“It’s not fucking fair,” he whispered, fighting the desire to shout his anger and frustration.
Why couldn’t Luka love Syla with the same devotion Jake did and want to follow her to the ends of the universe?
And why couldn’t Syla give up her nearly suicidal quest to reclaim her throne and be content to live out here in this beautiful wilderness with him and Luka?
“This must be decided quickly,” Betinsa insisted. “There are plans we must make should Syla wish to return to Trilan. I will do all I can to ensure her safety, but once she is with the rebel leaders, she will want to go after Thama. She must stop the coronations if she wishes to earn the respect of her people.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped.
Betinsa was nothing if not always in control. For a moment, Jake thought about the beautiful blue Fraiquan woman, thinking that if she ever let loose, she’d probably be formidable. Her husbands were every bit as strong, and the three of them had not only created a family with five children, but each excelled in their careers. Betinsa was now head of the Interplanetary Drug Enforcement Agency. Drake Keller was an ambassador of great reputation, and Matt Newton was the captain of the Patrile Control Task Force, working to wipe out the trafficking of the addictive drug on many worlds.
“Look…I need some time,” Jake finally said.
“I am afraid that is a luxury I cannot give you,” Betinsa replied. “Which of your lovers will you follow, Jake?”
Damned if he knew…
* * * *
Syla picked up her bag, slung the strap over her shoulder, and walked into the tiny kitchen. Her heart was breaking, but she lifted her chin and tried to hide her feelings from Luka. He’d made his choice, and it wasn’t her.
He sat at the table, spinning a silver coin and then slamming it flat on the surface with his palm. Then he’d repeat the actions. He didn’t look up when she went to stand at his side.
“I thank you,” she whispered.
He shrugged.
Emotions were choking her, but she ground out the words in a voice she barely recognized as her own. “Helped me, you did not need to. Your home you opened to me.”
As I opened my heart to you…but you didn’t want it.
Jake walked in through the door. “Betinsa is ready for us.” His tone was gruff and his face hard.
This wasn’t easy on him, either, but Syla hadn’t forced him to come with her—she’d actually tried to talk him out of it. Seemed that the more she tried to get him to stay with Luka so they’d both be safe, the more intent Jake was to go to Trilan with her. Perhaps she should have used her mother’s funny way of bending people to her will and insisted on the opposite of what she truly wished. It often seemed that people would then comply with your desires. If she would have insisted Jake return with her, he might have decided to stay on Earth with Luka instead.
But his decision had been made, and with Jake’s stubborn streak, nothing was going to change his mind now.
“I must go,” Syla whispered. She bent down to brush a kiss on Luka’s cheek.
He flinched, making her heart shatter.
Biting her bottom lip to keep from crying, she walked to Jake. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. Then she looked back at Luka.
His eyes had filled with tears, but he made no move.
“Good-bye,” she said, moving out of Jake’s arms and hurrying out of the house.
Luka stared at Jake, who returned the intense scrutiny. He knew Jake probably thought he was a coward or, worse, that he’d used Syla for sex. If only Luka could find the words to describe what Jake and Syla
really
meant to him.
“You can still come with us,” Jake said.
Not trusting himself to talk, Luka simply shook his head.
“I love you, Luka.”
How was he supposed to reply to that statement? Should he return the sentiment in the same words since he felt it so deeply in his heart? Should he shout the words of love to Syla—because the woman had captured his heart the same way a skilled fisherman snared a fat trout.
In the end, he couldn’t utter a single word.
“Take care of yourself.” And with that, Jake walked out the door.
Syla sat on her bunk and then sprawled on her back, entirely exhausted.
The camp was bustling as the men and women who supported her worked to make preparations for their little “interruption” of Thama’s coronation ceremony. That bitch was in for a huge surprise tomorrow.
Everything had fallen into place thanks to Jake’s extraordinary organizational skills. From the moment they’d arrived on Trilan, Jake had not only protected her, but when they were finally able to meet up with the royalists, he took over. Since most of the people were everyday citizens who were only trying to help the woman they felt should be queen, they seemed happy to let him take charge.
He was a miracle worker, instinctively knowing what job to give to each person. He was also able to use his contacts to help furnish weapons. While Syla hoped there would be no bloodshed, she knew it was possible. Thama was actually helping whether she realized it or not.
If there was anything Syla could praise about Thama, it was that the woman loved the history of Earth’s monarchies as much as Syla’s father had. She’d often said she found the “old days” romantic. She’d planned her coronation as though she were being crowned long, long ago. The citizens invited to attend were supposed to dress in accordance with Earth’s seventeenth century. The royal guards would be in their dress uniforms. By her father’s orders, those ancient outfits included only swords for defense, which was tempered by modern conveniences—having metal detectors at every entrance to keep the queen and her son safe.
That only made it easier for the rebels. Syla knew every secret passage in and out of the capital city—especially in the palace and the cathedral. Thama didn’t know they existed. Her father had always said the secret had to stay in the blood family. The passages and bolt-holes had been built long ago, back when the monarchy was new and the king feared the people he ruled. Her father didn’t fear his people. He loved them. But he’d always told her the tunnels might one day be important to saving the throne.
Tomorrow was that day.
With the plans Syla had made for the coronation, she hoped that no one would be harmed. Not even Thama or Preval—unless evidence showed they’d truly had something to do with her father’s death. But that would happen later in a trial someday in the near future.
The weight of losing her father had hit her the moment she and Jake had taken off in Betinsa’s ship. Or perhaps that loss, coupled with Luka’s dismissal, had simply been more than she could bear. As Betinsa moved to the cockpit, Syla had collapsed into Jake’s arms and wept as if it were the last day she would ever see. He’d held her, stroking her hair and cooing in her ear until the storm of tears finally ended.
Then she’d gotten mad. At Luka. At her father. Both of them had left her. If it hadn’t been for Jake, Syla would have been hard-pressed to make it through a day.
The anger left as quickly as it began, and she stopped blaming them. Her father had died. Luka had stayed in the life he wanted. How could she stay angry with them? She loved them both.
Jake came into the tent, took one look at her, and frowned. “You okay?”
“Just exhausted.”
“It will all be over tomorrow, and you’ll be able to relax in your suite in the palace.” He sat down next to her and took off his boots. Then he took off hers. “Are you ready?”
“After all you have had me do to prepare?” She laughed. “How could I not be?”
He leaned over her until his body covered hers, although he was kind enough to hold himself up on his forearms so his heavy weight wouldn’t crush her. “I love you.”
Syla smiled. He said those wonderful words to her often, and she never tired of hearing them. “I love you too,
dalla
.”
He kissed her, long and deep. As soon as his mouth left hers, she yawned.
“Wow. I’ve had a lot of interesting reactions to my kisses, but never a yawn.” His smile spoke of forgiveness. “I must be losing my touch.”
“Your kiss is wonderful. It has been a long day,” she said in her defense.
“I know.” He yawned, but she was pretty sure it was faked.
She loved being close to him, snuggling up against his warm, muscular body, but the feeling of incompleteness was always there, dimming whatever happiness she could find in Jake’s arms. They both missed the connection they’d shared with Luka, and Syla feared she’d never be truly whole again, no matter how much she loved Jake.
“I miss him too,” Jake said, rolling over and dragging her up against his side.
Syla cuddled a little closer and threw her leg over his thigh. In her heart, she’d hoped Luka would change his mind—that when he was alone in his empty house, he’d miss her and Jake and find a way to come to them. No matter how sad things turned, she refused to give up that hope.
“We’ll get her, Syla. I swear. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure that crown never touches Thama’s head. It belongs to you and you alone.”
Rubbing her hand against his chest, she smiled, grateful to have a champion like Jake at her side. “Together,
dalla
. Together we’ll be sure she is not crowned.”
* * * *
The organ music pounding through the pipes made his head hurt, but Jake stood his ground. He’d chosen this spot as his best vantage point, but he hadn’t thought about all the music that would pour from those enormous pipes.
He brushed the pain throbbing through his head aside. Syla could heal him when this whole thing was finally over if it didn’t fade.
Shifting, he used his weapon to sight Preval again. Such a peacock of a man, dressed like one of the kings of ancient Earth—velvet robes trimmed with fur and jewelry on every finger. He stood a good foot shorter than his personal guards, and he obviously enjoyed eating, judging from his chubby cheeks and heavy middle.
Jake’s finger caressed the trigger of his laser rifle, but he refused to give in to the urge to end the man’s life. Syla didn’t want anyone to die. She’d stressed that order to her followers over and over as they’d prepared for this assault. He hoped her naiveté wouldn’t keep her from doing what had to be done if it came to taking a life.
He shifted his aim to Thama and growled low in his throat. All he could think of was every evil stepmother in every children’s fairy tale he’d ever heard. She was beautiful, but her smile wasn’t genuine, and her eyes held no hint of a human soul, only the calculating gaze of a predator.
One shot
. All it would take to end this was one shot.
His trigger finger itched.
Since Jake was the best sharpshooter—the
only
sharpshooter—among the royalists, he’d been given the task of protecting the others. High in the cathedral, he watched everything, protecting them all from above and waiting for the royalist rebels to make their move.
And Syla would lead the way.
Jake swallowed his fear for her. The woman’s spine was honed of the strongest steel. From the moment they’d arrived on Trilan, her bearing had been that of the queen she was meant to be. She worked hand in hand with everyone who supported her, putting in long hours doing anything from sewing disguises to charging weapons. She delegated authority as though born to do so, and her gracious and giving personality made all of her future subjects love her.
She’d make a hell of a queen—as soon as they were able to deal with Thama and Preval and make sure Syla didn’t end up in jail, waiting to be executed for treason.
Treason
.
Jake chuckled. That was exactly what every single rebel was guilty of simply by conspiring to stop the coronations, even if their cause was righteous. The wrong people held the power of the government, and he, Syla, and the royalists were simply righting a wrong, not committing true treason.
The music stopped, and he whispered a thank-you to any deity within listening range.
The archbishop started his spiel in Trilani, but Jake paid little attention to the words. His gaze was moving throughout the cavernous sanctuary, focusing especially on the left vestibule where Syla hid and would soon appear.
The timing had to be right—at least that was what Syla believed. She said she needed to appear right before the crown was placed on Thama’s head. Jake wasn’t entirely sure if it was for dramatic effect or because Syla figured that was the moment when every Trilani eye would be fixed on their new “queen.” Either way, he supported the decision. If they were going to do this, they might as well do it with the biggest bang.
While the archbishop rambled—most likely instructing Thama in the duties of a good Trilani queen—Jake kept watch.
Soon
.
* * * *
Syla took a deep breath, waiting for the right words to spill from the archbishop’s mouth.
Her whole life had led to this moment, this one chance she had to save her people from the tyrannical rule of her stepmother—a pretender to the Trilani throne.
Syla wasn’t armed despite Jake insisting she wear a sidearm. Although she knew he only wanted the best for her, she refused his edict. She would face Thama woman to woman—queen to traitor.
But which was which?
Syla’s actions today technically made her a traitor. She was here, ready to interrupt the coronation of the queen.
Giving her head a shake, she reminded herself that Thama had no claim to the throne and that the crown was never supposed to rest on the usurper’s head, nor the head of her fat toad of a son. Syla was no traitor. She was a savior of the monarchy, leading her people into battle.
No, this wasn’t a
battle
—it was Syla giving her people a chance to choose their own destiny. When the time came, she would let them decide. If Trilan was ready to abandon the old ways, she would honor that choice. Parliament was, after all, more powerful than the monarch. If the crown remained, it would not sit upon Thama’s head.