Skye’s heart drummed precariously, bringing her close to a faint. She had gathered—from the royals’ anxious conversation—that Nicholas was out there somewhere in his ship, planning to take on the enemy all on his own. The foolish and stupid and reckless man thought that he alone could be victorious over the Trobins, this clever and powerful foe.
The large viewer flicked on, showing Queen Te Sa Narr’s smug and evil face. “Moment over, you,” she said. “No words I hear for subservients. Say surrender—”
Suddenly, the viewer flashed to blue. Everyone was surprised, not expecting such an abrupt end to the enemy’s threats. The queen didn’t come on screen again, and in the following chaos—the advisors and military personnel checking and rechecking their consoles—the proverbial dark cloud of war seemed to lift from the room. Reports were coming in from the FAS starships that had recently been deployed for the attack.
“They’re retreating, Your Majesty!” a technician cried. “The Trobins—they are retreating!”
“Te Sa Narr’s ship is gone—exploded!” another cried. “Prince Nicholas—he did it—he reports that he got her!”
Skye sank to the floor in the uproar that followed, sitting amidst the ecstatic hoots and chants of victory. Her relief washed through her in glorious waves, but still her fears wouldn’t be gone until she saw his face again. She rose and paced unsteadily through all of the joviality—howbeit a cautious triumph, for the military watched their monitors still wary of a Trobin attack—and then she finally saw Nicholas, coming through the doorway.
He gave her an impish smile that was only for her. She let out a glad cry and rushed to him, fully appreciating the majesty of his embrace.
***
The defeat of the Trobins cast revelry into Queen’s Palace well into the morning hours. Sir William Sparr’s gamble had paid off, him betting that the destruction of the Trobin queen would make her subjects defenseless and lost. Lost, they were, fleeing back to their planet, abandoning the USFC Headquarters and the FAS ports, and their hold on Myrrh. Human guard ships were rushing to the wormhole to see to it that all of the Trobin ships passed through to the other side. The guards would remain there long after the relations with the creatures were formally terminated. The Trobins were a breed far too brutal for the like of Humans, and their conniving brains had best stay on their side of the portal.
The creatures were consumed by their failure—one especially, who was a prisoner in the palace hold. Stra Akka, when learning of his queen’s demise, took his own life with a poisonous capsule that he had successfully hidden inside the collar of his blue robe, ending the ominous presence of the Trobins on Adriel.
There was a sobering note in all the triumph, though, as twelve noble FAS pilots had lost their lives. But, they had given their ultimate sacrifice willingly, for the love of their planet. More surely would have died if not for one man, their fellow comrade who had solely accomplished the feat of victory.
Nicholas ... Skye hadn’t a moment alone with him since his return, for she had to share him with all of the palace hero-worshipers—and then all of Urania. Near sunrise, after the engineers had restored the SPSS and the power was flowing once more, the civilian reporters were allowed into the palace, inundating the royals with their questions.
From behind the curved railing of the barricade, the reporters learned about the attempted hostile takeover by the Trobins. They were informed about the abductions of the people, and the reason for the power outage, and about the destruction of the Infinity Monument, the rubble already being cleared away for the reconstruction. Prince Nicholas, in his sleek ship, had destroyed the Trobin queen, defeating them. The reporters saw him as a hero, but they always saw him as such and didn’t seem to grasp the concept of the peril their world had been in. Skye was surprised when their attention turned on her, the ‘mystery woman’ said to have captured the unattainable Prince Nicholas’ heart. They saw her as an adventuress who had intrigued all of Urania with her flighty disappearance.
“Skye Williams—that is your name, correct?” a male reporter asked.
She nodded. “The last time I checked, yes.”
“The last time you checked?”
She nodded with a smile.
“Where did you go, when you were missing?” another asked.
“I just lost myself for a while,” she replied.
“Are you some sort of sorceress?”
“No, I’m just me.”
“Who are you?” yet another asked.
She shrugged. “I’m Skye.”
“Why are you wearing those clothes?”
She glanced down at her simple shirt and leggings. “They fit.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“We can’t find any information on ‘Skye Williams’. Why is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from Adriel.”
“Where on Adriel?”
“The mountains.”
“You’re from the mountains? What mountains?”
“You know. Those hills that are above the valleys ...”
Skye was in a state of delirium, her emotions having been on a fierce roller coaster ride for days, her lack of sleep making her giddy. She thought that the media’s questions were ridiculous, after what had just happened on their planet, and she threw a glance at Nicholas, apologizing for stealing his spotlight. He stood relaxed by her side, sincerely amused by her responses to this feeding frenzy, eagerly awaiting the next question—and her answer.
“Is that where you disappeared to—the mountains?”
“Kind of.”
“What made you leave Prince Royce’s birthday celebration?”
“I just needed some air.”
“But, you were gone for days.”
“I needed a lot of air.”
“Did Prince Nicholas ask you to come back—begging your pardon, Your Royal Highness.”
She gave Nicholas a soft smile. “He’s very persuasive.”
“How did you meet the prince?”
Skye felt the heat rising to her cheeks. She remembered the Kalcoonian brothel and the passion of their illustrious introduction. She glanced at Nicholas and saw him stifle a chuckle, and found no help there.
She thought a moment and said, “It was a chance meeting. I was in a bit of a circumstance, and you know the noble prince—he has many faces, but he’s always eager to oblige a damsel in distress, no matter what the cost.”
Grudgingly, he whispered, “Touché.”
“You were a damsel in distress?”
“I was one of those held captive by the Trobins.”
This unpleasant concept passed right on by, over their heads, for now ...
“Was it love at first sight?”
“He did sweep me off my feet.”
“Do you plan to marry?”
Nicholas was awaiting her answer, also.
“We’ve spoken of it.”
They pounced on this.
“Have you set a date?”
“How many heirs do you plan?”
“Who will design your gown?”
“What’s your blood type?”
Skye held up her hand until the crowd fell silent. “Marriage isn’t something that I take lightly. It isn’t something to rush in to.”
“You’re not rushing? Aren’t you eager to become a princess?”
“I’ve never really thought about it.”
Nicholas shook his head, impressed. He should have known that she could handle her own, faced with the media, being as evasive to them as she always had been to him. The seasoned pros at uncovering scandals were becoming a bit flustered—something he always enjoyed doing to them—for the more they probed, the more concise her answers became. They had expected an airbrain—given all her uncommon beauty—but what they found was a very intelligent opponent. She would keep them guessing for as long as she chose, and have them eating from her han
d. Still, he supposed that they couldn’t be any worse than bears.
He let the interrogation go on a while, but when it became inane with their serious questions about the frivolities of her wardrobe, he held up his hand. He was tired—she was tired—and all he wanted to do was to get her into his bed.
“Enough for now, my friends,” he said. “We’ve had quite a night.”
“But, Your Royal Highness, we just have to know—”
He ignored their persistence, ushering her off the platform and into the palace halls.
Skye let out a short laugh. “They’re very thorough, aren’t they?”
“Very!” he replied. “But you handled yourself well.”
“But they hardly asked about what you did!” she protested. “You just saved the entire Urania Solar System and all they wanted to know about were my dress sashes!”
He sighed. “All in a day’s work.”
He was bringing her to his quarters when he was met with a group of FAS administrators who needed his attention. He scowled, but he took to his duty. He bent to whisper in her ear. “Meet me in my rooms—you know where they are. My bed is waiting. I’ll be there, soon.”
Skye did as she was told, and when in his rooms she stripped from her shirt and leggings, and took a moment for a soothing shower before she crawled naked between the sheets of the vast royal bed. She waited for him, thinking warmly about the past events, and she must have dozed off, for the next that she knew, his hand was touching her cheek.
He smiled down on her, in his anticipation. He took off his vest and put his M-5 away in a bureau that was actually a small arsenal nearby the bed.
“I am done for the day,” he said, emphasizing every word in his relief.
She was very glad to hear that, watching intently while he stripped down to his bare, magnificent physique. The mid-afternoon sun streamed in the skylights, bringing a further glow to his blond locks and blue-green eyes. She thrust back the bedding to welcome him and he moved atop her, dramatically collapsing on her. She clutched him tightly—then pounded him vexatiously on his back, for all the grief he had caused her.
“You could have been killed!” she scolded, with a pout.
“But I wasn’t,” he replied. “I’m still around, to fight another day.”
His firm lips moved across her cheek to her full lips, drawing her into a long and ardent kiss. He hadn’t much energy left within him but his spirit had the will, and he savored her, maddening her with pleasure, him glad to be alive and knowing what he lived for. The pride she had for his valor brought a devotion to her touch, for this truly was a man of honor and he was giving his love to her. Her breath caught in her moment of discovery, as he drove himself within, that she must learn how to surrender, knowing that—from this point forward—her life would never be her own, again.
Chapter 21
Fame was a unique responsibility that Skye had never dreamt she would ever have to know. Not only was her life not her own anymore, she knew that her world would never be the same. After she woke, having slept clear through to the sunrise, and being exhilarated by Nicholas’ playful lovemaking, she went to her quarters to change for the day. She discovered that her comm that she had left behind on the bureau was vibrating nearly out of control. She checked the messages from the reporters and her new admirers, and found them to be of a number she couldn’t fathom. She changed quickly into a soft, long-sleeved white dress, pleased to find her wardrobe just how she had left it, and went back to Nicholas’ rooms with her comm, to see what suggestions he had.
He was finishing dressing, looking very debonair all in black, him having a busy day ahead with his duties at the FAS base on the moon Silhouette. He gave her a warm smile while she approached, and when he saw the perplexed look on her face as she held out her overworked comm, he laughed.
“Get used to it, Skye,” he said. “You’re a hit!”
He took the comm from her and became serious as he flicked it off and gave it back to her. “I’ll have security change the number before I leave,” he said. “You’ll still have the direct line to me, as I will to you, but they’ll screen all of your other calls—there are some loonies out there. The new calls won’t reach you unless it’s a number you want. Any numbers you want?”
She shook her head, not knowing any other numbers.
“I know you’re new at this, girl, but there’s really nothing to it,” he assured. “Just remember that the media is to deal with you on your terms.”
She nodded, and he donned his black vest and came to lay his large hands on her slender shoulders, looking into her eyes with a wistful expression. “I wish I didn’t have to go today,” he said quietly. “But they need my appearance on the base. I know what I’d rather be doing ...”
He bent to kiss her, long and thoroughly, leaving her weak and wanting within his arms.
“Hold that thought until I return,” he said huskily, reluctantly releasing her. “I might be back late. Keep your comm on you, in case I have to call.”
He moved for the door and paused. “Make yourself comfortable here,” he invited quietly. “My rooms are yours.” Then he added, “Bring some of your things over. Have a good day, sweetheart.”
“You, too,” she breathed, suddenly feeling shy.
He left her alone with her many considerations.
Skye slowly paced the plush blue carpets of his quarters, in a very thoughtful mood. He wanted her to stay with him ... he wanted to marry her—did he still want to marry her? He must, since he had gone to great lengths to find her on Beacon Hill, and then let it be known to Urania about them. If he were willing, what was it truly that was holding her back?
The more that she was with him, the more the rogue in him seemed to fade into the background, being replaced by the true and noble prince—the persona that the world saw, the persona that she had thought was an illusion. But, what truly was the illusion, now that she knew that he was a good man, the man of her dreams ...?
Skye could find no answers, for the more she tried, the more confused she became. She let out a strangled cry and went off to her quarters to get a few unassuming belongings to bring back to his rooms, to show him that she wasn’t moving in—but she wasn’t leaving, either.
She searched through her personal things, wondering what meaning her hairbrush would convey to him, when a call came in on her comm. She hurried to answer it, thinking that it was Nicholas. It was the Palace Security, telling her that her new number was secure and that she shouldn’t have any more problems with unsolicited calls. She thanked the woman and went back to her mission at hand.
She passed the day in her quarters, struggling with her contradictions until she finally gave up and retreated to laze on her bed, hoping to find some insight. She found herself in a very pleasant daydream, being Nicholas’ wife, never to be without his presence again ...
When her comm buzzed, she sprang up, hoping that it was Nicholas. This time it was a persistent and savvy caller who had already found access to the new number. Disappointed, she was about to disconnect the incoming text when the word ‘murderer’ caught her eye. She took notice of the message, backtracking to the beginning:
‘Skye Williams:
I have proof that will identify the murderer of your father, Tavis Hamilton. The man confessed it to me in bed one night. I am in fear for my life. He must not know that I am contacting you. I will tell you, and only you, his identity. The authorities would not believe it coming from me, the truth about this prominent man, but they would believe you. Meet me at the Fountain Square in Seascape City, at the west side of the fountain, at 6:00 today. You must be alone and incognito so as not to draw attention. Hold a red rose and I will hold one, as well. I will find you. Again, my identity must not be known. It is imperative that you come alone or you will never know the identity of his killer. Please help me. Please send a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ response immediately.’
Skye’s hands began to shake as she replayed the message again. This wo
man knew who had killed her father, and she was in fear for her life if she were to come forward to the authorities. She would only speak to her ...
She quickly assessed the situation. This call could be a lure; for all she knew it was from a man. It could be from a deranged lunatic just trying to get her alone ... except for the fact that her father’s death wasn’t widely publicized and her surname ‘Williams’ didn’t match ‘Hamilton’. No, the caller really knew the truth about her father’s killer, whether being a witness—or the one who had killed him.
She searched her instincts, finding them vague and clouded in all of the emotion that this call had provoked. Again she felt the pangs of loss—and her anger that someone had so senselessly ripped her papa from her life. The authorities were no closer in finding his elusive killer than they were from the start of their investigation—she hadn’t heard one further word about it. If there was a chance that she could identify him ... if this was on the level ...
Skye came to one conclusion—she just had to know! But, she must handle this by herself. If she alerted the Royal Guard and the woman found out, she would never trust her to speak to her again. If she waited for Nicholas, he would surely take command and wouldn’t let her go, and the witness could slip away. She must go alone.
She would bring a weapon with her. She certainly knew how to use one and she would use it, if the woman wasn’t who she claimed to be and became a threat. And, if it were her father’s killer, she would stun him and bring the monster to justice. The Fountain Square was a very public place, a market hub, and she wouldn’t really be alone. She could take care of herself ...
When her comm buzzed again, the message being the same, she took in a deep breath and pressed the ‘yes’ response.
She quickly rolled her long red-gold hair into a coil for her nape and secured it there, all the while watching her determined violet-blue eyes reflected in her mirror. She would wear dark sunshades to conceal their now well-known glow, and wear a floppy decorative hat to hide her coloring. After doing this, she grabbed a matching long and thin pale-gold coat, for it was cool today, an added convenience for her disguise. She dropped her comm into her coat pocket, and had just passed through her doorway when Marion approached, sporting a wide smile.
The Princess of the Wild (The Royals of Adriel Book 2) Page 25
