by Sara Page
“We can wait for Beast to return. Once your father is repaired, he can restore your power.”
“Ah, yes, we could wait for Beast to return, and for my father to recover, but what if Vrillum blocks it? What if he orders my father off of life support? What if he’s uses the powers he’s been granted to order Admiral Yarkof to shoot down Beast’s ship?”
“Your planet’s military is incapable of such an act.”
“I hope you’re right,” I nod at Striker. “But it’s still a risk I don’t want to take. I don’t even know what powers Vrillum has been granted, but they must be extensive if he was able to shut down the palace. I need to speak to the council now. I fear if we wait it will be too late.”
I don’t voice aloud that I also fear that if we wait too long, Vrillum will find some way to legally force a marriage upon me. He has at least one witness that I know of who can testify to the council that my father voiced it. He could legally claim that on the King’s deathbed, the King told me to marry Vrillum.
It has always been our custom, our law that the king and queen, if they’re alive, choose their heirs’ spouses. Whatever betrothed my father chose for me departed when it was believed I was dead. Vrillum could argue that my father chose him for me as a replacement. That he’s legally my betrothed, and I would be forced to marry him before I would be granted my rightful crown and all the power that comes with it.
I’ll do anything to stop that from happening. Even if it means being alone with Vrillum again.
“It’s just a door,” I say when Striker’s been quiet for too long. I know he’s brooding under that helmet of his. “When has a door ever stopped you before? Especially one as flimsy as that one?”
“I should remain in here, as a shadow.”
“If you’re a shadow,” I counter. “Then they’ll wonder where you are. It will look entirely too suspicious if I’m here alone without you or anyone else to guard me.”
“Ameia, I’m tempted to just throw you over my shoulder and carry you away from here.”
“If you do that,” I say, my face getting hot at the image. “I swear I will never accept you. Never.”
Striker makes a sound, it’s a sound that’s caught somewhere between a growl and a grumble. It’s rough enough to feel like it grates through my brain.
“Please,” I grimace. “If he does anything, tries anything, I’ll scream my head off.”
“You underestimate him,” Striker snarls.
“She does,” Vrillum says with a grin as he walks into the conference room with a squad of guards following him. “She’s always been so trusting and gullible. It’s a good thing I’m willing to tolerate her.”
The guards flow into the room, filling up the space.
I stand from my chair, eyeing all the guards and their guns while asking Vrillum, “What’s going on? We had an agreement.”
“We did,” Vrillum agrees. “But I’m breaking it.” He lifts his arm and points at Striker. “Guards, arrest him and take him to containment.”
Striker snarls and his outline shimmers before he fades into the shadows. All hell breaks loose as he disappears.
* * *
“Ameia!” Vrillum calls out to me as the lights overhead flicker.
The guards call out to one another, barking orders. There’s too many in this small space. They knock elbows and bump into each other’s backs while searching for a visual with their guns raised. Half have their eyes pressed against their scopes, while the other half scan the room, dumbly asking, “Where is he? Anyone got a visual on the alien?”
The ones in charge remind everyone to, “Fire only if necessary!”
There’s a group of guards tightening their formation right now between me and the door, inadvertently blocking Vrillum from being able to reach me.
The lights flicker again.
“Ameia,” the shadows hiss and I feel a push towards the table. “Get down.”
Striker? It must be him as I feel weight upon my shoulders, pushing me down. Maneuvering me until I’m crouched beneath the table, hugging my knees.
“Stay,” the shadows hiss.
The lights flicker again and go out.
It’s pitch black. I can’t see a thing.
I close my eyes and open them, the scenery remains the same. What happened to the lights? Even if the power goes out, emergency lights should kick in.
This feels entirely too much like the time I was in the showers…
The guards should have lights attached to their scopes, yet it appears as if none of them are working. “I can’t see!” I hear a few of them grunt. “The flashers aren’t even working.”
“Sshh. Sshh. Shut the fuck up.”
We’re all listening, ears straining…
It feels as if everyone is holding their breath until the silence is broken by a “What the fuck?”
Then the guards start screaming.
“Ameia!” I hear called through the sudden chaos.
“My arm!” Some unfortunate soul screams out near me.
“Mother! Mother help me!” another screams.
There are gurgles, shrieks, and death cries all around me. I hear the zipping of shots fired, there should be blasts of light yet the darkness remains.
There is no light in this place.
“Stop shooting! Hold your fire!”
It becomes cold, so cold. It feels as if my breath is frosting. I’m shivering, still hugging my knees. Too afraid to move, too frightened to cover my ears. Too afraid to stop listening.
Screaming, dying. They’re all screaming and dying.
“Ameia!”
I sense rather than see something dragging across the floor, inching towards me. I can hear a wet squelching noise and a groan.
These aren’t just strangers dying around me, they’re not even truly enemies. They’re my people, my guards. Mine.
“Striker!”
A chair to my right crashes into the table.
Thump. Thud. Another body hits the floor.
“Stop, Striker! Stop it!” I plead. I think I’m crying. I think there are tears freezing as they slide down my cheeks.
“Ameia!”
“Secure the princess! Protect the princess!”
Something latches onto my arm.
“Ameia!”
I’m dragged across the floor, kicking, until I’m hauled to my feet.
“Stop. Please, stop!” I grab at the thing latched onto me. My nails find flesh and tear at it.
“Stop it, you stupid bitch,” Vrillum’s voice snaps angrily.
I’m dragged forward. My foot kicks something solid and it rolls away. I try hard not to think of what that something could be.
After a few more stumbling steps, I’m shoved roughly forward and then light hits my face.
Light, sweet light. I can see.
“Keep walking,” Vrillum orders me then he jabs me in the ribs with the blaster he’s holding.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I try to look back, over my shoulder. The light is harsh and sudden. My eyes are watering and the tears melt against my cheeks.
Like a fool, I blink away the blur and try to peer into the darkness I just escaped. Where we just came from is a wall of black, as if everything just ends right there.
A starless expanse of space.
The floor cuts off suddenly, as well as the walls and ceiling. I can’t see into the black nor can I hear the screams. And there were screams, so many screams my ears are still ringing.
Vrillum jams the blaster harder. I yelp and he snaps, “Keep walking, Ameia.”
“Where are we going?” I ask as he forces me down the cold, empty hallway. If he wanted to kill me he could have left me back there to die…
“To see your father,” Vrillum snickers.
No fucking way.
I dig in my heels and shake my head. “Why?” I ask.
Vrillum jabs me again with the blaster but I ignore the spike of pain.
“Why?” I ask again a
nd grab onto the end of the blaster to stop it from jabbing me.
Vrillum scowls and narrows his emerald eyes at me. “Because we’re going to be married.”
“Why the fuck do you want to marry me?” I ask while shoving the blaster away.
“To be king,” Vrillum answers and whips the blaster back, cracking it against my skull.
“Fucking, asshole!” I cry out and stumble back.
My head hurts so bad my eyes cross and my ears are ringing even louder. To add insult to injury, Vrillum steps forward and shoves me into the wall. The back of my head cracks as it hits.
I groan and slide down to the floor.
“You were never fucking good at listening.”
“If you think I’ll marry you, you fucking…”
I don’t even get to finish. Even cradling my head in my arms, Vrillum cracks me again and the world goes black.
Chapter Fifteen
“The princess is bleeding.”
“She had a little accident on the way over here. The doctors can treat her when we’re finished.”
“That gash on her head looks nasty…”
“She’s fine. You’ll see.”
Someone slaps my face. My cheeks sting but the throbbing in my brain is worse.
“Ameia, wake up darling.”
I groan and turn my head away. It’s pounding, aching. My stomach is lurching.
“I’m going to be sick,” I gasp and bend over, heaving and spilling my guts.
“Damnit Ameia. My shoes!”
Vrillum shoves me away, cursing, and I stumble before dropping to my knees.
“Vrillum, I don’t think I can go through with this. When we planned this you assured me the princess would come to no harm.”
The world spins around me. I feel like I have the world’s worst hangover and a migraine from hell. Pain slices through my eyes, through my brain. I take in a deep, clean breath of air and wait for my stomach to settle. The saliva in my mouth lessens.
“She hasn’t been harmed, she’s fine. She’s just weak, you know this. A little cut and she’s crying like a baby.”
I let the breath hiss out between my teeth and suck another in. Where am I? Squinting, I take in my surroundings. It’s a bit confusing from this position, kneeling on the floor, but eventually I put two and two together. There are wooden pews and a plush red carpet on the floor. I’m kneeling near a white podium. Fighting the pain, I tip my head back and manage a quick look up before I can’t stand the ache anymore. Golden, domed ceilings.
We’re in the royal chapel.
“Her face is covered in blood,” a male voice says. “At least clean her up before I send him in.”
Vrillum makes a sound of disgust and stomps over to me. “Better?” he asks, reaching down and hauling me up by the arm.
“No,” I groan, my stomach feels like it drops to the floor as my body becomes vertical.
“Hold on to me if you need to, darling,” Vrillum tells me and whips a white handkerchief out of his pocket.
I’d rather fall on my face.
Vrillum starts to dab at my face with the handkerchief and I frown at him. “Darling?”
The white handkerchief flashes in front of my eyes, blotted with my blood. “Yes,” Vrillum grins. “My beloved betrothed.”
“I think I’m going to be sick again.”
I’m roughly shoved away and I heave and heave but this time nothing comes up.
“Is this it?” A new masculine voice says all too shrilly before Vrillum grabs my arm and pulls me into his side.
“Yes, this is it,” Vrillum says as if he’s annoyed. “Now if we could begin? My bride is feeling unwell.”
“You haven’t gotten her in the family way already?” Someone snickers. “Is that why we need to rush this?”
A man steps up to the podium dressed in long, dark blue ceremonial robes. It’s been so long since I’ve attended a service, years to be honest, I struggle to remember his name. Nevertheless, he narrows his gray eyes at me shrewdly.
“You’re sure you have the right girl?” he asks Vrillum.
I’d laugh if it wouldn’t hurt so much. I must look like shit if the Bishop doesn’t recognize me. Yes, it’s been years since I’ve attended service but it’s not really expected anyway. The masses are dreadfully outdated. Mostly sermons in the chapel are done for social gathering purposes, meet and greets, a chance to be seen and to show off. The only time they’re important and attendance is expected is if it’s for special ceremonies such as weddings, funerals, and birth celebrations.
“Yes, Bishop,” Vrillum hisses angrily and his grip on me tightens. “Everyone is here and time is of the essence.”
The Bishop… Bishop Ardam, that’s it, scowls at Vrillum. “Look, son, I know you’re in a hurry because of the king’s health, and because the princess is unwell, but there are rights and traditions that must be honored. I’m willing to perform this ceremony given the circumstances, but this is going to take some time.”
“Actually, Bishop,” Admiral Yarkof says as he steps up to the podium with a blaster. “You’re going to make this quick.”
The Bishop blusters, and I feel just a tiny bit better knowing he’s not in on this catastrophe. His position is strictly political, he was appointed personally by my father. Admiral Yarkof though, I give him my best fuck you glare even though he’s not looking at me to see it.
“I never…” The Bishop thunders as he looks between Yarkof and Vrillum.
“You’ll never perform another ceremony,” Yarkof threatens, cutting the Bishop off. “If you don’t get started right now.”
The Bishop looks between me and the blaster, realization dawning in his eyes. I can’t blame him, and I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same in his situation. Death or integrity? Never an easy choice. If he asks me, not that he does, I’d tell him to just do it. Marry me to Vrillum. Get this entire sham over with. Then, the first chance I get, I’m going to bash Vrillum’s ugly head in.
When my own head isn’t throbbing, aching, and sucking all the strength out of me.
Vrillum will be king, oh yes, it seems at this point there’s no avoiding it. But he’ll be the shortest reigning king that ever lived. I swear my own life upon it.
“Now,” Yarkof barks and shoves the tip of the blaster in the Bishop’s face.
The Bishop sputters and I feel sorry for him. He stares down the blaster and I guess he figures Yarkof isn’t playing. He doesn’t even look at me as he begins. “Today, we are gathered here to witness…”
Vrillum snaps his fingers impatiently. “Just skip to the good part.”
Yarkof tilts the blaster to the side until the barrel is over the Bishop’s shoulder and fires off a couple of warning shots.
The Bishops eyes widen and he grumbles. “The vows have to be said or it’s not legal.”
Vrillum just stares at him coldly.
Clearing his throat, the Bishop continues. “Do you, Prince Vrillum, son of Sarcia, stepson of Trivent, rightful ruler of Terrea, take Princess Ameia, daughter of Trivent, rightful ruler of Terrea to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Just hearing those words, hearing, remembering Vrillum is my family fills me with such anger. This is a betrayal like no other. If it wasn’t happening, I wouldn’t believe it. Even when trapped on that planet, I didn’t want to believe that he put me there on purpose. How could he? He’s my stepbrother. He’s always been the only sibling I’ve ever had. Up until this entire birthday thing, I felt like he was one of the only other people in this world who knew me. Who got me. How did things change so quick? How did we end up like this? What did I do to deserve this?
Who is this asshole beside me?
“No!” I yell and Vrillum slaps me with the back of his hand. My lip splits and I taste copper in my mouth.
“Yes,” Vrillum sighs and grabs me by the hair, yanking my neck back. “I do.”
“It’s not legal if she doesn’t agree,” the Bishop informs us.
I can�
�t help but whine at the position of my neck. Not only is my scalp screaming with pain, but my already battered brain hates this angle in my skull.
“Ameia, darling,” Vrillum says his fingers loosening in my hair. “If you don’t say I do, the Bishop is going to take a blast in the face.”
A cold chill travels down my spine.
“Do you understand?” Vrillum asks, pulling my face down to look at him.
I can’t answer him. All I want to do is spit the blood I’m tasting in his smug fugly face. Hate can make even the most beautiful people look ugly.
“Continue,” he orders the Bishop.
“Ameia,” a cold whisper hisses in my ear.
I shiver. Is that something dark in the corner of my eye?
“Do you, Princess Ameia, daughter of Trivent, rightful ruler of Terrea, take Prince Vrillum, son of Sarcia, stepson of Trivent, rightful ruler of Terrea to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the Bishop asks, his voice cracking.
“Do you accept me, Ameia?” the cold whisper asks.
I look at the Bishop, he’s sweating buckets as he waits on my answer. If I say no, I have no doubt Admiral Yarkof will kill him.
“Ameia,” Vrillum says in warning.
Admiral Yarkof presses the blaster into the Bishop’s face, right between his eyes. I can see the skin between his eyes bunching from the pressure.
“Princess, please,” the Bishop begs.
Can I do this? I don’t exactly have a choice.
“Yes,” I whisper and Vrillum’s lips spread into a wide grin.
“Say it louder,” Vrillum insists and squeezes my cheeks in a painful endearment.
Admiral Yarkof relaxes and the blaster points down, towards the floor. The Bishop sighs with relief.
“Yes, yes I accept you!” I scream desperately.
“I now pronounce you man and…”
Crack.
Admiral Yarkof’s head spins all the way around and he falls limply to the floor with a thud.
“What the fuck?” Vrillum roars.
