Consort Read online

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  CONSORT

  CYNDI FRIBERG

  Consort

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Copyright © 2012 Cyndi Friberg.

  Cover art by Dar Albert

  Electronic book Publication, October 2012

  Trade Paperback Publication, October 2012

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author, Cyndi Friberg.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Praise for Beyond Ontariese

  Taken by Storm

  “Taken by Storm had it all–tense action, suspense, erotic sex, humor and a wildly imaginative plot. ” The Romance Studio

  “Unplug the phone and put the kids to bed; once you start reading Taken by Storm you won’t want any interruptions!” Fallen Angel Reviews

  “For a story that will delight, entertain, and keep you on the edge of your seat, I highly recommend TAKEN BY STORM and award it RRT's Perfect 10.” Romance Reviews Today

  Operation Hydra

  “I highly recommend OPERATION HYDRA…it’s one of the best science fiction romances I’ve ever read.” Perfect 10! Romance Reviews Today

  “Outstanding! This segment only whetted my appetite for more. The heat between Kyrsta and Trey could cause a nuclear meltdown” Simply Romance Reviews

  City of Tears

  “WOW! City of Tears by Cyndi Friberg is one amazing blend of science fiction at its best and romance at its hottest…” eCata Reviews

  Titles by

  Cyndi Friberg

  Beyond Ontariese:

  Taken by Storm

  Operation Hydra

  City of Tears

  Crossfire

  Consort

  Rebel Angels:

  Rage and Redemption

  Echoes and Embers

  Splendor and Darkness

  Therian Heat:

  Therian Priestess

  Therian Prey

  Therian Promise

  Therian prisoner

  Non-series:

  Tainted Hearts

  Tears of the Dragon

  Author’s Note

  The Beyond Ontariese saga begins with a heartrending scene: E’Lanna dar Aune, High Queen of Ontariese, is forced to send her infant daughters through an interdimensional portal in order to protect them from a horrendous civil war. Taken by Storm tells the story of Charlotte, the first royal twin, but Krystabel never has her day in the spotlight. Krystabel is mentioned in every book and plays a crucial role in City of Tears, yet her life path, and her romance with Indric, are never fully explored.

  So, after continual prompting from readers, family and friends, I’ve finally told Krystabel’s story. However, it has taken much longer than I intended for this story to make it out of my imagination and onto the page or E-reader screen. Because of this lapse, I think it will be helpful to give you a “previously on” sort of summary before you start reading. (If you’ve read the other four books recently, skip the rest of this section and enjoy Consort.)

  Charlotte is sent to Earth late in the twentieth century, but Krystabel is sent to Earth approximately 200 years into our future. Krystabel is captured by a man named Doctor Hydran who is obsessed with empowering humans with Ontarian abilities. He calls this project Operation Hydra. During an especially heinous experiment, Krystabel’s body is destroyed, but she projects her being onto the metaphysical plane. She is still alive, but she is now trapped in an incorporeal dimension.

  Saebin is one of the daughters born to Krystabel during her captivity at Operation Hydra. Krystabel reaches out to Saebin from the energy dimension and Saebin helps her return to the physical dimension. Unfortunately, Krystabel’s body is long gone, so her being is channeled into the body of a female Mystic who recently lost her life.

  Now Krystabel (who has changed her name to Cinarra) is in hiding on Bilarri. She is dedicated to protecting her grandson Seth (now known as Betaul) from the radical faction trying to kill him. She is isolated and has basically sacrificed her personal happiness in return for her grandson’s life. She doesn’t regret the sacrifice, but she is restless and lonely, and ready for an adventure all her own.

  The rest is detailed in the story, so I’ll let you get started.

  Here is Consort. I hope it’s worth the wait!

  Prologue

  Indric, Prince Regent of San Adrin, sat on the edge of his father’s bed, surrounded by splendor and death. It had been hours since his father stirred and weeks since he’d been strong enough to lift his head. Indric carefully clasped his father’s hand as grief threatened to choke him. The once strong fingers were now twisted, the joints horribly swollen and red.

  Priests softly chanted in the background, their cloying incense unable to hide the stench of illness and decay.

  King Laif drew a deep, labored breath and Indric tensed, waiting for the final exhalation and the blessed silence that would indicate an end to his father’s suffering. Instead, the king’s eyes opened and he tried to lick his lips. Indric grabbed a glass of water off the bedside table and carefully raised his father’s head so he could drink.

  “I taught you well,” the king whispered. “You are more than ready.”

  Tears blurred his vision as he set the glass aside and looked into his father’s watery eyes. “I’ll still miss you.”

  The corners of King Laif’s mouth lifted and breath rattled in his chest. “Be wary…of Eagin.” Coughs shook his frail shoulders and specks of blood dotted the sheets. “He will retaliate.”

  Indric nodded, though he hadn’t needed the warning. What son wouldn’t be infuriated to learn his future had been rewritten? Unlike Indric—who had been born of Laif’s queen—Eagin was the legitimized son of Laif’s favorite mistress. Or he had been until Laif withdrew the Declaration of Legitimacy nine hours before.

  Eagin’s deplorable behavior had left Laif no choice. From demanding sexual favors of the palace staff to cheating the people who depended on the crown for their existence, Eagin had revealed his lack of character. Indric understood his father’s actions, but the king would soon be gone, leaving Indric to bear the brunt of his half-brother’s wrath.

  Indric reached for the cloth floating in the basin of water on the table beside the bed. He wrung it out and washed his father’s face and neck. “Eagin’s behavior has been faultless since you took ill. Are you sure there’s no other alternative?”

  With a stubborn shake of his head, Laif dismissed the possibility. “Knows I’m dying. Didn’t want me to…cut him off.” Each word drained the king’s meager strength. The lines in his face deepened and his skin took on a waxy pallor.

  Death hung over the room like smog. Indric could feel it, smell it. “I’m your heir. Eagin has never challenged that fact. Wouldn’t it be wiser to—”

  “Wants more.” Laif squeezed Indric’s hand, yet the flicker of strength faded as suddenly as it had formed. “Much more.”

  Indric didn’t ask what he meant. Eagin made no secret of his ambition for wealth and fame. When leading men into battle had proved less glorious than he’d imagined, Eagin had set his sights on a
highly placed wife.

  As if he’d sensed the direction of Indric’s thoughts, the king said, “You must wed again.”

  The unexpected insistency in his father’s voice refocused Indric’s attention and sent tension rippling through his muscles. He’d allowed royal obligations to choose his mate three times, and each time he’d been miserable.

  He looked at Laif’s face yet avoided his eyes. “I understand what’s expected of me.” The last thing he wanted was for their final conversation to be an argument.

  “I know about Cinarra.” Indric snapped his gaze back to his father’s and the king managed to smile. “Everyone knows.”

  “Are you saying I should join with her?” It wasn’t as if Indric had never considered the possibility of a life with Cinarra. He’d tortured himself often with the fantasy only to disregard it as impossible. “I thought you would be the first to object.”

  “You’ve always put our people first, as any king should. Perhaps it’s time to think of your own happiness.”

  Indric smiled despite the sorrow welling within him. The advice was unexpected and uncharacteristic. Never before had Laif wavered from his put-the-people-first approach to leadership. “I’ll think about it. There are complications you don’t understand.”

  “Don’t think. Do it.” He coughed again, managing to turn his head but not raise his hand to cover his mouth. “Haunt you if you don’t.” He closed his eyes and his chest shuddered. Indric held his breath, thinking his father had finally breathed his last, but the king had one last thought. “Love. You. Son.”

  Indric squeezed his father’s hand. Laif’s fingers remained limp, his chest motionless. “I love you too.” Grief squeezed his throat and tears burned his eyes. He’d known this was coming, had thought he was prepared.

  “He’s gone, Sire.” One of the priests laid a hand on Indric’s shoulder, but Indric didn’t move, couldn’t think beyond the paralyzing loss. There was no air in the room, no energy. There was only darkness and death.

  A bell tolled in the distance, announcing his father’s passing to the throng of faithful gathered on the promenade in front of the palace.

  And announcing my ascension to the throne.

  The thought was sobering yet empowering. His entire life had led to this moment. He’d been trained from birth to fulfill this role. He could not succumb to emotions. His people would look to him for strength and comfort, reassurance and guidance.

  He took a deep breath, accepting the sorrow without allowing it to consume him.

  A door banged behind him and Indric looked over his shoulder. Eagin proudly strode into the room, his features drawn tight with feigned sorrow.

  Fury shot through Indric with incendiary speed. He leapt to his feet and lunged for his half-brother, grasping Eagin by the throat as a red haze rolled across his vision. “You have no place here.”

  Eagin twisted out of Indric’s grasp, rubbing his throat as he coughed. “He’s my father too.”

  Beyond caution or thoughts of ramifications, Indric shoved Eagin backward so hard he crashed into the doorframe. “He is nothing to you!” Another hard shove sent Eagin back into the corridor, Indric half a step behind. “I summoned you three days ago. Where the hell have you been?”

  An angry flush spread over Eagin’s face and he slowly clenched his fists. “I got here as soon as I could.”

  Indric took a deep breath and drove back the need to pummel his half-brother into a moaning, bloody heap. Violence was an indulgence he could no longer afford. His father had already sealed Eagin’s fate. “You’re too late. He withdrew the Declaration of Legitimacy this morning. You’re once again the bastard you were born.”

  “On what grounds?” Eagin advanced, anger making the rings in his eyes flash with bronze light. “He had to have cause.”

  “You’ve given him nothing but cause for the past fifteen cycles,” Indric shouted, his emotions raw and surging.

  “You’re bluffing.” When Indric didn’t reply, Eagin grew bolder. “Everyone knows your seed is so weak you’ll never produce a child. Father wouldn’t condemn our bloodline to extinction.”

  “Get out!” Indric drew back his fist, giving the fool one last chance to escape unharmed. “You’re no longer welcome in my presence.”

  Ignoring the directive, Eagin tried to sidestep Indric and reenter the death chamber.

  Indric blocked Eagin’s path then swung for his face. The first blow jerked Eagin’s head to the side, positioning his face perfectly for Indric’s next punch. Blood burst from Eagin’s nose and a startled cry tore from his throat.

  Lost in a fog of rage and grief, Indric swung again and again. The skin across his knuckles tore and his body registered Eagin’s attempts to defend himself. Indric welcomed the pain and continued his assault until Eagin lay motionless at his feet. He started to follow him down, but someone grabbed his arms from behind, forcing his surroundings back into focus.

  Three priests hovered in the doorway to the death chamber, their disapproval unmistakable. A small crowd of palace guards and servants had gathered in the corridor. Most looked as supportive of Indric’s loss of control as the priests looked shocked.

  “Release me,” he said in a calm tone. The guard holding his arms immediately complied. “Throw this piece of shit into the street and see that he is never again admitted.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The guard motioned for one of the others to assist him and Eagin was carried away.

  Indric composed his expression then turned to the head priest. “Make my father presentable. The elders must bear witness to his passing.”

  “Of course, Sire. I’ll see to it personally.”

  The other two priests rushed after their mentor, obviously anxious to help.

  Indric watched from the doorway as they surrounded the bed, allowing himself one last look at his father’s pale face. Regardless of the pain clawing through Indric’s chest, this was a mercy. After eleven agonizing cycles of deterioration, Laif’s suffering was finally over. He was at rest. His energy had passed beyond, joining with his mate’s in the higher realm.

  Using the thought to ease past the pain, Indric was able to think again. Preparations must be made. His father had ruled well and long. He was beloved by the people of San Adrin. His funeral would draw dignitaries from all over the galaxy. There was so much to accomplish, too much for Indric to stand around licking his wounds.

  He turned from his father’s chamber and cleansed the stench of death from his lungs.

  A red smear on the wall drew his attention as he moved off down the hall. Eagin might have deserved to be disinherited, but the bastard was right about one thing. Thanks to Laif’s decision, if Indric couldn’t find a way to father a son, one of the oldest and most powerful bloodlines on Bilarri had just begun its descent into extinction.

  Chapter One

  Cinarra clasped the railing and reminded herself to breathe. Betaul and Dravon faced off in the tree-lined yard behind her small house, a cometball on the grass between them. Though Dravon was thirteen and Betaul only ten, they were exactly the same height. They were both dark-haired and handsome, both highly intelligent and well educated. And both desperately in need of a friend.

  Betaul moved first. His kick sent the ball arcing off to one side, a streak of white light following in its wake. Dravon ran after the miniature comet, skillfully maneuvering it back in the other direction. They seemed evenly matched, both fast and agile.

  “How are they doing?” Indric joined her on the covered patio and her heart reacted with predictable flutters. They’d been friends for nine years and they’d never so much as kissed, so why did her body persist with these inappropriate reactions?

  “Remarkably well.” She motioned toward the yard. “See for yourself. This was a really good idea.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” He moved up beside her and rested his hands on the rail, his tall body shading hers from the glaring midday sun. “Dravon’s tutors are impressed with his progress
, but he’s so isolated at the palace.”

  It was the custom on Bilarri for the princes of all four regions to spend time with the other regional kings. This exposed them to every aspect of Bilarrian life, creating more balanced rulers. Dravon was from the mountainous region of Hautell with its massive fortified cities and sprawling estates. The semi-nomadic existence of the San Adrin people must seem very strange to the young prince.

  She glanced at Indric then said, “Betaul has always seemed more comfortable with adults than people his own age. I’m really hoping he’ll connect with Dravon.”

  They watched the boys for a few minutes in silence. Cinarra tried to appear relaxed, but her mind was whirling, as it often was when Indric was around. She should be used to entertaining royalty by now. Indric had visited regularly since she’d been on Bilarri. He was always polite and attentive, always the perfect gentleman, which frustrated her beyond belief.

  She’d come to Bilarri to ensure Betaul’s safety and to figure out her role in this convoluted universe. Her first objective had been far more successful than her second. Betaul was safe. There was still a radical faction on Ontariese, their homeworld, who thought Betaul’s genetic alterations made him an abomination, unworthy of life. They were called the New Reformation Sect or the NRS. The sect hadn’t disbanded, but their leader’s death had left them without a clear direction for all their hostility. Now they seemed like a group of unfocused malcontents, cursing the status quo.

  Besides, they believed Betaul died in an explosion nine years ago. He was growing more independent every day, less in need of a protector, which left her without a defined role.