Page 164 of Crown Prince's Mate

I hear Obsidian’s voice through the coms as he rattles out coordinates. Soft weeping in the background, Fay grieving him already.

“Orb-Drive activated,” states Doman. “Shifting.”

Titus wraps me up even tighter in his massive biceps, squeezing me as we blink out of existence.

There’s no ice cold, there’s no darkness. It’s just a blink, and we go from an arena with black walls to one with white, gleaming marble. The black sands that drank of my triad’s blood are replaced by the pure white of the Arena of the Gods.

“Together,” says Doman, and he goes ahead of me, Titus behind, as we exit the cockpit to the hallway of the Reaver. Gallien is walking beside Obsidian, while Fay clings onto her man, desperately clutching at his hand.

“No! Let me go with him! Please!” Her scream rends my soul. Obsidian growls, the huge beast of a man picking her up, pushing her into the bedroom, and closing the door behind her. A wail, her baby crying in unison with her, muted behind the door.

“Give me your word. Give me your word, they’ll be safe,” he snarls out, staring down Doman.

“You have it. I failed trillions of lives. I will not fail theirs,” states Doman, icy cold, filled with self-hatred.

The arena is packed. Aurelians sit in the rows wearing their togas, exposing the left hand of their unbranded flesh. Elites in their blue-black Orb-armor are spread out in the stands, dots of blue against the sea of white. I’m used to them standing like statues, but as I look out at the crowd through the open doors of the Reaver, I notice Aurelian warriors shifting in their seats, many of them glancing to us, then to the thrones where the Queen and her Imperial triad sit. There’s a disquiet.

“Look down,” barks out Doman, and Obsidian stares at the ground, lead out at swordpoint into the middle of the arena. Doman’s Orb-Blade is not activated, only the black metal extending from the hilt, the Orb-energy not wrapping it in a cloud of sparks and energy.

“Move.” Obsidian walks barefoot over the sands. Wearing only his loincloth, his blade taken from him, his body burned and battered, he looks like the savage beast he was before he was found, before he was turned into a symbol of resistance for the Priests. He’s no innocent. But he would have lived and died as an animal if he had gone unfound.

I step onto the sand. My wedding dress was tattered into shreds, and I’m back in my plain uniform, the uniform I no longer bear any right to. Heat radiates back at me, and the gleaming walls of the coliseum rise around me. Ahead of us, on the raised dais, is the seat of the throne, Queen Jasmine and Emperor Raegan sitting straight-backed, the final two of the triad in thrones that are slightly behind theirs.

“Kneel!” yells out Doman, and Obsidian falls to his knees in the center of the white gleaming sands, the same sands that drank the lifeblood of his father so many centuries ago, when the General Asmod was slain by the very man he now kneels in front of. The Imperial triad have years, but they were fierce warriors, and each is deadly with an Orb-Blade.

There’s a pall of unease. I glance to the stands, where Aurelians are shifting in their seats. To a man, they would kill for their empire. They would die for it.

But they didn’t want to win the war this way. None of them is comfortable with the death toll, none of them comfortable with Obsidian kneeling in front of them. He died a warrior’s death, a proud one, with his opponent’s blade in his heart, and even that was robbed of him. Now he will be cut down like an animal.

Queen Jasmine wears a high-necked dress of pale grey, her golden crown atop her head as she rises. She raises a hand for silence, but the crowd is already deathly quiet.

“My own son. My own son has gone against the Aurelian Empire. He hid that he had a Fated Mate. He released aprisoner. And he disobeyed direct orders to face the War-God. For this, he is guilty.”

There’s a sharp intake of air, brave warriors tensing in their seats. My triads auras spike.

There is only one penalty for treason.

Death.

“He did it for all of you. He acted to save you the bloodshed of this war. He is a fool. But a fool who acted with bravery. For that, he will be banished, along with his battle-brothers and his Fated Mate.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It’s the best I could have hoped for. Back in Pentaris, the only thing waiting for me is a jail cell and impeachment for my part in this horror. Here, on Colossus, it was going to be a blade, a prison cell, or exile. I’ll be with them. We’ll be put somewhere safe, somewhere far away from all this, and I’ll do my best to forget.

I pray she’ll let my family visit.

“Obsidian.” The word has such venom to it. “You have blighted the universe. Your false prophecies and lies tore the Aurelian species asunder. Every life lost in this war is on your head.”

There’s a flicker of remorse in Raegan’s noble, lined face, a tightening around his eyes. The Emperor stays seated, his hand on his blade. Then, heavily, he rises, his crown seeming to weigh a thousand tons.

Emperor Raegan stares down at his firstborn son, standing behind his sworn enemy. “Obsidian. You are sentenced to death.” I knew the words were coming, but they still hit like a blow. “Doman. Your last official act before you are stripped of everything is to end the usurper.” Raegan’s voice rings out like a hammer on a forge.

It’s a gift. Raegan loves his firstborn deeper than his empire. He is giving Doman a final gift before taking all from him.

Vengeance.

Obsidian slowly raises his head. He looks up, the sun beating down against his ruined, scarred flesh, and he stares down the queen and the three emperors who defeated him.

Then, his head slumps down. His defiance evaporates. He cares not anymore for politics and war.

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