Deimos draped an arm around Phobos. Two pairs of green eyes watched the other three members of their knot. “Pho, what say you? Should we, who employed our full charm to yield this cake, simply share it with our knot?”

Romy looked into their green eyes and softened. They had worked hard for it.

“Should you, who earned us kitchen duties for two months, shut up and give us some?” Thrym retorted.

Romy snapped out of her stupor as Deimos and Phobos scrutinised him across the table.

“Fair point.” Deimos nodded.

After a lengthy discussion of how best to complete the task, Deimos grabbed a knife and cut the square into five parts. Elara, Thrym and Deimos grabbed the three largest pieces. Two remained, one just a little wider than the other.

Phobos winked at Romy and took the smaller of the two.

Dessert was usually once every two weeks, and was usually a dried fruit salad—not that she minded that either. But chocolate cake was chocolate cake. She consumed it with relish.

“Uh-oh, everyone be cool,” whispered Phobos.

Romy interpreted Thrym’s loud exhale to mean trouble was headed their way.

An angry voice whipped overhead. “Which one of you took my dessert?”

Daniel. Romy groaned inwardly. Daniel belonged to Knot 76, one of the highest in rank. Knots weren’t ranked in numerical order. Entire knots were lost in battle and this created gaps in the lineup. Of course, these holes were continuously filled with cadets.

But despite rank not being in numerical order, everyone knew who the top space soldiers were. . .

. . . and everyone knew who was at the bottom.

Daniel was also a first-class poacherknob. Genetic enhancement hadn’t solved that.

“Danny, how are you? That red flush on your neck brings out your square jawline; you should do it more often,” Phobos said.

“Now, now. The poor man only wants his dessert.” Deimos spoke over Daniel’s outraged splutters.

“In that case, we regret to inform you that we do not have your dessert,” Phobos announced happily.

“People saw the server give you two.” The bulging man was barely able to speak the words from between his gritted teeth.

Phobos gestured to the table. “Do you see an extra plate?” The sixth dessert plate was gone.

“I know you had it,” Daniel hissed. “Why the bottom scum should even get dessert in the first place is beyond me. They should leave it to the real men who go out there and kill the poachers.”

The soldiers seated around their knot went quiet.

A stab of anger pricked Romy, and she felt her hands clench in response. So what if they did the menial tasks? Someone had to do them.

“And women,” Deimos added cheerfully.

Daniel stopped halfway through his next rant. “W-what?”

“Well, you said, ‘They should leave it to the real men to kill the Critamal.’” Deimos stood. “But the women kill just as many,” he shouted. “Am I right, sistahs?”