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The wind whips at my white robes as I step onto the landing pad. My outfit is similar to traditional Aurelian garb. Ahead of me, the doors of the transport ship open. I climb the Aurelian-sized steps easily enough, and stand by the viewport, looking out as we take off.

Colossus spreads below me – a mixture of ancient Roman-style grandeur and towering new architecture. All around the city, massive white mansions sprawl. With their species dying out, more and more of those mansions have grown empty over the centuries.

It is only now, with the Bond reawakened, that Aurelians have a chance to build their species anew.

I just pray that the Bond my triad and I share will be enough to spare us the executioner’s axe.

The three Elites who are escorting me don’t act like mere errand boys. They act as if they’re the protectors of the future of their race – and perhaps that’s not unwarranted.

There have still been only a dozen or so Bonded triads in recent history – so each is still sacred to their species. I truly believe they wouldn’t dare kill my triad, or hurt me.

But they only need one of my men alive.

That horrifying thought twists and turns in the back of my mind. They could make examples of two of my men, then imprison me – forcing me to breed over and over again with my one remaining mate, like a breeding sow to restore their species.

Calm.

Lucius’s unspoken word steadies me. His aura flows into mine. The hard-packed red earth of his being, spinning in my mind like a planet, bolsters me. His aura presses itself beneath me, steadying me and holding me up.

Reavers dart and weave all around the transport ship. I’m being escorted like royalty – and I can only guess why.

If the Priests wanted to deal a blow to the Aurelian Empire, they’d kill me before I could bear any loyalist sons. Aurelians born of the Bond come to life with colored eyes, and they are stronger, faster, and smarter than Aurelians born of a cryo-chamber. The last Emperor, who’d ruled before Raegan and Jasmine ascended the throne, had been one of the last to be born of the Bond.

In the rows of streets below us, Aurelians walk toward the Arena of the Gods like ants.

They stream towards the Arena to watch my judgement.

We touch down there, right beside the Coliseum. The Reavers land too, and open their doors – with triads of warrior Elites jumping out and circling me as I’m led from the transport ship.

The Elites form a protective wall of muscle and weapons around me as I’m escorted to the side entrance.

I trust them, and I’m reassured by their presence – but these Elites surrounding me don’t fill me with the same stable, protected feeling as I enjoy when I’m with my triad. These are not my bodyguards. They’re merely an escort.

I keep my chin up, but I’m nervous. Through the Bond, I sense that Marcel is calm and steady – but he’d face a firing squad with that same readiness. There’s no such thing as terror in my triad – except the terror of losing me.

But, right now, they have a quiet longing for life with me.

They got me out of the Toad Mothership.

They kept me safe.

Now, destiny will decide our fate.

I’m led up huge, stone stairs. I would have struggled with them before I was Bonded, because they’re built for the footsteps of seven-feet-tall Aurelians.

Now, though, I spring up them with the balance of a gymnast. I’m not even out of breath as I’m taken through another set of doors to a balcony.

Wind grabs at me.

I realize I’m high above the masses.

The seats of the Arena are filled. Elites are in the prime seats, but Aurelians are packed in everywhere else, wearing the white robes of tradition.

Drones fly all above, broadcasting the spectacle to the masses who can’t be here in person.

To my right is the massive, central balcony of Queen Jasmine herself, linked to mine by a stone walkway.

She doesn’t glance at me as I walk out – merely sitting imperiously on her throne.