Page 4 of Crown Prince's Mate

“Some of their scouts have been buzzing the border,” says Gunnar. “One word and I’ll mobilize against them.”

“You’rebrave,”says Lysandra of Terosa. It is more like a curse word in her people, viewing irrational emotion as foolish rather than courageous. She’s shaken by the news but keeps her composure. “It is the same as the last time. The Aurelian Empire wishes to travel through our territories. There is a deal to be made here.” She had pushed me to let the Aurelian Empire go through our borders six months ago in return for Reavers, the high-tech alien attack ships, but I had overruled her, and I gotthe votes to take a stand. Give an inch with those aliens and they’ll take it all.

Gunnar slams a fist against the table. Not even Liora can calm him. “There hasn’t been one of those marble-skinned cunts in our territories in over a thousand years. Not on my watch!”

I swallow and take in a huge breath. “That is not all. We have reason to believe it is not just warships.”

Every eye turns to me, confused.

“We believe the Aurelian Empire has mobilized the Planet-Killers.”

A collective inward drawing of breaths. Not even my Administrators knew this last piece of information. Even Aeris’s eyes widen, her body stiffening, and she toys with her amethyst earring. Her visions did not prepare her for this—or she’s the best actress I’ve ever seen.

“That cannot be! They were outlawed!” Thrain yells, his deep voice booming.

“What do we do?” asks Tabitha. She’s hugging her own body, fear painted on her face.

“I will lead the delegation into Aurelian Territory,” I say, knowing I am damning myself, knowing that I cannot let the planets of Pentaris be sucked into oblivion, billions of lives winked out of existence in a display of force to those who resist the alien species rule. “I will speak to the Prince himself and find our way forward.”

It’s the only thing I can do.

It will cost me everything. If I let myself into his grasp, he would never let me go. No honor or rule of law can stop an Aurelian with his Mate in his grasp. One flare of his nostrils as he tastes my scent, one touch of my skin, and he would forget everything. The haughty prince will turn into a brute.

But I don’t trust anyone else to be able to navigate this, and I know Doman would not spill a word of his plans on coms-link, not when he’s committing the gravest sin of the agreed-upon international law between the Toad Kingdom, the Human Alliance, and the Aurelian Empire. When the Galactic war raged, entire planets were wiped out of existence.

No, the only way to negotiate is in person.

The silence that answers me is thick. Every one of us is thinking the same thing. Of entire planets, teeming with people, turned into a gaping black hole, erased from existence. Their histories, winking out of the universe. Over a thousand years since the Planet-Killers wreaked their destruction, and my own life is so small compared to their devastation.

“Seconded,” says Timar, one of my Administrators. The votes roll in, and the five planetary representatives give their ascent.

I’ve sealed my fate.

I will face Crown Prince Doman and his Royal Triad myself. The man who is the emblem of all that I loathe.

The man who thinks I belong to him, that my body is nothing more than a vessel to produce dozens of his heirs, the man who plans to Bond me to him for eternity and turn me into his pleasure slave.

And I’m walking right into his trap.

Because if I don’t go, the planets will try to negotiate. They’ll let the fleet into our borders—a small incursion at first, then a larger one. I have one way to stop it. I have one way to turn every planet so deeply against the Aurelians that we fight back instead of appeasing the alien race.

When the triad goes mad and takes me as their captive, it will force all of Pentaris into a newfound unity against the Aurelian Empire.

2

PRINCE DOMAN

My two battle-brothers step back, wary, blades in front of them. The Orb-Blades are dulled, manipulated for practice by our minds, the Orbs dormant, unaroused by the caricature of violence. When we go to war, they glow, deep blue-black, ready to drink blood.

Titus fit right in with royal life as the second of my triad, adorned with his platinum chain even during training, the huge diamond of it glittering, crafted by the imperial gemsmith. The massive diamond has a padparadscha sapphire molded into the center, cut in the shape of the rising sun crescent that flies on the flags about the royal palace. His thick black hair is held back by a sweatband, which is like a dam failing to stop winter melt as sweat streams down his face. He pants in exertion, heavy gasps as he sucks in air. Despite his exhaustion, he keeps his blade up, the platinum cuff around his wrist gleaming with more inlaid diamonds. He looks like a barbarian who raided a palace.

Gallien is moving like water, constantly testing me, stepping forward and back, waiting for me to leave him an opening, keeping out of sword’s reach and making me waste my energy on blows that he is always slightly out of reach of, my bladewhispering past him. He conserves his energy, his aura taut with exertion.

We have sparred for two hours straight. Our muscles burn. For the first hour, we kept a shell on our emotions, a battle of wills to keep our pain hidden from the Bond. Cracks formed as our muscles burned, and now our auras pulse pain and determination, three exhausted, panting animals, none of us wanting to give in.

I sense it. A quick tension in their auras. It’s there for a blink, and they charge forward, blades outstretched. I duck, and Titus’ dull blade sweeps over my head, but my chest flares in pain as Gallien drives his weapon into me. My sword falls, and I drive forward, knowing I’ve been hit, grabbing them both and lifting their enormous bulks. I growl with exertion as I drive them into the air, throwing them down against the mat with a meaty thud. I draw my dirk from my boot and tap Titus’ throat with the flat of the blade. The ring flashes red. He snarls in annoyance at my hidden weapon, but the fight is not yet over.

I turn to Gallien, who is laying back, his blade nowhere near him.

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