Sovereign's Gladiator

By reading any further, you are
stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of
18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: SOVEREIGN?S GLADIATOR

Copyright ? JEZ MORROW, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's
Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

The
man?s back was turned as Devon entered the
chamber. Even so, Devon knew him.
Recognition grabbed him by the balls and squeezed hard.

The
gladiator stood framed in the expansive window. Sunlight made his boldly
sculpted musculature stand out in high relief. His barbarian hair was the
color of a lion?s mane, but not so shaggy. His coarsely woven tunic top
left his brawny arms bare. His sun-darkened skin bore white flecks of
battle scars.

This
was the gladiator Xandaras. The mighty Xan.

Devon feared his shock and lust were plain for all his attendants
to see. He did not dare meet anyone?s gaze.

Devon had been in love with Xan from the
moment the gladiator first stepped into the arena and killed the men who
were meant to be his executioners.

Xan
was the most beautiful man Devon had ever seen in his life?not that Devon?s life had been all that long. Devon, the
Sovereign of the province of Shiliya,
had seen only twenty-eight summers.

Devon was not sure whom he had expected to find here in his reception
chamber, but it was not Xan.

The
gladiator did not turn to face him. Perhaps the sheer number of attendants
and the grandeur of this room told the gladiator that someone of great
importance had entered behind him, not the sort of someone to slip a cowardly
blade between anyone?s ribs from behind.

If not
for defense, then the barbarian still should have turned around out of
respect for his betters.

The
barbarian chose not to.

Xan
seemed to be watching Devon without
looking at him.

Because
the barbarian hadn?t actually seen
Devon yet, Xan
could not be accused of disrespect. But Xan knew
who was back there. Devon could tell the
gladiator knew exactly who was standing behind him.

Disrespect
it was.

And Devon could not call the barbarian on it without
sounding small. Devon could only command
him, ?Gladiator, face your Sovereign.?

Xan
turned. Muscles flowed under his skin like living rock. Devon
reeled inside. The gladiator was even more magnificent face on. Devon had never seen his rugged face this close, the
uneven slope of his brows, his eyes an amazing color of desert sky. Blade
scars nicked one eyebrow, one side of his nose and the side of his chin.

Devon forgot for a moment why he was here.

This
man was the center of all Devon?s wet
dreams. How many times had Devon taken his
hand to himself and whispered the gladiator?s name in the night? Suddenly Xan was here, in the hard glorious flesh. Devon felt like he?d been caught in the act. He was
not ready for this encounter.

Xan
was one of the desert breed. This close, the savage?s scent came to Devon, exotic, distinct, intensely male. Devon felt the heat from Xan
across the short space between them.

Devon breathed an inward oath in the high speech. He was trying to
keep his imperial dignity while his imperial cock was about to lift the hem
of his crimson tunic off his knees.

Devon paced a few brisk, agitated steps to the left and back again, his erection now up, where it might get
camouflaged in one of the many vertical folds of rich fabric, instead of
poking out and leveled like a lance for a charge.

The
Sovereign?s wiry old regent, Marcus, hanging back at the doorway, spoke,
sounding amused, ?You seem surprised, ma dahn.?

?Well,
I might,? said Devon tightly.

Three
years ago, when the Supreme Reigna had added the
wild lands to Devon?s province, the barbarian Xan
had been brought here to the provincial capital in chains for judgment. Devon had judged. He had sentenced Xandaras to die in the arena as an example to all his
rebellious kind.

An
execution in the arena was still death, but it was an honorable end to a
man?s life. Common criminals did not get a chance in the arena. Xan had never been common.

The
honorable condemned was given a short sword as a chance to live. The chance
was very small, because the executioner entered the ring better armed and
every bit as keen to stay alive as the condemned man.

Xan
had lived through that first match. And all the matches after that.

After Xan proved his worth, Devon
was the one who pardoned the barbarian and gave him his freedom.

Once
free, Xan stayed in the arena, as a gladiator
now, champion on the side of the Imperium.

Xan
stood now in Devon?s receiving chamber a
free man.

Devon?s eyes strayed downward before he knew what he was doing. Xan?s fawnskin breeches fit
snug, showing the extraordinary interplay of sinew in Xan?s
thighs and the bulging sex at his groin.

Devon flushed hot and cold.

A wide
leather belt fit well around the gladiator?s taut waist. From it, a dagger
sheath hung empty. Devon?s guards had not
let Xan bring a blade into the Sovereign?s
presence. Devon stared at the empty sheath
as if that was what drew his gaze low.

Devon kept his face an outwardly impassive mask. Inwardly he was
staggering with panic, thrown so close so suddenly to the object of his
hottest fantasies.

I
want him.

Devon was painfully conscious of all the people all around him.
Painfully aware of his cock ring, constricting his swollen sex.

Devon wore a cock ring to help him keep his interest when he was
with a woman. Sometimes he had trouble maintaining an erection. Here, now,
he was wildly interested and thought the damn thing might kill him.

Devon looked up. He saw?or imagined he saw?a knowing glint in Xan?s heavy-lidded eyes, an upturn at the edges of Xan?s seductive lips.

Xan?s
gaze bordered on insolence.

Struck
stupid with the shock of suddenly coming face to face with his midnight
fantasy, Devon couldn?t talk. His mouth
had gone sand dry.

It was
for him to speak first. He needed to say something. His thoughts blanked
out.

Then Xan bowed his head and dropped on bended knee, smooth
and majestic as a kneeling lion. His tawny hair fell forward around his
face.

And Devon remembered to breathe.

Devon found his voice. ?Do not bow to me, gladiator. I am not a
Prince. I am a Sovereign.?

Xan
rose like a regal animal, shaking his back his sandy mane. He asked, ?A
Sovereign is less than a Prince??

Oh
gods, the voice.
Devon had forgot
about his damn voice. In the arena, Xan?s voice
was a savage roar. Here it was soft and low, a crumbling baritone, powerfully
masculine, almost intimate. The sound stroked Devon?s
sex.

Where
was he? The words. Xan had said something. Devon needed to answer him.

The
question was strange and Devon searched Xan?s extraordinary face for sarcasm. He found none.

?No,? Devon answered thickly. His own voice had dropped to
rutting depths, but at least it sounded strong. And his breathing was
coming more easily now. Xan?s bow had broken Devon?s strangling panic.

Devon
ruled the province of Shiliya and this man
was only a barbarian rebel who was free by Devon?s
mercy and will.

Devon struggled to think how he must appear to this man. It was
stupidly, urgently important. Devon always
presented a regal, sensual image. The Raenthe
were a sensual people as well as lordly. Devon
tried to remember what he was wearing, as if he were on a tryst.

Devon collected his scattered wits. Remembered donning the red
tunic with the bronze bosses, not the gold. That was good. Bronze was hard.
Gold was soft.

He
couldn?t feel the coronet on his head, but he was sure it was there. The
coronet was a band of gold so thin Devon
never felt it anymore, like the fine rings he always wore. He made fists to
make sure his rings were on. His hair was thick, nearly black. A slight
curl kept it off his shoulders. His eyes were midnight black, his lashes so
thick he never lined his eyes with kohl.

He was
well-built and tall?not tall next to Xan, but Devon was tall.

Devon turned languidly to his regent, ignoring Xan?s
question, and talked past the gladiator as if Xan
were furniture. Devon was relieved to hear
his own voice come out steady and rather cold. ?Marcus, do you really mean
to place a barbarian among my guards??

Devon?s advisor and sometime regent, General Marcus, was an old
veteran of many campaigns. Marcus had fought the barbarians alongside Devon?s father. A hatchet gash cratered one side of
Marcus? face from a long-ago campaign. Devon
loved and trusted Marcus like he?d loved his father.

Lean,
very lean, Marcus was all muscle and bone. Marcus? skin appeared to be stretched
over his skull-like face. His bold, craggy face was much-scarred. His eyes
were black as Devon?s, but Marcus? eyes
were small and canny, with no lashes left to speak of. What was left of the
hair on Marcus? head was a scatter of dark strands on the shiny dome of his
head.

Marcus
said, ?Ma dahn, this is the champion
gladiator, Xandaras.?

In
front of others, Marcus called his Sovereign respectfully ma dahn?my
liege?in the high speech. In private, Marcus called him Devon. Sometimes Marcus slipped and called him Son. Devon didn?t mind.

Marcus
had lost his own son in the war. Devon had
lost his father.

?I do recognize him, Marcus,? Devon said dryly. ?Is this wise??

?I
think it?s brilliant,? said Marcus, grinning, his sparse eyebrows arched
high.

?To
take a barbarian as my personal guard on a journey into the land of
barbarians?? Devon asked. Marcus could not
be serious.

The
barbarian, for his part, said nothing in his own defense. Xan did not appear to mind Devon
and Marcus ignoring his question and discussing his merits across him as
they would a slave on the auction block.

Normally
it would be Marcus who accompanied the Sovereign on his journeys into
unsettled lands as his first guardsman. This time, Devon
needed Marcus to stay behind as his regent. Alas, there were not two Marcuses. So Devon had
charged Marcus with selecting a suitable replacement for himself to serve
as first guardsman.

Marcus
brought Devon here to approve his choice.

Marcus
had chosen Xan.

Devon asked lightly, ?Do you want me dead, Marcus??

Merry
lines crinkled the taut skin at the sides of Marcus?s beady dark eyes. ?Devon, I promised your father I would keep you
un-dead for as long as I remain so. You?ve seen this man in combat. This is
what I want at your side in the wild lands. As much as I have the power to
insist, I insist you take him. Ma dahn.?

Devon made a friendly fist and tapped Marcus?s hard, hard shoulder.
?I ought to throw you into the ring with that thing.?

Xan, that
thing, gave no
reaction. But Marcus drew himself up as straight as his battle-contorted
frame would allow. Marcus had survived wounds that would have killed lesser
men. The wounds hadn?t killed Marcus, but they left him crooked. ?You
assume I would come out the worse in combat with your gladiator?? Marcus
asked, insulted.

Devon allowed, ?I think you would last longer than his other
opponents.?

?Oh, thank
you for that faith, ma dahn,? said Marcus sardonically, then blithely admitted, ?So
do I. Take him.?

Take
him?

The
words had been spoken in innocence, but they echoed inside Devon?s head all wrong.

Take
him? Oh no. Take me.

The
very notion of the gladiator taking Devon
dizzied him. And Devon was only half aware
that Marcus was still talking, ?You are going into the wild lands. And I
can?t be with you. I?m trying to defend you the best I know how. It?s your
choice if you refuse him, but he is the best there is and ma dahn should have him.?

Oh
I should, but that can?t ever happen.

Devon doubted a man like Xan had any use
for other men. And a man in Devon?s
position had no business submitting to other men. This was all wrong.

Devon should refuse the choice. He should dismiss the gladiator
right now. He could not even think straight around him.

Yet he
found he could not turn Xan away. He would sooner
cut out his own fourth rib. Xan was here. And now
that Xan was here, Devon
feared he couldn?t breathe if Xan went away.

Marcus
said, ?He knows the tongue, ma dahn.?

Devon was hard put not to sputter at Marcus? choice of words. Devon?s thoughts were taking every statement south.
Every word took on the colors of sex.

Devon just bet Xan knew the tongue.

Marcus
continued, ?It would be a good thing to have a native speaker going into
hostile territory.?

?Enough!
Enough!? Devon surrendered. ?I shall take
him. I shall abide.?

He tried
to sound reluctant.