Page 43 of Alien Prince’s Fake Bride (The Tentacle Throne #1)

I look up at Mareliux.

“Go,” he says and gives me a little push.

I stumble a step, then walk up to the throne.

I have to crane my neck to look up at the Emperor — the seat part of the throne is mounted about three feet up from the podium.

A tentacle from the Throne descends above me, and for a moment I fear that its gong to curl around me.

But it stops just short of touching my head.

I can sense the Syntric probe it sends, searching and judging.

The Emperor looks down on me with eyes that have no color that I can see, apart from a watery gray.

“I hear you have use of the Syntrix, but it is out of control,” he says. “We expect nothing else of a barbarian from an undiscovered planet. Where did you marry Prince Mareliux?”

“We were married on Grefve, Your Magnificence,” I state, keeping my voice steady.

The whole place is meant to make everyone feel small and exposed, and it works.

If the Emperor weren’t so obviously weak and sick, I would feel even less confident.

“At the military camp there. Your Twenty-Ninth Legion.”

Bellatriz times her simultaneous translation well, so that the final echo in the hall is from my voice, not hers.

“How accurate is this translation?” Quaestor Preniat asks from behind me.

“It’s a travesty to hear a barbarian language spoken in this Imperial sacred hall, right next to the Tentacle Throne, the very heart of the Empire!

And we can’t know what’s really being said.

What if she is uttering the most horrible heresies or curses or spells? ”

“Is it accurate, Bellatriz?” the Emperor asks. “Or do you still find me unworthy of your service?”

“ It is accurate, Your Magnificence,” Bellatriz chirps loudly from Mareliux’s belt.

“ I am making the best translation I know how. And I never found you unworthy of me, sire. But I had a different owner when you took the Throne, and I couldn’t abandon her, despite your request that I find a home by your side instead of hers. ”

“Fair enough,” the Emperor says. “Baroness Verenit fought well for the Empire with you in her hand. And I don’t mind hearing Umbra’s real language in these halls. Soon she will speak any language she wants in this whole palace. Well, perhaps she will. How did you meet my stepson, Umbra?”

This is the one thing Mareliux and I have agreed on. We want to stick close to the truth.

“Magnificence,” I begin, “Prince Mareliux was patrolling close to my planet. I was sent to investigate and if possible to make contact with his ship. It was an alien ship to us, Magnificence. We had never seen a spaceship like that before. I was sent as an ambassador, and Prince Mareliux received me most courteously. I admit I fell for him before I knew he was a prince.”

“A story as old as the Empire itself,” the Emperor says with infinite dryness. “Is it true, Bellatriz?”

“ I can confirm that Prince Mareliux did refer to Umbra as an ambassador, several times,” the sword responds. “ I can’t confirm at which point Umbra fell for him. I am an AI, and organic emotions are incomprehensible to me. Especially the emotions of aliens.”

“If I may, Magnificence,” the Empress breaks in, her voice shrill. “Before we risk wasting your time with nonsense, surely there must be limits to who can become an empress of the Khavgren Empire? Surely no alien can ever become empress? Quaestor Preniat, what does the law state?”

“Regrettably, Your Magnificences,” Preniat begins, “the law does not mention aliens marrying into the Imperial family, one way or the other. It has simply not crossed anyone’s mind before that a prince of the Empire would ever so much as consider marrying a barbarian, much less an alien barbarian who is new to the Empire and doesn’t even speak the language.

So there is no law against it. Perhaps the lawmakers of old thought common sense should prevail in any completely unprecedented case such as this.

Common sense, of course, being that the Khavgren Empire must remain Khavgren, and not with the risk of some future emperor being half alien, half barbarian. ”

“Does the law state what happens when the emperor loses the use of the Syntrix?” Prince Nerox asks. “I’m just curious.”

Everyone ignores him.

“That is obviously common sense,” the Empress says. “But Prince Mareliux has now married an alien, and thus made himself an impossible candidate for emperor.”

“Quaestor Preniat,” Mareliux says, “you who are such a scholar of the law. In a case where no law exists, and no precedence, who decides what is to be done?”

“Well, the Emperor, of course,” the quaestor says. “Though he may delegate it to the Confidential Council, or the Committee of Ducal Nobles, or the Quaestor Guild, for example.”

“Can he delegate it to a prince?” Mareliux asks.

“The Emperor can delegate it to whomever he decides,” the quaestor says tightly. “Delegating it to a prince who is a party to the issue in question would seem ill-advised.” He must have suspected what Mareliux had in mind.

“But the Emperor can decide it himself, of course?”

“Of course. Though this is a complicated issue, with many angles that must be examined?—”

“What does the Emperor decide?” Mareliux asks, his deep voice again echoing from the distant walls.

“Here is Ambassador Umbra, married to me! Shall she be a princess, as is customary? Shall I be the next emperor? Shall Umbra be the next empress? Or shall loyalty and obedience and the ancient, established rules of succession not be rewarded? Shall we let the faceless, gray bureaucrats decide this most grave of questions? Your Magnificence, the Empire needs an answer!”

The Empress whispers something to the Emperor, but the Emperor waves her tiredly away like an annoying fly.

“We have known for some days that Mareliux has married an alien. If we did not approve, we would have said so. Umbra of Earth, do you understand the ways of the Khavgren Empire? Do you vow to keep to our ways, if you were to become empress? Do you vow to teach any of your offspring the Khavgren ways, to not turn the Empire into some kind of alien outpost? Do you vow these things, in the presence of the Emperor, on pain of death if your vow should be broken?”

The room goes quiet. The Emperor has just told me that I better be a perfect Khavgren, or they will kill me.

Well, I can’t suddenly say ‘oh, sorry, there’s been a mistake, I never knew I would have to become like you to be empress. Nobody told me that marrying an Imperial prince would mean that things were expected of me’. But damn it, this is becoming dead serious.

"I agree that I don't really get all the Khavgren traditions and ways, not like a Khavgren woman would," I start, tripping over my own words.

"Some of it is completely new to me. And yeah, I know not speaking your language might seem like I'm being rude, but it's not on purpose.

I'll pick it up, fast. And okay, the Khavgren Empire, it should stay Khavgren.

I promise to keep it that way. As much as I can, anyway. Umm. Yeah."

My clumsy words hang in the air, and even in Khavgrese they sound so weak it makes me cringe. There’s a reason I’m a Space Force officer and not a diplomat. I couldn’t convince a rock to roll downhill.

The Empress gives me an icy smile, clearly satisfied that I’ve sabotaged my chances.

“We like this ambassador,” the Emperor finally chuckles.

“She speaks with honesty. And we appreciate that she has just saved the prince’s life in a clear sign of love.

If only all wives at court were as eager to protect their husband’s life, instead of trying to take it!

Perhaps this is exactly what is needed in this palace. Some new blood?—”

He starts to cough, with dry heaves that rack his skinny body for a while. The Empress stands stiffly by his side until the bout subsides. I’m not sure what to do. Why is nobody coming to help him?

“Very well,” the Emperor finally continues, voice wheezy and eyes red. “As is customary on these occasions, we formally confer upon you, Ambassador Umbra, the title of Imperial Princess. It comes with no claim on land or authority.”

“Magnificence,” Preniat creaks surprisingly loudly, “is this a provisional creation?”

“What?” The Emperor says, seeming confused. “Oh, I suppose it should be. This is a provisional creation. Princess Umbra, we sincerely hope that you will be able to conceive with the Prince.”

The Empress’s face has gone stiff. This was not what she wanted.

“Thank you, Magnificence,” I say as Mareliux comes up beside me and takes my hand.

“Thank you,” he echoes. “We are grateful for the immense honor you have shown us both, Magnificence.” He takes my hand, and we back off from the throne. The giant tentacles wave over our heads.

“Oh, Mareliux. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” the Emperor wheezes.

“You bring home an alien? Do not be fooled by my naturally magnanimous ways: I’m not enamored.

It looks too much like a ploy, like subterfuge, like having your position made into a mockery.

This had better be neither, or I will come down on you with all my might.

Granted my might is not what it used to be, but I think you will find it sufficient to make you regret any mischief.

Be gone with you. Princess Umbra, I suspect you may be too good for this prince.

He’s not always what he seems. But you, remarkably, appear to be.

One of you must change, I fear. I suspect it is you who must learn to be devious. ”

I notice he’s no longer using the royal ‘we’. I hope that’s a good sign.

We both bow again. Then we turn and walk out of the room along with the quaestor and Prince Nerox. Behind us the throne room echoes with the Emperor’s wheezing cough. When the big doors bang shut behind us, it’s still going on.

Quaestor Preniat turns. “His Imperial Magnificence is right, of course. This bears all the hallmarks of a ploy?—”

“Yes, thank you, Preniat,” Mareliux snaps. “You may go.”