do so.
By the time my friends and allies were finished singing my praises, I barely recognized the heroic woman warrior they’d turned me into. Arles and I found ourselves the stars of an interplanetary romance that had become a mass obsession in the Empire.
No less than four different BioVids were produced, but none of them had a damned thing to do with reality.
Still, the end result was exactly what Ragnar intended. None of his political foes dared say a word against either of us for fear of suffering the wrath of the entire Empire.
I doubted this golden haze of political stardom would last, but I planned to enjoy it while it did.
Isa was charged with conspiring to assassinate an imperial heir. She could have faced the death penalty, had a panel of doctors not ruled her mentally ill. Luckily, the therapy seemed to work. During my weekly visits to the Imperial Center for Mental Health, she seemed much calmer, no longer the shrill psychotic who’d tried to kill me.
Her doctors believed the pressure of life as the royal heir was responsible for her illness, and suggested removing her from the line of succession. My mother readily agreed and declared me the heir to the throne. She and Ragnar then started work on a treaty to bring Swanhilde into the Torrean Empire.
Arles’s brother, Jarrat, finally obtained the divorce from Isa he’d wanted for years. He promptly started enjoying his new sexual freedom with a parade of exotic beauties from around the Empire.
Meanwhile, Arles and I did a great deal of smiling and a great many interviews. By the time the day for the wedding arrived, I was ready to kidnap him, drag him aboard the Valkyrie , and flee to the most remote world we could find.
But since I knew the cambots would probably track us down, I resisted the impulse.
* * *
Our wedding day arrived in a sensory assault of color, music and glittering candlelight. The palace throne room was barely recognizable under drifts of rare red roses, shipped all the way from Earth and arranged in exquisite Elderkind urns older than Earth’s pyramids. Every breath I took was scented with perfume from exotic petals.
Thousands of guests from Odin knew how many planets watched as Emperor Ragnar presided over the ceremony in his iridescent robes of state. I barely heard his Imperial blessing of our union, too busy gazing helplessly at my impossibly handsome groom.
A rainbow of military honors glinted on Arles’s broad chest, dazzling against the somber, dark blue fabric of his dress uniform jacket. He’d worn his azure hair loose around those powerful shoulders, emeralds glinting from braided locks on either side of his strong, warrior’s face.
But none of that gemstone glitter could match the happiness blazing from his eyes.
Arles and I repeated oaths of love and fealty to one another before he gave me a kiss so passionate I knew it would lead every vid cast in the Empire for a week.
We then had to endure a reception ball and the attentions of a swarm of cambots. I smiled until my cheeks went numb, and Arles visibly fidgeted with the need to get me to himself. I was chatting up the ambassador from Earth when the prince’s control broke.
“Excuse me, sir. I need to borrow my bride for a few days,” Arles growled, and swept me into his arms, along with several meters of white nanosilk skirt. He carried me out as I called hasty goodbyes to the laughing guests, my lace veil swirling in our wake. How he avoided tripping on my train, I will never know.
* * *
“I thought we’d never escape that lot,” the prince growled, kicking the door to his chambers closed as he swept me inside. He wasn’t even breathing hard, despite carrying the combined weight of me and my wedding gown down half a kilometer of palace hallways.
He put me down on my jeweled high heels, and I got busy trying to untangle myself from the gown’s extravagant, pearl-encrusted skirt. “Yes, well, I don’t think I’m ever going to escape this
By the time my friends and allies were finished singing my praises, I barely recognized the heroic woman warrior they’d turned me into. Arles and I found ourselves the stars of an interplanetary romance that had become a mass obsession in the Empire.
No less than four different BioVids were produced, but none of them had a damned thing to do with reality.
Still, the end result was exactly what Ragnar intended. None of his political foes dared say a word against either of us for fear of suffering the wrath of the entire Empire.
I doubted this golden haze of political stardom would last, but I planned to enjoy it while it did.
Isa was charged with conspiring to assassinate an imperial heir. She could have faced the death penalty, had a panel of doctors not ruled her mentally ill. Luckily, the therapy seemed to work. During my weekly visits to the Imperial Center for Mental Health, she seemed much calmer, no longer the shrill psychotic who’d tried to kill me.
Her doctors believed the pressure of life as the royal heir was responsible for her illness, and suggested removing her from the line of succession. My mother readily agreed and declared me the heir to the throne. She and Ragnar then started work on a treaty to bring Swanhilde into the Torrean Empire.
Arles’s brother, Jarrat, finally obtained the divorce from Isa he’d wanted for years. He promptly started enjoying his new sexual freedom with a parade of exotic beauties from around the Empire.
Meanwhile, Arles and I did a great deal of smiling and a great many interviews. By the time the day for the wedding arrived, I was ready to kidnap him, drag him aboard the Valkyrie , and flee to the most remote world we could find.
But since I knew the cambots would probably track us down, I resisted the impulse.
* * *
Our wedding day arrived in a sensory assault of color, music and glittering candlelight. The palace throne room was barely recognizable under drifts of rare red roses, shipped all the way from Earth and arranged in exquisite Elderkind urns older than Earth’s pyramids. Every breath I took was scented with perfume from exotic petals.
Thousands of guests from Odin knew how many planets watched as Emperor Ragnar presided over the ceremony in his iridescent robes of state. I barely heard his Imperial blessing of our union, too busy gazing helplessly at my impossibly handsome groom.
A rainbow of military honors glinted on Arles’s broad chest, dazzling against the somber, dark blue fabric of his dress uniform jacket. He’d worn his azure hair loose around those powerful shoulders, emeralds glinting from braided locks on either side of his strong, warrior’s face.
But none of that gemstone glitter could match the happiness blazing from his eyes.
Arles and I repeated oaths of love and fealty to one another before he gave me a kiss so passionate I knew it would lead every vid cast in the Empire for a week.
We then had to endure a reception ball and the attentions of a swarm of cambots. I smiled until my cheeks went numb, and Arles visibly fidgeted with the need to get me to himself. I was chatting up the ambassador from Earth when the prince’s control broke.
“Excuse me, sir. I need to borrow my bride for a few days,” Arles growled, and swept me into his arms, along with several meters of white nanosilk skirt. He carried me out as I called hasty goodbyes to the laughing guests, my lace veil swirling in our wake. How he avoided tripping on my train, I will never know.
* * *
“I thought we’d never escape that lot,” the prince growled, kicking the door to his chambers closed as he swept me inside. He wasn’t even breathing hard, despite carrying the combined weight of me and my wedding gown down half a kilometer of palace hallways.
He put me down on my jeweled high heels, and I got busy trying to untangle myself from the gown’s extravagant, pearl-encrusted skirt. “Yes, well, I don’t think I’m ever going to escape this
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