Warmth (Klance Warmth series Book 1 of +4)

1: Frigid Defeat

He'd often wondered what would happen if someone stayed in the healing pods for millennia. Would they age to the point their body was too physically old to safely revive? Would they shrivel up to a withered old husk until they crumbled to dust? Or would they remain perfectly preserved until the day the pods were opened and then crumble into dust? Or would they legitimately remain in perfect condition only to wake up sometime far in the future, alone, lost, and confused?

These were questions he'd thought about sometimes while he should have been paying closer attention in his language classes. But who could blame him for choosing to focus on the lovely men and women in his class instead? The healing pods were for healing. They had never been used for extended periods with a few notable exceptions. There simply wasn't enough data to accurately answer those questions, and no scientist had been willing to undergo a test for an organized experiment. So why focus on unanswerable questions?

He probably should have, he thought. Funny how the most minor of questions came back to haunt him now. He should be paying more attention to the explosions wreaking havoc on the particle barrier surrounding the Castle of Lions. He should be flying one of the fighters with the other soldiers taking down the enemy Galra ships, protecting his people. He should be helping his father cover the evacuation of the handful of survivors back to their home planet Altea.

But he wasn't. He couldn't stop staring at his sister now slumbering in a healing pod. It had not been easy forcing her into the device. He'd had to manhandle her into the pod at their father's command. Even so, she'd almost managed to drag him into the pod along with her. He'd somehow freed himself from her frantically grasping hands and stepped back just far enough for the pod to seal and start the cryogenic process.

Her terrified eyes, her desperate cries, the look of betrayal on her face... He would never forget them for as long as he lived; which, he considered, glancing up at the ceiling high above where the alarms blared through the comm system, wouldn't be for much longer.

"Son."

He turned to his king and father, aware of the fear and guilt clearly written on his face. "You realize she'll never forgive me for this," he said, feeling a heavy weight settle in his gut.

His king, the ruler of Altea and lord of the Castle of Lions, bowed his head so his white hair shadowed his face. "I believe she will in time," he said gravely. "I still need to hide the Lions."

The young prince hesitated. "'I?'" he repeated, not necessarily sure he liked that choice of word. "Father, what-?"

"I'm so sorry, my son."

"King Alfor!"

Both the king and the prince turned to the new arrival. "What is it, Coran?" King Alfor acknowledged.

"We can't maintain this position any longer without compromising the particle barrier beyond its designed limits," the red haired man said as he gasped for breath.

Alfor nodded and glanced at his son. The young prince was staring fixedly at Coran with an expression of fear. The boy was losing hope. Alfor mourned the thought that his son would very likely lose more than just his hope before this madness ended.

Alfor placed a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed. The prince wobbled slightly at the contact. It was this momentary show of weakness that Alfor used to his advantage. He tightened his grip on his son's shoulder and slung the boy to the side. The moment he heard the solid thud of his son's back impacting the cool metal interior of the cryogenic pod, Alfor activated the device.

His son's stunned expression flashed to horror an instant before his whole body slumped into unconsciousness and the cryogenic process began. The sight pained Alfor greatly.

"You've given up, then?" Coran asked in an unusually serious voice.

"For this fight? Yes," the king admitted. "But for this war? For my children? No. That's why I would like you to accompany them, if you would. They will need someone to look after them."

Coran studied his King's back, taking note of the slumped shoulders and air of sadness. Reluctantly, he nodded. "As you wish, Sire. Although," he added in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere, "I doubt Allura will need much looking after. She is a strong young woman. Takes too much after her father."

Alfor chuckled. "That she does," he said, gazing at his slumbering daughter. "And Lance always took after his mother," he added with a wry smile. "That is, perhaps, what worries me most."

Coran sighed. "When would you like me to enter a pod, Sire?" he asked.

"Now, if you would," the king said firmly. He turned back to his advisor and friend. "I'll take over piloting the Castle from here."

"As you wish, my lord."

With one last look at his children, King Alfor left the healing chambers for the bridge. He would be damned if he let his children die and the Lions be captured now. He was doing this for them: for Allura and Lance. It was the right thing to do. Perhaps if he kept telling himself that, one day he would believe it.