Aceris is heir to the throne of Superbia, the almighty empire that covers most of the five galaxies, and he has a secret.
Only he can see the emperor for who he really is: not as a respected military leader, but as the boorish father who’s ridiculed and scorned him since he was a child—and for that, his father will have to pay. Aceris will get hold of the Artifact of Truth, the most potent weapon in the universe, and become the most revered emperor the Empire has ever known. He will outshine his father. He will erase him from history—at any cost.
The Artifact of Truth is held by the reclusive Kingdom of Veritas, and his only way in is to enroll in the Kingdom’s student exchange program with the Intergalactic Space Combat Academy in Superbia. Aceris arranges to attend the Academy under an assumed name, only to discover the Veritian heiress is also attending the school—the warm, bright and lovely Eleutheria who would try and derail his plans if she knew about them.
The royal heirs thus realize just what the price of following their ambitions might be, ignoring that the greatest dangers lurk in the shadows. A hidden enemy—the student who will come to be known as the “Praying Mantis”—has been scheming against them behind the scenes. When the Praying Mantis’s web of lies eventually surfaces, the heirs find themselves not only torn between love and power, but fighting for their identity and their sanity.
PRAYING SPACE MANTIS is a multiple-POV space opera about the exhilaration, confusion and sometimes pain of leaving home and growing into an adult. We follow the lives of four teenagers (Aceris, Eleutheria, Emerald and Raia) as they set out to the stars to pursue their dreams and come to challenge each other’s ideas about the world and their own identity.
Meet Aceris, Prince of Superbia, below.
Chapter 3: Aceris
21 November 504 AG
Prince Aceris, Superbian Empire
Sunset in Opes, the Superbian capital. A city of stainless steel and glass buildings, rising high in the scarlet sky, and the vertigo one gets when trying to spot their pinnacle from the ground. The suffocation one gets when strolling among those high walls, some built so close to each other that sun rays never reach the ground in between. A maze of footbridges and underground passages, levitating vehicles and propulsion suits, cyborgs living alongside humans.
And from the third to highest floor of the Imperial Palace, a pyramid–shaped building of golden frescoes and marble gargoyles, through the glass wall of his room, Prince Aceris could see it all. His gaze could embrace it all in a single glimpse, the people, the edifices, the hustle; and each time he did was a reminder of his power.
Power, the exertion of power, had been the sole object of his education—political power, yes, knowing diplomacy and government rules, but mainly, personal power. Cultivating the allure of a Prince, eliciting awe and yearning, and seeing it in their eyes, their admission of inferiority, feeding out of it like a leech sucking out all their blood, feasting on it, getting high on the warm substance, sustaining this high and never letting anyone see him, his despicable self, his self riddled with shame, whenever the euphoria inevitably ended and he collapsed like a freaking house of cards.
The never-ending cycle of ups and downs, this nauseating light-speed rollercoaster, left Prince Aceris exhausted at sunset more often than not, and many sleepless nights had been spent watching the city from the darkness of his room, this tree house made of glass that felt like his only shelter in the five galaxies.
On November 21st, 504 After Gregario, Prince Aceris was meditating in the quietness of his sanctuary, legs crossed, each foot resting on the other leg’s thigh, both hands resting on his knees, palms facing upward, his back straight like a plasma sword. Thoughts were running freely in his mind, let loose from the otherwise constrained state of constant pretense. He was a slender and sallow figure, rather ghost-like in the dim nightfall light. His short black hair was disheveled and sticky with sweat; he had turned off the air-conditioning, as heat always helped him relax.
A boom echoed in his consciousness. Someone was knocking on the door. Aceris opened his thin eyes and let out a sigh. He would have preferred to ignore the intrusion, but it was too late—he had lost his focus and the person was pounding harder now. He threw a bathrobe over his shoulders and opened the door. On the other side, a tall woman boasting a perfect blond bob was waiting. She was leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed on her chest, one leg bent over the other.
“Sergeant Caelestis, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
Caelestis smirked satisfactorily. “I was afraid you’d be pissed. You're not doing your meditation thing?”
“As a matter of fact, I was. And I’ll get back to it as soon as you explain why you’ve interrupted me.”
“So you are pissed!” Caelestis shook her head. “The Emperor wants to see you. Right now. I’d guess it’s pretty important so put on your best attire, and hop on my ride.”
He inspected the corridor for a moment.
“It’s a metaphorical ride,” Caelestis said while rolling her eyes.
He shut the door. Caelestis was the only person who would dare roll her eyes in front of him, at him, the only person he’d let for that matter. It seemed she was the only female who was not completely baffled in his presence, who didn’t gape at him with coy eyes, and that made her a rare specimen of someone worthy of his respect. He suspected of course there was more below the surface—emotions she kept hidden—but it was easier to ignore the possibility. There was more below the surface in him too.
Aceris pulled a black tank top over his shoulders and quickly slipped into a pair of black hakamas. The old man wanted to see him. How quaint. What could he possibly want? Assistance with some commercial endeavor, perhaps.
He threw a last glance at the glittering city before leaving the room—it was night now. The Superbian Annual Ball, a tradition held in memory of Gregario, the Superbian Emperor who had grown the Empire from one galaxy to four, would begin in a couple of hours. But it was Aceris’s father, Emperor Donateo, who had expanded the frontiers to include the fifth galaxy. With the exception of a handful of remaining inhabited planets, including the stubborn Kingdom of Veritas, Aceris would be left with no new frontier to conquer when he succeeded to the throne. And yet, he’d be compared to his father for his entire rule. In posterity, he’d only be referred to as “the son of Donateo.” The son of a profoundly despicable boor.
Caelestis hadn’t budged by an inch when he returned to the hallway, and they began to walk quietly. The high ceilings and their flowery moldings, the golden chandeliers and their electrical candles, the plush garnet carpet where he had loved to practice somersaults as a child. When he’d come back to this place, in four years if everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t be the same man. He’d have everything he’d always wanted.
They reached the central elevator, and Caelestis pushed the highest number on the panel, to the Emperor’s offices on the very last floor of the pyramid. Aceris caught his reflection in the elevator’s mirror. His hair was still glistening with sweat, but it wasn’t unattractive. With his high cheekbones and square jaw, it only added to his air of masculinity. Too bad he didn’t have anyone to charm at the moment. Caelestis didn’t step out when the doors slid open but her lips moved in silence, and he could read, “Good luck.”
He entered his father’s secretary’s office and realized he might get some attention after all. He always spoke with softness and pauses, especially to anyone who worked for his family; it wasn’t only elegant but a necessity.
“Good evening, Lydia,” he began gently. “How’s your day so far?”
Lydia grinned as she did every time he spoke to her. It seemed the word “lovely” had been created for her—and the adjective couldn’t be applied to many in his vicinity. She’d worked for his father for over thirty years now, always diligent at her work, and Aceris remembered staying with her at her desk as a child when his father was too busy to see him. She’d let him use the spare visors and play games, or draw on the holographic panel. It was too bad she hadn’t given birth to a child, he thought; she’d be an outstanding mother.
“Busy day, but fit as a fiddle despite my old lady back. Your father is ready to see you now, and I’d advise not to make him wait…”
So the old man was in a bad mood. Quite like him.
Emperor Donateo was seated at his large mahogany desk, the city landscape playing in the background like a mute television screen. He raised his head abruptly at the sound of the door shutting and didn’t bother for salutations.
“Sit, Son.” He was pointing at a chair in front of his desk with a hand on which half a dozen golden rings competed for attention. Aceris made a point to sit elsewhere.
“You summoned me, Father.”
The Emperor dropped his pen and took a deep breath.
“Yes. I’m afraid I have some bad news. News I must tell you in person.”
The Emperor hadn’t bothered to tell him in person about Mother’s stardrive accident two years before, when she had almost lost her life. Aceris braced himself. Whatever spurted out of his father’s trap tended to hurt like a thousand knives.
“Son, I, ahem…” his father stammered in an unusual and awkward manner. “I can't even believe it myself… I, I am sick. Very sick. Leukemia, terminal. The best doctors in the five galaxies cannot do anything for me; obviously, I’ve seen them all.”
Aceris’s eyes grew round as a cold shiver ran down his spine.
“Well,” his father continued while using his little finger to dislodge something from his lower molars, “I guess ‘I am dying’ would be a more fucking truthful way to put it.”
Aceris felt his throat tighten, as though a cold and sturdy hand was slowly but surely clenching it to suffocation. When he opened his mouth, his voice was raspy and feeble. “How... How long have you got?”
His father laid both hands flat on his desk. “One to two years max. Doctors say it’d be a miracle if I outlived that two-year benchmark.”
Did I think he was immortal? That he couldn’t die?
“But most importantly, I’ll need you to be ready to take over within a year, Son. They’re trying to keep me moving now, but once my state begins degrading, it will deteriorate fast.”
One year? Aceris felt a burning sensation engulfing his stomach, chest and throat. Until your very last day, you will have found a way to derail my plans, to make me feel inadequate. The familiar, steaming rage was taking over.
“Now,” his father continued, “your mother and I have raised you for this day since you were born. We expect you to live up to our expectations.”
“You know I’m supposed to begin classes at the Space Combat Academy in January, right?”
His father stared at him blankly. “Don’t disappoint me.”
Just like that, their meeting was over. There would be no tears, no emotional outburst, no kind words exchanged. Aceris stood up at once and rushed out of the suffocating office, passed by Lydia without a word, darted in and out of the elevator and dashed to his room, passing by Caelestis who had been waiting near his door, not uttering a sound, only focusing on that door, that large wooden door behind which he could finally let it all out, all the rage and the pain and the disappointment. In the darkness of his room, he finally let go of a long, enraged roar, and for once he didn’t care that someone might hear him. For once, he wanted everyone to hear, the palace, the city, this world and its five galaxies.
Mother, Mother might understand. He bolted back into the hallway, relieved to see it empty, and went down the corridor to his parents’ apartments. Surely, Mother would be getting ready for the ball.
His hurried knocks were soon answered by a servant, who kept the door ajar enough that she could enquire whom the visitor was. As soon as she saw him, she pulled it wide open and bowed, then ran out of sight to announce his arrival. Mother was in her dressing room, wearing her favorite ball gown, a diamond and cobalt bustier dress, with a dozen maids bustling around her and two working minutely on what would eventually be a sophisticated headdress. When her eyes met her son’s, she made a firm sway of the hand, and the maids took their leave immediately.
She got up and walked toward him, halting close enough for him to smell her eden-rose perfume but far enough that she was out of reach.
“Your father told you.”
Aceris wasn’t sure what to say; he couldn’t help a few tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m not ready, Mother.”
“How could you be? You’re only seventeen. Your father never understood that you are not like him. You’re not… as strong as he was, as determined. You need more time, and that’s fine.”
“How’s that ‘fine’? You know once Father’s made a decision he won’t suffer any discussion.”
The Empress raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. Aceris hadn’t been the only one planning ahead.
“It will be alright, child, because you will join the Academy as planned in January. Your father will think it’s a temporary situation, until you succeed him. But when… when your father eventually passes away, you will continue your education. I will take on the regency during the time you need to graduate. And when you are ready, you will come back to us and take what is rightly yours.”
The weight of a thousand suns had suddenly disappeared from his chest. “Thank you, Mother.”
“Now, Son, you need to gather yourself. Princes don’t wear their hearts on their sleeves. If you want to rule as you were born to, and be as great an Emperor as your father is, you will listen to me. The world has no mercy for weakness, and so, you shall show none.”
There was silence; all Aceris could hear was the distant, muted hubbub coming from the city. There was coldness, too. He would have liked his mother to hold him, to embrace him tightly, for once, and to feel her heart beating, but she remained out of touch, aloof. Coldness wasn’t bad though—coldness was familiar and manageable. He felt his consuming ambition return in its rightful place. The uncontrollable ire was gone; coming to Mother had been the right thing to do. He bowed once and left the Imperial Suite in silence. Words were to be uttered sparsely and effectively, as the Emperor always proclaimed.
The Superbian Annual Ball was in full swing when Aceris turned up, one hour before the fireworks were due to start. Invitations had been extended to five thousand guests, including government dignitaries, foreign representatives, artists en vogue, imperial relatives, wealthy businessmen, willing bachelorettes, all of whom would be delighted to have a word with the Prince. Descending into a lions’ den had to feel somewhat similar.
He had no patience for empty chatter today, nor could he remember a time when conversational gymnastics had pleased him (jumping from “I must ask, how did you handle negotiations with Plymethis after the blitzkrieg? My father told me you did a remarkable job,” to “I am so certain I’ve seen you before… At the Spring Games perhaps? One shouldn’t be allowed to forget such a lovely face!” to “Aunt Cassie, please talk to Mother about your latest quarrel, she’s been so direly distressed.”), so he had asked Caelestis to mind his side at all times. Naturally, she had made fun of him upon hearing the request. And naturally, she had then accepted with a grin of satisfaction.
The imperial elevator stopped on the second floor and they exited, pausing to gaze at the vast ballroom, all gowns, twinkle and champagne. As they were climbing down the marble staircase, grand entrance guaranteed, five thousand pairs of eyes turned to them and the room was engulfed in momentary stillness. After seventeen years of the same treatment, the effect had just become dull, if not grotesque.
“I’ll need a drink soon,” Aceris murmured into Caelestis’s ear.
A few minutes later, he was clinging to his flute as though it were a life buoy, both of them comfortably sheltered in the hollow made by the curved staircase, Caelestis within the agreed perimeter.
“Will you go to the Academy with me?” he asked.
Caelestis choked on a sip of champagne. “The Academy? You mean, the Intergalactic Space Combat Academy, this academy?”
He nodded. “I’m due to start classes in January. Haven’t you always dreamed of becoming an exo-soldier?”
“I have. But I’m happy working for your family too. I always thought I’d try and apply when I got bored of being your babysitter.”
“There won’t be much to babysit once I’m gone.”
She chuckled. “At the risk of surprising your Haughtiness, this is not my favorite part of the job. So I’ll be fine.” She made a waving motion with her free hand. “Anyway, I haven’t even applied.”
“You know that’s not a problem, right? You do know who your employers are?”
She gulped down the remaining of her champagne. “Why do you want to attend anyway? It’s not like any education could surpass… this!” She made a large circle with her hand showing the room from floor to ceiling. “And how do you expect other students to treat you? Spare yourself the pain—”
“They won’t know who I am. The only people who’ve seen what I look like are gathered in this room. And no one outside the Palace knows my real name. I’m Prince Aiskius to the people of the five galaxies. This’ll be an incognito mission.”
“I guess… Well, they wouldn’t expect it anyway, right?” Caelestis narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, this might work… Now, this is getting interesting! I wonder how you’ll feel when no one’s kissing your royal posterior.”
“That’s not nice,” Aceris said, pouting. There was a limit to what could be said to the Prince, even for Caelestis. “Why did I even ask—”
“It’s okay; I’ll go. Can’t decline such an opportunity. But tell me, why do you so much want to attend?”
“That is something you don’t need to know.”
It had been a cold night on his tenth birthday, when Father had come home late from one of his functions long after the birthday party was over. But Aceris had been waiting. He remembered the sound of Father’s rings crashing into his jaw, and the sharp pain that had ensued. Mother had sighed and taken him to the infirmary. It had been then, at that very moment, that Aceris had acquired a will. His first wish then was the wish that moved him now.
He would not be remembered as the son of Emperor Donateo. This was an injustice he would not bear. He would not let Father, this distasteful paunchy boor rotting in his own bile, be remembered as the “great man” he wasn’t. And what were Emperors remembered for, for that matter? A few laconic lines in history books. That was the greatest injustice of all. “Emperor Gregario expanded the Empire to four galaxies.” As though it had been that easy! As though years of plotting and coaxing and leading and sacrificing could be summed up in a few words of text.
But this could all change if Aceris joined the Veritas Royal University. When he addressed Caelestis again, his voice was ecstatic. “I’ll transfer to Veritas from the Academy, where I’ll get hold of the Artifact of Truth. They select a few students during the first year.”
Caelestis frowned as though he had announced abdication. “Wait. Are you saying you want to steal the Artifact?”
“If I have to. But first, I’ll find out what it is.”
Caelestis’s frown grew deeper. “Oh. But this would certainly mean war!” She paused. “Or not. I guess they’d have nothing to defend themselves without the Artifact. They have no army. You could just go and take it… Simple as that. You’re quite smart for a pretty face, you know?”
Aceris glared at her, wishing she would quit prattling on, but she continued nonetheless.
“Even so, there’s a reason the truce was signed 150 years ago and even your father refrained from attacking Veritas. Whoever few Superbians were allowed by Veritas to discover their freaking ‘Truth’ either ended up in the Nectar nuthouse or were never heard of again.” She cleared her throat. “Aceris, I mean Prince Aiskius, this ‘Truth’ thing, this artifact they have, whatever it is, it’s probably not something you can play with.”
Aceris turned away and gazed at the swarming ball room. Why did he speak at all? He couldn’t expect Caelestis to understand. Now, she was ruining his good mood.
She moved to his fore. “All I mean is, please be careful.”
She was right, of course. Rumor had it, those who had been in contact with the Artifact came to understand the nature of time. Until now, no Superbian had been able to survive the experience. But they were not Aceris. They were not the heir apparent. They didn’t want it as much as he.
Aceris would become “the Emperor who had conquered time.” He would become eternal, if not in flesh at least in the minds of his people. The Artifact of Truth would give him all he had ever wanted. His resolution would never be shaken.
“Shall we mingle?” he asked Caelestis. “There’s an idiotic blond who’s been eyeing me for fifteen minutes, and I can’t wait to prove right my impression of her.”