Leaving Denise’s chamber, I wrestled with the realization that I was definitely attracted to her. It had been a long while since I had enjoyed the comforts of a woman, but that had bothered me less when I wasn’t alone in such deprivation. Now that my brothers were all smugly happy with mates of their own, it seemed like everyone was satisfied and content but me.

Of course, this was nothing new. It seemed that my brothers were perennially tolerant of whatever illogical or fundamentally flawed policies or dictates we were issued. Exile was bad enough, but stripping us of our ability to communicate and relegating us to the farthest-flung colony possible . . . it was all just ludicrous. Still, the dictates themselves weren’t as ludicrous as my brothers’ accepting them blindly to the point that we couldn’t even discuss it amongst ourselves.

I wasn’t looking to start a coup or create political unrest, but the simple fact that our king could do or say literally anything he wanted without ever being questioned or rebuked was a system that could not possibly sustain itself.

I had settled into my chamber for a quick rest after spending most of the night preparing for launch, but instead, I was restless with both the excitement of our return and the stress of our unexpected visitor. A rapping sound came from the door.

Rising, I slid the panel open and found Karun.

“This didn’t belong to Tasha. I believe it is Ms. Mercury’s,” he said, holding out a gray canvas parcel. “Can you deliver it to her? Andie wants to look over the onboard maps of Dragselia so she is familiar with the general terrain.”

“Well, since I’m practically chained to the woman, I don’t suppose I have much choice in the matter,” I said sarcastically, taking the pack.

“You are the last brother I would expect to take issue with such a scenario,” he said, walking away.

I didn’t like his getting the last word, but he was already gone before I opened my mouth to reply.

For a moment, I was sorely tempted to open the pack and see what fripperies it might contain. The citrus smell of her was emanating from it, and I felt a surge of lust as I inhaled the scent. I knew what she smelled like. My mind went next to what she would taste like. I had always had a large appetite.

Just then, her panel, just a few yards from my own, slid open, and she slipped out silently, her back to me.

“Headed somewhere?” I asked as she jumped at the sound of my voice.

She turned quickly to me. “Oh! Yes, I just wanted to take a stroll and stretch my legs after being in a crate for so long.”

I didn’t quite buy it, but the crate she snuck in couldn’t have been comfortable.

“Good. I can’t sleep anyway. I’ll walk with you, but first, Karun brought this to me. I believe it’s your pack from the cargo hold.”

“The very one. Thank you,” she said as she grabbed it from me. Her hand brushed against mine, the silky skin grazing my rough palm. I had the urge to catch it and pull her toward me.

The way she looked back at me, her large brown eyes full of awareness, told me that her own mind was on a similar track.

I cleared my throat, pushing away such thoughts as she took the pack into her chamber and returned. She was the last person with whom I should be engaging in such behavior. Not only were we on the brink of war with the Infernians, but she was a reporter, and a bold one at that. Now that we were already en route to our home, I needed to focus on the obstacles ahead.

We walked, side by side, along the corridors. I wondered to myself how long it might take before the questions began.

Before I could finish the thought, Denise began digging. “So, how did you end up on Vaxivia? You said you were exiled. Were you sent there?”

“No. Actually, my brothers and I were to be exiled to a Dragselian colony on Rexul 7. It’s a small planet, covered primarily in water, with few landmasses. It’s overseen by Ishtun, a cousin and a Fyrelord, or what you might call a governor.”

“So how did you end up on Vaxivia then?”

“We crashed, thanks to our good friends, the Infernians. They attacked our ship, bombarding the hull with canon hits and sending us into the Vaxivian asteroid belt, where our drive systems were damaged, leaving us defenseless against Vaxivia’s gravitational pull,” I said, remembering snippets of the attack. Our injuries had been significant, and my memories of the crash were fragmented at best.

“So, you’re telling me you fell out of space and crashed? How did you survive?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity and interest.

“Well, as Dragselians, we are blessed with exceptional vigor and regeneration capabilities. We can survive anything except losing our heads, though we most definitely feel the pain of it.”

I shuddered, remembering some of the wounds I and my brothers had sustained over the years. Lost limbs, shattered wings, crushed bones, punctured organs . . . between us, there was likely not a body part that hadn’t been regrown or reconstructed.

“That must make facing off with your enemies somewhat less daunting, I should think,” she said.

“Well, when your enemies are Infernians, regeneration is not particularly an advantage. Infernians are mutated former Dragselians. They possess the same ability to regenerate that we do,” I explained.

She looked slightly confused. “So your greatest enemies are expatriates of Dragselia? But I thought Infernians were basically shapeshifting demons.”

We paused at a porthole, and I leaned my side against the wall, crossing my arms as I explained, “Infernians were once just like me and my brothers. They were Dragselians too. The tradition of exiling all younger brothers and heirs to a new king began when one of our nobles challenged the lines of succession and he and his supporters declared war on the crown.

“A crushing battle ensued that destroyed much of the empire, and an armistice was finally reached. Those who dissented, the descendants of the noble house of Necak, the original challenger, were forced off Dragselia and sentenced to exile.”

“Then why do they not look like dragons like the rest of your people?”

“They fled to Infernis, a planet that is nearly a star in the sense that it is in a state of near-constant eruption from the pockets of gas that are released through the cracks in its crust. The atmosphere is composed primarily of hydrogen sulfide, a highly combustible acid gas. It is said that the heat on its surface can melt the skin off a dragon in under ten seconds.”

She looked disgusted. “That’s sounds horrible.”

“Yes, I don’t imagine it is pleasant,” I said, grimacing at the image I had conjured.

“So how do they survive then?”

“The first Infernians used bio manipulation software, the sort that is used to create livestock on colonies such as Vaxivia, to reprogram their DNA, making them more suited for their highly sulfuric environment. Unfortunately, their scientists were sloppy, and the result is that their bodies are in a constant sort of limbo. Neither humanoid nor dragon, they possess the features of both.”

She looked sincere as she said, “How awful for them. That all seems rather sad.”

“I suppose it is, but such is the cost of inciting a decades-long civil war. Even still, as you know, they create chaos and destruction anywhere they go. Their exile was the proper course of action.”

“Unlike your own?” she asked, looking far too discerning. “What would happen if an Infernian came back to Dragselia with good intentions as you and your brothers are now?”

She made a valid point. “They’d be shot down before they ever entered the atmosphere. All Infernians are assumed to be hostile and dangerous.”

I sighed, considering things. “To be truthful, I am not sure that our reception will be particularly warm either. My oldest brother, Mulkaro, is not a strong leader. He is easily threatened, especially by Zaruv. Mulkaro does not see nuance in things. He is a rigid traditionalist, and he accepts no questioning of his authority or abilities. In fact, it is law that you may not question or challenge a decree from the king.”

“So, I take it Dragselia is not very democratic?” she said, her dark red hair spilling over her shoulders as she leaned against the wall, studying me.

“No, not at all, though my brothers see no problem with this.”

“They don’t mind their exile?” she asked, looking surprised.

“Oh, I’m sure they do, but you will never hear them speak ill of our brother or of the law that requires it. Even on Vaxivia, where we were completely out of reach of the Dragselian government, they refused to even discuss the inanity of it. Perhaps it is as they tell me, that with time and age, I’ll come to understand such matters more readily, though I don’t see how age or time can make an illogical situation logical.”

I realized I was saying far more than I had intended to reveal about my brothers or our situation, but her curiosity, her willingness to listen, was so foreign to me that I found myself wanting to tell her everything.

“Forced silence is a lonely, awful thing,” she said, looking wistful. “My father was killed when I was very young. He was a machinist and worked for a crime lord prior to the reformation of Steel City. One day, he just never came home from work. I still don’t know what happened. I tried to ask around, but no one would ever talk about it. Raising questions just provoked danger, they said. It was awful, not knowing and not even being allowed to ask.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your loss,” I said, knowing from experience what it was like to lose a parent.

“Well, it didn’t stop me from asking questions!” She smiled, perking up. “In fact, I suppose it had the opposite effect.”

“Apparently. You are something of a rebel, indeed.” I smiled.

Her eyes sparkled with interest. “Are you?”

I smiled down at her, letting my eyes wander lower for the barest of moments. “That depends on the situation, I suppose.”

She met my eyes and grinned, and in a low voice, she responded, “You shouldn’t be vague with a reporter. It’ll just make me want to investigate further.”

The heat expanded in the small space between us, and I found myself at war with my baser instincts.

Just then, Nurin, the other crewmember, a short, trim man with short turquoise hair and a crisp, neat demeanor, walked past, carrying a caseful of equipment in the direction of the labs.

He stopped before us, and I introduced the two of them, noting the faint look of awareness in his eyes as he took notice of her startling beauty.

From the box, he pulled out a work panel and handed it to Denise. “Ms. Lord-Case sent this for you. It won’t allow communication out because our comms signals are being used to stream messages to Dragselian Command, but you can tap into Earth Federation channels for news, though it will be delayed. She thought you might want to be kept aware of current events.”

Denise nearly squealed with delight as she enthusiastically thanked Nurin. “Yes! Thank you so very much! This is terrific. Please give Ms. Lord-Case my gratitude,” she said, hugging him.

I surprised myself with a faint twinge of jealousy, but we stepped away and continued touring the ship, finally returning to her room.

She glanced at me from the corner of her eye as she stepped in. “So, it would seem you’re going to be keeping me company. Am I your prisoner?”

I felt myself grinning at the image. “I wouldn’t quite call it that.”

She grinned back. “Too bad. That sounded like fun.” She laughed and slid the panel closed.

I walked back to my room, imagining her undressing in her chamber and wondering just how long my self-restraint could last.