Chapter 6 Xelene
SIX
XELENE
Xelene took a deep breath, her analytical mind struggling to process what she was witnessing. Every rational thought screamed that this was impossible, but the evidence of her eyes couldn’t be denied.
She stepped forward and crossed the threshold.
The sensation defied description. Her body felt weightless, as if gravity had simply ceased to exist. Every nerve ending tingled with electricity, her skin buzzing with energy that felt like pure magic coursing through her veins.
For a moment that lasted forever and no time at all, she existed in a space between worlds, suspended in possibility and wonder.
Then her feet touched solid ground, and she was standing on Nova Aurora.
Janice stood nearby, grinning with the kind of joy Xelene hadn’t seen on her friend’s face in years.
The alien landscape stretched around them in impossible beauty—those purple forests rustling in a warm breeze that carried unfamiliar scents, the twin suns painting everything in gold and amber light.
“Welcome to Nova Aurora,” Gerri said as she materialized beside them, her white bob catching the alien sunlight. “Now we really must hurry. Your prince is waiting.”
Following Gerri’s brisk pace along the winding stone path, Xelene found herself breathing deeper than she had in months.
The air here possessed a crystalline quality that seemed to cleanse her lungs with each inhale—no smog, no exhaust fumes, no industrial pollution that plagued every major city on Earth.
The temperature wrapped around her like the perfect cashmere sweater, warm without being oppressive.
Each step felt lighter, as if the very atmosphere of Nova Aurora was designed to restore rather than deplete.
I could get used to this, she thought, surprised by the immediate sense of peace washing over her despite the professional urgency thrumming beneath her skin.
“We’re running late,” Gerri called over her shoulder, her small frame moving with remarkable speed despite her designer heels. “I told King Rorick we’d arrive by now.”
Xelene shot a pointed look at Janice, who had the grace to appear sheepish. Her friend’s habitual tardiness might have just cost them a crucial first impression with alien royalty—exactly the kind of detail that could derail a reputation management campaign before it began.
Ten minutes of rapid walking brought them to a castle that defied every architectural expectation Xelene had cultivated during her years working with wealthy clients.
The structure rose from the purple landscape like something from a fever dream—massive stone towers reaching toward the amber sky, intricate carvings that seemed to shift and dance in the unusual lighting, and battlements that spoke of both elegance and lethal defense.
“This makes billionaires’ estates look like garden sheds,” Janice whispered, her hazel eyes wide with wonder.
Gerri climbed the broad stone steps with the confidence of someone who belonged here and approached doors that could have accommodated a small aircraft. The knocker alone was larger than most Xelene had encountered.
The doors soon swung open to reveal a man who immediately captured Janice’s attention in ways that made Xelene’s professional instincts flare with concern.
Tall and bronze-skinned with dark golden hair and warm green eyes, he possessed the kind of easy charm that Xelene recognized as both genuine and potentially distracting.
“Ladies, welcome to the Marcan stronghold,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “I’m Benjamin, Prince Lev’s... advisor and friend.”
The pause before “advisor” suggested their relationship ran deeper than professional courtesy, but Xelene filed that observation away as Benjamin’s gaze locked onto Janice with unmistakable interest. Her friend’s cheeks flushed pink as she offered her hand, and Benjamin held it just a moment longer than strictly necessary.
Oh, perfect. A workplace romance. Just what this complicated situation needs.
“Prince Lev is waiting in the king’s office,” Benjamin continued, though his eyes remained on Janice. “Unfortunately, King Rorick isn’t feeling well enough to join today’s meeting.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gerri replied with genuine concern. “Please give him our best wishes.”
Benjamin nodded, finally releasing Janice’s hand to gesture them forward. “I’ll take your luggage to the guest suites and Lev can show you to your rooms after the meeting.”
At least he’s organized, Xelene thought, appreciating the clear logistics even as she noted the way Janice kept glancing at their escort. And competent enough to think ahead.
The castle’s interior matched its exterior grandeur—soaring ceilings, tapestries that depicted lion hunts and royal ceremonies, and stone archways that framed views of the purple forests beyond.
Everything spoke of power, tradition, and the kind of deep-rooted authority that Xelene would need to understand if she hoped to position Lev as a worthy successor.
Benjamin led them down a corridor lined with portraits of stern-faced kings, their painted eyes seeming to track their movement. When they reached an imposing oak door, Gerri stepped forward and knocked with her characteristic confidence.
“Come in,” came a voice from within—deep, rich, and carrying an edge of barely controlled power that made Xelene’s pulse quicken despite her professional composure.
She followed Gerri and Janice into the office and promptly forgot how to breathe.
The man rising from behind the massive desk wasn’t just handsome in the manufactured way of her usual clients.
Prince Lev Marcan radiated raw magnetism that seemed to fill the room and bend gravity itself.
His golden-blonde hair caught the light streaming through the tall windows, framing a face that belonged in classical sculptures—strong jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes the color of deep ocean water that seemed to burn with inner fire.
His broad shoulders and powerful frame suggested a warrior rather than a politician, and when he moved, it was with the fluid grace of a predator who knew exactly how dangerous he was.
Holy hell, her mind supplied unhelpfully as her professional distance crumbled like a house of cards.
“Oh my,” Gerri murmured beside her, sounding far too pleased. “Looks like there’s some natural chemistry going on here.”
Lev had gone completely still, his blue eyes locked onto Xelene with a piercing intensity that made her feel simultaneously exposed and desired.
The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with an electricity that had nothing to do with Nova Aurora’s unique atmosphere and everything to do with whatever was happening in the space where their gazes met.
Get it together, she ordered herself. He’s a client. A particularly attractive client with obvious shifter magnetism, but still just a job.
“Prince Lev,” Gerri said, her tone carrying a note of barely suppressed amusement, “meet Xelene Warren and Janice Thompson. They’re here to help you prepare for the Trial of the Sun and address some reputation concerns.”
“Yes,” Lev replied, his voice rougher than it had been moments before. “That’s what my father told me this morning.”
The Trial of the Sun. Xelene filed the term away as crucial information, even as she struggled to process the mounting complexity of her task. Royal trials, succession politics, and alien customs she didn’t understand—all with a timeline that was apparently...
“Six days,” Lev continued, stepping around the desk. “The trial is in six days.”
Panic fluttered in her chest like a caged bird. Six days to completely rehabilitate a royal playboy’s reputation, navigate alien politics, and prepare him for tests she knew nothing about? Even her legendary skills had limits, and this was pushing far beyond them.
I’ve never failed a client, she reminded herself desperately. I can’t start now.
Lev approached with his hand extended, and despite every instinct screaming warnings, Xelene reached out to accept his formal greeting.
The moment their skin touched, fire raced up her arm and exploded through her nervous system like a live wire.
Heat pooled low in her belly, her pulse hammered against her throat, and for one terrifying moment she understood why people wrote poetry about lightning strikes and cosmic collisions.
Lev’s eyes widened, the blue depths flickering with gold as his pupils dilated. His grip tightened on her hand, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid as if he was fighting some internal battle.
Then he dropped her hand like it had burned him, stumbled backward, and practically fled from the room without a word of explanation.
The heavy door slammed behind him, leaving three women staring at the empty space where the crown prince had just experienced what appeared to be a complete emotional meltdown.
“What the hell was that about?” Xelene demanded, her hand still tingling from where he’d touched her. The sensation refused to fade, as if his skin had left some kind of permanent mark on hers.
“Oh, the prince is probably just nervous about having his whole life analyzed and restructured,” Gerri said with a dismissive wave. “Anyone would have a panic attack when confronted with the people about to overhaul everything they know.”
“Yeah,” Janice added, though her voice carried a note of uncertainty. “Poor guy probably just found out today that his reputation needs fixing and freaked out about meeting his... consultants.”
But Xelene wasn’t buying either explanation.
She’d worked with enough high-stakes clients to recognize genuine panic, and what she’d just witnessed wasn’t professional anxiety.
The way Lev had looked at her—like he’d seen something that both thrilled and terrified him—suggested something far more complicated than simple nervousness.
“I’m going to check on him,” Gerri announced, heading for the door. “You two wait here and... get comfortable. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.”
Alone with Janice, Xelene sank into one of the leather chairs facing the desk and tried to process what had just happened. Her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed her skirt, and she clasped them together to stop the visible evidence of her shaken composure.
“Xelene?” Janice’s voice carried genuine concern. “Are you okay? You look like you just got struck by lightning.”
That’s exactly what it felt like, she thought, but saying so aloud would only invite questions she couldn’t answer.
“I’m fine,” she lied, staring at the door where Lev had disappeared. “Just... concerned about the timeline. Six days to fix whatever reputation issues he has? This might be the first client I can’t help.”
The admission tasted bitter on her tongue.
Her perfect success rate was more than professional pride—it was the foundation of her identity, the proof that she could control outcomes and manage chaos.
Losing that now, especially on such a spontaneous assignment, would shatter something fundamental about how she saw herself.
But even as she worried about her professional reputation, her traitorous mind kept circling back to the moment their hands had touched, to the way Lev’s eyes had burned with recognition and fear, to the electricity that still danced beneath her skin like a secret she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
What is wrong with me? she wondered, touching her palm where his had rested. And why do I feel like I’m missing something important about what just happened?