Page 87
Story: Crown Prince's Mate
“Yes, your children or your grandchildren will have your skill. Tell me, Doman, where is your Fated Mate?”
I raise my hand, showing the black orb-ring that all members of the Aurelian Army wear. “I am just another soldier.”
“You’re so much more than that. You are my firstborn,” she says, and she smiles, but then it becomes sad. “Be careful with your heart, Doman. I watched the ceremony on Magnar. Theway you looked at Adriana, it was like the way Raegan first cast his eyes on me, the way he looks at me every day of my life. This one is a proud woman. It will be a morass when you break it off. Find a way to do it clean. I promise you, when you find your Fated Mate, any feelings of puppy love you had for her will evaporate like a dream.”
“These are peacetime talks.”
“True. Warriors are bolstered by your sacrifice. They see you putting the needs of the Empire above your own. You are a true prince, Doman, and you make me so proud every day. When the tests are conducted, you will return to Colossus, and you will be wed to her in front of our people.” Her eyes grow more intense. “It may be the time Obsidian decides to strike. He may think us distracted.”
“Something tells me you’re setting a trap.”
“He’s a cunning wolf, and he may not step into it. We’ve run the simulations. Even with his mastery of the Rift, he stands no chance with a direct attack.”
She sounds confident, but I can see she is unsettled, the tension in her as she sits straight-backed.
“What is it?”
“We’ve captured some of his Priests. It takes a long, long time to wear them down, but our Interrogators are patient.”
“What have you learned?”
She frowns. “We had hoped that Obsidian was a pawn of the Priests. That they somehow added the birthmark to him in his mother’s belly, that he was hidden away to rally their troops… but he’s no pawn. They truly see him as a God. They see signs everywhere. And do you know what scares me the most, Doman? They think they are a force of good.”
“What do you mean?”
“The prophecies. We had thought them stories, woven to take power, creations of man. But even the High Priests of his orderbelieve them. They believe they are fighting a war not for the throne but for the fate of the entire universe. And if Obsidian is not ruler of the Aurelian Empire, the entire universe will perish. We are fighting forces who will stop at nothing to win.” Her face hardens, and any trace of my mother is gone.
Instead, I see the woman capable of keeping a pregnant captive, capable of doing anything to defeat her enemies. “When we kill Obsidian, it is the beginning, not the end. We need to pull out every root of resistance. We will send our men with squads of Mark-10s through every stretch of space, and there will be no safe haven for Aurelians marked by the brands of Obsidian. We will hunt down every last one of them. And then, only then, will there be peace.”
I swallow, unsettled. “My sword is yours to command.”
“Finish the final ritual. Conduct the tests. Return to Colossus. And prepare yourself, the day is coming. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say, and end the call, the vast marble of my throne room cold and impersonal.
25
ADRIANA
The flight down to Frosthold is a pleasant one, the icy jewel of the farthest planet from the sun growing larger in the viewport as Doman slides the behemoth of a ship through the raging clouds and buffeting blizzards, riding the winds like a bird of prey. We land with mountains rising to the north, the small, low settlements sprawling out to the right of the ship, a huge frozen lake with holes burrowed to fish spreading out and feeding the city.
The city is a bleak stone brutalist construction that fits with the harsh conditions. It has a strength to it, a bastion against the constant storms.
Doman stands from the pilot’s seat, his battle brothers at each side. His mane of golden hair cascades down against his full Orb-Armor, the glowing blue-black shields that cover him from his toes to his shoulders, leaving his neck and head uncovered. Those suits of armor will keep their body heat regulated even in the icy conditions of Frosthold.
Gallien holds out one of the huge, white fur coats he had made for me, and he puts it over my uniform, bundling me up from head to toe so I feel like a bear as Doman takes my hand,his metallic armored glove cool, squeezing tight around my digits. Another present from Gallien covers my hand, luxurious leather gloves with wool lining.
“Remember. These are a proud people,” I say, looking up at Doman’s regal side profile.
“All of Pentaris is proud,” he replies, and we walk out together, Titus and Gallien spreading out in front of us as we leave the bridge and go to the bay, where the sun of the empire looks down on us.
The huge doors open, and the icy gust blows in, snow cascading into the bay as we stride out to the meeting party. Above, through the thick clouds, the shapes of Reavers dart in and out of view, but they are jerky, without the fluid movements of Aurelian pilots.
Gunnar is at the head of about thirty men, and he’s picked the titans of Frosthold to greet us, huge Vikings. He might be tall, but he’s dwarfed by his guards, near seven-foot-tall men standing in threes, as if they are Aurelians. Gunnar’s dilated pupils are like black holes, tracking us as we exit the ship, and I pull my coat tighter around me, putting the hood over my face to guard me from the chill.
Liora is shivering next to him. She’s rather fashionable in a white fur coat which was taken from the fur of a polar bear her husband hunted to win her hand in marriage, and despite her time on Frosthold, she’s never gotten accustomed to the endless winters. Like me, she’s used to the coolness of Virelia’s long springs and autumns, the warmth of the summers that feel like they will never end, the short, quick winters that paint the evergreens with frosted patterns. Her hood is drawn down, nearly obscuring her features, soft and delicate on Frosthold, but she gives me a pitying glance as we shiver together.
She’s a forest girl, like me, but she squeezes in closer to Gunnar, and I can tell she wouldn’t leave him for anything.
I raise my hand, showing the black orb-ring that all members of the Aurelian Army wear. “I am just another soldier.”
“You’re so much more than that. You are my firstborn,” she says, and she smiles, but then it becomes sad. “Be careful with your heart, Doman. I watched the ceremony on Magnar. Theway you looked at Adriana, it was like the way Raegan first cast his eyes on me, the way he looks at me every day of my life. This one is a proud woman. It will be a morass when you break it off. Find a way to do it clean. I promise you, when you find your Fated Mate, any feelings of puppy love you had for her will evaporate like a dream.”
“These are peacetime talks.”
“True. Warriors are bolstered by your sacrifice. They see you putting the needs of the Empire above your own. You are a true prince, Doman, and you make me so proud every day. When the tests are conducted, you will return to Colossus, and you will be wed to her in front of our people.” Her eyes grow more intense. “It may be the time Obsidian decides to strike. He may think us distracted.”
“Something tells me you’re setting a trap.”
“He’s a cunning wolf, and he may not step into it. We’ve run the simulations. Even with his mastery of the Rift, he stands no chance with a direct attack.”
She sounds confident, but I can see she is unsettled, the tension in her as she sits straight-backed.
“What is it?”
“We’ve captured some of his Priests. It takes a long, long time to wear them down, but our Interrogators are patient.”
“What have you learned?”
She frowns. “We had hoped that Obsidian was a pawn of the Priests. That they somehow added the birthmark to him in his mother’s belly, that he was hidden away to rally their troops… but he’s no pawn. They truly see him as a God. They see signs everywhere. And do you know what scares me the most, Doman? They think they are a force of good.”
“What do you mean?”
“The prophecies. We had thought them stories, woven to take power, creations of man. But even the High Priests of his orderbelieve them. They believe they are fighting a war not for the throne but for the fate of the entire universe. And if Obsidian is not ruler of the Aurelian Empire, the entire universe will perish. We are fighting forces who will stop at nothing to win.” Her face hardens, and any trace of my mother is gone.
Instead, I see the woman capable of keeping a pregnant captive, capable of doing anything to defeat her enemies. “When we kill Obsidian, it is the beginning, not the end. We need to pull out every root of resistance. We will send our men with squads of Mark-10s through every stretch of space, and there will be no safe haven for Aurelians marked by the brands of Obsidian. We will hunt down every last one of them. And then, only then, will there be peace.”
I swallow, unsettled. “My sword is yours to command.”
“Finish the final ritual. Conduct the tests. Return to Colossus. And prepare yourself, the day is coming. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say, and end the call, the vast marble of my throne room cold and impersonal.
25
ADRIANA
The flight down to Frosthold is a pleasant one, the icy jewel of the farthest planet from the sun growing larger in the viewport as Doman slides the behemoth of a ship through the raging clouds and buffeting blizzards, riding the winds like a bird of prey. We land with mountains rising to the north, the small, low settlements sprawling out to the right of the ship, a huge frozen lake with holes burrowed to fish spreading out and feeding the city.
The city is a bleak stone brutalist construction that fits with the harsh conditions. It has a strength to it, a bastion against the constant storms.
Doman stands from the pilot’s seat, his battle brothers at each side. His mane of golden hair cascades down against his full Orb-Armor, the glowing blue-black shields that cover him from his toes to his shoulders, leaving his neck and head uncovered. Those suits of armor will keep their body heat regulated even in the icy conditions of Frosthold.
Gallien holds out one of the huge, white fur coats he had made for me, and he puts it over my uniform, bundling me up from head to toe so I feel like a bear as Doman takes my hand,his metallic armored glove cool, squeezing tight around my digits. Another present from Gallien covers my hand, luxurious leather gloves with wool lining.
“Remember. These are a proud people,” I say, looking up at Doman’s regal side profile.
“All of Pentaris is proud,” he replies, and we walk out together, Titus and Gallien spreading out in front of us as we leave the bridge and go to the bay, where the sun of the empire looks down on us.
The huge doors open, and the icy gust blows in, snow cascading into the bay as we stride out to the meeting party. Above, through the thick clouds, the shapes of Reavers dart in and out of view, but they are jerky, without the fluid movements of Aurelian pilots.
Gunnar is at the head of about thirty men, and he’s picked the titans of Frosthold to greet us, huge Vikings. He might be tall, but he’s dwarfed by his guards, near seven-foot-tall men standing in threes, as if they are Aurelians. Gunnar’s dilated pupils are like black holes, tracking us as we exit the ship, and I pull my coat tighter around me, putting the hood over my face to guard me from the chill.
Liora is shivering next to him. She’s rather fashionable in a white fur coat which was taken from the fur of a polar bear her husband hunted to win her hand in marriage, and despite her time on Frosthold, she’s never gotten accustomed to the endless winters. Like me, she’s used to the coolness of Virelia’s long springs and autumns, the warmth of the summers that feel like they will never end, the short, quick winters that paint the evergreens with frosted patterns. Her hood is drawn down, nearly obscuring her features, soft and delicate on Frosthold, but she gives me a pitying glance as we shiver together.
She’s a forest girl, like me, but she squeezes in closer to Gunnar, and I can tell she wouldn’t leave him for anything.
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