THE PRINCESS

CHAPTER 1: THE CAGE The first thing you need to understand about being a princess of Kanji saki is that the cage you are born into is very, very beautiful. I traced the rim of the wine glass in my hand. Feeling the real crystals, mined from the northern section before the shift, worth more that a midtown apartment. I sat watching the capital city of Sakura. Thirty million souls down there, packed, all probably thinking their princess had the easiest job in the world. To just smile, wave, cut the ribbon and not to start a war. Easier said than done, when he walks into the room. “Your Highness.” The voice came from my left, low and warm as a blade left to long in the morning sun. I didn’t turn. I knew the cut of that uniform, the deep grey, sliver buttons, the crimson sash of the High commander. I knew the faint smile of gun oil and sandalwood. “General Kim.” I took a measured sip of wine. “I thought your government banned its officers from fraternizing with the enemies royalty.” “Enemies?” He stepped into my periphery, close enough that I could see the calluses on his trigger hand. “Your Highness wound me. We are simply neighboring nations with strongly worded opinions.” I laughed despite the restraint I had tried to keep. That was the problem with General Kim. He made me laugh quite to often. Now I turned. Taller than mw by a head, broad-shouldered in that way that said he’d earned his rank in the field, not a briefing room. With his dark hair slivering at the temples. A jaw that could have been craved from the same marble as my floor. And eyes the color of a grey dangerous winter storm. Six months ago he commanded a set of troops the seized the northern pass. Three hundred dead. I stood in this same tower, watching casualty reports flicker across my vision and I have never hated anyone more. Last night at the Pearl Ball he found me alone seated on the eastern terrace and talked for an hour about the poetry to the blooming night, his people’s greatest treasures. Love and hate, I was learning, are not opposite poles of magnets. They are the same pole, spinning so fast you can’t tell them apart. “General.” I said setting my glad down. “What do you same.’’ He titled his head, that almost smile playing at the corner of his lips. “To dance.” “Dance.” “The orchestra is playing waltz. You are standing alone by the window, looking like a woman contemplating. And I have been told I am an excellent partner.” “You are told many things.” “Most of them are true.” I should have said no. Every diplomatic bone in my body which the Empress had made certain I had plenty, screamed at me to stop, that this was a terrible . The peace was fragile. The border was a match stick and Kim as the lighter. But his hand was already extended, palm up, and the war in my chest was already lost. ‘ “ If you step on my feet,” I said placing my fingers in his, “I will have you shot.” “Your highness,” He murmured, drawing me forward, “I would expect nothing less.” The waltz began. And somewhere behind us in the glittering crowd of diplomats and dignitaries, the real game was just starting to move