Page 15 of Star Prince

Ian whistled softly as the two exchanged heated glares.

When Quin returned to the stove, Tee sank into obvious misery. She was perspiring, even in the cooler air, and a greenish pallor bleached her face. Ian had experienced the morning-afters of enough fraternity parties to know how she was feeling. Mandarian whiskey meant a quick buzz and a killer hangover.

“Drink up,” he coaxed, handing her cup of tock.I REFUSE TO ENGAGE IN A BATTLE OF WITS WITH AN UNARMED PERSON,the mug read. He hadn’t chosen it deliberately, but it seemed somehow appropriate. Although, he had to admit that Tee had done a hell of a job negotiating her salary, despite her inebriated condition.

She lifted the cup, sniffed at the liquid, then lowered it. Her voice quavered. “I—I need your lavatory.”

Ian plucked her off the bench, steering her toward the lav in the corridor. She waved him away, and the door hissed closed. Waiting for her to exit, he leaned against the bulkhead, folding his arms over his chest.

Quin stepped in front of him, hands spread. “Captain, listen, save us all a bit of trouble and haul her back to the nearest drinking hold. Another pilot will come along.”

“Another pilot isnotgoing to come along, Quin.”

Quin’s attention swerved to Muffin. “Didn’t yousay youfly?”

Muffin’s fists closed and the sinewy muscles in hisneck flexed. “I flew a combat mission in the war. It was part of a raid to free Queen Jasmine. The young lad I was paired with took a shot in the abdomen. I got him off Brevdah Three, but”—regret darkened his eyes— “he bled to death during our escape. I haven’t wanted to pilot a craft since. You wouldn’t want me to try now.”

From inside the lavatory came the swish of water in the hygiene sink. Then Tee emerged, her choppy hair slicked back from her pale forehead, her baggy clothes hanging in wrinkled folds, making her appear more gaunt than slender. Grayish shadows under her eyes added to her air of fragility, turning the once-enchanting pixie into a forlorn waif.

She passed them, her gait faltering but still proud as she made her way back to the galley.

Ian spoke in undertones, preempting his mechanic’s protest. “She’ll have to do, Quin. Randall’s on Grüma, and we’re going after him.”

Quin’s jaw moved back and forth, a sure indication that he was pondering their predicament.

Ian jerked his thumb toward the galley. The pixie was definitely a sight, dressed in her dusty old clothes, her short red-gold hair sprouting in all directions. But something inside him lightened inexplicably every time he looked at her. “Now that she’s purged her system, we’ll fill her with tock.”

Referring to Tee as if she were another bulky piece of shipboard equipment appeared to comfort the mechanic. “All right, Captain. After launch, I’llallow her some downtime to bring her back to maximum efficiency.”

“That’s it, Quin,” Ian said with a smile. “Now we’re talking.”

After a prolongedprivate conversation with his men, the handsome Earth-dweller returned to the galley. Tee’ah gave a small moan as the room tilted.

“When was the last time you had a meal?” he asked.

“It’s been awhile. Sometime yesterday, I think.”

“Quin,” he called out. “Don’t we have some leftover stew in the chiller?”

“No!” Tee’ah’s belly contracted at the mere thought of congealed stew, no matter how delicious it might be once heated. “But thank you,” she added quickly, trying to blunt the initial sharpness of her tone with a smile. The last thing she wanted was to rebuff the Earth-dweller’s kindness; he might listen to that foul-tempered troll Quin and toss her off the ship. She had lost her starspeeder and most of her credits. If she didn’t soon shake off the aftereffects of the whiskey she had boasted about drinking all the time, she would lose this job too. If that happened, her dreams of a new life were over. Broke and unemployed, a woman’s chances of surviving in the frontier diminished to nearly zero.

No matter what, she must stay on this ship.

In that case, she had better know who her captain was. Ian Stone’s similarities to Ian Hamilton were numerous and striking. Her stomach flip-floppedwith the mere thought of being on the same starship as Rom’s handpicked heir. From all reports the crown prince was an unfailing devotee ofVashcustom, a model heir. If he were to find out who she was, he would certainly order her to return home. Her personal desires would mean no more to him than they had to her father. She was ungrateful, disobedient; she had fled from an arranged marriage and shamed her parents in the process.

Regret lay heavy on her chest, and perhaps it always would. Humiliating her family wasn’t what she had set out to accomplish, but sadly it was what would come of her actions.

Woozy with nausea and exhaustion, she listened carefully to Ian’s conversations with his crew— discussions of mundane shipboard matters, the goods stored in the cargo hold, ordinary trader lingo. She noted that the Earth-dweller needed a shave, and his wavy dark brown hair brushed the bottom of his neck, a length longer thanVashstandards. His jeans and eyeshaders completed the image of a dangerous and handsome space rogue. She couldn’t fathom his being the crown prince. He was so marvelously alien; nothing about his behavior reflected the courtly manners and rigid tradition of aVashcastle.

Anxiety and the natural stimulant in tockmade her pulse race. Her empty stomach worsened the effect. In fact, hunger was likely the reason the liquor had played havoc with her system in the first place. So were shock, lack of sleep, and physical exhaustionfrom pushing the starspeeder and her body to the limit. While drunkenness couldn’t be so readily shrugged off, exhaustion and hunger could be overcome.

She set her mug on the table. “On second thought, I think I will have something to eat. Something light, if you don’t mind.”

Quin dropped a few slices of lar-bread onto a plate. Tee’ah bypassed the jar of sticky jam he offered and forced herself to eat the flatbread plain. When she was sure the bread would stay down, she drank what was left in her mug. This time Ian refilled it, while his acid-tongued ogre of a mechanic paced behind her, his impatient footsteps thundering in Tee’ah’s aching head, his skeptical gaze boring into her back. Slowly the fog dulling her senses began to retreat like dust from Mistraal’s skies after aTjhu’nami’spassage.

Time elapsed. A few hours, she guessed. Ian scrutinized the Earth-made chronograph on his wrist and then her. “So. When do you think you might be able to fly me off this rock?” Brows raised, he gave her a long, questioning, intensely appraising stare.

A sense of purpose swept through her, the desire to surpass Ian’s expectations and those of the crew. This was her chance to prove, if only to herself, that she was more than a coddled princess, more than a woman whose identity would be defined by the accomplishments of a future mate.

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