Seduce Me in Flames Read online

  To sign such a document would mean she could never, even in the event of her brother’s death, lay claim to the throne. She would be cut loose. Set free. She could then do anything. Go anywhere. Her brother would be renouncing all ability to hold power over what she did or where she went, except that of a sovereign over his subject. He would no longer be responsible for her upkeep. She would, in essence, be her own woman.

  The rush of the idea was a heady one. The thought of it, of being able to walk away, perhaps leave the planet altogether, where she could explore any part of the Three Worlds—it was remarkable. She could hear her blood rushing against her eardrums. She was a signature and a scan away from turning her back on this stifling existence forever.

  Except …

  “I beg you to forgive my hesitation, Your Eminence,” she said quickly, not wishing to anger him, knowing nothing of his temperament that she didn’t see in the media. But all hints thus far had pointed to a spoiled, rich, and powerful youth who was used to getting his way, just like his father had been. “I am merely in shock at the news of the emperor’s death.”

  “He will be long remembered,” her brother’s attendants chorused respectfully. But there was a decided lack of enthusiasm in their voices. The fact was, Emperor Benit had been a tyrant, and these attendants who were now flocked at her brother’s back had been the previous emperor’s attendants and advisors. When Emperor Benit had raged, which he had often done, these were the people who had borne the brunt of it. Now they were eagerly supporting a child they probably felt would be far more malleable than his father had been. There was power to be found by being the advisor to the boy sovereign. These vultures would be clawing at one another for the best position.

  “He had been ill for some time,” her brother said, faltering.

  There was emotion there. Genuine emotion. Despite how he was portrayed in the media, young emperor Qua Tsu Allay had feelings. And now his insecurities were also showing. Suddenly those robes of state looked far too big for the boy. And, in truth, they were. He was hardly old enough to rule himself, never mind the second-largest continent on Ulrike. What would happen to her country, her place of birth, and, truthfully, the land she greatly loved, under the rule of this boy? Or rather, the proxy rule of these attendants behind him. She had had many dealings with these greedy men and women. True, they must have had enormous courage to brave Emperor Benit’s wrath from one moment to the next, but their avariciousness had far outweighed their sense of self-preservation. Many of them had come to her over the years, spearheading the accusations against her and machinating her terms of imprisonment. Her contempt for them was powerful, and well they knew it. But now they all seemed smug, secure in their power of the moment, sure that all the abuses they had suffered had been well worth it for having brought them to this moment.

  She could be very sure that the idea of this document was theirs. They knew that she was the one thorn in their collective heel. There were many people who would not feel secure in the idea of an adolescent ruler. Many were as wise as she was and would realize that the boy would quickly become a puppet to those not of royal blood. Perhaps even to those of royal blood.

  Ambrea noticed her uncle lurking in the shadows at the back of the room. Balkin Tsu Allay had lived in his imperial brother’s shadow all of his life, seemingly content to be there. Her father had never felt threatened by his younger brother, an odd thing considering he had felt threatened by her as a mere child and by just about everyone else of noble blood. No doubt Emperor Benit had named Balkin Regent Tsu Allay, guardian over the young emperor until he came of age.

  This press to have her sign this document, forfeiting all her rights to the throne, would mean that, should anything happen to her brother, her uncle would be next in line to inherit the throne.

  It was these thoughts that stayed her hand. Fear gripped her, for she knew that to refuse to sign the document could be tantamount to treason in her brother’s eyes. But she looked around the room and saw the dire future her country was in for. As much as she craved her freedom, craved to drop the chains that the country held her in, she also craved an end to the reign of terror that the imperial Allay line had been subjecting the Allay people to for so very long now.

  “My most beloved brother,” she said, picking up her prayer book and holding it tightly between her hands and pressed to the place beneath her breasts. Perhaps she was trying to keep from losing her breakfast more than being devotional, but whatever worked in the moment. “I would do anything to please Your Eminence, I beg you to know that. However, if I sign this document I will lose something that is very precious to me. Not my succession to the throne, because I have reconciled that loss, along with my mother’s loss of grace and loss of life, since I was four years old. Our … your most esteemed father—”

  “He will be long remembered.”

  Ambrea had paused for the response, though she did not join in it.

  “—saw fit to outlaw my rights to the throne that same year. To sign this document now would surely be redundant. And even our father never asked me to give up the right to my name. I am still the Princess of Allay. I am still of his blood. The blood of this line. Take from me what you will, but I beg you to leave me my name.”

  “Insolent girl!” Her uncle surged out of the shadows, glaring down at her as rage shook through him. “You talk so prettily, but what you say is ripe with sedition. You bear no love for your brother.”

  “That is not true!” She rose to her feet, unwilling to kowtow to a man who did not deserve her obeisance. In the scheme of things, disinherited or no, she was his better and regal law dictated that he show her respect. “Where is your proof, my lord? Why do you hurl these accusations at me? What have I done to deserve them?”

  “Do not think this crown is not aware of your plots to seat yourself on the throne. Your father had no stomach for ordering your execution, but this regency does not have such scruples.”

  “My father knew me to be innocent of all the charges laid at my feet! He knew he would one day have to answer to the Great Being, as he now most certainly has, and our Divinity has surely seen the wisdom in the emperor’s ways and has shown him mercy.”

  “Your throat will be slit and your seditious tongue cut out before you can even reach that door, girl,” he threatened her coldly.

  “Will it? And how will you answer the charge of political assassination when the Interplanetary Militia comes looking for you?” She was just as cold and seemingly fearless as she stood up to an uncle who was clearly as bloodthirsty as his brother had been. “Will you so easily put my brother’s new rule in jeopardy by making such a hasty mistake?”

  Her brother paled and looked anxiously at his regent.

  “Uncle, we cannot risk being censured by the IM,” he said nervously.

  There were many countries on the Three Worlds, each boasting an individual political structure. Long ago all of those countries had signed a treaty that had created the IM, the Interplanetary Militia, an elite armed force that operated independently of any of the countries or planets, yet within an agreed upon set of laws and parameters. The militia did not interfere in the political growth and changes of any individual country, but there were limitations to what the rulers of a country could do. Anything considered a crime against humanity or a blatant crime as set out in the IM’s charter would evoke a swift retaliatory reaction, and the IM would then have the power to restructure the political scene according to the legal succession or the democratic guidelines put in place by that particular country.

  That could mean—

  Ambrea shook the thought away before it could even be born. She had no energy to waste on fruitless supposition. Right then, she was fighting for her life. Her uncle did not hide his fury, but neither did he lose control of it.

  “The IM has no power to judge who we throw in our prisons.” He smiled meanly at Ambrea before instructing the guards. “Throw her in the catacombs. Let her rot in there for a while. She wil
l quickly become more malleable when she no longer has her daily comforts. I promise you, Your Eminence, she will be forgotten as many before her have been. Most think the banished princess long dead already. But for those who entertain otherwise, let them see just how little power she has. Her precious name will mean nothing in the wet rooms.”

  Ambrea drew in a sharp breath, then forced herself not to react in any other way. She would not give that snake the satisfaction of seeing her fear. The catacombs had become quite infamous under her father’s reign, and it looked like their reputation was destined to grow.

  The guards did not lay their hands on her. For all of her destitute state, she was still a princess of the realm. Political climates changed constantly. There was no wisdom, especially in this currently shifting monarchy, in making enemies with someone who might become more favored on the morrow.

  Ambrea held her head high, her spine ramrod straight, and her shoulders aligned in regal elegance. The simple gown she wore was clean and crisp, its frayed seams invisible under the shine of her personal brilliance. She turned in the midst of the guards who surrounded her, but at the last moment she turned back to meet her brother’s eyes.

  “I regret that we have not known and loved each other throughout these years. Perhaps if we had, you would know me better and you would know that I would never wish any harm on you, that I have no aspirations to your throne, and no desire to unseat you. I am, and ever will be, your sister by blood and your sister in my heart.”

  She made no further pleas or arguments. There was really nothing more to be said. Strangely, the first rush of fear she had felt at being ordered to the catacombs was now faded, leaving resignation and practical acceptance in its wake. It wasn’t the first time she’d been unjustly imprisoned, but it was a far more fortunate fate than her mother had met.

  At least today she wasn’t going to die.

  “Out! All of you mutts, get out!” raged Balkin, Regent Tsu Allay.

  The attendants, long familiar with the previous emperor’s similar temperament, and knowing just as well the kind of man the regent was, made almost comical haste to do so. The boy was left alone with his seething uncle and no choice but to stand there and watch Balkin pace a furious circuit around him.

  “It’s no matter, Uncle,” he said with a shrug, pausing to scratch at the tight collar of his robe of state. “As you said, no one even remembers her anymore. There hasn’t even been a picture of her in the VidMags for years.”

  “Of course they remember her, you little idiot. And as long as she is alive, this throne will be called into question.”

  “Uncle, you will not address me with such disrespect,” Qua said with a spoiled bravado. He was used to being catered to and having everyone tell him how excellent he was in every way. The whelp’s attitude burned at Balkin’s very last nerve.

  His uncle’s explosive reaction made Qua stumble back away from him as the older man let out a roar and leapt at his face. Balkin’s hands were raised into violent fists, and his entire frame shook with the power of his barely checked rage. But he did check himself. Held himself. He took a breath and lowered his hands, brushing gently at his nephew’s shoulders, resituating Qua’s robes with care and seeming attention to detail.

  “Of course, you’re right,” Balkin agreed gravely. “Forgive me. That girl has been a canker on the ass of this realm all of her life, and then her mother the whore before her. I watched for years as your father was wounded time and again by that entire line of blood. Anything associated with her tends to make me run hot.”

  “O-of course. I understand.” Qua recovered his composure as his uncle did. “But what can we do? We cannot force her to sign. We cannot k-kill her. I … I don’t think I would be comfortable with that.”

  “No. No, of course not.” Balkin smiled at the boy, hoping it hid his contempt for the little weakling. Truth was, the boy was nothing of any depth. He was hardly bright enough to remember the steps in certain official rituals. He had more verve for games and wastrel pastimes than he did for the wondrous power he had just been handed. On the other hand, that made him the perfect shell, the perfect puppet. Balkin could pull his strings with little to no trouble at all, he was certain of it. The child was completely dependent on him. The only irritant was that he had been raised with extraordinary privilege. He knew exactly how everyone ought to treat him. He knew exactly how far his demands could extend.

  “After all, she is utterly powerless and disinherited,” Qua said.

  “Mmm. Disinherited, yes, but not necessarily powerless. If the people doubt your ability to rule, Your Eminence, they might search for loopholes and try to usurp your position on the throne.”

  “That would be illegal,” Qua dismissed with a sniff.

  Not necessarily, Balkin thought. His brother had disenfranchised his daughter on very thin precepts. While he was alive, no one had dared to question him. Now that he was dead and the people were faced with an overindulged boy child as their imminent ruler, they might be far less afraid of picking apart the details.

  “Nephew,” Balkin said as he turned to busy himself with pouring a drink, trying to regain control of his composure and use his head better when dealing with this child, “it is very crucial that you make the people feel … secure. You need to do things that will prove you are your father’s son.”

  “Such as?” Qua wearied of standing in state now that there was no one to see him, and he worked the collar of his robe free and took a seat on his throne. The seat of state was enormous and swallowed up the underdeveloped boy.

  “You have to put a little fear in them. Show them your backbone. Throwing that whore’s child in the catacombs is a good start. Perhaps we ought to have her tortured until she does what we want her to do.”

  “Uncle!” Qua was aghast. “She is still a princess of the line. It would be a high crime to injure her so cruelly. And in truth she hasn’t done anything.”

  “She’s pissed me off. She drives me mad and drove your father mad as well. She needs dealing with. But you need not decide on it right away. Let the wet rooms soften her up a little. Let her feel her memory refreshed as to what it’s like to be in all that dark and cold.”

  Qua relaxed, much preferring the more passive approach to dealing with his sister. It frustrated Balkin. The boy had never met her before today. He owed her no allegiance and could not possibly feel any love for her. Why was he being so squeamish as if they’d grown up together, sharing an affection?

  It was because of what the clever little bitch had said just before leaving. She had meant to tug on Qua’s conscience, had planted the idea in his mind that they could have had some kind of great sisterly and brotherly bond with each other if given half a chance. She had perhaps even intended to sow a seed for a future reconciliation between them, to work her foot in the door.

  That would be a disaster. If Qua ever looked favorably on his sister, she could interfere with all of Balkin’s plans; she could drive a tremendous wedge into the grip he planned to grasp the boy with.

  “No matter,” Balkin said dismissively, “get a good meal in you, nephew. Dress more comfortably. The issue is dealt with for the time being.”

  “Thank you, Uncle. I think I will.”

  Balkin went to the door and called in Qua’s servants, instructing them in the feeding and caring of the new emperor. Then he excused himself and walked down the palace halls. He rubbed at his aching temples as he did so, unable to help resenting his brother for leaving him with this entirely ruinous mess. Benit’s death had been a horrible shock to Balkin. The suddenness of watching his brother simply drop midstep as a vein in his brain exploded was something he simply could not get around. For years he had been Benit’s right hand, the two of them of a like mind on almost every matter. He had never resented or coveted Benit’s imperial position in life before now. Why should he have? Balkin had all the power and money he could ask for, and his brother had trusted him implicitly and often followed his advice on matters o
f state and political maneuvering. If someone crossed Balkin, all he had to do was speak of it to the emperor. They would then put their heads together and devise an appropriate retaliation.

  Ah, Benit had had such a beautiful touch with vengeance. Balkin’s temper often made him hot and quick and less elegant in dealing with those who crossed him. It had been Benit who had shown him the grace in turning a screw slowly and with deliberate viciousness.

  It had been a wonderful relationship.

  Balkin reached his quarters and pushed his way in. The smell of burning Ayalya spice struck him, the luscious scent warm and exotic. Sunlight streamed in the wall of windows in the center room, highlighting the curls of smoke that filled the space. There were at least half a dozen burners lit at once, but the Ayalya’s nature was such that it didn’t overwhelm the senses.

  The patrician style of the open rooms allowed Balkin to sense where everyone was in the apartments almost immediately. The servants who were currently unoccupied immediately knelt and bowed their heads to the floor as he moved past them. He barely took notice. In the next room, however, where there was a sprawling bath set into the intricately etched stone floor, the two female servants were busy attending the woman in its waters. One was crushing thick, fragrant masse petals before tossing them onto the water’s surface. The other was pouring a thin, slow stream of hair oil into her mistress’s hair while at the same time working the oil into the lush curls with her free hand. Balkin, as always, was astounded by the perfection and beauty of his lover even in what could be considered a state of dishabille. She had rich, dark chocolate colored tresses with strands of sparkling silver running throughout. Her eyes were a warm, fathomless gray, with lashes so dark she needed no cosmetics to enhance them. Her lips were a creamy fair pink, the perfect touch to accentuate the smooth and healthy complexion that only someone so young could have.