What would normally be a mind-numbingly boring stint across the cosmos, is now a much welcome respite for the ailing royal. Soon after boarding the shuttle and the battle cruiser thereafter, the invalid Crown Prince sequesters himself to his quarters.

Bare across his bed, he lies in a near coma as his body sets itself to rights. Clearing his mind was easy but entering the healing trace takes him nearly half of a sol day to achieve. Once there he falls into a deep and dreamless slumber.

Of those onboard the poorly-lit vessel, he trusts very few but for those he does, Spock posts outside his cabin. His sleep is punctuated with moments of lucidity when bumps or rattle that seems out of place come to his ears.

One could never be too careful or know how for Sybok's hold over his subjects could reach or the sway of his wealth. You wave enough latnium bars in that face of some of these commoners and you'll gain a knife in the back of your anyone you wish. Not that Spock ever hired any layman to do his dirty work. He's too straightforward of a creature when it came to 'solving problems' in that form and fashion.

In the end, it's the lock on the inside of his door sealed with his own psionic imprint that helps to ease his nerves back to sleep. He has to regain his health if he stands any chance of making it out of the Delta quadrant alive. The first step in achieving that was relieving himself of the last traces of the le'matya's bite.

In a gradually tread, Spock's body goes from a sound sleep to nearly catatonic. His heartbeat resembles his mother's lazy, human pace, helping to isolate the venom and draw it down into his bowels. Filling his lungs now calls for a full three minutes and twice that on the exhalation. With digestion coming to standstill and his mind afloat, Spock lets his body take the reins.

Slowly but surely, Spock finds some of his strength returning to him as hours accumulate into days. The fever that's been plaguing him since he awoke to Nyota in his bed begins to lift along with the endless, dull ache to his muscles. By the third day, his breath comes as easy as it always has; not that he has reason to breathe easy.

With each passing day, star system weathered, the distance between Nyota and himself grows exponentially. The bond between them does little more than speak of her existence the further out they go. The delicate details as to her human mind and mood are far too vague for his psionic abilities to discern at this point. In his musing he thinks perhaps later when his some of father's latent abilities finally awaken in him he would be more keen in his perception of her but until that time he waits.

The whining drone of the ship's warp engines hum on as Spock knits himself back together.

His concerns as to her safety and wellbeing slow the process of his healing as he listens out for any communiques that might come through. But as hours accumulate into days and days into a week Spock grows more certain that communications are being disrupted. And while the Tellerites were known for such subterfuge, the crew blocking any and all comm messages unrelated to their goal is more likely the case.

Yet another 'present' from his bawdy cunt of a brother. The thought of Sybok parading Nyota around with her fingers against his own is enough to inspire plans of murder. Spock quells the urge to wring his brother's neck with his growing bloodlust for Delta Leonis Prime. The brilliant star system on the stellar lion's hip has been an ever-present problem to the Empire and it's a boil that Spock morbidly looks forward to lancing.

With a telepathy that was nearly peerless when it came to its reach and strength, the rebellious beings of the pale blue planets were aliens of opportunity. Why his grandfather Skon or his late pid-kom Empress T'Pau, didn't see fit to snuff them out at the first ( or even the bloody fifth) rebellion is beyond Spock. It was their impotence in dealing with the outlying quadrants that is partly to blame in his predicament.

If it were up to him, he would have long since put an end to the threat. All those who deny his planet's hegemony are destined for his wrath, just as Sybok is now fated to meet his end at his hands.

A tinny chime brings him out of his trace and back to the richly decorate hull of his cabin. He sits up from the bed, feeling all the better for the repose when the door rings again. He grinds his teeth and swings his legs over the side of his bunk while growling for whoever it is to enter as giving a voice command to disengage the lock.

The thick, youthful figure of his squire and cousin Sasek, steps in from the threshold and averts his gaze as soon as he realizes Spock is bare of clothing. " My Lord. Well met."

" Hmph. Well. A relative adverb." Spock rubs at the scratchy stubble that's grown in over the past week, he takes in his cousin's appearance as well.

The unseasoned youth's smartly dressed for someone about to wage war, with his polished brass buttons flashing brightly even in the dull light of his room. His neatly tailored blazer falls over his robe in the typical style of a battalion guard but. He'll make an easy target for the Deltans to go after but he'll learn. Or at least die trying. " Report."

" Yes, your Highness. The fleets have just arrived to Delta Leonis' Zosma's star system and presently eight v'hrals away from Delta Prime's gravitational well."

Spock sighs through his nose and rises from the mattress. The sureness of his legs and muscles, hearten him as he crosses for the dresser to rehydrate. He pours himself a glass of water and quickly drains it for another. " Make it four v'hrals."

Sasek smoothly hurries over to help him on with his clothing selection once he steps back from the dresser and goes to the cabin's head. Emptying his bladder takes a spell but the time gives him to stretch. He catches the motion of it in the mirror and frows at his reflection.

Sybok. He looks like his brother. His typical, neatly trimmed hair now is nothing more than a sloven shag and his facial hair threatens to evolve into a beard. Spock turns his head in the mirror and narrows his eyes at his hair. If it were any longer it would be a Selhat that he would be resembling. At least he doesn't have some of the silver that pepper Sybok's temples.

The desire to rid himself of the extraneous hair nags at him but he bats it off. No soldier this side of the galaxy will give two shits who he happens to favor at the time if it's not a dead man on the barrel end of their phaser.

Spock finishes his ablutions and returns to the cabin's main room where his cousin is busy preparing his wardrobe. Coming to stand before him, signals his squire to begin preparing him for the day. Surak help him if he didn't kill any of his men before the end of this.

Sasek chances meeting his eye after drawing Spock's tunic over his head. " The war council is waiting for your arrival. Does his Highness wish to rush into battle so soon?" he asks commenting about rushing their arrival planetside. Four hours could be meet but they would be hurried in preparing their forces.

" His highness wishes to kill something." Spock replies honestly, slipping into his underwear and securing the garters to his socks. Sasek has the good grace to look frighten as he aids Spock in getting into his trousers but quickly recovers. Spock blinks at him in amusement and familial affection as the youth troubles himself with his slack's fastenings. He looks up to catch Spock's lapse in foulness and blinks back at him. " How has my Lord recovered?"

Spock pushes his arms through the sleeves of his blazer-like over robe and grimaces. " This one can carry on just as well. I will soon be rid of this poison with the next shit but I've yet to awaken the power I seek. I wish to test it on our dear dissidents…"

A absent glance towards the bed strikes him sourly as he spies the bright red robe that he wore the day of his 'banishment'. It's drenched in her scent and with every pointed sniff he takes, Spock feels a punch to the gut. He misses her terribly and the guilt of leaving her with his wretched brother twists his innards. He has to return and soon, for both of their sakes. Instead of revealing his angst, Spock draws on his growing irritation with having to deal with the Deltans. " I swear if I have to fucking trek once more time to this Surak-forsaken constellation I will raze the whole lot with my bare hands."

Sasek's eyes dart around from floor to the wall and back to Spock as he thinks over his reply. " You have been here often, Sire?"

Spock fetches his boots and takes a seat back on the bed to put them on. " More than I wishes. The Deltans are a vicious race for all the charms and arts."

The Prince gestures along his side towards the scar he knows to be near his heart. " Formidable in the worst ways. In spite of this, they are weaker than humans in strength and body so should you encounter one so near that he could do damage like this, snap his neck before he waylays you with his mind."

Sasek nods and shuffles his weight as Spock rises up again to take in his appearance in the reflective aluminum of his walls. As he preens, Sasek grows more agitated, still leaning from one to the other. " Speak your mind or sit down."

" Yes, your Highness. Sorry, your Highness. In truth...I have never fought before...not like this. I find myself going over the statically outcome of my survival and do not favor my odds."

Spock lifts a brow as he fastens his sigil pin onto the collar of his robe to hold it close. " Is that so? Then I shall have to look out for you then."

Sasek brightens at the news and stops his fidgeting at Spock's words. " Truly? You would do that for me, Sire?"

" Yes, of course. It is an irksome business acquiring a squire, to say nothing of a competent one." he says walking past him into the hall.

After a short lift ride and trek across to the upperclass men deck, Spock and Sasek enter into the Captain's ready. With no pomp or herald to alert the males to his arrival, the war council, who had been busy discussing port locations, scrambles to attention.

Spock dismisses them with a flippant glance in their direction before taking an open seat and gazing off into space. Nervously one by one, they reclaim their seats and continue their discussion. They quietly mull over the scrolls and PADDs that cover the table, presenting them for Spock's inspection but his mind is elsewhere.

For his part Spock sit silently sharpening his short, beveled edge of his lipitah with the same due diligence as his trillpah. Sasek has harassed him to allowed him the honor of maintain his blades but it's not a task that Spock takes lightly or finds burdensome like prepping his hovercraft.

He knows his squire frets over him being distracted away from the strategy discussion but Spock's opinion matters very little when it comes to the actions of the others.

Not that the war council wouldn't have listened to him, quite the opposite. They would have hung on his every word as if Surak the Great were speaking to them. Spock knows the error of it though. If he were to give them orders and not fight beside them should the battle turned, he would be sealing their fate. Damned for death or treason for disobedience.

No; better they make their own plans and work as the units he knows they would have been trained to be. As a royal and descendant of the mighty warlord, Surak, Spock has been trained to engage all enemies on his own. If he wasn't fighting alongside his brother Spock often fought alone. It was not the most illogical but that is how his family has always fought, sweeping past the front lines and barricades to lay waste to everything he encountered on the other side.

That fact in particular makes the latest Crown Prince more irritable as he mulls over the bite mark he allowed the le'matya to gain. True, Spock had come in not in his best form, but he had also entered the arena not on his guard.

Sybok had fucked with Spock's mind as soon as his brother loomed over his Nyota and yet again when he had brought the green, draconian-felines into the field. He had felt something then,...something that overwhelmed his put-together reason...

Anger. Spock had not controlled it as Nyota's fear and relief flooded his nerves but the thought to do so hadn't even crossed his mind. Curbing his actions had always been a lifelong endeavour but when it came to suppressing emotions he was in dire need of practice.

Nyota's presence had been as much a blessing as it had been a curse. She made him feel things Spock never known to be possible. Joy. Elation. Jealousy. Pining. Each emotion was more delicious and suffocating than the last but just as debilitating.

Growing up apathetic as he had, Spock had left himself with no recourse in controlling his emotions. He had largely experienced pleasure and pain with no grey lining, judging matters as either being fair or foul on their merits.

Feelings such as happiness or remorse never came to him as they did with humans and so, Spock had thought himself overly Vulcan in this regard. His father's advisor, Soval, however, droned on and on about the depth of Vulcan passion and how one had to struggle to bring it into submission. Spock had never known what the old, decrepit master was spouting on about and always thought him to be some overzealous fop, making up for some deficiency or secret sin that shamed him.

Being in the presence of his mother felt good but did not make Spock happy. Sinking his sword between the ribs of some random soldier before doing the same to his company had been pleasurable but never inspired the young Prince's remorse. Having to mentally train against his brother and father until lost consciousness time and time again had been painful but neer brought about any feelings resentment.

But then came Nyota. His Terran star, the woman who burned him as he stole her. Spock still hasn't been able to conclude how she struck him with the ability to feel. He only knew that Nyota had and the hard lesson that followed.

He had been lax in thinking himself not in danger for having no emotions. He was the perfect Vulcan, invincible, the ideal royal soldier to lead the Imperial fleet for both his father and brother but...she broke him. She clawed into him as he buried himself into her, showing herself to be the most...the most beautiful thing, living or otherwise that he had ever crossed. There was no way, is no way, to be immersed in someone so seraphic and not be struck in rapture.

For Spock, his misappropriation had damned him to a slowly emerging empathy.

He meditated, of course, but Spock took little to no time to reconcile the newly discovered emotions to his ka'tra. In that small span of time he allowed that curious pull to override his all of the logic and sense.

Both had kept him alive out in the field and respected ( or feared depending on the party) in the court, seen as just as fierce a warrior and discerning a scholar as his full bodied brother. Hellions though they were, Spock was viewed as no less divine than the rest of the royal family.

Then he brought Nyota to the palace and went about following his cock and his heart instead of his brain. Capturing, consummating and bonding with Nyota had come with a price after his repeated raping. The empathy she infected him with had trying to relieve his shame. First it was lavishing her with finery and gifts from across the quadrant, then employing manner with the help and the rest of the court's staff. He had and has been working to slither his way into her heart but Spock hadn't considered that doing so would drag him further in love.

He grinds the whetstone harder across the blade as the thought sinks in. He was madly in love with her. In addition to being mad. "Fuck…" he mumbles, switching from his sword to his dagger. He is smitten all the way around.

Seems that his darling human's sweet, honeyed cunt had succeeded in turning him just as soft and tender. Well, no longer...at least towards no one else but his bride. If he wants to make it back in one piece, Spock has to embrace himself as he once was. Empathy be damned. He is a ruthless, savage and blunt instrument of the Empire. Delta would be the first in seeing his revival but surely not the last. Everyone would come to rue the day they forced this sword out from his sheath.

Spock growls lowly as he runs the cool whetstone back and across his lipitah's curved length. Only Sasek is near enough hear and visibly pales at the noise as the generals and captains blather on about where to strike first for the most opportune engagement.

In tune to the mood of his lord's mounting irritation and resolve, from his bond of servitude, Sasek rises from his seat and draws the crowd's attention with his voice. " Perhaps we could put the locations to a vote? We have gone on about where to send our shuttles and base our soldiers for over a v'hral now."

All of those seated around the table take a palpable offense to his suggestion and look between themselves to see who should dress down the squire. For someone of his station, the audacity is hard to swallow. Royal relative or not, he soon sees that they will not tolerate his input.

One such male rises to the occasion, as Spock spies the newly minted Captain Tavok glaring at his cousin with a nod down towards the star charts mapped below. " Do you believe war to be so elementary, squire, that we have been simply wasting time better spent preparing our companies?"

Sasek remains standing, further rubbing at the nerves of those before Spock and himself. " No offense is meant, Captain. I would think a vote at this juncture would be the most logical solution to everyone's point."

Tavok flashes a sneer before clearing his face and planting his hand on the scuffed pummel of his trillpah. The hilt of it is plainly decorated but the latium alloy of the blade more than makes up for it with it's flexibility and value. He runs his thumb across the grip and snaps it free of its scabbard in a clear, pointed warning. " Put it to a vote? What human-like gall coming from someone still green. Last I checked, squires did something useful instead of parsing out impudence."

Spock raises a brow but does not pause in his work. This Captain is a cheeky one.

Tavok nods his head over in Spock's direction and sneers once more. " A better question would be why are you not attending to your lord's weaponry?"

" Because I told my squire I did not want him to." Spock replies quietly, still running the whetstone across his dagger. " Before any battle, I make it my business to see about any weapons that I may employ."

The Crown Prince comes to his feet and all of the ranking members hurry to get to theirs. In a scuffling screech of chairs across the hollow aluminum floor, they stand at varying degrees of attention but all are wary of his sudden choice to engage them.

Spock steps out from the table and around the chairs, making a slow, easy circle while continuing his work with his dagger. " One must take note of any nicks or chips. Such damage leads to a broken blade, a jammed phaser, a pommel-less lipra...and the end of your life."

He pauses next to the Captain, standing shoulder to shoulder and takes to studying his profile. The older Vulcan is battle scarred and heavily muscled for a Vulcan. He vaguely reminds Spock of his Uncle's roguish consort, Sateal but with a dullard's disposition. Unlike Silek's besotted hedge knight, this ugly fuck is clearly stupid and it shows in the way that he stands pontificating toward his cousin.

The arrogant prick probably takes Spock and the rest of the royals, to be pompous fops whose swords are more decorative than useful. Spock's heard the rumors the foot soldiers tell as they seek to warm their extremities near the phaser's banks exhaust pipes. He's either portrayed as a vicious, budding Mindlord or a Prince playing swords as his brother does all the work. Most have never fought with him but that doesn't stop their speculation. It's plain to see that Tavok believes the latter. He's not afraid of Spock.

But he very much should be.

Spock lowers his hands to the side and turns to face him head on. " You say my squire needs to listen to his Lord? Upon my last verification, I am your Lord too?"

The Captain doesn't flinch at the insinuation and merely stands at attention. With his sword hand at the ready…What a cocky lok sucker-

Spock stares at Tavok's sword hand as the Captain trains his gaze straight ahead. " We are the Imperial guard, soldiers of the Empire, following the Emperor's commands."

Spock tilts his head and glances down at the floor with a nod. " Hmm. That you are."

Whether from pride or pettiness, Tavok barks on, turning his body to eye Spock head on. " Emperor Sybok is my lord and commander, as well as yours, your Highness."

Spock raises his eyebrow once more and tilts his head to the side. " That my brother is. You would do well not to remind me of things I already know, Captain."

Tavok purses his lips and draws the corners down into a small frown and laces his fingers over the handle of his sword. He has been doing so gradually so as not to draw Spock's attention but he gained it the moment he took issue with his squire. Whether corrupted by his brother's new reign or truly cross with him, Spock can't tell but such insolence would not stand. I see you...

" You would forgive me sire-" he begins affably, to hide the fact he is shifting his weight to strike out against him. " I would have thought that the le'matya's poison would have dulled your senses. That or your komihn's simple intellect would have lead to your colluding with the rebellion...you are a bastard alien afterall-"

The wet, crackling snap of bone caving rings out in the ready room from the force of Spock's whetstone and is quickly followed by the wet, twisting squelch of his dagger's blade. The lipitah hits its mark in the small space between his armor over his heart and long, pleated faulds at his waist.

Tavok coughs and sputters in confusion before wheezing in pain as Spock adjusts his grip and snakes the blade further in. Spock's vaguely aware of the astonishment sweeping across those around them as he glares down at the dying Captain. He keeps the malice from his face but allows it to color his voice as the male dresses him down. " Consider yourself whetted."

The company around them freezes in shock and even has one other Captain gasping in surprise. Spock blinks away from Tavok and looks from face to face, taking pleasure as each one of them dropped their gazes. All seemed subservient for the moment but he would still have to have continue to vet them for signs of mutiny.

" Just as I said before, I like to inspect my weapons before battle and this one…" he grunts, wrenching the blade further into his gut of the gargling male. " this one was damaged and would have gotten me killed."

After a series of nervous swallows and nods, Spock yanks both the stone and the dagger free and lets Tavok's body crash to the floor. " I have no time to whet you all to see if all of you are without blemish but I swear to fucking Surak if any of you Selhat sucking, gobby, common trollops shows me that you are, you will wish I did you in as I have now with this gaping twat here."

Spock pulls a cloth from his pocket and frees it of the wet green dripping across its surface. While inspecting the hilt for anymore blood, he speaks to the former Captain's first officer. " Congratulations on your promotion, Commander Stoval. You are hereby Captain of the vessel. It will not be a problem."

The pale faced Commander bows quickly and once more as his nerves get the better of him. " Thank you, your Highness. No, not at all your Highness. It is an honor, Sire."

Spock's lips quirk at his fear and sheaths his blade back down at his side. " As it should be, Captain."

As he wraps the whetstone in the sordid cloth and hands it over to Sasek, he addresses the rest of them.

" It does not matter where we land. Wherever you place me, I will kill every sod, defiant or loyal to the crown, that I see until Delta Prime begs for mercy."

" Yes your Highness." they call in unison. Spock surveries them once again and relishes the thought of returning home to have Sybok do the same. It was time for both brothers to reap what they had sown but first he had to deal with his forefathers' sins.

" I shall not give it to her though. Delta Prime wants so badly to be an examples for the masses. I verily intend on making one of her."

Spock glances down on the lifeless body below and leans forward to retrieve the sword along its belt. With a sharp tug, it comes free with the leather bands trailing behind it. Looking it over, Spock hands it to Sasek, who blinks up at him in question. " For you cousin. No one goes against family but family. Use it to paint Delta purple as a thank you to your Lord."

Sasek nods humbly and cradles the sword next to the cloth-covered whetstone. " Yes, your Highness."

Spock spins on his heels and walks briskly towards the down. " Let's hurry this fleet along. That encounter just whet my appetite for more. If I am needed, I shall be back in my cabin, meditating. Dismissed."

He's halfway down the corridor when he hears the start of words between them.

" I am no longer certain it is the Crown Prince the Emperor was intending to punish."

" I rather liked him when he was when he was regularly tupping his human. He seems worse now than before acquiring her."

One of the Rear Admirals makes a quick disgusted face down at the remains of the ship's captain and sighs. " Surak help us. I don't know who will end us first, the Deltans or our own."

Sasek turns to the council before following his cousin out the door back to his quarters. " My Lord is not kind but in many ways he is just. Be about yourself so we do not have to speculate that answer."

He checks on Nyota as he told her he would. It is a pity that she had to be dismissed so early. The famed hostess's misery had rubbed quite nicely against his buoyant mood but Sybok has never been one for vomit and his guests seemed similarly inclined.

Besides, he rather looked forward to making excuses to seeing her after his fete. All evening as he wined and dined his way through his coronation feast, Sybok thought of how he would come to her. And the longer he pondered it the more hungry he became.

He first stops by his new chambers, deep within the heart of the court, richly dressed various shades of green. Jade, emeralds and green marble compose many of the rooms and all are accented in either gold or latnium.

Sybok stands before his dressing mirror as his staff quickly dismantle the elaborate robe he wears. He watches their hands quickly and quietly peel layer after layer from his person while his butler prepares his pipe with the Bolian tobacco he received this evening. The citrus fragrance of its furry leaves fill his nose and soothes what nerves he does feel frayed from sending Spock away.

Once ready, the gaunt looking male extends the long stemmed pipe towards his hand and Sybok gratefully takes it into his mouth and inhales as the butler follows up with the flame.

Sybok closes his eyes and holds the smoke in as he reviews the day in his mind. There is a great many number of things he enjoyed about it but in particular is the freedom of his father and brother's loathing.

Sarek had always sour towards him, it seemed at times for merely existing. No matter the display or rare displays of gratitude he fed him, each interaction had been begrudging.

Spock's hurt more since they had always been fond of each other. Sybok's eyes flutter open as he exhales through his nose and studies the ache in his chest. Spock, kindred and rare. He checks the bond between them and feels Spock's brooding from halfway across the galaxy. No matter, Spock would do as he was told and make things work as he always has. He would return to the palace but he would find Nyota not as he left her.

Sybok draws on his pipe again and nods towards the gold and russet sleeping robe as the maids prepare his bath. He would have to bathe again after his visit with Nyota but did want to attend her whilst dirty with the day's grit still on him. It was only polite.

He relaxes into the water and closes his eyes to his thoughts once more. He did not hate either Spock or Nyota...just detested their exclusion of him. There were a great many who adored and feared him but who was there to love him?

His mother had, he knows it as if it were instinctual and perhaps his father had in the beginning before his mother passed. T'Vas, his beloved and bondmate, was lost to him and Lady Amanda did not care for what she saw in him. When all was said and done, Spock was the only lover of his ka'tra and accepted him in truth.

Spock wasn't struck by emotion like the others but cherished Sybok just the same. He gave him a buoyancy that had not been there as he wore the heavy burden of being Crown Prince. T'Vas had done that for a spell until she...he had...they-

Sybok rises from the water and marches out towards his sleeping robe. Nothing good would come of dwelling on her and T'Vas was not to be the female of this particular hour. That honor would go to his new bond-sister.

His attendants trail behind him, stumbling over themselves to towel him off before the others dress him. Sybok tilts his head at his reflection as they rest the robe upon his shoulders, counting the silvery scar lining his body. He wonders idly what his lovers notice first about his body and what it inspires thereafter.

Do they fancy his figure, and the lean muscle and hair that covers it? Do his battle scars make them wary or secretly thrill them that he has been so thoroughly seasoned in battle? Did they see him as inviting or an enigma such as Spock? Did they think him beautiful like his brother or handsome like his father was?

A tall maid sees to combing and oiling his hair, lingering on his beard as she tries to appear demure as her fingers glance his skin. She has been reading his thoughts and doing a poor job of being discreet about it but Sybok rarely ever takes offense to those who do. Any telepathy compared to his own is just a wisp of what he holds inside of him. He has been bred for such talents and those bold enough to engage him, he favors.

From what she gleaned, the maid is pleased with what she's seen both inside his mind and out along his body. She's nervous and afraid but her timid attraction flatters him. She's bonded of course but all maids and butler know of the debauchery that transpire within these halls. Or rather the royals' wings and lining their purses for food shelter appeal more than fidelity.

Slowly as if he may bite she moves to the fine-tooth comb to scratch softly at the whiskers beneath his chin. A low purr begins in his chest and slowly rises to his throat at the coquettish gesture.

She nibbles at her lips and continues, steadily gaining more confidence in pleasing her Lord and Master. It has the feel of someone trying to tame a wild creature with a small offering of food or kindness which for Sybok makes it all the more adorable. He rather enjoys the naive ones.

Any other time Sybok might entertain the thought of having her keep him company but tonight he has another in mind. When he catches her eye her expression brightens and the dim bond between them blossoms. He smiles gently and catches her hand and brings their fingers into a chaste Vulcan kiss. " Slippers. I shall check on Spock's human now."

Her elation at his attention moves into a sad sort of rejection as she nods and does his bidding. Sybok watches her move to obey him and grinds his teeth in a way that leaves his canines aching. All but Nyota had readily obeyed him. Her and his late bondmate. Why was it that Nyota had taken to him in such a way? Why did she so thoroughly despise him with so little to go on?

He had felt her attraction there on the colonnade in all its many accolades. How impressive she thought his stature, the way his height made her stomach flutter and how she thought his face to be ruggedly becoming. And yet she has continued to treat him like a limbless leper.

Foul fuckling. Sybok places long glided pipe on the waist high pillar next to the mirror and silently exhales across his attendants with his lips tightly pursed.

All his questions are secondary to what truly irks him, and if he were honest, pains him. Why did she chose Spock over him?

Both similar in looks and intellect, Sybok wonders in an uncomfortable silence if he was lacking something that his brother somehow singularly inherited? And even more troubling, why did he even bloody care about either of the former questions?

Fastening his belt about his waist, Sybok turns on his freshly slipped feet towards the door and finds it opening for him as his guards and maids file out behind him. He didn't have the answers yet but if they continue to nag him he would to find out the answers. For the time being, however, Nyota Uhura is a means to an end, a tool of discipline used only to bring his brother back into the fold and if necessary to break him.

Ordering Spock to bring the Deltans to their senses was just the first call to order. For the next one, Sybok intends to lend a helping hand. Tonight.

Sybok quietly makes his way down the cavernous halls, noting the few souls who still move about in the dim light of the lanterns and the Watcher's pale light. Outside a sandstorm is brewing but other than the electric buzz of the forcefield protecting the palace it does nothing to disturb the quietude of the court.

It's somewhat of an early evening for the typical Vulcan but humans don't have the same sleep schedule. The poor dears' weak constitution leads them to their beds hours earlier than he would find himself doing but creates a choice opportunity therein.

Sybok reaches the exterior hall door to Nyota's chambers and dismisses the whole of her guard and maids with a sweep of his mind. The ones posted at the doors open and close the great slabs of wood behind him and wander aimlessly behind the others soon after.

Stepping further inside, Sybok take a moment to review her foyer and is surprised by its lack of finery. No wonder Spock was trying to pepper her with gifts and wares, they're didn't seem to be much else other than the standard furniture and treatments that were there to begin with. The scrolls and PADDs littering the small desk in the next room seem to be all that she hoards, along with a wardrobe of dancewear and costumes. Quite the austere princess he thinks moving towards her bedroom.

He gently presses the handle down and crack the door open a sliver. No light over than the Watcher's illuminates the room. He spies her bed off to the left and sees a still figure lying down on the left hand side. She's asleep.

Sybok silently makes his way to her bedside, discarding his slippers to avoid any noise they may make. As he comes to the edge, he sees her half draped by the duvet and wedged between a dozen or so pillows. Fast asleep and none the wiser.

He makes sure to keep it that way by placing a pointed pinch at her shoulder along her suprascapural nerve. Other than a faint arching of her back against the bed, she does not move another inch.

He watches her now, noting the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, the dislodged strape of her slip as she arched earlier riding along her bicept and the soft swell of her breasts outlined by the shift's fabric. Blissfully unaware of his existence and his intentions. He thinks of how laboring it would be for her if she were to know he was right beside her as she slept, how hard it would be for her to catch her breath knowing he was hovering over her at her most vulnerable and rolls hums at the thought of her reactions. Humans were unpredictable at times but he has the odds in his favor in this instance.

His eyes wander across her until the settle on her hair. It's bound and up even as she sleeps but his hands soon have it down and around her. He carefully rubs a curl between his fingers and savors the feel of it. Soft, wooly and fragile, unlike his late-bondmate, T'Vas but their temperament is much the same.

Maybe that's why he hates her or can't leave her alone.

Sybok pauses in his reframe and sees the tangled mess of once was Nyota's curl knotted between his thumb and forefinger. He huffs and flicks it down back to where the rest of her hair lies on the pillow and climbs onto the bed. Nyota slumbers on as Sybok pulls the duvet from her and comes closer to where she lays. With not a thought to Spock or a care to who might see, Sybok unties the belt of his robe and takes a hold to the back of her knees to push her legs apart.

They do so easily, lithe and light from years of dance and recent months of Spock's own special form of training and have Sybok swallowing hungrily at the sight.

How shall I do it, he wonders, pulling her closer to his waist. He tilts his head with a knowing glitter to his eyes as he thinks of how he outmaneuvered his brother once again . They each know the oath he swore and how it bars him from such actions but he cannot force what can't be acknowledged. Unconscious as she is, force will not be an issue and thus his word was still bond.

Nyota sighs and shifts along the bedding as if she may rose at any moment. Sybok blinks at her with heavy lids and runs his hand along the underside of her jaw. He'll have to meld with her to keep her that way but the prospect of finally having her thrills is his now. Spock should have shared when he had the chance. No he won't have any of her but what Sybok gives him.

I told you I'd fuck you but this won't be the time that you'll never forget….our game is just beginning...best out of three...

No one crosses him and for those who do...he make sures they reap everything they sow thrice over. Spock was...beyond worth to him. In many ways he sees Spock as much as a son as he was a brother, having been his closest confidant from childhood over.

They had seen many things together as Princes and shared so much history...and he forsook the lot of it for her! Abandons his flesh and blood for a Terran harlot. Betrays him...

As soon as it became clear that Spock had jilted him in favor of his own version of T'Vas, Sybok laid plans to rein him back in. Spock's death has never been the goal but for Sybok's pain and suffering he thinks it would be a bittersweet sting to his reparations. He has something far better in mind for his dear baby brother.

Sybok has often times heard Spock utter the phrase ' After a time, you might find that having is not so pleasing of a thing after all as wanting.' It is that quote that Sybok finds his vengeful solace. He would show Spock how wrong he was, how much he will soon wish for 'having' instead once the truth has been relieved.

Sybok exhales slowly and strokes his fingers across Nyota's face, tracing the shadows that fall across it. As the tips brush over her psi points, the cool touch of her mind tugs at his hand with a chilly tingle. The only comparison he can think to draw is the foggy embrace of Andoria's air, bracingly cold and yet strangely humid. And just like that foreign land, the newly minted Emperor plans to conquer each valley and peak and reign it as his own.

He smiles then, curling his ring and little finger against his palm to run kiss across her temple and down along her neck.

Spock betrayal would be paid in kind. Blood for blood, a bastard for the bastard, an heir for either Emperor's throne...by bedding Spock's beloved Nyota.

Spock has always been loyal to him but this...female has inspired all sorts of defiance in him. Where his baby brother was once cruel he now shows mercy. He has been seen thanking the help, as if they deserved it. He has even stopped taking as he pleased! He waits on her word like some selhat begging meekly for a bone from its master. This was the same male that had once broken in all of Sybok's potential harem mates, in a single night to chose a gift for his anniversary of birth. This is the same male who had terrorized the alpha quadrant and half of the known galaxy by his side and now...he was sensitive…

Sybok huffs in disgust and blinks down at Nyota splayed down below him.

Somehow, someway, this seductress has made Spock bend to her. He has been made soft in his domestication and Sybok would make him hard and leveled headed once again. She will know the truth of all of them and will no longer step out of line.

Nimble as a thief his fingers divest her of her modesty, pulling and pushing her shift until her breasts and her mound are free to him. Sybok hovers above her on his hands and knees, drinking in the sight of her in an attempt to see what Spock sees.

Surely her hair draws him, even Sybok can't resist running his fingers across it and in the muted glow of the waning crescent of the Watcher her rosy brown skin remains as luminescent as ever. It was truly a wonder that such a brilliantly Vulcan like intelligence is housed within the delicately, beautiful figure of a human. Rare she was and rarer still to world now that he possesses her. Such syrupy thoughts remind him of Sarek when it came to Lady Amanda and again he is struck with elation at his absence.

That his father is out of the game serves him well. Doing this task would be difficult to say the least if both he and Spock were still in residence. Nyota was charged by his father to provide an heir for the crown and its the only commission Sybok purposes to see done himself.

Reflexively his hand goes to her temple and locks her mind into its sleepy respite. " Nyota...I have a surprise for you…" he murmurs roughly with the bass of his voice disturbing the silence of the room.

Drawing her closer, he positions her legs on either side of his own and grips soundly by her thighs. He takes his lok in hand and strokes it from root to tip above the concave hollow of her navel. He is ready for her now but so no need to rush what he planned to indulge in all night. This is special, this is his first time with her. Taking his time to treat himself is something he would exercise what little patience he has.

The motion of his self-pleasure disturbs the air and brings Spock's scent to his nose. His lip involuntarily curls and has him abandoning his lok for her leg again. She reeks of him, positively pungent with the smell of him. " Let's change your perfume, shall we?"

Leaning down onto one forearm, Sybok retrieves his lok again to align it to her center when he is hit with revelation. Her scent...he could not smell Nyota - only Spock. Sybok angles his head with his beard brushing along her shoulder to catch her scent closer to her neck.

It has changed...is she with child?

He closes his eyes and concentrates on the smell, crawling down to her mound until noses against the wiry curls there. Maybe...perhaps but it is not obvious. Perhaps his seed has taken but her egg seeks to reject it as it's a foreign body. It was not unheard of or even uncommon but the possibility of her pregnancy has put a snare in his plans.

Sybok huffs despondently and kisses her softly around her neck. He is derailed from the next step of his envisioned ascension but only until he can determine the status of her carriage.

He leans up above her and chuckles with a caress of her cheek. " You always find ways to surprise me, Ms. Uhura. Always."

Her pretty face dozes on, mocking him even as she slept.

Looks as if he would be with the maid after all. Sure he could take Nyota now but he would hate to let a good erection go to waste. Besides he wants to have his spirits lifted before he possibly amends his plans.

As he jumps clear of the bed, Sybok leaves Nyota to wake as she lays now, to draw her own conclusions.

Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews and PMs. They help to keep me going and I love hearing your thoughts on the story. I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations because the next may take a while. What do you think Sybok will plan now? Do you think Nyota's pregnant? What do you think of Spock's predicament?