Under the Eye of God by David Gerrold Page B

species knew it and their alliance remained uneasy. The threat remained unspoken, but the thought of all that naked power coming to bear against the Vampire aristocracy continued to worry the highest councils of the Phaestoric Authority. No Vampire had yet conceived of a way to protect against that eventuality—except perhaps, the continued maintenance of the present state of mutual advantage. The two species would simply have to continue sharing the great overripe plum of the Regency.
    Beside the Dragon Lord stood Lord Drydel, the Prince-Consort. Drydel looked up suddenly and noticed d’Vashti’s speculative interest. He allowed himself an amused expression that could mean almost anything. d’Vashti returned the Prince’s glance with a delicate nod and an opaque smile; he held eye contact with the other man for a long violet moment, then deliberately, languidly, let his gaze slide sideways toward the ranks of pretty page boys. He wondered how many of them, Lord Drydel had seduced. Probably at least as many as d’Vashti himself had.
    Rumor had it that the Prince still maintained a remarkable private harem; a dangerous mistake, if true. If d’Vashti could only find a witness—or even just a soiled bedsheet; the most miniscule fragment of proof would suit his damaging purpose—and if he could, without revealing his participation in the matter , somehow maneuver the damning evidence of Drydel’s transgression into the Lady’s hands, it would certainly mean the end of this Prince’s reign. No Lady ever objected to private harems of lustrous boys; powerful leaders often needed outlets in which to sublimate their overwhelming mating urges, and the tradition of the personal harem had a history as old as the Phaestor—but the tradition did not extend to include the lusts of Noble Consorts, and any Lady would surely take offense at her selected partner bedding down these pubescent trifles instead of servicing her own desires. A Lady’s devouring passions must always take precedence.
    d’Vashti considered alternate possibilities. He still fancied his presumed opponent. He had once admired that whole swarm of rosy Phaestor boys—fat, naked, chubby, tasty hatchlings all—eventually fastening his attentions on the sharpest of the survivors, the youthful Drydel himself. This had happened long before the Lady’s intolerable selection, and although the male/male mating dance had never had the chance to come to passionate fruition, d’Vashti still keenly felt the hunger. He knew that Drydel felt it too; he had not mistaken Drydel’s frequent frank examinations, both before and since his coronation. But he knew that Drydel could just as easily assassinate him as take him to bed, depending on the politics of the moment. The dilemma that d’Vashti pondered troubled him deliciously: how to ascertain which of Drydel’s lusts held sway at any given moment?
    The idea of a dalliance with Drydel troubled him. What advantage might he gain from it? Even more disturbing, what advantage might Drydel gain? Certainly, he could not allow his own mentor, the noble Prefect Zarr Khallanin, to discover his lusts. Khallanin stood tall and pink and shining beside him, an example of elegance in power for all to see and admire. What a peculiar dilemma for the both of them, d’Vashti thought. What a remarkable moment in the game! Both he and Drydel stood pinned to the board by the power of their own desires as well as the power of their respective mentors, yet each wanted to trade one for the other—at least, d’Vashti perceived it that way. He wondered if he had made a mistaken assumption about the Prince-Consort and his intentions. He didn’t know. And he didn’t know how to safely find out. The risk remained too great.
    d’Vashti shook his head as if to clear it, and pushed all thoughts of consummation aside. He didn’t dare. Across the room, Lord