TREDWELL THUNDER-KICKS OPEN the timber cabin door.
The fading sunlight splashes over Leila’s bound and gagged curving frame.
Cocking the hammer as he draws his six-gun, he levels the weapon. The boom sends one man to the floor as two more fire. The wooden doorframe splinters behind Tredwell. They both miss. He does not.
Tredwell grabs shapely Leila by the arms and yanks her to her tiny feet. He pulls free her gag.
“I thought you were dead,” she gasps.
He rips open his shirt. His rippling sweat-covered muscles are decorated with three bullet holes. She works free her hand and caresses the scar next to his heart.
“Not even death would stop my love for you.”
She caused this. Her love for him nearly put him in a box. She can’t bear the thought that he could have died to protect her. She rejected him before despite her own desires to be his. She’ll correct her mistake.
“Take me,” she moans with desire.
She loosens his gun belt. It falls to the floor. She works free his pants. His swelling for her is unrestricted. Leila strokes the monster. New feeling arouses within her. Her own wetness and fear release as she touches Tredwell’s unnaturally mammoth girth.
His animal instincts no longer contained, he rips open the front of her shirt. Her white supple breasts fall out. Nipples perked in arousal. Tredwell scoops her into his arms and carries her to the bed. He lays her back gently and nibbles her neck. She presents herself legs open. She wants no passion from him; she wants him inside her quickly, before anything else removes him from her. She has waited, wanted, wasted her chances with him. Nothing prevents it now as he pushes into her. She feels herself burst. Nothing so plump was meant to enter a woman no matter how much her juices flow.
Princess Michelle Aurora’s fingers have found their way under her plain white panties. Years of courtly training have instilled in her that a lady—a princess who rules a planetary star system—does not behave in such a foul manner. To pleasure herself would be a selfish act unbefitting of her station. Tainting herself would ruin the purity she must maintain for her future husband.
Her gasp of pleasure halts her progress. Returning her free hand, she carefully turns the page of her paperback novel. She has nothing but time to read while on the Silver Dragon, and actual Osirian paperback books are the one vice she allows herself.
Osirian artifacts from Reynard’s planet are pure luxury. She knows little of galactic history. Reynard claims to originate from an epoch a thousand years ago. Her mother hired Commander Reynard to remove her on her wedding day, preventing her untimely death.
Her mother mandated a bounty on the crew of the Silver Dragon for Michelle’s safe return and the crew’s death. All Michelle has witnessed since her wedding day has destroyed her romantic view of life outside her palace. She must focus on reclaiming her place as the ruler of Aurora.
She creases the corner of her current page and stashes the book under her pillow. Tredwell will have to wait. Michelle has little to do on the Silver Dragon. Unless the crew needs to throw a royal ball, she has no useful skills. Amye would count being a burden as her one talent.
Michelle dreams. The stupid tradition of marrying those of noble birth almost got her killed. She wants to find a classic man like in her novels—the champion who charges in on a white stallion, romantic in a white hat, or the one who shoots the bad guys and then hangs up his guns to marry the girl and raise a family where they live happily ever after.
She desires the cowboy who charms ladies with his smile. She pulls the book out from under the pillow and fixates on the picture of the shirtless warrior’s rippling muscles. Michelle traces her finger over Tredwell’s perfectly defined pectoral muscles. His face remains hidden by the shadows of his hat brim. The woman he embraces has a heaving bosom. Michelle traces her fingers over the curves she lacks. Dainty! Pure and delicate. I’m a woman—no little girl—trying to become a woman found in fairy tale princess stories.
Tredwell would win my heart. Sweep me off my feet with roses. She allows her fingers to crawl down her tummy. I’d let him push himself into me. Make me a woman. Her fantasy is broken with pain. Inserting her own finger hurts. A man built like Tredwell—it must hurt.
One handmaiden told me it’s terribly painful. Excruciatingly painful. A lady avoids the sins of the flesh until marriage and then husbands have to force themselves inside. Stretch them open until there’s nothing but agony. Painful, but incomparable to pushing out a child. No, a princess wants nothing to do with such acts.
It can’t be all bad. Australia and Scott can’t seem to stop being together, and she is nearly as petite as me. And Scott—he’s a man built like Tredwell.
Michelle keeps her finger where they’re forbidden. She knows the kind of man she requires if she must suffer on her back in order to be his dutiful wife. He has to be young and handsome. He must have the rough and rugged appearance mother would never approve. He must be the kind of man who would never be allowed to marry a princess. A man who Amye would share experiences with.
Michelle circles her finger, tired of being prim and proper.
Pleasure.
Comfort.
More pleasure.
Her sin.
She lives in safety and comfort while her people suffer under who knows what oppressions the Mokarran are imposing on them. She will cast out those who are occupying her planet.
She jerks her hand from between her legs.
No pleasure.
Not while my people suffer under the heels of subjugation. The lives of my people are more important than some childish search for the perfect romance. I must become a strong ruler. Find a way to drive the Mokarran forces from Aurora. The crew may be assigned to protect me, but my time among them will expose me to combat. I will use their training to ensure my success in recapturing my planet.
Michelle slides toward the edge of the bed and stretches out her legs, flexing her toes. She admires the job she did on her nails. Her favorite color beams at her. As perfect as her painted toes are, this skill will not help her reclaim her world. She tears off her gown and pulls on her training Gi.
Amye taught her a basic form needed to step onto the path of a Calthos warrior. Amye studies under Joenerbrawl. Michelle stretches her arms above her head to loosen her muscles. She will become worthy of Joe’s instruction.
Michelle activates the comm wall unit.
Nothing.
She has yet to earn a personal comm unit or security clearance to anywhere but her room and the training area. Australia refuses to apprise her of anything tactical, but she knows the Dragon picked up supplies and now is traversing hyperspace to retrieve the crew from Summersun.
Dozens of identical male Osirians in gray uniforms strip wall panels of damaged components in order to make repairs. They transport charred wires and control panels from the bridge to the elevator.
Much of the Dragon remains in disrepair. During her rescue a blast of energy fried much of the ship’s advanced systems. Now much of the ship fails to operate.
All her preparation to be future planetary regent gave her no skills to assist in repairs. Her combat instruction remains limited. She moves into the first form she learned from Amye. The fabric of her uniform pops with each snap of her arms. Training to be a warrior like Amye will be my new path. It will take a soldier to reclaim Aurora from the Mokarran. Ki-Ton kidnapping me cemented any doubts about me needing to follow the path of a warrior. I need Amye to instruct me in the next form.
••••••
DESPITE AUSTRALIA SPENDING hours scrubbing accumulated soot from the fire, her Silver Dragon jacket remains pristine and her hair in place,
“You should remain in your quarters, Princess Aurora.” Australia speaks formally, maintaining a constant tone of professionalism.
“I wanted to train.” Michelle holds back on mentioning the size of her quarters, not wanting to be pretentious, but in this case, it legitimately lacks the room for her to practice.
“Joe’s workout room was undamaged. Remain out of the way of the synthoids. They have a limited shelf life.”
Michelle bows.
Australia blinks her sapphire eyes before returning the respect.
She draws her painted toes across the padded floor. She completes the form perfectly for the eighty-seventh time. With each fluid and seamless completion, the form stretches all her muscles. It must be why the full body fan motion was the first form instructed. The twisting of the arm pulls at her triceps, a muscle she had never felt used before. It throbs. Her elbow pops. She wants to learn to fight. With each body twist she realizes partner sparing must wait until she develops more muscle tone. Having been catered to and pampered by palace maidens to the point that Michelle barely brushed her own hair. Now she must do for herself. Her mother would despise it, but she wants to do for herself.
Ninety. She will do as many complete forms as she can, build her strength and impress Amye when she returns so she will instruct her in the next form.
