"Not only will our Warlord dance with each of you lovely fairy princesses…" he said, dragging the suspense out with professional flair. His glittering hand lifted, pointing toward the towering ballroom doors. "…but we've invited some special guests!"
The doors burst open.
The shift in the room was immediate.
Conversation died.
Air seemed to thicken.
Two dozen males strode inside. Aliens. They were taller than most human men. Broader. Their movements carried a quiet, lethal confidence that instantly separated them from everyone else in the room.
Coalition fighters. Even before Chet confirmed it, I knew.
They moved like predators who had survived battlefields most humans couldn't imagine. Some of the facial features weren't quite right. Too angular. Their skin and hair colors were odd. Bronze. Gold. Copper. One gorgeous alien’s skin was so dark it looked like the night sky. The rest looked human enough. If you ignored their size. Except for the beasts. There were a couple Atlans. They were just too big to be anything else.
The suits they wore clearly hadn't been designed for bodies like theirs. Jackets strained across massive shoulders. A Prillon warrior near the back flexed slightly and the seam along his sleeve looked dangerously close to surrender.
The room full of glitter-covered princesses suddenly felt… very fragile.
Some of the males studied the contestants with polite curiosity. Others looked far more interested.
Predatory interest.
My stomach tightened. All the contestants were here tonight. Even the ones that had been eliminated earlier in the show. Kind of like a giant reunion episode before the show was even over.
"Single males from the Coalition Fleet processing center!" Chet announced with manic delight. "They're here looking for their mates, too!"
Excited whispers rippled through the ballroom.
I felt my pulse pick up.
Because this catastrophe just waiting to happen? This was new. Chet loved new.
"Which means…" he continued, spreading his arms wide like a magician revealing the final trick. His grin widened. "…EVERYONE DANCES WITH EVERYONE!"
Oh no.
Across the ballroom, Egon stood near the edge of the dance floor. Even in a room full of towering alien warriors, he dominated the space.
His eyes found mine instantly.
And the moment he saw the wings—his mouth twitched. The bastard was trying not to laugh.
The camera crews swarmed the room like locusts.
Lights flashed. Microphones swung overhead. Production assistants darted between contestants adjusting wings and tiaras while the music kicked on. The room filled with a strange ballroom pop remix that had absolutely no business being played at something allegedly called a fairy tale ball.
"The rules are simple!" Chet shouted over the noise, his voice booming through the speakers. "Each contestant dances with Warlord Egon, AND with our Coalition guests! The Warlord will also dance with each contestant! We rotate every three minutes! Listen for the chime."
Three minutes. Three minutes of torment every time I had to watch Egon put his hands on another woman.
Three minutes I knew he would have to fight his beast every time one of these unmated males put their hands on me.
Chet was going to get someone killed.
I scanned the room automatically, searching for my man. Egon had moved. He stood next to the ridiculous foam throne at the far side of the ballroom.
They had dressed him as a "Dark Prince." He didn’t have a cape this time. First time for everything. But he did have wings. Dark leather pants that hugged his muscular thighs, tight ass, and other things. A flowing black shirt was tucked into the pants. They’d unbuttoned it to his waist—of course—so he looked like a winged pirate. Instead of a crown he wore a pirate hat that actually looked… annoyingly good on him. An old fashioned pirate’s sword was strapped to his side.
