The last row held more troublemakers. Murder Beaks were on the right, closest to Sean. Avian, flightless, and armed with huge beaks and powerful clawed feet, this species would’ve given Earth’s prehistoric Terror Birds a run for their money. They had a strong prey drive and killed for sport. Their name for themselves translated as Murder Beaks, and they insisted on the literal translation so the entire galaxy would know of their predatory awesomeness. Fortunately, they had tried to invade the Gaheas, who were their immediate neighbors in space. The Murder Beaks knew exactly what a focused mind wave could do to their brains. They minded their beaks and talons.
Finally, across from the Murder Beaks, the Dushegubs were a dark tangle of roots and limbs, shrouded in foliage, as if some nightmarish forest had magically sprouted in the corner of the room. They had large begonia-looking leaves, purple at the edges and brilliant blue in the middle, splattered with random patterns of the brightest Pepto-Bismol pink. Sean was standing across from them, and Tony had parked himself on the side, just in case they wanted to try anything. The gorgeous woman who was their candidate perched on a large Dushegub root like some dryad.
It was a lot. The variety was dazzling and confusing, but mostly very dangerous and anxiety-inducing.
The wall behind Sean parted, forming a tunnel. What was he doing?
Oh.
A huge lupine shape emerged from the tunnel and sat on his haunches by Sean. Sean lowered his hand. Gorvar sniffed his fingers and rubbed his shaggy cheek against Sean’s hand.
At my feet, Beast let out a quiet growl, just in case the oversized wolf decided to run across the ballroom and attack me.
A low trumpet sounded. Gaston cleared his throat, his voice amplified by a microphone and spilling from the hidden speakers. We needed a Master of Ceremonies, and he had enthusiastically volunteered.
“Her Grace, Caldenia ka ret Magren,” Gaston announced in a deep resonant voice. His High Galactic was excellent even without the translator. “Letere Olivione, Dystim Adrolo, She Who Controls Fate, the Light of the Midnight Sun.”
Caldenia walked into the room. She wore a magnificent formal gown, deep green accented with silver. An emerald tiara crowned her spectacular updo. Her makeup was flawless.
The ballroom went silent as a tomb.
Her Grace had taken three steps forward when her eyes finally registered the glowing symbols of the Dominion on the arched ceiling above the throne. For a fraction of a second, Caldenia froze. It lasted a mere heartbeat, and I committed it to memory, because it would likely be the first and last time I saw Her Grace lose it.
Our stares connected. I tried to warn you.
The miniscule moment of shock ended. She glided forward, a calm smile on her face.
Gaston moved away from the Observer Gallery on an intercepting course, approached Caldenia, and offered her a graceful bow. She gave him a smile and rested her fingers on his forearm. Gaston murmured something to her. Her eyes sparkled and she quipped something back.
What are you doing? Take her to her seat, quickly. We’ve talked about this.
The conversations resumed but at a markedly lower volume. Nobody had any idea what would happen next, us included. Sean and I had been given assurances, but no guarantees. I would protect Caldenia at all costs.
The trumpets blew a triumphant note. A man appeared at the entrance. His elegant white robe hugged his tall, muscular frame, its intricate embroidery luminescing subtly with pale gold. His skin was the darkest shade of black, with a shocking blue undertone as if someone had carved him out of onyx and dusted his cheekbones with sapphire powder. His hair, cut down to near stubble, was shaped with almost microscopic precision, and it shone with white, like swirls of the first frost on a window. His face was intelligent and long, his dark eyes bottomless, and when he strode into the room, there was no doubt that it and everything within it was his to command.
Caldenia froze again, her eyes wide.
“His Supremacy, Kosandion ka ret Maggran,” Gaston announced next to her. “Letero Kolivion, Dystim Arbiento, Sovereign of the Seven Star Dominion, He Who Is Immune to Fate, the Light of the Morning Sun.”
Caldenia’s fingers on Gaston’s forearm trembled. I had so wanted to spare her this, but she’d made it impossible.
Kosandion reached Caldenia. You could hear a pin drop.
“My dear aunt,” the Sovereign intoned, his voice a clear baritone that carried though the entire room unaided. “I haven’t seen you since you murdered my father. It’s been too long.”
Caldenia’s face snapped into a mask. “Greetings, dear nephew. You look well. The throne agrees with you.”
Kosandion nodded and ascended the twelve steps to his throne. Resven assumed his position by the throne and Miralitt parked herself to the right of the staircase.
Gaston gently steered Caldenia to her seat.
The Sovereign sat upon his throne. The glowing symbols of the Dominion above him pulsed with golden light and settled back into their light blue.
“I trust everyone has rested,” Kosandion said, his tone announcing that he didn’t require an answer. “Good. Let us begin.”
11
Kosandion, the Sovereign of the Seven Star Dominion, arrived at the inn to begin the selection of his future spouse. He is assisted by Resven, his chancellor, and Miralitt, the head of his security. 12 spousal candidates made it through to this final selection. Now they have to introduce themselves to remind everyone who they are and what they stand for.
Kosandion was an excellent orator. His diction was perfect, his voice modulated to carry through the space without sounding harsh but conveying just the right amount of gravitas to underscore the importance of every word.
“We all know why we are here, but I shall reiterate for the record.”
For Earth politicians, popularity was a major factor, but it wasn’t everything. Plenty of people took office based on the strength of their personality or tough stance on a particular issue. Some of the politicians were nearly universally disliked but continued to be reelected for complex reasons. For the Dominion, a ruler’s likability was vital. Kosandion knew that fact better than anyone. He had beckoned me over once he took the throne, and I stood only a couple of feet away. From this distance, the force of his magnetic personality was almost too much.
“We have gathered in this hall today to select my future spouse. After a long and careful consideration, twelve candidates have made the final cut. The parent of my future offspring is among you.”
In the attendant gallery, the Holy Ecclesiarch was nodding sagely. Elderly, with skin the color of old parchment and an elaborate headdress on his bald head, the spiritual leader of the Dominion seemed too slight for his luxurious vestments. He wore a silky white robe with an overdress embroidered with metallic brass-colored thread. A short, carefully draped cape covered his shoulders, reaching to mid chest, its deep neckline revealing a tall asymmetric collar. A rectangular jeweled medallion hung from his neck, indicating his holy status.
He looked ready to keel over, and I was watching him for any sign of fainting. He was led in by his acolytes shortly after Kosandion’s arrival, and it had taken him a long time to cross the ballroom to the throne. At some point Kosandion became concerned and went down the stairs to escort him. I had suggested that we make the Ecclesiarch more comfortable in custom quarters from where he could watch the proceedings, but he had patted my hand and told me that this was the last duty he could do for the Sovereign, and he had never been one to abandon his responsibilities.