I push my hood up—just enough to see without uncovering my whole head—then, when the area seems clear, I step out.
I pass some sort of notice board with flyers pinned to it. I almost walk straight past it without looking, but then I remember the paper the man in the bar showed Ian. I scan the board and stare at the poster right in the middle.
Wanted dead or alive. The words are written underneath a picture of Gage.
Which doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone want Gage dead?
Or Max? Or Merrick or Rain or Ian? There are posters with each of their faces on them, rewards offered for every single one of them whether they’re brought in dead or alive.
But it’s the one at the bottom that holds my attention.
I reach out and tear it down. Look at it closely. There’s no mistaking who the picture is of—me, dressed in the Imperial Regalia. I’m guessing the picture was taken on the Caelestis, before the explosions. But why am I on a poster? More importantly, why am I wanted dead or alive?
My mind is whirling.
I scan down and read the small print. I’m wanted for impersonating a princess of the Ruling Families? But…but I am a princess. I’m the princess.
It’s like the world has gone upside down. And, somehow, I’m not even me anymore. Impersonating a princess? Dead or alive? Who would do this—and why?
A door opens across the street, and light spills out as four men exit.
I go still, like a drokaray caught in a beam of light. I don’t know whether to run or to act normally. The last thing I want is to bring attention to myself—no, actually, the last thing I want is to get caught. I try to shrink back, but the white robe makes blending in more than a little difficult.
They’re strolling toward me now, and I decide I can’t wait around to see what they’re going to do. Not if I’m going to have a fighting chance.
I put my head down and hurry forward, cursing myself for pushing the hood up earlier.
My stomach is churning, and my legs are shaking with every step I take toward them. They don’t say anything as we draw close together, and I’m just beginning to think everything is going to be okay…
“What’s your hurry, sweetheart?” one of the men asks. The syllables are slurred, run together, and my fast-beating heart explodes into flight when he blocks my path.
“Excuse me,” I say to two of the others, who are now standing next to him. When they don’t move, I make the mistake of looking up for a second, and I lock gazes with the fourth man, who hasn’t said a word so far.
But as our eyes meet, his widen. And then they dart to the notice board behind me.
“Hey!” he shouts a little drunkenly. “It’s the girl. The one they’re looking for, who’s impersonating the princess.”
“Nah. Can’t be,” one of the others replies. But he pulls a familiar-looking paper from his pocket.
Done being polite, I try to push past them, but they spread out to block every avenue of escape.
Panic floods me like cold water. “Let me past,” I say, summoning every ounce of false bravado I have inside me as I deliver the words.
“Shit, she even sounds like a princess!” one of the others crows. “We’re going to be rich!”
Forget reasoning with them. I whirl around and try to run, but one of them grabs my arm before I can get more than a couple of steps. He pulls me backward, against him, until my back is flush with his chest.
Adrenaline is tearing through me now, and my chest is heaving with tears and terror I refuse to give in to. Instead, I drop the bags and try to fight back, kicking my heels against his shin and punching back over my head.
He just laughs and swings me around.
“It’s dead or alive, and I don’t really care which,” he says, the cheap alcohol on his breath making my eyes water. Or at least that’s the story I’m sticking to as he continues. “Do you?”
I do, yes. I really, really do.
Lowering my head, I bite the hand that’s holding me so hard that my teeth break through dirty flesh. Blood and who knows what other nastiness flood my mouth and I nearly gag. But I hang on, at least until he lets me go with a shout and a curse.
I take off running, pulling my robe up so I don’t trip on it as I race down the sidewalk.
But I don’t get far before a fist punches me in the back, and I lurch forward, losing my balance. I sprawl to the ground, hitting my face on the pavement so hard that my own blood fills my mouth this time.
Still, I try to scramble to my feet, but a boot covers my back, pressing me into the ground so firmly I can almost hear my ribs crack. The pain is sharp and sudden. I can’t breathe, can’t draw air into my lungs, and the panic is rising in me. I’m going to die. Here on this dirty street, surrounded by strangers who just want a big payday.
And there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
Chapter 22
Kali
“Let her go.”
The voice, quiet and authoritative, comes from in front of me. Ian.
I close my eyes as relief floods my pain-racked body. I’ve never been so pleased to hear anyone’s voice in my life.
“Piss off,” snarls the one whose foot is currently digging into my back.
“I can’t do that,” Ian returns. “And you’ve got about three seconds to take your fucking boot off the princess before I blow your fucking head off.”
“That’s no princess. Haven’t you seen the posters? Maybe we’ll cut you in after—”
“One,” Ian says. There’s a sudden flash of light, and the pressure is gone. I roll over, gasping for breath, and my lungs fill with the stench of burning cloth and…meat. Roasting meat. Ugh…
“I suggest the rest of you leave. Now.”
There’s another flash and the sound of running feet.
I blink my eyes open to see Ian looming over me. “You really shouldn’t wander off, Princess.”
I just stare up at him, trying to find my voice in the swirl of pain and relief.
“Are you all right?” He’s starting to sound worried. “Can you move? We have to go because they’ll be back. Probably with a shitload of reinforcements.”
“Y-You didn’t count to three,” I tell him. It’s the only thing I can think of to say that doesn’t have me blubbering all over him.
At first he doesn’t seem to get what I’m referring to, but then he lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, they weren’t playing fair. Why should I?”
It’s a good point, so I simply push myself up into a sitting position, then let out a little squeak of surprise and revulsion.
There’s a dead man next to me. A laser blast has taken out half of his chest, and it’s still smoking. I swallow down the newest round of bile, scooting back as fast as my still-shaking legs can push me.
Part of me thinks I should be sorry—death is a terrible thing—but the truth is, I’m not. He was a truly horrible man. I can still hear his creepy laughter, can still feel his boot pressing down on my back as he hinted at some seriously sinister plans for me.
“Come on now, Princess. Give me a bit of that attitude. That stiff royal backbone you’re so proud of.” Ian still sounds worried as he holds out a hand to help me up.