“I hate you.”

Watching Sigil stand so still, her face alive with regret, Sovereign disagreed. “You don’t mean that.”

Oh, she meant it. Felt it so thoroughly that her lower lip trembled when she looked at the Emperor. That brand of hatred had begun in the cradle, was the flavor of her childhood, and the bane of all her years free of Condor. To share space with him, to have forgotten for even a moment in her grief, brought each drop of loathing back to bloom and twist inside her.

Cut from stone, grim, Sovereign warned. “My love has always been yours, and though yours should have been mine, I am left with your hate instead. And it still changes nothing in my regard, or the difficulty of my position, precious Sigil.”

She gave him her back, earning an unseen sneer from the male.

Sovereign openly prowled, caging her in. “And you think I take pleasure in forcing you? That I have enjoyed these last months watching you lay like a penitent accepting the whip, all so I might attend an unresponsive body in an effort to heal you? This monster you have labeled me out of your stubbornness and abstention bears no resemblance to the man I am! There is no length I would not go to for you. No limit, Sigil!”

Forcibly turning her, gripping a stubborn chin, Sovereign made her look. “I understood your sorrow, I know the exact pain you carry, and since you woke never once did I force pleasure in an effort to steal your attention before you were ready to give it. No matter what revulsion you bear for me, even you cannot question my faithfulness, my sacrifices, or my patience.”

It was her whimper that stopped Sovereign from closing his mouth over hers to suck in a kiss that would have been rough and selfish.

Setting her free, edging back, he let his expression mirror the determination inside him. “I will break you of this ingrained response and you will love me. It is inevitable.”

Showing teeth, Sigil hissed. “It wouldn’t be real.”

“Your hate is what is not real! And you dared to call your Brothers the sheep. At the honest heart of it, Sigil, you do not even try to think past your programing. You only ran from it. You hate me because your handlers were very thorough in planting that idea, in torturing you into mental submission. Take a hard look at yourself and tell me that is not true.”

Voice rising, Sigil demanded, “And why should I?”

A look of smug superiority made beautiful lips mean. “Where is your self-righteousness now, pretty hypocrite? I thought you believed you were above us all, so determined in your liberated sense of self. Yet here you are, still that little girl on Condor.”

He’d talked her into a circle. To contradict him would make her look foolish. To agree would be an obvious falsehood—because there was too much truth in his claim. Her hatred of him was ingrained so deeply, the thought of even trying to align his image with fondness would naturally never occur to her.

Sovereign was borderline mocking, twirling a length of her hair about his finger. “Are you afraid of thinking for yourself? You are floundering already. To lose your programed foundation must seem terrifying indeed...”

She was many things, but she was not a coward. Even on Condor, even young and vulnerable, she’d faced every last goddamn thing her handlers had laid out for her. Furious, her fist smashed into his jaw, rocking Sovereign’s head. But he did nothing more than swing his gaze back to her. “That’s right. That is what you were trained for, that’s why Commander Dimitri made you.”

The burn of his words drained away her fleeting exultation. Staring at him for a long moment, blinking oddly, Sigil took a step back.

Her whisper took a great deal of effort. “That is what I was trained for...” Memories older than her time with Que rushed in so hard they began to blend together. Combat practice, poisons, murder, friendlessness, sociopathy, viciousness, pain. “...I learned how to kill you a thousand different ways.”

Dulcet coolness enriched Sovereign’s voice. “And when I lay dead how would you feel?”

Free?

He answered her silence. “You would be lonely, beloved, even more so than you already are. Deep down, under all your broken pieces, the truth is that I have been your constant companion—a whisper in your mind from the very beginning.”

With her eyes closed it was almost like he wasn’t really there, and for a moment Sigil felt she might will him away. But then he touched his lips to hers, and where every part of her longed to lash out, she stilled to prove that she could bear it on his terms.

She could kiss him without the effect of passion having forced it. She could offer an attempt.

It was the response he wanted, and knowing he was pleased only stirred up more vitriol in her being. When it was done, when she had returned the pressure of a chaste kiss, he smiled, happy.

“You can’t attribute all my hatred to Condor.” The man before her was not a saint. There were things he’d done—things he’d claimed he’d done for her—that Sigil found disturbing to an extreme. And had he never come to Pax, Que would still be alive.

For that he had to pay.

With hesitant fingers Sigil reached up to touch his face. She’d promised him punishment if he didn’t kill her when they first faced off in her lost home. He would receive it.

Tracing the precision of his bone structure, she had to admit Sovereign was beautiful, perfect. And while he looked at her in love, she took what was hers.

Ripping his left eye from his skull was simple.

Dangling the little globe by its blood vessels and torn nerve above parted lips, Sigil dropped it, swallowing that pretty eye whole, facing him unashamed as it slithered down into her belly.

Sovereign stood, pressing the flat of his palm to the gaping, bloody eye socket. His lack of retaliation confused her automatic response. There was no anticipated battle, just awkward silence and a rolling sense of burdened grief.

Inside and out the Emperor was in pain, but it hardly showed beyond the tightening of his brow and the thinning of his lips.

Tired, Sigil walked out of the room.

***

In Summer she’d slept, too exhausted for even the midday sun blazing off the walls to wake her.

When a rumbling stomach finally drew her back to life, two moons rose over the night-darkened sea outside her balcony. There was silence and no trace of Sovereign’s mind. But she had not been abandoned.

Karhl waited for her.

Padding barefoot over cool floors, Sigil sought out what was her due—having faced enough punishment in her life to know when a judge sat waiting to dole it out.

Dried rusty splashes of gore still stained her fingertips, her dress was still mussed from breakfast. Pale and resigned, she walked straight-backed through the archway of Spring.

Lacking the armor he’d worn in the early hours, the Lord Commander stood as if part of the architecture. A black uniform much like the one Sovereign wore day after day, stretched across his mass. It did nothing to soften his severity.

It seemed he had also brought witnesses: a collection of Sovereign’s Brothers. Five members of Project Cataclysm sat at the long table, just as noiseless as the Lord Commander.

Before they could begin, Sigil blurted, “I regret nothing.”

Karhl moved his head just enough for his hair to chime. “Not even what you said to Jerla?”

Rubbing her lips together Sigil looked away. That she did regret...

The low bass of his voice stated the obvious. “You anticipate punishment for your earlier behavior.” Karhl made no effort to approach when she toed a step, as if to brace and physically defend herself. “I expected you to be timid. I did not expect you to be frightened, young one.” As usual there was no emotion shown in his expression, the comfort he crooned at her came from within. “This is not Condor. No Brother gathered here would dare touch you without your express permission.”

No matter how tranquilly Karhl projected his emotion, Sigil refused to lower her guard and believe him. “Sovereign wishes to punish me himself?”

“I know my Brother. More than anything, Sovereign would wish to be the one to soothe your worries. But his presence is not best for you at this moment.” Three steps and Karhl pulled out her chair so Sigil might be tempted to sit.

Eyeing him with suspicion, Sigil slithered into it, tense.

Ignoring how she braced for a blow, the Lord Commander introduced each Brother sitting around her table. A Herald of the Second Sphere, Mathias, smiled, teeth white against dark skin. To his left sat two of six Imperial Admirals. Parnisu, the taller, explained that he’d controlled the ship that had pulled her out of Pax, and seemed to study her even more closely than she studied him. Gethman, sable hair straight as a pin, mirrored his compatriot’s uniform, but seemed more at ease, lounging back in his chair like a spoiled cat.

No rank was given to the two remaining men. From the symbols woven into the drape that hung from their shoulders, Sigil was certain the pair were High Adherents—something converts considered holy men. It was their Order that managed galactic conversion, human laws, and execution of the Unsalvageable. Dryden offered a nod, his expression soft and made to be beautiful. Corths, upturned eyes so very Tessan, dared much, reaching out as if he thought to stroke her cheek.

She jerked her head away.

Apologetic in tone, Corths explained. “Sweet sister, I am the one who watched over your keeping, day and night, as you slept.”

Jade eyes looked at her as if they were familiar, and in Corths’s estimation, they were. Even though he’d failed to touch her, Sigil felt the ghost sensation of a repetitive stroke over her face—a memory in mirror to where he must have pet her often in her sleep.

Sigil turned her gaze away from him, just as she would dissuade any spectator overexcited by her performance at Swelter.

The Lord Commander began to spoon food onto her plate.

Not one of them seemed troubled by her reticence, serving themselves and conversing as if she had not ingested their leader’s eye only hours earlier. Instead they asked gentle questions she didn’t answer, behaving as if she were one of them come home. But worse was the constant distraction, the obviousness that Sovereign was not in attendance. Her eyes were drawn to search the corners for him, and it bothered her that another sat in his chair.

The wound she’d given him was not fatal, minor even in the scheme of things. It would take a few days for his eye to regenerate, but the dinner seemed to suggest he would not return until healed.

Liberation from his presence felt abnormal, uncomfortable even, and then it struck her why Karhl was overly cautious, why so many Brothers had been collected.

Sovereign was not going to be the one to tend her compulsion...

She spoke at last. “He’s not coming back tonight. I have been handed off so I might learn my place.”

A large hand covered hers, dwarfing her fingers. Karhl spoke softly. “It is your nature to see plots where there are none. Such apprehension was necessary to prior survival, but it complicates this stage of grief. You’re angry, regretful, and bound to lash out. I understand. Sovereign understands. So you must not judge him too harshly for retreat when your behavior has disappointed his overzealous hopes. I know it is difficult for him to finally hold you, only to gain cruelty and suspicion in return.”

Lips in a line, she glared at the white-haired warrior.

Karhl leaned nearer, looming so she might pay attention. “Imagine seeing the thing you want most suffer, even under your best care. Imagine your Que looking at you with hatred, no matter how delicate you are in seeing to his needs. Now, imagine a few precious moments of recognition from the one you love, after decades of service, crashing apart before they could be truly relished.”

Why would he dare to say that name? Gritting her teeth, Sigil spat, uncaring who their audience was. “Sovereign is not Que!”

“No,” Karhl agreed, “You are Sovereign’s Que. You always have been. And just like your Que could never love you, you have never loved him. It is a tragedy he bears with dignity.”

Why the fuck should she care? That man deserved what she’d done to him. “He should never have let Jerla in here!”

“Jerla has begged to see you every day since he first laid eyes on you. I know what you said to the child, I understand the part of you that felt that you needed to say it. But I must remind you that unlike the Axirlans I mimic in appearance and you strain to mimic in thinking, we are not of that species. Axirlan creed is limited by their inability to feel, and no matter how magnificent you find the concept, you are not Axirlan. Blatant honesty is not always best to curb remorse. You have a duty to that boy.”

Her mouth moved before her brain could stop her. “Is that why Arden is not here? Jerla is still very upset?”

It seemed for a moment Karhl would not answer. His face and demeanor unchanging, the Lord Commander finally asked, “Do you desire his company?”

Which he Karhl referred to was left vague. Either way the answer was simple. “No.”

Karhl had more to say. “Are you unhappy that tonight I will attend you? You wish Sovereign would return?”

The tactile oddity of separation from Sovereign’s presence was a clear sign he was having some deeper effect on her. Separation would clear her mind. “I do not.”

No hesitation came with the justification of what Karhl wanted. “Then you understand that regression is likely and will need to be seen to.” A male that had never shown intonation let his voice grow husky, Karhl’s vivid eyes moving to her mouth, “But, beautiful young one, I long greatly to take you willingly to bed, and would hate to force you should you slip and grow dangerous to yourself.”

“My psionics have been repaired. How dangerous could I be?”

An infinitesimal smile came to the corners of Karhl’s mouth. “I think you have proven this morning just how dangerous you can be.”

Cocking a brow, Sigil grew brazen. “I warned him on Pax that if he didn’t kill me, I would make him pay for all the years he’s hounded me. You were there, you heard my words. He’s lucky I only took one eye.”

His vast internal amusement didn’t show, and Sigil was not sure if it was due to his Axirlan nature or the presence of the other Brothers. Remaining deadpan, Karhl agreed. “You are a woman of your word, which is why I asked our Brothers to join us for dinner and act as my protection.”

God help her, but Sigil chuckled before she could stop herself. In response, he gripped the seat of her chair and pulled her closer. “Your Brothers have come to cheer you, and should you encourage it, some may wish to watch our mating, others to enhance it. But that is entirely up to you.”

Ignoring how Karhl’s great hand began to stroke her thigh, Sigil grew blunt. “And if I don’t want to fuck you or serve as the night’s entertainment?”

“Then you won’t.” Steady, the Lord Commander removed his hand and offered her a modicum of space. “You are not a pleasure slave and I meant every word. No Brother here would touch you, and I would only move against your wishes if I had to. Should you not accept me, that time will come—maybe not tonight—but I will have to overcome your compulsion should you become dangerous to yourself.”

The man’s statement confused her just enough for Sigil to say, “So you are not going to force me now? Sovereign would not have waited.”

Karhl countered in favor of his Brother. “Sovereign had no choice when you refused to communicate and were difficult to read. You needed structure and a schedule. My actions would have been no different. Everything he did was done to keep you as comfortable as possible.”

Hums of approval and outright agreement came from the collected Brothers.

It all felt like some great test. Some invisible carrot dangled before her face, a secret prize that was waiting—all she had to do was engage in sex with the large white-haired warrior whose emotions sang to her even though he eyed her with placid curiosity.

She had her own test for them. “If you say I can choose, then I choose not to.”

Nodding that he understood, Karhl agreed. “As you wish.”

“And now that it’s settled,” Parnisu, still unsmiling, interjected, “perhaps you will relax and allow us the honor of getting to know you.”

They wanted her to speak. Fine.

The meal was lengthy, Sigil easing into the strangeness of sitting with so many survivors of Project Cataclysm. Remembering to eat was sometimes tricky when she was too busy calculating escape routes, or deciding whose neck she would have to break first if they were to attack her. Not a one made advances, they only wanted to know simplicities: her opinion on climate, food preferences, what colors she favored. Mildly intrusive questions into her history followed, focused on time periods the Brotherhood had evidently collected detailed intelligence on. Had she enjoyed the society of Desvop Outreaches? Did she favor Tessans or Sudenovans? How is it that she had never been to any Axirlan cities? What did she think of feral humans? Was it true she hated Converts?

During questioning, her Brothers held various offerings forward, the men behaving as if eager for her to learn the names of dishes. It was a game, Sigil found. To varying degrees they all tried to make physical contact with her—touching her when passing food, trying to feed her with their fingers—as if they fed off the exchange. Karhl was the most blatant, moving her hair to run a single stroke down her nape each time strands fell forward to mingle in the gravy on her plate.

Each of the men were so very different, yet exactly alike underneath their beautiful faces and alternate genetic gifts.

They were all one hundred percent committed to their cause.

The meal ended.

On some unseen command both Dryden and Corths stood. The High Adherents—the ones she looked at with the greatest suspicion—bowed, but wisely kept their distance. Though Corths paused, let his eyes shine with childlike innocence and asked softly, “May I, just once?”

Stiff, Sigil said nothing. The High Adherent took silence as acceptance, running the backs of his fingers down her cheek. The moment was short, and he left the instant his touch receded.

For her behavior, Herald Mathias grinned, teasing, “If I ask for a kiss will I get one?”

Her narrowed eyes, the Herald was wise enough to understand, was negation. Chuckling, Mathias winked, stood, and followed his Brothers out.

Parnisu and Gethman remained.

During the meal they had been the quietest—watching, strategizing. It matched their design, and simplified their place in her estimation: warriors, third rank, who lacked the charisma of a Herald or the pseudo-religious fervor of High Adherents. And there were three more Admirals just like them somewhere in the Empire waiting their turn to sit at her table.

Gethman seemed to speak for them both. “I have two male charges under my name, my human wife’s sons from her previous marriage. Familiar with youths, I suggest that after you wake and are attended to, your Jerla may enjoy showing you his favorite places outside. Neutral ground will simplify reestablishing unification.”

There was a deeper suggestion under Gethman’s advice, because in order to follow it, she had to be attended to. The Admirals were enticing her to mate with Karhl, giving her an opportunity to assure she was free of her compulsion, and offering what they deemed might be a worthy temptation for her effort.

Looking him dead in the eye, Sigil challenged, “Do you love your convert wife?”

Expanding the tenuous conversation, Getham said, “To maintain the Imperial hierarchy, most of your Brothers have taken spouses from what had been the strongest human houses or conquered monarchies. As such, we have absorbed them into our influence, permeate their old and new rivalries, and enforce compliance to authority. The majority are political unions.”

A polite way of saying no.

Grinning at her obvious distaste, Getham ran a hand through his hair and admitted, “I am saddled with a difficult wife. Others are less lucky. Arden, for example, has three from three rival houses.” As if sharing something comical, he lifted his glass. “It is fairly common for his ladies to try and assassinate one another.”

“How many wives does Sovereign have?”

The Admiral hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “Your position was designed and honored from the moment the Empire formed. Imperial Consort is above any human concept of wife.”

Seeing three warriors seemingly uncomfortable by a subject so mundane brought the smallest of smirks to her face. “How many concubines?”

“Do you understand what you are?” Parnisu answered for his Brother, still watching her to the point it was unsettling. “Other females cannot threaten your position.”

She didn’t know why she found it amusing. Perhaps it was the awkward defensiveness buried behind three warrior-still expressions. Or maybe it was the nature of what they all seemed to expect of her. “Other females can have him.”

The two Admirals did not seem to understand her feelings on the subject, looking to one another in silent communication. Where Gethman was baffled, Parnisu was annoyed, his feelings on the topic made clear when he grunted, “Until your Brothers are given true mates, how long do you really think we would keep him from you?”

What had been a mischievous smirk faded into a sneer.

“Sigil,” It was the first time Karhl had spoken since the topic began. “Admiral Parnisu did not mean to offend you.”

Cold eyes snapped to the Lord Commander. “And just how many of you are queued up for my theoretical offspring?”

Tangling thick fingers in her hair, Karhl eased nearer, “I desire only you, and no daughter of the Emperor would change that.”

That was not what she’d asked and he knew she was an empath, altering his phrasing to distract or lie by omission. Far more direct in tone she asked again, “How many of you are there?”

Karhl took a deep breath, studied the way her hair ran through his fingers, and said, “Less than two hundred remain.”

It seemed impossible. There was no way an entire species could have been dominated by so few. Trying to find the words led to false starts, but eventually she blurted “On Condor... I was taught Project Cataclysm’s leadership and Special Forces numbered in the ten thousands.”

“We did.” Holding her eyes, Karhl stroked that soft bit of silvery hair between his fingers. “When Condor fell and we openly defended you, the Alliance moved to immediately eradicate us all, expediting our insurgency four years ahead of schedule. Victory required great sacrifice. In the beginning, gaining a foothold in the universe, plowing through human populations, was inelegantly accomplished. The remaining losses were accrued in further campaigns, assassinations... the lower ranks lacked the elites’ genetic enhancements and expired as humans do. If you wish to know the details, Arden has a written account he prepared while you were sleeping. The volumes are in your Autumn room.”

She’d seen the journals shelved near the fire. Once or twice Sovereign had read from them while she’d napped. Looking from the Lord Commander to the one who seemed most aggressive, Sigil asked Admiral Parnisu, “And what if I birthed only boys?”

Resting his elbows and folding his hands, Parnisu explained, “Sovereign has been altered to suit his purpose as the progenitor of the first true Irdesian house. He can produce only female gametes.”

Her captors had always said daughters... and she should have known the Brotherhood would have calculated the intended course of their species expansion, strategizing to obtain best results. “And when these daughters are born, they will be handed out based on rank to be used to further your agenda.”

Karhl could see the discussion had taken a dangerous turn. “Your children are our children. We would not see them traded as the humans barter their offspring in search of favor or power. They will be worshiped, not subjugated.”

Shaking her head, Sigil dislodged her hair from Karhl’s fingers and sighed. “And should they choose another path other than the one you will lay out so prettily before them, you will hunt them through the stars and drag them home...”

Gethman smiled and explained the failing in her understanding. “It is natural for a species to seek the comfort of their own kind. Some may stray. Most will desire the embrace of family.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

The smile grew sad. “Then all our people will die, the human worlds will fall back into chaos, and all our sacrifices would have been for nothing.”