The men with rifles who meet me at the shore are not Troo. They’re violet-clad humans armed with Troo energy weapons, all of which are leveled directly at me.

It’s not the first time I’ve been at this end of weaponry, but if I manage to pull this off it will hopefully be the last. I just need to convince them of my sincerity and I will be home free. I can leave and meet Tromeo far away from here where nobody knows our names and we will escape the overwhelming weight of expectations that lays across both our shoulders.

Keeping my mind on the prize, I grit my teeth (but not too hard) and try to imagine steel straightening my spine. The dentist’s wife has managed a stroke of excellence in setting me up for this confrontation. The cardigan I wear is a similar shade of blue to Tromeo’s feathers. The skirt that falls to my knees is a darker shade of the same.

“Take me to your leader?” The attempt at comedy wrinkles the eyes of some of the armed men. Even a devout collaborator would think that it is ridiculous to imply that a human is the alien visitor. But here, in this very moment, I am the outsider in almost every possible way.

“Why should we?” The uniformed man who speaks wears a dark purple beret, pinned with a bright gold feather. He glares at me down the muzzle of the gun.

I resist the urge to tell the truth. I am above their station. I should be adopted into my husband’s caste. They are violet and I am a blue. If we were Troo they would not question me.

If we were Troo we would not be in this situation in the first place.

I swallow hard (not pressing my teeth together too hard in the process) and bow slightly to them, dropping my suitcase and clasping my hands to beg.

“I am July Chapel. My mother wants me dead because she caught me having sex with a Troo. I need safety and I have information to trade for it.”

Their sneers are exactly what I expected. Even here, among people who have given up their sovereignty for security, the idea of such an act is disgusting. And okay, maybe it’s not normal. But I can’t show shame now. I need them to spread the rumor to the Troo in charge.

“July Chapel?” The one with the dark purple beret lowers his rifle. “The last of June May Chapel’s surviving children?”

I nod.

He exchanges odd looks with one of the men with him. Their suspicious glares give me reason to worry again.

“That tracks.” The main in charge gives a shrug. The other soldiers lower their firearms at his command. “You will follow me. You will not touch anything.”

I nod again and press my face into my hands as if relieved. My heart races with terror. I know that every step I take now is one step closer to potential freedom and potential ruin. I just need to introduce the exact right amount of chaos to the mix.

I reach for the suitcase, but one of the men snatches it up before my hand can touch the handle. With a lowered gaze, I follow their leader up the beach and into the grounds of this expansive estate.

Before the war, this place was a corporate retreat center. It was complete with exotic animals that the wealthy would hunt for sport. The exotic animals are still present, now hunted by ambitious Troo. I wonder idly if they are getting in touch with their ancestral roots as predators when they tackle a zebra with only their teeth and claws.

The walk from the beach to the main building is not long. There are many wooden stairs, flanked by well maintained scrubby bushes. The fragrance in the air from crushed vegetation is sharp and herbal. I smell the lavender and rosemary. My worn black boots thud loudly against the steps, keeping pace with the soldiers who have me surrounded, though my stride is much shorter.

The spacious building sprawls openly over the hillside. The construction pretends at rustic charm, with logs creating the appearance of a country cabin. But it is far too large with far too many windows to maintain that facade. The views of the lake from those large windows must be truly amazing to be worth the tactical disadvantage that this modern palace represents.

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Anti aircraft guns peek over the crest of the roof. Despite the quaint appearance, the Troo can never let down their guard. It gives me perverse pride to see that in evidence even here.

“Wait here.” The command expects that I will be unable to do ought but obey. So I obey, maintaining a downcast gaze to prevent any suspicion from falling upon me.

The leader leaves, and I am left with only two of his soldiers as guards. They have taken my suitcase, and I worry desperately that its contents could give me away. But then my story is one that invites curiosity. And my possessions only confirm it.

An hour passes, and I wish for permission to sit on any of the expensive leather couches in the large room I have been abandoned in. Looking around carefully, the space has been decorated with a wide variety of taxidermy animals, each trapped in postures of ferocity and fear, left to maintain that pose for their immortal and unchanged existence. The only lighting is from legitimately gas lanterns that hang from ceiling and fill the space with warm natural fire light.

The Troo that finally appears and breaks my solitude is taller than any other I have met. His bright gold feathers shine as though gilt in the shifting light. He wears a crisply starched black shirt that is belted tightly around his trim waist with a bright gold belt. His pants appear to be black leather. I have never been so intimidated by a Troo before.

And here I thought this part would be easy. I chew my lip nervously. He is holding a leather riding crop.

“Is the rumor true?” Long black feathers lift from the back of the golden Troo’s head as he stalks toward me with bare claws.

I glance at the soldiers who still flank my either side. They stand still as statues. Their eyes fix on the far wall, and their posture is so rigid I’m sure they could be fence posts without alteration. That does not give me cause to feel any sort of comfort.

“I have not lied, sir,” I lie.

The black feathers on the golden Troo’s crest tremble ever so subtly and I get the impression that he is holding back excitement. He reaches out to me with the riding crop and its light touch on my chin directs my gaze to meet his large orange eyes.

“Was it pair bonding, or was it recreational mating, as humans do?” Again that little tremble of his long black feathers. He looks me directly in the eyes. If I flinch now, he will surely spot the falsehood.

“It was sex.” Hot, steamy, sexy sex. The memory is a thrill of its own, but this is not a good time to be distracted. I watch for his reaction carefully. Based on Tromeo’s lack of experience rivaling only my own, I have suspicions about the sorts of relationships that are normal to Troo. And casual intimacy of any type seems to be utterly anathema to their social structure.

The feathers on his tail fan slightly outward and then snap flat again. Yes, I have his attention. This is probably the most brazen possible way I could have acquired any kind of access to this man. But I have it.

Now to keep it.

“Is there more you need to know, sir?” The riding crop puts ideas in my head for how this specific Troo considers himself. It’s definitely an aesthetic choice.

He considers me carefully, and I wish I’d been able to swap my combat boots for something that would make me look more fragile, more demure.

“Follow me.”

I fall in line behind him as he passes through the gaudy room with its many animals frozen in death. The hallway he leads me down has wood panels on every surface. A guard at a door opens it for him without any prompting at all. They bow deferentially to him as he passes by and the guards who had been flanking me stay at that portal.

The door closes behind me and I take a moment to observe my surroundings and orient myself to them. The room is dimly lit, with flickering lights that mimic the genuine gas lighting of the larger space. The floor is silent beneath my feet for the first time since entering this manse. Thick carpet cushions every footfall. A large bed is the centerpiece to the space. Thin gauzy fabric in bright gaudy gold drapes from the four tall pillars at its corners. I am slowly realizing just how vulnerable a situation I have put myself into. And on purpose even.

Elmer said that he would be able to get information about this plan to Dirk and his allies. Tromeo must know what I’m doing by now. He will come rescue me before the drugs wear off. I have to trust in the abilities of my friends to pull me out of here before it goes too far.

But first, I need to get on that bed.

“You are their prince, Trooaris, correct?” I feign awe at my surroundings. It isn’t too far of a leap to get from the fear I feel to the wonder I pretend. “I’ve never seen someplace so luxurious.”

I step closer to the bed and run a hand up the pole. It strikes me that this was built for a human and has been put to use by a Troo who is every bit as unpleasant of a person as the one it was built for.

Trooaris does not wait for even the slightest invitation. He launches himself at me from across the room and I know, so perfectly well, what it must feel like to be one of the zebra they hunt for sport here.

I trip backwards, landing on the soft bed, pinned under the weight of this larger, more aggressive man. It isn’t a hard decision. I don’t want to know what he intends to happen next.

There is a slight cracking sound as the tooth cap breaks when I bite down (hard enough this time) and a sour taste floods my mouth. I grit my teeth and swallow hard to prevent myself from gagging.

His claws destroy my cardigan, and I fall into an abyss.