Page 26 of Alien Prince’s Fake Bride (The Tentacle Throne #1)

- Mareliux -

The ceremony takes place outside. All the soldiers of the legion are lined up, wearing their gala uniforms and not their armor. The legion has erected a small altar to all the gods, and the Pontifex is standing there in his black robes and dark green hat.

Far in the background, the Gladiux towers high above the base, dark and warlike.

It’s a cool day, so I have put on a cape that hangs down my back. It doesn’t help much, but the soldiers expect to see me in my usual clothing, with my torso bare like the warrior princes from the myths. And it is a comfortable attire.

At the exact moment, Colonel Grast comes out of Umbra’s tent and holds the flap open so Umbra can walk out without bending her neck. The tent is placed so that all she has to do is walk straight ahead, between the lined up soldiers, all the way to the platform with the altar.

She looks remarkable. The green is unusual for a bride, but it makes it easy to admire her curves. She’s wearing a blue officer’s cape across her shoulders, and the shiny metal of her boots glints in the sun as she approaches.

She looks small and innocent as she makes her way between my big legionnaires. I know what Prab meant — I also have trouble taking my eyes off her. There’s something about her that just makes me want to look.

To my annoyance, I feel my manhood swelling at the sight of her. I never knew anyone to make me lose control like she does.

At the foot of the podium, the colonel’s place is taken by General Sporiux. He walks her the final steps up to me.

Umbra gives me a coy little smile. I smile back, having to remind myself that this is a fake wedding. Right now, I’m as nervous as if it were real.

The general walks back down to ground level.

“Not carrying a gun after all?” I whisper, and Bellatriz whispers the translation.

“I think your sword is weapon enough for both of us,” Umbra whispers back.

The Pontifex begins the ceremony, talking about the gods and the holy union and so on.

I never took that stuff too seriously — the world seems mostly random to me, not governed by twenty gods, each with their area of responsibility.

But for an occasion like this, it’s fine to invoke their protection. I need all the help I can get.

“Now I ask you,” the Pontifex goes on, “are you Ambassador Umbra Hadley of Earth, Lieutenant of Space Force?”

“I am,” Umbra says loudly.

He turns to me. “And are you Crown Prince Mareliux casHuriak, Supreme Sky Marshal and Governor of all Demirt Sector?”

“I am,” I confirm, thankful he didn’t reel off all my titles and honors, but limited himself to some of the most important ones.

“Then I bid you both step up, so that you can be joined in matrimony.”

We both ascend the second to last step to the top of the podium. It’s a tall step, made for Khavgrens and not for Earthlings, and I’m tempted to take Umbra’s hand to help. But she manages just fine on her own.

General Sporiux and Colonel Grast climb to the step where we just stood and hand over the Syntrix rings.

“May your Syntrix intertwine and strengthen the bond,” the Pontifex says as the two officers calmly go back down to the foot of the stairs.

Umbra reaches her left hand out to me. I gently take it and slide the crystal ring onto her finger.

Then she does the same to me. Both rings fit perfectly, and I’m not surprised. Grast and Prab are thorough.

“You two will now make your vows,” the Pontifex goes on. “Prince Mareliux.”

I turn so I can look Umbra in the eyes. “My flow entwines with yours,” I recite the phrase that Prab made me learn. “My honor guards yours. For the cause, and for the joining."

“So stated to the gods and to all men,” the Pontifex chants. “Ambassador Umbra.”

“My Syntrix binds with yours,” Umbra says with her bright voice, looking seriously up at me with clear eyes. “My loyalty stands with yours. For all duties, and for what may come.”

It takes me a heartbeat to realize that she wasn’t being translated. She said it in perfect Khavgrese! My jaw hangs open for a short moment before I catch myself. For a split moment I’m fighting moved tears that she’d go to that trouble. But this is a fake wedding. She’s simply playing her part.

“May your flows intertwine and strengthen the bond,” the Pontifex declares. “You may now step all the way up, for the final confirmation.”

We climb the final step to the top of the podium.

The Pontifex takes first my hand, then Umbra’s. “Let the joining of hands symbolize the intertwining of your paths, your lives, and your Syntrix.”

He gently puts them together, Umbra’s little hand on top of mine.

He holds them there. “May the warmth of your touch reflect the growing warmth in your bond. By the laws of Khav, the eternal gods, and the everlasting Syntrix, I declare you joined.”

He turns us so we’re facing the crowd, still holding hands. As is tradition, we lift our joined hands with the Syntrix rings on them.

A strange warmth blooms between our connected palms, a subtle thrumming that resonates up my arm. Then the rings start to shine.

It’s a faint shimmer within the crystal of my ring, mirroring the soft glow emanating from Umbra’s. But it intensifies fast, a sudden surge of energy. It isn't just light. It feels like feeling itself. It’s the very fundament of the universe approving of our union.

Umbra’s flow, so distinct, so other , isn't just beside mine anymore. It’s weaving into it, a vibrant, unexpected current merging with my own familiar resonance. The sensation is overwhelming. A cascade of raw, untamed energy floods my senses.

A murmur goes through the crowd of soldiers as the light from our rings outshines the sun.

“Umbra…” I manage.

Then the world turns around me, the edges of my vision blurs, and the hum in my arm becomes a deafening roar until there’s only the rushing darkness.