Page 147 of Crown Prince's Mate

“Affirmative. Enjoy the views, Prince Doman,” acquiesces the flight commander. His Reaver breaks off, the others following.

“Clear,” confirms Gallien, watching the blips on his radar as the last of the escorting Reavers peel off. The air is still thick with them, attack ships darting in defense patterns, but they’re spread out to defend against Obsidian, not to watch over us.

“When were you planning to fill me in?” I feel ridiculous in the wedding dress, my face caked with make-up and my hair in twisted braids.

“We didn’t have a second to explain. Fay went into labor during the escape, and the transport ship didn’t have a med-bay. This Reaver does. The plan is the same as before. We get past all orbital defenses and make the drop. Cal’s waiting in near-space in a stealth fighter that will get her to safety.”

“Safety where?”

“I don’t know. Cal’s handling it. The less people that know where she and her child end up, the better.”

We did it. We really did it.

I know we’re not out of danger yet, but it’s surreal. I’ve felt like I was in a dream since the moment I walked into the Arena of the Gods. The wedding was a fantasy, while the real events took place under the surface. I raise my hand, checking the huge, shining rock like the diamond might evaporate.

“Map still clear of escorts. Passing first orbital batteries.”

The tint is gone from the cockpit. I look out at the huge, ugly grey masses of the inner orbital defenses. They are the innermost line of defense, so unlike the pure white Reavers, or even the Imperator, the huge yet graceful warship that Doman commands. The old technology of the alien race mixes beauty with deadliness, but these newly constructed defense systems bristle with ungainly missiles and guns, ringing the home planet.

We blow past them without issue. I want to walk through the back hall of the Reaver to get to the rear of the ship where I can watch Colossus growing small in the distance, but to get to the back viewport, I’d have to pass by the med-bay.

That feels too real.

Does she know she’s safe? Does she believe it? How much of her sanity did she keep, locked up underneath the palace and forced to betray her beloved?

We fly in silence, and I’m left to wrestle with my thoughts as the outer batteries grow in the viewports. They are smaller, each perhaps the size of two Reavers, pure white spheres thatlook like a ring of pebbles surrounding the planet. Ivory against the blackness of space, without any visible guns or missiles, but when activated, Orb-Beams will lance out from them and cut through armor. The outer batteries are relics, from the time when Aurelians manipulated matter with such precision it was like magic.

“Entering second battery airspace. Blocking scanning. No alerts—they’ll assume we want privacy,” updates Gallien.

“Just as we planned,” mutters Titus, his voice growly from the tension. He’s the most on-edge of the three, more comfortable in battle than in subterfuge. I find a way to make myself useful, walking behind him and gently massaging his thick shoulders under the robe, massaging the tension from his taut muscles. “Don’t worry, baby, everything’s going just smoothly,” he says, and I don’t know if he’s trying to calm me or himself.

“And past the batteries, there’s a stealth ship waiting?”

“Yes. Cal’s on board, waiting for us. It’s all legitimate. He left the planet yesterday, under orders from my mother. She didn’t even want to know where he was. Security is maximal and everything’s on a need-to-know basis.” Doman’s voice is one made to soothe the nerves of anxious troops. I know that the tone is practiced, but the cadence still works on me.

“Still no alerts from the palace. Dr. Alzar did well.” Gallien’s voice is crisp as he keeps us informed.

“The security is working for us. Fay was placed under the highest level—which means no visits from anyone except her doctor during the wedding. We’ve still got time. Keeping course,” continues Doman, still in that same tone of complete assurance.

It’s a tone so certain I know it’s going to get me into trouble one day.

In the stifling silence of the cockpit, no sound travels from the med-bay. That silence wracks my nerves, and I glance back. With empty space before us, Doman stands from the pilot’s chair, handing the controls to the AI and turning to comfort me. His nostrils flare ever so slightly—even without the Bond linking our minds, he senses my discomfort.

“We’re past the greatest danger.”

“And for her?” I bite my lip.

“She has the Bond. There won’t be any complications.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know that. What if the baby has the same problems as Obsidian? The same cursed blood running through his veins?”

He puts his hand on my shoulder, giving me a light squeeze. “I’ve got it under control. Here. Come with me,” he says, leading me to the pilot’s chair, where he sits. His touch is reassuring, and I let him lift me onto his lap, leaning back against his strength as I stare out into eternity.

He pilots with one hand while the other wraps possessively around me, pulling me against his hard muscles and the soft, smooth material of his robes. I breathe in the fresh scent mixed with the heady musk of the alien prince, melting into his strength as eternity spreads out before us.

“You were so beautiful today,” he whispers in his low, rumbly voice, his huge hand gently stroking up and down my thigh. I don’t answer, lost in the tapestry of space unfurling before us, trillions of tiny stars without light pollution to blunt them. Doman whispers a command in Aurelian, and the cockpit lights blink off, leaving us in total darkness. I’m floating in the stars, anchored by Doman.

“I see why Aurelians brought their Mates up here,” I whisper back.

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