The hallway to the throne room felt like forever. I was fixing my jacket—Meus had definitely messed up the buttons in her haste to get dressed—when suddenly, someone emerged from a side hallway.
"Nephew."
I almost jumped out of my skin. "Fuck! Uncle Marcus? What are you doing here?"
He smiled, that sharp grin that had gotten him exiled from three systems. "Would you believe me if I said I was in the archives? Checking some old trade records?"
"At this hour?"
"Your father's security has gaps if you know where to look. Been that way for twenty years." He straightened his robes—expensive fabric with subtle armor weave underneath. Classic Uncle Marcus. "Besides, I had a feeling you might need guidance tonight."
"You heard about the racing footage."
"The whole palace is buzzing about it. Servants talk, nephew. And when the Crown Prince does something spectacularly stupid, everyone talks." He fell into step beside me. "Your father's furious, by the way."
"I noticed."
"Which is why you need my help." He pulled out a secure datapad, fingers dancing across the display. "You have about thirty seconds before you walk into that throne room. So listen carefully."
"I'm listening."
"Turn this scandal into opportunity. Tell him the racing was intentional—a recruitment tool."
"That's insane."
"That's brilliant. The footage has, what, three million views already? Spin it right and you'll have thousands of applications by morning. Say you want to build your own military unit. Start from the bottom, work your way up."
"Why would you help me?"
Marcus's expression turned serious. "Because your father—my little brother—is getting older. When you inherit, I'd rather be remembered as the uncle who helped than the exile who schemed. Simple survival."
"And you want something in return."
"Smart boy." His smile returned, predatory now. "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.
"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 did he take?"
"That's need-to-know. For now, just know 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. "Valor stole something valuable. I want it back."
The throne room doors loomed ahead. Through them, I could hear angry voices—the kind that usually preceded executions.
"Fine," I said. "But this better work."
"Oh, nephew." He pressed a data chip into my hand. "When have I ever led you astray?"
"Literally every family gathering ever."
"Details." He melted back into the shadows. "Remember—recruitment. Military initiative. Your own unit. Sell it like your life depends on it."
Uncle Marcus vanished as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving me alone with my impending doom. Admiral Korrath stood by the doors, and his expression made me suspicious.
"Lord Raven," he said pleasantly. "Ready for your execution?"
"Korrath." I moved closer. "Quick question. That footage—how many angles did you say?"
His smile flickered.
"Because racing circuits don't have that many cameras. And the quality was too good for amateur 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. "Just observing. By the way, you might want to be careful. I'm about to become your newest military recruit."
"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 remarkably recovered for someone who'd been 'dying' two hours ago. She'd changed into a form-fitting military dress uniform that somehow made her look even more dangerous.
"Father," I said with a precise bow. "You summoned me?"
"You know why." His voice could have frozen stars. "Explain."
A hologram materialized between us—me weaving through asteroids at suicidal speeds, threading the needle between exploding ships, the Nightshade and Meus's bike crossing the finish line in perfect synchronization. The quality was definitely military grade.
"Explain," he repeated, "why my son, the Crown Prince, is participating in illegal death races while his betrothed recovers from poisoning."
The nobles leaned forward, sensing blood. Time for Uncle Marcus's gambit.
"Marketing," I said simply.
The silence somehow got deader.
"Marketing," the Emperor repeated, each syllable a potential death sentence.
"For my new military initiative." I pulled out my most confident smile. "Father, that footage has four million views and climbing. The recruitment networks are already lighting up with inquiries. Fighter pilots who'd never serve the traditional military, but will follow someone who takes the same risks they do."
"You expect me to believe this was planned?"
"I expect you to see the opportunity." I gestured to the frozen hologram. "Look at the comments section. 'Finally, a royal with balls.' 'I'd follow him into hell.' 'Where do I sign up?' This is recruitment gold."
The Princess leaned forward, interest sharp in her eyes. "And your bodyguard's participation?"
"Demonstration of my security team's capabilities," I said smoothly. "She kept pace through the entire circuit. How many guards could do that?"
"You want to join the military," the Emperor said slowly, processing. "Start from the bottom. No privileges."
"Exactly. Build my own unit from the ground up. Prove I'm more than just your son."
"This is absurd!" Korrath stepped forward. "My lord, he's trying to spin a scandal—"
"Into an advantage," I interrupted. "Admiral, that footage shows me outmaneuvering thirty experienced racers. Your academy graduates can barely handle formation flying."
"That's different—"
"Is it? Combat is chaos. Racing through asteroids is chaos. Which would you rather have—pilots who follow protocols or pilots who adapt?"
His jaw tightened. "Discipline wins wars, not showboating."
"Results win wars," I countered. "How many recruits did the military get last month?"
"That's classified—"
"Three hundred and twelve," the Emperor said coldly. "Continue, Raven."
"I've had four hundred thousand profile views on recruitment networks in the last hour. If even one percent converts to applications, that's more than the military gets in a year."
A ripple went through the court. Several younger nobles were nodding.
The Emperor was silent for a long moment, those red eyes boring into mine.
"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, standing at attention by the wall. "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. The nobles parted before her like she was radioactive.
"That was clever improvisation," she said quietly, voice pitched for my ears alone. "But we both know you're scrambling."
"Is it working?"
"On them? Yes. On me?" She smiled. "I appreciate adaptability. It's so much more interesting than blind obedience."
She traced a finger down my chest. "One month to prove yourself? I'll be watching every move."
"Should I perform for you?"
"You already are." She leaned closer. "The question is whether you're the leading man or just understudy."
"What do you think?"
"I think you're more dangerous than you pretend to be. And I think your bodyguard would kill me if she could."
I glanced at Meus, who was indeed watching the Princess like a targeting system.
"She's protective."
"She's in love. There's a difference." The Princess stepped back. "One month, Lord Raven. Impress me."
With that promise—or threat—she glided away.
---
"That went well," Meus said once we were clear of the throne room.
"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. In the game, she'd become one of the best pilots in the resistance.
"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 one."
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 'survive Uncle Marcus's schemes.'"
"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 commentary about my "revolutionary approach to military service." The application portal had already crashed twice.
"Your uncle's efficient," Meus observed.
"He's something." I scrolled through the chaos. "Zek applied. Half the racing circuit did."
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.
The game could wait until morning.
---