Page 25 of Crown Prince's Mate

My thoughts shift, my mind crowding and expanding, as the surgeons put the nodes into my brain itself. I blink, and thepresence of my ships, tiny pinpoints in my mind, appear. I focus in on them, and I can see each one of my Reavers, each one of my warships, directly in my mind itself.

They told me it would make me mad. The high Priests counseled me not to get the operation.

But we are losing this war. My lips curl back, my fangs extending. The lightning pain shooting through me is my home. I was born into it, and I knew only a brief moment of peace, when I had my Fated Mate by my side, when I saw a future with her, when it was so close…

When she was snatched away by Queen Jasmine.

The healing beam closes together my skull. There is black hair on the ground where they shaved me for the operation. I sit up, my mind reeling, fighting away the vertigo I cannot afford.

I know one thing and one thing only.

Queen Jasmine will not make the same mistake twice.

She and her cursed triad slew my father, General Asmod, but they did not kill his seed. I came from the shadows, and now I threaten all that she holds dear.

She will not let my son live.

When he is born, his throat will be slit. When Fay, my Mate, has expended every last bit of use in the war against me, she too, will be killed.

Queen Jasmine thinks in eons. She will not risk another challenger growing up, born into an inherited vengeance, threatening her and her sons.

She will not let the cycle continue. And so I have only one choice, even as my armies are pushed back, even as my troops are cut down against her unnatural creations, the Mark-10s, the never-ending cyborg onslaught.

I will join the field of battle.

My Shadows, the towering beings made of the same darkness that flows through my blood, skin obsidian black, surround me.As they lean in to grab my arms to help me up, that darkness seems to flow and dissipate on their rippling muscles, as if they are half smoke, half man. They pull me to my feet, and I sway, the chemical stink of the operating room filling my nostrils.

The triad of surgeons are looking at me, Aurelians with sweat on their brows, the first honor tattooed on their chest.

“Success. Report to the High Priests. You have earned your final honor,” I command, and they bow their heads. They’re covered in sweat, their lab coats clinging to their bodies. Forty-two hours straight they worked, in my mind, linking together my neurons with the nodes that connect me to every ship under my command.

I can see them all, thousands of them, each location imprinted on my mind.

I stumble, the room around me spinning as the two realities mold, the expanse of my mind like I am looking out of tens of thousands of eyes. My Shadows bolster me, holding me up, and I grit my teeth as my lips curl back in a snarling grin.

Before, I relied on my men to take the coordinates I fed to them, to shift through the Rift. The farther they were from me, the more draining it was, the more obscure the paths through the blackness. It drained me each time. When I began, I could barely hold a portal open for a single triad to go through.

Now, I can send fleets of Reavers through nothingness with precision. I can guide their paths to avoid the creatures that feast in the darkness, the creatures that hunger for us. I love them, even as they try to consume me. For they wrap their fangs and claws upon my enemies who travel the Rift blind. They are ancient beasts, and I know one day they will come for me. I know one day they will come for everything that lives and breathes in this universe and that I alone can stand before them and cut them down, one by one. I love them, even though they are death, for I see myself in their vast beings. There is no force inthis universe that can challenge me, and so they will come from another place, far beyond time, and I will rise to end them and protect the stars themselves.

It is my destiny.

Now, with only a thought, I will be able to move my armies. The power flows through me. My Shadows morph as they taste my bloodlust, their black, smoky shapes turning into the huge dire-wolves, their black fangs that can shear through a Reaver’s armor extending. Soon, we will be on the field of battle itself, and I will cut down thousands of Mark-10s and the triads who lead them.

As I step out of the medical bay and walk towards the bridge of my flagship, my wolves treading silently at my side, I see them, so clear it is as though I can reach out and rip open their throats.

Queen Jasmine. Emperor Raegan. Emperor Baldur. Emperor Karan.

Crown Prince Doman and his triad.

Prince Bruton, his triad, how his princess will wail as I drive my blade through his chest.

Cal, the freak son who was not worthy of battle-brothers. Every one of Queen Jasmine’s spawn, spread out in the universe, training in Academies as if they cannot be touched.

But they can be touched.

I will cut them down, one by one. My shadow wolves rear their heads up and howl, and as I take the bridge, my men stand, fury in their eyes, rearing back their heads and joining in the screams for blood and war.

I will drink of the royal family’s blood, and I will free my Bonded Mate, and I will secure my bloodline, before she can end it.

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