Alena Petrova Dubov slammed her fist on the table. Glasses jumped and clattered, jerking the attention of the generals to her. “You expect me to fuck who?”
The tightly clustered group of men jumped back from the strategy screens, belatedly bowing. Alena gripped her anger and glared around the darkened room, finding techs jumping off their seats to bow in the cramped space between the monitors. Only the muted beat of the flesh-tech powering the equipment packed into the war room broke the silence.
The first to straighten was General Mishenka, her most senior soldier. A smile twitched across his wizened face. “Are you prepared for the coronation, Majesty?” His dark gaze slid over the pale silk gown and the ornate curls twisted into her dark hair. A shadow passed through his eyes. “You look like your mother.”
Alena’s gut cramped. Damn him. She focused on the salad bar and awards decorating his dress uniform, remembering her mother pinning more than one of the shining medals on his broad chest. The anger curled in her gut again. No, he was not distracting her with her crippling emotion. Righteous anger held her. “Yerik Danevich’s replacement. My strength-giver. Why the hell have you chosen Flight-Captain Borodin?”
Mishenka tugged at his jacket and lifted his jaw. His dark eyes grew hard. “He is the finest choice we can give you. His DNA scan proved him compatible for the bond you must share.”
A bark of laughter escaped her, and she waved her hand at the surrounding screens. Images of troop movements, fleets, and terrain flashed across their wide surface. The generals had started to plan the last desperate defence of the city of Rodin. “He is a part of the enemy that’s all but wiped us out.”
“Have you met the flight-captain?” Alena stood back from the table. “No.”“I wouldn’t judge him too hastily, Majesty,” said another general, stepping forward. General Zhilkin, a soldier who had served her mother for over twenty years. His rows of medals gleamed in the sharp light powered by portable generators...and there was yet another reminder that the city was lacking its true empress. “He is a very fine officer.”
“And that’s enough for me to get naked with him?”
She was the heart of the city, a part of the centuries old Dubov cyber-genetic design. Performing the ritual with men bred from the house of Volkov, she would activate her dormant genes and give life back to the city. A city that had shut down with the death of her mother.
Zhilkin flushed. None of them liked the truth behind what the coronation of a Rodin empress actually meant. No other empress in history had to be pleasured by two men as a final mark of her ascension to the throne. He stepped back, his gaze fixed on the table, and he said nothing more.
“Well, that’s one no.” Alena pinned each of the remaining four generals with a hard stare. “Anyone want to give me another option for my strength-giver?”
Mishenka’s mouth thinned. “We are out of options. Borodin is the only officer with the correct descent from the house of Volkov.”
Alena laughed. “I’m to have the most threadbare coronation known to a Dubov empress. No formal banquet, no foreign dignitaries, and now a strength-giver with barely the right amount of genes to activate mine. Wonderful.”
“Majesty.” Mishenka straightened. “The attack that killed your mother and sister took out a huge chunk of our armed forces, including your designated strength-giver, Yerik Danevich.” His jaw tightened. “Our only hope of reenergising this city lies with you, as you say, fucking this man.”