Marius finally spoke then, looking ridiculous with his palms raised and the edges of his scorched shirt flapping in the breeze from the balcony—quite the contrast from the king who’d made her kneel on the floor a few minutes earlier. “Where are you taking me?”
Cassia approached him in slow steps, warning him with her gaze that she wouldn’t sink to her knees again, not for him or any man. “We’re going someplace where no one can hear you scream. If you value your body parts, you’re going to tell me where your missiles are, and who’s been funding this war.” She stood close enough to smell the fear that mingled with his sweet cologne. She inhaled the scent, savoring it for a moment, before she added, “And you will address me as ‘Your Royal Colonial Highness.’ If you call me Cassy again, it’ll be the last word you ever speak.”
Cassia awoke to total darkness, gasping and throwing punches until she sobered up enough to realize she wasn’t paralyzed on the floor of the Daeva ship while Marius slid down the shoulder straps of her nightdress.
It was only a dream.
Instant relief washed over her, but even as she sank back against her pillow, she tapped the security link on her bedside table and waited for the officer on duty to answer.
“Status report,” she told him.
“Everything’s quiet, Your Highness.”
“And the prisoner?”
“Asleep in his cell.”
“Thank you. Carry on.”
She blew out a long breath and reminded herself that no one could hurt her. Marius was behind bars, and the Daeva were probably in the next quadrant by now. As for her nightmares, they were a normal reaction to stress—General Jordan had told her so, and he knew a thing or two about posttraumatic stress disorders.
He’d recognized the signs a couple of days ago, the morning after her escape, when he’d tapped her on the shoulder and she’d jumped halfway out of her skin. He’d said that dealing with trauma was like jumping from a roof: terrifying as the descent may be, the fall only hurt when it was over. Now that she’d slowed down, safe and secure inside the Rose palace, it was natural to feel the impact of her kidnapping.
And she did.
In addition to nightmares, noises and scents bothered her, too. The sound of rustling plant stalks took her back to the soybean fields on Vega. The smell of roasted beef reminded her of the Durango palace, which was unfortunate because she’d seized every head of Durango cattle to feed her people, and now beef was everywhere.
She dealt with the changes the only way she knew how—by staying busy, a strategy made easy by Eturia’s never-ending list of crises. In fact, she should probably get out of bed. The sun hadn’t risen, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.
She dressed in simple clothes and made her way down two flights of stairs to the basement tunnel leading to the security building, where the command center and the holding cells for high-profile prisoners were located. At this early hour, the station was quiet with only a skeleton crew of guards on duty. Clearly exhausted, her men suppressed yawns as she walked by. When she pushed open the door to the communication room, the attendant jerked upright in his chair, having nodded off.
“Your Majesty…” he stammered. “I’m—”
“It’s all right.” She lifted a palm to halt his apology. She envied sleep too much to fault him for it. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Of course, Highness.”
“Find a way to send a message to this ship.” She wrote down the Banshee’s radio frequency and handed it to him. Her first act after imprisoning Marius had been to block all interplanetary transmissions so the Durango army couldn’t contact his financial backer for help. It had worked, but it’d also left her unable to tell her friends that she was safe, or to ask if Renny was all right. “You’ll need to pilot a shuttle beyond the shield to do it, but I don’t know how far.”
“At least a day’s ride, Majesty.”
“Then make it a priority.” She noticed the drowsiness in his eyes and added, “Bring someone with you to take first shift. I don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She left him to his work and strode to the data screen at the other end of the room, where she accessed the judicial operations network and selected the file of arrests made in the last twenty-four hours. During the war, the military had used all of its resources defending the borders, which left no one to enforce the law. Now gangs roamed the city, looting businesses and terrorizing the weak. Some of the rebels had taken up arms to police the streets, but while their efforts had helped, she couldn’t allow them to continue. Vigilante justice was never a good idea, and besides, she wanted the rebels disarmed. So for those reasons, she’d orchestrated a mass sting operation, using new imports as bait to lure in the gangs and catch them in the act.