Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,128

Royal Space Fleet. We are commandeering this ship.”

The long vowels and clipped consonants of the admiral’s accent made Marcellus’s whole spine shudder.

“Do not try to run or escape, or you will be shot.”

With these words, the speakers clicked off. But on the screens of the flight console, Marcellus could see them. The primary hatch of the voyageur had been opened, and a squad of Albion guards were already trooping onboard.

Terrified, Marcellus searched for something reassuring to grasp on to, his fingers finally entangling with Alouette’s. He grabbed on to her hand, vowing not to let go, no matter what happened in the next few minutes. She looked over at him, and he saw something in those large, dark eyes of hers. Something he hoped to never see again.

Fear.

He squeezed her hand, hoping it would comfort her, although he had no idea why it would. What was his feeble hand compared to the Albion Royal Guard? They were known across the System Divine for being monsters. Murderers. Killing machines. And the scariest part was, they were 100 percent human. These men and women were no droids. They weren’t even cyborgs. They were flesh and bone, rumored to be recruited from birth, raised in captivity, brainwashed from infancy, trained to hunt and invade and leave no survivors.

And an entire fleet of them had just boarded this ship.

Marcellus’s hands had never felt more useless.

“They’re coming,” Cerise squeaked, her voice strangled and panicked.

Gabriel looked like he might be sick.

Then all they could hear were footsteps. Heavy, clomping footsteps, which were getting louder and louder …

Until finally, the door to the bridge whooshed open.

Marcellus sucked in a breath at the sight of them. At least twelve guards stood in the doorway dressed in pristine red uniforms and fur-trimmed black helmets that almost covered their eyes. From the way the fabric stretched across their bodies, Marcellus could see these soldiers were built to fight. Solid muscles. Supple tendons. A power and force barely kept in check by their stiff wool uniforms. And strapped to their sides were gleaming assault lancers. Marcellus had heard about these Albion weapons with their lethal cluster bullets that could unleash a spray of tiny shrapnel inside a victim’s body. They made Laterrian paralyzeurs seem almost kind.

From amid the group of guards, a man in a metallic-gray, floor-length coat pushed his way to the front. He wore no hat, and over one of his hard, dark eyes was a round disk that winked and glowed in the bluish lights of the flight bridge.

A monoglass, Marcellus realized. Albion tech that could scan the world like a cyborg eye. It tracked across the flight bridge, monitoring and analyzing each of them in turn.

“I expected something rather more …” The man trailed off and sniffed the air with his hawkish nose, clearly searching for the right word. “… daunting. But all we seem to have found here is a little gaggle of peculiarly dressed children. How very disappointing.”

Marcellus flinched at the man’s haughty Albion accent and scornful eyes. It was the same voice he’d heard over the ship’s speakers only moments ago. Admiral Wellington.

“Nevertheless, you are still flying a Laterrian ship and trespassing in Albion airspace, which, according to royal decree, warrants immediate arrest and imprisonment.”

He took one last chilling look at each of them before flicking his fingers dismissively and turning back toward the door. “Seize them.”

The guards stalked menacingly forward, their weapons raised and ready to fire at a moment’s provocation.

Searing heat charged through Marcellus. His muscles coiled, preparing to fight. But then he felt Alouette squeeze his hand in a gentle warning. Calmly reminding him that taking on this troop of Albion guards by force would not only be rash and foolish; it would be deadly.

But what else were they supposed to do? They had to fight. The general had to be stopped. Marcellus dropped Alouette’s hand and formed his fingers into a tight fist.

“We are accompanying Officer Marcellus Bonnefaçon, grandson of César Bonnefaçon, the General of the Laterrian Ministère.”

Marcellus blinked, uncertain who had just spoken. Then Alouette stepped forward, addressing the admiral with a smooth, diplomatic voice. “Her majesty, Queen Matilda Bellingham, is expecting us. We are here to check on the progress of a top-secret project that General Bonnefaçon is developing with your planet.”

Admiral Wellington paused and slowly turned back around, something between a grimace and a sneer playing out on his otherwise austere face. “I have no knowledge of this so-called project. Nor do I have any reason to