Chapter 1

Lillian K. Rockmore

Kierania, 1824.

His Majesty, King Hermissle Jisisle Ci Yelmbuerg the seventeenth, was not happy.

Strange men were surrounding his lands; strange, dangerous men were surrounding his lands. He knew not how they had managed to discover his well-hidden planet of Kierania, but they had. And now, they stood with their swords drawn, waiting for him to refuse their request so that they would have an excuse to take over the whole of his lands.

He hated them, these Marqations who had been rumoured to have already conquered Lismus, a star in the east. They had a battalion of fighters at their disposal; they had weapons made of gold just lusting to be wielded.

Jisisle sighed. His men would never be able to take them on, should it be that the Marqs decided to attack. His army was too weak, his soldiers untrained and feeble compared to the Marq's army.

With resignation etching seams on his forehead, he ordered their leader to enter.

The heel of his boots echoed hollowly in the silent halls as Rade strode towards the reclining king. His countenance was steely, mirroring his resolve in taking Kierania under the Marqation name. The Marq King, Dominique Fei Rysle, had entrusted the task of conquering Kierania in Rade's hands and Rade would never break his King's trust.

"Have you decided upon your lands' fate, sir?" Rade questioned brusquely, not bothering to address the lump of a man by his given title. Jisisle was a sluggish ruler, one who cared more about how many women there were in his harem than how many men were in his army. It was a miracle in itself that the Ci Yelmbuerg Empire had lasted sixteen centuries.

Disregarding Rade's question, the old reptile laid there, his eyes scanning the ceiling, saying nothing.

"You do know the consequences of your silence, sir."

After a heartbeat, the fat seal turned, causing the cushioned settee beneath him to creak from the shifting of his immense weight.

"How much do you want?" Jisisle asked irritably.

"You know bloody well how much we want. We want the eastern and southern parts of Kierania, complete with the Cloud Kingdoms they entail."

The man snorted and struggled to his feet.

"Very well. If I do give you this land, will you leave the rest of Kierania alone?" he asked, summoning one of the servants with a mere flick of his sausage-like fingers.

"It would appease us," Rade said, his steely black eyes never wavering from the older man's shrewd brown ones.

"But will you leave the western and northern parts of Kierania alone, boy?" Jisisle persisted.

Rade could not answer him without orders from his superiors. Thus, he replied nonchalantly, "For now."

Oh Goddess, they were coming!

It had been three days since the Cloud Kingdoms had become a part of the Marq's colony. It had come as such a shock to all Kieranians, for they had thought that their mighty king would protect them from any harm that came their way. And rumours that the king had given up the rights to his lands without any argument, fueled the anger of many in the kingdoms.

Kistle was one of those who were enraged. She did not understand how her king could betray their trust in naught but a minute. The Kieranians had been so loyal to his family for more than sixteen centuries now! How dare the rat...

"Sister Kistle, are you ready? We have to leave soon. Mother just received news that the Marqs are nearing our quarters," Sister Ginny said, coming up behind Kistle, nibbling on her bottom lip anxiously.

"What?" Kistle snapped, momentarily incensed by her thoughts. Then, realizing her sinful short-tempered error, she sent up a quick prayer to the ever-forgiving Goddess.

"Dear me. We have to hurry then. Are our moths ready yet?" Kistle asked, reaching out for the younger girls' hands, clasping them in her own. As Ginny nodded, both ladies immediately made their way downstairs to where the rest of the nuns awaited.

The moths sat on their bellies, with their dull, brown wings prominently displayed in the air. Kistle sought out the tamest one of all — Mirille -- and seated herself on the insect's sturdy body. Mirille's large wings cocooned Kistle from being detected by any irreligious snakes and protected her from harsh winds. She cooed to the creature, stroking the length of its wings and heard its soft purr of satisfaction in return.

"We must hurry, girls. I think they are already here," Mother Agnetta said, her voice naught but a low whisper. The other Sisters hastened to get to their moths.

Just then, a loud explosion was heard from the very back of the room.

Every body stilled.

Shock mirrored on the faces of each woman as men filed into the Goddess's sanctuary. There were fifty of them, maybe more. Kistle breath wheezed out of her lungs as she took in their size.

Dear Goddess in the Lakes, they were huge. Bigger than any man she'd ever seen. Kieranian men were considerably large, but these giants dwarfed them aplenty! Their bodies were covered with a thick layer of mail and helms covered half their faces, giving them a fearsome appearance. Mere men they might be, but they scared the ladies sevenfold!

As Kistle watched, a single man detached himself from the mass and stepped to the front. He was, like the rest, wearing black breeches with the crest of the Marqs sewn onto his thighs. However, unlike the rest, he had an aura of power and authority about him; every man in the room hushed as he took his place in front of them. His lean fingers threaded through his dark hair as he rid himself of his helm, passing the steely weight to a man behind him. He looked extremely formidable, especially when a malicious smile curled his upper lip.

She shuddered when his voice penetrated the silence.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

The men behind him snickered.

Kistle could feel a strange foreboding grip her. She knew, all of a sudden, that these men would bring harm to the Goddess's chapel. They were Marqs, and therefore, only prayed to male gods; they did not believe in dominance of the female species. Kieranians, on the other hand, looked up to the female race, seeking guidance and solace in prayers to the Goddess. The Marqs held little respect for the Kieranians belief, she knew, and that knowledge made her heart tighten in fearful premonition.

"Running away, Sisters?" the dark man continued.

Kistle swallowed painfully, a need to flee his presence making the blood spurt hotly in her veins; she knew he would bring the chapel naught but doom.

If she could just reach Mirille's reins, she might be able to make it out of here and get help from the quarter guards. She inched closer to the insect's head, trying desperately not to be noticed. Please Goddess, cast a screen over me as I try to escape the presence of these men. Your loyal servants are in danger, Goddess. Please, help us ... Just a little closer. Please, dear Goddess...

She gasped as footsteps sounded behind her. Whirling around, she had no chance to defend herself as she was hauled up into brawny arms.

It was him!

A scream of pure fear filled her throat as she struggled against him, her small fists flailing, her legs lashing out at him from beneath the voluminous hem of her skirts. Even as she fought him, he held her effortlessly in the air as though she weighed nothing more than a feather, his arms never working to keep her aloft.

She never had a man touch her before; her own father had died before she'd been born. And as his rough-palmed hands reached out to tilt her chin back to meet his eyes, she was glad that she'd been spared from the bruising intensity of it her whole life. His fingers lingered under her chin, stroking the tender, caramel-coloured flesh as his black eyes bore into hers.

His eyes. Dear, dear. She had seen them before. But where?

She struggled to breathe as one of his large palms pulled back the hood of her nun's habit so that her glorious golden hair was exposed to the men. Shame like none other filled her, for she knew that she had just breached one of the vital codes of serving the Goddess. To be a servant, no man must ever glimpse her tresses after she had reached maidenhood. The sisters around her gasped, fueling the disgrace in Kistle. How could this lout embarrass her like this?

Tears pricked the back of her eyelids as her small hands reached back in an attempt to shield her hair from his gaze. Whimpers escaped her throat when his arm circled her back and held her to his hard chest. She didn't want him to touch her, didn't want him to shame her in front of all these people who were watching her intently. Kistle became a hellion in his hands, shrill squeals escaping her as her punches found his shoulders and torso.

If the woman didn't stop wriggling against him like that, Rade thought, he might end up taking her on the floor in front of all his men. It would serve her and her comrades right for trying to escape the dominance of his people. But as he looked down into her violet eyes and her futile attempts at escaping him, an amused smile played on his lips. Damn if she wasn't an exotic nymph. He knew that she would be a spitfire in bed — a theory that he would have liked to see confirmed very soon.

He had no qualms in taking a woman of cloth to bed. In fact, the idea was vaguely arousing. She would fight him, he knew, and the thought made him stir in his breeches. He recognized that it was a disrespect to the Goddess that she worshipped — to take her to bed - but he most definitely couldn't have cared less.

Shaking his head to distract himself from his arousal, he turned to the rest of his men. The woman was now secured at his side, her punches on his shoulder unnoticeable in their pressure.

"What say you, men?" he addressed the crowd, "Shall we teach these Sisters a lesson? I think they would make exquisite Marq love slaves, if this one in my arms is any indication."