Gen was laughing at Aether, and she wished to knock off his helmet and examine his scowl. It had been so tempting to insult him, so when the empress dowager gave her the perfect chance, she burned him as hard as she could—even if that meant discarding her chance of seducing him. Who had told him to use her as some shield for his supposed fiancee? He had ignored her, so he got what he deserved.

Gen was disappointed, however, that she inadvertently helped him capture his childhood sweetheart, Reya. It surprised her that Reya was a princess, but not that much. It was normal for someone of a star-less royalty to not use honorifics and titles, especially so in the presence of a star prince.

Gleaming with happiness, Gen stood next to Umbra while the hosts manually lined up chairs and prepared for the fashion exhibition. Normally the flooring parted to reveal them, but Aether had destroyed the mechanism during his bout with Umbra.

“You seem happy,” Umbra said.

Gen fanned herself and grinned. “Did you eavesdrop?”

He shook his head. “I’m gutsy but not that gutsy.”

“Hoho, it was fantastic,” Gen laughed. To her Umbra suddenly looked pleasing to the eye. Maybe it was the dancing, or that he was the only one willing to talk to her, or the sudden idea of enemies turned lovers. Either way, she forgave him for trying to kill her years ago in another constellation. “I said something that really smashed his balls.”

“Smashed his balls?” Umbra’s brow raised, and Gen returned a gentle smile, remaining silent. He chuckled. “I think it’s cute.”

“That I screwed him over?”

Umbra leaned and whispered, “That you said you ‘smashed his balls.’ ”

“Did I? It’s not proper for a lady to speak like that,” she said then felt a sudden coldness nip her neck. Aether stood behind her, his armor fingerbreadths from her. She wryly asked, “Aether dear, are you still marrying my friend?”

He gripped her arm then growled at Umbra. “Get back to your duty.”

Seeing his hotheaded anger, Gen widened her grin. Her insult had struck Aether’s sore spot and whittled his composure, and the giddiness of doing so filled her head. Oh, how wonderful it would be once she crushed his heart.

Umbra left to stand by the empress dowager’s side. The old woman was staring at her, and following her lead, Umbra glared at Aether. With ruby eyes, hot-pink hair, and a blue bowtie, he looked rather comical with his scrunched brows.

“Dessy, what was that?” Aether asked.

She fluttered her eyelashes. “What was what? Am I not allowed to speak to a bodyguard?”

Cold seeped into her bones, and he whispered into her ear. His helmet clinked against her head, and his sexy voice teased her senses. “Why did you make those things up about some D’nathian?”

Gen pressed herself against his armor and glanced at Reya to find her still unconscious. She had hoped Reya would see, resulting in tension between the woman and Aether. Light tears—fake of course—glistened in Gen’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I was angry that you didn’t defend me, and we both know you’re not planning to marry some friend of mine. Will you forgive me? I got slapped.”

Aether shifted, and Gen sensed his discomfort. Feeling mischievous, she clung to him even as Umbra’s and the empress dowager’s glares shot daggers. And having delayed the gala’s events, the pair remained silent to Gen’s actions.

“You have a considerate grandmother,” she whispered to Aether, not caring whether he responded or not. She didn’t follow politics, but she assumed it was rare for someone of his grandmother’s status to let him choose his own wife. Guilt—but only a little—stabbed at her and dampened her happy mood.

The assassins had and could kill Law because his marriage wasn’t approved and few people knew of it. If more had known, Janus wouldn’t have dared to have him murdered. And even now, Law’s son had to pretend he never existed.

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The hosts finished setting up the chairs, and most of the guests took their seats. Aether and Gen remained standing, their bodies ambiguously close and clutching each other like murderous droids. Neither relented to release the other.

The first person—the annoying woman dressed in purple—climbed onto the stage. Her boots were glowing and created a simple barrier. She strutted around while someone shot at her. The bullets hit her barrier then fell to the ground. Gen found nothing special about the boots, which disappointed her.

“Gen,” Aether said, causing all the hairs on Gen’s back to stand on end. Had he discovered who she was? Her heart wildly thumped: could he recognize her? But his next words disappointed her, and she rebuked herself for her unfounded optimism. “I want to marry Gen.”

And then her brain faltered upon realizing their meaning. There was a difference between him joking to Gen and joking to Dessy. The former was a playboy teasing a crossdresser while the latter was...well...it was weird. Very weird.

“Are you joking?” she carefully asked.

“No,” he said with conviction, and she imagined his deadpan expression.

Her cheeks burned red, and she tried to grasp at something logical. It made no sense for Aether to like her; she was bold, daring, competitive, crude, and overly eccentric about weapons, vehicles, and men—and teaching others a lesson. This was only half the list, and nothing about her spoke of a likable woman who a star prince would want to marry. Sure, she believed her true love was out there somewhere, but he was definitely not someone so handsome and leagues above her. And neither was he a playboy.

Gen grasped one possible explanation. He wanted to make Dessy jealous as punishment for lying to the empress dowager. It was a poor way to go about it. And did he actually think Dessy was interested in him? Ok, maybe she was, but that was purely on a physical level because, hey, who could resist the hottest hottie of the galaxy?

Gen weakly coughed and flattered him, hoping it would further her plan of seducing him. “I understand. And you’re telling me this because...”

“I need your help.”

She smiled sweetly, concealing her slyness. “What can I do for you?”

“Don’t tell Gen what happened tonight. Tell her I took care of you well and that there were no problems.”

“On one condition,” Gen said, inwardly laughing at him: man, I’m right here. If you want to pretend to be a good boss, try not to be such a jerk in the first place.

“What?” he asked.

“I want another date.”

His aura exploded outward, casing the ground in ice and freezing her dress. Her body shivered, and she tilted her head at him, blinking her eyes as she pursed her lips. Suddenly, she felt his grandmother focus on her.

“Is that a no?” Gen asked.

He groaned—very faintly—and said, “It’s a deal. But you also need to tell me her likes and dislikes.”

“Okay,” she said.

The empress dowager stood from her seat, and next to her Umbra snapped his fingers. Orbs hovered in the air, creating the outline of a spinning ring. He launched a few beams towards the stage, and the woman currently showing off her jet-black boots vaulted aside. She flew through the air, then twisting, landed on her feet. The stage shook.

“Sorry to disturb.” Umbra shrugged. “Empress Dowager of the Compass Constellation has an announcement to make.”

The elderly woman glanced at Gen then at one of the hosts. “Everyone who came to the gala brought a fashionable weapon. Descending, why don’t you come up on the stage and show us yours?”

“Grandmother, she is my date for tonight. I want her by my side,” Aether said. His grip on Gen’s arm tightened, and she sent him a sidelong glance. Now you defend me?

“I think that’s a great idea,” Gen said, donning a large smile as she shook off his hand. She slowly ascended the side ramp to the stage. Standing in front of everyone, she coyly placed a finger to her chin and asked, “Does anyone want to guess what type of weapon I brought?”

“Pen,” Umbra said, and he patted his left hip. Aether, facing him and releasing a small storm of hail, likewise patted his right thigh. They were so obvious that the people sitting in the front row noticed their actions.

Don’t tell me... Face twitching, she brought her hands to the folds of her puffy dress and felt between its ruffles. Her fingertips touched two cylindrical objects—pens. She could explain one as Aether’s last ditch effort to help her; but how, when, and why had Umbra sneaked the other into her dress?

It turned her on—that two men had slipped weapons into her clothes—and it also stroked her competitive streak. She should have noticed their actions, but she didn’t, and this was why she hated poofy dresses. What if it had been a bug or a bomb? She was losing her touch.

Gen clucked her tongue then met eyes with the man who had previously incited aggression within her. He had aura broken and was currently directing his power at her, but she didn’t care. Closing her eyes, she accepted the manipulation. Later, she’d teach him a lesson.

She inhaled a deep breath and smirked. Aether and Umbra had hurt her manly pride, so to hell with maintaining a low profile and acting like some elegant woman. She was a tough lady no matter what guise she wore!

She reached for her dress’s skirt.