Now that Riddick has become Lord Marshall,
he's kept that which he's killed.
But as his mourning for Kyra commences
he finds himself entangled in the glittering webs
of Dame Vaako and her enigmatic sister,
Dame Tamar.
ONE: F L A W L E S S
"It's been two weeks."
He glanced up from the desk, eyes blue with recognition. Vaako spoke nothing as his wife circled the perimeter of their bedchamber yet again. It hung with the bewitching allure of grays, blacks and droplets of purple, a dismal glamour befitting of any Necromonger nobility. Despite the relief of the last Lord Marshall's demise it was hardly in the fashion that could bring the couple any complete sense of solace. Riddick remained leader of the Necromonger empire, the Armada servile at his back. Even if none ever dared consider mutiny, it was doubtless they were too fearful of what a resistance would bring.
"Two weeks since his ascension. Two weeks of silence, of goddamn moping. He's been left to his grief, hasn't he? And still he does not come to his throne."
The naked silhouette of Dame Vaako paused in the midst of her rampage of thought, biting her full lip as she searched the tiled floor at her pedicured feet. "No court has been held. No new conversions made. Nothing!"
"Speak sense, woman," her husband sneered.
"What good is he as Lord Marshall when he refuses to do anything, Vaako? What must be done?" She nearly spat, turning to him. Finally she said, "It was supposed to be flawless."
Vaako sat upright from the desk, not hesitating in his moment of fury. "Goddamn you, woman! Leave it alone, I say!"
"So that we can let one more weakling take over for another? Is that what you envisioned for our faith, Vaako? Is that what you wa-?"
The brutal contact of his backhand to her pronounced cheekbone resonated within the gloomy opulence of their chamber. The dame fell back with near-silent gasp, grappling upon the bedposts as she stumbled. Again she sneered, spitting a wad of red to the floor. "You know," she began sweetly, hazel gaze fluttering mischievously to his. "If this is what you call attention, we're going to have to reassess this marriage. And we both know my siblings do not take kindly to your... 'hands-on' approach."
She straightened herself in standing, the pertinence of her petite, succulent breasts objecting as she lifted her arms to drape the billowy gown of gossamer over her body. It was one of her simpler dresses, dark in color as it cinched neatly just above her breastbone only to lighten in hues as it shrouded down to her feet. Sleeveless and absent of any hold, it left the assumption of her long, lean form to any stranger's imagination.
She could hear him behind her as she rounded to the dresser. Only at the sensation of his great hand upon the curve of a slender shoulder did she look up to the mirror upon the embossed wall, meeting his gaze with a bold reluctance. All they ever did was argue these days, amidst the ferocity of their lovemaking. It was love or hate. Neither could confess that either one proved to alleviate the terms of their relationship.
"I'm sorry." His tone remained low, though somewhat softened around the edges. She did not betray a smile; she knew he was not one for apologies of any sort. This was a gift. "Forgive me, wife. I... am not accustomed to us both being so angry all the time. You, perhaps, I can manage. But not us both." A kiss upon that curve, another against the contour of her neck. "We must learn to behave for when the children return tomorrow. I don't want them to see us like this."
The dame held her head in adamant agreement, clearing her throat as she reached for her hairpins. In swift yet unhurried motions she fashioned the long, thick braid of dark hair into a looped bun, doing her best to ignore the trail of kisses strewn upon her nearly-bare back. "They will be too pleased to see us to worry about how we behave, I'm sure. Now," she turned again, looking up at her husband. A veil of quiet hushed her tone, allowing the silken allure of her words to soften him even further. "I'm going to see just what can be done to rouse Riddick from his stupor. And from there, dear husband, we'll assess what needs to be done with you." She slipped from his grasp then, the serpent intent on the seduction of her prey.