one
ALIANA
Ifidgeted with the hem of my regulation Sanctuary-issued dress as I stepped through the gleaming portal gateway of the Western Hub. The fabric had the texture of a burlap sack that had been dunked in starch and left to dry in the sun—which, considering the government was involved, was probably exactly what it was.
Three days ago, I’d received my match notification: Urran, a mid-rank orc with “stable homestead credentials” and “calm temperament.” Translation: boring as hell. But boring was safe. Boring meant I wouldn’t end up as a cautionary tale in next year’s orientation videos.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the look of absolute panic on the officiant’s face when I checked in, as if she’d just realized she’d accidentally scheduled my wedding and my funeral for the same day.
The Western Hub Sanctuary Compound sprawled before me like an otherworldly airport terminal designed by someone who’d taken way too much acid. Crystal columns stretched toward vaulted ceilings that seemed to shift colors when I wasn’t lookingdirectly at them, and the air hummed with a strange energy that made the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end.
My hair—a crown of tight black curls that I’d spent an hour coaxing into submission this morning—was already beginning to frizz in response to whatever magical nonsense permeated this place.
Fantastic. I was going to meet my arranged monster husband looking like I’d stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
Other brides-to-be shuffled through the processing lines around me, some excited, some teary, all of us bound by the same reality: humanity needed protection, and we were the currency.
The participation was technically voluntary, but when your options were “marry a monster” or “stay locked in a human compound for the rest of your life,” the word “voluntary” did a lot of heavy lifting.
“Appointment code?” the intake clerk asked, not bothering to look up from her screen. Her tone suggested she’d rather be literally anywhere else, which, honestly, was fair.
“M-4379-WH,” I recited from memory. The code had been burned into my brain since the day I’d “consented” to the Monster Matrimony program.
Better matched than snatched. That’s what the recruitment posters had promised, right under a picture of a smiling human woman and her definitely-not-terrifying monster husband.
The propaganda department really needed to work on its Photoshop skills.
The clerk’s fingers danced across her tablet with the enthusiasm of someone filling out their own death certificate. “Aliana Mira.Yes, here you are. Please proceed to Orientation Room C. The officiant will see you shortly.”
I nodded, clutching my small bag of personal items that now comprised my earthly belongings. This was all I was able to bring with me to my new life.
My mother’s silver bracelet weighed heavy on my wrist, the only remnant of a world before the Great Diaspora War. Before humans became an endangered species, which led me to become a bargaining chip with legs.
Orientation Room C was sterile and white, with all the warmth of a dentist’s office. A single curved desk and two chairs were the only furniture.
I settled into the smaller chair, rehearsing what I knew about orcs in my head. Loyal, territorial, traditional.
Urran’s profile had shown a stocky, green-skinned male with small tusks and calm eyes that suggested he’d never had an exciting thought in his life. He grew crops, raised some kind of livestock, and had a “suitable dwelling” according to the match report.
Not exactly the stuff of romance novels, but romance wasn’t the point of the Monster Matrimony Act. Survival was.
And if I had to survive with someone who probably spent his evenings watching grass grow, well, I’d read a lot of books.
The door hissed open, and the officiant swept in, datapad clutched to her chest like a shield. I recognized her from the orientation videos—the same clipped voice, the same severe bun that looked like it was giving her a facelift. But something was off.
Her usual composed expression—the one that said “I have seen some shit and filled out the paperwork for it”—had been replaced with a twitchy sort of anxiety that made my stomach drop.
“Bride Aliana,” she said, not quite meeting my eyes, which was never a good sign. “Welcome to your acclimatization period.”
“Thank you,” I replied, sitting straighter and trying to project confidence I absolutely did not feel. “I’ve completed all the preliminary screenings and?—”
“Yes, yes,” she interrupted, fingers dancing nervously over her datapad as if she were trying to defuse a bomb. “About that. There’s been a development.”
My stomach dropped straight through the floor. “A development?”
She cleared her throat. “Your match has been updated.”
“Updated?” I repeated, my voice rising an octave into territory usually reserved for dolphin communication. “What does that mean, ‘updated’? Did Urran back out?”
