Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

His balls hummed with interest, even as his disquiet grew.

The dancer’s feet slapped the floor of polished seastone as she whirled and spun. The flute wailed in the strange minor harmonies so beloved of Trinitarians. The woman’s movements weren’t overtly erotic. Although they were fluid and graceful, they were stylized, even martial in character. But it didn’t matter. He was half-hard, and only the weight of his duty and that nagging sense of something off-kilter kept him from complete embarrassment. Hell, no better than a randy lad. Rhio gritted his teeth, grateful for the hard leather of his kilt.

Gods, she was intense, wholly engaged in her artistry, lost in the music. The faintest of lines between her brows revealed her concentration. A drop of sweat trickled from her hairline and down the side of her face. His feet planted solidly apart, his face a careful blank, Rhio could almost taste the salt of that liquid on his tongue, feel the heat radiating from the dark honey of her skin.

The music built to a crescendo, dropped, and built again. No one in the chamber moved, save the dancer. When her dark gaze flicked past him, and returned, Rhio felt the touch of it like a branding iron. Clenching his fists behind his back, he fought for breath.

The drummer’s palms beat out a rapid tattoo; the flute keened, high and wild. Her head thrown back, the dancer spun, too fast for the eye to follow. Abruptly, she gave a high, ululating cry, her voice echoing eerily off the walls. As if her bones had turned to water, she folded her long body to the floor, directly before the Queen, both arms outstretched before her, the long braid tumbling forward over one shoulder.

No one breathed, or spoke. Slowly, every face turned toward Sikara. The dancer’s shoulders rose and fell, her forehead still pressed to the floor. The Queen blinked. “Well,”

she said. “That was amazing, Ambassador. I’ve—”

Ignoring both courtesy and protocol, Giral raised a hand, overriding the monarch. An extraordinary misstep for a man so urbane. “Dear lady, that was but the beginning.” His words dropped into the shocked silence like pebbles in a pool.

Rhio returned his hand to the hilt of his sword, noting that Yachi, standing opposite, had done likewise. Her eyes moved constantly, watching hands and faces, the door and windows. He sent his Sergeant an approving nod. She’d deserved that promotion, Yachi.

A good soldier.

A small, plump woman in purple velvet, a scholar specializing in treaty law, flicked an enquiring glance at the Queen. Receiving a nod in return, she leaned forward. “How so, Ambassador?” she asked. “The girl is clearly exhausted.”

Giral sent her a thin smile. “Allow me to know the capacities of my own slaves, madam.”

Without shifting his gaze, he snapped his fingers. “Dancer.”

Immediately, the woman rose to her feet in a single, unhurried movement. She didn’t drop her eyes, the way most slaves did. Instead, her gaze rested on the Ambassador, cool and somehow . . . considering. A shiver crawled down Rhio’s spine. Couldn’t the man see it?

“That was the dance of the Battle Maiden.” Distaste distorted the little man’s mouth. “In primitive tribes, it is the unnatural and barbarous custom for women to fight alongside men.”

Rhio glanced at Yachi. Red spots flew to her broad cheekbones, her knuckles white on her sword hilt. With an inward grin, he made a mental note to ensure the honor guard provided for the Ambassador was all male. Wouldn’t want the man to trip and fall.

“The night before their first battle, any female who is, ah, untouched, selects a warrior for a test of manhood. If his courage is sufficient to pass, he is deemed worthy to relieve the woman of her virginity.”

“Fascinating.” The treaty scholar licked her lips. “So what is this test? Exactly?”

“She will show you.” Giral’s smile widened. “Remembering, of course, that she is far from virgin. Such is the fate of slaves.” He settled back in his seat, with the air of a man about to enjoy a spectacle. Wrapping bejeweled fingers around his wine cup, he said,

“Who do you choose, girl?”

The dancer turned a leisurely full circle, scanning the room. She had an impeccable sense of theater, Rhio had to give her that. Every man in the chamber held his breath. Oh, this was going to be entertaining. He rocked on the balls of his feet, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders.

The woman raised an arm and pointed, directly at the Queen. What the—?

“That one.” Her voice was low and husky, lightly accented.

A waterfall of hot chills cascaded down Rhio’s spine and landed in the pit of his belly.

Every muscle in his body locked.

Sikara gave a bark of laughter. “Well, I grant you he’s a warrior.” Her gaze narrowed.

“Damage my favorite Captain and I will be very annoyed. Understand?”

The dancer nodded, her teeth flashing in a wild grin that froze Rhio’s blood.

“Majesty.” As he bowed his acquiescence, he bent to whisper. “It could be some kind of diversion, a ploy.”

The Queen twisted in her seat to pat his forearm. “Possibly. But do me proud anyway,”

she said. One eyelid fluttered down in an unmistakable wink.

Right. Godsdammit all to hell.

Rhio straightened, meeting the dancer’s gaze full on for the first time. He didn’t speak, just arched a brow.

Two

A slim arm gestured. “Over there.”

“Yachi.” With a jerk of his head, Rhio summoned the Sergeant to take his place. He’d be damned if he left his liege lady unprotected.

The back of his neck prickling, he strode to the spot the dancer had indicated, his boots creaking in the silence. His back to the wall, he faced her. “Now what?”

Again that wicked glimmer. “Do not move, yes?”

The drummer started up again, the throbbing beat cranking up the tension, echoing in his head, making it difficult to think.

Her eyes fixed on his, the dancer drew her braid over her shoulder. Her hips swaying to the beat of the drum, she loosed the golden