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“You look beautiful,” says Myria. “You look strong,” she finishes, and a smile comes to her lips, knowing that the universe will see her work.

Because this ceremony is going to be broadcasted throughout the known territories…

And all will see the humiliation of the Aurelians.

“How am I going to fit into one of those suits?”

“You won’t need to. There is a transport waiting for you. You need only these boots,” says Selena, pulling a pair of metal boots that she helps me with, clasping them tightly shut. They make me two inches taller, but I’ll still be towered over by the triad.

“Are the… is the royal triad out there?”

“They will not see you until you stand before them,” says Selena. “Thrain awaits you. Would you allow us the honor of escorting you to him?”

“It would be mine,” I say, gracefully, because in the dress that hugs my curves, behind the veil that Doman thinks he will brush aside to reveal my lips and kiss me, I am hiding a secret. The triad are like raging bulls, charging without thought. They believe the universe and everything in it is owed to them, but they are going to find out the truth.

Not all crave to bow before them, and not all are manipulated by their gifts.

Pentaris does not need their protection. And neither do I.

The corridors of my ship are cleared, and when I walk out into the ship bay of the Aurelian Warship where my ship isnestled, none of the alien species are in attendance, the Reavers left unattended to, tools dropped hastily.

Prince Doman wants to be the first Aurelian to see me in my betrothal dress. He cleared out everyone in my path.

Thrain of Magmar looks minuscule next to the giant ships, and he greets me with a respectful nod. There’s another Magnarian next to him, even shorter, with an intense, worried look on his face as he turns his wrist towards me, capturing the moment on the smart-watch embedded in his suit. The feed is being broadcasted through the universe, and I can’t imagine how many trillions of eyes are locked in on their holo-vids, eager to catch the first glimpse of the crown prince’s bride-to-be.

“Prime Minister. You do our people proud.” Thrain gives me a warm, welcoming smile, as if he didn’t vote to force me into marriage with the three men I despise most.

“Your staff did excellent work. Let’s not dally.” I keep diplomatic, even as I imagine pushing him into a magma flow.

“I never do,” he says, and turns, then casts a hard, baleful glare at the other Magnarian, who quickly shuts off the feed.

“You fucking idiot. You want to show the universe me struggling up these stairs made for the giants? Figure it out,” he scowls, berating the Magnarian, who turns pale. He was probably told not to let a single moment be missed.

“And get going! Run along, you better be waiting for us underground. Get the shot of us coming out of the transport and walking down towards the magma flow. Go!” The other Magnarian runs up the stairs, stumbles on the huge steps, falls, and gets up without a word, rushing along.

“Gods alive. I have to tell everyone how to do everything. I’ll be glad for some peace when my term is done. Just three more fucking months,” he complains, and grunts as he pulls himself up the giant stairs made for the huge alien species.

I follow him into the hallways until we get to the huge bay of the entrance hall of the Aurelian warship. It has high ceilings, and above, the rising sun emblem of the Empire engraved on the ceiling mocks me. The air-shield shimmers, and a small, metallic transport on treads, thick with armor, awaits us.

Through the air-shield, an invisible barrier between the spartan white cleanliness of the alien warship and the fury of his world, the skies are shrouded in a veil of smoldering smoke, a testament to the relentless churn of its fiery heart. The transport vehicle is a squat, functional thing, with thick metal treads and steel armor pitted and scored. Thrain opens the side door of the small transport, and I sit on uncomfortable seats across from him as the vehicle trundles along.

I will emerge from the confines of this metal box below ground. The embrace of Magnar’s subterranean world will wrap around me, the weight of the world pressing down on me.

Thrain occupies the uncomfortable seat across from me, clad in his armored metal suit, but he keeps his helmet at his side, revealing his bald head that gleams in the dim lighting. The transport vehicle, devoid of windows, encloses us in a world of stale air, but I’ll take stale air to the clouds of noxious gasses and the harsh atmosphere outside. Thrain’s ever-present black goggles mask his eyes, a strategic shield that has lent him the upper hand in negotiations.

Now, I’ve evened the score. My features are hidden behind the veil of intricate silver threads.

“Back when I was a silly little girl, I used to imagine planting a tree with the love of my life,” I say, unable to keep myself from longing for my home planet. Nowhere do I yearn for the fresh air of Virelia like I do in the belching fury of Magnar.

“You’ll still plant it. This is just the first of five ceremonies.”

I smile ruefully at the blunt planetary representative. He blinks. “Oh. With the love of your life. Well. You could havepicked someone worse. I like those three.” He winces when he realizes he misspoke—saying the wordpickedis an affront, but one meant without malice.

“You like them?”

“Yep. I thought that pretty boy Doman would be a spoilt little princeling. He’s not. He’s a warrior. And so are his two battle-brothers. They are men of honor.”

“You knew he was a warrior already.”