Page 69 of Alien Prince's Fated Mate

“I’ve never thought the selection process was random,” Mila added. “They take the strongest, the smartest. Girls who might cause trouble if left free.”

Serra’s face hardened. “Maya’s eldest - she was organizing the apprentices, demanding better conditions. A week later, she was chosen.”

“The Temple sees everything.” Niam set down her half-eaten bread. “The priests tap into ancient systems, monitoring every ring. But they’re losing control. The lightning strike weakened their grip. If we can reach the control center...”

A commotion outside cut her off. Boots on stairs, voices raised in greeting. The door burst open to reveal a tall man with graying hair and hard eyes. Behind him, a woman whose bearing marked her as a warrior even in civilian dress.

“Denna?” The woman’s voice broke.

“Mother?” Denna stumbled to her feet. “Father?”

I braced for violence as Markus Lehtla spotted me and my companions. But he had eyes only for his daughter, sweeping her into an embrace that lifted her off her feet.

“My little warrior.” His wife joined the embrace, all three crying openly now. “We thought we’d lost you forever.”

More families arrived, summoned by Serra’s hidden network. The Wicks - chandlers controlling Eight Ring’s information, the Randalls with their trade connections, and others - each bringing their own resources and grievances against the Temple. I cataloged faces and positions, noting how their haunted expressions transformed to hope as they realized they weren’t alone in their losses.

A web that could become either net or noose, depending on how the next few minutes played out.

“Tell them.” Serra’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Tell them what you told me.”

Niam stood. My beast howled to pull her back to safety, but I forced myself still. This was her moment, her strength.

She told them everything. The truth behind the Temple’s power. The ancient ship that had once sailed between the stars, now buried beneath their city. The sacrifices made to keep it running. Her voice never wavered, even when describing horrors that made hardened workers flinch.

I watched hands curl into fists. Watched grief transform into rage. Watched hope kindle in eyes that had known only fear.

“The Temple must fall.” Maya Wick’s voice rasped with old pain. “But how?”

“We have a plan.” Mila stepped forward, her mother’s protective stance mirroring my own instincts. “But we need help.”

Maya Wick’s scarred hands twisted in her apron. “What kind of help?”

“Distractions.” Mila’s voice dropped lower, forcing everyone to lean in. “Multiple points of chaos while we penetrate the Temple’s defenses.”

“The guards will slaughter anyone who stands against them.” The male twin - Pol? - shifted his weight. “We’ve seen it before.”

“Not if they’re chasing shadows.” Denna touched the hidden weapons beneath her disguise. “My father trained me well before the Temple took me. I know their patterns, their weaknesses.”

“And I know their secrets.” Niam raised her chin. “The priests rely as much on fear as force. Break that fear...”

“Break their power.” Serra finished the thought, calculation replacing doubt in her eyes. “The messenger network reaches every ring. We can spread word without raising suspicion - the chandlers’ boys collecting tallow, the brewers’ girls delivering ale.”

The Randall patriarch - a bear of a man with hide-toughened hands - cleared his throat. “What exactly are you planning?”

I let Mila outline the basics while I studied reactions. The families’ initial shock had hardened into something dangerous - the slow-burning rage of people who’d lost too much for too long. Good. We could use that.

“The sewers connect every ring.” Ren traced old routes on a scrap of leather. “Maintenance tunnels from the founding. Some closed off, some forgotten...”

“But not by us.” His twin finished the thought. “We use them to move goods past the tax collectors.”

Sarah Wick - the eldest of the chandler sisters - nodded. “Our people know every passage. We can plant false trails, lead the guards on endless chases.”

“While keeping the real target hidden.” Maya’s voice carried the weight of personal vengeance. “But what about the Temple’s machines? Their eyes are everywhere.”

“Not anymore.” Niam’s quiet confidence drew every eye. “The lightning strike damaged more than they admit. Their control is slipping. If we time this right...”

“The Barrel Boys can help.” Renna Malton stepped forward, brewery ledger clutched to her chest. “They’re loyal, strong. Used to working in the dark.”

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