The corridor to the throne room stretched ahead like a death march. I was still adjusting my jacket—Meus had done a number on the buttons—when someone stepped out of a side passage.
"Nephew."
I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Fuck! Uncle Marcus?"
He smiled, and it was the same sharp grin that had gotten him exiled from three systems. "Language, dear boy. What would your father say?"
"Probably something about execution." I glanced around. The guards had conveniently vanished. "How did you—"
"I have my ways." He straightened his robes—expensive fabric, subtle armor weave underneath. Classic Uncle Marcus. "We need to talk."
"Now? I'm about to get royally fucked by the Emperor."
"Precisely why we need to talk now."
Uncle Marcus had always been the family's black sheep—too clever for his own good, too ambitious for a younger son, and way too interested in things that exploded. In the game, he'd been a minor NPC who sold illegal weapons. In person, he radiated the kind of dangerous charm that started wars.
"I saw the footage," he said, falling into step beside me. "Quite impressive. Though that move through the asteroid field was reckless."
"It worked."
"So did your bodyguard, apparently." His smile turned knowing. "The palace walls are thin, nephew."
"Uncle—"
"Not my business." He waved dismissively. "But your father's about to make it his business, and that's where I come in."
I stopped walking. "You have a plan."
"I have an opportunity." He pulled out a secure datapad, fingers dancing across the holo-display. "Ever heard of Pirate Valor?"
My heart nearly stopped. Valor was a major character from the game—a rogue who'd eventually join the resistance against the Empire.
But I shouldn't know that. I shouldn't know he had a cybernetic arm that could hack any system, or that his crew included his daughter, or that he'd eventually sacrifice himself to save—
"The terrorist?" I kept my voice carefully neutral.
"Privateer," Marcus corrected. "And he has something I need. Help me get it, and I'll help you with your father."
"What could you possibly say to—"
"Tell him you want to join the military rankings officially. Start from the bottom, work your way up. Prove you're not just playing prince."
"He'll never buy that."
"He will if you frame it right." Marcus's eyes gleamed with the kind of cunning that had kept him alive despite pissing off half the galaxy. "Say the racing video was intentional. A recruitment tool. You want to build your own unit, attract the best pilots in the galaxy."
Holy shit. That was actually brilliant.
"And Valor?"
"Will be your first unofficial mission. He has a crew, family he cares about. Find them, use them, bring him to me."
"You want me to kidnap a pirate's family?"
"I want you to apply pressure." His expression hardened, and for a moment I saw why even the Emperor kept Marcus at arm's length. "Valor stole something from me. I want it back."
"What did he take?"
"That's need-to-know."
"And I don't need to know?"
"You need to survive your father first." He checked his chronometer. "Which means you have about thirty seconds to decide."
The throne room doors loomed ahead. Through them, I could hear voices—angry ones. The kind that usually preceded someone getting spaced.
"Fine," I said. "But this better work."
"Oh, nephew." His smile was pure predator. "When have I ever led you astray?"
"Literally every family gathering ever."
"Details." He pressed a data chip into my hand. "Everything you need to know about Valor is on there. Happy hunting."
Uncle Marcus vanished as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving me to face the music alone. Admiral Korrath waited by the doors, and his smile made me want to check for knives.
"Lord Raven," he said pleasantly. "Ready for your execution?"
"Korrath." I moved close enough to smell his aftershave—military issue, naturally. "Quick question. That footage—how many angles did you say?"
His smile flickered.
"Because racing pods don't have that many cameras. And the quality was too good for spectator footage." I leaned in. "Almost like someone with military surveillance access edited it together."
"I don't know what you're implying."
"I'm not implying anything." I patted his shoulder, feeling him tense. "Just observing. By the way, you don't want to be my enemy, Admiral. I'm vindictive, creative, and about to have my own military unit."
"What?"
But I was already through the doors.
The throne room was packed—nobles, military brass, and enough recording equipment to broadcast my humiliation across the galaxy. The Emperor sat on his throne like death incarnate, the princess beside him looking amused despite her recent "poisoning."
This time, nobody was pretending to be dying.
"Dad!" I called out cheerfully. "How many times are you going to summon me in one day? People will talk."
Dead silence. You could have heard a pin drop on the other side of the system.
"Lord Raven," my father's voice could have frozen stars. "Explain."
"The racing?" I shrugged. "Marketing."
The silence somehow got deader.
"Marketing," he repeated, each syllable a potential death sentence.
"For my new military initiative." I pulled out my best bullshit artist smile, the one that had talked my way out of detention back on Earth. "I want to join the official rankings. Start as a pilot, work my way up. Build my own unit."
The princess leaned forward, interest sharp in her eyes. Several nobles exchanged glances. Meus, who'd somehow materialized by the wall, watched with professional stillness.
"You have a private guard," the Emperor said.
"I want more." I spread my hands. "The racing video? Already has three million views. Do you know how many applications we'll get? The best pilots in the galaxy will want to fly with the Crown Prince who races asteroids for fun."
"You want to play soldier," Korrath said dismissively.
"I want to win wars," I shot back. "My way. Unless you prefer I stick to conquering systems without permission?"
A ripple went through the room. The Grokkies conquest was still fresh news.
The Emperor was silent for a long moment. His red eyes bore into mine, and I felt that familiar sensation of technology responding—displays flickering, lights dimming slightly. Whatever connected me to the palace systems, it was getting stronger under stress.
"You would start at the bottom," he said finally. "No special treatment. No royal privileges."
"Wouldn't want it any other way."
"And your... bodyguard?" His eyes found Meus. "She remains with you?"
"She's my security," I said firmly. "Unless you have objections?"
Another long silence. The princess was definitely smiling now, the kind of smile that meant she was recalculating odds.
"One month," the Emperor said finally. "You have one month to prove this isn't another game. Fail, and you marry immediately. No delays, no negotiations."
"Deal."
"Furthermore," he continued, because of course there was more, "you will submit to military discipline. Any infraction, any failure to follow orders, and this experiment ends."
"Understood."
"Dismissed."
I made it halfway to the door before the princess's voice stopped me.
"Lord Raven? A word?"
I turned. She'd risen from her seat, moving with that predatory grace that made her dress shift in interesting ways. The nobles parted before her like she was radioactive.
"That was clever," she said quietly, voice pitched for my ears alone. "Using the scandal to your advantage. But we both know you're playing a deeper game."
"Are we?"
"Oh yes." She smiled. "And I intend to win. See you in a month, my lord."
She traced a finger down my chest, a gesture that looked casual but felt like a declaration of war. "Try not to die playing soldier. I'd hate to be a widow before I'm a wife."
"Your concern is touching."
"Everything about me is touching." She leaned closer. "As you'll discover. Eventually."
With that promise—or threat—she glided away, leaving me with a racing pulse and the distinct feeling I'd just been outmaneuvered.
"That went well," Meus said, appearing at my elbow.
"Define 'well.'"
"You're not dead, not exiled, and technically got what you wanted." She paused. "Also, the princess wants to eat you alive."
"Noticed that, thanks."
We made it to my quarters before she spoke again. "A military unit? Really?"
"Uncle Marcus's idea." I pulled out the data chip he'd given me. "Speaking of which, ever heard of Pirate Valor?"
"The terrorist who hit three Imperial supply convoys last month?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Apparently, he has something Uncle wants. And I just agreed to get it."
"When you say 'get it'..."
"I mean hunt down a legendary pirate using his loved ones as leverage." I collapsed into my chair. "You know, light reconnaissance."
Meus was quiet for a moment. Then: "Your uncle's going to get you killed."
"Probably." I activated the data chip, watching files cascade across my display. "But at least it'll be interesting."
The files were comprehensive—ship specifications, known associates, hit patterns. But what caught my eye was a single image: Valor with a young woman, maybe eighteen, laughing at something off-camera. The timestamp was recent.
His daughter. The one who, in the game, would become one of the best pilots in the resistance. The one who'd eventually—
"You're smiling," Meus observed. "That's terrifying."
"Just appreciating Uncle Marcus's intelligence network." I closed the files. "How do you feel about a hunting trip?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"You always have a choice."
She moved behind my chair, hands settling on my shoulders. "Then I choose to keep you alive. Even if it means chasing pirates across the galaxy."
"Just another day in the Empire."
"Mmm." Her fingers found a knot of tension. "So, one month to build a military unit, capture a legendary pirate, avoid marriage, and not die."
"You forgot 'figure out why technology responds to my emotions.'"
"That too." She leaned down, breath warm against my ear. "Think we'll have time for anything else?"
"Depends," I said, pulling her around into my lap. "What did you have in mind?"
Her answer was wordless but extremely detailed.
Later, as she traced lazy patterns on my chest, my communicator buzzed. A message from Uncle Marcus: "Check the news."
I pulled up the feeds. The lead story on every channel: "CROWN PRINCE ANNOUNCES MILITARY INITIATIVE—RECRUITMENT OPENS IMMEDIATELY."
The racing footage played on loop, accompanied by breathless commentary about my "revolutionary approach to military service." Applications were already pouring in.
"Your uncle's efficient," Meus observed.
"He's something." I scrolled through the applications. Hundreds already, from across the Empire. Ex-military, mercenaries, idealistic kids who thought serving under the Crown Prince would be glamorous.
One name made me pause. Zek had applied, along with half my racing circuit.
Another message from Marcus: "Valor's last known location attached. Happy hunting, nephew. Try not to die."
I opened the coordinates. The Outer Rim, naturally. Lawless space where the Empire's reach was more suggestion than reality.
"When do we leave?" Meus asked, already thinking tactically.
"Tomorrow. After I officially enlist." I grinned. "Can't hunt pirates without proper authorization."
"Since when do you care about authorization?"
"Since I have to play by military rules for a month." I pulled her closer. "Better make tonight count."
"Already ahead of you," she said, and proved it.
As the lights dimmed—responding to my subconscious command again—one thought kept circling: How the fuck was I going to capture a pirate who wouldn't even appear in the game for another year?
Time to improvise. Story of my new life.
But first, I had a bodyguard to thoroughly debrief.
The game could wait until morning.