Page 18

PRINCE DOMAN

“ D eploy drones, I need vision,” I state, as the soot coats the viewport of my warship. Through the thick smog, I can see the violence of the planet, always in flux, a violent land that forged a strong people.

“Deploying,” states one of my technicians, and I navigate the Imperator through the heavy smoke of Magnar.

A volcano spurts, a pent-up geyser of fire, and I plot the course down to the huge landing field on the main tectonic plate of the surface.

I can’t stop myself from taking the controls of the warship when landing on a new planet, and I’ve piloted us through hails of anti-air batteries and missiles.

The raging planet of Magnar is nothing compared to the chaos of a battlefield.

On the landing pad, the greeting party waits, squat and clad in metallic suits that protect them against the elements. As we approach, all but one of them step back, putting distance between them and my ship, while the leader of the party stays shock still, trusting my abilities.

“Touching down,” I state, and we land gently, without even the slightest shudder, taking my behemoth warship down like she’s a nimble Reaver.

I get up from the bridge, the staff of my warship trying to keep focused on their displays, but some have the same rueful grins when I perform a perfect maneuver, unable to hide their pride.

I may not throw myself in the Rift like my younger brother Bruton did, but I will not lead from the back.

There’s not a man on the bridge who could have landed a full warship feather soft.

“Let’s get this done with. While we’re on vacation, Obsidian is plotting,” telepaths Titus grimly. He does not share Gallien’s worries of the betrothal rites, viewing them as nothing more than a frustrating but necessary distraction from the war.

“Nerotius, Quint, your triads, with me,” I say, ordering two triads of my most trusted technicians to follow me as my triad strides out of the bridge and towards the entrance of the warship.

We are meeting Thrain of Magnar, and we ditched the formal robes, clad in our battle attire, the togas which leave the left side of our chests exposed, the Orb-Blades bouncing at our belts.

As I lead my triad into the entrance hall of the ship, I remember it packed with warriors, the hilts of our blades clutched tight in our hands as we landed on Tentac, a planet lost to Obsidian.

The thrum of missiles, the searing bright fire of Orb-Beams that greeted us as the huge doors opened, and I charged out, my blade activating, joining the battle lines.

A great victory, won in great part to my younger brother Bruton, who risked the void of the Rift to sabotage Obsidian’s fleet before he could mount a counterattack.

I long for the simplicity of war, the pure instinct of leading men.

Now, the huge doors open, and the airfield shimmers against the heat of the planet.

The greeting party strides in, led by Thrain himself, the only one who walks in without fear, the others of his entourage nervous to be in an Aurelian warship, glancing up at the high ceilings of the entrance hall where the golden sun of my Empire stares down at us.

Thrain is a short, squat man, like a cannonball, perhaps five feet tall.

He is clad in a thermal suit, metallic, and he pulls off his helmet, revealing his shaved head, but he keeps the thick goggles on always, obscuring his eyes.

The black reflective surface, made for the fires and blinding sun of Magnar, lighten as he enters the brightness of my ship.

He hands his helmet to one of his attendants and removes the metal glove from his right hand.

He strides to me, extending his hand, and as I take it, he stares up at me like he’s the one who is twice my size. His grip is firm and strong.

“Crown Prince Doman. You’ll forgive me if I don’t kneel and grovel like you’re used to.” His eyes have a challenge in them—telling me that while I am a guest, it is his home.

I stare down at him. I know the effect of my gaze when it hardens. I’ve seen men—brave men—quake. I squeeze tight, matching his crushing grip.

Thrain. He was the head of a mining union before being elected, and though he has served near his full twenty-year term in governance and hasn’t wielded mining tools in decades, his forearm is still iron, his grip healthy.

“Leave me a few bones unbroken in my hand and all is forgiven,” I growl, then grin down at him, showing him my teeth.

He laughs, low and deep, and gives me one last crushing squeeze for good measure before letting go. “You and your people are welcome here.” He shakes hands with my triad, nodding in respect. “I’ve got a couple techs here who are tasked with accessing the mining technologies promised.”

“You work quick.”

“Nothing gets fucking done with red tape and bureaucracy. Oy! Get a move on!” he yells, and three squat men in suits rush forward, pulling their helmets off.

My own technicians, the triads of Neoritus and Quint, greet them.

I knew Thrain wouldn’t waste a second, and I got my men ready to greet his team.

His party is a dozen men and women in the suits that let them traverse the surface of Magnar, but two in particular catch my attention.

Women, but with their heads shaved for ease of using the helmets, yet still feminine, with red lipstick and fine eyebrows.

My own long mane of blond hair is out of place on this planet.

“These two will prepare your bride to be,” says Thrain, catching me glancing over at them.

“Prepare her?”

“For the betrothal ritual. You’ll be in and out of here by end of day and onto the next. It will not be told that Thrain of Magnar slowed you down. A formality, nothing more.”

“I appreciate the efficiency.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Now. We’ve got a few more details to hammer out. Somewhere private we can talk?”

“This way,” I say, beckoning towards one of the hallways. “Now I’m not trying to be a cunt showing off my thrones, but it’s the most private place in the ship,” I say, matching his vulgar casualness.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t bother me. You’re already twice my size, not going to change nothing if you’re sitting up on your perch. But you know what they say…”

I look into his darkened glasses, to his obscured eyes that are crinkled with glee.

“Bigger they are, harder they fall.”

His metal boots echo as we walk through my ship. He makes more noise than my entire triad.

“And you, Doman, and the two giants at your side, are the big bastards who can knock the War-God down. That’s why I voted in your favor,” he says, as we walk through the hallways.

He drops the honorific of “prince” when we’re out of earshot of everyone else.

“Aurelian troops have never been in our system. But Obsidian is a scourge. He’s a rabid dog, and he needs to be put down. ”

“Agreed.”

My guards open the doors to my throne room, and they thud closed behind us as we enter.

Thrain whistles, low and deep, as he stomps straight towards the three thrones.

“Gods alive. That’s some beautiful craftsmanship.

Where did you get the marble? No, don’t tell me.

That’s a pure Colossus vein right there.

Hand crafted from a single block.” He runs his hand over the armrest of my throne, marveling at the smoothness of it.

He turns with a grin. “I’ll be done my term of service to the Administration soon.

How about getting one of the craftsmen to make me one of these, as a retirement gift?

A third of the size – with some nice accents, I’d like my family crest over my head.

And an indent for my ass. I’ve earned the rest.”

Titus’ aura is a telepathic glower while he keeps his face set and neutral. No man has so much as touched our thrones before, but I give the stout Magnarian a pass.

“Done,” I say, as we stride towards him.

He spits in his hand and extends it. I do the same, even as Gallien’s aura tenses, worried of poison, but I shake his hand once more, and this time, he doesn’t try to crush every bone.

He glances again at my throne, and for a moment, I can tell he’s thinking of jumping on it, so we’ll be near eye level. He glances back at Titus, sees the hard look in my battle-brother’s eyes, and thinks better of it.

“I take it you had more business to discuss than getting a new chair for your home,” states Titus, his voice flat.

“Then let’s get to it.” Thrain’s friendly smile disappears as he gets ready to face us down in more negotiations.

“We’ve got something that could help you.

Mining machines you’ve never seen the likes of on Colossus.

We’ve never shared our technology, but since you have all been so generous, I’m going to license them to you for a decade, free of cost, as a gesture of good faith. ”

Gallien smiles. “A gesture of good faith. And if these machines are as good as you claim, they’ll replace many in our service. Once the decade is over, and they are entrenched in our mining operations, you profit.”

“We’ll work out something reasonable before that happens. And in return, I’m interested in your new research. The stuff that hasn’t gone public yet, the stuff that’s not ready for commercial use. I’ve heard that in the mining institution on Colossus…”

I listen as he goes in depth on mining and metallurgy advances, obviously an expert, nodding my head at the deluge of technical terms that only Gallien will fully understand.

And as I pretend to listen, all I’m thinking of is Adriana.

The betrothal ritual may be a formality to Thrain, but for me, it’s the only thing I can think of.

Because it ends with a kiss, and for the first time, I will press my lips against her, taste my mate, smell her reaction.

She may hate us on the surface, but deep down, she is meant for me.

And when my lips press against hers, she will not be able to deny the seeds of her attraction, seeds that will threaten to grow and flourish in her until she can’t hold them down.

I can see Thrain souring, his brows furrowed. Gallien’s ironing out a deal he wasn’t prepared for, and he huffs. “I’ve got to get back to my men. You’re a tough negotiator.”

“Squires!” I yell the moment Thrain leaves.

They come running, carrying my triad’s Orb-Armor, that will protect us against the heat and fire of Magnar as we travel deep underground, to the magma flows where I will touch Adriana for the first time, feel her in my arms, press my lips against hers.

My heart pounds as I don the armor, and I touch the ring around my finger.

Will it be able to dull the Mating Rage, even as I taste her?

When she is in my arms, will I be able to hold back the ravenous need that drives me?