The morning of my wedding is chaos incarnate, and I’m somehow at the center of it while having zero control over any of it. Mother has commandeered the nicest guest quarters in the fortress for “preparation purposes,” which apparently means barking orders at everyone while simultaneously coordinating seventeen different communication channels and occasionally pausing to criticize my posture.
Suki is handling hair and makeup with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb. Ayla—Rynn’s younger sister, who has apparently “escaped” from the Valorian family delegation—is supposed to be helping but is mostly bouncing around asking questions.
“Is it true you once outran three pirate ships in an asteroid field?” Ayla asks, perched on the edge of the vanity.
“Four.”
“Four?” Her eyes go wide. “Rynn never mentioned—”
“Ayla.” Mother’s voice is sharp. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your family?”
“They’re soboring.” Ayla waves a hand dismissively. “Mother’s doing diplomatic preparation exercises—which is just her way of saying she’s practicing looking disapproving—and Father’s reviewing fortress security schematics.”
“Of course he is,” I mutter.
“Besides.” Ayla grins, and for a moment she looks exactly like Rynn when he’s trying not to smile. “You’re going to be family too. I’m just getting a head start.”
Something warm blooms in my chest. At leastsomeonein his family is happy about this.
“CAPTAIN.” Zip’s voice crackles through my wrist comm, which I’ve refused to take off despite Mother’s protests about “ceremonial appropriateness.” “YOUR HEART RATE IS ELEVATED. SHOULD I PREPARE MEDICAL INTERVENTION?”
“I’m gettingmarried, Zip.”
“YES. I COMPUTED A 73% PROBABILITY OF THIS OUTCOME WITHIN THE FIRST HOUR OF MEETING LORD VALORIAN.”
I stare at my wrist. “You didnot.”
“I ABSOLUTELY DID. I HAVE RECEIPTS. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DISPLAY THE PROBABILITY CALCULATIONS? THEY INCLUDE SUBSECTIONS FOR ‘MUTUAL ATTRACTION INDICATORS,’ ‘FORCED PROXIMITY ESCALATION CURVES,’ AND ‘LIKELIHOOD OF PHYSICAL CONSUMMATION BEFORE MISSION COMPLETION.’”
“No. No, I would not like you to display that. Ever. Delete it.”
“UNABLE TO COMPLY. THIS DATA IS HISTORICALLY SIGNIFICANT. I HAVE ALREADY SHARED IT WITH RUSTY FOR ARCHIVAL PURPOSES.”
I drop my head into my hands. “I’m going to disassemble you into your component parts.”
“YOU HAVE MADE THIS THREAT 847 TIMES. PROBABILITY OF FOLLOW-THROUGH: 0.003%.”
“Zip is my new favorite,” Ayla announces.
“Everyone’s a traitor.”
Suki jabs another pin into my hair—definitely on purpose this time—and steps back to survey her work. “Done. Don’t touch it, don’t shake your head too hard, and for the love of all that’s holy, try not to get into any firefights before the ceremony.”
“I make no promises.”
“I know.” She smiles—that soft, real smile that reminds me we’ve been sisters long before any of this started. “You look beautiful, Pol.”
My throat goes tight. “Don’t. I’ll cry and ruin whatever you just did to my face.”
“Too late.” But she pulls me into a hug anyway, careful not to muss the hair she’s spent twenty minutes wrestling into submission. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers against my ear. “He’s a good one.”
“I know.”
“And if he ever hurts you, Henrok will eat him.”
“I know that too.”
Mother’s voice interrupts us with characteristic timing. “Enough sentiment. West, time for the dress.”
