I’m rolling along on my Star Kingdom series (editing Book 5 right now), but I had family visiting for a couple of weeks in June/July, so I worked on a smaller project during that time. That smaller project, Knight Protector, comes out this weekend.
It’s a love story set in my Star Kingdom universe. You haven’t met the heroes yet, and don’t need to have read any of the other books to pick up this one. Tristan and Nalini will probably make an appearance in the second half of the main series, now that they’ve introduced themselves to me.
You can pre-order Knight Protector on Amazon now:
This series is exclusive to Amazon for now but will go to the other stores in 2020.
Not sure if you want to try some new characters? I’m including the first couple of chapters so you can check it out here first:
Chapter 1
Princess Nalini didn’t want to go to another of her father’s gladiator competitions. Why had he insisted? She was twenty-five, well past the age when he had tried to direct her life.
She didn’t want to ogle sweaty, bare-chested men trying to kill each other, and she didn’t want to listen to her sisters speculate on who was beddable. This was a high-tech palace on a space station spinning deep within an asteroid, not some wind-swept arena framed by blood-spattered sandstone columns in a desert on Old Earth. Her family should enjoy more civilized pastimes, such as reading books, solving zero-g float puzzles, or perusing the financial news.
The distant crowd roared as Nalini walked up the tunnel toward the royal boxes, vibrant blue and red banners stretching along the walls. The bloodshed couldn’t have started yet. Had the combatants walked out for the crowd to peruse before the competition started?
Her tablet was tucked under her arm, and the embedded chip at her temple ran the day’s market analyses down her contact interface. Her father could command her to attend, but he couldn’t force her to pay attention.
“The arena will be very busy.” Devi, her android bodyguard, walked at her side. “I am watching for threats most assiduously, but you would be wise to pay attention to your surroundings.”
“I don’t think we need to worry too much—” Nalini waved at the bronze-skinned security officers posted at the tunnel exit, their scimitars, stunners, and DEW-Tek pistols within easy reach on their black waist sashes, “—but have no fear. I’m attentive.”
“Indeed? So, you know more about the two shady men following us than the current price of gold on the market?”
Nalini glanced back, briefly alarmed at the possibility of a threat, but… “Those are my cousins, Koray and Kadir. You’ve met them.”
“That does not mean they aren’t shady or engaged in nefarious plots against your father or yourself. Scheming happens frequently in the large royal families in the Miners’ Union. Just last month, fifteen-year-old Aarav Dubashi tried to poison his father, the prince, in our very system.”
Koray noticed her looking back and waved. “Your android’s got a hot ass, Nalini.”
“I think we’re safe from nefarious plots from my cousins,” Nalini murmured.
“I am occasionally envious of male androids,” Devi said.
“You ever rent her out for other kinds of work?” Koray winked.
Nalini wished she could rent out some of her relatives. Perhaps to paint and drywall the latest apartments she’d purchased on the water world Oceanus. “I’m not so impoverished that I need to rent out my bodyguard.”
“I’ve got parts she can guard.” Kadir sniggered.
Another roar came from the hundreds of spectators as Nalini walked into the royal boxes overlooking the sandy arena. Sixteen muscular men in loincloths were warming up for the spectators, which included six of Nalini’s fourteen sisters, those who hadn’t yet married and moved out of Stardust Palace. A number of her brothers and male cousins were also seated, more likely here for the blood and battling rather than the near-naked men.
Among the would-be warriors, only a few were the types that might catch her sisters’ eyes. Most looked like tattooed felons who spent too much time working out in the prison gym. A couple were cleaner cut and might be considered handsome.
Nalini’s gaze caught on one such man who had short dark hair and a trimmed beard that accentuated his strong jaw. Not that his jaw was what her sisters would be looking at. The loincloth, as silly a garment as it was, left his muscular, athletic build on full display.
The man glanced in her direction, their eyes meeting. Nalini jerked her gaze away, reminding herself that she was not here to ogle men. She headed up the steps to the seats.
Her father, Sultan Shayban, presided over them from above, servants and bodyguards standing around his dais to attend his needs. His golden robes hid the paunch he’d developed in recent years, and a turban covered his thinning gray hair, but his dark brown eyes remained sharp as he surveyed the arena, assessing the gladiators like he might a field of asteroids to find ore worth mining.
He smiled when he spotted Nalini and beckoned her over. She had thought to sit with her brother, Samar, even though he likely was here for the near-naked men, but she headed up to the dais. Maybe her father would tell her why he’d insisted she come.
“Nalini, my daughter. Come, sit with me tonight.”
“Of course, Father.” She smiled and patted his arm. Even if she would rather be elsewhere, she couldn’t begrudge him his desire to spend time with his family.
The crowd cheered as one of the gladiators knocked his warmup opponent on his butt and pranced around, thumping his heavily muscled and even more heavily tattooed chest.
Nalini rolled her eyes, wondering if she would have to endure being leered at by him later on if he won the night’s contest and her father granted him some position of employment in the palace. It had happened numerous times before. Thank goodness for Devi, who loomed protectively at her side. Years before, Nalini had programmed her to be an excellent bodyguard.
“There’s something we should discuss,” her father said.
“Here?” Nalini had to raise her voice to be heard as the yells and claps continued.
Now several of the men were flexing and posing for the crowd. Not the clean-cut gladiator with the strong jaw. He and his sparring opponent focused on their warmup.
“I am certain you are wondering why I called you to attend,” her father said. “I know grappling men don’t excite you as much as they do your sisters.”
Her father tapped a button on his armrest, and a clear insulating dome rose from the corners of the dais to enshroud them. The noise faded significantly, and Nalini knew nobody would hear their conversation.
“I hope you won’t be offended at the invasion of your privacy, but I questioned your maids to make sure it wasn’t grappling women that excite you.” He smiled affably.
“No.” Nalini looked at the arena, not wanting to discuss her sexual preferences with her father.
He’d never brought up the subject before, and it concerned her that he was doing so now. He’d arranged marriages for several of her sisters, but she’d thought—she’d hoped—he would let her choose her own partner. Or, if she preferred, not get married at all. Her heart was in her career. Surely, he knew that.
“It seems you do take lovers sporadically and enjoy it?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Sporadically, yes.” Nalini wasn’t sure if she should feel mortified or terrified. Or both.
“But infrequently. You do not seem to enjoy the servants, as many of your siblings do.”
“I’m not comfortable ordering men to my bed who don’t see themselves as my equal.”
“Yes, I thought it was like that. You are so egalitarian, my daughter. Quite strange, but since you are the only one of my children to put money into the family coffers instead of removing it in large quantities, I have not minded your quirky ways.” He winked conspiratorially at her.
She smiled back, even though she knew her father would put an end to some of her quirky ways if he found out about them. Thankfully, Devi, unlike whichever lip-flapping maid had blabbed about her bedroom preferences, would never betray her secrets.
“Since it is an equal that you seek,” he said, “you should be pleased by who I have in mind.”
Nalini closed her eyes. This was about marriage.
“I had not planned to arrange a husband for you, since I know that your career is your passion, and it is a very useful passion for you to have, but a very eligible prospect has requested you personally.”
Nalini gaped at him, scanning her memories of the last year. What eligible prospect had she met who would have impressed her father? He’d chosen princes or kings for her other sisters.
“Prince Jorg, eldest son and heir to the Star Kingdom throne.” Her father clapped his hands together. “Are you delighted?”
“I…”
The Star Kingdom? One of those backward people? They’d conquered System Stymphalia, along with the other eleven systems, three centuries earlier and imposed their culture and beliefs. Thank the stars, they’d eventually been pushed back to their own system, and more egalitarian and open-minded governments had regained power. That they still called themselves the Star Kingdom was pretentious, but they had a lot of resources and military might. She could see why such an alliance would appeal to her father, but…
“Have I met him?” She couldn’t remember it.
“No, I don’t believe so. But he’s only a few years older than you and quite handsome. I asked my wives, and they all assured me that women find him appealing.”
As if that was the most important thing in a husband.
“He’ll be coming for a visit later this year, so you can meet him in person.”
“If I find him loathsome, can I reject his offer?” Nalini asked hopefully.
Why had some prince she’d never met requested her personally? She was attractive, but several of her unmarried sisters were considered greater beauties. She had money in her own right, thanks to all of her investments, but it wasn’t as if the heir to the Star Kingdom was impoverished and needed to marry for wealth.
Her father rested his hand on her arm. “Please don’t think like that, my daughter. You’re more cognizant of the current political climate than most of my children, and you know we’ve been dealing with incursions from Prince Dubashi. We can easily protect our territory here in the Far Belt, but we have mostly automated ships mining our claims in the Middle Belt. Their cameras have caught some of his scout ships lurking near the outer asteroids there, maybe even sending mining ships in on the sly. He denies it, of course. Meanwhile, my bodyguards have stopped several assassination attempts of late. We’re still trying to pin them on Dubashi.”
Nalini gaped. “You didn’t tell me about those!”
“I do not wish to worry you with such mundane things.”
“Assassinations aren’t mundane.”
“They are if they don’t succeed.” Her father waved his hand dismissively. “I am far more worried that Dubashi, who has been building his forces and alliances for years, will make a direct assault soon. We are not without means, but an alliance with the Star Kingdom could mean security for the millions of people under our family’s rule. King Jager has already said he will station warships here after you and Jorg are successfully wed.”
“Oh.” Nalini closed her eyes.
This wasn’t about what she wanted. It was about what her people needed. To refuse would be beyond selfish.
“I’m certain the prince would let you continue your real-estate endeavors if you went to live with him.”
“Live with him? On Odin? In some stone castle surrounded by all that… land? And heavy gravity?”
Nalini didn’t object to land and gravity when she was visiting it for investment purposes, but she’d grown up here in space, and she couldn’t imagine being stuck on a planet. Here, the temperature was always perfect, there wasn’t hail or snow or hurricanes, and the gravity was half that of Oceanus—or Odin. It was her home.
“You would get used to it,” her father said. “I visited Odin long ago. It is a beautiful world. It’s the only planet in the Twelve Systems that was perfect for humanity and its animals when the colonists first arrived from Old Earth. Ah, the matches are beginning soon. Here, relax and watch with me.”
Nalini rubbed her face and looked up at the stars—they were faux stars in a faux night sky, but they were her stars. “May I go now, Father? I need to digest this.”
“Go? The fights are just beginning.”
“I’d prefer a quiet evening.”
“I confess I invited you because the outcome of the games will have personal interest to you.”
Interest? What now?
“The winner will become your new bodyguard,” her father said.
Nalini almost pitched to the floor. “My what? I don’t need a new bodyguard. I have Devi.”
Her father smiled indulgently toward the android standing just outside the insulating dome. “Of course, and she has served you well, but once the betrothal is announced—perhaps as soon as it’s rumored—there will be people who object, who won’t want to see us entering into an alliance with the Kingdom. You may be in far greater danger than usual, and if you insist on leaving the palace, which I assume you will for your development project…” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes,” Nalini said firmly. “I’m departing tomorrow.”
“Which I will allow, but you must have more than an android for a bodyguard. Someone who will be so grateful for this second chance in life that he’ll be loyal to you and an effective deterrent against trouble.”
Nalini rarely found herself rendered speechless, but having both of these bombs dropped in two minutes was too much.
“Watch that one with the short dark hair.” Her father pointed. It was the man she’d noticed earlier. “I’m hoping he will win.”
“Why?” she asked numbly.
“He recently fled the Kingdom after tricking everyone into believing he was a noble so he could be trained as a knight. They found out he’d fudged his bloodlines, but he passed all the exams and was knighted before his secret got out. Those men have some of the best combat training in the Twelve Systems, and they regularly best genetically modded opponents. Like that big brute there. The contests tonight should be interesting. Even if he doesn’t win, we shall know that whoever beats him will be good enough to protect you.”
Nalini made herself focus on the indicated man. The knight—former knight—was striding out for his first match.
An inch or two over six feet, he was one of the smaller competitors, but he would have loomed six inches taller than Nalini. He was lean enough that his powerful muscles were clearly defined, but they weren’t grotesquely large, as with some of the other combatants—some of those men looked like mad scientists’ creations.
The knight engaged in his first match. It was against the brute who’d been beating himself on the chest earlier.
They tested each other with combinations of punches and kicks that the knight blocked far more often than his opponent. But his hulking adversary barely seemed to notice when he took solid blows to the midline and even the face. Those blows would have felled most men. Had he consumed some drug concoction before the bout?
After exchanging a rapid-fire barrage of punches, they slipped within each other’s reach and shifted to grappling. Sand flew as they dropped to the ground, each trying to ensnare the other with a binding hold. The knight was quicker, more agile, and more flexible, and he efficiently knotted up his foe underneath him.
But the other man roared and thrashed, refusing to acknowledge defeat. Sand coated their sweaty bodies, and their faces and strong necks grew red from their efforts. As they strained, muscles flexing, the crowd cheered at the spectacle.
Nalini saw her sister, Esrin, touch her chest and lean close to whisper something to one of their cousins. Perhaps how she planned to invite them both to her bed that night. She and her twin, Fadime, had been known to do so after these matches. More than one gladiator who hadn’t won a position on their father’s staff had won a position in one of their beds, at least until they grew bored of them and moved on.
The knight shifted the lock he held, his powerful shoulders flexing as he smashed his opponent’s face into the sand.
Nalini admitted that she could see the reason for Esrin’s interest. Surely, the knight’s strength and agility would be as useful in bed as it was in the arena.
She snorted at the thought, not sure where it had come from. She ought to be paying attention to the market feed scrolling down her contact. Had the dome on her father’s dais been down, she would have informed Devi that gold had closed at just under two thousand Union dollars per ounce.
The monitor-drone zipped out into the arena when it grew clear that the bigger man couldn’t break the knight’s hold. Its bulbous metal body lit up and showed a countdown. 3, 2, 1… Winner: Tristan.
Was that the knight’s name? Nalini had expected something far more brutish. Most of the men assumed fake names or came with nicknames like Gunner and Slayer. These warriors were usually criminals and deadbeats, people who thought competing here could earn them a desperately needed second chance in life.
Tristan sprang back, releasing his hold. He offered his adversary a hand, but his foe snarled, threw sand at him, and rose and stalked out of the arena on his own.
Tristan shrugged, brushed sand off his torso, and faced the dais. He met Nalini’s eyes as he bowed.
The unexpected eye contact startled her. The gladiators always looked to her father, knowing he was the one who determined their fate.
But this man, with his neatly trimmed beard and short tousled hair, looked at her.
His eyes were a deep brown with an intensity that made her stir uneasily in her seat. He seemed like someone who wouldn’t miss anything, such as the secrets she didn’t want getting back to her father. She hoped that one of the dimmer-looking thugs won. If she had to have a bodyguard, she would prefer a dumb one. Also one whose muscles didn’t play together in such an appealing way as he trotted back to await the next round.
Nalini caught herself touching her chest and lowered her hand with an irritated snap. She wasn’t her sister.
The battles continued, robot servants bringing food and beverages around to the spectators who worked in the palace while humans served those in the royal boxes. There were three more elimination matches with different pairings before Tristan fought again. Nalini nibbled on a pastry coated in sesame seeds while she watched him walk back out into the arena.
His next match, against one of the other victors from a previous round, did not go to the ground. His foe was also fast and agile, appearing more natural than the hulking cybernetically or genetically altered men, and preferred all manner of kicks and punches. Tristan adapted to his style easily enough, blocking the barrage of blows without giving ground. He had a knack for reading his opponent, seemingly before the other man even knew what he would do next. Or maybe it was that there was something predictable about the combinations of punches and kicks he threw.
Either way, Tristan defeated him more quickly than his first opponent, an open fist to the nose sending him tumbling to the sand. Tristan sprang after him, locking his foe’s arms behind his back so he couldn’t get up, and the drone flew out for the countdown of three.
The crowd was audibly disappointed by how quickly the skirmish had ended, but when Tristan offered to help up his foe—this one allowed it—and dusted himself off and faced the dais, a round of whoops and applause went up for him.
He bowed, meeting Nalini’s eyes again. She expected some smugness or a cocky smile, but his jaw was set with determination, the same intensity in his eyes as before. After he bowed, he jogged back toward the winners’ side.
“I like his professionalism,” her father said as he accepted a cup of raki from a servant. “Perhaps I shall offer him a position even if he doesn’t win. The Kingdom’s loss will be my gain, eh?”
One of the other men still in contention looked at Nalini as Tristan jogged back to the group. The thug pointed at her, smirked, and grabbed his crotch.
Nalini was so startled that she glanced at her father, amazed that one of the men had dared such rudeness in his presence, but he was selecting from a dessert tray and did not notice.
She launched a defiant glare at the brute, but Tristan had said something, drawing his attention. The man, who towered more than a foot above him, grabbed his crotch again and made thrusting motions and laughed.
Tristan punched him in the face, the blow so fast and hard that the man didn’t get a hand up to defend himself. Because he’d been too busy using it on his crotch, Nalini wagered, satisfied with the action even if she shouldn’t have taken pleasure in such a petty thing.
The big man sprang for Tristan, ready to have the final battle right there, but androids and human guards ran out with stunners, shouting for them to knock it off.
The two men broke apart, glaring at each other with the intense hatred of mortal enemies rather than strangers who’d met that night. The crowd whooped and roared, some rising to their feet and stomping their approval at this bonus display of ferocity.
Several more matches were fought, but the end was inevitable. Tristan and his new nemesis were the last two combatants left standing.
As they stalked out, neither taking his gaze off the other, Nalini revoked her wish for someone besides Tristan to win. The last thing she wanted was that crotch-grabbing troglodyte as her bodyguard. By the stars, her bodyguard would sleep in the servant’s room in her suite. He had to be someone trustworthy.
Even if a servant would be punished, if not outright executed, for any sexual crimes he committed on a member of the royal family, he might try anyway, believing he could get away before being caught.
Nalini swallowed, horrified by that thought, as the drone sounded a bell and the men lunged for each other.
The thug had walked out with sand in his hand, and he flung it at Tristan’s eyes before they engaged. Tristan ducked aside and missed most of it, but some got into his eyes, throwing him off ever so slightly. His foe rammed into him like an asteroid-coring machine.
Tristan crashed to the ground, the big man smothering him. Nalini groaned, certain her knight was done for.
But somehow, Tristan created enough space to get his knees to his chest and plant his feet against his foe’s torso. He thrust, hurling the heavy man into the air, then rolled away before the mass of muscle landed.
His opponent twisted with surprising agility for such a big man and came down on his feet. Tristan was already charging at him. He threw punches so quickly that his hands blurred, and at one point, he slammed a knee into the man’s groin. It was a tactic he hadn’t used on any of his other foes, but Nalini clenched her fist, delighted when the brute howled in pain.
He lunged in, punches flying, but Tristan was too fast. Not only did he dodge the attack, but he darted past his foe and came around behind him. He slammed a foot into the back of the man’s leg, forcing him to his knees. Before the thug could recover, Tristan wrapped his powerful arms in a lock around his thick neck.
They ended up facing the dais, so Nalini had a clear view of the big man flailing, trying vainly to reach Tristan with limbs made inflexible by his great muscle mass.
Tristan, right against his back with his arms squeezing ever tighter, looked neither triumphant nor concerned. There was simply that same intense focus. His adversary’s face turned red, then purple. The crowd roared as the flailing grew weaker.
The drone came out and did its countdown. The big man tried one more time to escape the lock, but he failed. The drone announced Tristan the winner, and he let his opponent go, the big man tumbling face first into the sand.
Once again, Tristan offered a hand up—Nalini would have preferred it if he’d kicked the coarse oaf in the face—but this one also ignored the help. He grabbed sand and threw it toward Tristan’s face again as he stood, but Tristan saw it coming and closed his eyes.
The androids started out to instill order, but the man stalked off without further fighting.
Tristan brushed off the sand, faced the dais, and once again bowed to Nalini.
“Ah, very good,” her father said. “He will do, I believe.”
Nalini sank back in her seat as the guards came out to lead Tristan away.
“I think my wives might also tell me that he is handsome.” Her father quirked an eyebrow at her. “You’ve made your feelings on servants clear, so I won’t worry about that, but do not forget that your fate is with Prince Jorg.”
“I haven’t forgotten, Father.” Nalini cleared her face, wondering what expression she’d worn that had prompted him to make that statement.
Tristan looked back at her as he neared the exit tunnel, his expression inscrutable. She was glad he wasn’t crude and lustful like the other man, but it bothered her that she couldn’t read him and had no idea what he was thinking.
All she knew was that he was her new bodyguard. She feared she was in trouble for more reasons than one.
Chapter 2
Four weeks earlier…
Sir Tristan Tremayne stared at the coffin, only vaguely aware of the cool hazy mist coating his face and contrasting the hot tears streaking down into his beard. His mentor and best friend was dead.
His father had once told him real men don’t cry, but he’d been mining ore on a penal asteroid for the last twenty years. He was a criminal. What did he know?
A throat cleared behind him.
Despite his resolve to ignore his father’s advice, Tristan wiped the tears from his face before turning around. Knights couldn’t show weakness, especially one who hadn’t been born into the nobility and worried that everything would one day be taken away from him.
He didn’t recognize the man in the suit who stood behind him and bowed when their eyes met.
“Sir Tremayne? I’m Itsuki Yamamoto, the lawyer handling the settling of Sir Hanh’s affairs. After his death, this was found in his cabin on the Tiger’s Wrath, and there was a note that it was for you.” A puzzled crease furrowed Yamamoto’s brow as he opened his jacket and pulled out a vial of vibrant red dirt.
Tristan accepted it, tears threatening again as he read the label: Arakan Moon regolith.
“Thank you.” Tristan wore his formal silver liquid armor for the funeral, so he was short on pockets. He tucked the vial into his utility belt. Since the lawyer still looked puzzled, he explained, “I collect dirt from the planets and moons I visit because…” He groped for a way to explain how little he’d had growing up, how he’d never thought he would travel outside of the capital city, much less leave the planet Odin, and how that had only changed when he’d become Sebastian Hanh’s squire. “Just because,” he finished. “Sir Hanh knew.”
“A dirt collection?” Yamamoto didn’t appear that enlightened. “Well, that’s less controversial than what’s in his will.” He took a long look over his shoulder through the mist toward where Sebastian’s twenty-five-year-old son Andreas, cousins, nephews, and uncles were gesticulating to—
Tristan rocked back when he recognized King Jager, Queen Iku, and their eldest, Prince Jorg. Though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course they would come to the funeral of one of their most trusted knights, especially since Sebastian was—had been—from one of the oldest noble families.
Jager glanced in his direction, and Tristan fought the old urge to drop prostrate to the ground with his nose smashed against the dirt. He bowed, as befitting a knight, though even that wasn’t required across such distance.
“Yes, there’s the controversy playing out, I believe,” Yamamoto said. “I informed Andreas of the, ah, update to Sir Hanh’s will when I arrived. I assume Sebastian discussed it with you?”
“His will?” Tristan asked. “No. Is this about my probationary period?”
Even though he was devastated by the loss of his best friend and the only mentor he’d ever had, he couldn’t help but think of himself now that this lawyer was here. Tristan was one month shy of finishing his probationary year, something required of any commoner who made his way through the rigorous gauntlet to qualify as a knight, and Sebastian had promised to stand beside him at the king’s court and argue to make sure it became Tristan’s permanent position. But with Sebastian gone…
He swallowed, remembering how many people had opposed his appointment. Nobody had cared much when Sebastian had taken him on as a squire, since they’d assumed that some kid off the streets would never pass the vigorous physical and academic exams required to become a knight, but when he had, people had become much more vocal. Was Sebastian’s son Andreas complaining about that even now? Why would it matter to him?
“No, not that. This.” Yamamoto pulled out a small tablet computer and held the screen up toward him.
Fear tightened Tristan’s gut, the words even harder than usual to read as panic set in. His dyslexic brain jumbled letters around, and it didn’t help that the long multisyllabic words were legal mumbo jumbo to start with.
“Can you sum it up for me, please?” Tristan’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment that hadn’t stopped rearing up in his mind over the years, even after he’d been given a label for his reading difficulties. He drew some small solace in the fact that he excelled at mathematics—that half of the academic tests had pulled up his reading and writing scores and given him a passing score—but nobody ever asked him to recite math problems aloud.
Yamamoto’s brow furrowed again. “He left you his estate.”
Tristan blinked slowly. Even though that was as concise a summary as anyone could have asked for, he struggled just as much to understand it. “I don’t understand.”
“He,” Yamamoto said slowly, as if dealing with a simpleton, “left you his estate. All of it.”
Yamamoto stretched a hand toward the rambling castle that covered tens of thousands of square feet, the manicured lawns and gardens, the horse stables and riding arenas in the back, the hangar and shuttle pad with several private spacecraft and aircraft, and thousands and thousands of acres of the Liliowy Mountains that spanned countless lakes and some of the richest timberlands on the continent.
Tristan shook his head. “He has a son. And cousins and nephews.”
He pointed to those people now, suddenly understanding why they were gesticulating and arguing with the king.
“Yes, and until recently, his son stood to inherit his title and estate. He’d left you some hundred thousand Kingdom crowns, which seems reasonable, if an excessive amount to give to a commoner whose father is in prison and whose mother overdosed on drugs.”
The heat hadn’t faded completely from Tristan’s cheeks, and it rekindled now at this reminder of his dubious origins. “I see. It’s more acceptable to give money to appropriately pedigreed commoners.”
“I will tell you honestly,” Yamamoto said, ignoring the sarcasm, “that it’s unlikely it’ll stick. The king will have to get the Senate to sign off on overturning it, but they probably will. Even if Andreas is petulant and spoiled, that describes half of the children of nobles in the Kingdom, and it’s never been grounds for taking their lands from them.” Yamamoto took back his tablet. “If you expect to have a shot at keeping that which he bequeathed you, you had better hire a very good lawyer.”
“I don’t have the money for that,” Tristan mumbled, more out of habit than because he wanted to pursue a lawsuit.
Yamamoto snorted. “Ironic.”
Tristan stared bleakly at the lawyer as he walked away, then turned back to the coffin. The lid was down, since poor Sebastian had been maimed horribly in the explosion that had destroyed the bridge of his ship—and taken his life—but Tristan wished he could see his mentor’s face one more time. No, he wished he could speak to the living man one more time.
“Why, Sebastian?” he whispered. “You didn’t need to do this—shouldn’t have done it. All I ever wanted was to be a knight.”
The coffin did not answer.
“I see you got this worked out real well for yourself,” came Andreas’s angry snarl as he stalked up.
Tristan turned in time to see the punch coming, and he could have blocked it—his instincts started to whip his arm up to do so—but he caught himself and let the punch land. Knuckles mashed against his cheekbone, stinging, but it was nothing like the punch of a knight, or any trained warrior. It was the punch of a dandy who spent his days betting on horse races and his nights down in the capital, carousing with his cronies.
“What’d you do?” Andreas demanded, wincing and shaking out his hand. “Get him drunk and sweet-talk him into changing it? Or did you suck his dick while you were out on those missions? Everybody knows he never preferred my mother or any other woman.”
Tristan sighed. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the implication, and he couldn’t manage the anger any longer to clench his jaw in indignation.
Yes, Sebastian’s tastes had run toward male companionship, but Tristan’s didn’t. Nobody ever believed he wouldn’t have crossed the line of his own preferences to advance his career. It bothered him more that people could believe Sebastian would have asked someone to do that. He’d been as noble and chivalrous as all the knights in the legends combined. What truly angered Tristan was that Sebastian’s son would speak poorly of him, and he found his fingers curling into a fist until he noticed a second man walking up.
“Is that how Tremayne got Hanh to vouch so passionately for him to be granted knighthood?” Prince Jorg asked dryly, his eyes dancing with amusement. And cruelty. That cruelty had been there every time Tristan had encountered the man—the future ruler of the Star Kingdom. “I’d wondered why someone would argue so vehemently to allow some street filth to be made into a knight.”
Tristan made himself bow and greet Jorg with a formal, “Favor of the Kingdom to you, Your Highness,” even though he would have preferred to punch the man.
Andreas’s anger was understandable. Jorg was a spiteful snot who acted like he was thirteen instead of thirty. Tristan hoped the rumors about Jager partaking in out-of-system anti-aging treatments were true and that he would outlive his son. Jager wasn’t known for loving benevolence, and reputedly had ambitions to take over the Twelve Systems and put them under Kingdom rule again, but he wasn’t as much of a petulant ass as his son.
“Yes, do suck up,” Jorg said. “And also to the king, not only me. I’m sure that’ll make my father much more inclined to buck two thousand years of tradition and give you the Hanh estate.”
“I don’t want his estate or his money or anything.” Tristan’s fingers twitched toward his utility belt. That wasn’t quite true. He would keep the red moon dirt. It touched him that Sebastian had thought to gather it for him.
Andreas sprang back behind Jorg. “He’s grabbing his axe!”
Tristan’s hand hadn’t been anywhere near the knight’s pertundo he carried—a weapon modeled after a retractable halberd rather than an axe—but he lowered it.
“Dear Andreas, were you planning to use me for a shield?” Jorg, who’d passed all the knight exams himself, hadn’t mistaken the reach for anything offensive. “Because there are laws against that, you know. In fact, at the first sign of danger, you’re supposed to fling yourself in front of me rather than behind me.” Jorg’s cold blue eyes glinted. “Perhaps we can try that later in some highway traffic.”
Andreas laughed nervously and stepped away from Jorg.
Tristan hated that this petty conversation was happening in front of Sebastian’s remains. He longed to pray and say a few final words—silently, not where anyone could overhear him—and then flee the estate before the rest of the Hanh family came after him with pitchforks.
Before Andreas had to figure out a response to Jorg’s suggestion, which may or may not have been made in jest, King Jager strode toward the coffin. Eight humorless bodyguards in combat armor trailed him, DEW-Tek rifles gripped in their hands.
Tristan made himself lift his chin and wait like a knight, not like a criminal fearing a firing squad.
“Leave us, boys.” Jager waved for Jorg and Andreas to move along.
Tristan wished he could move along, all the way back to Zamek City and the knight headquarters, where he would hopefully be given a new assignment, a way to get his mind off his mentor’s death, and a final chance to prove himself before his year was up.
Jager looked him up and down, his face difficult to read.
Tristan bowed deeply, keeping his hands far away from his pertundo—he’d only worn it because it was part of a knight’s formal uniform. Thankfully, the bodyguards stayed several paces back and didn’t appear concerned for their monarch’s life.
“You’ve spoken to the lawyer.” Jager made it a statement, not a question.
“Yes, Your Majesty. And as I was trying to tell Andreas—”
“Lord Andreas,” Jager interrupted coolly. His gaze wasn’t as cruel and mocking as his son’s, but it was far from friendly.
Tristan should have known better. He’d spent too much time training on the estate here, growing accustomed to addressing Sebastian’s family on a first-name basis.
“Lord Andreas,” he agreed. “I told him I’d be happy to sign the estate over to him. Anything Sebas—Sir Hanh left me. I never wanted anything from him—he’s already given me so much. I just want to be a knight and serve the crown.” He bowed again—not, he told himself firmly, sucking up.
It was true, after all, though it was more that Tristan had wanted to become a knight because they were brave and honorable warriors—everything his father was not—than out of a desire to serve Jager. He did want to serve the people and protect his home world from any aggressors from the other systems. He wanted to do work that mattered. He wanted to matter.
“That’s good. I’ll have the lawyer draw up the paperwork. In the meantime, I understand you have a month left in your probationary period.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Tristan stood up straight, though he didn’t presume to look Jager in the eyes. He didn’t presume to breathe.
“These are contentious times, and we are in need of good men. Loyal men. And your record has been satisfactory this last year.”
It wasn’t heartfelt praise, but Tristan allowed himself hope. “Thank you.”
“But your work has all been here on Odin, under the watchful eyes of Sir Hanh or another senior knight.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Knights are expected to go all over the Twelve Systems, to be my eyes and ears, and to act to protect the interests of the crown. They need to be trustworthy and capable of making smart decisions, even when they’re alone for months without supervision.”
Did Jager have some special mission in mind? Tristan would welcome the chance to show that he could be trusted, that he could shine out there on his own.
“I’m ready to prove myself, Your Majesty.”
“Good. I have a spy mission in mind that I believe you would be perfect for.”
Perfect for? Tristan leaned forward. Did Jager know all about his abilities? How skilled he was with weapons and unarmed combat? How hard he’d had to work to be accepted when nobody except Sebastian had wanted him to pass the exams?
“Since your father is a known criminal, I don’t think anyone would have a hard time believing that you might be tempted to that life too.”
Tristan didn’t let his shoulders slump with disappointment, even though he wanted to. It wasn’t his abilities that Jager believed in but his father’s reputation?
“We will circulate a story that you tricked your way into the knighthood, were caught, and were kicked out. Perhaps you even stole something and fled the system, hotly pursued by real knights.” Jager waved indifferently.
Tristan wanted to protest that he was a real knight, but if this ruse got him a chance to prove himself…
“Now, you’re down on your luck, out of money, and scrambling to find any work that pays. Which is why you’ll be entering one of the monthly gladiator competitions that Sultan Shayban in System Stymphalia hosts. He’s one of the wealthiest and most influential rulers in the Miners’ Union, and he regularly recruits the winners of those battles for security positions. Our spy in his palace tells me that the next winner, should he be deemed suitable, will be offered the position of bodyguard to his favorite daughter, Princess Nalini.”
Tristan listened intently, not letting himself be daunted by the idea of traveling alone to another star system for the first time, or having to beat out countless warriors who might be cybernetically enhanced or genetically engineered—something that wasn’t allowed in the Kingdom.
“Am I to spy on her for Royal Intelligence?” Tristan asked.
“To some extent—you’ll report anything of interest to our current spy in the palace—but mostly, you’re going to ensure she doesn’t decide to run away from the marriage that her father and I are arranging.”
“Marriage to whom?”
“Prince Jorg.”
Tristan struggled to keep his expression neutral. The idea of being someone’s bodyguard didn’t bother him, but being her keeper? Her captor?
But this was the path to the career he’d dreamed about since he’d been a boy. He took a deep breath and said, “I am prepared to take on this mission, Your Majesty.”
“See that you excel at it, so that I have no reason to doubt your loyalty and trustworthiness.” Jager’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and Tristan had no doubt that there would be consequences if he failed. “If you ensure that Nalini is safe and ready to marry my son later this year, you have my word that you’ll officially be made a knight.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Tristan pushed aside his feelings of unease. The nobility—royalty—were used to arranged marriages. It wasn’t as if he would personally be responsible for destroying this girl’s dreams. “I will do all that you ask of me. You can trust me.”
~
You can get Knight Protector here: https://amzn.to/31oCXTw
“It’s a trap.”
Greetings, Sindari. Thank you for answering some questions. I’m sure the readers are interested in learning more about you. 
I’ve been dealing with some hacks and security issues with this website, so if you came by this winter and had trouble, I apologize. I hope everything is fixed now. After getting everything professionally cleaned up, I enabled some extra security measures with the log-in, so now I feel like I’m trying to get into the missile silo under Cheyenne Mountain (which would totally be worth it if I could then go through the Stargate!).
