Chapter 19: THE PRINCE REVEALED — Part 1
[DEO Headquarters, Command Center — Late October 2016, 10:34 AM]
The encrypted signal hit Winn's console like a thunderbolt.
I was standing near the tactical display, reviewing patrol routes with Alex, when every screen in the command center flickered. Winn's fingers flew across his keyboard, pulling up data streams that scrolled too fast for human eyes—though not for mine.
"What is it?" J'onn materialized from his office, drawn by the sudden activity.
"Encrypted transmission," Winn said, frowning at his monitors. "Origin point is... wait. That's not possible."
"What's not possible?"
"The signal signature." He ran another analysis. "It's Daxamite. But Daxam was destroyed. There shouldn't be any active transmitters."
My stomach dropped. The words hit me before their full implications registered, triggering a cascade of memories from the show—episodes I'd watched, plot points I'd catalogued. The Daxamite survivors. The ships that had escaped before the planet died. Rhea's fleet, searching for the prince they believed could save their dying civilization.
"Can you decode it?" J'onn asked.
"Already working on it. The encryption is sophisticated but not impossible. Give me a few minutes."
I stood very still. Tried to keep my expression neutral. Failed, probably, based on the way Alex's gaze sharpened as it swept across my face.
"Mon-El." Her voice was carefully controlled. "You look pale."
"Just surprised. I didn't know any Daxamite signals could still be active."
The lie came out smooth, practiced, automatic. But it felt wrong in my mouth—heavier than usual, like my body was finally rejecting the constant deception.
Winn worked in tense silence. The command center filled with other agents, drawn by the unusual activity. Kara arrived from her patrol, still in her Supergirl suit, cape settling around her shoulders as she landed.
"What's happening?"
"Daxamite transmission," J'onn summarized. "Winn is decoding now."
"Daxamite?" She looked at me. "Do you know anything about this?"
"No." Another lie. Another weight added to the pile I was already carrying.
"Got it," Winn announced. His voice had changed—confused now, uncertain. "The message is... it's a query. Someone's searching for something. Or someone." He pulled up the decoded text on the main display.
SEEKING CONFIRMATION: CROWN PRINCE MON-EL OF DAXAM. ROYAL AUTHENTICATION CODES DETECTED IN KRYPTONIAN POD SIGNATURE. REQUESTING RESPONSE.
The room went silent.
Every eye turned to me.
I could feel the moment stretching, elongating into something horrible. The careful construct of lies I'd built over the past weeks—the palace guard story, the humble servant narrative—crumbled like ash in a strong wind.
"Crown Prince," Alex said flatly. The words hung in the air like an accusation.
"The authentication codes in your pod," Winn added, his voice small. "We logged them during the initial analysis. They matched royal family encryption standards. I thought it was an error. A glitch in the data."
"Not a glitch." J'onn's gaze was steady, ancient, heavy with disappointment. "Is it, Mon-El?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. There was nothing to say that wouldn't make this worse. No clever explanation, no convenient half-truth.
"Something you want to tell us?" J'onn asked.
The silence stretched. I could hear heartbeats—my own, racing; Alex's, controlled but elevated; Winn's, rapid with anxiety. Kara's was the worst. Steady as a metronome, each beat a countdown to an explosion.
"Yes," I said finally. The word came out quiet, barely above a whisper. "I'm the Prince of Daxam. I lied because..." I searched for words that could possibly justify the deception. Found none. "Would any of you have trusted me if you knew?"
"We trusted you anyway," Kara said. Her voice was ice—cold and sharp and dangerous. "We trusted the person you claimed to be. The guard who wanted to help. The refugee who just wanted a second chance."
"I am that person."
"No." She stepped forward, cape flaring behind her. "You're a prince. Royalty. The son of the Daxamite monarchy that oppressed millions. That's who you are."
"That's who I was born as. It's not who I chose to be."
"And how would we know the difference?" Alex's question cut through the air. "When you've been lying since the moment you woke up?"
I had no answer. The accusation was valid—every word of it true. I'd constructed a false identity, presented a fiction, let them invest time and effort in someone who didn't exist.
J'onn's expression remained unchanged, but something in his posture shifted. The disappointment deepened, settled into his bones. I remembered his words from weeks ago: I think you're hiding something significant. He'd been right. He'd known. And I'd kept lying anyway.
"The transmission," Winn said quietly, breaking the heavy silence. "It's still active. Whoever sent it is waiting for a response."
"Don't respond," J'onn ordered. "Trace the source if you can, but maintain radio silence. We don't know who's looking for him or what they want."
I knew. Rhea—Mon-El's mother, the Queen of Daxam. She'd survived the planet's destruction, gathered the remnants of her people, and was searching for her son. In the show, her arrival had triggered a cascade of disasters: the invasion, the Medusa virus, the lead device that had ultimately forced Mon-El to leave Earth.
But I couldn't share any of that. The meta-knowledge was trapped behind the same walls as always—useful but unusable, information I possessed but couldn't explain possessing.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now?" Kara's laugh was bitter, humorless. "Now we figure out whether we've been harboring a fugitive or a collaborator. Now we question everything you've told us. Now we start from the assumption that every word out of your mouth has been a lie."
"Not every word."
"Which ones were true, then? Tell me." She stepped closer, and for a moment I saw the same fury I'd witnessed in my first days—the ancient hatred between Krypton and Daxam, the generational trauma that had shaped her responses to me from the beginning. "Tell me one thing—one single thing—that was honest."
I thought about the fire. About Emma Chen, the child I'd shielded with my body. About the training sessions where I'd pushed myself past breaking because I wanted to be useful. About the midnight practice that had triggered my heat vision, the controlled lead exposure that was building resistance I might need to survive.
"Everything I did," I said slowly. "Every action. The training. The missions. Protecting that child during the Kelnarian attack. Those were true."
"Actions can be lies too. Performance for an audience."
"Then what proof would satisfy you? What evidence could I possibly provide?"
Kara didn't answer. She stared at me for a long moment—searching, maybe, for something in my face that would either confirm or deny her worst assumptions. Whatever she found, it didn't comfort her.
She turned and walked out of the command center without another word.
The silence that followed was absolute. The other agents looked away, suddenly very interested in their consoles. Alex's expression had settled into something cold and professional—the face of an investigator rather than a trainer.
"Your access is suspended pending review," J'onn said. "You'll remain on base, but under supervision. Agent Schott, coordinate with security to implement monitoring protocols."
"Yes, sir." Winn's voice was subdued. He didn't look at me.
"Mon-El." J'onn waited until I met his gaze. "You'll have an opportunity to explain yourself. But right now, I need you to understand the position you've put us in. We vouched for you to the government. Took responsibility for your presence here. Made promises based on information you provided."
"I understand."
"I don't think you do. Not fully." He turned toward his office, then paused. "For what it's worth, I believe your actions were genuine. The rescue, the training, the dedication. But actions without honesty are just manipulation with good intentions. You can't build trust on a foundation of lies."
He disappeared into his office. The door closed with a soft click that might as well have been a gunshot.
I stood alone in the command center, surrounded by people who now saw a stranger wearing a familiar face. The paper crane in my pocket—evidence of another lie, another secret—pressed against my hip like a brand.
The prince's crown weighed nothing and everything.
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