Chapter 4

Ryker

Ryker wasn't familiar enough with the masquerade's rules to know what penalty would befall New Horizon should he reveal himself publicly, pulling his wife from the pool of contestants. He was isolated from being able to download articles and information on previous events for insight, but he remembered the story of one similar situation three masquerades ago. The woman was held down, stripped of her robes and jewels as repayment to the masquerade in a cruel and embarrassing display. The video was released to all major news outlets and played on repeat for months. Yes, she was released to be with her true love, but only to find themselves exiled by their people.

Ryker didn't think that New Horizon would exile them, but then again, he didn't know the circumstances that led up to Talia becoming a participant in Orion's Masquerade. She disdained the masquerade. At least, the Talia he knew five years ago did.

He determined that the best course of action was to enter himself into the masquerade, gain her attention, then reveal himself privately so that the shock of the moment would be hidden from the other contestants. They could choose each other in the final ceremony and no one would know any different, at least, not until they were too far gone for it to matter.

Without an invitation, stylist, or adequate wardrobe, Ryker used New Horizen's call signal to gain entrance into Heaven Pearl's docking bay. He parked his dingy explorer in the belly of the much larger ship and posed as maintenance to slip into the upper levels. Once there, he followed the smoky sweet aroma of cigars to the open door of a men's parlor. Out of his peripheral he glimpsed all shapes, sizes, ages and species. Some wore classic, sophisticated suits with crisply ironed creases. Others flaunted formal military dress pinned with shiny accolades, or outlandish outfits inspired by the abstract of high fashion.

He casually walked the passageway, circling it a couple of times, until he saw a man of similar stature to himself come out of a suite. Ryker tested the door and found it to be unlocked. He checked over his shoulder to make sure there were no witnesses, then slipped inside.

"Can I help you?"

A small woman with a slicked-back bun and an apron tied over a plain black dress stood in the corner with a tray. She stopped collecting whiskey glasses and wrinkled napkins to stare at him. Wide-eyed, her gaze traveled warily across his face, following the path of his scar.

"Something about a backup in the head. Needs to be cleared before the anti-grav test tonight." Ryker brushed the back of his hand over his mouth and cleared his throat. "Do you know anything about it, miss?"

She shook her head.

"Well, I'll get outta your way then."

He side-stepped toward the open doorway that led into the suite's bedroom, where he hoped to find a connecting bath that would legitimize his story. The woman snatched a final glass from the table and scurried out.

The bedroom was spacious, with plenty of room to maneuver around the largest bed he'd ever seen in his life. Ryker ran a hand over the freshly made linens, unable to recall the last time he'd touched something so soft or clean.

Talia. Her legs, her stomach.

The way her cheek fit so perfectly into the palm of his hand.

The way he brushed his thumb across her cheek, gently wiping her tears away, as they said that last goodbye.

He shook his head and went looking for fresh clothes.

The wardrobe was situated inside the extravagant bath suite. He sifted through the garments, looking for something suitable. The white dress shirt was billowy and trimmed in lavish ruffles. A bit showy for his taste, but he tucked it into a pair of plain black dress pants and topped it off with a tight-fitted vest, which helped to reduce some of the shirt's dramatic flair. The two jackets he tried on were too narrow across his shoulders and time was ticking, so he tossed them aside and moved on to rummaging through the drawers for any fancy bits and bobs to borrow.

Five gold rings spread across two hands and one pocket chain later, Ryker turned toward the mirror. His roughly mended boots were the only thing left that still matched his face. He kicked one foot after the other up on side of the deep tub to brush off the debris, washed his hands and his face, strapped his blasters to his thighs, then slipped out of the cabin and back into the passageway.

Armed with nothing but an alias and the coordinates to a habitable planet, Ryker Steele approached a red-jacketed attendant as if he owned the Heaven's Pearl.

"Pardon. Ambassador Thorne Montclair of newfound planet X-Terra Lyra, planetary name not yet listed. I was late registering for the masquerade but arrived not too long ago and was hoping you could direct me where to go."

The young well-shaven man blinked then pulled a clear glass tablet from the pocket behind his lapel. Ryker watched from the other side as it lit up and bright blue words and contestants' portraits scrolled across the transparent screen.

"Certainly, sir," he replied nervously. "What are the planet's coordinates?"

Ryker gave them to him and waited for the attendant to finish checking for any trace of a

Thorne Montclair.

"I'm very sorry, Ambassador, but I don't see you on this decennial's roster. Follow me, please, and we'll speak to my supervisor. I'm sure we can sort this out."

Once he was alone with the supervisor, all it took was a little persuasion, courtesy of his fleet's emergency coinage. That coin also bought him one of the fine masks that hung like artwork on the wall behind the supervisor's desk. A wooden half-mask, carved into the face and snout of a wolf and stained black.

Ryker joined the other contestants in the men's parlor, quietly poured himself a glass of amber colored spirit at the wet bar, then faded into a corner. The first sip went down smoothly but was quickly followed by a flame that scratched its nails down the walls of his throat. Years of sobriety had made him forget what that was like. The next sip was easier, and the next after that.

"Did you see? Eleven princesses on the dossier." A gray-haired man crossed one ankle to rest on his opposite knee, then lounged back into his plush chair and laughed. "Don't misunderstand me, I wouldn't complain to marry a princess, but is every new landowner's daughter a princess now? Daddy calls himself king and now you're eligible for Orion's Masquerade?"

"Agreed," someone added. "Monarchies are so archaic this day and age. The only ones with any potential to last have already been established millennia ago."

"Well, she's still a princess for today, I suppose. Cheers to that!"

Pompous chuckles filled the room as they all tilted their heads back and drained their glasses.

"That Ambassador Lovelett is here," another said. "Now she has some real political pull and is a true visionary, in my opinion. Imagine, a galaxy-wide federal government."

"And you on top, sir, am I right? Should we begin calling you Mr. President now or wait until after the curtains close tonight?"

More laughs.

"You joke," yet another chimed in, smiling, "but I agree. That's an alliance worth pursuing! Perhaps the best listed in the dossier."

"What say you, Abernath?" Abernath? That piqued Ryker's attention. "Have you locked onto a target?"

"Poor lass," someone muttered under his breath.

"Do any of you remember Amelia Valthorne?" a man said, slowly, meticulously.

"Amelia Hal," Ryker corrected without thought, surprising himself that the instinct to protect his late mother-in-law's memory overrode his tactic to remain an unassuming observer. Especially after all these years, when he'd learned to ignore anything which went against self-preservation and survival.

He'd spoken when he meant to stay silent. Now, his presence was known.

"That's right," the man responded.

Ryker's gaze landed on the bulky man in the shadows of the corner opposite him. Chancellor Ysander Abernath, the reigning leader of Xiridian IV and New Horizon's most generous yet untrusted ally. A golden boar mask hung around his neck. The snake's crooked smile unfurled lazily as he stepped forward, garnering the room's attention. That one had always been a showman. "Amelia Hal, wife of New Horizon's late Chancellor Edward Hal."

"The Hals, yes." An inhumanly tall man with powdery blue skin and one long slicked-back braid stood from his chair and made his way to the wet bar. "Exploratory geniuses and quite the humanitarians, if I remember."

"Humanitarian to a fault," Abernath remarked coldly, taking a swig from his glass. "Their daughter is here."

They all chuckled. Everyone except for Ryker and Abernath.

A chill crept into every atom of Ryker's being. He became too aware of his own ragged breathing and the way his face sweated beneath the wooden mask, of how his cheeks stuck to it.

One of the red-jacketed attendants interrupted the men's soiree and led them down to the ballroom where they met with two other groups of suitors like themselves. A large chandelier unlike anything Ryker had ever seen spiraled from the ornate ceiling. Thousands of bulbs were encased within hundreds of different forms of glittering crystals from across just as many planets. Colors, shapes and shards were as varied as the constellations. An elongated stage reached out like an arm into the middle of the room, surrounded by the tables where they'd soon have their first meetings with the women.

Ryker chose a seat at a table as close to the stage as he could get while remaining off to the side and shielded from the female contestants' view. The lights dimmed, then the orchestra guided the audience into an intense, rhythmic trance as the first woman stepped onto the stage. Struck by the showiness of her fine gown, tailored graceful movements, and the veil draped across her face, Ryker wondered if he'd even recognize Talia when it was her turn.

One by one, they were announced by an orator, and crossed the stage in their curated ensembles to show off their statuses and invite suitors' eyes, only to disappear again behind the curtain. The vast majority were Terran descended, unlike the men's grouping, which seemed to be split evenly between Terrans and other humanoid species. A Vipraaen princess wearing a dazzling gold headpiece was only the fourth species he counted among the women. She slid behind the curtain and Ryker was sure they must be nearing the end of the parade. There was a dread in knowing that statistically, Talia must've already passed, and he never recognized her.

It meant that years of separation might've made them strangers to each other. It meant that he'd have to work harder to gain her attention and earn that private time together so that they could be reunited.

Then, the orchestra shifted into a new movement and a foot cautiously stepped forward from behind the curtain. Ryker knew the beaded hem of the dress instantly. How many times had Talia spread her mother's intricate opalescent gown across their bed, softly running her fingertips over the delicate beads with that wistful look on her face?

His stomach soured. Tonight, Talia was finally wearing her wedding gown.

For the eyes of a hundred strangers.