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Chapter One
Calliope walked through the doors held open by the palace guards with the train of her funeral gown drifting after her, whispering over the carpeted floor. The doors shut behind her. Alone, finally.
The eulogy had gone well. Her eyes misted over. Sadness had crept in and slain a part of her, surely. It had been the official funeral. Her brothers had died two months ago, had been embalmed, and a magnificent tomb had been erected, and this had ripped open the wound she’d begun to smooth over.
She never cried in public, not even when she gave a eulogy for her dead brothers. In the middle of tugging at one long glove, she found herself staring across the foyer at blurred furniture and walls.
One blast from an orbiting Overwatch satellite and they were scattered pieces of human.
Fuck. Princesses didn’t swear but, fuck.
And here she was expected to run the kingdom. She’d never been destined to inherit the title. Her brothers were... had been the heirs. The celebrated king and prince.
Calliope straightened. She could do this because she must. She must. There was no other carrier of the Dywin genes. One hundred and ninety years ago, Quarantine began—the Overwatch sats had spun into orbit corralling humans here. Dywins had ruled this kingdom since that day.
Face taut, she ripped off both gray gloves and headed around the end of the foyer wall. The ceiling-to-floor window faced her, with the centuries-old view of the destroyed spaceport. The sky swarmed with dark clouds. Foreboding weather and so apt.
She went to fling the gloves onto her chaise lounge.
Only to find... General Vass.
She stared at the hefty brick of a man in the white ceremonial uniform. Parallel scars sliced into his shaved black hair, his face was flushed, and the tips of his teeth showed in a fake smile. A saber hung to his left; a pistol was holstered at his right.
How dare he be here, now.
Her experience with him had been polite nods or a polite Princess before he returned to talking to her brothers or, years ago, to her father. Vass had never paid her much attention.
“General Vass.” Her throat felt sore, as if that funeral speech had pulled something from her, scouring her throat on the way out. “Surely, whatever it is can wait?”
“No. Sign this.” He dropped a thick document onto her coffee table. “Initial each page and sign it within forty-eight hours, Princess. This agreement appoints me as your mentor and guardian for two years.”
She stiffened and heard the rest through a ringing haze. This couldn’t be what it sounded like it was?
“We both know you are not fit to rule, for many reasons—your sex, your lack of training, your infertility. With this, we can deal with all those problems. In two years you will completely relinquish the throne to me. By then the populace will be accustomed to my hand in the ruling of the realm.” He swept his gaze up her body, lingering on her hips. “On second thoughts, I’ll have dinner with you, tomorrow night, and collect the document then.” His smile was almost a leer. “I will accompany you in your bed, now and then, just to remind you who is the ruler. Good day.”
He nodded as he swept past her on his way to the door.
Should she slap him? Scream? None of those were what her father would’ve done. He would’ve had the general shot.
Stunned, Calliope hadn’t turned to follow his path and so was surprised by his next words.
“Stay in your rooms, Princess, until that is signed. After that, I may let you have more freedom. Behave, and I won’t need to have you stripped naked and whipped. Though... that would amuse me.”
The doors clicked shut.
The gods had forsaken her. She’d never realized how foul and vicious that man could be.
She should have kicked him in the crotch, hard. Her Fou Tzu fighting coach would’ve been proud. Vass would likely have punched her back or, the gods forbid, had her whipped as he’d threatened.
What could she do?
She sat in an armchair and stared at nothing; her fingers kneaded the upholstery of the armrests as if she might rip it out.
The general was right about her lack of training. To be queen she needed a grasp of politics, administration, economics, and a whole lot of loyal staff. Her guards might adore her, but most everyone here, even the children she’d attended school with, she’d let fade away in favor of being herself.
She hated the in-fighting and snobbery, the inane things she was expected to like. Instead, the city had called to her, like a smelly, loyal, and loveable hound calling to its mistress.
She could go there, fade away? Be poor and insignificant. Hells, she was insignificant here.
