Therulay leaned back against the plush throne, waiting for Conor to break down those doors, sweep her off her feet, and tell her he had at long last made the correct choice.

He had been playing hard to get for months. Therulay had invited him out multiple times, lingered nearby, and given apparent signs. He made eye contact numerous times; that dense man surely knew.

To top it all off, she had thrown herself at him naked, and that man still had the gall to deny her, the youngest princess of the Kurlatra empire.

Did he now understand how many suitors she had waiting in the wings? Hundreds, if not thousands, had offered themselves to her since his arrival, but she was gracious enough to let such a fine specimen of a man become hers. She was willing to overlook his lowborn status and the fact that he was not Kurlatra.

He had been obstinate for so long that she had no choice but to give him front-row seats for the coup that would pull them together. She had no other option left, and she was done waiting. All she had to do now was wait for her sisters to die and the nobles she had made back-door deals with to fulfill their ends of the deal.

Would their bonding cause some issues in the future? Of course, it would. They could not have an heir naturally, and after this war, she would need one. Granted, she was not interested in having ankle-biters or threats to her rule, but she understood the necessity of maintaining well-manicured blood.

Their infertility was hardly an issue. Therulay could simply take on a consort or two from carefully chosen, obedient, subservient nobles to continue the bloodline. She could not have any children who would look up to her and be envious. If she did, a coup would be in her future as well.

All Conor had to do was be the loyal mutt he had been for her sister. He would have to warm her bed, kill dissidents, and never talk back to her. Any man with two brain cells together would, of course, take her up on the opportunity to live a life that simple.

By this point, she had already heard from the soldiers outside that Conor was attacking them and doing quite a good job of slaughtering the useless lot.

Apparently, he had also brought along several other soldiers; one even had a mech suit. That much effort just to see her? By the Brood Mother, this man was more dedicated to being with her than she had ever believed.

Her anticipation vibrated through her body; everything was going perfectly, and she had no reason to believe the rest of the night would not be.

Nobles, planetwide, were doing what she is now. Lounging on their own lesser thrones after killing their sisters, mother, and any local dissidents. Most were her friends or those she had networked with; they were loyal and agreed to this coordinated attack.

There had to be a small covey of nobles who simply heard of the ongoing overthrow and took the initiative to seize power. That was good; they were willing to take action when it presented itself. So long as they bent the knee, she would allow them to keep whatever they claimed throughout the night. Starting their relationship with a gesture of goodwill, like acknowledging the right to keep what they stole, would be best after all.

The only thing marring her enjoyment of the night was the constant wailing from the corner of the throne room. How in her will could she have been birthed by that pathetic excuse for a woman.

“Will you shut her up?” Theruley hissed at Herela, flicking her tail toward her mother and the pile of dead royal guards.

Eyurali clung to Vuraley's cooling corpse, unable to string together a coherent string of words for the last half an hour; it was to the point her voice was long gone. Blood trickled out of her mouth, raining onto her father's shimmering armor.

Apparently, losing her Champion was the last straw for the old bitch. The former empress had been struggling to cope with all the death around her for years.

Why she did so was beyond Therulay's understanding; her mother had killed her sisters and signed the death warrants of many other sapients. How was seeing your own daughters do what you had with glee different?

There was no difference as far as the youngest princess could understand. Both were simply killing to gain power and achieve what she had. Above all else, become the next empress.

They were another life and were in the way of achieving your goals; the only thing that could change how one judged their life was their usefulness to you.

Theruley knew how to capitalize on usefulness well. She had plenty of valuable idiots around, but that was just because they were worth more to her alive than dead—Herela was such an example.

All it took was her promising him land and a position as the high general once she was empress, and he swore fealty in her name. The Moron did not even attempt to haggle for more; he just accepted the first offer in a heartbeat.

Did she plan to follow through? If he survived, she would give him what was promised. But if Conor decided to kill him, so be it. The man was just a useful idiot who had done all she had asked.

Without him, she could never have killed her father. Now, that was not because she was unwilling, far from it; she was physically incapable of besting him in a fight. She was not so short-sighted to believe she could defeat a man who thrived in war in a fair fight; she needed the underhanded tactics they had used.

Luckily for her, Herela was more than willing to kill him while Therulay put on an act of being the innocent daughter and distracted him.

She had waited in the throne room, crying while sputtering about how everything had gotten out of hand. Her father did not even hesitate to help his dear little girl. He rushed over to try to assure her they could get past this and everything was all right. The so-called hero did not even bother to clear the room, letting Herela strike from the shadows.

The betrayal of his paternal instincts damned him to the endless sands.

Oh, the look of horror in his eyes when Herela shot him in the back and he bled out was to die for. It was better than drugs. Her only regret was that she had not recorded the event; she could fall asleep to the sweet sounds of her father choking on his blood as her mother cried over him every night.

“What should I do?” Herela asked, nervously fiddling with the pommel of his legendary sword.

Therulay rolled her eyes. How could a man like this have gained any power? Not only gain power but kill a drake in solo combat. Seeing his struggle to pull the trigger on the phase rifle she had given him as an assassination tool was beyond pathetic, enough so that she doubted that he genuinely slayed the beast he was known to have.

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He was so—so—bland. He had no confidence, presence, or willingness to make a single choice of his own. Whatever killed that drake, it certainly was not this wet noodle of a noble. It probably was a group effort of hundreds of soldiers he just so happened to be with at the time.

The confidence Herela lacked was just what she appreciated about her destined Champion. That Human would have heard the order, made a choice, and done so.

He would have acted like it was his god-given right to judge those around him. His actions would be righteous and unquestionable divination. Conor thought like she did. He knew others were lesser, and he knew what was correct each time he made a choice.

Watching his discernment was titillating. She got wet just observing him do anything. However, the most prominent example in her mind was far above and beyond just a captivating show. She wanted to jump him right then and there with everyone watching, especially Eivaley.

When she had Herela kill her sister, frame Conor, and have the God of Close Combat attack Conor. That was the most breathtaking display of primal, raw power she had ever been blessed to witness.

Watching the Human rip that stupid man apart was the most romantic thing she had ever seen. Each hit was assured, and every motion was a dance of death. She dreamed of it almost daily since then.

And to think, soon enough, that weapon of a man would be all hers.

“I do not care; just shut her up,” Therulay ordered, returning to daydreaming about the Human and how they would be a power couple beyond all power couples.

Herela turned about and started to walk toward Therulay's mother. He pulled out his sword, clearly ready to kill the sobbing woman. That would have been a fantastic gesture of his loyalty to her if he had not hesitated at the final moment.

He raised his blade, its molecule-sharp edge glinting in the dawn light pouring in through the windows behind Therulay. His hands trembled after Eyurali looked up at him for a moment, then back to Vurraley, presenting her neck to him and accepting the end. Herela looked at Therulay as if he needed permission to chop her head off.

Therulay sighed and was about to demand that he grow a pair and just kill her, but before she could, the convergence of her destiny and the Humans had arrived.

The front of the room exploded, sending Herela, Eyurali, and the corpses flying into support pillars. The doors, despite weighing multiple tons, were tossed across the room. The gargantuan blades narrowly missed, their deadly momentum arrested as they embedded halfway into the walls.

Through the settling smoke and dirt, he entered like a true hero of old, making a grand entrance to save the princess from a beast. His eyes glowed red as Conor flowed in with his squad, moving with practiced efficiency few could replicate.

Smoke clung to them, making them look ethereal. They looked like specters of judgment given form on the mortal coil. Their leader, front, and center, with his flaring red eyes and massive build, looked like a demon raised from hell itself; a man dragged from the depths and reforged in infernal fire.

Once they had drifted into the room and swept its every surface for enemies, Conor and the soldier she knew was Vitul moved towards her mother while the other trooper, whom she did not know, aimed a weapon at her.

The fucking gall, how dare this lesser man think he could do that to her, the empress. Therulay looked over at the Herela, still struggling to his knees, leaning on his sword for support.

"Well, are you going to do your job?" Therulay hissed, or do you now want your nobility?"

Herela shook off the dust and stumbled to his feet. The explosion had nearly knocked him unconscious. When he finally got a good look at who was in the room, he spotted the Human and his guard.

Now, Herela remembered Conor; he could never forgive what that Human had done. He had humiliated him in front of everyone. That one night of mocking from both him and the former empress had cost him much: money, contacts, status, and even the loyalty of his own soldiers. He would not make that mistake twice.

Now, with the new empress watching, he would reclaim his glory and take all the titles the Human now had, making Herela a true powerhouse in the new Empire.

Herela pointed his sword at Conor and began to bellow the rightful challenge, only befitting men of their station. "Conor, I, Ecallar Herela, son of Kiyulin Herela, father of Hextron Herela, the last daughter of House Herela, Champion of."

"Contact," Conor bellowed before unloading his weapon, with the rest of the troops laying into the man with just as much fury.

Their weapons snarled like hell hounds as their teeth ripped chunks of Herela off and tossed them on the ground. Herela spasmed as hundreds of bullets tore him to shreds.

The man did not even see the first shot Conor had let off. The Human was just too swift to be observed. That first bullet had killed Herela; the rest were all just anchoring shots, assuring the man named Ecallar Herela died like a beast being put down.

Watching the man die like that, Therulay couldn’t help but smile. That worthless fool had died as pathetically as he had lived.

“Watch her,” Conor barked at the other two soldiers while confidently marching towards her mother and father. The others reloaded in turn and watched her like hawks.

Why would he do this? She was right there. It took her a moment to realize, but it made sense after a second. He must have heard the order to make her mother shut up and was going to kill her. That works for her; she would wait for her man. But what happened next confused her.

Conor crouched down and spoke softly to the broken woman; she clung to him, still making no sense. After a few moments, he gently picked her up and handed Mother off to one of the soldiers, instructing the other to take Vuraley's corpse with them.

They dutifully did what he ordered, leaving her and him alone. Conor must have wanted to kill the empress publically. There is nothing like a public execution to show the change of power; it makes the whole ordeal of a coup easier. He must know that as well as she did.

“Well, I am glad you finally arrived,” Therulay smiled, shifting slightly on the throne, trying not to sound like a starstruck girl.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy,” Conor growled, stepping over the bodies of the royal guards and reaching the bottom of the dais.

She had taken those words as something completely different than what Conor meant. She ignored the venom in his voice and inferred that she was worth the effort.

“Do you like what I have done for you?” Therulay asked, gesturing wide at the palace and the world itself.

“Not really,” Conor shrugged while slowly stepping up the stairs, his heavy footfalls and intense stare making her heart flutter.

“Well, I'm sorry it was not to your liking,” Therulay said, standing to step down closer to him. “What did I do wrong?”

She asked this when the two were only a breath's distance away. She was at long last close to her man, her destiny. She leaned against him, fluttered her eyes, and walked her fingers along his heavy, lethal muscles.

The smell of oil, blood, and sweat pouring off him was erotic, to say the least. That fatal potpourri was the scent of their new world, one where they would fight all others and stand tall on mountains of bodies. Those people who would die did not matter; it would just be what needed to happen to keep her enraptured in his arms.

Something he seemed oh so eager to give to her. His cold metal hand glided along her hip and over her breast; she could not help but feel excited. Her nipples hardened as the rough metal caressed her through the silken dress she wore.

At the same time, the burning intensity of his presence lit a fire in her core. She silently begged that he was about to take her then and there. He would pick her up and cristen their love and the dawn of a new world on the throne of the old one. She knew that was what would happen when he slowly wrapped his hand around her neck, mimicking the impression on Eivaleys neck.

She had heard them making love for weeks; it was finally her turn to have this beast in her bed. The Human would claim her, take his place at her side, and rule with her—as her tool of death, of course.

“I am ready!” Therulay purred, looking up at him and fully believing the delusions she had conjured up.

“You asked what you did wrong?” Conor said, lightly squeezing her throat, making her moan.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Instead of laying her back and claiming her soul, Conor did something she could not fathom; in fact, it went completely against all she knew was destined to be. He gripped her neck like he was trying to choke the life from her and lifted her with ease.

Theruley's breath hitched as he pulled her close, and they looked eye to eye, but she still dangled in his grip.

“You fucking existed,” Conor growled before tossing her off the dais like she weighed nothing.