Awareness pulled Nalea from sleep. She would have preferred to stay in her dreams, to forget that she lay in a room deep within enemy territory. She was surprised she’d dreamed of Roden, having thought the disjunctor would’ve removed him completely from her thoughts. With it, she felt nothing from him. While she thought she’d find the absence of his emotions a pleasant break after the intensity she’d felt after the bond had taken hold, instead, she felt hollow from the aloneness.

Running her hands through her hair, she shrugged off the remnants of sleep. She had enough to deal with already, like pretending to be the daughter of the Draeken who looked like the father she’d hated her entire life. Talk about irony.

The door opened. She slipped on her dark glasses and came to her feet just as the white-haired Draeken stepped through the doorway, his wings just brushing the floor. He wore a formal uniform: a long black and crimson kilt met tall boots that showed no signs of wear. His shirt, simple crimson on the front, had been turned into a gaudy display of flare. Colorful ribbons—each signifying something for Hillas Puftan—fluttered with every step. Even with all that, her gaze was drawn to the royal crest proudly emblazoned over his heart. It covered nearly a third of his chest, clearly meant to be seen.

In some ways, Otas was no different from the lord he impersonated. He was a proud peacock, intent on impressing the world with his plumes so that they didn’t notice his faults or lies.

Otas had spent most of his life mimicking the Grand Lord; his entire world was built on mirroring, not creating. It made sense that he would follow the dead leader’s ambitions beyond the grave, simply because he couldn’t come up with anything on his own.

Upon seeing her, Otas smiled. While the gesture was meant to be warm, it made Nalea uncomfortable. Shivers crawled over her skin. There was nothing fatherly or friendly about a smile that hinted at possession. When this Hillas looked at her, she always felt that whatever he was scheming was something very unfatherly.

“Good morning, Nalea. I see you’ve adjusted to Earth days with ease.”

She nodded tightly. Even without shoes, she stood the same height as Otas, which made him very short for a Draeken—males were commonly seven feet tall. Other than the uniform, there was nothing militaristic about Hillas. His belly was round, his wings nearly transparent from lack of use. Right now, with the way he watched her, she felt as though she were a plump insect in a hungry bird’s path.

As she stepped forward, he took a step back. Nalea gave a tight smile. “How can I help you, Father?”

He frowned, and she noticed that, while he demanded she play along with his farce, he disliked the term. “I trust you are doing well?”

She lifted her hands slightly in response. I’m alive, aren’t I?

He moved closer and she stood firm. He brushed a finger down her neck. “The disjunctor is working properly?”

“I feel nothing.”

“Good,” he said, a corner of his lip curving upward. “You are free from Roden Zyll. Now, if only we could all be free from him.” He turned and began to pace, an annoying habit he did whenever he was thinking. “I do not hold you accountable for getting ensnared in the devious webs he weaves. After all, you were no more than a weapon to him, simply a ruse in his coup to destroy what I’ve built.”

What Hillas built, you mean.

“His need for power knows no bounds.”

Funny. Roden said the same about Hillas.

“And I look to you for help to prevent his coup from escalating further.” He paused and turned to her. “You will make your public announcement tomorrow. In it, you will acknowledge that you are Lord Commander Roden Zyll’s consort and, as you are of Puftan blood, you wish to unite those under Roden to our cause.”

Nalea frowned. “As long as Roden lives, people will remain loyal to him.”

Otas continued. “You will also say that Roden has betrayed our people. You’ll talk of how he tried to assassinate me in his bid for power, and is hereby stripped of title and command. Those who continue to follow a pariah will not be tolerated.”

Nalea’s muscles tightened. “And what if your little civil war bleeds over? The Sephians and humans are both at risk. There must be another way.”

“If the Draeken people aren’t united, then how can they stand before the Sephians and humans in peace? Together, we can unite them.” With that, he moved forward and kissed her.

Nalea jerked back. She threw a punch and hit him square on the jaw. Otas stumbled backward against the wall and fell flat to the ground. He jumped back to his feet, shooting a vicious glare at Nalea. She could’ve easily parried, but she let him slam into her, sending her against the wall. Air shot from her lungs, and her bones cried out on impact.

His hand wrapped into her hair and yanked. White-hot stars flashed across her vision, and the muscles in her neck burned.

“Look at me!” he yelled, his spittle hitting her face. His grip in her hair tightened.

Jaw clenched, she obeyed.

Otas held his wrist shakily in front of her. A black band with a small pad incorporated within it wrapped around his forearm, just below his wrist-comm. “You will never raise a hand to me again,” he said, his words muffled from between his bloody lips. “All I need to do is press a single button and your head will be removed from your body.”

She knew she’d made a mistake mid-swing, but it’d already been too late. “My apologies,” she ground out.

The hand in her hair relaxed, then was gone, only to grip her throat, and she found herself choking, forced to look into hard gray eyes. “You survive at my mercy. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she gritted out, though she knew she could kill him before his guardsmen could arrive. The only problem with that plan was that she’d be dead, too.

“You will help me eliminate Roden,” Otas said, cupping the back of her neck with his hand. “You will help me align with the Sephians. Then, when our peoples are united under my leadership, we will bring our bloodlines together. My blood—as well as Puftan blood—will continue as one. Only then will the Sephians and Draeken be fully united under me.”

Bile rose in her throat, and she put all her strength into not showing revulsion.

“If you displease me,” he whispered, “I’ll have the core ships fire upon the Sephian bases. I will kill every Sephian on this planet.”