Queen of the Stars Read online

  Table of Contents

  PART I THE LOST CROWN

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  PART II THUNDER PALACE

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  PART III THE THRONE

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  APPENDIX

  QUEEN OF THE STARS

  By Lorelei Orion

  QUEEN OF THE STARS

  Volume One of The Royals of Adriel series

  Copyright 2012 by Lorelei Orion

  Kindle Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design by Red Moon Products and Lorelei Orion

  Cover photo © R. Gino Santa Maria / Shutterfree, Llc | Dreamstime.com

  PART I

  THE LOST CROWN

  Chapter 1

  April 3, 2249

  Planet Adriel

  Princess Royal Sarra Anna Shantay gazed down in awe of the majestic sunrise. Standing at the cobblestone wall atop the plateau, she marveled how the mist billowed down below her, glowing with the sun’s amber hue. She breathed deeply of the air that was dank and fragrant with the past gentle rain, savoring the dew. Her dark-blue eyes eagerly awaited the action ... and then they came ...

  The spacecrafts flashed against the dim as they took turns landing in and leaving the distant mountain port. It was as if stars were falling to shoot across a dawn sky. Fascinated by the bevy of sparkles, she watched until the last silver gleam disappeared into its mooring. A wistful expression slightly furrowed her smooth brow; she’d have to wait until nightfall to see the next changing of the patrol ships. She placed her hands on the railing and looked down on the beautiful panorama below, at the valley and the Aurora Sea all lost in the haze. She hoped to lock the moment into her memory for forever. She’d be queen of all this—but no one could truly rule the wondrous planet Adriel.

  “Come here now, child. Enough!”

  Sarra winced at her aunt’s coarse voice. She turned toward the woman, but decided that it was best not to look up at her scolding hazel eyes and stared at her black slippers instead. “Can we do it later?” she asked, trying to put much maturity into her softly refined voice.

  “Later. Later? Sarra, child, this is ‘later’. Mercy! Your wedding is in three days! And eighteen years old you’ll be then. There is no more time for your stalling. You come here this instant or I will choose your gown—and don’t cry to me that you wouldn’t want to wear it!”

  Sarra understood the warning in Alma Tantuer’s voice. Her aunt would, too—choose some frilly, outlandish gown, something to spite her tardiness. She had stalled for weeks. She didn’t want to even think of the wedding for what it did to her belly. But, now was the time that she must muster up all of her courage and face reality. She didn’t even attempt to conceal her sigh as she moved slowly across the damp stone deck.

  “Ahh, she is ready!” said Tolly Kay, the clothier of Egyptian heritage, nervously to her assistant. “Look at her! White is such a fine color on her—she could wear anything—even that simple dress! She’s so gorgeous—this will be a joy!”

  A young male servant proudly bowed and scrambled to assist the princess with her chair. Sarra swallowed hard as she sat, bracing her delicate jaw before dropping her gaze to see the dressmaker’s selections.

  The marble floor-table sported a two-foot hologram, an image that was an exact, three-dimensional replica of her, programmed from her precise measurements. For an instant Sarra saw the startling beauty the others spoke of—the tall and slender frame, the tresses of golden hair falling down about the hips, the dark-blue eyes brilliant against the fair skin. The sight was anything but uncommon to her eyes; this she saw reflected in her mirror every day.

  The computerized model was demure, her hands clasped before her, but Sarra knew that she could never be so collected wearing the gown. It looked like it had come from a fairy tale, from Earth’s ancient yore, the ivory satin cascading downward in luxurious folds. The simulation smiled as she lifted the lacy hem to show off the dainty slippers, and then drew the lengthy veil and held it out to let the viewer inspect the elegant gauze. Sarra concluded that it was a beautiful creation, and rightly so, for Tolly Kay was the best designer on Myrrh—the nearby world that set the Urania Solar System’s fashion—called to Adriel, to Queen’s Palace, especially to plan the royal wedding. But lovely raiment or not, Sarra knew that it would bring her no happiness.

  Tolly Kay’s assistant informed, honorably, “This is a fine one, made for Your Royal Highness by Tolly Kay herself.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Sarra said absently, concerned about when she must wear the real dress.

  “Your Royal Highness is displeased!” Tolly breathed with a sound of horror in her soft voice, her many rings and bracelets upon her dark skin clinking in her animated distress.

  “No!” Sarra quickly reassured, catching her rude indifference. “It’s very nice. I’m just ... I’m ...” she stammered.

  “Wedding nerves,” Alma rescued smoothly. “I fear they are consuming her.”

  “Ah, yes!” the relieved clothier said, with a chuckle. “I recall my own very well! But, Her Royal Highness has nothing to fear with Taylor Gray—His Grace the Duke of Tren. Such a man!”

  Sarra knew that she must graciously smile back at the playful, yet careful, brown eyes, and hoped that her doubt didn’t show.

  “One problem,” Alma considered, pointing at the veil. “Perhaps it is too long. She will have fourteen bridesmaids, but ...”

  “Ah!” Tolly exclaimed, jerking her hand toward her aide who then worked the small computer panel with her skilled fingertips until more images entered the hologram. The fourteen women were all the same, one identical dark-haired female, the dressmaker not yet having the proportions of the real entourage. They all sprang into life with a touch on the panel, assisting with the flowing train.

  “You see?” Tolly asked. “With them placed this far apart, the seven on each side, I think it will work!”

  Reassured, Alma agreed. “Do you wish it, Sarra?”

  “Yes,” she said and tried to appear more pleased than she could feel, hoping her eyes were bright enough on the ghostly cinema.

  “That is settled,” Alma murmured, as if years of frustration had suddenly ceased. “But now we must see to the ladies’ actual gowns.”

  “I have three styles that are suitable—you must choose!” Tolly said excitedly, her tongue becoming freer. To be in the princess’ presence was not quite as frightening as she had been warned of. Her Royal Highness was quite personable and had an air of kindness about her. And, most importantly, she was not displeased.

  One who had a grievance, but with the princess, was Alma. She sensed that her niece’s attention was fading from the business at hand into one of her fanciful daydreams. Her blue eyes kept moving from the hologram to the misted landscape. Alma sighed
, knowing that she must take to her duty and command the proceedings.

  Sarra’s mind was free to wander as the vivacious Arab escorted her aunt over to the bolts of rich sample cloth. She took the opportunity. Her imagination traveled to the mountain’s port, into one of the agile crafts, and up on a flight into the mystery of the sky.

  She’d been up in space a few times, and to Myrrh, the closest inhabitable planet in the Urania Solar System—like most Adrielians had. And as exhilarating as it was, she couldn’t stop the feeling of discontent, of oppression. She wanted to be the pilot and explore the vast and exciting heavens like she’d please. She didn’t want to be queen—she wanted fun, not responsibilities. As much as any other red-blooded female, she hoped to have adventures. But this wasn’t in the stars. The princess royal must be protected.

  She felt cheated. Just last week word came from the Science Team Eleven explorers about a life-sustaining planet discovered in the distant Selah Three system. There were over four hundred billion stars in the Milky Way Galaxy alone, and billions of galaxies out in the universe! She longed to be an explorer, not the ruler of this stable, rather dull, world. How she wished she could go to the ends of the heavens, a wild and foolish notion since it could never be—even with the complicated use of stasis and the highest speed—but all the possibilities! The splash of brilliant suns on ebony velvet seemingly all at arm’s reach. The chance to be the first to discover some new magical world! The feel of the ship’s motion while it hurled on to find a unique destiny. She refused to see space as it really was—cold and dark—she could see the lights shining on the black, winking and beckoning for her to come near, calling her—

  “Sarra!”

  She whirled. She had been unaware that the women had moved back to the table until being rudely enlightened.

  “Do the gowns meet with your pleasing?” Alma repeated with warning in her eyes.

  “Yes!” she nodded zealously, having no idea what she agreed upon. “Good!”

  “Fine,” Alma quipped through pursed lips, becoming impatient with her lack of true enthusiasm. The headstrong girl was determined to find no joy in this and there were still more designs to be considered. “And so,” she sighed wearily. “Now there is the question of the special honeymoon.”

  Tolly Kay took the cue and flicked her wrist. Her assistant’s deft brown fingers glided away on the panel to bring the next sketch into view. This hologram brought a soft gasp from the princess. Red color flooded the high regal cheeks.

  Wide-eyed, Sarra stared at her image that was donned in an ethereal robe darker than night and sheerer than mist. It was like a goddess of mythology. The replica coyly reached up to take a jeweled pin from the three-tiered coiffure, and her hair, glittering like gold dust, tumbled down to the hips. She turned around slowly, her head tilted back and her crimson lips parted in ecstasy while the sheer ebony billowed about in the computer winds, exposing a shapely thigh and calf. Again the identical blue eyes met her own, though the image was wanton, confident, possessed. Artfully she pulled open the robe and it fluttered away.

  Sarra paled. Could she ever look like this? Could there ever be such seduction on her face? Boldly, the temptress placed her palms on her gently rounded hips and spread her lean legs to stand, on slender high heels, in a sensuous pose of a coquette demanding lovemaking. The garment left nothing to thought—garment, no! It was but thousands of black threads meshed together to precariously cover only her womanhood. And its purpose was just to tease the male mien, in how it exposed the flat waist and nearly spilled the ample breasts free. This was to be worn a single time, for once carefully placed within, there would be no way out without damaging the fragile strands—a plaything meant to be ripped away by impatient masculine hands. Taylor Gray’s hands!

  Shocked, her gaze fleeted to the men near the door. She caught how one gawked lustily at her likeness. The security guard, horrified that she had discovered his eavesdropping, looked up again to warily watch the sky.

  “Auntie!” she choked to the woman who seemed to forget that commoners do have eyes.

  “Oh!” Tolly breathed. “I—I do not mean to offend Your Royal Highness! It is the latest fashion—from Myrrh! Please ... for—forgive ...” she stuttered, racing to recall who had told her about the princess’ want of risqué lingerie and if this person plotted to have her banished from Adriel for forever.

  “Auntie Alma! I don’t want—Please!”

  In a moment of chaos, Alma stopped the hologram and hustled the distraught dressmakers and their portable equipment from the terrace. She took the time to allay them, assuring that the princess was upset with the wedding, not its designers. Then she returned to the deck, hoping to ease her innocent niece’s fears with gentle logic. But, as she neared her and saw the panic on her youthful face, Alma changed the hope to a prayer.

  Sarra pleaded, “Must they be here?” She threw a glance toward the guards.

  Alma nodded. “It is a wise precaution. After the assassination attempt on your cousin, Terrance.”

  When the chagrined girl groaned like she was in agony, Alma took pity, and with a wave of her hand, security left the area. When sufficiently out of sight, one activated the voltaic shield. Static flashed overhead and disappeared, the invisible shield now surrounding the deck. Alma pressed her foot on the power control to adjust the floor-table, and the rectangular marble slab lifted up to a comfortable height. Sarra dropped her elbows onto the support. She balanced her red face on her palms, blushing from brow to toe in this assault on her modesty.

  “Yes, you are still so young. You—”

  Sarra jerked her head from her hands. “Ahhhh, Auntie! I don’t want to! I don’t want to marry!”

  “Nerves,” Alma surmised coolly. “Understandable. But soon that will be gone.”

  “No—no it won’t!” she protested vehemently, bolting up from her chair to pace the deck, her slippers slamming on the stone in her ire. “Why? Why must it be so when I—”

  “Sarra, you know,” she said disapprovingly. “It is our way. When our Earth ancestors colonized this planet, this is the government they chose, this simpler way of life, and it has worked almost without a flaw for over a century, correct? You are of the blood royal and next to the Throne—thee most important Throne in Urania. You must learn to discipline yourself, Sarra, and accept your situation. Think of your father—do you want to upset him with your stubbornness?”

  “Of course not!” she snapped. “But does anyone care if I am upset with the man he chose for me?”

  She soon realized that the only sound that was, and would be, was her anger on the stone. She stopped and turned. The hazel eyes watched her, deliberately without expression. The mentor waited patiently for the willful apprentice to control her temper—quite a common occurrence, of late. After a difficult moment, she returned to the table, humbled.

  Satisfied, Alma tried to put her compassion into her coarse voice. “Your father is very wise, child, and he did not make the choice lightly. Taylor Gray is suitable for you and for the good of the subjects. The Gray name has sufficient honor to be united with the Shantay family. And he is handsome—what other young woman would protest of your future!”

  “But, Auntie,” she said, and swallowed with trouble. “I don’t ... I have no feeling for this man. He just ... isn’t ...”

  “Love? You are not in love with him?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Alma nodded, knowingly. “You will learn to care about him. Your betrothed has some ... youthful self-importance, but in time he will grow more manageable. He’s twenty-four—he is at that age.”

  “He’s older than me and you don’t see me behaving like that!”

  “Yes,” the woman considered. “But he is a man.”

  “A man!” she cried. “I wish I’d been born a boy! I’d do as I please—travel where I please! I’d be free of the bonds of this ‘man’s world’!”

  Alma decided to ignore her outburst. “You will learn to train him
. He will lose his airs and obey you. He is still young. He can still be shaped.”

  “I have doubts on that,” she said cynically.

  “What would you have me do, child?” she pleaded, lifting her thin shoulders. “Tell King Ellis that you don’t want his legacy—his dream for you? Should I say to him: ‘Your daughter, here, she wants to go carousing around the stars. Here is the Royal Crown, give it to Terrance, your poor dead brother’s son, because she doesn’t want it.’ Break his heart? And after all the tragedy he’s suffered!”

  “That isn’t fair. You know I wouldn’t.”

  Alma shrugged. “There it is, then.” Anxiousness suddenly pulled on her weathered brow. “Is there some other beau that I don’t know about?”

  She shook her head. “No one. But even so, I ... I can’t really learn to love, can I?”

  Relieved, Alma exhaled and nodded. “An example—your mother and father.”

  Sarra saw the sadness creeping into her dark, hazel eyes. Clearly, the woman thought about Queen Anna, her younger sister who had been taken by the sea. But, in the tragic drowning thirteen years ago Sarra had lost her mother, a beauty so honored and cherished but one she could recall only within the broken fragments of her memory. In the span of two years there came more sorrow when her three older brothers also died. And even long after the raw pain of grief faded, Queen’s Palace still harbored emptiness, the wispy ghost of loneliness. Just occasionally now did she feel the pangs of loss. But in her youth, when she had studied Queen Anna’s grand statue in the Palace Square, she could only stare up in her awe, and looked to her aunt for answers.

  Alma had continued to live in the palace, helping the king with the raising of his daughter. And now, Sarra knew that the childless widow, well into her seventy-fourth year, wondered if she had succeeded or failed as a proxy mother. Alma was the only woman she truly felt comfortable with. There weren’t any superficial amenities because of her royal status—the lady boldly spoke her mind. Sarra had long before come to regard her as a parent—strange, if things would have turned out differently, she might have been. Never once had they talked about it, but she knew that Alma had always been in love with the king. Nevertheless, he desired Anna, his chosen betrothed, and theirs was a love of infinite greatness surely created by the Heavens.