Page 42 of Alien Prince’s Fake Bride (The Tentacle Throne #1)
- Umbra -
“I think they would hate me anyway,” I whisper back.
Mareliux looks at me with concern that I think is genuine. “Do you need a break?”
I take a deep breath. I’m not as shaken as I’m acting — it all happened so fast, and the threat was gone in a split second.
It helps that I resolved the situation, although it happened all by itself.
I saw the blade, there was a wave of Syntrix, and the knife was yanked from the man’s hand.
It even gave me a bit of a thrill to have it succeed.
I’m feeling exhausted with that effort, but it’s a good exhaustion, like after a long workout. “I’m fine. So this will happen a lot?”
“Not inside the Emperor’s part of the palace,” Mareliux says, looking at the crowd of security people around us, including some tall, purple guards that stand out by their height.
“That is, if these people can do their job properly!” He raises his voice, clearly meaning for them all to hear his disapproving tone.
Two figures in rich purple togas stand a respectful distance away. Their multiple tentacles, some a deep violet and others shot through with shimmering gold, twitch with subtle curiosity as they await our approach. Their expressions convey a practiced air of dignified patience.
Two other land transports are pulling in and stopping behind ours. The Empress, the quaestor, and the younger Prince Nerox step out of them, also surrounded by security.
I take them in as they approach. Empress Juriniel walks first, moving stiffly, a thin and tall woman in several layers of black robes, the outer one accented by a thread of bright purple.
She must be in her fifties, and her gaze has an intensity that’s much colder than Mareliux’s.
Her features are calculating, the lines around her mouth hard.
Her tendrils are short and kept close to her head, the top of her scalp covered by a white hat with two long ribbons that hang down her front in playful curls.
They break up the nun-like severity, but I’m not tricked for a moment. That woman is dangerous.
Right behind her comes Quaestor Preniat, his pale robes much the same as the ones he wore on Grefve. His walk is slow and cumbersome, but I suspect he’s making himself look more decrepit than he really is.
Prince Nerox wears blindingly white pants and a sword in his belt.
Where Mareliux prefers a bare upper body, the younger brother wears a shimmery black vest with three shiny buttons, only the upper one buttoned.
Along with the cape, it gives him a careless appearance, but there is also something dashing about him, something pirate-like.
I see the family resemblance with Mareliux, but this prince has a sly smile on his face and his turquoise tendrils are waving and undulating in a vaguely suggestive manner.
His eyes are focused on me, looking me up and down.
“We had the most terrible news,” the Empress says as she approaches. “Thank the gods you are well, Mareliux!”
The news isn’t that bad, I think to myself. Or does she mean it’s terrible that he survived?
“Princess Umbra saved my life,” Mareliux says and pulls me closer. “If she hadn’t, the assassin would have succeeded.”
“Such a horrible lapse by Imperial Security,” Preniat creaks. “And the Calanian Guards. Heads will roll when the Emperor hears about this, believe me.”
“Such a horrible lapse that they missed him,” Prince Nerox says with a merry grin. “Is that what you mean, Quaestor?”
“But… I never… how can you… that’s not at all what I mean!” the quaestor splutters in outrage.
“A lapse that they missed the assassin,” the young prince adds smoothly, “when they vetted the lackeys and drivers. But that was not what you meant, Quaestor? You don’t find that regrettable?”
“Now… I…” the quaestor says weakly, having been totally outmatched by the prince. “Of course that was regrettable. A horrible lapse, as I said.”
Prince Nerox looks at me and tilts his head to the side. “How do you like our planet so far, Umbra? Not as boring as your own desolate wasteland? Is it true that your planet doesn’t have a written language and you had never seen clothes before you met Mareliux?”
Mareliux’s eyes shoot fire. “Future Empress Umbra has just saved your brother’s life, mindless imp! I will slice you in half if you insult her again!”
The younger prince lifts his hands, clearly not scared. “But it wasn’t meant as an insult! I only repeat things I’ve heard. And I notice that my innocent question has gone unanswered.”
“It’s all true!” I exclaim sincerely, eyes wide, embracing my airhead role. “We never wear clothes on Earth. This is very uncomfortable!” I pinch the fabric of my dress. “But what is a ‘language’?”
The young prince gives me a lopsided smile. “I see.”
Holding his gaze for a moment, I think he gets the message in my exaggeratedly silly response: Is that all you got, asshole?
“Now that we’ve ascertained that Prince Mareliux and Princess Umbra are indeed unharmed, we shouldn’t let the Emperor wait,” the Empress says. “He is looking forward to this.”
The officials lead us through a double door that could accommodate a big sailing ship.
I never got a good look at the palace from outside. There were arches and galleries and sculptures and fountains, but I have no idea of its shape. But judging from the inside, it must be a very impressive palace indeed.
The air itself hums with a soft, distant music. Towering columns of polished basalt-like rock stretch towards a vaulted ceiling that disappears into a swirling tapestry of light and shadow, shifting and reforming in intricate patterns.
The floor beneath my feet is a seamless expanse of a material that feels like warm stone.
Its surface is subtly textured with flowing designs that pulse with a faint inner radiance.
Light spills from unseen sources, bathing the vast halls in a soft, ethereal glow that highlights the fine carvings on the walls.
The scale of the place is breathtaking, with corridors branching off into seemingly endless depths.
They’re adorned with sculptures crafted from materials that shimmer and resonate with otherworldly beauty.
It’s a space that feels both ancient and advanced, with both artistry and technology on a scale I hadn’t quite imagined from the insides of the Gladiux or the base on Grefve.
But now I absolutely get why Mareliux would want to save a civilization that can make this .
We’re led through big halls and wide corridors that I suspect were made for this exact purpose: to awe the visitors. And it does make me feel small and insignificant. The way is guarded by the same purple-clad soldiers, probably some elite guard company.
Finally we stand in front of tall, double doors. There is great tension in here, telling me that were close to a place of great power. Tall guards open the doors, and my ring glows brightly.
The throne room is suitably vast. I can’t see the ceiling above me — the walls stretch upwards among streams of light and hanging banners and flags until they vanish in the distance. Thousands of flickering torches line the walls and fill cast iron stands placed at even intervals around the room.
I swallow in a dry throat. The Syntric power is so thick I could cut it with a knife. It’s every bit as strong as the electric charge in the deadly turret with the lightning in the Gladiux , except this feels even more deadly despite not being electricity at all.
The room is empty, except for the low stone podium right in the middle. On the podium stands a giant sculpture.
It’s a writhing expanse of countless silvery tentacles, round and moving, easily the size of three buses stacked on top of each other.
The long tentacles coil and uncoil, writhe and wave in a silent, mesmerizing dance.
It’s a living sculpture of fluid motion that makes me wonder if this is a work of art or some kind of terrifying living being.
Then my eyes adjust, and I spot a seating position nestled at the base of this immense, pulsating mass. And within it, a figure so still he almost blends into the intricate silverwork.
Yeah, that’s the Emperor on the Tentacle Throne.
My skin creeps, and I have a strong urge to keep my distance to the thing, but Mareliux leads me confidently across the floor towards the throne.
“Hail Craxallo Imperator!” he says loudly as we come to a stop, only a few feet from the throne. His deep voice echoes from the walls.
The Throne towers over us, and one of the tentacles bends down to circle the air over my head before it withdraws. “Crown Prince Mareliux and Ambassador Umbra of Earth greet Your Imperial Magnificence!”
Mareliux bows shallowly, and I do the same, wishing someone had prepared me for this. There’s only one thing we’ve prepared, and I hope I get it right.
The Emperor is a Khavgren male. He’s wearing all white, except for a purple sash that goes across his chest. His tentacles are short and pale, his face lined and heavy-looking, the skin sagging off his chin. He’s skinny and almost emaciated.
The Empress marches straight past us and climbs two steps to the Emperor’s side. There’s only a seat for one, so she stands behind him, looking haughty with her sharp chin lifted.
“Greetings, stepson Mareliux,” the Emperor creaks. His voice is being amplified, but even so, it sounds airy and weak. “I didn’t expect to see you here for a long time, if ever.”
“I married Umbra as soon as I could,” Mareliux says calmly. “Then I rushed to get here and show her to Your Magnificence.”
“You rushed to get here,” the Emperor echoes thoughtfully.
“Not your strongest characteristic, as I recall. You do prefer to stay at the very edges of the Empire, hoping I will forget you until I no longer exist in this realm. But I suppose someone has to keep us safe from the alien intruders. And here is one now, in the very heart of the Empire. Come here.” He looks at me with crusty eyes.