CHAPTER ONE◄CHAPTER TWO►CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER ARTWORK

“Sergeant!” the headset boomed out.

Elkanah heard the static over his radio crackle in his ear loudly, to the point that it almost seemed deafening. He slapped a paw up to his ear to turn the volume down. The biodiesel engine of the assault gun in front of him was already loud enough, and the company commander inside—Major Emiah—probably knew it. He always liked giving the sergeant a hard time; he’d always seen him as a soft-hearted apologist of nobles sympathetic to the freedom fighters and rebels that were slowly unifying around the planet. Some were even starting to call it the “Confederacy of Liberation”.

“Yes, Major?” Elkanah said, having to raise his voice over the droning hum of the major’s command vehicle.

“Word just came in from regimental command that we have to backtrack into the heart of Lathga Province,” the Major’s voice said. “The Colonel just informed me that the listening post on the provincial border caught sight of a destroyer and troop transport ambushed by a Confederate frigate. It’s supposed to be crashing down somewhere in Lathga, and we’ve been ordered to be on standby to secure the crash site and keep it safe from and rebels or freedom fighters.”

“How do they know it’s going to land in Lathga?” Elkanah asked over the speaker of his headset, slinging his gauss rifle over his shoulder as he trudged alongside the rolling tracks of the assault gun while the rest of the company followed behind in their lighter vehicles and on footpaw. His fire team of six was still riding in their armored personnel carrier nearby, and it was Elkanah’s turn to take point outside with a better view than the vision slits and cameras of the vehicle could offer. “And the Crown Navy is making no attempt to rescue it while still in space? Better yet, what freedom fighters? There’s hardly any out here.”

“They’ve done the math, Sergeant,” Major Emiah said, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “The Navy isn’t going to endanger other ships to try and salvage an out of control vessel. Even though Magofa is farther out than Gefo, they’ve calculated that it’ll be coming down here, but we're not sure precisely where. It’ll be a few days before it makes it here since it’s coming in at sublight speed all the way from Magofa, but the ship’s crew has stabilized things enough to make safe reentry a possibility. If it were up to them, I’m sure they’d prefer to enter Siva under their own control, but apparently they’ve lost propulsion, so they’ll be freefalling, only able to control their orientation. Hah! We can only hope the poor bastards make it in one piece! Bet they wish they had escape pods like the larger warships do.”

Elkanah rolled his eyes. He hated how he spoke of the fighting men and women of the Crown of Siva as if they were lives to just be thrown away and discarded. He honestly couldn’t expect anything less from an aristocrat like Major Emiah, an officer who held the slave class—and even some commoners—in such contempt.

His whole attitude ran counter to the symbolism of the regimental emblem adorning the side of the vehicles and the sleeve patches of their uniforms. All the recruits of the Crown army’s regiments were told the stories and symbolism of their unit insignia. Elkanah was a member of the 100th Mechanized Regiment, which had historically been deployed to the backwater of desolate Lathga Province and its surrounding regions. The stylized green cactus thriving atop the sands of Siva, underneath the rays of Zaket A and B, was emblazoned upon the group’s vehicles and uniforms. It was to represent life and prosperity in the midst of Siva’s harshest environment, where very little grew and only the Zuthari, rugged plants, and scavengers could survive. That was their purpose, to remain strong and resolute like the symbol they carried. At least, that was what they were supposed to be doing in 1st Lathga Front, while the bulk of the Crown’s forces carried out an offensive against the southern pole. Rumors were abounding that the fronts had been routed in their attack further south of them, but Elkanah couldn’t be sure.

How could they stay so firm when officers like Major Emiah were in charge? The colonel above him was even worse, and the commanding general of 1st Lathga Front, it could be argued, was beyond that. The chain of ignorance and disdain only seemed to grow the higher people climbed in their ranks. Elkanah himself, with his white fur typical of many in the middle class, had seen the best and worst of both sides of the Sivathi caste system. There were members of the upper class and nobility that sympathized with the plight of the enslaved and lower classes, to be sure, but they were few and far between. The middle class from which he hailed was a mixed bag, with its loyalties split both ways. Then, the lower class that made up the bulk of enlisted men was usually kept in line with the “good life” offered by the Crown army. Even though most despised the crown and sympathized with the plight of the enslaved, the good pay, rations, and prestige that came with military service certainly beat the conditions they would otherwise find themselves in. For those who didn’t want change to society, it kept them complacent.

Elkanah had seen the suffering of the slave class since he was a child. His father had been one of the most renowned architects on Siva and had often been hired to act as foreman for the grand projects of various nobles. That position came with overseeing massive amounts of slave manpower, and as a youngster, when he’d sneak out to play around the worksites, he’d witnessed everything. Back then, in his youthful ignorance, he’d poke fun at the slaves and torment them with his likeminded friends, but the older Elkanah had grown, the more he had come to resent what he’d seen and how he'd treated them.

Instead of pressuring their son to continue the family trade, Elkanah’s parents had hoped he’d pursue a military career. After all, how were their grand structures and wonders they’d helped build to survive if there were no fighting men to defend Sivathi society from this self-proclaimed Confederacy of Liberation? Not wanting to disappoint, Elkanah had tried his hardest to obtain an officer’s commission, which was his right as a member of the middle class, but his grades had never quite been good enough, nor did he have the motivation to serve an army of oppressors. As such, he’d settled for the enlisted ranks, and had climbed to sergeant by the relatively young age of twenty-four.

He’d served for six years now, but this wasn’t the life that he wanted. He hated being stuck in Lathga Province, the endless patrols in the barren deserts and wastelands, and keeping the rebellious population in line. Moreover, he didn’t feel that he was any leader of troops; the rank had been bestowed upon him in the hope that he’d grow more loyal by being rewarded with some degree of command, but it hadn’t done much. His fire team, made up of similar enlisted men of the middle class, but who still had a fierce loyalty to the Crown of Siva, hardly ever listened to him or would go out of their way to watch his back, even though Elkanah did so for them. If the APC that served as their transport in the regiment were ever struck, they’d be the first to turn tail and run for their lives and save their own fur, not even bothering to get him out.

Elkanah, as secretly as he could, had been chomping at the bit to find some way out of it all. It was a grave offense to desert, and was punishable by death. As he valued his life, he knew doing so was out of the question. Deep in the back of his mind, he was almost hopeful that his regiment would be overrun or destroyed if they ever got into a real battle with the Confederacy, if just to be given the chance to be taken prisoner and explain himself and his loyalties. He’d heard the stories about how inclusive the Confederates were, hoping to get all the fighting men and women that they could in order to take on the juggernaut that was the Crown Army and Crown Navy. Then again, he’d also heard about how they didn’t tolerate double-crossers or spies. If he ever got the chance to switch sides, yet have his loyalties questioned, they’d probably put him to death just as the Crown Army would for desertion. That was assuming the stories were true, and they even let him join. There were an equal amount of tales about how they suffered none to live when they captured prisoners.

The white furred Sivathi grumbled to himself after he’d sputtered on the biodiesel exhaust of the assault gun as it changed gears, turning back around to head towards the estate of Zeshom Noor. He swatted at the air, trying to clear the fumes from his face before feeling a tap on his shoulder. His corporal had come out of the APC, notifying him that he was being relieved for the night and could return to the vehicle. The corporal gave a hasty, sloppy salute to Elkanah as he took up point aside the assault gun, stepping aside to let his superior climb aboard the vehicle. Taking his seat amongst his men, he shut the door quickly and set his gauss rifle down, removing his digicam helmet that matched his uniform and light armor plating. He was glad to be out of the chilling evening of Siva and back inside, and he leaned his head back against the wall of the vehicle, shutting his eyes and desperately hoping to try and get some sleep.

The wish to do so was quickly interrupted as one of his rowdier men, a specialist, nudged him on the shoulder. The other three privates inside were cutting up and joking. “We’re turning around, Sarge?” the specialist asked over the banter of the lower ranking troops.

“Yeah,” Elkanah said, preparing to change the frequency on his headset to something with some static. At least that would shut out the banter from his subordinates so that he could try and get a few hours of sleep. “A troop transport is projected to crash land in the area under jurisdiction of 1st Lathga Front, and we’re the closest regiment and got ordered to turn around to secure it when it comes down. They don’t want any Confederates getting their paws on it.”

Turning up the volume of his headset to drown out the conversations of his troops with the white noise of static, Elkanah shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable in the cramped interior of the APC. The conditions made him miss the spacious comforts of his relatively privileged upbringing; times like these made him wish he’d put his academic efforts into architecture, after all. That had been something for his siblings to pursue. With his impressive physique and athleticism, it had been no wonder his parents had wanted to have him choose the path of a military man. That, and the ardent patriotism of so many in the middle and upper classes to the Crown of Siva was permeated throughout his family. It was only natural them to feel that way, for with the rise of liberation movements and cries for justice, Elkanah’s family risked losing everything they’d built to the paws of slave revolts and angry commoners.

Of course, he didn’t want his family to succumb to that fate. He loved his father, his mother, and his siblings, and did have some degree of pride in the name he was making for himself in the Crown Army. Try as he might, though, the oppression he’d witnessed of Sivathi society being built on the backs of those less fortunate than him had never ceased to rub him the wrong way. Every runaway slave they returned to their master or mistress, and every Confederate they gunned down after they would surrender only served to strengthen his resentment for what he’d gotten himself into. He hated fighting for the Crown of Siva, and he knew that his superior officers and even some of the men in his command knew it too. Whether or not they’d entertain his presence much longer was a question that had yet to be answered, because the more the civil war between the Confederates and the Crown intensified, the less tolerant the Crown Army would be of any sympathizers within their own ranks.

Elkanah squeezed his eyes tight in a weak attempt to try and bring sleep about faster and isolate the conflicting thoughts within his mind. As the APC rocked rhythmically over the wastelands of Lathga Province, sleep finally did claim the young soldier as images of his dreams flew by—visions that were his own and unseen by his comrades. He dreamt of the freedom of his own oppression, not being sworn to the tyrannical Phaziah Ishigar, but fighting amongst the brave men and women who envisioned something better for the entire Sivathi race.

*

“Princess Aliya! Welcome, welcome!” Zeshom Noor bowed humbly as he greeted the daughter of the Duke of Lathga Province, her entourage filing into his residence behind her. “It is a supreme honor to finally host you, after so many reschedules and delays! I’m flattered that you’ve come to my humble corner of Siva to browse my workers tomorrow in the construction of your new palace.”

Princess Aliya Bethagar, at eighteen years of age though trying to carry herself like a true adult, wore a bored expression as she strode in with her attendants and supporting staff. The golden furred daughter of the duke was dressed in a flowing silken gown with a tail like a comet, as blue as the most cloudless days on Siva. She darted her eyes to the left and right, scrutinizing the details of Zeshom Noor’s manor with painstaking detail, practically looking for the tiniest thing wrong or subpar to complain about. The shimmering alabaster stone that constituted his household was adorned with the finest paintings and holo-images money could buy, and Zeshom Noor was certain that the Princess—as pampered as he’d heard—would be impressed by this, along with the soothing tunes played by his own personal musicians that he’d hired straight from the royal capital of Shaleth.

“The palace my father is building me is going to easily surpass this place,” Princess Aliya said, yawning to herself. “For how highly he spoke of your lucrative enterprise, I thought your estate would be up to noble standards. But I guess this is as good as it gets for businessmen in Lathga Province. It’s understandable, really.”

Zeshom Noor’s smile faltered for a moment as he felt mildly insulted. He quickly regained some of his composure, knowing better than to retort to a noblewoman like Princess Aliya. He knew that it was going to be difficult to impress her, even at his best, and that the tour of the mud pits tomorrow would be an agonizing ordeal, considering how pompous and spoiled she was known to be. Nonetheless, it’d all be worth it in the end, for currying favor with the ruling house of Lathga Province by assisting in the construction of the new palace for the Princess would do wonders for his reputation. Moreover, he’d make a little coin on the side and possibly rid himself of some his most unruly and troublesome slaves in the process.

“Q-quite right, Princess Aliya,” Zeshom Noor stammered, extending his arm outward and to the commons area of his manor, made up by a massive open courtyard beneath the evening stars, complete with a multitude of plush cushions and divans for relaxation. Many of his house slaves were already there, standing by with refreshments and foods. “Won’t you please come with me, my Lady? I’m sure you’re already weary from your travels from the provincial capital. I presume your journey was without incident?”

“Up until the end,” Princess Aliya said, motioning for her entourage to follow behind her as she allowed Zeshom Noor to take her handpaw around his arm in his in a manner befitting a gentleman. “One of father’s advisors that accompanied me on the trip informed me that there was a skirmish only hours ago in the orbit of Magofa. A troop transport was ambushed, along with a destroyer, and it’s projected to make a crash landing somewhere in the province. Intelligence won’t say where it’s coming down out of fear that communicating its location to anybody but the military might draw unwanted attention from the Confederates.”

“What dreadful news to hear on the eve of our tour!” Zeshom Noor said with regret. He patted the Princess’ handpaw reassuringly. “Don’t fret, my Lady. If such an incident were to spill over into here, you’ll be quite safe on my estate. My security forces are more than aware that your noble presence is one to be regarded with the utmost care!”

The Princess huffed to herself, shaking her head and seemingly unafraid of any imminent danger. “The Crown Army would be upon this place in a heartbeat if that happened,” she said. “I don’t need a bumbling troop of security guards to protect me; I already have my own retainers for that. So don’t bother if it comes to that, as unfortunate as such an incident would be.”

“My apologies, Princess Aliya, I didn’t mean to assume that the Crown Army would be incapable of handling things!” Zeshom Noor retracted his statement. He began to backtrack on his words, singing the praises of the Crown Army’s heroics in the region, which in reality consisted of little more than petty patrols and subduing small uprisings. “I hear that Lathga Province is almost completely secure from the threat of the Confederacy! I’m sure you have much information to share in that regard, or better yet, stories on how much nearer Phaziah Ishigar is to victory in the civil war?”

“Lathga Province is indeed safe from the rebels, or so father tells me. That, or they hide their tracks well,” Princess Aliya said as she sprawled upon one of the plush cushions, her silken dress fanning out around her like a shimmering, rippling puddle of water. She snapped her fingers, pointing behind her for one of the house slaves to fetch her another pillow to support her back, to which the nearest of them obeyed without question. “The same can’t be said for the northern and southern poles. The fighting is bloody there, where the Confederates preach freedom to the multitudes of slaves that labor in the lush fields and farms that supply so much of Siva with its food. Father tells me that in the southernmost provinces, in particular, 1st and 2nd Halaj Fronts have been completely routed by the Confederacy and their bands of liberated slaves and freedom fighters. Though they are rumors that haven’t made their way to the rest of the planet, yet.”

“All the Halaj Fronts? Those might armies, routed?” Zeshom Noor said in disbelief, unable to comprehend that two entire armies of the High King’s finest had been defeated by simple slaves and commoners. If his picture of the Confederacy’s ranks was anything like that of his own slaves in the mud pits, he was even more stupefied as to how they could have grown so strong and bested the veteran units of the Siva’s south. Not only that, but in their defeat, the Crown army would be leaving behind vehicles, weapons, ammunition, and supplies that would only serve to bolster the fighting strength of the Confederacy of Liberation, making them that much harder to dislodge from their grip upon the south pole of Siva.


“Perhaps ‘routed’ is an exaggeration,” Princess Aliya said, holding out her clawed handpaw to receive a jeweled goblet of sweet polar nectar from another slave, straight from the very Halaj Province that she spoke of. “It’s court gossip, nothing more. I’m sure the High King’s generals will quickly reform their fronts and renew their attacks to unseat the rebels from their strongpoints in the south.”

“What about the rest of the planet? And the colonies?” Zeshom Noor inquired, taking a seat of his own upon the divan nearest to Princess Aliya as he plucked a grape from the vine held forth in a bowl by one of his servants. He nervously downed the fruit in a single bite, hoping that the Princess had good news in that regard, for if Lathga Province’s security was jeopardized, all that he’d worked for and all that he’d built could come crashing down in the fires of revolution. Indeed, the noblewoman had assured him that Latgha Province was safe, but he wanted to hear it from her again after she’d recounted such terrifying news.

“We’re safe here in Lathga, as I said,” Princess Aliya said, taking a deep swig of her nectar and seemingly ignoring the dribble of stuff that slipped down her cheek, dripping onto her silken dress. She caught a quick sight of it, flicking away droplets of the stuff with her clawed finger before it soaked into the fabric, but thought little more of it. She’d brought plenty more lavish garments to wear in the days ahead, and one of the washerwomen back at her father’s palace would quickly take care of it upon her return home to the provincial capital. “And the bulk of the planet is still secure; in the wastelands and deserts we have little more to fear than wandering bands of freed slaves and sympathizers wielding antiquated, vintage weaponry. They lack any sort of armor or air power. So as long as the threats in the poles are kept in check, father assures me that we’ll be quite safe and sound.”

Zeshom Noor breathed a sigh of relief, a smile spreading across his lips as he took solace in Aliya’s words. He’d already been relatively sure of his safety in the remoteness of Lathga, but he could never be too careful. Who knew what the Confederacy of Liberation was capable of if they’d manage to seize power in the poles?

“As for the colonies and other systems, most of them remain firmly in control of the High King as well,” Princess Aliya continued to explain. “We know that Confederate blockade runners from two or three sympathizer colonies around the gas giants are the ones supplying the strongholds in the poles, and the Crown Navy is amassing fleets to try and bring those rogue settlements back under our control. How long that will take, I’m not sure, as I’m told that the navy is already spread quite thin trying to maintain order along the hyperspace lanes between the systems. There simply aren’t enough ships to amass an assault against the breakaway colonies at present; not when half of our shipbuilding capabilities are on those very moons.”

Zeshom Noor, ever the businessman, knew the finer details of supply and demand between the systems and colonies. Siva and its moon, Gefo, supplied the bulk of materials for the construction of all the Crown Navy’s vessels and the military hardware for the Crown Army. The planet itself also boasted half of all the Crown of Siva’s shipyards. A handful of other colonies around the gas giants of the Zaket system made up the other half, but they lacked same amount of mineral extraction to ever hope to keep pace with how fast the homeworld could manufacture their own ships. Unless the captured polar regions could somehow break out into Siva proper and seize the planet’s industrial might for the Confederacy, it seemed a certainty that the Crown would eventually emerge victorious in due time.

“It doesn’t bode well that the seats of the planet’s agriculture are firmly in enemy hands,” Zeshom Noor said, looking down at the goblet of polar nectar that Princess Aliya clasped in her handpaws. Luxuries such as that would surely be harder to come by if the breadbasket of Siva was under the control of the Confederacy, and worse yet, food in general might become more difficult to acquire. “What is to be done?”

“The Crown has stockpiles of food to last for years,” Princess Aliya assured him, partially lying. From all her father had told her, the nobility and some of the middle class would surely have enough for their own needs for the foreseeable future, but as for the needs of the commoners and slaves, no significant portion had been set aside. It only seemed to underline part of the reason the slaves and commoners were joining the Confederacy in the first place, if that was how they were to be treated by their masters and superiors. “The High King would certainly love to feed the bulk of his people by flying in consumables from other systems that are still loyal, but alas, it will be years before they are well enough established to supply the homeworld with sufficient resources. The settlements in neighboring systems were only just established within the last fifty years, after all. It takes time to get these operations going, and they have barely enough for their own needs. The loyal colonies in the Zaket system can still provide, however, and the more of them that we can keep pledged in allegiance to the Crown of Siva, the better off we’ll all be.”

Princess Aliya had already finished her polar nectar, slapping the goblet down with a clang onto the tray of the nearest slave that stood at the ready. She was quickly growing weary of conversation about the war; those matters didn’t interest a young noblewoman such as herself very much. She threw her arms back on the plush cushions, basking in the starlit radiance of the cool Siva evening as the shining moon of Gefo illuminated the entirety of the courtyard. Looking this way and that at the others of her entourage socializing with the household, she reached up to the tray of another nearby slave, grabbing a small sampler platter of diced Zuthari flank steak marinated in a savory blend of desert cactus herbs, juices, and spices. The spoiled princess perked up her ears to the tunes of the musicians, their stringed instruments and flutes startling the silence of the desert night.

“Father always talks my ears off with such matters of the military, and I don’t exactly take pleasure in discussing it tonight,” she said in a bratty manner, poking one piece of diced meat with her skewer after another as she feasted. “I’m more interested in what I came here for. Don’t think for a minute that I’ll ever have my palace built with the filthy mud bricks that make you rich, so don’t try to pull a fast one on me by shipping and billing me some along with the slaves I’m buying from you. I’m here to only acquire manpower, and nothing more.”

“O-oh!” Zeshom Noor exclaimed in embarrassment, almost choking on one of the grapes he’d plucked off the vine. Hacking and coughing in a nearly comical manner, he had to catch his breath and pound his chest several times with his fist to try and dislodge the irritation in his throat. “N-never, Princess! I wouldn’t d-dream of soiling your good n-name with the likes of humble m-mud br-ACK!”

“Perhaps some water, Master?” one of Zeshom Noor’s house slaves coolly inquired, kneeling beside him and extending forth a glass of water for him to try and wash it down. He grasped at it, frantically gulping it down to try and regain his composure.

“F-forgive my outburst, Princess Aliya,” Zeshom Noor said, dabbing at the corners of his eyes with the back of his handpaw as he tried to wipe away the reflexive tears from choking. “Your candor and forthcoming nature are a refreshing change from the typical flattery of my fellow business partners.” In all honesty, it was an exaggeration, for her blunt comments bordered on rudeness, but the red and white furred Sivathi was dead set on appeasing her. Immediately after downing the first glass of water, he reached for yet another and swallowed the second as quickly as he had done the one prior. He let out a sigh of relief, clearing his throat once more. He blushed under the fur of his cheeks; a proud businessman and slave owner reduced to a coughing fit and uttering apology after apology in front of an overindulged teenager.

Princess Aliya giggled to herself, amused at Zeshom Noor’s state as she handed off her already finished plate of meat to the nearest slave. “Pipe down, Zeshom Noor,” she commanded. “You act as if our whole business deal will be ruined because of my little offhand comment. Rest assured, my father’s coin will pay you handsomely for the slaves you’ll be showcasing me tomorrow. Though I’m not too keen on lingering longer than I have to; I don’t want my finest garments tarnished by the muck of the mud pits.”

Zeshom Noor nodded obediently, trying to stifle a retort that he felt Princess Aliya well deserved, considering that she’d brushed off some of the polar nectar from her dress and stained it. Was she really so petty? How did she expect to come and tour his property with such a silly expectation? As he was about to speak up to try and be realistic with her, she had already snapped her fingers to demand another goblet of the highly potent polar nectar. At her young age, just two glasses of it would likely be enough to send her into drunkenness, and a third might knock her out completely. He wanted to interject about how she was circumventing the legal drinking age of Siva, but he already knew the obvious answer he’d get, in that she was above those rules as a noblewoman and daughter of the Duke of Lathga.

“Might I advise you that this be your last serving of the polar nectar?” Zeshom Noor said sheepishly, hoping he wasn’t going to offend her, even though she’d done so to him several times over already. It was in his best interest that she stayed sober, for if she was already behaving like this when clearheaded, he could only imagine how much more agonizing the tour would be if she was complaining about a hangover in the horrid binary Zaket suns. “The binary suns can be tormenting out here in the wastelands, outside of the comforts of the provincial capital, and it would sadden me to see you in distress tomorrow during our tour.”

With a dismissive wave of her paw, she snatched the goblet off the tray of the slave holding refreshments and guzzled the stuff down ravenously. “Father lets me! He’s the Duke of Lathga, and as his daughter, I’d advise you,” she began to say, emphasizing the very word Zeshom Noor had used prior. “To not lecture me on what I can or can’t have. If my father wills it, then as his subject, you’re bound to permit me to indulge myself. Denying me what I want would be a perfectly good reason to call the whole business deal off!” After emptying half the glass into her mouth already, she gave a slight hiccup, clearly showing signs of intoxication already.

He winced as he heard her hiccup, secretly clenching his fist behind his back. What had he gotten himself into? His carefully constructed façade of obsequiousness was threatening to crumble no matter what he did. On the one paw, he knew arguing with a drunken noblewoman was a recipe for disaster, yet on the other, the thought of her potential devastation during the tour gnawed at him. “Naturally, your Highness!” he apologized yet again, trying to get himself off the hook. The fear in the eyes of his house slaves was seemingly a reflection of his own; all of them were petrified with impending dread at having to service this pompous brat for the evening, and perhaps for a few days longer if the tour went well. “Forgive my presumption. The Duke of Lathga Province’s authority trumps all things, and I wouldn’t dare overstep my station.”

The Princess ignored his comment as she got lost in her drink, finishing the rest of it in a second swig. He had to admit, it was unbelievable how quickly she’d finished the nectar. It had always been meant for sipping casually, not wolfing it down like beer at a spaceport tavern. But as Zeshom Noor had already learned on several occasions tonight, who was he to intervene?

Trying his best to bring about a favorable end to things for the evening, Zeshom Noor offered another one of his luxuries to try and appease her. With how quickly drunkenness would soon be approaching her, he knew that she wouldn’t be able to resist the call of a good night’s sleep in one of his finest chambers. “Perhaps you’d like to see your accommodations for the duration of your stay, Princess Aliya?” he asked, treading lightly with his words. “Though the interior of my manor may not be of noble standards, as you’ve observed, I can guarantee you that your quarters will be nothing short of being fit for the High King himself.”

The Princess dropped her goblet sloppily to the ground, the thing clattering on the stones of the courtyard as she did so. Lulling her head backwards and gazing up lazily at the shining form of Gefo, she blinked a few times as she started to feel the dizziness hit her. She clearly knew how to drink heavily, but may not have been accustomed to the speed at which polar nectar was absorbed into the bloodstream; hence, why it had always been a drink to sip on! “That sounds… lovely, Zeshom Noor,” she said, her speech thickly slurring with the beginnings of alcohol intoxication.

Zeshom Noor quickly clapped his paws together, motioning for two of his house slaves to assist the Princess to her footpaws. He practically had to hide his visual expression of relief that the night he was quickly losing control of was coming to a close. Come morning, he looked forward to a fresh start. “Tolan! Agra!” Zeshom Noor called out to the two house slaves that had answered his command. “Would you be so kind as to escort Princess Aliya to her quarters? With the utmost care, if you would?”

“It will be done, Master,” Agra, the female, replied. Together with Tolan, she gingerly helped Princess Aliya to her footpaws.

“There, there, your Highness,” Tolan said soothingly. “Our Master speaks the truth about your chambers. The sheets of your bed are spun from the finest cotton from the colonies around the gas giants, and its most outstanding feature is the famous painting, The Battle of the Red Sands. The heroic energies portrayed by its brushstrokes are certain to give any weary Sivathi the ambition to rest well and awaken ready to take on the world. It’s been passed down through Zeshom Noor’s family for several generations now.”

“I… I love that one!” Princess Aliya slurred, slumping her head forward as she wobbled from side to side, shifting herself into the grasp of one slave and then the other. Though an appreciator of art and sculpting, she was too inebriated to realize that she actually hadn’t ever seen the painting, but her enamored words, however drunken that they were, had been enough to finally ease Zeshom Noor’s anxious mind. He lay back on the divan in a heap, awash with relief that he was finally rid of her for the time being. He knew he’d have to resume the whole song and dance tomorrow, but at least now he knew what he was dealing with in its entirety.

He was sorely mistaken in thinking he could handle the events that were about to unfold. The Princess would be the least of his worries in the days to come.