Free To The Princess Bound by Sara King Page A

Mountains.  We dig in the dirt for a living.  Our ancestors were the original crew of the original colony ship who landed here and claimed this world as our own.  Five hundred years ago, our charter established this as a free world, ruled by free men.  And, until the Imperium showed up on Mercy’s doorstep forty years ago, our lives were very good.  Ever since, it’s been nothing but hell, anguish, starvation, and brutality.”  He paused, allowing some of his anger to show in his eyes.  “So if you’re asking if I give a crap whether you’re an Imperium princess or a highly poisonous frog, not really.  Either one could kill me.  I’d actually prefer the frog, though, because the frog would have the decency to do it quickly.”
    For a long moment, the princess simply stared at him, fury billowing around her.  Then, in a rush, her face darkened and she raised the golden statue, aiming at his face.
    Spoiled brat, Dragomir thought, furious.  He refused to look away.

 
    Victory hesitated, paused mid-swing by the look in his eyes.  He was angry with her.  At first, she was flabbergasted.  How dare he?  She was a princess and he was her slave and she could do what she wanted to him!
    Regardless of what he thought, she owned him.  Legally.  The Praetorian had delivered his papers the moment his brother had purchased him from the stables.
    Then it clicked.  She frowned, slowly lowering her weapon.  “My brother didn’t buy you from the stables?”
    “No,” the man said, his eyes flashing anger.  “He took me from my home five days ago.  Personally.”
    “That can’t be right,” Victory said.  “He doesn’t waste his time capturing slaves.”
    “Funny, isn’t it?”  He didn’t look like he was amused.
    She narrowed her eyes.  “You must not have paid your taxes.”
    “No one in that village has paid their taxes,” Dragomir growled.  “The only places on this entire planet that pay your ‘taxes’ are the big cities along the ocean, and half of those are relocated Imperials, anyway.”
    “Only criminals don’t pay their taxes,” Victory said, though she found herself a little taken aback by his growing anger and her words weren’t as strong as they could have been.
    “Really?” Dragomir demanded, sitting up.  “And when was the last time you paid taxes, Princess?  Do you even know what the levy was for this year?”
    Sitting up like that, the sheet started to slide down his body, revealing his powerful shoulders and chest.  Victory cried out and scooted backwards, falling off her side of the bed.
    “It was sixty percent,” Dragomir snarled.  “Sixty percent of anything grown, produced, or harvested was to be transported—at taxee’s expense—to a collection station.  The nearest collection station is four hundred miles away, through mountainous terrain, and maybe one in fifty families owns a skimmer.”
    Victoria frowned at the absurd number.  Sixty percent can’t be right…
    “I know what you’re thinking,” Dragomir said.  “That number sounds too high, right?  It’s probably because you’ve never overseen any collections, or checked any books.  It’s because it’s sixty percent for natives, only twelve percent for Imperials.”  His eyes narrowed.  “It’s for your father to have an excuse to take slaves, for ‘not paying taxes.’”
    “Slaves are our biggest cash-flow, Victoria, dear,” her father had told her when she was a very small child.  “This barren rock has stone and slaves, and slaves are a hundred times more valuable than stone.  Which do you think we export?”
    “Slaves, Daddy,” had been her excited reply.
    He’d ruffled her hair.  “That’s right.  We just need to make sure our exports never exceed our resources’ ability to replenish themselves.”
    Victory felt sick.  “You’re lying.”
    “Go look it up,” Dragomir growled.  “If they’ll even let you look at the records.”
    Victory straightened.