Chapter 6
Evie
I paced inside my small quarters, my slippers swishing softly against the deck in a most unsatisfying manner. Restless energy coursed through me, and I tried in vain to settle it by talking myself through the plan. It only made me more stressed. Aramon was a nightmare to work with. The male was more interested in flirting or asking questions than doing what he was told. He was going to screw up on day one and bring this whole mission crashing down around me.
My hand pressed against my belly, feeling the slight bump of the piercing there and the device that transformed me from plain Evie into Evadne. It was turned off right now because I needed relief from the constant tingling along my flesh, and I wondered what Aramon would think if he saw me now. He would probably pull back in revulsion because his green beauty had been replaced by a pale, waxy shadow. I didn’t even want to look into a mirror right now; I couldn’t stand it.
My last attempt to teach the Asrai male any kind of manners had been this morning, and, to my great embarrassment, Theronix had insisted on seeing my progress. It had been absolutely grueling, and my guard was now convinced he should squash the entire plan. I wasn’t sure if he was wrong. It had been all but impossible to make Aramon sit up straight and use the right utensil at the mock-meal. He did it on purpose—I knew that—but Theronix didn’t see it.
Truth was, I wasn’t sure if Aramon would stop behaving like an ass. Part of me feared that, but a bigger part was convinced that when the stakes were high, he’d back me. I wanted to believe it so badly it ached. There was no way I could forget that first meeting three days ago. The intense way he’d kept demanding I tell him the truth; he’d been relentless, and I felt like he was on my side, so focused because all he wanted was to keep me safe.
My skin tingled on my hand where he’d brushed his mouth; the audacity of that move still scandalized me. Evadne would have had him thrown in the brig for that kind of insult, but it hadn’t felt like an insult to me. And I had jabbed him in the throat with my elbow a minute before that. That made us even.
On the upside, I was not nearly as worried about having to be the one doing the negotiating once on Ov’Korad, or about being found out because of a mistake I made. My biggest concern was getting my fake fiancé to fall in line. I’d already memorized his fake background and the supposed way we’d met. They’d cleverly made him a minor noble in one of the thousands of Asrai noble houses in existence; nobody would question that.
The story was that he’d been the one to rescue me, and a whirlwind romance had followed. With Evadne’s father, the King of Xurtal, endorsing the fake marriage, nobody would question it. It would allow Aramon to be at my side during all my negotiations, and having a guard present felt like the only way to come out of this alive. I was absolutely convinced that someone had leaked Evadne’s traveling plans to Batok, which had caused her death. When they saw her ‘alive’ at the negotiations, they would try again.
A knock came at my door, and my hand flew to my belly in reflex; the device switched on with a tingle. It felt like static electricity clung to me, and everything I touched would give an annoying little shock. I didn’t check to see if I looked right but headed for the door. There was only one person who’d knock like that: Theronix.
He gave me a once-over with a frown, then nodded, which came close to saying, “You’ll do.” No words were exchanged when he turned and walked away. I fell into step behind him, my nerves fading to the background as I assumed my role as the dutiful princess. This was it. We had landed at the spaceport in Akrod, and once I deboarded the ship, there would be no more privacy. I would have to be Evadne every hour of the day and night. My skin ached just thinking about it.
Then I spotted Aramon waiting for me at the airlock, accompanied by a dozen mercenaries in their black armor. He was not wearing his, and that was the biggest shock of all; I’d never seen him in anything other than that matte black carapace and combat boots. Today, he was wearing a long red robe with wide sleeves and gold embroidery. Beneath it, he was shirtless, his muscled chest and abs on full display above sleek leather pants and tall lace-up boots.
It was the current fashion for Asrai nobles and thus the perfect disguise. When Theronix missed a step, I knew he’d seen it too. Suddenly, it didn’t seem like Aramon would mess this up; he looked exactly right. I was the one who looked out of place in a plain gray jumpsuit. If we’d arrived a day earlier, I would have taken the time to buy more appropriate clothing, but that was not an option.
It wasn’t until I delicately placed my hand in the crook of Aramon’s elbow that I noticed the strain on his face. As he started to escort me into the airlock, surrounded by a dozen mercenary guards, I realized it was exhaustion. Had he not been sleeping? Oh… It clicked in my brain too late to do anything about it. He’d been flying the Varakartoom through jump after FTL-jump, with only the smallest of breaks in between, during which he’d spent all his time with me to follow lessons on etiquette.
The man had run himself ragged to get me to Akrod in time. But we were on time. This was the appointed meeting day, and the rest of the week had been set aside to finish our negotiations. We’d flown here from Rakesh in less than a week—a feat I knew was nearly impossible. Most ships could not sustain that much FTL, and if it wasn’t the ship, it was the pilot and navigator who needed the rest. What Aramon and Solear had done… it was a miracle.
He was getting paid a fortune to do this, but it still felt like he’d done it for a reason other than money. I could not forget the intense way he’d questioned me during our first attempt at lessons—the gleam in his eyes, the way he’d curled his tongue around my real name. All of that had felt like my safety was the only thing he cared about. That couldn’t be true; it was simply his job, and he thought he was protecting a princess, not a fraud. I was an impostor in so many ways.
“Ready, Princess?” Aramon drawled in my ear, his head bent to mine, red eyes glowing in his white-marked face. I did not know enough about his species, I realized. Suddenly, I wondered if his skin would be tough or feel like bone. It certainly looked like bone, as though he wore his skull outside his flesh. It should be so freaking creepy to stare into a face like that, but it made me feel safe.
He was also taking liberties again that he shouldn’t, and I could feel Theronix’s disapproving stare on the back of my head. We weren’t in view of anyone; we were simply entering an airlock aboard the mercenary ship. He should not have been touching me until we stepped outside and the charade began. I did not tell Aramon to let me go. His arm against mine, the brush of his body against my hip—it felt good. The scared girl in me wanted to cling to him forever.
“Not at all,” I whispered back at him, shocking myself with the honesty. Once I’d said that, it felt natural to keep talking. “I’m terrified I will either fail or be killed.” I was a human girl from Earth, not a noble-born princess of Xurtal; this was never supposed to be my burden to carry. But thinking of Evadne’s burn-marked face as she made me promise to see this through was enough to harden my resolve. I owed it to her and to the Xurtal people to give it my best shot. Nobody said I couldn’t be scared while I did it.
“Don’t worry, Evie,” Aramon whispered back, his elbow shifting to press my hand more tightly against his side. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe.” I believed him. I truly believed that he would keep me safe. As long as he thought I was Evadne, he would keep that promise.
The airlock hissed as it finished its cycle, and a handful of mercenaries left the ship in front of us, fanning out in perfect formation. They made for an impressive sight in their black armor, each male big and muscular, with a laser rifle at the ready. Captain Asmoded had put the Rummicaron male in charge of this operation, and he was doing so by leading the charge. Cradling a huge, portable laser cannon in his bulky arms, his maw open to display his razor-sharp teeth, he had to be a terrifying sight for the Ovt delegation waiting for us on the tarmac.
As Aramon escorted me down the gangplank, his body moving sinuously at my side, at ease in the long, loose robe, I put all my focus on the delegation. Three Ovters in white uniforms, officers of the esteemed Akrod police force. A white-speckled male stood in front of them, wearing the traditional desert-yellow robes and sash. That was their prime minister—his picture had been in the portfolio Evadne and I had studied before coming here. They had turned out in full force to meet us, which was reassuring. There would be no attempt on my life by any Ovt faction with him accompanying me. Their prime minister was respected and loved.
They greeted us curtly, as I knew they would, and then led us to a smaller transport ship nearby. “Because of the secrecy of this meeting and its sensitive nature, we thought it best to hold it outside of Akrod’s perimeter.” The prime minister came up to my shoulder, but no taller. That was a very respectable height for an Ovter, and he seemed not in the least bothered by being the smallest when my guards surrounded us.
“Thank you, Sir Kjana. That is very wise. We must not draw any further attention; maybe the ploy will confuse my would-be assassins.” He nodded in response, then licked his left eyeball with his long tongue. That wasn’t rude in their culture, but it made my stomach turn to witness in person. They could not blink; this was their way of keeping their eyes moist and clean.
“Yes,” he huffed, his tone crisp as he outlined the facilities at this secret retreat where my negotiations would take place. I got the feeling he was rushed for time, but I was too important a visitor to slight. The Xurtal Kingdom had promised the research-mad Ovters a sample of the Xyraxin as payment for this service.
“Watch it, buddy,” Aramon suddenly snapped. I winced, my shoulders going up as I flicked my eyes from him to the Ovter police officer who had gotten too close. I had not realized that Aramon was wearing a gun, but it was in his hand now, aimed at the male’s head. “No hard feelings,” Aramon drawled in the stunned silence, our party grinding to a stop a few steps from the parked short-range transport. “Too many assassination attempts on my darling fiancée of late, you understand?”
The smaller male gave Aramon a once-over, his hand on his own pistol, but he nodded and stepped back with a nervous grin. It was the prime minister himself who moved to smooth over the situation. “Yes, most unfortunate, this assassination business. My condolences for the deaths of your protection detail; they died with honor.” His next words were a blur. I said my goodbyes politely by rote, guided by Aramon’s prompts.
My mind was back on Batok’s ship and the cold, damp cell where the evil Hoxiam had kept Evadne’s guard and the two of us. The dread I felt each time the door opened and another good Xurtal male perished. It didn’t seem to me like death was honorable when you ended up as food for a greedy, evil alien. What a stupid thing to say. Those men would be alive if not for the machinations of one faction, or more. Batok himself had admitted that he was doing a favor for someone on Ov’Korad. Was it one of the males escorting Prime Minister Kjana?
“You okay?” Aramon asked quietly. Gentle pressure from his hand guided me to a seat at the center of the small craft. He sat down next to me and spread his robes in a perfunctory manner, then sprawled back in a lazy pose that was absolutely unsuited to a Xurtal official. But maybe it wasn’t so out of place on an Asrai; they were known to be entitled, self-possessed, and lazy.
His pose made his robe fall open, and suddenly I could see far too much naked flesh. His chest was a work of art, all sculpted planes covered with firm red skin that gleamed and shimmered with hints of gold and burgundy. The leather pants and weapons belt gave him an air of danger, and the hot look in his eyes twisted my stomach into knots. The cold that had pervaded me vanished beneath that look, pushing the bad memories away and reminding me that I had survived.
Then he lifted his arm and slung it around my shoulder, and it was easy to curl my legs onto the chair beneath me so I could rest my head against his shoulder. Nobody should bat an eye at that, because the Xurtal might not approve of laziness, but they were very expressive with their affections.