The chill that had descended on the palace kept Tamerlane in his room for
two days. While he hid from the frayed tempers and cutting glances of his
parents, he packed his personal things in preparation for the move. From
time to time he turned inward to think. Eventually he would return to his
packing no nearer to understanding how he had become the epicenter of an
intergalactic civil war.
Goneril floated down the corridor in a diaphanous gown that turned the head of every guard she passed. Their nostrils twitched in her wake of pheromones and freesias. Her self-induced arousal put a swing into her hips that evoked growls of lust from the sentries. She hoped that the effect was not lost on the boy.
"Who is it?" His question was deliberately gruff and unwelcoming.
The knock was repeated.
"Who is it?" He put the book that he had been holding back on the shelf.
When the knocking started again he was genuinely angry. He stomped across the room to fling the door open, a scowl etched on his face. "What the.?"
He revealed Goneril frozen in an attitude of knocking. Before his brain could identify his visitor he was assaulted by her scent, a combination of unfulfilled lust and flowers. His groin tightened. The morning sun streamed through a window behind her, back-lighting her hair that billowed about her head. The sun cast her body into silhouette, which was etched on his brain. She wore no undergarments to restrain her generous curves. His breathing became shallow and his manhood hijacked his brain.
"You said that I could measure the room for curtains and bedding?" She asked lowering her eyes demurely.
Tamerlane chagrined by the innocence that she displayed tried to dampen the lust that was overwhelming him. "Of course, come in."
"Thank you."
She brushed by him, a breast rubbing deliciously against his outstretched arm. He swallowed, but the lump in his throat refused to move. He lingered by the door to watch her unfettered backside sway and bounce as she walked to the centre of the room.
His leaden feet refused to move, so he leaned against the door, which snapped shut, throwing him off balance. He landed spread-eagled on the floor. Goneril leaned down, cooing her worry. The bodice of her dress fell forward revealing her breasts for a nanosecond.
"I'm fine Goneril. Just a moment of clumsiness." He pushed his forehead against the rug and tried to stifle a moan. If he stood, she would see the evidence of his interest. He wanted to spare her the embarrassment.
"Tamerlane," she kneeled at his side, her hand resting gently on the hollow of his back. "Are you sure you are all right? I could call Olma."
The boy breathed deeply of her scent, "No, that isn't necessary. Why don't you begin measuring? I will help you in a moment or two."
With a light, innocently sensuous touch, she withdrew her hand. She rose, her skirt billowing out to flutter down over him for a brief moment. By all the ancestors, he wanted nothing more than to capture her hem so that he could pull her down beside him and bury his face between her legs.
In the courtyard outside the council chamber on a bench in the sun sat Tyr Anasazi and Dylan Hunt.
"Why do I still feel cold, with the sun on my face?" Dylan made a hand into a visor and looked skyward.
"Beka's anger has cast a chill over everything, which has been heightened by the threat of war." Tyr replied. "You are a lucky man."
Dylan turned to stare at Tyr. "A lucky man?"
"No wife, no children. No hostages to fortune to make you fear battle." Tyr paused for a moment. "It is not too late for immortality. I am sure I could find you a fertile female to accept your genetic material."
Dylan grinned. "Andromeda would self-destruct if I accepted your offer, as generous as it is."
"Does the Admiralty know?" Tyr raised an eyebrow.
"What is there to know? As Admiral I am no longer in charge of the ship. I have a faithful captain to whom Andromeda is loyal. Her avatar has the status of Admiral's aide de camp."
"How very - convenient." Tyr chose his word carefully. "But she cannot bear you children."
"It is her only regret." Dylan frowned.
"Not yours?" Tyr was genuinely interested.
"No, not yet." Dylan stood. "Let's walk."
Goneril floated down the corridor in a diaphanous gown that turned the head of every guard she passed. Their nostrils twitched in her wake of pheromones and freesias. Her self-induced arousal put a swing into her hips that evoked growls of lust from the sentries. She hoped that the effect was not lost on the boy.
"Who is it?" His question was deliberately gruff and unwelcoming.
The knock was repeated.
"Who is it?" He put the book that he had been holding back on the shelf.
When the knocking started again he was genuinely angry. He stomped across the room to fling the door open, a scowl etched on his face. "What the.?"
He revealed Goneril frozen in an attitude of knocking. Before his brain could identify his visitor he was assaulted by her scent, a combination of unfulfilled lust and flowers. His groin tightened. The morning sun streamed through a window behind her, back-lighting her hair that billowed about her head. The sun cast her body into silhouette, which was etched on his brain. She wore no undergarments to restrain her generous curves. His breathing became shallow and his manhood hijacked his brain.
"You said that I could measure the room for curtains and bedding?" She asked lowering her eyes demurely.
Tamerlane chagrined by the innocence that she displayed tried to dampen the lust that was overwhelming him. "Of course, come in."
"Thank you."
She brushed by him, a breast rubbing deliciously against his outstretched arm. He swallowed, but the lump in his throat refused to move. He lingered by the door to watch her unfettered backside sway and bounce as she walked to the centre of the room.
His leaden feet refused to move, so he leaned against the door, which snapped shut, throwing him off balance. He landed spread-eagled on the floor. Goneril leaned down, cooing her worry. The bodice of her dress fell forward revealing her breasts for a nanosecond.
"I'm fine Goneril. Just a moment of clumsiness." He pushed his forehead against the rug and tried to stifle a moan. If he stood, she would see the evidence of his interest. He wanted to spare her the embarrassment.
"Tamerlane," she kneeled at his side, her hand resting gently on the hollow of his back. "Are you sure you are all right? I could call Olma."
The boy breathed deeply of her scent, "No, that isn't necessary. Why don't you begin measuring? I will help you in a moment or two."
With a light, innocently sensuous touch, she withdrew her hand. She rose, her skirt billowing out to flutter down over him for a brief moment. By all the ancestors, he wanted nothing more than to capture her hem so that he could pull her down beside him and bury his face between her legs.
In the courtyard outside the council chamber on a bench in the sun sat Tyr Anasazi and Dylan Hunt.
"Why do I still feel cold, with the sun on my face?" Dylan made a hand into a visor and looked skyward.
"Beka's anger has cast a chill over everything, which has been heightened by the threat of war." Tyr replied. "You are a lucky man."
Dylan turned to stare at Tyr. "A lucky man?"
"No wife, no children. No hostages to fortune to make you fear battle." Tyr paused for a moment. "It is not too late for immortality. I am sure I could find you a fertile female to accept your genetic material."
Dylan grinned. "Andromeda would self-destruct if I accepted your offer, as generous as it is."
"Does the Admiralty know?" Tyr raised an eyebrow.
"What is there to know? As Admiral I am no longer in charge of the ship. I have a faithful captain to whom Andromeda is loyal. Her avatar has the status of Admiral's aide de camp."
"How very - convenient." Tyr chose his word carefully. "But she cannot bear you children."
"It is her only regret." Dylan frowned.
"Not yours?" Tyr was genuinely interested.
"No, not yet." Dylan stood. "Let's walk."