Chapter 20
Serna
My private chambers on Calpa had never felt like home before.
For decades, they'd been functional—a place to sleep between council sessions, to review intelligence reports in the quiet hours before dawn, to maintain the endless work of governing an alliance of thousands of worlds.
The furniture had been comfortable and cozy.
The lighting had been efficient. The view of Calpa's twin moons through the floor-to-ceiling windows had been beautiful but distant, like looking at a painting rather than living within it.
It had been a place to escape, where I could shed the persona of Prime and feel like myself for a bit. But now, everything was different. Now it felt like home.
I'd added a crib in one corner—a gift from Willa, crafted from polished silverwood with traditional Vaktaire symbols carved into the posts.
Beside it, a play space with soft rugs and cushions where Titus could safely explore.
Toys from a dozen different worlds were scattered across the floor: blocks that chimed when stacked, a plush creature that resembled something between a caphik and an Earth kitten, holobooks that told stories in animated pictures.
And I'd added a recliner, brought in from Earth—oversized, comfortable, upholstered in soft gray fabric—positioned near the windows where Cullen could sit and watch the city lights of Calpa spread out below us like a sea of stars.
He sat there now, my mate, with young Titus perched on his lap. The child was barely three years old, all chubby limbs and infectious giggles, and Cullen was making exaggerated faces that sent Titus into peals of laughter.
"Again!" Titus demanded, clapping his small hands together. "Again!"
Cullen obliged, crossing his eyes and puffing out his cheeks, and Titus shrieked with delight.
Willa sat nearby on the sofa, watching my mate and her son with obvious affection. She caught my eye and smiled—a warm, genuine expression that made something in my chest loosen.
"He's good with children," she said quietly.
"He raised Chloe," I replied, settling into the chair across from her. "And from what I've seen, he did an excellent job."
I felt Cullen's pleasure at the compliment, though he didn't look away from Titus. The youngling had grabbed his nose and was trying to pull it off, convinced it must be detachable.
This was family. This was what I'd sacrificed for so long—these quiet moments of warmth and connection, of watching the people I loved simply exist together in the same space.
And now I had it.
We'd been formally mated a week ago in a ceremony on Vaktaire, blessed by the priestesses in the ancient temple overlooking the Valasyne River.
Charick and Kavak had stood witness. Willa and Chloe had wept openly.
Ako had attended with his mate Helene along with Nansar, his normally stern expression softening as the priestesses bound our hands together with ceremonial cords and spoke the blessing that had been spoken for thousands of years.
Two hearts, one rhythm. Two souls, one path. Two lives, one future.
The bond between us had flared bright and strong during the ceremony, our hearts synchronizing so perfectly that I'd felt dizzy with the intensity of it. And when Cullen had kissed me—sealing the bond before our family and friends—I'd felt complete in a way I'd never experienced before.
The door chimed, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Enter," I called.
The door slid open, and Charick stepped through, followed closely by Kavak.
My sons. Both tall, both strong, both carrying themselves with the confidence of warriors and leaders.
Charick wore the uniform of a ship's captain, the insignia of the Bardaga prominent on his chest. Kavak wore the formal robes of a High General, deep crimson trimmed with gold—the colors of Vaktaire's military command.
"Mother," Charick said, crossing the room to embrace me. "You look well."
"I am well," I replied, returning his embrace. "Better than I've been in a long time."
Kavak embraced me next, his grip firm and reassuring. "The Council session went well, I hear."
"It did." I gestured toward the seating area. "Please, sit." I couldn't wait to share the sanctions and punishments the Council had approved to punish convicted slavers and those that supported them.
Charick settled onto the couch beside Willa, immediately reaching for Titus, who abandoned Cullen's lap to climb onto his father's. Kavak took the chair opposite mine, his expression thoughtful.
"There's something else we need to discuss," Charick said, his tone shifting to something more serious. "About what Riuondo said before he died."
My chest tightened. "Enslak."
"Yes." Charick leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "I've contacted Siemba of Asad Intelligence. He's already dispatched operatives to investigate—quietly, discreetly. If Enslak is alive, if he's out there somewhere, we'll find him."
The name hung in the air between us, heavy with a century of grief.
Enslak. My youngest son. Lost during the Vaktaire-Romvesian skirmish when Riuondo had refused to accept his defeat in the Prime trials. He'd been barely twenty years old—young, idealistic, eager to prove himself in battle.
And then he was gone.
We'd searched for months. Scoured every battlefield, every prison camp, every medical facility. But we'd found nothing. No body. No trace. Eventually, we'd been forced to accept that he was dead—killed in the chaos of war, his remains lost or destroyed.
But now...
"If he's alive," I said slowly, my voice barely above a whisper, "if Riuondo was telling the truth—"
"Then we'll bring him home," Charick said firmly. "I've already given orders to the Bardaga. We'll search every system, every outpost, every place Riuondo might have hidden him. We'll find him, Mother. I promise you that."
My hand moved to my heart, pressing against my chest as if I could physically hold the hope that was threatening to overwhelm me. A century. A hundred years of believing my son was dead, of carrying that grief like a stone in my chest.
And now there was a chance—however small—that he might still be alive.
"Thank you," I managed, my voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Charick."
Kavak cleared his throat. "There's something else we need to discuss. Something urgent."
I looked at my eldest son, noting the tension in his shoulders, the careful neutrality of his expression. "What is it?"
"Tensions between Romvesia and Vaktaire are rising," he said.
"Dangerously so. Riuondo was a folk hero to a lot of Romvesians—even though most of them believed he'd died a century ago.
Learning that he survived, that he was working to reclaim what he saw as his rightful position, and then hearing that you killed him...
" He paused. "It's created what Cullen so aptly called: a powder keg. "
"They see me as a usurper," I said quietly. "As the female who stole his destiny and then murdered him when he tried to reclaim it." Romvesians could be a little backward when it came to what Willa and Chloe called 'women's rights'.
"Yes." Kavak's jaw tightened. "The Romvesian Council is calling for reparations. Some of the more militant factions are calling for war. If we don't do something to ease tensions, we could be looking at another century of conflict."
The weight of it settled over me like a physical thing. This was what leadership meant—not just making decisions for yourself, but bearing the consequences of those decisions for entire worlds. For billions of lives.
"What do you propose?" I asked, though part of me dreaded the answer.
Kavak met my gaze steadily. "I'm going to enter into a political mating with a Romvesian princess. It will create a formal alliance between our houses, demonstrate our commitment to peace. It should be enough to satisfy the moderates and undercut the militants."
No.
Not this. Not my son sacrificing his chance at happiness the way I had sacrificed mine.
"Kavak—" I began, but he held up a hand.
"The arrangements are already made, Mother. Princess Thallia of House Morven has agreed. The ceremony will take place in two months, on neutral ground. Both the Vaktaire and Romvesian Councils have given their blessing."
"But your true mate—" The words caught in my throat. "You deserve to find your true mate. To experience what your brother has found, what I've found with Cullen. You shouldn't have to—"
"I'm doing this to protect the Alliance," Kavak said firmly. "To prevent war. To save lives. Isn't that what you taught me? That leadership means sacrifice?"
The irony of it—my own words, my own philosophy, now being used to justify my son's sacrifice—was almost unbearable.
"Thallia is lovely," Kavak continued, his voice softening slightly. "She's intelligent, diplomatic, genuinely committed to peace between our peoples. We've spoken several times over comm. I believe we can build a good life together."
"A good life," I repeated, and the words tasted bitter. "Kavak, I had a good life with your father. We shared children, built a home together, were friends. I loved him in my own way."
I paused, struggling to find the words to explain what I'd discovered—what I'd been missing all those years without even knowing it.
"But having a true mate is so much different," I said finally.
"It's not just companionship or partnership or even love in the conventional sense.
It's..." I glanced at Cullen. "It's like your soul recognizes its other half.
Like you've been walking through life slightly out of step, and suddenly everything aligns.
Your hearts beat together. You feel each other's emotions, share each other's pain and joy.
When Cullen hurts, I hurt. When I'm afraid, he knows it without me saying a word.
And the intimacy—not just physical, though that's profound—but the emotional intimacy of being truly, completely known by another person... "