Finally, the day came when the heart of Princess Grastian's plan could be put into motion. The family and carefully chosen household staff boarded the king's flagship, the Canon. They were accompanied by Cetus' best military personnel for the official visit to the planet Styxe.

Having their pilot land the Canon's large shuttle in Styxe's capital city, the princess' first stop was the slave market, where she purchased a translator. The princess was accompanied by a half-dozen armed guards and was dressed in exotic clothing far richer than was normal, even for the masters of the area. The translator was a young woman, the only slave up for auction who was able to understand Princess Grastian's native speech.

After the auction, the translator followed her new mistress with awe. Returning to the shuttle, the slave was instructed to say only what she was specifically told to translate and nothing more. Finally, the shuttle left the port city and flew to the compound where Grastian had been taken with her small brothers when they'd been first enslaved.

"Are you a masters' master?" asked the slave girl of Queen Spica when Princess Grastian had introduced the royal family so she could learn their names.

"Whatever do you mean?" asked the queen in confusion. "We are royalty, yes, but we are visiting from another kingdom, galaxies away.

"Everyone has a master," the slave explained, "even the masters." Princess Grastian would have liked to question the girl further but the shuttle landed in front of the compound just then, preventing further dialogue.

When the shuttle touched down in the master's holdings, the master arrived to greet his unusual visitors. He and his slaves watched armored guards descend the shuttle's plank in twin lines, their weapons held at the ready. As soon as the guards were standing at attention, the translator descended the ramp to stand just behind the first guard.

"Stand ready to receive Princess Grastian Leone, Prince Oberon Leone and Prince Orion Leone, Queen Spica Vega Leone and King Cetus Leone, Monarch of the Stars Axteryx, Regulus, Dianthe, Liethii and all planets therein!" shouted the first guard, who wore rank insignia.

Behind him, the translator spoke the words as, between the guard's lines, King Cetus and his queen descended the shuttle's ramp together. When the royal couple reached the foot of the ramp, they each stepped aside to allow their children to be seen. The royal heirs descended the shuttle ramp slowly until they'd come to stand between and slightly behind their parents, followed by Princess Grastian. Each member of the family wore royal court robes and a lithium crown set with various jewels and gold accents.

The princess' golden hair tumbled down from under her delicate crown in an elaborate cascade of braids and ringlets to caress the small of her back. The twin princes flanked their sister, standing just ahead of her in a symbol, as heirs to the king's throne, of their regal protection. Their expressions remained impassive; eyes hard when they looked at the master.

King Cetus spoke through the interpreter. "We have come here from Axteryx to seek redress for a wrong which has been done to my royal heirs."

"I don't know what I could have done to slight you, King Cetus, but whatever wrong has been done, certainly I will do my utmost to correct it," assured the master with a courtly bow. "Please, come and make yourselves comfortable while we discuss it." He indicated the main house, inviting his visitors to refresh themselves.

"I have come to challenge the master of this holding to a duel," Princess Grastian replied in her native tongue, refusing his proffered hospitality and purposely stilting her speech as she did so. "For I understand that a duel is the only recourse for the wrongs suffered here."

The master frowned as if recognizing the voice but not the person to whom it belonged. All the same, he bowed slightly and replied in the required tradition. His face registered his confusion and dismay as he made the proper response. "I am bound by law to accept this duel then. It must be to the death. Winner takes all."

"You are bound by law to call your slaves as witness, all of them, and I will have my retinue in attendance as well." The princess repeated words she'd heard once, years before, changing those words so she wouldn't refer to anyone with her as 'slaves'.

"We will meet here after the evening meal, just before the sun touches the horizon." As she spoke the words, the translator scanned the growing crowd of slaves, her face flickering with emotion.

"There is an arena where this duel must take place," said the master heavily. "I will have my slaves mark it for you. The blood of both parties must be spilled there for the duel to be legal."

"Let it be as you say." Princess Grastian nodded regally while the translator finished. Barely had the words left the girl's mouth when several slaves bolted for the garage and sped in various directions aboard hovercrafts while still others rode away on draft-beasts, presumably to gather the other slaves.

Standing just behind the queen, Prince Oberon leaned toward his mother. "There are sensors just under the surface that register the footsteps and blood spilled. Cameras and microphones record the actual fight.

"I've never seen who receives the information but whoever is in control will know exactly how hard the combatants fight, who's blood and how much is spilled, even when the heart of the loser stops. I've seen this type of duel before, the first year we were here." Quickly, the translator broadcast his words without permission. Confusion rippled through the ranks of slaves.

The master nodded as if the information had been intentionally translated for the speakers. "That is true," he said. "If the rules are not obeyed implicitly, then the duel will be ruled as illegal, thus forfeit, no matter who wins; and if the duel is illegal, then whoever has broken the rule of law is to be executed."

"I will abide by those terms," Princess Grastian nodded. As soon as her words had been translated, she motioned for a guard to return the slave within the shuttle by the guards and kept there, lest she give out any more clues to the visitors' identities. The royal family left with as much ceremony as they'd arrived.

Inside the large shuttle, the slave looked mutinously at her mistress when asked for an explanation. She fished out the necklace from under her shirt. It was the compound's charm.

"I was born here," she explained. "He is my master no matter what you or the slave dealers say." The princess could only repress a sigh and order the girl restrained until it was time for the duel.

"Oberon?" the queen asked. "Who was the duel between, the one that you saw?" Her voice was calm; betraying only a mild curiosity, but the siblings knew their mother's control and saw her nervousness for what it was.

Orion answered for his brother. "It was between two masters, this one and one from a neighboring holding. The neighbor had issued challenge over water rights but he lost, which doubled the size of this holding." The queen looked terrified. Grastian scowled at her brother, who glared right back.

"She has a right to know, Grace," Oberon defended his twin.

Grace smiled at the queen, who was holding her two hands together so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. "Don't worry, Mother. He taught me to fight, remember? And I have been learning things he cannot teach me about a weapon he has never seen. Father's best men have been drilling me for the better part of a year now." The princess gave her mother a reassuring hug before going to prepare.

First, Grastian consulted with her medics for a last-minute review of major arteries in the human body, even though she knew the information by heart. She also took the opportunity to go over the medics' role in her plans both during and after the duel. While the medics were speaking, Grastian hydrated herself and ate a meal designed for lasting energy for the fight to come.

Finally, after she'd eaten and the medics had gone to prepare, Grastian changed out of her royal robes and joined her family while they waited for the sun to sufficiently sink in the sky. The entire family spent the time in prayer, silently commending the outcome to God and reminding Him of the reason they were there.

By the time evening had fallen, the compound was swarming with slaves. There were far more than the usual house slaves who lived in barracks behind the main building. Every single slave from the youngest child to the most aged elder was armed with a variety of weapons and as usual, each carried one or more canteens, for water is life in arid places.

Watching through monitors in the shuttle, Prince Oberon explained to his mother that the holding was rather large and expressed surprise that there were not more slaves present. His comment made his sister frown but she refrained from question or comment. At the proper time, the royal family again debarked from their shuttle, followed by their entire retinue of servants, soldiers and medical staff.

The soldiers were armed as before, while the medical staff carried odd bits of medical equipment and appearing as if the tools of their trade might be a security blanket of sorts for them. Dressed in clothing similar to what the master wore, Princess Grastian approached the arena. The master was already in the center, armed with his sword.

"Where are the remainder of your slaves?" asked the princess. "Are not all to be in attendance?"

"I have one hundred, seventy-six slaves that belong to this holding," he replied when the translator had done her job. "They are all here." Behind the princess, a guard made discreet note of the number.

The master turned to his assembled slaves. "This Princess Grastian Leone of Axteryx has challenged me to a blood duel, a duel I cannot refuse. It must be to the death, as you all know. Whoever wins will be your master."

Deliberately, the princess put her back to the sun in order to enter the ring, knowing it would be harder for everyone to see her if they had to shield their eyes from the sun's glare behind her. She didn't want to be recognized. At his words, Grastian stifled her regret over the master's lost population and took up her weapon.

"Guard yourself," she warned in his tongue, feinting with her weapon to begin the match.

"Watch him, Grace, he has a dagger in his belt," warned Prince Oberon. "The rules don't forbid more than one weapon."

Beside the ring, the translator started to bite out the warning despite being told not to translate. A guard clapped one meaty hand over her mouth before she could say more than a word or two.

Even before the translator had spoken up, the master stepped back a pace. The comment had visibly thrown him off. "Grace?" he asked quietly, not allowing his voice to carry to their audience

"I'm sorry," she replied as softly, attacking in earnest in order to distract him from her identity. "You were not meant to hear that. I want no unfair advantage."

"There are no rules inside this ring, Grace. You know that," the master warned her as he attacked. "Use whatever advantage you have, just as I will."

Princess Grastian didn't dare wonder that he was giving advice to someone who meant to take his life, nor did she mind that he had two weapons. She herself had a surprise built into her own weapon, hidden beneath the neodymium that sheathed the shaft and formed the blade of her weapon. The magnetic properties of the neodymium would tend to repel the steel of his own, she knew, making it necessary for him to apply more force to his attacks than he was accustomed to using.

Grastian defended herself easily from his attack and began to enjoy herself, falling into a familiar rhythm. Her weapon was formed as a sickle on the end of a staff. It had a fairly long reach which made it difficult for the master to fight in a traditional manner with his shorter blade.

The dueling pair circled the arena, testing each other's skill. Each took measure of the other's weapon against his own, mentally working out a proper strategy. The master attacked in earnest and the fight was on. Several times, he notched her staff but Grastian refused to be baited. Instead, she bided her time as she learned from each of his attacks, waiting for him to grow tired.

When Grastian was ready, she too attacked in earnest. The master went on the defensive then, merely learning from each of her attacks and resting slightly until the pair was locked into their contest with deadly earnest. The fight would only end when one should make a mistake.

Their watching audience seemed to hold its collective breath as if making any noise, even the noise of a deep breath, might distract the combatants. After nearly two hours, the sun had almost sunk beyond the edge of the horizon and the princess began to tire. Their fight had gone on far longer than she was accustomed to sparring and her lack of stamina proved itself as she began to make small mistakes.

Seeing his advantage, the master threw his dagger and immediately lunged forward at the same time, thrusting his sword at Grastian. In order to avoid both of his blades, Grastian knew she had to jump sideways as she deflected the dagger toward the other side, recover immediately and step backward from his swing. With lightning reflexes, she swatted the dagger aside but in jumping away from the larger blade, she landed unevenly and nearly fell, barely avoiding a mortal wound.

The master's blade caught the loose fabric of her shirt and ripped it open, leaving a deep cut across Grastian's abdomen. A flash of memory burst at the edge of Grastian's consciousness. She remembered a challenger wringing wet with his own sweat, exhausted while the master had been at his best, still eager to continue fighting.

With sudden clarity, Grastian realized that she might be better in the short term but the master's strength lay in his great stamina. The realization dawned that if she didn't end the match soon, Grastian might very well lose. Cautiously, Grastian retreated a little, seeking to recover marginally. Lord, help! It was all she had time to pray.

The master attacked again with grim determination, seeking to drive her further backward. Grastian stepped on an unusual unevenness. With a swift, downward glance, she realized she was standing on his dagger. Determined to prevent him from retrieving it, Grastian began to push back.

Her exhaustion disappeared and she began to fight almost by rote as her training took over. The heaviness in her limbs disappeared and she forgot about the pain from her injury. The master showed no sign of tiring at all but attacked with vigor, pushing Grastian around the arena as she fought to fend off his advance.

Nearly half an hour later, when the sun had disappeared and the first stars of evening were visible in the sky, slaves brought lit torches to line the perimeter of the arena so that the combatants could continue the fight. Grastian began to tire again. Her feet dragged in the thin layer of loose dirt and her attacks began to lose energy.

The master attacked again. Grastian stumbled and nearly fell, turning her ankle sharply as she did so. Despite her misstep, the princess spied an opening.

His forward momentum had left him well within the reach of her curved blade and he would be unable to bring his sword around soon enough to block her. In desperation, the princess swung her blade upward, using it as a hook. She caught the master behind his left arm, the curved blade biting deeply into his shoulder blade.

Purely by instinct, Grastian used the shaft of her weapon to right herself, pulling the master forward with the curved blade as she did so. Caught off-guard, the master spun sideways and fell, landed heavily on his wounded side. He cried out in pain and struggled to regain his feet but his arm hung down uselessly, forcing the master to release his grip on his sword long enough to right himself.

Recovering her footing, Grastian quickly moved to hold her blade at his throat, ignoring as she did so, the pain in her ankle when she stepped on it. Unable to rise quickly enough to regain his weapon, the master managed to sit upright but dared no further. His sword lay within reach, but only with the injured arm.

"Do you yield?" she asked, then realized there would be no yield as there had been at the end of each of her practices.

He looked over at his wounded arm, which pumped blood steadily onto the ground, then at the spreading pool of blood in the dirt. Seeing the amount of blood pouring from his wound, Grastian knew he would bleed to death in a matter of minutes from the wound. The master returned his gaze to the princess' face with a sigh of resignation and defeat.

Raising his chin, he bared his throat to her blade, his expression laced with sorrow. "No," the defeated master said quietly. "I can't yield or the fight is void and we both die. I will be dead soon, either way. Better that you, at least, live. Grace, you have to finish this. Please, take care of everyone."

The crowd murmured, seeing her blade resting against his throat while his sword lay so far from his good hand. Forgetting the sensors that recorded the conversation, Grastian wanted to reassure him but by the steady pumping of his blood, knew she didn't have the time. Quickly, Princess Grastian spun her weapon around and slammed the butt of it hard against his chest.

The slaves cried out in anguish, watching their master's body fall backward, seeing him seize and contort as an arc of electricity seemed to course through his body. The blood stopped pumping from his wound and he went slack. Sobs sounded from the some of the slaves before being silenced by others.

Grastian immediately dropped her weapon and bent down to lay a finger at his throat. "His heart is stopped," she announced. In the back of her mind, Grastian knew that she'd only won the fight by God's grace. Mentally, she offered a sincere, if exhausted, thanksgiving.

A compound slave and a medic from the king's retinue ran out and knelt beside the fallen man, who lay in a narrow pool of blood, fingers still barely twitching from the electrical charge. "Yes, Princess," the medic agreed. The slave nodded mutely, agreeing with the medic's assessment.

At the medic's confirmation, two other servants approached from the king's shuttle with a backboard, which they used to remove the defeated combatant. Princess Grastian paused for a moment to watch them carry their still burden onboard the shuttle before she returned her attention to the puddle of blood on the floor of the arena, to the slave that knelt there, sobbing silently into her hands. Grastian realized it was Raza but dared not say anything.

Instead, she gathered up the defeated master's weapons. In doing so, she caught a metallic glint in the torchlight that illuminated the arena's dirt floor. Remembering the sensors, Grastian set aside her emotions and exhaustion in the face of her overall goals.

Having won the fight, her mission was not yet complete. She looked down at the master's dagger in her hand, slowly comprehending what must be done through the fog of overwhelming exhaustion. Though her shirt was soaked with blood, it stuck to her body, gluing itself to her skin. Not enough of her blood had fallen onto the sensors.

The princess sliced open the side of her wrist with the master's dagger, allowing a small spattering of her own blood to fall beside the larger puddle of her opponent's, giving her identity to whoever had been monitoring the fight. The rest of the slaves were watching her when Grastian looked up. Their faces were filled with shock, resignation and grief.

She forced herself to her feet. "The wrong done here is redressed. My blood has signed my victory and the body of my foe is my proof. Winner takes all. I will receive your tokens and take census inside my shuttle," Grastian announced, choosing to use the interpreter but making her voice sound as hard as they surely expected it to be while she mimicking the victorious pronouncement of the master from that long-ago fight.

After issuing the order, the princess turned her back on the arena and led her family back onto the shuttle. Everything had to be perfect, no matter how hard it was on Grastian or the people she loved. Whoever controlled the sensors was certainly listening.

Perfection or not, however, Grastian couldn't control her limp when she stepped on her twisted ankle. She couldn't stop the exhaustion, or hide the pain she felt from the wound near her waist. It was also to much effort to hide the expression on her face as she worried about the man on the backboard.