Page 39 of Alien Prince's Fake Bride
“Ah…” the big alien soldier says, arms held out from her body, before she carefully embraces me, too. “It was my pleasure, Umbra. Sweet gods, now I wish the prince was really marrying you.”
I notice the large warrior wiping a tear as she leaves the tent. I guess this was as emotional for her as for me.
16
- Mareliux-
General Praberol Sporiux’s tent is simple and functional. There’s a map table in the middle, next to the main pole, a sleeping cubicle, a conference area, metal chests, and a heap of weapons.
“It’s good to see you again, Prax,” I say as I draw Bellatriz. “Too much time goes by between each time we meet.”
“Time passes faster and faster, Mars,” the young general says, using my nickname that only my friends use in private. He puts his helmet on a side table along with his gloves. “They say it’s just the way we perceive it, but I disagree. Time really does keep speeding up. I notice your bodyguard will be standing outside. I’ll have some food brought to him.” He draws his sword, too.
“Don’t,” I tell him as I bring the hilt of my blade to my forehead, giving the traditional dueler’s salute. “Caret’ax hates that kind of thing. It only gets in the way, he says. He’ll be fine, just as long as he can do his job.”
“I don’t think you really need him here,” the general says as he removes one armor plate from his suit, making himself vulnerable in an unspoken gesture of trust. “Grefve Base is a friendly place for you. Any army base would be.” He returns my greeting.
“I know, but try convincing Caret’ax of that,” I reply drily as I take up a tense dueling stance.
“A dutiful man, then. You pick your people well. How did you find that alien woman? I found it hard to take my eyes off her.” Prab thrusts first, a well aimed stroke that I just have time to parry. Sparks fly from both our blades.
I chuckle. “She’s surprisingly attractive, isn’t she? I mean, I’ve met some aliens in my day. But none of them ever made me want to… well, to actually marry. It’s not just the looks, Prab. She’s got a warrior’s fire and a softness that’s disarming.” I feign a slash, then turn it into a quick jab.
Prab easily parries and retreats. “A dangerous combination. So there is really something between you two? It’s not all completely fake?”
“The wedding and the marriage are fake,” I assure him. “But the connection, the spark — I won't deny it's there, stronger than I expected. But there should be some, right? It will make the deception more effective. People can see it.” I lunge forwards and hack Bellatriz at his neck.
His parry is off by a fraction, and Bellatriz hits his armored arm with a dullclang. “True. By the way, I’ve made sure that very few know about the true nature of the wedding. There’s only me, Colonel Grast, and her team. The extraction team, that we hopenot to have to use. All women, all some of the best fighters we have. Your bride will be in the best hands, whatever happens,”
“With Grast in charge, I pity any resistance they might meet,” I agree as I hack again, this time from the other side. “But as you say, we hope to not need them. I spotted Quaestor Preniat outside where we landed. The Emperor’s own advisor, in his grey robes. How long has he been here?”
We exchange slashes and parries for a while. Prab has practiced since last time, that much is obvious.
“He arrived right before you did. He just had time to present his authority to me before you touched down.” The general retreats behind the table, then shifts his sword to his other hand and thrusts.
I barely escape his blade by sidestepping. “What’s his mission?”
“His mission is to inspect the base. The vaguest mission possible.” He throws the sword back into his other hand and thrusts again.
Already out of balance, I can’t parry or avoid the blade. I have to reach out with Syntrix to keep it from nicking my ear. “So he’s here to spy. To spy onme, you think? Would he have had time to get here, after I announced to the Emperor that I would be getting married?”
“Not from Khav,” Prab says, giving me time to recover. “It’s too far. But if he were somewhere else at the time, say, Visk or Limanet or Xo, then he could have made it here on time. I don’t like that man, Mars. He’s a realslike.”
“He’s the chief slike,” I ponder, not happy about what I’m hearing. “The Emperor must be suspicious about this whole wedding thing.”
“The Emperor, or someone else,” the legate says carefully as he renews his attack, thrusting from the other side of the table. “Does the Emperor himself really care that much anymore? Doesn’t he just long for death’s sweet embrace now?”
“I thought he did, but he cares enough to command me to get married before he’d let me inherit the throne. So who knows.” I parry again. But now I see a weakness in my friend’s fighting style.
“Someonecares about that,” the legate says, coming out from beside the table and thrusting again. “Maybe the Emperor. Maybe someone else.”
I parry, setting up for the final attack that will skewer him. “You mean my mother, the Empress?”
“I don’t mean anyone in particular. But if that’s where your mind goes, then who am I to argue?” He hacks at me, but he has signaled his intention too clearly and I parry without any trouble.
I start to get into the right position to attack and win. “It would be just like her. She knows that when the Emperor is gone, she loses her power. Unless the next emperor is someone she can control. Someone like Nerox.”
Prab slashes again, running out of ideas. “Your brotherwouldbe her preference, I suppose. She certainly can’t controlyou. But Nerox never matured. He’s still a child, spoiled and untested, always surrounded by attractive women. My guess is he wouldappoint his mother —yourmother, the Empress Juriniel — to be regent and rule instead of him.”
