“I was going to tell you,” she exclaimed as she skipped to keep pace with him.

Crank wasn’t in the mood to listen. Bad enough a tiny slip of a woman had guilted him into realizing what a shit he’d made of the second chance Sky had given him. He’d slept with a fucking princess.

“You’re a princess.” The third time he’d repeated it.

“Yes.”

“A royal elf.”

“Yes.”

Which was bad. So very, very bad. “Rumor has it that having sex with an elf princess is a death sentence.”

“Not a rumor. My kind are very serious about keeping the bloodlines pure.”

“Speaking of pure...” He glanced at her messy mane of dark locks. “What color is your real hair?” Because unlike a human woman, she didn’t have any bush to cover below.

“Does it matter?”

No, because he would have almost slept with her no matter the hue.

“A fucking princess.” The snort of disgust was for himself.

“I don’t know why you’re so shocked. You said I was snooty.”

“As an insult.”

“Which makes it all the more delicious.”

He tossed her a glare. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’ve rarely run into anyone who thought it appropriate to treat me with disdain.”

“Don’t think because I know you’re a princess that’s going to change. I still ain’t bowing to you.”

“You already did.”

The subtle reminder had him almost groaning aloud as he remembered the feel of her against his tongue. The scent. The pleasure…

His hand clenched tight—the human one—fingers digging into his palm. “You should have told me,” he growled, still annoyed. Although he couldn’t have said if it was because she’d lied to him or because they didn’t get a chance to finish.

“If I had, you would have treated me differently.”

“Fucking right.” For starters, he wouldn’t have slept with her. But he had, and now he couldn’t stop picturing it. Remembering it. Craving…her.

“How come your eyes are purple instead of green?” he asked. His history on the Driadalys might be thin, but he did know that royalty had specific eye colors. The Summer Land family being green.

“Eye shields.” She paused long enough to pinch at the orbs, pulling off the lenses and revealing their true color.

Bright. Vivid. Green.

“All lies.” He shook his head and kept walking, not even caring if she followed. Where would she run?

Around the corner, the hall widened into a receiving chamber. The pearlescent walls contrasted with the uniforms the crew wore. Unlike the Gaia Federation military ships, the crew on board the Gypsy Moth all wore one color. Black. It matched his mood.

Given the circumstances, Crank chose to wear his formal kit, which wasn’t much different from his other clothing. Black shirt, with sleeves, paired with black trousers. It showed fewer stains—and blood. Good thing because he had a feeling some might be shed given the mood coursing through his being.

A fucking princess.

And the worst part was, he wanted to sink balls deep into her again. Wanted to feel…

No.

Not happening. He slammed a door on those thoughts. He would control himself.

As they neared, Jameson—dressed in dark trousers and matching tunic—turned to greet them.

“There’s the stowaway princess.” Jameson dismissed the crew he had been conversing with. “I should have known you weren’t working class.”

She tapped her nose. “Amazing how a simple omission can make you invisible.” Royalty wore jewelry to mark their status.

“And the eyes.” Jameson didn’t miss the change. “I assume the hair is dyed.”

She nodded. “My kind are too easily marked otherwise.” For a moment, the brave face dropped and she looked with weary resignation at the closed docking bay doors. “I don’t suppose there’s still a chance I can change your mind about handing me over.”

Jameson tucked his hands behind his back. “If you’d told me earlier, perhaps we could have done something to avoid this.”

“I’d hoped to alter my situation before they caught up to me.”

“Don’t you mean hide?”

She didn’t even look at Crank when he spoke. She kept her gaze on the captain. “Thank you for your hospitality.” She turned and stood before the outer doors, hands clasped, that bloody serene expression on her face again. The one he couldn’t read.

“What will happen to you?” Crank asked. Weak. But he wanted to know.

“My father will get his way.”

“You mean he’s going to marry you off. Surely the groom’s not that bad.”

Finally, her eyes met his. “In order to keep our bloodlines pure, my father has decreed I marry him.”

The very idea shocked. “But that’s—”

“Normal in my world.”

“It’s sick. He’s your dad. You can’t marry him.”

However, she didn’t reply. She’d turned her gaze once more to the doors, her expression Zen.

Crank didn’t like it one bit. Not her resigned attitude or the fate she had to endure. He tugged the captain to the side. In a low voice, he said, “We can’t just hand her over. It’s sick.”

Jameson spread his hands. “What else can I do? She’s royalty. Unmarried royalty at that. I don’t have a choice. We can’t keep her.”

No, because, as a pawn, she was much too valuable. Not only for her status but her mind power. “You’re talking about condoning a life of being nothing more than a slave. Of…” He couldn’t even say it. The very concept of it disgusting.

Whereas Jameson shrugged it off. “It is their culture. In ancient times on Earth, it was quite common in some royal families.”

“It’s fucking archaic and gross.”

“She seems to have accepted it.” Jameson angled his head at Ghwenn, who stood with her hands folded, patiently waiting.

A martyr to the slaughter.

A woman who, only a few hours ago, had clutched him inside her body. Blew his mind with a pleasure he’d never imagined.

“She’s calm because she thinks there’s no other choice,” Crank grumbled.

“With good reason,” the captain said softly. “She is the unmarried daughter of Daeron Rexterraesta. Not just a king but the king of the Driadalys. Any sign we’re not cooperating and they will slaughter us.”

“If he wanted to slaughter us, he should have sent a bigger army.” Crank tapped his wrist and, in moments, projected a hologram in the space between them. The large emerald vessel and its zipping drones appeared. “Check it out. Look at the size of them. That’s barely a skirmish. We could take them.”

“We could, but at what cost in life?” Jameson held out his hands and balanced them side to side. “One life or many.”

“What if she hired our services?” Crank cast for a solution.

“Her funds are tied to her father. They won’t release them into her control until she is married.”

“There has to be another way. Something we can do to help her.” Because he really didn’t like the way she acted all stoic. Pretending as if she didn’t care.

Damn her for being brave.

The captain unfortunately noticed his turmoil. “Why, Crank, one would almost think you cared for the elf.”

He glowered. “I don’t.” Didn’t want to, was what he should have said. Yet something about the tiny woman had woken something in him. Something he thought had died.

Deep inside, he found traces of chivalry.

Crank racked his brain for an idea. One that wouldn’t put holes in the Gypsy Moth or march a tiny woman off to a horrible fate. “You keep mentioning the fact she’s unmarried. That obviously means something.” Because she was definitely not a virgin. He jumped on that tidbit faster than a sanitation robot on dust. “What if we hitched her to someone?”

Jameson took on a pensive expression. “As a bride, she would automatically fall under different rules.”

“Then it’s settled.” Crank clapped his hands. “Let’s get her married and send the welcoming committee away.”

“A fine plan, but who do you plan to marry her to? I can’t. Still married, remember?” Jameson looked around. “Who does that leave?” The reception area was empty. Except for one other person.

No. Hell no.

You don’t have to do something so abhorrent. I’ll be fine.

The voice wasn’t his own. He stared at Ghwenn, realizing she’d heard it all. The light above the docking doors pulsed as the pressure inside evened. Ghwenn held herself straight, chin high. The picture of acceptance. Was he the only one who felt her disappointment inside? The tremor of fear?

“Fuck me, I’ll do it.” Crank turned and cursed as he saw the captain smile. “You sly bastard.” Jameson had planned this all along.

A theory reinforced when Jameson pulled a silver-colored stylus from a pouch at his belt. “Good thing I brought along my stamp to make it official. Gather around you two.”

A crease between her brows, Ghwenn shook her head. “There’s a reason I haven’t married. Anyone who dares will become a target.”

“I’m used to people wanting to kill me. So you’ll need a better reason.”

“How about you don’t have to do this.”

“I kind of have to.” The taste of her on his tongue wouldn’t let him do otherwise.

“It was only coitus. I never meant to trap you.”

“Would you shut up?” Crank grabbed her by the hand. “We’re getting married. And that’s final.”

“If you’re both ready,” Jameson interrupted.

“We are,” Crank snapped, all too aware the light for the docking door had steadied. They were about to have company.

Jameson clapped his hands together. “Begin recording. Ship’s log, Earth calendar year twenty-seven-fourteen, the two hundred and fifty-first day. We are gathered here today on the Gypsy Moth to join in matrimony Craig Abrams and Ghwennatha Rexterraesta.”

“Can we skip to the short version?” Crank muttered as the doors to the docking area slid open. “We’re about to have company.” He saw the emerald ship within the bay, a ramp extending from it.

Jameson didn’t move his eyes from them. “Will the couple clasp hands and repeat after me.”

Crank already had a hold of one hand. He snared the other and faced Ghwenn. But she looked to the side. People in fancy robes were descending the gangway.

“Eyes on me, pixie,” he murmured. “We’ve got this.”

Jameson spoke quickly. “Repeat after me, I, Ghwennatha Rexterraesta, do take Craig Abrams to be my lawfully wedded partner until circumstances do us part.”

She repeated, and then it was his turn. A roaring white noise covered Jameson’s voice. The face before him wavered, Ghwenn, Sky, back to Ghwenn. Such a sense of déjà vu. He’d done this once before.

Last time he’d done it for love. And it crushed him.

He wouldn’t let it happen again.

He was in control.

The words spilled out of him without him even consciously doing it. In a daze, he noted Ghwenn looking at him, waiting for something.

“…by the galactic powers vested in me as captain of the Gypsy Moth, I declare you conjugal partners.” Jameson traced the stylus over their wrists, and a tingling sensation hit his skin. “You may kiss to seal the bargain.”

“No,” a stranger yelled. “We forbid it.”

Forbid? Now someone was talking his kind of language. Crank leaned in and pressed his mouth to Ghwenn’s, a tingle of awareness sweeping him.

Every time they touched he felt more alive.

Everyone would think he’d married Ghwenn to save her. The real truth was he’d done it to save himself.

A voice cleared itself loudly. “Ahem.”

Breaking off the kiss, he met Ghwenn’s clear green eyes for a moment. She smiled.

Would you like to deal with them, husband?

A shiver went through him. Hell yeah, he would. He straightened to face the newcomers with their fancy robes and haughty expressions. His human arm curled around his princess.

My princess. Fuck me.

The delegation came to a halt. The lead elf appeared quite pissed, judging by the fact that a vein throbbed on his temple. “What is the meaning of this?”

Ghwenn held out her arm, showing off the fresh tattoo on the inside of her wrist. “You can be the first to congratulate us. We’re married.”

“Is it legally binding? There were no witnesses,” Snot—Crank mentally nicknamed the lead elf because it suited him—argued.

“You saw it happen. And even better”—Crank pointed around them—“there are cameras and microphones everywhere recording not just my marriage to the princess here but this meeting.”

Ignoring him, the lead delegate turned to Ghwenn. “Princess, since you have yet to consummate, an annulment will be easy to obtain.”

“What if I don’t want it annulled?” She snuggled into Crank’s side. “I rather like the husband I found.”

Crank knew it was an act, but for a moment, a part of him reveled in her claim.

“Your father—”

“Can suck it.” She beamed. “Tell him he’ll have to find a new wife.”

“We shall relay your message.” And that easily, too easily, the delegates whirled on their heels and began marching back to their ship.

Ghwenn tore free from his side and ran after them. “Hold on. I know my father. Why are you already giving in? You didn’t even offer a bribe.”

“Your father gave us our orders. We are simply following them.” They continued boarding, forcing her to yell.

“So that’s it? You’re just leaving?”

“It would be foolish to remain aboard given what is about to happen.”

“Which is?” Crank asked, having reached her side. His wrist buzzed a moment before the emergency klaxons sounded.

Jameson barked, “Why is your lead vessel arming its weapons?”

The answer was obvious, and Snot confirmed it. “Our orders were clear. If the princess refuses to come, then she and all those who aid her are to be destroyed.”

“You can’t do that.” Crank noticed the shock on Ghwenn’s face then the determination. Despite not being the target, he heard the thought she thrust at them. Belay that command.

An order ignored. Snot turned to face her with a smirk. He dangled a charm. “Did you really think the king sent us unprepared?”

“You can’t wear that thing forever,” she snapped.

That was the problem with mind dampening fields. They could only be used in small doses lest they scramble brains permanently.

“We won’t have to wear it at all once we destroy this ship.”

Crank had no doubt they’d do it, and he could see it in her face. She knew it too. Pleading wouldn’t change their orders. Her father would rather see her die than lose face.

So much for their short-lived marriage.

A decision had to be made. The Moth and all its crew or one confusing woman?

The choice was clear.