stared at him from within their simmering auras. Some men did too, while others would not signify that he breathed the same air. The latter behavior wasn't much different from when he was a miner.
A dark-haired woman with old eyes and young cleavage finally leaned her bosom toward him. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think I caught your position in the Sol business affairs."
Consort. Mica could have easily named him her personal guard. Her secretary. Even her research assistant. Well, two could play.
He bowed his head slightly, happy to oblige. "I see to the sexual needs of Mica Sol, firstborn and heir to the Sol corp."
Voices stilled around him. A few blinked their surprise.
The woman pressed her lips together in amusement. "But didn't she just get back from some research somewhere?"
He nodded, as seriously as he could manage. "I was waiting to see to her immediate needs. She's very demanding."
Mica sat at a far end of the table, near her family, and conversed with the most important of the sector dignitaries. Simon couldn't hear what she said, but whatever it was made her father's eyes spark with pride and her sister's smile gradually sour. When Mica looked down the long table to where he sat, he raised his glass. Consort, indeed.
Their gazes were locked in silent communication when movement brought his gaze up higher. He stood, heart stalling, as a massive white thing crashed into the table. One of the goddess statues. Screams shattered the air as glass and food splattered. Mica was flung backward, her place at the table crushed.
***
"I'm fine. See to my father!" Mica gasped when Simon pulled her off the floor. He held her upper arms tightly, searched her expression for signs of pain, and seeming to find her well, turned to dislodge her father from Gaia, the Earth goddess.
Mica faltered on her high-bladed shoes and grabbed a chair for support. She spotted Pilar and her mother, stunned, but picking themselves off the floor, too. Food splattered the front of her mother's gown and Pilar had a small trickle of blood easing down her temple. But they seemed okay.
Hakan, the groom, was pinned, but he was cursing—a good sign. Pilar rushed forward to pull him out, which made Mica remember that her little sister wasn't always a brat. That she might actually love him.
Simon co-opted the help of three other men—Pilar ducked out of the way—and together they were lifting the big-breasted goddess from the trapped guests when new shrieks rose as another suspended statue—the Yoon mother of healing—crashed onto the table. This was worse, as Sr. Prithi Aduyla of Hamburg Station, took a full blow of the goddess's uplifted helping hands and was crushed under her weight. Remaining guests fled for cover or the door.
A traveling shadow caught Mica's attention above in the white lip of a crawl space that rimmed the perimeter of the main floor and provided ambient lighting. An assassin?
"Guards!" She pointed upward. But they were assisting the injured and hysterical.
The service stairway. The only way up to the crawl space, and a little bit farther, the roof, where she'd once set up an antique telescope—a gift for her birthday—to look at the stars, where her heart had wanted to take her.
Damn her bladed shoes; she could only hobble.
"Simon!"
His gaze followed the arrow of her arm, then he vaulted over Gaia's tit to dash toward the concealed door. That's right; he knew the roof, too. They'd spent some nights up there a long time ago.
A moment later, a second shadow moved down the crawl space. Had to be Simon. Mica clasped her hands to contain her anxiety. He was unarmed, but had grown up rough-and-tumble in the back alleys of Sol before becoming a miner at thirteen. She reminded herself that he could handle a fight.
The shadows converged, and her heart stopped. Then a body clambered over the edge, as if to commit suicide, but Simon grabbed the assassin's arm before he could fall. From her vantage point, Mica
A dark-haired woman with old eyes and young cleavage finally leaned her bosom toward him. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think I caught your position in the Sol business affairs."
Consort. Mica could have easily named him her personal guard. Her secretary. Even her research assistant. Well, two could play.
He bowed his head slightly, happy to oblige. "I see to the sexual needs of Mica Sol, firstborn and heir to the Sol corp."
Voices stilled around him. A few blinked their surprise.
The woman pressed her lips together in amusement. "But didn't she just get back from some research somewhere?"
He nodded, as seriously as he could manage. "I was waiting to see to her immediate needs. She's very demanding."
Mica sat at a far end of the table, near her family, and conversed with the most important of the sector dignitaries. Simon couldn't hear what she said, but whatever it was made her father's eyes spark with pride and her sister's smile gradually sour. When Mica looked down the long table to where he sat, he raised his glass. Consort, indeed.
Their gazes were locked in silent communication when movement brought his gaze up higher. He stood, heart stalling, as a massive white thing crashed into the table. One of the goddess statues. Screams shattered the air as glass and food splattered. Mica was flung backward, her place at the table crushed.
***
"I'm fine. See to my father!" Mica gasped when Simon pulled her off the floor. He held her upper arms tightly, searched her expression for signs of pain, and seeming to find her well, turned to dislodge her father from Gaia, the Earth goddess.
Mica faltered on her high-bladed shoes and grabbed a chair for support. She spotted Pilar and her mother, stunned, but picking themselves off the floor, too. Food splattered the front of her mother's gown and Pilar had a small trickle of blood easing down her temple. But they seemed okay.
Hakan, the groom, was pinned, but he was cursing—a good sign. Pilar rushed forward to pull him out, which made Mica remember that her little sister wasn't always a brat. That she might actually love him.
Simon co-opted the help of three other men—Pilar ducked out of the way—and together they were lifting the big-breasted goddess from the trapped guests when new shrieks rose as another suspended statue—the Yoon mother of healing—crashed onto the table. This was worse, as Sr. Prithi Aduyla of Hamburg Station, took a full blow of the goddess's uplifted helping hands and was crushed under her weight. Remaining guests fled for cover or the door.
A traveling shadow caught Mica's attention above in the white lip of a crawl space that rimmed the perimeter of the main floor and provided ambient lighting. An assassin?
"Guards!" She pointed upward. But they were assisting the injured and hysterical.
The service stairway. The only way up to the crawl space, and a little bit farther, the roof, where she'd once set up an antique telescope—a gift for her birthday—to look at the stars, where her heart had wanted to take her.
Damn her bladed shoes; she could only hobble.
"Simon!"
His gaze followed the arrow of her arm, then he vaulted over Gaia's tit to dash toward the concealed door. That's right; he knew the roof, too. They'd spent some nights up there a long time ago.
A moment later, a second shadow moved down the crawl space. Had to be Simon. Mica clasped her hands to contain her anxiety. He was unarmed, but had grown up rough-and-tumble in the back alleys of Sol before becoming a miner at thirteen. She reminded herself that he could handle a fight.
The shadows converged, and her heart stopped. Then a body clambered over the edge, as if to commit suicide, but Simon grabbed the assassin's arm before he could fall. From her vantage point, Mica
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