Page 27 of Star Bringer
Ian
I can feel the princess’s eyes on me again, but I don’t bother to look. There’s nothing there but trouble, and I’ve got more than enough of that in my life right now.
Yeah, we escaped the fiery pit of doom that was theCaelestis, but theReformeris going down with it. And with it our best—and possibly last—chance to find Milla.
My hand curls into a fist of its own volition, and I force myself to uncurl my fingers one by one. It’s hard, though, when all I want to do is punch something. We were so fucking close, right fucking there. Right up until the princess showed up and everything went straight to shit.
Maybe it’s unfair of me to blame her for this disaster, but I don’t give a fuck. Those explosions weren’t accidents—they were murder attempts at worst, sabotage at best. And while there were a lot of diplomats on board theCaelestis, common sense tells me all that force was meant for the pretty, pretty princess over there.
Having spent the better half of the last hour with her myself, I can’t say I blame whoever tried to blow her up. I just wish to shit they’d done it after Max and I made it onto that prison ship and got the hell out of there. If they had, we might be halfway to Milla by now instead of flying this piece of shit to who the fuck knows where and hoping we don’t die.
It’s a clusterfuck, all right, and one I’m more than happy to lay at the princess’s door.
Even before she jumps to her feet and claps her hands. Not surprisingly, nobody takes the slightest bit of notice of her except me. I’m not about to give her the satisfaction of knowing I’m looking at her, but I do turn my head a little so I can watch her out of half-closed eyes. And I’ve got to say, at least in the looks department, she’s a far cry from the all-decked-out ambassadors who came aboard theCaelestisa couple hours ago.
She looks bedraggled, for lack of a better word, in her cut-off dress and bare feet. Strands of all that dark-red hair of hers have come loose from the elaborate style she started the visit with, and her makeup has long since worn off. Plus, she’s got a streak of grime running down her left cheek that would be laughable on anyone else.
But strangely, despite the mess, she still looks like a princess. There’s an innate sense of…confidence about her that no amount of dishevelment can hide, like she just has to open that lush little mouth and we’ll all fall to our knees and follow whatever commands she issues.
Fuck that.
It’s going to be amusing to watch her try, though.
Sure enough, a frown flickers across her face when no one so much as looks at her, but it’s quickly replaced by a smile. Like a mask has fallen over her features—which immediately ups my already high level of suspicion. Experience has taught me that people who can hide their emotions like that usually have a lot more to hide, none of it good. Plus, it’s just really fucking creepy.
“Excuse me, everyone,” she says in that cut-glass accent of hers. “Could I have your attention for a moment, please?”
Still not much of a response.
Max and Gage are talking about something—their voices are low, so I can’t hear what they’re saying, but judging by the look on Max’s face, it’s about Milla. I get that he’s worried about her—I’m going out of my fucking mind trying to figure out what to do now—but I’m not thrilled with the fact that he’s confiding in Gage. We may still need him to find Milla, but we can’t trust the guy. He’s the most mercenary person I’ve ever come across, and I’ve come across a few. He betrayed his own people to us for a payout—and not even a big one. While it was useful for us, my motto is if he’ll betray one person, there’s a good chance he’d betray a lot of others. Hell, right now, he’s probably working out exactly how he can make a few more planeta credits out of this whole fuck-up.
“I said, can I have your attention.”
No “please” this time, and her voice has gotten louder. Sounds to me like the princess is a little put out, and I sort of expect her to start stamping her feet at any moment. Her bare feet.
I barely resist the urge to laugh.
From her spot near the console, Beckett turns around, a slight smile on her face as she looks at the princess. But it’s not a nice smile, and it doesn’t reach those cold yellow eyes of hers.
She may have been a prisoner, but there’s a good chance she could be completely innocent. While she doesn’t look innocent, I know that along with political prisoners, some of the “experimental subjects” on theCaelestiswere bought from the raiders. The raiders are illegal, at least officially, but as far as I can tell, they move around the system unhampered. I’m guessing they serve a useful purpose doing anything that the Ruling Families or the Corporation want done but don’t want to be seen doing themselves.
Anyway, a lot of the prisoners have committed no crimes, have done nothing at all other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I should know. That was Milla, Max, and me ten years ago. Eventually we got away, but not everyone is so lucky.
And now Milla is a prisoner again.
But we will get her back. Anything else is unacceptable. We just need a new plan—one that doesn’t involve Princess Stick-Up-Her-Ass calling all the shots. Or any shots, for that matter.
But the longer I sit here, the itchier this uniform gets. I hate the damn thing anyway—not only is it made of the worst material, it’s also a mark of subservience to a regime I despise. It’s long past time I got rid of it.
I do a quick scan of the panel on the arm of my chair. There’s nothing buzzing or flashing, so I presume everything is working as it should. I get to my feet and grab my bag from the floor, considering changing in here, but I don’t want my princess to get too excited—or to give the little girl in white a heart attack—so I head for the exit.
“Hey, I was talking!” the princess exclaims as I walk right by her into the corridor. “Where are you—”
The door slides closed, cutting her off mid-word—which isn’t satisfying at all.
Now that I’m alone, I quickly strip off my weapons and uniform. I pull my own clothes out of the bag and am dressed again in minutes. I slip the knife into the sheath at the small of my back, another into my left boot, one under my jacket, and then strap the laser pistol back around my waist and tie it at my thigh.
I feel better once I’m in my own clothes. More like myself.
