My uncle's eyes dart to the ceiling. He's thinking about what I just said.
"Of course, if you're not confident in your card skills, I can understand you might wish to go back to the old-fashioned coercion method," I add.
The prod works. He shakes his head in irritation.
"Jalton, your card skills are hopeless. You're the world's worst bluffer. You don't know one end of a card from the other. And, from what your brother told me, you're only here because you screwed up a game spectacularly. This is probably the stupidest idea you've ever had, and that's saying something."
I smile briefly. He's right. In the past, I've always been terrible at keeping a poker face. Like with Reago the other night.
I'm just going to have to smash it out of the park this time around.
"Then what are you waiting for, Uncle? Do your worst. Show me who's boss."
Uncle Mirodag guffaws, slapping his thighs in hilarity. "You are seriously challenging me to a game of cards, and you wish the criminal's entire future to hang upon it?"
"That's what I said."
He can barely contain his mirth. "You'd pin the survival of a crook on a card game? Even though you are the family's most hapless player, and your little pet thief deserves what's coming to her?"
I stretch both arms wide, in a gesture of open frankness. "Humor me. Life as a prince is boring. Nothing much ever happens. This is the most fun I've had in a long time. Give me the chance of some practice at playing cards, and I'll try to improve. And we may as well make the stakes high. That way, we really have something to play for."
Uncle Mirodag smiles unpleasantly. "Okay. Here's what we'll do. We'll play the game, as you suggest. But it really will be winner takes all. If you win, you get to leave with the girl. I won't follow you. You can do what you will with her. Consider her your personal slave."
"And if you win?"
"You kill the girl yourself, right in front of me and my team. We then take you home to your father and tell him everything. A very limited version of everything. And if you utter a word of any of this to the family, we will torture you until you confess that you are responsible for all the—” —he makes a face—”corruption in our otherwise pure and noble empire."
I clench the muscles of my jaw. "You'll stick to our agreement? If I win, you'll hand her over without complaint?"
"Of course."
"Then, Uncle Mirodag," I say, preparing to bow deeply in the usual royal way. "You have yourself a deal."
"It is a pleasure negotiating with you, nephew," he says, clapping me on the back. "Good idea about the game, too. Lateral thinking. I like it. There may be hope for you yet."
I crack my knuckles and think about all the ways in which I'm going to make him pay for what he's done.
"Then let us play," I say.
14 Corby
The cuffs around my wrist are starting to dig into my skin. I can't get my hands close enough together to rub them, so I have to just ignore the soreness.
"You'll be prepared for the first offering soon," a bored female voice says from somewhere behind me. I try to turn, but the chains attaching my arms and legs to the wall are too short.
She walks into my line of vision at last, and sits on a stool, holding what looks like a tablet notebook and a stylus. She looks like she's from Quintagon, with the usual olive green skin, but her hair is a bright aqua blue. It's not a good color combination.
"There's a small change of plan," she drones, "but I don't need to run that past you unless you're really interested."
"Change of plan?" It's hot in here. A trickle of sweat slides down my back, inside my onesie. I'm still wearing it, but now there's a rip across the thigh. "I don't even know what the original plan was."
"Didn't they tell you?" The female Quintagonian looks mildly surprised. "I suppose they thought there was no point. Okay, well here's what's happening. From now on, you're going to be based here, as a companion. Your work will mostly be servicing managerial level Imperial Order officials. Possibly the occasional junior doctor or lawyer. It depends on demand, and how many girls we have left at any one time."
"Companion?" I scoot up, trying to relieve the numbness in my butt. "You mean... a hooker?"
"We prefer to say companion." She scrolls through the screen on her tablet. "Now, let me get the details right... oh yes. Prince Jalton is now playing cards with his uncle, and they'll decide your fate that way."
Jalton is okay. I'm so grateful, I almost forget the rest of what she said. Then it percolates through my brain.
"Decide my fate?" I say.
She doesn't elaborate.
I persist. "How do you mean?"
She sighs heavily, as though supervising me is awfully inconvenient. "You're the stake in a game of cards, Frayne. They've been playing for some time. If Prince Jalton loses, he has to kill you himself. If he wins, he'll use you as his personal companion for a while, and then presumably he'll kill you later. Or hand you back to be killed."
I give this a moment to sink in, and then I clear my throat. "Uh, ma'am? Are you saying that either way I'm going to be killed?"
"Obviously," she says, in an acid tone. "You're a criminal. What exactly were you expecting?"
She finishes whatever she's doing on her tablet, and then leaves the room without another word. I squirm again, desperately trying to find a position that doesn't hurt my wrists, my ankles, or my butt. It's almost impossible.
So Jalton's playing a card game with me as the prize, or punishment? Holy fuck. Is he for real? Is there any way this isn't as bad as it sounds? I run the facts over in my mind.
Jalton told me he was awful at card games, which is why he lost and had to process prisoners. But what does it matter? Either way, I'm history.
I'm wallowing in self-pity when the door flies open again. A team of armed guards stands in the doorway.
"Get up, Frayne," the front guard says. "You're required."
I stand up, with difficulty. One of the men unlocks my shackles so I can walk. My hands are still bound together behind me. On trembling legs, I follow behind him. Guns are pointed at me from all sides. It's not like I stand a chance of fighting, or running away, so it's definitely overkill.
We walk for a long time, down endless corridors that remind me of a maze. I half expect us to end up right back where we started. But eventually we reach the end of a dark walkway, and stop outside a heavy gray door. The leader guard opens it and stands in front of it, clearing a path through.
"In here," he says, shoving me through the doorway.
I almost trip, and can't steady myself because of my shackled hands. Will this be my first client? The horror of it hits me deep in the gut.
But then I look up, and my breath catches in my throat.
Jalton is sitting there, playing cards. He has what looks like a cocktail in front of him, and he's sitting comfortably in a reclining wing-backed chair, clutching his cards high and close, so nobody can see them.
"Hello, Commander Frayne,” he says, with a wink.
I can't tell how well the game is going. I'm not even sure what outcome I should be hoping for. Apparently I'm in trouble, either way. Big execution-level trouble. What difference does it make if I'm killed now or later? The whole situation feels hopeless.
I'm holding out hope that Jalton is going to pull a trick out of the bag and save us both. But looking at him now, I'm not so sure.
He's back in his regal robes. The uniform is long gone. Of course, he looks hot as hell in royal clothing too.
I'm pretty bummed we never got the chance to finish what we started back on the ship. I guess now we never will. Unless he wins the game, and then I'm his prize for some brief time, and then... Yeah, I'm not doing that. I'm not a damn concubine. He missed his chance.
I ache for his touch, just as much as I curse the stupid circumstances that brought us together.
The asshole Mirodag smirks at me, then back at Jalton. "Your wench admires your robes, Jalton. She finds you
most pleasing in your finery.”
Jalton does not look up at either me or his uncle. He selects a card out of his own hand, with a look of intense concentration, and lays it on the table. "Your turn, Uncle."
Mirodag matches the move, and continues to leer at me. "She's quite a beauty, Jalton. I can see why you wanted to try her on for size."
A muscle in Jalton's shoulder twitches, but he does not respond. I'm angry that he doesn't speak up to defend me. But I guess maybe he really is just a royal prick after all.
The memory of his kisses flies back into my stupid brain. I lick my lips, remembering how good he felt. And how good he smelled. And how strong his arms were as they lifted me onto his lap. And...
But there’s no point dwelling on all that. None of that is real any more. It’s all in the past now.
And I have no future. Not with Jalton, and not on my own.
The only way I’m getting off this planet is in a casket.
I’m royally screwed.
15 Jalton
I glance over my cards with quick flicks of the eye, as though they're mediocre. I don't stare at them in disbelief. I don't gaze at them in excitement. I don't move a muscle, except to sip my drink every now and then. And I’m fake-drinking that.
When they bring in Corby Frayne, my muscles feel like they're tightening to the point of pain. It takes a lot of effort to make them relax. If I let my mask slip, I'll lose the game. My uncle is a great game player, and he's known me since I was a child. If anyone can see through my bluffing, it's him.
That's why I have to work my ass off to make sure my bluff is bulletproof.
My cards are incredible. Truly great cards. I've never had such a good hand. But if I let that information out, my uncle will start to play defensively. I could still lose, even with these cards. It'd take some doing, but I'm confident my uncle is enough of an asshole to try.
So I plan to stay neutral and non-committal, right up until the last part of the game. Then I'll start making it look like I have terrible cards, and I was just trying to cover it up before. I'll look jaded and disappointed.
This has to work. There is no plan B.
Corby is pushed onto a chair a short distance from my uncle and me. I hear the scraping of the chair on the floor, and the little exclamation as her luscious behind hits the seat. My lion growls inside me with desire.
I don't turn to look at her, at first. I just feel the warmth of her presence. Then I wink at her. I have to be a royal asshole right now.
If there's a way to reassure someone silently that you've got this and it's going to be okay, I'd like to know it. She must be terrified. I cannot take her in my arms and make it all right, not yet.
But I will make it up to her once we are free. I will move the heavens and the stars to make it so.
"Your turn to deal," drawls my uncle. He has had one too many of the mauve cocktails he insists on drinking. I have deliberately not drunk mine. My head is clear.
“Sure, sorry," I say. I’m acting the hapless amateur, pretending I have no idea about whose turn it is. Like I'm not watching this game like the predator I really am inside. I failed against Reago because I was lazy and didn’t bother. This time, I’m working hard.
I'm analysing everything. With clumsy mannerisms, I deal the cards between us, and put the remainder on a loose pile between us.
My uncle must be in a hurry. He keeps glancing at the time, which is projected on the wall to our right. He needs to be somewhere. I could use this to my advantage.
For only the second time since she was brought in, I allow myself to steal a glance at Corby Frayne. She is a picture of glowing beauty, gracing the old bench with her luminous presence. I cannot give her any signal. My uncle would notice, or one of the many guards on the edge of the room would have a record of it. If I am to fool my uncle, I need to fool Corby too.
So I do not run over to her, or ask her if she is all right. She is alive, and she is not all right. But she will be, just as soon as I get her out of here.
Uncle Mirodag makes some revolting remarks about Corby looking at me. It takes every shred of strength I have to keep my lion from savaging him, right here at the card table.
He’ll pay for his disrespect, though. Sooner or later, I will make him eat those vulgar words. Nobody will ever dare to talk like that about Corby again.
The alcohol in my uncle's system is starting to affect his judgment. His eyelids droop as he rearranges the cards in his hand. He holds them close, so I cannot see them. But he is not as vigilant as he usually would be.
Now is my chance.
I take my next card, and pretend for a split second that I'm crushed with disappointment. Then I make my face blank again, as though I've just remembered. I glance up at Uncle Mirodag, allowing just a hint of concern to flutter across my face.
My uncle's mouth turns up slightly at the corners. His eyes shine with glee. From the triumphant angle of his mouth, I'd say he thinks he knows the outcome of this game. And he's sure it will end with me losing.
Let him think it. That’s exactly what I want him to believe.
Corby gasps a little when I'm acting out the disappointed face. It pains me that she's going to worry I'm genuinely losing. Nothing I can do about it now. The plan must proceed.
For a second, I wonder if this is worth it. Why am I trying to win back Corby's freedom with tricks? That is not how I want to do it. I want to tear this place apart, take my girl's hand, and take her back home with me.
Yet I cannot risk her life with a reckless act. I am not armed. Corby's gun is useless. My uncle has firepower, resources, personnel, and sheer ruthlessness on his side. He would wipe us out in a heartbeat. I will never allow that to happen.
Corby Frayne will leave this ship safely. I'd kill everyone in the galaxy before I'd let my uncle damage a single hair on her head.
"Oh dear, nephew. Oh dear." Uncle Mirodag is speaking in a sing-song voice, slurring his words a little. Those mauve cocktails must be stronger than I imagined.
"Something wrong, Uncle?"
"I hope your stomach is made of strong stuff. Looks like somebody's going to be doing a little slaying this evening. What is it the writers say? Kill your darlings.” He laughs at his own shitty joke.
Corby makes a small, scared sound. I turn to her, holding her gaze for a moment. I must not betray myself, in case Uncle Mirodag's men notice. But I must give her some hope before she slips into despair. We look at one another for a little while, and then she turns away.
There is no way for her to know what I am thinking, without asking directly. And in the same way, her face is as unreadable as I hope mine is. We must wait until later to share our truths.
My uncle throws down one card and picks up another, chortling to himself. If I'm judging this correctly, he's convinced he's winning. Not a chance. This is a game of skill, not luck. I didn't pay enough attention to it when I played with my brother and friends, but this time I'm watching every maneuver.
The stack of cards in the middle of the table topples over. One of my uncle's staff reaches over to straighten it, and I instinctively pull my cards closer so nobody can read them. My uncle looks over, so I frown a little, like I'm concerned at the awfulness of my cards. I'm probably not the world's best actor, but my uncle is hammered. It’s good enough.
At last, we reach the final part of the game. All that remains is to lay out our remaining cards and see who wins. I give Corby a lingering look and just hope she can decode it somehow. What I want her to do is stand by, and be alert.
Her limbs seem to tense, and she leans forward like she could get up at any moment. I give my cards one last sorrowful look, and clear my expression back to a blank slate.
"Hey Uncle, did you really want to finish the game now? We could make it best of three?”
I’m taking a chance here, by offering to extend play. I'm doing that because I predict he'll say no, because he looks like he’s in a hurry. I’m hoping he’ll assume I'm trying to
stall because my cards are awful. If he thinks my suggestion is a ploy to string things out, he'll shut it down completely and say no. That's what I want him to do.
"Face it, Jalton. You failed. You are a failure." Uncle Mirodag seems to take a perverse pleasure in saying those words to me. "Your father would be so proud. No, wait. The other thing. Your father would be so ashamed." He laughs, in a revoltingly oily way.
I say nothing, but just watch him.
"Here we go. Watch and learn, spoiled prince." He lays his cards in one line.
They're pretty good cards. He has a run and he could've won in some games, with some other opponents.
But not with me. Not today.
“Hey, that’s not bad. But, uh, my cards are better," I say truthfully, making sure my face says the opposite. "Are you sure you don't want to continue play for just a little longer?"
"Nice try, boy. Show the cards. This game is over."
"You got me," I say, sighing heavily. "Uncle Mirodag, you deserve to see what I have here."
And then I do it. I lay my cards out in an arch shape.
I have the best Kenovian flush I've ever seen. The room falls silent as, one by one, everyone in it realizes the implications of what just happened.
Uncle Mirodag smirks at first, before he sees what the cards are. Then his face drops.
He begins to bluster and rage, but I stand over him, shaking my head. I'm not pretending any more. My fury is real.
"Corby Frayne is coming with me," I say. "Release her at once."
The guards are disconcerted. They look to my uncle for guidance.
“I don’t think so,” he says, with a dismissive wave of the hand.
"We had a deal," I say, my lion beginning to snarl. I nod at the guard nearest Corby, who unlocks her handcuffs. That’s more like it.
Uncle Mirodag stares at me with pure contempt in his eyes. His voice still slurs from all the alcohol he’s consumed during the game. “That human is a prisoner. A terrorist. The galaxy is not safe when individuals like that roam free. We are not releasing her, Jalton. It is out of the question.”
A Shift in the Sky_In the Stars Romance Page 10
