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ADRIANA

I raise my finger ever so slightly, a subtle gesture that the well-trained palace servants obey immediately, without complaint, though it’s the third time it’s happened while they meticulously apply my makeup and arrange my hair.

They exit silently, closing the door behind them and waiting in the entrance hall above the spiral staircase.

I’ve been transformed. I’m so used to seeing myself in the drab greys of the Administration.

The wedding dress is so soft against my skin, the silk alive, interwoven with strands of the living silk that is used for pleasure dresses.

The white leaves and flowers, hand-stitched by my sister, look so real they could disappoint a bumblebee.

Doman gave me a present of glimmering diamond earrings, and I feel like a princess in a tower.

I was offered my choice of rooms to prepare in the palace. I chose a secluded chamber high in one of the towers, knowing that no one would clamber up hundreds of stairs without purpose.

Those stairs did nothing to stop the endless requests for holo-vid calls and meetings.

Through the window, the meticulously manicured gardens of the Aurelian palace unfold in a spectacle of organized beauty.

Every plant, each leaf seems chosen specifically.

I let myself take a moment before answering the latest urgent call, my mind clouded, split between my duties as Prime Minister and the anticipation of being wedded to the crown prince and his triad.

I don’t let myself think of the chambers below the palace. That is out of my hands. I trust in Evelyn’s triad, in Cal’s knowledge. Ruminating on it will solve nothing.

My smart-watch flashes urgently, but I delay answering, watching the movement below as triads weave their way through the palace.

The royal palace is as full as it would have been at the height of the Aurelian Empire’s power, but for every triad of the alien species, there are a dozen trios of Mark-12 Cyborgs.

They are as tall as an Aurelian, but they look as if they are hewn out of granite and not marble, their skin duller.

Their features are uniform, hard and callous, with buzzed heads and indifferent grey eyes.

When they move, they lack the feline grace of the alien species.

Each of the Cyborgs weighs thousands of pounds of muscle and metal, ready to face the Fanatics if they breach the Orbital defenses.

Which Doman has assured me won’t happen.

I turn my hand, answering the call from Aeris. She appears on the watch face, in a dress of green and blue that clings to her wetly.

“Yes?”

I’ve heard from the other four planetary leaders since yesterday’s chaotic meeting.

The Orbs, which Queen Jasmine promised in return for me allowing Doman to hunt for his Fated Mate while I performed as his ceremonial bride — a bargain with no downside, since any anger at being duped will be soothed by the happy news that her son found his Fated Mate — were just delivered, as scheduled.

I had them split up in different Administration ships while the five planets squabble over who gets what.

The meeting ended in a shouting match, except for Aeris.

She barely spoke a word the entire meeting. Now she’s calling me personally.

“I see you aren’t backing down,” she says, softly, her voice like retreating waves as she looks me up and down, taking me in.

“You were one of the voices in support of this marriage when I would have done anything to get out of it. And now you’ve turned against it?”

She doesn’t seem to register my verbal jab. Her double-lidded eyes blink, slowly, and though she’s looking at me, it’s like she can’t see me. Something about her is off.

It makes my mind click in understanding. “You’ve been spending time in the caverns. Share your visions.”

She can’t suppress the shudder. “An age of chaos. That is what is most likely if the Sovereign Dawn takes control.”

“And yet you’ve hinted at pledging Etherion’s support to them. You would back them, when you know it could be the death of Pentaris?”

“Yes,” she hisses out, and at first I register anger in her voice — then I see the fear in her eyes. “Thousands of years of barbarity are preferable to endless nothing. The Krakens recoil when I try to ask them the future if you’re wed to the royal triad.”

“I’ve got a wedding to prepare for. What do you need?” I’m curt with her, but she’s creeping me out. Her visions have never been wrong, not exactly, but they’re never precise enough trust.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“Go.”

“The Planet-Killers. Are they being used in the planetary defense of Colossus?”

“I’m not privy to war preparations.”

“Have you seen them?”

“Only during the test. Planet-Killers are fragile. If they’re being used in the defense, it would be kept top secret. Any saboteur could deal a great blow. Anyways, they won’t be needed. Doman has assured me the orbital defenses are enough to stop Obsidian’s fleet.”

“Are they? They weren’t enough to stop a third of the Aurelians from breaking off and leaving Colossus, when the civil war began. If it’s such certain death, then why would Obsidian lead his troops directly into them?”

I keep my face blank, even as the worry gnaws. “He has no choice. An Aurelian cannot live without his Fated Mate. He’ll take any risk for a chance.”

Aeris runs her hand back and forth over her forearm, anxiously. “I’ve seen his Mate. I’ve seen her in the visions, brief, chaotic scenes… I see her smile, Adriana. Why would she be smiling, if Obsidian is crushed?”

“You said yourself. Chaotic scenes. I don’t trust your visions, Aeris. And I don’t trust you. You might publicly pledge your support for the Sovereign Dawn to try and get me impeached. You’re trying to put doubt in my mind, because you want to see me fall. Tell me what you want, or leave me be.”

“I want you to find out if the Planet-Killers are going to be used in defense of Colossus. Ask Doman. My sources say he’s been placed in command of the defense.”

“Your sources? It’s against our constitution for planets to have their own spy networks,” I snap, suppressing the pang of guilt that I’ve been using the network for my own purposes. The hypocrisy grates on me.

“You can’t let him use them. You can’t. I need to know they’ll stay dormant. I’ve seen these visions, Adriana, visions that make me feel like I’m going insane. I don’t know if I’m talking to you now, or if this is a dream…” She spills it out, totally vulnerable, her eyes wet with tears.

She’s either totally vulnerable or pretending to be.

“Withdraw your support of the Sovereign Dawn. Send out a public broadcast that you’ve seen visions.

You don’t need to lie. Say the truth — that if they come into power, the most likely scenario is ten thousand years of barbarity.

Do that, and I’ll find out where the Planet-Killers are, and if they plan to use them. ”

“Do you promise?” She sounds so weak, so desperate, I almost get a pang of pity for her. But I’ve got to be cold. She’s working against me, undermining me domestically when I need support more than ever.

“I promise,” I say, and end the call. “Come in,” I say, louder, and the door opens, the royal servants filing in.

They’re all in their late forties or early fifties, and I imagine they were women who aged out of harems and found good jobs in the palace.

I’m shocked at how natural it feels to sit back and have them attend to me.

They finish with the final touches, braiding my hair loosely, and to my surprise, one of the servants opens a pouch and takes out dried flowers from Virelia, the colors of my childhood, delicately placing them in my hair. When she’s done, I realize where the look comes from.

“You know my planet well,” I say, and the hairdresser smiles.

“It was bold of me to presume, my grace. We can change it,” she says, but I smile and nod, letting her weave the flowers into my braids.

And old children’s tale, that everyone who grew up on Virelia knows.

“The Princess in the Trees,” a fable about a girl who was abandoned by her parents during a blight and who grew up raised by the trees, who could speak with the forest, learning the language of the leaves.

She married a local prince whose father, the king, was planning to cut down the forest for lumber.

She used the marriage in order to plead that the trees be spared, then fell in love with the prince when he stood up to the king and stopped the destruction.

On her wedding day, she wore a mixture of crimson and golden flowers woven into her braids. Like every girl on Virelia, I had silly fantasies of being her.

Now, as I look into the gilded mirror, that is what I see. Not a Prime Minister, but a princess of my world and Doman’s.

“All done,” says the hairdresser. “Is there anything else we can do for you, your grace?”

“That’s all. Thank you,” I say, and they exit silently.

It’s not feeling strange anymore, being addressed as royalty.

I sit straight-backed and wait, wishing I could feel the breeze, wishing I could smell the gardens below.

The extra shielding around my tower gives a strange haze to the air outside.

When the news comes in, I don’t smile. I get only a sense of grim satisfaction as the breaking news flows in through my smart-watch. The hive of Pentaris media has been kicked, and the hornets buzz, each trying to outdo each other with headlines of war and chaos foreseen from Etherion.

Aeris publicly denounced the Sovereign Dawn. I watch the holo-vid feed on low volume. She looks so pale, shivering as she tells the worlds of visions of chaos and bloodshed if the Sovereign Dawn are allowed to take power.