Chapter Two
“I felt myself on the edge of the world; peering over the rim into a fathomless chaos of eternal night. Through my terror ran curious reminiscences of Paradise Lost, and of Satan’s hideous climb through the unfashioned realms of darkness.” ~ Old Earth Poet
Imperious Will, Task Force Bride Price
Oort Cloud, Edenstar System
Pentagram Cluster, Solar Hegemony in Exile
“Ah, Princess Lizrael, we have arrived, are you ready to meet your new husband?” inquired the full blooded, almond eyed, crimson skinned, sharp eared, and darkly brooding Zindari Da'ath Lord standing at parade-rest in full white mess dress before the great crystaline-duraluminum viewing portals set into the observation deck at the very peak of the vessel's ceremonial command tower, gazing out at the black void and the points of light suspended therein, without even glancing back at the richly turned out and glittering high lady, the sixth princess of Zindar approaching behind him, nor did he need to acknowledge or give deference to her, for as her current guardian and foster-father, his social rank was accredited as precisely one-half step above her own, let alone did he deign to acknowledge the presence of his own apprentice and retainer kneeling beside him in attendance.
“Did you feel it, my lord? I felt it in my chambers before you ordered the fleet dropped from hyperspace, there has been an awakening.” The slight and waifish, platinum-haired, violet-eyed Princess of Zindar of regal and elfin features, features shaded the delicate porcelain colour of the ancient No’old, not the crimson hues of their Zindari followers, asked of her present guardian firmly. A net of spun golden threads was woven in her hair, set about with jewels in precious settings and her gown was lavender, silver, and gold, translucently shimmering samite, giving ever shifting and tantalising hints of the curving flesh beneath, daring slashes in the skirts and plunging neckline giving hints of metallic under-garments, all taken together framed her not few curves and charms and winsome wiles and drew every male eye with precisely calculated attraction while preserving the exact amount of royal modesty required of blood and station and dignity.
Lord Da’ath Aretwe nodded, the Zindari Lord fixing his molten-gold eyes at the distant world, magnifying it in size with a gesture via the smart-glass view-ports as their fleet kept wary distance, shielding their visage and emissions spectra from prying eyes by careful use of clouds of oort-dust and cometary mass. Beside her, Prentice Verathun kneeling in due submission to his Lord, reached out in the Formal, and after a moment the deathly pale, voidborn Atani narrowed his albino-red eyes. “The Formal Realm,” he said softly. “Her aethereal currents feel fair strange, my Lord. Claimed in the Formal, seems this new world, but… muted, as if those who have claimed it are themselves but fledgling, prospective prentice-learners in their first year’s trials…”
Verathun trailed off, but Lord Aretwe nodded again. “Yes,” he agreed. It seems that this Solar Hegemony of Man is young people. I must express doubt as to the Emperor's choice of marriage alliance at this development. Perhaps our exploratores have made an error, finding for us instead a young Atanic race, new in terms of both technical and spiritual development. If these are not your promised husband's people, then it is something of a coup, for the Empire and for us specifically to have the opportunity of... guiding such newcomers to finding a place in the greater galaxy. Under the wise and paternal tutelage of the Zindari of course.”
“Lord Aretwe, you forget yourself, we are bound by my father's seal of peace! If we bare metal now, we would shame ourselves. You would shame me!” cried the electrum haired Princess of Alfar-kind, violet eyes blazing in a curious mixture of anger and pride, her sharp and pronounced features only enhancing her exotic beauty.
“Perhaps we just might yet find out your true mettle, little Lizrael.” Lord Aretwe agreed in a cool tone, as though discussing the weather or the price of spice. At last, he deigned to acknowledge his kneeling his retainer.
“This is your given task, Prentice mine. You will command this Compliance, Princess Lizrael here will be your second and I will advise, but only sparingly. The Eibon Council wishes these worlds be brought into the fold of Zindar, by marriage or not, and so they shall be. Do not fail the council, do not fail me. Success in this task will mark you for greater things, childe.”
“As you command, my Lord.” Verathun said with bowed neck, dipping into a full prostration before his master, tapping his forehead against the deck of the Imperious Will. “Though, from what we know of these worlds, the inhabitants are pre-hyper techno-barbarians. It ought not take much trouble for us to bring their worlds to heel.”
“Indeed, it should not, but beware hubris mine Prentice, the Formal Cosmos never fails to mock those who assume too much.”
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