Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
T he woman standing next to him both fascinated and confused Roan. She didn’t fit the image he had conjured of the mythical Ancient his father and uncle feared—a warrior, a leader, someone whose presence alone would shake the foundations of the Legion.
Instead, she was… quiet.
Not in the way of submission, but in the way of someone who carried her own gravity. Someone who had already measured the worth of the world around her and decided which parts of it she would acknowledge.
That unsettled him more than any sword or gun ever could. There was something. Something he couldn’t quite name.
Her movements were deliberate but unhurried as she turned toward the statue of his mother. Her hand rested gently on the smooth stone, her fingers tracing its edges with a quiet reverence. There was a softness to her that disarmed him—a quiet strength that made him uneasy in a way he didn’t fully understand.
When Julia walked away, following the winding path through the garden, Roan hesitated. She hadn’t answered his question, and the subtle stiffening of her shoulders told him she’d heard it. Determination settled in his chest, tightening his resolve. He followed her.
She paused by a plant whose vivid red petals caught the sunlight like drops of molten fire. Her fingers brushed lightly against the flower, her touch gentle and curious. Then she tilted her head back, her focus lifting to the expanse of sky overhead.
Roan’s frown deepened as he studied her profile. There was a faraway look in her eyes, a searching quality that made him wonder what she was seeing—or what she was trying to find.
“My father loved staring up at the heavens,” she said softly, her voice barely louder than the rustling of the leaves. “He always dreamed of finding life beyond our world. I grew up listening to the tales of the Greek and Roman gods who lived among the stars and the astronomers who loved the science more than the myths.”
A faint breeze stirred through the garden, rustling the petals of the flower beneath her fingertips. She paused and exhaled slowly, as if the scent of damp earth and sun-warmed leaves were grounding her in the present.
“At night,” she continued, “he would take me out into the desert outside our home. We’d lay on an old blanket, and he’d point out constellations, tracing their shapes in the sky. I used to think I could hear the stars humming if I listened hard enough.”
Her lips quirked in a self-deprecating smile, but her eyes shone with unshed emotion. “It’s funny,” she murmured, voice thick with memory. “When you spend your childhood dreaming of the stars, you never think of what it might cost to reach them.”
Her words were filled with quiet longing, the kind that comes from cherishing something lost. Roan didn’t know what to make of them, or the strange names she mentioned—Greek, Roman. But he didn’t interrupt.
She turned away and continued walking, leaving him rooted in place for a moment. He followed again, the soft crunch of his boots on the path the only sound between them.
“My name is Dr. Julia Marksdale,” she said after a while, her voice steadier now. “I’m the lead scientist—or at least I was—for an experimental space exploratory mission called Project Gliese 581g. We were sent to investigate an unknown object in space my father discovered, assess it, study it, and return to home. It was the first long-distance space mission of its kind.”
Her words hung in the air like a fragile thread, connecting two vastly different worlds. Roan’s mind raced to process what she was telling him. Her tone was matter-of-fact, but the weight of her story pressed heavily against him.
“Where is your planet,” he asked, his voice low, “and how many others were on board?”
She turned to him, and the spark of intelligence in her eyes burned brightly against the weariness in her smile. The expression stopped him in his tracks, his question momentarily forgotten.
She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she studied him, her expression suggesting she knew far more than she let on—and that she was only going to give him as much as she wanted.
“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice tightening.
Julia tilted her head slightly, her gaze piercing but not unkind. “I could ask you the same,” she said softly.
Roan barely kept his expression neutral.
No one ever questioned him like that. Not his father, not his uncle, not the soldiers who snapped to attention at his command. He was the one who dictated the terms of an interrogation, not the other way around.
And yet, here she was—standing in his mother’s garden, turning the weight of scrutiny back on him as though she had every right.
He didn’t like it. And he disliked that he didn’t like it even more.
* * *
The sun cast a warm, golden light over the garden as Julia walked down the winding path, her steps slower than usual, her thoughts tangled in a web of questions. She could feel Roan’s presence behind her, the quiet weight of his scrutiny pressing against her back. His energy was controlled, but it was there—like a storm waiting to break.
She hadn’t meant to turn her back on him so abruptly, but her instincts screamed at her to maintain control. To lead the conversation.
How much should I tell him? How much does he already know?
She paused by a cluster of pale-blue flowers that shimmered faintly in the sunlight, brushing her fingers against their delicate petals. The floating islands had a way of making her forget, even for a moment, the chaos that had brought her here.
“You’re protective of him,” Roan said quietly, his voice closer now.
Julia turned her head slightly, catching him out of the corner of her eye. His gaze wasn’t on her—it was on the path behind them where the statue of his mother was still visible.
“Calstar doesn’t need my protection, but I like to think he enjoys my friendship,” she said, her tone measured. “I’m grateful for the time I’ve had with him. He reminds me a lot of my father.” She turned back to the flowers, letting her fingers linger. “He’s told me a little about your mother. She sounded like an extraordinary woman.”
“She was,” Roan replied. His voice carried a faint edge, as if the memory was both a comfort and a wound.
Julia turned fully now, meeting his eyes directly. “He’s missed you, you know,” she said softly. “Why has it been so long since your last visit?”
Roan’s jaw tightened, the subtle movement drawing her attention to the hard lines of his face. “It isn’t safe,” he confessed after a moment, his voice quieter now. “For me to be here. For them. My presence invites danger, and this world doesn’t deserve that.”
Julia studied him carefully. His words were earnest, but there was something deeper beneath them—something unsaid. “So you chose to stay away?”
“I chose to protect them,” Roan said firmly, his gaze sharp as it locked onto hers.
Her fingers curled into her palm, her protective instincts flaring. “Yet, you’re here now,” she said, her tone holding just enough challenge to test him.
His expression softened slightly, though his voice remained steady. “I came because I had to. I’m glad it was before it was too late to see him again.”
The hint of regret in his voice made her heart ache. Calstar had become an anchor in the storm since her arrival. She had been hesitant when Roanna suggested her coming to stay here, but the queen had been right. This time here, in the garden, with Calstar, had given her time to adjust from everything that had happened since the Gliese broke apart. One thing she was certain of, she would do everything in her power to protect the older man from harm—even from his grandson.
“You said you came from one of the capsules,” Roan said, changing the subject. His tone was casual, but Julia caught the sharp edge of intent beneath it. “Was there anyone else with you?”
Julia hesitated, her mind racing. What should she say? What did he already know? She met his gaze again, keeping her expression neutral.
“You’re very direct.”
“It’s a survival trait,” Roan said, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
She glanced back at the flowers, tracing one of the petals absently. “The capsules were designed for emergencies. A way for us to survive if things went wrong.”
“And did they?”
Julia looked up, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze. “You’re here asking me questions, so I think you already know the answer to that.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What was your mission?”
Julia took a slow breath, choosing her words carefully. “To learn. To explore. To understand what was out there.” She glanced at him pointedly. “I imagine you can relate.”
Roan frowned slightly, as though her response had left him unsatisfied. “And the others? Were there others?”
She sidestepped the question, gesturing toward the vibrant expanse of the floating islands around them. “This world is incredible,” she said, her voice softening. “Do you ever just stop and marvel at it? The way the islands drift, the waterfalls that vanish into mist before they touch the ocean. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s home,” Roan replied simply, his tone revealing little.
Julia turned back to him, studying the tension in his posture, the way his eyes narrowed slightly when he looked at her. He was trying to piece her together, just as she was trying to do with him.
“You don’t trust me,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
“I don’t know you. If it helps, I don’t trust anyone,” he countered, his voice low. “I can’t help but get the feeling you’re hiding something.” His sardonic smile perfectly reflected that their “conversation” had far more in common with a thorny thicket of sidestepped queries than any conversation Julia had ever had in her life.
A faint smile tugged at her lips, despite the tension between them. “You’re not wrong. My dad was a shrewd poker player. We used to play a few hands before I left for school in the morning. He taught me not to place all my cards on the table and to keep my cards close to my chest. I’m not the only one being evasive.”
His gaze flicked downward, and Julia caught the brief but unmistakable shift in focus. She lifted an eyebrow at the unabashed appreciation gleaming in his eyes. She should have been annoyed, but amusement flickered through her instead at the universal laws of attraction. Fortunately, she had worked with enough men at the university not to blush.
Her lips twitched, deliberately not looking away. “See something interesting, General?”
Roan didn’t flinch, but she noticed the way his jaw tightened slightly—as if she had just upended a game he thought he was winning.
“Just taking stock of my opponent,” he said, his voice a little too smooth and controlled.
Julia suspected he wasn’t aware of the muscle in his jaw giving away his inner thoughts. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile at her hummed response, but his gaze remained sharp.
“What are you hoping to discover with me?”
She tilted her head slightly, her expression turning thoughtful. “Answers, maybe. The truth, if you’re willing to give it.”
“That depends,” Roan said, his voice quiet but firm. “Are you?”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind rustled through the trees, carrying the faint scent of flowers and damp earth. Julia felt the weight of his focus, the unspoken questions that hung between them, and the fragile thread of understanding they were both trying to build.
“We’ll see,” she said at last, turning back toward the path. “But for now, I think I’ll just marvel at the islands a little longer.”
Roan didn’t respond immediately, but when he followed her, his steps matched hers, the space between them both a distance and a connection.