Page 111 of Crown Prince's Mate

Warships, jet-black Reavers, shifting, molding, as if they are stripped down to their atoms and remade. There are no details visible, yet I can see every inch of them as if through a microscope, through the thick armor plates and into the gunneries, where Aurelians in black robes with brands over their hearts stare out in focus as they prepare to fire their weapons, and deeper yet, triads with the second brand on their forehead in a bay with weapons active, a skeletal priest in black robes addressing them.

“Blessed in black blood, you will drive your swords into…” The Priest’s mouth moves but I can no longer hear anything, no longer see the shape of ships as it all disappears. I look down atmyself, at the floral dress from the wardrobe Gallien filled with clothes for me, at my skin that is fading away, and the colors muting from my body and my clothes.

I’m in a lonelier blackness, and I can no longer feel Titus and Gallien’s grip, and I’m alone, so alone.

I open my mouth to scream, and the nothingness drips down my throat, coating the inside of my windpipe, forcing itself into my ears, my nostrils, pressure in my eyes. I long to be in Virelia, lazing back in the thick meadows, running my hand through the grass while I hear my sister’s laugh, the sound of bumblebees flying lazily, surrounded by my triad. I long for the sun, warm and lifegiving above, but I am in a place where there is no hope, no reality, nothing but a blackness that does not even hunger for me, no, it’s something worse, more desolate, it simply must engulf me, spread over me and make me become as it is.

And I know then that I was only imagining things when I felt the watchful, hunting eyes from the black dot that was all that remained of a planet after the PK tests. There is nothing that could live in this place between worlds. Life is alien to this endless landscape with no gravity, no physics, nothing but yawning, gaping blackness that will suck you in and never let you go.

Deeper, deeper, falling yet not moving, but I know I am descending into it, and there is an unbearable heaviness to me. My thoughts become distant, slow, the space between them growing, and I stop feeling scared. A flash of grief, for all that I will never see again, then even that is gone, and I no longer yearn for anything, no longer hope, when there is a beautiful pressure against my hands.

It is a sensation in a place where there is no sensation, a tangible tactile touch that makes my eyes shoot open, and Iknowonce again.

Gallien and Titus are pulling me out. My thoughts are coming back—and so am I, born once again.

I sob as reality coalesces around me, bright white light. I am in the room once more, surrounded by the three vital Aurelian warriors, so real, so sturdy. Gallien grips my hand too tight, lifting me and pulling me into his arms, running his fingers through my hair, gently stroking me as the panic overwhelms me, like a rabbit caught by a hawk. I bury myself into his chest, opening his battle-robes, needing the feeling of his skin against mine, the sound of his heartbeat in my ear.

“Is it over? Please tell me it’s over,” I gasp out through sobs, clutching his white robe as I wet it with my tears.

“It’s over. You’re on the Imperator. You’re safe.” The strain in his voice alerts me to something very, very wrong.

“Are we okay?”

“We’re safe. Our shields held long enough. But Adriana… you didn’t come out of the Rift.” His huge hands cup my cheeks, gently pushing my head back, and he stares down at me with his slate-grey eyes, staring at me, searching for any hint I’m not okay.

“What do you mean, I didn’t come out?”

Gallien’s eyes are wet. I can feel Doman and Titus coming in closer, watching me carefully, surrounding me with their marble bulks. “We waited. Twenty seconds after we came out of the shift, and you weren’t here. We thought you were gone.” His eyes are wet. He thought he lost me in the nothingness, and his cold, patrician features soften with the emotion in his eyes.

“How… how did you get me back?”

I turn my head to Doman as he clears his throat. His eyes are ever so slightly too wide, the mask of the commander slipping. “I ordered us back into the Rift. Titus and Gallien searched in the darkness. They found you.”

I take in a huge breath and pull myself up from Gallien, standing on my own two feet, loving the feeling of the hard floor beneath me. Through my tears, I can’t help but smile. My make-up is running, my dress is wrinkled, and I don’t care, I want to dance, to live, when I see Doman’s grim expression. The three men are surrounding me, the wall of marble muscles and huge bulks insulating me from danger, but all their power can’t stop the dark thought that shatters my overwhelming joie de vivre.

“Doman, in the second shift, when you came back to save me. Did anyone die?”

He doesn’t want to answer. I walk to him, grabbing his robes, staring up at his majesty, and he won’t meet my eyes, jutting his chin out and looking straight at the wall behind me.

“Answer me!” I shriek, my voice cracking, pulling at his robes.

“We lost one triad in the first shift. We lost six men in the second. All Aurelians. Soldiers who knew the risks.” His voice is too flat and emotionless, a coldness to him.

“Oh Gods, Doman, they traded places with me in that… that… it’s darkness, Doman, darkness forever. There’s nothing there.”

Doman tenses, and I release my grip on his robes, stepping back. He meets my eyes then, his jaw set. “They did not die for you,” he states, voice like an icy flow washing over me as he towers straight-backed. “They died for me. By my order, we returned to the Rift. By my order, every man on this ship risked their lives. Do not dare take my guilt, Adriana. It is mine alone.” I’ve never heard him so cold, so hard, and I want to comfort him, thank him, all while the conflicting emotions are rushing through me.

I take his hand in mine, looking up at him. I’ve known the weight of command. But as Prime Minister, everything is indirect, my guilt laundered through levels of bureaucracy andcustom. Doman’s word is law. He makes a decision, and people live and die because of it, people he knows, not statistics on planets.

“Thank you, Doman,” I whisper, because to my shame, as awful as it is that six men died in my place, despite the guilt, I’m grateful. I’m grateful it was his awful choice and not mine, because I don’t want to know what I would have done in that moment, as the darkness washed over me, if I was given the option to sacrifice six lives for my own.

We’d all like to think we’re noble.

But when the blackness is overtaking you and you know you’ll never see your family again, you become an animal, and the only thing you want is to live.

“I did what had to be done,” he states, still cold. I give his hand a squeeze, and the moment I step away from him, Titus is on him.

The huge bull of a man moves too fast for his bulk, head down and shoulder forward, slamming into the crown prince and tackling him into the wall. Doman’s head smacks against the marble wall with a heavy thud, and he falls in a heap. He doesn’t even have time to raise his hands to defend himself when he’s on the ground, mounted by Titus, who bombards him with punches.

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