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ALIEN ROYAL’S NANNY

ALIEN NEEDS A NANNY

BOOK 4

MILLY TAIDEN
 CONTENTS
About the Book
Alien Royal’s Nanny
1. Fiona
2. Maxon
3. Fiona
4. Maxon
5. Fiona
6. Maxon
7. Fiona
8. Maxon
9. Fiona
10. Maxon
11. Fiona
12. Maxon
13. Fiona
14. Maxon
15. Fiona
16. Maxon
17. Fiona
18. Maxon
19. Fiona
20. Maxon
21. Fiona
22. Maxon
23. Fiona
About the Author
Also by Milly Taiden
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any
resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Published By
Latin Goddess Press
Winter Springs, FL 32708
http://millytaiden.com
Alien Royal’s Nanny
Copyright © 2024 by Milly Taiden

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Property of Milly Taiden
January 2024

Created with Vellum

 ABOUT THE BOOK

Hired as a tutor and nanny to Prince Maxon’s son, Fiona packs her bags and goes to a planet where the people are every color
of the rainbow. But life in the palace is anything but vibrant. The prince is a jerk. A jerk her hormones crave. His sexy body
and deep gaze twist her emotions in knots, but she’s not falling for him.
Prince Maxon has been training for the day to take the place of his father as king since birth. Long days of weapons training,
war strategizing, and politics have kept him too busy to be a good father or loving partner. He doesn’t have time for the
emotions that blossom with beautiful and sweet Fiona. Keeping her at bay is getting harder by the day.
What is it about the beautiful human that stirs his chest like no other? He better figure it out quickly. The enemy is closer to
his home than he ever thought. His own life isn’t the only one hanging in the balance. His son and the woman he’s grown to
love have become pawns in the games of war and love. Games Maxon has to win.
 ALIEN ROYAL’S NANNY
ALIEN NEEDS A NANNY 4

NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

MILLY TAIDEN
 —For all my readers,

I hope you love this new Alien Nanny Romance!

 ONE

FIONA

oly shit,” Fiona breathed as her auto-piloted cab announced her arrival.
“H A small creature, the size of a guinea pig and covered in pink feathers, popped its head out of her bag and squeaked.
This strange little critter looked around, and Fiona smiled down at it.
“Better not leave this bag, or I may never see you again, Trixie.”
Fiona stroked her pet’s head before the feathered creature disappeared back into the bag.
She kept her hand on Trixie’s feathered cheek as she craned her neck to take in the entirety of the palace where Prince
Maxon lived. Her new boss.
“Stella hadn’t told me the extent of this palace when she got me the job. This was a terrible idea,” Fiona nervously
mumbled to herself. When she stepped toward the massive doors, her knees trembled.
She steadied herself as her gut rumbled with anxiety. Fiona closed her eyes and forced her breathing to steady in an attempt
to banish the onslaught of fears.
Trixie made another appearance with encouraging squeaks.
“You’re right. We’re here, and I’ve got this. New experiences are the only way to grow. Besides, it’s just another teaching
job, right? Only now it’s a warrior prince’s son,” she trailed off, but Trixie wasn’t letting her off the hook. With another series
of high-pitched squeaks, Fiona was forced to put one foot in front of the other.
“All right, all right!” Fiona tickled the bottom of the creature’s chin. “Let’s go.”
The closer she got to the elegant doors, the more her raw nerves turned into excitement.
A blue, pointy-eared man in a black uniform appeared at the top of the steps. He bowed at Fiona as she approached him
with her luggage.
“Ms. Anders?” he asked with a very forced smile.
“Uh, yes. That’s me.”
“Excellent. We have been awaiting you.”
Fiona laughed, nervous all over again. “That’s my fault. I had a hard time translating your language when I got off at the
station and got a little turned around.”
Fiona had been given a translator, installed as a small chip just behind her ear that would help her to speak and understand
the native Meridian tongue. She hadn’t realized until she landed, however, that a setting needed to be adjusted. It had taken her
some time and a call to her friend, Stella, who had arranged the job, to figure it out.
Luckily, everything seemed to be going much smoother now. She could understand the man, and he could understand her, as
far as Fiona could see.
The man didn’t look amused by her explanation. But he still kept the forced smile plastered to his face. Fiona couldn’t help
herself. “I’m sorry, but are you in some sort of pain?”
His expression changed to confusion, but only briefly. “No.”
“Okay, I’m sorry to intrude. It’s just …your face seems …”
“Oh.” His smile looked more genuine for a moment. “I know it’s Earth’s custom to smile at their guests. I was instructed to
make you feel at home and not offend you.”
“Oh,” she laughed. “Yes, it is. And thank you so much. I know some basic things, but all in all, very little about your planet
and your people, the Meridians.”
The blue man opened the door wider, gesturing for Fiona to enter.
“That’s not a problem at all. Most species don’t know the customs of others unless they are in a military or political
position. You can just leave those here.” He nodded at her luggage. “They’ll be taken to your room.”
 He walked away. Fiona quickly dropped all but her shoulder bag and hurried to keep up. His long strides had her jogging
along beside him. She barely caught what he said next.
“… but you won’t have to concern yourself with that too much.”
Trixie gave her a concerning squeak, but she just pushed the pink puff back into her bag as she tried to not miss any more
information.
“Dinners will be announced, lunches are when it pleases you and your student, and breakfasts are optional. We, as a
species, don’t tend to eat as much as others, so again, just let the kitchen know if you have a regime you stick to.”
“I’m sorry, but really quick. By my student, you mean the prince’s son, Kian, correct?”
The guide gave her a curt nod in reply. “The prince holds a strict schedule, both for him and his son. Your student,” he
added with a side glance.
Fiona blushed, trying not to take the comment the wrong way.
“He trains in the yard every day, solo or against others, to keep battle-ready. Then he attends to the rest of his daily duties.
You will not likely be seeing the master of the house very often, but if you do, you must address him as Prince Maxon, Sire, or
Your Highness. Unless told otherwise.”
Fiona was trying to remember everything as she looked around in awe at the grand, intricate palace. She had become so
lost in the mesmerizing details that she hadn’t noticed her guide had stopped. She caught herself just before crashing into him.
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry,” she blustered, but he didn’t acknowledge her.
“That is Prince Maxon.”
Fiona turned to see where he was looking.
A tall, muscular alien captured her attention as he trained mere feet from where they stood. He moved fluidly with his
double-edged sword, twirling it this way and that. He was lethal. Nothing and no one would stand in his way. Of that, Fiona
was certain.
His violet skin gleamed in the sun as he moved, his shortly cut hair exposing his race’s pointy ears. The prince froze mid-
stride and looked at Fiona. She tried to look unfazed by his gorgeous body as he stopped what he was doing and approached
them.
Her guide bowed, and Fiona followed his lead.
“Prince Maxon. This is Ms. Fiona Anders.”
The prince’s electric blue eyes roamed over Fiona, not bothering to hide that he was sizing her up.
Fiona felt a blush creep to her cheeks at the blatancy. She held out her hand.
“Hello, Sire.”
The prince looked at the gesture distastefully. She instantly withdrew her hand.
“I’m an idiot. You don’t shake royalty’s hands. Sorry. I’m just nervous. This is a lot more extravagant than I imagined. I’m
used to a small classroom. I’ve never been called to personally tutor someone before, let alone an alien warrior prince’s son.”
She let out a forced laugh as if she were making a joke. She realized too late that it made her sound even more incompetent.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to fill the awkward silence.
“I’m very excited to learn about your culture and teach your son. I have lesson plans laid out, but I have left room for you to
add whatever you deem necessary since I don’t know all that you would like me to teach him. I’ve taught many students from
different races also, so I can adapt quickly to whate…”
The prince held up a massive hand close to her face.
“Enough.”
Fiona involuntarily took … a step back at his voice. It was a deep, solid, commanding voice that matched his imposing
stature and rank.
“I can sense you are nervous, and your species has a tendency to ramble when they get … out of sorts.” She could tell he
had to figure out the right way to say the last part. It didn’t help him come off any less closed-off.
“Now, you are here to teach my son. He needs a private tutor due to his responsibilities surpassing that of the normal
Meridian child, and that is the sole reason you’re here.”
She had expected firm, but he was coming off as straight, gruff, and no-nonsense. A new fear of being on a warrior planet
started to creep in, worse than before. Were all of the Meridians like this, or just the prince?
“He will be taught not only all of the basics but politics and ruling as well. I will have others assist you in that department
at first. I am aware of your lack of knowledge of our planet, among other things.”
The two Meridians shared an unsurprised look. Fiona suddenly wondered if they could share thoughts and what
embarrassing thing had she done for them to assume as much.
“I’ve asked that you have your own private lessons about our history and other things that you’ll be expected to know. My
son will need to know a lot. So, if there’s something he asks that you’re unsure of or don’t know the answer to, please consult
Dex.” He gestured to the man who still stood with Fiona.
Prince Maxon finally fell silent and simply stared at Fiona with an expressionless face.
 She began to feel as if he and Dex were waiting for an answer from her. She hadn’t heard a question, or maybe she had
missed something.
After coming up blank, Fiona gave her host the universal look of confusion.
“Do you have any questions?” Maxon asked.
“Uh, no. Not at the moment, Sire.” Fiona had gone blank. If she’d had a question, the shortness in his tone caught her too off
guard to recall it.
How was she supposed to know it was time for questions? Was he just an ass because of his race or because he was the
warrior prince? Either way, Fiona was stuck with it and could only hope his son was not the same.
“Good. Dex will take you to Kian so you can begin your first session immediately.”
Fiona’s eyes widened at the suddenness of everything since her arrival.
“My first lesson?”
“Yes. You are prepared, aren’t you?”
She felt as if she were being scolded.
“Yes, sir. I mean, Sire. Your Highness.”
Fiona imagined she had fleetingly seen the beginning of a smirk on the prince’s stern countenance. It had to have been a
shadow.
Before anything else embarrassing could occur, Dex bowed again before leaving. Again, he moved as if expecting Fiona to
be right on his heels.
She offered a quick bow before trying not to run away from what had just happened.
They arrived at a room with a giant window that overlooked the gardens.
An eight-year-old boy peeked around a bookcase.
“Kian. This is your tutor, Ms. Anders.” With that, the servant turned and dismissed himself.
The blue-skinned boy shyly pushed away purple tufts of hair. “Hello.”
“Hi, Kian. It’s nice to meet you.”
He gave her a promising smile but looked too nervous to speak.
She had an idea. Fiona opened her bag and reached inside.
“This is Trixie. She helps me with my lessons.” She held out the feathered, squishy animal, who squeaked happily at Kian.
The little boy’s eyes lit up, and Fiona smiled. She offered Trixie for him to hold to distract him while she set up for their
first lesson.
“Now, can you tell me what this is?” she asked a now very excited and eager student.
He looked at the 3D holographic model of Earth and shook his head as Trixie excitedly nodded hers from his shoulder.
“This is Earth’s solar system. The planet I’m from.”
His eyes grew. “Really? It’s so massive. Look at all of the things you have around the planet. Can you see these galaxies
from Earth?”
“At night, yes.” She smiled at his enthusiasm and curiosity. Fiona was going to enjoy teaching Kian.
The fear from earlier had completely disappeared. She was thankful he appeared to be nothing like his father. With another
smile at the boy, she continued. “Okay, next is solar systems.”
 TWO

MAXON

he prince observed his son’s lesson from his balcony that looked across the garden courtyard. He crossed his arms behind
T his back as his mind tried to calculate the new addition.
“What do you think of Ms. Anders, Dex?” Maxon asked his right-hand man.
The fellow warrior stayed in his place behind Maxon. “I think she will do well. She has a lot to learn about us, and I fear
the strictness of your regime may be lost upon her, but I do think she will fit in well with your son.”
Maxon took a deep breath, his eyes still watching the human. She was showing a 3D hologram of different solar systems.
His eyes darted to his son. Kian looked not only interested but also happy. Maxon’s heart tightened.
He quickly cleared his throat. “You don’t think she’ll make him too soft to rule, do you?”
Maxon wanted his son to be kind-hearted but not enough to be taken advantage of by the people. They needed to respect and
fear him. He was to be not only their leader but a warrior as well.
While Dex gave his opinion, Maxon kept his eyes on Fiona.
She was thinner than he cared for, but it seemed to suit her light demeanor. However, it was her red hair that had caught his
attention when first seeing her.
It was a rare, if not obsolete, trait on his planet. Though green eyes were average, her red hair contrasted starkly with her
emerald irises, making them almost glow.
… if you don’t see that as a problem, Sire.”
Maxon’s ears perked, catching the end of Dex’s words.
“A problem?”
“Yes. Ms. Alder’s friendly and open character.”
Maxon could hear the surprise in Dex’s voice. He was surprised himself. It was unlike him to be caught off guard. One of
his greatest attributes was attention to detail, and he had let himself be distracted by a human with red hair.
He played it off and answered. “No. It should be fine, but we will keep an eye on it. Kian seems happy and interested in his
lessons from what we have seen.”
Maxon saw his son jump out of a chair and begin to slowly circle around Fiona. Her mouth moved as if to say slower, and
Kian's steps became almost immobile. He assumed she was teaching him the rotation of the planet Earth around the sun.
Seeing his son enjoy himself made Maxon realize how long it had been since he had seen Kian smile. His heart tightened
again, but this time with a forgotten emotion. Gratitude.
Fiona had come in and gotten the boy to open up almost instantly. He was curious as to how she had done it.
The prince felt a smile start to form but quickly stopped it.
“They look like they get along well, at least,” Dex commented.
“Yes. But the silliness worries me.” His gruff demeanor had returned. He was becoming irritated with how much this tutor
was clouding his senses. Whether her teaching methods were a good idea or not.
“The silliness, Sire?”
“Yes.” Maxon forced himself to turn his attention away from the ongoing lesson. “I can’t deny that she has him engaged and
interested. Which is a hard feat for any teacher, especially when it concerns Kian.”
His eyes wandered back to the lesson. His son’s eyes were still locked on his teacher with an eagerness on his face just as
a fluffy pink creature hopped about on his shoulder with equal enthusiasm. He caught himself admiring Fiona’s captivating
demeanor, then snorted.
There has to be order.
He turned back to Dex. “But I am unsure of the way she goes about it. I want reports on anything you sense may need my
attention.” Maxon took a deep breath and straightened himself before turning back to Dex, arms still crossed behind his back.
He needed his head of security and closest confidant to understand how serious this next request was.
“I’m trusting your judgment on this. You’re the only one I can truly count on in this situation. You know what’s best for our
future, as well as Kian personally.”
“I will use my best judgment to do so.”
Maxon patted his friend hard on the side of his shoulder in appreciation. “I know you will. You’ve never let me or our
people down. You’re dismissed.”
Dex bowed his head and exited the balcony.
Maxon let his gaze fall back to the subject of his chaotic thoughts. Kian had gone, and Fiona was alone with the pink
creature, cleaning up the room.
He shouldn’t be watching her. There was no reason to. Yet, the longer he observed her, the more she intrigued him with her
looks and mannerisms. His fascination infuriated him.
“I’ve got to go on a walk,” he grumbled.
The prince had made his way through almost every hall of the palace, trying to focus on anything but the distracting new
tutor.
It wasn’t just that she was sexy and different, but her teaching style was not like any he had seen before. Maxon had never
known a teacher to be so hands-on, almost as if they were playing a game with the student. It was different, but it seemed to
have a positive impact on Kian … for now.
Instead of his walk calming him, it had made him more upset at what this soft form of teaching could be doing to the
integrity of his son. He decided the library would be his best opportunity for some peace of mind.
Before he turned the corner to his retreat, his pointed ears caught a sound coming from within. Maxon paused.
“Shit!”
His guts twisted at the sound of the soft, feminine voice.
He entered the library but didn’t see her. Then, he heard a book fall and another small curse come from behind a rack of
history books.
“Ms. Anders?”
Another fumble. Before he could peek around the bookcase, big green eyes came around the corner and stared up at him.
“Prince Maxon! I’m so sorry. If I shouldn’t be here, I can leave. I didn’t mean to interrupt. This room just seemed
unoccupied, and I thought I could brush up on your planet and species history.”
Maxon tilted his head in surprise. “Our history?”
Her pale skin reddened in her cheeks. “Uh, yes. It’s clear that I need to know more, so I thought I could try to get a head
start. You know, so your tutor doesn’t have to get tutored herself. I’m trying to save myself the embarrassment.” She chuckled
nervously.
He realized her mindless chatter and half-hearted giggles were all ticks of nervousness.
“Are you always so jittery?”
“Oh, uh, no. Well, I mean, I’ve never been around royalty before. Or a warrior. Or anyone like you and this place, so I
guess I just don’t know how to act.” Her green eyes went to the ground, and she bent down to retrieve the book she had
dropped.
Maxon felt conflicted. He wanted to comfort this frail creature, but that was unacceptable. He had never needed comfort
himself, nor had he any experience in giving it. Even to his son. Why was this woman causing all of these disagreeing emotions
inside him?
The flare-up caused him to remember what he wanted to talk to her about. He ignored responding to her apology and
became blunt. “I need to talk to you about your tactics with Kian.”
Fiona’s look became instantly serious. She set the book down and gave her full attention to Maxon.
“My tactics?”
“Yes. I’ve been watching your lessons with him, and I don’t think that they are very practical.”
She narrowed her eyes. “We’ve only had one day of lessons. I don’t understand. Have I done something wrong?”
“Your methods are just not as strict and to the point as we are used to. I don’t want him misinterpreting what the future has
in store for him or what the world is like.”
“How is it you feel I’m portraying that? Just because I don’t teach the way you know? Isn’t that why you called me here?
Because Kian needed a new tutor because no other teachers could connect with him, and he needed one-on-one guidance? And
now that he is engaged, which, believe me, he is, you have an issue with it because I’m not strict enough based on what you
have seen from a distance on day one?”
Maxon was both shocked and surprisingly pleased.
Gone was the insecure human he had been introduced to or stumbled upon in the library moments ago. Now, a confident and
rather fiery woman stood before him, holding her ground to him, nonetheless.
 Before he could respond, the riled-up redhead continued. “I’ll have you know that I take pride in my work. I want the kids
to have fun and enjoy themselves because that’s how they learn. Let me do my job and teach the way I do. Everything you want
will be covered and more. I’m devoted to my students, and Kian is bright and willing. You’ve given me one day. Give me, no,
give Kian the chance to excel. Don’t ruin what works for him just because it doesn’t fit your mold.”
Maxon had never been spoken to like that. He didn’t know what to say, especially because of the points she had made.
She took a breath as if to calm herself. “Listen. I would like the chance to help him. Let me do that, and if it doesn’t work
and he isn’t where you want him to be in a reasonable amount of time, then I will heed your advice.”
He couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t even want to.
Maxon cleared his throat. “Fine. You may have your time. But I will be inputting my thoughts and checking in regularly.”
She nodded. “Understandable.”
He felt proud to see this small woman become so governing and passionate. Maybe he had underestimated her after all.
Feeling the warmness of these thoughts in his chest, he bit down on his tongue in anger.
“That will be all. Goodnight, Ms. Anders.”
He coldly turned and left her standing alone in the library, afraid that if he looked back at her, he would experience the
same warmth. He couldn’t risk that.
Maxon would let her teach, and that’s all she could and would be to him … his son’s tutor. If he had learned anything, it
was that he and his son didn’t need anyone. It was easier to keep the walls high and the mind clear. Fiona was a distraction he
wasn’t willing to dwell on.
 THREE

FIONA

hey really made all of these by hand?” Kian asked, his voice filled with amazement.
“T Fiona smiled as she looked at him through their shared virtual reality experience.
“Yes. Isn’t it breathtaking?”
She watched the little blue boy look in wonder at the Colosseum. Kian made his way to the center of the ring and looked up
at the tall, looming concrete seats of Ancient Rome.
“And humans really fought to the death here while everyone else watched?”
“Absolutely. Sometimes they even had tigers, lions, or professional warriors compete with slaves. It was definitely more
for sport than fairness.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, first off, not everyone on Earth is a warrior like here on your planet. Back when Rome was the city of all cities, a
lot of humans did fight. It was how they survived in a world that everyone wanted to conquer. But a lot were self-taught
farmers. Not all were trained in the art of war. But, as barbaric as it could be, it did do one major thing.”
“What’s that?”
“It brought everyone together. Rich and poor all attended and witnessed the battles of the gladiators.”
“Could you show me what it was like?” Kian vibrated with excitement.
Fiona smirked at her eager student. “Trixie,” she called.
Though she couldn’t see the bright pink puffball since she wasn’t a part of their VR experience, she could still hear her
little paws scuttling to the controls.
In a matter of seconds, Fiona and Kian were standing in the arena as the gates opened. Men charged each other with deep,
guttural screams with nothing more than studded sticks in their hands.
The previously empty stands were now filled with shouts and cries of excitement. Bread could be seen being tossed to
some of the lower seats, and people shoved into others, creating their own fight just to see the one happening below.
Fiona caught herself stepping out of the way, and her heart pounded as the fight raged around them.
The palace’s advanced technology was creating the most realistic sensation of actually being there. The sounds, the sights,
the people, all of it.
She looked over to see how Kian was handling the stimulation of the era they were in.
He was beaming as he watched men collide with one another, brutally attacking each other until one became victorious,
then it was onto the next victim.
She caught Kian suddenly grimacing and turning away.
“I think that’s enough of the live-action Colosseum.”
Their surroundings suddenly disappeared, and they were left standing in the makeshift classroom Fiona had created on her
first day.
Kian was still quiet, and Fiona felt terrible.
“I hope that wasn’t too much for you. I didn’t think about it since I know you are all so used to battle and war-like
situations, even at your age.”
He shook his shaggy purple head. “It wasn’t your fault. You’re right. It’s just, sometimes I have thoughts about people I’ve
known, you know, that have died, and then it becomes a different experience for me.” His soft eyes looked up at her. “Does that
make sense?”
“Of course. How about I just make judgment calls, and you let me know how you’re doing or when we have seen enough of
certain things, okay? I mean, your technology is crazy realistic, so I must admit, I was having a hard time, and I was prepared.”
 A small smile appeared on the ten-year-old’s face.
“Really?”
“Are you kidding me? The roar of the crowd was jarring my insides. I bet Trixie could feel it, and she wasn’t even in the
simulation with us.”
Both of them looked at Trixie as she squeaked in agreement.
Fiona pulled her hair down to redo her ponytail as she pretended to be deep in thought.
“What are you thinking about?” Kian asked as he took in her overdramatized face.
“I’m thinking that maybe we take a break from Earth and its ancient civilizations to learn more about you and your planet.
You can even be the teacher if you’d like. Plus, you’d be better at it.”
She leaned into him, pretending to whisper. “I don’t know much about here, and I may have to make up most of it.”
Kian giggled. “I think that sounds like a good idea. I’d like to teach you.”
“Perfect.” Fiona smiled and gave him a shrug. “Well, where should we begin?”
“We can start with going through the palace. It is filled with our history through artifacts and stories.”
Trixie squeaked as she bounded across the room and placed herself promptly on Kian’s shoulder. Fiona smiled, seeing how
well the two had bonded with each other. It helped Fiona’s lessons become a lot more fun when she had them both participating
in the activities.
“Let’s go. Then afterward, we can compare your society with the others we will go over this week.”
Kian had already begun his tour with Fiona on his heels.
“You mean, like what made our society or what’s important to us and stuff like that?”
Fiona matched his pace.
“Yeah. That and more. We’ll just have to see what all we find on our excursion.”
Fiona quickly found out that Kian wasn’t exaggerating regarding how many historic artifacts lay within the palace walls.
“So, all of these cases throughout the palace are ancient?”
“Most of them,” Kian answered matter-of-factly.
“It's amazing that they all are here and not in a museum.”
“A museum?”
“It’s a place on Earth that holds all of the humans’ rare and historic artifacts.”
“Why don’t people keep them when they find them?”
Fiona knew that if she explained any further, they’d go down a rabbit hole and lose the focus of her tour.
“I’ll explain that on a different day when I’m the teacher. How about you tell me about one of your favorite pieces?”
“Okay.”
Her distraction technique had worked.
As Fiona followed Kian, a shiny embossed saucer caught her eye. She didn’t know what it was that drew her to it, but she
had to run her hand over the intricate designs.
“Wow, it’s so cold,” she murmured as her fingers glided over the silver disc. Suddenly, her finger sank, and she heard a
click.
Before she could react, the disc lifted from its podium and began spinning faster and faster until it suddenly shot off into a
pillar, causing bits of stone to fall. It turned into a bouncing disc that grew more chaotic with every wall it hit … and
destroyed.
Fiona let out a shriek as Kian came running back around, both ducking to avoid the crumbling pieces of molding as the disc
ricocheted off of them.
“What’s going on here?”
Prince Maxon came bounding around the corner, ready to fight.
He slid to a stop and stared in confusion at the two of them crouching, then ducked as the saucer buzzed over his head.
With one quick movement, Prince Maxon’s hand shot up, snatched the disc from the air, and it fell silent in his hands.
“Are you two okay?”
They nodded.
“I’m sorry. I ran my fingers over it, and I …”
“Don’t apologize. This is a very sensitive artifact that acts like an Earth’s boomerang. Only more dangerous. I’m just glad
you two aren’t hurt.”
Fiona saw the sincere concern in his eyes, and it caught her off guard. This was a very different man from the one she had
seen since coming here.
“Here, let me help you.” He reached out and grabbed Fiona’s hand as she tried to stand. His touch shocked her and made
her skin tingle. She looked at his neon blue eyes and thought for a moment …
“Father, I’m sorry. I was showing her around and lost her.”
Their eyes broke at Kian’s apology, and whatever was happening was gone.
 “It’s no concern. Just be more careful and maybe ask before you touch,” the prince informed her before heading back in the
direction he came.
She was surprised to realize she was almost a little sorry to see him go.

FIONA’S first week had gone much better than she had first anticipated.
She had to admit that her first impressions were still strong on how she had felt toward the prince, but Kian was much more
open-minded and happier than his father. It was refreshing and was what had made this last week so enjoyable.
But it also had made her sad to see the relationship, or lack thereof, between Kian and his father. Not only that, but just how
different his life was from any of the other children she knew.
Though Kian’s tours had been a huge help in getting her feet wet when it came to the history of the alien planet, it had
caused her heartache when getting a sneak peek inside the royal family’s life.
Fiona looked over the tundra where Kian practiced fighting techniques. He put on a brave face and did his duty. In fact, he
did everything his father expected of him and more. Fiona could tell that he wanted the prince to recognize his
accomplishments or even inquire about his day, but none of that ever happened.
Fiona looked at the balcony where the prince stood. She didn’t want him to catch her staring.
He stood in all his glory, looking down at his son. He watched Kian do almost everything, but always from afar.
Fiona shook her head.
Trixie jumped onto her lap and gave a concerning squeak.
“I just don’t get it, Trix. I know it’s not their style to be this distant. From what I’ve read, and the little I’ve seen when we
have left the palace, other families interact. Not like humans, but still. More than this.” She vaguely gestured in the son and
father’s direction.
Trixie let out a frustrated sigh for Fiona.
“I just feel like there’s more to Prince Maxon than he lets on. He’s stoic in the public eye, and he’s always in the public
eye. But the rare times I’ve seen him alone, he almost seems …” She trailed off. “I don’t know. I think I’m just hoping for
Kian’s sake.”
She looked back to where her student was practicing and saw he had abandoned his weapon and was looking for something
in the grass.
Fiona couldn’t help but laugh.
She watched him investigating a creature as it crawled over his hand. His inquisitive nature was one of her favorite
qualities. She only wished that all students had his curiosity. Fiona thought that attribute would be one of the many things that
would make Kian a great ruler one day.
Her eyes slowly wandered back to the now-empty balcony.
Fiona gave a sad smile to Trixie and scratched her pet’s chin.
It didn’t matter what she thought. The person it did matter to only cared about strength and strategy, nothing else.
“Fuck it. I’m here for him, not the prince.”
Trixie gave a satisfied snort as Fiona stood and went to set up tomorrow’s lesson.
 FOUR

MAXON

iona, may I speak with you for a moment?” Maxon asked.

“F She was in the library with Kian, seemingly reviewing lessons from the past week. At the mention of a private talk,
Fiona’s gentle features hardened. But she nodded with understanding.
“Come. A servant can stay with Kian in the meantime.”
Maxon gestured at a nearby maid, and she understood her assignment. He walked away, expecting Fiona to follow. It took
him a moment to realize she deliberately adjusted her pace to always remain behind him. For some reason, he felt a little
uncomfortable having her follow him.
As he walked into his office, Fiona waited by the door.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“May I ask what you want to talk about?”
He raised an eyebrow. “About Kian’s schooling.”
Her demeanor relaxed a bit, and she took a step inside. Maxon gestured for her to take a seat while he looked for something
in particular. He had it in mind for a couple of days after the incident with the boomerang, as an Earthling like Fiona might call
it. He wasn’t sure if it’d be too impudent.
But he wanted to make sure that Kian’s lessons would continue to have a positive upbringing, which meant keeping the
person in charge of that happy and comfortable. He opened the cabinet underneath his desk where he stored precious items.
He found the tome at the back. He dusted off the cover, heavy leather lined delicately with precious stones. Maxon believed
this was the least he could offer to show his gratitude. He handed it to Fiona, who looked perplexed.
“Are you giving me this?”
He nodded. “There’s been a significant change in Kian since your arrival. I know you’re interested in our history, so this
seemed appropriate.”
Fiona blushed at the mention. “I’ve always been interested in history. It’s one of my strong suits.”
“Take it. It's yours. It contains a wealth of information about our past. You can also learn how the culture from before
affects us today.”
“Your Highness, I can’t possibly accept this,” she said.
He shook his head. “I’m gifting it to you. Please continue teaching my son the way you have.”
At his insistence, Fiona took the heavy book. She admired the cover, passing her fingers over the stones. Her eyes widened,
and he noticed her smile grow.
She set it on her lap. “Thank you so much. I’ll treasure it.”
Maxon nodded with a small smile. He hadn’t noticed how long the silence had stretched until he realized he had been
staring at her far too long.
She lowered her gaze, hiding her blush, but he only found that more … adorable, to say the least.
He quickly broke the silence. “Well, I should go to training, and you should go to Kian.”
Fiona stood as if remembering her responsibilities. “Yes, yes, of course. Thank you again, Your Highness.”
She scrambled toward the door but not before bowing her head. Maxon was suddenly left alone with her sweet-smelling
scent. It left him in a daze until he remembered he needed to get to training. Even then, his mind was elsewhere, which was
uncharacteristic of him.
He tried to silence his thoughts, but they ran all over the place. There was a particular image in his head of Kian
nonchalantly holding Fiona’s hand. Maxon couldn’t remember the last time he held his son’s hand.
Was he harsher than he thought? Did Kian actually need more than strictness? Fiona had been proving so, it seemed. She
had even shown that Kian had an exceptional ability to absorb information, allowing him to excel more than his own father had
realized.
He clicked his tongue as he swung his sword. Why had some human woman made him question his ability as a father?
He struck with his sword, trying to shake off the lingering effects of Fiona, but he was finding it difficult not to think about
Kian suddenly being livelier and chattier. And just more … happy.
Not to mention how cooperative his son had been.
Fiona could make him pay attention faster than anyone he’d seen, including himself. And when he did, it was out of fear of
angering his father.
Maxon froze mid-swing as a sudden fear thrust itself into his already chaotic thoughts. What if my leadership skills are
also lacking?
He took a break and headed back to the armory, getting a head start to his day.
As he looked at the rest of his men training, it made him question himself even further, leading him to ponder how Fiona
would go about grabbing the attention of a rowdy or loose-lipped soldier.
But surely there must’ve been a difference between teaching a child and a grown man. Even so, he didn’t doubt their
attention would be on her no matter what she did. Fiona’s looks did that all on their own.
She naturally drew people in, and Maxon was no exception. He didn’t know what exactly it was about her that attracted
him. Then again, he knew it was almost everything the more he got to know her. As much as he tried, his eyes couldn’t help but
wander to her. Now, it had seemed he had lost his thoughts to her as well.
When lunch came, he couldn’t even eat peacefully without Fiona popping into his mind.
With a sigh, he decided to clear his head by taking a stroll through the palace gardens. A bit of fresh air always helped him.
Unfortunately, for his peace of mind, he bumped into Fiona on the way outside.
“Where is Kian?” he asked her.
“He’s still eating lunch. I thought I’d walk through the gardens while he finished.”
“I see. I can show you them if you wish,” Maxon offered. He caught his soft tone and quickly shifted it back to his
authoritative one. “As long as it won’t interfere with your lessons.”
“No, not at all. Thank you, Your Highness.”
He guided her outside, careful not to walk too fast.
Their walk was silent because he couldn’t bring himself to start a conversation. However, once they stepped into the
gardens, Fiona's excitement took over.
“Oh, it looks so much more vibrant up close,” she commented.
Maxon chuckled. “I thought you’d like the flowers. The palace has some of the best flora in the kingdom.”
“I can see why. It’s so magnificent.”
He took her to a bench under the weeping trees. It was the best place for shade and offered solitude from the others roaming
the grounds.
She sat, taking in the beauty of all the bright colors shrouded in greenery. He couldn’t help but watch as her eyes examined
every flower and shrub.
“You really like it?” he asked.
“I do. I love nature. The groundskeepers do a wonderful job here.”
“They certainly do. The gardens were always my favorite place to seek solitude.”
She perked up. “I don’t want to overextend my stay. I can wander on my own, Sire.”
When she got up, Maxon took her arm, forcing her to sit back down. Once he realized what he was doing, he let her go. She
looked taken aback but didn’t move to leave.
“I apologize,” he said.
“No worries, Sire,” Fiona stammered.
Another silence swept over them as the breeze picked up. Her scent made its way into his nose, and he unknowingly took a
deep inhale. A sense of serenity coursed through his body as he relaxed on the bench.
“So, you enjoyed coming here as a child?” she asked almost hesitantly.
He nodded. “I did. It was the only place I could escape from my daily life.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I can imagine that a prince’s life is quite difficult.”
“Unfortunately, it has to be that way. We’re to lead the kingdom, so it’s expected of us to follow a rigid schedule and strict
norms.”
“How young did you have to start preparing?”
Maxon scratched his chin in thought. “It’s hard to say. As long as I can remember, I’ve been studying to be a prince. I didn’t
have a normal childhood, but I didn’t expect it. I’ve always dealt with the pressure of being the heir, so there was no time for
me to really consider an alternative.”
Fiona stayed quiet, allowing Maxon to realize how open he was being. The sudden shift in his demeanor confused him. It
was as if Fiona made him feel like he could reveal anything without being judged.
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“It still must’ve been hard on you. Carrying that much responsibility at such a young age will affect anyone.”
He shrugged. “You have to get used to it. Many people look to me for guidance. Being a prince and a warrior is a hard line
to walk sometimes.”
She gave him a sympathetic smile. He knew she couldn't relate to his problem, but it felt nice to just talk about it. He had no
one he could express these feelings to. Having Fiona be the one to bring it out of him was surprising.
She sighed. “It may be rude of me to say, but despite all of that, you’ve become someone quite admirable and worthy of
your title, from what I have been able to see. It takes someone resilient to not let hardships like yours get the best of them. You
have many people looking to you for a reason.”
He stared at her for a moment, noting the sincerity in her lovely gaze. There was an urge to caress her supple cheek, but he
stopped himself. All he could manage was a smile, not knowing how to respond to genuine words.
“I’m sure you’ve had troubles as well,” he said, averting his eyes.
She giggled. “Sure, but not as much as yours. I just had to go through rigorous studies while you carried the weight of the
kingdom on your shoulders.”
“Well, they're big enough for the burden, I suppose.”
“They certainly are.” There was an appreciative glint in her eye that seemed perhaps flirty. He was surprised by her
boldness but also glad she had noticed, though he wasn't sure why.
As if recognizing the charged statement, she flushed and looked down at her hands. Clearing her throat, she continued after
a moment. “But I suppose that’s why you’re more or less hard on Kian, right? You want him to succeed.”
“Yes, but it’s difficult raising him. Am I acting as a leader or a father? Sometimes, the roles are blurred for me, and I fear it
might affect him.”
“Perhaps, but you cared enough to make sure I was being a good teacher to him.”
He was used to people being overly nice to him due to his title, but Fiona’s sincerity was rare. He allowed himself to smile
back.
“You may be right. Thank you.”
It turned quiet once again but not as uncomfortable as before. It was peaceful and even enjoyable as they stared at the
scenery before them. A weight had lifted off his shoulders, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. All he knew was that
there had been a sort of mutual understanding between them, which was more than he had ever experienced before.
 FIVE

FIONA

don’t want to say. It was weird, Trixie, but it was completely out of nowhere,” Fiona said to her loving pet.
“I Trixie cooed in response, having no real contribution to Fiona’s frazzled thoughts after her run-in with Prince Maxon.
First, it was his gift, then what felt like a heart-to-heart conversation. Although they were small happenings, there was
something intimate about the exchanges.
She sighed and patted Trixie’s small head. There was no point in reading too much into it anyway. Her first priority was
Kian. He came quite a long way in such a short time. He was a sweet and hardworking child, and Fiona could only hope that
the pressure of the palace wouldn’t get to him too soon.
Fiona stopped brushing her hair to quickly pull it back in a delicate braid. She had lost track of time and nearly forgot she
was having dinner with the royals. After plaiting her hair, she went to her wardrobe to pick out an outfit.
She put on a dark green dress to match her eyes. The dress was corseted and showed more of her slender figure than she’d
usually go for.
“I still have to learn more about the palace’s dress code,” she mumbled.
The palace’s rules and regulations weren't as strict as she expected. She had been ready to tough it out here and be
prepared for the worst of circumstances. But it turned out living in the palace wasn't so bad … so far.
Nevertheless, she would continue to be the best tutor for Kian and make sure she stayed on the prince’s good side. But it’d
be difficult not to make a fool of herself if he kept being so suave with her. It had caused her to be caught off guard by this
sudden pull she felt toward him.
It was hard not to remember how his hardened face had softened. It gave Fiona hope that maybe she would be able to
eventually bring the father and son closer if Maxon would only allow himself to let his walls down so he could connect to his
only son.
After a check in the mirror, Fiona turned to Trixie. “What do you think?”
Trixie merely blinked before letting out another squeak. Fiona rolled her eyes and chuckled. She gave her feathered friend a
kiss goodbye on the head before heading toward the dining room.
The walk from her room to the dining hall was long and unnerving. Fiona tried not to fidget with her dress or hair as she
made her way to the room, but her fingers started to tap her thigh as her nerves got the better of her. They hadn’t had an official,
formal dinner, so she wasn’t sure what to expect.
A butler was stationed at the entrance of the dining room, waiting to open the large doors. She took a deep breath and
entered, giving a considerate smile to the butler.
Prince Maxon sat at the head of the long table, and Kian sat next to him with his head lowered. Instantly, she felt the
tension.
Kian lifted his head at the sound of her steps. His face brightened but quickly dimmed as he went back to staring at his
plate. Concern grew inside her as she took the seat next to him. Despite having such a large table, it was only the three of them
in attendance.
A servant served her a glass of wine, and she glanced at Kian. He was much more serious than usual.
She figured it had to do with his father. Despite what he expressed to her in the gardens, he still maintained his stoic, rigid
persona. And so they began the meal in a tense quietness.
“The food is quite delicious,” Fiona commented eventually to disperse the silence.
“Indeed,” Prince Maxon replied.
She cleared her throat. “Do you like your food, Kian?”
The child nodded but pushed his food around with his fork. Fiona noticed he didn’t even take a sip of his water. She looked
at Maxon, but he didn’t even spare a glance and kept eating.
She was tempted to roll her eyes but did her best to keep a positive attitude.
“Back home, I think we would only eat this kind of meal for special occasions.”
“Is that so?”
She forcibly smiled. “Yes.”
Once again, the silence stayed like a stubborn infection. Fiona tensed as the weight of air took a toll on her. The words
were stuck in her throat as she desperately thought of any topic to talk about.
Kian, on the other hand, made himself smaller and smaller in his seat. He kept looking at the prince, and the corners of his
lips frowned deeply. Fiona could almost see the dark cloud hanging over his head.
This won’t do.
She placed a hand on Kian’s shoulder, grabbing his attention. She offered a smile to give him some sort of encouragement.
“Why don’t you tell your father about what you learned with the theories regarding Ancient Egypt?”
Kian’s eyes wandered toward his father. Prince Maxon didn’t acknowledge him until Fiona cleared her throat. His blue
eyes shifted to them with his fork in midair.
“He already told me about it. To say the least, I don’t find those theories interesting. Why would our race care about
building pyramids on different planets just to leave them there?”
At his words, Kian lowered his head down. Fiona tried not to show her distaste, but she couldn’t help but frown a little bit.
She didn’t give up. “I’m sure that’s not all you want to say about your new history lessons. Right?”
Kian shook his head and recoiled in his seat. It broke Fiona’s heart. She clenched her fist and wanted to say something to
Maxon. She really thought he had reconsidered his indifferent treatment after the gardens.
She decided to give him at least one more chance. The prince clearly needed help in talking to his son. It left Fiona with no
other choice but to take matters into her own hands. Even if it interfered with her job.
“Your Highness, I was thinking of going over military politics with Kian this week. I’m not an expert about it, you see, so I
thought perhaps you could give more insight on the topic since you’re far more experienced.”
The prince blinked twice. “Military politics? He’s not at the age to even brush over that kind of subject in depth.”
“Maybe not, but he’s shown a lot of interest in it. I can only give him the basics, but I know he’ll want to learn more about
it.”
Maxon flared his nostrils. “If you insist on teaching him, then I suppose I can summon a noble’s son. Someone closer to
Kian’s age will be more advantageous in learning military politics than me.”
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Kian fiddling with his fingers. His bottom lip trembled. Her clenched fist shook,
and her face felt hot. Yet, she fought to keep her smile, albeit through clenched teeth.
“I actually think it’s more beneficial to have you help him. He’ll feel more comfortable with you than someone he hasn't
met.”
“I disagree. He needs to get used to being uncomfortable. Just as any royal heir does. He needs to be sturdy.”
Fiona scoffed. “Forgive me, but why can’t you be bothered to help your son?”
“I didn’t have my father help me with tedious things. He’ll be fine.”
The hell with it.
“Prince Maxon, you could at least pretend to care, just a little bit, about what your son is learning,” she said, nearly
shouting.
He cocked an eyebrow. “I already know what he’s learning. I have a copy of your teaching plan.”
She jeered. “That’s not the point. He wants to tell you what he learned just for the sake of you paying attention to him. Is it
so difficult to put your rigidness aside and stop being so distant with him?”
Fiona froze at her brashness. She had spoken out of turn and at a formal dinner, on top of losing her cool in front of her
student.
Prince Maxon stared at her. It felt like his eyes glowed with the intensity of his anger. Without a word, he got up from the
chair.
“Dinner is over. Kian, head back to your room.” At the doorway, he stopped and looked over at Fiona. “Come with me.”
Fiona followed Maxon. His walk was rigid and hard, matching his personality. The talk they had the other day clearly
meant nothing if he was acting like this.
As they approached the courtyard, Fiona couldn’t help but admire its moonlit landscape despite what was about to happen.
It gave a romantic and mysterious aura. She tried not to ogle too much and kept following Maxon.
Once they were alone, the prince turned on his heels and got mere inches away from Fiona. He towered over her, and she
could smell the faint scent of his cologne. The scent of fresh soap and water was stronger though.
“What gives you the right to criticize my treatment of my son?”
She stumbled over her words. “I am not criticizing anything, Your Highness. I’m just saying how unfair you’re being to
Kian. Despite what you told me before.”
 He narrowed his eyes. “What I told you before doesn’t matter. Things just have to be as they are. I can’t make Kian soft by
coddling him for every little thing.”
“Coddling him? Just because you spend time with him once in a while? Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”
Maxon sighed. “You don’t understand. I won’t be there all the time for Kian. My duty is to the kingdom first and foremost.”
“I’m just asking you to spare him a minute or two of your time. Kian always talks about telling you all he’s learning to help
ease your workload.”
“That’s not something he should concern himself with. At least not yet.”
There was a small fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Maxon sat on the edge and rested his elbows on his thighs. The
languidness of his posture looked a little funny to her since he was always so erect. It was a definite sign of his stoic mask
coming loose.
Cautiously, she joined him on the fountain, careful not to get her dress wet.
“Things have changed since you were a child. Maybe it’s fine to be closer to your son than your father was. Maybe it’ll
even make him a better leader in the future. Support from loved ones creates a big impact.”
“I’m aware of that. As I said before, there are many lines I have to walk. I can’t be the father Kian wants me to be. I was
prepped to be the heir and to create heirs. It all comes down to the sake of the kingdom.”
Her heart wrenched. She couldn’t imagine being deprived of affection all her life. It wasn’t hard to believe that Prince
Maxon didn’t know what it was, much less how to show it.
Fiona knew this was all but a glimpse of the weight of his duties as a prince and a warrior. Yet she sensed hidden depths
beneath his stern exterior. He was bound by duty and loyalty, not because he actively disliked being a parent.
“Well, if it’s of any help, I can be a middleman for you and Kian.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, just as how things are, but more interference from me. When I report back to you, I tell you all about how
Kian’s doing. Then I’ll tell him how proud you are of him even if you don’t show it.”
“Do you think that’ll be enough?”
“Not always, but it’s a start. I just can’t sit and do nothing. You may see me as nosy, but I’m doing this for the good of you
both. With all due respect, of course.”
For the first time, Prince Maxon chuckled. She felt a tiny spark in her chest, noticing how deep but lighthearted his laugh
was. She smiled up at him, relieved that he wasn’t so upset anymore.
He caught her looking, and she averted her gaze. She noticed this exchange kept happening frequently. Her cheeks flushed.
“Nosy, huh? There’s many of those in the palace,” he said.
“I’ll be a good nosy, though,” she quipped.
They both shared a chuckle. The prince stood, indicating it was time to leave.
Fiona followed him, a quiver of disappointment rising at the quick ending.
“Your bedroom is the other way, correct?”
She nodded. “Have a good night, Your Highness.”
“You as well. Thank you for scolding me.”
She blinked a couple of times, not catching the joke. He smirked, and she then laughed behind her hand. They shared smiles
and lingering glances as they parted ways, leaving Fiona with mixed feelings of apprehension and attraction.
 SIX

MAXON

axon slowly unlaced his boots, his thoughts occupied with dinner and the events of the day. He couldn’t remember the
M last time his mind had been clear and relaxed. It seemed as though every day brought new worries.
Fiona’s point made at dinner was foremost in his mind. “He doesn’t need a king. He needs a dad.”
But what did she know? She was soft, and if she wasn’t careful, she would make Kian soft, also. The Meridian people
needed a strong ruler, one who wouldn’t let his anxieties get the better of him. When Kian became king, he wouldn’t be able to
break down at the first sign of conflict.
That said, perhaps there was something to Fiona’s claim that his distance and expectations were what had damaged Kian’s
confidence. To be able to withstand attempts to tear someone down, that person must first be built up.
With a sigh, he removed his first boot. There was something about Fiona that drew him in like a bolt of lightning to a metal
rod. She was kind but also incredibly brave and took shit from no one. Not even him.
He respected that about her.
He also respected how she looked after Kian.
The boy was lonely, and she seemed to know how to balance being a friend to him along with being a teacher and mentor.
An explosion suddenly rocked the room, knocking him off balance. Throwing his boot back on, he ran out the door and to
the nearest servant. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
The servant was wide-eyed and shaken. “I-I don’t …” He was cut off by the sound of a laser blast. With a choked cry, the
servant fell, clutching a wound in his shoulder.
“Shit,” Maxon muttered, scooping the servant in a fireman’s carry and rushing back to his bedroom, where he kept his
comms, sword, and blaster. Ripping the sheet off his bed, he pressed it to the open wound before guiding the servant’s hand to
it. “Keep pressure on it.”
The servant’s skin had a grayish tint, but he nodded. Grabbing the comms, Maxon called up the captain of the guards, Dex.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Grath attack. The king and queen are safe, but your son is unaccounted for,” said the captain on the other end of the line.
“You hurt?”
“No, but I’m with a wounded servant. I’ll grab Kian, and we’ll rendezvous at the safe room.” He turned to the injured
servant. “Can you walk?”
The man shook his head. “Better to go on without me, Your Highness. I’ll only slow you down.”
Maxon pressed his lips together thoughtfully before heading into his private bathroom. He returned with a med kit. “This
flesh knitter should treat your wound,” he said, giving it to the servant.
“Thank you. Go find your son. I’ll be all right.”
Maxon strapped on his belt and drew his blaster.
The central hallway was crawling with Grath goons, so he took the path of least resistance and slipped through a concealed
servants’ door and into their private halls. These halls kept the staff out of the way so they didn’t have to be seen while doing
their work.
Though Maxon was not fond of this social stratification, these halls were strategically useful. During the rare moments of
free time that he had as a child, he would roam the secret corners of his home and learn every inch of it.
Kian’s room was at the end of the hall, so with his finger over his blaster, he slowly made his way in that direction. As he
crept along, a simmering fury built in his chest.
Who do they think they are to attack the royal family like this? These fools would suffer the ultimate price for their idiocy.
A door opened ahead, and a Grath poked his head into the hall. Maxon didn’t waste any time raising his blaster and
shooting the interloper right between the eyes before he could even say a word.
“In there!” came a cry from inside the room.
Drawing his sword, Maxon broke into a sprint, leapt over the dead body, and stabbed the nearest Grath soldier.
A laser blast from behind whizzed past his ear. He turned, kicking the second Grath in the chest and knocking him to the
ground before stomping on his throat, crushing his windpipe.
“I have the prince,” a third, feminine voice declared in Grathian. Her gun was drawn with its sights trained right over his
heart. “One wrong move, Your Highness, and your son becomes an orphan.”
Now that was too far.
He darted to the side, laser blast narrowly missing his head as he tucked and rolled before landing on his knees. He drew
his blaster and fired it. The Grath went down.
Pausing to catch his breath, Maxon took stock of the room. It was the guest bedroom right next to Kian’s. To teach him
personal responsibility, he’d had the servants’ door in his son’s room locked so that his son would clean his space. Now,
though, he regretted the lesson. He would have to risk the main hallway to get to him.
With a weary sigh, he cracked the door open and peeked through. Seeing no one around, he slipped out the door and to the
next one. It was locked, and ordinarily, he would applaud Kian’s quick thinking, but now it was yet another irritant.
Grabbing the key from above the doorframe, he unlocked it and stepped through, only for something heavy to shatter against
the back of his head, sending him to his knees.
“Father!” he heard Kian cry.
“Shit!” a female voice exclaimed from behind as the door shut. “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“You said a bad word,” Kian said with a giggle.
“Sorry, Kian. Can you keep an eye on Trixie while I make sure your dad is okay?”
Fiona’s face was warped in Maxon’s wavering vision. It was like staring into a rippling pond.
With a groan, he sat back, blinking away the dizziness. Fiona and Kian were both wide-eyed with fear and adrenaline but
otherwise seemed unhurt. Kian held Fiona’s pet like a security blanket. Behind him, the shattered remains of a lamp lay
scattered.
He blinked, shaking the cobwebs from his head. “You … you hit me with a lamp?”
“Again, Your Highness, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I-I thought …” Fiona stammered but was cut off by
Maxon’s hearty laugh.
So much for the girl being soft.
“You were protecting my son. I appreciate that, even if you had the wrong target. Now, come on. Let me get you two to the
safe room. Fiona, take this.” He handed her the blaster.
She stared at it like it was going to bite her. “I don’t know how to shoot that.”
“It’s easy. Just aim the blaster and pull the trigger. But only point it at things you want to shoot. You’ll bring up the rear.
Kian, you’re in the middle. Where’s your sword?”
The young prince’s features colored and he studied his shoes, mumbling something. Impatient, Maxon snapped. “Speak up,
boy.”
“Your Highness.” Fiona’s voice carried a low warning.
Kian burst into tears. “I left it in the training room, Father. I’m sorry.”
They did not have time for a crying child. He needed his son to be calm and in control. “Kian, stop this at once.”
To his surprise, but no one else’s, snapping at the boy didn’t work. He just cried harder about being useless. Fiona grabbed
one of his stickball bats and a bag before kneeling in front of Kian, taking him by the shoulders.
“Hey, I know this is really scary. I’m scared, and I know your dad is, too, but we have to stay calm, okay?”
Kian sniffled, nodding. “Okay.”
She put the bag around his shoulder and placed Trixie inside before handing him the stickball bat. “I have a very important
job for you. Make sure Trixie gets to safety. Can you do that for me?”
Taking a stuttering breath in and out, Kian’s face took on an expression that Maxon had never seen on him before … steely
determination. His spine straightened, and he expertly adjusted his grip on his bat. “I give you my word as Prince that Trixie
will come to no harm.” The child’s words were as solemn as any soldier’s oath.
Fiona truly was remarkable.
“Are you ready?” Maxon asked.
She and Kian nodded, and he drew his sword. He considered going back to the servants’ hall, but four corpses were lying
on the ground, and he didn’t want Kian to see that. As much as he wanted his son to toughen up, now was not the time to
traumatize him further.
They turned the corner and ran into a group of the Grath soldiers. “Linen closet,” Maxon ordered, nodding to the nearest
door. “I’ll cover you.”
“Father?” Kian’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.
 Maxon squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll get you when I’m done. Now, go.”
He watched from the corner of his eye as they slipped into the closet and counted ten soldiers. Pity. He’d hoped the odds
would be more in their favor.
With a cry, he charged, smoothly slicing into one soldier, parrying the blade of another, and dodging a third. Falling to his
knees, he slid beneath the reach of another blade before stabbing into that soldier’s gut.
One tried to shoot him, but Maxon got close enough to take control of the blaster, shooting the rest before turning and
stabbing the man behind him. Panting, he stood for a moment, trying to catch his breath.
There was the sound of a shot.
Then, a body dropped.
Maxon turned to see one of the soldiers he’d wounded now dead and Fiona standing in the doorway with the blaster in
hand. Maxon gave her an exhausted smile. “Thanks.”
She didn’t take her eyes off the body, her hands shaking. Maxon slowly approached and lowered the blaster with his hand.
“I’ll carry Kian out of here. You cover my back,” he said.
She nodded wordlessly, and soon, they fell into an efficient pattern. He would carry Kian with his son’s eyes closed to
protect him from the carnage in the halls. When they came across Grath soldiers, Fiona would take the young prince and hide
with the blaster while Maxon did away with the enemy combatants. They repeated these steps until they reached the safe room.
Dex was waiting for them outside with a small pile of Grath bodies already fallen. He opened the door, and Fiona ushered
Kian inside.
“Wait,” Maxon said before they shut the door.
She stopped, face pale and expression expectant.
Maxon smiled. “You were very brave today. You and Kian both. Thank you for having our backs, Fiona.”
She beamed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
With that, Dex closed the door, locking them safely inside while Maxon stayed out with his soldiers. He still had a lot of
work to do.
 SEVEN

FIONA

just can’t stop thinking about it, Trixie. I mean, he seemed so different, sincere. He didn’t think twice about saving me.
“I Not even a bit. It was all very … heroic.”
The Graths had caused no further disturbances so far, thankfully. Several weeks had passed since the attack, and
though she knew Prince Maxon and his crew were working behind the scenes on their response, life in the palace seemed to
have returned to normal. The only change had been an increase in guards.
She lowered her voice while venting to Trixie. Her pet was the only outlet she had to grapple with her feelings. She had
found herself increasingly drawn to Maxon’s complex character. He always tried to hide his emotions but somehow showed a
different side of himself in their drastic situation.
No longer was he just her stoic and somewhat unnerving boss. Now, he was her strong, muscular hero. Sometimes, when
she closed her eyes, she could see nothing but the way sweat had dripped off his tight muscles as he fought bravely for her.
But as always, I can’t think too much of it. I have a job to do, she reminded herself.
After a spritz of perfume, she left for the library. As she walked, she hid her troubled expression to not worry Kian.
Children tend to have a sharper eye than most want to believe.
As soon as she walked into the library, Kian ran up, grabbed her by the hand, and then dragged her to the desk.
“Oh my, why are you rushing, Kian? Are you that excited for today’s lesson?”
“No, not for that!”
Fiona looked at him, puzzled. The child urged her to sit on the chair he pulled for her.
“Miss Fiona, do you know what’s happening this week?” His voice was high-pitched as he spoke. “It’s a very important
day.”
“Is it perhaps Founding Day? I thought that already passed.”
He shook his head. “No, no! It’s Liberation Day!”
“Liberation Day?”
She’d never heard of the holiday before. From his reaction, she gathered it must be important. His eagerness about it gave
her an idea.
“Since I don’t know much about Liberation Day, how about you teach me again?”
Kian’s face brightened, and he wasted no time in explaining.
“So, Liberation Day honors the last day of battle against the Aevveds. The gods saw we were going to die and interfered
by casting a bright light over the land. It is said that while the Aevveds were blinded by it, they could hear the voices of the
gods commanding them to leave.”
Fiona blinked a couple of times. “Wow, that sounds … amazing.” She chuckled awkwardly. “The gods simply told the
Aevveds to leave?”
“Yes. Isn’t that cool?”
“Very cool,” she said, but something told her that the gods did more than “ask” them to leave. “It sounds like a very
important day for the Meridians, Kian.”
“It is. When Liberation Day comes, the whole kingdom celebrates. Even Father and I can celebrate.”
“Oh my, I should hope so. Having a celebration sounds like so much fun.”
“Mmm-hmm. My favorite part is the food. I’m never allowed to eat sweets except for Liberation Day.”
His cheeks flushed with all the budding excitement. He was even more expressive than usual. This day might be the only
day when he could act like a normal child with no royal duties or studies.
It made her wonder if Prince Maxon would really be celebrating or using his title as a reason not to.
 She already could picture Kian’s disappointed face if his father didn’t come around. She really hoped she was wrong, but
Maxon had said his duty would always come first.
When the time of the celebration came, she was pleasantly surprised to see the prince in attendance. She arrived with Kian
in tow and saw Maxon talking to a few nobles. When he noticed her, he gave a quick smile before attending to the rest of the
guests.
“There’s a lot of important people here, Kian. Are you sure it’s fine for me to be here?”
He clutched her hand in his. “Please don’t go, Fiona. I want to see you dance.”
Fiona chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave.”
She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to attend, but Kian had insisted. He encouraged her to wear the costume that was
typically worn that day. A bright red dress for the blood lost, with a crown of flowers to symbolize the rebirth of the
Meridians. Many of the guests wore equally bright colors but much more luxurious.
The palace was an entirely different setting with all the decorations that were put up. Tons of long tables were filled with
every type of food, enough to feed the entire kingdom. Everywhere one looked, the palace bustled with joy and laughter. It
reminded her of Christmas parties on Earth.
She felt Kian tug her dress. “Do you see that over there?”
She looked at the center of the large hall. It remained empty except for the scepters that created a circle in the middle.
Precious gems adorned them at the top, and the staff was engraved with writing she didn’t recognize.
“They’re going to bless the palace to ask for prosperity.”
“Oh, wow. But what do they use scepters for?”
Kian was about to answer when his eyes shifted to look behind her. Upon turning around, she came face-to-face with Prince
Maxon. Their noses nearly touched, causing her to take a few steps back.
He had donned a dark military uniform, making his skin stand out. The snugness of the clothes wrapped nicely around his
muscles. Her eyes wandered to the contours of his neck.
“They are lit up. The stone that shines the brightest is given to the person found to be the most useful,” Maxon said.
Fiona snapped out of her thoughts. “Useful?”
“It’s in the writing on them, along with a very simple explanation of the ritual. It’s derived from our legends of a hero being
chosen by the gods to lead us to victory.”
“But Kian said the gods sent the enemy away. So, the hero was kind of like a sacrifice?” She laughed awkwardly.
He shrugged. “More or less. This is all for show, anyway. You’ll understand better once you see it. It’s about to start.”
He turned on his heel and left, leaving Fiona with her questions. She shrugged it off and continued watching the rest of the
guests.
She found herself occasionally looking for Maxon through the sea of nobility.
It didn’t last long before the lights dimmed, and everyone’s focus was on the circle of scepters. As the prince had said, they
lit up one by one. A soft melody weaved its way through the crowd, and everyone stood silent.
Veiled women appeared and danced in the circle, inviting Prince Maxon to the middle. One of the women took off her veil
to put it over his shoulder. Another one sprayed water from an antique-looking canteen. Prince Maxon took off the veil and
burned it over one of the scepters.
Is that supposed to be the blessing? Fiona thought as she stared intently.
The prince stood in the circle, waiting for one of the scepters to grow brighter. When one behind him glowed impressively,
he removed the gem embedded in it. Everyone held their breaths as he chose the supposed sacrifice.
He scanned the crowd until his eyes fell on Fiona. Everyone dispersed in the middle as the prince approached her. Instead
of feeling excitement, there was only dread in her chest.
Maxon placed the gem in her hand. “I choose you.”
Everyone erupted in cheers and clapping. Fiona could only feel her face turn red.
So he finds me as useful as a sacrifice for his benefit? She clasped the gem in her palm and lowered her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Her hands shook. “Nothing, Your Highness. Thank you for choosing me.”
Her words came out colder than she intended. But how could she pretend this didn’t feel like a slap to the face?
She wanted to retire early, but the dance was about to start.
Everyone coupled up as she excused herself to the side, mulling over the apparent honor given to her. She understood this
was all for fun, but it left a bad taste in her mouth. She tried not to let it bother her and forced a smile for everyone who passed.
As the music picked up, she maneuvered through the twirling crowd, trying to sneak away.
Remembering her way to the courtyard, she walked along the walls to hide from the rest.
“Fiona?” She heard Prince Maxon call behind her.
Reluctantly, she turned to him. “I was just on my way out.”
He came closer. “Why? The celebration has just begun.”
 “I’m suddenly not feeling well. As you can imagine.”
“What do you mean?” He looked down at the hand that still held the gem. “Are you upset by that?”
“Well, seeing that this signifies you think of me as a sacrifice rather than of use to your son …” She spoke in a low voice to
avoid any attention.
Maxon suddenly loomed over her, hiding her with just his body. He leaned close to her, his breath hitting her exposed
shoulder. She shivered and held her breath, wondering what he was doing.
“I didn’t mean I see you as disposable.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“That I can trust you with my only child and heir. You’ve proven yourself in that regard, certainly.”
She didn’t buy it. He sighed and offered his hand.
“Why don’t we dance? At least once before you retire to your quarters.”
“Shouldn't you dance with a noble lady?”
He looked at her incredulously. “There’s nothing wrong with me dancing with my son’s precious tutor.”
Bells rang in her head at the sound of precious. It made her wonder if he really went out of his way to reassure her of her
position. It made her feel as if she were special. He could’ve just left her to brew in anger, but he sought her out.
Still, she hesitated in taking his hand. When she did, he swooped her up and twirled her to the middle of the great hall. She
nearly stumbled on her feet, but he swiftly caught her by her waist.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as the world around her blurred, and she could only focus on Prince Maxon. His eyes
never left hers while he expertly took the lead. She hadn’t realized everyone else was watching in awe as the pair took the
dance floor as their own.
She enjoyed the soft yet firm touch. His skin was not as rough as she had imagined, but smooth and tough like an expensive
leather.
“I apologize if I offended you. It truly was not my intention,” he said as they slowed down.
“It’s fine. I didn't know much about this tradition anyway.”
“Well, I’d be happy to teach you more.”
After one last dip, the music stopped, signaling the end of their dance. She found herself sighing as he brought her up. But
Maxon didn’t let go of her waist yet and kept staring at her.
“Your Highness?”
He shook his head and released her. “You’re good on your feet.”
Before she could thank him, he was suddenly swarmed by a crowd of noble ladies, each asking for the next dance.
Flustered, the prince looked to Fiona for help, but she just offered a sympathetic smile. She couldn’t hog the prince all night
simply because she worked for him.
With a sigh, she excused herself to no one and snuck off to the palace gardens. She found herself going to the bench where
she had once talked with the prince. Although, the tree didn’t look as splendid as when he had brought her here.
The fresh air was a relief after the stuffiness of the celebration. She wondered if Kian would be fine or was at least having
fun.
“This was all for him, anyway,” she said as she took off the flower crown.
Everything was for Kian’s sake from the very start. There was no other reason for her to be here in the alien world. It was
fun to partake in their culture, but it didn’t make her any less of an outsider. The only connection she had was him, Trixie, and
…
“Prince Maxon,” she murmured to herself.
She looked forward to the little moments spent with him. But she knew that it was due to her job that she was able to be that
close to him. If it were another woman, he'd behave the same. She was not as special as she’d like to think.
But a little voice in her head told her otherwise. She tried to ignore those wandering thoughts, but the more time she spent
with him, the harder it got to stop her growing attachment to him.
She looked up at the star-dusted sky, sitting in the quiet of the palace gardens, feeling confused but a little less lonely.
 EIGHT

MAXON

rince Maxon had been making plans on how to retaliate against the Graths.
P That was until his dearest cousin decided to spread lies with his loose mouth.
“What exactly are you implying?” Maxon asked Davian directly.
The air was tense as soon as the council meeting had begun. Whispers were heard, glances exchanged, and doubt spread
like weeds. The royal chamber was only this chaotic when it came to wartime.
“I’m just saying, this wouldn’t be the first time our kingdom has had contact with those scum. We’ve had tiffs before, but it
was all in good politics,” he said, quirking his eyebrow as he looked Maxon’s way.
He narrowed his eyes at Davian. “There was never any ‘good politics’ with the Graths. We’ve tried keeping the peace with
them to prevent this very issue from happening.”
His cousin shrugged his lanky shoulders. “Perhaps, but I find it odd they had the knowledge to get past your defenses and
into the palace at all. Unless …”
One of the elders, Lord Cepheus, interjected. “Are you suggesting Prince Maxon had something to do with the attack?”
“I’m not suggesting. I’m telling you that Prince Maxon, indeed was behind it all.”
A gasp erupted throughout the royal chamber as Maxon felt the blow. How dare his own family accuse him of something
like that.
He burst up from his chair, trying to keep his anger at bay, but this accusation was considered an act of treason. He
wouldn’t let anyone challenge his place, much less a man who didn’t hold any power in the palace.
“Explain yourself. Why do you dare accuse me of such things?” Maxon’s voice was slow and dangerous, but he kept his
breathing calm and stable.
Davian all but smirked. “Certainly.”
As he said those words, he took out a stack of papers. “These are military reports and records from the interstellar
comms.”
Then he stood as well, matching the Prince’s stance. “This is evidence that Prince Maxon was conspiring against us all
along. He planned alongside the Graths to weaken the kingdom’s defenses. He plans on creating a regime of tyranny under the
guise of safety.”
“Ridiculous. How dare you accuse me with such pathetic attempts? All the records would show that I’ve been trying to
keep the peace with that race.”
“Well, let’s see if that’s true. Shall we?”
He collected a few pages from the bunch. After stacking them neatly, Davian read them, line by line, out loud.
“According to the report from the month of Oors, on the twentieth day, when the prince was supposed to be on the frontline
at our border, he requested a private meeting with the Graths’ Minister of Defense and Foreign Affairs.”
“That’s far from the truth.”
“Is it? Well, in the same month, soldiers reported here that they saw you coming and going between the camp and who
knows where. It also says on the treasury reports that large amounts of money went missing. Just days after your secret
meeting.”
“You lying …"
Davian interrupted him. “This is from the telecom record of the month of Giasis, on the tenth day. Prince Maxon can
actually be heard promising an exchange to the Minister of Defense and their king for our kingdom’s weaponry and resources if
they help him get the throne.”
He threw the papers in the middle of the table, displaying countless reports of Maxon’s supposed betrayal.
 “If you don’t believe me, you can see the royal seal on the bottom, showing that it comes directly from the palace archives.
I can keep going, but I believe you all should see it with your own eyes.”
Everyone reacted with a mix of shock and disbelief. Elders scattered over the documents to verify them. However, some
didn't even pick up the papers, simply going on Davian’s words.
The prince couldn’t help but feel his disgust rise like bile.
This accusation of Maxon’s supposed act of treason could strip his royal title and military command.
The allegation not only threatened his position as the heir but also tarnished the reputation he built as a respected leader
and warrior. The evidence presented was convincing enough to sway the opinion of some council members, creating a rift in
the royal court.
Elder Vesper spoke first.
“Prince Maxon, what Lord Davian claims is a serious crime. There’s enough evidence to support an investigation. I’m
afraid that we’ll have to ask you to step down from your duties for now.”
“You’re going to believe such blatant lies?”
The elder shook his head. “The accusation can't be dismissed too lightly. I don’t want to believe this is true, but … given
what was shown, we have to do what’s best for the kingdom.”
The prince looked at everyone present, lingering lastly on Davian, who simply kept smug.
With nothing more to say, Maxon curtly bowed and slowly walked out of the royal chamber. The whispers before the doors
closed stabbed him in the back. They had so easily believed manipulated evidence.
Reeling from the accusations, Maxon quickly retreated to his private study, a sanctuary filled with his ancestral lineage and
personal achievements. Its surroundings should have brought him comfort, but all he could feel was shame and anger.
He sat, resting his head in his hands and trying to make sense of what just occurred. It made everything he worked for and
all the sacrifices he made for the sake of the kingdom meaningless. None of it was worth it if his loyalty was to be easily
bought.
Engulfed in turmoil of anger and frustration, he didn’t move for hours, knowing the depth of the conspiracy against him. For
the first time, he didn’t know what to do as a prince or as a warrior.
What would his people think of him? His son? What about Fiona?
She suddenly flashed through his head. Her kind smile always gave him great comfort and relief for some reason. Her
gentle touch could melt away any tension and stress. He feared Davian would also poison Fiona and Kian against him, taking
that warmth from him.
His mood worsened just thinking about it.
He shoved the objects from his desk and buried his face in his hands. The only thing he could do was brood in the cesspool
of shame.
The dark cloud over his head made him unaware of everything around him, and it soon became nighttime. The soft blue
hues of the moonlight brought him some sort of comfort. Still, he couldn’t help but think that he was essentially ruined.
He lifted his head at the sound of knocking. He didn’t bother answering, assuming it would be one of his advisors. But the
door squeaked open, and Fiona’s head popped inside.
“Your Highness? Sorry to barge in, but no one answered,” she said as she walked inside.
He grunted. “It’s fine. What do you need?”
“You didn’t show up for dinner. We were worried about you.”
He scoffed. “You were? Just because I missed one dinner together?”
She slowly nodded, clearly bothered by his tone, as she pressed her lips together and clasped her hands. A pang of guilt
itched in Maxon’s chest. He didn’t mean to sound so standoffish.
With a sigh, he gestured for her to come close to his desk. He stood from his seat, walking in front of his desk to lean on it.
“I apologize for not showing up. Something came up today, and I lost my appetite.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?”
He nodded, refusing to even acknowledge that everything was crumbling around him. But a simple motion of his head
wasn’t enough for Fiona.
She furrowed her eyebrows as she studied him.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little pale.”
Maxon sighed and rubbed his temple. “Yes, I’m fine. There are just some things I have to take care of.” He looked up at her.
“Is that all you need?”
She winced, and again, he regretted his tone. Just one glance at her, and there was a sudden switch in him. He couldn’t
bring himself to easily push her away as he did others. But he didn’t want to burden her with this.
Fiona looked around his study. “You know, sometimes it helps to just vent. I always do with my pet just for the sake of
letting out my emotions.”
“You talk to that feathered creature?”
 “I know it sounds weird, but it can be therapeutic,” she muttered with flushed cheeks. She cleared her throat. “You might
feel worse if you keep things bottled up.”
Maxon looked away, unable to keep up with her intense gaze. Her eyes shone under the moonbeams, brightening the rest of
her lovely features. He could see the wetness of her lips and the soft tint of her cheeks.
He shut his eyes tight, relenting to her expectant stare.
“Someone is trying to have me removed from the throne. There’s false evidence that I committed treason, and now I can’t
do my duties as a prince or warrior.”
Her eyes widened as she blinked a couple of times, processing the information. She grimaced, then stepped forward to lean
against his desk, listening intently.
“That’s why I missed dinner. I just wanted to be left alone for a while.”
“I see. That sounds awful.”
“Indeed,” he muttered. “I’ve been accused of absurdities regarding the Graths. I’ve been immobilized until the council’s
done investigating me.”
He felt her small hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. I can’t believe they’d accused you of
something like that. You’d never do such a thing.”
Her voice was soft and encouraging, like the way she talked to Kian. But it felt … different when it was directed toward
him. Her stare was direct and firm, as if she tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault with her eyes alone.
He could smell her when she was this close. It was a mix of ink and her flowery perfume that thinned throughout her day of
work. Still, he found it mesmerizing.
“There’s nothing I can do, I’m afraid. I just have to wait and hope they won’t believe the lies.”
Fiona nodded. “I’ll try to help you in any way possible.”
He half-heartedly laughed. “I don't suppose helping me throw out a traitorous man is on your mind?”
She giggled. “I was thinking of moral support, but if it’ll make you happy.”
“You jest.”
“Well, not in the way you might expect, but I’ll be on your side whenever you need me to be.”
He looked at her, and she smiled, showing her support for him. The simple gesture and genuine kindness were enough to rid
him of his horrid mood. Somewhere deep down, he wanted more of it. Something different than a smile.
He inched closer to her. “Thank you, really. You’ve no idea how much your words are helping me.”
His eyes fell on her lips, luscious and smooth, then flickered back up. He couldn't pinpoint the expression on her face. Like
she was waiting for something to happen just as he was.
“Prince Maxon, you don’t have to be alone in this,” she whispered as he unknowingly leaned closer to her. “I’m here for
you.”
He didn’t answer, their noses nearly touching. Her soft breath tickled his Cupid’s bow. He smelled the wine from her
dinner, making the temptation even harder.
“You really mean it?”
He heard her swallow, and she nodded. “I do.”
There was a gnawing inside him that wanted to lash out. Just to find release from all the weight. Any sort of release.
The delicate lines of her figure gave him an idea. One that was riddled with savagery, but as wrong as it was, he liked the
idea more and more. And as his mind was filled with all the bad ways Fiona could help him, he found himself running his
fingers over her collarbones.
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move away from his touch. His own breathing quickened as he rested his hand over her
neck, feeling the rushing of her blood. Then, when he got to her chin, he pressed a thumb on her lower lip.
“Prince Maxon?” she whispered.
An intense silence hung between them. His instincts were taking hold, but this time, he didn’t fight them.
“Don’t take back your words, Fiona.” He growled as his lips met hers.
 NINE

FIONA

hen Maxon had moved closer, his towering height and violet skin added to his allure, and Fiona had felt her cheeks
W grow warm under his intense gaze. God, he was a beautiful creature.
She had become aroused by his nearness. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as she breathed in the faint scent
of lavender emanating from his violet skin. Maxon's warm breath ghosted across her face before their lips met, sending a
shiver down her spine when he finally claimed her mouth.
His large hands cupped her face, holding it gently but firmly, his thumbs brushing softly against her jawline. She felt his
cool tongue slip into her mouth, dancing with hers in a tongue-twisting duet that left her dizzy and wanting more.
The taste of him lingered on her tongue. It was a mixture of sweetness and something tantalizingly unique to him. She
moaned into the kiss, unable to resist the urge to deepen the connection between them. His other hand found its way around her
waist, pulling her tightly against his hard chest as he stepped even closer.
The soft rustle of fabric filled the air as she pressed herself against the solid muscles beneath it, feeling every ridge and
contour of his body through their clothing. He tasted like ambrosia and nectar and everything sweet and tempting all at once.
She couldn't help but part her lips further, inviting him deeper into their exploration.
His hand slid up to rest on the small of her back, pressing her body flush against him from chest to hip. Their hips ground
together slowly, instinctively, setting off a chain reaction of sparks.
In an almost primal dance, she couldn't help but gasp when she felt how aroused he was against her stomach. His bulge
grew bigger by the moment, pressing into her through their clothes and making Fiona ache for more intimacy between them.
His tongue tangled with hers, exploring every curve and corner of her mouth, and she welcomed his dominance with a
moan that rumbled deep in her throat. She could feel his heart racing against hers, beating in perfect rhythm with hers. His other
hand caressed her lower back, pulling her closer still as he stepped even nearer until they were practically entwined from head
to toe.
She could hear the rustle of their clothing like a whisper against each other. It was a symphony of desire that heightened the
senses. Their hips rubbed together slowly at first, then faster, more desperately. It felt so right pressing against each other like
this. An ache built deep within her core that throbbed in time with their movements.
His fingers began to unbutton her shirt, and he slid it over her shoulders until her breasts were bared to him. He captured
one plump, pink nipple between his teeth. Maxon's wide, plush lips were warm on her skin as he took her nipple between his
teeth and tugged gently, sending shivers of delight through her body.
His tongue flicked the tip teasingly as he released it with a soft pop, and she gasped in pleasure. His hand found its way to
cup the other breast, squeezing softly before rolling the nipple between his fingers experimentally. Fiona arched her back,
pressing herself even closer to him in response.
Their breaths mingled in the air, hot and heavy with lust and need. She could feel the heat from his skin as their bodies
swayed together in a rhythmic dance that seemed to defy gravity.
The scent of lavender was intoxicating, making her dizzy with desire. His hands wandered down her sides, tracing every
curve and dip of her waist before sliding the hem of her skirt. With a gentle tug, he pulled it down until it pooled around her
ankles, revealing her black lace panties to his hungry eyes.
She shuddered under his gaze but didn't pull away as he took in every inch of her body with appreciation. His fingers
brushed against sensitive skin just above where her thighs met.
And then he touched her most sensitive spot, stroking his finger against it teasingly from behind those black lace panties that
did nothing to hide her desire for him. She gasped into his mouth at the sudden rush of pleasure that made her core clench
around his invading digit.
 He groaned against her lips as if he could feel how wet she was for him, encouraging him to continue this dance of
seduction. Without warning, Maxon yanked her panties down her legs and touched her with fervor.
The contact was electric against her sensitive skin, making her gasp into the kiss as he teased her gently. His thumb circled
around the hardened nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.
The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanding entry once again while his fingers moved in rhythm with his
thumb. She whimpered into the kiss, her legs unsteady as she felt herself growing wetter for him. The taste of lavender
intensified as they ground their bodies together, matching every stroke of his fingers with each thrust of his tongue.
Her shirt fell to the floor, revealing the rest of her supple body to him.
His mouth found a beaded nipple, and he pulled it into his warm, moist cavern, sucking hard while pinching the other
between his finger and thumb, sending jolts of pleasure shooting straight to her core. She cried out softly into the kiss, feeling
overwhelmed by this new sensation.
Fiona could feel every ridge and contour of Maxon's body against hers, their hearts racing in sync as they danced in a haze
of desire and need. With each stroke of his fingers against her clit, she could feel herself getting closer to the edge. She begged
him silently with her eyes to take her over that ledge, to claim every inch of her.
"Maxon, please take me," she begged.
He laid her carefully on the floor in the office and quickly removed his clothes. He positioned himself over her, lining his
cock up to the entrance of her glistening pussy.
Their bodies met with a soft, wet slapping sound as his cock entered her. He moaned, feeling the heat and tightness envelop
him. She gasped under him, arching her back slightly as he pushed deeper inside.
He thrust slowly at first, watching her face for any signs of discomfort or pain, but all he saw was desire and need mixed
with pure pleasure. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as she pulled him closer, urging him to go faster. Her nails dug into his
skin lightly.
He picked up the pace, slamming into her with more force, groaning each time their hips met in a primal rhythm. His thrusts
echoed through the room, along with the slapping sounds of their skin coming together.
She met him stroke for stroke, their moans, and gasps filling the air around them with an intoxicating melody. Sweat beaded
on their foreheads as they moved together harder and faster. He leaned down to capture her lips in a passionate kiss, tasting the
sweetness of her mouth while they moved as one.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer as she arched once more underneath him. The office looked
different now, transformed into a sanctuary for their forbidden desires instead of a place used to conduct business.
Fiona's breath caught in her throat as she felt him hit that sweet spot inside her time and again. With every groan that
escaped his lips, another wave of pleasure coursed through her body until everything became a blur of sensation.
Her orgasm hit her unexpectedly. The intensity of it made her scream. Her body tensed. Her back arched, and her pussy
clenched around Maxon's cock as he thrust deeper and deeper. The pleasure was too much to bear.
With one last thrust, he let go, groaning loudly as his hot seed shot into her taut body. His face contorted with raw desire
and pleasure as he pumped his hips harder, filling her completely.
As they both caught their breaths and their hearts calmed, they lay entwined under the soft light of the desk lamp that cast
shadows over their bodies.
Fiona traced her fingers along his shoulders, feeling each ridge of muscle before playfully biting down on his neck. Maxon
let out a soft chuckle before peppering kisses along her throat and collarbone, nibbling gently on the sensitive skin until he
reached the swell of one breast, where he softly nipped it with his teeth.
"Fuck," he murmured between kisses, "You're so beautiful."
Fiona smiled lazily at his words. The office had transformed into a world of desire and need, every surface damp with
sweat, every scent imbued with their lust. Their clothes were strewn all around. Fiona's black lace panties lay discarded near
them, a testament to their shared passion.
 TEN

MAXON

he next day came on brighter than the alien prince anticipated. He knew it had everything to do with Fiona and their
T dalliance in the library. It had been some time since he’d engaged in sexual activity with a woman and never with an
Earthling.
There was certainly some relief in finding that delicate balance between tenderness and strength, that riveting lightning bolt
of delight and pleasure. But it wasn’t just the physical element that had him rising at dawn. It was because of her, Fiona.
As a Prince of the Meridians, he had access to an assortment of fine females, anything the most perverted mind could
conjure. But that was never his style. In fact, he could and had gone months without even dabbling. He simply had far too much
on his mind, considering his son, his leadership role, and his warrior status, to fit in even the shortest of torrid affairs.
But with Fiona, something was different. He felt more than just attracted to her … he felt intrigued, captivated, even
bewitched. She was like no one else in the most peculiarly perfect way.
He rose from bed alone, remembering she had departed after their lovemaking in his office. A part of him felt a sting of
guilt as he washed up and found a fresh uniform for his training session, which occurred three to four times a week. He
strapped on the latex-like material, drinking in the memory of her aroma and her fervid moans. With that, he let go of the regret
entirely.
It wasn’t entirely prudent to be sleeping with his son’s nanny, but he cast that notion aside. She felt good under his touch,
and she, by all means, seemed to enjoy herself vigorously.
Guilt was a waste of time. So the Prince applied his finely practiced pragmatism and headed out to training, her flavor
lingering on his lips.

MAXON CHANNELED all of his energy into the session, mastering flexibility and weaponry during combat. He didn’t like
how off guard he felt during the attack more than a week ago. He never wanted to see that look of horror on Kian’s face, or
Fiona’s, ever again. It was his sense of duty and protection that made the session blast by, and before he knew it, it was over.
But his duties as a prince had been relinquished from him. All of his anger toward his cousin, the obvious framing, washed
inside his body like a torrent. When he returned to the palace, he paced the intricate hallways, feeling isolated despite the
vastness of the estate.
The prince eventually found himself in the gardens near noon. It was a serene place to think, away from the bustle of the
palace workers who seemed to be walking on eggshells around him ever since the accusation.
That only enhanced his curt demeanor. So he thought it best to stay away, to not make things even more uncomfortable than
they already were.
The sky was silvery, chrome gray, but the gardens remained vivid and lively with the multitude of pastel shades splashing
over the gloom. The prince sat on an iron bench deep in the gardens, with only the hum of passing insects and birds to keep him
company.
“I was wondering where you were.”
Fiona’s voice chimed like a daydream, and Maxon felt his heart begin to gallop the second he turned toward it.
Standing there, her blazing hair streamed down her left shoulder like throngs of flames. She sported a wry smile, having
dressed in a floral sundress that swayed around her slender frame as if she were the goddess of these very gardens.
Maxon grinned. He was no longer interested in appearing nonchalant. He wanted her to know she made his heart flutter like
a hummingbird.
She folded her arms, one over the other, and sauntered toward him. Maxon made space on the bench, squeezing his thick
tree trunk thighs together to give her space. She giggled a bit as they shifted, each trying to make sure the other was
comfortable.
“How was training?” Fiona asked, laying her palm flat upon the prince’s thigh.
Looking at her was like gazing too long at the sun, but he couldn’t resist. Those swimming emerald eyes intrigued him
beyond comprehension. Somehow, he managed to swallow and only looked away to respond to her inquiry.
“It was greatly needed,” he said, gazing into the Venus fly traps, their pink mouths sewn shut for the season. “Took me away
from all of the bullshit. But I’m afraid it did it too well.”
Fiona fanned out her fingers on his leg and began to rub them in circles. It was a small gesture but affectionate, and it
comforted him amidst a misery he had never faced in his royal life.
“What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head.
Maxon sighed. He had opened up to her so much the night before, and she had shared with him a sense of tranquility that he
hadn’t found in ages, perhaps ever, in his lifetime. She had given him her body, and judging by the genuine look on her face, she
was ready to lend him even more.
Maxon leaned into her, trusting her infinitely with his sorrows.
“I finished training, and I realized that due to my suspension, there wasn’t anything for me to do. That vexed me deeply. Not
only because of the betrayal but because of the uncertainty laid before me now.”
Fiona remained silent, her head nodding, eyes soft. Maxon went on.
“It’s the uncertainty of Kian’s future that disturbs me the most. Not only has he lost his mother, he could potentially lose his
position within the royal lineage. That doesn’t bode well for a boy who already experienced so much trauma.”
Fiona’s eyes averted down to the hand that continued to stroke his leg, musing thoughtfully. Maxon had a brief fantasy about
what it would be like to climb inside her mind for a day. It was likely tropical, stunning, and a tapestry of whimsy and magic.
“So you’re worried this accusation might …” She hesitated, one finger popping up to her lips pensively. “… strip you of
your title? And it will strip Kian, too?”
Maxon nodded miserably.
“Yes. The evidence of my supposed treason is said to be overwhelming. If it is proven, then in the Meridian’s eyes … I am
no longer their prince. Lineage will mean nothing.”
Maxon hadn't completely thought through the harrowing possibilities of capital conviction. He felt the consequences hit him
right then and there in the gardens. It felt like a boulder had crashed onto his chest.
Fiona seemed to have noticed as she took his hands in hers abruptly.
“Maxon, that is all a movie playing in your head,” she said sternly, her eyes hardening for a moment. “It’s fiction at this
point. You don’t know that it’s going to happen.”
He nodded, then felt the weight on his chest lighten. Her grip on him loosened, and their fingers intertwined. Her cheeks
turned rosy when he smiled down at her.
“What?” she said, that wry smile returning.
“I have never had anyone like you around, Fiona,” he said, admiring the velvet softness of her skin. “Someone who wants
to make things right with me. That wants to fight with me.”
Her smile bloomed larger, as did the prince’s heart.
“Well, that’s what I’m trying to say. We have to fight this together. For you, for Kian … for us.”
Maxon wanted to kiss her and whisk her away to his bedroom. Never had anyone so profoundly brought out the romantic in
him.
“I want that, too, Fiona,” he said, hand rising to run his fingers through her hair. “And I want you …”
He kissed her before she could say anything more. Their passion came on like a tidal wave, supernatural in its intensity.
But Fiona pulled away, smiling and panting.
“Kian’s training is almost over. I wouldn’t want him to be … confused.”
Maxon knew she was right despite how hard he was and how easily he could slip inside her while wearing that sundress.
He nodded in agreement, reluctantly peeling his hands from her breasts and beneath her dress.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his head bashfully.
Fiona leaned against him and tucked her head beneath his chin. Her hair had the fragrance of the sweetest, exotic fruits.
“What would we have to do to disprove this evidence?” she began. “If someone was able to weave together these lies, then
we untangle them.”
Maxon shifted his mind into investigative mode. He knew that deception was likely coming from the inside of the palace,
judging by the way the housekeepers and servants were being so tight-lipped around him. He ran a hand through his hair,
considering.
“Davian is clever. A good talker, too,” Maxon said, pondering. “There is always a possibility that he could use his
influence in that manner.”
“A silver tongue?”
Maxon frowned, and Fiona sat up. She grinned and bit her bottom lip.
“Never heard that one before?” she asked bemusedly.
The prince shook his head. “No, I haven’t, but it somehow fits perfectly with my cousin.”
“Let’s do this then.” Fiona laid her hands on his chest, her eyes wandering his muscles dreamily. “I will look into the
palace workers. It’ll be easier for me than it would be for you. Then we can come together later and discuss.”
He was floored by her practicality and strategic nature, which made him feel even more drawn to her. He smiled and
hooked her chin to look at him. A salacious gaze crossed her vision like a comet.
“That sounds perfect. Maybe you could meet me in my chambers, and we can discuss it?”
She giggled, then gave him a playful shove. His fears about the future remained, but they were dormant for the time being.
Talking with Fiona gave him the energy to fight and to hope that all of his hard work for a fruitful life with his son was going to
be worth it.
Plus, there was so much to look forward to. With Fiona on his side, the prince felt like he was immortal.
 ELEVEN

FIONA

ait, you did what?” Stella, the alien who had gotten her the job, said over the comms.
“W Fiona quickly hushed her. “Not so loud. I swear these walls have ears.”
The holographic image of her best friend glanced around furtively, probably making sure there was no one around
to hear them. Though the coast seemed clear, Stella’s voice was much softer, and she leaned in the next time she spoke. “You
and the prince really, you know, did the horizontal tango?”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “Do you have to call it that?”
“Humor is how I cope with shit like my best friend humping the prince. What were you thinking?”
“Hmm, let’s see …” She smirked and began counting off on her fingers. “First, oh my God, he’s so hot, and I want to make
out with him so badly. Second, what am I doing? He’s my boss and the crown prince. Third, oh fuck, that feels good. And then
the thinking sort of stopped, and it was more about the doing.”
Stella let out a laugh, shaking her head in wonder. “You’re absolutely insane, you know that?”
The moment of humor passed as Fiona remembered just how badly this could go if she wasn’t careful. She sighed. “I know.
It was stupid and dangerous, but I just got caught up in the moment. It won’t happen again.”
Stella softened. “Hey, I’m proud of you. Not only did you get some, but you got it with the hottest man on the planet and a
prince, no less.”
“The prince thing is actually why I called.”
Stella arched an eyebrow. “Is it now?”
“Did you hear about the accusations Davian leveled against him?”
At that, Stella frowned. “A bit, yeah. I don’t believe a word of that bullshit, but some people are a bit more gullible. Are
you worried that it’s true?”
Fiona didn’t hesitate in her response. “I know it isn’t.” She had been poking around on her own and dug up some stories of
strange behavior from the staff but hadn’t found anything concrete.
“Then why are you calling me about this?”
“Because you’re the queen of office gossip. Have you heard anything strange from people working the grounds, especially
stuff related to Davian?”
Stella hummed thoughtfully and began writing on the computer. “We’ve had some of the servants mention running into him
in weird places. I’ll send you a list. In the meantime, why don’t you talk to Runa? Her job is to clean the storage room and
Davian’s quarters. She might have some stories to tell.”
Fiona grinned. “If you were really here, I’d hug you right now.”
“Just keep me posted.”
“Of course.”
It was well known around the castle that Runa had a weakness for drosselberry cookies. Kian was due for a chemistry
lesson, and what better way to teach him hands-on about physical and chemical changes than through baking?
The next day, they held class in the castle kitchen.
“So, I need you to scoop two cups of flour poured into this bowl,” Fiona said. “Can you do that for me?”
Kian, who had been feeding Trixie a drosselberry, came bounding over. “Yes, ma’am.”
“All right, and I’ll grab the eggs, sugar, and baking powder. Do you know why we use baking powder?”
Kian shook his head.
“The baking powder will react with the acid in the berries, making the cookies fluffy. This is called a chemical change
because once they react with each other, they cannot change back.”
 “Do you think Father’s relationship with the council is a physical change or a chemical one?” Kian asked, stirring in the
sugar.
Fiona furrowed her brows with concern. “What do you mean?”
Kian shrugged, focusing on incorporating the ingredients. “Can it go back to the way it was before? Because I think Cousin
Davian wants to cause a chemical change. He’s been sneaking around and acting weird.”
Though her face remained impassive, Fiona’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
“I was playing hide and seek with Oren, and when I was hiding in the storage room, I saw him talking to some guys there.
They were dressed like the ones who attacked the castle, but Cousin Davian wouldn’t just let them in, so it had to be someone
else. Right? Still, I got a weird feeling when I saw them. Like they were bad. So, I started following Cousin Davian around, but
sometimes, he’ll just disappear.”
“That’s very strange.” Fiona ruffled his purple hair. “But for now, I’d like for you to stop following him around. It could be
dangerous.”
“Father says a warrior should always run toward the danger.”
She rolled her eyes. “There’s a difference between courage and stupidity, and that line is determined by how much you
think through your actions. You were very brave, but from now on, I’d like for you to think less like a warrior and more like a
strategist, okay?”
“Okay.” He finished adding the ingredients, and she helped him properly mix them all together.
Her mind drifted to what Kian said about the secret meetings. If this was true, then Davian’s plan was much bigger than
damaging Maxon’s reputation. It could be a full-blown conspiracy.
Armed with the baked goods, Fiona headed to the storage rooms where Runa was in charge of dusting and maintenance.
She caught Runa just outside the door. “There you are,” she exclaimed.
Runa looked up, surprised. “Fiona, what are you doing here?”
Fiona held up the plate of remaining drosselberry cookies. “Kian and I made this in science class today, and I was
wondering if you wanted any.”
Runa squinted, eying Fiona suspiciously. “How did you know I like them?”
She laughed. “It’s not like it’s a secret. Everyone knows you love them. We made extra, so I thought I’d offer it to you first
for all the hard work you do here.”
“That’s very kind.” Runa took the bag carefully and popped a drosselberry cookie into her mouth. Chewing, she smiled.
“They’re excellent. Thank you for sharing.”
“Of course.” She glanced over Runa’s shoulder. “Do you do this whole series of rooms by yourself?”
Runa nodded. “I don’t mind, really. I prefer to keep quiet and to myself.”
“I get it.” Fiona popped a cookie in her mouth. “I used to clean people’s houses sometimes, too, and you have no idea the
kinds of crazy things you learn about people from what they throw away.”
“Tell me about it.” Runa smiled, shaking her head.
“Have you seen anything weird lately?”
Runa leaned in and whispered. “Stella told me to expect a visit from you. Davian is a prick, so I’ll be happy to tell you
what I know.”
“What do you know?”
“Not much.” Runa shrugged. “I’ve walked in on him taking calls in these storage rooms. No one else goes in there, but he’s
always whispering into his comms like he’s afraid people will still overhear. It’s weird, but I never really thought much of it.
Rich people are weird sometimes.”
Fiona nodded and, using a charcoal stick and paper, wrote what Runa said in a simple cipher where the numbers matched
with the corresponding letter of the alphabet. With all this palace intrigue, she felt like a secret agent and had to remind herself
this was no game. Maxon’s reputation was on the line, and possibly even more.
“Did you notice anything else out of the ordinary?”
“Well, there was that one argument he had. I didn’t have the context, but he said something along the lines of ‘Get me what I
need, or I’ll convince King Paxton to bury you in the dungeon and leave you there until you’re nothing but a mummified
corpse.’ I’m still not sure what that was about, but he sounded furious.”
Fiona furrowed her brows at that. What was it that Davian needed from this mystery caller? Did it have something to do
with the forged evidence?
“What about his room? Did you find anything strange there?”
Runa shook her head. “Davian has a habit of burning his correspondences after reading. The ones he doesn’t burn, he keeps
in a locked safe. But he has left things out by mistake, like a set of burner comms. If you’re lucky, you might find something.”
“Thank you, Runa,” she said, her mind racing. She had to get into that room, but how could she be sure he wouldn’t walk in
on her?
Her comms beeped out a reminder to get ready for that night’s event, a ball. Perfect.
 Hours later, she stood in the corner of the ballroom, watching people mingle and waiting to catch sight of one specific
person.
There.
Davian leaned against the wall, chatting with some actress from a holographic stream Fiona would have on in the
background while she cleaned sometimes. The actress seemed only politely interested, neither flirting nor trying to get away
from him.
Still, that should occupy him for a while. Smiling to herself, she slipped out of the room and flitted down the hall. There
was a servants’ door nearby, and she slipped behind it just as the voices of two guards carried from around the corner.
Consulting the map of the castle she’d been given on her first day, she gathered her long dress to keep it off the dusty floor
and hurried to Davian’s room.
It was empty when she got there, and she flicked on the light. The safe was beside his writing desk. Typically, people keep
a list of passwords nearby in order to access any codes they might forget. She felt around inside the desk and heard the sound
of a mechanical release, revealing a secret drawer in the desk itself. Lifting the false bottom, she removed its contents.
There was a secondary comms device and a group of documents. Powering on the device, she saw a series of messages on
the front from an unknown number asking for payment of some kind. The rest of the comms were password protected, so she
took pictures of the messages on her own comms. Could they be from rival factions?
The next document she opened looked to be a ledger with a series of suspicious transactions. Bribery? Purchasing loyalty?
Drugs?
There were also files of various members of the council and courts, all with compromising information they would not
want to get out. This must have been his blackmail list.
She took pictures of everything before replacing them in the secret drawer and flicking off the light. It wouldn’t be enough
to exonerate Maxon, but it was a start.
The knob to the bedroom door turned, and she heard Davian. “Right this way, sweetheart.”
Heart in her throat, she moved as fast as she dared across the room. The servants’ door slipped shut just as the bedroom
door opened.
 TWELVE

MAXON

axon entered her room in a rush. He was eager to hear what she found … if anything at all. But what he discovered
M instead had his breath hitching in his throat.
Everything about Fiona enticed Maxon. The way she looked, the way she dressed, even the way she smelled. It was
as if her body called to him, and he was helpless to resist her. And in her form-hugging evening gown …
He closed the space between them in three long strides. To hell with what she may have found. He wanted to kiss her.
Fiona let out a soft gasp as Maxon's lips closed around hers, his warm breath mingling with hers. The feel of his silky skin
against hers was intoxicating, and she melted into his embrace. The taste of his tongue, as it danced with hers, sent shivers
down her spine.
He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding softly through her hair, pulling her closer still. She wrapped her arms around his
broad shoulders, her fingers tracing patterns across his back.
The sound of their hearts racing filled the air, echoing off the stone walls of the cavern they stood in. The aroma of moss
and damp earth mixed with Maxon's unique musky scent, creating a heady perfume that surrounded them both.
His strong hands moved down her back, tracing delicate patterns on her skin before resting on the small of her back, pulling
her even tighter against him. Fiona moaned softly into the kiss as she gripped him tighter, lost in the lustful haze that seemed to
consume them both.
Their tongues tangled together, each trying to outdo the other in their desire for one another.
"I'll never forget what you've done. What you're doing for me." His breath was warm against her skin, each word sending
shivers down her spine.
Fiona closed her eyes as she felt the gentle brush of his lips against her forehead, her heartbeat racing with anticipation and
excitement. She loved how close they were standing, their bodies barely touching yet still electrified by the kiss they had
shared moments before.
Heat radiated off him, the warmth seeping into her own skin as if he were a living fire that ignited her. His scent filled her
senses, sharp and refreshing, like biting into a fresh sprig of rosemary straight from the garden. It made it nearly impossible for
her to resist leaning in for another taste of those soft lips.
She helped him out of his shirt, eager to feel him thrusting deep inside her. They took turns undressing each other until they
both stood naked in front of the bed. Maxon pushed her back and crawled on top of her.
Her fingers traced the lines of his abdominal muscles, and she gasped at the sight of his erection springing free. It was thick
and hard, already leaking precum. She couldn't help but lean forward and take him into her mouth, tasting the metallic tang
mixed with sweetness as she teased him with her tongue.
Maxon held onto her hair, breathing heavily as she took more of him into her mouth, her lips stretching around the head. She
moaned softly around him, wanting more … wanting to feel every inch of him. As she pulled away, he leaned down to kiss her
deeply, their tongues tangling together in a hungry dance.
Maxon couldn't believe it. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked at her, her eyes half-lidded and lips swollen from
their kiss. He craved her touch and taste more than anything. She was so beautiful, so alluring. It was like a dream come true.
His hand traced the curves of her neck, then down to her shoulders before moving lower, over the soft skin of her stomach
and toward her breasts. He cupped them gently, feeling the weight of them in his hands, and groaned at the feel of her nipples
hardening under his touch.
As he teased them with his fingers, she arched her back in response, pushing herself closer to him. He leaned down once
again and captured one of her peaks between his lips, suckling on it gently as he rolled his tongue around it. Her moan filled the
air as he flicked it with his tongue before moving to the other one.
 She couldn't help but let out soft gasps at each new sensation he brought upon her body. When she felt his cock nudging
against her entrance, she spread herself for him, wanting him inside more than anything else. She loved how controlling he was,
yet gentle enough to make sure she wasn't in pain.
"Yes," she whispered breathlessly as he slowly slipped into her core.
His thrusts were steady, not jerky or rushed. Each inch deeper felt like a caress from head to toe. He was so big, so thick,
and yet he moved with such tenderness that her tight folds parted for him willingly. She moaned softly as he reached the
deepest part of her, her body accepting him completely.
Her fingers dug into his muscular shoulders, nails scraping lightly against his skin as she held on for dear life. His pace
quickened slightly, rocking her hips to meet his rhythm, driving them both toward their shared goal.
Their breaths grew ragged as bodies slapped together in a primal dance of desire. The aroma of sweat and sex filled the
air, mingling with the fresh scent of their skin.
Her eyes squeezed shut as the sensations overwhelmed her, and heat pulsed between them. She arched her back off the bed,
pressing her full breasts against his chest as she met every stroke with a moan or a whimper.
Her legs trembled under his touch, and she bucked her hips up to meet him again and again as he plunged deeper into her
core with each stroke.
He took his time, her body responding to his every movement, her gasps and moans filling the air around them as he moved
deeper inside her. His thrusts were slow but powerful, his hips meeting hers in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing
through her.
The bed creaked beneath them with each motion, their skin slapping in harmony. His hands explored her body, tracing
delicate patterns on her back and holding her close as he buried himself further inside.
His muscles rippled beneath her fingertips as he picked up the pace slightly. Sweat beaded and ran down their necks,
mixing with the salty taste of desire.
His lips found the crook of her neck, kissing and nipping softly as he moved in and out of her pussy. He groaned when she
met his thrusts halfway, their bodies moving together like two well-oiled machines.
He reached around to cup her breast, teasing one nipple between his fingers while sucking gently on the other. She threw
her head back, letting out a long moan that echoed off the walls of the room. The bed creaked again under their combined
weight as he grabbed onto a fistful of hair.
Her sex pulsed around him, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust until it felt like an orgasm was building. He thrust
deeper, hitting her G-spot with every plunge, feeling her muscles clench around him in response. She arched off the bed,
digging her nails into his shoulders as she tried to get closer to him.
"Fuck," she panted. "Yes. Just like that."
Her legs trembled under him, and he could feel the pressure building inside her growing stronger. It was clear she was
getting close to climaxing. His thrusts became faster and harder, matching the intensity of her movements.
Their bodies slid against each other in a slick dance, their skin slippery with sweat, saliva, and sex. He bit down on her lip
as he continued to push into her, and her body responded with a fervor that took him by surprise. Her screams of pleasure
echoed in his ears as she came hard.
Her breaths came in short, ragged gasps that echoed in the darkness of the room, and tiny little mewls and moans escaped
her lips with each movement. His hips slapped against her in a rhythmic pattern that filled the air. Her breasts bounced
enticingly with each thrust, and he could feel the heat emanating off of her body as sweat trickled down his own skin.
Maxon's body shook with ecstasy as he emptied himself inside her, his loud groans echoing in the small, dimly lit room.
The tightness of her sex squeezed around his shaft like a fist, milking him with every stroke as if she were trying to draw out
every last drop of his essence. The bed creaked beneath them as he bucked against her, his hips slamming into her with a
ferocity that took her breath away.
His grip on her hair tightened involuntarily, pulling her head back as his hot seed filled her to the brim. His release seemed
to go on forever. But finally, it slowed, and he slumped forward onto her chest, panting heavily.
For a moment, they stayed like that, basking in the afterglow of their shared passion before he slowly pulled out and rolled
to the side.
Maxon looked at her with violet eyes and grinned wickedly. “It seems to get better every time, doesn’t it?”
 THIRTEEN

FIONA

iona felt starry-eyed when it came to the alien prince. It wasn’t just the sex, which was sublime, and rather out of this
F world. It was also the engulfment in each other’s affairs, a promise of the future that was growing inside her gut like a
rogue rose in an oil field. She cared about him deeply, cared about his future and the future of his son, and she couldn’t
help but intertwine her own future into theirs.
She tried to push it aside the morning after the ball and the sex that made her feel like she was shot into space.
It sounded absurd, falling for a prince. But she couldn’t deny that being with him, even if it meant sneaking around for
information, made her feel more powerful than she ever had. It was addicting and something she would have to address sooner
rather than later.
But right now, she needed to focus. The information on Davian she had obtained wasn’t necessarily a smoking gun … yet
another term that Maxon didn’t understand … but it was something. A good start, at least. They spoke after the lovemaking in
his chambers, saying that they needed to get ahead of Davian before the trail was even planned.
She awoke on her own in the prince’s bed and found a note on the bedside table.
Gone for a bit, won’t be long. Be careful, it read in flawlessly written calligraphy.
Fiona knew that Kian wouldn’t be awake for at least an hour. She would go about her usual nanny duties then, but she
wanted to see the files she had given Maxon. She searched the room in her Kelly-green silk robe, but they were nowhere to be
found.
Then, she recalled that he had taken the files to his office to store them safely. Fiona slinked back to her room to change into
casual clothes before making her way to his office.
The sun was rising, spilling an abhorrently burning blood red through the hallway curtains. It was rather ominous, even for
the Meridian planet.
“Oh, Miss Anders.”
A voice that she didn’t recognize called to her, and she spun around. She encountered a housekeeper with teal skin and
chaotic violet hair.
“Yes, can I help you?” she asked impatiently.
The housekeeper, adorned in the royal Meridian colors, came at her with a little jaunty sprint. Something about it was not
only amusing but peculiar.
“Kian needs you,” she said, out of breath and wide-eyed. “The prince told me to fetch you. Here, follow me.”
Without waiting for Fiona to respond, the teal-skinned housekeeper rushed down the hallway in the direction she had just
come. Fiona’s heart began to race, thinking some kind of emergency had occurred, and followed with fear.
In hindsight, Fiona could see that following an unknown housekeeper was a stupid move. But she was blinded by concern
for Kian. There wasn’t much else that could so easily pull the wool over her generally observant eyes.
The housekeeper jogged, moving past Kian’s room, then down the spiral staircase closest to the west wing. It was an area
that Fiona hadn’t explored much because Maxon said it was mostly for storage. But when the digital chandeliers flickered, and
she found herself cast in gloom, she realized the area was for something far more sinister.
“Hurry!” the housekeeper called out. “He’s down here!”
Fiona followed down the staircase, passed the servants' quarters, and through a stone doorway. There was a moment of
hesitation, which was when her intuition overrode the illogical rush of reckless concern.
“Wait, why is he down here?” she called out.
The woman didn’t answer. She merely swung the heavy door open and was swallowed into darkness.
Fiona felt like she didn’t have a choice. Perhaps Kian had wandered into a portion of the palace that was unsafe and got
himself stuck, or worse, injured? There was no time to think it all through. So she merely followed down into the inky black
with only the glow of her comm to faintly guide her way.
The staircase was rather narrow and seemed pretty old. It reminded Fiona of the school lessons where she learned about
the Middle Ages. She felt herself sweat as the footfalls of the housekeepers faded into silence.
Finally, reaching the bottom of what still felt like uneven stone ground, Fiona found herself even deeper in the hot darkness
of whatever ancient dungeon she had freely waltzed into. The smell was damp and musty. She thought about a book she’d read
in university, The Inferno, a classic where the main character slowly walks through the various stages of hell.
I’m in the mouth of hell, she thought without an ounce of irony.
“Where are you?” she called out. “Kian!”
Fiona knew the second she saw the archaic door that she was walking into something where her control would be thwarted.
But she was still blinded by her concern for Kian, worried that he was in dire need of her help.
But when her voice echoed through the long throat of the chambers, water dripping amidst the ghastly black, she had a brief
moment of lucid, uncorrupted thought.
It’s a trap.
She tried to spin around, but the dark caught her. She tripped over a wedge of stone and into the arms of her awaiting
captors. Hideous eyes and toothy grins swept over her vision as torches were lit, and snake-like hands grabbed each of her
limbs with iron strength. She struggled, but there were too many of them.
“No! Maxon!”
It was pointless to scream. The palace was too vast, but she did anyway. Maxon wasn’t there, and it was likely that Kian
was either still asleep or was taken too.
The henchmen carried her out into the bleeding sun as she writhed around, bellowing into growing warm air, when a cloth
was tied around her mouth and eyes.
Fiona was then roughly stuffed into some kind of transport after her arms were bound behind her back. Whatever material
they were using felt metallic but far sturdier than the standard Earth handcuffs. She could barely move or scream as her panic
overflowed into her chest.
They arrived somewhere that reeked of age … Fiona was too terrified to comprehend how long they had been traveling …
and she was taken into yet another ancient, putrid-smelling building. The henchmen kept her hands bound but finally removed
her blindfold and gag, which made Fiona vomit.
“Well, that’s not very ladylike.”
She knew that sniveling voice. Fiona panted, spitting out the rest of her terror, and rose to meet her captor.
Of course, it was Davian. He stood there, that lanky streak of piss, a crooked grin making him look more like he had nerve
damage rather than anything villainous. He was putting on gloves made out of a material that Fiona didn’t immediately
recognize.
“It’s a wonder that Maxon has any interest in you,” Davian said, yanking at each finger carefully, his eyes yellow. “All that
squealing, not very attractive …”
“What do you want?” Fiona screamed.
It echoed acutely in the building with its high gothic ceilings and stained glass that looked like it had been drained of color.
“No, no, no,” Davian tsked, coming at her with both sides of his mouth curled upward. “There's no need for yelling. Do you
know where we are? Shall I enlighten you?”
“Where is Kian?” she screamed again. “What did you do with him, you piece of shit?”
Davian cackled, ignoring her desperate cry. He paced the room, hands behind his back, a lecturer lost in reverie.
“It’s one of my favorite places in the kingdom,” he mused. “It used to be revered, this spectacular castle of ours. It was why
our enemies feared us. But soon, everyone went soft and abandoned it, stripping it of its beauty. No one appreciates how useful
a little bit of torture can be, do they?”
Fiona heard him, but she wasn’t listening. The bindings were digging into her wrists and cutting off the circulation.
“Oh, yes, you only feign interest in our kind, right?” Davian said, eyeing Fiona again. “All so you can get some prince cock
and take over with your sad, sensitive, feeble little dispositions. Right?”
Fiona wiggled back and forth, attempting to loosen whatever had her wrists pinned together, but it wasn’t budging.
Davian didn’t like that. “Look at me!”
He leapt at her, startling her as he crouched over her outspread legs. A rotten stench emerged from his mouth as he
snickered, his dented teeth giving him a grim, malevolent edge.
“Oh, you really are so very touchy, aren’t you?” Davian said, trying to hook her chin. “Too bad, really. I’m sure Maxon
enjoyed it while it lasted. Maybe you can be my little bitch when I take him from the throne? Hmm?”
He lifted his dirty fingers to trace over her lips, and she finally had enough. She snapped at him like a Rottweiler, the edges
of her teeth catching some dry, unkempt skin. He fell backward in surprise, which was a satisfying sight, scurrying away in a
shuffling crab walk.
 “Wow! She’s got some life in her,” Davian called out, his own voice echoing amongst the ruins. “Stupid, stupid bitch. You
could have been with a real prince.”
He rose and cackled again. Fiona spat out the bit of skin she’d captured, trying to avoid the wretched gag reflex.
“You don’t know Maxon …” she panted, trying to veil her fear. “He won’t let anything happen to me. You have really
fucked up.”
There was a glimmer of something that Fiona hoped was fear in his eyes, but then she realized that it was something not so
easy to manipulate.
It was madness.
 FOURTEEN

MAXON

axon was heading out to get more information on Davian when he received the call. He pressed the green speaker
M button on his hover vehicle as he soared through the bleeding red sky, half expecting the call to be from Fiona.
“Yes,” he said.
“You are ruined now,” a distorted voice said. “You really think you can have everything you want, don’t you?”
The prince felt a burning fire run up his spine. He knew who it was without having to ask at all.
“Davian,” he hissed. “What do you want?”
“Oh, wanting is your thing, trust me,” Davian said, sounding far too content for Maxon’s liking. “Need is the better word.
And you know what I need, don’t you?”
Maxon was ready to orally tear his cousin limb from limb when he heard a familiar voice scratch in the background. The
fire disintegrated, turning into frost with fear.
“Maxon! Help me! Please!”
Before he could say anything, Davian hung up. In a blur of rage and anguish, he swerved the hover car around, firing back
to the palace, his wrath as red as the oozing sky.
The prince flew out of the car before it had barely stopped. He ran inside and was greeted by a housekeeper who was
wide-eyed and panicking. Maxon didn’t hear a word he said, snarling at him with suspicion.
“Get out of my way,” he snapped, pushing the housekeeper hard enough to make him stumble. “As far as I know, it could
have been you. Any one of you!”
Leaving a flock of housekeepers and servants puzzled, Maxon stormed up the stairs. He was frightened by the idea that
something terrible had happened to Kian as well. Though he was a child, Maxon didn’t put it past Davian to do something to
his only child … just to get him right where it hurt and would hurt forever and always.
Maxon barged into his son’s room. Kian was awake, sitting up in bed with Trixie in his lap, safe and sound.
Maxon let out a grunt of relief. His son looked up at him, startled, with those innocent sky-blue eyes and skin that
glimmered like jewels under the fervent sun. Trixie gave him somewhat of an indifferent look as his hands covered his mouth to
shield the terror that he felt his son was far too young to understand.
“Kian, you’re all right, thank the gods,” he said, panting.
The look of surprise disappeared, replaced with amusement.
“What’s wrong, Father? I’m right here.”
Maxon grinned. He went to him and sat on his bed, pulling the little version of himself into his arms. He squeezed him
tightly, swallowing back the tears that rose in his glittery eyes.
“I’m okay, don’t worry. Trixie came in early this morning and woke me,” Kian said with enthusiasm. "Earlier than usual,
but that’s okay.”
Trixie chirped in agreement, ruffling its feathers in a dazzling display. The creature was far more intuitive than any average
pet. It must have known something was wrong and went to Kian to protect him. Maxon could feel and see it in the curious
beast’s eyes.
“Well, I’m glad it did,” Maxon said, kissing the top of his son’s head. “But nothing is wrong. I just want to make sure you
are okay.”
Kian gave him a bewildered look, but it faded quickly. “Where’s Fiona? She’s usually here by now. Not that I’m
complaining.”
The prince considered giving him at least a grain of truth, but his anger was too volatile. Once he felt more stable, he
would share with him what was going on. Hopefully, it would be after they safely brought Fiona home.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Gratitude
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.

Title: Gratitude

Author: Roy Norton

Release date: October 23, 2023 [eBook #71939]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Street and Smith, 1913

Credits: Roger Frank and Sue Clark

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRATITUDE

***
 GRATITUDE
By Roy Norton
Author of “The Garden of Fate,” “The Plunderer,” Etc.

The first of a new series of stories about the Competents in Alaska. The
season ended, they throw their last shovelfuls of dirt and bid good-by to
the homely cabin on the mountainside. But their last days on the claim
were not to pass without adventure.

I’ve heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds

With coldness still returning;
Alas! The gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.
Shakespeare George, lover of poetry, found the quotation in an
old magazine, and carefully framed and tacked it above his bunk,
where, in somber moods, he might refer to it. And the rest of us,
partners in that isolated heart of Alaska, smiled, being well aware
that cynicism had no place in his character. Sometimes, when tales
of ingratitude came to his ears, he attempted to quote it; usually after
this fashion:
“I’ve hearn of hearts unkind, them deeds
With coolness still a-turning;
But, Lord! The gratitude of folks
Has most always left me busted.”
He sometimes stated that there were cases where even the
poetry was inadequate, and in particular mentioned this fact in
connection with Laughing Jim.
Jim was bad, through and through, with a thoroughness that left
no cause for mistake, and he was rendered worse by such a charm
of recklessness, bravery, and laughter, that half his misdeeds were
overlooked. He laid no claim to honesty, and with amazing,
disarming truthfulness, admitted his own shortcomings. He was a
delightful story-teller, who could amuse and interest his auditors with
recountals of his varied experiences in many jails. He was above the
average in height, and as if to give the lie to his life, had fearless,
candid, laughing eyes. Perhaps it was his sense of humor that made
one doubt whether he was consciously bad, or merely lacking in
moral sense. Anyway, he laughed at everything, himself included.
No one quite remembers when he arrived in Marook, or, at least,
none ever mentioned it. Probably he came with that inrush in the late
fall of ’97, when the newly discovered Klondike sent its refugees
hurrying down the river to camps where they might be sure of
supplies through the long winter season, and he laughed his way
into a job as bartender, for want of something else to do, and then, in
time, graduated to the post of running the roulette wheel at the
Hang-out. He was distinguished in dress by having the only toothpick
shoes in camp, which he always wore, and for the excellent care he
bestowed on his hands. He was popular with those who went to the
Hang-out to lose their hard-won gold dust, and set a new pace in
crying his wares.
“Come, gather round me, merry gentlemen!” he would shout,
when business languished. “Why play the bank when you can lose
your money here so much faster? Your money extracted without
pain. Try the wheel! No man ever quit me winner!”
And then he would throw back his handsome young head, and
that free, reckless laugh of his would roar out over the rumble of
conversation, the clink of bottle on glass, the persistent clacking of
chips and markers at the bank, and the clattering of dice where
chuck-a-luck held forth. My partners, known to the camp as “the
Competents” Westerners all, and all of the sober, taciturn type, were
too wise in the ways of gamedom to patronize either his or any of the
other games in the Hang-out; but when spending nights in camp they
frequently went there in lieu of other places to go, and for
Shakespeare George this strange, unmoral, laughing man formed a
liking. That George did not dislike him stood him in good stead on
that night when Phil Mahoney ran amuck.
Phil had sold a claim for two thousand dollars, and Phil, ordinarily
taciturn, developed into a roaring carouser of high rank. Moreover, a
sporting tendency led him to accept Laughing Jim’s challenge and
attempt to worst that proficient at his own game. We were loitering
there when Phil, leering, trudged away from the bar to the wheel and
bought chips.
“One more man’s money in the till!” shouted Jim. “Fair warning is
fair warning. Play with me long enough and I take your wad!”
“If I plays long enough,” growled Phil, seating himself and shoving
a stack of chips on the fifteen spot and sparing a few for the single
and double O.
Still voicing that deep-throated laugh, Jim raked them in, and
again asserted that all men who came to his wheel lost; but Phil,
angry, doubled his stakes, and assumed a grin. Five times in
succession he lost, and then bought more chips, and now the grin
had given place to a sullen frown.
“There’ll be trouble with that fool yet,” said George to me, “and it’ll
be his own bloomin’ fault, because he’s been warned often enough
by Jim.”
We drew closer to the table, as did several others, seeing that
Mahoney’s bets were increasing; but his exclamations of
disappointment were drowned in the babel of sound that weltered
throughout the Hang-out. Jim had begun by taunting him; but now,
discovering his ill temper, as merely the cool “wheelman,” twirling the
little white ball, and raking in the losses, or paying out the winnings.
Once he objected to something Phil said.
“What makes you play when luck’s all against you?” he
demanded. “It’s not my fault if you lose all the time, is it?”
But Phil, by this time heavily short in purse, played on with a
certain unmistakable desperation, and lost with a persistence that
rapidly depleted his bag of gold dust. Now and then he won for a few
turns of the illusive wheel, but the certain percentage of the game
against him again told, and finally he was down to his last money. He
staked everything recklessly on the old “star combination,” and Jim
waited patiently for him to place his bet, and, it seemed to me, with a
faint hope that it might be withdrawn.
“All bets down?” he demanded at last.
“Ain’t blind, are you?” was Phil’s surly response, and Jim, with a
slight shrug, twirled the ball. It hovered aimlessly for two or three
turns as the wheel slowed down, and once it threatened to fall into a
winning pocket; then, with the perversity of fortune, it slipped quietly
into a partition and lay there. For a full quarter of a minute Jim did
not touch it, nor the stakes that Phil had lost, and then he slowly
reached over and swept the table clean, and, as he did so, again
vented that slow laugh of his.
“Told you I’d get you,” he said; but in the friendliest and most
careless of tones.
Phil, who had risen to his feet as the wheel spun, stood as if
transfixed by adversity when Jim swept the last of the money into the
drawer; but his lips were drawn back into a stiff, snarling grin, and his
eyes were wild with disappointment and anger. At the sound of Jim’s
laugh he suddenly broke loose into a storm of oaths, and, almost
before any one could realize his intent, so swift was his action, he
whipped a gun from his belt and “threw it down” on the wheelman.
The quickness of Shakespeare George was, and still is, proverbial
among those who knew him up and down the long Northwestern
coast. Undoubtedly, on that evening, it was the means of saving the
life of Laughing Jim; for even as George leaped forward from the
side and caught Phil’s arm, the pistol exploded. But so sure and deft
had been George’s attack, the heavy bullet merely buried itself in
one of the poles of the cabin roof, and the pistol hand, clutched by
the harsh, sinewy fingers of the miner, waved aloft helplessly as the
two men struggled backward and forward. The roulette wheel with its
table was overturned, and for a minute the room was filled with
excited men who broke forward to witness or participate in any
trouble. Quite steadily George forced Phil back against the wall, still
clutching the upraised hand, and held him there.
“Phil! Phil!” George expostulated. “What’s the matter with you—
you fool! Cut it out, I tell you!”
Other voices joined the protest, and another of the competents,
Bill Davis, reached up and twisted the gun from Phil’s hand. George
released his hold, and for a minute they stood there, angry, excited,
and gathered as if for further combat; then, slowly, Phil relaxed.
“You got a square deal, pardner, all right,” insisted Shakespeare
George with his slow drawl. “I ain’t got no use at all for gamblers or
them that plays; but we stood behind you when you commenced,
and Jim told you he’d get your money. Then he tried to get you to
stop when he saw luck was against you, and that you was gettin’
sore, and that didn’t do no good. I ain’t right sure that, if you’d ’a’
killed him, I wouldn’t have helped hang you. Now will you be good?”
With an impatient curse Phil shoved men out of his path and
tramped through the doorway and into the night. Some one laughed
with a clear, cool laugh, and it was Jim, the wheelman, righting his
table and wheel. Another man laughed, some one said, “The cussed
fool!” There was a return movement toward the other gambling
tables, and the Hang-out had resumed its normal atmosphere of
rumbling, subdued noise, stale smells of sweaty furs, dead smoke,
and poisonous liquors.
Laughing Jim dropped the wheel back to its pivot, gave it a spin,
and looked across at Shakespeare George. His face was, for an
instant, grave and earnest.
“Close call—that!” he said quietly. “And I reckon, Mister
Shakespeare George, that I owe you one. Thanks!”
He looked down and began to adjust his chips as if words were
awkward for him under such circumstances, and then, as if to further
conceal embarrassment, or through sheer, careless hardness, he
again lifted his head and laughed, and his clear voice went out:
“Everything all right again! Still doing business at the same old stand.
Come up and try your luck, boys! Come try your luck!”
I was not certain whether mine was a sense of surprise at this
callous outburst, or one of intense disgust for the whole sordid and
near-tragic drama, as we followed the broken man out into the cold,
still, starlit night. And, so slight is our gift of prescience, I did not in
the least anticipate that this was but the opening scene for others in
which Shakespeare George, clean, homely, and capable, and
Laughing Jim, bad, attractive, and reckless, were to play parts.
The second scene was two months in coming. It was toward the
very close of the long winter season that shut us in, and infolded us,
like prisoners in a gloom of frost and ice, in the cold, yet attractive,
center of a frozen world.
We, the Competents and I, had been working with persistent
industry for weeks, and hungered for a touch of the camp and its
vicissitudes; so, one night, when the restless craving for recreation
was strong upon us, we went, slipping swiftly over the frozen trails in
our moccasins, panting up steeps, and racing down short hills
between bare trees as the dim path opened and beckoned us on.
The trail leading into the camp debouched into a cluster of cabins
owned by miners who had claims on the gulches, and these were
spread, regardless of streets, on the flat facing the river—frozen now
into a broad ribbon of ice, snow-covered, and resting like a sinuous
white blanket between the bordering hills. We passed through this
clump of black squares, snow-capped, and out to the ribbon’s edge.
Bill Davis, in the lead, stopped us with a gesture and an exclamation.
“Listen!” he said.
We did. In the profound stillness we heard voices—angry voices—
as of turbulent men. They came from down the straggling business
street, lasted for a moment, and then were again shut off, even as
the shutter of a camera, timed, permits light and then stops it.
“Must have been down at the post,” Bill said. “We heard it while
the door was open. Something doing. Let’s lope along and see.”
He set the pace, and in a few minutes we opened the door of the
trading post to find it filled with muttering men, and it was plain to us
that a miner’s meeting, irregular and hurried, perhaps, but
nevertheless a miner’s meeting, was in session. Men in mackinaws,
furs, and parkas were crowded into the place, and the dim lamps,
with their tin reflectors, betrayed angry faces. Phil Mahoney was
standing on the rough counter haranguing the men, and his face was
black with excitement and temper.
“And look what he did to me!” he shouted, just as we entered.
“Skinned me out of all I had, then laughed in my face. And it only
took him ten or fifteen minutes to do it. They ain’t no square game
could do it. He’s a crook! That’s what this Jim is! Why, he says so
himself, and laughs about it. This camp’s had too much of him. He’s
busted too many men. I move we go down and get him and start him
over the ice, to-night! Now!”
Despite the small esteem in which I held Laughing Jim, a shudder
rippled up my spine at the thought of such an execution; for it meant
nothing less. To “start a man over the ice,” meant that he would be
sent without blankets, or food, and that, with a full eighty miles to
Taninaw, the nearest point of succor, meant nothing save
condemnation to slow death by cold or exhaustion.
“Hold on! Hold on, a minute, before that’s put to a vote,” I heard
Shakespeare George demand.
Men turned and craned their necks to look at him as he crowded
toward the counter and into the little, open space reserved beneath it
for courtesy.
“Me and my pardners just got here,” said George, “and we’d like
to know what Jim’s done this time.”
“Done?” shouted Phil, rendered more angry by interference. “He’s
skinned Missouri Jones out of all he had, and then won his pay
dump from him. Ain’t that enough?”
George eyed Phil steadily, and took his time to answer.
“Why did Missouri go against him?” he demanded. “Ain’t he old
enough, and wise enough, to know that he can’t beat a wheel?”
“But the wheel’s crooked!” declared Phil, his very beard bristling
with excitement.
“Humph! You don’t know that, and I don’t,” retorted George. “Until
it’s proved that it is, I’ll not vote to kill a man. That’s what it amounts
to. You all know it.”
There was an instant’s silence that gave way to murmurs of
approval, angry protests, and argument, above which rose Phil’s
voice, high and shrill, demanding the question. George fought for
more time, and begged men to consider carefully before voting; but
the clamor drowned him at last, and the chairman put the motion to a
vote by counting hands. There was a sudden silence, portentous, as
it took place, and I looked around me at the hard or cruel faces of
men whose hands were uplifted in the death sign, and heard the
steady, solemn voice of the chairman counting: “One—two—three
⸺” and so on, up to “twenty-seven.”
When the call for those opposed came, my hand, with those of the
Competents, was held high, and with restrained breath we again
listened to the tally. Slowly and more slow, it approached the end,
and stopped at identically the same number. Three or four men,
loudest of whom was Phil Mahoney, began shouting arguments; but
were silenced by the chairman, who calmly stated that for purposes
of certainty he would ask for another vote. Again trying moments
passed and the result was the same. Quite deliberately the chairman
got to his feet on the counter, and held up his hand.
“It rests with me to cast the deciding vote,” he said, and we all
leaned forward in suspense and stared at him. His face was firm,
and his voice without a tremor as he spoke. He was a brave man,
was that chairman, standing there, dominant, before more than half
a hundred earnest men!
“Shakespeare George,” he said, “has convinced me that we are in
possible danger of condemning a man who, though his business is
questionable, and his character confessedly loose, may be innocent
of crookedness in the cases before this meeting. I therefore cast the
deciding vote against sending him out over the ice, and declare the
meeting open for any further business, or a motion to adjourn.”
Instantly the room was in a tumult that the chairman could not
quell. Above the clamor, I heard Phil Mahoney shouting; “To thunder
with such a vote! Come on, boys! Meeting or no meeting, we’ll get
that thief! All that’s with me, come on!”
I felt a sudden jerk at my arm that almost overthrew me, and saw
that it was George’s hand that had seized me.
“Quick! Outside!” he shouted in my ear, and plunged toward the
door.
As a flying wedge the Competents, accustomed for many years to
fighting together, quick, sinewy, big, and powerful men all, charged to
the door, jerked it open, and drew themselves together in front of it, a
grim little line of determination. The moon had risen to cast shadows
at the foot of the trees on the white, still snow, and shadows at the
feet of our pitifully thin line; but we were tensed and waiting for the
rush. As the foremost men belched from the door they halted in
surprise, for directly before them stood Shakespeare George with a
heavy, menacing gun, held at the hip, and pointed toward them.
“Stop!” he ordered, and there was something so chill and
commanding in his voice that men paused irresolutely; then, sensing
the deadliness of the situation, obeyed.
 “The meeting in there fairly voted down any action against
Laughing Jim,” George said quietly. “My pardners and I stand for law
and order. The majority is still the law in this camp, and if it comes to
a show-down, we, my pardners and I, will furnish the order! There’ll
be no rush on Laughing Jim so long as any of us can handle his gun.
If you think you can put it over, men, try it on!”
His grim conclusion was not to go unchallenged; for when he
ceased, Phil Mahoney leaped to the front, waving his arms and
shouting an appeal to his followers to pay no heed. Before he had
uttered a dozen words George leaped. The long barrel of his pistol
flew into the air, and came crashing sidewise against Phil’s head,
and the disturber fell to the snow, stricken as is an animal beneath
the blow of a pole-ax.
Even as he fell, George’s voice, cold and drawling, steady and
distinct, queried: “Who’s next?”
There was no “next.” I found myself the only unarmed one from
our camp, leaning forward on tiptoes, with fists clenched, and the
expectant lust of battle ripping through my veins as I saw them
waver, saw other men line themselves back of us ready for combat,
and witnessed, as the long seconds flew, the dissolution of Phil
Mahoney’s forces. At the time it seemed that hours were passing;
but that entire change of sentiment could not have required more
than five minutes, and then there arose the murmur: “George is right,
boys! The meeting decided it! That settles it!” and all was over.
The strange character of Shakespeare George was never better
exemplified than in his following action, and thinking of the events of
that far-fled night, I sometimes smile at his conception of “law and
order”; for when it was certain that the mob spirit was quelled and
dissipated, he slipped the gun back into its worn holster and
whispered to us, his partners: “Come on, boys! I’ve got something
else we ought to do,” and trudged away. The door of the trading post
slammed as old Mayo swore at the loiterers and asserted that he
had no contract to warm all outdoors. Black-moving spots were here
and there on the white-covered earth as groups turned toward their
cabins, moving quickly to escape the nipping teeth of the air.
Wondering what George could have in mind, we followed him, for
with us it was custom to cling together, come what might. Straight he
led us to the Hang-out, and in through the door. Already Laughing
Jim was the center of a garrulous group, and his face for once was
grave. As we entered he broke away from those who retailed to him
the narrowness of his escape, and came toward George, admiring,
reluctant, yet evidently anxious to voice his gratitude. But George’s
brows drew themselves into a scowl, and his gray-blue eyes were
cold and sharp as he looked at the man whose life he had most
certainly saved for a second time.
“Put on your coat,” he said, “and come outside for a minute. We
want to talk to you, Jim.”
Again we followed him out as we saw that Jim, his young face
depicting curiosity, was turning over his cash drawer to the
bartender, and looking for his mackinaw. We had but a minute to wait
before he emerged, and no time at all to speculate over George’s
intentions.
“I’ve saved you to-night, for the second time,” was our partner’s
terse statement.
Jim started to thank him, but George threw up his hand,
demanding attention.
“So you owe me something, and you’ll pay! Jim, your game’s done
as far as this camp’s concerned.”
Again the wheelman opened his lips as if to speak, and again was
abruptly silenced.
“We’ll have no powwow,” declared George, scowling at him, as he
stood there in the moonlight. “But you’ll do this! You’ll walk back into
the Hang-out and announce that never again in this camp will you
roll a wheel or turn a card; that you’re through; that you’ve finished!
Then you’ll wait for the first chance to go down, or up, the river when
spring comes, and—Jim—you’ll go!”
“But⸺” objected Jim.
“I said you’d go!” was the quick assertion. “There are a bunch of
us here, pardners all, who say that you’ll go as I say, quit to-night,
and go as soon as you can. And it’s up to you where you go. Up the
river to Dawson, down to St. Michaels, or⸺”
Significantly the thumb of his mitten turned toward the earth, and
Jim understood. The shadows on the snow, sharp and defined,
nodded their heads in assent, and the gambler looked from man to
man, reading in those dim faces a sentence. It was characteristic of
him that after this quick appraisement he drew a deep breath, looked
out across the broad expanse of snow-clad river, up at the flaming
skies, and then laughed, deeply, recklessly, and shrugged his
shoulders. Also it was characteristic that he turned toward the door,
and said: “Good! Come ahead and see if I can’t play any game!”
Once inside he walked unhesitatingly to the rough bar, seized a
cigar cutter that rested thereon, and banged it loudly on the pine
boards. Every one in the room paused and turned toward him, men’s
faces, dim through the smoke, expressing open-mouthed curiosity.
“Men,” said Jim, when he had their full attention, “I’ve been
accused of turning a crooked game. It isn’t so. I’ve played it fair, but
had rare good luck. I owe Shakespeare George a debt. I’m paying it,
full and square. And to pay it, and be quits with a clean slate, he
demands that I play no more—any game—in Marook. It costs me a
lot, for you’re a bunch of easy marks—suckers—with gold dust! But I
pay! From this minute, now, I play nothing, gamble nothing in this
camp, and am done!”
The surprised silence following this strange assertion was broken
by his big, hearty laugh, and the banging of his emphatic fist on the
bar. Quite mockingly he backed away from George, doffed his hat,
brought his heels together, and bowed deeply.
“I’ve made good,” he said. “Othello’s occupation’s gone! But God
speed the spring so that he may find other fields to conquer!”
And he backed away, down the open space in front of the bar, and
out of the door, while George’s face lighted with sudden interest at
the sound of the double quotation.
“That’s from the third act and the third scene,” said George
delightedly, as if he had made a great discovery. And then: “It means
that he’s lost his job! That’s the place where Othello talks about the
dread clamorous counterfeiters. That Jim’s a scholar! That’s what he
is—a scholar.”
It was not the fear of enmities that kept us away from the camp on
the banks of the Yukon in the weeks that followed that night, but the
demands of work. Slowly the disappointment had come to us that
our claims were not of the best, and that only by continuous effort
could we hope to make them pay scant profit. Save on occasions
when some of them passed on the trail we saw nothing of the men of
Marook or Laughing Jim. Once we heard that the latter had
complained that George had kept him from reaping the profits of the
camp, and again that, loafing on the outer edge of his gambling
world, he had angrily sworn that if he had been left undisturbed he
would have made his fortune. I suppose there was some truth in his
statement. Yet he held to his word, this unmoral, reckless vagabond
who laughed. They said that he was still there, wearing, despite
derision, his pointed-toed shoes, and manicuring his nails; but
gambling not at all.
And so, at last, the sun found us, and burst glaring upon our
activities, and thawed the huge black dumps, and melted the snow,
devoting all his energy of the high latitudes throughout the long days.
Water streamed from the hillsides. Every brook was a torrent, every
snow bank the repository for the continuous, melodious chorus of
tinkling water drops as they dripped and dripped, and sang their little
good-by songs. The dams were built, the gates swung up and down,
the shovels tore into the pay dumps, and the sluice boxes roared as
we men of Little Marook strove, and cleaned up our winter’s profit,
be it large or small. Gone was the whine of the windlass in the frosty
air, gone the sound of belabored arms beating heavy chests in the
struggle to keep warm. Gone was the ring of the ax, the clatter of
buckets emptying their contents on the apex of pyramids. The air
was redolent with the call of wild fowl come to the breeding ground,
the chirping of migratory birds, and the noiseless hum of insects.
“Boys,” said Bill Davis on the night we cleaned up the last of our
pay dirt, “I figure that she runs about fifteen thousand dollars, at
eighteen an ounce. Not much, but a mighty sight better than
nothing.”
As he talked, he poured the dust into one of our half-filled
buckskin sacks, and dropped it into our safe deposit—an empty oil
can. Then, heaving a tired sigh, he slid the can under the bunk. On
the morrow we would pick up the last scant remnants, pull the
sluices, and divide this mass of gold into packs for the next day’s
journey to the post trader at the camp. Our season’s work was done.
As claims went in that country, and in proportion to the cost of living,
we had not prospered; but we had more than paid our way and were
glad; for, long before, we had decided to sell the claim and go
“outside”—to the real United States—for the summer season. We
went to sleep with the cabin door open, now that spring had come,
and I remember that the last feature I observed was the lengthening
of the daylight.
Full of the desire of youth for rest, I awoke only when Tim shouted
his call for breakfast, and tumbled sleepily to my clothing, to the
washbasin outside the door, and my seat at the table. Then, a gallant
company, we sallied down for our last day’s work on the claim. And
we made merry over it, this last day, and played pranks, and loitered,
and threw the last shovelfuls with something of regret, for we were
leaving the ground that had promised much, paid something, and
was to be bartered. It was like bidding good-by to a friend, when we
took the last pan of dust we would ever “clean up” from it, and filed
toward the homely cabin on the mountainside. George put the pan
on top of the stove to dry, for we used no amalgam; and Tim, whose
week it was to cook, put the supper before us. We ate with
something of melancholy, some queer mingling of good-by regret
and satisfaction that at least we had worked as men. Tim got up at
last and caught the pan in his hands with a strip of cloth, and
reached under the bunk for the can. We heard an exclamation, first
of surprise, and then alarm, as he pulled it out from beneath the
bunk, clattering hollowly.
“Robbed! By heavens! Some one’s looted us!”
His voice arose in a queer crescendo of astonishment and
indignation. Stools were thrust back and our feet trampled heavily
over the floor as we bent above him and stared down at the empty
can, disbelieving him and our senses. It was true. The can was
empty, and the profits of our year’s toil had vanished as if by
malignant magic. We started toward the door foolishly intent on
plunging out into the night, but Bill Davis, veteran of the trails, leaped
in front of us and threw up a restraining hand.
“Easy, boys! Easy does it,” he said quietly, and we paused,
looking at him expectantly, and wondering what he had in mind.
 “Our only chance,” he said, “of learning how, or by whom it was
taken, is the sign out here in the mud. Whoever got it left a track. If
we run over it in the night, it will be wiped out. If we wait until
morning the sign will be there, some place; unless the man that
robbed us had wings.”
“Right for you!” was a chorus, growled in unison.
And so we all remained in the cabin, and sat and talked, and
waited for daybreak, and indulged in idle speculation, but there was
no lamentation.
It was George’s wholesome, kindly hand that crept over on mine,
as we sat there in the gloom, and it was his kindly voice that said:
“Don’t worry, boy! It hits you harder than us, because we’ve money
outside. Alaska to us was an adventure. To you it was the first step
on the big stairs of life, for you are young, but we’ll get him yet. It’s
part of the game that we should.”
And I was comforted thereby, and asleep when some one aroused
us in the morning. I tumbled from my bunk, astonished by the
sudden knowledge that I had slept in all my clothing, and that I had
not suffered a wickedly troublesome dream. Tim was up and pouring
coffee, hot and steaming, into the tin cups, and the day was breaking
over the eastern hills in the early hour of the morning, so swift is the
sun’s reappearance in that high clime. We ate and drank sparsely,
quietly, each intent on what the signs might show, and deliberately,
nay, almost leisurely, tightened our belts and went out of the door,
George in the lead, Tim, short and stocky, bending behind him like
an unleashed hound, and Bill, huge and grim, following.
It was a foregone conclusion that the robber had done one of two
things—approached from behind the cabin in the daylight, while we
were working, or crept stealthily in at night while we were asleep. In
the latter case he had doubtless fled down the trail. In the former he
would have retreated by the rear of the cabin, and out into the
screen of the forest on the mountainside above. So, first, we
inspected the trail. Veterans in reading signs were these men who
had permitted me to share their lot, and they walked forward with
keen eyes sweeping this way and that—eyes which nothing could
escape. A broken twig, a patch of crushed, indented moss, anything
unusual, would be observed and noted. They bade me walk behind,
and scanned the ground for a hundred yards before one of them
uttered a sound. Then George straightened up, and I saw the hurt
look on his face give way to an angry scowl, and saw him swing one
ponderous fist into a palm.
“Come here,” he said, with strange repression, and we joined him.
There, plainly imprinted in the mud, where some one had entered
the trail from a moss-carpeted side, were tracks, and they were
those of one who wore shoes—shoes of civilization, such as but few
men wore in our outskirt of a rough world, and the shoes were
pointed, delicately, foppishly, almost daintily.
We lifted our heads and stared at one another, with the same
unvoiced comment leaping from our eyes. We looked again at the
telltale tracks in the mud, clearly leading down the hillside to the
gulch below, and thus off toward the camp. We lifted our heads once
more and George spoke.
“Laughing Jim!” he said.
“No other man in all the country wore such shoes!” Tim added.
“And no one but an expert crook would have taken a chance in
coming into our cabin night before last,” suggested Bill.
“That’s when the trick was turned,” declared George. “And he has
paid me—gratitude!”
We passed, peering, down the trail and out into the gulch. Straight
down it we went, finding here and there, in the slow miles, that
unusual mark, the mark of a toothpick shoe in a country where all
men wore rubber boots or mukluks in the wet and soggy spring.
There could have been but one destination for those feet, so, at last,
we wasted no more time on signs, but strode hurriedly and angrily
away toward Marook. We gained the top of the hill in the pass above
the town and looked down. Where last we had seen the ribbon of
white, was now open water. The river had broken and cleared itself
of ice while we toiled over our dumps. It ran below us, a turgid flood.
Down in front of the A. C. Trading Post men were assembled, and
they fired guns and shouted, while dogs ran hither and yon, howling
a chorus of excitement and salute for the first steamboat of the year.
It was coming slowly toward the bank, a tiny, rough affair that had
wintered in a slough up the river. We hurried onward toward the
water front, and had small need to ask questions, inasmuch as the
first one was answered.
“Has any one seen Laughing Jim lately?” demanded George of
the group in front of the Hang-out.
“If you’re looking for him, you’re a trifle late,” jocularly asserted the
nearest man. “He pulled out yesterday mornin’ in a boat, goin’ down
the river. And he seemed in a hurry; but he stopped to laugh and
twiddle his thumb at his nose to the boys who saw him go, and said
he was right sorry he hadn’t had a chance to skin the whole blamed
camp before he set sail. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
He laughed boisterously at his own joke, a laugh in which we did
not join, for now we knew, indubitably, that Jim had sufficient reason
for haste. It was Bill, slow and cautious, who asked another question,
pertinent to our quest.
“Any one else gone from the camp?” he asked.
“Nope! No one else had any reason to be in a rush,” was the
response.
“What makes you think Jim was in a hurry?” asked George,
frowning at the man.
“Because he just dumped himself, and some blankets, and grub
into a canoe that belonged to an Injun, and paddled away as if he
was out to break records,” asserted our informant. “Somebody asked
him what was his rush, and he said he had a new job that he must
move fast to grab. Cute of him, wasn’t it? He was a smart son of a
gun, all right, and would have his little joke, right up to the last.”
Again the man laughed, and then, as the steamboat was about to
land, hurriedly left us and started toward the river bank.
Bill beckoned us to one side.
“Boys,” he said, “we’ve got just one chance, and that is to get to
St. Michaels as soon as he does. Unimak Pass probably isn’t clear
of ice yet, and he will have to lay there until the steamer can get in
from outside to take him away. We’ve got to try to catch him between
here and there, and we’ve got several hundred miles to do it in. Two
of us better rustle a boat. The others arrange for some one to keep
an eye on our cabin up in the gulch, and buy grub for a cruise. Then