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“There’s a cryo-mourning?” Cal asked behind Roy’s back, his voice frayed.

The squire rolled his eyes, adjusting the drape at the bottom. “Ya don’t have newsstream back in whatever shithole you’re coming from?”

“Who is it?” Cal laced his fingers with Roy’s and squeezed tightly.

“Take a guess,” the squire scoffed.

“Enough,” the receptionist screeched, smacking the squire’s head with the back of her long claws. Both her eyes blinked. When she spoke, the line seemed rehearsed, as if someone drilled it into her memory. “Emperor Consort has entered a peaceful sleep. We all hope for a solution to his condition.”

Cal unfolded the brochure. “Is there a shrine we could visit?”

“Why, yes,” the receptionist said, tilting her head. “Floor 281. Take the portal on your left.”

Thick obsidian walls lined the Shrine of Eternal Sails. Before entering, they’d removed their boots and rolled up their trouser sleeves. Roy almost slipped in the cleansing torrent at the entrance, the stones lining the bottom slick with fluorescent algae. The interior’s humidity clung to his skin. Water flowed everywhere he looked—from the trickle down the walls to the artificial waterfall behind the altar.

Cal strode through the stone pews. A few vigilers had gathered, their heads hung low, twirling sacred ropes between their reddened, chafed hands.

With swift steps, Cal climbed the dais and picked up an incense stick. Unwrapping the wax paper, he turned to Roy. “I knew Davie—um, Emperor Consort. Briefly, in college.”

Roy’s eyebrow jumped up. “Did you?”

“He was finishing his doctorate when I started.” An electric lighter zapped in Cal’s hand. Fire spread from the blue arc to the incense, and a thick ribbon of smoke billowed. “And conducting the university choir.”

Roy hummed and selected an incense, just to keep his hands busy.

“The room was always full of his energy,” Cal said, keeping his voice low. “I wasn’t surprised in the least bit when they announced the engagement. He was—he is a truly precious soul.”

“Must be hard for the Emperor.” Even though Roy avoided tabloids, he’d caught bits of the Imperial couple’s life, like the opulent wedding that Milo watched with wide eyes and a bucket of seaweed chips. The cameras zoomed in on the Emperor Consort’s robes—though back then, it was still Duke Davor of Osthalia, with mint green brocade flowing around his sculpted body, sacred oils and diamond dust glistening against his tan skin, and a thick braid of Void-black hair swinging over his shoulder.

A cacophony of beeps blasted through the shrine. The vigilers stirred, each slapping a hand over their comm bracelets. Some rose and took long strides toward the exit; others hesitated, scrolling through messages.

When the last one stumbled out of the pew, half-sprinting toward the exit, dread settled in Roy’s gut. He wrapped his fingers around Cal’s forearm and tugged. “I think we should go.”

Cal’s eyes swept around the shrine. He swallowed; the cartilage in his throat bobbed. “Yeah, something’s off⁠—”

The entrance door slammed shut, knocking the air out of Roy’s lungs. He turned, his back pressed against Cal’s, craning his neck in search of alternative exits—though he knew there were none. His hand found the knife in his pocket and gripped the handle.

Across the shrine, a crack tore through the wall. Light pulsed as it spread, forming a portal. Three silhouettes stepped out. Two soldiers in full parade uniforms clicked their heels, gripping laser rifles with fixed bayonets. As they parted, the portal dimmed, revealing the face plastered over all Imperial tokens.

Cal fell to his knee first, bowing deep, the short hairs on the nape of his neck standing upright. Roy stifled a groan as he lowered himself too, one palm pressed against the soft rug, forehead resting against his aching knee.

A vibrating voice boomed. “Caelestian, Prince Starborn… how delightful to see you.”

Chapter

Seven

In the shrine’s confined space, Roy wasn’t sure if it was a sudden onset of claustrophobia or the Emperor’s presence causing his heart to pound against his ribs. Even with the thin crown obscured by strawberry-blond waves, Roy had no doubt he was kneeling before the Emperor. He’d seen the man once—back then, he was still the Crown Prince, overseeing the Pyraxis peace treaty. Roy’s squadron had been assigned to the very front at the ceremony—after all, they were one of the few that had seen the entire war.

“Thank you,” the Prince said while pinning the amethyst heart to Roy’s chest. “For your service.” He held his gaze during the handshake. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lieutenant Toggio.”

“Rise, both of you.” The Emperor gestured, his polished boots stopping a step away from Roy’s face. “Oh, Caelestian, how delightful to see the rumours of your demise were not true. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw one of Davie’s comms enter the Harbour.” He cupped Cal’s jaw with a hand adorned with too many rings, as if the Emperor needed tangible proof that the Starborn, pronounced dead by his planet’s representatives, stood alive and breathing in the shrine.

“Your Majesty. Such an honour to be graced by Your presence.” Cal reached into the pocket on his thigh and pulled out a tiny, beetle-shaped device. The display glowed green as he held it on his open palm. “I suppose I should return this to you.”

“Keep it,” the Emperor whispered. “I’m sure Davie will love to hear from you, if—when he wakes up.”

Clutching the device to his chest, Cal curtsied.