Sven

Ugh. . . what in all hells happened? The sounds around me are foreign to any place I'm used to sleeping in, and this is definitely not my bed. My head's throbbing, my right shoulder's on fire. . . "Romelle!" My attempt to sit up is arrested by a hand on my left shoulder, a tube in that arm, and that special brand of vertigo and nausea that is the gift of concussion.

"Easy, easy, min bror," Lance says softly, and I realize the hand is his. "The docs just got you put back together; don't go undoing their hard work, all right?"

Grudgingly I lay back, reluctant to admit I don't have the strength to fight him. "Romelle? Vhere is she? Dey took her, didn't dey?"

His expression is unreadable, then hardens as he looks away. "Keith and I were just ahead of you guys; we saw the whole thing, but couldn't do anything. Looked to me like Romelle went willingly. I'm sorry, Sven."

"She tought she vas saving my life," I counter wearily, the pounding in my head increasing. "You did not see, Lance; she vas scared to deat! She did not vant to go." I try again to get up, slower this time. "I haf to try und save her!"

Lance's hand descends on my shoulder again, but it's the voice from the doorway that freezes me in place. "You will do no such thing, Erik Sven." Mamma walks in and sits beside me. "The Polluxian delegation has been detained while the Alliance works out charging King Cova and Prince Avok with the assault on you as a Garrison officer in the performance of his duties. Your Onkel Michael is doing a lot of the negotiating, and he has Keith working with him." She takes my hand and smooths my hair as she has not done since I was a child. "Keith is going to try to get Romelle away, min sønn; the best thing you can do is rest and get better for her."

I am twenty-one years old, a pilot and a killer trained to be the best the Garrison can offer. Doesn't stop me from reverting to toddlerhood at my mamma's touch; between that and the drugs in my IV, I have no chance at staying awake. Darkness takes me as Mamma and Lance talk quietly.

Romelle

What have I done? How could I have been so naïve? My poor Sven; I can still see the hurt and betrayal in his eyes when I went to Father willingly. I should have known Father would have a loophole in his word; when I saw Avok strike Sven, I nearly collapsed myself. I DID try to run back to him, but Father's guards had me fast, and dragged me off as Sven fell to the ground.

We're back at the embassy now; I'm locked in my room under guard. Catera has scolded me and very nearly spanked me; Roman merely shook his head in sad disappointment at me. I can't blame them, but nor can I bring myself to care. All I can do is sit at the window, tears running down my cheeks, as I look out towards the pier Sven took me to and his Academy far in the misty distance.

A tap at the door brings me out of my thoughts, and I turn to see Roman standing there, silent as always. "It's time?" He nods, and I take a deep breath, rising from my chair. Father and Avok in their arrogance thought they could attack a Garrison officer in broad daylight with impunity; a note from the Alliance quickly disabused them of that notion, and informed them Marshal Graham would be coming to the embassy to discuss the matter further. Apparently he has arrived. "Very well, take me to them, please."

You can almost see the tension in the meeting room as Roman escorts me in. Father and Avok are on one side of a table, glaring across it at Marshal Graham and his aide. The aide sweeps me with an icy glare as Roman escorts me to my seat, and I swallow hard as I realize he's Sven's friend Keith. Mercifully he says nothing, turning his attention to a datapad as the Marshal speaks. "King Cova, Prince Avok, Princess Romelle; we are here to investigate the circumstances surrounding Prince Avok's assault on a Galaxy Garrison officer, Commander Sven Holgersson."

Father is, predictably, in a temper. "This is ridiculous! Avok was defending his beloved sister from a man who had kidnapped and taken advantage of her! And in any event, we have diplomatic immunity!"

"Witnesses say otherwise," Graham counters smoothly, "and diplomatic immunity does not apply here. Princess Romelle had requested and been granted asylum; it is you and Prince Avok who are the kidnappers here, Majesty, not Commander Holgersson."

Father and Avok erupt; I take advantage to get Keith's attention. "Please, how is Sven? Is he all right?"

That cold gaze again. "If you cared, Princess, he wouldn't be in the position where you'd need to ask. He was in surgery for his shoulder when I left Oslo; concussion was also mentioned. And I don't want to think about what you did to his heart."

His words cut to the bone, but I cannot defend against them. Before I can say anything, though, Marshal Graham stands. "In the interest of Alliance good will, we will not prefer charges against Prince Avok. However, this is your notice that you, King Cova, and you, Prince Avok, have been declared persona non grata on Earth. You have twenty-four hours to vacate Earth orbit with your party."

"I want to stay." The words are startling; it takes a second for me to realize I said them, but more follow them. "There's nothing for me but a loveless nightmare of a marriage on Pollux, abuse from all those who claim to love me. I claim asylum."

"You ungrateful little BITCH!" Father lunges across Avok to backhand me, as he has so many times before . . . and is brought up short by a blaster in his face. A blaster that Keith levels, steady as granite.

"Oh, please, please, Your Majesty . . . give me a reason," he says in a chilling voice. "You and yours are the reason my best friend is lying with a hole in his shoulder."

"Stand down, Captain Kogane," Marshal Graham barks, pushing Keith's hand down. "We are leaving; Princess Romelle is of course coming with us as a refugee under Alliance protection."

"Take her, then," Father snarls. "She is no daughter of my house, she takes nothing but what she stands up in. We'll see how long this lover of hers wants a destitute no name living off him!"

Keith comes around the table and offers me his left arm, blaster still in his right. "That is no longer your concern, King Cova," Marshal Graham says, standing and following us to the door. "Just remember what I said, and be gone by this time tomorrow."

I can feel my former family's eyes on me as I numbly follow Keith, but no one makes any move to stop us until we reach the front door. Catera's waiting there, eyes red and tear-swollen, a bag in her hands. "My baby," she sniffles, pulling me into a crushing hug. "I know now, you've found a man to love you, who'll treat you like the princess you are. Here. . ." she hands me the bag. "Your mother's jewels, and your keepsakes. Ancients bless you, child. Remember old Catera and Roman who love you."

My silent Roman comes up behind us, wrapping me in his own strong embrace before turning to Keith and Marshal Graham. "Keep her safe," he whispers, the most I have ever heard him say, and the Garrison men nod solemnly. Then . . . then we're gone, out of the embassy and onto the Marshal's ship. He heads to the cockpit to give instructions; Keith guides me to a seat and takes the one next to it, onyx gaze locking me in its depths.

"Why?" he asks bluntly. "If I'm going to help you, regardless of what Marshal Graham orders, I want to know why. Sven risked everything for you. And you threw it in his face."

I look down at the bag in my lap, miserable. "I know. But . . . Keith, they would have killed him! I couldn't just stand by and do nothing!"

"You know Sven's a soldier," he counters. "Do you really think he was defenseless? You badly underestimate him; I can tell you right now that he could, and would, have put your father, brother, and the guards on the ground in a millisecond. And not been out of breath doing it. But no, Princess knows best, doesn't she? So instead of him being killed, he's badly hurt, and . . . and his heart is broken," he finishes in a furious whisper. "If it was up to me, you'd never set foot on the same damned continent with him again." His words cut into my soul; I just want to curl up somewhere and sob my heart out. But just then Marshal Graham returns.

"Sven's out of surgery and was awake, briefly," he tells us both, then looks at me. "Seems Lance and Anna had to just about sit on him to keep him from coming after you. I think you have another chance, Princess; I'd use it wisely if I were you."

"I plan to, if Sven will let me," I say softly. "And I am just Romelle, Marshal; I have no wish to be any sort of princess any longer."

The two men look me over appraisingly, then nod. "We're heading for Oslo now," the Marshal says. "I know Keith will want to be with his teammates, and . . . we'll just see what happens between you and Sven." He gives Keith a look I can't quite fathom. "But whatever happens, you're safe. The Alliance has granted you asylum, and will help you settle wherever you choose. But understand, Romelle; this was your last chance."

"I understand, and I thank you, Marshal." He nods and goes back to the cockpit, wordlessly beckoning Keith to join him. I curl up in my seat, hoping to rest a bit before seeing Sven.

In what seems like no time at all, I'm being shaken awake and told we've arrived in Oslo. Dazedly I follow the Marshal and Keith to a groundcar, and watch the city lights flash by as we're driven to the hospital. In almost no time, I'm standing in front of a bed that holds my Sven, his face pale and drawn in sleep, his bare chest wrapped in bandages. Lance sits on one side of his bed, giving me the same glare Keith has been since the embassy; Mama Holgersson is opposite him, her face wary but unreadable. Before anyone can say anything, Sven stirs, lashes fluttering before those gorgeous blue eyes of his open and light up at the sight of me. "Elskede," he breathes joyously, and I completely forget anything I wanted to do or say. Before I realize I've moved, I'm in his arms, crying on his shoulder, babbling apologies in a mixture of English and Polluxian that even I'm not sure makes sense.

Sven

She's here. She's safe. She's . . . lying on my wounded shoulder, which would probably hurt like a blow from Thor's hammer if I were not so heavily drugged. But even so, I would not move her. Instead I pull her closer, whispering Norwegian that I know she doesn't understand. "You're safe, my love. I have you, I love you, I'll never, ever let you go again." We have much to talk about, and deal with, but it can all wait. I tuck her close to my side and we both fall asleep under the amused—and not so amused—gazes of my family.