Page 71 of Alien Prince's Fated Mate

I clasped her hands in mine. “You have me. You'll always have me.”

“Promise?”

“Until my last breath.” I pressed my forehead to hers. “And long after that.”

She leaned into me, letting me take some of her weight. Just for a moment, just until she had to be strong again.

“Wake me if anything changes?”

“Always.”

I settled into guard position, letting my enhanced senses track movement above. Workers called to each other, maintaining normal routines while revolution sparked beneath their feet.

Niam’s breathing evened out into sleep. Mila and Denna followed, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Three days to turn these crafter families into an effective fighting force. Three days to coordinate attacks across multiple rings. Three days to prepare for everything that could go wrong.

I’d led armies before, but this was different. These weren’t warriors bound by oath and training. These were ordinary people choosing to risk everything for a chance at freedom.

My Valti nature understood that kind of desperate courage. The need to protect what was precious, no matter the cost.

I thought of Serra’s fierce embrace of her daughter. Maya’s hands knotted in her apron as she spoke of lost children. The twins’ synchronized movements, watching each other’s backs without conscious thought.

Yes. These people would fight. Not with a warrior’s discipline, but with the bone-deep stubbornness that had kept their crafts alive through generations of Temple control.

Niam stirred in her sleep, reaching for something only she could see. I touched her shoulder, gentling the dream.

Three days.

We would be ready.

NIAM

The chemical stench from the tanning vats seeped through the hidden room’s walls, burning my nose despite the herbed wrappings. I traced the routes marked on Serra’s maps again, committing each twist and turn to memory. Three days of preparation had led to this moment.

“The south passage connects here,” I murmured, following the line with my finger. “Past the lime pits, then up through the old maintenance shaft.”

“You’ve memorized it perfectly.” Tharon’s hand covered mine, steadying its slight tremor. “Ten times over.”

“There’s no room for mistakes.” I pulled another map from the stack - this one showing Fifth Ring’s guard rotations. Denna’s neat annotations marked timing and patrol patterns. “If we miss a single shift change...”

“We won’t.” His certainty grounded me. “The families know their parts.”

I nodded, remembering Mila’s patient instruction on proper rag man movement. Head down, shoulders slumped, each step careful but unhurried. We’d practiced until it felt natural, until even Tharon’s warrior grace transformed into a beggar’s shuffle.

The past three days blurred together in my mind - endless rounds of planning, practicing, preparing. The Wicks’ messenger network had spread word through every ring, each family adding their own piece to the whole. The Maltons’ Barrel Boys knew which alleys to block. The Potswoods’ bone collectors had strategic piles ready to burn, creating smoke screens in narrow streets.

Even the children played their parts, passing messages in games of cat’s cradle and hopscotch. I’d watched them practice, marveling at their quick minds and quicker feet. So much trust placed in our hands, so many lives risked on this one chance.

“Stop.” Tharon caught my restless fingers. “You’re wearing holes in the map.”

“Sorry.” I tried to still my hands. “I just keep thinking of everything that could go wrong.”

“Then think of everything that could go right.” He turned me to face him. “Think of the families who chose to help us. Think of how many lives we’ll save when we succeed.”

“When, not if?”

“When.” His certainty wrapped around me like a shield. “Now check your supplies one last time, then rest. Dawn comes too soon.”

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