“I’d rather be inside you than popular at the moment, but needs must.” He turns back to whatever diplomat wants attention.
“Innapropes.” I fan myself again, and clench my eyes shut as we enter the wormhole.
Not a second later, Jeren kisses the back of my hand. “We’re through.”
“Huh?” I open my eyes as the ship turns to the right and a beautiful white planet comes into view. It’s like a pearl with streaks of light blue and blooms of faint lavender coloring the cloudy atmosphere.
“Wow.” I have the urge to draw it, but I know I can’t do it justice. It’s like a glowing marble swirled with every bit of beauty I can imagine. Incandescent. Indescribable.
We set course straight for it, and I find my thoughts settling though my heart beats faster as we approach and enter the atmosphere. The ship’s descent is smooth, and when we clear the thickest swaths of gauzy white, a paradise appears below, the strong sun filtering through the clouds and giving a bright appearance to the glittering ocean and the green, lush landscape. A golden palace rises in the center of a city dotted with gold, silver, and gray roofs. Ribbons of black unfurl along balconies, their tips curling in the breeze.
Even though the city is deep in mourning, it’s still resplendent beyond anything I’ve ever seen.
“It’s so beautiful.” Those are the only words I can string together.
Kyte’s power jumps, his connection to Latrides making all of us more powerful by the second. He takes my hand and pulls me to the front of the ship so I can see it all through the wide window.
With his arm around my waist, he whispers in my ear. “Welcome to our home.”
35
Kyte
The receiving line is long, but my circle stands with me the entire time. I greet hundreds of mourners, each of them giving me a tiny glimpse into what my mother meant to so many. It’s overwhelming and humbling, but this is part of what being a Calarian noble means. We have to carry on and be who our people need us to be.
So that’s what I do, to honor my mother and all those who came here to pay their respects. Lana, Ceredes, and Jeren stand beside me. They give me room but have my back, and that’s all I need from them. I don’t have to ask. They’re right where they need to be.
“I hope you intend to take her seat on the council.” A Calarian senator looks up at me, her eyes sharp. “We need someone from Latrides at the helm of the fleet. The other races aren’t as strong, don’t have as much to offer as we Calarians.”
“Thank you, Senator Lilini.” I give my best fake smile and greet the next person. She’s just one of many who’ve voiced the same sentiment. After all, Latrides does provide the fleet with great wealth, fighters, and technology. It makes sense that we should have a say in how the fleet operates. But the circle makes sense, too. And the itch in the back of my skull, that hint of warning that’s been burrowing under my skin for weeks now, tells me that the circle will be called to fight sooner rather than later.
Onin, Master Harlan, and Master Rav file by next, each of them giving me additional condolences. Onin, in particular, seems crestfallen, though I didn’t know he was so well acquainted with my mother. Then again, I’ve already heard so many stories about her that I never knew, and I suspect there are plenty more that I may never know.
“Shame about the coverup.” Another Calarian noble takes my hand in a cold grip. “Bartanz is trying to keep his grip on the council and leading us to folly. Someone should do something about it.” He gives me a haughty look. Though, to be fair, I don’t think he has any other expression. “Someone with Calarian bravery in his blood. A true noble.”
“Thank you for coming.” I give him the only response I can.
“Forgive my father.” Satarin bows in front of me, her horns bedecked with matching teardrop emeralds. “He can be pushy.” She bats her lashes at me.
“Good to see you again, Satarin.” I take her hand.
“And you. Looking well, Prince Ellarian. Or I suppose it will be King Ellarian soon enough, will it not?”
“Wait, you’re a king? And who’s the fancy tramp?” Lana edges closer.
“There’s an entire year of Senate rule during the mourning period. We’ll have plenty of opportunities for succession discussions during that time.” I release her hand, but she doesn’t move down the line.
Instead, her gaze flicks to Lana, then back to me. “You will need an Omega of high birth to share your throne and your bed if you seek to continue your mother’s line. A Calarian,” she adds pointedly. “The people will accept no less.”
“Thank you for coming.” I don’t leave any room for her as I turn to the next guest.
She slinks away, but not before Lana mutters some creative curse under her breath.
I try not to smile, but fail, and likely make a terrible impression on the young Bellatian diplomat who grips my forearm in typical aggressive style.
“A great loss to the fleet.” He bows his head then continues past the circle.
“Hey, I know you.” Lana steps forward.
