2
“We’re crossing the shielding now,” Diado, the Imperial Dresser, said, his voice clear and loud in the chamber.
Veta rolled her eyes.
She truly did despise the self-important dresser. He was a weasel if she’d ever met one. She never caught him doing anything that would pose a danger to the Terran Empire, but it would not surprise her to learn that he was up to something.
He made her wonder if he did something sneaky, like sold broken hairbrushes or something that belonged to the princesses, just for the funds. More than once he’d been known to throw around his position, as though he was important.
But he, however, could be replaced.
The ship trembled as it passed through the Rhimodian’s defensive shield.
Veta steadied herself with her hand on the wall until the ship passed through the shielding.
Her gaze darted to Imperial Princess Caoimhe, fear and worry in her eyes, and her younger sister Princess Eleanor mirrored the expression.
Caoimhe shifted, touching Eleanor’s hand. Knowing them as long as Veta had, she knew their tells.
The turbulence scared them. Turbulence was usually a sign of attack.
Both their gazes met Veta’s.
She nodded to them and smiled. The fear in their eyes diminished. The princesses trusted her. If Veta was not alarmed, then they were not alarmed.
Veta turned away, looking out one of the small windows, and saw the escort ships outside. Terran and Rhimodian.
It was a huge moment—getting the Rhimodians to allow a Terran ship inside the shields.
The Terran army had been trying to crack it for years.
Never worked.
Peace, however, had a way of bringing down walls that not even the most hardened battles could.
If only it worked out that way, Veta thought.
Imperial Princess Caoimhe straightened her headdress, and her fingers traced the embroidery of her dress’s front robe.
Veta smiled, amused at her gesture, so like her father.
Veta watched as the Imperial Princess prepared for landing, by being dressed in some of her most exquisite clothing. Diado zipped around her, making final adjustments.
A low chatter came from the Imperial Governess, Bianca. She spoke more like a picky mother than a governess for the princess. Of course, Bianca was the closest thing to a mother Caoimhe and her sister Eleanor had since the Empress had died. She had been the Empress’s Lady in Waiting.
Now, Bianca warmed the Emperor’s bed from time to time.
Behind her, Lady Freya buzzed about too, making faces at Caoimhe over Bianca’s shoulder. The young woman, not born of any noble lines, had friended Caoimhe on a tour of the palace when they were children. To everyone’s surprise, Caoimhe had named Freya to be her Lady in Waiting.
Veta had been impressed at how well Freya stepped up to her duties with diligence. Most considered Freya, being a commoner, would fail miserably.
Even now, Veta admired how Freya kept Caoimhe smiling and more relaxed. But that was what ladies—or friends—of princesses did—kept them at ease.
It must be nice, Veta thought. She didn’t have a bunch of girlfriends to pal around with. This room, full of these women and the dresser, it felt more like a wedding than an auspicious occasion.
Perhaps that’s why the Emperor was certain it would fail.
And regardless of Veta’s encouragement, here they were, on the event horizon, and about to fall into the black hole, so to speak. Strolling into the enemy’s home with more worry about the outfit than the negotiations.
