by Cara Bristol
Xenia hadn’t acquired the wariness because of its lack of exposure to other cultures. Although its citizens were permitted to travel to other planets, the planet had limited visitors, and only a select few aliens had been allowed to set foot on Xenia.
Flanked by his entourage, March swept into the grand hall.
Chapter Two
“The alterations to your bonding gown have been completed. Would you like to try it on?” The servant’s arm trembled from the effort of holding up the heavy garment weighted by thousands of crystals.
Two more days until the bonding. No—not even. A day and a half. Tomorrow night would be the pre-bonding banquet when she would get her first glimpse of the man who would become her consort. The following day, when the star rose to its zenith, she would watch as he vanquished his opponent in the Sha’A’la, and immediately after, while the sweat cooled on his body, they would be bonded as lifemates.
“Not at the moment, but thank you. You may put it there for now.” Julietta gestured to a rack where the matching huber-colored pantalets hung. Beside it, on a stand, rested her crystal-encrusted crown. Between the headdress and the shift, she would be carrying an extra fifty kilograms of weight.
“As you wish, Princess.” The servant left.
Marji’s eyes were wide. “You don’t want to see what it looks like? Come, on! I’ll help you.” She scooted off the bed. “Try it on, please?”
“All right,” she capitulated. The tailors had done an excellent job, but it wouldn’t hurt to verify the garment fit—and it would make Marji happy. At only sixteen solar cycles, her younger sister’s bonding wouldn’t occur for several years. Like most girls her age, she talked about her future ceremony constantly, planning what she would wear, who would attend—and wondering who her mate would be.
Julietta stripped down to her panties and a lacy bra. She’d adopted Terran undergarments when she’d attended school off planet. For the bonding ceremony—and thereafter for the rest of her life—she would wear the traditional one-piece Xenian undergarment. Her choice of underwear—one more thing bonding would force her to give up.
She pulled on the pantaloons sewn in the royal huber fabric. Shimmering threads of pale rose were woven throughout so that the garment sparkled. Marji undid the fastening of the shift and held it out. Julietta slipped her arms through it, and her sister did up the back.
The weight of her world rested on her shoulders.
Her sister reached for the headdress.
“That, too?” she protested, but bent at the knees so the crown could be settled on her head. Her legs threatened to buckle, but she shored up her strength and remained upright.
“You look beautiful. Just like an empress!” Marji gushed.
“How appropriate, considering,” she replied dryly.
The ceremony brought her closer to becoming the sovereign. The bonding—and production of an heir—were the only two hurdles left. Then, when her father passed the scepter upon his fifty-first solar cycle, she would rule with her consort at her side.
The last time she’d tried on the dress, the crystals hadn’t yet been sewn on. She took a few exploratory steps.
“How does it feel?”
Crushing. “Fine.”
“It’s perfect!” Marji said.
Could she walk down the aisle without toppling over, without bursting into tears, without making a spectacle of herself in front of thousands?
She would have to—what choice did she have? As firstborn, she was heir apparent. Her future had been decided on the day of her birth, twenty-five solar cycles ago. “Let’s take it off now.” She lifted the crown from her head and tilted her neck from side to side in relief. Marji undid the back of the shift and removed the garment. While she hung up the tunic, Julietta donned her clothing.
“I can’t sleep, I’m so excited for you,” Marji said. “Tomorrow night, you get to see your consort! I don’t know why you never chose to see him before this. As future empress, you receive special dispensation and could have seen him if you’d wanted to. I would have jumped at the chance!” She sighed. “But, like everyone else, I won’t see my future mate until the Sha’A’la and won’t meet him until the bonding ceremony.”
“Whether I see him or not, the future will proceed as scheduled,” Julietta said.
“Father says he’s very kind. Mother says he’s supernova!” she said. “That means handsome.”
“I know what it means. Mother has been watching too many Terran vids.”
Marji giggled, and, despite herself, Julietta smiled.
Though she hadn’t seen Earth herself, their mother loved Terran culture and had encouraged her eldest daughter to study there and explore the wonders of the Blue Planet before fulfilling her duty. Julietta had had two glorious years of freedom, two glorious years of being “Jules,” two glorious years of being just another Terran Technical Institute student, two glorious years with a man who most definitely qualified as supernova, two glorious years to pretend the future would never come.
But destiny and duty had loomed, never far from her mind. The longer she stayed on Terra, the more painful the thought of leaving became. For her own salvation, she’d returned earlier than planned. And lived to regret every day. She didn’t doubt the acceptability of her chosen mate. The seer had selected him, and the old woman never erred. Her mate would be kind, valorous, steady, and true. A man to stand at her side and help her rule. Perfect in every way—except he wasn’t him.
“Do you think there’s any chance my chosen will attend your bonding ceremony?” Marji asked.
“Hoping for a glimpse of him, are you?” She smiled. “It’s possible.” Ten thousand guests would attend.
Many girls played Guess-My-Chosen, checking out young men their age, wondering, “Could it be him?” They pointed out callow, immature boys and teased each other. “He’s your chosen!” Elders frowned upon such ill-mannered and mean behavior, but most girls did it—and then grew out of it.
Julietta had never played the game, though she’d caught her younger sister at it.
Marji’s face turned serious. “Can I confess something? I have been jealous. I am pleased for your good fortune, but, at times, I envy your bonding.”
Moderation governed life. If inappropriate strong emotions did occur, one should confront them so they did not cause harm.
Strong emotion—negative or positive—undermined peace and stability. If people were left to seek their own life partners, their impassioned, impetuous choices could result in incompatibility or jealousy. So the seer and her acolytes selected one’s mate. Guided by the wisdom of the ancients, they meditated, and a person’s chosen was revealed in a vision. With the imperial family, the seer herself picked their mates.
Partners grew to care for each other, but in a companionable, affectionate manner, divorced from passion.
“You will be bonded after you reach your majority,” Julietta reassured her. “I’m sure the seer has chosen someone who is supernova!”
“It’s not just that. You will be empress, and I never will be. It is wrong of me, but at times I wished to be you.”
I wish you were me, too. “Then my bonding ceremony will teach you how to control your emotions,” she said gently. After what had happened on Terra, it would be hypocritical to fault her sister, but she instructed her as she was supposed to.
Why had tradition decreed the one who wanted to rule could not and the one who didn’t would? The visit to Terra had deepened her discontent because, after living among the Earthers, she’d discovered what she’d missed, what her life had lacked. Like Marji, she envied. She longed to express open, honest emotion, to choose her fate—and her mate. The liberties Terrans took for granted, she jealously craved.
Hungry for freedom, she’d been eager to experience everything Terra had had to offer. Enrolling in the Terran Technical Institute as an alien exchange student under the name Jules symbolized her borrowed anonymity. On Terra, she could be one of many, a liberated
nobody.
At the start of her first year at the university, she’d met him, a teaching assistant in one of her classes. Marchand Fellows had a quick mind, a ready quip, and a wicked grin. But, oh, his eyes! Such a striking color. Blue like the Terran sky, so very different from black irises concealing whatever lukewarm emotions her people did feel. March’s eyes had glinted with humor, pensiveness, concern. They had fascinated her.
When he’d catch her watching him, he’d wink. She’d feared he’d suffered a facial tic until another student explained he was flirting—and then explained what that meant.
Finally, he had approached her after class and asked her to coffee. Two firsts: Terran coffee and a date. The first was bitter, the second oh-so-sweet; both thrilled her.
He probably didn’t remember her, and if he did, the memories would have faded. Terrans enjoyed so many liberties; she would have been only one of many women March would date. She could not have meant as much to him as he had to her. Not a day went by that she didn’t think of him. Because of him, she’d departed Terra before finishing her education. It hadn’t been the degree she’d been after, but the experience, and she’d gotten that and more. Much more, her aching heart could attest.
“You’re right, of course.” Marji nodded. “I wish I had your self-containment. I will work on it.”
Her sister had no idea what Julietta contained inside.
Marji continued, “To focus on what one cannot have doesn’t foster harmony or happiness.”
Truer words were never spoken.
Chapter Three
“Perhaps you would care to watch the Sha’A’la practice?” the emperor asked.
March had planned to sneak out of the palace to look for Jules. Watching two men in a theatrical battle didn’t interest him, but declining the invitation would be rude. Sure enough, he’d been added to the bonding ceremony guest list. He hadn’t expected anything but a perfunctory business greeting and transaction, but once the emperor had discovered he knew Penelope Aaron and Brock Mann, he had been given the imperial treatment. Any friend of Brock and Penelope’s was a friend of Dusan’s. March stifled a sigh. “I would be honored.”
“Excellent.” The emperor beamed. “A servant will escort you to the arena.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t tell him that he could find his own way. Sprawling over twenty-five acres, the palace had hundreds of rooms, but he had an unerring sense of direction and had downloaded a schematic to his cyberbrain.
Plum and pink flowers and ribbons festooned the huge oval arena, which could seat ten thousand spectators. Servants scurried around putting the finishing touches to the decorations.
The escort led him to a ground-level, ringside seat where one man wearing a plum loincloth stood over a near-identical man in light rose sitting on the ground. Twins.
The sitting man rubbed his chest, marked by a star. “You jabbed quite hard; I think you enjoyed that too much.”
The other, who had a similar marking on his arm, laughed. “You could be right.”
Both men trotted over. The escort bowed. “May I present March Fellows; he is an honored guest. The emperor invited him to watch the Sha’A’la drills.” He pointed to the man in plum with the star on his arm, “This is Naimo, Princess Julietta’s future consort.” The aide jutted his chin at the twin. “And Kur, his brother and challenger.”
After the aide left, March asked, “Is it the norm to have one’s brother serve as the challenger?”
“Often, yes.” Naimo nodded. “What is important is that it be someone close to the chosen.”
“Why?”
“Because one’s closest ally knows one’s strengths and weaknesses. It makes the Sha’A’la more challenging, more difficult,” Kur answered.
As genetic doubles, the two men were matched in strength and power. Although they looked alike enough to fool most people, March detected subtle differences: Naimo’s face narrowed a little, and a faint scar nicked the skin under one eye. His twin’s smile was quicker and slightly broader.
“But safer, too,” Kur added. “I will challenge him but ensure he is less likely to be injured. We’re sparring with real weapons. I have his best interests at heart. I am like his”—he made a grasping motion—“best man. Is that what they call the one who stands up for the male in a Terran wedding?”
“That’s right.” March nodded.
“Naimo must fight hard to woo the princess, so she will be proud of him. The battle must be challenging.” Kur grinned. “I intend to make it so. He is my brother. I will not go easy on him.”
It seemed like an elaborate ritual for a put-on, but March supposed the only difference between odd and meaningful was cultural perspective. Few questioned their own customs. “What are the stars for?”
“Targets, the wound sites—for practice. During the actual Sha’A’la, we won’t have them.” Naimo touched his arm. “Kur will nick me here, drawing blood.” He pointed to his brother’s chest. “I will deliver the fatal blow there, vanquishing my challenger.”
“I will fall dead to the cheers of the audience,” Kur said. “So you see why it’s important to practice.”
* * * *
Bodies glistening with sweat, Naimo and Kur circled each other, menacing scowls imprinted on their faces. They certainly made the Sha’A’la look real. This was the fifth full rendition. They had paced it out first, talking through the moves, before putting it all together in a dance of footwork and a clash of metal. In practice, the blades were capped to prevent accidental injury, but in the actual Sha’A’la, safeties would be removed. Even a touch of the blade would draw blood.
Kur went on the offensive, skipping forward in a lunge that drove Naimo into defensive mode. Julietta’s consort parried with his saber. Blades locked with a fierce ring.
“She will be mine,” Kur growled mockingly.
“You will never claim her while I am alive.” Naimo broke away and slashed with his saber.
Kur hooked his opponent’s weapon, thrust it aside then, with a flourish and a mocking grin, nicked the purple star on his brother’s arm. Naimo roared and rebounded with a fury that appeared genuine. Equally ferocious, Kur held him off and then rallied, forcing Naimo into the pre-planned retreat. If March hadn’t seen them rehearse, he would have believed the animosity was real. Like actors on a stage, they conveyed a convincing performance not just with their words and deeds, but with facial expressions and vocal tones.
He imagined the princess would be sitting on the edge of her seat.
Kur trapped Naimo against the wall separating spectators from the arena. Sparks flew as sabers clashed. The safety tip fell off Naimo’s blade. Were the men aware? Naimo feinted a jab toward his opponent’s arm. As practiced, Kur fell for it, and Naimo delivered the killing blow straight to the heart.
Oh fuck… March jumped to his feet.
Kur sank to his knees, clutching at his chest. His face contorted in agony. “You—you—” He pitched face forward.
Naimo raised his saber in victory then bowed to the imaginary crowd.
March vaulted over the low wall.
He knelt beside a motionless Kur and rolled him over. The man’s eyes popped open. “Well? What do you think?” he asked in a level voice. There wasn’t a mark on him.
“I thought—” March eyed the safety cap lying on the ground.
“I saw it fly,” Naimo said.
“I wasn’t worried,” Kur said. “I trust Naimo. The only person with better control is me.”
“Oh, you think you have better control? Who’s the one lying on the ground? Huh?” Naimo taunted him.
“Only because it was planned that way.”
“Planned or not, I can beat you any day of the week,” Naimo taunted.
March and Kur rose to their feet. Though aware of the outcome, March had been convinced the ending was real. Of course, the safety flying off had been unexpected, but still. He gave the twins credit for a stellar performance. “I think the princess will be impres
sed.”
“That is my purpose—to please her and prove I am worthy to be her consort,” Naimo said.
“You’ve never met her, though.”
“I’ll see her officially for the first time at the pre-bonding ceremony dinner. We still won’t be allowed to speak to one another. I was informed of my mate’s identity so I could prepare for the duties required of me. Other than Emperor Dusan himself, she’s the most well-known person on our planet. Next year, she shall rule, and I shall assist. It is a big responsibility.”
“And a seer matched you?” March asked.
Naimo nodded. “We were paired soon after birth—before our first year.”
Right after birth? Did that mean Jules had had a mate waiting for her when she’d been on Terra? He’d known bondings were arranged, but he’d assumed that occurred when the individuals were ready to make the commitment. “Does everyone get matched when they’re infants?”
“Usually, but not always. Kur, for instance, still waits to hear.”
“One cannot question or rush the wisdom of the seer,” Kur said. “I am sure my future mate will be very special.”
Naimo shoved his brother. “I think you are so ugly the seer cannot find a mate who would accept you.”
“Who are you calling ugly? Have you ever checked in a mirror?” Kur pushed back.
March laughed. They were identical. “Neither of you has concerns about bonding with a stranger?”
“Why would we?” Kur shrugged. “The seer would not choose someone with whom we would not be compatible. Everyone has one true mate. What is the probability we would find her among all the people of our planet? Perhaps our mate lives on the night side of the great mountain. How would we find her?”
“How does the seer?”
“She is a seer.”
“We have heard many bondings on Terra fail,” Naimo said. “From our perspective, it appears people left to their own devices don’t choose wisely. They are swayed by insignificant traits. Too influenced by whim.”
