by Susan Grant
She’d always loved dressing up, but this was the pinnacle of primping.
She did her best to glide into the room where she would bind herself to Prince Ché Vedla for a lifetime. Princesses glided, didn’t they? But she felt like a fake trying, and so she simply walked slowly. Ilana’s family was there, too—life-sized glowing images. Her father, Jock Hamilton, returned her smile, his eyes deep blue as he nodded. Uncharacteristic emotion tugged at his features. To his right stood Rom, Ian and Tee’ah, and her mother. “Mom,” Ilana mouthed, with a little girl’s look-at-me excitement.
Jas was dry-eyed until her gaze met Ilana’s. Then her eyes filled with tears. “Love you,” she mouthed back.
Copper clung to Muffin’s arm, and Ilana winked at her. Then Ilana moved forward, her hands at her sides. Vash brides didn’t carry flowers, and she missed having something in her nervous hands. But there’d been no time to ask for any of the few traditions she might have wanted.
Ian smiled at her. She quirked her mouth right back at him and formed the words: I won.
And he shot back: Wrong.
The bet, it seemed, was in dispute.
Then she saw Ché. He moved to the center of a small dais. Dressed in Vash royal ceremonial regalia, he looked like a stranger. His severe uniform was midnight-black with dark silver trim, with a tight, high collar, accentuating his sculpted features and making him appear merciless and cold.
Was she crazy? What was she doing?
Maybe this was a trick, and Klark was in on it. Get the B’kah princess into the Vedla family. Lock her away and make heirs with her to increase Vedla influence. She could almost imagine the maniacal laughter following Ché’s pronouncement of that scheme.
Her heart thumped harder. Her palms sweated, and she grasped the fabric of her skirt to keep her hands from shaking.
Ché extended his hand to help her step up to the dais. His hand was cool, this stranger’s. He led her to a small altar where bowls of oil sat, heated by flames to release their scents into the air.
She wondered if the castle tower that would become her virtual prison would be comfortable. She wondered also how long it would take to grow her hair long enough to play Rapunzel and escape—
“Ilana,” Ché admonished under his breath. “Thought warp.”
Busted. She winced sheepishly.
Ché pulled the top of his pocket away from his hip just far enough for her to peek inside. A smell reached her nose.
It was the unmistakable odor of nacho cheese.
“Corn Nuts?” she whispered back.
He looked smug. “I thought we might need them for this.”
Their backs were to the guests, who thus couldn’t see her struggling not to giggle and cry at the same time. “Yeah. I could use one.”
He pressed one into her palm, took one for himself, and they furtively crunched as the Vash priest conferred with the Vedla elders. Then, as Ilana wiped salt from her palms, Ché reached behind the altar. Another surprise, she thought, falling in love with him all over again as they stood there, stood before the guests in a room with fortified alloy walls that resembled a bunker more than it did a church.
He produced a bouquet of flowers. Fresh flowers. Her throat squeezed so tight that saying anything would be hopeless. But she had no doubt that Ché could read the astonished gratitude in her eyes. She grasped the bouquet. “They look like little bells,” she whispered, inhaling the delicate, unfamiliar scent. The blooms reminded her of diaphanous lilies of the valley. “Eireyan?”
“They grow in the shaded hollows of the hills above the palace.”
“Take me there,” she said huskily. “First thing.”
“That is where I will marry you in Earth fashion,” he promised.
He grasped her hand in his, and they turned to the waiting Vedlas and B’kahs who had assembled to watch a mighty and much-hoped-for alliance form between their two families. Their meddling and advice echoed in the heads of the bride and groom:
—Now you won’t have to attend the B’kah wedding, looking…so alone, Ché. You’ll arrive with your new queen on your arm, the most eligible of all the princesses, and the B’kah wedding will be a much happier occasion for all.
—Ilana, I think if you ever opened up, let a man inside that stubborn, smart-ass head of yours, you might be surprised and like it.
—To the outside, it would appear to be the ideal solution to an embarrassing problem. Me, the spurned prince, marrying before the upstart Earth-dweller crown prince does. And not only that, taking his very sister as my bride, thus uniting the B’kahs and the Vedlas.
As the abbreviated wedding ceremony began, Ché and Ilana looked at each other and smiled. Us, pawns of the Federation? she thought, gazing up at her prince. I don’t think so.
As if knowing her thoughts, Ché bent his head to murmur in her ear, “The joke, my love, is on them.”
Epilogue
Prince Ché Vedla strode down the center of the wide hallway, his capes swirling behind him. His black boots thumped solidly on a gleaming floor—polished stone that threw his looming reflection back to him. He regarded the image a curious detachment, thinking that this was how he’d always pictured himself as a man: powerful, respected. A political leader. Ché was not yet at the top of his game, but he was well on his way. In only a few standard years, his generation had taken the Great Council by storm with ideas that would pull the Vash Nadah into the future—many of them kicking and screaming.
“Suck it up or leave.” Ché cracked a smile and imagined the expressions that would have appeared on the faces of the dour, elderly councilmen he’d met with tonight if he had followed Ilana’s advice. A chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. That was precisely why he was the one in the family who handled political mediation, and Ilana…well, she tackled diplomacy of a different sort. But however unconventional, Ilana’s contributions to their society were no less important.
It was for that reason that he did not wish to be late. He increased his pace. No, not tonight of all nights when the future wobbled in a delicate balance. What was about to transpire might very well determine its course.
His personal future.
He, one of the richest men alive, heir to the longest known unbroken line of kings, did not wish to spend the eve of his third wedding anniversary—a celebration that was so very important to his Earth-born bride—in the “dog house.”
Ché turned the corner and headed into the buzz of activity outside the Grand Parlor. A red carpet sliced across the expanse of pure white stone. It formed a path for hundreds of invited guests, many of them celebrities from Earth, funneling them into the theater for the premiere of SILF Filmwork’s first Federation film.
Ché halted, scanning the vast room. Some guests he recognized as studio heads, actors, and directors from past meetings arranged by Ilana. Others were Vash dignitaries. Ah, and there were Ilana’s colleagues: Linda, Flash, Slavica, Leslie. Yes, and his brother Klark, too, who like the guests themselves, was a study in contrasts, dressed in the traditional Vedla way as he sipped from a glass filled with an Earth concoction called a “martini.”
In the sea of faces, Ché found Ilana’s immediately. He nodded, pleased, as she smiled back, extending one arm, her fingers wriggling. A flush of pure pleasure warmed him, and he began to stride toward her. They hadn’t lost that special ability to find each other in a crowd, or that spark of recognition on an elemental level when their gazes met, a spark that had flared from the moment they first saw each other. It had not dimmed, that fire. And it only confirmed that he’d done the right thing when he’d listened to the rogue in him and decided on a trip to Earth rather than an arranged marriage.
Ché disappeared into the crowd, moving past strangers and associates, staff and Earth celebrities, shaking those hands extended toward him, returning myriad greetings and niceties, smiling for photos and holo-images and news cameras with none of the impatience he felt trying to reach his wife. As he closed on her, his chest clenc
hed at her beauty. Ilana’s long black dress hugged her curves. Her hair and eyes and the sea-hued jewels he’d bought her for this special night, which she now wore around her neck, glowed in contrast. This was her night, he thought. He would make it one to remember.
Before she had the chance to greet him, he swept one hand behind her head, pulling her into a kiss. Pleased murmurs rumbled all around them; cameras illuminated the scene. Ché pretended nothing existed but the two of them, as he often did in a life that demanded incalculable amounts of his time.
As he moved away, he let his fingertips drag down her throat. “Luscious…” he whispered huskily into her ear, noting smugly that she reacted with a shiver of delight. She might be his independent, ambitious, activist wife, but he could still turn her into putty.
They moved apart but remained close. “Congratulations,” he told her as they posed for photos. “You have assembled an impressively eclectic crowd.”
Ilana grinned. “Yeah, well. Who would have thought I’d be such a good ambassador?”
“A talent needed by a Minister of Federation and Hollywood Affairs.”
For once, Ilana didn’t scoff at her official title. She slipped her hand into his and gave his fingers a squeeze, smiling at those gathering around them. Ché heard the laughter of children, and he turned to find the source of the sound. “We even have a contingent from Thorme in attendance,” he noted. A large, gregarious group from a planet so few ever left included Muffin, the former B’kah bodyguard, his Earth-born wife Copper and their young family. “How they created so many children in such a short a time, I can’t help but wonder,” Ché commented.
“How?” Ilana laughed, glancing up at him. “I think you know.” Her cheeks were aglow and her eyes mischievous. She looked as if she were about to say something more but changed her mind.
He watched her warily—he knew her too well to believe everything she left unsaid was insignificant. But she diverted his attention by tugging on his hand. The crowd was filing into the brand-new Vedla Theater. “Come on,” she said, leading him toward the red carpet. “It’s showtime.”
Ché woke in his royal bedchamber with the warm, nude body of his lover held in his arms. They’d slept as one, limbs twined, hearts beating in unison.
A breeze fresh off the sea flooded the room. Ché pulled sheets of red Nandan silk higher to shield bare skin from damp, almost chilly air. As he did so, a suntanned, long-fingered hand slid up his thigh to his waist. “Good morning, luscious,” he murmured into a mop of fragrant, bleached-blond hair tousled from a blistering round of late-night lovemaking.
Something between a grunt and a sigh met his greeting. Though they’d been exhausted upon returning to their bedchamber after the successful premiere, their celebratory mood had given them energy they didn’t think they’d have. “It’s not every day that you live your dream,” Ilana had reasoned, eagerly coaxing him to the limits of his sexual stamina.
Now, Ché watched with amused interest as she scratched her fingernails down his chest and over the muscles on his abdomen. The teasing touches brought an aching, sweet heat to his loins, and a need for completion that he satisfied immediately by rolling Ilana beneath him and thrusting deep. “Wait,” she protested breathlessly. “I have a present for you.”
“Ah, but you have already given me your greatest gift. The gift of your woman’s body.”
Ilana snorted and then laughed. “Once a Vash, always a Vash…”
Ché plunged deeper and remained there, drawing from Ilana a soft cry of pleasure. “Yes,” he said roughly. “Always a Vash.” He gripped her buttocks, pressing her close. “Always a Vedla.”
He moved inside her, just how he knew she liked it, watching with pleasure when his wife’s head fell back onto the pillow, her fingers gripping his shoulders. Then she inhaled on a hiss. “You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.”
He lifted his head. “Difficult?” It seemed anything but that to him.
Ilana gave him a you’ll-see sigh, reached behind her head and withdrew a small silken bag from under the pillow. “I meant to give this to you last night, but we got…sidetracked. Before it happens again, open it.”
Ché held himself still. Her knees pressed firmly against his hips as she handed him the little sack. “Here.”
Supporting his weight with one elbow, still buried inside his wife’s body, he took the bag. “Open it,” she cajoled, tugging on the ribbon.
Watching her expression, he did as she asked, wondering what she had in mind. He was the one who most often gave spontaneous little gifts, not Ilana. From the silken sack, he pulled a woven object. “It is…a sea finch nest?” Ché glanced from the creation of straw and twigs in his palm to the smiling face of his wife.
“If only you could see your expression,” she said, love shining in her eyes. At his silence, she covered his hand with hers and said, “Yes, Ché, it’s a nest.” She waggled her brows.
The significance of the little gift exploded inside him. Nesting. She’d always called it that, the desire to have children that she’d put aside while she concentrated on her career.
She wanted to start a family. She was ready to bear his children. Joy flared inside him, chased by a sharp rush of desire. He throbbed, deep inside her body, and bit back a groan.
“I think we should start a family, Ché.”
“Now?”
Ilana laughed huskily. Her warm hands cupped his buttocks as her pelvis tipped up. “Unless you want to wait…”
“Wait? Hell no,” he half-growled, taking her with renewed passion.
By traditional Vedla standards, this woman was totally unsuitable. An uncultured frontierswoman. Undisciplined and willful. A woman he now knew was the shining example of everything he’d ever wanted in a mate. Under an ever-changing three-dimensional holographic image of clouds drifting across a windswept sky, he made love to her, his wife, both of them intent on creating the first of a new generation of Vedlas, a brood that would bring them both joy for the rest of their lives and who, Ché suspected, would someday rock the very foundation of the Vash Nadah.
Of course. Ilana Hamilton B’kah Vedla always insisted on a happy ending.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A writer cannot make the journey alone. My deepest gratitude goes to those who have accompanied me on this wonderful, winding road so far. Special thanks to: my agent Amy Rennert, my editor Christopher Keeslar, and my publisher—for believing in me; Charles De Cuir, for reminding this jet pilot what “buttons to press” in a private plane; Theresa Ragan, friend and B.P.; Jesse Crowder for his filmmaking expertise; Laurie Gold, Pat Holt, Tanzey Cutter, and Jean Marie Ward for their guts in taking up my cause; Emily Cotler and Waxcreative for my gorgeous Web site; my readers for enjoying my stories; my parents Dave and Isabel for cheering me on when I needed it most; and my children, Connor and Courtney, for being the two best kids in the whole world.
Praise
SOAR TO THE HEAVENS WITH JET PILOT & FUTURISTIC STAR SUSAN GRANT!
“[Grant writes] highly original, exotic, and steamy adventures about aviatrix heroines.”
—Chris Gilson, author of Crazy for Cornelia
“Ms. Grant proves she has a true gift for storytelling.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Grant continues to set the standard for intelligent, exhilarating futuristic romance novels.”
—The Romance Reader
“I am in awe of Susan Grant. She’s one of the few authors who get it.”
—Mrs. Giggles, Everything Romantic
THE STAR KING
RITA AWARD NOMINEE
P.E.A.R.L. AWARD WINNER
ALL ABOUT ROMANCE BEST “OTHER” ROMANCE AWARD
SAPPHIRE AWARD FINALIST
WRITE-TOUCH READERS’ AWARD FINALIST
“Drop everything and read this book!”
—Susan Wiggs
“Excitement, action, adventure and wonderful romance!”
—RT Book Reviews
&
nbsp; “It has an air of exuberance that is worthy of any swashbuckling futuristic. Evocative and exciting!”
—Mrs. Giggles, Everything Romantic
THE STAR PRINCE
“Another glorious tale of interstellar romance!”
—PNR Romance Reviews
“An out of this world story you don’t want to miss!”
—Scribes World
“A strong take-charge kind of hero, an intelligent, feisty heroine, strange new worlds, adventure, and an eclectic cast of characters…I was sorry to see the story end.”
—The Best Reviews
THE STAR PRINCESS
“[A] beautiful addition to Ms. Grant’s fabulous Star series. The talented Susan Grant has penned another keeper that will have her audience anxiously awaiting their next ride to her fabulous world.”
—A Romance Review
“The Star Princess is an excellent romance, the relationship between the hero and heroine a delightful sparring match…”
—All About Romance
Other Love Spell books by Susan Grant:
THE ONLY ONE (anthology)
A MOTHER’S WAY ROMANCE (anthology)
THE SCARLETT EMPRESS
THE LEGEND OF BANZAI MAGUIRE
CONTACT
THE STAR PRINCE
THE STAR KING
ONCE A PIRATE
Copyright
LOVE SPELL®
May 2010