Marked Prince - Michelle M. Pillow Page 0,1

best, she could tell a riddle and make the answer confusing.

When will I marry? Who will it be?

Will my son’s ship make it past the black hole?

Will my daughter receive placement in the ESC?

Which path will earn me space credits?

Will I be happy?

How many blessings will my wife bear for me? Or will I have to dismember her to avoid shame?

Will I…?

Will I…?

Can I…?

Should I…?

Some of the answers they wouldn’t want others to know, but still, she would be compelled to say them out loud, and then they’d blame her for their embarrassment. Even when they didn’t ask the question out loud, she still saw the answer fragmenting through her mind. It was like a bad transmission wave she couldn’t shut out. She could close her eyes, but the images invaded her thoughts. She could sleep, but they came into her dreams.

What she wouldn’t give for silence.

The white walls were devoid of personality—unless sterile could be considered a personality. Federation holding cells were not meant to be beautiful. They were functional and easy to clean. General Sten insisted on calling her a guest, but guests weren’t held as prisoners. She couldn’t leave, and she hadn’t chosen to come.

Fiora began to rock on the bed. She pulled the injector from her mouth and dropped her hand to her lap. There was no place to go. Eternity stretched on in the sheen of white. She’d seen enough lives to know there was nothing for her beyond this torment.

She missed her parents—the sound of their voices, almost like a melody filling her childhood.

She missed the color of dirt and clay, the smell of it on her hands, the way it lodged beneath her fingernails after a day of digging to create dark lines across the nail bed.

She missed the sun, warm against her skin. Not artificial like what they pumped into her cell, but the actual sun coupled with the air against her body.

She missed silence but for the sound of wind in the trees.

She hated the white walls. They were too perfect, too clean. The white clothes they made her wear hinted that they wanted her to appear pure, untouchable.

But it was only a matter of time before he touched her. General Sten, listening to the horrors of her past with his growing bulge and heated eyes, wanted her. She didn’t need to be psychic to sense the danger there.

It never stopped. Fiora needed it to stop.

She missed…her sisters.

The sound of someone outside her door acted like a trigger. They were coming to escort her to the banquet hall. Her hand fisted around the food injector. Without much contemplation into she planned to do, she acted, pushing to her feet to face the door. A guard glanced in, not appearing to register any type of threat. She had dealt with Rigger before. He always stared at her a little too long but never stepped out of line.

Fiora lifted her fist, wielding the injector like a weapon before tilting her head and plunging it into the side of her neck. She jerked it out, ignoring the pain as she then stabbed herself in the chest. Blood spewed on the sterile walls, painting them red and giving her some degree of pleasure as she weakly dropped to her knees on the white floor.

The life drained from her. She heard shouts and the scrambling of feet. She fell to the side. Wet warmth pooled by her body. If she could have lifted her arm, she would have pulled the injector from her chest and stabbed herself again.

Rigger leaned over her, and her mind instantly picked up scenes from his future. Fractured visions of a man and woman came with a soft undercurrent of music and panic. Rigger spoke to them in serious tones about a pleasure droid moments before the man knocked him unconscious. The images were faint, and her weakening body made it impossible to hold on to them.

Fiora would have smiled if she had the strength to move her lips.

“Get the medic!” Rigger shouted. His hands wrapped her neck as if to stop the blood flow. “What did you do? Blast it, Fiora. He’ll kill me if you die on my watch.”

Fiora stared at his face, unable to bring it into focus. Hopefully, his panic would be the last sound she heard.

2

Politically, what they were doing was stupid.

Jaxx didn’t care about politics. He was, what? Ninth? Tenth in line for the dragon throne? And that was if the elders didn’t decide to skip