Welcome to my blog! Today for Science Fiction Romance Brigade Showcase I’ll be sharing a never before seen excerpt from my Work in Progress (um…that may be a lie. I emailed it to my brother but have no idea if he saw it yet. Haha.) Anyway, this novella presently has no title. It’s somewhere along the lines of Game of Thrones in Space or Lancelot & Guinevere in Space. Enjoy the opening of my new WIP!
Oh, and if you’re a writer and like wine (and what writer doesn’t?) you may want to check out this post.
Dynariss Ironslayer struggled for breath in the maddening restraints bound tightly around her ribcage and waist. Across the military compound, she watched the spaceship’s iron wings change shape as it descended upon the hard-packed ground like a giant, ugly insect.
“Your executioner has arrived,” her youngest sister whispered so their father and the surrounding guards wouldn’t hear.
In a few moments, Evizon Blaqule, King of the Dark Moon, would take her from her family and her home planet. Her heart pounded as it normally did when standing battle ready, but her combat days were over now. There would be no more warrior for this warrior princess.
The weight of her sister’s gaze bore into her. Dynariss squeezed Skylar’s hand. “Stop staring.”
“I can’t help it. I like your face. I don’t want him to cut it.”
“It’s a small price to pay for saving our home.” How many times had Dynariss repeated those exact words to reassure herself?
“But it’ll be the end of you.”
“I’m not dying, Sky. I’m getting married.”
“Same thing. You won’t be you anymore. And I hate it.”
Dynariss couldn’t argue. Changing her appearance to appease the Dark Moon King’s vanity wasn’t her idea. Neither was dressing in this lung-crushing corset and ridiculous, delicate gown.
The shimmery pink material fit tightly around her torso while the long sleeves and skirt draped loosely to conceal her muscle-bound body. A sensible people would have trimmed the too-long material, but foolish Dark Moon fashion dictated the difference in length be made up with dainty silver straps on four-inch spiky heels.
Impractical for walking, but useful for impaling someone…should the need arise.
The tailor-made clothing didn’t camouflage much, though, she was still twice as broad as a Dark Moon woman and a foot shorter. It was a matter of gravity. Her moon yielded denser bones and stockier, muscular physiques, while theirs produced thin, sylphlike frames taller than her six-foot-one-inch average height.
Nothing but surgery would transform her appearance, and if doing so helped her planet defeat their enemies, then Dynariss would dutifully dress, act, and alter her body as the Dark Moon King desired.
“At least you get to fly in a real starship.” That had always been her sister’s dream. If most advanced technology wasn’t forbidden on their moon, Skylar would grow up to be a fighter pilot.
Her father chuckled. “This is a small transit shuttle. Only holds a crew of eight. It’s nothing compared to the fleet Blaqule promised me upon your sister’s wedding day. Dynariss stop fidgeting. You must be a proper lady. Our Moon’s fate depends on it.”
Nothing like a little pressure to get the heart rate up.
The rumbling engines shook the ground and reverberated through her nearly masking the pounding of her heart. Before the ship’s door slid opened fully, a man jumped out and ran full speed at them.
She reached for the sword hilt on her hip only to come up empty. Stupid Dark Moon costume. She should be wearing her battle armor.
Father took a step forward, sword in hand. “Stop him!” The guards, already in pursuit, grabbed the man. He hadn’t unholstered his blaster or struggled out of their grasp as they physically escorted him to her father. “What is the meaning of this, Blaqule?”
Blaqule? This brawny, good-looking man was Evizon Blaqule, King of the Dark Moon? Her intended husband was much more handsome than she’d been led to believe. Tall and lanky she’d been told. Over seven feet. But this man couldn’t have been more than an inch or two taller than she was and with a build not unlike her countrymen; not as broad in the shoulders, perhaps, but at least broader than she was.
This was an unexpected plus in the arranged marriage column.
“Your excellency,” Blaqule said in Universal while nodding a quick bow. “Acridite craft have entered the atmosphere. We’ve only minutes before they track my position. Chatter is they want the princess.”
“How many ships?”
“General,” her father bellowed over his shoulder. “Ready the clan for battle and prepare the EMP canons.”
“Aye, my Lord.”
“Now wait a minute.” Blaqule shrugged a guard’s hand off his shoulder. “If you fire them, you’ll fry my ship.”
“Collateral damage can’t be helped.” Her father strode away bellowing commands.
“Can’t be helped? This is the Kingship!” Blaqule shouted as if that should mean something to her moon’s Emperor. He strode after her father and she scrambled behind them as best she could in the stupid gown, killer spikes, and uncomfortable bouncing tits. When she became the Dark Moon Queen, she was introducing breastplates. “This is your planet’s only means of communication with mine. I can’t call for backup if she’s fried.”
“You have–” Father checked his ivory watch, “–eleven minutes before my cannons fire.”
“Plenty of time to send your message,” Dynariss said. “Though little good it will do when it takes two sols to get here.”
Like most students learning a new language, she knew the basic conversational pleasantries plus a few choice curse words. At this moment, King Blaqule was not muttering pleasantries. “I’m not getting stuck on this primitive rock for two minutes never mind two sols. I’ve got a fleet to prepare and mobilize.” His meaty grip bit into her arm just above the elbow as he propelled her, too quickly, toward the shuttle. She tamped down the urge to jerk free and slug him. At least he had the decency to steady her after each stumble.
He tapped the small communication device in his ear. “Prepare for takeoff.”
“But, my family–” Craning to see over her shoulder, she searched the dispersing warriors for her father and sisters. The compound wasn’t that large, where had they gone?
Laser blasts erupted from the east. Instinctively, she ducked, but pain twisted through her ankle and hard-packed ground wracked her left side. Stupid, stupid shoes.
Hefted off the ground, Blaqule tossed her over his shoulder and raced for the King’s ship.
“Put me down! I can run myself.”
“Princesses don’t run.”
“Not even when their lives are at stake?”
Blaqule didn’t have time to answer before a laser blasted the dirt and stone fragments at his heels into her face. As soon as her feet touched ground, he shoved her into a tight space under the ships folded wing, and then returned fire before squeezing in behind her. Mostly shielded, the wing gave good cover, as did her betrothed’s strapping body blocking the small opening.
“How the hell did they find us so fast?” Blaqule touched his ear device and asserted commands with calm confidence in his native tongue. If she could have understood all the words, she’d know whether or not his plan had merit.
She forced herself to remain silent, ladies didn’t offer tactical advice. Besides, he wasn’t fighting alone. Her soldiers would get the job done. All she had to do was sit tight and wait it out. She wiped the debris from her face still stinging from the blast.
Blaqule tapped his ear again. “Cover us. I want the princess back inside the compound before I board the ship.”
“You’re leaving me behind?” Had she done something wrong already? Why had she insisted on running?
“Just until I take to the sky and drop these bastards.”
“You can do that?”
“I’m the best damn fighter pilot on the Eight Moons.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your competence. I meant this isn’t a warship. It’s a small transport shuttle.” Hopefully those were the correct words her father had used.
“It’s more than a transport shuttle, Sweetheart. It’s an alpha class Mimic. Three ships in one. It’s got firepower.”
“There.” He pointed to a modest piece of artillery underneath the wing. “Among other places.”
“That little thing?”
“It’s not the size of a man’s weapon that counts, it’s his mastery in firing it.” By his sly grin, you would have thought he was the first to utter such thinly veiled innuendo. She came from a warrior nation, a day didn’t pass without hearing a weapon as cock metaphor.
“What good is mastery if your weapon isn’t powerful?”
“Hey, my weapon is plenty powerful!” Blaster at the ready, he rotated left to peer around the wing’s edge before rotating back. “And intense. You better hold on to something, Princess.” His roguish grin and those dark eyes gleaming with brazen mischief sent her traitorous heart skipping a beat. She’d always been a sucker for cool confidence especially amid the heat of battle.
Seriously, was there anything sexier?
Perhaps marriage to this alien king wouldn’t be all bad. Assuming they survived this attack.
Thank you for taking the time to read my blog post! Feel free to leave me comments…good and/or critical comments are always welcome; nasty comments not so much. 😉
And be sure to check out these fun reads by other SFR Brigade Showcase authors!