GENRE: YA Fantasy
Theora leaned against the dark cherry wood desk, staring at the dozens of animal parts displayed across the walls of the dim office. Furs, antlers, claws, heads. All with small plaques underneath, noting the name of the Warrior who’d made the kill and the date and occasion received.Recessed lighting gave the place a formal look, like some strange, gruesome museum.
But after two years of war it was a welcome sight. Better a museum than a massacre.
The door opened and the Warriors’ Handler, Boada, leaned in the doorway. “Not your favorite dress, I hope,” she said, not quite raising her eyebrows at Theora's teal satin v-neck.
Theora didn’t even glance down. She rarely second guessed her outfit choices, and today wouldn’t be one of those times. “By your wording, should I assume it’s going to get ruined?”
“Possibly. He’s not exactly thrilled by your plan.”
“He doesn’t have a choice.” Nerves crept in her stomach, but she kept them from reaching her expression. She was, afterall, a proper Aranean. And the president of the entire colony, at that. Anything other than stoicism in front of a colleague, even in a private setting, was considered nothing short of shameful. “Besides, there are worse ways he could spend his week than pretending to be my husband. Easiest mission he’s ever been on.”
Boada cleared her throat, leaving the comment unchallenged, and took an envelope from her pocket. “His travel papers.”
Theora skimmed them over, focusing most on the photo.