Freya wiped at the embroidery to put it out. To keep her clean.
To, well, Freya wasn’t sure what she was doing, only that she had to take care of the princess. “Must keep the dress—”
What was this? Were they under attack?
Had the ship been hit by an asteroid?
“I don’t, what is—” Freya whispered.
“We’re under attack,” Veta said as she raised a piece of the bulkhead so they could pass. “We have to get off this ship. The damn Rhimodians double-crossed us.”
The ship rocked, and everyone fell into the wall. Caoimhe stood, her headdress caught on a hook.
Freya yanked on it carefully to get it free without destroying the intricate piece. It took the dressmakers months to get the weaving finished. But she couldn’t break it loose.
Veta stepped in to help.
“Stupid thing,” Veta muttered and yanked the piece.
Caoimhe cried out, several strands of her hair ripping loose in with the piece when Veta threw it across the hallway.
The princess stared at Veta and then rubbed her head.
“It’s just a headpiece,” Veta replied.
Caoimhe blinked, and understanding passed over her face. “Yes.” Her gaze darted around. “We must get to safety.”
The hall torqued left and right, sending them careening back and forth into the walls. Each bump brought Freya back to the reality that this wasn’t a ship type of failure; this was an attack. They were being targeted before the negotiations had even taken place.
It made no sense--other than the Rhimodians must have planned to double-cross them, as Veta had said.
“Where do we go?” Bianca asked as they reached the escape pod dock. “Back to the Empire?”
Her voice quivered, and Freya felt it. Where could they go, being in enemy space? "There must be some support out there."
Bianca nodded. "The Empire sent reinforcements," she said, her voice low. "He told me this would happen."
She put her hand on Bianca’s arm, ready to ask more questions, but another shift in the ship's integrity made her fumble.
Bianca patted her hand and then wrapped her arm around Eleanor again. "Don't worry. We'll go right home."
“We can’t,” Veta said, glancing back. “Not enough fuel. We’ll have to land here and call for help.”
“I cannot believe it,” Caoimhe whispered. “I just cannot. They wanted peace. Why would they do this?”
“Believe it, Your Highness,” Veta said. “Even your father knew it would go this way.”
“He must be wrong,” Caoimhe said.
No. The Emperor was not wrong. Looking around, it felt like their safe haven for this mission could explode at any moment. The Emperor had insisted they take this particular cruiser, one that had been commissioned by the Empress herself and fortified for security when traveling.
Yet it was falling apart like a child's toy.
The escape pods were nearby. Their blinking ready-status glowed in the smoke ahead. They had to hurry. There wasn't much time.
Caoimhe, however, wasn’t moving.
She put her hand on the Imperial Princess's arm. “Majesty, your ship is dying. We have minutes.”
