She was relieved he’d decided he didn’t care to breed her!

Because she sure as hell didn’t want to be bred by him!

She was pretty sure he couldn’t breed her even though one of the requirements of being a colonist was to dispense with birth control for the first couple of years and limit the use of it thereafter—What was the use in building a colony, after all, if they had no progeny to leave it to after them? They weren’t the same species even if there didn’t appear to be much difference physically and that made crossbreeding an unlikely possibility.

She couldn’t be certain, though, could she? Unlikely didn’t mean it was impossible.

Could she really afford to ignore that and just keep hoping for the best?

But what else could she do?

She wasn’t on the same planet as the other colonists! It wasn’t as if all she had to do was sneak out and run to the colony and bolt the damned door!

If she could get clean away, escape and actually reach the colony, even if he came after her—and she couldn’t see that she was valuable enough to him for him to do that—she’d be safe because she was sure they didn’t have the technology to breach the colony’s security features.

The question was, was there any possibility in hell that she could pull that off?

Noelle was so deep in thought that when Drak stopped her and opened a door panel, pulling her through, she was completely disoriented when she discovered it wasn’t the same door they’d gone through when they’d headed down.

She didn’t recognize anything about the portion of the castle she saw when they emerged.

But maybe it was just the different perspective?

She realized almost as soon as he turned down a narrow corridor that it wasn’t her viewpoint that was at fault. They hadn’t emerged from the same door they’d used when they’d gone down. They weren’t even on the same floor.

Apparently, she’d missed a landing.

Drak escorted her to a door that led directly into the great hall. A meal seemed to be in full swing—or possibly a party. It was hard to say. The men seemed to have been partying almost non-stop since they’d returned from the raid.

She’d assumed that from the level of noise that filtered up to the room where she’d been staying but maybe they were always that noisy? After all there were a lot of people—the room was huge but still full enough to be crowded.

Drak led her to the same area where she’d been taken before—a seat before the enormous fireplace that was used to sort of heat the room.

She actually thought the people generated as much or more of the heat.

This time, however, there was a table set up.

Drak looked around when they reached the table. Spying a chair close at hand, he grabbed it and shoved it up to the table opposite his own chair.

The unfortunate man who’d been using the chair failed to notice Drak had taken his chair when he stood up. He sprawled on the floor when he made to return to the seat and everyone within view laughed uproariously.

Noelle had a hard time refraining from joining them, but she thought her own reaction was more from shock than actual amusement.

The man scrambled to his feet with a roar of fury and whirled to see who’d snatched his chair out from under him.

The expression on his face when he met Drak’s cool look was almost more comical than the fall. It instantly deflated his anger. “My lord!”

“Yes?” Drak responded coolly.

The man grinned a little sickly. “I beg your pardon.”

Drak nodded imperiously and moved to his own chair. “Send someone to fetch my dinner and my woman’s.”

The man blinked at him rapidly and finally nodded, turned, and staggered off.

Drak propped an arm on the table, supporting his chin with his fist as he watched the man’s progress. “I wonder if he will make it to the kitchen,” he muttered.

Apparently he was sober enough to realize he’d been given a task he was expected to complete. He appeared to be lost for a little while, but he finally managed to collar a server and sent the youth back in the direction he’d come from.

When Drak returned his attention to his companion, he discovered a look on her face as she surveyed the great hall that he could only interpret as revulsion.

Surprised and vaguely insulted, he turned to study the room himself, searching for what she’d seen that she found disgusting.

He didn’t see anything in particular and glanced toward Noelle again. She was studying the table top, her hands in her lap, but as he looked at her, she transferred her gaze to the floor and then the occupants of the room, flicking a glance at first one and then another.

Still somewhat insulted and confused, he focused on trying to see whatever it was that she was looking at and, slowly, his vision adjusted until he was seeing what he generally ignored.

Filth.

And, almost as if the expansion of his vision to see what he’d previously ignored enabled his other senses to expand, he began to notice the unpleasant smells that surrounded them—and felt his ears begin to vibrate from the excessive noise.

This, he realized, abruptly feeling as if he’d stepped out of his own body and become an observer rather than a participant, was what Noelle saw, heard, and smelled as an outsider.

He abruptly fully understood why she was repulsed.

And he was angry that she had the audacity to judge them!

Who was she to judge them!

An outsider! An alien being who clearly thought she was better than them!

He was still angry enough when the boy finally arrived with food and drink for him and his companion that he it took all he could do to refrain from knocking the boy flat when he discovered the tray used to bring his food looked as filthy as the floor!

Instead, after struggling with his temper for a few moments, he dismissed it. Lifting his mug, he drank deeply.

Noelle, he saw, hadn’t touched either the food or the drink.

Feeling his gaze, she glanced at him, reddened, and then began to pick carefully at the food.

Drak brooded over it for a while, still angry, wrestling with the urge to pick a fight so that he could tell her what he thought about her superior attitude.

He was still more than a little miffed at catching her virtually in the act of kissing his eldest son if it came to that—her lame explanation be damned!

He wasn’t in the habit, however, of allowing his temper to gain the upper hand. On the battlefield, it could mean a swift and ignominious death. Politically, a habit of allowing his temper to overrule good judgment could end up costing him his realm.

Instead, he focused on his food—ignoring the dirt as he generally did, although it was harder now that it had been brought to his attention. He was also careful to go easy on the brew in his mug and not drink enough to muddle his thinking.

The food and drink soothed his temper as he filled his empty belly and as his anger cooled, he studied his surroundings with a little less bias than before.

It was filthy. There was no getting around that or even excusing it on the grounds that it simply couldn’t be helped and therefore had to be accepted. They were crowded, but that just made it all the worse that no one made any attempt to clean up the mess they made. The servants were no better. Clearly, they only made the minimum effort to serve, bringing the food and drink when necessary and collecting the mugs, plates and utensils afterward but very little beyond that.

Nothing that was spilled on the floor was cleaned up beyond what the rodents, insects, and hunting maks took care of.

He could recall his father saying all creatures needed to eat.

And his mother, who’d provoked the comment by her complaints, pointing out that they didn’t have to feed underfoot. The scraps could be gathered in another place to feed them where the stench wouldn’t be so overwhelming and disgusting.