Page 27 of Bonded Queen: to the Alien Warlord Triad

No, a century younger. That would be about right…

I flinch as an explosion booms out. I’m pulled against Kriz before I can even think, his Orb-Blade out and humming to life. I’m pulled against his broad, powerful body, tight against him, breathless as he protects me. His huge bicep wraps around my body.

I’m so close to his weapon I can see the razor-sharp, black metal that appeared out of nowhere, surrounded by electric waves of power that look like blue-black fire licking at the metal. That weapon would be deadly even without the power of the Orb-Energy that wraps around the black metal. Just as quickly as he drew, the weapon is deactivated, but I can see the afterglow even when I shut my eyes. Ra’al barks out something in Aurelian.

“Controlled demolition,” says Kat, translating, as Kriz lets me go. I’m glad to have Kat here. She’s a thread of normalcy, and her knowledge of Aurelian lets me know I don’t have to fear another attack.

The four triads knuckle their brands, lowering their heads as we approach. They are so unlike the pristine Royal Guard that stood immobile just days ago, in their blue and yellow armor, with las-cannons at their belts. The four triads are lean and young, in their late twenties or early thirties if they were humans, but despite their youth, they have scars and wounds that will mark them forever.

Young. They’ve probably lived near three hundred years each.

As we walk closer, Kat and I practically having to jog to keep up with the long strides of the over-seven-foot-tall Aurelians, the four triads form up in lines facing towards our Reaver, creating a tunnel for us to walk through. Ra’al, Orr and Kriz barely glance at them as they walk through the tunnel of men towards the huge, yawning gates of the palace.

“Quite the welcome,” says Kat, her voice sounding strange in the silence. It’s eerie how quiet everything is. The smoke hangs like a pall, and the heavy fighting is done. I’m sure there are pockets of horrors throughout the city, but the massive stone walls of the palace keep us removed from it. I used to see the Royal Palace as a protective symbol of hope.

Now I see it as a way for the Royal Family to keep themselves away from the pain of the average person, only letting them past the gates once a year on the day of Independence to gape at their wealth and power.

I was such a fool, looking up at the pristine spires like a yokel.

Ra’al’s black robes swish as he marches into the palace like he owns it.

He does.

Orr and Kriz follow behind, my silent, imposing guardian captors, like statues come to life. They exude power with their every movement, and I put myself into their grasp. I offered myself in the place of another. It was a split-second decision to save the innocent young Lola, but that split-second will have consequences that last the rest of my life.

The entrance hall of the palace looms above me, the ceiling concave and high above. It is meant to be filled with people, but there is none but the five of us, and the booted, heavy footsteps of the Aurelians echo eerily.

I turn, hearing many more sets of footsteps. Two of the guard triads followed us in. Ra’al raises his hand in a fist, and they stop as if they are puppets on his string. He barks out an order in Aurelian, and the six guards jog off at a disciplined, practiced pace.

“He says the hospital was hit by a missile. Those six are to assist in clearing the debris and setting up… I’m not sure of the last word. Triage, maybe. An emergency station for the wounded.” I’m grateful to Kat to translate, and I’m glad I brought her with me. Being alone with the generals, unable to understand a word of their language, is terrifying.

Staircases and doorways lead out from the entrance hall, and from a winding staircase comes another triad. They are old, and I wonder if they have lived a thousand years, gaunt skin stretched tight against aged cheekbones. One even wears eye-glasses, something I never thought I would see adorning the marble skin of the alien species. Despite their scholarly appearances, they have blades at their belts and march with a soldier’s gait. Ra’al asks them something, his deep voice booming out in the entrance hall, but there is an edge of respect in his tone even I can discern despite not speaking the language.

“He asked for a report,” says Kat, her voice barely a whisper, so it doesn’t echo.

The leader of the older triad speaks in a calm voice, his words crisp, nothing wasted. Ra’al thinks for a few seconds, then nods his head and replies with a single sentence.

“What did he say?”

“They gave him a tally of the city. They recommended he put more men on guarding against potential rebellion. He allocated them to getting the hospital rebuilt instead.”

“Rebellion? Everyone would be dead if it wasn’t for them coming,” I whisper to Kat, not understanding why anyone would rebel. They should be grateful. No matter how harsh the rule will be…

It’s better than being dead.

Kat just shrugs. The older triad turns back up the stairway and disappears. At the far end of the hall is a row of transport pods, the kind that can zoom through the tubes that connect the palace, so you can get from one end to another in seconds, rather than walking up and down stone hallways and staircases.

“Come,” states Ra’al, as the center doors open to a circular room with mirrored walls. It’s big enough to fit a dozen people, but as I walk in with Kat, even she seems unnerved by how small it is next to the triad of Aurelians. They seem to eat up the space. I can smell their musky sweat as the doors close and open seconds later. I blink in surprise. The anti-grav and stabilizers were so efficient I didn’t even feel us move, but the doors open to a high-ceilinged room bigger even than the grand hall of the palace.

I know instantly we are in the inner sanctum of the palace. This is a place no commoner has ever set eyes on, not even once a year on the day of Independence. Even a baron like Paulus could never hope to come here. It’s a private sanctuary for the Royal Family—and those who serve.

The city itself has few trees, spread out sparsely among the apartment buildings. Here, it is like a forest on the left side, with tall, wispy green trees with soft, long branches that flow to the ground lined on either side of the huge room. Flowers bloom in the forest, yellow and blue, the royal colors. It smells sweet, but not sickly, a delightful floral fragrance, and the air is pure from the trees.

Down the center of the room is a long, thin pool, and to the right is a stone hot tub that is laid into the floor. Bubbling water steams upwards from it. There are deck chairs splayed out lazily. To the left, in the trees, is what looks like an empty restaurant, with seats and barstools. The entire place is eerily quiet, except for a few bird sounds that I’m not sure are real or recorded. Through an open set of doors past the hot tub is a luxurious spa, with massage tables and basins filled with hot black stones, vials of scented oils nestled on a shelf.

It looks like a luxurious vacation resort, hidden away in the center of the city, accessed only by the Royal Family and their servants—and now us.

It’s empty, except for two women in pure white robes, of a finer material than the ones I am wearing. They are standing near the hot tub attentively. One is young, perhaps nineteen or twenty. She’s short, with beautiful long black hair. She’s gorgeous, the kind of woman guys go crazy for, and though her robe is chaste, I instantly wonder if she’s a servant or one of the many women of their harem.

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