Page 77 of Sold to the Nalgar
He had chosen her raiment: a gown of crimson talar silk that clung to her like a second skin, spun from her own lifeblood. The infernal Dukkar collar was gone. Instead, silver-blackchains coiled around her throat and wrists, not as shackles, but as adornments: symbols of belonging, of power, his crest a medallion resting between her collarbones, forged from the same star-metal as his blade. And nestled amongst the chains of her necklace, lay the silver, polished translator stone, a pendant of alien design.
But it was her eyes that held him captive.
Once brown, now maroon, dark depths flickering with embers caught in smoke. Her canines had sharpened, her posture straightened, her gaze no longer wavering.
She was becoming.
She was his.
"My lords," Zarokh's voice was a low, deliberate caress, "you will honor the one who stands at my side."
Eyes darted toward her, curious, speculative, some confused, others wary, and a few, he noted with a flicker of disdain, disbelieving.
A smile, cold and sharp as obsidian, played on his lips.
"She carries my blood now," he continued, "and is therefore of me. She is untouchable. Her needs, her comfort, her safety, are your concern as much as mine. Disrespect her, and you disrespect me."
The weight of his words landed like a hammer blow.
He watched the reactions ripple outwards. Heads bowed deeper, some spines stiffened. Lord Vrexx, ever the strategist, cast a calculating glance, assessing her, searching for the threat she now posed.
Good.
Let them wonder. Let them fear what she would become.
Even now, she was stronger than they knew. His blood flowed in her veins, sharpening her instincts, quickening her reflexes. In time, she would be more than just his consort.
She would be his weapon.
His weakness. And his wrath.
Cecilia stood, regal, silent, chin lifted, meeting their gazes without flinching.
Zarokh felt a tightening in his chest, a dark surge of pride.
This woman, torn from her world, reshaped by his will, thrust into an existence she never asked for, had not broken. She had ignited.
Stronger. Wilder. More alluring than ever.
He leaned forward, resting an arm against the carved edge of his throne.
"Speak," he commanded the room. "If you dare."
Silence.
They knew better.
And from the corner of his eye, he saw the flicker of something rare on Cecilia's face.
Satisfaction.
Yes, let her taste the intoxication of power.
Because soon, the court would understand: she was not merely his prisoner.
She was his mate.
The tense silence of the hall shattered as the great doors groaned open.
