Cerelia's Choice

By D.A. Hill

Fleeing space pirates in zero-gravity wearing a flimsy nightgown is never a good idea, but that is the least of Cerelia's problems…

 

When the luxury spaceliner carrying Crown Princess Cerelia is attacked by space pirates, she is forced to flee for her life in the company of the ship's captain, Jefferson Rydel. Having left behind her home and family forever to marry the man she has selected to succeed her father as Emperor, her disappearance throws the Imperial succession into question and destabilizes the Empire.

 

As she struggles to adapt to a harsh and challenging environment completely unlike the refined, sophisticated, and comfortable world she has always known, she discovers again and again that Captain Rydel is not what she thought he was. Has he really uncovered the secret of Earth, its location lost in the passage of time and regarded by most as a myth? Or is he nothing but an unprincipled charlatan exploiting the hopes of millions?

 

Whoever he is, she has no choice but to accept his help. As they fight to stay ahead of the forces trying so desperately to kill her, and to stop the plot against the Imperial throne, she begins to wonder if she has found what she always longed for but never believed she would find—a man she can truly love without turning her back on the duty she was born to fulfill…

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.A. Hill
• Release date: Mar 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781393625445

Book preview

CERELIA’S

CHOICE

by

D.A.HILL

Copyright © 2015 D.A.Hill

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

In memory of David Arthur Hill

4 September 1939 – 20 January 2009

Chapter 1: Departure

THE CLIMB BEGAN AT little more than walking speed, but the floor still pressed hard against Princess Cerelia’s feet as the cabin rose from the ground, accelerating steadily. She stood with her hands folded in front of her, gazing out through the panoramic windows of the space elevator, her eyes fixed on the dark, roiling clouds that filled the sky in every direction.

She bit her lip, choking back tears as the memory of yesterday’s parting grabbed hold of her again, unbidden but not unwelcome. Hers was a life of perpetual comfort and privilege, but in this moment she would give anything not to be the Crown Princess. With time the pain would fade, for all of them, but she expected to carry this emptiness inside for many months yet. One day she would let it go, but not now. Such profound sadness reminded her how deeply she loved the family she was leaving behind. She welcomed it.

For many years she had known this moment would come. All her life it had hung over her, the knowledge that one day her duty would require her to leave. Her parents had known since the day she was born. Yet when her mother stepped forward to embrace her for the last time, they both broke down in a very public and less than regal display of raw emotion, their chests rising and falling in great heaving sobs as tears washed their faces.

Her father looked on silently, delaying his farewell until they could delay no more, when she had to leave or risk missing her own wedding. A bear of a man, he wrapped his arms around her with such longing she thought he might never let go. No sound or movement betrayed his emotions as he buried his face in her hair. Beyond that, there was no public evidence of the depth of his love, or his anguish at knowing he would never see his only daughter again. But the warm moisture of his tears tickling her scalp provided private proof.

The familiar footsteps of her lady-in-waiting approached. She turned her head toward the sound, making no attempt to hide her melancholy mood, knowing it would be futile. This woman had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember—literally. Her earliest memory was of Lady Eveara, of pushing her to the ground and her cousin being punished for retaliating, the first of many lessons in her own special status.

Did Cousin Eveara remember it that way, if she remembered it at all? She had never asked her. But if her cousin did recall that event, and many subsequent episodes like it, the injustice of her treatment was long since forgiven. Lady Eveara understood her own obligations. Though different from the duties that bound the Crown Princess, they defined her life just as completely.

Eveara placed a reassuring hand on her arm. You must trust you have chosen the most suitable man to be your husband.

By law, a Crown Princess could not be compelled in matters of matrimony by anyone. Not even by her father, who remained silent on the matter of whom she should marry.

In practice, there were numerous unwritten rules, traditions observed by generations of the matriarchal line that had gone before her, conventions that narrowed the menu to fewer than five men. That should have made her decision easier, but the lack of options only fed her doubts.

Was Lord Veraney the one? she asked herself for the hundredth time. Did he possess the skills and temperament needed to guide the Empire through its many challenges after her father’s reign ended? How was anyone to know until the man in question was tested by the unique demands of the office?

Her father’s advisers certainly favored Veraney. But that was the Imperial Council doing what it always did—pushing the option least threatening to its own interests. The bureaucrats referred constantly to the need to promote continuity and stability, but what they really desired was perpetuating their own power and privileges. She cared not a whit about the future of those institutions and office-bearers who so frustrated her father, their supposed master, but her own analysis led her to the same conclusion: Veraney was the obvious choice. The safe choice.

But was that what was needed? She took a deep, despairing breath. "I cannot trust anything. I can only hope that I have chosen wisely, for the sake of the Empire."

Her lady-in-waiting stood beside her for several minutes before speaking again. You really should rest, dearest, Eveara said.

Determined not to miss a minute of the last day she would ever spend with her family, she had not slept in… how long? Thirty hours. Now she was paying the price. Standing was an effort, her knees ached, and her eyes wanted to close so desperately it was as if they were driven by some force much stronger than her conscious will.

She felt the call of the comfortable bed that awaited her. Luxurious furnishings had been specially installed for her use on the two day trip to the top station, replacing the hard benches and cramped sleeping berths that accommodated the normal payload of one hundred passengers. Her party comprised just ten people—a small entourage for a Crown Princess—and of them only one, Eveara, would travel with her beyond the space elevator.

Despite her overwhelming fatigue, she ignored her cousin’s entreaty. She knew the lights of the Imperial Palace could not possibly be seen from this distance, but she continued to look in its direction, her eyes searching in vain for the place where she knew her parents were, her heart and mind not yet ready to surrender her link to them.

She longed to turn back, but as much as she might yearn for her exile to be cut short, there was only one way that could happen. She prayed instead for the Emperor to live a long life. It would be many years, the stars and moons willing, before she saw this place again. But one tragic day she would be compelled to return, as her mother had done twenty-one years ago, accompanied by the husband who would succeed his father-in-law to the throne.

It helped knowing the Emperor and Empress had each other and her brothers to soften their loss, but who would comfort a lonely princess when the nights on a distant planet seemed so long and dark?

Yes, Eveara would stay with her. She could not wish for a more faithful companion, and they loved each other like sisters, but there was a limit to the depth of any relationship between two people of their different social standings.

Her husband-to-be was the only possible source of the true intimacy of equals she yearned for. Perhaps, if she was truly fortunate, they would come to love each other as profoundly as her parents did. But such devotion in a royal couple was a rare thing, something she might hope for, but had no right to expect.

Please, Cousin, Eveara said as she tightened the grip on her forearm, squeezing just hard enough to ensure she would not be ignored. We still have a long and exhausting journey ahead. It would not be wise to tire yourself.

The clouds flashed by now, the elevator already traveling at more than half its cruising speed. Soon they would be moving up the long, thin, but incredibly strong cable at a thousand kilometers per hour, each passing minute carrying her closer to a lifetime of quiet, relentless irrelevance.

A Crown Princess could expect to fulfill her life’s purpose by her late twenties, having anointed the Empire’s future ruler and borne the daughter who would one day follow in her own path. Until then she remained someone of consequence. She would not surrender that a day sooner than she must.

I will have ample time to rest, she said, gently breaking her cousin’s hold. A lifetime.

She turned back to the window to see the clouds changing from a dark charcoal to a softer shade of gray. Moments later, the elevator cabin punched through the thick, misty layer into clear air. To their east the horizon had turned red and the sky above an orange-yellow. The rising sun was about to bring a new day and a fresh start, although it would remain dark on the ground beneath them for some time yet.

RYDEL STOOD IN THE airlock awaiting the royal party’s arrival, the ship’s officers fanned out on either side of him. Everything was ready for their departure. All they needed now was their human cargo.

He had no personal interest in greeting his special passenger. But he doubted he could allow her to board without offering an official welcome—not without causing a major uproar and drawing unnecessary and unwelcome attention to himself and his ship. Once the unavoidable formalities were complete he would stay out of her way—until the moment was right.

It was several hours past their appointed departure time when they had finally received word from docking control that the Princess and her party were approaching their bay. Yet on this last, short leg of the journey they had somehow managed to delay further. The sound of his foot tapping the metal deck echoed in the confined space of the airlock.

Steady, Captain, said the man standing beside him. I warned you this would happen. We should think ourselves lucky they’re even arriving on the right day.

He glared down at the short, stocky man. Garett Tikan was fully thirty centimeters shorter than his commander. But the XO knew what he was talking about, having worked luxury liners before, one of the reasons he wanted Gar on this job.

Despite making a conscious effort to control his fidgeting, he didn’t manage to remain still for long and his toes soon resumed their subconscious drumming.

When at long last Princess Cerelia stepped through the airlock door, he had to catch his breath. In any other context the woman following behind would be considered a beauty in her own right; in the presence of her mistress, she faded into the background. The Princess was as beautiful as she appeared on the holovids, but to see such beauty in the flesh…

The effect of the elaborate clothing she wore only added to her radiance. Her perfect curves—not too much, not too little—didn’t hurt either. Nor did her fine facial features, piercing green eyes, creamy white skin, and long, silken hair. He would call it red, although he knew its various shades had their own names, at least on worlds where such complexions were common. Tall too, and not just for a woman. One hundred eighty-five centimeters he guessed. Almost as tall as him. Wait. More like one-eighty; a woman dressed so extravagantly must be wearing heels.

What really grabbed his attention was the graceful way she moved. She didn’t sway from side to side as she walked, or bounce up and down as ordinary people did. Instead she glided forward, her body erect and her head still, her means of propulsion a mystery under the long, flowing gown.

The Princess stopped before them and looked the assembled officers up and down. There was something in her eyes. Sadness? More like a detached resignation. Whatever her problem, fixing her mood was well outside the scope of his responsibilities.

He stepped forward, dipping his head respectfully, but no more than he would for any customer. "Captain Rydel, Your Highness. Welcome aboard the Auronian Joy."

She held out her right hand, her wrist bent down and her fingers hanging loose and relaxed. He stared at her hand for a moment before realizing what she expected. Blast. He had to act the part, much as he hated kowtowing to people who thought an accident of birth made them better than him.

Her delicate, slender digits almost disappeared inside his large, thick fingers as he grasped her hand. With their knobbly knuckles his hands carried the marks of more than one honest day’s work. Hers attested to a life of pampering.

She shuddered as he allowed his lips to caress the top of her wrist. Had he done it wrong? Was there even a correct way to kiss a woman’s hand? Of course there was, probably described in excruciating detail in a twenty page instruction manual somewhere. He had surely messed it up. But it was too late now. Anyway, it was her fault. She had insisted.

He released her hand and took a step back before summoning the XO forward. My Executive Officer, Garett Tikan.

He waited for the Princess to acknowledge the other officer’s presence. An awkward silence followed, until she offered the slightest of nods in recognition.

Mr. Tikan will show you and your companion to your staterooms, he said. Anything he can do to make your journey more comfortable, don’t hesitate to ask. He doubted she would have any problem speaking up.

Pity the man responsible for her, he thought to himself as he watched the Princess and her lady-in-waiting follow the XO away, neither woman having said a word.

His wry smile was replaced by a scowl as he realized that for the next few weeks, that man was him. By the stars, he hoped she was worth all the trouble and expense.

This ship had cost him nearly fifty percent of his fortune, and most of his liquid assets, though it should have fetched only a fraction of that. The Faraline Drive had killed demand for luxury transport. Few people cared to pay the enormous price of passage on a ship with a full-g habitat ring now that a month-long trip took less than three days, even if those unaccustomed to weightlessness spent much of that time puking.

Instead, he paid a hefty premium over market value. The urgency of the purchase and his need to avoid the publicity and official interest that usually accompanied such a large transaction left the seller holding all the cards. And he had been forced to call in favors accumulated over many years to assemble a crew he could rely on for such a delicate operation. As it was, he didn’t have time to replace everyone, although he did manage to fill the key positions with people he trusted, people like the XO.

Rydel was only here because he had demanded and been promised an outrageous fee for this mission, an amount that would see his expenses covered—even after writing off his investment in the ship—with an enormous profit left over, more money than he would normally expect to make in a lifetime. Finally they would have enough to bring the dream of centuries to fruition.

Assuming he was paid.

The man who engaged him was regarded throughout the Empire as honest, if somewhat ruthless. In his experience there was no better guarantee than a man’s reputation, but this time it was the only protection he had. If this deal went bad it would ruin him and set the cause back decades. And there wasn’t a court anywhere that a ship’s captain called Jefferson Rydel could appeal to if his client stiffed him on his contract to kidnap the Crown Princess…

Chapter 2: Dinner

THEY WERE ONLY ONE week into their journey—a mere quarter of the way to their destination—but already Princess Cerelia felt her old life slipping away, the connection stretching thin, like an elastic band pulled to the point where the rubber begins to discolor and small cracks appear, moments before it snaps. When that happened all the potential energy was lost. Perhaps she should release the band instead, letting it spring back to its source, using the liberated energy to propel herself forward toward her new life.

Not yet.

Her future would arrive soon enough. Until then, she needed to do something to break the boredom. The parlor games she loved to play with Eveara were beginning to wear thin. They had promenaded around the habitat ring so many times it had become painfully repetitive, and she was obstructing the business of the ship while doing so. Sailors stopped what they were doing as they rushed to hide in the shadows until she passed, but their complaints, though muttered, reached her ears.

Were her father here, he would not stand for her causing such disruption. He taught her to insist on the deference due her station, but he also stressed the need to respect the obligations of those around her. Just imagining his reprimand caused her to blush. The crew’s duty was to deliver her to her destination. She needed to stay out of their way while they did that.

But how could the Captain be busy, with so many people under his command? Surely his primary task was attending to the needs of his passengers. Since her father had reserved the entire ship, that made her comfort Captain Rydel’s personal responsibility.

She took a seat at an elaborate roll-top desk called a Bureau du Roi for reasons unknown, not only to her but to anyone alive. It was a quintessential example of the style favored by those who could afford such indulgences and quite similar to the desk in her apartment at the Imperial Palace…

She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. Perhaps she would decorate her new home in a different manner, one less likely to remind her of a life left behind.

From the drawer she pulled a sheet of the finest writing paper and a gold fountain pen. In a neat, decorative hand she stated her request, before folding the note and slipping it inside a matching envelope.

She had carefully followed all the expected protocols in both form and content. Though they would be wasted on the recipient, she would know. But to her dismay she could not affix her official seal, the ship’s purser having confiscated her supply of candles and matches during the mandatory post-boarding inspection of her effects. Despite her angry protest at such an outrageous invasion of her privacy, he had insisted on completing the search, informing her in a stern, no-arguments-will-be-considered voice that open flames, along with firearms of any kind, were absolutely forbidden inside spacegoing vessels, even for royalty.

She held the completed missive out at arm’s length. Eveara, please see this delivered to the Captain.

Her companion reached out to grasp the message, but did not pull it from her hand. Is there a problem, Cousin dearest?

Not at all. I simply desire a change. I wish to dine at the Captain’s table this evening.

Eveara jerked her hand away without taking the letter. You wish to dine… in public?

Did the Imperial Security Service not screen the crew? she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Of course. Viscount Atherin vetted them himself.

Then it will be perfectly safe. And we are already committed. Our fate rests in their hands now, even if we stay in our staterooms for the entire journey. Besides, there are no other passengers. It will only be us and the Captain.

But, Your Highness,—when they were alone together, Eveara used Cerelia’s formal title only when she wished to remind her mistress of her royal status and the accompanying obligations—dining with a commoner?

RYDEL SAT IN HIS READY room studying the ship’s current position on the navigation terminal. Only half a day now to the rendezvous point. Staring at the display wouldn’t make the ship go any faster, but he couldn’t help it. He was anxious to begin the next phase of his mission. It was the riskiest point in their plan, but after that it ought to be smooth going—just a matter of waiting until the prearranged signal to deliver his passenger and complete the deal.

Someone knocked. By the time he looked up a young crewwoman had already entered, normal practice unless he left instructions with the bridge that he was not to be disturbed.

What is it? he asked as she handed him an envelope.

Sir, a message. From the Crown Princess.

What does it say?

Sir? she said, staring at her feet. I didn’t, I don’t, I would never…

He shook his head. Of course you wouldn’t. His stupid question had embarrassed the poor kid. He would make it up to her with some extra credits on her bonus chipcoin when this was all done. Thank you, Katalenya. Dismissed.

She turned and rushed out the door.

He searched for something to open the envelope. Nobles and their quaint customs. What was wrong with sending an email like a normal person? Every passenger was given an account on the ship’s system for just that purpose.

Finding nothing suitable, he tore it open with his finger. The handwriting was elegant, almost a work of art, but he rolled his eyes at the first three lines filled with flowery nonsense. How did the nobility ever get anything done when they wasted so much time on meaningless formalities? Simple. They didn’t. They had others do the work for them.

He read on and came to the substance of the communication. Absolutely not! he shouted to the empty room.

But could he refuse? Wouldn’t he offend by