Chapter 22 #2
"But nothing," Dad interrupted, his voice gentling.
"Chloe, I've been in the Alliance long enough to understand what mating bonds mean.
And I've been your father long enough to recognize when you've made up your mind about something.
" He paused, his gaze shifting to Nansar, who was currently making absolutely ridiculous faces at Nasa while she gurgled her approval.
"He protected you. Kept you alive. Brought you back to me. "
"He did more than that," I said, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
"After Declan—" The name tasted like ash.
My father didn't know the full horror of Declan's depravity, and if I had any say in it, he never would.
But he knew enough. "Nansar helped me find myself again.
He helped me gather all the broken pieces back together. "
Something shifted in my father's expression—the military mask cracking to reveal the man beneath. He pulled me into a brief, tight hug. "Then I suppose I should go introduce myself properly to my future son-in-law."
"Dad!" Mortification flooded through me, hot and immediate, but he was already moving toward Nansar with that diplomatic smile locked and loaded.
This was going to be interesting.
Nansar's head snapped up as we approached, those stunning blue-green eyes going wide with something between hope and terror.
He transferred Nasa to his mother's waiting arms with the kind of reluctance you'd expect from someone surrendering their most precious treasure, then rose to his full height.
When he faced my father, his spine was straight, shoulders squared—respectful without a hint of cowering.
"Admiral Blackwood," Nansar said, and I felt the tremor of nerves through our bond even though his voice came out rock-steady. "I am Nansar, son of Duke Ako and Duchess Helene of Aljani."
"The male who kept my daughter alive," Dad replied, extending his hand in that quintessentially human gesture. Nansar stared at it for a heartbeat—clearly running through his mental database of human customs—before grasping it with confidence. "I owe you a debt I can never repay."
"You owe me nothing, Admiral. Chloe is—" Nansar's gaze found mine, and everything he felt blazed across his features, raw and unguarded. "She is everything."
The corner of my father's mouth twitched upward. "Good answer." He pivoted toward Nansar's parents, his expression warming as he met Ako's eyes. "Looks like we're going to be in-laws."
"So it seems, Cullen," Ako said with a grin that could only be described as delighted.
"We were overjoyed when your father discovered you were alive," Helene added, her voice trembling with genuine emotion.
"Welcome to our family, daughter." She swept me into an embrace that enveloped me in the scent of something floral and utterly alien, yet somehow deeply comforting. "Would you like to hold your sister?"
"Yes, of course," I managed, my pulse kicking up.
I'd held babies exactly four times in my life—each occasion burned into my memory distinct and precious.
But when Helene settled the little girl into my arms, it felt startlingly natural.
She was warm and solid, heavier than I'd expected, and when those curious blue-green eyes locked onto mine, something in my chest cracked open and flooded with warmth.
"Hello, little one," I whispered, unable to fight the smile that commandeered my entire face. "I'm Chloe. I'm going to be your sister-in-law, apparently."
Nasa chirped—actually chirped—and her tiny fingers wrapped around my index finger with surprising strength, like she'd decided I was hers now and had no plans to reconsider.
"She likes you," Nansar murmured from behind me, wonder threading through every syllable. His arms came around us both, careful not to disturb the baby, and he rested his chin on my shoulder. "My two favorite females."
"Smooth talker," I teased, but warmth cascaded through me at the tableau we created—a family in the making, a future taking shape.
"She has your eyes," I observed, studying the baby's delicate features.
"And her mother's temperament, thank the stars," Ako interjected, materializing beside us with an expression of pure amusement. "One of me in the family is quite enough."
"Father," Nansar protested, though affection saturated the word.
My dad materialized at my other side, gazing down at Nasa with an expression I'd never witnessed before—tender and tinged with melancholy. "She reminds me of you at that age, Chloe. So impossibly small, so perfect."
"Dad," I said softly, reading the subtext in every line of his face. All that time he'd believed I was dead, the future he'd mourned, the moments he'd been certain we'd never share.
"But here you are," he continued, clearing the roughness from his throat. "Alive. Safe. And apparently about to make me navigate interspecies in-law relationships."
"You're a diplomat, Admiral," Helene said, her smile turning impish. "I'm sure you'll manage."
"Your father's work with the Prime has been invaluable," Ako told me, respect resonating in his tone. "The intelligence networks he's helped establish have been instrumental in bringing Declan Hewes's crimes to light throughout the Alliance."
Nansar and I exchanged a weighted glance, something cold and sharp passing between us at the mention of that name.
"Speaking of Declan," I began, but my father raised a hand, cutting me off with the practiced efficiency of a military commander.
"We need to meet with the Prime."
Following Ako and Helene through the palace corridors felt like walking through a gallery of impossible beauty.
I couldn't stop staring, my eyes hungry for every detail, every shimmer of light on precious metal.
The walls themselves were works of art—copper, gold, and something that looked like liquid silver caught mid-cascade, all inlaid in patterns that seemed to shift and breathe as we passed.
Above us, intricate mosaics sprawled across vaulted ceilings, depicting what had to be pivotal moments in Alliance history: epic battles frozen in tile and stone, coronations of long-dead rulers, triumphs that had shaped the fate of civilizations.
Towering sculptures punctuated our path every few meters, carved from stone I'd never seen on Earth—deep purple veined with threads of purest white, or black as the void between stars but somehow translucent, as if you could peer through them into another dimension entirely.
Massive arrangements of alien flowers, taller than Nansar's impressive height, filled alcoves carved into the walls.
Their blooms released fragrances that made my head spin in the most intoxicating way—sweet and spicy and utterly foreign.
"This is incredible," I breathed, my fingers seeking Nansar's and threading through them like they belonged there. Like they'd always belonged there.
He squeezed my hand, and I could hear the pride warming his voice. "The palace has stood for over ten thousand years. Each Prime adds to it, leaves their mark on history."
"Your quarters will be in the east wing," Helene called over her shoulder, her tone casual despite the magnitude of what she was saying. "I've had them prepared for you."
My quarters. In an alien palace. With Nansar. The surreal reality of what my life had become crashed over me again, a wave of disbelief and wonder.
We rounded a corner into a grand hallway where the floor itself seemed to pulse with inner light, casting everything in a soft, otherworldly glow that made us all look like we were walking through a dream.
"The Prime is expecting us in her private chambers," my father said, his tone shifting into something more formal, more careful. He indicated a doorway at the far end of the corridor, flanked by guards who stood motionless as statues.
When those massive doors swung open, I was struck by the jarring contrast. The Prime's private chambers bore no resemblance to the imposing grandeur we'd just walked through. Instead, we stepped into a space that felt... lived in. Comfortable. Almost cozy.
A stone fireplace dominated one wall, flames dancing within and casting restless shadows across furniture that showed the gentle wear of years of use.
The deep green velvet couch bore slight indentations where someone sat regularly—the same spot, over and over, until the cushions had molded to their shape.
Armchairs were upholstered in fabric that had faded in places from sunlight and time, and woven blankets draped over their backs in casual disarray.
The rugs underfoot were thick and plush, worn smooth along pathways between seating areas—evidence of countless hours of pacing, thinking, wrestling with the weight of worlds.
Books were everywhere, stacked on side tables in haphazard towers, some with markers tucked between pages as if she'd been interrupted mid-chapter and fully intended to return.
A half-finished cup of tea sat on a low table, still steaming, releasing the scent of something herbal and soothing into the air.
The walls displayed art and small treasures rather than the formal portraits and historical artifacts that dominated the public spaces—personal mementos that spoke of a life lived, not just a position held.
A figure rose from behind a desk positioned near the window, backlit by the twin suns of Calpa, and my breath caught.
The Alliance Prime was breathtaking in a way that transcended conventional beauty.