by Brenda Hiatt
Rigel clearly felt my approach because he turned to me with a smile just before I reached him—then glanced over my shoulder and froze.
“What is he doing here?” he practically growled.
I gave Matt a quick apologetic smile and pulled Rigel off to the side, away from anyone else in the thinning crowd.
“Allister brought them—he’s related, remember? Now, be nice. Yesterday I managed to convince Molly about us and by now she’s probably convinced Sean, too. He already told me he was sorry for Wednesday, so maybe he’s here to apologize to you, too.” That would be an excellent birthday present, in my opinion, but Rigel just looked skeptical.
Sure enough, when Sean and Rigel greeted each other a few minutes later, no apology occurred, but at least they were polite. The girls crowding around to greet Sean probably helped. I tried not to be bothered that Bri was among them, flirting with Sean almost as outrageously as Trina usually did.
Bri saw me watching and came over. “Hey, M, the O’Garas say they can drive you home since you live so close. Would that be okay? Deb and I were kind of thinking we might look in at Nicole’s on the way home since Justin offered us a ride.”
My unease increased. Justin Blake was a senior and a known player. Even I’d overheard him bragging about the girls he’d scored—and about how much he drank at parties. “Are Nicole’s parents home?” I blurted out before thinking.
Predictably, Bri scowled at me. “Jeez, M, you sound like my mother. I don’t know. Probably not, knowing Nicole. Does it matter?”
Coward that I was, I backed down. “No, you’re right. Sorry. Sure, you guys go on. I’ll be fine with the O’Garas.”
Her expression cleared immediately. “Thanks, M. See you Monday!”
A few minutes later, she and Deb left with Justin and several others. Soon the only people left were the Stuarts, the O’Garas, Allister and me.
Allister hadn’t spoken to me since arriving, but almost as soon as the last non-Echtran left (the Neesons had gone half an hour ago), he came toward me with a smile that put me on edge—not that Allister ever did much that didn’t put me on edge.
“Princess, it is good to see you again,” he said, making the elaborate bow, right fist over heart, that was reserved for the Sovereign. I’d seen it several times by now, but it still weirded me out. “I regret I have not had opportunity to pay my respects during my current visit to Jewel.”
I pasted a smile on my face that probably didn’t fool anyone. “Um, that’s okay. It’s . . . good to see you, too, Allister.”
The slippage of his smile told me I sounded as non-Royal as ever. I knew I should try harder around him, but he was so pompous he made me want to antagonize him. I really needed to fight that urge, at least until I knew exactly how much power he had over me—and over Rigel. I forced my face into a polite, expectant expression.
Allister immediately pulled his smile back into place, then motioned Sean over. Sean moved to his side, but with a reluctance that bordered on suspicion, which struck me as odd. Oblivious, still smiling at me, Allister clapped a possessive hand on Sean’s shoulder.
“Excellency, though you have already made the acquaintance of my nephew, he has not been formally introduced to you. I now take that office upon myself, belated though it may seem.”
Taking a step back, he bowed elaborately to both of us and declared, “Princess Emileia, sole heir to Sovereign Leontine through his son Mikal, I hereby present to you Sean O’Gara, scion of the Second Royal House . . . your destined Consort.”
CHAPTER 16
Cheile Rioga (KEE-luh ree-OH-gah): Royal Consort
I noticed Sean’s expression—startled, angry and embarrassed—about a quarter of a second before Allister’s words penetrated.
“Wait. What?” Surely I couldn’t have heard him right. Maybe it was just a Martian word that sounded like—
“Your Cheile Rioga. Your destined Royal Consort,” Allister repeated. “I presume you have not yet been educated, Princess, about our customs for pairings?”
I swallowed, glancing wildly at Molly, who looked as embarrassed and upset as her brother. “Um, Molly told me people usually, uh, pair up within their own clan. Er, fine,” I stammered. She’d said “married” but I wasn’t using that word. Nuh-uh. No way. I was fifteen for Pete’s sake!
“Did she tell you that the more important the fine, the more important that tradition is?”
I shrugged, not willing to admit to anything more. I could feel Rigel’s hand in mine, feel the anger and frustration flowing from him. I imagined he could feel something similar from me, along with big doses of fear and confusion. What could Allister possibly be suggesting?
Sean, still beet red, leaned over to Allister. “Uncle, I asked you not to—“ he began, but Allister waved him to silence.
“I know, Sean, but I felt it necessary to make the situation perfectly clear before things, ah, progress any further.” He turned to Rigel and me with a disapproving glare, his gaze lingering on our clasped hands. “I presume from your confusion, Princess, that Molly did not enlighten you as to the pairing requirements for the Sovereign and his or her heirs?”
Numbly, I shook my head, gripping Rigel’s hand more tightly, as if he might be forcibly torn away from me at any moment.
“Our traditions are quite specific when it comes to the upper echelons of the Royal fine, particularly for our Sovereigns. While the Sovereign is always a direct descendant of the previous Sovereign, the Royal Consort is traditionally the ranking person of the opposite sex, of the same generation, from the Second Royal House—in this case, descended from the Sovereign of four generations prior.”
It sounded as complicated as the family trees in the appendix of The Lord of the Rings trilogy.
“So, wait,” I interrupted again. “Does that mean Sean is my . . . cousin or something?”
“Fourth cousin, yes. You both trace your lineage back to Sovereign Nuallen, father to Sovereign Aerleas, who was mother to Leontine. Which means you share a great-great-grandfather.”
Not totally icky, then, but there was still no way on Earth—or Mars—that I was okay with this. “So Sovereigns don’t get to choose their own . . . Consorts?” I glanced at Molly again, but she was no help. She just looked upset and helpless and wouldn’t meet my eye.
I’d thought the Stuarts would come to my defense, but though they looked shocked and disapproving, they didn’t say anything at all. And Mr. and Mrs. O’Gara just stood off to the side, like they weren’t involved at all. Cowards. Weren’t they supposed to be famous heroes or something?
“With great power comes great responsibility,” Allister intoned, like he was reading off a script. “The Sovereign has a duty not only to shepherd our people, but to safeguard their future. Maintaining the Royal bloodline is one of those safeguards. In the past, the designated heir to the Sovereign has known almost from birth who his or her destined Consort would be. The two are introduced as young children and encouraged to form bonds of friendship and, later, of love, enhancing their ability to jointly lead our people when the new Sovereign takes power.
“You, Princess, have unfortunately been denied that opportunity due to the unconscionable behavior of the usurper Faxon. Therefore, the sooner you and your Consort become well acquainted, the better—for you, for our people, and for the future of our race.”
He finally stopped talking and smiled, like he expected I would thank him or something. Uh, no.
Drawing strength from Rigel’s hand around mine, I said, “That’s all very interesting, Allister, but I don’t see how it applies to me. I mean, we’re on Earth, not Mars. I don’t have a ‘people’ to shepherd and probably won’t, since the Martians are all moving here over the next few decades anyway. So how can any of this really matter?”
Allister finally lost his smile completely, clearly taken aback by my response. Sean didn’t look happy either, though I wasn’t sure if his frown was more for his uncle or for me.
“Sorry, Se
an,” I told him—and almost meant it. “You’re a nice guy and all, but . . . I’m with Rigel. You know that. No Martian tradition is going to change how I feel.”
Rigel gave my hand a squeeze—subtly enough that no one else would notice, but it boosted my courage enormously. No matter what happened, he was on my side.
But Allister wasn’t giving up that easily. “Princess, you don’t understand what is at stake, nor the enormity of what you propose. Never, in nearly a thousand years, has a Sovereign paired with someone outside the Royal fine. It simply isn’t done—for a multitude of reasons.”
“Right.” I wasn’t buying it. Not even a little. “Traditions. Customs. Stuff that doesn’t matter diddly-squat to me. Sorry.”
Allister sucked in a shocked breath. “There is much more involved than simple tradition, Princess! For dozens of generations, the Royal fine has been carefully maintained to maximize leadership qualities. This next century will be a critical one for us all, perhaps the most pivotal period since the colony began, as we make the transition from Mars to Earth. At this, of all times, we cannot risk our people losing any shred of confidence in their Sovereign or in the Royal line.”
I opened my mouth to restate my position, but Rigel beat me to it. “Sir, I’d say M has made her wishes clear. No matter how stubbornly you refuse to believe it, she and I are bonded and you can’t just . . . undo that for political reasons.”
At the word “bonded,” both Allister and Sean scowled at Rigel.
“You’d better not mean you’ve—” Sean began, but again his uncle waved him to silence.
Advancing menacingly on Rigel, Allister snarled, “Young man, if you have done anything to compromise the Princess, I assure you there are penalties in place—”
Now it was my turn to interrupt. “Oh, stop it. Rigel hasn’t done anything to ‘compromise’ me. You guys sound like something out of a Victorian novel. Sheesh! We were bonded from the first time we touched. Hands!” I clarified quickly. “And there’s plenty of evidence that we really are bonded—most of which you’ve already heard.”
I looked to Shim for confirmation and he nodded.
“They’re right, Allister, for all your unwillingness to see it,” he said. “There were a dozen or more witnesses to what these two did to Faxon’s Ossian Sphere several weeks ago when Morven attacked. Nothing short of a true graell bond could have accomplished that, I assure you.”
But Allister snorted dismissively. “No Royals among your witnesses, of course, only people with a vested interest in raising the profile of the Progressive fines. I maintain that the Sphere was fundamentally unstable and that Morven’s mishandling caused it to explode. Not that I’m ungrateful for the role all of you played in defending our Princess against him, of course.”
Rigel was trembling with anger now, then I clearly heard: Let’s demonstrate.
Startled, I glanced at him. Did he really mean we should zap Allister, right here in his parents’ living room?
He gave me a tiny nod, his expression grimmer than I’d ever seen it. The idea of deliberately attacking another person, even one as obnoxious as Allister, made me recoil, but I was as desperate as Rigel to finally prove our bond—to Allister and to Sean. Steeling my resolve, I took a deep breath and tightened my grip on Rigel’s hand. Maybe, if we were careful—
“Rigel.” It was Dr. Stuart, her voice soft but firm. “Don’t.”
“Your mother is right,” Shim said. “Violence is never the proper answer. Any kind of violence. Let go of M’s hand and come over here, please.”
How had they known? I felt Rigel’s frustration, but also a bit of relief that echoed my own. He was still angry, though, and afraid, just like I was. After a long, rebellious moment, during which everyone in the room stared at us with varying degrees of disapproval, Rigel finally, reluctantly, released my hand and took a few steps away from me.
We exchanged a long look, silently reaffirming our love, then I turned to face Allister again.
“It won’t make any difference if you try to keep us apart,” I told him. “I’m not going to let you force me into some perverted arranged marriage. We’re in the United States, in the twenty-first century, and I’m only fifteen. Things like that are illegal here.”
Allister tried to arrange his face into some semblance of a fatherly smile—failing utterly, as far as I was concerned.
“Of course no one is going to force you into any such thing, Princess,” he said, his tone as reasonable as he could make it. “I simply want you and my nephew to become better acquainted. It may be that when the time comes—years from now—you will find the idea anything but repugnant. Teenage relationships are notoriously short-lived, after all. I’m confident this one will run its course naturally, removing what you now, in your inexperienced youth, see as an insurmountable obstacle.”
Sean now looked more embarrassed than pissed, but when Allister nudged him, he stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Like he said, M, the last thing I want is to pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do. I just . . . want us to be friends. To stay friends. That will be okay, won’t it?”
He looked sincere, even cute. My glance involuntarily strayed to Rigel, who looked like his grandfather’s hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him from launching himself at Sean. He was obviously not on board with even friends, but I didn’t see how I could refuse such an innocuous-sounding request.
“Friends is fine,” I finally said. “But just friends. I’m telling you right up front that it’s never going to be anything more.”
A little to my surprise, Sean didn’t seem upset by that. “It’s all I’m asking,” he said.
I suspected there was an unspoken “for now” in there, but if he was determined to cling to false hope, I couldn’t stop him. All I could do was remind him where my true love and loyalty lay, every chance I got.
Suddenly, Mrs. O’Gara came to life. “I’m so glad we finally have this settled! Allister, I should have known you’d make a right hash of things, with your high-handed attitude and your ultimatums. None of this will become truly important for years and years, you know, so there was no need whatsoever to upset the children tonight.”
She gave me a motherly smile that was meant to be comforting, but I couldn’t help looking past her to the Stuarts. They didn’t look nearly as complacent as the O’Garas did, though they seemed less upset than before. Dr. Stuart caught my eye and smiled reassuringly, but I thought it looked a little forced.
“And now, I suppose we’d better get Emileia home, hadn’t we?” Mrs. O’Gara continued. “Goodness, it’s after eleven o’clock! I hope your aunt won’t be too upset with us, dear.”
After tonight’s revelations, that should have been the least of my worries, but I winced out of habit, knowing how mad she’d be—and not at the O’Garas.
“Yeah, I guess I really should get home,” I mumbled, feeling like a wimp for agreeing.
“Thank you for coming tonight, M,” Mr. Stuart said then, the first words he’d spoken since Allister dropped his bombshell. “I’m sorry things became so . . . awkward.” He sounded like he was barely controlling some strong emotion.
“Thanks for inviting me.” I encompassed Rigel and his parents with as pleasant a smile as I could summon under the circumstances, not wanting them to worry about me. “It was a great party. I’ll . . . see you all soon.”
Rigel took a step toward me at the same time I took a step toward him, but his grandfather didn’t let go of his shoulder—and Mrs. O’Gara put a hand on mine.
“We’d better hurry, dear.” I was pretty sure I wasn’t imagining the anxiety in her voice. I was also pretty sure it didn’t have anything to do with Aunt Theresa getting pissed.
Rigel and I weren’t even going to be allowed a good-night kiss? My gaze locked with his. See you tomorrow? I thought at him as clearly as I could.
He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, but I also heard the word, Somehow. Like he didn’t think it would be
that easy. I hoped he was wrong.
No one spoke as we walked out to the O’Garas’ van. Molly still seemed afraid to look at me, and I was careful to keep my distance from Sean. But when we got in, I somehow ended up sandwiched between the two of them in the back seat. I resolutely ignored the tingle from Sean, about three times stronger than the one from Molly.
As Mr. O’Gara started the engine, Sean cleared his throat. “M, I’m really sorry. I begged Uncle Allister not to say anything about this. I knew it would freak you out.”
Before I could decide how to reply, Mrs. O’Gara twisted around in her seat to face me. “Yes, dear, I need to apologize for my brother. Allister handled this extremely poorly and we’re all sorry about that. No one wanted you upset, I promise you.”
I glanced at Molly, still silent and still not looking at me, then at Sean, then back to Mrs. O’Gara. “But you knew? All of you knew, this whole time?” I knew I sounded accusatory, but I couldn’t help it. I felt accusatory!
Mrs. O’Gara nodded. “We’ve known since you were born, dear. Of course, like everyone else, we thought you’d been killed along with your parents when you were small.”
“Molly?” I asked. She gave me one quick, distressed glance before looking away again, but it answered my question—and it hurt, because I’d really, truly thought we were becoming friends. I’d told her most of my secrets, after all.
I turned to Sean. “And you?”
He at least had the courage to meet my eye, though he was clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah. I grew up knowing that if you’d lived, we’d eventually, um . . . But you have to believe I never meant to spring it on you like this!”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. The very idea that they’d all been . . . conspiring, while acting oh-so innocent every time I’d been to their house over the past two weeks, made me feel both betrayed and foolish. Not that I could possibly have known.
Had Rigel suspected? He’d always seemed more jealous of Sean than I’d thought reasonable at the time. And Sean’s animosity toward Rigel was now completely explained. He must have come to Jewel practically thinking of me as his property! That thought made me even angrier, but I seethed in silence.