Chapter 16: From Princess to Queen

“I did it.”

329’s eyes fly open.

He’s slept poorly. Even on the most comfortable bed, the mess in his head doesn’t let him rest in peace. Sometimes he dreamed blurry dreams of gun smoke and flight. They weren’t memories, just replays of the recordings he watched earlier that day.

But this, this face as radiant as a spring day even in the dimness of the bedroom, this hand caressing 329’s cheek, is clearly neither recollection nor dream.

It’s Yasha.

She straddles 329, bending down to rest her forehead against his. They’re so close that 329 can smell green grass and milk. The familiar scent makes his eyes burn with tears. Only now, in this moment, does he realize he misses his alpha. It’s been so long since the last time they’ve been intimate, and so much has happened in the meantime that it feels like a different life. Only when Yasha’s lips trail from his chin to his lips, giving him a chaste kiss, does 329 feel exhaustion. He doesn’t want to talk.

He just opens his mouth.

As if receiving invitation, Yasha cups his face and licks into his mouth. Her soft, nimble tongue swirls over his, making a full sweep of the membrane inside his mouth, passionate but still not sexual, like a housecat rubbing herself against your trouser leg, vowing to cover you in her scent. Without thinking, 329 takes hold of her waist. It’s as supple as ever, unarmed and unarmored. With one hand, she unfastens her hair. Red hair pours down like a waterfall, blocking out the starry sky above 329. He closes his eyes, letting the red curtain cover his line of sight.

He suddenly feels a deep drowsiness, like blindfolded livestock, descended into self-deception as it prepares for slumber in the dark. He’s too tired. Even as the person atop him grips his neck, even as the tightness at his throat makes breathing difficult, he doesn’t struggle, doesn’t even open his eyes.

Crack .

The sound of something snapping breaks the silence. For a moment, 329 thinks it’s his spine that’s been snapped. But the pressure has disappeared from his neck. He can breathe again. There’s something…329’s eyes fly open, and see the broken band of metal in Yasha’s hands.

The Exile collar that had bound 329 for nearly two years, and should have bound him for another thirty, is gone just like that. It should have been indestructible. It should have ended his life the moment it was damaged. But nothing happened. Yasha’s wearing her military gauntlets. Her slender fingers tighten, and the metal band is crumpled into scrap, sparks crackling from its electronics. She tosses it aside like a ball of wastepaper.

329 pants for breath. His neck hasn’t been exposed to air in ages; it feels cold, then hot—Yasha’s mouth closes around his Adam’s apple, leaving him unable to move, like a cat held by the scruff of its neck. His head is a mess. So many questions are fighting their way out of his mouth that for a while none of them make it out; it’s Yasha who keeps talking. Between kisses, she whispers it’s fine, it’s over, shh . She says, “The year after the next, I’ll become Consul.”

“You killed your brother,” says 329. It’s not a question.

“Yes, I killed him.” Yasha stops, then says, “He died slowly and painfully.”

It’s the same tone of voice she used when she announced she’d modded her motorcycle herself.

329 feels cold. He’s fully awake. What kind of person would speak of kinslaying like she’s showing off? Are the elites accustomed to family turning against family, or is it just Yasha? He knows he should keep his mouth shut, but his mouth has other ideas.

He says, “Are you going to kill your father next year?”

“No, he was going to die soon anyway.” Yasha explains. “My eldest sister is a beta. My eldest brother was two years younger, and presented as an alpha two years after my sister was named heir. A few years ago, my sister took drastic measures. Unfortunately, my brother had the same idea, and chose the same time…in the end, one of them died, and the other will be imprisoned for life. Since both of them poisoned my father, even the best medical care can only extend his life by a few years.”

Looks like it’s elite custom.

“It’ll all get better,” Yasha says in a comforting tone. Her eyes shine with excitement, as if sharing good news with 329. “In two years, I’ll be Consul. Give me another year to take care of everything else, and then we can marry. In twenty years, we can have children—looking at current technology, they’ll be able to create a biological child for us in ten years, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to have an heir too close to me in age. We can discuss this later on. We have plenty of time. Our child will have your eyes. I like your eyes.”

She speaks so confidently, as if the future is already determined. It sounds insane, but even more insane is that 329 half believes she can do it. He shakes his head, not knowing if it’s to refute her or to persuade himself. 329 says, “You’re only fifteen!”

“I’ll be sixteen in a month,” Yasha pouts.

“You’re only fifteen,” 329 says, as if in a dream.

“So what?” Yasha’s gaze is hot. “I’m fifteen. I killed my brother, ‘persuaded’ my father, dealt with the rebellious factions. In two years, I’ll be the youngest Consul ever. I was seven when I saw you the first time. I’ve loved you for more than half my life.”

“You have many more fifteen years ahead,” 329 says despairingly.

This can’t be real. Young Eden had wanted to be a merchant, a teacher, a scientist. In the end, he’d joined the rebel army and spent half his life soaring high into the heavens before falling to earth, leaving only a broken body and tattered memories. Young Yasha, scholar of love and intrigue, is already extraordinary after fifteen years. In the long remainder of her life, will she really be satisfied with what she has?

It’s not going to happen. Everyone changes.

“You don’t believe me.” Yasha sighs, her eyes growing distant, as if recollecting something. “Adults are all like that. They don’t think a child can mean what they say.”

Only a child would say that, 329 thinks.

“When I was thirteen, I said that I’d kill anyone who touched you,” Yasha says, enunciating every word. “My brother didn’t believe me.”

In fact, Yasha’s brother didn’t remember what she said at all.

No one remembered what she said. No one took it seriously. Only the girl herself would never forget. She remembers the screams on the other side of the door, the shrieks on this side of the door—her shrieks. She shrieked, begged, bawled hysterically until she choked and couldn’t breathe. It was the first time Yasha had cried since she was old enough to understand things. Before, she’d never spilled a tear. If you could always have everything you wanted presented to you with a bow, you could naturally always remain sweet and ladylike.

She never thought she could cry like that. Her eyeballs were practically melted into her tears. Her throat was raw. Her cheeks and head were boiling hot, the rage of betrayal scorching like steam, almost bursting from her eyes and throat. “You said! You promised me!” she shouted. “He’s mine! Papa! I love him! Give him back to me!”

The little princess was so well-raised that she couldn’t even come up with profanities. All she could do was howl the same few words, over and over. A padded chair held her in place, so that she could neither rush through the door nor hurt herself by accident. She was giving the Consul a headache with her sobs and screams. Unable to take it anymore, he slammed the table, startling his youngest daughter, who’d never received such treatment, into silence.

“Enough!” he demanded. He summoned enough patience to scrape up a few words of comfort. “There’s no shortage of this breed of omega. You can’t have this one. Tomorrow I’ll give you ten just like him. You can pick as you please!”

Her mother wrinkled her brow at this breed of omega , but she only gave a small, respectable sigh, not at all planning to speak up. Yasha looked at her disbelievingly. Her mother quietly rebuked her, “You’re making a scene, crying and shouting like that.”

“He promised me!” Yasha sobbed. “He lied…Mama! Make them stop! They’re…”

“Don’t talk to your father in that tone of voice,” her mother said with a frown, lightly smacking the back of her hand. “This is serious business. Leave it to your brother.”

No one sided with her.

Outside the door were Yasha’s parents; she was their most cherished child. Inside the door was Yasha’s sole surviving brother, a brother who cherished her. Everyone cherished her, Yasha had never doubted, until now. Everything was wrong. Her most trusted loved ones had taken the star she’d pursued for many years, dashed it to the ground, and stomped it to pieces without blinking.

In this moment, Yasha realized.

She wasn’t betrayed. This was what it meant to be cherished. Papa cherished his advisors, Mama cherished her dancers, Eldest Sister cherished her actors, Eldest Brother cherished his purebred dogs, Second Brother cherished his lovers…they cherished her. Playthings and tools relied on their looks and wits to gain favor, while she relied on the bloodline she was born with. She got to enjoy all the gifts that rained upon her from the heavens, but had forgotten that all of it was nothing more than bones thrown to her by an owner.

To be cherished was so easy and uncomplicated, but alas, you could only wait for others’ handouts. You could only have what they chose to give you.

The little princess Yasha couldn’t have her Eden, because the one who is cherished has nothing.