44 Doing a Shit Job of Not Caring
Doing a Shit Job of Not Caring
T he guards shoved Temmi roughly into the empty trailer bed of a cargo transport. With her hands secured tightly behind her back, she landed on her face. Dusty, unforgiving steel greeted her nose. Pain slammed into her skull. What a fucking fantastic last day of her life she was having.
She grunted her way onto her knees and shuffle-crawled to the far corner of the transport’s interior. A bulky box of black metal surrounded her. No bench, no windows, not so much as a bar or ceiling strap to hold on to—not that she could’ve utilized one with her hands tied up as they were.
Turned out that saying Fucking make me to a prison compound’s pompous guards had been a rather unwise decision.
She now sported a fresh, still-purpling bruise on her right cheek, a dislocated shoulder from being tackled and forced into handcuffs, and her nose was bleeding heavily.
Honestly, it was probably broken. Temmi had an urge to vomit from the coppery tang dribbling down her lips. She’d never had a very strong stomach.
The cargo transport jerked forward. Temmi spat fresh blood from between her stained lips.
Droplets of crimson landed on her lap. Had she not been in near-total darkness (fingers of sunlight slipped their way through the low crack where the transport’s metal door was latched), she would’ve admired the way her blood added color to her otherwise-plain jumpsuit.
It’d make her look more like the criminal she was supposed to be.
A few minutes into her oh-so-delightful ride, there came an awful grating noise followed by a sudden influx of sunlight.
Temmi craned her neck upward. A small square partition separating the transport’s trailer from the driver’s cab had been opened.
The unmistakably boisterous sound of Graham Grey’s voice, blabbering through some kind of radio, reached Temmi’s ears.
“ . . . beyond honored to be graced with none other than Her Excellency herself! . . .”
“Close that,” said a gruff voice, eclipsing the broadcast. “We’re not supposed to engage with the prisoner.”
“I just wanted to peek in at her,” said a second voice. “I mean, come on, she’s Artemis nebula-cursed Ialan. Aren’t you a little bit curious?”
There came an answering grunt, followed by “Get your helmet back on, at least.”
Temmi scooted to the center of the trailer, doing her best not to jostle her shoulder. Through the partition, she saw the black and gold tops of impossibly tall buildings flying by. They were in the heart of Elsidor. A city that made X72-1 look like an anthill.
The solid profile of a black helmet craned down to look at Temmi. She didn’t care that the guard was staring—let him stare. She only cared to better hear the broadcast.
Another voice came over the radio. This one a careful tenor. Practiced. Formal. Soothing.
Nix, speaking in his princely tone. At the sound, a shudder ran down Temmi’s spine.
“ There’s only one woman I could imagine aligning myself with in the wake of this terrible tragedy.”
Liar, Temmi thought. Actor.
Murderer.
How had she ever let herself trust him?
“ Ambassador-Princess Cailin Frederik of the Galactic Republic of New Terra, the ties between our planets are eclipsed only by the growing ties between our hearts . I come before you today as not only a prince but a man . Cailin, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
“What do you think about that?” said the helmet intruding on Temmi’s space. “You killed all those women and you still didn’t get the prince.”
“Shut up,” said the driver. “The princess is going next.”
Temmi hated the way her traitorous heart flipped.
The way her lungs seized and her gut clenched.
She shouldn’t care who Spie chose. She shouldn’t yearn to hear her own name fall from the princess’s lips.
She shouldn’t replay their kiss on the cold beach, the low husky need in Spie’s voice when she’d whispered, Artemis , the softer, vulnerable tremble when she’d confessed, With you, I can just be .
When she’d said, unexpectantly, that day in the woods, I believe you .
Nix had betrayed Temmi, but Spie had left her for dead.
“Thank you, Graham.” Spie’s voice was a brutal caress. “ You’ve truly been a wonderful host.”
She sounded so unbothered. How could she sound so fucking unbothered?
Temmi could picture her perfectly: probably standing at the head of the manor’s ballroom outfitted in some sexy, clinging fabric, her posture immaculate, her gorgeous dark hair effortlessly done up, her face a mask of pleasant amusement.
Temmi was doing an absolutely shit job of not caring.
“ The character, intelligence, and let’s be honest, stunningly good looks”— Temmi rolled her eyes at her mental image of Spie winking at the camera because she was definitely winking at the camera— “ were unparalleled this year. The losses we’ve endured—” Her voice grew thick.
An act? Probably. Everything with Spie was an act.
With you, I can just be. That, too, Temmi decided. Because it hurt less if it hadn’t been real.
(She knew it had been real.)
“Much has been spoken about the betrayal seen on this season. The deaths...it feels almost wrong for me to declare intention to wed, to find happiness in the face of such tragedy. But I believe the continuation of the show’s purpose, that of unity and alliance, to be the best way to honor those women that are no longer with us—”
“Incoming bridge call,” said the helmet, turning back to face the front. “It’s probably landing instructions.” Suddenly, the radio’s volume dimmed.
No!
Temmi needed to hear what Spie was going to say, who she was going to choose. She shouldn’t care, but she did. She cared way too much. Her entire being was made up of caring. She’d have time to hate herself for it later. Or, rather, she’d be dead, and it wouldn’t matter what she thought of herself.
Rising on her aching knees, she shuffled closer to the partition’s opening, to the faint whisper of Spie’s voice. She was a dehydrated woman crawling on her knees for the hallucination of water.
“Call back after the princess makes her choice; I don’t want to miss it.” The driver flicked a button on the center console.
The radio’s volume soared again. And, with it, Temmi’s relief. But the emotion was short-lived because a second later, the driver tore his gaze from the airway just long enough to slam the partition shut. The truck swerved and she lost her balance, falling on her dislocated shoulder. Ouch .
She caught a single phrase as she was cast back into the growling silence of the truck bed.
Spie’s voice, unwavering, clear, heartbreaking.
“Ambassador Arbora VinVanxin, will you...”