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Page 19 of Orc’s Redemption (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #35)

19

RANI

T he chamber is silent, save for the low crackle of the brazier in the corner. The Al’fa watches me with a predator’s stillness, his sharp amber eyes gleaming with unreadable intent. I know better than to mistake his quiet for hesitation. This is a test. He is waiting for me to overreach, to reveal weakness, to show that I am asking for more than I can give.

I will not.

I lift my chin.

“My people are not your enemies,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “The Shaman is. And if he is not stopped, it will not only be the Urr’ki who suffer.”

The Al’fa tilts his head slightly, considering me.

“You assume the Shaman will turn on us next,” he says. “Yet he has not left his city. It is you he hunts.”

I fight the surge of frustration. Of course he sees it that way. The Zmaj trust nothing beyond their own kind. But I have to make him see — this isn’t just about me.

“You think he will be content to rule the Urr’ki alone?” I arch a brow. “No. He wants dominion over all who dwell beneath the sands. The Zmaj are merely the next step in his ambition. He already moves against you. He has spies. You’ve already seen he has ways of reaching places without you seeing.”

The Al’fa’s jaw tightens, but he does not deny it. I press on, taking the opening I see.

“If we wait, we hand him the advantage. I am offering you something better. A chance to strike first.”

He leans forward, bracing his hands on the long stone table between us. The firelight carves the hard planes of his face into something almost inhuman. Uncompromising. Unshaken. But not uninterested.

“And in return, you want me to send warriors into the heart of our enemy’s city for a single human and one reckless Zmaj?”

“No,” I say, refusing to flinch. “I want an alliance. ”

The silence stretches between us. Then, he laughs. A low, rumbling sound, more amused than mocking.

“You think like a Zmaj,” he says.

I do not know if it is a compliment or a warning. The Al’fa turns away from me, pacing to the far end of the chamber. His tail arcs slowly behind him, measuring his thoughts.

“You ask me to gamble my warriors on faith,” he muses. “To risk lives for people who have been our enemies for generations.”

“You asked me for proof,” I say, stepping closer. “Let me prove my words.”

He stops, turning and his gaze snaps to me.

“How?”

I do not hesitate. There is only one way I can prove anything. One that Khiara and Dilacs will hate with all that they are, but this is the risk I must take in order to save my people.

“A small force, not an assault. A raid, such as he has done to you,” I say.

“And what would that prove? I know my people can raid yours. We have done it often enough.”

“This time will be different,” I assure him.

“How?” he asks. “My warriors have done many missions, all of them successful. Do you forget, Urr’ki Queen, that I am the one winning this war between our species?”

As skilled as I am there is no way to keep the frown off my face. He doesn’t miss it, his eyes narrow but instead of the knowing smile I would expect, he also frowns. For a heartbeat, I almost think I see regret in his eyes—but what do I truly know of him?

The Zmaj are cold-blooded, all know this, they do not experience life and emotions the way we do. It is as likely this is a front, a manipulation, as it is anything.

“Your words are harsh,” I say, my mouth dry but I school my face as a lifetime of training takes over, a mantle but more an armor. “But they are also true. My people have lost the war. We both know how this would end if we were to continue. But the Shaman changes everything.”

“So you say,” he says, staying close. So gada close. “And I admit the reports are disturbing. But it doesn’t change anything. What difference does this make? What do I gain by putting my warriors at risk? How will you prove your people will stand beside mine?”

“I will go with them. Allow me to return to my city. I will bring you proof that the Urr’ki will rise against the Shaman. Then you will have your proof and then we will fight together.”

The Al’fa stares, long and hard. His chest rises and falls, his tail is surprisingly still though. Normally when he is considering his tail twitches almost spasmodically. Not now. I am not sure what to make of that. Nor am I sure what to make of any of this. The way my heart is beating faster. The way his eyes bore into me. The tightness coiling deep in my core.

“And if you fail?” he asks, his voice a whisper. “What then… Queen.”

“Then I die. And you have lost nothing,” I say, holding his eyes.

The Al’fa studies me for a long moment. Then, he smiles. Not a kind smile. Not a reassuring one. But a warrior’s smile. His presence is imposing, but I hold my ground.

He steps closer. Half a step, but now there is hardly a fingers width between our bodies. The room is suddenly too small. The scent of him fills my nostrils, musk with hints of cinnamon.

“Sacrifice is easy to promise in words,” he says, voice low. “But tell me, Queen, what are you willing to give before you fight?”

I keep my expression carefully controlled. My shoulders squared. Dutifully ignoring the coiling distraction low in my stomach, the clenching of muscles that have no business or right to be responding like this.

“What do you mean?”

His tail flicks once. He doesn’t move away, if anything he leans in closer under the guise of bowing down so he’s eye level with me.

“Loyalty is earned. You claim the Urr’ki will stand with us, but I have seen nothing of them as of yet but barely contained defiance. Why should I risk warriors for your people? Why should I trust you?”

I know what he wants. He wants assurance. He wants something tangible. And I must give it. The Al’fa is a male who rules by strength and bravado. His ego is as large as his need to dominate. I saw it with the soldier who defied him. I know what I must do.

Pride swells. I don’t want to do it. Nothing in my life has ever felt this wrong. Not since the Shaman’s betrayal. But beneath the wrongness, below my pride, something else stirs. If any of my people were here to witness I would never do this. They are not, though. There is no one here but me and the Al’fa.

I know what will convince him and if nothing else I will do whatever it takes to save my people. Whatever it takes. Eyes locked on his, lips sealed tight I do it.

I kneel.

The chamber is silent. There is no mistaking the surprise on his face. He did not see this coming. I look up, acutely aware that my face is level to his crotch. Even more aware that his cock is rock hard and straining against his pants.

He remains silent, staring, pursing his lips but his tail betrays him. Twitching nervously or excitedly across the stone floor.

“I was born to rule,” I say. “And I have ruled. But no throne is more important than my people’s survival. If my alliance with you must be sealed in submission, so be it.” I lift my chin. “Is this what you want… Al’fa?”

His mouth parts as his eyes widen in surprise. He looks as if he’s frozen in place. For the first time since I’ve met him, he is speechless. He closes his mouth and swallows. He blinks, slowly.

“I—”

I wait but he doesn’t finish the thought. Even while locked on his gaze, I can’t miss the slight bobbing behind the thin fabric of his pants. I have heard rumors of the Zmaj anatomy, but do not know what is true and what is not. What I can tell is that he is well endowed.

“Know this, Al’fa,” I say into the charged silence, “I do not kneel in weakness. I kneel as strategy. And if you underestimate me because of it, you will be making a mistake.”

The Al’fa watches me for a long time. Then, slowly, he extends his hand. I take it and he pulls me upright. His grip is unyielding, searing heat branding my palm. We’re close enough his hardness is pressing against my abdomen and I wonder if he is as painfully aware of it as I am.

“You are bold, Urr’ki Queen,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse in a way I have never heard from him before. “Let us see if you are wise as well.”

“Then we have an agreement?” I ask.

He raises his hand, a gentle, partial motion but it’s clear that if he’d finished it he would have touched my face. He stops though, letting his hand drop to his side. He swallows again. His cock throbs against my stomach.

“Yes,” he says.

I nod, knowing I should move away but instead letting this moment stretch out. Not wanting to break it. Reveling in the sensations and experience.

The terms are set. I will be allowed to leave the Zmaj stronghold with a small escort, not a war group, but scouts. They will not fight for me, not yet, though there may very well be fighting. If all goes the way I hope, fighting will not be necessary. And then, if I return with proof, the Al’fa will agree to an alliance.

“Do not fail,” he says. “You may not live to try again.”

“Then let us hope I succeed,” I nod.

I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.

“Tell me one thing, Queen Rani.”

I glance back. His amber eyes burn in the firelight, unreadable and fierce.

“When the dust settles, when the Shaman is dead… what do you want?”

The question catches me off guard. My first instinct is to say my throne. But it is not the truth. Not anymore. I look at him, and for the first time, I do not see a rival or an obstacle. I see a man who understands the burden of rule.

What do I want? I do not answer. Instead, I incline my head, turn and walk through the door, ignoring the fluttering in my stomach.