“Nope. We can’t even just walk into a trap like normal people. We have to work really hard first.”

He laughed, a quiet wolf chuckle.

I raised my hand. “One vote for yes. Any opposing?”

“We haven’t done anything dumb or dangerous for almost six months.” Sean pushed away from the wall on which he was leaning, walked over, and kissed me. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

“It’s a spouse selection,” I explained.

We sat in the kitchen, Sean and I on one side of the table, Caldenia and Marais on the other, with Orro on the end, on Sean’s right.

“It involves a powerful head of state,” I continued. “The spouse selection is very complex. The choice of the candidate depends on the genetic traits the spouse can offer, on what faction they represent, and on the political benefits that match will bring.”

Marais frowned. “But they are all the same species, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Sean said.

“It’s an old, established practice.” Caldenia waved her hand. “With the genetic science available to those with enough resources, gender and species don’t matter. As long as there is enough compatibility, you could marry a whale, Officer Marais. They would splice the DNA together into an offspring with the desired genetic traits and let the child mature to term in an artificial womb.”

Marais shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

“It’s not about comfort but survival.” Caldenia bared her sharp teeth. “I carry the genetic roots of seven species in my body thanks to some long-term planning by my ancestors. They have served me very well.”

“The selection has been narrowed down to twelve candidates from one hundred and five,” I continued.

Caldenia’s eyes sparkled.

“Twelve is a lot,” Marais said.

“You have your two or three favorites but keep the others in the running for political considerations,” Caldenia explained. “And for the spectacle. There must be pageantry, after all. Spouse selections are greatly entertaining. A well-timed spouse selection followed by a lavish wedding can often quell civil unrest before it has a chance to explode in your face.”

“The ruler has an issue,” I said. “The prospective spouses-to-be keep killing each other.”

Caldenia leaned back and cackled. “This is absolutely delightful.”

“Apparently, it wouldn’t be problem under normal circumstances,” Sean said. “However, their religious leader is at the end of his life. He must find a suitable candidate to whom he can transfer his holy gift before he expires. Random murder interferes with that on a psychic level, and by law, he is required to be present for the entirety of the spouse selection.”

“I love it.” Caldenia grinned.

She would be a lot less happy in a minute.

Sean kept going. “They’ve tried everything to secure their premises, but each candidate has twenty retinue members, and they keep nuking each other in elaborate ways. They need a safe ground.”