Princess of the Void-3.6. Prince

“Good cop?”

“Like good cop, bad cop.”

“Ahh. The Sergeant Kindly.” Hyax taps her nose. “Yes, sire. Exactly.”

Sykora is rubbing her chin. She exhales long through her nose. “No,” she says. “No, I’ve decided. No pretending.”

Vora raises her hand. “Majesty, it’s a sound idea. If Grant is willing—”

“No, we’ll do it.” Sykora stands from her seat. “But we aren’t going to pretend that he’s a Prince.”

Waian’s eyebrows go up. “Pardon?”

“I married him, and he is a citizen, now, and neither of us have any elders that we need permission from in order to award him his proper title. The matriarch of the Black Pike clan is me.” Sykora stabs a thumb at her chest. “I am the beginning and end of my line.”

“Majesty…” Vora is bracing herself on the table like she’s looking into a gale. “Are you actually going to grant him the title?”

“Yes I am.” Sykora crosses behind Grant’s seat. Her hand closes on his forearm. “I don’t know why I haven’t thought of doing this sooner. Now that my husband is free, there are no laws to keep him out of the peerage. Prince Grantyde of the Black Pike.”

Grant’s heart is hammering. He doesn’t understand, not exactly, but judging by the looks on the command group’s faces, this is a big deal. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Good idea or not, it’s what I want. And short of the Empress, there’s no outranking party to refuse it.” The tip of her tail slips into his pocket and nudges his hip. “I don’t like how everyone keeps calling my husband Prince Consort. It doesn’t reflect what he’s done for me, or for the Pike, or how I feel about him. It’s high time he was legitimized.”

Hyax’s tail is swishing. “It’s a rather brazen statement, Majesty.”

“Grantyde makes me brazen.” Sykora smirks. “You’ve noted as much to me.”

“Majesty. Uh.” Vora stammers. “Majesty, no ZKZ has ever had a nobleman Prince before.”

“That’s because you can only ennoble a citizen,” Sykora says, patiently. “And Grant is a citizen. The Empress would not have granted him this if she wasn’t prepared for his ascension. This is my decision.”

“And I will respect it as always, Majesty.” Vora’s recovered. “But I’d be remiss not to underline that this would make Grantyde the first alien Prince. The highest-ranked alien in history.”

“That’s right,” Sykora says. “If he’s the first free husband-of-the-void, he can be the first Prince. It’s all perfectly in keeping with Imperial law.”

“I—yes, Majesty, but it will attract a great deal of attention.”

“Fine,” Sykora says. The nebula behind her head highlights the edges of her hair like a halo. “Let them watch. We’ll show them what we can do.”

“Majesty.” Vora’s fingers rap out a clacky accompaniment to her anxiety across the lip of the table. “We’re all quite fond of the Prince Consort. And he surely earned the recognition when he saved your life, but—”

“Twice,” Sykora adds. “He saved it twice.”

“I only mean, Majesty, that the Imperial Core—”

“The Imperial Core will recognize him. When this command group returns victorious, with a statement of fealty in-hand from the Eqtoran republic, and nine billion new citizens of the Empire, thanks to the work of everyone in this room, they will gladly play their part.” Sykora’s pronouncement has a familiar steel threading through it. The same conviction she had when she swore to Grant the Empress would free him.

And now he’s free.

Grant swallows. Prince Grant. He doesn’t even know what it means, barely understands its import. But the removal of that Consort is a block removed from the base of his self-image that topples it. You are royalty, GrantHyde. Not just the husband of royalty. You are royalty. The college dropout son of a washed-up, dead-end outlaw motorcycle jagoff. You are a Prince.

The feeling is so overwhelming he doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. It just Is.

“Welp.” Waian sits back. “Congrats, Majesty.”

“Indeed.” Hyax executes a sharp salute. “We’re at your disposal, Majesty.”

They’re looking at him when they say Majesty. Not his wife. “Uh. Thank you.”

“Still gonna take the piss now and then,” Waian says. “Don’t execute me, all right?”

“No promises, Chief Engineer.” Sykora cuts in. “I have another briefing to prepare for, ladies. And the majordomo has a great deal of paperwork to prepare, I’m sure.”

Vora’s ears twitch. “God. The paperwork. Hadn’t even thought of it.”

Sykora tilts her head. “We’ll adjourn here.”

The command group rise to their feet. Waian ambles off. Hyax and Vora pause by the egress to bow to the Princess.

And to the Prince.

Grant follows his wife from the command deck in a quiet daze.

“The majordomo is going to need you to sign a few things,” she’s saying. “And we need to get a portrait done of you so that you can be properly portrayed in the peerage. We’ll pick out some ridiculous props. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay,” he murmurs.

Sykora glances at him. “Dove. Take a knee.”

He crouches so they’re face to face. “I don’t know if I’m ready to do this prince thing, Batty.”

“Grant.” She smushes her hands into his cheeks and rubs his beard. “I know I was being grandiose in there. But it was just for the command group. You don’t have to lift any more fingers than you already are, if you like.”

“I mean—I want to help. I do.”

“I know, and I’m grateful. But if you can’t do it, or if it doesn’t work, it’s fine, okay?” She kisses his knuckle. “Because you are my husband. And whatever else you decide you are, you’ll always be my husband. And that’s enough. You’ll be here to keep me the kind of woman you can be in love with.” She kisses the knuckle next to it. “The kind of woman I want to be.”

“I’m gonna try.” He’s been wrestling with this. “But in Maekyonite ethics, I’m the bad guys now. Especially now that I’m a Prince. If I’m going to acclimate, I need to throw a lot of what I know out.”

“Acclimate, of course, dove. But don’t throw everything out. All right?” She pats his thigh as he stands. “I’m counting on your honesty.”

He grimaces. “I talked to Tikani back on Ptolek, while we were throwing. I’m trying to put together my, uh, my code, I guess. And I’m realizing—I’m just some guy. Some Maekyonite trailer trash who never finished college can’t really make these calls. It was easy when it was me and what I wanted, and it’s going to stop being easy. I’m still gonna try but I’m not, like, a philosopher.”

“I don’t want the approval of Maekyonite philosophers, dove. I want just some guy.” She does a surprisingly passable imitation of him. “I want yours.”

“Okay. But you need to understand. If I’m ever not sure, if I’m stuck, our marriage will be the thing I use to break the tie.” He pats her head. “I’m going to let you get away with things.”

She scoots his hand to another part of her hair. He feels the horns beginning to emerge from her head. “Don’t go easy on me.”

“It’s just a fact. It’s how I’m wired, babe. You’re too sexy for me to properly judge how evil you are.” He rubs a thumb over one of the growing nubs. “I’m morally compromised. So don’t be evil, okay?”

She giggles. “Okay.”

“Okay. Get up here.” Grant closes his hands around Sykora’s waist and plucks her into the air.

Her gleefully scandalized “Grant—” dissolves into a luxuriating hum as he kisses her. He backs up until he bumps the door into a side room they’ve used several times after command group meetings. His hands slip beneath her uniform to the humid warmth of her skin.

“Ah-ah.” She pulls away. “I wish we could. But I’ve got stuff to do.”

He slips under her waistband. “I do, too.”

Sykora sighs. “No, I mean lonesome stuff.”

He lowers her to the floor. “Busy day, huh?”

“It’s all these Eqtoran information sessions while we’re sweeping. I owe you an especially enthusiastic fuck, okay?” She straightens his collar. “How horny am I?”

He glances at the top of her head. “About halfway.”

She tsks and adjusts her hair to try and cover the horns he’s coaxed out of her. “I’ve got a run-through of the ecology of Eqtora and its lunar colony. I’ll come find you once I’m done.” She winks. “And we can figure out how much interest I’ve accrued.”

“Is it anything I need to know, the meeting?”

“I doubt it. Mostly it’s going to be looking at pictures of bugs, I’m sure. Anything meaningful, I’ll summarize.”

“Do you want me to come along anyway?”

Sykora bites her lip. “I, uh—” She shakes her head.

He crouches. “What’s up, hon?”

A blush glows on her face. Her eyes slip to the floor. “I think I need more practice being away from you, dove.”

His brows furrow. “Why?”

“Okay. Don’t laugh.” She digs into her topcoat’s slouchy pocket and pulls her notepad out. “Here are my notes from the meeting we were just in.”

She opens the pad to neat columns of glyphs. Nested bullets and underlined follow-ups.

She flips the page. “Here are my notes from the meeting about Eqtoran mass media, which you weren’t in attendance for.”

Between sparse, half-written bullet points about biweekly liturgies and adversarial news channels, his name is written. Over and over. His name with hearts around it. His name done in balloon glyphs. His name done in one continuous line. His name done with little dots. His name and her name overlaid on each other. It’s like a high school girl’s planner.

He cracks a grin. “I see your point.”

Sykora clears her throat. “I find myself distracted by your absences. When I was memorializing with Countess Wenzai, my mind kept drifting to you. As loath as I am to admit Hyax has a point, there are some places and times we can’t be together. I have to build resilience to it. I need to ensure my command group doesn’t think I’ve lost my mind. Any more than they already do, anyway. And there are situations I want you to take no part in. Situations I don’t want your help.”

His brow furrows. “Situations like what?”

“Whoever it was who marooned me,” she says. “They’re still at large. Still in the Imperial family. And when I learn who they are, when I confront them, it must be alone. That’s a hazard I can’t protect you from.” Her expression darkens. “And a deed I don’t want you to see.”

He glances at her notepad. His name with little butterflies around it. Written by a ruthless murder machine with a family she’s convinced plotted her destruction.

“Okay,” he says. He kisses her forehead. “Go learn about Eqtoran bugs. And build resilience.”

She snaps her notepad shut. “What will you do while I’m out?”

Grant rolls his shoulders. “I have a sergeant to annoy.”

***

“The arm is the last thing to move,” Ajax says. “Fast and last. It’s later than you think. Doesn’t come into play until your throwing shoulder’s up over the back leg.”

“Hold on—so that would be, like, here?” Grant moves through the gesture.

Updated from freewёbnoνel.com.

“Yep. Lift it as you go over it, and then—” Ajax imitates the throw, snapping his arm into a blur of predator-pounce motion.

“Jeez. Okay.” Grant adjusts his glove and focuses on the sim screen at the other end of the practice hall. The track along which he runs terminates in a screen, and the “javelin” in his hand is a carefully counterweighted handle that’s only flies a few inches when he throws it. But Ajax swears this is as accurate as real life, and the flying sim taught him well enough.

“As long as you’re releasing at the line, you can move past the line.” Ajax points at the block on the floor. “Don’t be afraid to let yourself through. Just halt before the scratch. You can stabilize with your, uh.”

“With what?”

“Your tail. Look, never mind that bit. Just use your right leg.”

Grant crouches and puts his weight into his back leg. He narrows his attention to the sim screen in front of him.

Six loping strides down the field. He rears back and hurls.

Sergeant and Prince watch the spear whirl away and into the simulated river next to the target.

“It spun that time,” Ajax says. “Good that it spun.”

Grant huffs and shakes his wrist out. “Would you say I’m getting better?”

“Course you are, sire. That’s what practice is for.”

“Maybe practice is done for the day. Javelin practice, anyway.” Grant unbuckles his glove. He hesitates. Should he ask this of Ajax? Is he ready?

He decides to go for it. He’s a Prince now, after all. He lets that broaden his shoulders and straighten his spine. “I want you to teach me how to defend myself, Ajax.”