Page 27 of Alien Prince’s Fake Bride (The Tentacle Throne #1)

- Umbra -

Mareliux’s hand goes limp in mine, his knees give in, and he sags to the ground.

Immediately Caret’ax sprints up the stairs like a charging tiger, catching him before he hits the hard steps. The base commander is right behind him, yelling a command that both Bellatriz and Vera cheerfully interpret as ‘medic’.

Sigise leaps the stairs in two mighty bounds and stops at the level below me, taking me by the arm and looking quickly around, a big gun in her other hand. “Step away from the prince, Princess Umbra. The medics will care for him.”

“ He’ll be fine,” Bellatriz says from her scabbard at Mareliux’s side. “ It’s not uncommon for men to faint during their wedding. I’ve seen it lots of times over the centuries. All his vital signs are normal. See, he’s awake again.”

“I’m fine,” Mareliux growls as he gets back on his feet, surrounded by medics and supported by Caret’ax. “Just a short blackout. Where’s my wife?”

The medics let me pass. “I’m here, my love,” I say, realizing that this is where I start to earn Earth’s safety. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” Mareliux says and takes my hand again. “Simply overwhelmed by the moment and the love.”

We’re surrounded by a dozen huge, armored soldiers, facing out from us and holding gigantic guns and even bigger shields. Nobody’s taking any chances here.

The whole group moves down from the podium and into my tent, which I assume is the most comfortable one. He sits down, the medics give him a final check, and then they all leave, except for Caret’ax, the young general, and Sigise.

“No shot was fired,” the general says. “It was not an assassination attempt.”

“Of course not,” Mareliux growls. “Nobody on Grefve would want me dead. Everyone here is a loyal soldier.”

Sigise glances at me. “Except for the quaestor.”

“He didn’t try anything,” Caret’ax says. “I was watching him. He seemed as surprised as anyone.”

Mareliux looks at the crystal ring on his finger. “Don’t worry. Nobody tried to kill me. Did you see the rings shine?”

“It was hard to miss,” the general says. “They were like stars in the day sky. Very bright.”

I study my own ring. There’s still light in it, or maybe it’s just the sunlight being reflected. “Should we try to not put them together? If it might make you unconscious?”

“Let’s try,” my not-husband says and puts his hand over mine.

The light inside the rings grows, but not to the blinding levels they did before.

“No great effect now,” he says. “But it’s not common for Syntrix rings to do that.”

I sense the general and Sigise exchanging glances.

Sigise clears her throat. “Sir, there is the old tradition about the Soulbound… their rings and their Syntrix…”

“Not you too, Colonel.” Mareliux groans.

“Let’s focus on the real and not the mythical.

Yes, some Khavgren couples claim to be Soulbound.

This was simply a malfunction of the rings.

They’re brand new and may have had some defect that has now been neutralized.

Now, the feast is waiting. Let’s go.” He takes my hand, and we stride slowly ou of the tent.

We walk past the lined up tents of the base to the middle one, which is as big as the big top of a circus, except square.

Inside there are endless rows of tables and chairs, decorated and made as festive as any army base can be.

Thousands of soldiers are standing to attention at their places, and the applause and cheer when Mareliux and I enter the tent is thunderous.

I half expect to see the tent fly away from the sheer noise.

The applause finally dies down as Mareliux and I settle into some ridiculously ornate chairs that they must have had stored somewhere.

They’re filled with cushions and thin sheets of fine fabric, and I kind of have to curl my legs under me, half-lying in the Khavgren way.

The soldiers have no such luxury and sit normally in their chairs.

Mareliux offers me a small, reassuring smile. I try to return it, but a knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. Thousands of faces blur beyond the edges of our makeshift head table, a sea of uniformed soldiers who have come to celebrate… our lie.

"Quite the turnout," Mareliux murmurs, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

"Understatement of the century.” My voice is barely a whisper. I fiddle with Sigise’s blue cape draped over my shoulders. The unfamiliar fabric suddenly feels alien to the touch.

I already know what to expect from the cutlery. They use long, narrow forks and pointy knives. Several of them are arranged around my oval plate in neat rows, sorted by size. Except one piece.

A sudden, sharp thought — that fork is crooked — flashes through my mind.

Instantly, a small, two-toothed silvery fork on the table in front of me twitches. Then, with a disconcerting clink , it flips over. A ripple of amusement goes through the nearest tables of soldiers, a few chuckles echoing in the vast tent. They must all be paying close attention to me.

"Did you see that?" a soldier exclaims, nudging his neighbor. "The bride's using Syntrix."

My cheeks flush. No, no, no. I focus on the centerpiece, a towering arrangement of alien flowers that must be fake, because surely nothing can grow on this planet. Stay still, flowers. Just stay still.

A delicate white bloom at the top of the arrangement begins to rotate slowly, then picks up speed, spinning like a tiny, dislodged propeller. A hush goes through the tent. Soldiers are turning around to see what the fuss is about.

Mareliux raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Beginner's luck," I mumble, trying to appear as bewildered as everyone else. I clench my hands in my lap, willing my thoughts to be still. Calm. Be calm.

The serving staff begins to circulate, presenting plates laden with food. My gaze falls on a particularly shiny platter of roasted meat being carried by a nervous-looking soldier. That looks heavy.

The platter wobbles precariously in the server’s hands, then, with a sudden lurch, it flies upwards.

The roasted meat and vegetables scatter across a nearby table, much to the shock and amusement of the soldiers seated there.

A collective gasp is followed by another wave of laughter, louder this time.

"The Syntrix is lively tonight," a grizzled sergeant booms, wiping gravy from his cheek.

Mareliux’s smile tightens. "Indeed." He places his hand gently over mine. "Are you all right?" he murmurs, his voice low.

"Fine," I lie, my heart hammering against my ribs. This is escalating far too quickly. I try to focus on Mareliux's touch. The solid warmth of his hand is a small anchor in the growing storm within me. Stop it. Just stop.

But my control is slipping. A particularly loud burst of laughter from a table of officers nearby snags my attention. One of them, an older officer with a shiny, extra ornate breastplate, is gesturing grandly, his cape billowing behind him even while sitting down. That cape looks ridiculous.

With a sharp snap , the officer’s cape detaches from his shoulders, fluttering to the ground like a discarded rag. The laughter dies down abruptly, replaced by a stunned silence. The man blinks, his hand instinctively going to his now-bare shoulders.

A nervous titter breaks the silence, followed by a hesitant chuckle, but the atmosphere has shifted. The humor is starting to curdle into something strained. This is too much.

My panic intensifies. I can feel the energy thrumming within me, a restless force I can't contain. My gaze flickers to the officers seated at this main table. One of them is carrying his sword on his back, the handle sticking up over his shoulder. That sword… it’s in the wrong place.

With a screech of protesting metal, the sword shoots out of its scabbard, flies across the table, and embeds itself point-first into the floral centerpiece, sending fake petals spraying everywhere.

A collective gasp ripples through the tent, the laughter now completely gone. Faces that were jovial moments before are now etched with confusion and a dawning unease. The officer whose cape has vanished stares at the impaled flowers with wide eyes.

"What in the name of Dages…?" someone mutters.

Mareliux’s hand tightens on mine, his expression now a mask of concern. "Umbra," he says, his voice urgent, "what's happening?"

"I… I don't know!" I whisper back. I can feel the force building within me, stronger than before, responding to my subconscious thoughts with terrifying immediacy. My gaze darts around the tent, my mind racing. A stack of plates on a nearby serving cart. Thats’s uneven.

The stack of plates topples over with a deafening crash, shattering into a hundred pieces. A wave of murmurs sweeps through the crowd, the earlier amusement replaced by palpable fear.

Soldiers are standing up, their eyes darting nervously around the tent, hands on sword. Caret’ax is placing himself right next to Mareliux and me, plainly not sure about what to do.

I desperately try to think of nothing at all, but it’s impossible.

Anything I look at starts to shake. I glance at Sigise by my side, and her sword shoots out of her scabbard and spins through the air before it lodges itself in a supporting pole.

All the cutlery beside my plate explodes outwards, forcing people to duck.

Mareliux catches a spoon in the air and gets to his feet, Syntrix ring glowing so much it looks like an LED light. “Let’s get out, my love. The Syntrix is too strong in here.”

He pulls me to my feet. “My friends, please continue the celebration while the princess and I sort this out.”