Chapter 5
Jolie
Lilibet and I nestled into the heart of the enormous bed, a soft expanse of silk and down that seemed to cradle us with warmth and safety.
Dampness clung to our skin, and as I worked a plush towel through Lilibet’s wet ringlets.
Her voice bubbled happily recalling the surprises hidden in the room like treasures, the shimmering rose-gold bathwater that conjured scents of distant gardens, the plush blankets that surrounded her like a hug, the delicious meal that filled our bellies, Yet, it was the small stuffed bear with velvet ears and button eyes that truly captured her heart, a symbol of promises kept.
I smiled, indulging in the rare moment of peace, even as a subtle longing curled within me—a desire for more than just survival, a yearning for a world where such small comforts were a daily certainty rather than a fleeting treasure. .
If fate ever brought me face-to-face with the Zarpazian queen, I would thank her for her thoughtfulness.
The tunic and trousers I wore whispered against my skin in sage-soft hues.
Dressing Lilibet required more imagination—even the smallest garments could have housed three of her.
But I’d managed to transform a midnight-blue shirt into a dress, cinched with a ribbon of sunshine yellow that made her twirl like a ballerina in front of the mirror.
Her face bloomed with pure joy, something fierce and protective unfurling in my chest like wings.
Each promise Diarvet kept added another thread to the fragile tapestry of my trust. I’d been an oncology nurse back on Earth, and trust had been a cornerstone of my life.
Trust that the doctors would use their knowledge with care, aiming to do no harm.
Trust patients to become fighters in their own battles, honest about their fears, and brave enough to try.
Trust families to remain steady and supportive.
I’d seen trust create miracles more times than I could count, though I’d also been present when it fell apart, leaving only grief.
Now I faced a different kind of trust. Trusting a complete stranger with what mattered most to me. As much as Diarvet had proven himself so far, wariness lay quietly in my chest, ready to awaken at the first hint of betrayal.
When the alarms erupted, Lilibet’s small body jolted against mine like a startled bird.
Her fingers clawed desperately at my shirt as she pressed deeper into my embrace, trembling so violently I could feel it reverberating through my bones.
The sound—that particular pitch of mechanical screaming—sent ice flooding through my veins.
On the Kwado ship, alarms had always heralded that fresh horrors were about to unfold.
The knowledge that my precious girl understood this made my heart fracture into jagged pieces.
“MeMe?” Her voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, fragile as spun glass and threaded with the kind of fear that no child should ever have to carry. I forced my lips to curve upward, painting on a calm mask even as panic clawed at my throat.
“Let’s go find Diarvet and see what’s going on.
” The words tasted like ash, but I delivered them with manufactured lightness.
Whatever catastrophe triggered the sirens, I knew with bone-deep certainty it spelled disaster.
Yet, facing the unknown at our protector’s side seemed infinitely preferable to cowering alone in our borrowed sanctuary.
We dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling with the boots and jackets that had accompanied our wardrobe. My black leather boots embraced my feet like old friends. After a second pair of socks, Lilibet’s did as well.
A towering Zarpazian stood vigil outside our doorway, his scales creating a mosaic of deep greens swirled with vibrant orange.
When I inquired as to Diarvet, he responded with a sharp, economical nod before gesturing down the corridor, leading us on our way.
The realization that Diarvet had stationed guards even aboard his own vessel—protecting us from threats both known and imagined—sent a warm flutter through my chest. A small act that made me trust him just a fraction more.
We arrived on the bridge just as the words of Kwado Chamberlain Ukala slithered through the communications array each syllable dripping with slimy malice.
“Return the human and youngling to the prince immediately, or we will deem it an immediate act of aggression.”
My blood froze as I stared at the toad-like visage of the chancellor, dominating the massive viewscreen.
His bulbous eyes gleamed with cruelty, and for one terrifying heartbeat, I believed our presence on the bridge shattered any hope of plausible deniability.
But Diarvet beckoning us to join him at the command center dissolved that particular terror.
“He cannot see or hear us,” Diarvet murmured when we reached his side. His voice a low rumble that somehow steadied my racing pulse.
Lilibet had transformed into a living barnacle, her small arms locked around my neck.
Though her shivering had subsided, her emerald eyes were wide as saucers, reflecting a fear that made my soul ache.
She was too young, too innocent to carry such heavy knowledge of the world’s cruelties.
I pressed her face into my shoulder and held her tight.
“Captain,” a tall Zarpazian officer interjected, his scales were painted in various shades of green that seemed to shimmer under the light.
Deep lines of concern etched themselves across his features as he delivered his assessment.
“The Kwado have deployed two fully armed warships. Our vessel lacks the firepower to engage them successfully, but our ship is smaller, faster. Our options are limited—surrender or flight.”
His words decimated every tiny bit of hope I’d built in the past few hours. Dreams of freedom, of safety, of a future where Lilibet could laugh without fear—all dissolved, leaving behind only the bitter certainty of life in shackles… or worse.
I’ll go." The words escaped my lips before my rational mind could intercept them. “Give me to the Kwado. I’ll tell them I already sent Lilibet to safety.” In that moment, it was more than just a parental urge to sacrifice, it was an echo of the vow I’d once taken as a nurse.
To serve, to protect, even at the cost of my own well-being.
My fate, likely pain and death at the hands of the prince, seemed a small price for Lilibet’s safety.
My arm tightened around Lilibet’s trembling form while my free hand shot out to clutch at Diarvet’s arm, my fingers digging into his scaled flesh. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll protect her.”
Lilibet’s tiny arms constricted around my neck like a vice as a heartbroken whimper escaped her throat, the sound cutting through me more effectively than a scalpel.
Diarvet’s brilliant blue eyes locked onto mine, blazing with a furious determination that seemed to set the very air between us ablaze.
“No,” he growled, his voice rough as grinding stone. One massive hand settled gently on Lilibet’s curls, his touch infinitely tender even as his eyes burned with resolve. “I will protect you both.”
My dad was a devoted science fiction enthusiast while I was growing up, so I’d watched every fictional captain of every fictional starship on TV and in the movies.
But fiction, with its neat resolutions and heroic speeches, was no match for the raw intensity of reality unfolding before me.
Yet Diarvet most assuredly could take his place as a hero.
“Yanku,” Diarvet spun, his gaze alighting on a younger Zarpazian whose scales shimmered with nervous energy as he hunched behind a massive console bristling with holographic displays. “What is our ETA to the asteroid field?”
Yanku gave his captain a skeptical glance but answered promptly. “Five minutes, Captain.”
Diarvet took the information with a curt nod, then added, “Contact the dock immediately and tell them to outfit my private shuttle with enough supplies to last a full cycle. They have exactly five minutes.” His voice carried the weight of authority, each word crisp as breaking glass.
“Cumar,” he pivoted again, his movements fluid despite their urgency, eyes fixing on a towering male whose deep purple hair caught the light like liquid amethyst. “Set up a monitoring frequency with the Alliance Council. I want every syllable that slithers from Kwado lips heard by them—every threat, every demand, every breath.”
“Merkit,” he turned once more to address the male who stood at rigid attention nearby. “Send a message to Chamberlain Ukala. Tell him I am not currently on board this vessel, and neither is the human or youngling.”
“Don’t you think someone on the docking bay would have witnessed your boarding?” Cumar interjected, his fingers dancing across his controls, holographic readouts cascading around his hands like digital waterfalls.
“I’ll inform them we assumed you were aboard for departure, but a thorough search of the ship has revealed you missing,” Merkit suggested, his mind already weaving the deception.
“Excellent,” Diarvet’s lips compressed into a line of grim satisfaction as he delivered an approving pat to the male’s shoulder.
“What exactly is your plan?” Merkit asked. The question came not from a subordinate addressing his captain, but from a friend.
Diarvet’s blue eyes flickered toward me for just a heartbeat—a moment of silent communication that calmed my racing heart.
“When we reach the asteroid field, execute a one hundred eighty-degree rotation so that our docking bay faces away from the Kwado vessels and directly into the debris field. We’ll cut all power to the shuttle except life support and shielding and let gravitational forces pull the ship into the asteroids.
We can hide there until you successfully lead the Kwado away from this sector. ”