Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Well?”
I glare at Norabi, still holding the boulder I was using in my daily exercises. Instead of answering me, my oldest remaining friend pauses at the palace’s rear portal, returning my glower from across the sprawling lawn between us.
I’m told it’s quite modest, for royalty.
Apparently, rulers on far-flung planets have more manicured grounds than we do.
The concept has always seemed frivolous to me.
We are warriors, not gardeners—and the opulent home intended for the Zortaire is built into the mountain that cradles our capital city, Rholoko.
This is sacred soil. While I’ve never found it to be anything other than my solemn burden, it seems wrong to waste space with vanity projects.
Not when we clearly have larger issues to contend with.
Norabi’s nose wrinkles as she shrugs. “She is mushy,” my almost-sister huffs, using her clawed foot to step on the butt end of a spear. It flips up. She snatches it out of the air, adding, “And she smells inedible to me.”
A female, I ponder. Omegas can come in any gender—or identify as agender. I purposefully gave no preference. To me, the distinction has never meant much. As long as they’re breedable and willing.
I give my second-in-command the sort of side-eye one can only express toward a sibling or a cousin. Anyone else on Khanos would take great offense.
“Did she arrive in one piece, at least?” I grunt, finishing off the last of my exercises before flinging the boulder I used to increase resistance. It hurtles across the castle’s clearing, landing close enough to make Norabi hiss.
“You do know you’ll need your knots soon?” she snipes. “I’d avoid throwing shit at me if you want to keep them.”
Gods-damned bitch. She’s the only almost-family I have left, but most days, I suspect she looks for ways to rile me.
Her smile seems to confirm my suspicions. All sharp edges, her teeth gleaming in the bright sunlight. I squint up at the triad of dying stars Khanos orbits—the rosy, the azure, and the golden—noting their positions.
It’s nearly time for our Equinox and then the Turn. Given this morning’s slight chill, I’d say it will be a quick one. I almost pity the omega—she will grow accustomed to our world, only for everything to change.
“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Norabi calls, using the dagger she keeps on her thigh to pick under her claws.
Her tone is blasé, but her eyes are wary as she continues, “Seriously. Why agree to take one of these worthless creatures—a human—onto our planet? They don’t smell very good, they can’t be used in battle, and her kind do not recognize mates.
Do you honestly intend to seed any omega the Galactic Council will grant you until something grows? Have we gotten that desperate?”
The short answer is yes.
“They don’t recognize mates?” I snap, snatching up a clean strip of cloth to wipe the exertion from my skin, hiding my relief.
What omega would wish to be bound to me? A dishonored male without wings or freedom? Stuck here on my withering planet? Holding my breath each and every day?
“No,” Norabi confirms. “Allegedly not. The Galactic Council confirmed your genetic compatibility, guaranteed this omega’s inability to trigger a mate bond, and promised us a fresh crop of breeders if this one doesn’t work out.”
And they did it all in exchange for the latest batch of warriors they dispatched to Quadrant Two.
In truth, it’s hard to say who’s getting the better deal here. The Galactic Council has found itself the innocent target of a particularly evil planet. But our planet is dying. And no one can help us.
Except perhaps this mushy, inedible… human.
If this works—if I can actually breed this being—the rest of the alphas on Khanos should have a chance at reproducing. Then, our ongoing inability to recognize mates might be a mystery, not a death sentence.
Surely, we could negotiate for more omegas to use as breeders. Maybe there would be no further need for mates or bonding at all.
In which case, I don’t care if I have to stick my favorite cock into a skin bag full of jelly a few times.
Still, the thought puts a grimace on my face and makes my ballocks shrink inside my body.
Hunting for a distraction, I pick up a quiver of arrows, knocking one into my bone bow.
The implement is the last gift my brother ever gave me.
An archery kit crafted from the remains of our enemies on the last dark planet we conquered.
Zazt would have known what to do. He would have fixed all of this long ago. Instead, my people are stuck with me.
I feel sick as I position the weapon.
Though not as ill as I feel when Rask appears on the castle’s lower veranda.
My General’s silver eyes match his sister’s, just as mine used to match my brother’s. They sail over the lawn. He doesn’t dare call my name, knowing it would be an insult—but his posture stiffens. Taut with impatience.
Hells. The omega must be ready to meet her cruel fate.
I only wish it wasn’t me.