Page 36 of Crown Prince's Mate

Eight feet tall, his marble flesh marred by oil-black veins all over his body. His birthmark is the twin half-moons his followers get seared into their flesh, imitating their God. Hisunruly black mane is sheared, his head shaved, a long scar along the right side of head, and he looks more beastly than ever before, his eyes black pits. As he tumbles through the air, his Shadows leap out after him, the twin dire-wolves with fangs as long as an Orb-Blade, and he lands on the ground and rolls, his blade darting out and cutting down one of my men. I watch as his two shadow wolves rip the legs off an Aurelian, leaving him bleeding out as they charge forward.

Aurelian Fanatics pour into the factories, overwhelming the guards, and above, my Reavers jet in from the atmosphere. Orbital bombardments rain down, and his huge warships that blot out the sky shudder against the firepower, but it is a weak salvo. The shots must be placed carefully, unable to rain down the full hellfire, because misses will obliterate the factories.

Even our most pessimistic calculations accounted for a force a tenth this size, but the sun is shadowed by his huge black ships, his Reavers thick as flies overhead.

The Mark-10 that I am viewing out of the eyes of crouches, his muscle tense as he prepares to leap down into battle, then he stops as a huge explosion rings out from the inside of the factories. Aurelian Fanatics are pouring in, destroying it from within, and the War-God himself is inside our walls.

Instead of joining the battle, the Mark-10 hunkers down, surveying. I understand. The factory is lost, and his prime directive became documenting the battle, watching the scene in the hopes that his mind would survive and be uploaded to give information for the war effort.

As another explosion rings out, and the shimmering veil of the shield disappears. The factories are unprotected. Aurelian Fanatics rush out of the factories, and Reavers descend, picking them up. The War-God dives into the open bay doors of one of the attack ships, and I watch his wolves leap in, changing their form into the black, shadowy twins, a blight upon the universe,things that should not be. They look like Aurelians, but their forms are smoke and darkness. The black Reavers ascend, and missiles thud down from the warships, obliterating the factory.

The moment the Reavers nestle inside the warships, they blink out into nothingness, in a single moment, as if the War-God is suddenly able to move his entire fleet in an instant. Where one moment there were thousands of huge ships blotting the sky, now there are only the missiles that were fired a second before.

The Mark-10 looks up as a missile flies down, and the watchtower falls, covered in rubble, under darkness.

I flick my hand, switching to the next planet, and the next, watching the same scenes unfold. Obsidian, overpowering our defenses that were prepared for fleets a tenth the size, driving in, destroying our factories, and blinking out of existence before we could fight back.

It should be impossible. He has sent in fleets of Reavers, a single warship at a time… but never in this scale. The strain should be too great.

I end the transmissions, and the three of us are alone in our throne room once more, processing the carnage.

“The War-God has mastered the Rift.” I state it without horror, without fear. It is simply a fact. It is our new reality, and we must accept it.

Titus slams his fist against the marble armrest of his throne. “We should be leading our men, not wasting time on this mockery of betrothal rituals.”

I turn to face my savage battle-brother. There is no fear in his aura, only hatred and rage. He wished he could have been guarding the factories, that instead of the triads that Obsidian’s wolves sheared through, it had been us, joined in battle against our nemesis. One chance, our blades against his might, ending the war in one swing of my blade.

That is why we train. That is why we fight, endlessly. Because Obsidian is doing the same, and every second we spend away from the battlefield, he hardens and we grow softer.

I let Titus’ rage flow through me as my mind focuses. “The territories of Pentaris are essential. The entire Pentaris system is protected by the largest Shift-Disruptors in the known universe. If Obsidian has learned to guide his entire fleet through the Rift instantly, without limitation, the strategic value of these lands has increased tenfold. A hundredfold. We will jump through whatever hoops Adriana puts in front of us, because this war must end, and Pentaris is the key to his backlines.”

“Obsidian is no longer trying to conquer planets and hold them. He is destroying our resistance, one by one. Striking us to weaken us before his final push. He will continue, without end, until he is at Colossus itself.” Gallien’s voice is ice.

“There will be an end,” I say, running my hand over the hilt of my Orb-Blade at my belt. The orb glows, as if it can hear me, knowing the dark promise of my words. It thirsts for Obsidian’s life blood, just as I do. It craves the ending of lives.

The huge doors of my throne room open.

“Prime Minister Adriana requests audience,” says my guard.

I’m in no mood for her games.

13

ADRIANA

Iwent back to his warship alone in silence, straight back to my cramped quarters on my ship. I wanted to be alone, and I changed back into my familiar gray uniform, but it felt strange and uncomfortable against my skin, like I was a stranger in my own attire.

I couldn’t face the prospect of sitting there, all by myself, just waiting to be brought to Terosa for the next ritual that will bind me closer to them.

No matter how hard I try to wriggle out of this, I’m starting to accept the horrible truth.

I am going to end up as the Princess of the royal triad.

And if we are to be at each other’s sides, they cannot be strangers to me.

And so I forced myself out of my room, out of my ship, walking through the masses of Aurelians working on ships who saluted me, feeling like I was in a trance, until I stood in front of their throne room and asked the guards for an audience.

“Enter,” comes Prince Doman’s voice. There’s a tension to it, hard as steel.

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