“Ooh,” Persis cooed, grinning. “Do you really think he would?”
“Shut up, Persis.” Isla turned back to Justen and continued, her tone clipped. “And I don’t think it’s a good idea to empty your nation of all its revolutionaries, thank you. We have enough problems here as it is.” She resumed pacing. “You want to remain here. You need a reason that will not arouse suspicion back in Galatea.” She glared at him. “What is it you do when you’re not being a spokesperson for a bloody revolution?”
“I’m a medic,” he said. “A scientist, like everyone else in my family.” Except his sister, who claimed she wanted to go into the military like Uncle Damos and their foster sister, Vania. Little wonder Remy had toed the party line when Justen had told her how twisted their revolution had become and the steps he’d taken to stop it.
“Humph.” More pacing. “And how long since you finished your training?”
“Technically . . . I haven’t. I just turned eighteen, and I’ve been a little distracted recently.” Uncle Damos had pulled some strings to get him installed at a lab despite his lack of a degree. The Helo name had probably helped as well. And of course, it had helped Justen feel quite beholden to his guardian. He’d been played like a fiddle.
“Don’t feel bad,” Persis piped in. “I dropped out of school, too.”
“I didn’t drop out. I took a leave of absence to concentrate on my research.”
“Oh, that’s a good one. I should try that excuse on my father. ‘I’m taking a leave of absence to concentrate on my shopping.’”
Justen didn’t dignify that with a response. He’d been trying to save lives, not expand his wardrobe. Then again, Persis’s pursuit of silks had probably harmed far fewer people than his own research. “The point is—”
“The point is,” Isla said, cutting him off, “we have scientists. Grown scientists. All you offer is the Helo name.”
He clenched his fists at his side. Who was this child princess to say who was grown? He must be allowed to continue his research. If not, then everything—his defection, losing Remy, and the suffering of who knew how many Galatean aristos—would all be for nothing.
“And every moment we remain here, the gossip about our imaginary romance grows stronger. . . .” Isla crossed to the blinds, peering through at the crowd and shaking her head. “Rumors are everything in this court. Sometimes I think they matter more than the truth. . . .” She gave a little hop, and the crystals on her gown chimed. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?” asked Persis.
“A rumor. A romance.” She pointed at Justen. “He’s here because he’s in love.”
“With you?” Persis looked skeptical.
The princess turned to her friend. “No. With you.”
At once, Persis and Justen shook their heads.
“I’m sure we can come up with a better plan than that,” Persis said quickly. Justen wasn’t so sure Persis was capable, but he was willing to let her try.
“No,” said Isla. “This is it. Don’t you see it’s perfect? It solves all our problems at once.” She began to tick them off on her bejeweled fingers. “It’s a valid reason for Justen to remain in Albion. And Persis is my best friend. If I approve of your relationship, it will reflect well on the monarchy and give me some leeway to condemn the revolutionary activities. The regs love the Helo family. They won’t be inclined to revolt if they know the toast of the Albian aristocracy is close with one.”
“You want me to date him?” Persis asked with gritted teeth.
“Yes!” Isla beamed. “It’s a romantic tale. He saved you on the docks of Galatea. We’ll be . . . vague about the reason. And brought you back, nursed you to health, blah, blah. Love at first sight. People will eat it up, Persis. You know better than anyone how much people adore a good aristo/reg love story.”
A pout crossed the aristo’s face. Isla was no doubt talking about Persis’s parents. But Justen was beginning to see the plan’s merits, as long as none of his friends back home got wind of what a shallow flake Persis was. They’d never believe he’d fall for an aristo like her, reg mother or no.
“We’ll parade you around a bit, make sure everyone thinks you’re madly in love, stage a few cozy moments, and everyone’s happy.”
“We don’t have to . . . get married or anything?” Justen asked, suddenly concerned as to what the princess meant by “cozy moments.”
Isla waved her hand dismissively. “No, we shouldn’t have to take it as far as that.”
“Shouldn’t have to?” Justen pressed.
“I find this . . . inconvenient,” Persis said at last.
“Why?” Justen turned to her. “Will my presence cramp your social schedule?”
Persis glared at him, her amber eyes as fiery as her gown. “Why yes, if you must know. Look at the way you dress, for one.” She pleaded with Isla. “Do you honestly think people are going to accept someone like me with someone like him?”
Justen rolled his eyes.
Isla was no more patient. “He’s a Helo, Persis. Believing you’d want one on your arm is not going to be much of a challenge. As a trophy, if nothing else.”
Persis’s pout deepened as she seemed to realize the princess was right. “I’m really busy right now,” she tried.
“I’m asking you.” Isla drew herself up to her full height and stared her friend down. “I’m asking you. There’s no one I trust more with our precious Galatean.”
Something passed between the two women. Something Justen couldn’t hope to understand. But whatever it was, Persis relented.
She shook her head in defeat, then transformed before his eyes into the sparkling socialite and threw him a coy, seductive smile. “All right then, lover boy,” she cooed. “I guess it’s time to make our debut.”
Six
WHEN THEY EMERGED FROM Isla’s private chambers, it seemed as if every eye in Albion was upon them. Persis had to give her new sweetheart credit, as he looped his arm in hers and marched bravely down the stairs of the terrace and into the fray. Slippy skittered beside them, chittering as he avoided people’s heels and stopped to lap from the water organ and groom his whiskers with the edge of his foreflippers.
“Aren’t you afraid he’ll get trampled?”
“Oh, Slippy can take care of himself,” Persis replied. Much better than the average sea mink, too, thanks to Tero’s gengineering efforts. She watched him slink up to one courtier’s golden lion tamarrel. The tiny orange creature was attached to its mistress by a long, glittering chain, and there were jewels glinting in its full mane and bushy, squirrel-like tail. In its tiny paws it held a slice of star papaya, and it bared its monkey teeth at Slippy as the sea mink approached. Slippy lunged.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Justen chided, smoothly scooping up Slipstream around his long midsection before the animals could tussle. He smiled and bowed his head as he presented Slipstream to Persis. “Your beast, my lady.”
She cuddled the sea mink to her chest and eyed Justen carefully. He could be dangerous when he turned on the charm, this handsome young revolutionary, this medic with a famous name and a desire to escape Galatea so strong he’d leave his sister and cleave to an aristo he clearly despised. Maybe he, too, was a spy.
The next half hour was filled with the bustle of small talk, while Persis introduced her “dear friend, Justen Helo” to the Albian courtiers, who were naturally delighted to make his acquaintance. By unspoken agreement, Persis and Justen kept their conversation easy and flirtatious, befitting a couple that had met only the previous day. As news of the Galatean newcomer spread throughout the court, whispers reached Persis’s ears.