Page 29 of The Alien's Vicious Starflash Manor

No matter how much I may want her, no matter how much my hands ache to touch her, how much my body throbs when she’s around, I cannot allow myself to care for her—not beyond what it takes to gain what I need from her.

And what I need from her is the power to save my people. What I need from her is her blood. And her sister’s blood, as well.

I guide my mount slightly higher into the chill air, where the twin moons of Trasq cast competing shadows across the landscape below.

Lara’s gaze follows me despite my attempt to escape it.

“Your bloodline carries certain... properties that will be essential to restoring balance.” The words I finally manage to say sit like ice on my tongue. Cold. Unmoving.

I’m reminded of the old Caix saying,Truth binds reality. Lies allow chaos to seep through the cracks.

My world is cracking, and chaos is sliding in, filling it.

Lara tugs her mount’s reins, bringing the construct upward and banking close to mine.

She shouldn’t be able to control the creature. Is it a sign of my power weakening? Or of hers growing? I welcome the second possibility—but the first makes my gut twist.

The ice horse’s flanks brush against my mount’s, sending a shower of frozen chips flying between us as she berates me. “That’s not an answer. How many more people have to die to save your precious magic? Like those who burned to death at your ball?”

The accusation strikes deeper than it should. I remember the screams, the smell of burning flesh as Lord Oesterin turned the elegant ballroom into an inferno. The rotating star ceiling had reflected the flames like a kaleidoscope of destruction. And yet...

“Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good. Would you condemn an entire world to slow death to save a handful of lives?”

Lara glares at me.

I don’t tell her how the magic fails a little more each day, how even now I can feel the weakening in my own abilities.

How many more ice constructs I’ll be able to create is uncertain. The thought of Trasq dying, of the Eternal Dream becoming truly eternal for my people, haunts my nights.

“Don’t pretend this is about noble sacrifice,” she spits back, and there’s that fire again, burning through her words. “You’re talking about murder.”

My hand instinctively moves to where the Starfire Crown rests, still hidden inside my coat. If she knew its true purpose, knew the price that must be paid in Evans blood to restore the magical magnetics of our world...

“My lord,” Khrint interrupts my thought with practiced diplomacy, his professional mask firmly in place despite the tension crackling between Lara and me. “Perhaps we should discuss the route to the spaceport?—”

“No.” Lara’s voice cracks. “I want to know if I heard correctly after the ball. Do you actually plan to put me or my sister on the Icecaix throne?”

I urge my mount higher still before answering her. “There are several possible paths forward. The throne may be one of them.”

The half-truth burns like acid. Yes, Lara will sit the throne—briefly—before her blood helps power the crown.

“Convenient how you never give a straight answer.” Bitterness laces her words, and something in my chest tightens painfully. The urge to tell her everything—about the crown, about her true heritage, about the terrible choice between her life and an entire world—nearly overwhelms my carefully maintained control.

But I can’t. Not when the fate of Trasq hangs by a thread. Not when every passing moment of this day brings us closer to collecting her sister Izzy—the final piece needed to restore magic to my dying world.

I remain silent, letting the bitter wind carry away the words I cannot say.

Lara falls silent then, her rigid posture radiating fury that seems to warm the very air around her. Her knuckles whiten on the reins, and I force myself to look away from the sight, even as my mind races through possibilities I’ve already examined and discarded a thousand times, searching for some way to save her.

The ice horses carry us through the night, and Lara pulls ahead of me. She handles her mount with unconscious ease. Even with her sister pressed against her back, she rides as if she was born to it—another sign I try not to read too deeply into.

My magic flows through the constructs, letting me feel every shift of their riders' weight. Through this connection, I sense Lara's exhaustion, the slight tremors running through her muscles. The constant tension in her spine—her fear and defiance at war throughout her body.

I remind myself that I swore to become as hard and cold as necessary to do what I know I have to do. So I shouldn't be monitoring her so closely. Shouldn't care about her comfort or fatigue. She's merely a means to an end—a necessary sacrifice to save my world.

But then she turns slightly, adjusting her cloak around her sister, and moonlight catches her profile.

Goddess, she’s beautiful.

---