War tore the Commonwealth apart, leaving warlords and families vying for power throughout the galaxy. That war took everything from Michael Graden and Elaine Harris–their careers, their homes, and very nearly their lives. Together, can they find the strength to take back what’s been taken from them?
Disclaimer and warning: For any readers sensitive to this kind of thing, this chapter (and subsequent chapters of the book) does involve some sexual conduct, innuendo, and manipulation–all not of the very pretty kind (Emilio Delmarco is not a nice man by any stretch). If any of this makes you at all uncomfortable, you might want to skip this one.
Below is the first draft of the opening chapter to The General’s Lady, a science fiction romance yarn I’ve been writing on and off for a few years. I’m not sure I’m in love with this as the opening chapter, but we’ll see if it sticks.
One
when worlds break
Water dripped from one of the pipes overhead. It was cold in here, cold enough that the moisture in the air condensed on those frigid pipes and then left puddles on the floor, out in the darkness of her cell. Even the light was cold, but the blue-white pool of it around her cot was better than the shadows of the cell. Who knew what might lurk in the shadows?
Nightmares. Nightmares lurk in those shadows. They came at her when she lay down to sleep, wearing the faces of men and women she’d led to their deaths—or worse, into an existence of endless pain, of captivity and privation.
She plucked at the long, deep scar that sliced across her collar bone, long-healed but carrying with it ghostly memories of pain and terror. If I hadn’t gotten hit like that, we might have gotten away. If they hadn’t tried to get me clear, none of this would have happened. At least they would have been free, even if I wasn’t.
Elaine closed her eyes against unshed tears, swallowing hard. She had stopped trying to number the days, no longer trying to keep track of time. Her life was measured in how many of her brethren she saw led past her cell in chains. There weren’t many left to take away. She wasn’t sure if that should be terrifying or heartening, now. She didn’t know where the others had been taken, and not knowing allowed her to hope that maybe they’d been ransomed or freed.
It wasn’t likely, but that hope was the only thing that kept her from shattering completely—not that she needed to hold herself together anymore. There was no one left to command, no one left to be strong for, not since they’d separated her from what was left of her unit and locked her in here alone. Sometimes she wondered if they’d left the others together in the mass cell House Delmarco had originally housed them in. Idle thoughts kept her as close to sane as someone could be, trapped like this.
The cell door opened, flooding the cell with so much light Elaine was temporarily blinded. She fumbled with her covers, trying to shield her eyes from the glare, cursing in a voice rusty from disuse.
“Still got some fire at least,” a voice said. Hands grabbed her roughly, hauling her up from her cot and to her feet, puppet-marching her toward the door.
“What the hell is this?” Elaine croaked, trying to shake the hands off so she at least had a prayer of setting the pace. Her legs were cramped and shaky after weeks of being curled into a ball on her cot. Some bloody fearless commander of armed men and women I am. “Put me down. I can march by myself.”
“Not fast enough,” the guard next to her muttered, but let her go. Elaine rocked unsteadily for a moment before she caught her balance and took a few deep, ragged breaths. Her vision cleared as her eyes adjusted to the brighter light of the hallway. Two guards, one next to her, one behind, and someone in an unfamiliar uniform in front of her. The uniformed man studied her with a critical eye.
“Not a bad piece of meat,” he said finally. “I didn’t think they let the pretty ones into the service.”
Elaine tried to tamp down an immediate feeling of violation, tugging the plain white shift down a little further. It was all she had to wear; her uniform had been shredded when she was wounded. This was all she’d had since her recovery. Even her feet were bare, but the deck was mercifully warm beneath her feet, unlike the floor in her cell.
The uniform took her face in a gloved hand, turning it to one side and then the other. “And her face isn’t marked. Even better.” He looked down his nose, meeting her gaze. “Lord Emilio wants to speak with you. Hold your tongue and be respectful if you want to keep it.”
Fuck. Elaine almost swallowed her tongue. Back when she was still housed with the rest of her battalion and a smattering of other prisoners, she’d heard stories about Emilio Delmarco. A vicious, brutal, cunning military man, he was the second son of the self-proclaimed lord of the Scandian Arm, Victor André Delmarco. Rumor had it that the younger Delmarco had been present at the razing of Arabella Prime. He’d slaughtered thousands without a second thought.
Now he was asking for the commander who’d led the resistance at the Spine during the Breaking on Gerolima VII—one force that stood against the might of Victor Delmarco’s advancing armies.
Make your peace, Elaine. You’re not walking out of that room alive.
How did it take so long for him to figure out that they had me in custody? It’s been almost a year since the Breaking.
Hasn’t it?
For the first time, she cursed her inability to keep track of the days since her capture.
My face isn’t marked, she thought bleakly as they marched her down the corridors. They probably want to kill me in front of the vids, so they can broadcast it throughout the Arm—maybe across the galaxy. Wouldn’t that be a propaganda coup for House Delmarco? Elaine swallowed hard, though it was hard to feel afraid. She’d anticipated death for months, maybe years.
There’s nothing to go home to anyway. Why not die?
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Because that would mean they won. I can’t just give up and die. What would that mean for the men and women under my command?
She closed her eyes briefly.
One of the guards jerked her sideways abruptly and her eyes snapped open again. She stumbled into a narrow room with a sink and a toilet. Clothes hung from a peg against the opposite wall and a hairbrush rested on the edge of the sink.
“Clean yourself up,” the uniform ordered. “Knock on the door when you’re finished.”
The door snapped shut. Elaine sagged against the wall, starting to shake.
They are going to execute me. Why would they give me clothes if they weren’t going to put me on camera and kill me? Can’t have me looking like I look in front of the cameras, right? She glanced at herself in the mirror and shuddered.
I barely look like me. They’d cut her hair while she’d been recovering from her wound, which had left her strapped to a bed for weeks, fevered, delirious, and unable to care for herself. Then she’d been tossed in to the mass cell for a few weeks before they took her to the smaller, solitary cell. Her hair had grown out a bit and hung at a ragged line near her chin, wavy and tangled. She bit her lip. I didn’t realize how much weight I’d lost. She knew she’d gotten skinny during her captivity, but she hadn’t realized how pitiful she really looked.
Squeezing her eyes shut again, she attacked her hair with the brush. She washed her hands and face afterwards, then reached for the clothes. It was the soft, thick cotton and wool of a Star Corps uniform, though there were no markings of rank or unit on the jacket or lapels.
At least I’ll go in uniform, like it should be, she thought, swallowing hard. Who knows, maybe it’ll stir up resistance.
She had no faith that it would. The war was over. The Star Corps were dead, as dead as the government on Prime, as dead as the Federated Commonwealth. It would never rise again.
People like Emilio Delmarco made sure of that.
She tugged the uniform on, smoothed it out carefully, then stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Thus by the grace of God goes Elaine Elisabeth Harris, Major, Star Corps, to her death.
She knocked on the door.
• • •
Butterflies made war on her digestive tract as she stood in front of the massive cherry doors leading into Emilio Delmarco’s study. One of the guards remained with her, his hand on her shoulder and the other on his sidearm while his superior went inside. Elaine tried to focus on her breathing.
Look like you’re calm, at the very least, even if you’re not. That had been drilled into her at OCS, when she was learning how to be in command.
“Your eyes will always betray you, though.” Michael Graden had told that one night. “But as long as you keep your shoulders square and your breathing even, they’ll forgive you whatever’s in your eyes. They’re probably as scared as you are anyway.”
They’d grown up together, she and Michael. He was a year older, entered the service eighteen months ahead of her, and helped her survive training and officer candidate school. He was the only real friend she had.
I don’t even know if he’s still alive. The realization was like being gut-punched. If he is, he’s going to find out that I’ve been executed from a news blurb or a replay of my death. That’s if he’s in any position to see either.
Her mouth was dry and her heart began to beat faster.
God, I’m going to die and I never got to say good-bye. Not to him or anyone else. Everyone else was dead, though. Maybe he was, too.
I’ll never know.
The door opened. The uniform gave her a hard, level stare. “Enter.”
Elaine swallowed hard and walked forward. The uniform opened the door a little wider. She marched in and stopped, back straight and chin high, about six feet from a figure lounging in a leather armchair in the center of the room.
Emilio Delmarco puffed idly on a cigar and stroked the belly of a scantily clad woman in his lap, though it wasn’t a lover’s touch. It was almost as if he was stroking a cat, not a woman. His cold, dark eyes met Elaine’s and she felt a frisson of ice shoot down her spine.
Stone-cold killer. She fought to tamp down any sign of fear, of weakness. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you sweat. He doesn’t deserve it.
He’s earned it, but he sure as hell doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of watching it affect you.
“Major Harris,” Delmarco said. His voice was deep, sonorous, and deceptively gentle, a stiletto wrapped in a scrap of velvet. “Welcome to my parlor.”
Elaine took a slow, deep breath before she dared speaking. “Mr. Delmarco. With respect, why am I here?”
The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. “Quite a loaded question, Major.” He lifted the woman in his lap, set her on her feet, then gave her a quick swat on the rump. “Sinead, go with Lieutenant Graypole. I need to chat with the major privately.”
The woman pouted but allowed the uniform to lead her away, out a side door Elaine hadn’t seen initially. Emilio watched them depart, then glanced at Elaine.
“She was like you, once. An officer from Star Corps. We broke her of her subservience to them rather handily, don’t you think?” He smiled at her, a flash of white in a darkly handsome face. Elaine couldn’t stop her shudder.
No. No. “I imagine she’s—” Elaine choked on the words “—grateful for your patronage.”
“And my mercy,” Emilio said, tone light. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Some have not been so lucky.”
Like me. Elaine swallowed and lifted her chin a little higher, willing her voice not to shake. “Cut to the chase, Mr. Delmarco. Why am I here?”
He stubbed out his cigar, eyes raking over her. She felt oddly exposed, even in uniform. There was no reason for her to look at her like that, unless he enjoyed seeing her squirm. That had to be it. She was going to be executed. She’d led the resistance at the Spine. There was no way he could let her live.
Her blood went cold as he kept on looking. No. Oh god, no. Death would be better.
Emilio stood up and crossed the expensive carpet in two strides toward her. A scarred finger brushed her jaw as his hungry dark eyes met hers. The finger trailed down her jaw to her neck, down to the collar of her uniform jacket.
“You’re a pretty one,” he said in a breathy whisper. “You’d do well.”
“No,” she whispered.
“No?” He smirked again. “You’re not the one that gets to choose, dear Major. I do because I hold your leash.”
“I’m not a pet,” she said, setting her jaw and trying to contain her trembling. It was getting harder to maintain her composure. He smelled like leather and gun oil mingled with wine and cigar smoke and was far, far too close for her comfort. She didn’t dare look down at all for fear of what she’d see in those tight pants.
“No,” he said, “no, you’re not. You’re lower than that. Pets are pampered. You’re a caged stray we found in the gutters and we will do with you what we like.” His fingers tangled in the collar of her jacket and he tugged gently.
The top button popped and Elaine sucked in a breath.
Emilio chuckled, a low, rolling sound that sent another shudder through her. “A pretty, fiery stray,” he murmured, lips so close to her ear she could feel the heat of his breath, “but a stray nonetheless.” He stepped back, crossing his arms as his gaze raked over her again. “But strays can be turned into pampered pets.”
“I’d rather die,” Elaine blurted. The butterflies in her stomach had returned, though not because she was afraid of dying anymore. She was starting to realize there were far, far worse things than death. It was all she could do to keep herself from puking on the carpet at his feet.
His hands were on her again in an instant, one hand laced through her honey-brown curls, the other pulling her hips hard against his. She could feel him pressing against her and it turned her stomach.
“Too bad,” he half-purred, half-growled. “You don’t get to choose, remember?”
She jerked away, gagging. He released her, laughing as she stumbled back and fell. She turned her back to him, on hands and knees as she fought against the bile rising in her throat and the tears that stung her eyes. Emilio rested his foot against her tailbone, though he didn’t put much pressure on her. Elaine couldn’t stop shaking, breath coming in ragged gasps as her stomach went into full rebellion.
He watched her as she retched, then gave her a little shove with his foot when she finished. She fell sideways, gasping, her mouth sour and her vision blurred by tears.
Bastard, she thought as she struggled to regain control.
“You won’t do for me,” he said thoughtfully, watching her as she slowly sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. “But that doesn’t mean that you won’t do for someone else.”
“B-but I led the rebellion at the Spine,” Elaine whispered.
I’ve lost my mind. He knows I led an army against him. Why isn’t he killing me for it?
“I know,” he said softly, then smiled at her. It was a cold, cruel smile, colder than the depths of space and sharper than any razor she’d ever handled. “That’s why a fast, clean death is too good for you, Major.
“This way, you’ll suffer long and well, and then you’ll die.” He returned to his chair and sat down. “Tremaine!”
A man appeared from that same secret door Graypole and Sinead had disappeared through. “My lord?”
“Chain the major and take her to the corrals,” Emilio said, eyes never leaving her. “Find out if she knows anything of value before you sell her.”
Elaine couldn’t breathe. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Shudders wracked her as she wrapped her arms around her knees. Emilio kept smiling as Tremaine disappeared into the other room, presumably to get something to chain her with.
“This could go easy or it could go hard, Major,” Emilio said quietly. “For my sake, I hope it goes hard. For yours…well. I’m not entirely unmerciful, despite what you may think. If you behave, perhaps I’ll reconsider my choice to have you sent away. After all, here you’d live in eternal luxury and I might in time learn to forgive you for what you’ve done.”
He’s lying. Elaine swallowed down the bile that was rising again in her throat. She stood shakily as Tremaine reappeared with chains in hand. “I—I suppose time will t-tell, Delmarco.”
“Indeed,” he said softly as the manacles snapped shut around her wrists. “It will.”
