Heir Of Violence (#1 Betrayed Destinies) - ONC2024

Chapter 11 - Paparazzi

After her skin wrinkled and she'd cried herself a little pity party, Caeryssa shut off the water. Surprisingly, the ship hadn't limited the amount she'd used. Another luxury she wasn't accustomed to on board. They must have a brilliant recycling system and an excellent engineering team that kept everything humming. Her mom was a decent engineer. Nevertheless, things constantly broke down on the Basilisk. It wasn't exactly a new ship. Growing up, showers had been hurried splashes to get wet, then shutting the water off while soaping up to conserve the precious liquid, and a quick rinse to finish. Even on the ships she travelled on for expeditions, showers were limited to under five minutes.

Caeryssa dried her skin with a fluffy, soft towel and drew on her bra and panties. No point in re-donning her torn shipsuit. It didn't cover the important bits and certainly hadn't been any protection. But perhaps there was something in the drawers.

Cautiously, she listened against the door. No sounds reached her other than the low hum of the ship's engines.

She slid open the bathroom door and peered into the cabin. The breath she'd been holding exploded out in a noisy exhale of relief. She stepped towards the drawers but halted, arrested by the pile of silver and white fabric on the end of the bed.

Someone had come inside while she'd been in the shower. A shudder racked her. Thank the stars she'd locked the bathroom door. There was nothing more vulnerable than being naked in the shower.

With two fingers, she lifted the topmost item and shook it out. A fine white natural fibre dress shirt with long sleeves and open collar. She tried it on and snorted as the bottom edge fell to her knees. Still, better than nothing. She set a second identical shirt aside and lifted a silver short-sleeved round-necked shirt in a slick material typical of the quick-dry expedition wear she had in her dressers at home. After taking the dress shirt off, she drew the silver shirt on, then added the dress shirt over top. More layers were definitely to her advantage, even if they could rip the clothes off her. At least she'd make them work for it.

Under a second silver shirt were two palm-sized packages and four the length of her thumbnail—vacuum cubes used to store goods on spacecraft where space was always at a premium. Or at least, that had been her experience before boarding this ship. It was almost reassuring to see the familiar, clear packaging. She pulled the tabs on each and they expanded to two pairs of tan trousers, two pairs of black men's boxers, and two pairs of black socks.

Well, better than nothing and a sight better than her ripped shipsuit.

She drew on the pants and tucked in the silver shirt. Other than being too long in the legs, the pants fit well enough, if a bit low on the hips. After tying the white shirt at her waist and rolling up her pant legs, she drew on clean socks and her boots. Without a brush or comb, she used her fingers to get her hair into some semblance of order.

Her stomach rumbled. As if food was important right now. She pressed a hand to her belly and knelt on the bed to study the file—Rain? Zharl? Cain?—whatever the fuck his princeliness' name was had left displayed on the large wall screen. His proof that her father was an assassin.

She rolled her eyes. Stems and leaves, it was absolutely nuts.

She didn't know her father's shipping routes over the past seventeen cycles when she'd been on Alycone at Storm Coast Academy during her early teens, then Anvilstar Institute to get her degrees, and the last six cycles on Ankion at AIMAED when she wasn't on an expedition. But before that, they'd travelled constantly in the Basilisk. No way could she remember everywhere, but if she could recall even one definitive location that conflicted with the long list of assassinations, she'd prove that arrogant prince wrong.