Chain of Kisses Read Online Free PDF Page B

anxiety, as Arles came into the back of the craft to collect my leash. “Come, Gisel.” His grin looked twisted. “Our public awaits.”
    “Lovely.” I rose to follow him toward the airlock. He glanced back at me just before he opened it, and I thought I saw a flash of guilt in his green eyes. Then he straightened his shoulders, turned around, and strode down the gangplank, my leash wrapped around his fist.
    I followed, three paces behind on the end of the thin chain, out into the glare of the Torrean sun and the gaze of the media.
    The Palace of Valhalla spread before us, familiar to me from countless childhood visits -- a massive structure built of silicaslate blocks that glittered in the afternoon sunlight. The walls appeared white at first glance, but with every step you took, a rainbow of iridescent color rolled across them. Between the silicaslate and the palace’s astrogothic architecture -- all tall, arched windows and soaring spires -- Valhalla looked as mythic as its namesake.
    Emperor Ragnar strode down the garden’s winding silicaslate path, a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in silver-trimmed black velvet, his shoulder-length blue hair braided with gemstones that clicked as he walked.
    “Father!” Arles walked into his arms, and the two men thumped each other’s backs as they hugged in joyous welcome. Unlike my mother, Ragnar had never seen the need for emotionless royal reserve.
    I winced as I saw a cloud of tiny devices fly past the royals, headed right for me. Though no bigger than a pea, each cambot was equipped with powerful visual and auditory sensors, as well as the artificial intelligence to use them. The cameras transmitted the vid they shot to their respective news agencies, which would edit the footage, package it with appropriate arch commentary, and beam it out to the ten worlds of the Torrean empire.
    The cambots darted around me like a swarm of bees, each projecting the three-dimensional logo of its home newsie, each shooting vid of me in my jeweled chains. I resisted the urge to swat.
    A princess of Swanhilde turned sex-thrall. My mother would have my head on a pike.
    At least Arles had allowed me to wear something a bit more modest: a white gown that bared my arms before skimming the length of my body to flow around my sandaled feet. I’d piled my long, red hair atop my head and bound it there with fine gold chains and emerald gemstones to match my manacles. Maybe the newsies would mistake my bonds for a fashion statement.
    Probably not.
    I tried to ignore the flitting cameras as I waited a discreet distance from Ragnar and Arles, now deep in low-voiced discussion.
    Just beyond them stood the usual gorgeous herd of courtiers dressed in rainbow shades of shimmersilk and velvet. They stared at me with their heads together, gossiping for all they were worth. I ignored them too, until a familiar figure emerged from the midst of the crowd.
    I hid a wince.
    My sister wore a haut couture gown in metallic gold that drew the eye to her small, lushly curved body. Isa looked so much like our mother, with her flaming red hair and delicate, Elfin features that I had to look twice to make sure it wasn’t Queen Zerelda slinking toward me like a cat.
    But no, Mother didn’t slink.
    “Well met, Gisel.” Isa stopped before me, hands on hips, voice just loud enough to ensure that the cambots began to orbit her as well. “It has been too many years since you ran away.”
    I lifted a brow, keeping my expression cool, almost bored. “You mean since you manipulated me into running. What exactly was the point of that, Isa?”
    She raised her chin and looked down her nose at me -- quite a trick, considering I’m a head taller. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    I smiled faintly. “Of course you don’t.”
    Isa glowered, a soft petulance in the line of her mouth I’d never noticed when I was her adoring little sister. Then a sudden glint of sadistic anticipation flashed in her eyes. I