Her stomach growled then. The nausea of space-sickness had passed, as it always did eventually, and she was now ravenous.
Getting up, she crossed to a gleaming white basin in the corner of the berth, splashed water on her face, and undid her hair. She’d been wearing it up in an elaborate knot upon the crown of her head, but the bun now listed drunkenly to one side. Braiding it so that her hair hung in a plait down her back, Jenna frowned at the image in the mirror.
She was only twenty-seven, but she looked older these days. Her face bore lines of strain, and her eyes had dark circles under them. The conflict with the Mir-Leliths had preyed on her mind of late, but her marriage to Tian Mir-Ferrin had also taken its toll.
Jenna sucked in a deep breath, reminding herself that she didn’t have to worry about Tian any longer.When I return to Idral, he’ll be gone.
She exhaled slowly then, tension draining out of her.
It was over. Never again would she have to sit opposite him at the dinner table and weather his barbed comments. Never again would she have to suffer his touch. Their wedding night had revealed Tian to be a rough, insensitive lover. Right from the beginning, he’d tried to dominate her, control her, both in private and in public. And when his efforts met resistance, she saw a side to him that scared her.
Pushing thoughts of her soon-to-be-ex-husband aside, Jenna turned from the mirror, adjusted her clothing, and exited the berth. Beyond, the hum of the life-support greeted her. She turned left, walking from the berths down to the galley.
To her surprise, she found it empty, save for Captain Malik. Seated at one of the booths, he was eating what looked like flatbread, salted cheese, and dried fruit. The man still had his helmet on, visor pulled down. Did he ever take it off?
“Captain,” she greeted him politely.
“Your Excellency.”
Clenching her jaw at his drawled greeting, she turned from him and focused on the food replicator. The arrogant captain was the last person she wanted to see right now. However, her hunger forced her to stand her ground. “Poached monet and flat-bread,” she instructed the machine before hesitating. “And a glass of pori-pori.”
The dispenser before her whirred, and then a cloche-covered tray slid out onto the ledge.
Picking it up, Jenna turned.
She was about to move down the gangway and pick a booth as far from Captain Malik as possible when stubbornness rose within her.
Jenna was tired of men trying to intimidate her. She’d shared a bed with a bully, had weathered his scorn, and wasn’t going to let another man cow her. She hadn’t risen to the role of ambassador because she was the clan-lord’s sister. Jenna was a natural diplomat. She knew how to charm, and when necessary, how to manipulate. She’d have this man eating out of her hand by the time this diplomatic mission ended, even if it killed her.
And so, she slid into Captain Malik’s booth, opposite him, and flashed him a disarming smile. “May I join you?”
If her move surprised him, he hid it well. Only the slightest tightening of his mouth betrayed him. “You just have, Your Excellency.”
Jenna kept smiling. “You don’t have to keep calling me that, you know?” she said sweetly. “My LadyorLady Jennawill suffice outside of negotiations.”
Captain Malik didn’t reply.
Satisfied she’d made her point, Jenna lifted the cloche off her food. The fragrant scent of fish poached in herbs wafted over the booth.
“Monet,” her companion murmured, his sensual mouth curving just a little. “You like Idralian peasant food?”
Jenna stiffened.Peasant food?“Yes … as do you,” she replied, gesturing to the tray before him and the glass of amber-hued pori-pori at his elbow. The juice was made from a desert fruit that only grew on this planet.
“I grew up in Melor’s southern ward,” he replied, his voice carefully bland. “What’s your reason?”
Jenna caught the challenge in his voice and wondered if he had a chip on his shoulder about their differing classes. He’d always treated her brother with respect, but perhaps he nursed a hidden resentment. “I might have been born into a ruling family, but Idral’s my home too,” she pointed out, keeping her tone light. “I love the planet … its rust-colored mountains, the strong iron tang of the air at dawn … the scent of musk-melon and spices wafting through the streets of towns, and the chime of temple bells, echoing across the rooftops as the sun sets.”
Her voice trailed off there, as embarrassment rose. She hadn’t meant to speak so openly—but he’d gotten under her skin.
Yes, they came from different worlds, but she was as much a citizen of Idral as he was. Once her grandfather had seized power from the Mir-Ferrins, he’d allowed Mir-Brennan citizens from all over the territory to settle on Idral. Located at the geographic heart of the sector, the planet was a bustling trade hub. As such, many Mir-Brennans had chosen to move from damp, cold Staturine II, which had over-crowding issues, to Idral.
Indeed, the seat of the Mir-Brennan clan now resided on the desert planet.
“You have a romanticized vision of Idral, My Lady,” he replied after a long pause. “Those of us who grew up sheltering from its searing heat, and defending ourselves from its wildlife, view it a little differently.”
“You don’t share my connection to the planet then?”
“Of course, I do … I’m a Mir-Draven. Wehailfrom Idral.” He took a sip from his glass. “You’re wearing Desert Rose.”
