Ransom

I scowl at him. I don’t want him thinking I like him. I don’t care if that’s diplomatic or not. I want him to know I am not an easy mark.

“It is a great honor to meet you,” he says. “I can barely believe that we have been given this opportunity to introduce you to your heritage and your birthright.”

Blackmane nudges me gently to make some kind of response.

“Yes,” I say. “Nice.”

“Nice?” Savork lifts a sharp brow.

“Very nice?” I try again. I don’t know what they want me to say. I know that I do not want to be sitting here, yet again being used as a prop, my true desires, thoughts, and will subjugated to unnecessary politeness because men have an agenda.

I look down at my food. There is so much on the plate, and almost none of it is of any use to me. What am I supposed to do with a spiny, sharp, roasted rock? I poke it with my fork. It doesn’t move, but it looks as though it should move.

“I don’t seem to have a knife,” I murmur to Savork. “May I borrow yours?”

My place was set without anything sharp, a silly attempt at keeping me from being dangerous. But the guests have all been given lovely sharp blades capable of piercing the thicker, rougher parts of alleged food.

“Of course,” Savork hands me the blade.

“No!” Blackmane snaps, but it is too late. I have it in my hand and my instincts do the rest. I jab the blade forward and twist, making a hole in Savork’s side. His pretty robes blush red immediately.

“Oh,” Savork says.

“No!” Blackmane grabs me up from the table, me laughing at the top of my lungs. He thrusts me behind him.

Savork has grasped a napkin and is pressing it to his side. I’m impressed with how level-headed he is. He’s not flailing or crying or shouting for, well, anything.

“It’s not a problem,” he says in those annoyingly calm tones. “I should have been aware that the princess would not have been raised with anything in the way of calming influences.”

I still have the knife. And it has been simply ages since I have stabbed anything. The higher members of Blackmane’s crew are sitting right there, including Redpelt. He doesn’t speak to me, but I’ve overheard him tell Blackmane to push me out the airlock. That makes what I’m about to do slightly justified, which is a very powerful feeling for someone who wants to do rough violence.

I prepare to ram the blade through his spinal column, but before I can stab Redpelt, the knife is snatched out of my hand. It is not Blackmane, it is one of the other faye. I didn’t catch their names because I really don’t care. But the two of them pick me up and carry me off between them.

A cheer goes up as I am dragged off by the faye.

“Let me go! Unhand me!”

The xenovork crew begin stamping in time, a rough and primal rhythm echoing around our ears. They are celebrating my removal because they loathe me. I am perhaps the least popular princess in the universe, which is unlikely to go well for me considering what traditionally happens to unpopular royals.

Chapter Ten

Blackmane

“I should have warned you,” I apologize to Savork. He has been patched up, but I’m still very much embarrassed. The only people to be ripped up and destroyed on my ship are the ones I decide should be harmed. Astaria has undermined me, and now I appear weak.

“I should have anticipated such an action, especially given she was not allowed a blade. I saw the way she looked at her mother’s weapon. I knew what she was. And yet I handed her my undoing.”

I watch him as he speaks. He is pretending to be remorseful. I am getting the feeling that he is not only unsurprised by Astaria’s actions, I think he expected them. He has somewhat admitted as much already.

“Why do you want a violent little mostly-human princess? And please, do not tell me any lies. Neither one of us has any time for that. You were pleased to be attacked. I want to know why.”

Savork sighs and then seems to come to a decision. Hopefully, an honest one.

“Our bloodlines grow weak. In our society, the queen bears our warrior generals. Astaria’s mother never had a son. We need at least seven sons from her womb to save our world. Her father, the bastard human king, has chased us from our homeland. He has turned our ancestral forests into kindling. We want to reclaim it for our own people. To do that, we need her.”

“You do not merely need Astaria. You need to mate with her at least seven times and pull seven males from her body.”

“Yes.”

“You are aware I have claimed her.”