Page 71 of Alien Prince's Fake Bride
“Princess Umbra saved my life,” Mareliux says and pulls me closer. “If she hadn’t, the assassin would have succeeded.”
“Such a horrible lapse by Imperial Security,” Preniat creaks. “And the Calanian Guards. Heads will roll when the Emperor hears about this, believe me.”
“Such a horrible lapse that they missed him,” Prince Nerox says with a merry grin. “Is that what you mean, Quaestor?”
“But… I never… how can you… that’s not at all what I mean!” the quaestor splutters in outrage.
“A lapse that they missed the assassin,” the young prince adds smoothly, “when they vetted the lackeys and drivers. But that was not what you meant, Quaestor? You don’t find that regrettable?”
“Now… I…” the quaestor says weakly, having been totally outmatched by the prince. “Of course that was regrettable. A horrible lapse, as I said.”
Prince Nerox looks at me and tilts his head to the side. “How do you like our planet so far, Umbra? Not as boring as your own desolate wasteland? Is it true that your planet doesn’t have a written language and you had never seen clothes before you met Mareliux?”
Mareliux’s eyes shoot fire. “FutureEmpressUmbra has just saved your brother’s life, mindless imp! I will slice you in half if you insult her again!”
The younger prince lifts his hands, clearly not scared. “But it wasn’t meant as an insult! I only repeat things I’ve heard. And I notice that my innocent question has gone unanswered.”
“It’s all true!” I exclaim sincerely, eyes wide, embracing my airhead role. “We never wear clothes on Earth. This is very uncomfortable!” I pinch the fabric of my dress. “But what is a ‘language’?”
The young prince gives me a lopsided smile. “I see.”
Holding his gaze for a moment, I think he gets the message in my exaggeratedly silly response:Is that all you got, asshole?
“Now that we’ve ascertained that Prince Mareliux and Princess Umbra are indeed unharmed, we shouldn’t let the Emperor wait,” the Empress says. “He is looking forward to this.”
The officials lead us through a double door that could accommodate a big sailing ship.
I never got a good look at the palace from outside. There were arches and galleries and sculptures and fountains, but I have no idea of its shape. But judging from the inside, it must be a very impressive palace indeed.
The air itself hums with a soft, distant music. Towering columns of polished basalt-like rock stretch towards a vaulted ceiling that disappears into a swirling tapestry of light and shadow, shifting and reforming in intricate patterns.
The floor beneath my feet is a seamless expanse of a material that feels like warm stone. Its surface is subtly textured withflowing designs that pulse with a faint inner radiance. Light spills from unseen sources, bathing the vast halls in a soft, ethereal glow that highlights the fine carvings on the walls.
The scale of the place is breathtaking, with corridors branching off into seemingly endless depths. They’re adorned with sculptures crafted from materials that shimmer and resonate with otherworldly beauty. It’s a space that feels both ancient and advanced, with both artistry and technology on a scale I hadn’t quite imagined from the insides of theGladiuxor the base on Grefve.
But now I absolutely get why Mareliux would want to save a civilization that can makethis.
We’re led through big halls and wide corridors that I suspect were made for this exact purpose: to awe the visitors. And it does make me feel small and insignificant. The way is guarded by the same purple-clad soldiers, probably some elite guard company.
Finally we stand in front of tall, double doors. There is great tension in here, telling me that were close to a place of great power. Tall guards open the doors, and my ring glows brightly.
The throne room is suitably vast. I can’t see the ceiling above me — the walls stretch upwards among streams of light and hanging banners and flags until they vanish in the distance. Thousands of flickering torches line the walls and fill cast iron stands placed at even intervals around the room.
I swallow in a dry throat. The Syntric power is so thick I could cut it with a knife. It’s every bit as strong as the electric charge in the deadly turret with the lightning in theGladiux, except this feels even more deadly despite not being electricity at all.
The room is empty, except for the low stone podium right in the middle. On the podium stands a giant sculpture.
It’s a writhing expanse of countless silvery tentacles, round and moving, easily the size of three buses stacked on top of each other. The long tentacles coil and uncoil, writhe and wave in a silent, mesmerizing dance. It’s a living sculpture of fluid motion that makes me wonder if this is a work of art or some kind of terrifying living being.
Then my eyes adjust, and I spot a seating position nestled at the base of this immense, pulsating mass. And within it, a figure so still he almost blends into the intricate silverwork.
Yeah, that’s the Emperor on the Tentacle Throne.
My skin creeps, and I have a strong urge to keep my distance to the thing, but Mareliux leads me confidently across the floor towards the throne.
“Hail Craxallo Imperator!” he says loudly as we come to a stop, only a few feet from the throne. His deep voice echoes from the walls.
The Throne towers over us, and one of the tentacles bends down to circle the air over my head before it withdraws. “Crown Prince Mareliux and Ambassador Umbra of Earth greet Your Imperial Magnificence!”
