Joined: Book One

by Mara Gan

  “But you’re not even royal,” Fáviti sniffed.

  Synie stepped forward with a frown. “She has been prophesied by the Moirae themselves, Ambassador. They have honored her with a royal title.”

  He snorted. “But she was hardly born with it,” he sneered. “Her blood is impure. What does a woman know of politics, anyway?” He turned to glance at Kos. “The contract states she will provide His Highness with children.” He looked at me with disdain. “I fail to see how she is capable of it.”

  This was so insulting that I wanted to laugh. I looked to Synie, about to tell the ambassador and the prince that their interest was welcome but the contract was void—to hell with the Moirae—when the ambassador broke all bounds of decency by grabbing my hips and squeezing them.

  I was too surprised to do anything but brace myself against his chest. “She’s too thin,” he scoffed. His hands moved toward my chest, and I was about to punch him in the nose when a black blur moved across my vision, and without warning the ambassador suddenly disappeared from in front of me, hurled against the far wall.

  Perseus was in front of me, and once again I could feel the fury rolling off him like heat from a star. Synie and Kos had instantly moved to his side, probably to restrain him, but he wasn’t attempting to injure the ambassador any further.

  Good thing, too, because I highly doubted they could stop him if he chose to fight.

  “You will address the Heir with proper respect,” Perseus snarled. “I am appalled that anyone could have such bad manners, let alone to someone with as much admiration as Princess Andromeda has earned in her short life.” He turned to Prince Kylmä, who looked remarkably unfazed. “And you,” he spat. “You have no idea what a treasure you’ve been given. Most of the men in the galaxy would trade their lives for such a privilege.”

  The ambassador sat up, sputtering, holding his more-likely-than-not-broken nose. Prince Kylmä stood by, continuing to look bored, almost as though nothing at all was going on in the room—let alone a physical altercation with his ambassador.

  I felt dizzy from the fury Perseus was radiating, and the things he’d just said…. He thought I was a treasure?

  I moved to stand next to him, placing a hand on his arm. He looked down at me, eyes blazing, then his face cleared and he straightened.

  And just like that, the Rage was gone again.

  “Forgive me, Princess,” he said formally, turning to bow slightly to me. “I have overstepped my bounds. I only meant to protect your honor.”

  I was stunned in more ways than one. Between the ambassador’s horrible manners, Perseus’s attack, his fury, and his prim behavior now, I had no idea what was going on anymore. I needed to regain control of the situation.

  “It’s all right, Perseus,” I murmured. I turned to the ambassador and Kylmä. “I suggest you continue these negotiations without me. I trust Synie and Kos will have some… amendments to make, if this wedding is to proceed, which recent actions have left highly questionable.” I laughed internally. That was diplomat speak for “not gonna happen.” To be cordial, however, I nodded to Prince Kylmä. “Either way, we are still pleased to invite you to the reception this evening.” I bowed slightly, but only as was befitting someone of equal station. I wasn’t going to let some self-righteous prince think he was better than anyone. “Your Highness.”

  He ignored me and turned to gaze out the window.

  I turned on my heel and walked out the door, head high with my Protector following in my footsteps.

  “Well, that was fun,” I said jovially “Tell Clee to mark that one down as the worst initial meeting between an Heir and an Intended. Ever.”

  Perseus said nothing. I glanced at him and saw his jaw ticking. “Oh come on.” I poked him, which made him glare at me a little. “Even you have to admit that was pretty ridiculous.”

  His jaw worked. “You can’t actually be considering marrying that ass.”

  For once, his bad language in public didn’t even have me flinching. I was getting used to it, for one thing, and for another, it was completely true. I shrugged. “Technically, it’s up to the Moirae,” I replied. “But I think I will require serious convincing before anything proceeds. You will note, however, that I didn’t really meet the prince. The ambassador should be thrown out the nearest portal, but the prince himself was just aloof.”

  “He was a cold, self-righteous bastard.”

  “You don’t know that,” I scolded. I knew that, but Perseus didn’t. “Besides, although I doubt I’ll be giving the ambassador a second chance, I’m willing to give the prince a chance before telling the Moirae to go to hell.”

  Perseus’s eyes met mine in shock. “Did you just swear?”

  I grinned. “Your bad habits are rubbing off on me.” I grabbed his arm and tugged him toward my favorite weak spot. “Come on. After the disastrous not-meeting on Kapak and a disastrous meeting with a now-doubtful Intended, I need a Mathan Fog.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I looked around the reception and sighed. Dozens of people were there, and as always, I was lonely.

  Kos and I had meditated before coming here to be assured that my empathic and telepathic abilities didn’t overwhelm me. But frankly, I think I would have preferred the telepathic noise to this polite boredom.

  Synie had done an incredible job preparing this gathering. I didn’t know who the decorator was, but he or she had done an incredible job. Synie had chosen the central Hypethral as the location, and the lakeside had been decorated with several small tables big enough to seat five people each. Each table was adorned with a small candle and a bowl of white flowers. The trees around us had been decorated with tiny lights, and torches were lit in and around the tables.

  All to celebrate my engagement, which I wanted to refuse but I was desperately concerned doing so would start a war with Kylmä’s people.

  I had been required to sit at the head table, a long table with Prince Kylmä, Synie, Kos, Ambassador Fáviti, King Cepheus, and Queen Cassiopeia. It was decorated even more elaborately than the others, containing large bouquets of red roses, and the tablespread was littered with tiny green petals. It was positively beautiful.

  The meal was quite good. Scores of dishes adorned the plates in front of me, many of which I considered to be favorites.

  Right now, I just wasn’t hungry.

  I was largely left alone, however, which suited me just fine. Cepheus had managed to engage Fáviti and Kylmä in some discussion that they all found rather interesting, for which I was grateful as it gave me an opportunity to observe Kylmä when he was actually talking to someone. Synie and Cassiopeia were discussing details of the wedding itself, which I had not yet agreed to, by any stretch of the imagination.

  I looked around. Perseus, Egil, Kenzi, and Gi were all here, much to my chagrin. Perseus had taken a seat at a table as far away from me as possible, and was presently engaged in conversation with Rania and Callie. Egil and Gi were moving down the buffet table, filling their plates with as many delicacies as possible.

  I snorted. You’d think they’d never eaten before.

  I realized just how occupied everyone seemed to be. A quick look around the room told me that indeed, no one seemed to be watching me. I glanced at the dark edges of the forest.

  Now or never.

  I murmured a quick “be right back” to Synie, who barely looked at me, and slipped away from the table.

  I knew the Hypethral backward and forward. I was only about a ten minute walk from my favorite spot, the one by the pond I had shown Perseus on that fateful day a few months ago. I was quick and quiet; everyone was thoroughly engaged in conversation and no doubt not expecting me to abandon the party, but I didn’t want to take any chances that Synie might suddenly want to ask my opinion on flowers or some such hogwash for another reception.

  I slipped carefully through the trees, avoiding the main path just in case, and in no time I found myself at my pond, just as the little fireflies were coming out.


  I caught my breath and slowly sat on the rock jutting out over the pond. The fireflies weren’t the Malaika. I knew that. But they were still gorgeous, and they were still beings, just ones I couldn’t communicate with.

  I hugged my knees, watching the waterfall and the light breeze ruffling through the thick foliage. Sitting here, surrounded by my favorite flowers and the soothing sounds of trickling water, I could feel alive—and I could almost forget that the Moirae and the Pragma wanted me to marry a man who couldn’t stand me.

  Well, maybe not quite forget.

  I dropped my head onto my knees and shivered. My thin peach dress offered little protection against the chill that invaded the Hypethral afterhours, but I didn’t care.

  What I wanted was to marry Perseus.

  I squeezed my knees closer. There. I’d said it.

  Maybe not out loud, but admitting it to myself felt just as gut-wrenching.

  I had been denying my feelings for months, ever since he’d arrived here. That first night had changed my life forever.

  I had always known I would marry a man who didn’t love me, one I likely wouldn’t love, either. I knew I had to marry for politics and diplomacy, not love. I had accepted it. I’d never known any different, and it hadn’t bothered me that much.

  Now… it bothered me. And if I were being truly honest, it had only started really bothering me after I had met my Protector.

  Perseus had been so gentle, so tender with me, that I could almost believe he meant what he said. That he did need me. He’d told me he wanted me that second day in his quarters, and he’d kissed me during our pseudo-training session, but since then he’d been my Protector, all business, nothing more.

  All men, and occasionally women, seemed to fall for me at first. They got over it quickly; they were just enchanted by my odd hair, my eyes, my pheromones, or whatever at first, but they soon moved on. It was always fleeting. Perseus was no different. I had seen him with plenty of other women, particularly Rania, who was easily the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, laughing and talking. He clearly enjoyed their company; when he was with me, he was more serious, businesslike.

  I, on the other hand, had not moved on. I knew he was just doing his duties, protecting me, but his protective nature, his casual humor, his subtle brand of teasing, that deeply wounded soul beneath the rough exterior… how could I not love him?

  Did I even know what love was? I rested my cheek on one knee, gazing at the dark forest. What I felt for Perseus was deeper than anything I’d ever felt before, for anyone. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, to hug him close, to run my hands through his hair, to feel his muscles beneath my fingertips.

  I shuddered again and dug my nails into my palms. Stop thinking about that, I thought bitterly. Focus on the life you’re going to have, not the one you’ll never have.

  My ears twitched at a rustle in the leaves behind me.

  Took him long enough.

  “I’m not sorry,” I said, not turning.

  “You should be.”

  I glanced at him as he sat on the rock beside me. “Why?” I asked. “Is it so wrong to ask for a little privacy?”

  “When there’s someone out to kill you? Yes.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “You don’t need to be empathic to figure that out,” he answered curtly, raising his wrist to his mouth. “All units. I have her. She’s fine. Perseus out.”

  I watched as he covered his MCD with his jacket sleeve. “You’re all out searching for me?” He said nothing, watching the waterfall. “You didn’t think to come here first? I showed you this place weeks ago, knowing you were to be my Protector. Did you forget?”

  “I did not,” Perseus responded. “That’s why I’m here. Doesn’t mean I can’t send searchers out to other parts of the city just to be safe.”

  “It’s not like I went very far,” I protested. “I was right here the whole time.”

  “Did we know that?” Perseus asked, eyes catching mine. “Do you know the—” He caught himself. “Never mind. Don’t ever do it again.”

  “And it took you, what, a whole half an hour?” I teased. “I’m surprised I could escape at all, what with your security net.”

  “A security net that’s about to get even tighter,” he said. “Next time, you tell me when you want ‘alone time.’” He reached for my arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Can’t we stay just a few more minutes?” I asked, not relishing the thought of returning to the party. “I want to watch the fireflies.”

  “Fireflies?”

  I nodded, focusing in the darkness. “There.”

  He turned, squinting. “That little spot of light? That’s a firefly?”

  I smiled. “They’re from Velur. They only come out in the Hypethral afterhours, since they’re naturally nocturnal, and they only stay for an hour or two. They die quickly.”

  “Very interesting,” he mused, squatting next to me as another spot of light appeared in the forest.

  We watched in silence as slowly, firefly after firefly made itself known, and the forest was sprinkled with dozens of hovering points of light.

  “May I tell you something?” I asked, my voice quiet.

  He looked mildly surprised. “Of course.”

  “Do you know Halia’s nickname?”

  “Everyone does,” Perseus replied. “World of Light.”

  “Do you know why our planet had that nickname?”

  “I seem to remember your world being famous for fireflies as well,” he said softly. “They were so beautiful and abundant that they were quite the tourist attraction.”

  I shook my head. “They weren’t fireflies.”

  He frowned. “No?”

  “They were people.”

  “People?”

  “People,” I clarified, my chin resting on my knees. “Tiny humans with wings. Their wings glowed at night to illuminate their territory. They were actually ancient Halians; they called themselves the Malaika, and they inhabited the planet long before my kind ever did. As the millennia wore on, some of them grew larger and developed into a new species—my species, who quickly forgot all relation to the lighted people.”

  Perseus watched me in surprise. “How do you know this?”

  “Remember the friends I told you about before?” I asked softly. “The ones I don’t like to talk about? No one else on the planet knew what they were; everyone always called them fireflies or lightning bugs, but they weren’t. They were people. Too small to communicate with most other beings, but I could understand them just fine.” My heart ached with memory. “They talked to me, taught me things, played with me. They were my friends when no one else would go near me.”

  “That’s incredible,” he murmured.

  I laughed bitterly. “Maybe, but it was certainly the reason no one else wanted to talk to me.”

  “What? Why not?”

  I shook my head. “Would you want to talk to the little girl who spoke to fireflies and claimed they were fairies?” I asked, my voice sounding harsh to my own ears. “They called me crazy, among other things.” There was another little secret of mine: I had been bullied. Badly. It was part of why I was so adamant about stopping it on a galactic scale.

  He touched my hand. “Children are cruel.”

  I scowled. “They were jerks.”

  “You never think anyone is a jerk,” he said, surprised.

  “What? So I’m not allowed to think poorly of someone?” I was suddenly angry. “Do you know how hard it is to be silent or diplomatic in the face of so much wrong, so much—” I bit my lip and looked away. “Everyone says I’m so kind,” I whispered, feeling wretched as I bared the horrid truth of my inner psyche. “But I think horrible thoughts, just like everyone else does.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Perseus said softly.

  I shook my head. “It’s only my ability to read their emotions, their minds that stops me from saying things out loud.”

  “You stop yours
elf from saying them because you know it will hurt them. How is that not kindness?”

  “It’s empty if the thoughts are impure. People only think it’s kindness.”

  He smiled. “Isn’t that enough? Isn’t it enough that people perceive it as kindness?”

  “Is it really kindness if it’s only based on perception?”

  “Life is based on perception, Princess.”

  I turned away, resting my head on my knee. “The Malaika were all I had,” I said wistfully. “They were the only ones who ever cared about me. Me, not the Heir or my position as Heir, or even my pheromones. Me. But they were forest creatures, living entirely without technology. They were too small to save themselves, and no one but me cared to save them. But I failed—not a single one of them survived the Destruction.” I gave him a bitter smile. “All because of me.”

  He froze. “You can’t think that way—”

  “You think I don’t know?” I glared at him. “Clee, Kos, and Synie have been hiding that from me for weeks. Clee came up with that theory when the investigators returned and has been searching for proof ever since. She’s found nothing, but Clee is never wrong. When she has a theory, it’s true.”

  The investigators had indeed returned. They had tracked the ships that destroyed Halia to the outer edges of our galaxy, only to find yet another destroyed planet, the once-thriving mercenary homeworld of Barnabus. That was the information Synie and Clee had learned recently, that they didn’t want to share with me. Another charred, dead end, and a mass murderer on the loose. Clee theorized that the mercenaries from Barnabus had simply taken a commission to obliterate Halia, but then whoever hired them had destroyed them to destroy the evidence.

  That was what they were hiding, but I knew. I was a hobby hacker, after all, and I hacked the database the instant the investigators were returned. I, of all people, knew how powerful information was. The news had devastated me; the only thing that kept me from completely falling apart was my job.

  He paused. “How did you find out?”

  I gave him a wry look. “I like hacking. And how is it that people forget I can read emotions and minds?”