Page 113

EPILOGUE: TEN MONTHS LATER

“ B ack off!” barks out Cal, then looks shocked at the words that spilled from his mouth, and bows his head, apologizing to the warden who had the misfortune to come within ten feet of June.

“I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me,” he says, as the warden puts his hands up amicably, but takes another route, disappearing into the forest.

The beautiful, ethereal Aurelian’s delicate features have hardened.

He’s got a new, rough, blond beard that June has tried many times to get him to shave off—it hides his perfect jaw, she says—but he can’t be swayed.

He’s in a silk suit, with finely embroidered vine patterns on his sleeve.

He’s been scouted for a dozen modeling contracts, but he wears only June’s work.

The vine patterns, brilliant green, match the new venomous tint of his veins.

“Calm, big guy, calm,” says June softly, but I know her well. She’s fighting back a beaming smile. She’s always loved men fighting over her, and Cal’s become rather more... possessive.

Over the last months, I spent teary nights video-calling my sister from the palace on Colossus. She and the Aurelian prince became absolutely obsessed with each other. He stayed on Virelia instead of returning to Colossus. My sister has that effect on men.

What I wasn’t expecting was Cal’s effect on her. I’d seen men lose their minds, for her. I never saw her become just as crazed in return.

But there is no tragedy like the love between an Aurelian and a woman who is not her Mate. The pain intensified their obsession with each other, knowing that each moment was precious.

Cal was the first man she said she truly loved, and she was willing to endure the tragedy of growing old while he remained young.

That wasn’t what terrified her. Her calls became more frantic. Cal was growing more and more distant towards her, and thought he was going to end things.

Cal went deep into the books, ancient histories, and without asking her permission, he enacted an ancient ritual from the old times.

Apparently, long, long ago, there were societies of Aurelians who rejected the Bond, and instead used a method of tattooing themselves with the venom of the Scorp.

Trace amounts of that potent poison turns an Aurelian into a beastlier version of themselves. A version that is no longer infertile.

Cal disappeared for a week, and when he came back, he had blood tinted green.

Most Aurelians don’t survive the sting of a Scorp, but he must have found the perfect dilution in his ancient texts to survive it.

That’s just the way June is. Within a week or two—sometimes just a couple days—she can have a man utterly obsessed with her.

In this case, willing to risk his life to taint his blood for the chance a happy future with her, for it seems the extended life of a human wedded to an Aurelian comes not just from the Bond but from fertility.

This is the first time I’ve seen her equally obsessed with a man. It’s so good to be back on Virelia after ten long months governing, and in my weeks here, when I come to visit June, she’s often simply watching him for hours while he reads. It’s hard to blame her. The man is gorgeous.

“How the quiet ones change,” chuckles Bruton, walking with us through the forest. He’s gained another thirty or forty pounds in peacetime.

It suits him. At least ten of those pounds are in the black beard that grows down to his heavy belly.

Evelyn, on the other hand, is thin as ever, and walks happily at his side, hand in hand with the leader, as all of us, happily stuffed after another feast at my parents’ house, take an evening stroll through the quiet freshness of the forest.

Doman is at my side, and I walk a little slower now. Titus and Gallien are with the other two of Evelyn’s triad, knocking their heads together on strategy and governance while the rest of us take a well-earned break.

Doman’s aura is more relaxed on Virelia.

We took a trip here to unwind, and with my due date coming soon—Aurelian pregnancies last longer than the nine-month standard for humans—we decided to make a trip here, barring any crisis that needs to be put out on Colossus.

I wish we could have visited more often.

The decree against Orb-Shifting means we must travel here conventionally, and though Doman can rule from the helm of his warship, he prefers to be in the epicenter of the Aurelian Empire, with his finger on the pulse.

Flickers above are the constant swarm of Reavers that form a guard over the home. The Aurelians don’t blend into the forests as well as wardens, and silent triads patrol along with the Virelians who form my honor guard.

Virelia, with its abundant nature, is an escape from the pressures of rule.

The formerly sterile, cold planning of the capital city on Colossus has been turned into chaos.

Aurelian triads seem to be returning weekly with their Fated Mates, and other triads leave, searching out their women, coming back empty-handed then venturing forth once again when they get another leave from service.

The traditional feasts and parties held every time a triad’s eyes turn from slate grey to color have become a regular occurrence, and what used to be a rare sight, pregnant women on Colossus, now feels normal.

For me, I’m still getting used to it. I groan, running my hands over my swollen belly.

June’s taken to affectionally calling me her “big beluga,” but there’s a thread of envy in it.

She and Cal certainly haven’t lacked trying.

My parents ended up buying her a new home, and I don’t blame them—there's no sleep to be had if you’re anywhere near to her and Cal.

The two of them will be wed this weekend, in a massive ceremony that will dwarf mine, and I’ve got a feeling June pushed for it because I was impregnated on my wedding night, and she hopes that lightning will strike twice.

All she can talk about is my baby, and she desperately wants our kids to grow up together.

Deep down, I know they will. I’m sure her future will have a thousand fights over whether to send her kid to Colossus for Academy or enter warden training on Virelia, but Cal’s a big boy, and I know he can handle her.

Doman can feel my pace slowing. He pauses, and I nod to him, and he gently lifts me up.

I might have gained weight—most of it in my breasts and ludicrously swollen belly—but I’ll always be light as a feather to him.

I sigh. It’s good to be off my swollen feet. I glance over at June, feeling at ease.

It had been my darkest worry. The thought of staying young while June aged put a shadow on my bliss.

It’s a pale imitation of the Bond for her—she doesn’t get to feel his thoughts, or deal with the mental changes, but her life will be extended to match his.

Perhaps not to the thousands of years I have to look forward to, but many, many centuries at least. The old texts are spotty on the details.

Scorp-Blooded Aurelians keep to themselves.

June kisses Cal goodnight. He insists on walking her up to the door of their treetop home, and kisses her again, before coming down with us.

He casts a last longing look to their simple home, but governance awaits.

While Virelia is an escape from the chaos of Colossus, there’s no real way to fully detach from the pressures of rule.

Most nights here, the triads get into deep discussions in our forest home, poring over star-maps, planning their next moves.

A little farther into the forest and Doman walks me up the curved wooden staircase that wraps around the thick trunk of the tree we made our home in.

It’s Virelian architecture, sized up for my men so Doman doesn’t have to duck his head into the entryway.

I yawn hugely as he sets me down, and we kick off our shoes.

“I’m going to bed,” I say, blearily. Gallien, sensing me coming, walks out of the command center, or as June calls it “the eagle’s nest,” the separate, wooden oval structure which is attached to our main home by a covered pathway.

I run my hand over the new wood of our walls, looking around our home.

It’s already cluttered. There were so many housewarming gifts, wedding presents, and things from my childhood home that we had to donate three things for every one we kept.

Gallien puts his hand around my waist protectively, escorting me up the stairs to the main bedroom.

Three massive beds fill the room. They take turns being the one to sleep next to me, though the honor is dubious, considering how often I get up to pee.

I clamber gratefully into bed, pulling the covers up, and Gallien sits at the base silently, softly massaging my feet.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says, after a few minutes, and returns with a mug full of warm water.

“Go on, they are waiting for you,” I say blearily. He gives me a kiss on the forehead and leaves, his footsteps soft on the stairs.

“It’s going to be a hard road.” Bruton’s voice.

I could tune them out. Before the Bond enhanced my senses, they would have only been a muffled mumble.

Now, I can hear each word clearly. As tired as I am from the huge meal, my parents constantly stuffing me, I can’t quite relax, not yet.

They might need my input. “Branded Fanatics slinking away into Wild Space, the hardest of them leading dozens of triads. It’s an age of warlords now. ”

“This is because of the restriction on Orb-Shifting,” says Cal, his constant source of complaining.

“I’ve said my analysis before. I’ll say it again.

The common thread of the prophecies was that Obsidian must take the throne.

Why? It’s obvious. His only ability is to navigate through the Rift without alerting the. .. entities.”