ESCAPED

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But
the man named as Jenna’s husband is no innocent to be cozened or
prince to charm. He’s a monster in human form, and the horrors of
life under his thumb are clear within moments of her wedding vows. IfJenna is to live, she must somehow break free—and for one born to a
soft prison, the way to cold, hard freedom will be a dangerous path
indeed…

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Chapter 1
I crept up to the Valeria’s deck in the predawn dark to watch the sun rise. Though I felt safer, and
smarter, keeping to the confines of my cabin, this one excursion had become a sort of habit. I clung to
the small rituals, the basic routine I’d been able to establish. Otherwise, I was as unmoored and
unanchored as the Valeria on her long ocean journey, sailing over unfathomable depths to unimaginable
lands.
Perhaps this was the nature of exile: that all the thrust was in the escape, the moving away. After that,
what did you have? If I am any example—and I’m the only example I had—then the answer was not
much at all.
I did have my habits, though.
The Valeria was powerful in a way I wasn’t and would likely never be. Ideally suited to her environment,
an extension of the waves and master of them, she possessed a singular direction and purpose. The very
things I lacked. Thus, I’d become oddly grateful and attached to the ship, inanimate though she was. As
long as I was aboard the Valeria, she provided purpose and direction for me. I clung to her the way an
infant burrowed into her mother’s breast, murmuring fervent prayers of thankfulness that she hadn’t
shrugged me off to drown in the cold, uncaring sea.
Mostly I kept to my cabin. The servant boys and girls brought my meals and fresh water, took away my
waste, and otherwise left me alone. It had been easy to adjust to being waited on, as I had been my
whole life, and I would’ve been at a loss to put together more than the most basic meal for myself. I
wouldn’t let them come in otherwise, which was a new freedom and power I enjoyed flexing. No
servants in the walls here, listening to my every movement. And I felt better with the door barred, even
though it was only one thin, wooden thing against the world. A world of a sailing ship on a vast,
unknowable ocean.
I slept a lot. Which was good because my body began to heal more. And I danced, to relieve the
boredom and to encourage flexibility, so I’d heal strong. Dancing felt familiar, too. Something I could do
alone in the dim cabin, one of the few things left that remind me of who I’d been.
No matter how much I slept, though, I always awoke early. Well before they brought my breakfast at the
seventh bell. In the darkness of my cabin, I marked time by the watch’s bells, practicing the simple count
from the longest toll at midnight to the dawn call. I woke. Listened for the six bells. Then unbarred my
door, made sure the passage remained empty, and slipped out.
A sort of daily exercise in escape.
Moving silently down the passageway of closed doors, I allowed myself to exult in that ability, one I’d
never expected to be what saved my life. All those years I practiced the traditional dances, particularly
the ducerse, which required utmost skill to keep the many bells from making sound until the preciselytimed moment. I’d thought I was preparing to dazzle my husband and make my emperor proud. Not
teaching myself stealth.
But stealth had turned out to be far more useful. It let me keep to the shadows, unnoticed. In my
brother Harlan’s too-big clothes, my hair shorn into a short fluff, I looked nothing like Her Imperial
Highness Princess Jenna of Dasnaria. If anyone on this foreign ship had ever heard of that doomed girl.
Nevertheless, I wrapped myself in the thick wool cloak, pulling the cowl deep around my face. It made
me feel safer, for no good reason, and I needed it for the chill. After a lifetime in the cloistered warmth
of the seraglio, it seemed I’d never be warm again.
On deck, the sky shone with incipient day. I hadn’t understood this before, that the sky lightens in color
before the sun appears. The paintings never show it that way. They depict night or day, sometimes
sunrise or sunset, but never those moments before or after. But predawn is different than night, and in
its soft in-between-ness, I could see well enough.
Keeping to the edges like a cat might, I skirted the main paths the sailors traveled as they did their jobs.
It meant I picked my way through the ropes, barrels, and other supplies lashed to the deck, but I viewed
that as another way to improve my dexterity, especially in the clunky boots I couldn’t seem to get used
to. In my cabin, I went barefoot, which felt natural and right, but going on deck, I put on shoes like I
wore the cloak. The more covering, the better.
It had been nearly a week, but I harbored no illusions about my ignorance of the world outside. I had no
idea how long I would have to run, or how far I’d have to travel to escape my pursuers. I’d been
unforgivably stupid about this in the past, so it seemed the only wise choice would be to assume that no
amount of time or distance would be enough.
At least that gave me a guideline. Never and nowhere might be places without finite boundaries, but I
could understand them.
The goats mewed at me from their pen next to the chickens as I passed, making the sounds so oddly like
the newborn kittens in the seraglio of the Imperial Palace, where I grew up. I stopped to scratch the
little horns on their heads, their fur soft and scraggly against my fingers. We’d become friends on this
journey. Goats and the Valeria—they kept me alive and kept my secrets.

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Caught
in between are the weaker Galactic Planetary League and independent
planets, pawns to be used and discarded in the greater game. The
peace of the galaxy rests on a powder keg…and the fuse is about to
be lit.

As
the son of the Acolyte Emperor God-Reign, Devante lives a life of
power and luxury that few can fathom.

Since
childhood, he has devoted his life to one thing: freeing the clone
slaves of the CDF and banning the practice of cloning throughout the
galaxy. But he is about to uncover a secret that goes to the heart of
the empire he loves and serves, one that will set him on a course of
vengeance and destruction that will shake the galaxy to its
core.

Against
this backdrop of war, treachery, and intrigue, Galactic Mandate tells
an epic saga of god-emperors and assassins, spies and queens,
princesses and slaves.

The
lives of all will be irrevocably changed as Devante embraces his
destiny—for when empires collide, no one is safe, and there is no
place in the galaxy to hide.

M.R.
Richardson is a new African-American science fiction author. He hopes
to spread a new type of story. Something raw, and original that
everyone over 18 can enjoy.

Prologue
A clear, simulated sky covered the dome, its fake sun feeling just as warm as any real one.
Insects buzzed around, birds chirped, and the tropical bio-dome was full of life. Devante, a timid
boy, sat near his father, Reign, waiting for the hover car to arrive. It wasn’t long before an
immense tank-like vehicle pulled up, loaded with all the hunting gear they required.
“Take this shotgun,” Reign ordered. Looking down, he saw Devante’s eyes raised with concern.
“It will get the job done quickly. Trust me. You don’t want this to linger on.”
Devante stopped inspecting the gun and jumped aboard the hovering SUV. Then they were off
on their journey to complete the hunt.
About forty-five minutes passed while they tracked broken branches, searching for their prey.
Frustrated at not finding anything, the driver called out, “We can always call it a day. There’ll be
plenty of hunting to do tomorrow.”
“Hell no,” yelled Reign. “I paid good money for this. We get this done or we stay out here.”
Devante felt his sense of relief fade away at his father’s words. Suddenly, a bush shook, and the
driver fired at it. Laser fire scorched the air as he took two quick shots.
The entire party set out on foot, rushing after their quarry. Devante quickly outpaced his father,
following close behind the driver, who was an expert tracker. Soon, they heard a human voice
up ahead shouting, “Ahh!” This was followed by a thud. Suddenly, a rock struck the driver’s
face, and he smacked against the ground with another thud.
Devante looked down, his eyes focused on the sight before him. His mouth curled down in a
frown, and his eyes watered. The emotions flooding through him made his skin crawl with
horror. An exact copy of himself stared back, equally shocked.
The firm hands of his father came to rest on his shoulders. “Take the shot, son.”

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for exclusive content and a giveaway!

a
Rafflecopter giveaway