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Lysandra’s lips are flat, her expression neutral, but I swear I can see the slightest shadow of a smile. “The Aurelian Empire holds his pregnant mate. There is no chance that he goes on the defensive. Even knowing he has lost, he will press on. He will make one last charge and be eradicated.”

“Fay. She has a name. Granting access to our territories could perhaps be the final key to the Aurelian Empire’s victory. But this victory does not benefit us. The civil war weakens the Aurelian Empire. It keeps us safe.”

“The cost of this war is so many lives,” says Aeris, sadly.

“Not Pentarian lives. It is they who I am sworn to protect. As long as we remain neutral, and the two factions of Aurelians weakened, we are secure.”

I am not negotiating for myself. Being the bride of the three men I hate most in the universe is a chilling fate.

But it is not my own feelings that make me try every angle to convince the voting blocks. They need to see that Pentaris can only survive by adhering to the principles that have led us this far.

“They’ve given us thirty Reavers. No Independent planet has Reavers. But my fleet will,” says Gunnar with a wide smile, which melts under my glare.

“Did daddy give you some new toys, Gunnar?” I’ve never once treated him without respect. His eyes widen, gritting his teeth in anger as he tenses. His wife cannot calm him. She’s fixing me with a venomous glare. “Hmm? You’re all going to get a lot of nice presents, aren’t you? Is that what you see as the future of Pentaris? Hands outstretched, begging to the Aurelians for more, more, more, as the alien conquerors traipse through our sacred borders, hailed as heroes? Because that is what they will be!” My voice rises up to a crescendo.

“They will be heroes. My uncle is in hospice. The med-bays will save his life,” says Tabitha of Virelia.

It’s a rare mistake, spoken out of care for her family, and I pounce on it. “Motion to call her vote in question. She is compromised and must abstain.”

No one likes it, but with grim expressions, the votes are cast. Such a personal admission which shows clear bias and lack of impartiality invalidates her vote.

Tabitha raises her hands in surrender. “Very well. I abstain my vote,” she says, and can’t hide the relief on her face.

It was no mistake at all. My stomach churns. She did not want to vote on this. She could not stomach forcing me into marriage with an Aurelian triad, but she couldn’t vote against it either, not when her own planet has so much to gain.

She maneuvered herself into getting out of voting, and I realize, too late, she was one of the few I might have convinced to join my side.

I can only push onwards. “They will be heroes. Andthisis the Aurelian threat. Planets under their protection are no longer threatened by masses of Scorp, by Toad slavers, by pirates or private war-bands. And with Aurelian protection, the planets lose something more important. Self-determination. Self-reliance. Pentaris does not eat from the hands of Aurelians. It eats by its own harvest. You all know our histories. We have never once allowed Aurelian soldiers in our territories. This is something that cannot be taken back. Their warships will darken our skies. Their Reavers will pass by with impunity. Their triads will saunter on our streets with Orb-Blades at their belts.”

There are uncomfortable shifts in seats. Gunnar clenches his jaw, tight, not liking it.

“Let us not delay. I motion we begin the vote,” says Thrain, before I can sway them any further. All parties but me are in agreement, and the majority rules.

“Voting on proposal 1287-Z, begins,” I say. So impartial. Numbers and a letter, which will bind me to the Aurelianprinces, forced to marry them. My voice is dry and raspy. I try to keep my face blank, but I can feel nervous sweat on my neck. I didn’t believe I had much chance to convince them, but I can’t accept this. It’s surreal.

The votes are instant. Unanimous, with one abstain, and only I am left.

With this level of assent, it is a vote of confidence. If I refuse the vote, I will lose my position as Prime Minister.

That path would be so simple. So easy. Give up this mantel of responsibility, throw away my leadership and end this insane dream of a life that began when I first entered politics.

I will go back to Virelia. I’ll see my family again. My brother, my younger sister, my mother and father, who I barely have time to holo-vid call once a month. My younger sister was fourteen when I left to join the Administration when I was eighteen. Now she’s twenty-four, an adult, and a near stranger to me. No. She is twenty-five. Her birthday is before mine. How did I forget that? So much slips my mind, my brain filled with a thousand different competing interests as I try to guide the planets forward.

I was the youngest elected Administrator at twenty-two, the planets wanting new, fresh blood who opposed Aurelian encroachment. The five years I spent as one of the voting bloc are like a blur, leading up to just over a year ago when I became Prime Minister, all of it happening in a rush.

I took an oath, but it is not the oath to the Administration that compels me.

It was my own, private oath, to my people, that makes me press the button that casts my vote in assent. My hand does not shake as I add my vote to the majority.

And, just like that, I am to be wed to the Aurelian triad.

I will spend the next three years of my life paraded around as their bride, a princess first and a Prime Minister second. Imay lose all my credibility as an anti-Aurelian, or the fiercest nationalists may see it as an act of supreme sacrifice. I don’t know yet, and it doesn’t matter. I cannot stop it…

Unless I play my last card. My heart pounds, because deep down, I can’t accept being their bride, and I have one way out, one way to try and throw the arrogance of the crown prince back at him.

He’soverconfident, and that is his great flaw.

Every person in this room who just voted to wed me away will face a grim choice if my gambit fails. My fate is still in flux.