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TITLE: To Serve A Queen
PAIRING: Elizabeth Weir/Ronan Dex
RATING: R
NOTES: More Anne Bishop crossbred crackfic. Explanation of the castes and Jewel ranks here. That's as much as any reader receives at the beginning of any of the Black Jewels Trilogy. And yes, the main characters all make an appearance in this chapter. Minor ones in the next.
I will have sanefic by the weekend. Well, reasonably sane, anyway!
To Serve A Queen: Part One and Part Two
To Serve A Queen: Part Three
They landed in the new Territory a good hour after sunset, and the outer courtyard was well-lit with torches as they alighted from the coach. People spilled out of the archway to greet them, grooms, servants, and a dog that raced out and hurled itself at her in joyful welcome.
She went down in a puddle of scarlet silk and laughter while her people looked on. Her hand petted the head of the beast, and she allowed it to lick her jaw and throat as enthusiastically as she might have let a lover kiss her.
Ronan paused in the shadows, waiting for someone to take charge of him. This homecoming left a bitter flavour in his mouth, watching the people greet their Queen with delight and enthusiasm.
It confused him. The Queen who'd looked at him with the coldest eyes he'd ever seen in a woman's face shouldn't have received such a reception from her people. They should have feared her, not revered her. Yet there was no mistaking their pleasure at her return.
He couldn't fathom it.
Then the Warlord Prince walked out from beneath the archway and all other matters faded away.
The man was was halfway to his Queen when he noticed Ronan, and his whole focus shifted.
As he met the man's eyes - probably hazel by daylight, but presently dark as the night around them - Ronan felt the world lurch around him. Violence stirred within him, sharp as any blade, deadly as only a Warlord Prince rising towards the killing edge could be, and unstoppable.
None of the males who'd accompanied the Queen to Belka had been Warlord Princes. Two Warlords, one Prince, and two men who wore jewels but had no caste: all trained guards. Ronan had taken their measure, noted their wariness, and dismissed them in his mind. Their possessiveness towards their Queen hadn't touched him at all.
Only the presence of another Warlord Prince would produce such a reaction in him.
Territorial and aggressive by nature, Warlord Princes were a law unto themselves; Blood males who could only be restrained by violence or by love, and who didn't like sharing the females in their lives.
To the man who'd just entered the outer courtyard, Ronan was a rival, dangerous and to be dealt with accordingly. And blood would be shed to prove who was the dominant male: it was no less than they were, a part of who and what they'd been born. Slave or free, dark or light jewelled, no Warlord Prince could deny his nature.
And Ronan certainly didn't intend to.
He took in the lean, toned warrior's build, the proud set of the jaw, the Sapphire ring that gleamed on one finger, and felt the growl of enmity rise in his throat as the man approached. He might be a slave, might still be held by the ring of obedience, but he would give this male of her court a fight to remember, if it killed him.
They could break his body, but they would not break his spirit.
And then she was there, touching the other male's arm with one hand. "John."
Her tone of voice commanded the Warlord Prince's attention, and he looked at her for a long moment, the set of his jaw tense. Moments passed, during which most of the other people in the courtyard seemed to drift away into the night. Ronan hardly paid attention to the guards who'd drawn their weapons and were now holding them at his throat.
He was watching the Queen.
The other man stiffened, and sent one flashing glance at Ronan, then nodded and turned his back on both Queen and rival, returning to the house with all the feral grace of a tiger. He sent one look towards the witch who'd accompanied them in the coach, and received a swift shake of the head in reply. He stalked off, his anger still plain. Whatever his requests of Queen and witch, he'd been denied both.
Ronan grinned wolfishly, ignoring the envy that coiled in his throat, making a lump that was difficult to swallow around.
Then he looked back at the Queen, now watching him, and his smile faded. In the darkness, by the flickering torches, it was difficult to make out her expression, but he stared back, instinctively knowing that now was not the time to back down. He was what he was, even bound by the ring of obedience, and his hackles were still up, ignited by the other male's aggression and fuelled by his own nature.
She could do what she liked with him, but she couldn't make him change his nature.
At length, she nodded. "Come."
Ronan tensed, shocked at the direct address. She hadn't told the guards to bring him, she hadn't made it an order. Her tone clearly said she expected to come, but it was common sense, not an imperative.
And it confused him.
Still, he retained enough sense in his skull to follow after her. He didn't want to stand out here all night.
They crossed the outer courtyard and went into a long passageway, lit by witchlights. At the other end of the passageway was an inner courtyard surrounded on all sides by the house and leading up to a large set of double doors.
A servant greeted them at the front door and she paused to ask him something. Ronan heard the words 'Steward' and 'office' and figured that there would be some accounting done by the end of the night, especially when her Steward realised that she'd spent five hundred gold marks on a stubborn slave.
Five hundred gold marks was a lot to pay for a slave, even a Red-jewelled Warlord Prince.
Her conversation with the servant finished and she glanced back at him. "Come."
And off she set once again, one hand outstretched to scratch the head of the dog that now danced by her side, writhing in joy at her presence.
The brown-skinned witch who had been in the coach moved past him, giving him one querying gaze before she followed after her Queen. As she passed him, Ronan caught the faintest hint of her psychic scent and fought the urge to press himself back against the wall away from her.
A natural Black Widow.
They were rare in Belka Territory, powerful witches capable of weaving tangled webs - spells that could destroy a man's mind, or tear apart his soul. Males feared them - and rightly so. Ronan had seen the results of a Black Widow's spell on a man who'd failed to please her. He wasn't the only man who'd had nightmares for weeks after, either.
After that, Ronan had stayed well clear of any Black Widows in the courts where he'd slaved.
The castes of the others in the coach were easy to tell; but his senses had told him she was nothing more than a witch who wore Jewels. Had she disguised her true nature? And if so, why?
As if she'd sensed his fear, she turned and smiled at him, a slightly wicked smile of pleasure at his shock. Then she turned and continued on.
Ronan shivered slightly and focused his attention on the Queen whose scarlet dress swirled around her slender figure like fire as she walked ahead. After a moment, he found it easy to ignore the Black Widow who trailed her amusement like perfume, the guards who followed behind him.
The woman who held his attention was the one whose authority here was unchallenged.
She led them to a room where a Prince sat behind a desk, muttering to himself as he went through the reports of the estate.
"Lady?"
"Carson," she said. "We have a new addition to the household."
Carson turned his blue gaze on Ronan. "Oh no. How much?"
"Five hundred gold marks."
The Steward stared at her. "Have you lost your mind, Elizabeth? Five hundred gold marks?" He frowned slightly and turned to Ronan. "Not meaning to be rude, Prince, but...five hundred..." He turned back to the Queen who had crouched down, the better to fondle the ears of her hound. "In the name of the Darkness, why?"
"He has spirit."
"And we have a household budget!" Carson ran a hand over his eyes, the picture of an exasperated Steward.
"Then take it off my personal expenditure," she said. "I won't buy any more evening gowns for the year." And she smiled mischievously, like a child who thought they'd outwitted a parent.
"You won't be buying any more evening gowns for two years at that price!" Carson retorted. "And what will the First Circle have to say about that?" He looked to the Black Widow who had settled herself into one of the armchairs in the room and was watching the argument, clearly amused.
"The males would drag you out and purchase the clothes for you," she said to the Queen. "And they would pick the items that you most dislike and would insist upon you wearing them."
"I'm the Queen."
"And they are First Circle," said the Black Widow.
Elizabeth winced. "They would, wouldn't they?"
Ronan watched the whole exchange, more than a little bemused. The man's apology to him had been startling, denoting a respect that no Steward would give a mere slave. And their conversation had been casual, hardly what might have been expected of an aristo Queen and one of the most powerful men in her court.
That they were arguing like this in front of him - a slave - made no sense.
He felt like interrupting, demanding to know what he was doing here. He knew better than to try.
"Remind me why I took this position again?" Carson asked.
"Because the running of the estate might have otherwise fallen to Rodney," said the Black Widow, smiling.
"Teyla." Carson warned. He turned his attention to Ronan and studied him with a sigh. "Sheppard's not going to like him."
"John's already met him," the Queen said, her voice going flat.
"Ah. Well. That solves one problem at least. And creates a dozen more." The Steward regarded her and the still-bouncing dog. "Elizabeth, do you remember what I said about that beast?"
She grinned and stood. "I'll take him out. Teyla, when you're finished here?"
And with one last, measuring look at Ronan, she left, the dog faithfully following her steps. One of the guards followed her out and the door closed behind her.
"What do you know about this court?"
Ronan tore his eyes away from the door through which she'd vanished, leaving him in a room with the three people: Steward, Black Widow and Warlord guard. "Atlantis Territory. She's the Queen."
"The Lady Elizabeth Weir, Territory Queen of Atlantis," the Steward said. "I'm Carson Beckett and the Steward of the Court."
Ronan remained silent, waiting. He could sense the question implicit in the man's demeanour, but he wasn't going to answer until directly addressed.
The Steward frowned at his stubbornness. "Name?"
"Ronan Dex."
"Jewel?"
He stared for a moment and the other man grew impatient.
"You do have jewels don't you?"
Ronan did. But he'd never been asked to name them before. "Red."
An eyebrow went up. "Sheppard's really not going to like you. Skills?"
He stiffened, too aware of the amusement emanating from the Black Widow over in the chair. "I was trained as a warrior." That much was true.
But Carson eyed him. "Belka Territory?"
"Yes."
"Belka Territory wouldn't let a slave touch a weapon." While the man looked mild, his voice was diamond-hard. "What else?"
"General flunkey. Whipping boy." He paused. "Pleasure slave."
Ronan wasn't sure what he expected from the man. Derision, perhaps? He certainly didn't expect the tight flash of sympathy from the man. Still, the Steward only nodded and looked him over, the blue eyes resting briefly on his groin. "I imagine you wore a ring of obedience, then?"
Wore? Ronan nearly laughed out loud. "Still wearing it."
There was an exasperated noise from the chair behind Ronan. He didn't turn as the Black Widow spoke. "I presumed they'd removed it, Carson. Elizabeth must have the controlling ring."
"A controlling ring." The Steward winced. "Lovely." He looked back at Ronan, studying the man, and now there was a measuring look in the blue gaze. "They whipped you, didn't they? Take off the shirt." When Ronan hesitated, the man raised his eyebrows. "Would you like Teyla to undress you?" Carson glanced over at Black Widow. She glared back at Carson before her eyes came to rest, neutrally, on Ronan.
Exactly how the Steward had read his discomfort with the Black Widow, Ronan didn't know, but he looked away from the intent darkness of those eyes and stripped, pulling off his shirt with careful attention to the scabs now half-healed. The pain was still there, but it was nothing more than a background ache. And even that would shortly be gone.
The Steward came out from behind his desk and circled Ronan, regarding him with the calm, thoughtful gaze of a man used to appraising the value of goods. "Your work?" He addressed Teyla, gesturing at Ronan's back with one hand.
"The Queen's ministrations, my spell."
Which meant the Black Widow's jewels were darker than Ronan's. That explained her presence in the room at least. Between her and the guard, Ronan was well-covered in case he thought to try anything.
Carson nodded. "Good work. Remind me to tell her."
Ronan paused as the bandages about his body were vanished and straightened slowly. His back ached a little, but the wounds were healing - he could feel the scabs forming.
"How does it feel?" It took him a moment to realise that the Steward was talking about his back.
"Sore." Like he'd taken twenty-five lashes.
The man gave him a wary look for the terseness. "We have a Healer in the court, but she won't be able to look at that until tomorrow." The man gave him another appraising look. "Strip."
"What?" Here?
"Do you want to wear the ring of obedience after all?" The man was blunt. "Strip."
Ronan stared at the man. He felt as though the ground had been yanked out from beneath him. They were going to take the ring off him?
Carson looked at the woman in the chair. "Teyla?"
There was no way Ronan was letting the Black Widow lay her hands on him. A Queen was one thing, but a Black Widow?
He stripped off his boots, vanishing them as he took them off, and just vanished his trousers completely, leaving him standing naked in the room.
From behind him, the Black Widow's amusement intensified, the guard momentarily stared before regaining his impassivity, but the Steward merely gave him a single sweeping glance from head to toe, and turned towards the door as it opened.
"Lady--" Carson stopped as a Warlord entered, his eyes firmly on the book he held open, one finger pressed into the paper page.
"Teyla? Teyla, have you looked at the order of ingredients for the energy spell? I think it's wrong. Well, no, it's definitely wrong because it's not working and I need you to come and test it for me right now."
As the lack of response registered he looked up, and regarded Ronan with astonishment. "You're not Teyla."
"Observant, Rodney," Carson snapped. "Where's Elizabeth?"
The Warlord looked back at him, surprised. "I don't know where she is. Why would I know?"
"I sent for Elizabeth."
"Oh, well, I can't help you there." The man peered at Ronan. "So this is the new guy?" He looked him up and down. "Sheppard isn't going to like him."
"Sheppard's already met him," the Steward said.
"Oh, well, I'm sure that went well. Is that why he's standing naked in the middle of your office? Or are there things you'd like to tell us about?"
Ronan was tempted to laugh at the brief flash of exasperation on the Steward's face. "Rodney, what are you doing here?"
"I came looking for Teyla. Oh, there she is." Rodney crossed the room, completely ignoring Ronan. "Teyla, this is important."
"It always is," she replied. "However, at this time I am busy. As you can see."
"Busy?" Rodney said. "What? Watching him? He's not going to give any--"
In a single fluid motion Ronan turned and kicked Rodney's feet out from beneath him, trusting to the Warlord's Craft skills to stop him from hitting the ground. He felt rather than saw the guard lunge forward, and dodged the blow that should have landed in his belly, neatly sidestepping the man. He caught the man's shoulder and belt and tossed him heels-over-head to the floor beyond the couch.
He grinned as he crouched, turning to face the next threat. This wasn't the killing edge, just the natural aggression of a Warlord Prince channelled into action. It was reckless, it was dangerous, and it was going to get his balls fried as soon as they remembered he still wore the ring of obedience and their Queen had the controlling ring...
A second later, he was caught in a vice-like grip and shoved up against an invisible wall. A knife dug gently into his throat and the dark eyes of the Black Widow watched him from beyond the silvery blade. "I would not advise trying that again." Her voice was low and husky, and yet dangerously cold; and the look in her eyes said that she would go up against a Warlord Prince in his prime without hesitation.
The look in her eyes said that she would go up against a Warlord Prince in his prime without hesitation and win.
"What is happening here?" The Queen's voice rang through the room in authoritative question. "Teyla?"
Ronan tensed but didn't dare turn his head.
Teyla vanished the knife and stepped back, "A slight upset. That is all." The flashing glance sent his way warned him that he would perpetrate the statement or risk worse things than a knife at his throat.
At this moment, he wasn't sure he cared.
Elizabeth was in the room.
Maybe it was the instincts he'd roused by lashing out at the Warlord, but he was hyperaware of her presence, of her floral scent, of her irritation at being called back. She crossed the room to Carson, ignoring Ronan, and he felt a momentary pique at her complete lack of interest in him.
"He hit me!" The Warlord down on the floor whined - yes, whined. There was no other word for it.
"Good for him," the Steward said sharply.
"He's a Warlord Prince, Rodney," said the Queen, shooting her Steward a quelling glance while the Black Widow hauled the man up off the floor. "You should be grateful he didn't do more than just hit you."
Pleased by the acceptance of his nature, Ronan grinned wolfishly at the Warlord, whose eyes narrowed. His step forward was stopped by a single outstretched hand of the Black Widow and a warning glance.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth had turned back to Carson. "You needed me here?"
"Yes," said the Steward briskly. "He's wearing a ring of obedience. You'll have to take it off."
Ronan's breath caught in his throat.
"I'll have to take it off?" The emphasis in the sentence was wrong, but that hardly registered with Ronan. What registered was the panic that flitted over her features, a momentary fear that she mastered within moments. "Why can't someone else do it?"
A look of patient exasperation crossed his face. "Because you're the Queen." He paused. "And you bought him."
She looked over at Ronan, and lifted her chin. He saw her eyes take in his naked form, a quick sweep of appraisal. Then she tugged the controlling ring from her finger and crossed the short expanse of carpet to stand before him.
Her hand touched his chest, resting lightly on his breastbone, and a light psychic probe brushed across his shields and his inner barriers. Ronan felt the tingling softness of that not-quite-caress all over his skin and tasted the psychic scent of her in the air around them.
It was difficult to fight the instincts that urged him to slip his hands around her waist and open up his inner barriers to her, but he did. He fought it by reminding himself of the look that had been in her eyes when she bought him - chattel exchanging hands.
He wished his senses would be reminded.
Then she touched him, her fingers brushing over the hair at his groin and slipping around the ring that circled the base of his cock.
Ronan quivered, painfully aware of her closeness, of the ageless wisdom of her eyes, the vivid dark of her hair around the pale curves of her face. He was terrifyingly sensitive to the fingertip that brushed his balls so lightly, to the woman who stood just outside the barriers he had up to protect his inner self.
Then all that was lost as his vision swam, dizzyingly.
He didn't understand what it was - not immediately, but a moment later, he felt her hand slip into his, the faintest caressing touch. And there was no pain. For the first time in seven years, the near-constant buzz of pain that the ring of obedience had produced in his balls was gone. He drew in a shuddering breath, felt the slight weight of her hand still resting on his chest. But when his sight cleared, she was already turning away and he was holding two small, heavy items in his left hand.
She said something to the Steward that he didn't hear, took the Warlord out of the room with her, and left him standing in the middle of the office, naked and free.
The door slipped shut behind her and he heard the latch click as he looked down at the things in his hand: the large gold ring of obedience and the smaller, delicate controlling ring that had made the last seven years misery.
He glanced up. The Black Widow was looking at him with dark eyes that held no leavening of watchfulness, but which were, at least, not hostile.
And Carson paused beside him, the blue eyes open and quiet as he addressed Ronan.
"Welcome to Atlantis."
--
To Part Four
PAIRING: Elizabeth Weir/Ronan Dex
RATING: R
NOTES: More Anne Bishop crossbred crackfic. Explanation of the castes and Jewel ranks here. That's as much as any reader receives at the beginning of any of the Black Jewels Trilogy. And yes, the main characters all make an appearance in this chapter. Minor ones in the next.
I will have sanefic by the weekend. Well, reasonably sane, anyway!
To Serve A Queen: Part One and Part Two
To Serve A Queen: Part Three
They landed in the new Territory a good hour after sunset, and the outer courtyard was well-lit with torches as they alighted from the coach. People spilled out of the archway to greet them, grooms, servants, and a dog that raced out and hurled itself at her in joyful welcome.
She went down in a puddle of scarlet silk and laughter while her people looked on. Her hand petted the head of the beast, and she allowed it to lick her jaw and throat as enthusiastically as she might have let a lover kiss her.
Ronan paused in the shadows, waiting for someone to take charge of him. This homecoming left a bitter flavour in his mouth, watching the people greet their Queen with delight and enthusiasm.
It confused him. The Queen who'd looked at him with the coldest eyes he'd ever seen in a woman's face shouldn't have received such a reception from her people. They should have feared her, not revered her. Yet there was no mistaking their pleasure at her return.
He couldn't fathom it.
Then the Warlord Prince walked out from beneath the archway and all other matters faded away.
The man was was halfway to his Queen when he noticed Ronan, and his whole focus shifted.
As he met the man's eyes - probably hazel by daylight, but presently dark as the night around them - Ronan felt the world lurch around him. Violence stirred within him, sharp as any blade, deadly as only a Warlord Prince rising towards the killing edge could be, and unstoppable.
None of the males who'd accompanied the Queen to Belka had been Warlord Princes. Two Warlords, one Prince, and two men who wore jewels but had no caste: all trained guards. Ronan had taken their measure, noted their wariness, and dismissed them in his mind. Their possessiveness towards their Queen hadn't touched him at all.
Only the presence of another Warlord Prince would produce such a reaction in him.
Territorial and aggressive by nature, Warlord Princes were a law unto themselves; Blood males who could only be restrained by violence or by love, and who didn't like sharing the females in their lives.
To the man who'd just entered the outer courtyard, Ronan was a rival, dangerous and to be dealt with accordingly. And blood would be shed to prove who was the dominant male: it was no less than they were, a part of who and what they'd been born. Slave or free, dark or light jewelled, no Warlord Prince could deny his nature.
And Ronan certainly didn't intend to.
He took in the lean, toned warrior's build, the proud set of the jaw, the Sapphire ring that gleamed on one finger, and felt the growl of enmity rise in his throat as the man approached. He might be a slave, might still be held by the ring of obedience, but he would give this male of her court a fight to remember, if it killed him.
They could break his body, but they would not break his spirit.
And then she was there, touching the other male's arm with one hand. "John."
Her tone of voice commanded the Warlord Prince's attention, and he looked at her for a long moment, the set of his jaw tense. Moments passed, during which most of the other people in the courtyard seemed to drift away into the night. Ronan hardly paid attention to the guards who'd drawn their weapons and were now holding them at his throat.
He was watching the Queen.
The other man stiffened, and sent one flashing glance at Ronan, then nodded and turned his back on both Queen and rival, returning to the house with all the feral grace of a tiger. He sent one look towards the witch who'd accompanied them in the coach, and received a swift shake of the head in reply. He stalked off, his anger still plain. Whatever his requests of Queen and witch, he'd been denied both.
Ronan grinned wolfishly, ignoring the envy that coiled in his throat, making a lump that was difficult to swallow around.
Then he looked back at the Queen, now watching him, and his smile faded. In the darkness, by the flickering torches, it was difficult to make out her expression, but he stared back, instinctively knowing that now was not the time to back down. He was what he was, even bound by the ring of obedience, and his hackles were still up, ignited by the other male's aggression and fuelled by his own nature.
She could do what she liked with him, but she couldn't make him change his nature.
At length, she nodded. "Come."
Ronan tensed, shocked at the direct address. She hadn't told the guards to bring him, she hadn't made it an order. Her tone clearly said she expected to come, but it was common sense, not an imperative.
And it confused him.
Still, he retained enough sense in his skull to follow after her. He didn't want to stand out here all night.
They crossed the outer courtyard and went into a long passageway, lit by witchlights. At the other end of the passageway was an inner courtyard surrounded on all sides by the house and leading up to a large set of double doors.
A servant greeted them at the front door and she paused to ask him something. Ronan heard the words 'Steward' and 'office' and figured that there would be some accounting done by the end of the night, especially when her Steward realised that she'd spent five hundred gold marks on a stubborn slave.
Five hundred gold marks was a lot to pay for a slave, even a Red-jewelled Warlord Prince.
Her conversation with the servant finished and she glanced back at him. "Come."
And off she set once again, one hand outstretched to scratch the head of the dog that now danced by her side, writhing in joy at her presence.
The brown-skinned witch who had been in the coach moved past him, giving him one querying gaze before she followed after her Queen. As she passed him, Ronan caught the faintest hint of her psychic scent and fought the urge to press himself back against the wall away from her.
A natural Black Widow.
They were rare in Belka Territory, powerful witches capable of weaving tangled webs - spells that could destroy a man's mind, or tear apart his soul. Males feared them - and rightly so. Ronan had seen the results of a Black Widow's spell on a man who'd failed to please her. He wasn't the only man who'd had nightmares for weeks after, either.
After that, Ronan had stayed well clear of any Black Widows in the courts where he'd slaved.
The castes of the others in the coach were easy to tell; but his senses had told him she was nothing more than a witch who wore Jewels. Had she disguised her true nature? And if so, why?
As if she'd sensed his fear, she turned and smiled at him, a slightly wicked smile of pleasure at his shock. Then she turned and continued on.
Ronan shivered slightly and focused his attention on the Queen whose scarlet dress swirled around her slender figure like fire as she walked ahead. After a moment, he found it easy to ignore the Black Widow who trailed her amusement like perfume, the guards who followed behind him.
The woman who held his attention was the one whose authority here was unchallenged.
She led them to a room where a Prince sat behind a desk, muttering to himself as he went through the reports of the estate.
"Lady?"
"Carson," she said. "We have a new addition to the household."
Carson turned his blue gaze on Ronan. "Oh no. How much?"
"Five hundred gold marks."
The Steward stared at her. "Have you lost your mind, Elizabeth? Five hundred gold marks?" He frowned slightly and turned to Ronan. "Not meaning to be rude, Prince, but...five hundred..." He turned back to the Queen who had crouched down, the better to fondle the ears of her hound. "In the name of the Darkness, why?"
"He has spirit."
"And we have a household budget!" Carson ran a hand over his eyes, the picture of an exasperated Steward.
"Then take it off my personal expenditure," she said. "I won't buy any more evening gowns for the year." And she smiled mischievously, like a child who thought they'd outwitted a parent.
"You won't be buying any more evening gowns for two years at that price!" Carson retorted. "And what will the First Circle have to say about that?" He looked to the Black Widow who had settled herself into one of the armchairs in the room and was watching the argument, clearly amused.
"The males would drag you out and purchase the clothes for you," she said to the Queen. "And they would pick the items that you most dislike and would insist upon you wearing them."
"I'm the Queen."
"And they are First Circle," said the Black Widow.
Elizabeth winced. "They would, wouldn't they?"
Ronan watched the whole exchange, more than a little bemused. The man's apology to him had been startling, denoting a respect that no Steward would give a mere slave. And their conversation had been casual, hardly what might have been expected of an aristo Queen and one of the most powerful men in her court.
That they were arguing like this in front of him - a slave - made no sense.
He felt like interrupting, demanding to know what he was doing here. He knew better than to try.
"Remind me why I took this position again?" Carson asked.
"Because the running of the estate might have otherwise fallen to Rodney," said the Black Widow, smiling.
"Teyla." Carson warned. He turned his attention to Ronan and studied him with a sigh. "Sheppard's not going to like him."
"John's already met him," the Queen said, her voice going flat.
"Ah. Well. That solves one problem at least. And creates a dozen more." The Steward regarded her and the still-bouncing dog. "Elizabeth, do you remember what I said about that beast?"
She grinned and stood. "I'll take him out. Teyla, when you're finished here?"
And with one last, measuring look at Ronan, she left, the dog faithfully following her steps. One of the guards followed her out and the door closed behind her.
"What do you know about this court?"
Ronan tore his eyes away from the door through which she'd vanished, leaving him in a room with the three people: Steward, Black Widow and Warlord guard. "Atlantis Territory. She's the Queen."
"The Lady Elizabeth Weir, Territory Queen of Atlantis," the Steward said. "I'm Carson Beckett and the Steward of the Court."
Ronan remained silent, waiting. He could sense the question implicit in the man's demeanour, but he wasn't going to answer until directly addressed.
The Steward frowned at his stubbornness. "Name?"
"Ronan Dex."
"Jewel?"
He stared for a moment and the other man grew impatient.
"You do have jewels don't you?"
Ronan did. But he'd never been asked to name them before. "Red."
An eyebrow went up. "Sheppard's really not going to like you. Skills?"
He stiffened, too aware of the amusement emanating from the Black Widow over in the chair. "I was trained as a warrior." That much was true.
But Carson eyed him. "Belka Territory?"
"Yes."
"Belka Territory wouldn't let a slave touch a weapon." While the man looked mild, his voice was diamond-hard. "What else?"
"General flunkey. Whipping boy." He paused. "Pleasure slave."
Ronan wasn't sure what he expected from the man. Derision, perhaps? He certainly didn't expect the tight flash of sympathy from the man. Still, the Steward only nodded and looked him over, the blue eyes resting briefly on his groin. "I imagine you wore a ring of obedience, then?"
Wore? Ronan nearly laughed out loud. "Still wearing it."
There was an exasperated noise from the chair behind Ronan. He didn't turn as the Black Widow spoke. "I presumed they'd removed it, Carson. Elizabeth must have the controlling ring."
"A controlling ring." The Steward winced. "Lovely." He looked back at Ronan, studying the man, and now there was a measuring look in the blue gaze. "They whipped you, didn't they? Take off the shirt." When Ronan hesitated, the man raised his eyebrows. "Would you like Teyla to undress you?" Carson glanced over at Black Widow. She glared back at Carson before her eyes came to rest, neutrally, on Ronan.
Exactly how the Steward had read his discomfort with the Black Widow, Ronan didn't know, but he looked away from the intent darkness of those eyes and stripped, pulling off his shirt with careful attention to the scabs now half-healed. The pain was still there, but it was nothing more than a background ache. And even that would shortly be gone.
The Steward came out from behind his desk and circled Ronan, regarding him with the calm, thoughtful gaze of a man used to appraising the value of goods. "Your work?" He addressed Teyla, gesturing at Ronan's back with one hand.
"The Queen's ministrations, my spell."
Which meant the Black Widow's jewels were darker than Ronan's. That explained her presence in the room at least. Between her and the guard, Ronan was well-covered in case he thought to try anything.
Carson nodded. "Good work. Remind me to tell her."
Ronan paused as the bandages about his body were vanished and straightened slowly. His back ached a little, but the wounds were healing - he could feel the scabs forming.
"How does it feel?" It took him a moment to realise that the Steward was talking about his back.
"Sore." Like he'd taken twenty-five lashes.
The man gave him a wary look for the terseness. "We have a Healer in the court, but she won't be able to look at that until tomorrow." The man gave him another appraising look. "Strip."
"What?" Here?
"Do you want to wear the ring of obedience after all?" The man was blunt. "Strip."
Ronan stared at the man. He felt as though the ground had been yanked out from beneath him. They were going to take the ring off him?
Carson looked at the woman in the chair. "Teyla?"
There was no way Ronan was letting the Black Widow lay her hands on him. A Queen was one thing, but a Black Widow?
He stripped off his boots, vanishing them as he took them off, and just vanished his trousers completely, leaving him standing naked in the room.
From behind him, the Black Widow's amusement intensified, the guard momentarily stared before regaining his impassivity, but the Steward merely gave him a single sweeping glance from head to toe, and turned towards the door as it opened.
"Lady--" Carson stopped as a Warlord entered, his eyes firmly on the book he held open, one finger pressed into the paper page.
"Teyla? Teyla, have you looked at the order of ingredients for the energy spell? I think it's wrong. Well, no, it's definitely wrong because it's not working and I need you to come and test it for me right now."
As the lack of response registered he looked up, and regarded Ronan with astonishment. "You're not Teyla."
"Observant, Rodney," Carson snapped. "Where's Elizabeth?"
The Warlord looked back at him, surprised. "I don't know where she is. Why would I know?"
"I sent for Elizabeth."
"Oh, well, I can't help you there." The man peered at Ronan. "So this is the new guy?" He looked him up and down. "Sheppard isn't going to like him."
"Sheppard's already met him," the Steward said.
"Oh, well, I'm sure that went well. Is that why he's standing naked in the middle of your office? Or are there things you'd like to tell us about?"
Ronan was tempted to laugh at the brief flash of exasperation on the Steward's face. "Rodney, what are you doing here?"
"I came looking for Teyla. Oh, there she is." Rodney crossed the room, completely ignoring Ronan. "Teyla, this is important."
"It always is," she replied. "However, at this time I am busy. As you can see."
"Busy?" Rodney said. "What? Watching him? He's not going to give any--"
In a single fluid motion Ronan turned and kicked Rodney's feet out from beneath him, trusting to the Warlord's Craft skills to stop him from hitting the ground. He felt rather than saw the guard lunge forward, and dodged the blow that should have landed in his belly, neatly sidestepping the man. He caught the man's shoulder and belt and tossed him heels-over-head to the floor beyond the couch.
He grinned as he crouched, turning to face the next threat. This wasn't the killing edge, just the natural aggression of a Warlord Prince channelled into action. It was reckless, it was dangerous, and it was going to get his balls fried as soon as they remembered he still wore the ring of obedience and their Queen had the controlling ring...
A second later, he was caught in a vice-like grip and shoved up against an invisible wall. A knife dug gently into his throat and the dark eyes of the Black Widow watched him from beyond the silvery blade. "I would not advise trying that again." Her voice was low and husky, and yet dangerously cold; and the look in her eyes said that she would go up against a Warlord Prince in his prime without hesitation.
The look in her eyes said that she would go up against a Warlord Prince in his prime without hesitation and win.
"What is happening here?" The Queen's voice rang through the room in authoritative question. "Teyla?"
Ronan tensed but didn't dare turn his head.
Teyla vanished the knife and stepped back, "A slight upset. That is all." The flashing glance sent his way warned him that he would perpetrate the statement or risk worse things than a knife at his throat.
At this moment, he wasn't sure he cared.
Elizabeth was in the room.
Maybe it was the instincts he'd roused by lashing out at the Warlord, but he was hyperaware of her presence, of her floral scent, of her irritation at being called back. She crossed the room to Carson, ignoring Ronan, and he felt a momentary pique at her complete lack of interest in him.
"He hit me!" The Warlord down on the floor whined - yes, whined. There was no other word for it.
"Good for him," the Steward said sharply.
"He's a Warlord Prince, Rodney," said the Queen, shooting her Steward a quelling glance while the Black Widow hauled the man up off the floor. "You should be grateful he didn't do more than just hit you."
Pleased by the acceptance of his nature, Ronan grinned wolfishly at the Warlord, whose eyes narrowed. His step forward was stopped by a single outstretched hand of the Black Widow and a warning glance.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth had turned back to Carson. "You needed me here?"
"Yes," said the Steward briskly. "He's wearing a ring of obedience. You'll have to take it off."
Ronan's breath caught in his throat.
"I'll have to take it off?" The emphasis in the sentence was wrong, but that hardly registered with Ronan. What registered was the panic that flitted over her features, a momentary fear that she mastered within moments. "Why can't someone else do it?"
A look of patient exasperation crossed his face. "Because you're the Queen." He paused. "And you bought him."
She looked over at Ronan, and lifted her chin. He saw her eyes take in his naked form, a quick sweep of appraisal. Then she tugged the controlling ring from her finger and crossed the short expanse of carpet to stand before him.
Her hand touched his chest, resting lightly on his breastbone, and a light psychic probe brushed across his shields and his inner barriers. Ronan felt the tingling softness of that not-quite-caress all over his skin and tasted the psychic scent of her in the air around them.
It was difficult to fight the instincts that urged him to slip his hands around her waist and open up his inner barriers to her, but he did. He fought it by reminding himself of the look that had been in her eyes when she bought him - chattel exchanging hands.
He wished his senses would be reminded.
Then she touched him, her fingers brushing over the hair at his groin and slipping around the ring that circled the base of his cock.
Ronan quivered, painfully aware of her closeness, of the ageless wisdom of her eyes, the vivid dark of her hair around the pale curves of her face. He was terrifyingly sensitive to the fingertip that brushed his balls so lightly, to the woman who stood just outside the barriers he had up to protect his inner self.
Then all that was lost as his vision swam, dizzyingly.
He didn't understand what it was - not immediately, but a moment later, he felt her hand slip into his, the faintest caressing touch. And there was no pain. For the first time in seven years, the near-constant buzz of pain that the ring of obedience had produced in his balls was gone. He drew in a shuddering breath, felt the slight weight of her hand still resting on his chest. But when his sight cleared, she was already turning away and he was holding two small, heavy items in his left hand.
She said something to the Steward that he didn't hear, took the Warlord out of the room with her, and left him standing in the middle of the office, naked and free.
The door slipped shut behind her and he heard the latch click as he looked down at the things in his hand: the large gold ring of obedience and the smaller, delicate controlling ring that had made the last seven years misery.
He glanced up. The Black Widow was looking at him with dark eyes that held no leavening of watchfulness, but which were, at least, not hostile.
And Carson paused beside him, the blue eyes open and quiet as he addressed Ronan.
"Welcome to Atlantis."
--
To Part Four
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And I blame you entirely for the fact that I'm now about to go and raid Amazon for the Black Jewels trilogy...
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The characters are a little overdone, but the world blows my mind...
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I R Bookwhore 4EVA.
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<3 this fic!
wannatee =)
Re: <3 this fic!
If you haven't already read them, you might like to check them out!
But thanks for reading so far!
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