My Fair Captain

by J. L. Langley

  His face was red, gray hair bedraggled, and his burgundy uniform disheveled, which was highly irregular. Thomas was normally more uptight than Jeffers. Obviously, he’d taken up the slack when Jeffers was offline. He took a deep breath and stood aside. “Jeffers is rebooting. I’ve been asked to inform you that his majesty is waiting for you both in the study.” Thomas held out his hand. “May I have your sketchscreen and have it taken to your chambers for you, milord?”

  Nodding, Aiden handed his screen to Thomas. “Thank you, Thomas.”

  Thomas bowed.

  Aiden’s stomach plummeted as he followed his sire down the hall.

  Father was waiting for them behind the desk. He sat with his hands folded on top of the huge wood desk, his brow furrowed. First, he gazed at Cony then at Aiden. The tension melted from his shoulders. “Have a seat, Aiden.” He glanced at Cony. “Well?”

  Aiden took a seat on the loveseat sitting perpendicular to the big desk.

  “He was at the docks as Muffin said.” Perching himself on the corner of the desk, Cony angled to see both his consort and son.

  Father groaned and put his head into his hands. “Aiden.”

  Cony frowned, shaking his head. “Oh, but that’s not the worst of it, Steven.” He looked at Aiden. “Tell him what happened, Son.”

  Father’s head shot up, his eyes wide, glancing at Cony then Aiden.

  Aiden prepared himself for the inevitable and told his father about the three men. After he relayed the story he sat back and waited for the outburst to come. It never did.

  Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, Father stayed quiet for several minutes. His chest rose and fell with deep movements and he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Finally, he dropped his hands and opened his eyes. “You could have been killed. What if your sire hadn’t gotten there in time?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Aiden, this has got to stop.”

  Here comes the punishment. “Yes, sir. We shouldn’t have turned Jeffers off again.”

  Father heaved a sigh and exchanged a glance with Cony before returning his attention to Aiden. “I’m not talking about the sneaking out and meddling with Jeffers. That is a whole other situation. Which, rest assured, you will all be punished for. I’m talking about your obliviousness when you get into your art. You didn’t even see the men until they were right on you, did you?”

  “No, sir.” Aiden shook his head.

  “Aiden, you need to get your head out of the clouds. Have you even looked at available men this season? Just today I received a request for your hand.”

  Aiden’s stomach flip-flopped. They’d been through this before and his parents promised never to give consent without having Aiden’s permission first, but it still unsettled him to hear of a proposal. “From who this time?”

  “Whom,” Cony corrected.

  “From whom this time?” Aiden automatically rectified his mistake.

  Having witnessed countless grammar lessons, Father never batted a lash. “Lord Braxton.”

  Aiden groaned. Braxton would expect him to be a societal and political paragon and further Braxton’s own political agenda—he’d practically said as much the other night. Aiden tried to get it across to Lord Braxton that he wasn’t interested, telling the man point-blank how important his artwork was, but apparently the man couldn’t take a hint. “You refused him, I hope.”

  “I told him I’d consider it after speaking to you.”

  “I don’t want a consort.”

  “Why ever not?” Cony asked. “Braxton is a good catch. He’s wealthy, connected, strong…”

  “And handsome,” Father added.

  Cony frowned, reaching across the desk to flick his spouse’s ear.

  “Ow.” Father slapped at Cony’s hand. “What? He is.”

  “He’s very influential in parliament and he comes from a long line of not only Regelence navy officers, but IN officers as well,” Cony continued.

  Aiden suppressed a grimace. If he could find someone as well suited to him as his parents were to one another, he might consider it. But Braxton wasn’t that man, even if he was handsome, with his tall, lean frame and his prematurely silver hair. “I want to be an artist. And Braxton is too…” Aiden waved his hand. “Overbearing.”

  Cony nodded his agreement. “Yes, the man does seem a bit dictatorial.” He gazed at Steven. “That can be troublesome.”

  Father scoffed. “I’m not domineering, Raleigh.” He looked back at Aiden. “You need to take a consort some time.”

  “Why? I want to paint and draw. I want a career in art, not helping some lord manage his estate, decide what investments to make and further his political career.” Aiden dropped his gaze to his lap and wrung his hands, feeling dejected. How could he make them understand?

  Cony pushed off the desk and knelt in front of him, taking his hands. “Don’t you want a family of your own?”

  Aiden shrugged. He had a family, a family he loved. Most of the time he even enjoyed being around them. Why did everyone think a man needed a consort and children to make him complete? Who really cared what family had what fingers in what pies? He didn’t want to be some trophy because of who his family was.

  Standing, Father walked around the desk and leaned on it a mere foot from Aiden. “We want you to be happy, Son. And we want you to be safe, to know you’re taken care of. It seems every time in the past year you’ve gone off to draw somewhere, you’ve gotten yourself into a situation. The last two weeks alone you’ve nearly been trampled by a heard of cattle, almost fallen off a cliff and stung by bees.”

  It was only a handful of cows and they’d completely missed him—except for the one who stepped on his foot—how was he supposed to know Tarren’s dogs were going to chase a cat through the field behind them? And he’d been in no danger of falling off that cliff—even if he had skidded over it chasing his stylus—he’d merely been stuck on the outcropping until Jeffers notified someone. He’d gotten some great compositions of the creek from up there. And the bees, well in the future he’d be careful and make certain there weren’t any hives in the next tree he decided to climb. It had all been worth it though, he’d captured several nice pieces for his portfolio.

  “You must take a consort. It is the way of things. You will need a family of your own. Eventually, your brothers will all have their own families and your sire and I won’t be here forever,” Father said.

  Aiden rolled his eyes. His parents were a long way from the grave, they were only in their early forties. And by the time his brothers had children and spouses, Aiden would be well on his way to being a master artist. “Why can’t I stay here until I’m ready to be on my own?”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Father closed his eyes. “You’re the son of a king, not a common man. We find a suitable spouse, we have families, we lead the country, we don’t do middle-class labor.”

  “But that’s just it, Father. I am the son of a king. I should be able to do as I please. I don’t care about a career in politics or the military or any of that.”

  The room fell deathly silent for several minutes while Aiden pleaded with his eyes. Finally, Cony stood. Nodding like he’d come to a decision, he turned to Father. “Being a consort isn’t for everyone, Steven.”

  “Raleigh, do you want him to grow old alone?” Father stepped forward, brushing back Aiden’s hair with one hand and reaching for Cony’s hand with the other. “I only want him to be happy. You didn’t want to be my consort, but would you go back now?”

  Grabbing Father’s hand, Cony shook his head. “You know I wouldn’t, but you allowed me to be myself and work. It was never about aligning yourself with my family or furthering your political career. That can’t be said for a lot of other lords.”

  Work? Cony didn’t work. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, he did work. Cony helped Father with national and planetary government and diplomacy.

  Father nodded. “You’re right. You’re both right.” Lifting Aiden’
s chin, Steven made Aiden meet his gaze. “I’ll make you a deal, Aiden.”

  “A deal, Father?” Aiden cut his eyes to Cony.

  Cony gave a slight shrug, but he smiled. Dropping Father’s hand, he took a seat next to Aiden.

  Father looked at Cony. His lip twitched, then his face hardened and he bent to stare Aiden in the eye. “You keep out of trouble—and I mean no incidents at all—and I’ll hire you an art teacher.” He shook his head when Aiden opened his mouth to speak. “My main problem—your safety—has not changed. I love you, Son, and don’t want anything to happen to you. If you can keep out of trouble for three whole months, I’ll hire a teacher to come here and teach you. And on your twenty-fifth birthday, I’ll settle an estate and an allowance on you. But I don’t want you to close your mind to the possibility of taking a consort. You may find someone who suits you very well. I’m still not convinced that isn’t the best thing for you.”

  Cony patted his leg. “Your father is right, you need to keep an open mind.” He looked up at his spouse. “You do know that you will have to hire a master, yes? The boy is good. Very good. I seriously doubt a regular art teacher, like he had in the schoolroom, will be able to teach him anything.”

  Father snorted. “I know that. I had planned on hiring Contenetti. I doubt I’d have much problem convincing the man to use the east tower as a studio and taking an apprentice.”

  Aiden smiled so big, it was almost painful. Contenetti was the most famous artist in Regelence, possibly even in the entire Regelence system.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  Aiden nodded. “Yes.”

  Father narrowed his eyes, trying to look stern, but he wasn’t entirely successful. “If you endanger yourself again, you will not be so much as allowed to leave your room without a chaperone. And furthermore, I’ll find you a consort myself. Are we understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The lights flickered, drawing all their attention. The lights never flickered unless Jeffers was involved.

  His parents shared a smile, then Cony frowned. “Now, about Jeffers—”

  Oddly enough, Jeffers picked that exact moment to speak. “Your Majesty? Your Highness?”

  “Welcome back, Jeffers,” Father responded.

  “Thank you, sir, but I’ve a spot of bad news. There has been a theft.”

  Chapter Two

  The Lady Anna: Intergalactic Navy space frigate, under the command of Captain Nathaniel Leland Hawkins.

  Nate stopped at his cabin, braced his hands on either side of the entry and rested his forehead against the smooth steel of the hatch. Sometimes being in charge was a real bitch. Today in general qualified as one of those times.

  “Captain, first mate Kindros has been taken hostage by the prisoner. The prisoner has already shot two security guards.”

  Fuck.

  Not two seconds after the ship’s precise feminine voice finished delivering the bad news, someone came running around the corner breathing heavily. “Captain, the prisoner got a fragger and is holding Lieutenant Kindros captive.”

  The hatch lifted, squeaking across Nate’s forehead, before he stepped back.

  “Are you coming inside?” Trouble, his son, stood in the hatchway, a big smile on his lips, until he caught sight of Nate’s face. Trouble’s aquamarine eyes widened and he looked past Nate to the crewman who’d hailed him.

  Sighing, Nate turned around, spying Thompson, one of the Lady Anna’s junior officers, wringing his hands. “How did the prisoner get a weapon?”

  “Umm—” Thompson bit his bottom lip, his gaze darting around, looking at anything but Nate.

  Nate held up a hand. “Never mind. Are the security guards still alive?”

  Thompson nodded.

  “Are they expected to recover?”

  Again Thompson’s head bobbed.

  Well, that was at least something. Nate pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and stared at the dark purple carpet. He never should have left the damned interrogation room.

  “You got a headache, Hawk?” Trouble asked.

  Yeah, several headaches, a stolen shipment of weapons, a traitor, some new carbon scoring on the hull of my fucking ship, and now… “Yes.” Nate dropped his hand. “Anna, what is Lieutenant Kindros’ location and status?”

  The ship’s steady voice answered promptly. “First mate Kindros is in corridor Q. She is alive and well, Captain.”

  “And the prisoner?” Nate turned toward Trouble. “Get my pistol and com-con.”

  Trouble rushed off, his blond curls bouncing as he ran back into the cabin.

  “The prisoner is also in corridor Q. He is holding the lieutenant against his chest with a fragger gun to her temple, sir,” Anna answered.

  Turning back to the nervous junior officer, Nate pointed. “Make sure everyone stays out of the corridors and call the rest of the security team back to the gangway to protect the bridge. I’ll handle this.”

  “Y-y-yes, sir.” Thompson saluted and hurried off down the hall.

  Nate shook his head. “How did such a timid man make it to his rank?”

  “He isn’t timid. He’s only that way around you.”

  Frowning, Nate glanced down at his son. He held out his hand for the gun, gunbelt and command-connection earpiece that would allow Anna to speak to him privately. “Why would he be that way only when he’s around me?”

  “You scare the crap out of everyone.” Trouble grinned, showing off his straight white teeth.

  Yeah, everyone except the pest in front of him, apparently. Nate put the com-con in his ear, the belt around his waist and glared at Trouble. “Stay put, Trouble.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” The kid saluted, clicking his bare heels together, and pushed the button on the bulkhead next to the hatch making it swoosh shut.

  Insolent pup. Nate started down the corridor toward his first mate and the prisoner she allowed to escape. “Anna, where are Lieutenant Kindros and the prisoner now?”

  Anna’s voice sounded only in his earpiece. “Traveling down corridor P, headed toward corridor M, Captain.”

  “Has security reported back?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Nate hurried through the passage, his boots muffled by the carpeting. When he reached where it intersected with corridor M he stopped. He could hear his first mate threatening her captor.

  Nate pressed his back against the cool metal bulkhead, holding his gun in front of his face at the ready. “Hey, Jansen, if you will let Lieutenant Kindros go, I’ll take it easy on you.” Well, as easy as I can considering you’re a fuckin’ traitor and that you’ve pissed me off.

  A bolt zipped past Nate’s head and struck the bulkhead opposite him, making a small black carbon burn where it hit. I guess that’s a no. Nate crouched lower.

  “Fuck you, Cap’n.” Jansen punctuated the decline with another blast of his fragger.

  Kindros’ feminine gasp echoed around the corner, followed by the sounds of a scuffle. There was a dull thud and then an angry masculine grunt. “I told you to be still, bitch.”

  Nate growled, imagining the butt of the fragger cracking against his first mate’s skull. “Brittani?”

  “Still here, Hawk,” she replied faintly.

  Another thud, then a yelp from Kindros.

  Shit. He didn’t want to have to kill the idiot, not that he was opposed to killing the pain in the ass, but Nate wanted answers first. “Anna, I need a SITREP.”

  Lady Anna’s detached voice came through his earpiece immediately with the situation report he requested. “Prisoner Jansen is advancing on your location, Captain. His weapon is still aimed at the first mate’s head. My sensors tell me he is highly agitated. Lieutenant Kindros is dazed but still conscious.”

  Nate touched the earpiece linking him to the ship’s computer, glad he’d thought to use it. “His weapon is set to a penetrating bolt?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Of course it was. “Is his finger on the trigge
r?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Figured. “How close to the corner of my corridor is he?”

  “About three feet four inches, sir. He’s angling away from the bulkhead closest to you.”

  Fuck. Nate wished he had a way to see what was going on. He checked his fragger, making sure it was set to stun, just in case Kindros got caught in the crossfire. The problem was, with Jansen’s finger on the trigger, shooting him with any kind of bolt would get Kindros killed. The whole body inevitably spasmed when hit with a bolt, whether it was set to penetrate or stun.

  “Sir, Jeremy is advancing rapidly toward the south end of corridor M,” Anna reported.

  Nate’s jaw clenched. “Fuck.” Jansen and Kindros were at the north end of corridor M. The boy was headed right into the thick of things, as usual. Nate was certain he’d ordered all personnel to stay out of the area until he had this cleared up. Hell, he told Trouble to stay put when he’d left the cabin. “I want a three-second warning before Jeremy arrives at corridor M.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nate got to his feet, inched closer to the corner and readied his fragger. This may not be a bad thing. In fact, Trouble might just escape punishment if this worked.

  “Jeremy approaching in three…two…one.”

  “Hawk?” Trouble shouted.

  Nate stepped around the corner in time to see Jansen aim his weapon on Trouble. Nate fired, striking his son, cabin boy and all-around pest center mass.

  Trouble’s body stiffened and fell to the deck.

  Nate fired again, hitting Jansen before the man figured out what was going on.

  Jansen’s weapon discharged then he dropped it. The bolt directed exactly where Trouble had been standing before the shot disappeared down the corridor. Jansen crumpled to the deck.

  Kindros, getting the residual effect of the pulse bolt through connection with Jansen’s body, slithered to the ground in front of Jansen.

  Nate engaged the safety on his weapon and shoved it into the holster on his belt. He rushed to Jansen, grabbed the fragger beside the downed man and flipped the safety button. “Anna, please notify the security team that the prisoner has been recaptured and is awaiting an escort to the brig.”