Queen of the Stars Page 3

  There were, however, some pirate Kalcoons who occasionally tried to sabotage Adriel’s ports, putting a strain on relations, but overall they were allies. A few times she had accompanied her father and his advisors in their boring conferences, in training for when she must be the hostess. She was thankful that this wasn’t one of those days. In all truth, she had to admit that they spooked her. But one day, as queen, she’d have to deal with them, a fact that put another worry on this morning’s already long list.

  “I see you are troubled, Daughter.”

  “What?” she breathed, and discovered the trembling of her hands. She clasped them before her to hide her nervousness. “Why do you say?”

  He patted the chair beside his. “Come. Sit. Your tea is cooling.”

  Slowly, with hands together, she obeyed.

  “Are you worried about the wedding?”

  “What?” She took a hasty sip of the lemony beverage. “No.” She shook her head, but ended up appearing a mite too convincing.

  “You must be truthful with me, child,” he admonished.

  “Well ... yes,” she stammered, a blush heating her cheeks. “Maybe ... anxious—a little.” She again rose, to pace.

  “Ah. Sarra, Sarra,” he said, his chuckling quiet. “Understandable. It would be an odd girl who wasn’t. But this will cease a day or two after the vows are spoken. You have nothing to fear with His Grace the Duke of Tren. We searched everywhere to find the best man for you, and we found him in Taylor Gray.”

  King Ellis nodded, convinced that he spoke the truth. Although the boy he had decided upon—with help from his advisors—had some youthful eccentricity, he’d outgrow it with time. He was of noble birth and had already inherited the affluent province of Tren. The duke was intelligent and well versed in Adriel’s politics. And he was good-looking enough—he would sire genteel heirs.

  Ellis felt a pang of fatherly nostalgia. His Princess Sarra was not so little anymore. On her eighteenth birthday, he must give her away in marriage—she’d be old enough for the responsibilities, then. Although he had harbored a private concern, he felt safe now that he would live to see this fateful day.

  “Though one wonders,” he said pensively. “If I had not been a king, perhaps I could have been a better father to you. A monarch with all his duties cannot be a normal parent, and nor his daughter a common child. Perhaps you feel cheated out of your youth. Maybe you were too sheltered.”

  Sarra lowered her gaze, knowing what he meant. She had never even really had a girlfriend, for the prominence of her status wouldn’t allow it. All her playmates—and these had been few—had been of the aristocratic blood and even at a young age had loftily seemed to know it. All of her relations, with the exception of her father and Alma, were overwhelmed by awe of her—she had found no real friendship, there.

  Truly, at times she wanted to shed her composure, the gracious smile that she must force onto her lips even when the mood wasn’t near. She had never told anyone her secret wish—her dream of being a commoner, one free like the wind. How she longed for that! Everywhere she had walked since she had learned how to, people fell into a bow or curtsy. She suspected that she had never quite seen them as they really are; her presence always makes them cautious and nervous. It was simply the yoke of Her Royal Highness The Princess Sarra of Adriel. But, as far as the king not being a good parent, he had cared for her, nurtured her ...

  “I couldn’t have asked for a better father,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” he rasped and then mumbled something unintelligible, embarrassed by the tender emotion her reassuring words brought.

  ‘But, why?’ she silently stormed. ‘Why don’t you know the truth about Taylor Gray!’

  If he were a stronger man, she’d let her hysteria consume her and lash her anger on him. But upsetting him could have a dangerous consequence to his health. Again, she must make this pass ... She stared out on the sea, remembering how he had suffered such losses, tragedies that could have destroyed him. He still kept his regal head high, thus dispelling any urges of pity. He was the glory of his people—a most worshiped king.

  As Sarra pondered about his bravery, she was unaware that Ellis marveled about hers. She was at the window, her long hair glowing in the sunlight, her profile lovely while she gazed out on the horizon, so serious, so thoughtful. Sarra, his precious pride-and-joy. He was again startled about how at times she was the very image of her mother. But she possessed qualities Anna had not—the headstrong spirit, the reckless courage. A blessing this was, for world affairs would fall on her slender shoulders—perhaps quite soon. He would be with his beloved Anna again.

  Sweet Anna Mari Tantuer, his love for forever. He had led a promiscuous, quite sinful life until he took the Throne at forty-two years old. Before his father died, he had arranged to have him marry an aristocratic woman to insure heirs. He had needed no coercion from the first sight of beautiful Anna. The vows were spoken and a year later she gave birth to Prince Ellis the Third.

  Two more boys, Andrew and Stephan, graced the royal clan in the fruitful years that past. Life was good—clearly God found favor in the Shantays’ every whim. He believed that his family was complete. He had three sons and his legacy would carry on. But, Anna was nearing the end of her childbearing years and wanted another, a girl. Their prayers were answered. All of Adriel rejoiced in the birth of Princess Sarra Anna Shantay.

  Five years later, it began. His queen died in a boating accident on the Aurora Sea. Only a few months later, Ellis and Stephan died when their spacecraft crashed on planet Myrrh. And not even a year later, Andrew was killed in a foolish duel over a woman. The Lord had wielded His Sword upon the Shantay Crown, sparing but the princess and himself.

  In her wee seventh year Sarra became the heiress to the great and powerful Throne. She would be the first queen royal. Yet, Adriel was no longer a peaceful world and his instincts were telling him that there were afflictions to come. Would she have the strength to endure her reign? If anything happened to her ...

  “Sarra ...”

  Her father’s voice pulled her from her disturbing reflections. As she turned and saw the worry move around on his sad, gaunt face, she mentally braced herself.

  “You have thought about the attempt on Terrance’s life yesterday?” he asked. “And what it may mean?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “And the scare on Cousin Troy before. You fear that I am next.”

  He nodded and thrust his hands up. “It is a poor king who cannot even keep his own family safe. Powerless ...” He averted his eyes to hide his shame.

  Sarra couldn’t stay silent. “Why, Father? Why are the Revolutionaries doing this? What could possibly be their reason?”

  “I ... The rebels don’t seem to have a cause. My senior advisors did try to meet with them to understand their passions, but barely escaped with their lives. They are very elusive men and nobody knows how many there are. It’s a mystery. It would seem a bad seed has been cast into our people. Perhaps they came in the convoy ships from Earth. Adriel’s population is growing so fast—just yesterday I heard it is almost two million. Or, maybe they are the descendants of our planet’s first colonists who left to explore—some may have come back. Wherever they are from, this savage breed hasn’t any regard for the law. They make war just for recreation. Ahh, Daughter,” he sighed, passing a hand wearily across his brow, “one can only guess what made the seed, and I fear only the Lord knows how to drought it.”

  “How dare they!” she cried. “Ignorant savages! They should be down on their knees worshiping you, not defying you—Ooohhh! If I had a weapon and knew where they were, I’d have no sympathy!”

  “No, Sarra,” he warned. “No. You mustn’t talk like that. These men are witless but they are also dangerous. They’re very violent. We can only pray God that by the day you are queen they will have tired of their blood lust.”

  She all at once became solemn hearing him mention her future. “I wish I would never
become queen,” she whispered, fearing even to dread the day of his death.

  “Sarra,” he rebuked. “I thought we had settled this before.”

  “I know,” she apologized. “I just—”

  The buzzing at the door saved Sarra from her excuses. Her father granted admission and Otis Zenno, a tall and lanky man, entered. He acknowledged her with a cool nod and she merely glanced back. Even though he was the King’s Private Secretary, his principle organizer and the closest of his twelve senior advisors, she had never felt any affection for this humorless and unfriendly old man. Throughout the years many different men had filled the elite positions, but Zenno—unfortunately—had held his for the longest.

  “The Kalcoonian Ambassadors have arrived, Your Majesty,” he informed, stiffly.

  “Already? Very well. Keep them comfortable until I arrive, Otis. Daughter, you must forgive me.” He sighed, weary as he rose from his chair.

  Sarra nodded and turned to look outside. At the dressing room door, the sovereign paused. Over her shoulder, she saw his affectionate smile.

  “Princess. I only want your happiness that I am certain you will find. Don’t fret about your wedding day. All of Adriel will have such a glorious celebration!”

  Sarra stared out on the sea, glad that her back faced him. “Yes, Father. It will be grand.”

  Chapter 3

  The time had come. Sarra couldn’t hide. She couldn’t escape. She could only hope that she wouldn’t embarrass herself before her future subjects by running away from the altar. She was eighteen years old now and had best start acting like an adult.

  The girl who was dressing her hair nervously requested, “Please, Your Royal Highness—Ma’am—move this way, please.”

  She stiffened irritably, clutching the arms of her chair. “I have told you a score of times, Tanna, that my name is ‘Sarra’. Contrary to rumors, I really don’t bite,” she added with the bite of sarcasm.

  Tanna’s plain face whitened. The shy, sensitive girl fought back her tears. She was only thirteen and had the gift for creating beauty art since she was four.

  Sarra regretted her harshness and put on a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry. What do you want?”

  The child had lost her voice and motioned with her hands. Sarra concealed her sigh and tilted her head. Somewhat shaky fingers brought a perfect curl to a silken tress.

  Sarra tried not to think, hoping to control the anxiety that gnawed fiercely in her belly. She did her best to sit patiently amidst the flurry in her bedchamber, one of the fifteen rooms in her private apartment. Rhea and Marion, her ladies-in-waiting since her youth, fussed excitedly about as they readied her veil and tiara. Alma was laying the wedding gown out on the bed. Sarra turned away from the lovely raiment—it would be a lie upon her back!

  At last Tanna finished and fell into a low curtsy.

  “Well done, Tanna!” Marion praised. “Look at you, Sarra! Such a beautiful bride! Lord Gray will be so proud!”

  Sarra inspected her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror before her. Her hair had been left unbound to display its length, the soft golden ringlets cascading across her breasts and back, touching her thighs. Her ivory dressing robe matched the hue of the flower bouquets atop the vanity, contrasting startlingly with her dark-blue eyes. Before, Rhea had dusted her long black lashes with a soft ebony powder, and to hide her paleness, had brushed a mist of crimson color on her high cheeks. Sarra met her gaze, bright and sparkling in the room’s airy sunlight, but she alone could see the doubt within.

  She flinched as the screeching of a guitar suddenly assaulted her ears, coming from the nearby wall, from the large viewer screen that broadcasted the celebration underway in the Palace Square. The nobility refused to let the threat of assassins interfere with the traditional festivities. They were restless, awaiting the wedding that would be held in the safety of the Chapel and broadcasted about the planet. Although the guards nearly equaled the number of guests, from the noise and chaos on the viewer it seemed like the boisterous gentry was tearing apart the estate. Laser shows. Fire acts. Song. And all this before the vows had been spoken. She almost hated to see what they had planned for when the ceremony was over. She definitely hated to see it begin.

  Alma pulled her up to her feet. “We had best hurry and get you dressed,” she said. “Time doesn’t stand still, not even for the princess royal.”

  Suddenly, the thunderous boom of a massive explosion came not from the viewer, but from a different area of the estate—a closer area.

  Sarra shared in the women’s fear and confusion ...

  Alma murmured, suspiciously, “That sounded like a bomb.”

  The bedchamber doors flew open and the soldiers of the Royal Guard, wearing the crimson and gold uniform, rushed in.

  “We’re under attack—Revolutionaries!” one cried. “Your Royal Highness, we must get you to your port!”

  “No!” Sarra gasped. “Father!”

  “His guards will protect him, Princess Sarra!” he anxiously assured. “Come!”

  Stunned, she couldn’t move. The guard respectfully grasped her wrist, and when his hand became a tight pressure on her—and then a forceful tug—she clambered after him, to and through the hidden passageway that had opened in the scarlet wall. She glanced askance, making certain that Alma followed, her beloved servants being left in the diligent care of the Palace Guards.

  It was all happening so fast that Sarra couldn’t believe that this was truly real. She had explored this underground tunnel in mock-attack drills three times in her life but had never dreamed that she would ever need to use it. Surely she wasn’t truly fleeing from assassins? Wasn’t Queen’s Palace impenetrable? Still, she ran behind her four escorts, glancing back at the two who kept her winded aunt moving. Her own breathing came fast while she sprinted, guided by the ceiling’s bright light, her bare feet quietly skimming the padded floor, following the gentle winding of the corridor. This was a highly fortified part of the palace and it wasn’t far to the port. Soon they would reach the spacecraft and be out in an orbit around the planet. They would all be safe ...

  A hissing came from behind. Sarra whirled, shocked to see the blue-green laser current skittering like lightning across the metallic wall.

  The assassins were behind them in the tunnel!

  The guards pushed Alma and her into their protection behind them. Fierce shouts rang out as a battle exploded. They fired their weapons down the long and winding passageway, at the curving of the corridor, the bend where the enemy was concealed. A laser beam suddenly shot out toward them and struck one soldier, and he shuddered grotesquely before he fell—the man either alive, being stunned, or dead, being electrocuted. The guards stood their ground, blocking the women from the onslaught, bravely giving their princess time to escape ...

  Panicking, Sarra gripped Alma’s forearm tightly, pulling her along, the battle raging on behind them. It came to be that the corridor had an end. In the distance, a brilliant light emanated from her escape port’s open doors. Sarra screeched in her relief when she saw a guard’s dark silhouette. But, as she neared him and realized that he wore black clothes that were not of the royal military, her hand left Alma and her legs gave out. She flew through the air before landing inevitably and painfully on her full breasts.

  She looked up, stricken by terror, seeing him in the light. The assassin stood above her, his green eyes icy-cold with hatred.

  The green eyes threatened the immortality of her soul ...

  She cried out as he grasped her wrist and yanked her up to her knees, and then up to her feet. He caught her hips and he easily lifted her up into the air, and her waist forcefully met his wide shoulder, her shriek catching within her throat. He effortlessly carried her, and through her blurred, tearful vision, at her odd angle she saw Alma who wailed and wept hysterically, struggling with a black-clad assassin, the Revolutionaries having had their victory over the Royal Guard. Alma fell to his feet to plead for her niece.

  Sarra heard
her abductor call, “Leave the old woman! We don’t need her!”

  Sarra’s scream was silent, helpless as the barbarian shoved her frail aunt into the tunnel. The door panels moved together rapidly, cutting off the sight of Alma’s horrified face.

  Sarra tried to strike at her captor’s face with her knee, but he caught her calves and held them firmly, his large hand biting into her tender skin like a vice. She was surprised and then enraged to find herself tossed—like a rag doll—into another pair of arms, her back hitting the breast of one tall and lanky. This one carried her in the cradle of his arms up a boarding ramp, and when at the top she had the fortitude to snatch the edge of the starship’s thin metallic doorway. She clung with her life, but his fist hit her brutally upon her knuckles, and it was all it took to force her grip loose. He deposited her down onto her feet and pushed her onward, to the wide and oval bridge. He shoved her down into one of the passenger seats, and flicked the panel on the side of her chair, and the two belts moved down from the top, crisscrossing over her breasts to strap her in. He sat down in the chair beside her, his cold brown eyes giving her a contemptuous leer.

  Appalled, she became motionless, hearing the hum of the engines that were already powered up for flight. Beyond the large and oblong window that wrapped the fore of the bridge, she saw that the bay doors of the port were opening ...

  She gasped when the ship surged and shot out from its mooring, fiercely thrusting her back against her chair. She could scarcely breathe, caught in the paralyzing press of gravity. The craft rapidly climbed higher, the intensity of the G-force as such that she feared that it would be fatal ...