Chapter 10
Raeska’s words lingered in the air like a weight.
He is expecting you.
Morgan stood on the warm stone tiles, the sound of the trickling water behind her suddenly too loud in the quiet.
Her fingers curled reflexively at her sides.
Part of her wanted to tell this alien woman to leave, to say that she would not meet anyone, least of all some masked warlord who believed he could claim her the way her father had tried to hand her over to Daniel Li.
Part of her wanted to run, except there was nowhere to run.
The reality of that pressed in from all sides: the stone walls, the fortress, the mist outside, the alien planet, the cold certainty in the Marak’s voice when he told her resistance would be futile.
She was so far beyond any world where rules she understood applied that the idea of escape felt like a half-remembered dream.
She drew in a breath, held it for a moment, and then let it go slowly. “What happens,” she asked quietly, “if I tell you I’m not going anywhere?”
Raeska did not flinch. Her large black eyes watched Morgan with an opaque calm that gave nothing away. When she spoke, her voice was musical, the translator stone in Morgan’s pocket echoing it in perfect, seamless English.
You would not be forced, Raeska said. You would be persuaded. Guided. This is safer for you.
“Safer,” Morgan repeated, tasting the word.
It did not fit easily in her mouth. Everything about this situation felt like the opposite of safe.
And yet, she thought of the hands that had bathed her on the Vykan ship, the food she had been given, the way the attendants had watched her without cruelty, without ridicule.
No one had raised a hand against her. No one had shouted. No one had tried to break her down.
They had simply moved her. Relocated her. Redirected her life without asking.
Just like her father.
Only this time, the cage had moved too far away for him to follow.
She lifted her chin a fraction. “I don’t like being prepared for… anything I don’t understand.”
Raeska inclined her head in acknowledgment. I understand. Humans are unused to our customs. But it is important that you are not in distress. The Vykan would not wish to meet you that way.
“That’s very thoughtful of him,” Morgan said, the dry edge in her voice hard to hide.
Raeska’s expression did not change, though something in her posture softened a fraction, as if she recognized the sarcasm even if she didn’t fully grasp it.
Will you come with me willingly? the translation asked.
The question hovered, sharp and quiet.
She could say no. She could scream, throw things, barricade herself in this room. She could demand to be returned to Earth, demand they undo all of this as if it were a clerical error. She could flail against the reality that had already shifted under her feet.
But that would not take her home. It would not undo anything.
It would only exhaust her.
And somewhere beneath the fear and disbelief, another thought moved—a small, traitorous thread that refused to die. What if this is different? What if this is not just another version of my father deciding my life for me?
Here, her father’s influence meant nothing.
His surveillance, his wealth, his approval, his anger—all of it had been stripped away.
The Marak had not cared who Richard Halden was.
The Vykan certainly would not. For the first time in her life, she was beyond the reach of the man who had shaped every choice she’d ever made.
Even if she had been dragged here, some part of her had wanted an escape. She had said it aloud. She could not pretend she hadn’t.
She let her shoulders sink on a slow exhale. “I will come,” she said at last. “Willingly.”
The word felt strange in her mouth, as if she were lying and telling the truth at the same time.
Raeska bowed her head in a small, graceful motion. Then I will assist you to prepare.
Morgan followed her back into the main chamber, the warmth of the garden’s air giving way to the cooler, controlled climate inside.
Raeska moved toward a second archway Morgan hadn’t investigated yet, this one framed by darker metal bands.
When the alien drew near, subtle lines of light awakened along the arch, and the doorway slid open with a smooth, nearly silent shift.
Beyond lay a bathing room.
Steam curled lazily from a wide, sunken pool carved directly into the stone floor, the water dark and glassy.
Soft light emanated from channels high along the walls, casting everything in a muted golden hue.
Niches in the stone held vessels and folded cloths in neat arrangement.
The space felt both functional and ritual, like a place designed for cleansing both body and mind.
Morgan hesitated at the threshold. “You all really like… ceremony, don’t you?”
Raeska glanced back at her. Traditions are important, the translation answered. They tell us who we are.
Morgan thought of her father’s charity galas, his staged interviews, his choreographed holidays meant to project a specific narrative of the Halden family. Traditions, he called them. He used similar words. They show the world who we are, Morgan. Who we have always been.
She stepped inside. “I suppose they do.”
Raeska approached with a cloth bundle and set it gently on a stone ledge. She gestured to the pool. The water is calibrated to your body’s needs. You will not be harmed. I will assist with your hair, if you allow it. You may wash alone if you prefer.
Morgan’s instinct was to say she would handle everything herself. The thought of being touched, of being tended to like some sort of offering, made something inside her tighten with discomfort.
At the same time, she was exhausted. Despite the soft bed, the food, the careful handling, her bones felt weighted, her nerves raw. The idea of sinking into that water and letting the heat bleed some of the fear from her muscles was suddenly very tempting.
She nodded slowly. “You can help with my hair. I’ll do the rest.”
Raeska seemed satisfied with that compromise. I will turn away while you undress, the translator added.
The alien walked to the far side of the room and faced the wall with the kind of disciplined stillness Morgan was beginning to understand as normal for these beings.
Alone for a moment, Morgan untied the pale grey robe the Majarin had wrapped her in.
The silks slid from her shoulders in whispering folds, pooling at her feet.
Underneath, the softer inner tunic clung lightly to her skin, a second layer that joined the first on the floor a moment later.
Standing bare in the warm air, she felt as vulnerable as she ever had, but something in the steady hum of the room and Raeska’s patient stillness kept the vulnerability from tipping into panic.
She descended the smooth stone steps into the pool.
The water met her skin in a perfect embrace—not too hot, not too cool, just a deep, even warmth that sank immediately into her muscles. She exhaled on a soft, involuntary sound, tension loosening from her shoulders as the water rose to her collarbones.
I should fight this, she thought, closing her eyes. I should be angry, screaming, demanding lawyers and diplomats and formal charges.
The absurdity of that made her want to laugh. There was no human embassy here. No one to file a complaint with.
There was only this fortress. This world. This future… unfolding whether she consented or not.
She sank deeper, letting the water lap against her neck. For a moment, disbelief washed through her again. This cannot be real. You should be home. You should be in your apartment. You should be arguing with your father, dodging his calls, fending off Daniel Li’s perfectly polite attention.
Would she really trade this—this terrifying, overwhelming unknown—for a life of walking pre-scripted paths laid out by someone else?
Her chest tightened.
On Earth, her fate had been appointed without her consent, too. She had simply understood the rules better. Here, at least, they were honest about it: she had been claimed, and those who claimed her would provide for her and expect something in return. There was a twisted clarity in that.
She floated on her back, the water cradling her. It still isn’t right, she told herself. But maybe… it is different.
Her heart beat a little faster at the thought. Not from fear. From something sharper. A treacherous curl of anticipation slid through her, unwelcome and undeniable. What if this leads somewhere you could never have imagined on Earth? What if you can shape it, even a little?
“Morgan?” Raeska’s voice carried gently across the room.
Morgan rolled upright, water rippling around her. “You can… help with my hair now.”
The alien approached with a basin and a shallow dish of something that looked like oil but smelled faintly of citrus and something deeper, like warm resin.
She moved with careful economy, kneeling at the edge of the pool as Morgan turned her back toward her.
Cool fingers gathered Morgan’s wet hair, smoothing it with the fragrant liquid before working it gently through the strands.
There was no roughness, no possessiveness in the touch.
Raeska handled her hair as if it were delicate silk, her motions precise, almost reverent.
Morgan’s eyes closed again, not in trust exactly, but in a grudging acceptance that, for the first time since everything began, she could take a breath without it catching halfway.
“You do this often?” Morgan asked, her voice quiet.
I have prepared others for audiences with the Vykan, the translator relayed. But never one from your world.
“How many others?” Morgan asked.
Raeska’s fingers paused for a heartbeat, then resumed their smooth movements.
Not many, she answered. The Vykan do not claim lightly.
Morgan hesitated—then Raeska added, with a respectful lowering of her head:
This Vykan—Lord Kyrax—has not claimed one as his own.