Daemon & Sunny: Prequel

If I weren’t the only one left, and if the traditions weren’t so important…I’d stuff my left glove in her mouth, fist and all, just to shut her up, Daemon thought, masking his irritation at the long, drawn-out invocation and blessing. At last it was over, and he could raise himself back to his feet. He was grateful that the ceremony was specifically timed to coincide with solar noon and the high priestess’s speech had to end at a specific time. The actual coronation was fairly short: the Grand Chamberlain held the satin pillow and its golden crown as Grand Priestess Jirran held up a leather-bound copy of the Constitutional Rights of Astorr, the laws that gave his people certain guarantees against oppression under his rule. When asked if he was familiar with them, he said yes, and when asked if he would obey them, he said yes, and then the book was handed aside, and the diamond, star-pointed crown placed on his head.

The high priestess stood aside, and he mounted the steps, reached the throne, and turned around. He was a little bit early, but only by about five seconds. Just enough time to show off his white clothes. And then the sunlight scattered and dappled by the crystal dome overhead, the Eye of Astor, shifted as the sunlight outside hit the special, narrow-focused reflectors up on the roof, causing them to shine extra light into the dome’s focusing facet, and strong, hot sunlight coalesced around him, bathing him in its brilliance.

He withstood the intense heat; it lasted for a minute, and sweat had broken out on his skin when the refracted beams scattered away again. Even with his eyes closed against the light, he had to blink several times to fade out the spots in front of his eyes. He didn’t have to look, though, to know that the beam had done its job. The special fabric of his clothes had absorbed the intense light and heat, and had turned to black, symbolic proof of Astor’s power over light and dark, day and night, and of Daemon’s own right to rule.

“All hail His Majesty, King Daemon Davol Astorre, rightful ruler of Astorra!”

A right that never should have been mine, he thought grimly, seating himself on the throne as the assembled dignitaries lining the hall to its far end bowed. A gesture from the chamberlain, and everyone reseated themselves for the Listing of Realms within his kingdom. His father had been healthy, until a fall down a flight of stairs in the palace. His elder brother had been healthy, until the girth straps on histaka had broken during a hunt, and the other riders had been unable to prevent trampling him in time to keep from giving him mortal internal injuries. Both deaths had been ruled accidents.

Daemon didn’t think they were, but there had never been any concrete proof. Now, instead of inheriting a duchy of one of the worlds in the Astorran royal empire, he was king of it all. And forced to sit through the hours of loyalty-swearing of all the nobles from the rank of count on up, the high priests of Astor, and the military generals. All of whom had gifts to present. Then came the ambassadorial greetings, starting first with the emissary from the Imperium Regent, who formally recorded Daemon’s acceptance of superior Imperium rule in interstellar, inter-empire law. Then those ambassadors whose worlds and systems were closest to Astorr, then those further out.

The Ruyikan were announced at one point, one more group among the others, if from a larger empire than Astorra. The only thing in the group that caught Daemon’s attention was a figure draped in a golden-cream sheet that bowed to him with the others in the initial, formal greeting of their leader, the Ruyikan Ambassador, Lord Crellan. Daemon nodded to him in acknowledgement, concealing his impatience as he waited for that sheet-covered figure to straighten up again, because he had almost caught a glimpse of the person’s eyes.

Aquamarine eyes, he noted. Almost turquoise. Female. And bold. They met his much paler, robin-egg blue eyes directly for a long second, jolting him with the intensity of their jewel shade before lowering in demure formality. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something about those eyes that tugged at him, made him wonder who she was.

He found out within a few minutes. Not only had Lord Crellan brought exotic objects and artworks…he had also brought the newly crowned king a concubine.

Daemon could have groaned in frustration. Astorran tradition stated that the previous king’s concubines belonged to the new one, which meant that the same women his father had enjoyed, and his brother had enjoyed, were now his. Daemon, however, was…picky. After having enjoyed over a dozen tutoring concubines, sent to him from the time he was old enough to enjoy such things, he had begun feeling restless. Envious of commoners who had only one woman, their wife, who seemed far more happy with just that one woman than he did with practically the pick of Astorran virgins, Daemon had dismissed his own concubines a while back. He didn’t want any new concubines, didn’t want the ones that were already his by right of ascention…but this was a diplomatic gift. So instead of refusing outright and causing a scene, he nodded at the ambassador, who gestured for his entourage to part. The golden-veiled woman stepped forward, and a pair of women in conservative, loose gowns moved forward to lift the opaque material away.

Daemon found himself leaning forward as those eyes flashed to his face and back down again. Aquamarine slippers…and a matching skirt. A glimpse of golden silk encasing a knee, a thigh. An Astorran formal gown in aquamarine to match those eyes…a slave collar barely concealed by the high neck of the gown…and auburn hair. The color of the deep red found at the edge of a fire’s flames. He barely heard the ambassador’s listing of her charms, the fact that she was a virgin out of respect for Astorran concubinal tradition. Her name he heard,Deena, as he waited for the ambassador to finish his spiel, and for the woman to kneel.

She didn’t. From the moment her eyes had been revealed, the veil finally lifted free, she had kept her eyes on his face. Her shoulders level, her back straight, her hands at her sides. She didn’t look like a concubine standing there; she looked like a princess. A visiting, dignified queen. Lord Crellan finished his speech and bowed, then looked up slightly with a scowl as the woman Deena remained upright while he and the rest of his entourage bowed. The older man pulled out a small box and jabbed the prominent button on it.

A flush crept up from her throat as her body tensed. She didn’t kneel, though she did tremble slightly. Daemon quickly raised his hand, and the Chamberlain hurried forward to accept the ‘gift’; he could admire her willpower against the pain no doubt being applied by the collar, but he didn’t want her to suffer. A gesture, and she was herded over to the side, where all the other gifts were being piled as the ambassador and his entourage retreated back to their seats.

She didn’t herd very well. She strolled instead, as if she were herself a visiting dignitary. Daemon admired that as well.She’s like me, in her own way. Herded into something she doesn’t want to do, yet has to do. And determined to retain as much of her dignity and sense of self as possible while doing it.

The Grand Chamberlain, Lord Estoll, sought to hurry her by thumbing the pain switch for her collar. Daemon cleared his throat, and the chamberlain stopped, glancing his way. A gesture, and the man hurried up to the throne and handed over the control box. Daemon took the opportunity to speak privately with the man.

“As soon as this ceremony is over, she will be set free, along with all of the other concubines in the palacesaeda,” Daemon informed his father’s chief advisor in an undertone.

“—Your Majesty, that cannot be done,” Lord Estoll protested.

Daemon raised a brow. He might have been a reluctant king, but hewas now the king. “I am King. My will is law.”

Estoll cleared his throat discreetly. “According to Ruyikan tradition, Your Majesty, if you are given a concubine as a gift, and do not bed her that night…she returns to the giver’s possession. And given that the woman is a virgin, and therefore can be scanned to prove how she, ah, spent her night, it could be construed as an insult to refuse the Ruyikan’s gift…”

Daemon wanted to scowl. He wanted to put his royal-booted foot down and refuse the girl. But he was also enough of his father’s son to know that, as Ambassador Crellan had taken pains to garb the woman in Astorran clothes, made sure she was a virgin under Astorran concubinage tradition, the ambassador would take even more offense if Daemon first refused the woman gifted to him, and then refused her return to the ambassador according to his own world’s traditions for not bedding her.

“Very well. When the ceremony is over, escort her to my chambers. And clear out thesaeda. She will be ready to be set free in the morning…but I still want the others gone by tonight.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Daemon found her attractive enough. Once he removed that ugly slave collar of hers, which he would do tonight. Palming the control box, he slipped it into his jacket pocket for safe keeping, and automatically greeted the next dignitary. Three more concubines were presented, as the dreary day continued. A discreet, quick check with his chamberlain made sure the customs of those worlds weren’t as difficult to circumvent, meaning they could be freed discreetly right after the coronation was over, and the long ceremony went on.

(Continued in “Daemon & Sunny”.)