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“Aeris believes the Planet-Killers are certain death for the universe. And when you believe something so deeply, any evidence reinforces your position. But the Toad kingdom has tested their weapons, and life goes on. If she was right, the krakens would have shown me what they saw. They would have shown me it, to stop me.”

“They were terrified. Of you. Of us.”

I feel like I’m in a nightmare. Only this time, I’m the monster hunting down a dreamer.

Doman shakes his head, his thick, wet mane of blond hair cascading.

“Or they were terrified of the violence they saw in my past and my future. Pentaris has been blissfully spared this war. Now the krakens have seen, firsthand, what battle is. They have seen the wrath of Obsidian.” He swallows, and there’s a strange vulnerability to him.

“I do not bring these horrors, Adriana. I stand against them.”

I shiver, but as we surface, the light of the sun feels harsh, making me blink as my eyes adjust.

Doman turns to me, and he raises his hand, gently stroking his fingers up my neck and under my chin, so tender as he slides my gaze upwards to meet his fiery blue eyes.

“I need to know you believe that. Everyone else… I let their hate wash over me. But you… I can’t have you fear me, like those creatures did. ”

“I don’t think you’re evil,” I whisper, and his eyes glow in response. A week ago, I would have viewed him as the incarnate of the most dangerous evil that exists in this universe, the man who thinks he is good and who will justify anything to win.

Now, I’ve seen him laid bare by guilt and fear, and he made his choice. He’s risking everything for two innocent lives. Whatever the krakens saw in him, they were wrong.

The warship rests easily on the waters, a glowing dot against the vast expanse, and our float moves closer, until the huge, yawning bay is a foot away. Aurelian soldiers await us, like statues, military discipline as we step onto the metal floor of the bay.

I glance towards the hallway that will lead to my ship, but Gallien turns to me, his sharp eyes searching me. “Would you dine with us?”

“I don’t much care for an Aurelian feast,” I say, imagining sitting at the side of the three, while his army stretches out in front of us.

“Then in our quarters,” say Titus.

I pause. The little chamber in my ship is familiar.

A simple meal, tucking away in bed. This last week has passed in a blur.

I had thought they would be stopped by the magma flows in the first ritual, and now I see how easily they crossed that barrier, how relentless they are in their pursuit of what they want.

I shouldn’t make it any easier for them…

But I feel like I am just starting to know them. Not as warriors, not as princes, but deep down, what makes them unique.

“Alright. I’ll join you for dinner. Just let me get changed.”

Gallien smiles, and his eyes roam over my gray uniform, in that hungry, unashamed way of the Aurelians. A human would be embarrassed to be caught so obviously checking me out. “You would be perfection in an ivory dress.”

I raise a brow. “I didn’t take you for a fashion expert.”

He smiles. “I’ve imagined you in a thousand different ways, Adriana. Would you allow me to send a dress down?”

I cross my arms. “I’d rather not be stuck in a pleasure dress. I’ve heard it’s distracting.”

“More for us than you for,” grins Doman, the dark depths of the ocean cave disappearing from him. He is a titan of marble, a golden Viking God, and I feel the deep unease of the cave dissipating. He has that way about him. He’s like a shield.

“Very well. I will not send down a pleasure dress,” says Gallien, and I give him a suspicious look, then go through the white tunnels back to my ship.

There’s a cleanness to the ship, a brilliance that used to feel oppressive.

After the dark, murky depths of the caves, I am glad to be back in their warship.

It’s a thought that makes me shake my head. The fear I felt when my little ship entered their bay, the way the Imperator felt like a prison. Now it feels like an armor.

I shower in my tiny bathroom, cleansing myself of the saltwater, and pull on my bathrobe when there is a knock at the door.

“Yes?” I say.

“A gift from the Aurelians.”

“Leave it at my door,” I say, and open it. There’s three packages wrapped in tissue, tied with a bow. I take it back into my room and sit at the table, then after a moment of hesitation, I open the larger one.

Gallien kept his word. He didn’t send down a pleasure dress.

It is an ivory dress of silk, sleeveless, but not low cut.

It is so different from my usual gray, strictly functional uniform.

I’ve worn dull grays for years, the uniform of the Administration the same as the one I wear as Prime Minister, for we are all servants of Pentaris.

This dress is not the uniform of a servant or bureaucrat, but of a leader. It’s nothing like the flowing, gentle sundresses I wore back on Virelia, before I gave my life to Pentaris.

Elegant. A power of its own, sleeveless, feminine but not revealing, a dress than hints but does not tell.

And as I run my fingers over the silk, marveling, I realize that it is exactly my size.

My hand stops, and I raise my eyebrows.

Unless the triad has a tailor who makes human clothes on the warship who did a rush job, which seems ridiculous, then the Aurelians made this dress long ago, from the vision we shared when we knew each other from the first time.

That makes me shiver. They watched my naked body so intently they knew my exact measurements. I can tell, just from holding the dress before me as I stand, that it is tailor made.

What else did they have made for me?

I know that answer—if they’ve imagined me in a dress like this, they’ve imagined me in pleasure dresses so sheer I’d be on display like a possession on their alien home planet.

The second wrapped package, reminding me of opening birthday presents, are a pair of white heels. I put them aside. I haven’t worn heels since Virelia, where the textile industry produced heels with vine-fibers that wrap up your calf.

A little too far, Gallien. I’ll wear simple flats with the dress. I open the third package, with a heft to it, and out comes a diamond choker.

It glitters, cold, shimmering gems. Pentaris is rich in amethysts and sapphires, but true diamonds are rare. I put it on, unused to wearing jewelry, each diamond like a tiny iceberg gracing my neck.

The garb of the Administration is meant to make us uniform, to fade away our individualities in service to the greater sector. This outfit brings out everything that is me. I run my hand over the diamonds as they warm to my body temperature. I rest my fingers on the perfectly cut, glittering gems.

I can’t resist. I want to complete the outfit, but on my own terms. I fling open my cramped closet.

Pushed to the back, beneath the dismal grays of standard issue administration clothing, are my forgotten heels.

Every inch of space on our ship is precious and accounted for, but I brought them with me, my last tangible link to Virelia.

A lucky charm. I haven’t worn them in over seven years.

I slip my feet into the beige heels, the light brown Virelian vine-fiber straps animating against my skin, coiling securely around my ankles and calves.

Memories flood me. I used to practice my catwalk in them with my little sister, trying on different outfits in playful fashion shows, our heels clicking against the wooden floor of our treehouse home until my dad would storm in, sternly saying that he needed to concentrate.

In the mirror inlaid in the wall across my bed, I don’t see a stranger. I see myself, every part of me accentuated. I know, deep down, it was Gallien that imagined me like this, but I do not feel as if I am his creation.

I have no nervousness as I leave my chambers and walk through my ship.

People stare, workers and bureaucrats walking through the hallways, their eyes widening as they see their Prime Minister transformed.

Even the ceremonial robes of Mangar and Terosa were like costumes, worn out of nothing more than duty.

This is my own choice, but I let their gaze wash over me, meaningless. Ripples on water, like the waves that extended outwards from the Imperator as it rested on the surface of Etherion, the depths unaffected.

I’m not sure what changed. I felt deep humiliation and powerlessness when I was voted into marriage with the Aurelian princes.

The thoughts of what people would say about me—the fiercely pro-independence Prime Minister bound to the Aurelian Empire.

I’d heard all the jokes about women who made the trip to Colossus, to serve in the harems on alien estates.

Women returning from Colossus, on vacations or after a decade of service, always had an aloofness to them, a distance.

I thought it was because they were ashamed of what they had done.

Now I see how wrong I was. They simply didn’t care who gossiped behind their backs.

As I disembark from my ship, a pair of Aurelian triads stand ready to greet me.

They dip their heads in a gesture of deference.

Muscled, half of their frame exposed, seven-foot-tall aliens that would have seemed massive and intimidating if I had not met Prince Doman.

He would tower over even them, and his bright blue eyes would flash and dance, alive and vibrant compared to their hard, slate-gray gaze.

Doman is the only Aurelian I have seen that seems whole.

The triad of soldiers lead me through the corridors bathed in pristine white, and other triads in our path move to the side respectfully.

My heels resonate against the immaculate floors, each click a reminder of my presence, but the Aurelians move like wraiths.

Despite their heavy bulks, their combat boots barely make a sound.