Page 134 of Crown Prince's Mate

“Then we will kill it, when it comes, just as we end every threat to the Empire.”

“And the boy?”

My father’s face is unnaturally blank. He’s always been able to control his emotions, and he taught me to do the same, drilling it into my head that any reaction can betray your intentions. It made the brief flashes of pride in his eyes when I graduated from Academy top of class so much more precious, the way he shook my hand as equals when I was promoted to general with my own warship.

But the lack of reaction tells me something as well—that he was waiting for this question, that he was prepared. It’s like I asked him how the weather is going to be tomorrow.

“The child is healthy. The scans we have done show none of Obsidian’s cursed blood. He has no birthmark marring his flesh. He will be a healthy boy, yes, but just like any other.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

He re-arranges his mug slightly, pushing aside the parchment scroll, which suddenly occupies all of his interest. “There are things I would not burden you with.”

“I’m part of this. Tell me.”

He looks up, meeting my eyes, and his molten golden orbs harden. “When Obsidian’s son is born, he will be frozen in the cryo-chambers. Only when centuries pass and Obsidian is nothing but a memory will he be allowed to grow, unconscious. When he comes of age for Academy, he will come out of the cryo-chambers like any other, thinking himself the same. He will live a normal life. He will not be a symbol of another rebellion. The color in his eyes that mark him as born of the Bond will be fixed with surgery.” He waves his hand at me. “Of course, like you, he will be tall, and strong, and more powerful than others born of the cryo-bays. But he will not stick out so much, not when you usher in a new age, where Fated Mates are commonplace.”

A cold chill goes through me. He’s speaking of tearing a newborn from his mother’s arms. But it’s not just the horror of this that makes my blood run cold.

It’s the strategy of it. If no one knows who Obsidian’s heir is, it could be anyone.

In centuries, when I am Emperor, there will be Aurelians who proclaim themselves as the sire of the War-God and try to take his mantle. If word ever gets out—even a suspicion—that Obsidian’s son was placed into the cryo-bays, then anyone graduating from Academy could pretend to his legacy.

Raegan watches me, and I know he’s studying my reactions. “Publicly, we will say he died in childbirth. That Obsidian’s seed was warped. There will be a funeral, and the boy will grow up to have a normal life.”

I want to believe him. I want it to be true, as horrible as it is, because it’s better than the alternative.

But deep down, I can sense it. That Adriana is right.

They plan to kill the boy.

My parents are no fools. Surgery can change the color of irises, but it can’t erase DNA. There is a chance that one day, the boy would learn his past.

They’ve already had the son of their enemy grow up to threaten everything they built. They won’t let it happen again.

My own fathers, my mother. They plan to kill a newborn child. And if they are capable of this, they are capable of anything.

“Stunt his growth. Don’t let there be any chance he grows to be eight foot tall. He’ll stand out too much. Reduce his growth hormone in the cryo-bay. Let him live, but as a stunted version of what he could have been,” I state, putting ice in my voice.

“We’re considering every option,” my father says, and I see that tiny flicker of pride in his eyes I used to crave. It makes the little hairs on the back of my neck rise.

He’s proud that his heir is capable of doing anything to protect the Empire. He views me as worthy of the crown.

I remember how proud I was when those golden orbs flickered with approval. I was born special, a child of the Bond and not the cryo-bays. I walked into Academy with my head up, filled with unearned pride.

It was when I stood on my own two feet and rose in the ranks of the army with my triad that my fathers truly respected me. Now his approval burns.

He raises his hand. “The timeline is shortened. You marry your bride tomorrow. And then I need you here, commanding the planetary defense.”

I betray nothing. He taught me well, even as inside my mind races. “Your will is done. We must mobilize the Planet-Killers for the defense. Each can fire a single shot. We can decimate his fleet before he has a chance.”

My father’s face stays blank, but he’s silent for a long moment. “No. You will defend without them. They are too slow, too vulnerable. They might get a shot off, but they’ll be sitting ducks for a counter-attack. We don’t know what happens if a PK is destroyed. It could set off a chain reaction.”

“I can protect them. I can arrange the fleets to give them a retreat route.”

He shakes his head. “You were only a babe when the last Planet Killer was used to destroy a world. The mad Aurelian Rav’nok, who thought he was a god. This is when the Orb-Shifts started to fail. Using so many in the defense could have consequences… beyond what we can anticipate.”

“Very well. Our orbital batteries will stop him. We outnumber him in our Reavers. And he is hamstrung. He cannot hit us with missiles or las-cannon fire from the atmosphere, not with his pregnant Mate in the line of fire. He will come into the slaughter. Why do you think he’s choosing now?”

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