Page 110 of The Alien's Cruel Starfrost Domain

Whatever my people might think of me if they knew all my secrets, it’s nothing compared to this truth.

I have plotted with my kingdom’s enemies—but in doing so, have I become even worse than the thing I hope to save my people from?

Shaking my head, I move across the trampled courtyard, the snow and ice crunching under my boots, providing a counterpoint to the scent of smoke and charred flesh.

Khrint combs through what’s left of my ballroom, and I move to join him. My valet stares at me for a long moment, his gazesolemn.

It occurs to me to wonder if he had any ties within the household that I didn’t know about—ties, perhaps, to some of those who died in the firelord’s attacks. Those who died not by my hand, but at my command.

And for the first time, I realize I cannot take even my own people into my confidence.

Not fully.

Not any longer.

It will be a death by a thousand cuts, each lie slicing into who I was, carving me, chunk by bloody chunk, into what I must be now.

Into the monster I must become.

“The firelord who attacked,” Khrint begins. “He was—he came to the manor with Lord Vazor, did he not?”

“He did,” I acknowledge.

Khrint’s expression is troubled as he toes aside the charcoal remains of a wooden beam, revealing a blackened, cracked crystal pendeloque that once dangled from a ballroom chandelier. “Did Lord Vazor have anything to do with last night’s attack?”

“I don’t know,” I say, cutting off another piece of my conscience as I do so.

“Didyou?” His voice is low, as serious as his expression. “How much of this is your doing, Your Lordship?” Khrint gestures at the burned-out husk of the manor, his mouth twisting. He finally pulls his gaze upward, searching my face.

“None.” I pause, then add, “I think it might have been Prince Jonyk’s plan all along,” I say, setting in motion the rumors I want to have spreading through the land.

Khrint nods thoughtfully. “That would explain why he and lady Qarine were not here.”

“It would, indeed,” I agree before changing the subject. “We’re leaving for Earth this afternoon. Begin preparing everything we will need. I want to take one other footman—you choose. That part should be easy.”

But then I give him the rest of his instructions, and his face grows even more serious. “Of course, Your Lordship.”

He might not know my plan, but he’s been around long enough to have picked up on some of what I’ve been planning.

“Be ready to go in two quintclicks.”

I leave Khrint to prepare for our departure.

As I walk away from the valet, I catch sight of Lara, her arms wrapped around her middle as if holding herself together. The power she’d shown earlier is no longer visible, but I have to trust it’s still there. She’s still wearing her own clothing, the frayed sweater and ash-stained blue jeans from Earth.

She no longer looks like she belongs to me.

While my other servants—my true servants—might be mourning, wondering if there’s any chance I was involved in decimating Prince Jonyk’s court by having my own home immolated, Lara gives me a hard stare as if to remind me she knows I’m behind it. I hold her gaze for a long, tense moment, until finally she gives in and glances away.

I find myself watching Lara as she turns away from me, and I realize I can’t continue as I am. Even my desire for her must be cut away. Or at least suppressed, since I am certain that’s the one part of me that cannot be removed—not until I enter the Eternal Dream.

Because I’m beginning to believe that even her death won’t be enough to make me stop wishing I could have her—not until I blow away into dust will that desire diminish. And even then, I will remain a part of this planet, taking into it my need for her, saturating it with an ache to possess her, until it seeps into the bones of the planet itself, permeating it with a need that can never be fulfilled.

I shake off my fanciful imaginings and turn to head back into that part of the manor that remains undamaged.

I arrange for workers from the village to come and clear away the burned remains of the ballroom. Once that’s done, I send out messages to the carpenters and handymen who regularly perform necessary maintenance on the manor in order to let them know what will need to be done to repair my home.

Then I tour thedamage myself. Smoke and ash fill my lungs as I stand in the ruined ballroom, memories of last night’s destruction still burning behind my eyes.

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