Polaris Rising (Consortium Rebellion, #1)(79)

I caught my balance and pushed myself up. The change in position sent shards of pain racing down my neck and back. I carefully tilted my head, working out the kinks. I felt like I’d gone a few rounds with my self-defense tutor on a particularly bad day.

My space suit was gone, as were my outer layers of clothes, but they’d left my undergarments on. The cot I sat on was not luxurious, exactly, but it had real sheets and blankets. I looked around. My room was rather large, as far as such cells went. It was wide enough that the cot spanned the back wall instead of the more usual location of lengthwise in the room. There was also a tiny, curtained-off en suite bathroom where I could shower and use the facilities in pretend privacy.

The cell walls were steel but they’d been painted a warm cream. A small white round table with two orange plastech chairs sat in the middle of the right half of the cell. The table was secured to the floor. The chairs’ honeycomb construction meant they wouldn’t have enough mass to be used as an effective weapon, so they were not bolted down.

My pants and shirt were folded neatly atop the table. If it wasn’t for the door with no handle or control panel on this side, the room could be mistaken for a normal—if spartan—room on any ship. Richard was playing nice. I had no doubt that if I proved too uncooperative, my lodgings would deteriorate rapidly.

I pushed myself up and pulled on my clothes. I felt better with another barrier between me and the world. I sat on the edge of the cot and contemplated where my life had gone wrong. Perhaps it was when Lady Louisa had thrown mud on me at a Consortium event when we were six.

Or, more likely, when I had retaliated by making her eat mud.

How was I supposed to know she was heir to one of the lower houses? She was a bully and I’d put her in her place. Only, because I was the child of a High House, it looked to everyone else like I was the bully.

And clearly whatever they had given me to knock me out was not entirely out of my system. I tried to pull my thoughts into some semblance of order, with only mild success.

A short while later the room’s only door opened and a soldier entered with a tray of food. He set it on the table without a word and left. The insistent growling of my stomach told me that more than a few hours had passed while I was unconscious. I got up to take a look. The food—waffles with fresh strawberries, eggs, and sausage—smelled divine.

It didn’t make sense to keep me alive just to poison me with food, so I shrugged and dug in. Besides, Richard knew I had House-level nanobots that would take care of most toxins. Unless House Rockhurst had cooked up some radical new poison, I would be okay. And while a hunger strike might make a nice political statement, hunger led to weakness, which meant a smaller chance of escape.

I could be practical when it suited me.

Once I’d finished with the meal, I rebuilt the walls of my public persona. It was an act I’d have to carry off for weeks or months, potentially. I hadn’t had to be on that much since I’d left home. And like a muscle, my ability to maintain the illusion for long periods had atrophied. Hopefully I wouldn’t be forced to endure Richard for more than a couple hours a day.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Richard waltzed into the room without warning. A different guard followed him. The guard took my tray and disappeared. Richard sat across from me.

“Ada,” he said, “I’m glad to see you’re awake. My soldiers got a little . . . overzealous in their anger. You’ve been unconscious for over sixteen hours.”

That explained the breakfast food. I’d lost almost an entire day. I smiled politely. “Thank you for your concern,” I said. “I feel much better.”

“Are you ready to discuss our upcoming nuptials? Or would you prefer to be moved into the general holding cells while I purge your friends?” he asked, almost casually.

I wasn’t sure why he still wanted the marriage. If it was for my dowry, he had to know that House von Hasenberg would not turn it over so easily in light of the new information. But perhaps he didn’t know I had worked out the details of the FTL drives.

Or my information was bad, which was far worse for me.

“Very well,” I said, “we may discuss it. What is your offer?”

“We marry. Your friends live. You’ll be inducted into House Rockhurst. You will prove your loyalty to the House by sharing everything you know about von Hasenberg shielding technology, as well as any other advanced technology. You will then continue to spy on House von Hasenberg as a sign of your ongoing allegiance to our marriage.”

I kept my expression placid when I would’ve liked to tell him where he could shove his proposal. “Will the marriage require consummation?” I asked.

His eyes darkened and his gaze raked down my body. “Yes. I expect you to provide me with several heirs.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a part of the agreement? What if I am barren?”

“Are you?”

“I do not have any children, so all available evidence points to yes.” That and very good birth control. “How many times will you require sexual intercourse per month?”

“Per month?” he scoffed. “We’ll fuck as often as I desire.”

I pursed my mouth. “I do not think so. Once per month until I am pregnant, then zero until the baby is born. One year after birth or miscarriage we will resume at once per month until the agreed-upon number of heirs has been produced.”