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  The king's tent was filled to capacity, every table filled with soldiers. From Farran's words, she thought they were probably the higher ranking soldiers. Her eyes moved from his face to scan the attentive crowd.

  All of them watched her brother as he spoke. After he had successfully called off the air strike, the Dems seemed to warm to him slightly. The blatant mistrust faded to a mild confusion at his rank. She frowned to herself. None of the Dems seemed confused by her place at their king's right.

  Her eyes flicked back to Farran to see him watching her. He raised an eyebrow, even as his gaze moved past her to move over the other Dems. He smiled slightly. She felt his hand squeeze hers, just before his eyes fixed on her.

  "You wish to be present for the deliberation?" he murmured.

  She leaned toward him, careful to keep her voice low to keep from interrupting her brother. "Do you mind?"

  He smirked. "I enjoy your presence," he said simply.

  She felt more attention turn toward them. The feeling of curiosity only grew, when he gave her his undivided attention. She licked her lips.

  "Then, yes. I would like to go. Is there-" she broke off when John fell silent. She looked over to see him scowling at her.

  "You have something to add, Sarah?" he asked sarcastically.

  She looked from him to the crowd and back, feeling her face flush. "No, sorry."

  He sighed and launched back into his explanation. "I explained that there had been a change in the ranks, and the new king was much more interested in peaceful dealings. Apparently, they are eager to enter into an agreement with someone who doesn't loathe them. Entirely."

  Sarah heard Tradis snort in amusement. "Assumptions," she thought he muttered.

  She grinned.

  "What was your question," Farran leaned over to ask her.

  John continued speaking, but she saw him frown at her. She sent him an apologetic look, before she scooted closer to Farran on the bench. A wave of his spicy scent made her smile. He released her hand to wrap his arm around her waist, drawing her closer to his side.

  "I was going to ask you if there was any kind of coronation or anything."

  He tipped his head. "Would you be disappointed if there was not?"

  She pursed her lips in thought. "I guess not…" she frowned. "Does that mean there isn't?"

  His lips twitched. "There is, but it will be conducted on the home world."

  "Oh." She felt him watching her. "Has any king ever had a Marked?" Her eyes slowly rose to look into his.

  His sparkled in amusement. "No."

  "Oh." She sighed softly, unsure why she was disappointed. She started when his hand grasped her chin lightly.

  His eyes searched hers. "You fear your place will not be known?" he asked quietly.

  She bit her lip. When he spoke in that tone, it made her concerns seem groundless. She gave him a tentative nod.

  He immediately stood, putting an abrupt stop to John's words. He ignored everyone else, holding his hand out to her. She took it and let him lead her from the tent.

  "N'aht mita Sarah," he barked at the first soldier he saw.

  Sarah watched the Dem hurry away, after giving her a quick glance. "What are we-" Her words broke off, when the Dem quickly returned.

  He bowed deeply to Farran and handed him a small bundle. Farran jerked his head, sending him on his way, as he turned to face her.

  "What is that?" she asked, eyeing the dark fabric draped around the strangely-shaped object.

  He did not answer, holding it out for her to take. She tentatively reached out to unwrap the soft cloth. Light glinted off of something metallic. She tilted her head to the side, as she finished uncovering the shiny object. A silver circlet glinted up at her.

  The thin vines twisted around each other, winding into intricate knots. Glyphs covered the cradle of the large center stone. It was the same jade green of Farran's eyes.

  Her gaze rose to his.

  "For me?"

  He huffed. "Of course." His eyes dropped to study it. "It suits you. It is only correct that you should wear my color and a mark of your place."

  "A crown?" she asked quietly, stroking over the stone with her fingertips.

  He lifted the circlet and set it on her head, the large stone in the center of her forehead. "It is only correct," he answered.

  Chapter Twenty

  River’s Twilight

  The morning dawned bright and frigidly cold. The air outside her cocoon of blankets was several degrees cooler than the warm nest she had created in the night. Farran’s body lay partially covering hers, his arm thrown over her waist and one of his legs covering hers. She did not want to move.

  She smiled to herself, as she lightly stroked the skin of his forearm. He gave her a half-hearted growl, and pulled her closer. She could hear the soldiers already milling around in the field beyond the tent wall. It was only a matter of time before someone came to wake them.

  “Farran,” she called.

  He growled something under his breath that sounded like her name. His hand stroked down her ribs to rest on her hip, before he opened his eyes. “Yes?”

  She shivered at the heated tone. “I…” she licked her lips, a movement his eyes followed. “I think we should get out of bed.”

  His lips curved. “Is that so?”

  She started to nod, when his mouth closed over hers. She let out a surprised gasp. His lips were slightly cooler and rougher than hers, but his kiss was soft. Sweet, rather than passionate. She smiled against his mouth.

  “You don’t think someone will come looking for us?”

  One of his hands moved up to cup her cheek, as he pulled back to look at her seriously. “I am king. No one would dare.”

  It surprised a laugh from her. “Okay.” She felt a surge of heat. Her lips brushed his. “And what does my king want?” she asked softly.

  His eyes flared. “You play with fire, Sarah.” His tone was serious, but his eyes held mild amusement.

  “Oh?” She struggled not to smile.

  He shook his head at her, and leaned down to place a soft kiss against her throat. “Of all your scents, summer is my favorite.”

  She started to ask about the cryptic statement, but he was already out of bed and pulling on his armor. She watched him until he was finished and turned to look at her.

  “We will meet the humans soon.” He waited until she nodded and left.

  She shrugged to herself and rolled out of bed. She found a set of her clothes in a small pile near the bed. Black slacks and a beige sweater. Her eyes went to the circlet that lay beside the clothes. She tipped her head in thought.

  It would be strange to wear it if Farran did not have his own. Even if he did, it would give the human delegate the wrong idea. They may think she was more than Farran’s Marked. She shook her head at herself, when the thought sent a wave of pleasure through her.

  She hurried into her clothes and left the circlet. When she stepped into the main seating area of the tent, Tradis and Motlin were already standing near the opening. Neither of them spotted her. She followed their attention to the group of humans milling around the field.

  The few people she could see were covered in Kevlar body armor. She eased forward, scanning the group as she approached Farran’s soldiers. Motlin seemed to sense her presence first. His dark head turned to look at her, an almost smile gracing his lips.

  “Ms. Mackenzie,” he acknowledged.

  She nodded to the engineer, her eyes returning to the humans. “Is that the envoy?”

  He nodded. “It is.”

  Nervousness fluttered in her stomach. “Where’s Farran?”

  Motlin’s eyes softened further. “He will return momentarily.”

  She nodded, as she wrapped her arms around herself. She saw Tradis glance at her from the corner of her eye.

  “John will not be present for the negotiations.” He continued before she could question him. “His rank is not sufficient to explain his attendance.” />
  There was that mention of rank, again. She frowned. “But my rank is?”

  The two of them turned to look at her, and she got the feeling she had missed something important. They did not have a chance to reply. The group of humans started toward the tent, and she caught a glimpse of Farran at the lead.

  He stalked into the tent, his eyes softening when they landed on her. It made things melt inside her, reforming into something far stronger. She raised her head. The warmth in his eyes increased with her proud stance.

  “Come,” he murmured. “Sit with me.” He held a hand out the her, his wide palm begging for hers.

  She gave him a curt nod, painfully aware of the watching humans. Their eyes made her skin itch, as their gazes crawled over her. She pressed down her unease and laid her hand in his. His lips quirked up into a small smile.

  She let him lead her to the long table that dominated the main area of the tent. A massive carved chair set at one end, dwarfing the others. Just to the right, a smaller but equally ornate chair sat. He did not pause when they reached the table, lightly tugging her toward the head of the table.

  “Sit,” he said softly, more of a request than a demand.

  She nodded and sat in the chair next to his, allowing her eyes to linger on him until he settled into his own chair. One of his long fingers stroked the back of her hand, before he turned his attention to the waiting humans. He gave Tradis a curt nod.

  She did not watch the envoy approach the table. Her stomach twisted up into knots, and not even Farran’s presence was enough to relive her tension. She was a traitor. The thought writhed through her mind like a poisonous snake, shaking the foundation of everything she thought she knew about herself. The envoy had to know.

  Her eyes rose slowly, to peek at the humans settling near the middle of the table. They spread out on either side, exchanging stacks of paperwork and files between them. They muttered to each other under their breath, as if they thought the quiet words could not be heard by the Dems. Sarah felt a flood of relief that she could not hear them.

  “King Farran,” one of the men said importantly. She did not look to see who. “I am Philip Vasquez. I will be acting as mediator in the proceedings.”

  She caught movement from her right, and assumed Farran had nodded. “I understand. My second-in-command, Colonel Tradis.” Her eyes moved to him long enough to watch him gesture to the Dem on his left.

  “Shall we begin with the negotiations?” another man asked.

  The emissary, her mind supplied. She fixed her eyes on the tabletop where her hands visibly shook. Farran’s leg brushed hers under the table.

  “That is acceptable,” he answered, voice taking on a cold formality.

  “Wonderful. Our first concern is the release of the people of Ameritat.”

  Farran nodded. “Done.” His leg brushed hers, again. Each time, a bit of her unease faded. “I request an end to the embargo of the city.”

  She glanced at him in surprise, but he was staring intently at the representative. The man nodded. “Acceptable. Trade agreements?”

  Farran leaned back in his chair. “Non-combative technology in return for a permanent base.”

  “Offensive weapons technology in return for one temporary base,” the man shot back.

  “Defensive weapons technology and a permanent base outside of Ameritat.”

  The man paused. Her eyes rose from the tabletop to see him staring at her. “Done. What is your position on labor workers.”

  She felt Farran’s leg tense against hers. “Unnecessary.”

  The man nodded. “Will you have need of humans for any other purpose.” His gaze made her skin crawl.

  “No,” Farran answered, voice dangerously quiet.

  For a moment the man seemed ready to add something, but he seemed to think better of it. He nodded. “You will be willing to sign a peace treaty?”

  Farran gave him a long look, but nodded. “All aggressive activity against Ameritat and my camp, will immediately cease.”

  “Already done.”

  Her eyes scanned the humans. Nine men and one woman. The woman stared at her hard. She dropped her gaze and pressed her leg harder against Farran’s.

  “Any human abduction will need to be cleared beforehand,” the woman said.

  Sarah frowned. Her eyes moved from the woman to Farran and back.

  “I do not appreciate your tone,” Farran replied.

  The woman did not seem to understand the quiet danger in his tone. “I understand you have two humans here. A man and that woman beside you. Taking people from Ameritat and using them as pets is-”

  Farran slammed his fist down on the table hard enough to crack the stone. Sarah’s head whipped around to stare at him in surprise. He ignored her.

  “I will set aside the great offense you have set upon me. Once. If you ever dare to insult my Marked again, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

  The woman cringed back into her chair, mouth clamped firmly shut.

  Eyes wide, Sarah reached out to touch Farran’s arm. He twitched. “I’m sure she didn’t mean-”

  His eyes snapped to hers. “I am certain she did.”

  She glanced at the woman and the tense men around her. “I’m not a pet.”

  The woman did not reply, but the man to her right did. “If not a captive or pet, why are you here?”

  Sarah licked her lips nervously. “The relationship between a Dem and his Marked is one of mutual respect.” Someone snorted. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Then where is the man who is at the camp?” the man demanded.

  “His rank is not sufficient to be in attendance,” Tradis answered.

  The man’s eyes moved to him. “But hers is?” His gaze dropped to look her over. “Why?”

  She felt Farran’s hand brush hers on the tabletop. “Ms. Mackenzie’s rank is second only to my own.”

  Her eyes widened, and she dropped her gaze to the table to hide her shock.

  “I understand there is a prince and another king,” the first human questioned.

  “There is.”

  “Yet, you say this girl is of higher rank?” The disbelief was plain in his tone.

  “Is her place at my side not clear to you?” Farran growled, obviously losing patience with the envoy.

  “My apologies, but you must understand our confusion. From your words, one would believe she is more of a partner than a possession.”

  She looked up at Farran’s face to see him clenching his jaw. His hand slid between hers on the tabletop. “Were she only my Marked, her position would be below my father and brother.”

  “Would be?” The group stared at her, surprise obvious of their faces. “So, she is like your…” the man trailed off.

  Farran squeezed her hand, an action the group caught. “Yes.”

  There was a long silence, in which Sarah tried to wrap her mind around what Farran was implying. A tentative voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “The prince. Where is he? I understand he was never pleased to deal with humanity.”

  Sarah glanced at Tradis when he huffed and muttered, “His reasoning is becoming clear.”

  She bit back a smile, when Farran sent him a mildly annoyed look. “My brother, the prince, is not an issue.”

  “Are you sure?” the woman asked.

  Farran raised an eyebrow. “Prince Lonan is on a desolate beta-verse planet. He will be there for the foreseeable future. Until I decide on a suitable punishment.”

  Several of the men visibly shivered at the coldness in his tone. “Punishment? For his treatment of humanity?”

  For a moment, Farran smirked, as if he found the man’s words amusing. “No.” The smile fell away and his fingers stroked hers. “He did something unforgivable. It will take millennia for a suitable punishment to present itself.”

  Appearing slightly rattled by Farran’s cold words, the other men fell silent and the emissary spoke again. “And the other king?”

  “Th
e Abdicated King is not a concern.” His tone held a note of such finality, the man fell silent.

  “Dead?” the woman questioned. When Farran did not immediately answer, Sarah looked up from their clasped hands.

  Farran stared at her. He shook his head, and turned to the woman. “In a matter of speaking. I have declared him an enemy of the crown. He is under strict guard for the remainder of his existence.”

  “Permanent house arrest? But your people live…”

  Farran’s gaze moved to the emissary. “Forever.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Is he on your planet?”

  Farran let out a humorless laugh. “No.” When he did not elaborate, the humans fell silent. He sent her a small smile. “If you have no more questions, I am eager to finish negotiations and return to my home.”

  The emissary nodded. “Of course.”

  …

  “Do not be afraid,” he murmured in her ear.

  The scent of winter clung to her, stark and cold with her fear. After experiencing the warmth of summer and the freshness of spring, he had no fondness for winter. His hands kneaded her shoulders. Her small bones and tendons were delicate under his fingers.

  She shifted slightly, bringing her back into contact with his body. He watched her head turn, as her eyes darted around at their surroundings. The platform in front of them filled with soldiers, again. With a flash of blue haze, that slowly cleared, the platform was emptied. She tensed every time it happened.

  “What is it like?” she whispered, soft but enough for his ears to pick up.

  He raised one hand to stroke her hair away from her neck, dragging his fingertips along the frantic pulse. “A moment of breathlessness and weightlessness,” he answered softly, taken aback by how much her fear affected him.

  She turned in his grasp to face him. “Does it hurt?” Her eyes were wide and innocent, so trusting it made his chest hurt.

  He shook his head. “Not at all.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” Her lips set in a determined line. “I’m ready.”

  He was infinitely surprised by her. Everyday seemed to present a new way for her to prove her strength. She never let a challenge defeat her. His eyes dropped to her lips, the urge to kiss her almost overwhelming. Her eyes rose to his.