Page 5 of Tech Prince Troubles
“They pay you. That doesn’t count toward your chores.”
“I know, but if I’m doing theirs, I thought I might as well do ours?”
Evan usually mowed our combined yards, but the grass was getting pretty rough. That made three yards’ worth of mowing. “Okay then. Try to get it done before dinner.”
“I’ll do it now. Don’t suppose you’ll let me take my phone?”
I shook my head.
“Worth trying,” Julian said with a shrug as he pushed his chair back and left the room.
While Alex followed Julian, Charlie lingered.
“Is there something you wanted, sprite?”
She mock-glared at me, so whatever she wanted, it wasn’t serious. Her reactions to my nickname for her depended on her mood, but when I’d offered to call her scout or even tiger on her tenth birthday, she’d declined. As long as I didn’t call her sprite in front of her friends.
“Can I watch Kaia Blue with Quinn before I help Alex with the duvets?”
“That’s up to Quinn.” I trusted them to tell me if there was anything not safe for Charlie to watch.
“Sure. I don’t mind. We’ll watch on the tablet. Is that okay, Pop?”
“That’s fine.”
As Ella carried one item at a time to the dishwasher, I gathered the vegetables for Quinn to cut. Repetitive dance music piped up from the tablet, along with background noises from what sounded like a party. The same beat, over and over and over. And the kids complained about having to listen to “Banana Pancakes.” This was much worse.
It didn’t sound like the podcast, though. “I thought you mentioned Kaia Blue?”
“She got engaged to Prince Frank. These are reels from the party she posted.”
“Prince who?” I rounded the counter and joined them.
“Prince Frank from Niralen,” Quinn answered without looking up. “You know, from the Niren Bee Restoration Project.”
Charlie sighed. “They’re so pretty together.”
Ah. Bees. That sounded familiar. I recognized Kaia from posters in Quinn’s bedroom—a fiery redhead with pale freckled skin who inspired Quinn’s love for nature. Her partner—Prince Frank—couldn’t have been more different. His white hair sparkled at the tips, and a green circuit pattern glowed across his purple skin. Right. Niren. From Niralen. An island somewhere in the Pacific. They made the chips for our coffee machines. For everything. Both were tall, making my five-foot-seven feel tiny.
Charlie was right. They made a very pretty pair.
Chapter Three
ADRI
under construction
The sturdy wheels of my suitcase rolled easily across the concrete pavement as I walked from the bus station to the Renversé Plaza. It hadn’t seemed far on the map, and it was a pleasant walk—if noisy with traffic—with glimpses of the sea in the distance. If only people would stop staring at me. Despite being the biggest producers of computer chips for over half a century, in human eyes, our people were still a novelty. Which was why I’d worn a long-sleeved, hooded tunic to hide my markings and hair. I guessed there weren’t many of us in Princedelphia—if any. At least they kept their distance and replied kindly to my muttered, “Good mornings.”
The plaza bathed in sunlight. It was round, with a walkway lined with benches and a ring of wild grass on either side. The gently trickling water from the concrete fountain did nothing to drown out the traffic. The statue of a human stood fierce, a coffee pot in one hand and a cup in the other, an expression of bliss on his face. It felt as out of place as I was. A pang of regret hissed through my system, and doubt hit me. I turned toward the clouded sun—warm, but unfamiliar. This was definitely nothome. I could have sat on my balcony. Instead, here I was, in a strange, noisy city because an attendant had handed me a card.
The hotel and surrounding buildings seemed a mixture of old and new, high and low. Friendly. Inviting. Chaotic. I wasn’t sure what this hotel could offer me, but even if I stayed a week, it might give me time to breathe. No forced smiles, no royal responsibilities, no spotlight, no biomancy, but anonymity—in as much as a Niren could be anonymous—and mundane life.
As I circled the plaza, a wonderfully dark coffee smell enveloped me. Café Magnifique. After the long journey and the bus, I deserved an espresso… and a free socket. Unlike humans, sleep didn’t replenish us the way energy did.
A young human barista wiped the counter as I entered, wearing a white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up—arms covered in human markings called tattoos—and a black apron with leather straps. He seemed to start when he saw me, but hid it behind a smile.
“Good morning! Welcome to Café Magnifique. How can I help you?”
