The mere sight of the butt-length golden hair of the farcical dandy Empress Alexandra's younger son had become always drove the old butler absolutely mad. The only difference between his years in the Navy and his years in the Palace was the way his close-cropped curls had shifted from midnight black to silver. But the hair! Stephens had served twenty years in Her Majesty's Navy before entering the Palace Service Corps. The cravat was bad enough, and the brightly patterned brocade jacket, more appropriate for a bordello than a meeting with the Empress of Man, was worse. The child was a disgrace to the honorable name of his mother's family. Since it was protected by giant, acid-spitting spiders, it was also the most expensive.įor his part, Amos Stephens paid as little attention as possible to the young fop he had so grandly announced. Both were made from Diablo spider-silk, the softest and sleekest material in the galaxy. Prince Roger maintained his habitual, slightly bored smile as he padded through the door, then stopped and glanced around the room as he shot the cuffs of his shirt and adjusted his cravat. "His Royal Highness, Prince Roger Ramius Sergei Alexander Chiang MacClintock!" March to the Stars (with David Weber, forthcoming) Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NHįor dragging me to places I didn't want to goĪnd trying to make me eat stuff that would March upcountry / by David Weber & John Ringo.ġ. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.Ĭopyright © 2001 by David Weber & John RingoĪll rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
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