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“Flat. Forever. A dark age, royal triad. An age of darkness, that cannot be called an age, because ages end. There are infinite futures, your highnesses. I have seen them all, like a torrent of a raging river poured into the thimble of my mind. Our visions are murky because of our human limits. We only gain a few key insights. I have seen futures of war, of peace, but now, I see futures which are no future at all.”

“Continue,” rasps Doman.

“An empty line, forever. Where nothing moves, nothing breathes. A universe, devoid of consciousness.”

I look over at Aeris in horror, not for what she describes, but for the great risk she is taking. I have no idea if she had this vision, or if she’s using her reputation to make a gamble to influence the Aurelians, but either way, she’s just put her life at great risk.

What she is saying is exactly the rhetoric of the Fanatics, the sworn enemies of these three princes.

“I’ve heard this before. An age of darkness, that only Obisidan can prevent, if he sits on the Aurelian throne.

Is that what you will tell me next? Should we surrender to his rule?

” Doman’s arm flexes, and anger flashes in his blue eyes, matched by Titus.

Only Gallien is blank-faced, watching Aeris like a hawk.

Doman stands to his full height, an enormous beast of a man, and strides forward.

His boots thud heavily against the marble floor.

He stops, five feet in front of her, and Aeris’ lip trembles in fear.

I want to put myself in front of her, do my duty as Prime Minster of Pentaris, but to my shame, I’m frozen.

He’s just so massive, eight feet of pure muscle and strength, and as he gets nearer, I catch my first smell of him, bringing me back to the vision I had before, when I tasted his raw masculinity and power.

I should hate that stink of the beast. It is his nature, not the facade of royalty, not the golden crown on his head.

He turns his attention to me. He fixes his hot, angry gaze, his lips curling back in a snarl. “Did you tell her to say this?”

I shake my head. “No, your highness,” I say, reverting to his title.

“This age of darkness.” Gallien’s analytical, precise cuts through the tension of the moment. “You believe it will be caused by the Planet-Killers? Speak plainly now.”

“I don’t know,” says Aeris. “But we’re at risk. The lowest fly, the greatest Aurelian, they will both share the same fate. Please, I beg of you, do not continue.”

To my shock, she prostrates herself, kneeling on the marble ground, her forehead against the cold stone, bowing to the crown prince.

Doman stiffens. He had taken her words as a blow, as if she was trying to destabilize his rule, and now, the highest-ranking representative of the most important planet in our sector is on her knees in front of him, bowing to him, begging him without shame.

She gives up all her dignity to make him listen.

Doman clears his throat. He’s used to people treating him with great respect, but he wasn’t expecting this.

“Thank you for your council, Aeris of Etherion. We would now speak to the Prime Minister alone. Guards, clear the room,” he commands, waving his hand imperiously. I hear the shuffle of Aurelian triads stomping out of the throne room.

Aeris, with great dignity and grace, slowly raises her head and stands. I see no shame in her eyes, despite prostrating herself in front of the alien, and her dress shimmers and flows as she glides out of the throne room.

I am left alone, standing in front of the towering Aurelian princes.

Doman is five feet away from me, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him, this beast of a warrior, the flowing robes unable to hide his heavily muscled physique.

His blue eyes contrast beautifully against his marble, stony skin, a statue come to life.

He breathes in, his nostrils flaring, tasting me. “I smell by your shock you were not expecting that demonstration, either.”

I can’t let myself be laid bare. He has the upper hand, able to smell my shifting moods, gauge my reactions not only by my facial expressions and words, but my emotions alone.

One hand would be all he would need, to pin me down. One finger. He’s massive—and it would take only a moment to link our minds, to force the Bond upon me. That’s my deepest fear. To have my mind molded to his, to be turned into a shell of myself. It chills my emotions, turning me to stone.

“No, Prince Doman.”

“Just Doman.” There’s no mockery in his tone now. He’s serious, no longer playing games with me, watching me as a foe, and I see that his disrespect was only to put me off guard, to make me speak without thought.

It worked—I tried to contain myself, but I spoke too much. He is at home with statecraft.

“The people of Etherion do not share their visions often.” I glance to his battle-brothers, sitting on their huge thrones. “With crowns and thrones, I would have thought you would insist on being called ‘prince,’ or ‘your highness.’ Was it quite necessary to have the meeting here?”

Doman laughs, the seriousness gone, as we go back to the dance of statecraft. “You hate the trappings of monarchy. But I have studied human history. Many kings and queen rule less than a decade—yet the democratic terms on Pentaris are a full twenty years.”

“We are elected. The long terms are necessary, when dealing with those who think in eons. The great flaw of democracy is that elected parties care only for re-election, not building the future. Pentaris has remained stable for thousands of years under our systems.”

“And you would not wish for it to fall under your term. That would be a poor legacy.”

“I do not care a whit for legacy. I did not take this position for myself. I would rather be in the great forests of Virelia. I was born into a family of wardens, but I knew the only way to truly protect my planet was to seek election. I accepted the position of Prime Minister because no one else would rise to the task, not because I wanted it.”

There’s a glint in Doman’s eyes. I regret my words instantly, but I can’t place why. I let something slip that he latched onto, and I don’t know what it is yet.

The calculations are happening, that quick, unfocused look in his eyes that tells me he is in urgent telepathic conversation with his triad.

“You sought governance with the administration to protect Virelia, and yet, you are meant to throw away all ties to your planet once elected.”

“I protect Virelia by protecting Pentaris.”

“Then protect all five planets by granting us safe passage. Every delay costs us lives. Your sector has great strategic value. We are willing to compensate you generously. Food, medicine, technology. The end of all royalty payments for Aurelian technology you have licensed—this is no small matter, and this will be permanent.”

I raise my eyebrows, taken aback, unable to conceal my surprise. It’s a strange negotiation. I’m used to the initial offer being so low it is insulting, especially when dealing with the cunning merchants of Terosa.

Our own scientists are good, but we’ve used Aurelian innovation, licensing it in trade agreements which ironically cost us near the ten percent protection tax we could have paid if we gave up sovereignty.

It’s too good an offer. It makes me suspicious he has other aims, and yet, it is a fair one considering the state of the war. Obsidian is being pushed back. Planets lost to his forces are being retaken by combined armies of Aurelians and Mark-10 cyborgs.

We are the last piece in ending this war quickly, instead of it dragging out for centuries.

The other two of his triad stay back, on their marble thrones. They do not wish to loom over me. There is already the massive imbalance of being alone in front of the titan.

“You ask me to let Aurelian troops in our borders. This has never been done, in all the histories of my people. You ask me to give up our neutrality. You ask me to declare war. Because that is what this will be—just as if we let the Fanatics go through our territories, you would view us as allied with them.”

“Yes. I did not come here with the cudgel. I did not threaten you. This is a mutually beneficial agreement. We are pushing the Fanatics back. We will end this war, and once the Fanatics are defeated, you will keep the benefits and we will never trespass upon your lands again. The term will be three years, or the end of the war, and any non-military innovation during the term will be granted to your people in perpetuity, without royalty.”

I run the votes in my mind. Terosa and Magnar will push to accept. The other three are nebulous. I’ll influence the Administrators to the best of my ability, but with such an enticing deal, it will take cunning to deny it.

I will make them see the cold, hard truth. That the Aurelian Empire weakened is our benefit. That losing our sovereignty, even for a three-year period, is a mistake we can never take back. We cannot trust an Empire that already split into a civil war.

There is no guarantee that they will not throw away their honor, turning against us once they have conquered the Fanatics, and make their intrusion permanent.

The monarchy is only as stable as a single person—and at any moment, a new, hungrier, young Aurelian could fight to claim the throne and wield it against us.

I consider. “The offer is a fair one. And I would accept… but I cannot. Your Planet-Killers are too vulnerable and our people proud. A faction of hardliners on Frosthold, a cell of nationalists working alone could disregard the deal and destroy what you have.”

I will never surrender our autonomy. I just have to make Doman see that it is in his best interest to move his troops around our borders, despite the increase in travel times to the front, despite the cost to his war effort.