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PRINCE DOMAN

Men salute me as I stride through the halls to the stairwell, taking the stairs up to the tower three at a time. I used to race up and down these steps with my brothers, until Cal tripped and ended up in the med-bay with a broken nose.

At the top of the stairs, the doors to the study are open.

My father is sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair, peering over a yellowed scroll of parchment with the fine script of High Aurelian.

He’s in his battle-robes, the white toga that bares the side of his muscular chest. He fought a thousand battles before I was born, and now he bears the full weight of the war, commanding the fleets and choosing the battle lines to hold, to retreat, to push.

He was never a gentle man, but the decades have changed him.

Grey flecks his jet-black hair, and new lines are chiseled on his hard face.

He’s a towering specimen of an Aurelian, but I am taller.

I was born of the Bond, he of the cryo-bay.

“Father. You wished to see me.”

“Come in,” he waves. I close the door behind me, and he scrutinizes me, his hard eyes peering through me. Solid gold irises, like molten fire, the mark of my mother on him. “I was hard on you, boy. But I had to be. We sensed the storm coming, even in the years of peace.”

I can remember those golden eyes watching me as Baldur clutched a burning brand, the smell of seared flesh assaulting my nostrils.

The pride that flashes in those molten orbs when I worked up the courage to do the same, forcing the pain down.

I went straight to the med-bay to heal the scars before they could form, and my fathers clapped me on the back, applauding my bravery.

“The past is the past,” I say, walking to tall, thin windows.

The city stretches out below me, pristine marble bathed in the glow of the morning sun, then the rolling hills, stretching out as far as the eye can see.

I pick out Bruton’s estate, far off in the distance, focusing on the very room that Adriana is in right now.

For some reason, Gallien’s aura has moved into the city itself — I expected him to stay in the manor. I consider sending a telepathic message, but I can’t split my focus. My father knows me better than anyone not sharing my mind, and any slip of the tongue will put me in the glare of his suspicion.

Raegan. My father, our emperor. He pours coffee from a carafe, motioning for me to sit across from him in the rigid wooden chairs. Even in his study, he does not allow the comfort of even a pillow. I thank him, taking my first sip.

“Is it? I grow less certain by the day. Cal brings me ancient reports and books from the archives,” he says, motioning to the desk that is constructed of wood against the side of the circular room.

It makes me think of Adriana’s home on Virelia.

“Planets that are not where they should be, knocked out of gravity wells and spinning off into nothing. Suns that have… aged. Names, dates, small things that do not match up. Scholars have never understood why the records of our species are so vague pre-contact with humanity.”

“Cal is deep into the theoretical. What do these reports matter to the war?”

My father takes a long sip of coffee from the stone mug.

“You speak like Bruton. Do not discount information, Doman. These inaccuracies are most apparent during the Galactic War, when Toad Planet-Killers wiped out entire planets, and yes, when we did the same to theirs. And now, they are happening again, when the weapons are being tested. This issue of Orb-Shifts. We have reports of men lost in the Rift during the Galactic war, and from long, long ago, in the first civil war.”

I lean in. “We have a war to win, Father. When Obsidian is ground to dust, we can address this.” I push out the dire warnings of Aeris of Etherion, the visions she had of endless nothingness.

“If Obsidian is not stopped, he will wipe out every human and Aurelian who does not bow to him. He will take Colossus, kill every one of us, and continue spreading like the cancer he is.”

“And that is why I brought you here. We have reports of mass movement. Obsidian’s fleets are mobilizing. He is going to strike us on Colossus.”

My heart pounds in anticipation.

I knew this was coming, from the first moment when I watched a third of our species leaving Colossus to follow the Old Ways.

The thought of Orb-Beams lancing out over the skies of our capital sears in my mind, of hand-to-hand combat with branded foes, of driving my Orb-Blade into the War-God's heart.

“Gods,” I whisper, and my eyes widen in a mixture of dread and expectation.

This is what I was born for. My destiny beckons to me.

“Obsidian is right about many things,” snarls my father, contempt in his words, the most emotion I’ve seen him show in years.

“You saw out the window. Our Empire is dying. You saw the empty estates, the city that once brimmed with life. I will not have my heir be king of a rotting corpse. When we kill Obsidian, we usher in a new age. Our soldiers will throw off their rings and find their Fated Mate. The empty homes will be filled once more. Obsidian, curse him, was necessary, just as the prophecies proclaimed. We needed him to forge us anew.”

“And what of the rest of the prophecies?”

His lips curl back. “Of a darkness that will end all sentient life if Obsidian does not take the throne?” He shakes his head.

“These prophecies did not come from the Gods, my son. They came from the minds of men. In the early ages of our Empire, Aurelians conferred with Orbs. This man we are up against is no God. He is a seer. There used to be many of them. We are not so pure as we like to think, Doman, and perhaps this is why the records are gone. Someone may have destroyed them. Forced breedings, to create monstrosities with black in their veins, to create things that could speak with the Orbs and see possible futures. But there is no one future that is determined. No certain end, no fate forcing our hand. We have our own destiny.”

“There is something in the Rift, Father. I felt it. A presence. Something that knows we exist.”

“Did you see it?”

“No. But Bruton’s triad did. You know this.”

“Then we will kill it, when it comes, just as we end every threat to the Empire.”

“And the boy?”

My father’s face is unnaturally blank. He’s always been able to control his emotions, and he taught me to do the same, drilling it into my head that any reaction can betray your intentions.

It made the brief flashes of pride in his eyes when I graduated from Academy top of class so much more precious, the way he shook my hand as equals when I was promoted to general with my own warship.

But the lack of reaction tells me something as well — that he was waiting for this question, that he was prepared. It’s like I asked him how the weather is going to be tomorrow.

“The child is healthy. The scans we have done show none of Obsidian’s cursed blood. He has no birthmark marring his flesh. He will be a healthy boy, yes, but just like any other.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

He re-arranges his mug slightly, pushing aside the parchment scroll, which suddenly occupies all of his interest. “There are things I would not burden you with.”

“I’m part of this. Tell me.”

He looks up, meeting my eyes, and his molten golden orbs harden.

“When Obsidian’s son is born, he will be frozen in the cryo-chambers.

Only when centuries pass and Obsidian is nothing but a memory will he be allowed to grow, unconscious.

When he comes of age for Academy, he will come out of the cryo-chambers like any other, thinking himself the same.

He will live a normal life. He will not be a symbol of another rebellion.

The color in his eyes that mark him as born of the Bond will be fixed with surgery.

” He waves his hand at me. “Of course, like you, he will be tall, and strong, and more powerful than others born of the cryo-bays. But he will not stick out so much, not when you usher in a new age, where Fated Mates are commonplace.”

A cold chill goes through me. He’s speaking of tearing a newborn from his mother’s arms. But it’s not just the horror of this that makes my blood run cold.

It’s the strategy of it. If no one knows who Obsidian’s heir is, it could be anyone.

In centuries, when I am Emperor, there will be Aurelians who proclaim themselves as the sire of the War-God and try to take his mantle. If word ever gets out — even a suspicion — that Obsidian’s son was placed into the cryo-bays, then anyone graduating from Academy could pretend to his legacy.

Raegan watches me, and I know he’s studying my reactions. “Publicly, we will say he died in childbirth. That Obsidian’s seed was warped. There will be a funeral, and the boy will grow up to have a normal life.”

I want to believe him. I want it to be true, as horrible as it is, because it’s better than the alternative.

But deep down, I can sense it. That Adriana is right.

They plan to kill the boy.

My parents are no fools. Surgery can change the color of irises, but it can’t erase DNA. There is a chance that one day, the boy would learn his past.

They’ve already had the son of their enemy grow up to threaten everything they built. They won’t let it happen again.

My own fathers, my mother. They plan to kill a newborn child. And if they are capable of this, they are capable of anything.

“Stunt his growth. Don’t let there be any chance he grows to be eight foot tall. He’ll stand out too much. Reduce his growth hormone in the cryo-bay. Let him live, but as a stunted version of what he could have been,” I state, putting ice in my voice.

“We’re considering every option,” my father says, and I see that tiny flicker of pride in his eyes I used to crave. It makes the little hairs on the back of my neck rise.

He’s proud that his heir is capable of doing anything to protect the Empire. He views me as worthy of the crown.

I remember how proud I was when those golden orbs flickered with approval. I was born special, a child of the Bond and not the cryo-bays. I walked into Academy with my head up, filled with unearned pride.

It was when I stood on my own two feet and rose in the ranks of the army with my triad that my fathers truly respected me. Now his approval burns.

He raises his hand. “The timeline is shortened. You marry your bride tomorrow. And then I need you here, commanding the planetary defense.”

I betray nothing. He taught me well, even as inside my mind races. “Your will is done. We must mobilize the Planet-Killers for the defense. Each can fire a single shot. We can decimate his fleet before he has a chance.”

My father’s face stays blank, but he’s silent for a long moment. “No. You will defend without them. They are too slow, too vulnerable. They might get a shot off, but they’ll be sitting ducks for a counter-attack. We don’t know what happens if a PK is destroyed. It could set off a chain reaction.”

“I can protect them. I can arrange the fleets to give them a retreat route.”

He shakes his head. “You were only a babe when the last Planet Killer was used to destroy a world. The mad Aurelian Rav’nok, who thought he was a god. This is when the Orb-Shifts started to fail. Using so many in the defense could have consequences… beyond what we can anticipate.”

“Very well. Our orbital batteries will stop him. We outnumber him in our Reavers. And he is hamstrung. He cannot hit us with missiles or las-cannon fire from the atmosphere, not with his pregnant Mate in the line of fire. He will come into the slaughter. Why do you think he’s choosing now?”

He motions to my coffee, and I take another sip. It symbolizes that the important part of the conversation is over. I let myself relax externally as I drink.

“We wounded him badly. Perhaps he understands now that each day he waits could be his last. It is good to have you here, my son. This war has made me old. I haven’t been on a battlefield in centuries. You are the one to command our fleets. You are the one who will end Obsidian.”

“I won’t let you down.”

“No, you won’t. You never have. You will one day be Emperor in my place, Doman. And I will be leaving all that I have in good hands.”

We say our goodbyes, and I walk through the familiar halls of the palace, my face stone as my mind races. I trust in my brothers and my triad. But I’m used to being the one in charge.

I’ll be wed off while the most important moments of my life happen. As I kiss my newly wedded bride, the heist on the royal palace itself will be taking place.

I pilot back to Bruton’s manor, touching down, but as I enter his home, I sense something off. The trace of Adriana’s sent is faint. I take the stairs three at a time up to the bedroom and burst in. Titus is there alone, stretching.

“Where is she?”

“She has a meeting with her advisors. Her legal team. Something urgent, in the city.” He sees my brows furrow, my aura harden. “Gallien is with her.”

I reach out in my mind, feeling the consciousness that is my battle-brother in the city. “Just Gallien?”

“Just Gallien. You know he’s worth a hundred men. What’s happening? Tell me.”

“The wedding is going to be tomorrow. Obsidian is making his final push, and I am to lead the defense.”

There’s a wave of calmness that pulses through the Bond from my battle-brother. He walks to the window, leaning out, tasting the morning air. Then he turns.

“We’ve already lost so many. He’s outnumbered. But this isn’t war like it used to be. Can we afford the losses? Can our species?”

He’s testing me, seeing if I’ve changed my mind.

“We’re going to end this war as we planned. With one death.”

His lips curl back, and the Orb in his blade’s hilt pulses. It can hear us. It knows what’s coming.

The eagerness flows from Bruton. A nuclear blast couldn’t end Obsidian.

The three of us will.