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want me to be.’
    Allura realized at once the futility of her actions. Veeta was indeed the perfect slave now, broken to her will and terrified more of disobedience than of losing her identity. She had no truth of her own, only Allura’s. If Allura told her she wanted the baron, than she would. Likewise any other master Allura picked for her.
    â€˜There, there,’ the princess patted the head of her sobbing pet, ‘come and make your mistress happy. Come and suck your horse dick like a good girl.’
    Veeta obeyed again, licking, kissing, then took it deep to the back of her throat, and when she looked up at her mistress, Allura paused from her thoughts to praise her. ‘What a good little cock sucker,’ she encouraged. ‘A certain little slut is going to earn a treat at this rate.’
    Veeta garbled her thanks as well as her relief. With great passion would she continue to suck and afterward she would beg and sit up panting to take the tiny piece of candy that was the reward for the sexual performance of a slave.
    Allura imagined Baron Montreico in the same position; naked and begging to eat from her palm, and the image made her smile. She would conquer the man, just like she’d conquered Veeta, breaking her will and changing her from a proud girl to a cringing slave. Never mind that Montreico was male, twice her strength and hugely more dangerous than Saraveeta. The difference was naught.
    Or so she hoped.
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Chapter Four
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    Princess Allura Alesandra de Triante Volucien stood before the royal court in the finest of her blue velvet gowns. She considered it her best color, drawing out most fully her deep, misty eyes. Her hair was arranged to its greatest advantage, in sensual swirls set with diamonds and sapphires. About her waist she wore a chain of silver and a tiny dagger of state, the jeweled one belonging to her grandmother, Queen Aloethia the Pious.
    The neckline plunged just enough to reveal her deep cleavage, also drawing attention to the sapphire and diamond necklace, the gems of which had once ransomed an enemy king in the days of her great great grandfather, King Milasos the Wise.
    â€˜Do I look presentable?’ she’d asked Veeta on her way out of her chamber, the naked slave still exhausted from the night’s sexual excesses, and the slave wearily assured her mistress that no woman had ever looked lovelier in the history of the kingdom. Allura accused her of lying to ingratiate herself, and promised her punishment later.
    That is, after she’d gotten this charade of a ceremony over with. Montreico had already kept them waiting about in the audience hall, and frankly she found it infuriating she should have to be kept hostage like this. What was the point? Obviously he would offer her marriage and the matter would be concluded.
    â€˜Uncle, why do you not send the guards for him?’ she asked churlishly. ‘Clap him in irons for insulting my person in this way. And yours.’
    The Grand Duke Fortragian gave her a cross look, one she’d never seen before. ‘That will be enough out of you, young lady.’
    Allura bit her lip. The man had told her off, like a common serving wench or a child. If she weren’t so shocked she might well be indignant.
    â€˜Good morning, grand duke.’
    The hair on the back of Allura’s neck stood on end. It was him, waltzing into the chamber in one of his absurd hunting outfits, this time a pair of tight buckskin breeches and a loose weave shirt of forest green, the V-neck tied by loose leather strings. He had his sword belt and a medium-sized cutting knife, and clearly he’d been hunting in the early dawn.
    â€˜Baron, we are pleased to receive you.’ Fortragian offered a low bow.
    â€˜We would have been more pleased a half hour ago,’ snapped the princess.
    â€˜Allura, silence!’ snapped her uncle, and the princess, avoiding Montreico’s stare as he moved to stand