Page 201 of Scorching the Alien Empire
But what’s best for our people?
There is no doubt.Iwould lead them to greater heights. My resolve, my strategies—unmatched.
I could seize the title. Peacefully, if possible. Claim the future that’s owed to us all.
But...
Power for power’s sake—that is the treacherous path. The path that almost led us into ruin. Into the Scythians’ cold, metallic chains. A cycle of tyranny disguised as tradition.
Krogoth’s rebellion, for all its premature recklessness, did bring freedom. Victory.
Doesn’t that deserve loyalty? Doesn’t that deserve... respect?
“No—”
“Such a big, hard weapon you have, Chieftain Vorthax,” Princesa’s voice slices through the tension like a plasma claw, silencing my thoughts mid-battle plan. She flashes me a knowing glare, wicked and self-aware.
“I’m Lexie, by the way,” she purrs, stepping forward with her usual exaggerated grace. “But you may refer to me as theDivine Daughter.” She shrugs her shoulder, prompting the useless Todd to creak open an unimpressed lazy eye, before blinking itshut again. “And this little chug bug?” She pats his squishy form. “TheDivine Cherub.”
“Divine... Cherub?” Vorthax’s heavy brows climb. His gaze flicks between them, visibly recalculating. “Ah. You must be the eccentric sorceress I’ve heard about—the one who shielded our fleets.” He inclines his head. Slow. Deliberate. The colorful feathers in his hair flutter like a dying sunset. “You have my thanks.”
“Eccentric?” Princesa mutters, too softly for most to hear—but I feel the words boil through our bond, her fury flaring like mercury hitting flame. “Rude prick.”
She steps forward, sultry and simmering, two fingers tracing the runes branded across her chest. They blaze to life in her wake, Arawnoth’s mark flaring like molten scripture.
“You’re wrong, actually,” she says, louder now. “Wrong about a lot of things. I’m not some hobo street magician pulling rabbits from a hat or whatever. I amdivine.”
She raises her hand—and my breath stills.
A silvery barrier materializes between Vorthax and his axe. Its edges shimmer, reflecting crimson light and flickering flame for a single heartbeat beforeslamminginto the weapon with supernatural force. The massive blade wrenches from Vorthax’s grip, sending him lurching forward. His boot scrapes across the cracked slag.
Gasps ripple across the plaza.
“See?” Princesa hums, raising more barriers. Translucent walls snap into place around the Astranix warriors. They rush to aid their Chieftain—and slam face-first into her invisible prison.
“Hah!” She barks a sharp laugh, cruel and bright. Then she covers her lips in mock surprise, peering down atStormcleaver, now buried half-deep in the stone. “Oops. You dropped it.” She clucks her tongue. “Butterfingers.”
She wiggles her tiny fingers.
“But you know... from up here, I can reallyseehow small and pathetic it is.” She sighs dramatically, “Sad how everything always ends up so disappointing.” Her fuming silver-ruby eyes trail over me with that same smoldering condescension. “It’s tragic, really.”
And inside me, something turns cold. The same loathsome doubt I thought I’d purged claws its way back up my spine. Icy tendrils of helplessness gnaw at my gut.
Princesa. My Mortakin-Kis. Glorious. Dangerous. Out of control. And increasingly... unstable.
Should I stop her? Can I?She could crush us all, my entire clan—gone—lost to the chaotic whims of a female who dances between genius and madness as quickly as I navigate life and death.
How can I rule, if I can’t even lead the one closest to me?
“Princesa,” I growl, stepping toward her.
She raises a hand—not to touch, but to halt.
A shimmering barrier forms, glowing faintly between her fingers and me. It grows slowly—a warning to stop.
“Uh-uh. No, you don’t, Mr. Frowny Face.” She flashes a smirk. “You’ve used up all your word credits, remember?”
She turns her gaze back to the rising Vorthax, who gestures sharply to his warriors. They pause—then lower their weapons, wary, confused.
