Page 12 of Crown Prince's Mate

Doman grins, that cocky smirk that transforms him from a statue of authority into eight feet of muscled arrogance. “And no praise for me? I’m hurt, Adriana.”

Gods, but I hate him. I hate the way he speaks so casually when billions of lives are at stake. “I hope to praise you for your restraint. No Aurelian warship has come so close to our borders in over a thousand years. I have come alone, without protection, as a gesture of good faith.”

“Good faith. When you won your election on a nationalistic platform. What is it, you said? That the Aurelian Empire at its core embraced the fanaticism that the separatists followingObsidian revealed? That we are… oh, what were your words? Oppressors, using the threat of war to bring humanity into submission?”

He leans back in his marble throne, cocking his head as he watches me with amusement.

I chill my anger. When we send delegations to speak with other planets and sectors, I’m accustomed to respect. I’m leader of over a hundred billion people, and the condescension grates at me.

I think to the pregnant human captive, Fay, the Fated Mate of the War-God, trapped in a cell on Doman’s home planet. These creatures, these alien monsters, will stop atnothingto win their war. He is capable of anything, and for that, I have to swallow my pride.

I knew coming here that I would be likely to be taken hostage, that one of the twelve Administrators would have to take my place, and that it would be one even more nationalistic than I.

I knew that if I was taken, it would turn the entirety of Pentaris into a unified hatred of the Aurelian Empire. That Terosa and Magnar, at the core of our system, who wanted to make deals with their species for access, would be brought under the fold.

I keep my mouth shut, and he can’t resist continuing, enjoying the sound of his own voice.

“My Queen Mother allowed planets under Aurelian rule to declare Independence. They were given the choice to refuse our protection. Tell me, Adriana, how that was an act of oppression.” His bright blue eyes mock me. I don’t know if it’s a strategy—to keep me on edge—or if he just enjoys toying with me.

Either way, my hatred for him intensifies.

“You are correct,” I say, my tone a little more icy than I had intended. “The previous protection tax ranged from ten tofifteen percent. Many planets decided to declare Independence. Ninety-four percent of them have come back under the fold of the Aurelian Empire, giving up their sovereignty once more. Only now, the taxes are over forty percent. Entire planets have had their economies reshaped, turned into nothing but factories to produce your Reavers, your missiles, your guns.”

Doman smirks. “Declaring Independence seemed to have been a poor choice. Over a century of peace, and those planets did not grow their own armies and defenses. But the people voted for it, did they not? They voted to throw off our rule, and then they voted to come crawling back. Is that not democracy? Allowing everyone to decide their fate?”

That stab is too much. I step forward, fuming. “Let me get the timeline straight. Over two centuries ago, your mother becomes Queen of the Aurelian Empire. Her first great changes are to the harem system. Huge financial payouts guaranteed after three years of service, not just to the woman, but to the communities they came from. Who would leave, before those three years are over? How many women were pressured by their own people to give up everything to become nothing more than atoyof your triads?”

“Most choose to remain after the three years,” growls Titus. He’s no longer lounging back. He’s leaning forward, his biceps flexed and huge under his robes, fire in his gray eyes. He doesn’t like to be lectured by a human.

“Oh yes. This is true. And the Priests on your planets were quite mad about the whole thing, weren’t they? Next, the Independence decrees. If the majority decides, they can throw off your yoke, no longer paying heavy taxes, no longer protected. Is this so?”

“It is so,” says Gallien, looking at me with an intellectual curiosity. He’s not as tall or broad as his battle-brothers, but he’s still seven feet of lean, chiseled muscle, watching me intently.

I’ve mentioned only his mother, as if Doman’s three fathers had no say in the matter. I don’t know how true that is—but I’m trying to find chinks in his armor, put him off guard.

“Your Queen Mother enacted the exact policies that would inflame the Priests and their fanatical followers. The same ones who now follow the Old Ways, who wage war against you. The civil war begins, and suddenly, all those planets that threw off your protection need it. They bow down. They pay double, triple the taxes, they have their entire economies turned to your war effort, and they accept deals spanning centuries, sometimes thousands of years, in their desperation. More planets, as well. Border planets that never once thought of joining the Aurelian Empire come flocking to you, joining your fold. It seems that your honored Queen Mother’s Independence decrees ended up expanding your power, not diminishing it.”

“What do you insinuate?” Doman’s voice has a hard edge to it that tells me to be careful, but the anger is flowing up through me. I force it down, picking my words carefully.

“I insinuate that your species works in eons, not decades. You plan ahead. But perhaps there was a miscalculation.”

The three men wait, staring me down, not uttering another infuriating quip.

I keep my silence. I let it hang.

Finally, Doman breaks. “And what was that?”

“Obsidian. The son of General Asmod, whom your father’s triad slew to take the throne. You believed their dark prophecies to be nothing but words. You did not believe the living War-God existed. And now he is at the gates, hungered for revenge, and you keep his pregnant Mate captive. You did not expect the prophecies to come true, for a third of your species to turn against you. You planned for a small rebellion, just enough threat to make human planets come crawling to you, but now you have death at your gates.”

“We are pushing him back,” growls Titus, his hands gripping the marble arms of his throne.

“Not by Aurelians alone. Mark-10s. Refined by a human, Evelyn Surkao, now the wedded Princess of Bruton. You’ve created life from a lab. You have born souls into the world for the only purpose of war.”

Doman smiles. The cocky, arrogant smile returns as he becomes comfortable once more. “As me and my triad were born into this world. As every one of my species is born into this world. So. Is your long-winded speech and rather… blunt accusations of conspiracy your way of saying your planets wish to revoke their Independence?”

“Do you plan to obliterate them if we refuse?” I keep my chin up, meeting his intense, bright blue eyes, not quaking under his baleful glare as he is struck by my words.

Never did I think these creatures would damn entire planets of people into nothingness. Never did I imagine they would wield the Planet-Killers against innocents. When I had the vision of them, I felt their beings, beings of pure war and power, but there was a shred of honor to them.

---