Hunted(14)

She fell into the dance. The movements were long lived in memory deep in her bones. They were patterns she’d created with her body hundreds of times. Dipping, arms arching above and out straight. She leapt, performing splits in the air and even she was impressed that she managed to hang in the air for a split second as if by magic. When the performance ended and applause broke out over the audience, Penelope bowed, eyes secretly searching that spot at the back of the room.

Ryon was nowhere to be seen.





Chapter 5





Ryon arrived at the king’s castle as night settled overhead. Storms clouds hovered like menacing discs, growling in anger and threatening a wet onslaught sure to drench. An ominous night. He didn’t care for it.

Up ahead at the front gate of the castle the spieler stood at attention. A row of military officials and royalty dressed in their finest livery waited for the steward to announce them to the celebration.

“Admiral Premby Adams and wife, Miranda,” the announcer called out. He had a grand, ringing voice that carried out over the courtyard and into the ballroom.

Tonight the highest of the kingdom’s echelon would gather to boast about their massive wealth and responsibilities. All under the pretense of celebrating their victory over the Avas.

Tonight was the anniversary of six years free from Avagarian attacks. The thought made him feel sick; his chest felt hollowed out and scraped clean like carving bones. It hurt like hell. Because tonight was nothing but a fat lie.

They were no longer six years free from attack.

This was the hardest part of his job. In the interest of public safety, it was his responsibility to clean up the messes and make sure everyone was safe. He couldn’t do that if everyone began living in fear again. They’d already lived that way, under repeated attacks by an inconceivable enemy. An enemy much stronger, quicker, and more dangerous than them.

War kept their morale low as a people. Birth rates declined, people died. That’s how the Claiming Laws came into being. With the population in steep decline, the king had to do something. And so he chose to write a law which stated: During the Claiming Season, a time lasting during the warmest months of the year, a female will be chosen of healthy constitution to be offered for any fit male as wife.

In less subtle terms: It made men marry young women in order to procreate. During the Claiming Season, lasting roughly three months, one female a month would be chosen. That left a possibility of three new pregnancies a year.

The strongest of the males would compete, since they must fight any other competitors in hand-to-hand combat. Sometimes men died for the chance. However, the victorious winner would reap the greatest prize of all—the female. He would then take her, copulate, and thus officially mark her as wife under Tarlèan law.

He vowed to win Penelope during her Claiming. No one else would touch her. It was their time now.

A touch on his shoulder caught his attention. The man behind him was pointing at the announcer. In fact, everyone was staring at Ryon expectantly. It was his turn in line.

“My apologies. I was lost in memories,” Ryon said automatically.

The group behind him smiled, oozing familiarity, righteous or not. “Such a hero,” one woman sighed.

The announcer smiled, pleased, turned to the great hall and bellowed, “General of the Tarlèan Armed Forces, Ryon Amadeus Ward!”

He tensed under the attention. It still wasn’t something he’d gotten used to, though he supposed he dealt with it better than he had when he first became general.

Applause erupted as Ryon stepped into the castle. He saw the faces of his compatriots, his men at arms, royal leaders from their respected houses, and friends and loved ones. These were his people, but he cursed at having to dress up in his full regalia. He felt pompous with the ridiculous medals hanging off his chest like some boastful symbol. He’d not done the things he had, and does, for recognition, and certainly not for any applause. He did it to save lives. He was good at his job and he simply wanted to do it. If he could do it quietly, from the back corner of a room wearing a dull smock, he would. So long as Penelope stood at his side.

He made his rounds through the crowded room of socialites. He shook hands, patted backs, kissed ladies’ rouged cheeks. Played his part as the general. All the while his mind churned with thoughts.

Of Penelope.

He’d thought he had seen fire in her before, especially after their first kiss those years ago. Now he had to face the realization of how just how mistaken he’d been. What he felt for Penelope could only be described as a blistering inferno. His very skin felt stretched taut around her, each cell poised to wait to see if she’d grace him with her touch. His thoughts were forever returning to her, to the wicked things she said to him, to remembering the feel of her mouth on his cock, to the thought of waking up next to her in bed, of sharing meals together. These thoughts pleased him like an overfilled wine glass to a drunk.