Ceres Blythe is a bounty hunter, running from her past and trying to put one foot in front of the other. Aphelion Navarro is a prince, struggling to define himself as an accomplished ambassador apart from his royal title. A war-torn solar system sur...
Dinner was not going well. And that was putting it lightly. Or maybe it just wasn't going well from Aphelion's point of view. The High Chancellor's sallow eyes never left his face, and his granddaughter, Seraphine, stared him down through each bite of food. Though every other member of the family ate with their heads down, Aphelion had the uncomfortable sensation of feeling like he was the next course.
"Does this meal please you, young prince?" Food dripped down the High Chancellor's lips as he spoke. No one said anything about it. The 'droids didn't have the capability to notice and no else would even look at the man.
Aphelion forced his eye line to remain level with the High Chancellor's. "It rivals the finest cuisine of Iota 9. And I must insist you call me Ambassador during my stay here."
The old man chuckled, like Aphelion was no more than amusing child. "Does an ambassador outrank a High Chancellor? I think not, but Prince does. And only a Prince would insist I do anything." He gestured to the demure family before him. "A royal title is more prestigious for a family as well." Seraphine leaned forward in her seat. Bartholomew II sat up straighter in his seat. He glanced at his daughter and Aphelion, and then turned back to his food.
Aphelion set his utensil down. "What are you implying?"
The High Chancellor smiled, revealing a set of yellow teeth. "I'm sure you've noticed my granddaughter. She's only a few years younger than you. I may be amenable to more of Iota 9's terms if she were married into the royal family."
A political marriage. To someone he had never even met before today. Aphelion would be reduced to no more than a pawn, a beast bought and sold. "What you're proposing, it's archaic." Aphelion couldn't stop the words from leaving his mouth. A weight settled on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He was still young, would never sit on the throne. Aphelion had always been free of the more rigorous expectations of royalty than his sister.
The family looked up from their meals, eyes wide at Aphelion's outburst. A laugh escaped the High Chancellor, thin and wheezing. It further humiliated Aphelion. "You're still naive, boy," the chancellor said, wiping a tear from his eye, "When I was 25 standard years I had already fathered two children."
Aphelion stood up. His heart hammered in his chest. "I apologize, but I am done with the meal. I need to speak with the other members of my delegation before we can finalize any marriages." He was offered a small nod, acknowledging and granting his request to leave. There was a sickening gleam in the old man's eyes, he was sure Aphelion would accept the proposition.
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Aphelion sat at the head of a small table. Five delegates sat around the table, and Orthel, his closest advisor and friend stood behind him. In front of Aphelion sat the small encrypted radio he dialed to his parents' direct line.
Judging from the silence of his parents they were just as unhappy with the situation as Aphelion was. The murmur of the radio waves calmed down Aphelion's frayed nerves.
