Shania snorted from the chaise longue. “With so much mathematics inside that circuit board of yours, Marta, you’d be better suited to teaching at the university than making dresses.”
“Sewing is my directive,” she replied, her robotic voice never wavering.
Advisor Winchell turned to Shania, “You know very well that androids are forbidden to hold independent employment. They are here to serve us.”
Delia stayed quiet. Marta couldn’t feel the sharp, barbed tongue of Advisor Winchell. How ironic to have two of the most unfeeling women in the kingdom here while she prepared to wed a complete stranger.
A sudden wish for her mother overwhelmed Delia. She pictured the queen, her own long braid now highlighted with shades of gray. She was meeting with the council at this very moment. But if this arranged marriage was as important as everyone kept telling her, the queen should be here.
“When do we get to meet all the princes?” Shania asked. “I’ve heard all seven are already here.”
“Seven,” Delia repeated tiredly.
“Mm-hmm! There’s Hagar from Lazlo—it’s a small planet with only a handful of families, but he owns most of the waterway so he’s adept at sailing. Then there are the twins, Maxim and Mikel from Tramsted, who obviously have no shame in doubling their chances. However, considering their fabulous fashion sense, they’re certainly worth putting in the serious contender category.”
Delia huffed, “I’m not going to marry a pair of twins!”
“Stop interrupting.” Shania rolled her eyes. “You’re taking all the fun out of this. Then there’s Oskar from the Kalasta Belt—now, he’s interesting, because he holds the record for weight lifting in all of the Four Quadrants. The problem is that his neck is quite large and it makes his head look absurdly small in comparison. Then there’s Armano from Delta Kur, Felix from Trellium, and lastly, lovely Quinton.” Shania sighed with a look of dreamy satisfaction. “The palace is turning into a wonderfully well-stocked man depot.”
“You speak as if they’re something to eat,” Advisor Winchell reprimanded.
A panicked pulse quickened under Delia’s skin. She was brave about sword skills and giving speeches to the leaders of the Four Quadrants—she was even brave enough to face Advisor Winchell once in a while.
But taking a husband?
Fear began to poke through her bored mask of composure. She sniffed, then mentally packaged the fear and pushed it far down, deeply hidden so no one suspected.
Shania continued, “Where are they keeping them, Advisor Winchell?” Her voice went up an octave. “And how will you ever choose, dear sister?”
“I will choose the man who will benefit Astor the—ouch!” Delia jumped to the side as if shocked. A pin was sticking out of her side. “Marta!”
Marta thrust another pin into Delia. “Sewing is my directive—my directive.” She continued to stab the needle through the fabric, more roughly. There was a tear in the dress, a red spot appeared.
Shania screamed.
Advisor Winchell pressed the security button on the wall. “Droid emergency! Princess Delia’s chamber!”
Delia pulled away, tripping off the pedestal.
“—my directive—my directive.” Marta’s voice became static; her hands clawed for the hem of the gown. Delia stared, amazed—then she remembered to scream.
Pulling her way free of the fabric, Delia dashed across the room, then subtly grabbed the satchel she’d hidden behind a chair. While everyone was watching Marta, she slipped out the side door and into the servants’ corridor.
Years of playing hide-and-seek with Shania had afforded her a mental blueprint of every corner of the palace. She made it to the vertical transporter and hit the button for the landing bay.
She felt a temporary twinge of guilt about not telling Shania her plan, but her younger sister would never have been able to keep the secret to herself. The android technician dispatch team would be there soon, she reasoned. Besides, the glitch she’d programmed into Marta’s SHEW had only a half-life of two minutes—barely enough time for Delia to escape.
Shaking, she opened the bag and put on the stolen uniform. The pilot’s jumpsuit was several sizes too large. Her long braid bulged under the fabric at the back, but that couldn’t be helped. She put on the helmet and slapped down the visor. She was one of the elite pilots of the Queen’s Guard—at least for now.
The doors of the lift slid open. Shania wasn’t kidding, there must be half a dozen new ships since last night.
The takeoff alarm pierced the air.
Delia hadn’t anticipated another ship departing at exactly the same time she’d planned her escape. Regardless, she had to act now or she’d never have another chance.
She ran to the small Patrol ship she’d readied last night. Then she saw its back engines had already started to fire. Delia input the code for the door and jumped in, silently reprimanding herself for messing up the preflight timing so badly. In one move Delia locked the door and rushed forward to the cockpit.
“Argh!” She tripped, then fell onto something squishy.
There was a muffled cry underneath her. “Galaxy’s sake!” a voice said—a male voice.
Delia pushed herself up on her elbow and stared at the stranger through the visor still obscuring her face. His eyes were wide and panicked. A bruise on his cheek added color to his pale face.
“Get off my ship!” she yelled.
He sat up so quickly it threw her off balance.
Delia was about to threaten him when the computer’s soft voice announced, “Takeoff initiated.”
There was a massive shudder. Then Delia and the stranger were thrown back as the ship blasted forward.
CHAPTER THREE
Aidan didn’t have time to reply to the female pilot before his back rammed into something hard. The pull of gravity kept him in place as the ship powered forward. Through the windshield he saw the opening of the landing bay grow bigger at an alarming rate.
“Oh no!” The pilot jumped up and clambered her way to the control panel. She strapped herself in and started to manically press buttons and flick switches.
Just as the ship freed itself from the landing bay, there was a moment of gliding; then the nose of the craft dipped at a terrifying angle. Aidan’s stomach twisted. The sky was replaced with a blur of darker colors as the ship began to plummet. He tumbled from the back of the ship, slamming into the copilot’s chair. The pilot had her hands on the control stick, but she was still leaning forward.
“Pull up!” Aidan cried out. “We’re going to crash!”
“Are you mad?” she asked. “Secure yourself in the chair!”
Aidan noticed her voice was laced with annoyance instead of fear. He could only stare out the window, gripping the sides of the chair to keep from falling into the front glass. They were heading straight for Black Lake, the water that surrounded the base of the palace. A crash at this speed would be like hitting steel itself.
Aidan heard his mother’s voice, “… always safe.”
Then at once, he was lifted as the pressure of the dive eased away. He slumped to the floor as the ship leveled off, sucking in gasps of air, amazed he was still alive.