Chapter One
With a spectacular flip through the air, Joriah Eprion landed behind his opponent, slammed his foot into the back of the soldier's knee, and knocked him to the ground.
"Match." The trainer's deep voice rang through the arena. "Nice move, my prince."
Jory gave the fallen man a low bow before helping his adversary to his feet.
He scanned the crowd, amused by the soldiers' faces. As a group, they regarded him with varying expressions of respect and astonishment. He didn't know why they looked shocked. He'd defeated one of them almost every day, and although all the soldiers were taller and stronger than Jory, none were as fast.
Outside of the arena, he was known as the fashionable Prince Joriah, youngest son of the High Galactic King. Inside the arena, he was like any other fighting soldier. His men didn't take it easy on him, and those in his honor guard wore his personal emblem of three interlocking dragons with pride. He'd dreamed up the logo as a child and insisted on it at the precocious age of seven. As usual his father had indulged him, and his men had worn the badge ever since.
Luckily, on days the battle didn't go as well, Jory's half-Talivvian blood helped most of his injuries heal within minutes, giving him a fearsome reputation among his people as a man blessed by the gods. Jory saw it as a convenient way to avoid hobbling from the arena after a sound thrashing.
He bid the men goodbye and hit the showers. After bathing and redressing into his good clothing, he left the arena wing. Entering the great hall, he almost collided with his boyfriend.
"Why do you waste time training like a common foot soldier?" Peter's voice dripped with disapproval. "You could do so much more with your life. With our lives."
For the first time in a long time, Joriah examined his lover with a critical eye. Over the past few months, he'd become less and less enamored of the pretty dark-haired man. It was time to face facts. Peter was a self-centered, annoying prick.
"And what is it you think I should spend my time doing?"
Peter smiled, and for once, it had little effect on Jory.
When had he stopped finding his lover's smile charming?
"You could start by picking up the reins of leadership and become your brother's right-hand man. You know your father adores you and would give you any position in the government you asked for."
Jory gave a shudder of distaste. The idea of a life trapped in politics made him want to slit his wrists. Unfortunately, they would heal right up. At twenty-three, Jory still didn't know what he wanted to do when he grew up and didn't feel a pressing need to figure it out.
"Detrius does fine with the help of my other siblings. He doesn't need my assistance, and I have absolutely no interest in politics."
"You lack ambition, Joriah. You split your days between playing with your swords and meeting with your tailor."
Jory didn't bother mentioning the fortune he'd diverted from his father's funds to build hospitals for poverty-stricken cities, or the complex pirating system he coordinated to thwart his uncle's slave trade.
"I'm not political," he said, mildly, "and I like to look good. What do you think of this shirt?" He held out a sleeve so Peter could feel the texture.
Jory had learned over the years that the public expected beautiful people to act a certain way and rarely looked beneath the surface.
A fact he used to good effect.
After all, if he spent the morning sequestered with his tailor, he couldn't possibly be spending the afternoon plotting the interception of his uncle's slaver ships or the freedom of a certain planetary colony that ran afoul of his second cousin, Leon.
Peter rolled his eyes, his usual response when Jory started going on about his clothes.
"Beautiful clothing can't hide a damaged character," a disapproving voice said behind him.
Jory turned to see his father's Captain of the Guard. "Captain Transen," he greeted the other man. Guilt flashed through him over his delight in having their conversation interrupted. When had talking to his lover become a chore to escape instead of a pleasant pastime? "What can I do for you?"
The older man's cool gray eyes examined him, neither approving nor disapproving, just cold. He narrowly avoided shivering like a teenager caught in an illicit act.
"Your father is looking for you, my prince."
Jory sighed. Avoiding his father took a fine combination of luck and being unavailable in plain sight. Unfortunately, it looked like his luck had vanished.
He flashed the captain his best smile. Mother had always said, "Try charm first and, if that doesn't work, kick them in the balls." His mother's sayings were a brilliant source of insight he referred to often; some days he missed her so much it hurt. However, once a Talivvian evolved into a goddess, she left her family behind.
"What does Father want?"
