Free Compete by Norilana Books Page B

and suddenly towers above me.
    In the next instant, he picks me up by the shoulders, raising me up from my seat effortlessly, as though I’m weightless . . . and he holds me briefly, his strong fingers cutting into my arms painfully, his face inches from mine—so close that I can see the dark fringe of his lashes and the sharp line of wonderfully exotic natural pigment around his eyelids . . . And I am also suddenly very aware of his elevated breathing through his slightly parted, chiseled lips.
    He then just as suddenly lets me go, so that I fall back in my chair, slack-jawed from the shock of him, his touch , his overwhelming presence. Even now, the places on my arms where he touched me seem to ring , as though branded. . . .
    “Gwen Lark,” he says very carefully, looking down at me, speaking like a serpent, his voice gone low and dangerous. “Do not ever presume to challenge me, or to speak to me in this way again. I have tolerated your outbursts due to your ignorance of proper conduct, and your difficult circumstances. But it all stops now. You will listen and obey orders. Or you will be disciplined.”
    I feel a surge of crazy emotion rising, as I look up at him, shaking with the overload, and my hands clutch the armrests of the chair. Some really awful, possibly insane blather is about to pour out of me and I cannot stop it, as usual, and frankly, I don’t care .
    “Is this the Command Pilot speaking, or the Imperial Prince? ” I say with boiling anger. “Should I address you as Your Highness? Because it seems to me you’re ordering me about, and I am sorry, but technically I have not made my so-called ‘life choice’ or decision yet, and therefore I have not sworn, or promised loyalty, or obedience, or fealty, or any other junk —to you or to Atlantis! In fact, I’m not sure I want to, if this is how things are going to be! When Instructor Oalla Keigeri told me that I mattered to you, I thought that meant that you actually cared, as a human being, not some kind of tyrant—”
    “ What?” Aeson’s expression grows perfectly still and cold, like stone. He appears to be stunned once more by what I just said. “She did what? What did Oalla Keigeri say to you?”
    I stare at him, freezing also, my eyes wide open. And then I begin turning red again, red as a beet, or maybe a damn tomato. Oh, crap! What did I just do? What did I just tell him? “Nothing. . . . She said nothing, I mean, not much. . . . She just made it sound like you care—about my well-being, I think? Or—I am not sure—”
    A terrible pause.
    He exhales a long held breath. “Well,” he says, composing himself suddenly so that he looks perfectly casual, almost relaxed, which I know cannot be right. “Looks like Pilot Keigeri and I need to have a little talk—about overstepping bounds. You can be certain it will not happen again. In the future she will not speak nonsense about things she knows very little about.”
    I can tell he is very angry, but also, for some reason, he does not look directly at me. Instead, Aeson Kassiopei steps away and goes back to sit down at his desk. He sweeps back his metallic gold hair, puts his hands behind his head and leans back in his chair, still without looking at me. If I didn’t know better, I would think he cannot face me. Or maybe it’s something else?
    Whatever it is, I sit in my chair and feel incredibly awkward—for about five very long seconds.
    “So,” he says.
    And then he starts to laugh .
    It is a clean arrogant sound, perfectly devoid of any emotion, completely in control, and for that reason it is terrifying . And as he laughs, he at last looks directly, confidently at me.
    “Gwenevere Lark,” he says my full name in a sarcastic, terrible, condescending voice, and the unwavering gaze of his eyes is upon me. “Whatever it is you think I hold in regards to you—whatever sentiment or weakness that Oalla Keigeri has so absurdly and mistakenly informed you about—it