A Marsian queen ripe for seduction. A banished Sednan prince desperate to find a home world. A battle of the sexes instigated by the gods.
Marsian queen Paris needs an heir, but she’s running out of options for her child’s sire. She also wants to grow her own cocoa trees so she can stop paying Venus’ outrageous prices for chocolate.
Banished from Sedna because he lacks the markings of his royal caste, farmer-prince Jirkar needs a home world. If Paris doesn’t accept him, he’ll spend the rest of his life on spaceships, never again able to plant anything in life-giving soil.
Each has a dream. Can they fulfill it, or will they spend the rest of their lives alone?
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Her Virtual Consort
Copyright © 2011 Dee Brice
ISBN: 978-1-55487-865-9
Cover art by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Smashwords Edition
Her Virtual Consort
Virtual Seductions
By
Dee Brice
Dedication
To Kathy whose unspotted Appaloosa inspired Jirkar.
Prologue
Jupiter, worshipped by his acolytes as Jove, sent a gentle nudge toward Venus. He needed the goddess awake, but didn’t want to startle her. Venus in a foul mood was one thing. In a fury at being awakened from her beauty sleep…well, that was too unbearable to even contemplate.
He slowly cleared the space dust and meteorites between his planet and the goddess’, careful to leave all humanoid paraphernalia exactly where it was. No sense in disturbing the natives or their eavesdropping devices—especially not if it aroused that notorious warmonger, Mars.
Ah, there she was, just as Jove had expected—sound asleep and, by the expression on her exquisite face, dreaming of some god. Or gods, blast her unfaithful soul. Ah, well, she had her reputation to uphold, just as he had his.
And by all the gods on Olympus, he—the god over all the others—would decide what to do about Mars’ humanoid queen. And this time he would do it without Venus’ help or interference. After all, Jove knew as much about the pursuit of love as Venus and Mars put together.
Still… Jove took a long look around the galaxy, noting the usual number of skirmishes and battles the humans constantly waged against each other. Nothing major, but enough to keep Mars’ attention focused on the mayhem he so enjoyed.
Let Mars savor his bloody battles. Let Venus dream her lusty dreams. Jove himself would attend to the lonely Marsian queen and suffer…
No, there’d be no dire consequences! He’d see to that. Ignoring the unsettled feeling in his belly, he scanned the galaxy for a suitable lover for the Queen of Mars.
Ah, there! On a planet a little too far away to influence quickly, but he was Jove and nothing fell beyond his powers.
Let the battle of sexes begin once more!
Chapter One
Paris, Queen of Mars, sat in her private garden and took stock of her life. Today being her twenty-ninth birthday, the arrival of full adulthood, she had much to consider.
First, her lack of a suitable suitor on any horizon. Which, she sighed, means no heirs to my throne. Not that her physicians worried about her ability to conceive, but… With people pairing off all around her, she was beginning to doubt herself and her ability to attract a mate who would love her. She didn’t expect to love the man she married, but she did want him to be sexually attractive and know how to please her. And it would be…pleasant if he adored her.
Uranus had sent a delegation of worms to seduce her. She enjoyed their sensual massages, but refused to introduce the volatile methane gases they required to live permanently on Mars. And only the gods knew if they singly or en masse could produce a humanoid offspring. She had her people to consider, after all, and couldn’t imagine them revering even the largest, most handsome of Uranus’ worm-like citizens.
Sighing again, she went to pace among the various greenery in her garden.
Jupiter’s Prince Giovanni was a handsome man, but too full of himself. Besides, she thought, plucking an orchid from a tree trunk, she doubted he would remain faithful to her. So, despite wondering if Jovian men did indeed have two cocks to match their dual sets of arms and legs, she’d sent him packing.
Since Earth had yet to forgive Mars for starting the last interplanetary wars—and her people still smarted at Earth defeating them—that planet was a total loss as a source for marriageable men. Too bad. Earth had the most sexually attractive males she’d ever met. Having lived on Earth for several years when her grandfather served as Mars’ ambassador, she’d met many attractive Earthlings.
“Kiki.”
No one had called her by her birth-name since she’d ascended the Marsian throne. No one dared. Except Pushin.
“Grand-pere,” she murmured, motioning for him to join her as she returned to her bench and then took his outstretched hand. For the first time she could remember, his felt frail. She smiled, but examined him for signs of illness. He looked a little pale, but otherwise seemed his usual self. His silvery gray-green hair stuck out as if he’d been pulling on every strand. And this morning he had dressed more casually than usual, wearing a long robe in lieu of court dress. That he would don before they took up the business of ruling.
“Joyeux annivarsaire,” he said, kissing her on each of her cheeks.
“A momentous day.” She sighed, then admitted, “I’ve been thinking about marriage and heirs and all that nonsense.”
“Wishing, I’ll wager, that none of those were required of you.” He peered into her eyes, his own—dark moss green—showing love and concern for her.
Sitting on the bench, she gently tugged him to sit beside her. “I think I might enjoy marriage. It’s the heir getting that I find…awkward. The need to select a mate who’s from good stock.” She made a disparaging noise. “As if his lineage can tell me what kind of man he is. What sort of parent he’ll make. It puts images of horse-trading in my mind.”
“Of equal concern is whether he’ll try to usurp your power.”
The very thought of all that entailed—including her possible death—made her shiver. “There’s that. But I think I’d prefer a man who tested my resolve over one who accepted a secondary role without chaffing at it. That is, chaffing a little. In private anyway.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sounds those of a gentle breeze riffling overhead leaves and the calls of birds high in the tree branches. Nearby a dove cried mournfully for its mate. The forlorn sound echoed in Paris’ heart.
“We’re running out of places to look for your future husband,” Pushin said at last. “I’d hoped Giovanni would suit, but he’s a womanizer.”
“And I suspect he’ll never love any woman enough to reveal that rumored duality.” Gazing into space, she gave a longing sigh. “Has he a brother who might suit?”
“Not one born on the right side of the blanket.”
“Lineage again,” she complained lightly. “I suppose we could consider a Plutonian. They have such lovely silver skin.”
Pushin grunted. “Too dangerous. As long as your great-uncle Le Roi lives there, you cannot risk having any Plutonian near you. Should our people learn their true ruler is still alive, we’d have a revolution on our hands.”
“Perhaps. It’s nothing I’ll risk, but my people might take my side over his.”
“Might being the operative word. You’ve made great strides in earning our peoples’ respect. Still, many long for the days when an aristocrat’s word was law. Even above the king’s.”
“A Venusian then?”
“Not if you want a man who’ll stand up to you. Venus breeds lovers, not men with spines. Comes from being the first colonized planet—other than Earth—and using diplomacy to survive. All talk, but no will to fight if necessary.”
Squeezing her grandfather’s hand, she said, “I wish I could choose a Marsian.”
“As dangerous to your rule as a Plutonian. His parents would expect him to share your throne.”
“Unless he’s a commoner.”
“Kiki—er, Paris—you must ally yourself with a man who’s strong enough not to resent your position. Your power. Marry a commoner…” He shrugged. “Awe at first, but eventually resentment.”
Paris sighed yet again. “It would be the perfect solution. Our people would never revolt against one of their own.”
“I’m virtually certain King Louis and Marie Antoinette thought the same of their people,” Pushin mumbled. “But let’s not dwell on unhappy thoughts. Tonight we’ll celebrate your birthday. Who knows? Perhaps the man of your dreams will appear and win your heart.”
Paris laughed, earning a smile from her beloved grandfather. And the little girl who had once believed in fairy tales and happily-ever-after sent a silent prayer to all the gods in their celestial temples.
* * * *
The light tap on Jirkar’s bedroom door announced his bodyguard’s arrival. As usual, Nyx didn’t wait for permission, but entered like a shadow blown across the moon.
“You haven’t finished dressing,” she told him unnecessarily, her smoky voice reminding him of night, her namesake.
“I haven’t decided if I’m going.” He eyed her for a moment, noting her smoke-gray, floor-length gown and thinking yet again how suitably she always dressed.
“Jirkar, you must attend. It’s the perfect opportunity to meet Queen Paris without having to answer questions.”
“Delaying the inevitable, Nyx. Sooner or later I’ll have to present my credentials.”
“Which will go smoothly because you’ll already have met.” Impatience fringed Nyx’s voice.
“Which is when she’ll nonetheless ask all the questions she wants to about my odd appearance. Assuming she dares to ask with her council present.”
Nyx gave an impatient huff, but said, “Paris has a reputation for tact.”
“Someone on the council will ask on her behalf.”
Clearly out of patience, Nyx ordered, “Put on your shoes, Your Highness. It’s my ass if you disgrace Sedna by arriving late for Paris’ birthday toast.”
Swearing under his breath, Jirkar stood and looked down at the diminutive woman several feet away. Not that his glaring intimidated her. Barely five feet tall and built like a man’s most intense and pleasurable wet dreams, many males had tested her. None had defeated her—including Jirkar, who towered over her by almost a foot and a half.
Unwilling to do as bidden without a fight, he said, “Too bad the Marsian queen has broken with tradition.” He had the advantage of patience and knew Nyx had none. Sure enough, she followed him into his spacious closet and watched him put on his shoes, tapping her foot as he took his time.
“What tradition?” she demanded, holding up his tailed tuxedo jacket and the Sednan sash he would wear over his chest.
“Before Paris became queen, Marsiennes were not allowed to wear clothes in public.” He slid his arms into the sleeves, shrugging the shoulders into place over his own. He stared at the sash, wishing he could leave without it, but donned it anyway. Nyx would have his head if he refused the trappings of his rank.
Surprising him, Nyx laughed. “Yet now she seeks to make Mars the fashion center of the galaxy.”
“If your gown is representative, she’s succeeded. But where have you hidden your weapons?”
Nyx glanced in the full-length mirror, then shrugged. Her figure-hugging gown left little to the imagination and nowhere to conceal the arsenal she usually carried.
“Guess we’ll have to chance not being attacked.” She made the possibility sound negligible, but he knew her skills did not rely solely on weapons. At least not knives or blasters.
She reached up to straighten his lapels and then offered her arm, her dark gray eyes swirling with laughter. “They say Paris’ palace is as gaudy as Earth’s Versailles.”
“Strange, isn’t it? The French murdered the aristos, but brought the old ways with them to Mars.”
“Longing for a more ordered life, I suppose. We’re riding in a horse-drawn carriage tonight,” Nyx added as they strolled outside the foreign embassies’ housing ring. “A tradition Paris did not revoke.”
Surrounded by a phalanx of royal guards, Jirkar helped Nyx into the waiting carriage and then settled at her side. “Too bad this celebration is not a masquerade,” he muttered, garnering a quizzical look from his companion. “I’d feel more comfortable with a sword at hand.”
Nyx snorted. “Don’t worry, Highness. I’ll protect you.”
“Another mark against me. Not only do I lack the royal Sednan stripes, I must rely on a female for protection.”
Nyx patted his hand.
Jirkar ground his teeth and wished the night were over.
* * * *
The first thing Paris noticed was the difference in the heights of the approaching couple. The woman was even shorter than Paris, the man a veritable giant in comparison. Only Earthlings were so tall—as far as she knew. The man who strode toward her, arrogance in his posture and his eyes was, without doubt, the tallest man in the ballroom and carried himself with an innate grace she envied.
She preferred much smaller gatherings where she had the opportunity to chat with her guests. Tonight… Straightening to her full height, she resigned herself to endure the formality and then held out her hand. The woman at his side dipped into a deep curtsey, but failed to lower her head as was proper when meeting a queen. The man bowed over Paris’ fingers, then introduced himself.
“Prince Jirkar of Sedna, Majesty,” he said in a rumbling basso that reminded her of stormy nights and rich hot chocolate. His voice alone comforted her, as if she heard thunder rumbling in the distance and watched lightning strikes flash outside her windows while she sipped from a bone china cup—safe in her warm bed.
Looking at him more closely, she gaped, but quickly recovered her aplomb. She’d never met a Sednan who bore no caste stripes. But duty and good manners demanded she treat him as she would any newly appointed ambassador to her court. Even through her glove she was aware of an odd tingle flowing between their hands. He seemed to notice as well. His dawn-gray eyes darkened and sharpened on her suddenly dry lips.
“I didn’t expect you until next week,” she managed, forcing her gaze to his companion and feeling a stab of jealousy she hid behind a fake smile. “Welcome to Mars, Your Highness, and…”
“Lady Nyx,” the woman said, straightening to her full height—such as it was.
Paris had the distinct impression the woman wanted to bare her teeth. She felt a similar compulsion, but forced it away. Whatever other role the lady played in Jirkar’s life, Paris knew Sednan royal males were always guarded by females. Perhaps that was this woman’s role, but the thought failed to comfort her.
“I see you’ve discovered Frederique,” Paris said by way of making the woman feel more comfortable. “Her clothes do wonderful things for a woman’s self-image, n’est ce pas?” Oddly reluctant, she withdrew her hand from the prince’s and tried to ignore Lady Nyx’s narrowed eyes. Smothering both sigh and apology, Paris refused to acknowledge she’d paid Nyx an unintentional insult. Almost as if she thought the Sednan woman had no fashion sense.
“Your grandfather kindly invited us to join tonight’s festivities,” Jirkar said with an apologetic smile of his own. He seemed unaware of the insult she’d heaped on Lady Nyx. “If our presence is inconvenient…”
“Not at all.” Her fingers twitched, wanting to stroke a wayward strand of ebony hair from his high forehead. “I would, however, like to talk with you in a quieter milieu. Perhaps you and Lady Nyx can join me for lunch tomorrow. Say, one o’clock?”
“With pleasure.” Sketching a bow, Jirkar backed away, Nyx at his side.
“Formidable,” Paris mumbled to her social secretary who stood behind her.
Yvette grinned. “Then you aren’t angry I sent the invitation for tonight’s celebration?”
“Hardly.” Paris flicked open her fan, then wafted it near her heated face. “I just—”
“Wish you had limited the luncheon invitation to him?” Yvette’s pale moss brown eyes sparkled with mirth.
“I doubt his guard would allow it.” By the gods, I sound disappointed.
“Perhaps he will insist Lady Nyx find somewhere else to be.”
“Why would he?”
Yvette’s laugh contained an element of surprise. “You didn’t notice the rise of his cock?”
“But you did?” With renewed vigor, she fanned her heated cheeks, praying Yvette wouldn’t notice her heightened color.
“I saw it make a pup tent in his trousers. Your nipples hardened, so don’t tell me you aren’t attracted.”
“Prince Jirkar is a very attractive man. How old do you think he is?” There, a safer subject.
“Mid-thirties. Why?”
“Just curious. Don’t Sednan males…never mind. I’ll ask Jirkar myself.”
“While you’re asking questions, find out if it’s true Sednan males have a secret cock. But,” she paused with a wicked smile, “maybe that’s something you’d rather discover for yourself.”
“Maybe.” If I can rid him of his bodyguard long enough to find out.
* * * *
Jirkar took two champagne flutes from a liveried footman’s tray. Handing one to Nyx, he looked across the ballroom and met Paris’ gaze. Even for a Marsian, her eyes were a remarkable shade of dark green. Or maybe they seemed so rich because her skin was so much paler—almost cream-white when compared to the other Marsians he’d seen.
“Her figure isn’t bad,” Nyx observed, drawing his attention from the queen’s piquant face to her generous bosom—ripe half-moons swelling above her low-cut neckline. Unlike the other Marsiennes whose gowns mimicked France’s pre-revolution, with the wide panniers favored by the old French court, Paris’ gown fell straight from beneath her breasts to the top of her satin slippers.
More a Napoleonic style, he hazarded. “I hadn’t noticed,” he said.
Nyx snorted. “A certain part of your anatomy more than noticed. It’s still noticing.” She glanced at his groin, then flicked her gaze to his, grinning up at him.
Jirkar wanted to hide his burgeoning erection, but refused to give Nyx the satisfaction of seeing him assume a fig leaf pose. Instead, joining with the other guests, he raised his flute in a toast to Paris and her continuing good health.
When the noise faded to absolute silence, Paris raised her own champagne flute. “Thank you all for making this special birthday even more memorable.”
She drained the glass, her slender throat arching as if begging Jirkar to kiss it. His trousers felt impossibly tight and he shifted, wishing he could resettle his cock and balls to greater comfort. Stifling a groan, he met Paris’ gaze above the heads of her guests.
How did an ambassador pledged to expand his country’s interests go about charming the pants off a queen?
* * * *
The Next Day—Noon
“I’ve nothing to wear,” Paris wailed. “A closet full of the most expensive and exquisite clothes in the galaxy and I have nothing to wear!”
Frederique, creator of those exquisite and expensive clothes, laughed. Guiding the distraught queen back to her bedroom, she said, “Of course you have suitable clothing, cherie. I put them out for you.” She pointed at a Paris-size mannequin in one corner of the sumptuously appointed room. “You’ve only to decide whether to wear the trousers or just the tunic.”
“I shall wear both. Alone, the tunic would reveal several parts of me I’m not yet ready to show Jirkar.”
“Especially if he brings Lady Nyx with him.”
Paris cocked an eyebrow at the tall, sylph-thin couteriaire. “I don’t sense anything sexual between them,” she said, fingering the lightweight wool her own lambs had produced. “Is this too sheer?”
“Sheer enough to make your prince wonder what you are wearing underneath.”
“He’s not my prince.”
“Yet.”
“And I don’t want him to think I’m trying to seduce him.” Paris sent her companion a warning look that this conversation bordered on insolence.
Ignoring her as usual, Frederique said, “He might welcome the distraction.”
“Why?” Paris demanded, her head emerging from the tunic neck. “What have you heard? Never mind. I’ll ask him myself. It will give us something to talk about while we dine.”
“Something other than the weather and your health,” Frederique muttered.
“He will present his credentials. That should give us another topic to discuss.”
Smiling, Frederique suggested, “Ask him about his caste stripes.”
“He hasn’t any. None that are visible, at any rate.”
“Which means he’s prepared to tell you why not. I expect he’ll feel embarrassed about it. But the sooner you talk about them, the sooner you can progress to more pleasant issues—such as making love and producing heirs.”
Paris laughed, noting nervousness in the sound. “Should I ask if he has bastards to prove his virility?”
“Perhaps not today.”
Ignoring the implication she should pose that very question at another time, Paris slid her feet into stroppy high-heeled sandals. She surveyed herself in the mirrors on her wall. “At least now my head may reach his shoulder.”
Frederique fastened a gold link chain around Paris’ waist, allowing it to settle at her hips. Paris frowned as she studied her appearance.
“Men look for women whose hips seem wide enough to bear children,” the couteriaire assured her.
Paris snorted. “If they look lower than her bosom, they might notice her hips. This belt makes my butt seem enormous.”
“You’re built for comfort.”
Paris eyed her slender friend. “Unlike you who are built for speed,” she quipped.
“Fortunately, men like variety. Or one over the other.” Slanting her an assessing look, Frederique added, “Today is the perfect day to find out which Jirkar prefers.”
With a smothered laugh, Paris swept from the room.
* * * *
Jirkar leaned against a pillar and watched Nyx examine the lakeside gazebo where he and Paris would lunch. Nyx seemed to be pacing back and forth, but he knew she could see or smell any threat to his wellbeing. She also had a spider sense for poisons. Not that he expected an attack in the middle of Paris’ private compound, but Nyx would remain until assured of his safety. He had to trust Paris’ guards protected her as diligently.
Looking out over the lake, he saw a flock of geese diving for food. One in particular seemed especially hungry, dipping its bright orange beak so deep it looked in danger of drowning. Its matching orange webbed feet flopped around its wiggling tail feathers. He started to call Nyx’s attention to the shenanigans, but left her to her duties. The sooner she finished, the sooner she might leave him alone with Paris.
Catching a movement from the corner of his eye, he turned. Surrounded by servants bearing trays of food, Paris trooped across the lawn. She seemed to balance on her toes rather than walking on her entire foot. Reaching the bottom stair, she smiled up at him, then took his outstretched hand. Flesh to flesh for the first time, the tingle he’d felt last night was more intense. Not unpleasant, just…unexpected. Her smile fading, the queen’s eyes widened as she eased her hand from his.
“Will Lady Nyx taste your food and drink?” Paris asked, nodding a greeting to his bodyguard.
He noticed her high-heeled shoes and decided they were the reason Paris had walked on her toes. Those knife-like heels would have sunk into the grass. He also noted her outfit and the way it conformed to her generous curves. His cock swelled. He refocused on Paris’ face and willed his unruly appendage to stillness.
“It’s not necessary,” Nyx assured them both as she turned from the tray-laden table. “By your leave, Majesty. See you later, Jirkar.” With a brief half-bow, she followed the retreating servants.
“It appears we shall have to serve ourselves,” Paris said, looking pleased rather than miffed.
“I shall serve us both,” Jirkar offered, holding out a chair for her. As she brushed by him, her perfume—light with a hint of mint—wafted to him. It reminded him of his fields on Sedna bathed with spring rain and drying in a gentle breeze.
“Is something wrong, Prince Jirkar?” She sat, looking up at him, concern in her eyes. Their color brought to mind newly harvested clover.
“Your eyes… Your perfume…” He shrugged, not knowing how to avoid appearing more foolish than he did at the moment.
“Unpleasant memories?”