Page 42 of Crown Prince's Mate

Fear.

It’s gone in a flash, replaced by the empty, blank slate. She regains her composure.

She had been prepared to cut my limbs off. I knew it, and I knew if my love did not surrender, it would only be the start of my torment. Obsidian spoke through me, forcing his words so strong they came from my own mouth, the exact combination of words that stayed her hand. Neither was bluffing.

She turns and leaves, disappearing through the door that closes behind her, leaving me so alone in my jail cell. The tears drip down my cheeks, and I don’t have the strength to wipe them off.

Then I feel it. The tiny thread of hope that is my most pure torture, hope I don’t want to admit. If I let it blossom in my mind, I fear it will wither away.

His threat scared her.

She does not believe, with certainty, that she will win the war, or she would have cut my limbs off. Whether I have arms or legs means nothing to her. My strategic value to her war effort is my mind, and the Bond that gives her an inside look at her enemy.

Deep down, she believes there is a possibility that Obsidian will triumph.

She would spare her sons the endless torment if he prevails.

My life here has been gray, endless fear, and that pang of hope is a new torment.

I’d give up any hope. Now, all I can imagine is Obsidian breaking down the doors, pulling me close to his chest, his huge arms wrapping around me and holding me tight and never letting me go.

But I don’t know who he is anymore. Whatever he has become, whatever this war has made him, the monster who would raze Colossus to save me…

Whoever he is, he is my only hope.

15

PRINCE DOMAN

My security team tried to convince me to wear my Orb-Armor, but I donned the traditional, red robes of the Terosan people.

Adriana is a radiant beacon before the sprawling desert, the sand-red dress blending with the sands of time until she seems part of the planet itself. Even from the distance, I can see she allowed the Terosans to do her make-up in the bridal fashion, and when she blinks, her eyelids are painted the vibrant hue of the dunes, her lips contrasting in vivid, oasis blue.

She is tiny compared to the outstretched dunes, but her silhouette has a strength to it. She does not defy the sands but lets them become part of her, bolstering her.

Hundreds of thousands of people blanket the surrounding hills. Behind me, the metallic sheen of my warship contrasts sharply with the golden desert, and when I walked out of it, I had the image of the desert slowly swallowing it up over tens of thousands of years, until there was no trace of the first Aurelian presence on these lands. Adriana went first, carried on a palisade and dropped into the center of sandy nothingness.The twin, curved blades reflect the harsh glow of the sun, crisscrossed at her feet.

The sun basks her, kissing her skin, and though it is boiling, she stands perfectly still, awaiting me.

The beautiful femininity of the dress flows over her willowy form, but she is the picture of duty. She came from the verdant green hills of Virelia, opposite of the endless mineral rich dunes of Terosa, but she loves every one of the citizens watching us silently.

Muscle memories, long ago, from Academy on Colossus, guide me as I let my feet slide in the sand. It thickens ever so slightly at my movements but lets me pass. There is a murmur from the near silent crowd, surprised that I know how to traverse their lands.

I slide through the sands until I am before her.

With grace, she bends down, lifting one of the twin knives, and places it gently in my hands. Then she bends once more, ceremonially picking up her own.

Adriana outstretches her right palm without fear, and I place mine next to hers. I’m three times her size, my own palm dwarfing hers, and I clutch the knife steadily in my right hand. In unison, we place the blades against each other’s flesh. They are so sharp I barely feel the cut. Single drops of our blood drip, falling into the sands.

There is a collective intake of breath from the watchers. In their eyes, we are accepted by the desert, our blood becoming part of the endless stories of these lands.

She places her cut hand over my mine, her fingers tiny against mine, blood against blood. A unification ritual, yet I have never felt so far from her, my mind tormented by the last words she spoke to me before leaving the throne room. I stare down at her, the only woman in the universe, every inchof her perfection, her green eyes staring back up at me without defiance yet without acceptance.

She cranes her chin, dutifully presenting her lips to mine, and I kiss her, soft and gentle, a kiss of strangers.

Then I scoop her up, cradling her tiny frame in my arms, and it is then that the people of Terrora raise their right hands as one, the vast carpet of citizens silently accepting the union. Adriana looks up at me, but her expression is blank as I slide back towards my warship, gleaming white against the red sands. If she is humiliated to be carried, she doesn’t show it, and I taste nothing in her scent.

I had been expecting defiance, hatred, perhaps shame, but instead, her scent is blank and empty, as if she has no emotions, as if this meant nothing.

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