Marius had already delivered a flimsy excuse for a nightdress to her quarters, along with a note explaining how she should present herself to him. Numbly, she changed into the outfit before wrapping herself in a robe and making her way to the royal suite. Two guards flanked the entrance. One of them opened the door for her while muttering something to his partner that made the other man laugh. She didn’t hear the remark, or particularly care. As the door shut behind her, she scanned past the oversize bed and the lavish wood furnishings to the balcony at the far end of the room—a possible exit point if things got out of hand.
On bare feet, she padded to the balcony doors and opened them a crack, peeking outside as the cool night breeze tickled her cheeks. The drop from the second-story suite didn’t seem too far, especially with a thick carpet of grass to cushion her fall. With that in mind, she backed away and prepared for her husband’s arrival.
She shed her robe and knelt on the cold tile at the foot of his bed, just as he’d ordered her to do. She didn’t know how long he kept her waiting there, but by the time she heard his voice in the hallway, she’d lost some of the feeling in her knees.
The bedroom door opened and shut again. Soft footsteps clicked across the floor, soon stopping to the left of her, where the rustle of fabric punctuated the silence. When she glanced to the side, she saw Marius shrug out of his suit jacket and toss it onto a nearby ottoman. Under the glow of a single moonbeam, he watched her the way a spider might regard a ladybug caught in its web, his lips curving up as he unknotted his tie and flicked open the buttons of his shirt. After peeling it off, he stood over her wearing a linen undershirt and trousers—much more than the lacy fabric that barely covered her thighs. It was another way of flaunting his power.
“Stand up,” he commanded.
She obeyed, clasping both hands behind her back.
He took his time as he inspected her, pacing while his grin widened. “I didn’t think I had any use for you, Cassy, but maybe I was wrong. You seem to have found the quickest way to my heart.”
When he touched the strap at her shoulder and began to push it down, Cassia curled her fingers around the slim device she had tucked beneath her thong. In a smooth motion she’d rehearsed a hundred times in her mind, she whirled behind him and hooked an arm around his neck. Less than a heartbeat later, she stood with one hand clasped over his mouth and the other holding a laser blade to his throat.
His pulse throbbed against her fingertips as he froze in place, bent backward and breathing hard through his nose. He didn’t move or speak, and to keep it that way, Cassia made sure he knew she wasn’t the delicate princess he remembered. Starting with his undershirt collar, she dragged the laser blade in a slow trail leading to his navel. The fabric sizzled as it flayed apart, filling the air with the stench of burnt linen and exposing the famed contours of his abdominal muscles.
“I do know the quickest way to your heart,” she murmured in his ear. “It’s through your chest with this laser blade. And unless you’d like a demonstration, you’re going to keep that pretty mouth shut. Nod if you understand.”
His chin dipped.
“Good,” she said. “We’re going to the washroom, nice and slow.” She tapped the blade against his jaw, barely nicking him. “Don’t move too fast, or you’ll slit your own throat.”
Together they shuffled toward the adjoining bathroom. Her intention was to knock him unconscious, then scale down the balcony and steal a shuttle in hopes of returning before he woke up. With any luck, she might be able to drag his body into the craft and hold him hostage until he surrendered his missiles.
She was halfway to her destination when a tall, shadowy figure pushed open the balcony doors and nearly gave her a heart attack. But then the man turned his face to the moonlight, illuminating a familiar crooked nose, and Cassia released a breath.
“It’s about damned time,” she hissed, lowering her laser blade as General Jordan raised his pistol at Marius.
Jordan remained as stoic as ever. “There were a few complications. Besides, I figured you wouldn’t be able to get him alone until now.” When Cassia stepped out from behind Marius, the general caught a glimpse of her flimsy nightdress and did a double take. At once, he looked away, shifting his gaze all over the room as if torn between averting his eyes and keeping the prisoner within sight.
Cassia strode to the bed to retrieve her robe. “I hope you brought some friends this time.”
Jordan cleared his throat. “Our ride will be here soon.”
“Let’s make a quiet exit.” She pulled the lapels tightly over her chest and knotted the belt tie. “I don’t want anyone to notice he’s gone until morning.”
Marius finally spoke then, looking ridiculous with his palms raised and the edges of his scorched shirt flapping in the breeze from the balcony—quite the contrast from the king who’d made her kneel on the floor a few minutes earlier. “Where are you taking me?”
Cassia approached him in slow steps, warning him with her gaze that she wouldn’t sink to her knees again, not for him or any man. “We’re going someplace where no one can hear you scream. If you value your body parts, you’re going to tell me where your missiles are, and who’s been funding this war.” She stood close enough to smell the fear that mingled with his sweet cologne. She inhaled the scent, savoring it for a moment, before she added, “And you will address me as ‘Your Royal Colonial Highness.’ If you call me Cassy again, it’ll be the last word you ever speak.”
Cassia awoke to total darkness, gasping and throwing punches until she sobered up enough to realize she wasn’t paralyzed on the floor of the Daeva ship while Marius slid down the shoulder straps of her nightdress.
It was only a dream.
Instant relief washed over her, but even as she sank back against her pillow, she tapped the security link on her bedside table and waited for the officer on duty to answer.
“Status report,” she told him.
“Everything’s quiet, Your Highness.”
“And the prisoner?”
“Asleep in his cell.”
“Thank you. Carry on.”
She blew out a long breath and reminded herself that no one could hurt her. Marius was behind bars, and the Daeva were probably in the next quadrant by now. As for her nightmares, they were a normal reaction to stress—General Jordan had told her so, and he knew a thing or two about posttraumatic stress disorders.
He’d recognized the signs a couple of days ago, the morning after her escape, when he’d tapped her on the shoulder and she’d jumped halfway out of her skin. He’d said that dealing with trauma was like jumping from a roof: terrifying as the descent may be, the fall only hurt when it was over. Now that she’d slowed down, safe and secure inside the Rose palace, it was natural to feel the impact of her kidnapping.
And she did.
In addition to nightmares, noises and scents bothered her, too. The sound of rustling plant stalks took her back to the soybean fields on Vega. The smell of roasted beef reminded her of the Durango palace, which was unfortunate because she’d seized every head of Durango cattle to feed her people, and now beef was everywhere.
She dealt with the changes the only way she knew how—by staying busy, a strategy made easy by Eturia’s never-ending list of crises. In fact, she should probably get out of bed. The sun hadn’t risen, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.
She dressed in simple clothes and made her way down two flights of stairs to the basement tunnel leading to the security building, where the command center and the holding cells for high-profile prisoners were located. At this early hour, the station was quiet with only a skeleton crew of guards on duty. Clearly exhausted, her men suppressed yawns as she walked by. When she pushed open the door to the communication room, the attendant jerked upright in his chair, having nodded off.
“Your Majesty…” he stammered. “I’m—”
“It’s all right.” She lifted a palm to halt his apology. She envied sleep t
oo much to fault him for it. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Of course, Highness.”
“Find a way to send a message to this ship.” She wrote down the Banshee’s radio frequency and handed it to him. Her first act after imprisoning Marius had been to block all interplanetary transmissions so the Durango army couldn’t contact his financial backer for help. It had worked, but it’d also left her unable to tell her friends that she was safe, or to ask if Renny was all right. “You’ll need to pilot a shuttle beyond the shield to do it, but I don’t know how far.”
“At least a day’s ride, Majesty.”
“Then make it a priority.” She noticed the drowsiness in his eyes and added, “Bring someone with you to take first shift. I don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She left him to his work and strode to the data screen at the other end of the room, where she accessed the judicial operations network and selected the file of arrests made in the last twenty-four hours. During the war, the military had used all of its resources defending the borders, which left no one to enforce the law. Now gangs roamed the city, looting businesses and terrorizing the weak. Some of the rebels had taken up arms to police the streets, but while their efforts had helped, she couldn’t allow them to continue. Vigilante justice was never a good idea, and besides, she wanted the rebels disarmed. So for those reasons, she’d orchestrated a mass sting operation, using new imports as bait to lure in the gangs and catch them in the act.
She grinned at the lengthy list of arrests. The sting had worked.
A set of booted footsteps entered the room, bearing an exaggerated heaviness that told her they belonged to Jordan. He’d been careful to make his presence known so as not to startle her from behind. Still facing the screen, she asked him, “Why are you up so early?”
“Same as you.” When he joined her, one corner of his lips twitched up. “Too excited for troop inspections to sleep.”
“Why, General Jordan,” she said, feigning shock. “Was that a smile—and a joke?”
He made a show of rubbing his freshly shaven face. “Involuntary muscle spasm. I never joke about troop inspections.”
“Of course you don’t.” Her grin widened at the gleam in his eyes. He seemed a little lighter today, and she enjoyed this side of him. “Mind if I join you? It sounds thrilling.”
By way of answer, he swept a hand toward the compound’s military wing, and together they made their way to the barracks for morning assembly. As they walked along the network of hallways, she broached the topic of the rebellion.
“This isn’t going to win me any popularity contests, but I want weapons out of civilian hands.” Her colony was in a delicate place, and it wouldn’t take much to send them backsliding into chaos. “I don’t have the resources to fight my own people.”
“You won’t hear any arguments from me,” Jordan said. “Last month, I lost eleven men to friendly fire during a special op gone sideways. We were trying to cross the border in the Durango uniforms I stole.”
“And the rebels thought you were the enemy?”
“Idiots tore right through us. I’m done letting civilians play soldier.”
“Did the military keep a record of the arms they issued to volunteers?”
Jordan nodded. “Collecting them won’t be easy, though. A lot of munitions were reported lost or stolen during the war. Whether they really were stolen is impossible to prove. More likely they’re being stashed in basements or under beds.”
“Then we’ll conduct a search if we have to. Let’s hold a weapons collection in the city market. Make it known that every colonist who volunteered for duty will be held accountable for the arms they were issued.”
“I’ll set it up today.”
“And I’d like to thank the colonists for their service,” she added. “Maybe offer some extra rations when they turn in their weapons. I don’t want them to think I’m ungrateful. They hate me enough as it is.”
Jordan fell silent—conspicuously so.
“What?” she prompted.
“Nothing. It’s not my place to question you.”
“But you already are. You’re just not vocalizing it.”
“Are you asking for my opinion?”
She nudged his arm. “As your queen, I demand it.”
“All right, so the colonists dislike you,” he told her. “So what? The rebels want a republic because they think the monarchs are and weak and corrupt—your parents proved that when they left. But now everyone’s talking about how you turned the war on its ear with nothing but a laser blade. Your strength is your greatest asset. Hold on to that.”
“You think extra rations will make me look weak?”
“I think the people aren’t owed anything for doing what’s required of them. If their queen orders them to turn in their weapons, they should obey.” He went quiet again, as if hesitating to say something more, then added in a softer tone, “I know you think you’re responsible for this war, but you’re not. Don’t let guilt cloud your vision.”
His words resonated with her. For the last two years, she had carried around so much guilt and shame that it trailed her like a second shadow. “I’ll think about it. Thank you for being honest with me.”
“Thank you for listening.”
When they arrived at the barracks and strode onto the lawn, the troops had already assembled for inspection: endless rows of soldiers standing at attention in the glow of the rising sun. Jordan’s officers strode among the men, occasionally straightening a sleeve or smoothing a wrinkled lapel. Their scrutiny brought a smile to Cassia’s lips because it reflected how far they’d come. Less than a week ago, these men had been too focused on survival to worry about polishing their boots.
Jordan addressed the troops after the inspection, both praising them for outlasting the enemy and encouraging them to stay vigilant. “The war isn’t over,” he bellowed in the commanding voice of a man twice his age. “Our queen has captured the Durango king along with his missiles, and bought us a much-needed cease-fire. But his supporters won’t give up so easily. Right now they’re out there conspiring against us, and we must not allow them an inch. Look at what we’ve accomplished in such a short time: order is restored, your families are fed—even the market is up and running again.”
As Cassia listened to him describe the progress they’d made, she felt a fierce swelling of pride. She had always wondered if she would make a good queen, and now she knew. Her only wish was that her parents could see her now, so they could know it, too. After all the times they’d criticized her lack of commitment to the throne, she was the one rebuilding Eturia while they cowered on another planet. On second thought, she was glad they weren’t here. She was stronger without them tearing her down.
“Don’t let the enemy take that away from us,” Jordan concluded, and then he dismissed the troops for duty.
“Very inspiring,” Cassia told him as they strode back to the command center. “You’re a natural.”
“I only told them the truth.”
“But the delivery makes a difference.” She knew firsthand. Maybe if her parents had spent more time telling her what she’d done right instead of magnifying each one of her mistakes, she wouldn’t have doubted herself for so long. “Motivating people is a skill.”
Jordan drew a breath to respond but released a groan instead, prompting Cassia to follow his gaze to the other end of the hallway. Then she groaned, too. Her parents’ chief advisor, Councilor Markham, charged toward her in hurried steps that caused his trousers to swish between his thighs.
She forced a smile, reminding herself that Markham was a gifted political strategist. She only disliked him because he’d facilitated her match with Marius. That wasn’t his fault.
“There you are,” Markham said, his gray hair tousled by exertion. “I’ve been all over the palace looking for you.” He glanced at the electronic button tacked to her tunic. “Is your link turned on?”
She sensed Jordan stiffen in offense. He had his own issues with Markham, mostly stemming from the power struggle between the military and the council of advisors after her parents had left. “Remember who you’re talking to,” Jordan warned.
Markham narrowed his eyes as if to argue, but he must have thought better of it. “My apologies, Your Highness. I meant no disrespect.”
“It’s all right,” she said while activating her link. In truth, she’d forgotten to turn it on. “What do we need to discuss?”
“An offer of marriage.”
Jordan’s brows jumped in perfect time with hers. “Has it escaped your notice that the queen already has a husband?”
“And I don’t even want him,” she added. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Markham held both palms forward. “Please let me explain. I know it may seem premature, but these discussions are critical to the colony. You can’t imprison Marius forever. At some point, you’ll have to prosecute him for his crimes against the charter, otherwise you’ll be in violation of the law.”
“That’s true,” she conceded. “And when the time comes, I’ll divorce him and consider a new match.”
“That time is now, Majesty. The fallen kingdoms want their titles restored.”
“Well, of course they do,” Jordan said. “But it’s too late. They officially relinquished their holdings to Marius in accordance with the law.”
Markham held up an index finger. “Under duress.”
“All wartime choices are made under duress,” Cassia argued. “My rule is perfectly legal. I’m not giving Eturia back to the same people who allowed it to be destroyed. The old system was broken. It’s time for a change.”
That piqued Jordan’s interest. “What kind of change?”