Page 216 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Beyond lies a sleek corridor, wide and winding, its architecture curving with the ship’s hull. Unlike our cramped quarters, this space is cathedral-tall—for a reason.
Two reasons, actually.
Robo-Nibs.
They loom at either side of the corridor, as tall as Dracoth himself—sleek purple alloys, their movements too smooth, too precise. They look like a kid’s favorite robot toy hit with a growth ray and dipped in danger.
“Greetings. I am Consul Catokar. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” a melodic voice chirps.
It takes me a second to find the source. Eyes drifting slowly between the two towering machines.
A tiny alien—child-sized, squat, and cloaked in layered black robes with a dramatic circular collar framing his fuzzy brown head like wilted petals—stands between the two metal giants. He lifts a leg like a dog marking territory. Charming.
Dracoth seems oblivious, tension pulses through our bond like coiled springs of destruction. His gaze never leaves the Robo-Nibs.
“The pleasure is ours, Consul.” I smile, leaning forward and extending a hand, palm down. “I’m War Chieftainess Alexandra. This is my husband, Dracoth.” I shrug my shoulder, trying—and failing—to stir Todd. “And this little chunk is the Divine Cherub.”
War Chieftainess sounds a little too stabby. We should rebrand. Something like... Friendship Chieftainess.
“Oh...” Catokar stares at Todd, then at my hand, red eyes blinking in delayed sequence before mirroring my gesture. We both end up looking like we’re comparing nail polish. Of course, it’s no contest. Mines are much nicer than his stubby digits. “I am to escort you to the Bellatorium.”
“Please. Lead on,” I purr, gesturing with flair.
And so, possibly the weirdest entourage in the galaxy begins its march. Through corridors that feel more ancient palace than ship—stone polished like sand-swept glass, engraved columns lining the walls with intricate battle scenes that would make any history buff faint.
Sandra catches up to Catokar at the front, towering over him like a cheerful sunbeam with legs. She lights up, peppering him with questions in rapid-fire succession.
That’s it, Sandra. Soften him up.
Behind us, the two Robo-Nibs fall into step, their heavy footfalls syncing eerily with Dracoth’s. Drexios looks the least at ease—one hand guiding Mama Dracoth with unexpected gentleness, the other twitching near his blade. His single eye never stops scanning, especially behind.
I grimace, seeing two Nibs passing us. They look like awkward teenage cosplayers dressed in regal purple segmented armor, trimmed in gold. Their broad features widen in shock as their orange eyes trail Dracoth’s towering frame.
“Boo!” Drexios yells, cackling as the pair of Nibs ahead scuttle off like startled crabs. “Ah, Shorties. Not much without their tech.” He grins at the Robo-Nibs. “Aren’t that right, lads?”
“Psst,babes.” I lean into Dracoth’s long ear, whispering low. “Is it smart to bring Drex-iot? I mean, first he’s an idiot and second, he’s a stab-happy lunatic.”
“He is loyal,” Dracoth growls, not even glancing back at whatever psycho shit Drexios is doing. “Are you?” He glares at me.Me. The woman who’s stuck by his side through thick and thin! As if I’m the one trying to start a galactic war.
“What kind of question is that?” I scoff, offended. “Of course I’m loyal.” I sigh, tossing my hair for emphasis. “Just remember what you promised, and everything will go exactly as it’s meant to.”
Us, on the throne. Crowned. Glorious. Bone-through-the-nose royalty.
“Besides, I even got Todd dressed for the occasion.” I shift the napping plumper for Dracoth’s inspection, hoping to change the subject to something more fun. “What do you think of his new outfit?”
Dracoth spares poor, neglected Todd only the faintest glance. “A blade?” he grunts.
“Huh?” I blink, following his gaze. “No, it’s a bowtie, not a—wait, how did you think it’s...?” I look again. Just silver. Adorable. A super-cute bowtie.
“Hey, mating puffrios,” Drexios appears at my elbow seemingly from nowhere, sending my irritation skyrocketing into orbit. “Just got to thinking.”
Oh goodie.
“You’ve never met the other Chieftains, have you?” he smirks knowingly, no doubt assuming we’re as brainless as he is.
“Little,” Dracoth admits, side-eyeing a group of passing slack-jawed Nibs gawking at his frame.
“Well,Iof course know the War Chieftain.” I snuggle closer against Dracoth’s chestplate, his heat keeping me nice and toasty through my robes. “Intimately.” I giggle, despite myself. “And Peacock Big-Chief and I...” I glance up at my unreadable meathead. “Have an understanding.”
