Author's Note: Thanks to Emoz1205, Carly Chameleon, DrowningBlonde, & Ebon_Drake for your reviews. I appreciate it.
This chapter is rather tame compared to last chapter (at least I think it is). I'm airing on the conservative side here but there are references to sexual subject matter (although it is rather brief )
Originally, this chapter was meant to be longer but I decided to put the final third of what I originally wrote in the next chapter.
Chapter 3 - Lotor's Triumph
He was her first real crush; intoxicating; invigorating. The commander played the role perfectly, if inadvertently. He was handsome and brave but at the same time humble. Her feelings were probably always doomed to be unreciprocated. Allura recalled how Keith always fidgeted and glanced toward the exit whenever she was able to lure him into a room alone. Even if his feeling were mutual, Keith would have never compromised propriety or duty to act on it. No, he was far too noble for that.
Certain it was the only way her mind could cope, she became, to a large extent, numb to the horror of how he died. However, her chest felt so heavy, thinking of the commander there in the snow. If his arrival on Arus heralded the return of happiness to her life than his death was certainly the harbinger of desolation. A tear slid down her cheek, just one of the many she shed since arriving on Doom. It hung on her chin before dropping below into her nearly full teacup. Her tea had long since gone cold, so she leaned forward from the black leather couch and placed it on the low mahogany table in front of her. A servant stepped away from the marble fireplace with a teapot in hand but Allura shook her head. She stood and walked toward the floor to ceiling bay of windows. The clock on the mantel said it was midday and yet the lighting outside was that of dusk on Arus.
Allura found she liked the absolute cover of dark that the nights on Doom offered. It diminished the excellent view of the capital city that her suite offered. She was sure the view was meant to impress her; if only the capital weren't such an eye sore. The architecture, with its jagged, hard angles and black glass exteriors, was the antithesis of everything she found pleasing.
And while she found it unsettling to look at, what else did she have to do other than watch the bustle of city life? In the streets, just beyond the grounds of the Keep, Lotor's palace and primary residence, another parade marched through the city. The revelers carried effigies of Lotor and chanted his name. She drew a sharp breath when a burning effigy of Voltron came into view. It wasn't the first she had seen this week but she still found it painful to see. Earlier in the week the blue and black lions were exhibited in the square in front of the palace. That and these parades were all a part of the month of celebrations meant to mark the defeat of Arus and Voltron. Allura was initially surprised that there was no burning effigy of her but realized that Lotor had probably forbade it pending her decision. Though the prince hinted that if she gave him an answer he didn't like, he would deflower her in a very public setting. So a burning effigy would be the least of her problems.
Her captor's threat and the celebrations sickened her and it brought her thoughts crashing back to Keith. His body, all of their bodies, abandoned on Neve with little hope of burial (other than by the snow). But perhaps better to have been left on Neve than put on display here to be mocked and defiled. However this consolation, such as it was, didn't stop a thought from entering her mind that had tormented this past week. That sinking feeling that her silly, little crush blinded her sense. That she impetuously hung on the commander's every word. Did she agree to his plan solely to seem pleasing to him? If Hunk or Pidge suggested that would she have agreed? Would she have gambled so many lives on one of Lance's plans?
She shrugged her shoulders and sighed deeply – there was no way of knowing and she probably didn't want to know the answer. Honestly, Allura had more pressing matters to address. The week Lotor gave her to consider his proposal had drawn to end. The princess spent the whole week locked in this small, temporary suite. Lotor harped on the temporary nature of the suite because with either choice she would be moved to different quarters. If she refused him, her accommodation would become more "communal"; sharing quarters with his other concubines. And if she accepted his proposal, then she would occupy apartments more befitting her station. Allura sensed he hoped for an answer sooner. In truth, she knew what she would do almost from the beginning. However, she wanted to be spiteful and make him wait. Let him have a taste of agony for once.
She barely spoke to him when he visited, speaking only to answer direct questions: Are you comfortable? Is the food to your liking? Lotor, on the other hand, used this time to appeal to her sense of duty. His whole approach was methodical and cold, absent of any emotional element (other than perhaps fear). There was no declaration of love or even admiration. Perhaps he realized that avenue was fruitless. Or perhaps those feelings were not present and this, in fact, was a glorified business transaction, start to finish. She was just the shiny new toy he wanted. And these were the negotiations for the acquisition of said toy with him meticulously laying out the consequences of each choice.
To that end, he would tell her of Tyrus and how their people enjoyed their status as free citizens of the empire. He was celebrated as a hero there or so he claimed. They were currently enjoying an economic boom. Their infrastructure and healthcare needs bolstered by the empire. The Tyrian children enjoyed one of the best educational system in the quadrant. And they had more centenarians now than any other time in their recorded history. All these things and more could be enjoyed by the Arussian people, he insisted.
Such accounts would be punctuated with stories of planets like Maura who vehemently opposed the empire for three years before Lotor vanquished them. The war lasted far less than the war with Arus (the prince casually mentioned, his point not lost on her). Most of the planet was without electricity. The men, women, and even some children worked in mines. The children received no education and most of them could not read. There was no healthcare. If someone fell ill, they were expected to work. All crimes were capital crimes. The average lifespan was thirty years old.
The whole week was peppered with similar recounting. Ultimately the message was the same: Arus would either be elevated to favored status by the empire, receiving superior treatment to all other friendly worlds, or it would be denigrated to the lowest status possible.
"Arus would make Maura seem like paradise. But as ever, the choice remains firmly with you," were his parting words during his last visit. She scoffed at his words. He left her to choose between two horrible lives. But then she thought of something Coran would often say to her: sometimes you are left with horrible choices but you still have to choose. Those words never seemed truer than now.
Beeping from buttons being pressed on keypad, stirred her from her thoughts. Lotor had come for his answer. She flattened the skirt of her linen dress and turned toward Lotor as he entered. She made no move from her spot at the window.
The prince held his head high with an unrestrained smile. He lifted the lid from her tray of untouched food, his lips pressed together and the smile gone. His eyes went from her to the tray and seemed about to say something. However, a team of servants began piling in, bowing their heads to him and then to her. His smile returned. One servant carried a flimsy outfit. The ruby colored, sequin, bikini style top would cover her nipples, if she were lucky, but nothing more. The red, sheer, silk skirt had panels of materials that would cover her groin and buttocks but not her legs. Allura was sure that there would be no undergarments to accompany this outfit. The remaining servants carried what would be her bridal trousseau. It took six servants to carry the river of silk that was to be her wedding dress, and keep it from touching the floor. There were other servants but they trailed out into the hallway.
"So tell me, my dear Allura, what color will you be wearing when you leave this room: white or red?" he whispered, his lips grazing her ear. She gasped, she hadn't heard his footsteps up to her. His arms encircled her tiny waist. Allura glanced back at the servants for a moment before looking up at his chiseled face. He wore the amused smile of a man who would come out on top no matter what she chose. Allura glanced back at the two ensembles, before casting her eyes down. Her lower lip began to quiver and she no longer cared to try and stop it.
"I, of course, have my preference," his lips tracing the curve of her neck. He smiled when he heard her breathing became uneven. He reached for her hand before she snatched it away. He spun her around, nostrils flared, and hissed, "but, make no mistake, I will not beg you!"
Her heart began to palpitate and the princess thought she might actually suffocate. She drew a ragged breath and whispered, "Whi…" She tried to finish the word but her voice failed. The princess hung her head for a moment; sullen. But then she opened them wide and she clenched her fist, as anger started to flicker in her heart. Anger not at him but at herself - she was Alfor's daughter; not some weak, frightened child. She took a deep breath, straightened her posture and looked the prince squarely in the eye, "White. I'll wear white."
He stood back from her. His eyes bright and more alive than she ever remembered seeing them. He nodded toward the servant with the harem "dress". She bowed to them both and backed out of the room. Lotor took Allura's hand, kissed it, and then bowed his head to her, before turning to the remaining servants. "Get her ready! She must look like my queen!"
As the door slid shut behind the prince, Allura felt hands upon her, ushering her away from the window. Cool air hit her back as she felt the zipper to her dress slide down. A pair of hands were over her shoulders and slipping her dress off. A servant approached with her wedding dress. As she stepped into it, it shimmered in the dim light. Upon closer inspection, Allura could detect diamonds sewn in the lacework that engulfed most of the strapless dress. A woman with hair utensils looked her hair over and frowned.
"Sit, princess," she motioned to a backless divan near the couch. Two other woman armed with curling irons approached and began their work. Another servant stepped forward and applied the princess' makeup. They spent far too long primping her, she thought. Allura would never have considered herself a tomboy but she never strived to have the story book princess look that Nanny so desired of her. It just wasn't important to her. When the primping team finished with her and she looked in the mirror, Allura thought how her appearance would have surpassed even Nanny's standards. Her normally messy mane of hair was neat and piled on top of her head. Diamonds and rubies sparkled throughout her coif. Her complexion looked bright and fresh.
Her attention, as well as everyone else in the room, seized when the sparkle of a necklace dangled in front of the princess before going around her neck. Her fingers caressing the cool, undulating strings of what was easily hundreds of carats of diamonds. She heard a little voice in her head condemning her for being momentarily enamored with the necklace. This isn't for you. It's so he can show off. If that were the case he could have stopped there and he would have been successful. But there was more; bejeweled bracelets for each wrist; asymmetrical tear drop diamond earrings that weighed down her ears.
Then, for the finale, one of the servants fluffed her long veil before placing it on top of the pile of blond curls. Another approached the princess with a diamond tiara, with dozens of bejeweled strands flowing from the diadem. As the servant placed it on top of the princess' head, her mouth hung open at the sheer number of diamonds.
A servant walked slowly around Allura, looking her up and down. This would be what she would have to endure for the rest of her life – being assessed for her looks and nothing else. Time would eventually erode her beauty. A shudder coursed through her. What would become of her when Lotor no longer found her pleasing to look at? Her mind drifted back to Romelle in the snow. Allura stifled a sob and cast her head down. The servant inspecting her lifted the princess' chin up. The woman's wrinkled nose and squint spoke volumes: marriage to the most eligible bachelors in the Denubian Galaxy was something for which Allura should be grateful, not sobbing.
Frowning, the princess twisted her head out of the woman's hand and narrowed her eyes on the servant. The servant's eyes widened before backing up with her head bowed, and whispered, "his highness awaits you, your highness."