CHAPTER 24
Ksar was more or less satisfied as he left the Queen’s office. He was pleasantly surprised that he hadn’t had to influence his parents’ minds to make them more… open-minded about Harht’s situation. It seemed he wasn’t the only one in the family with a soft spot for their youngest member. Granted, the Queen hadn’t been happy to hear the news, but all in all, it had gone smoother than Ksar had expected. Their parents’ concern for Harht had outweighed their dismay by the situation. Harht was going to need their parents’ unconditional support while Ksar solved the problem of Harry’s bond to Leylen’shni’gul and the fact that legally Harry couldn’t have a relationship with the human.
Ksar pressed his lips together. He still couldn’t say he was happy with the fact that Harry literally needed his human.
Initially, he had been skeptical of Borg’gorn’s assessment of the situation until he checked Harry’s mind himself.
What he had seen in Harry’s mind was beyond disturbing. Harry’s mind had always been warm and bright, full of happy, if naive, thoughts. Now it was dull and gloomy, lifeless and devoid of any excitement. Harry’s brain was confused and sluggish, his core pulsing with such raw need that it nearly made Ksar sick. Harry was also in immense pain, but his brain didn’t seem to work correctly for him to feel it fully. The bond around Harry’s telepathic core didn’t make matters better, messing with the already suffering mind and body. Ksar couldn’t imagine constantly living with that kind of pain and unsatisfied need. He didn’t think Harry could last long without going insane or his brain finally shutting down.
So regardless of his own thoughts on the matter, he would have to get Harry what he needed: that human of his.
Ksar gritted his teeth and strode toward his office.
He was annoyed by the situation. Though, perhaps annoyance wasn’t the correct word. Cold rage fit better. He wanted to kill that human. Harht was still a kid. It wasn’t Harht’s age that was the problem—Ksar had been on hundreds of planets and was well aware that the Calluvian age of majority was considered rather old by most races’ standards. Harht was twenty-three, old enough to make his own decisions. No, the problem wasn’t Harht’s age, per se; it was Harht’s naivety and trustfulness. Harht had been too sheltered all his life. He hadn’t even attended an off-planet school, as most Calluvian princes did. Their parents had always babied Harht too much and he had grown up disgustingly naive and nice.
Ksar hadn’t had an opportunity to observe Adam Crawford for long, but he was familiar with the type: the handsome, confident type that fucked every attractive thing. Harht deserved better.
But it didn’t matter now, did it?
Ksar pressed his hand against the scanner and the door to his office whooshed open.
“Borg’gorn, the information I requested,” he said, seating himself behind his desk.
A hologram appeared in front of him.
The AI replied, “The data is not complete, but the initial research indicates that twenty-three percent of the Ministry’s Lord Chancellors would like for the laws regarding pre-TNIT races to be softened. Forty-six percent do not have particularly strong feelings on the matter. Thirty-one percent firmly agree with the law.”
Ksar hummed thoughtfully. Twenty-three percent was better than expected. He could work with that.
“Has the Queen-Consort of the Sixth Grand Clan accepted my invitation?”
“Yes, Your Highness. She’ll be here shortly.”
“Good.” Ksar leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His mind raced with possibilities, considering and discarding them quickly.
He wished he didn’t have to choose that route.
For a moment, he wondered again if it would have been easier to simply smuggle Harht to Earth as Seyn had suggested, but he dismissed the idea again. To do that, he would have had to completely subdue the teleporter technicians’ wills, erasing their memories again and again each time they saw in the teleporter’s history that Harht had teleported to Earth. Even if it were feasible—which it wasn’t, since Ksar was too busy—there was nothing he could have done to keep the technicians’ bondmates out of their minds; they would have noticed immediately that something was amiss.
No, the political route was safer and less convoluted in the long run.
He’d made the right choice.
“The Queen-Consort of the Sixth Grand Clan is here, Your Highness” Borg’gorn said.
Ksar opened his eyes and straightened in his chair. “Let her in.”
The door opened and Queen-Consort Zeyneb’shni’waari strode in confidently.
Ksar didn’t stand up. It would be the polite thing to do, but it certainly wasn’t required or expected of him. As the Crown Prince of the Second Grand Clan and the future king of his clan, Ksar’s social standing was higher than Lady Zeyneb’s and they both knew it. Lady Zeyneb was neither a friend nor an ally—yet—and any false courtesy would only make her suspicious. He couldn’t appear too eager.
“Ksar’ngh’chaali,” she said with a smile. “I was pleasantly surprised to receive your message, given that you declined to support my bill last time.”
“Were you?” Ksar murmured, looking her in the eye. A quick look into her thoughts revealed nothing he hadn’t expected: she was curious and eager to use this opportunity to further her political goals. She was also wary of him. She didn’t trust him.
Good. She wasn’t completely foolish. He didn’t need foolish allies.
“It’s actually the reason I requested this meeting,” Ksar said. “I’m willing to reconsider my stance.”
Zeyneb cocked her head to the side. “And what changed your mind?”
Ksar smiled.
She shifted, looking a little uneasy.
“You adopted brother is the Lord Chancellor of Planet Kiwufhi,” he said. “I have heard that he’s going to propose a bill in the next session of the Ministry.”
She frowned, looking confused but intrigued. Ksar knew she wasn’t interested all that much in intergalactic politics.
“What kind of law?” she said.
“Repeal of the 156th Ministry law,” Ksar said.
She stared at him. “I’m sure you must have heard wrong,” she said slowly. “That would be a political and social suicide. It would never pass.”
“Just like the bill you want to propose in the Council,” Ksar said amicably. “But politics can be so unpredictable. You never know.”
Her eyes narrowed. She gave him a long, assessing look.
“Perhaps,” she said at last. “Perhaps we should speak plainly to avoid confusion.”
Ksar smiled and leaned back in his chair. “If your adopted brother proposes the bill I mentioned in the Ministry’s next session, the Queen will support the bill you intend to propose in the next session of the Council.”
Her nostrils flared. Ksar didn’t need to read her mind to know that she was interested.
“Your mother the Queen is very influential,” Lady Zeyneb said slowly. “But even that won’t be enough for the bill to pass. There are too many telepathically null cowards in the Council.”
Ksar looked at her steadily. “Let me worry about it.”
She studied him. She did seem a bit skeptical, but she knew better than to question him. That would give her plausible deniability if he was caught.
And she wanted the bill to pass too much. It was hardly a secret. Lady Zeyneb had been pushing for the amendment to the Bonding Law for years. Her motives were transparent: she was acting on behalf of her son, who was bonded to the former heir to the Fifth Grand Clan. The match had been perfectly eligible, except her son’s bondmate had disappeared decades ago, presumably kidnapped by renegades. However, nothing was confirmed. Although the lost prince’s identification chip had been deactivated, the bond to Lady Zeyneb’s son remained, suggesting that the lost prince was alive…somewhere. In any case, Lady Zeyneb’s son needed to get rid of the bond if he were to marry the King of Planet Zicur, whom he had met at the off-planet school he had studied at and who had been courting him for years, which was the source of endless gossip in the society. If the King of Zicur weren’t such an eligible bachelor, the situation would have been far more scandalous, since technically Lady Zeyneb’s son was bonded. It was no wonder Lady Zeyneb wanted to break her son’s bond to the absent prince and marry him off to his prestigious suitor. Ksar would do the same.
So he waited patiently for her to accept his conditions. She would not refuse.
At last, Lady Zeyneb nodded and stood. “Very well. I will contact my brother. I’m looking forward to hearing good news from you.”
“You will,” Ksar said, getting to his feet out of politeness.
She smiled at him and left.
As the door slid shut after her, Ksar sat down. Closing his eyes, he reached with his mind toward the woman’s. Since she was alone now and supposedly safe of any telepathic prying, her mental shields were down and her mind was an open book.
He seems too interested in repealing the 156th law. That’s a weakness I can exploit. Perhaps I should demand more things from Ksar in exchange for my brother’s support. Hmm.
If Ksar had any lingering doubts—not that he had any—over what he was about to do, they would have been gone now.
Carefully, he planted a thought deep in her mind. Nothing radical. Nothing she would notice or consider uncharacteristic for her. It was simply a suggestion that she should do as Ksar wanted for the time being and that she could always turn the situation against Ksar at some point in the future—a very remote future.
She didn’t notice anything.
But then again, why would she when everyone knew it was impossible to plant thoughts without eye contact?
Ksar smiled.
Infinite power corrupts, a voice said scathingly in the back of his mind. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Seyn’s.
Ksar frowned and checked his mental shields, but they were impenetrable as always. He had imagined it.
Or perhaps it was the voice of his conscience he’d thought he no longer had.
Pressing his lips together, Ksar discarded the thought. He had no time for this. He had a busy day ahead of him. More people in need of persuading.
Persuading was a good word. It could mean a number of things.
Ksar drummed his fingers on the armrest.
But first, he had a special meeting before he could return to the political negotiations.
“Borg’gorn, is Lady Leylen’shni’gul here already?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Ksar schooled his face into an amicable expression as the door whooshed open again, admitting Harht’s bondmate.
Ksar studied her. She was pleasant to look at, pleasant in manner and appearance. Harht was lucky. She was definitely less of a bother than Seyn.
A flash of irritation at the thought of Seyn made it more difficult to put on a smile for the girl.
“Lady Leylen’shni’gul,” he said. “Please, take a seat.”
Blushing slightly, she did. “Your Highness. Is there a reason you requested my presence?”
“There is,” Ksar said, dropping his gaze. For a moment, he considered simply forcing her to do his bidding, but he dismissed the idea. It would be too risky. A skilled mind adept could discover that she was being influenced—and if everything went as he planned, a skilled mind adept was going to examine her mind for a very specific reason.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much time, so I’ll speak candidly,” Ksar said, softening his voice. “In a few months, an amendment to the Bonding Law will be passed. From then on, anyone who reached the age of majority would be able to request the dissolution of their bond. You reach the age of majority in three months.”
She stared at him. He could practically see her mind working. She wasn’t a stupid girl. “You want me to request the dissolution of my bond to your brother?” she said slowly. “Why would I do that? I’m perfectly content with my bond.”
Of course she was. While she was of noble blood, and her family owned one of the biggest deposits of korviu, the invaluable chemical element necessary for the use of transgalactic teleporters, her family’s social standing wasn’t very high. A prince was a catch for her. She would never willingly dissolve the bond to Harht.
Not for the first time, Ksar wished he could simply break Harht’s bond to the girl himself—he was more than capable of it—but it wouldn’t solve Harht’s problem. It wouldn’t make him free in the eyes of the law.
Ksar also wished he could simply wait until Harht reached the age of majority and could request the dissolution of the bond himself, but after seeing the state of his brother’s mind, he didn’t think Harht had that much time. Of course Ksar could have pushed for a complete repeal of the Bonding Law, but the Council would never vote for it, and it would be highly suspicious if everyone suddenly changed their mind.
So negotiating with Leylen’shni’gul was the only option. Luckily, Ksar knew something she would be more than willing to break her bond for.
Ksar met the girl’s eyes. “And what if I offered myself in my brother’s place?”
Her eyes widened. She blushed. “I... I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Highness. I thought you were bonded to Prince Seyn’ngh’veighli.”
Suppressing another surge of annoyance, Ksar forced a pleasant look on his face. “Soon, I won’t be.”
She smiled.