The shuttle didn’t move. The door didn’t open.
“Open, you stupid piece of junk!” Digging her fingers into the crack of the door, Scarlet tried to pry it open. Her injured finger throbbed for the first time in days. “Come on. What’s wrong with this thing? How do we—”
The door opened, nearly knocking Scarlet off balance. A robotic voice said, “Transport to Artemisia Port E.”
Goose bumps rushed along her skin, but she urged Winter inside, silently thanking whatever invisible ally was helping them. Climbing in after Winter, Scarlet collapsed onto a bench. The door breezed shut, sealing them inside. As the shuttle lifted and began to glide down the tracks, Winter added, “For escape.”
Scarlet swiped her damp forehead with a dirty sleeve. When she felt her panic settle down enough to speak, she asked, “What happened back there? In the menagerie?”
The strength that had entered Winter’s eyes just as quickly extinguished. “The queen sent him to kill me,” she said, “but he killed Ryu instead.”
Scarlet unzipped her hoodie, trying to cool her burning skin. “Why does the queen want to kill you?”
“She believes I am a threat to her crown.”
Scarlet snorted, an exhausted sound that didn’t carry half as much derision as it should have. “Really? Has she ever heard you talk?”
Winter turned questioning eyes on her.
“Because you’re crazy,” explained Scarlet. “Not exactly queen material. No offense.”
“I cannot be queen because I am not of royal descent. Her Majesty is only my stepmother. I have none of her blood.”
“Right, because that’s what’s important in a ruler.”
Though there were two monarchies in the Earthen Union—the United Kingdom and the Eastern Commonwealth—Scarlet had grown up in Europe, a democracy made up of checks and balances, voter ballots, and province representatives. She generally figured, to each his own, and clearly the countries of the Union were doing something right to have gotten through 126 years of world peace.
But that wasn’t the case with Luna. Something was broken with their system.
The shuttle began to slow. Scarlet glanced toward the window as the rocky black cave opened up to an enormous spaceship port bustling with activity. The tiled floor glowed, casting the shadows of countless ships against the dark walls. But this dock was crowded and huge, with several more sets of maglev tracks bringing in more shuttles every second. Cargo was being unloaded on another set of tracks, food and goods coming in from the outer sectors, by men who yelled at one another in abbreviated orders that sounded like another language.
“Bay 22,” Scarlet reminded herself as their shuttle door opened. “Try to fit in.”
Winter glanced at her, a moment of perfect clarity and even humor in the look.
She was right. They were filthy. They were bloody. Winter was a well-loved princess who was prettier than a bouquet of roses and crazier than a headless chicken.
Fitting in would be a miracle.
“You could use your glamour,” Scarlet suggested.
The connection severed and Winter turned away. “No. I couldn’t.” She stepped out onto the platform.
Scarlet followed, relieved that she didn’t see anyone wearing rich finery and donning ridiculous headpieces. This was a place for trade and cargo, not aristocrats, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Already she could sense the workers pausing, looking again, staring.
“You mean you won’t,” said Scarlet.
“I mean I won’t,” agreed the princess.
“Then at least keep your head down.” Scarlet adjusted the tablecloth material over Winter’s hair as they moved away from the rails.
The port was enormous, stretching far into the distance. Hundreds of dark alcoves lined either side, numbers carved above them. Scarlet scanned the cargo as they passed, her eye catching on words of war.
SMALL ARMS AMMUNITION
DELIVER: LUNAR REGIMENT 51, PACK 437
THAUM LAIGHT, ALPHA GANUS
STATIONED: ROME, ITALY, EF, EARTH
Ammunition. These were weapons destined for Earth to aid in Luna’s war efforts.
Don’t react, she told herself, fists clenching. Every fiber in her body yearned to find a weapon and set fire to every crate in this port.
Don’t react. Do not react.
Steadying her breath, she forged ahead, Winter trailing beside her. She caught E7 stenciled on a wall to her left, E8 on her right. Almost there.
It took every ounce of willpower not to sprint to Bay 22.
“Can I help you?”
They paused. A worker stepped toward them wearing filthy coveralls. “What are you…” He caught himself, his gaze landing on Winter, or what he could see of her down-turned face. “I … forgive me. Your Highness?”
Winter looked up. Color flooded into the man’s cheeks.
“It is you,” he breathed. “I didn’t … can I help you, Your Highness?”