Chapter 22 #4
"I mean it," I said, lifting my chin and meeting the Prime's extraordinary eyes without flinching. "He's my mate. Where he goes, I go. You'll have to send us both back to that hellhole."
Surprise rippled across the Prime's features—a crack in her otherwise impenetrable composure—but before she could formulate a response, my father moved forward.
"Lady Prime," he said, his voice carrying the perfect balance of deference and unwavering resolve.
"I would like to formally request clemency for Nansar.
" His eyes found mine for a heartbeat, something tender and proud flickering there, before returning to the Prime.
"When I heard what he did—how he shielded my daughter from harm, kept her alive when death stalked them at every turn, sacrificed himself in the battle against Hewes—" His voice caught, emotion threatening to break through.
"He risked everything for her. Everything.
Those are not the actions of a bad male. "
The Prime fell silent, her gaze traveling deliberately between Dad, me, and Nansar. Duke Ako and Duchess Helene remained quiet, but hope blazed in their eyes like twin stars. The silence expanded, filling every corner of the room until I thought the pressure of it might shatter me.
"Clemency," the Prime said at last, rolling the word across her tongue as if testing its flavor, "is not a gift I bestow lightly.
" She paused, and beside me, Nansar went absolutely rigid, every muscle coiled tight as a spring.
"However, neither am I fool enough to dismiss the testimony of those whose judgment I trust implicitly.
" Her focus locked onto Nansar with laser precision.
"Your actions speak louder than your past crimes.
You have demonstrated genuine transformation. "
Hope ignited in my chest, a flame catching dry kindling.
The Prime's gaze shifted to me, those remarkable eyes seeming to see straight through to my soul. "If Chloe vouches for you, if she agrees to accept responsibility for your conduct going forward, then you may remain at her side rather than return to Palaydium."
"I vouch for him." The words came without a microsecond's hesitation. "Completely and without reservation."
Nansar's grip on my hand became almost painful, and when I looked up at him, relief had transformed his features entirely. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes—raw, unguarded emotion laid bare for everyone to witness.
"Thank you, Lady Prime," he managed, his voice scraped raw with feeling.
I let my gaze sweep the room, drinking in the reactions rippling through our small gathering.
My father's face had undergone a complete metamorphosis.
The carved lines of tension and worry melted away, replaced by a smile so radiant it made my own eyes burn with unshed tears.
He caught my eye and gave me a small, deliberate nod that communicated volumes: I'm proud of you. So damn proud.
Duke Ako had wrapped his arm around Duchess Helene, and both of them looked as though gravity itself had released its hold on them.
The Duchess cradled her baby daughter against her chest, tears of pure joy tracking down her cheeks.
Duke Ako's typically reserved expression had shattered into something approaching euphoria.
"Our son," Duchess Helene breathed, her voice trembling with wonder. "Our son gets to stay."
The Prime inclined her head once in acknowledgment, and though her expression maintained its professional neutrality, I could have sworn I detected a flicker of satisfaction dancing in those remarkable eyes.
Then she reached into her robes and withdrew a datapad—its case battered and cracked, definitely not what I would have expected the Prime to carry.
"While Nansar was with the healers," the Prime began, her fingers gliding across the datapad's scarred surface, "Captain Adtovar dispatched a recovery team to Palaydium.
They sifted through what remained of the Trogvyk ship, and searched for Hewes.
" Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"They found no trace of him. But they did recover this. "
She lifted the damaged datapad slightly, and the light caught the spiderweb cracks across its screen.
"It was buried deep in the wreckage, protected from destruction by sheer luck.
Technology Officer Xytol aboard the Historia managed to extract some of the data.
" Her gaze swept across each of us in turn, settling like a weight. "Including visual records."
A few precise taps, and the room's display system hummed to life behind her.
The holographic projection materialized between us, wavering for a heartbeat before stabilizing into sharp focus.
The first image punched the air from my lungs.
The Oval Office. That distinctive curved wall, the presidential seal woven into the carpet, the view I'd seen with my own eyes when I'd stood in that exact spot, when I visited President Bradford and Rickon.
"These were captured during Hewes's infiltration," the Prime said, each word edged with barely restrained revulsion. "While he wore Bradford's face like a stolen coat."
The images advanced in a grotesque parade.
World leaders leaning forward in earnest conversation, completely unaware they were confiding in a monster.
The Pope, his weathered hands clasped in discussion with as male who lived a lie.
Advisors presenting classified briefings to a facsimile.
Classified documents spread across the Resolute Desk, captured from Hewes's stolen vantage point.
My skin crawled watching the slideshow of deception.
Then the scene shifted abruptly, the transition jarring enough to make me blink.
The hologram now displayed what could only be living quarters—elegant, flowing, unmistakably alien in their graceful architecture. The camera perspective glided through a spacious apartment with flowing architectural lines.
A female Vaktaire entered the frame, her pelt rippling in warm tones of tan and cream. She was mid-laugh, caught in an unguarded moment of genuine joy, her beauty almost painful in its authenticity.
The view panned, revealing a male figure whose presence commanded attention. His mane cascaded over his shoulders in waves of molten gold, framing distinctly leonine features that radiated power and nobility in equal measure.
"Jala and Praxxan's quarters," Ako said, his voice tight as he leaned forward. A frown carved itself across his features. "At the Ardeese Valout space station."
More images flickered past in rapid succession. A tall Vaktaire male standing beside a human woman whose red curls tumbled past her shoulders. Another leonine male with a female I would swear looked just like pop star Isabella Rayne.
I watched the images cycle through, something gnawing at the edges of my awareness.
The way the perspective moved. The rhythm of it.
Years of reviewing surveillance footage had trained my eye to recognize patterns, and this one sang a familiar song.
That subtle vertical bob as the viewpoint advanced.
The smooth arc of a pan that followed the natural pivot of a head.
"Stop," I said, cutting through whatever the Prime had been about to say. "Can you replay those last images? The apartment footage?"
The Prime gestured, and the hologram rewound obediently, replaying the scenes from Jala and Praxxan's living quarters.
I studied the movement with the focus I'd once reserved for analyzing crime scene videos. There—the gentle bounce of footsteps, the unconscious tilt when something lower caught the viewer's attention, the fluid horizontal sweep of eyes tracking movement across a room.
"Meta glasses," I said with absolute certainty.
Every head swiveled toward me. Confusion painted itself across every face except one.
"Meta glasses?" the Prime asked, her head tilting slightly.
"Smart glasses. Recording eyewear." I gestured toward the frozen hologram. "The movement signature is distinctive. You can see the natural gait pattern, the organic head movements. This isn't handheld camera work or fixed surveillance. This is first-person perspective from wearable tech."
Understanding bloomed across my father's face. "She's right. The biomechanics are all there—the walking pattern, the head tracking. Definitely wearable recording technology."
"Wait—you don't have spy glasses in space?" I looked between Nansar, Ako, and the Prime, genuinely surprised.
Ako shook his head firmly. "No. Intelligence operatives receive ocular implants. Far more discreet. No external hardware to be detected or confiscated."
"On Earth, Meta glasses are standard issue for surveillance operations," I explained, unable to suppress a grimace at the memory of wearing the bulky things. "Thick black frames, usually. They pass for regular eyewear but pack cameras and recording equipment inside."
The Prime's entire demeanor transformed in a single breath. Her eyes widened, pupils contracting to pinpoints. She drew in air like someone surfacing from deep water.
"Thick black frames," she echoed, her voice dropping to barely more than a whisper. Her gaze snapped to Ako, and something electric passed between them—recognition, confirmation, fury.
"You know who it is," my father said. Not a question. A statement of fact.
The Prime's jaw set like stone, her carefully maintained composure fracturing to reveal the molten rage beneath. "Yes," she said, each syllable falling with the weight of a death sentence. "I know exactly who has been betraying us."