Chapter 9

The spacecraft feels more like home than the Roth palace ever did. Sure, it’s a Roth ship, and not a Federation one, but the thing is, we reverse engineered their ships to even make it into deep space in the first place.

Sure, my home didn’t have a huge alien weapon on the wall, but the rest of the ship couldn’t be more normal. Well, except how ostentatiously it’s outfitted. Everything inside is done up in the most luxurious finishes.

It’s foreign and familiar all at once, and the tinny scent of recycled air filling my lungs sends me right back to training. A ship’s a ship, after all.

Lyko’s watching me from the corner of his eye as he scrolls on his comms pad.

It’s been a few hours since we… had sex. Mated, I guess, and then had our little monarch moment on the balcony in the capital. Now we’re in deep space, in flight to the nearest Roth settlement for the first stop on our diplomatic tour. The rest of the Roth imperial guard fleet is out there, though, all around us as we speed through the endless dark of nothing.

Thankfully, we’re alone in this ship, because I don’t think I could take any other Roths breathing down my neck and staring at my ankle. I’m not sure how he swung it, because I certainly expected whatever servants he normally uses to be with us. Looking at me. Judging.

I already can’t stop looking enough for everyone.

This must be the alien equivalent of getting blackout drunk and getting a tattoo, then waking up the next morning and wondering what the fuck happened.

“You are very quiet,” Lyko finally comments, breaking the silence.

“The engine is really quiet,” I tell him.

He arches a dark eyebrow, that orange fire simmering in the dark of his eyes. “Roth construction. This ship is one of the best in the fleet.”

“Fit for a king,” I say, then laugh uncomfortably, smoothing the rich fabric of the dress someone else selected for me.

God. What am I doing? I pinch the bridge of my nose, unmoored.

I’m supposed to be a badass. I’m supposed to be wrapping him around my finger. Instead, I’m feeling more awkward and uncomfortable than I ever have before in my life.

How much of shy Piper was real? Did I pretend too long? Did she rub off on me?

I shake my head at myself.

“We should… get to know each other,” the Roth king says, that carefully calm expression still on his gray face.

I tilt my head, considering all the potential plays before me. A lock of hair slides over my forehead, and Lyko’s fingers twitch at his side.

“That’s a good idea,” I finally agree.

A slow smile softens the brutal planes of his face, and it makes him look younger.

“How old are you?” I ask. I only want to know because the more intel I get on him, the easier it will be to understand what makes him tick. And the easier it will be to get him to do what I want. Leverage. That’s what I need.

Feeling more confident, I relax back into the couch cushions in the largest sleeping chamber I’ve ever seen on a ship, meeting his smile with my own.

“I am considered young by the Roth.” The luxurious carpet underfoot dampens the sounds of his steps as he crosses over to me, sitting on the sumptuous divan across from mine.

The luxury aspect of queen life isn’t wasted on me. I will say that. A girl could get used to living like this.

“Thirty?” I guess.

His eyes widen, and a harsh laugh barks out of him. “Eighty-seven,” he answers. “Thirty would be preposterous.”

I blink. “Preposterous.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.” I raise one eyebrow, amused in spite of myself. It’s like he’s gotten underneath all my carefully constructed walls. Or like sex with him—mind-blowing, life-changing, paradigm-shattering sex—has put me at a distinct disadvantage.

Because I’m not the one wrapping him around my finger with it. My octogenarian alien husband did not need any help in that department. Whew. I resist the urge to fan my face.

Lyko stares at me. “What?”

“Twenty-nine.” A little laugh comes out of me at the look of pure astonishment on his face. “Not even thirty. Practically an infant.”

“Humans consider that age infantile?” He sounds completely disgusted, scrubbing a hand down his face.

I burst out laughing. “No. We’re considered full adults at eighteen.”

He fixes a serious look at me. “You have a hidden mean streak. Is that what you meant earlier?”

It would be stupid not to take this opportunity to wash away his misgivings. “Yes,” I tell him, my gaze dropping to the floor. I let my shoulders droop. “That’s what I meant. I’m not always kind.”

Not always doesn’t really cut it. More like rarely. Extremely rarely. I pick at the red silken fabric of the gown. It’s sumptuous and over-the-top and something I wouldn’t have picked for myself, but I need to just get used to letting them doll me up as a show of power and solidarity, I guess. Ugh. My nose wrinkles.

“I prefer that,” he says, and there’s a rasp to his voice.

I glance up at him, my face heating at the intensity with which he stares at me.

“What?”

“That you are not as na?ve as you appeared.” He’s practically purring, heat vibrating off my skin.

Or maybe that’s just my reaction to him—to the insane chemistry between us.

I swallow hard, my mouth dry. For crying out loud, we just had sex. I want it again? No. No! I need the upper hand here. Better to let him beg for it. Work for it.

Or something.

I twist the fabric of my dress in my fingers, the artificial ship lights reflecting off the material.

Until they blink off. The ship falls entirely silent, the already nearly nonexistent hum of the deep space engine dying.

What the fuck?

I stand immediately, Federation training kicking into overdrive—along with my adrenaline.

“Stay here,” Lyko barks out.

“I can help,” I argue.

When his eyes begin glowing orange in the darkness, twin flames that spark terror in me, though, I immediately sit.

Right. He’s got this. From the sound of it, he’s wrenching the access doors open. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, there is a weapons cache under where you’re sitting.”

With that, he’s gone, and I’m all alone in the pitch dark, floating in my once-enemies’ ship in deep space.

My molars grind together, the lack of noise overwhelming. The sound of my own heart is too loud. A lifetime passes in the blink of an eye.

Finally, violet emergency lights kick on overhead, and fresh oxygenated air hisses through the vents.

I can wait. I can wait for him. It’s important to do what he says right now, isn’t it? Play the part of his wife?

Just his simple, sweet human wife.

“Fuuuck that.” I like myself too much to die in space. Nope. That would be the exact opposite of accomplishing my mission of keeping Earth safe.

I didn’t get some space magic voodoo tattoo on my ankle to just die in space.

“Was it sabotage?” I ask out loud, my voice overloud in the quiet space. It’s possible. The Roth are… unpredictable.

The only thing that seems to be a constant among them is their penchant for violence.

And if we’ve been sabotaged by another Roth contingent vying for power, probably that two-faced general, then I’m not going down without a motherfucking fight. Sure, it’s going to blow my already fraying cover, but fuck it.

“Fuck it!” Talking to oneself is always a good idea in these situations.

I ease myself off the couch, wincing (and then blushing) at the soreness between my thighs, and pull off the cushion. The violet emergency lights are barely enough to see by, at least for my stupid human eyes, but I’m able to locate the latches.

“Come on,” I chant, trying to pull them up. They’re not made to accommodate weaker human hands, though, and nervous sweat begins to run between my shoulders as I tug at the stupid things.

Finally, the latches open, and the door swings open. I jerk back as it nearly pops me in the jaw. That’s all I need right now, to be knocked out by a door during some kind of enemy attack. Would be a brilliant start to my career as queen.

Short live the queen, or something.

Reaching in, my hand finds nothing, just more slick surface of the ship. Maybe they’re in a case in there. I peer into the dark space where the weapons are supposed to be, irritation turning to real fear.

There are no weapons in there. None at all.

“What the fuck?” I whisper, my heart hammering in my chest.

A laugh rings out, female, high-pitched and decidedly cruel. My blood runs cold, because I know that fucking voice.

It’s the same one that dragged me beneath the pool before the goddamned wedding ceremony.

“Now is the time of judgment, young human queen. Prove your worth, and you will live. Fail, and you will die.”

I look around, terror quickly turning to anger, fueling me.

There’s no one here.

No one that I can see, anyway.

“That’s because I’m inside your head, human queen. Don’t disappoint me. It’s been so long since I’ve had any fun.” The voice grows quieter, trailing off.

“Perfect time for a total mental breakdown,” I tell no one cheerfully. “Couldn’t be better.”

I check the clock on the wall.

Has it been longer than Lyko said when he left? Shit.

Footsteps sound outside the door Lyko must have straight-up ripped out of the doorway mechanism, pieces of hardware hanging from the opening, sparking slightly.

Relief makes me limp, and I lean my head against the hard bench of the couch, inhaling deeply.

Until I realize there are more footsteps than just Lyko’s. In fact, I don’t remember Lyko’s feet making much of a sound at all as he left.

Shiiiiiiit.

Okay, bitch, toughen up. You can do this. You’re a badass Federation spy. Sure, you’re about to show Lyko exactly who the fuck he married, but it’s better than dying.

I pound a fist on my chest, trying to amp myself up.

I’m not going down without a fight. Fuck this.

My gaze whips wildly around the royal chambers, finally landing on what I assumed was some kind of ancient Roth weapon.

Better ancient than none at all.

Baring my teeth and moving as quietly as I can, I race over to the wall where the weird weapon hangs. I grab the dull end, and it’s remarkably light as I yank it off the wall. Or try.

“Damn it,” I mutter. It’s stuck fast. This fucking sucks.

Okay. Think. Think, Piper. You didn’t survive three years of hell working as an amusement park princess and then even more hell as a Federation officer to kick the bucket now.

I grit my teeth and pull harder, planting one gold sandal–clad foot on the wall.

Finally, the weapon comes loose, and off balance, I fall backward onto the couch behind it, succeeding in smacking my shoulder on one side.

I barely feel it. Thanks, adrenaline.

I also succeed in swinging the weird alien weapon into the couch. My eyes widen. It’s sheared the back of it right down the middle.

I tug it back out of the furniture, staring at it in awe and surprise. Right. It has nearly no weight but is still sharp enough to fuck shit up.

Because that makes sense to have on the royal ship. Great job, Roth, you fucking psychopaths.

The footsteps grow louder, and above it, I hear some kind of alien language. This just gets fucking worse and worse.

That high, ethereal voice that may or may not be a figment of my imagination laughs.

I scowl.

Thanks a lot, asshole.

There’s no response, but I swear, I can feel the smugness of whatever it is that’s been talking to me.

The alien voices grow louder. They’ve heard me in here. There’s no doubt about that.

I wait for the translator in my brain to decipher their language and spit it out.

It remains silent.

My throat bobs as I swallow against the fresh wave of terror gripping me. If my so-called universal translator isn’t picking up this alien language, this fucking shit show just went from bad to worse.

Cold sweat slicks my palms, and I inhale deeply through my nostrils, fighting the urge to run. Flight is not on the menu.

I’m going to fight. I am always going to fucking fight.

I crouch behind the mutilated couch, my skirts too damn loud in this quiet, taking as many calming breaths as I can manage, and I wait.

And wait.

Finally, the voices are at the door, and anticipation turns my resolve to steel. I can’t understand a word they’re saying, and it sends my anxiety and rage into overdrive.

A memory blindsides me.

The screaming throughout the park seemed endless. People stampeding as I watched from the alley between stores, too confused and scared to move. Was it a shooter? A terrorist?

One of the other princesses ran over to where I stood, sweat making her curls cling to her neck. “You have to run. You have to hurry,” Misty screamed in my face.

“What? Why?” I don’t want to move. I can’t move.

“Aliens,” Misty breathed, her pupils dilated with shock. A minute later, something hot and wet slapped into my waist, and a glance down at Misty told me it was her blood. I heard them next, the fire of their weapons plowing through the crowd of running park goers like so much mincemeat. Misty’s warm body slammed into mine, and I did the only thing I could think to do.

I hugged her to me, covering us both in her dress, and I hid. I froze.

I’ll never fucking freeze again.

The aliens march through the door in some kind of formation, oddly familiar but nothing I can put a finger on. I can’t see what they look like, either, or what species they are. Built like Roth, humans, and the Suevans, they have arms and legs and walk upright. That’s all I get. Their bodies are covered in head-to-toe armor, with helmets fitted over where I imagine their heads must be.

They’re also huge. As big as the Suevans, though there’s no tail. Okay.

There are six of them, and one of me.

The odds aren’t good, and I swear I can feel Misty’s warm blood on me still as my thoughts race toward some semblance of a plan. I’m not going to freeze.

I have a sword. Er, a sword-like thing, at least. I don’t really know how to use a sword, but I do know how to fight. Billie would be pleased, at least, to know all of our sparring sessions are about to come in handy.

Okay. Sword, and the element of surprise. I take a huge breath as the aliens draw closer. Then I pop out from behind the couch like a deranged jack-in-the-box.

“You’ve yee’d your last haw,” I scream, and I manage to slice through the nearest alien’s legs.

I’m pretty sure I’ll have nightmares about that later.

I keep slicing, though. At least, it feels like I do. The aliens all around erupt in excited chatter that my translator can’t make heads or tails of.

It’s then I realize I’m just swinging the antique Roth weapon around while they make a perimeter around me.

I turn, even more apprehensive about the fact that they aren’t just shooting me.

The alien on the floor moans, his legs leaking bright purple blood all over the expensive Roth rugs.

Purple? What the fuck bleeds purple?

I cough, my eyes watering.

Too late, I see the white smoke whistling out of one of the bodysuits. Too late, I realize I’m inhaling it.

Too late, because my gaze is suddenly level with boots and purple blood.

At least I didn’t freeze.