wore very much. Their “uniform” was the same garment the Laltanan soldiers wore, called a teruga, a short, apron-like scrap of material that barely covered their groins in front and were bare in the back. Their terugas were in shades of blue and green, the colors of the Axis flag, or at least they started out that way. Most of the prisoners were given new ones to wear when theirs started looking faded or ragged, but Rasc’s teruga had been overlooked. Kylon had little doubt the oversight had been deliberate.
His teruga had been washed out by the sun and was so threadbare and torn it was practically a see-through scrap of material, barely reaching his upper thighs. In fact, the first time Kylon had actually been in the same room with Centarlo, Rasc had been requesting a replacement.
Kylon had been in his friend Colonel Kroman’s office, killing time before the midday meal. Kroman was one of the toughest officers on prisoners, and Centarlo had the misfortune of being under his command, though up until that moment, Kylon had forgotten Kroman was in charge of the palace prisoners. A knock had come on the colonel’s door, and he’d called out to whoever it was to come in. The door had opened to reveal Centarlo, his dark hair pulled up into the long, braided hairstyle favored by the Laltanans.
Centarlo’s boots were dusty and had seen better days. He was wearing his ragged little teruga and looked worn out, hot, and tired. Centarlo’s bright, avid gaze took in the room at a glance before he quickly lowered his eyes, pushed out a foot in front of him, and gave them a low, courtly bow. It was hard to make a bow look insolent, but somehow Centarlo managed it.
Kylon had felt a sharp lurch somewhere in the region of the pit of his stomach at the sight of the man, and his heart had begun beating way too fast. He resented this instant attraction he felt toward the gorgeous, arrogant little human, and he didn’t like to admit it, even to himself. Centarlo was, after all, an unrepentant criminal who, though he hadn’t personally planned the raid on the Tygerian cruiser KR-24, had arranged for the purchase of Prince Larz for Tibiel, knowing full well that he was a royal prince. And he’d known he was only sixteen cycles old when they made him a slave.
He had callously left the ship afterward, too, or so the rumor went, leaving the other young Tygerian boys in cages to await their various fates. When Kylon first heard that, his opinion was that Centarlo’s sentence of ten cycles of hard labor hadn’t been nearly harsh enough. An idea that was shared by his friend, Colonel Kroman. Kroman was always especially harsh with the prisoners, though, even considering Tygerian soldiers had never been known for their sympathetic treatment of incarcerated felons.
“Excuse me, Colonel,” Centarlo drawled, staring brazenly at them. “I need a new teruga. The sergeant said I needed to ask you about it.”
Kroman looked him up and down and then sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers.
With sarcasm dripping from every word, Kroman said, “Why? What’s the problem with the one you’re wearing? Getting particular? That one looks perfectly serviceable to me.”
Rasc permitted himself one quick, chilling look before he lowered his gaze and then bowed again—demanded of him whenever he entered or left a Tygerian’s presence. “Yes, Colonel Kroman, sir,” he replied, his tone overly obsequious—mockingly so. He turned to leave his office, but Kroman called him back.
“Wait a moment, Centarlo.”
Rasc hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, let out a huff of breath, and then turned. “Yes?”
“I see that my marks on your back and ass are beginning to fade. Either you’ve turned over a new leaf and have decided to become a model prisoner—which I highly doubt—or I’ve just become so used to your insubordination that I no longer notice it as keenly. Which is it Centarlo? Have I been remiss in my duties? Is it time for another beating?”
Rasc seemed to consider his words carefully, though Kylon thought he was mentally consigning Kroman to one of the fiery pits of the four hells. “Do you really need my input?” He glanced over at Kylon. “Perhaps you can find another officer to explain to you what your duties are.”
Kroman flushed and stood up, stalking over to him. “You brazen, insubordinate bastard. I’ll be watching you extra closely for the next several days. Your