The whole aesthetic is strange and wild and lovely, and I can’t stop staring at it.
I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life. It calls to me, and I inhale deeply, some anxious part of me relaxing, melting at it.
“You’re going to be perfect,” Violet tells me, clapping her hands in delight.
I turn towards her, some of that carefully won calm stolen away.
“For what?” I ask.
The fact that she hasn’t told me what I’ll be doing, exactly, is starting to put me ill at ease.
“For the Stardust spa package, of course. You’ll love it,” she chatters, zooming to a cleverly hidden desk. Carved out of the same soft pink stone as the water wall, the desk is adorned with all sorts of plants.
“Sit, sit,” she says, and I perch myself on a matching stool.
My hands are trembling, whether from the after-effects of the stasis pod that they stuck me in to get here or nerves from this huge life change, I don’t know.
“Okay, so just some final pieces of the puzzle.” Violet holds out a data pad, and I press my hand to the biometric scanner.
It dings, apparently satisfied, and Violet exhales a hugely relieved sigh.
“Good. You are who you say you are.”
I peer at her, bemused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“This client was very firm about their choice of you in particular.”
A frown creases my forehead. “I thought this was a lottery.”
“For the participants chosen for the jobs, yes, of course it is. Of course.” She beams at me. My frown—and my suspicions—deepen. Something isn’t right. “But you’re in a new, special program we are rolling out to certain clientele.”
“I am?” The question comes out high and squeaky.
“Yes. You are one of our first Starlight Brides. You’ve just signed the marriage contract to a clan leader on planet Wulfric.” The words spill out of her faster than the water racing over the stones behind her, like if she says it fast enough, I won’t be able to figure out her meaning. “He’s very handsome, and he’s in a position of political power, which is why you need the spa package. And you’ll have an entire new wardrobe and a staff at your disposal in your new home. Congratulations on your new marriage and career as his wife.”
My head spins.
“Wulfric?” I repeat. “Marriage? Career as his wife?”
“Thrilling, isn’t it?”
I stand up, my legs leaden. I don’t even manage to take one step before the world tunnels into darkness and I’m vaguely aware of the floor meeting my face.
My eyes flutter open, the strange dream I had about the damned asshole brain in a vial blessedly floating back to my subconscious space.
Someone’s rubbing something cool against my cheeks while other hands flutter along my back. Gentle fingers work at knots I didn’t even know I had between my shoulders.
I sigh in appreciation, then startle as the reality slams back into me, the relaxed floating sensation not so much ebbing as drying up completely.
“Married?” I wheeze. “I signed up to be married?”
There’s a brush running through my hair, and it stops abruptly.
“She’s awake,” a breathy voice calls out, and before I can react, someone else is squeezing my hand.
“You checked the box for future program consideration on your initial application.”
“Violet?” I ask, completely out of sorts but determined to manage a way out of this predicament. Sure enough, her purple hair swims into my field of vision. I’m forced to close my eyes as whoever—or whatever—is rubbing my face places something cool on my eyelids.
It shouldn’t feel so good.
I shouldn’t be so relaxed.
“Yes. I’ve gone through your paperwork at least ten times to ensure all the loopholes were, in fact, closed.”
“That doesn’t sound great,” I tell her. “For me.”
“You signed all the paperwork. You are contracted into this position—”
“Marriage,” I correct.
“You will live the life of a Wulfric princess,” Violet snaps. “This massage? This Stardust package? This is just the start of it. You will be a pampered member of one of the most powerful clans on the planet. Anything you want or need will be provided to you.”
“I didn’t know,” I start, but clamp my mouth shut, really thinking about it. “I didn’t know,” I repeat weakly.
“You will receive a monthly stipend that’s…” She pauses, and whatever’s sitting on my eye rolls off as I open it, watching her rifle through her data pad. “It’s five hundred thousand standard credits. A month.”
I inhale deeply, then sit up as I choke on my own spit.
The patch on my other eye falls off as I cough, trying to catch my breath.
“Five hundred thousand credits?”
“A month,” Violet confirms.
“You’d be an idiot not to go,” the masseuse says from behind me.
“The tailor already took your measurements,” Violet adds. “He’ll be back with a full new wardrobe for you.”
“Five hundred thousand credits?” I ask again.
It’s more money than I’ve ever had in my lifetime. More money than I’ve ever considered having.
A month. Monthly. Every month.
The hands on my back resume their careful kneading, and my brain, the one in my head and decidedly not in a vial, tells me I would be a total idiot not to take this job.
Even if the job is as a wife, of all things.
“And what do I have to do to fulfill the contract?” I finally manage, my voice sounding somewhat more normal. A little squeaky and high, sure, but more in control, at least.
Five hundred thousand credits.
“Do you want to see what he looks like?” Violet asks coyly.
Biting my lip, I nod at her, and her smug smile only deepens.
Couldn’t hurt to see it. At this point, there’s no way out, and five hundred fucking thousand credits a month is a pretty good price for my hand in marriage.
In fact, this is too good to be true. He’s probably hideous. That’s probably what’s wrong. He’s probably a ball of slime or some kind of freak with a blood fetish. Though… for five hundred thousand credits a month, maybe I’m into that too…
Violet throws the three-dimensional image of the Wulfric—my soon-to-be husband—onto the floor next to me, and my jaw drops as the life-size hologram slowly spins.
He’s not a blob. He’s not an Oolasag or a brain in a vial or a tentacle, and I don’t know whether it’s my own lack of standards or the price tag attached to my hand in marriage or the fact that he is… handsome.
Not just handsome.
He’s beautiful.
The man in front of me is at least six inches taller than me. Broad shoulders hidden under a tunic that hits at his hips and wraps at the waist. Despite the loose fabric, there’s no disguising the pure power of his build. His brown hair is an odd cut, shaved at the sides but longish in the middle, pulled back into a bun, in this image at least.
It looks silky.
It looks like it would be nice to run my fingers through it.
His face, though.
A strong, well-articulated jaw, high cheekbones that beg to be touched, and hooded eyes a golden-tawny color I’ve never seen before with a feral, hard edge to them that makes something in my body tighten all over.
“Oh,” I finally say. “He’s…”
“He’s hot,” Violet agrees, running a forefinger down the tip of one horn. “Not bad, right?”
“There’s got to be a catch, right?” My voice doesn’t sound convincing, even to me. “Why would he go to a bride lottery when he looks like that?”