Marat’s gaze settles on me.
“Dominant.”
That answer comes too fast. Too easily. I set the cup down with care.
“Only that?”
“No.”
He seems to consider how much to give me.
“Watchful. Controlled. Highly territorial. A king by nature as much as by position. He does not waste movement or words.”
My stomach pulls tight again.
“That sounds comforting.”
A flicker of dry understanding touches his face.
“It was not meant to.”
I hate that a small part of me appreciates the honesty.
“He is harsh in public,” Marat says. “That is not uncommon for horde leaders. But his file reflects consistency in law, discipline, and household protection.”
“His file.”
“Yes.”
I almost ask if kings are graded like breeding stock too. The bitterness flashes hot and ugly, then dies just as fast. It would be unfair. He did not build this system any more than I did. He just stands on the better side of it.
The fear stays. Not of monsters exactly. Monsters are simple. This feels more dangerous than simple. A male with power. Rules. Land. People. Expectations. A male who wants children, whether because the law requires it or instinct does, or both. A male who has been told my body is compatible with his in all the ways that matter to marriage and the future. My future, apparently, is now.
I look down again at the line glowing on the contract screen.
Lifetime union.
“You said daughters matter,” I say.
“They do.”
“Because there are so few women.”
“Yes.”
I think about that. Growing up in a place where girls are bartered by hunger and danger and debt, then going to a world where women are rare enough to shape law and bloodline. It should sound like a good thing. Instead it sounds like pressure. Expectation. More people deciding what my body is supposed to do.
“What if I say the wrong thing there?” I ask. “Do the wrong thing. Miss some custom and insult half his people before I even know what I did.”
“Then you learn,” Marat says. “Quickly.”
Not comforting either.
The silence stretches until the shuttle clears atmosphere and the light outside the window shifts from red haze to black. I have never been off-world. The sight steals the next thought right out of my head. Mars drops away beneath us in a curve of dusty copper and clouded light, and beyond it is something so huge and silent that it makes me feel smaller than hunger ever did. Black space. Cold stars. The hard white shine of distant worlds.
I press my fingertips lightly to the window. For five years, my whole life fit inside a few districts, a rented room, and the distance I could walk before dark. Now the planet itself is behind me.
I should feel free. Instead, I feel suspended between terror and relief, neither one strong enough to swallow the other.
