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He motions to my coffee, and I take another sip. It symbolizes that the important part of the conversation is over. I let myself relax externally as I drink.

“We wounded him badly. Perhaps he understands now that each day he waits could be his last. It is good to have you here, my son. This war has made me old. I haven’t been on a battlefield in centuries. You are the one to command our fleets. You are the one who will end Obsidian.”

“I won’t let you down.”

“No, you won’t. You never have. You will one day be Emperor in my place, Doman. And I will be leaving all that I have in good hands.”

We say our goodbyes, and I walk through the familiar halls of the palace, my face stone as my mind races. I trust in my brothers and my triad. But I’m used to being the one in charge.

I’ll be wed off while the most important moments of my life happen. As I kiss my newly wedded bride, the heist on the royal palace itself will be taking place.

I pilot back to Bruton’s manor, touching down, but as I enter his home, I sense something off. The trace of Adriana’s sent is faint. I take the stairs three at a time up to the bedroom and burst in. Titus is there alone, stretching.

“Where is she?”

“She has a meeting with her advisors. Her legal team. Something urgent, in the city.” He sees my brows furrow, my aura harden. “Gallien is with her.”

I reach out in my mind, feeling the consciousness that is my battle-brother in the city. “Just Gallien?”

“Just Gallien. You know he’s worth a hundred men. What’s happening? Tell me.”

“The wedding is going to be tomorrow. Obsidian is making his final push, and I am to lead the defense.”

There’s a wave of calmness that pulses through the Bond from my battle-brother. He walks to the window, leaning out, tasting the morning air. Then he turns.

“We’ve already lost so many. He’s outnumbered. But this isn’t war like it used to be. Can we afford the losses? Can our species?”

He’s testing me, seeing if I’ve changed my mind.

“We’re going to end this war as we planned. With one death.”

His lips curl back, and the Orb in his blade’s hilt pulses. It can hear us. It knows what’s coming.

The eagerness flows from Bruton. A nuclear blast couldn’t end Obsidian.

The three of us will.

41

ADRIANA

The streets of Colossus are stone, and here I find life, seemingly transient against the eternity of the city. Humans with carts sell fresh fruit in ordered rows, looking so small against the towering triads that frequent their wares. I’ve never felt so temporary. The vast forests of Virelia always made me small, but there, I was part of it. My body would one day be put back into the earth, to nourish it.

Here, I am an alien, an ant against a civilization with an endless history, marble buildings that have towered for eons.

Gallien walks at my side, keeping pace with me, his hand near his Orb-Blade always, his pure white robes swishing with each step. Everywhere we walk, Aurelians bow their heads in respect and salute.

“Did Doman get back from his meeting?” I ask, as we travel through the beauty of the capital city of the alien race. Every building seems placed with great care, trees rising up in ordered lines that give shade in the early morning light.

“He’s up there, now,” Gallien responds, glancing up at the Royal Palace that watches over the city.

I twist my wrist, displaying the street map from my smart-watch in front of my eyes where only I can see it. Two blocks to the meeting place. We turn a corner, and I turn off my smart-watch with a jolt of shock.

An older Aurelian, who would be in his forties if he was a human, is at a café, sitting on a bench and sipping coffee. His toga is open, and two women, with collars on their necks, clad in sheer pink pleasure dresses, are worshiping his cock, running their tongues up and down his manhood. My cheeks flush red as Gallien steps in closer to me, and I imagine serving him publicly, not being seen as the Prime Minister or even the mate of a royal triad, but just as a harem woman, exposed to the public and sating his desires.

I force myself to relax. Each planet has its own customs. Here is the logical conclusion of an all-male, all-adult warrior society without shame, who do not repress their natural desires. The Aurelian lets out a groan, leaning back as his cock spurts, and one of the women wraps her lips around the head, his cock pulsing as the other laves his balls. He rolls his head back and sees us coming.

He pushes the women away, rising to his feet with his still half-hard cock dangling between his legs and performs an immaculate salute, then sits back down, leaning back with his hands behind his head, lounging as his two women clean his cock with their tongues, eager for every last drop of his seed. A woman in a white apron comes out of the café and onto the patio balancing three plates with croissants, and as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, she places them down on the table while the two giggling women cuddle up to the Aurelian on the bench. He feeds them by hand as we pass by the lewd scene.