Page 146 of Crown Prince's Mate

I take Doman’s hand, running my fingers over his, avoiding the cold circle of the obscene black-blue ring that mars his ivory skin, and slide the simple wedding band onto his ring finger as I stare into his brilliant blue eyes. He might have called this a charade, but as the smile broadens on his lips, I can see how much it means to him.

“I love you,” he whispers, so softly it’s meant only for me.

My heart pounds. I haven’t said it yet. I didn’t want to. It felt wrong, to love a man I didn’t allow to take me completely. I know, somehow, that saying the words will reveal the truth, that once they spill out of my mouth, that blue-black ring is destined to be removed, that he’s going to claim me fully, finally marking me as his own for eternity.

“I… I love you too,” I reply, and the words feel so natural when I stop resisting. His eyes widen, and though our minds are not yet linked, he knows me enough to know what it means. And yet, to my surprise, there’s a dark flash in his eyes, this strange distance that troubles me in the moment that should be perfect.

He must be thinking of Fay, of the true events occurring under the surface while our union blinds the eyes of all who witness.

I take the next ring, an identical copy, and look up at Titus’ hot grey eyes. Even in his formal robes, he wears the gaudychain, dangling down from his thick neck and resting against his chest.

“I will never say no to more adornment,” he says, smoothly, but as he smiles it doesn’t reach his eyes. I slide the ring on his finger, sensing something wrong, yet not knowing what.

I’ve finally decided to give myself to them, and I was expecting them to feel it, to cherish it, for something between us to finally change. Instead, as I put the final ring on Gallien’s fingers, I’m met with his aloofness, his chiseled features and hard eyes that soften only briefly as he looks down at me with unmistakable pride.

Doman picks up the heavy diamond ring, and I extend my hand, but I can’t stop it shaking as he slides the ring onto me. Then, he leans down, and kisses me, and the crowd erupts in cheers and applause, and I let my misgivings erase, knowing it was nothing but last-second anxiety as his tongue presses past my lips. He brings his hands up to my cheeks, cupping my face gently as if I might break at any second, and I feel the cold bite of that Orb-ring burning against my skin.

I want to rip it off. I want to feel Doman’s mind flow into mine, the auras of him and his battle-brothers growing and blooming inside my thoughts like Virelia in spring. His hands slide down my back, and I gasp as I’m lifted into his arms, throwing my hands around his neck as he kisses me, stepping with me down the pedestal. I see movement as a pure white Reaver touches down, the doors sliding open, Titus and Gallien hopping inside as Doman turns to face the crowds, letting them get one last look at me in his arms before the doors shut close.

He sets me down, and everything changes. They move like operators, stalking to the cockpit. I follow, nearly tripping in my heels as I try to keep up with their long-legged gait.

“Tint,” states Titus cooly, and the huge windows that circle the cockpit turn black.

“What’s the status? Is she out of the palace?”

A muted gasp, the sound of a woman, comes from deeper in the ship. I whip around, turning in shock as the three men take their seats in the cockpit at the gunneries and controls.

“Fay is in the med-bay,” states Doman, intently. “Her water broke during the escape. We had to change the plan at the last second.”

“Gods above,” I gasp out, petrified in shock. We take off, flying upwards.

“Escort coming in hot,” Gallien’s voice is ice-cold, chilling me, and I understand my instincts that told me something was off during the ceremony. Even as they pretended, even as Titus cracked an easy joke and Doman told me he loved me, they must have been thinking of the War-God's Mate being shipped to them in front of trillions of unknowing eyes.

“Someone please tell me what’s going on,” I gasp out, standing helplessly in the center of the cockpit while the triad works in practiced rhythm, the Reaver ascending at full speed towards the atmosphere.

Gallien never takes his eyes off the targeting array as he answers. “The transport ship we set up didn’t have proper medical facilities. So we put her in the Reaver earmarked for us after the ceremony. Some Aurelians take their brides to view the heavens above. It’s called a star-ride. Ancient custom, yes, but enough pretense we might be able to shake the escort.”

“And if we can’t?”

I watch through the tinted glass as dozens of Reavers fly next to us, trying to keep up to Doman as he punches us upwards at full throttle.

Another loud gasp from the rear of the ship, and I wince, my mind racing. “Is she okay back there?”

“She’s got the best doctor on the planet. She’s okay. Mute sound,” states Doman, and the cockpit is silent. Secondscrawl by as we ascend, punching through the atmosphere. The brilliant white Reavers form a tight group around us, a protective wall of ships ready to put themselves between us and any of Obsidian’s forces.

“Reavers, stand down. This is a solo flight path,” commands Doman as he opens the feed to the leader of the escort ships.

A grizzled Aurelian, with a short, grey-flecked beard and beady grey eyes answers. “We’re under orders to escort you, Prince Doman. Threat levels are maximum.”

“The orders have changed. Stand down, flight commander,” repeats Doman, pushing past his objections in a voice that brooks no questioning.

“These orders… came from thetop,” replies the bearded Aurelian, in a delicate tone.

Doman smiles, disarmingly. “If you think you’re coming along with me and my new bride, I’ll be seeing you in the arena.”

The Aurelian tenses up, his face going pale. The threat was made so idly it seemed a joke, but if he fears the theoretical wrath of the Emperor and Queen, he fears the very real blade of Doman more. The grizzled Aurelian might be the alpha of the triad, but he looks over to his right and left, uncertain, meeting the eyes of the men he’s lead for centuries.

You don’t get grey hair as an Aurelian if you don’t have a strong survival instinct.

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