Chapter One

ISA

C elestial Pages Bookstore

Planet Xaxos, Capital city of Kajal

Last year, I left my stressful corporate job in the dust back on Earth. I promised myself I would choose to be cheerful and celebrate the holidays. I meant to keep that promise, even if I’m the sole human owner of a bookstore on a distant alien planet.

My arms ached from carrying a box of the latest shipment of cozy mysteries, fresh from my home planet. The scent of newly printed paperbacks mingled with the smell of space ozone that lingered on the box. Other people who left Earth said the smell was like harsh metal. It smelled like crispy almond cookies to me.

Which reminded me, I needed to bake a batch so I could have some with my tea tonight when I had time to write the next chapter of my mystery novel.

The tune of ‘Jingle Bells’ chimed from the com link while I was planning my night in. The tiny device, no larger than an old silver dollar, lay between a book of African folktales and the latest interstellar thrillers hot off Xaxos’s charts. I set the box down and reached for it. I got a text from Howie, the Jersey guy from the sandwich shop across the street. Wyd?

The message blinked up at me, the blue letters as vibrant as the neon sign of Howie's shop. I scrambled to remember the words for the abbreviation. My girlfriends back in Delaware used to joke at how out of touch I was when it came to texting. So sue me, I’m thirty-five. Still young, but old enough to remember a time when we typed words instead of alphabet soup.

I finally figured out that Howie texted me to ask what I was doing. Working. What about you? I typed back, hesitating before hitting send.

My thumbs hovered over the com link, suddenly self-conscious. Was my response too formal? Should I have typed the letter U instead of the whole pronoun?

“Sheesh.” I spoke my annoyance out loud in the empty shop. “Writing a book is easier than sending a text.”

I looked up from the tiny com link screen to view the front of the store. Celestial Pages , my interstellar sanctuary. I walked towards the nearest shelf, stacked with urban fantasy novels the locals gobbled up. Who knew the love of vampires was so universal? I straightened up a row of books where a visitor recently browsed. This was my new peace and calm, how I supported myself financially and emotionally. Here, among these shelves and comfy reading chairs, I discovered the kindred spirits who visited me in this corner of the galaxy: fellow humans contracted to work in the capital city, Javorians from this planet, and even the occasional Wanderstar Fleet officer seeking a good read.

My com link chimed with Howie’s reply. As I lowered my gaze, I imagined he would suggest a quick bite at a bistro or maybe drinks with the other shop owners at the nearby Stardust Lounge. I wasn’t interested in him beyond friendship, but that didn’t mean we all couldn’t celebrate the holiday season like we were on Earth.

But I couldn’t have been more wrong when I read his text. I get off in five. I wanna see what that mouth do.

I had to assume he wasn’t talking about me reciting poetry. My lips curled in disgust. He went straight from friendly to wanting to get freaky. Did people not even try to flirt anymore? Or was this the new flirting?

I shot back a text. I thought you wanted to grab food. As friends.

His reply came quick. I don’t date. I can be there and done in 7 mins if that works.

"Eeeew.” I drew the word out as though I saw a pale green meteor worm slithering up the wall. Annoyance made it easy for me to type my response to Howie fast.

Don't bother. EVER. For the first time in my life, I was shouting in all caps.

Sent. Blocked. So much for a holiday get together with new friends.

I sank down onto the nearest chair. The worst part was, if I had been interested in dating Howie, he only saw me as a booty call. And not even for a one-night stand. Apparently, I was just worth seven minutes.

If this was the current dating scene, I didn’t want it. A deep sigh escaped me, one that seemed to carry the weight of every failed attempt at romance, every mismatched connection. My love life bit the dust two Christmases past when I caught my then-boyfriend making out with my intern at the office party. They were still together, last I heard.

I chastised myself for even thinking about this stuff. Maybe that’s why I liked setting my stories in the early nineties. My characters couldn’t just solve a case by looking up something online. And, when I did include a romantic subplot, my readers could best believe none of the guys were done with the female main character in seven lousy minutes.

"This Christmas, stick to your stories," I whispered, a promise made to my reflection in the darkened window. I rose from the chair and finished stacking books. Soon, my mood brightened as I focused on the good. My shop was doing well. This was the most free and creative I’d ever been in my life. If all I did this holiday season was sell books and write, it would be more than enough. Here, among the alien life and the drone of distant ships, I would pen my own narrative.

A sudden beep from my com link jolted me from my daydream of a cozy holiday. It better not be Howie again, trying to contact me from another set of coordinates. Glancing at the display, my heart rate picked up, quick and staccato against the silence of the store. The sender's info was hidden, but the official insignia of the Wanderstar Fleet military blazed on the screen.

"Uh-oh." I breathed through my anxiety. Why was the galaxy’s top military contacting me? Had my blocking Howie triggered some obscure interstellar protocol? Was there a fine for blocking crappy pickups?

Guess I was going to jail for rejecting a booty call.

"Unlikely," I chided myself, trying to marshal my silly runaway thoughts. But as the military signal pulsed again I couldn't shake the chilling possibility that I might be in trouble over something else that I had no clue about.

With a trembling hand, I swiped across the com link screen. A holo-display shimmered into existence before me. The emblem of the Wanderstar Fleet military gave way to the image of Camille Azulim, human co-ruler and partner of the galaxy overlord Rone Azulim. The image projected her at her full height. She wore a floor-length dress. Her brown skin had a golden glow, and her dark hair was pulled back from her face, revealing features soft yet authoritative.

"Isabelle Hartman?" Her voice was steady as her holo-display looked around the bookstore for me.

“H-here I am.” Stammering, I straightened my posture in front of what was essentially intergalactic royalty.

"Sorry to contact you out of nowhere.” Camille's eyes were kind as if she could sense my apprehension through the screen. "But it’s urgent.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "What can I do for you?"

I heard the distant wail of a baby in the background. Camille paused, a small sigh escaping her lips. "This will be our son’s first Christmas. Rone and I want to spend the holidays with him."

“That’s understandable.” What I couldn’t understand was why she was telling me this. “I saw a picture of him. Your son’s got your hair and his father’s horns.”

“Everyone says that.” She offered a smile that eased my nerves. "But everyone also knows it can be hard to travel with a baby. That’s why I contacted you. Rone and I screened the human contractors and out of them we selected you to represent us at the gift exchange on planet Glaciara."

My breath caught in my throat, the bookstore around me blurring. “Me? Why?”

"We’ve noticed your bookshop is a hit with all kinds of people. You seem to have a way of getting along with a diverse crowd. That’s a crucial skill as a diplomat.”

“But I’m not a diplomat.”

“You are now. Prince Thadron Elyndor of Glaciara will be your counterpart in this interstellar gift exchange," Camille said, her tone imbued with significance. "This is a big role, Isabelle. Rone and I know you’ll do a good job."

"I’m exchanging gifts with a prince?" I was still sorting out the details.

"Yes. You're going with him to an ambassador dinner at the opera house here in Kajal tonight."

"Tonight?" I echoed, my mind struggling to keep pace with the sudden turn my life was taking. “I’m not even dressed properly.”

"You look fine," she assured me, her image nodding approval at my clothes, a basic olive green dress made from fleece sweatshirt material. The dress covered my arms and reached down to my ankles. I liked to tuck my feet into the skirt when I curled up to read a book. It even had a hoodie.

I tucked the hoodie down the back and hid the drawstrings. “Maybe I can add a necklace," I managed, touching the fleece as if it might transform to silk.

"Stand by for more details," Camille added before her projection flickered. "Just keep your com link active. You got this.”

I did. I got way more than I wanted or could possibly handle.

Camille’s image flickered out, leaving me alone with the rows of books. My shop suddenly felt too small for the universe it now connected to.

My fingers hovered over the darkened com link screen on my wrist. The co-ruler of the galaxy was gone, but my uncertainty remained. Who was this Prince Thadron of Glaciara, anyway? His name and title conjured images of ice shards and jagged rocks.

I should stop being dramatic. The prince was likely a gentle elderly ambassador.

The door to my shop burst open, letting in a shock of cold air. Books fell from the shelves. I gasped and covered my arms as frost crystals struck my skin.

A pillar of a male figure entered, frost swirling around his boots. Crystalline blue armor, as sharp and clear as ice, decorated his chest and jutted out from his wide shoulders. A long midnight velvet cape blew out from behind him as he moved further into the shop.

“I am Prince Thadron.” His voice rang with authority that chilled my heart and kept me frozen in place. “Where is Isabelle Hartman?”