Royal Recruit - Susan Grant Page 0,43

the tedious work of imprinting an intricate pattern of nano-dye on her wrist. It was the famous holy Sakkaran symbol of a married goddess. The pattern was created from a special shimmering red-orange dye and would stay with her all the years of her life. Only a true goddess was marked in this way. She remembered her mother’s imprints.

An attendant lifted her other arm. She winced, her eyes watering. The pricks stung.

“May I offer Her Majesty a numbing agent?” an attendant queried.

“No.” Keira wanted to feel the prick of the needle just as the ancients had in a ceremony that had remained virtually unchanged over millennia. Every stinging invasion of her flesh reminded her that she was alive and not spinning out of control in a life orchestrated by others.

She didn’t want this marriage; she didn’t want this husband. She didn’t want the assured monotony and predictability of the years to come, trapped in this palace, unable to leave due to the danger the Drakken posed.

Everyone, it seemed, had a say in her destiny but her.

The attendant tugged on her arm. Her wrists burned. It was silent; no one spoke to her, and she had nothing to say to them. This should be a happy night, but she hadn’t felt this lonely since losing her family.

Her mother should be here with her for the tattooing, her younger sister too. They’d be laughing and joking, teasing her. Happiness would be shared. She wouldn’t have the worries and fears she secretly harbored because the women in her family would have been there to answer her questions and reassure her.

Keira felt an uncomfortable thickening in her throat. Deep down, she knew the reason they weren’t here, why anyone close to her died. The goddesses have cursed you.

Yes, she was bad luck. Even the Terran prince had barely arrived in one piece. He’d almost been killed! The transport had malfunctioned, Rissallen had told her. How the prince had made it out alive no one knew.

Least of all Keira. He should have succumbed to the curse that all her other potential consorts had. She hadn’t even been able to bring herself to see him in the hospital because it would have been too much of a reminder of her bad-luck role in his crash.

She hadn’t asked after his condition, either. Instead, she’d locked herself away and had done something productive—working out and practicing with her weapons. Guilt was an emotion she steered clear of. It was second only to fear on her list of Feelings to Avoid.

Or did love top the list?

She gave her head a shake. Bejeweled coils of hair tinkled. She would not love the Terran prince. Her unwanted mate.

But he’s not like the other ill-fated consorts paraded before you. None fascinated you like this one does.

No, she admitted, this one was different.

All the more reason to make sure he was put in his place from the start. Marriages occurred for a reason—to procreate. Once she was with child, she’d have her own life, and he his. They would not have to see each other at all.

Jared stood in front of the mirror in his apartment, smoothing a hand over the sleek lines of his charcoal designer dinner suit. The fit was superb. It felt even better. He was lucky to have it. Many of the other clothes he’d brought with him from Earth, most of it donated designer wear and custom-made royal uniforms, had been ruined in the crash. He had one spare suit. The rest were being repaired.

His room chime sounded. “Enter,” he called, running a comb over his hair one last time. He’d glossed it with some product, giving the short strands a bit of a spike. Not bad. He rubbed his smooth chin. He knew one thing—thanks to that futuristic razor, he wouldn’t be giving his girl beard burn tonight—no matter where he kissed her, which he intended to be everywhere she let him put his mouth.

He was getting turned on just thinking about her.

A bouquet of hothouse flowers lay on the dressing table. They were a little strange-looking but colorful. Roses they weren’t, but you had to work with what you had. He’d asked for the flowers to everyone’s confusion. This was a planet locked in the depths of winter, he knew, but surely there were palace gardens or a greenhouse. When they were finally delivered according to his instructions, it was with continued confusion on the part of the attendants as to why in the world he