Scandal: Scions of the Star Empire #1: Scions of the Star Empire, #1

By Athena Grayson

They can have anything they want...except a future.

When a princess who's no stranger to scandal runs afoul of the secrets of the most powerful cabal on Landfall, even her crown can't protect her from the consequences.

Nothing infuriates Princess Ione Ra more than having someone else take control of her reputation from her, and her old nemesis--gossip journalist Jaris Pulne--is poised to do just that with pilfered pics of her caught in a compromising position with her power-couple partner. As someone who's no stranger to manipulating the markets on her own social life, Ione knows the wrong scandal means social suicide.

Privilege is a prison...
For the other half of the power couple, Den Hades, his survival has depended on staying in his powerful father's shadow in order to protect his secrets. But on the very night of his one chance to earn a shot at becoming a Scion--and freedom from his father's ambitions, scandal threatens to tear him from Ione, or worse--force them together before their time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Uncharted Worlds Media
• Release date: Mar 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386222071

Book preview

by

Athena Grayson

About Scandal

Scandal: Scions of the Star Empire #1

On the surface, princess Ione Ra and her friends seem to have it all. Money, power, fame. But the sons and daughters of the most powerful families on Landfall have nothing but their reputations to call their own.

When the right scandal at the wrong time puts Ione's reputation at risk--along with her freedom--damage control forces her after notorious gossip journalist Jaris Pulne, a thorn in her side since age twelve. For Den Hades, caught up in the scandal with Ione, notoriety is what he desperately needs to escape his father's ambitions, but fame could expose a deadly secret.

But once Ione’s scandal runs afoul of the secrets of the most powerful cabal on Landfall, even her crown can't protect her from the consequences.

About the Scions

They can have anything they want...except a future.

The children of Landfall's powerful nobility have all the wealth and privilege of their family status, but there's only one thing that will give them true freedom—the title of Scion. The only way to earn it is by carefully managing the social influence markets that rank them according to their accomplishments. At the exclusive Landfall Cultural Academy, the heirs compete to elevate their status high enough for the Cultural Trust to grant them the title and the freedom to make their own way, and scandal is as good as scholarship. But in the high-stakes game where Social Capital is everything, one false move can destroy you reputation…and your life.

Find Athena: athenagrayson.com | Facebook | Twitter | Private Readers’ Group

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Copyright Notice

© 2017 Jen Sokoloski. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Published by Uncharted Worlds Media. unchartedworldsmedia.com

Cover Artwork: Sarah Anderson Designs

Episode 1 - Celebrity

Chapter 1 - Gilded Cage

Ione Ra stared out the immense, domed window at the night city before her. The glow from the crowded strato-scrapers surrounding her provided a steady background illumination against the congested atmosphere, broken only by the pinpoints of vehicle lights moving in horizontal and vertical traffic patterns.

Landfall, legendary city at the center of the universe, at least for everyone who lived there. Scene of a thousand different children’s stories. Once upon a time, when we first fell to earth… As if only princesses and heroes came from the stars. Back when Landfall was a village was the ancient headmaster’s response when any of the students at the Academy asked his birth year. Also, probably the last time the old man had any fun, especially at these events.

What’cha lookin’ at? A masculine voice purred in her ear.

Ione closed her eyes and took a strengthening breath. Mistake. Denaat Hades surrounded her and worked his way into her lungs, warm, male, and sometimes insufferable. She opened her eyes and turned, doubly grateful for the cosmetic nanites that tinted her normally brown skin to an iridescent peridot for the evening, to cover the blush that spread through her at his presence. Honestly, like you haven’t known him for years, including the parts that infuriate you.

Auburn hair tamed for the evening and formal wear fitted like a second skin, Denaat Hades moved with the easy carelessness of having several thousand credits always at hand and the power to go along with them, whether it was earned or not. He leaned on the railing next to her, his amber eyes taking in the glittering crystals set into mesh that made up her micro-mini dress. The flicker of appreciation she read in his expression put her on firmer footing.

She turned away from the observation glass. Nothing, she murmured.

The party’s in here, Den said.

You call that a party? She slanted a glance at him. You’re the spectacle. Aren’t you supposed to be doing something spectacular?

—«♦◊♦»—

If she pushed hard enough, she wondered if she could burst right through the transparisteel and into the glittering night. She’d fall about three levels before she’d reach terminal velocity, but at least she’d be free.

Don’t be ridiculous. Suicide has one very critical flaw to it, in that you don’t get to be around to witness the aftermath. The tearful good-byes, the tributes, the vigils, the street art depicting you in various forms of enlightened evolution.

Den slipped up behind her, putting his hands on the railing to either side, effectively trapping her in the circle of his arms, and shielding her with his body. I’m bored. Let’s slip away.

She smirked. This is your party.

His breath was hot on her neck as he laughed without mirth. I’m only the showpiece. This is just another Academy cotillion designed to open the credit accounts of a ruling family in exchange for another meaningless accolade.

That must be why I haven’t gotten an honor in years. She sighed, aware that the rise and fall of her chest put her rear end in brief, brushing contact with his groin. The sound of his sharp, indrawn breath was barely discernible in the noise of the party, but if you were looking for it... She smiled to herself.

If you get in that ring with Master Kenndar in my place, you can have this one. He leaned down to speak low enough for her to hear him, and his breath passed over her neck, sending chills along her skin.

So the game is engaged. She shifted her weight, arching her back just enough to brush him again, this time more deliberately, as she turned around to face him. Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t been allowed competitive bladework since I threw my blade at Wendo Luud last year.

He still thinks fondly of you because of that. Den laughed, a low sound that wound her insides tight. If they’d been a normal couple of twenty-two-year-olds, she’d have led him behind the topiary and let that laugh be the start of something more. But the idea is to open the credit accounts of the special patrons here tonight.

That rules me right out. She leaned back against the rail, feeling the slight breeze of the air circulators tease the dangling crystals at the abbreviated hem of her dress. Ever since my brother became Minister of Extra-planetary Affairs, the family coffers have closed up as tight as his ass.

Den covered his snort of laughter with one hand. "Careful, Ione. Someone might hear you dissenting against one of our beloved governmental leaders, and the heir to the crown of Magnus Ra."

Ione rolled her eyes to the top of the transparent dome. The atmospheric haze that obscured the lower altitudes of the planet, some levels down from their location, gave way at this altitude to the clear night sky above. No mention was made of her potential as the heir to the crown. Women hadn’t inherited—or won—the crown since— Back when Landfall was a village.

The winking lights of the geostationary satellite web netting the planet, the vertical traffic rising beyond the planetary envelope, and the glow of the other strato-scrapers piercing the skyline made sparkling trails in the rising haze. Listening satellites? The infowebs that networked commerce, finance, trade, and the daily lives of a trillion beings on Landfall, its four moons, and the murky, rock-filled blackness beyond, all focused on whether or not Shezin Ra’s little sister gave him his due respect? Hah—er. She ended on a flat note. Not that far out of likelihood.

She changed the subject before the old family paranoia kicked in. Princess Ione Ra was the last thing from paranoid, at least according to the tabloid streams. You’re not bored, you’re nervous.

She caught the flicker in his expression that told her she knew him better than he thought. Two options presented themselves to her—reassure him or press his weakness.

Master Kenndar knows where his credits come from. She glanced up at his face.

Den’s expression darkened. He knows where his position as Blademaster comes from, too.

Then again, why choose one over the other at all? He earned it.

I know.

And you? What will you earn in this? Lift him up or knock him down, that was the important question of the evening. Of every evening.

His gaze raked her body. She leaned further back, aware that the pose showed off her cleavage. The flick of his tongue over his lips told her all she needed to know about that.

The hot interest in his gaze slipped, reminding her of the first time she’d seen through his arrogant, Lord-of-the-Manor attitude at age twelve. Something real, maybe.

Her fingers tightened around the delicate glass of champ-ale. Pairing up with Den was a practical move for them both. Their families moved in the same social circle and they spent enough time in each other’s company that a pair-up was a foregone conclusion. The only unknown was how much of their romance was an act, and how much of it was genuine.

Not even she knew that.

A week ago, she would have pushed the thought out of her mind altogether. She’d have pressed her body against his in a move carefully calculated to both keep his interest from waning and feed the mills of the gossip streams. A marriage alliance was the highest achievement a princess of the Imperial family was allowed, her main duty to diversify the family line through children, rather than commerce or politics, and she’d known this since she was a little girl.

But everything seemed different now. Emptier. Calcified. Their time at the Academy was coming to a close in a few short months. Landfall’s soaring strato-scrapers, the massive arcologies that housed the entire world in which she moved, once felt as if they were the universe itself, waiting for her to be free of the Academy’s restraints. The movers and shakers and power-brokers of the settled star system either curried her favor as daughter of the ruler, or jockeyed for position among themselves in what seemed like a vast and complicated dance.

Alliances and feuds, fueled by the engines of Social Capital, influenced negotiations that turned on a social snub or a carefully-timed acknowledgment. Behind it all was the Probabilities Index—the information market that determined the likelihood of potential outcomes that drove the engines of the economy.

And she was good at probability. It was the Grand Game to advise her classmates on the best strategies to maximize their SoCap indices—she even ran a shadow-market of the Index for the other Academy students. Plotting the course of their own relationship had been the most fun she was allowed to have with Den.

But that time was coming to a close. The alliance—the real, forever, locked-in sealing of their lives together—loomed before her. What used to be the Grand Game had become no game at all.

It had become a prison where her ambitions belonged to someone else, along with her body.

And if they were very, very lucky and timed their actions perfectly, that someone else would be Den, rather than his father. Then at least one of them would be free.

Den’s hands rested on her shoulders. His touch was light and as carefree as his voice. All I’m hoping for is a little breathing room. He leaned in to whisper close to her ear. Maybe a little sweetness from my favorite princess?

He wasn’t fooling her, even if his breath tickled her bare skin. Oh? There’s another princess around here somewhere? Maybe I can take a vacation. She wasn’t fooling herself, either. Far from being her jailer, Den was locked in this path with chains as tight as hers.

She searched his face. Pale skin several shades lighter than her natural coloring, Dark auburn hair and a charming crookedness to his smile, he met her eyes with a gaze that had once been described as molten gold in one of the scarce gossip-feed articles focused on him.

His hands glided down to her back where his warmth was drained away by the cold hardness of the crystals of her dress. His forehead touched hers, and to an outsider, they appeared to be sharing a moment of affection. But the real moment had already come and gone.

Shielded by the gemstones, something in her chest fluttered. Instead of hard crystal, she felt thinner than the threads weaving them together. So she squashed it ruthlessly and stepped into the circle of his arms to meet his mouth for a kiss that promised, teased, and couldn’t deliver.

The warmth of his body sent a heart-shaped tingle through her. The cynical, reality-shaped core of her made sure to shift her body so their activities could be observed by the eyes that rested above the mouths that would report to the right ears.

Den’s grip tightened, pressing the gem-encrusted fabric into her skin, but she remained protected from the points of the gems. The carbon-silk threads were indeed as thin as thought. But strong enough to do what they were designed to do—hold it together.

Chapter 2 - Brat Pack

Den snagged a pair of champ-ale glasses from a passing hospitality ’bot and handed one to her. Public odds say the Academy’s press blackouts will win any battle with crackers trying to broadcast out of the blackout net. I’m betting against, naturally.

She tipped the champ-ale glass towards her lips and let the fizzy drink cool her throat, then regarded him over the rim of the flute. What do you think you know that public odds don’t?

House Iktomi and House Leizu both have representatives here. Their crackers are better than the Academy’s blackout net. Den grinned. Don’t we count on their generosity for that very thing every time the Sugar run happens? Speaking of which—

Den reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a packet. He shook the envelope open and two small diamond-shaped slices of colored transparent material dropped into his hand.

She reached for them, but he held them up out of reach. Ah—come on, princess. That’s not how it works.

She ran her tongue over her teeth. Suppose you think you’re getting another kiss for one of those? She turned around and faced the window again. In the tight space between his body and the railing, her rear end brushed against his hip and she added a little shimmy to sweeten the deal. Or maybe something more?

If you were anyone else, yes. He leaned in and kissed just below her earlobe.

A shiver rippled through her and if she were anyone else, she would have turned and kissed him back and not stopped at just a kiss. But she wasn’t just anyone. She was Ione Ra, daughter of Emperor Magnus Ra, Torch-Bearer. Her affection was a rare commodity upon which fortunes not her own rode, and it was protected as such.

But we both know you’re going to break my heart again in a few hours, darling. Letting you bust my balls as well would be too much.

His tone was careless, his words clever, delivered with an exact mixture of wry humor and just enough emotion to leave the listener wondering whether or not he would be truly wounded, should his expectations come to pass.

He pulled her closer. "Why don’t you tell me, instead, what makes you take odds against Iktomi and Leizu cracking the Academy blackout tonight for early holo-feeds."

The warmth of his body was getting to her. The champ-ale had gone to her head minutes ago, and she suddenly wished she didn’t have to check a probabilities index before making a move.

This is your future, here. Risking the rest of your life for a taste of meaningless rebellion now will only land you in a smaller prison later.

That thought alone was why she didn’t give in and kiss him. Instead, she leaned back and soaked up the heat from his body, caressed his jaw with her hand, and murmured into his ear. Where’s the fun in that?

Den dropped his hand from where he held it above her head. Right here. He flipped one of the diamond-shaped panes up between his fingers and held it in front of her nose. Open up, darling, and you’ll get your reward.

He didn’t mean her mouth, but she stuck her tongue out anyway.

Den’s eyes narrowed at her impertinence. She held his gaze for a long moment before the corner of his mouth twitched. Very well. I can’t see a down side to you owing me for this, even if it costs me credits in the short-term.

He placed the red diamond on her tongue, where the hard-candy sweet melted, and released the euphoric they called ‘Sugar.’ Payment will come due, Princess.

It always does. The effect of her words was somewhat muddled by having to talk around his fingers, but by the time she closed her lips around his fingertips, the rush began to swell through her system, limning everything with a sparkling aura. Oh, you naughty boy, you. This is uncut.

If I’m going to steal a social coup, I’m stealing everything else, too. He leaned on the railing next to her and tucked the yellow diamond back into his pocket.

She lifted a questioning brow and he shrugged. Bladework and Sugar highs don’t mix. I swiped these from the VIP box during the procession when I escorted my father to his seat.

Her eyes widened, and the idea seemed more absurd—and more daring—when viewed through the Sugar high that was making her entire body tingle. She burst out laughing and the laugh shimmered through her like a ray of light. Whose idea was it to stock the VIP box with Sugar hits?

You didn’t hear? It could have been the high that caused her to imagine a shadow over Den’s face, because it was only there for a moment. Invicti Hades has dreamed up the totally novel idea of bribing the Cultural Trust to favor any future, ahem, potential alliances the House might engage in after tonight.

It might have been the high that made her sense the edge to his derisive laugh. Or it might have been thoughts of the Landfall Cultural Trust itself. Your father thinks the Trust can be bribed? Seriously?

Den’s features set in grim countenance. If there’s one thing my father could flood the markets with at any time, it’s his arrogance. He looked towards the box where the guests of honor were receiving social greetings.

His father and her brother appeared congenial, but Ione could have draped herself in the tension between the Hades lord and the Ra heir and been warm enough to ride an unheated cargo shuttle to one of the moons. House Hades has made a bold move to diversify, she quipped. If your father and my brother can’t make an alliance between the two of us, they can always go to war with each other.

Den’s jaw tightened. The Sugar is his way of flexing his muscles. It’s forbidden on Academy grounds, yet thanks to him, the VIPs don’t have to go without.

If they wanted Sugar, all they’d have to do is ask an upperclass student. It’s not as if we don’t have our own supply.

Her chuckle was interrupted by a swish of starsilk skirts as another student couple invaded their private corner. Don’t tell me your father’s pushing party favors to those ghouls from the Cultural Trust. A tall girl whose cosmetically-altered skin was a deeper green than Ione’s uttered the words with considerable dessication in her tone. Her companion, a towering young man whose blue tint came from his offworld heritage, rather than bio-cosmetics, placed an amicable hand on Den’s shoulder.

As she spoke, the girl took Ione’s champ-ale glass from her hand and drained the contents. Thanks, sweetie. I’m positively parched from even thinking about those old fossils.

Unlike Ione, who wore her dark curls glossy and pinned back on her head in a tumble full of tiny gems and photonic emitters, Teshi Tinavra wore her hair loose and ornamented with a mesh of beads and feathers in the custom of her native southern tropic zone. If your father’s pushing Sugar on the Trust, it’s not bribery, it’s murder. You think any of those ancients can hold a buzz?

Ione put an arm around her waist. Teshi, darling. She air-kissed the space above her roommate’s cheeks and subtly shifted her weight to move the other girl back and out of her space. And away from her boyfriend. You look divine. Didn’t I tell you the rose starsilk was a good choice?

Ione’s roommate and closest companion for the past six years spun on her heeled shoes. The semi-sheer starsilk of the dress she wore flared out, its hue deepening with her movement. The beaded feathers at the sweeping hem flared out like a raptor’s wing. Teshi’s smile revealed sharply-pointed teeth also common to people from the southern tropics. Or rather, people with the surname of Tinavra, whose genes were as pure as you could get, but who weren’t opposed to augmenting them with enough bio-tech to qualify as AI. You were right about the dress. But dead wrong about my handbag.

Ione raised an eyebrow. I’m never wrong.

Some bimbo of a backwater Zone Governor’s whelp had one similar. I had to ditch mine in the lounge because she was here first. Teshi bared her teeth. "But I found her matching wrap in