Page 84 of Crown Prince's Mate

“I told you I’d conquer places no man had been.”

“Titus, can you throw a pillow at him?’

“Your wish is my command,” growls Titus, and flings a pillow over at Doman, who lets it bounce of his chest, then falls back in the bed, as if it was a mortal blow.

He’s joking, but that makes me tense up. Because in this moment, they’re mine. On the battlefield, they’ll belong to death. A chill passes through me, just as Doman’s smart-watch flashes deep purple. He sits up, suddenly, and all trace of the man who was joking a second ago is gone, his face stoney and set.

“What is it?” I pull away from Titus, tensing.

“My parents request a conference. I must go to the throne room. I’ll be back soon.” He stands, grabbing his battle-robes and donning them, tightening the belt around his waist, the hilt of his blade bouncing.

“Should I come with you? I’ve yet to talk to my future in-laws,” I ask, looking up at Doman from the sprawling, comfortable expanse of the bed.

His eyes tighten. It was awkward enough for him to meet my family, and my parents, though high status on Virelia, manage only the forests on a single planet.

His family rules an Empire.

“Let’s delay that moment. My mother… don’t take it personal. But she isn’t going to like you. Not unless we told you that you’re my Fated Mate.”

I grimace. My diplomatic poker face relaxes around the three of them. “Because the only thing she wants from me is to pump out grandsons.”

Doman tenses. I regret the harshness of my words. No matter what my thoughts on Queen Jasmine and her triad of Emperors, they are his parents. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” I say, pushing myself up from the bed, while Titus lays languidly beside me, like a huge cat spreading out.

Doman smiles slightly, softening his stony visage. “It’s fine. You don’t have to watch your tongue with me. It’s better no oneknows that you are our Fated Mate, not even my family. You’ve got a target on your back as our fiancée. But once we finish the final ritual on Frosthold, you’ll be safer.”

Gallien nods from the bed across from me. “Obsidian’s forces might even prefer you alive.”

“Why would they care?”

Titus shifts behind me. “Because if we are wedded to you, in Obsidian’s eyes, we’re kept away from our Fated Mate,” he rumbles.

Doman brushes his robes, straightening them, but they are already flawless. I have to admit, I wasn’t paying attention to where he put his robe when he undresses—I was rather distracted by rows of Aurelians abs—but the three of them folded their robes in quick, practiced succession, even inflamed by their desires.

It reminds me that they each spent a full century training for war in the harsh Aurelian Academy, where not even a prince is given preferential treatment.

Doman can see my confusion. “My brother, Bruton. He used to be a few inches shorter than me. Now I look up at him. The Bond changes an Aurelian. And not just physically. It makes one’s mind sharper. One’s reactions quicker. Obsidian will not wish to face against my Bonded form.”

“It does the same for a human mate,” says Gallien, his flint eyes tracing up and down my body, resting finally on my eyes as he imagines me changing through the Bond. “When we arrive on Colossus, you should speak with Evelyn, mate of Bruton. She can tell you firsthand what the Bond entails.”

I bite my lip. “My speaking with a Bonded mate won’t put any suspicion on us?”

Doman walks to me, leans down, and kisses me on my forehead. “It’s very natural. You want to learn what it is to be wedded to princes. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says, gentlystroking my hair, wanting one last touch, before he strides to the door.

“Don’t rush! I’ve got a bunch of work to do back on my ship. Every planet is squabbling over the new Aurelian resources.” I shake my head, wincing at the arguments I’m going to face. “Greedy hands outstretched for a piece of the pie.”

I stand and look down at my body, the rivers of seed down my thighs, the flush of my skin, the marks of their hands on my body. I’m still pleasantly floating in the afterglow of the orgasms, the most delicious stretching soreness soothed by their seed. It’s like the feeling after going for a long run, an earned tiredness. My own dress is in a messy pile on the floor, and I can’t help but smile as I see the craftwork my sister put into it.

“Why don’t you change into something less formal?” asks Gallien, as the door shuts behind Doman.

“I will. On my ship. I need a shower first,” I say, running my hands over my body, and taking in a huge breath. I look like sex, my hair a mess, my body sweaty.

I stretch and yawn, and as my hands rises over my head, Gallien can’t help but stare at my breasts as they push out. He’s addicted to my body, and I love it.

“Mind if I join you?”

I raise my brow at him. “In the shower? Only if you play nice.”

Gallien dives forward, his monstrous form moving with lightning speed, and lifts me, throwing me over his shoulder as I squeal and mock hit him on the back, as if he is a caveman taking me to his lair. He runs to the showers, and soon, the warm, soothing waters are running over my body.

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