Read Online The Consort (Tellaran Series) by Ariel MacArran - Free Book Online

their mother’s anger if she were caught sympathizing and helpless to save her. Alari knew her sister well, saw the drawn, frightened look on her face, and knew she was not alone in not sleeping the night before.
    Saria was heiress to the Imperial throne now but that came with its own dangers, its own sacrifices.
    The sun climbed higher and still he did not come.
    Perhaps the Tellaran had risked his life only in hopes of being mated to the First Daughter or, at the very least, an Imperial heiress, and now she was neither . . .
    But no Az-kye warrior would have come to claim her now either. To be mated to a disgraced daughter who had lost her inheritance—even a princess—was a fate not to be envied and her mate would share her shame. Alari would be held up as an example of how the empress would strike back if crossed. She would stand as a lesson for heiresses throughout the Empire and future Imperial Daughters of the dangers of defiance.
    But it was only when the High Priestess stood, her aged face drawn and sad, did Alari surrender all hope.
    High Priestess Celara, leaning heavily on her jeweled cane, slowly crossed the polished floor and her eyes showed nothing but sympathy. She made her way to where Alari stood alone, the first to speak to her that day.
    “I am so, so sorry, my child,” she said softly.
    Tears stung Alari’s eyes.
    High Priestess Celara laid a gentle hand on her arm. “May Lashima’s gaze always rest kindly upon you.” 
    Alari’s throat closed and she could do no more than give a shaky nod of thanks. Trembling she turned toward the empress for the pronouncement that would cast her out of her clan, her home, and take even her name from her, forever.
    There was an annoyed muttering from the court at the far end of the hall. The grumbling grew nearer and in the next moment the Tellaran, spitting a curse, pushed his way through the crowd of courtiers.
    His face was flushed, his blue eyes all the more striking for it, and he was dressed again in the Tellaran warrior clothes of blue and white with the yellow sash. He limped toward her heavily favoring his left leg and the waves of his hair clung damply at his temples. He still bore fading bruises on his face, his lip still a bit swollen from the challenge yesterday. The cut Jazan had left on his cheek had healed over, the mark still red and angry, and Alari blinked in admiration of the scar he had earned in her name.
    He was much taller than she remembered and she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. He was broad of shoulder as well, his eyes bright with intelligence. 
    “Sorry,” he said with a chagrined smile. “They don’t make way for Tellarans like they do for princesses.”
    “You—you are here,” Alari managed. 
    “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he said, his blue eyes anxious. “My leg’s hurting like a—it’s, uh, slowing me down and it took forever to get through the crowd.” 
    “Oh,” she murmured.
    He addressed the High Priestess. “I’m new at Az-kye weddings. I may need a little guidance, Your Eminence.”
    High Priestess Celara looked amused but her gaze was kindly as always. “You shall have it, Commander Kyndan Maere of the Tellaran Fleet.”
    He cleared his throat. “Listen, for the actual wedding vows, you can just call me ‘Kyndan Maere.’”
    Smiling, the High Priestess inclined her head then turned to make her way to the sanctuary doors.
    He gave Alari a nod. “I’m ready if you are.”
    She had an urge to reach out and touch his broad chest, to run her fingers over the dark blue fabric of his coat, to trace the scar on his cheek with her fingertips. 
    To assure herself he had truly come for her . . .
    Kyndan leaned forward, humor crinkling the skin around his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It looks pretty easy in the training holos.”
    Many of the court wore expressions of disappointment that they would not bear witness to her enslavement. Her gaze went to the High Priestess, the