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Chapter 1
Keran
As the opposing clans walked into the arena, the crowd erupted in shouts and applause. On every face, both males and females, the same feverish excitement burned fiercely. You’d think we were about to witness a duel to the death to allow an offended clan to reclaim its honor after a slight, not merely enjoy a brutal match of Beikor.
And yet, the seats of the arena were packed to capacity so that all could bear witness to the “half breed” Gavin Aldriss leading his team. Half the attendees hoped to see him and his clan obliterated. The other half were already taking bets at the insane odds that the young pup would decimate his opponents.
I belonged to that other half.
Sitting in the Magnar’s box, next to my father Ravik and his mate Mercy, we had the best possible view of the arena. Their three offspring, the twins Lissy and Garruk, and the youngest Dregor, were sitting off to the left side of the box with thrilled expressions. Despite their young age—nine for the twins and eight for Dregor—my half-siblings were already promising to be as strong and fierce as their parents. I couldn’t help a proud smile when all three of them joined their voices to the shouting crowd as Gavin walked towards the center of the arena, followed by the rest of his clan.
I cast a sideways glance at Gavin’s grandfather, Krygor, sitting on my right. Normally, he should have been in one of the two rows below us with the rest of my father’s Council and their spouses. But the bond between the Xeldars and the Aldriss had long evolved beyond king and subjects. We were family.
“I’m surprised you’re letting the pup lead this match,” I said, amusement audible in my voice. “I seem to recall you were itching to settle some scores with Clan Arthol.”
Krygor snorted. “There will be plenty of other occasions for that. But what greater humiliation for that son of a krillik than to have his entire clan mowed down by a quarter-blood?”
I chuckled. “The boy has become quite the beast.”
“He has,” Krygor replied proudly. “Looking at him, you’d never think he just turned eighteen. He’s already 7’2. I suspect by the time he’s twenty-one that he’ll be close to eight feet like us.”
I nodded slowly while reflecting on his words. “Gavin has been dominating every duel. It’s the first time I see purebloods shying away from a fight against a hybrid.”
“The blood of our ancestors runs strong in his veins,” Krygor said smugly.
“How does Dheran feel about it?” I asked cautiously.
Krygor snorted and gave me a knowing smile. “Dheran is thrilled. He wants to crush Clan Arthol. A good Clan Leader puts his best elements in the right positions. Misplaced pride and ego are the fastest path to defeat and humiliation.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said sincerely.
As Krygor’s firstborn son, Gavin’s father Anton should have been his heir. But being a hybrid—half human, half Braxian—Anton would have never stood a chance against the much bigger and stronger purebloods who would have challenged him for the role. Therefore, his younger brother Dheran, a pureblood, had been chosen as Krygor’s heir instead. Anyway, Anton never held such ambitions, having achieved insane wealth and power on his own with his network of pleasure barges and entertainment space stations.
But his son Gavin was defying all the rules. The boy was massive, with thick, well-defined muscles that rivaled those of the purest bloodlines. The only thing that gave away his mixed blood were his features. His human mother, Grace, was a breathtakingly beautiful woman. And Gavin had definitely inherited some of that beauty. By Braxian standards, he was ridiculously handsome, even though one might disagree by galactic standards.
He had the pitch-black, shoulder-length hair of his father—a common feature among most Braxians—and the unusual amber eyes of his mother. Where purebloods had extremely strong and prominent brow, with a flat and broad nose that gave us a brutish—Neanderthal according to humans—look, Gavin had a much tamer version of those traits, which made his face softer instead of fiercely intimidating like the rest of us had.
But that, too, was deceiving.
The two teams took their positions in the large, rectangular space—twelve men on each side. Ten two-meter-tall metal pillars rose from the ground. Their clever placement ensured that you couldn’t stand anywhere in the arena without being within a five-meter radius from one of them. Situational awareness would determine the winners and losers in this game. Once the match started, those pillars would emit an electric blast over a three-meter radius at regular intervals. You didn’t want to be within range when that happened.
My father rose from his seat and walked the few steps down our elevated dais to approach the stone railing of the box. A small disk, no bigger than a coin, rose from the top of the railing and came to hover right below the Magnar’s chin. The four giant screens around the arena displayed an enlarged image of his fearsome features as he prepared to address the crowd.
A hush immediately descended as the more than one hundred thousand people occupying the arena settled down to listen to their king. A mix of awe and worry swelled within me. To me, no previous Magnar rivaled my father, be it in strength, values, devotion to our people, or the sacrifices he had made to help Braxia evolve from its dark, barbaric, and primitive past. And in a few months, he would abdicate in my favor.
My gaze roamed over the crowd—a record attendance for a mere match of Beikor not tied to a consequential wager. Displayed on every face, even of those who hated my father and what he stood for, the same respect could be seen—if begrudging in some cases.
I had a ways to go to earn the same response… if ever.
My entire life, I’d prepared for this day. From learning our history to avoid repeating errors from the past, to studying the economic, cultural, and social structures of other prosperous worlds, forging foreign alliances, and educating myself in all relevant fields to be a well-rounded ruler for my people, I strived to live up to my father’s legacy. But our people still found me lacking on the one thing I had no control over.
I didn’t possess my father’s insane strength.
Not a day of my life went by without me undergoing intense physical and combat training. I wasn’t weak by any means. In fact, I took great pride in my battle prowess. I could count on one hand the males that stood a chance of defeating me in a fair duel.No onecould defeat my father, one-on-one.
But even as that thought crossed my mind, my eyes flicked to the young Gavin. He was standing proudly near the center of the arena, a taunting smirk on his pretty face as he stared at Jorak, Clan Althor’s heir.
No one, really?
