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“For the betrothal ritual. You’ll be in and out of here by end of day and onto the next. It will not be told that Thrain of Magnar slowed you down. A formality, nothing more.”

“I appreciate the efficiency.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Now. We’ve got a few more details to hammer out. Somewhere private we can talk?”

“This way,” I say, beckoning towards one of the hallways. “Now I’m not trying to be a cunt showing off my thrones, but it’s the most private place in the ship,” I say, matching his vulgar casualness.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t bother me. You’re already twice my size, not going to change nothing if you’re sitting up on your perch. But you know what they say…”

I look into his darkened glasses, to his obscured eyes that are crinkled with glee.

“Bigger they are, harder they fall.”

His metal boots echo as we walk through my ship. He makes more noise than my entire triad.

“And you, Doman, and the two giants at your side, are the big bastards who can knock the War-God down. That’s why I voted in your favor,” he says, as we walk through the hallways. He drops the honorific of “prince” when we’re out of earshot ofeveryone else. “Aurelian troops have never been in our system. But Obsidian is a scourge. He’s a rabid dog, and he needs to be put down.”

“Agreed.”

My guards open the doors to my throne room, and they thud closed behind us as we enter.

Thrain whistles, low and deep, as he stomps straight towards the three thrones. “Gods alive. That’s some beautiful craftsmanship. Where did you get the marble? No, don’t tell me. That’s a pure Colossus vein right there. Hand crafted from a single block.” He runs his hand over the armrest of my throne, marveling at the smoothness of it. He turns with a grin. “I’ll be done my term of service to the Administration soon. How about getting one of the craftsmen to make me one of these, as a retirement gift? A third of the size – with some nice accents, I’d like my family crest over my head. And an indent for my ass. I’ve earned the rest.”

Titus’ aura is a telepathic glower while he keeps his face set and neutral. No man has so much as touched our thrones before, but I give the stout Magnarian a pass.

“Done,” I say, as we stride towards him.

He spits in his hand and extends it. I do the same, even as Gallien’s aura tenses, worried of poison, but I shake his hand once more, and this time, he doesn’t try to crush every bone.

He glances again at my throne, and for a moment, I can tell he’s thinking of jumping on it, so we’ll be near eye level. He glances back at Titus, sees the hard look in my battle-brother’s eyes, and thinks better of it.

“I take it you had more business to discuss than getting a new chair for your home,” states Titus, his voice flat.

“Then let’s get to it.” Thrain’s friendly smile disappears as he gets ready to face us down in more negotiations. “We’ve got something that could help you. Mining machines you’venever seen the likes of on Colossus. We’ve never shared our technology, but since you have all been so generous, I’m going to license them to you for a decade, free of cost, as a gesture of good faith.”

Gallien smiles. “A gesture of good faith. And if these machines are as good as you claim, they’ll replace many in our service. Once the decade is over, and they are entrenched in our mining operations, you profit.”

“We’ll work out something reasonable before that happens. And in return, I’m interested in your new research. The stuff that hasn’t gone public yet, the stuff that’s not ready for commercial use. I’ve heard that in the mining institution on Colossus…”

I listen as he goes in depth on mining and metallurgy advances, obviously an expert, nodding my head at the deluge of technical terms that only Gallien will fully understand.

And as I pretend to listen, all I’m thinking of is Adriana.

The betrothal ritual may be a formality to Thrain, but for me, it’s the only thing I can think of.

Because it ends with a kiss, and for the first time, I will press my lips against her, taste my mate, smell her reaction. She may hate us on the surface, but deep down, she is meant for me. And when my lips press against hers, she will not be able to deny the seeds of her attraction, seeds that will threaten to grow and flourish in her until she can’t hold them down.

I can see Thrain souring, his brows furrowed. Gallien’s ironing out a deal he wasn’t prepared for, and he huffs. “I’ve got to get back to my men. You’re a tough negotiator.”

“Squires!” I yell the moment Thrain leaves.

They come running, carrying my triad’s Orb-Armor, that will protect us against the heat and fire of Magnar as we travel deep underground, to the magma flows where I will touch Adriana for the first time, feel her in my arms, press my lips against hers.

My heart pounds as I don the armor, and I touch the ring around my finger.

Will it be able to dull the Mating Rage, even as I taste her?

When she is in my arms, will I be able to hold back the ravenous need that drives me?