Rebel Princess

by Bancroft, Blair

  Dear goddess, she’d managed things badly.

  Did she truly love Tal? Or was she still rebelling, running from Psyclid expectations, running from Jagan?

  That was guilt talking. Whipping her because she’d hurt him. For if what she felt for Tal wasn’t love, then love didn’t exist, millennia of songs and stories had it wrong. There was no way what she felt for Tal wasn’t love, the true and lasting kind, not the lust that burned too hot, consuming itself until nothing was left. Her love for Tal had already withstood the test of time, grown stronger under the challenge of reality. He was hers, and somehow she must find a way to mend matters. Without her final secret creating a split that could not be mended. Forcing him to shut her away behind a protective wall from which there was no escape.

  A knock on the door. Not B’ram Biryani, but very likely the majordomo had sent a maid with food and drink. Bless him. “Enter,” she called.

  “Honored Dama.”

  Shocked, Kass stared at Torvik Vaden, Chairman of the Hierarchy. “Forgive the intrusion, Highness,” he said, head and shoulders inclined in the respectful bow of a seasoned diplomat, “but I have come to inquire how much longer you intend to continue this masquerade?”

  She had been Kass Kiolani for so long, she’d jumped to her feet the moment she saw who it was. Now, guilt augmented by a flash of royal temper, kept her from returning Vaden’s penetrating gaze. Kass strode back to the window. The swirling shadows were lengthening, growing darker . . . turning Blue Moon’s shimmering, iridescent haze to sinister black.

  “I beg your pardon, Highness,” Vaden said. “I should not have blurted it out like that. In my anxiety, my diplomatic training eluded me.”

  “I do not recall,” Kass returned stiffly, “that Regulons were ever noted for their diplomatic skills.”

  “Touché, Highness. I am well served.”

  Kass drew a deep breath and returned to the white and silver brocade sofa, arranging herself, head high, back straight, feet on the floor, exactly as a princess should. “You may be seated.” She waved her hand to a well-upholstered chair directly across from her. “How long have you known?” she demanded, going on the attack. “When the krall slithered toward me? Did you know then?”

  “Indeed not!”

  The poor man looked as if she’d kicked him. Good. Kass didn’t give him time to recover. “You thought it appropriate to risk the life of a Fleet dropout, a girl who’d spent four years as a prisoner of war, a woman of no account—how could her life possibly matter? But Omni forfend when you realized the girl had powers, unusual powers, powers that whispered of the ParaPrime? Is that how it started, Vaden? Your doubts? You feared you might have committed a diplomatic faux pas? You might have risked the life of a Psyclid sorceress, a potential ParaPrime?

  “And—aha!—just who is the ParaPrime designate? Is that how your reasoning went, Mr. Chairman?” Kass continued, mockery in every word. “And when you discovered the answer was L’ira, daughter of Ryal and Jalaine, you somehow thought you had the right to play the elder statesman? To explain to me my duties?”

  The miserable man actually smiled. Kass clamped her lips over her teeth and looked down her nose.

  “If I had any doubts, Highness, they have just been allayed. And I am mortified that I did not immediately recognize you. I should have. I’d seen portraits in the palace—”

  “My masquerade, as you call it,” Kass declared, cutting him off, “is my own business. You will honor my choice to leave things as they are. My people support me in this,” she added with emphasis.

  “But is it wise, Highness?” Torvik Vaden did not belabor the point. He didn’t need to. And then he added the final blow. “Or does Rigel already know? Have you considered that? I’ve done considerable research since I began to suspect you were a great deal more than a mere cadet. Admiral Rigel and his son were both on Psyclid for several months. Surely they recognized Kass Kiolani for who she truly is. After all, young Rigel’s personal interest in you is not enough to explain why he took such risks to protect you. A princess, yes. A Psyclid of obscure origin, no.”

  His words made perfect sense, but Kass wouldn’t believe it. And, besides, there was an implication in there she needed to put down. Emphatically. “I assure you Admiral Rigel had nothing to do with keeping me alive. That was all Tal. He has a great many credits in his own right and was careful to transfer them to neutral territory before launching the rebellion. What do you think keeps our ships in the air and food in our mouths?”

  “Brava, Highness. Your parents would be proud of you,” declared the aggravating gray-haired chairman. “But keep in mind,” he added, “that you may have gone to a good deal of trouble, stretched your household to the limit of its thespian abilities, for nothing. Talryn Rigel is ambitious, as shrewd as he is daring. That he’s never penetrated your disguise is highly unlikely.” Vaden rose, bowed. “You might want to have a serious talk with him. It could be enlightening. Love can be—shall we say?—so . . . deceptive.”

  Kass stared up at him, cool and composed, even as her insides flinched. Now was the time for another sharp retort, but words failed her. She could only cast mental daggers at the center of the diplomat’s chest as he backed away. Vaden offered Kass what she was beginning to think of as his slimeworm smile, and then he was gone, leaving her shivering, hugging herself for warmth.

  For a few moments after the chairman’s departure, mental paralysis struck. Kass stared at the sofa’s white and silver upholstery but saw nothing, felt nothing. Thoughts, unwelcome thoughts, flicked at the edges of her mind, but she wouldn’t let them in. She would cling to the void, to safety. To a sterile place where she couldn’t be hurt.

  She was L’ira Faelle Maedan Orlondami, and it was her duty to face whatever challenges the goddess threw at her.

  Kass stopped hugging herself, clasped her hands in her lap, took a deep breath, and replayed her conversation with the chairman. She had thought him a reasonable man, a good choice to head the Hierarchy. But now she had to wonder. Did Vaden see himself as emperor in a new Regulon order created by Tal Rigel? If so, then Tal was not only the man who put him on the throne, but Vaden’s greatest rival. The chairman’s thoughts weren’t difficult to follow. Mustn’t let military might get out of control, form alliances, get too close to princesses with strange, inexplicable powers.

  So . . . a competent governor, perhaps, but not a friend.

  But what if Vaden was right? What if Tal knew . . . had always known?

  Did it matter?

  Kass rang the bell, not surprised when B’ram Biryani himself answered. “I shall need a lantern,” she told him. “And a broom.”

  “But of course, midama.” Biryani bowed, hiding his face, but not before Kass caught his smirk.

  Pok, but it was difficult to carry on a love affair in front of people who had known you since you were born!

  Chapter 30

  How fortunate she’d asked for a broom! Kass had memorized Veranelle’s secret passages by the time she was nine, but it was obvious no one had come this way in a long time. Cobwebs everywhere—uninhabited, she hoped. What felt like mouse droppings underfoot. Soft rustlings ahead, behind, down all the numerous side passages. Rats? Bats? A gulp of stale, damp air set off a fit of coughing. Juggling lantern and broom, Kass clapped her fists over her mouth. Pok! What if someone heard her? By morning there’d be rumors the castle was haunted.

  She shouldn’t be in the passages at all, of course. She’d planned to show Tal the way, have him come to her. That’s how it was supposed to work. Secret passages were for men to crawl through, while their ladies waited in bed, splendidly draped in sexy nightwear.

  Yet here she was. Perhaps if she’d asked for something modern and sensible like a laser torch instead of a flickering lantern . . . ? But then she might actually catch a glimpse of what was making all those not-quite-identifiable noises echoing down the narrow, stone-floored passages, and she really didn’t want to do that. Lantern light was, after
all, traditional for finding one’s way to an assignation at Veranelle. Kass vividly recalled her mother’s shock when Kass had revealed her knowledge of that bit of castle folklore. She’d been fourteen at the time. Ryal, her father, had merely laughed, though Kass was certain he’d rushed to check the heavy tapestry that concealed the peephole above his headboard.

  Ugh! She’d walked straight into a spider’s web. The broom clattered onto the stone floor as Kass swatted at her hair, her shoulders, her arms—anywhere the web’s spinner might have taken refuge. She stood very still, quivering. Did she feel something crawling?

  No . . . but that didn’t mean nothing was there. Fizzet, but she hated spiders. Tomorrow she’d have a cleaning crew in here. No more of this nonsense!

  Kass bent down, picked up the broom. Was this the test of love then? Fighting her way through a den of spiders to demonstrate her devotion?

  And when she finally got to Tal’s room, would she find him so disgusted with her that he’d returned to Liona Dann? Face grim, Kass once again lifted the broom high, sweeping away the cobwebs in front of her.

  A short distance later, a pinhole of light shining into the passage brought her to an abrupt halt. Tal had removed the tapestry? She could see into his room?

  Did she want to?

  After creeping through rat-infested corridors and doing battle with an army of spiders, you’re simply going to stand here all night?

  Kass put an eye to the peephole . . . and had to stifle a snort of mockery. At herself. For all she saw was the laundry maid carefully putting Tal’s shirts, undershorts, and socks into an antique chest of drawers.

  Perhaps he’d found solace elsewhere?

  Idiot! Love was insidious, a spawner of nightmares. And that wasn’t why she was here. She needed to talk to Tal about Torvik Vaden, she needed to tell him—

  The light in Tal’s bedroom winked out.

  Liar! You know quite well why you’re here.

  Kass lifted the lantern, moved a few more steps along the passage, and felt for the hidden latch she knew was there, although she had never before violated the privacy of the inner chamber of her father’s suite. There! She heard the click, but paused, listening closely. Not a sound.

  She pushed, the hidden door swung open. The room was truly empty. When she’d begun this trek through Veranelle’s inner workings, Kass had simply thought to step inside and surprise him. She’d never considered Tal might not be here.

  Well, why wasn’t he here, contrite and waiting? Why didn’t he know she’d come to him?

  Because he was an arrogant, rock-headed Reg who didn’t feel things the way she did.

  Kass rubbed her fingers across her forehead, recognizing her idiocy. Tal was her soulmate, not so easily dislodged by a lovers’ quarrel. He would come.

  She walked to the huge four-poster bed, which was draped in elegant burgundy satin embroidered in gold. Setting the lantern on the thick, tightly woven rug, she stripped off her clothes, folded them neatly and tucked them into the top drawer of the antique chest. She blew out the lantern and climbed into bed, pulling the bedcovers up to her chin.

  Tal Rigel was worth the wait.

  As Tal turned down the corridor that led to his quarters, he cut the corner too close, hitting the sharp edge hard enough to bring him up short, his head resting against the wall. He was drunk. Must be at least a decade since he’d been this stupid. A cousin’s wedding-eve party—aye, that was it. And he hadn’t been that careless since.

  But Kass . . . miserable female. Didn’t she know he couldn’t live without her? So he’d had a few drinks with Dorn and Mical. Safe at home, so why not? A few drinks while they commiserated over female capriciousness had led to toasts to Astarte, to Scorpio, to the fydding Sorcerer Prime who scared the hell out of them but was worth a battlecruiser or two. Then toasts to battles fought, comrades lost . . . the lives they’d once had. Toasts to old loves and new. Women in general, Omni bless them.

  Which had reminded him of Kass and why they’d begun drinking in the first place. So he’d dragged himself to his feet, a suddenly grim if still functioning drunk, and headed back to his suite. Only to crash on the final turn. If anyone saw him like this . . .

  Tal pushed off the wall, squared his shoulders, blinked in a futile attempt to clear his vision. S’sorrokan’s door was guarded, of course, and the last forty feet to his room were not going to be private. Stepping carefully, he turned the corner and paced down the corridor. Not his normal confident stride, he had to admit, but surely a captain who had just come back from a lengthy and successful mission could be forgiven a touch of weariness.

  A friendly nod to the guard and he was through the door, with only the width of his office to negotiate before he made it to his bed. Omni be blessed, he was almost there. And the guard hadn’t smirked. At least not to his face.

  No lights, his eyes ached at the thought. Plenty of illumination drifting in through the windows. Fyd! Somebody must have moved the conference table. With his hand on the bedroom door, Tal paused to rub his bruised hip and contemplate his sorrows. Tal Rigel, the captain who could drink his way from one end of a town to another. Now look at him.

  All Kass’s fault.

  He opened the door with the exaggerated care of the seriously drunk, shut it gently behind him. No noise to bring the guard running in. Should take off his boots . . . boots bad for all those fine bedcoverings. But he’d have to sit down, tug them off—both of them—get up again, walk to the bed . . .

  Too much effort. With a last burst of effort Tal staggered toward the dark outline of his bed and fell on it. Omni be thanked, he’d made it. No one to see his disgrace. He could let himself go.

  The bed squirmed.

  Not possible.

  The bed heaved. Tal pushed back. Mallick! Couldn’t the stupid bed realize—

  He hit the chest of drawers hard, crumpling into an ungainly sprawl with his backside on the rug, one leg bent under him, his back and head against the unyielding wood and even harder metal drawer pulls. Fyd, that hurt!

  “Tal, I’m so sorry!”

  Kass? He hadn’t drunk that much. He’d never had hallucinations in his life.

  “I fell asleep, forgot where I was. I’m so, so sorry.”

  He’d swear that was Kass kneeling in front of him, but Kass never went around stark naked. Tal blinked, but she was still there, babbling at him, the words swirling around him but not making sense.

  “I had such grand plans . . . secret passage . . . surprise . . . smothering me . . . ruined . . . so, so sorry.

  “Dimi!” she shouted, suddenly scooting back. “You’re drunk.”

  Tal’s head rang. “Go away,” he mumbled to the vision. “Mustn’t see me like this.” He knuckled his forehead and simply refused to look. Give her a moment, and she’d be gone. Mind over matter. He’d wished her into his bed, and there she was. And, just as easily, she’d be gone.

  A flurry of something over his head—a drawer being pulled out? Couldn’t be.

  He gave it another minute or so. Looked up. And, sure enough, his lovely naked hallucination was gone. Omnovah be blessed. He didn’t know what he’d do if Kass actually saw him in this shape.

  Tal pulled out one of the drawers a few millimeters and used it to lever himself to his feet. Pok. Come morning, it wasn’t just his head that would be aching. Somehow he’d jarred every bone in his body. And how the hell had he flown ten feet from the bed into a chest of drawers anyway?

  Something soft drifted down, evidently from the top of his head. Automatically, his fingers grabbed it.

  Panties. Female panties. Pink.

  Kass’s panties.

  Fyd!

  Chapter 31

  He’d send for her. As soon as he’d had some sleep and sobered up, Tal would send for her. Sleepless at four in the morning, Kass had thought her reasoning logical. At high noon in the g’zebo, maybe not.

  Birds twittered, leaves rustled in the warm afternoon breeze, brightly colored insects
swooped in and out of the g’zebo’s shade. But the soulmate connection was silent. Had it snapped when she developed qualms about sharing Tal’s bed in full view of staff who had known her since she was born?

  Or not until she’d thrown him across the room into a chest of drawers?

  Or maybe not until she’d run away instead of feeling empathy for his moment of weakness—which it was quite possible she had provoked?

  Too late. Tal must be regretting he had ever met her, and as for herself, hindsight mocked, even as guilt consumed her. She should have told him . . .

  Or perhaps Vaden was right. Tal had always known who she was . . . because his father had to know. The hardheaded admiral would never have produced a gilded prison in the Archives for a mere cadet. And in spite of Tal’s assertion that he’d let his family believe him dead, Admiral Vander Rigel had a connection to the rebellion. Of that Kass was certain.

  Which suggested . . .

  Kass went completely still as an old idea suddenly blossomed into far more than she had ever considered before. Great goddess, was it possible? The Rigels were one of Regula Prime’s great families. They could buy a small planet like Psyclid and have credits left over. Great wealth meant power and influence . . . and the possibility there were other powerful men on Regula Prime who might like to see an end to the present government.

  Which—praise the goddess!—could mean the rebellion wasn’t as small and isolated as she had thought. That S’sorrokan was the strong right arm of a much larger, secret cabal.

  Kass pulled her feet up on the g’zebo’s bench seat and wrapped her arms around her knees. Was she fantasizing again?

  Tal had confessed to holding secrets of his own. So . . . could the rebellion really be more than just a small colony of determined souls on Blue Moon?

  Personal problems fading before an onslaught of speculation, Kass sat perfectly still and let her mind soar. The possibilities were . . . breathtaking.

  Sudden silence. Birdsong faltered, insects flitted away. Kass looked up to find Zee-Zee staring at her from the bottom of the g’zebo’s broad steps.