Chapter 5 #2
“Annelise,” I acknowledge, keeping my voice low and pleasant while mentally calculating the fastest escape routes. “What an unpleasant surprise.”
Her eyes light up with the particular glee of someone who’s just stumbled onto the gossip opportunity of a lifetime. She glances around dramatically before stepping closer, her voice dropping to a stage whisper that’s probably audible in the next star system.
“Princess Dominique! Everyone thinks you’ve been kidnapped! There are search parties across twelve systems! Your poor father has been beside himself with worry!”
I grab her arm and pull her into the narrow space between two stalls, away from curious eyes and closer to a convenient wall I can shove her against if necessary. “Keep your voice down, you gossiping harpy. I haven’t been kidnapped.”
Her eyes widen, taking in my plain clothing and hooded cloak. Up close, I can see she’s practically vibrating with excitement at finding herself at the center of such delicious scandal. “But Prince Dante said—”
“Prince Dante says a lot of things,” I cut her off. “Most of them lies. None of which are your concern.”
Annelise has always been insufferable—a gossip of the highest order who collects and trades court secrets like currency.
We were forced together often as children due to our fathers’ political alliance, and I’ve never trusted her vapid smile or her talent for twisting information to her advantage.
She’s the kind of person who would sell her own mother for a juicy piece of scandal.
“The entire Concord is in an uproar,” she continues, her expression a perfect blend of concern and barely concealed excitement. “Your father has doubled the palace guard. Prince Dante has hardly left the communication center. And the bounty—oh, Dominique, the bounty!”
My attention sharpens like a blade. “What bounty?”
A smile flickers across her face before she can suppress it.
She’s enjoying this—having information I need, being the center of drama, holding power over someone who outranks her.
“You don’t know? Oh, it’s the largest reward ever offered in Concord history.
Five million credits for your safe return, plus another three million for the capture of the alien who took you. ”
The fruit I’m holding suddenly tastes like ash. “The alien who... what exactly does this bounty notice say?”
Annelise pulls out a small holoprojector from her ornate handbag, clearly eager to show me. A miniature image flickers to life between us—my official royal portrait alongside a surprisingly accurate rendering of Wi’kar. But it’s the text scrolling beneath that makes my stomach twist into knots.
ROYAL BOUNTY: Princess Dominique of House Malren, abducted from the Royal Compound by Orion Outpost Postal Service Gluxian Agent Wi’kar.
The princess is believed to be under duress or alien influence.
The subject is to be considered dangerous and potentially armed with mind-altering substances.
Approach with extreme caution. Reward authorized by Prince Dante of House Folkov with the blessing of the Malren Royal Council.
“Mind-altering substances?” I sputter. “Alien influence? This is complete fabrication!”
But even as I say it, I understand Dante’s strategy.
Paint me as a victim, Wi’kar as a villain, and suddenly my choice to flee becomes his crime.
Suddenly my assertion of autonomy becomes evidence of alien corruption.
It’s brilliant, ruthless, and exactly the kind of move I should have expected from someone who sees people as chess pieces.
“Well, why else would you run away weeks before your wedding to such an advantageous match?” Annelise asks, her tone suggesting there could be no rational explanation for rejecting her idea of paradise.
“Everyone knows how beneficial the alliance with House Folkov would be. Prince Dante has been absolutely devastated by your betrayal.”
I want to laugh at the idea of Dante being devastated by anything other than a dent in his ego, but the implications of this bounty notice are too serious.
He hasn’t just put a price on my return—he’s painted Wi’kar as a kidnapper who drugged and corrupted a royal princess.
The diplomatic fallout alone would be catastrophic for OOPS, for Wi’kar’s species, for everything he’s worked to build.
And Wi’kar... who only got involved because I stowed away on his ship... who chose to help me despite every protocol screaming at him to turn me in... who’s been nothing but honorable despite my complete disruption of his perfectly ordered life...
He’s going to be hunted like a criminal because of me.
“I need to go,” I say abruptly, stepping away from Annelise.
Her hand shoots out, gripping my arm with surprising strength. “You can’t just leave! Do you have any idea what your disappearance has done to your family’s standing? To the alliance negotiations? Prince Dante has threatened to withdraw House Folkov’s support from our defense initiative!”
“Let go of me,” I warn, my voice dropping to the dangerous register I learned from palace guards who thought a princess couldn’t possibly understand real threat assessment.
“I should call the authorities,” she continues, not heeding my tone because she’s never seen me as anything more than a pretty political bargaining chip.
“Or better yet, contact Prince Dante directly. He’s stationed a personal envoy on Klethian specifically to monitor for your arrival. He’ll be so grateful when I—”
I never find out what Dante will be grateful for, because at that moment, Annelise’s eyes widen in shock, looking at something over my shoulder.
I spin around to see three figures approaching—humanoid, heavily armed, with the unmistakable swagger of bounty hunters who’ve just spotted their payday.
“Target confirmed,” one of them says into a wrist communicator, his voice carrying through the marketplace noise. “Princess Dominique of House Malren, located in the eastern market district. Moving to intercept.”
Annelise’s grip on my arm tightens possessively. “I’m helping you, Dominique,” she hisses. “You’re clearly not in your right mind. Prince Dante will be so grateful when I deliver you safely—”
I don’t think, I react. Years of secret combat training—sessions I bribed the palace guard to provide when my parents thought I was attending embroidery lessons—take over.
I twist sharply, breaking Annelise’s grip with a technique that probably uses more force than strictly necessary, then drive my elbow into her solar plexus with what I might generously call enthusiasm.
She doubles over with an undignified wheeze, and I shove her into a display of fabric bolts, creating satisfying chaos and probably ruining her ridiculous gown.
“That’s for three years of your insufferable dinner party gossip,” I mutter, then add, “And for thinking I’m too weak to make my own choices.”
The bounty hunters are already moving, pushing through the crowd with purpose.
I duck into the stream of market-goers, keeping my head down and moving against the flow of traffic.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I weave between stalls, heading toward the central fountain where I’m supposed to meet Wi’kar.
Where I’m supposed to meet Wi’kar, who has no idea he’s about to walk into a trap.
“AXIS,” I whisper urgently into the communication device Wi’kar insisted I wear, “alert Wi’kar. Bounty hunters. Eastern market, moving toward central fountain. Also, tell him his 47-minute timeline was optimistic and that I’m sorry.”
“Alert transmitted,” the AI responds in my ear with what sounds like amusement. “Agent Wi’kar is en route to your position. He also wishes me to convey that his calculations were based on your cooperation with established parameters, and that apologies are unnecessary given the circumstances.”
Even in a crisis, the man can’t resist being technically correct. And somehow, that precision—that absolute reliability even when everything’s falling apart—makes something warm and desperate unfurl in my chest.
I can’t let him get hurt because of me. I won’t.