Binwee visibly swelled with pride, her chest puffing out as she stood at least twice her usual height, practically glowing with satisfaction. “Thank you, sir.”
Khaion’s gaze swept the crash site, taking in the scattered debris, scarred and blackened earth, and damaged trees with their broken limbs hanging at unnatural angles. “I understand there have been some rather significant events here,” he said, choosing his words carefully.
“Several,” Diarvet admitted with considerable understatement.
“Perhaps we can go inside and discuss things in comfort,” Binwee suggested, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward the royal barge looming behind us.
“Is it secure?” Charick asked, his warrior instincts asserting themselves as he shifted his stance so he was positioned protectively between his pregnant mate and the vessel.
Binwee snorted, clearly annoyed by the question, her blue skin darkening slightly with irritation. “Qurbaga’s dead, and the remaining guards are locked in the dining quarters, suffering.”
“How so?” Khaion cocked an eyebrow, and I honestly couldn’t tell if his expression was genuine curiosity or barely contained amusement.
“I poisoned them,” Binwee said, as if discussing the weather, then marched toward the barge, not waiting for response or permission.
Charick let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “I like her,” he muttered to Willa, his face breaking into a grin.
Willa rolled her eyes in that long-suffering way, but she couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Of course you do,” she muttered back, her tone dripping with affectionate exasperation.
Khaion turned toward the shuttle, his purple robes swirling around his legs as he called out instructions to someone concealed within the shadowed interior. Then he pivoted on his heel and followed Binwee toward the barge, Emmy gliding gracefully at his side, her copper curls bouncing with each step.
I’d wandered the corridors of the gaudy monstrosity hundreds of times over the last few years and still hadn’t gotten used to the absolutely garish decor that assaulted the senses at every turn. The color scheme was an overwhelming assault of lime green and orange gold, clashing metallics that practically screamed nouveau riche excess and breathtakingly bad taste. Ornate moldings dripped from every surface like melted wedding cake frosting left too long in the sun. Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hung from vaulted ceilings like glittering stalactites, thousands of faceted prisms catching and refracting light into dizzying rainbow patterns that danced across surfaces painted with elaborate frescoes depicting scenes of Qurbaga’s imagined conquests—battles he’d never fought, worlds he’d never conquered, glory he’d never earned.
But the absolute worst part, the thing that made bile rise hot and acidic in my throat every single time I had the misfortune to pass one, had to be the extensive collection of life-sized marble statues Qurbaga had commissioned of himself. Most of them depicted his bloated, corpulent naked form in variousheroicposes that would have been laughable if they weren’t so deeply disturbing. Qurbaga slaying mythical beasts with rippling muscles he’d never possessed, Qurbaga standingtriumphant over piles of fallen enemies with one foot planted dramatically on their broken bodies, Qurbaga posed like some ancient god of war and virility with strategically placed drapery that left absolutely nothing to the imagination and far too much to memory.
“The Alliance will confiscate the barge,” Khaion was saying as we made our way through the ostentatious hallways, his tone suggesting the act was standard procedure.
Walking beside him with her hand tucked comfortably in the crook of his elbow, Emmy let out a snort of amusement, her forest-green eyes sparkling with barely contained mischief as she surveyed the garish surroundings. “Oh, the Prime is going to absolutely love this place,” she said, her voice dripping with such thick sarcasm I could practically taste it. I liked her.
Binwee led our little procession through the corridors, finally bringing us to Qurbaga’s private offices. Well, they used to be his, but since he was currently dead, I supposed they were just empty rooms now, waiting for new ownership. The space was a monument to excess, dominated by this ornately carved desk that looked hewn from a single massive tree—probably some rare and endangered species, knowing Qurbaga’s complete disregard for anything beyond his own desires. Intricate golden inlays snaked across its surface in patterns that seemed to shift and writhe when viewed from different angles, while the massive chair positioned behind it like a throne was upholstered in what appeared to be genuine leather from some exotic alien creature, dyed a deep, rich crimson that made me think uncomfortably of dried blood.
A long conference table carved from something that resembled jade but gleamed with an almost oily iridescence stretched along one wall. The thing had to weigh several tons at least, maybe more, surrounded by the most ridiculously overstuffed chairs I’d ever encountered in my life. Monstrositiesupholstered in shimmering gold fabric that felt like sitting atop a bowl of Jello.
Binwee hopped up onto one of the chairs with surprising agility, her small frame dwarfed by its excessive proportions, tiny legs dangling well above the floor like a kid at the grown-ups’ table.
“So,” she said, settling back against the gold cushions and adopting a crisp, businesslike tone that somehow made her sound genuinely intimidating despite her diminutive size and dangling feet, “who wants to hear the tale of how we took down Qurbaga?”
Diarvet and I exchanged a glance and wordlessly agreed to let her tell the story. I watched with fascination as she launched into the tale, her small blue hands gesturing dramatically to punctuate each plot point. She had a natural storyteller’s instinct for pacing and drama, but I couldn’t help but notice how she embellished certain parts, transforming the brutal reality into something almost mythic. Especially the moment when Diarvet had torn Qurbaga’s head from his shoulders. The moment that had been swift, violent, and born of pure protective instinct, but the way Binwee described it, you’d think my mate had performed some kind of sacred, ancient ritual, like Perseus beheading Medusa.
Khaion studied my mate with those stunning golden eyes, his expression thoughtful and curious. “I understood that the Zarpazian king outlawed the shifting of scales,” he said carefully.
“He did,” Diarvet agreed. “Save for when the shift is triggered by a mating bond, which mine is.” He reached over and picked up my hand from where it rested on the tabletop, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss.
Khaion nodded slowly, and I caught a flicker of understanding cross his features.
“I’ve already downloaded the ship’s navigational files and sent them to Siemba for review,” Binwee continued. “We also recovered the launch data that showed the human male took off in an unmarked shuttle right before we rescued Diarvet.”
“Human male?” Emmy barked, her eyes widening, the color deepening with shock. Her entire body went rigid, spine straightening like a steel rod as she shot a loaded glance toward Willa, a look packed with layers of unspoken communication.
“Yes,” Diarvet picked up the story, his voice taking on a darker edge. “When Qurbaga had me in the dungeon, there was a human male. I did not see him, but I scented his humanness.” A low growl rumbled in his chest. “He was the one Qurbaga intended to give Lilibet to.”
Emmy and Willa’s faces underwent a dramatic transformation, their features contorting with pure, unadulterated disgust mixed with a fury so intense it seemed to radiate from them in waves.
“Tell me,” Khaion said slowly, leaning forward with the kind of intensity that made the air feel heavier. “What exactly did they talk about?”
A low, rumbling growl that started deep in my mate’s chest burst from his lips, the sound like distant thunder. “Mostly they went on about what Qurbaga had planned for my mate and daughter,” he said, his voice wavering with controlled fury. “But the human did mention something about spies embedded in the Alliance.”
Our four visitors shared one of those weighted, meaningful glances. Khaion’s handsome features tightened almost imperceptibly as he took a deep, measured breath, his shoulders bracing. “Was there any mention of something called the Consortium?”
