by S. E. Smith
"Love birds, eh?" The human snickered and fanned his cane over the bars again with a heavy clunk clunk clunk noise that made Pym's feathers stand on end. "Get to matin', little birds. I've got a deposit down on your first set of eggs."
Pym hissed at the man and launched himself toward the bars, talons out. As he touched the bars, something jolted along his legs, stinging through his blood worse than an insect bite. Pym folded up, flopping to the floor of the cage with a heavy thud that left his side aching.
The man with the cane cackled and walked off.
Rose Gold hurried forward to nudge at Pym with her beak. "Are you all right? Pym, are you—"
He rolled to his side, finally pushing up onto his hind legs. He ruffled his feathers as the lingering pain from the shock pulsed through his body. "Egg-eating son of a dung beetle!" he hurled at the humans watching them. "I'll eat their eyes and pluck the tongues from their mouths if they try that again."
Rose Gold clicked her beak and moved into the shadows of the cage. She curled into a tight ball, tail looped over her wings. "You get used to it. Being watched. Being taunted."
Pym snorted. "Never. That will never happen with me."
"Never is a long time, Pym the Brave, and you're stuck in this cage."
"No." The feathers on his neck rose with agitation, but he didn't care. "My companion Liana will come for me. She'll get me out of here."
The other caliba winced as if his words were a physical blow, and then she uncurled and rolled the other way to give him her back. "No one gets out of here."
"Where is he?" Liana crossed toward Jacen, her face clenched with fear. "Is Pym all right?"
"Somewhere off the casino level. I think they've got him on display."
The princess gnawed at her lower lip, even white teeth sinking into plump flesh, and Jacen forced himself to refocus on the screen.
"Will that make it easier or harder to rescue Pym?" she asked.
Jacen shook his head. "It's difficult to say. It depends what the arrangement is." He set the screen aside and moved toward the bedroom on the ship he had claimed as his own--one level down, hidden below the decadence of the living quarters and the emperor's own bedroom. The princess clattered after him, and it was only as she bumped into him climbing into the bunkroom used by ship servants and security that he realized just how small the room was.
She gazed around with wide eyes at the sterile metal walls, the simple bunks with their patched sheets. Frown lines puckered on her brow. "I never thought about where everyone else slept. What it must be like." She shook her head, making the fall of her dark hair shine in the overhead light.
Jacen shrugged. This was the life he had chosen and the life he was used to. It hadn't even occurred to him to steal one of the bedrooms upstairs. Not even the guest room. Old habits, he supposed. He'd flown on this ship too many times while escorting the princess. The divide between them—the hard wall that said she belonged above decks and he belonged below—was as natural a habit as always using her title, never letting her out of his sight.
Never thinking about how much he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her.
Even her impetuous kiss the night of the emperor's winter ball hadn't been enough. Not enough to shatter the wall that had always stood between them. Not enough to rewrite the rules branded into Jacen's brain: Don't get too familiar. Don’t touch her more than you need to. Don't let her see how much you care. Jacen stalked into the supply room. It was large and full of all kinds of things: weapons, gadgets, as well as costumes and jewelry.
He scanned the wall where the fancy suits hung. No one had yet purged the range of items in his size. His preferred suit was a little conservative for the part he meant to play, but there was also some jewelry he could use to dress it up and look flashier.
"Oooh." The princess stood in the doorway behind him, peering into the security closet with eyes wide. When she stepped in behind him, she knit her hands together behind her back as if she were afraid she'd touch everything if she didn't keep her hands clasped.
A smile tugged at Jacen's lips seeing the familiar gesture. She'd had to do that when they'd toured the spaceship yards or the factory where they manufactured the high-speed trains. If the princess didn't keep her hands clasped she'd be elbow deep in parts and oil in no time, ruining her fancy visiting clothes and displeasing her father. The lesson had been drummed into her since she was a small child, he knew. Look but don't touch. Be decorative not useful.
"What's your plan?" she asked.
Jacen pulled the suit out of the storage closet and turned away from her. "You hide here. I'll reconnoiter the casino level and see if I can find Pym."
"You're leaving me alone?"
Jacen gripped the suit tighter then cursed at the crushed material. "If anyone tries to come onboard just pilot the ship out. Blow a hole through their hangar bay if you have to." He hated to leave her alone, absolutely loathed the idea, but she knew how to pilot. He straightened without looking at her and began digging through the jewelry cache. "If you want Pym back then you have to let me go."
"Why can't I go with you?"
He shoved his suit back onto the bar where it'd been hanging and whirled on her in surprise. "Go with me?"
She tilted her chin up, her dark eyes hard but shining with hope. "Yes. I could cut my hair, wear a wig. There are outfits for women here too."
Jacen dragged his hands through his hair, his nerves jangling. "Princess, earlier…that disguise…that was a quick sprint through some of the back corridors. I'm talking about walking straight into the lion's den."
"Pym might not go with you if I'm not there."
Jacen hadn't considered that. And he'd probably need Pym's cooperation to get the caliba safely away. Several of the thugs who had attempted to help kidnap the princess from the palace had been found dead, their faces badly clawed, eyes destroyed. Pym's spurs and beak were no joke. Only through sheer numbers or powerful drugs would Jacen be able to take Pym anywhere the caliba didn't want to go. But, if Princess Liana were with him, the caliba would not only go right along, he could potentially aid their retreat.
Jacen swore under his breath and moved toward the petite section of the storage room where they kept the items for smaller people like the princess. "This is a bad idea."
He heard the rustle of her clothes as she moved up behind him. "All the choices we make right now are bad ones. Leave Pym. Try to rescue him. Leave me here alone, or let me go with you."
He turned to look at her, his stomach clenching with nerves.
She met his gaze, as calm and elegant as the ornate pond at the palace. "At least if I go with you we can be together."
Together. Just the thought made a hollow ache in Jacen's stomach, but that wasn't what she meant of course. Jacen dug into the petite supply closet. "Well, forgive me, princess, but if we want you to look convincing on the casino level without looking like yourself then we'll have to put you in something like this." His hands shook a little as he pulled the outfit out of the closet.
Her eyes widened and her gaze tracked up and down the lush red dress he held out. "That's…absolutely necessary?"
Was it? Jacen thought so. He didn't think he was suggesting this disguise for his own lascivious reasons. If she wore something that was more her normal style—elegant and modest—then it seemed more likely she might be recognized. Especially on the debauched floor of the casino. The only individuals dressed modestly down there were some older matrons who liked to gamble, and even they had had some scantily clad arm candy to blow on their dice. "If we dress you as a high roller in a suit or something more modest then that'll draw attention to you." He held the dress up. "In this, you'll just be one more piece of arm candy. They might look at you, but they won't see you. Does that make sense?"
She wet her lips and reached for the dress. "All right."
"Take that upstairs and change. I'll see you in a few minutes to work on your face and hair." Jacen turned away from her, already
fighting images of how she would look in the dress. If he wanted to focus on the mission, then he was surely going about it in the wrong way.
Trying not to imagine anything to do with the princess and that dress, he started skinning out of his own clothes to don the disguise of a disreputable gambler.
It felt strange leaving Jacen alone in the unfamiliar bunk room below. A whole world underneath her feet that she'd never even imagined. And now the cognitive dissonance of standing in her own familiar suite had nearly knocked her over. She'd been so scared for days. Scared they'd hurt her, murder her. Hurt Pym. And now she was in her old familiar suite. Cool silver carpet, the graceful sweep of her white wooden bed. The pleasant scent of vanilla coloring the air. And if she went to Jacen and said "Let's just leave" he would. Except then he'd just take her from this prison to the familiar one back home. And she wouldn't even have Pym.
She dug her fingernails into her palms and dragged the red dress off the bed. She might be safe for now, but she couldn't leave Pym here.
And the problem of home and how trapped she felt and Jacen's job and—and everything could wait until every one of them was safe.
She wriggled out of the stinky transient garments Jacen had given her and dropped them on the floor. The red dress slid up over her hips with a whisper of fabric, and she reached behind to zip it up. The reach was awkward, but she might die of mortification if she went down below half-dressed and asked Jacen to zip her up.
Liana smoothed the lines of the dress then turned to face herself in the mirror.
A small gasp escaped her and she touched her lips in shock. "Oh." Liana had never worn anything like this…garment in her whole life. It was a luscious red velvet one-shouldered gown with several daring slashes in the fabric. The tamest was the slit up the gathered long sleeve. The most daring was the long oval window cut diagonally from her shoulder to her waist and displaying quite a lot of her chest and stomach. Her breasts were small but the dress pressed and lifted so they looked like ripe peaches. The high slit up the skirt of the dress that left one leg bare up to her hip was almost an afterthought. Liana blinked and traced one fingertip down the open line of the dress, tickling over her own bare skin. If I'd worn a dress like this to the ball would Jacen have kissed me back? Would he have realized I'm not some sheltered girl who needs protecting?
She laughed to herself and shook her hair out of her face. If she'd worn a dress like this to that ill-fated ball her father would have had her bodily carried back to her bedroom until morning. The daughter of the emperor didn't wear things such as this.
She smiled. Yet here I am.
Quickly, she braided her long hair and pinned it to her scalp as tightly as she could manage. Hands shaking, she collected the folds of her skirt and made her way out of her room and downstairs. The cool air of the yacht brushed over her skin, and it seemed easy to imagine every nerve ending she possessed had caught on fire.
Jacen was dressed already, kneeling on the floor and sorting through a bin of costume jewelry. He already had several heavy gold necklaces dragging at his neck, dropping nearly to his waist. His shirt was unbuttoned at least that far and only partially tucked into his snug gray trousers. Liana curled her fingers around the doorway and admired the view from behind for one naughty, stolen moment.
He must have heard her breathing, though, because he turned half-distractedly. "Here, I found some—" He broke off and his mouth fell open, his gaze roaming over her head to toe. Something caught in his eyes, a flicker of emotion that he just as quickly stifled.
Desire? Liana wet her lips, her skin so hot she had to fan her cheeks a moment. "Why—why does my father even have something like this dress aboard the yacht?"
Jacen cleared his throat and bent back toward his work. "Sometimes he takes this yacht out with people besides you. Since the empress died. Although, in fairness, sometimes the female or nonbinary bodyguards might need to wear something like that too. To blend in."
Liana frowned, turning that over in her mind. Her father had lovers then. She traced her hand down the lush fabric of her dress. And lovers that would wear something like this? She growled and clenched her hands into fists. "What a hypocrite he is. Preaching morality and modesty, honor and duty." Heat flashed through her again, embarrassment as she remembered that mortifying moment at the ball when her father had caught her inexpertly throwing herself at Jacen. She scratched at her arm. "Chastity."
Jacen tilted his head to the side, his expression wry and commiserating. "Yes."
Looking at him made something coil tight in her chest, an aching knot of feeling that hurt and made butterflies tickle in her stomach all at once. Fear and anticipation all tangled together. She'd seen the way he'd looked at her in this dress. "Jacen—"
He abruptly shot to his feet, a glittering pile of trinkets cupped in his hands. "So. The mission."
"Yes. Pym. Right." The thought of her poor companion trapped somewhere, scared, was enough to refocus her mind as sharply as a slap. "What's the plan then? Besides The Dress."
Jacen smiled as if he could hear the capitalization she'd put on the words, and he held aloft one diamond-encrusted earring for her to see. "I found these beauties in the stash. Glamours."
He said the word as if it should mean something to her, but Liana could only shrug.
Jacen grinned. "Watch." He clipped both earrings onto his own ears then carefully trailed one finger across a stone. Immediately, something shimmered over his face, and he looked entirely different, a stranger's face staring back at her.
Liana yelped and recoiled in surprise. Then forced herself to step closer and examine the illusion. He wore the face of an older woman with wide, close set blue eyes and lines around her mouth from a life lived hard. She was still beautiful, but jaded, tired.
Jacen tapped one earring and the illusion vanished in a shower of sparks revealing his own face. "Glamour generators. Illusions." He tugged the earrings off his own ears and snapped them onto hers.
The illusion made her face feel clammy, like oily sunscreen. She stepped over to the nearest mirror and examined the effect, turning her head side to side, up and down. The illusion moved well with her, but if she moved too fast there was a slight blurring effect.
"Yeah, move slow and careful. Try not to speak too much or too fast." Jacen had dug a wig out of the stash too, a short blond one, and he tugged and adjusted it on her head until the illusion was complete. Liana gaped at herself in the mirror, her borrowed face a study in shock.
"That'll do, I think," he murmured.
She could only hum and turn sideways and back, trying to look at this stranger in the mirror from every angle. "What about you?" she asked.
"No one here has seen my real face. I shouldn't need a disguise."
"All right." She couldn't seem to look away from the mirror even though it made her skin crawl having someone else's head on her body. She could already feel sweat pooling at her temples from the face glamour. Hot and oily and wrong, but what choice did she have? She squared her shoulders and turned to Jacen. "Shall we go then?"
Just walking through the casino before had been bewildering, intimidating. She'd been hurrying, too terrified to look around. Now she walked leisurely on Jacen's arm, taking in all the sights. The casino was unlike anything Liana had ever encountered before in her entire—she was realizing now—quite privileged and coddled life.
The room was smoky as the assembled gamblers puffed on long cigars stuffed with feelgoods. She tried not to breathe when they passed through the pools of smoke, but that was almost impossible to do, and a headache prickled along the edge of her forehead.
The room was loud, a chattering roar of conversation, laughter, yelling at the games, yelling at each other. And all those shadowy corners at the edges of the room that she'd passed before and hardly dared look at were still full of writhing, sweaty bodies, low laughter and groans. One woman, half undressed and pressed between two men, noticed Liana and caught her eye. She winked as one man tr
ailed his mouth down her neck while the other skated his hand up her thigh.
Liana blushed and looked away, so embarrassed she wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor. She clung tighter to Jacen's arm and kept her eyes mostly focused on him after that. The curve of his jaw, his wavy dark hair, his strong hands. Jacen centered her again, and she felt her heart slow, felt her breathing even out.
He stopped at tables here and there, casually dropping credits on the games and losing large sums of money in the blink of an eye. Then he would laugh it off like someone who could afford that kind of carelessness. As they continued to move around the room, he started to touch her, gently, causally. His fingers would tickle against the back of her neck, under the fall of her wig, and he would lead her away.
She knew she was too stiff, too self-conscious to really be convincing in her role of "arm candy," and Jacen knew it too. That was probably why he kept touching her, small reassuring traces of his finger over her hand, her neck, her arm. Light touches to tell her she was doing fine, he was there. She was safe.
And she felt safe with him, she did. Always had. But maybe it was the dress, or the smoky intimacy of the casino, or the scared adrenaline pumping through her system, but, suddenly every time Jacen touched her, he set little shocks of feeling exploding all through her. Nothing so negative as alarm, but an awareness arising inside her, an aching heat.
They stepped away from the latest table, and he folded her close, draping one arm lazily around her waist. As he lowered his face to her neck, she stiffened in his arms. "Relax," he breathed over her skin—thereby ensuring she would remain as stiff as a board.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "You probably should have left me back at the ship. I don't...I don't know how to be sexy." Or carefree. Or alluring. Or any of the other things that would make this ruse of theirs remotely believable.
He laughed under his breath and traced her cheekbone with the back of his knuckles. "Now that's not true."
