Qylar considered that a few seconds. “You don’t really want to join. You want to escape your parents’ matchmaking efforts.”
“Perhaps choosing to pilot dangerous missions through hostile territory instead of getting mated will impress upon them how much I don’t want them forcing my hand. Maybe it’ll get them to ease up.”
“Your parents arenotgoing to ease up—at least not your father. He lost his chance to be king, and before he dies, he needs to know all his grandchildren will wear crowns.”
“My siblings have all happily and willingly done their duty. That takes the pressure off me.”
Sadly, Qylar knew that wasn’t the case. He’d overheard a conversation he had no business hearing. Cryss’s father had admitted he’d been so focused on the crowns themselves that he hadn’t properly considered the power each kingdom wielded. While Cryss’s siblings had made solid matches, they were all to smaller houses with wealth, power, and influence not unlike that of the duke. Cryss was his last chance to make a connection with a powerhouse.
The duke planned to ensure his final child made the biggest match yet.
Qylar had been weighing his options—whether he told Cryss this news or not. If he did, Cryss wouldabsolutelyconfront his father. If the duke found out it was him who’d told Cryss, he was quite sure it would be the end of him and his life in House Kreegl. He’d gotten lucky once. There wasn’t going to be a second salvation waiting in the wings for him.
Where could he go in a world that hated him?
“I don’t want a political mating,” Cryss said. “I want to be with someone I have a connection with—regardless if they’re royal or not. Not forced into one, but when it’s supposed to happen.” He smiled. “I need to make my parents see that I control my destiny, not them. Joining the Services would make a statement that I am my own man.”
Qylar nodded. “It would definitely make a statement.”
“If doing this pisses my parents offanddoes some good in the galaxy, even better. We’ll be helping those in need, and that’s the important part. Right?” Cryss searched Qylar’s face afew seconds. “Earning us some points in the good column and erasing some of the bad stuff.”
“What haveyoudone that’s so bad?”
Cryss glanced around. “Living here isn’t enough?”
“You’re not at fault because your parents are rich,” Qylar muttered. “It’s not like you chose them.”
“Nor are you guilty for your parents, either.”
Qylar met Cryss’s gaze.
“But there’s nothing wrong with getting off our entitled asses and doing something that matters,” Cryss said.
“You’re the entitled one. Not me.”
“Whatever. Are we doing this or not?”
Qylar grinned. “I suppose we are.”
“Can we take a quick visit to Earth first? My grandfather’s been hounding me about coming to see him.”
Qylar grinned. He loved Cryss’s grandfatherandthe city of San Francisco where the dethroned king had exiled himself. “You don’t even have to ask.”
CHAPTER 1
Good mooooooooooorning San Francisco… it’s ten-oh-nine on August twenty-third, and we’ve got another hot one for you today! The city’s still under a heat advisory, and temperatures are threatening to hitnear ninety-fivetoday. Folks always complain about the dang fog, but I bet everyone’s wishing it would roll back in and save us this scorching! I know I do. Fall can’t get here fast enough, folks. If you have air conditioning, stay inside where it’s comfortable. If youhaveto go outside, make sure you stay hydrated and keep to the shade as much as possible. San Franciscans aren’t built for this kind of heat, so buckle down, take care, and think cold. To get you in an icy mood, here’s a song that might help…
Qylar snickered when “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner started playing. He turned up the volume on the VHF Marine radio in their forty-five-foot Hatteras Convertible and pushed farther out to sea. As soon as he arrived at the right coordinates, he tossed out the specialized anchor to prevent the boat from drifting too much. He was twenty-five miles off the coast of San Francisco. Too far for a regular anchor or mooring, but it was the perfect distance to hide their star cruiser forty feet deep.
He never stopped the boat directly on top of the ship, but various spots miles away—for a couple of reasons. First, it gave him an excuse to get some extra swim time in and stretch his tentacles. The other reason was curious onlookers. Not that there were many out that far, but an empty boat adrift in deep water sometimes attracted the attention of passing ships. Fortunately, there had only been two cases so far, but another could easily happen.
The first time, someone had simply taken it. He’d popped out of the water, and the boat was gone. After hours of swimming, assuming it had drifted off, he’d given up. Later, he’d tracked it down and the guy had refused to return it, claiming the boat was adrift in international waters and he could legally salvage it—which was a myth too many boaters believed. As an alien hiding on Earth, it wasn’t like Qylar could call the police or sue the guy, though. He and Cryss were forced to steal it in the dead of night. Which, if he was being honest, was some of the most fun he’d had on Earth.
The Coast Guard had found it the second time and assumed someone had possibly drowned. He’d narrowly missed being caught by divers searching around it on the return trip. He’d stopped far enough they couldn’t see him and watched as they tugged it into harbor. He’d had to make a bogus claim that it had been stolen from the marina and swore he had no idea why they’d found it floating out to sea when he’d come to claim it.
If it was called into the Coast Guard a few more times, some hawk-eyed human might notice that a boat kept being found abandoned in that general area and he wasn’t bringing authorities right to the spot where they’d hidden the ship. As a general rule, he never stopped in the same spot more than once a year and wherever he did was always a good mile or two fromthe star cruiser’s location. For added measure, they also traded boats in regularly, swapping them for different models, using one of the various fake identities they had.
After peeling his clothes off, Qylar dove in headfirst, breaking the surface with little splash. An inward sigh of relief washed over him as he unfurled his tentacles, stretching them as far as he could. The cold of the ocean didn’t hurt either. It had been a decade since they’d crash landed and after all that time as a San Franciscan, he was no longer built for heat. Luckily, it grew colder and colder the deeper he went.
