“So are you Chrysanthemum or Alesha?” asked Jakira, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

They’d all migrated back to the lounge after Chrysanthemum had scrubbed herself down in the shower to rid her body of what she’d called “gross nano sludge.” Now they were sitting cross-legged on the floor around her like pilgrims gathered at an altar, the faint smell of soap and something floral still clinging to her damp chitinous cords.

“Yes,” the swarm queen said simply.

“Yes to what?” asked Mera, brow furrowed.

Chrysanthemum giggled. It was an odd sound—half hiss, half smooth, silvery laugh—and it sent an involuntary shiver through all three of them.

“I was asked if I was Chrysanthemum or Alesha. The answer is yes. To both.” She tilted her head, antennae twitching, a small smirk on her lips. “Silly joke. Sorry. Edward didn’t delete, kill, whatever you’re thinking happened. I’m both. Always have been. The difference now is my brain’s been… adjusted. I can think clearer, a lot of my memories are back, and the jagged bits aren’t so jagged anymore.”

Her gaze softened, almost wistful. “Honestly, I’m more Chrysanthemum at this point. I mean, I’m damn near seven hundred years old now. That’s still something that blows my mind.”

She paused, flexing her claws as though trying to feel the weight of her words. “But Alesha’s still in here. She always was. And now… we’re finally whole.”

“So… it was a good thing that I convinced you then?” asked Vicky softly, her claws worrying at the hem of her tunic.

Chrysanthemum’s antennae flicked toward her, then she gave a slow nod, a ripple moving through the plates of her shoulders. “Yesss, yesss… I mean, yeah. Good thing. Very good thing.” Her mandibles flexed once before she sighed and tried again, her voice smoothing out. “I’m not more or less one or the other. I’m both. A complete person now. Or… something like that.”

She leaned back a little, her second set of arms curling loosely around her knees. “Shit, it’s hard to talk when you three are sitting there like sculptures made flesh. You’re all so gorgeous it’s making my little gay brain have a hard time doing the think.”

Fortunately for Chrysanthemum, the other three short-circuited on cue.

“Uhhh.” Jakira was the first to recover anything like a sound, low and helpless. She looked suddenly very aware of the top of her boots and not much else.

Mera let out a tiny, high squeak and then clapped a hand over her mouth as if the sound had surprised her as much as anyone. Her cheeks burned a bright, honest red.

Vicky tried to look unimpressed, but the blush on her face betrayed her. “Smooth,” she said, voice flat but failing spectacularly at being deadpan. Her tail swished in a way that was either nervous or far too interested.

Chrysanthemum grinned, all too pleased with herself. “Hey, it’s true. All three of you are unreasonably attractive.” She waggled one of her upper claws toward Mera. “Look at Mera’s face. The squishy roundness of it. Kissable lips.” She pouted theatrically. “Not that I can really kiss without lips any more. Hey, maybe I should change that. I totally want to fight you three with nothing but my mouth.” She paused a beat, eyes sliding toward Jakira. “Also Jakira, those muscles do something to a girl.” Her gaze settled on Vicky with a wicked little smile. “Vicky, yeah—keep doing that.”

“Doing what?” Vicky demanded, trying for indignant and landing at breathless, confused.

Chrys’s grin spread wider, four eyes gleaming. “Fucking me with those eyes.”

The dragonkin choked on the air, a sharp sound that turned into a strangled laugh. Jakira let out a ragged bark of a laugh that was half denial, half admission. Mera hid her face in Chrys’s chest, muffling a sound that was definitely a giggle.

Chrysanthemum laughed too, a bright, chittering sound that dissolved the last of the tension. She opened her arms wider, inviting, warm. “Come here. All the cuddles. All the squeezes. We celebrate being whole.”

They tumbled into her like a small, imperfect storm, a flurry of limbs and laughter and quiet kisses pressed to chitin. The room smelled faintly of soap and oven-butter and something metallic and sweet that was uniquely hers. For a moment everything was ridiculous and tender and perfectly theirs.

After they’d all recovered enough to stop blushing and breathe properly again, they sat back against the cushions, a tangle of limbs slowly untangling. Chrysanthemum stretched her four arms, chitin clicking softly as she did.

“Okay,” she said, exhaling through her mandibles, “I’m going to spend a few days figuring myself out. Still have a swarm to rule, rot creatures, zomborgies, whatever to deal with…” she glanced at each of them in turn, a small, fond trill rising from her throat, “and some girlfriends to love.”

Edward’s voice came from the wall, crisp but careful. “And maybe send a report to GalReach? It’s a little overdue.”

Chrys’s four eyes rolled so hard it was almost audible. “Oh, fuck no. I’m not letting anyone know about this planet.” Her tone sharpened, protective, a flick of her antennae betraying her agitation. “You know just as well as I do what would happen if they found out magic existed here. I officially quit. Or unofficially. They probably think I’m dead anyway. Hell, I don’t even know if GalReach is a thing anymore.”

She sat back, mandibles flexing, one claw idly brushing over Mera’s knee as though grounding herself. “This is my world now. My duty. Not theirs.”

“So… you’re going to take over the world?” Vicky asked, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

“Eh, if this one gets around to it,” Chrysanthemum replied, tilting her head with a smirk that made her mandibles click lightly. “Might be a bit busy making out with a trio of hotties. Who knows—POLYCULE!”

All three of them blinked at her, momentarily frozen in confusion.

“The word was eluding me,” Chrys added, waving one clawed hand. “Not polytheromance. We’re a fuckin’ polycule! A group of people who all date each other.”

There was a beat of silence—and then all four of them burst into laughter. Even Edward, somewhere in the intercom, let out a dry, mechanical chuckle that somehow carried amusement.

Chrysanthum leaned back, sprawling luxuriously across the cushions with all four arms draped lazily around the three of them, her multiple eyes glittering with warmth and mischief. She was whole now—Chrys, Alesha, all of it fused into one being, alive and complete. A new chapter had begun.

She looked at Vicky, Mera, and Jakira, her hearts—two, technically, but really all of them—thrumming in unison. She couldn’t wait to explore it, to love them, to fight, to laugh, and to live fully in this third life, whatever it held. And maybe, just maybe, take over the world while she was at it.

 

---

 

She was doomed.

Queen Gloriana the Eighth was doomed.

The thought had circled in her mind all morning like a vulture, occasionally swooping down to take a bite out of her composure. She wasn’t entirely sure why so many of the nobles were fine with this—perhaps because she had declared she would take a candidate from among their houses to help conceive the next heir, perhaps because none of them wished to anger the swarm. You didn’t anger the swarm. You didn’t even breathe too loud around them if you wanted to keep all your parts attached.

And yet, there she was, walking down the aisle beside one of its favourite daughters.

Skitherix.

Gloriana had once imagined her future consort would be a handsome nobleman with a decent sword arm and an impeccable sense of decorum. Instead, she got Skitherix: a being of gleaming chitin and liquid grace, a smile full of fangs, and eyes like polished amber. The prettiest member of the swarm, if the courtiers whispered true—and judging by the way those same courtiers couldn’t quite look her in the eyes now, they certainly believed it.

The queen’s gown was a cascade of white and blue silk, the colours of the realm, heavy with embroidery and jewels that weighed more than her crown. Her cape trailed behind her like the wake of a ship sailing steadily toward disaster. Skitherix wore nothing but a ceremonial sash and the soft gleam of her carapace, iridescent under the chapel lights. The contrast was ridiculous, beautiful, and utterly overwhelming.

They moved together down the long hall, the sound of Gloriana’s heels clicking beside the faint scrape of Skitherix’s claws. The gathered nobles stared, not in joy, but in confusion—a sea of fine clothes and stiff faces, whispering behind fans. The swarm delegates, meanwhile, sat utterly still, their faceted eyes glimmering like a hundred tiny suns.

At the altar stood the Grand Priest of the Allfaith: a plump, terrified man doing his utmost not to tremble. She had insisted on every god, every pantheon, being represented, none favored above the rest. Let none say that Queen Gloriana’s union lacked divine sanction, even if the divine itself might be averting its many eyes right now.

They stopped before the altar. Gloriana turned to glance at her bride, and the breath caught in her throat.

She’d really fallen in love.

Skitherix tilted her head, antennae twitching faintly, and smiled that razor-edged smile that had first stolen the Queen’s sleep, then her composure, and finally her heart.

“Gloriana,” she whispered, voice soft as silk drawn over steel. “You are trembling.”

“I’m a queen marrying an apex predator,” Gloriana whispered back, forcing a smile. “You would tremble too.”

The priest cleared his throat. “S–shall we begin?”

Skitherix’s claws brushed against Gloriana’s fingers—carefully, delicately, like someone touching a priceless relic. The touch steadied her.

“Yes,” the Queen said, her voice steady now. “Let’s begin.”

If she was doomed, then so be it. There were far worse fates than to be devoured by love.

The Grand Priest began to speak, his voice echoing faintly through the vaulted chamber. “We gather beneath the eyes of all gods, great and small, to witness a union of heart and will. The Queen of Men and the Heir of the Swarm, bound not by conquest or decree, but by choice.”

There was a murmur at that—choice—as though the word itself were too bold to use in this hall. Gloriana heard it, ignored it, and kept her gaze fixed on Skitherix.

The priest droned on, reciting the ancient formula. His hands shook as he held out the twin bands—one of gold, one of chitin, each glimmering with the faint light of enchantment. The gold had three small sapphires, each cut into the shape of a tiny rose inlaid into the band. The chitin counterpart had the same iridescent quality as her wife-to-be’s chitin, a fragment removed, then cultured, grown into its current shape.

Gloriana took the golden one, Skitherix the other.

The Queen slid the gold band gently over one of Skitherix’s forelegs, sliding into place as if it had always been there. When Skitherix took the chitin band, she turned it over in her claws for a long moment before pressing it to her mouth. Her mandibles clicked faintly, almost like a purr, and then she placed it upon Gloriana’s finger. It fit perfectly, as if it had been grown just for her. Which it had been.

The murmurs grew louder. Some of the nobles were standing now, whispering to each other, disbelief written across their faces. Others were pale, still as statues, as though terrified that a single movement would draw the swarm’s gaze.

But none of that mattered.

Because Skitherix leaned close, her antennae brushing Gloriana’s cheek, and whispered, “You are mine now, my radiant one.”

Gloriana’s heart fluttered, betraying her. “And you are mine,” she whispered back.

The Grand Priest hesitated, clearly unsure if this was the right moment to continue. Skitherix turned her gaze upon him, and he immediately found his courage.

“Then by the unity of life and the will of all creation, I declare you bound. May your love outlast kingdoms and your bond defy decay.”

There was applause. The nobles clapped because they had to. The swarm clicked their mandibles in a rhythm that sounded half like applause, half like the rustle of wings before flight.

Gloriana turned toward her people, forcing a regal smile. “Long live the union of swarm and crown,” she declared.

Her voice rang through the hall like a bell, clear and strong.

And then Skitherix pulled her close and did her version of kissing her. A face smush with her mandibles tickled Gloriana’s cheeks.

The Queen’s crown nearly slipped. The crowd gasped. The swarm’s clicking rose to a crescendo that filled every corner of the cathedral.

When they parted, Gloriana’s lips trembled with laughter she couldn’t hold back. “You just terrified half the court.”

“They will learn,” Skitherix murmured. “I protect what is mine.”

And for the first time that day, in that moment, the Queen of Men felt all worries melt away.