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version of Jagor himself. Jagor described Medenko as his “first aide” in Asterian, which seemed to mean butler, problem-solver and confidante.
    I was formally introduced by Jagor as “Miss Snow, who will be assisting me with translation and UN affairs.” The retinue warmly welcomed me. Almost too warmly: as if out of fear. I wondered what he’d told them and what they’d figured out on their own. Did they see me as a genuine aide, proper and above board, a genuine aide the Prince planned to sleep with, or just the Prince’s concubine?
    Medenko was the exception: he was scrupulously polite, but clearly regarded me as well beneath him. I was almost glad of his honesty. Almost.
    I couldn’t help thinking that, as the first Asterians I’d met aside from the Prince, they all seemed… normal . In the few spare moments I’d had that afternoon, I’d frantically Googled for information on Asteria, but as expected there was frustratingly little out there. There’d been mention of collars and even collar ing, whatever that was, but I was starting to wonder if the whole slavery culture was a myth. Neither the female flight attendant nor the aide gave any hint that women might be treated differently in their home country and they certainly weren’t wearing anything around their necks.
    A steward took a drinks order and Jagor coaxed me to order champagne – in fact, everyone had alcohol of some kind, except four of the bodyguards who were on duty. So I sat, strapped into my huge leather chair, and sipped champagne as Jagor demonstrated the last word in luxury travel: “Tell the pilot we’re ready to depart.”
    I realized I was sitting next to the female aide. Her black bob cut and tailored suit were intimidating enough, but it was the way the steward double-checked the number of ice cubes in her drink that sealed the deal. Still, she was the only other woman in the retinue: I was going to have to get friendly with her sometime.
    “I’m not sure I’m ready for how different Asteria will be,” I said, grinning. I was quite proud of that: nice and open-ended. I waited for her to say something like Oh, you’ll be fine.
    She glanced at the annoyance that was keeping her from her drink. “Probably not,” she said dourly. “Fortunately we won’t be flying on to Asteria for at least a few weeks.”
    The cabin crew took their seats. Sometimes, when I’m nervous, I keep talking when I should really shut up. “Must be difficult: being on the move all the time with the Prince. Is your…partner okay with it?” Carefully gender-neutral: just in case.
    The plane started to move. The aide stared at me the way an unrepentant teenager will stare at a parent who’s trying to delicately breach the subject of sex, or drugs, or boyfriends. “Do you mean my owner?”
    Time seemed to stand still for a moment. I must have nodded, because she said, “Yes, he’s perfectly alright with my traveling, thank you.” She raised her eyebrows, as if to ask if there was anything else. I faced front, carefully avoiding looking in her direction, while my brain tried to process that. The plane picked up speed, pushing us back in our seats.
    Take off.
     
    ***
    Monaco lay stretched out below us, the sea sparkling, white sand gleaming: it was almost sensory overload, particularly at 8:30 am.
    Jagor, myself and two bodyguards were in a helicopter on the way to the hotel: the rest of the retinue were following by road. I wondered whose seat I was occupying, and how annoyed they’d be.
    Jagor had gone to his room halfway through the flight, suggesting that I do the same, since it would be morning when we arrived. It had felt strange, lying in a proper bed with sheets and pillows at thirty thousand feet: even if that had been all that was going on, I don’t think I’d have managed to sleep. Given that I was trying to get my head around what the female aide had told me, and was expecting Jagor to come through my door at any moment, I’d had no