Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

secure again.”
    “I don’t know, Constance. It’s not that simple. There are a hell of a lot of people in positions of power and influence these days who think the only good aristo is a dead aristo.”
    “You could change that. Owen, the aristocracy has too much potential for good to just let it disappear.
    We are an inheritance of the best, going back centuries. Generations of breeding and gengineering for perfection. You’re the last of the Deathstalkers. Do you want your bloodline to die with you? If not, you must marry another aristocrat, to maintain your Family legacy. Anything less would be a betrayal of your Clan.” She stopped and looked searchingly at Owen. “Separately, we are both people of great potential. Together, our Family could become unbeatable.”
    Owen shook his head slowly. “Constance… I don’t know you. I don’t love you.” She smiled. “We’ll come to know each other. I like what I’ve heard of you. I think we’d be… compatible.”
    “Constance, I always thought that when the time came, I’d marry for love or not at all. I want a marriage, not a business merger.” “I can’t promise you love, Owen. I don’t know that I’ll ever love again. But my match was an arranged marriage, and Jacob was a stranger to me when we began as man and wife. We don’t have to love each other to be supportive partners and allies, but… perhaps love will come later.” She fixed him with a thoughtful eye, head cocked slightly to one side. “Or is there already a love in your life? There’s been endless speculation in the media and in Society about your relationship with the d’Ark woman. A… formidable figure. No one doubts that she’s a hero of the rebellion, but you must realize, you could never marry her. You are from different worlds and always would be. And despite what the songs might say, love doesn’t conquer all.”
    “Hazel… never would say she loved me.” Owen stumbled on, not sure what he was going to say until he said it. “We’ve been as close as two people can be, fought side by side against everything the Empire could throw at us, faced death and worse together… but she never once said she loved me.” “I can give you children,” said Constance. “Raise them to be part of the Deathstalker Clan. Could she do that for you? Would she?” “No,” said Owen. “I don’t think she would. Very well, Constance, a marriage shall be arranged between us. You set everything in motion; I’ve been away for so long I’m rather out of touch
    with the formalities involved.” “Of course,” said Constance. “I’ll take care of everything. You may kiss me now if you wish.”
    She came into his arms and turned her mouth up to him. It was a very polite, almost diffident kiss, but Owen could feel his whole life changing with that touch, as he committed himself to a future he could barely see or grasp. A chapter in his life was ending here, and something new beginning. He just hoped that for once he’d made the right decision. They broke apart and looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, Owen’s hands resting easily on Constance’s hips. She met his gaze freely, open and trusting, binding herself to him. But there wasn’t an ounce of love there, and both of them knew it. Constance stepped back, and Owen’s hands fell to his sides. She smiled at him, curtsied, and moved off into the crowd, leaving Owen standing alone. He could see people all around him regarding him with new interest, but for the moment all he could think of was how he was going to break the news to Hazel d’Ark. Hazel had found the bar, a quiet, set-apart area with gleaming tiles, rows of interesting-looking bottles, and a long wooden counter. She’d also found Jack Random and Ruby Journey. The three of them were drinking together in companionable silence. None of them looked particularly happy. Jack was wearing a simple blue jumpsuit that showed off his newly youthful figure to its best advantage. He’d been given all kinds of medals, but he never wore them. Ruby was wearing her usual black leathers under white furs. She said it helped remind her of who she was. However, she was also wearing so much gold and silver and jewelery, on her arms and wrists and around her neck, that she couldn’t make the smallest movement without it all clattering and chiming together. They were all drinking the strongest brandy that the bar had to offer. They had a bottle each, and they weren’t