An hour later, Roden and Nalea were sitting in a different office, set up much like the one they’d sat in a couple hours earlier. But much had changed. This time, Roden wouldn’t let Nalea put space between them. Oh, she’d tried to take a lone chair when they’d first entered the room, but he’d held onto her hand, silently directing her to sit next to him on a small sofa.

No matter how convincing she was, he also knew he could not yet trust her. The only thing he could trust was that they both wanted Hillas dead. They may have different reasons, but that didn’t matter. Within the night, Hillas would be gone, setting up the pieces for the endgame.

Of course, that meant he had to convince the daughter of Hillas that serving as the Draeken Grand Lord was the right thing to do—a feat he believed would be far more challenging than a royal assassination.

But the risk would be worth it. With Nalea at his side, they could end the hostilities between their peoples. Together, they’d have a better chance at brokering a lasting peace with humans, and the Draeken could make a home on Earth. But there was still much work to be done. Integrating his people into an established society meant they’d have new laws to follow, new customs and traditions to learn.

He glanced down to see Nalea watching him curiously, and he wondered if she could sense his emotions. Realizing his new vulnerability, he inhaled, forcing calmness to blanket him.

The door to his left opened, and two guardsmen stepped in to stand at each side of the door. The Grand Lord entered. He wore the gaudy colors of his royal heritage. Bright yellows and purples bled into reds and blues. Since the beginning, the Puftan family had been anything but humble. Hillas’ hair was pinned neatly by a long feather. His wings arched proudly behind him. He didn’t look the least bit piqued that his base had just been infiltrated.

Hillas looked down his nose at Roden, who looked right back at his leader.

This moment had been coming for some time. After the poisoned rum, Roden had been looking forward to it. Within minutes, Hillas—or Roden and Nalea—would be dead. Roden had planned for both outcomes. If Hillas were dead, he’d lead his people. If Roden and Nalea were killed, his people would quickly learn of Hillas’ betrayal and reject their Grand Lord. One thing was certain about the traditional Draeken: they would never forgive a Draeken who killed his own daughter.

“Lord Zyll,” Hillas said as he took a seat across from them.

Roden lowered his head. “Your Highness.”

“I apologize for my tardiness. After you first arrived, we picked up a beacon from somewhere on the base.”

The insinuation was clear. Roden raised a brow.

“When the gold-skins breached the base, the reasoning for the beacon became quite clear. Nevertheless, we have turned the infiltrators away.”

“For now,” Roden replied with a slight tilt of his head.

Hillas waved a hand in the air. “But that’s not why I brought you here. I’m far more curious about the Sephian in your arms. Have her come closer so I can better see her.”

Roden released Nalea. With every step she took, he stayed by her side. She stopped only a few feet from his leader.

“Your Highness,” Roden held a hand before the woman at his side. “May I introduce my consort, Lady Nalea Zyll.”

Hillas scowled. “I’m disappointed that you didn’t inform me of your intentions toward my daughter.” He came back to his feet. His gaze examined her, starting at her face before moving downward. “You turned out nicely for a half-breed.”

Nalea made no movement and spoke no words, but Roden knew she was fighting an internal battle to not leap onto Hillas and kill him. After all, Roden craved to do the same thing.

Hillas crossed his arms over his chest, aiming a stern look in Roden’s direction. “A bit presumptuous giving your last name to my daughter. Her last name is Puftan until I declare differently.”

But before he could speak, Nalea stepped forward and jutted her chin out. “Your blood may run through my veins, Your Highness, but that doesn’t make me a Puftan. I choose my consort, and I choose the name I bear.” She tossed a look at Roden. And I’m not a Zyll, he translated.

“Thank you for delivering my daughter to me,” Hillas said, as though Nalea had not spoken. “Although, I see she has yet to learn common Draeken courtesy. We’ll continue this discussion in private.” He snapped his fingers, and the guardsmen at the door stepped forward. “Escort my daughter to my sitting room.”

Roden stepped between the Draeken and Nalea. “Nalea Zyll is my consort and she stays.” He glared at Hillas. “She will not die today.” He then turned to the guards. “We have things to discuss, so get the fyet out of here.”

The guardsmen looked to Hillas, and Roden glanced back, giving the Grand Lord a hard look. “You want to try to take my consort, you have to go through me.”

After a moment, Hillas dismissed his guardsmen with a distracted wave. “Return to your positions.”

Roden tried not to show disappointment that Hillas kept his guardsmen in the room. Regardless, it wouldn’t change his plans; he could easily handle two armed guardsmen. He moved to stand at Nalea’s side. He spared a glance in her direction and was pleased to find her surprisingly calm.

“You should have brought her directly to me when you learned,” Hillas said.

Nalea went to take a step forward, and Roden stopped her with a light touch to her hand. She gave him a questioning look, and he gave the slightest shake of his head. Not yet.

Roden faced Hillas. “We were unsure of where you stood on the matter, especially under the… circumstances of her lineage.”

Hillas smiled, but there was nothing kind or genuine about it. “I have a daughter. That is reason to celebrate.”

“It is, Your Highness,” Roden said, but he didn’t believe the Grand Lord for an instant. He knew about the other children Hillas had sired and subsequently killed. Everyone suspected Hillas had a hand in his younger brother’s disappearance as well. “However, I doubt you brought us here purely for a family reunion.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Roden,” Hillas said. “I sense you have lost your respect for the office of the Grand Lord.”

Roden heard the door open and the sound of three pairs—if not more—of bootsteps came up behind him, but none of the expected blows came.

Nalea tensed at his side. Roden turned once again to Hillas. “As we speak, a communiqué has gone out to all core ships announcing that we found your long-lost daughter and that she’s become my consort. If you kill us, you will lose the support of the Draeken people.”

Hillas guffawed. “I have no desire to kill my loyal subjects,” he said a bit too quickly.

Roden belted out a laugh, and then his features straightened. “Did I also mention that if Nalea or I don’t return to my camp unharmed by morning, a second communiqué will go out; one that contains a list of names—all within the Puftan bloodline—who met untimely deaths during your reign?”

The older lord’s face reddened and he jumped to his feet. “Lies!”

Roden lifted his brows.

Hillas slammed a fist on the desk. “They’re my people and they’ll follow me despite whatever propaganda you send out.”

“Your reign is at an end,” Nalea said from Roden’s side. “My people have made peace with the humans. They’ll be back to finish what they’ve started. If you don’t submit, you don’t stand a chance.”

Roden admired her strength.

Hillas did not. His silver eyes narrowed onto the woman. “Submit? Never!” He swung a shock baton. Roden grabbed the Draeken’s wrist as the metal connected with Nalea’s skin.

She yanked the baton from his hand.

Roden was tackled from behind by two guardsmen. As he was pulled to his feet, Hillas swung out and punched him. Hillas was old and weak, and while Roden’s vision flashed momentarily, he’d taken harder punches as a boy. He was tempted to return the favor, except he knew how delicate the situation was. Instead, he allowed the two guardsmen to restrain him.

He shot a hard look at the Grand Lord. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re an endangered race. Without power, we aren’t leaving this world. Without human support, we’ll have to fight for the right to live here. If you don’t make peace, and soon, you doom the Draeken to never-ending war.”

“Bah!” Hillas cried out. He turned and walked to the wall, pressed several buttons, and a panel opened. He pulled out an octagon-shaped box covered by smooth dark metal on all sides. “The humans need us. The inhabitants of this planet have no technology to speak of. They couldn’t breach our defenses with their best weapons. They got through today because of a traitor and with weapons the gold-skins stole from us. Humans, Sephians… they are nothing.”

Roden eyed Hillas suspiciously and saw Nalea take a step to the side.

“However, this is everything. This…”—Hillas held out the box—“guarantees Draeken supremacy over this planet.”