Marat lets the silence stand for a while before he speaks again.
“One more thing.”
I turn from the window.
“The contract also guarantees this.” His voice is formal again. Steady. “You will not be abused. Not physically. Not sexually outside the terms of your marriage. Not publicly as spectacle or punishment. Those protections are written because they are enforceable.”
I stare at him. Something in my chest opens painfully at that. A place I did not even know had locked itself shut. Not because I expected abuse exactly. Because I have lived inside enough fear to know there are too many ways a woman can be made to endure what powerful people call normal.
“And if he wants something I can’t give?”
Marat’s face stays unreadable.
“Then the two of you will have to become husband and wife enough to speak plainly.”
The answer is not soothing. But it is real. Maybe that is the closest thing to kindness I am getting on this trip.
He deactivates the tablet and folds his hands.
“Do you accept the contract?”
I look back at the window. Mars is a shrinking curve now, already too far behind me to hold me if I changed my mind. Ahead is Tigris. A world I have never seen. A king I have never met. A life I cannot picture wearing yet. Children are expected. Marriage is for life. The customs are hard. I may be wanted for my body as much as for myself. Maybe more, at least at first.
Even so, I think about the food in my stomach from yesterday. The rent paid. The blue dress folded in my bag. The first clean coat I have owned in years. The simple fact of sitting in a warm shuttle where no one is touching me, cornering me, or deciding hunger gives them a right. I think about what Marai said. Choose the thing that gives you a chance.
I turn back from the window and lift my chin.
“Yes,” I say.
Marat watches me for one long second, then inclines his head as if I have passed some final test.
“Then prepare yourself,” he says quietly. “When we land, you will no longer be a candidate.”
My pulse jumps.
“What will I be?”
Marat holds my gaze.
“A king’s bride.”
Chapter 7
Keandra
The first thing I notice about Tigris is the heat. Not the dry, thin kind I know from machinery and packed Mars corridors. Not heat trapped in metal and pushed through broken vents. This feels alive.
It hits the shuttle the second we land. Thick. Real. Carrying scents I cannot name fast enough. Earth. Spice. Smoke. Crushed herbs. Something green. Something sharp. Something animal. Hide. Warm beast. Sun on fur.
The hatch opens with a low hydraulic hiss, and the first breath I take of Tigris air nearly stops me. It is too much. Too rich. Too full. Too wild. Mars always smelled filtered. Processed. Tired. Even its bad smells were familiar. Grease. Dust. Metal. Old water. Tigris smells like a world that grows things without asking permission. A world that does not have to be controlled every second just to keep people alive.
I step down from the shuttle and have to fight the urge to stop right there on the landing platform like a stunned fool. The sky is brighter than I expected. The light is different here. Warmer. More gold than white. Beyond the secured port, the capitalstretches in layers of dark stone, shining metal, and curved structures that look grown as much as built. The buildings are taller than the poor sectors on Mars, but broader too. Wider doors. Deeper thresholds. Stairways made for bodies that take up more space than mine ever could. Walkways arch overhead. Towers curve instead of cutting straight. Large banners move in the wind from poles sunk into wide stone plazas.
Everywhere I look, the world feels made to scale for people bigger than me. Stronger than me. Heavier than me. I wrap one hand tighter around the strap of my bag even though there is no reason to.
Marat walks beside me like none of this should feel strange. An escort meets us near the edge of the platform, says something low to him that sounds like “Nai,” then falls into step without another word. I am very aware that both men are human-sized. The males moving through the port are not. Not all of them.
Some are close enough to human height not to startle at first glance. Others are not. Some are massive. Broad. Thick through the shoulders and chest in a way that makes human men look unfinished beside them. Their skin runs darker than I expected. Deep bronze. Rich brown. Warm dark copper. Their faces are wrong in ways that make me stare and then force myself not to. Heavier brow ridges. Sharper cheekbones. Eyes too bright. Too gold. Too aware. Some have ears that taper slightly. Some wear bone or metal worked into their hair. Some are dressed in fitted city clothes. Others wear layered leathers, wraps, and pieces that look close to armor.
