.

Lindsay being shaken, being thrown to the ground like trash, being struck again and again as she tried to run. He could feel her begging to get into his mind. But he couldn't. He couldn't bear to feel what she was feeling. Even now, two skell later, he would not let her in, no matter how insistent she was. He didn't want to see. To see the wreckage of what he had failed to save her from, to let her see his own cowardice. He hadn't even tried to spare her. Hadn't even objected when his father told him. He'd been silent. Silent as she screamed for him.

Another dark night in the city, only the slightest crescent of orange shone in the starless sky. He'd wandered these streets almost every night since the arena. His mind in a constant state of fog between exhaustion and fixation. All was a blur and suddenly something would come into focus.

Like the Child of the Immortal standing alone by the alley as his letter had requested.

Good.

"Felden?" he asked, his black hood concealing his identity.

"Who asks?" the green-tinted Child hissed.

Rivuk pulled back his hood enough that his face could be seen.

Felden bowed. "Your grace!"

"Discretion." Rivuk said.

Felden quickly returned to his upright position. "Yes, your grace."

"They say you are the best scout in the forces, is that true?"

"It is, your grace."

"You'll answer only to me. You will not reveal anything to anyone besides myself on pain of death, not even the king and princes. Is that clear? For your service you will be rewarded handsomely."

"Yes, your grace," Feldon said, a greedy gleam in the greenish orb of his eye.

"Good." Rivuk produced three black orbs from his cloak pocket. "Nerisa will meet you at the border."

He had failed her in every way possible to fail her. He would not fail her people, too.

He sat on a stage facing a smiling host. A man. Not Yasolina. It didn't matter what his name was. Another televised interview with a second guest beside him. Someone famous.

Famous for what? Supporting the war, from what he was saying. Rivuk was too tired to listen to his bloviating.

"When do you think she will break?" the host asked, turning to him.

"I'm sorry?" Rivuk's focus returned.

"How long do you think it'll be before she gives up the whereabouts of the Bonat camps?" the host repeated.

"She won't," Rivuk answered.

"But surely, day after day of torture..."

"If anything, that should convince you of her conviction in the cause of the Bonat. Every day she is tortured and every day she knows tomorrow will bring more pain, and she still refuses to speak."

"She tried to sabotage the power grid," the other man said. "She's clearly a traitor. Why do you defend her?"

"She is my wife and I believe her intentions were pure. She'd become aware of a biological weapon we were making to kill the Bonat and wanted to destroy it. She merely entered the wrong room. Can you blame her for her actions as their queen?" Rivuk asked, pointedly.

"And why should we believe that?" the bloviating idiot blathered, red-faced.

Rivuk calmly answered, "She was in that room for well over five minutes and did no damage to any part of it. Five minutes would have been more than enough time."

The man was at a loss. "But she would have destroyed the biological weapon if she'd had the chance!" he said, victoriously.

"And I have saved her the trouble by ending the program."

"You did what?!"

Rivuk explained with the practiced, patient tone of one used to trying to explain simple concepts to his inferiors, "With the passing of the lead scientist on the program, I did not feel confident in continuing it. Biological weapons can have unintended consequences; they can mutate and spread. If my wife and our own scouts are to be believed, there are not enough Bonat left to justify the risk and they are far too spread out to guarantee effective results. I will not chance an epidemic among my own people or our food sources to potentially kill twenty Bonat - if we must take a purely logical view of it."

He was back out wandering the streets as his own interview played on holoscreens around the city reporting last night's news with headlines of Third Prince Cancels Bioweapon Program and Did Princess Lindsay Do Anything Wrong? Of course, they would conclude she did, that was the position of the palace afterall, but the mere framing of the question was rebellion enough for the Nobillo people to grow restless. Would there be another protest tonight?

He stared at the lightening horizon. The sun began to rise. In his mind he saw her face before it, mussed dark hair with the reddish strands reflecting its light, plump lips bright red, brown eyes glowing with love as they looked down on him. He'd wanted to see her in the sunrise. Now she was all he ever saw in it.

His skin itched for her touch, it ached from the memory of it.

A call.

He ignored it.

He couldn't bear to hear the voice of his hest, let alone see his face.

He saw Carak's face all the time. He saw his face when Carak ejaculated into his wife's mouth. He'd enjoyed it!

Rivuk's claws came out. He flexed his hand into and out of a fist. He'd tear Carak's throat out!

But it wasn't his fault. Rivuk retracted his claws. He should have chosen to die for her rather than do that to her!

But who was he? And what was that?

Carak who ravaged or Rivuk who watched?

He walked the dark streets. Another protest against the princes, against the war, against himself. A protest for the release of the princess. They were becoming much more frequent. He pulled his robe's hood down and joined the crowd again. There was no merit in him standing with them; if anything, it made him sick at his cowardice. They were the courageous ones -- standing up to men who could kill them with a thought to proclaim things were wrong in the kingdom. But he wanted to feel the sickness, to feel his shame. High-pitched metallic whistles rang out from above of Silverwings buzzing over the gathering. Two minutes and they'd start shooting. The Korsuch-made military drones, called Silverwings, seemed to have remarkably bad aim these days. And the pilots seemed to struggle significantly with keeping them on course. A flick of his wrist sent one Silverwing crashing into the other.

He'd let them.

He'd let Boz.

There was nothing stopping him from swooping in to save her, taking her back to the Bonat. He could have joined her.

He'd sat on his throne and done nothing. He'd watched his mentor forced to ravage his wife and he'd done nothing!

And yet he insisted in interviews of his love. Called her his wife.

Why hadn't he stopped them?

He'd barely even objected!

And then he shut his mind and refused Carak's calls.

He'd abandoned them to his brother.

What right did he have to hate Carak? To view him as the traitor?

He cradled his sleeping child in the bed next to him. He pressed his forehead against hers, letting the coolness of her brow seep in against his fever. He couldn't help but stare at his desk. Reports, papers, Project Jericho. What had happened to the East Tower?

He could tell himself he had to do it to preserve the plan, that their suffering was necessary to prevent the suffering of generations more.

But that felt like such a lie.

He was a coward who sat in comfort. He could have at least given her mind a place to rest as she was...

But then it might not have looked real enough for Boz.

Another lie.

Because he was afraid to feel her pain.

He had to see her. She couldn't hate him as much as he hated himself. But she didn't knock anymore.

He sought her mind and found it closed.

No.

No!

He couldn't do this anymore! It was his right to see her and he damn well was going to and let the pieces fall where they may! He wasn't going to let her be alone anymore.

Evenings were his visiting time, but he wasn't going to wait, he was going to see her now and if any of the guards even considered raising an objection it would be their last thought.

As he walked down the corridor of the jail he heard the high pitched screams of a woman.

He knew those screams.

"Lindsay!" He broke into a run.

She was being tortured! No. Not while he was there. He'd left her in her hour of greatest need, but no more! He'd kill any man who hurt her!

The screams filled his ears as he reached the door of her cell. Underneath, he could hear the low, rhythmic grunts of a man. Was she being whipped? Beaten? He prepared himself for the worst as he threw open the door.

He saw black. Then red. Lindsay was lying on the bed, naked, her legs hooked around Carak's arms as he pushed into her, grunting as she screamed.

The door slammed behind him. Their heads snapped to see him. The look in her eyes of pure terror...

They scrambled apart.

Lindsay grabbed her tunic, covering herself. "Rivuk!" she cried.

"My prince, I'm sorry-" Carak began.

He flew at Carak, pinning him to the wall, his claws out, glinting in the cold green light. "Don't even try to apologize. I don't care if you're just obeying orders. You were her friend! She loved you! I loved you! And still, you're doing this!" He made to slash Carak's throat.

"Stop!" Lindsay cried, jumping in front of his claws.

"Why are you protecting him?"

"Rivuk, it's not what it looks like."

"So you're trying to tell me he wasn't inside of you?"

She flushed. "Well, yes. But he wasn't raping me. He... He'd never. I don't think he could rape me. Rivuk," she swallowed hard, "Carak and I... we're in love."

Rivuk's mind swam. "I saw him rape you, repeatedly, at the public torture."

"I told you it was consensual; you chose not to believe me. We... we were already lovers by then. Check my memories, you'll see it's true. I wanted to tell you, but you closed your mind to me."

Rivuk delved into her mind. The memory of their first time. He saw her kiss him. He watched her confess her love to Carak, watched her telling him how she wanted him. It was warm and sweet in her mind. His hest was gentle and loving as he caressed her. Rivuk watched as her tunic dress fell to the floor. That was all he needed to see. And then he saw one thing more as he watched her take his wristband from his arm and approach his hest's door.

For a moment there was tense silence.

Rivuk's voice was a deadly whisper as he asked, "You stole my wristband to see him?"

Lindsay nodded. She looked scared. She should be scared.

"With the intention of telling my hest of your feelings for him?"

Another nod.

"So it was always your intent to betray me. My protests of your innocence are just a fool's wish. You were never innocent. You should've gone to his room that he might have upbraided you for your perfidy."

Carak interrupted his diatribe. "I know you say that out of unwavering belief in my loyalty. But I cannot lie. If she had come to my chamber that night instead of going to the temple, I do not believe my loyalty to you would have withstood the test."

Rivuk's rage flared. "You would have betrayed me? Lied to my face while making love to my wife?"

"No," Carak said. "I would have presented my crime to you for punishment the very next day."

Rivuk felt like his whole world was slipping out from under him and his mind lacked the speed to do more than grasp at it as it disappeared into the darkness. "I could have had you both beheaded. I still can. No one would question it. And you would have considered it worth it? Worth both your lives? Is your life worth so little to you? Is my friendship worth so little to you?" He almost shouted the question.