Claimed by the Cyborg (Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance Book 5) Page 3

  Yeah, Jules had influenced him. More like punched him in the gut from the moment he’d seen her. Those enigmatic eyes, long legs, her rare and beautiful smiles. Reserved at first, once she’d opened up, her curiosity and eagerness had been infectious. No matter how minor, everything about Earth had fascinated her. She couldn’t get enough of Terran culture. Coffee. Chocolate. The color of the sky. People-watching. She’d been fascinated by Terran facial expressions. Lingerie. Her drawers had been filled with the lacy, frilly stuff. Her bras and panties were the only things she’d taken with her when she’d left.

  Had Jules been a bad choice? By any objective assessment, yes, but he couldn’t regret his relationship, no matter how brief it had been.

  Get over her already. Jules was probably bonded to her mate by now. She had known her chosen awaited her. So what had he been? A diversion? One last fling?

  Chapter Four

  As the valet stroked the curling brush through Julietta’s hair, ringlets formed, shortening her waist-length tresses. The woman gathered up the face-framing strands and drew them back, preparing to clip them into place.

  “No, leave it down,” Julietta said.

  “But, Princess…your hair will hide your face, and this will be the first glimpse you and your chosen have of each other. Do you not wish him to see you?”

  Exactly. She needed a shield so she could pretend she wasn’t one day closer to being bonded. But to have people think she was hiding wouldn’t do. “As you wish. You are right, of course.”

  The servant secured her hair. “There! Much better. Tomorrow morning I will come bright and early to prepare your face and help you dress.” Females painted intricate designs over their cheeks and temples for the ceremony. The special tints lasted until the union was consummated then, activated by hormones, they faded, revealing that the couple had soul-bonded.

  The valet moved to the wardrobe and removed a lace huber-colored shift, much lighter in weight than the bonding costume since only the hem was adorned. Chiming crystals sewn to the garment’s edge would tinkle with every move. It was supposed to emit a joyful, festive ring, but to Julietta’s ears it sounded more like a dirge.

  The events of her life had converged to this moment. Attending the Terran university had presented her best chance of escape, but she hadn’t taken it, and now it was too late. Defection would have brought shame on her family and thrown her planet into political chaos, so conscience had prevented her from putting her desires over the needs of her people. The future empress did not spurn her duty because she’d met a man with eyes as blue as the Terran sky, a man who filled her being with laughter and lightness.

  Since the tribes of the planet had been united under one empire a millennium ago, no ruler had ever abdicated. Forty emperors and empresses had held the scepter in their thousand year history; not one had ever refused. Only in case of death did a fallback exist. Her family’s rightness to rule would have been forever questioned if she’d abdicated. They’d be viewed as weak, unfit. She couldn’t do that to her father, her mother, her sister, their descendants. Dying offered the only way out.

  She wasn’t prepared to go that far.

  She should have been cradling a baby in her arms but had managed to put off bonding with a series of excuses. Excuses and time had run out. Next year, her father would have to pass the scepter, giving her only one year to produce her heir. She and Naimo would have to get busy. With any luck, pregnancy would occur quickly and allow her to avoid intimacies for a while.

  The valet waited for Julietta to rise.

  Her heart felt as heavy as her feet as she shrugged out of her robe. She pulled on pantaloons of pale rose then allowed the servant to drop the tunic over her head. A quick sweep with the curling brush restored her hair to its perfected state. “Beautiful. I would hope I could be half as poised as you, Princess, when I prepare to meet my chosen. You are an inspiration, an example for us all.”

  A bad example. Her throat thickened with the irony.

  “Do you require anything else?” the servant asked.

  “No, thank you. I wish to be alone in contemplation before the banquet.”

  “Very well.” The servant bowed and departed.

  Julietta sank into the chair again. I was born for this. I will bond with my chosen mate, produce an heir, and rule. Naimo will be a fine consort. The seer cannot be wrong. She buried her face in her hands.

  If only she had someone to talk to, but being first in line for the throne eliminated all confidants. Palace councilors could assist with matters of rule, but no one could help with matters of the heart. Her sister was too young and impressionable to confide in. She considered Penelope Aaron, who would be attending the ceremony, a friend, but her advice, though honest and well-meaning, came from a Terran perspective so it offered limited help.

  “Don’t marry a man you don’t love,” Penelope would say. Julietta could almost hear her voice. The Terran woman didn’t understand the grip Xenian customs, traditions, and responsibilities had on its citizens. Penelope’s “marriage” to Brock Mann resulted from a love match. She and Brock had chosen each other. Her Terran friend couldn’t imagine anything else, and, to her, the solution to the dilemma was easy. “Don’t do it,” Penelope would advise.

  Julietta couldn’t even identify the source of her turmoil. Did she not want to be bonded because she didn’t want to rule—or did she not want to rule so she wouldn’t have to be bonded to a man she didn’t love? If she were an ordinary citizen, she could choose to remain single, but the future empress didn’t have that option.

  Rising from the chair, she moved to the window and peered out. Pale-pink clouds drifted across a lavender heaven. Beautiful. And so very, very Xenian. She rested her head on the frame, closed her eyes, and pictured the Terran sky.

  * * * *

  Coward! Who will you lean on tomorrow night? Julietta entered the banquet hall on the arm of her sister. She’d asked Marji to accompany her in hopes adolescent chatter would get her through the dinner attended by one hundred bonding ceremony attendants, family, and some special guests. Worry about tomorrow when it comes. She tried to push the impending ceremony out of her mind. Much of her life had been spent in denial of the future.

  Marji squealed. “Oh great Xenia, there he is! Your future consort! He is supernova!”

  “Where?” Stomach clenching, Julietta swept her gaze along the length of the banquet table in search of a man in a royal huber tunic with a chest sash bearing his tribe’s crest.

  “Near the far end…” Marji’s voice faded away.

  Xenia stopped its rotation around its star as the past slammed into the present. Her gaze locked onto a pair of eyes as blue as the Terran sky. Her heart stopped beating. It can’t be…how…not…not March…

  “His twin is supernova, too… Oh! They’re looking at you… Naimo is smiling. He likes you!”

  Terran-blue eyes widened in shock.

  “Who’s the Terran with Naimo and his brother? I don’t recognize him.” Her sister’s voice drifted in from a far distance.

  Julietta wasn’t aware of moving, until Marji grabbed her arm. “What are you doing? You can’t go over there. It’s not proper.”

  “W-what?” She struggled to focus. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were acting like you intended to approach Naimo. You can’t do that until after the Sha’A’la.”

  She’d hardly noticed her future consort. He’d disappeared into the background like the chairs and the table decorations. Why was March here? Her heart resumed beating and pounded with such force, she feared it would break through her chest. This can’t be happening. Not now. Why him? Why now?

  “Come, we must take our seats,” Marji nudged. “The guests are waiting. Dinner can’t be served until you sit.”

  Her sister led her to their spot among the unbonded women. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she glanced back.

  He’d matured into a rugged supernova man. Had he always been that big? He was
wearing Xenian attire, which barely fit him. Muscles rippled across broad shoulders and a massive chest. Biceps bulged, and she followed the line down to his hands, clenched into fists on the table. He looked imposing, harder. She risked a glance at his face. Stunned.

  “Sit down,” Marji ordered, and Julietta realized they’d arrived at their place. “You have a lifetime to ogle and drool over your chosen.”

  Her consort-to-be. Naimo. He smiled at her, appearing pleased, happy. As she should have been. His twin, the Sha’A’la challenger, beamed with an even broader grin. Theoretically, if the challenger won the fight, he’d earned the right to claim the bride. Except that had never happened in the history of Xenia.

  She dropped into her chair.

  Why is March here? How will I do what I need to do?

  * * * *

  She’s here. Jules is here.

  March gaped at the woman who’d entered the hall, her arm linked with a girl’s. Hair, long and curly, tumbled down her back. Her eyes were as he remembered, as black and enigmatic as space, but girlish features had matured into womanliness. Jules. My Jules. Her gaze collided with his, the darkness concealing her thoughts, but her mouth parted as if shocked. If he hadn’t been seated, the sight of her would have knocked him on his ass. His hands shook, and he clenched them into fists to quell the trembling.

  He’d searched, questioned everyone who’d known her, revisited all their haunts. So much time, so much effort, and she just walked in. Of all the places, in all the years, she was here. He couldn’t believe it. A guest at the ceremony. The practiced words he’d imagined he’d say if he located her evaporated, and all he could do was drink her in.

  She’d never looked more beautiful. Dignified, refined, polished. Not haughty, but self-contained. Intricate whorls adorned her face, enhancing her exotic allure. She wore the tunic and pantaloons common to Xenia, the design and tailoring of hers nonpareil, surpassing elegance, but in the same color as the garments of members of the imperial family. She must be one of the many attendants. A relative maybe? Cousin to the bride? Obviously, she knew the imperial family well, or she wouldn’t be at the banquet.

  Which would begin at any moment. Damn it! He couldn’t talk to her now. Jules moved, almost as if to step in his direction, but the younger woman herded her to two open seats at the other end of the long banquet table.

  At the next opportunity, he would approach her. His heart hammered. The twins probably knew her. He turned to Naimo to ask him, when Kur spoke.

  “There’s your chosen! Princess Julietta is looking at you, Naimo.” He gestured in Jules’s direction. “She’s checking you out!”

  March shifted his attention to the girl who’d accompanied Jules. She couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen. She was a little young to be bonded, wasn’t she?

  Naimo took a deep, satisfied-sounding breath. “She is even lovelier with the bonding stain painted on her face. Her vids don’t do her justice.”

  The younger woman’s face was clear, unmarked. His gaze zoomed to Jules, to the spiraling whorls gracing her temples, her cheeks.

  No. No. No.

  “The woman with the facial paint is your chosen?” His voice came out a whispered croak. “That’s Princess Julietta?” His Jules was Emperor Dusan’s daughter? No.

  “The one and only.” Naimo beamed.

  March forced out the air trapped in his lungs. He unclenched his fists and strove for calm, calling on his nanocytes to dam the emotional flood. As if years hadn’t passed, as if Jules was the alien exchange student she’d led him to believe she was, heat roared through his body like a shot from a photon blaster.

  “She is beautiful—and regal.” He forced out a comment because one was expected. The pieces to the puzzle snapped into place. How obvious the truth appeared now. She’d been born to rule—she carried the evidence in her posture, her gestures, her expression, the reserve that had taken him a long time to break through. He’d noticed those traits but hadn’t understood their significance.

  His heart, his gut, his head—they hurt.

  No wonder the cyber search had failed to uncover even a nanobyte of information—“Jules” didn’t exist. Had he searched for Princess Julietta, the future empress of Xenia, gigabytes of data and vids would have surfaced.

  “Her sister, Marji, is quite comely, too,” Kur said. “I don’t know who the seer has chosen for me, but wouldn’t it be a fortuitous and auspicious coincidence if two brothers were bonded to two sisters?”

  “It would be a first in our history,” Naimo said. “But you would have to wait—Marji is sixteen solar cycles and hasn’t reached her majority.”

  Servants glided forward to serve the feast. A plate of colorful fruit or maybe vegetables materialized in front of March. No one else picked up his or her fork, so he didn’t either. Not that he had an appetite. As appealing as the golden and ruby fruits looked, it would take an effort to force them down. An air of expectancy filled the banquet hall.

  “I’ve waited this long to learn of my chosen,” Kur said. “I can wait a few more years. The only person who has to bond by a certain age is the future emperor or empress.”

  That caught March’s attention. “Why is that?”

  “Our customs decree he or she begin their twenty-five year rule no later than their twenty-sixth solar cycle.”

  “That’s rather precise,” he commented in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, belying his anger and sense of betrayal. She’d never thought it important enough to mention that she was the future empress? He’d meant so little to her?

  Not all relationships worked out or were meant for the long-term. But he’d been free and open to possibilities. He’d never gotten involved while committed to someone else. The princess had been aware a mate awaited her, that her bonding date—or at least the deadline—had been set.

  Naimo released a satisfied sigh. “We will make a great team.”

  March ground his teeth. Naimo had every right in the world to Julietta. However, objective recognition of the facts didn’t curb the jealousy and anger knotting his stomach.

  The emperor pushed back his chair and stood up. Chatter and clatter ceased, and a hush fell over the hall. He raised a fluted glass of amber wine and looked first to his daughter then to Naimo and last at the woman seated to his right. She resembled an older version of Julietta, so March surmised she was her mother.

  “Tomorrow’s bonding of my beloved and honorable daughter to Naimo, a man of discernment and kindness, is a great day for our family, and for our planet. As you know, Xenia is approaching its second millennium of unification. Next year, after the birth of the imperial heir, in accordance with our customs, I will pass the ruling scepter. Julietta and her consort shall rule as one, and we shall continue to prosper in peace and harmony.” Dusan lifted his glass high overhead, and everyone did the same.

  At the end of the table, Marji nudged Julietta who gave a start and raised her glass.

  After the emperor brought the flute to his lips, the guests followed. March took a small drink. The effervescence reminded him of Terran champagne, but the savory flavor bore no comparison to grapes.

  “Everyone, enjoy the feast.” Dusan sat.

  March focused on Naimo. “Rule as one? I assumed the empress was sovereign.”

  “She is. But the consort advises her. The council helps, too, but politics can influence advice. One’s consort can be depended on to have one’s best interests at heart.”

  Kur nodded. “The consort must be Xenian because of the power of influence.” He picked up his fork and began to eat.

  While he’d been envisioning a post-graduation future, her life path had already been plotted. And he wasn’t on the schedule. “What about commoners?” he asked.

  “As the emperor goes, so do his subjects. Everyone follows his lead. We do not bond outside of our race. Bringing in an outsider could change our culture in adverse ways. Many routes to peace and harmony exist, but ours is derived from homogeneity.”

 
; The explanation underscored everything March had heard. A friendly, amiable people, Xenians respected the rights of others but were adamant about preserving their culture. The way he’d been treated served as a prime example. He’d been invited to watch the Sha’A’la practice and join the emperor and his closest friends at the pre-bonding ceremony banquet, but under no condition could he become the empress’s consort.

  Food held little appeal, but he forked a bit of the golden fruit into his mouth. Meaty-tasting but slightly sweet. It stuck in his throat going down. He gulped from his glass.

  “Careful. Xenian wine is second only to Cerinian brandy in potency,” Naimo cautioned.

  “Thanks for the warning.” Nanocytes would neutralize the alcohol’s effect. Unfortunately. He could use a good drunk right now. “So, no one ever, uh, hooks up with anyone from another race?” March asked.

  “I don’t understand what you mean—oh.” Naimo grinned. “I get it. No, sexual relations are completely different. Bonded mates can and do engage in sexual recreation with others.”

  His jaw dropped. “You will not be faithful to Julietta?”

  “Of course, I will be faithful. I will serve her, support her, advise her, and stand by her side as her consort.”

  “But you will have sex with other women.”

  “During the first year when we must produce an heir, outside sexual congregation is forbidden. But, afterwards? Of course I’ll have my paramours.”

  “And what about Julietta? Will she take other lovers?”

  Naimo shrugged. “If she wants to.”

  “That wouldn’t bother you? You wouldn’t get jealous if the woman you love is having sex with someone else?” His gut knotted at the idea of Jules and Naimo together, of Jules with anyone.

  “Love?” He frowned. “See, that’s the benefit of our way. Emotion does not factor into our bonding so we experience no angst, no possessiveness, no fear of loss. By having a seer choose our mates, we ensure compatible lifetime unions, resulting in stability for our families, our villages, and our planet.”