Page 50 of Crown Prince's Mate

Aeris steps aside. “That is my not my role.” She gestures to the black structure that melds seamlessly with the air-field.

“Very well.” Doman releases my hand, striding forward towards the translucent gateway into the structure, slightly less opaque than the walls.

Aeris halts him with an upheld palm. “I would ask that you leave your weapons outside. There is no danger within.”

There’s a pause, a new tension in the triad. As if they share a mind, they pull the hilts of their Orb-Blades from their belts, placing them by the entrance.

Then Doman steps forward, preparing to enter. “Wait. I’m coming with you,” I say.

“It is my duty,” replies Doman, and steps through the blackness. My breath is a sharp intake, when he steps back out, giving us a quick nod.

I follow him, expecting to feel something as I cross the threshold, but one moment I am in the underground city, the huge dome rising above me, the next in the building which feels more like a gateway than a structure.

Three Etherion women await us, solemn, the shimmering air-field and the yawning mouth of the cave behind them. My skin prickles as I realize what is different about the dark waters.

No schools of the brilliant fish are swimming between us and the black mouth of the cave.

The Etherion women radiate venerable authority, clad to their necks in long, flowing robes of green and blue fibers, in intricate patterns. Unlike the others, they have no gems adorning them. Their backs are arched upwards, and when they blink, the nictating eyelids flick down.

Though the Aurelian triad towers over them, they stand without fear, completely vulnerable yet unfazed by the alien conquerors who have never stepped foot on their lands before. The floor gives under the weight of our feet, like an embrace.

“You will be presented to the guardians as you are born. Some are given visions, some are not. The visions are yours and yours alone. Share them if you wish, or keep them. It is your choice.” The middle of the three women speaks, her lips barely moving.

Titus looks over to the cave. “That’s a stretch. Too long for a human to swim.”

“You will be given the tools you need, as you were not born of these waters.”

“Very well,” accepts Titus, looking to me then back to the yawning cave. He has no fear for his own life, only mine.

They stand, waiting, without speaking. The Aurelians exchange looks, waiting for the next instructions.

“Please, disrobe,” says the middle woman, finally.

Doman shrugs, undoes his belt, and disrobes without hesitation.

I had known the Aurelian species was famously comfortable in their own skin. I wasn’t ready to one second be standing in a room with the triad clothed, the next standing before the three huge alien men as they strip without thought.

Doman’s back is broad and powerful, bulging in places I didn’t know muscles existed. I can’t stop myself from staring. He has a violent symmetry to him, muscled yet lithe and graceful, relaxed yet taut, corded power ready for war.

And his ass. Fuck, but I’d never thought that was a feature that mattered in men, but it looks like it was designed for him to thrust. His body is an intense, coiled spring, and he would break me in two.

Titus is massive next to him, impossibly even broader and thicker than Doman, heavy slabs of muscle with more beef to him, while Gallien is lean and chiseled. I have the strongest urge to run my fingers over their marble skin, to press in and see it indent under my touch, to feel the warmth from the living statues. My mouth goes dry. I’m overwhelmed by the sight of three nude aliens.

Titus leans down, placing his heavy platinum chain and wristlet on the ground, and even that small movement is poetry, his muscles rippling as he stands back up to his full height.

The three Etherion priestesses are doing everything to keep their mysterious, serene composure, and they’re failing. They can’t resist glancing down to see if the rumors are true, and theirwidening eyes tells me they are. They might be aged, venerable priestesses of Etherion, but deep down, they are still human.

Doman turns, his huge, flaccid cock swinging, thick and powerful, and he looks over at me, his bright blue eyes burning in anticipation for me to disrobe.

My hands shake as I bring them up to my uniform top, staring straight forward, trying to find somewhere to look that isn’t filled with muscled perfection.

Doman holds his hand up. “Wait. You don’t need to do this. The rules of your game was that I need to fulfill these rituals, not you. If you want to stay here and wait for us, you can.”

It’s bloody hard to concentrate on a word he’s saying when he’s got thatthingswinging heavily between his tree-trunk legs. There’s nowhere safe to look, nowhere that isn’t chiseled pecs, hard lines so defined they could be carved out of stone. Their cocks hang thick between their legs, with huge balls like grapefruits, pumping the Aurelians full of more testosterone than twenty human men. They are flawless. Even the bullet scars, paler against Titus’ marble skin, do not mar him. They are accents of his bravery. Gallien, the shortest at over seven feet tall, is lean without an ounce of fat, with the most infuriating V-lines that lead the eyes right down to his thick, curved cock.

They are absolute perfection, three bodies created for war, created for…

I steel myself, my hands no longer shaking as I unbutton my top, then pull off my gray pants. If they’re going to be so damned casual about it, then I can be too.

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