Chapter 3
Holy shit, those doors were big. House-sized. Actually… bigger.
Emily stared up at them. This was real. This was happening. She was about to walk into the throne room of an alien empire to meet the man who apparently owned her now.
Her stomach lurched.
The group around her had swelled since leaving the prep rooms. A dozen of the robed attendants flanked her, plus guards in polished leathers, plus someone who kept murmuring about protocol and timing into a device strapped to his wrist. They moved as a unit, sweeping her along like a leaf in a river.
Raaevik walked behind her, a steadying presence. He hadn't spoken since clearing the room. The doors began to open.
The sound hit her first… a low rumble that vibrated through the floor and up into her chest like a subterranean earthquake. Then light poured through the widening gap, bright and golden, accompanied by a wall of noise.
Voices. Hundreds of them. Maybe more.
The doors finished their swing, and her brain short-circuited.
The Great Hall was insane.
The ceiling was so high it disappeared. The walls were carved with starships and battles between latharian warriors and creatures she didn’t recognise.
Everything was white and gold and too big, like someone had built a cathedral for giants.
Banners hung from invisible anchors, deep blue and silver, rippling in some unfelt breeze.
And the people.
Oh. God… the people.
They filled the hall like a sea. Row after row of massive aliens. And every single one of them was staring at her.
Her feet stopped moving. She felt like a mouse in a room full of cats.
She swallowed. Oh shit. She couldn't do this. She wasn’t an empress… she was just Emily. She organized food drives and yelled at landlords for a living. That was not empress material.
"I can't do this,” she whispered. "There are too many of them. They're all looking at me."
"Yes." Raaevik’s voice was a low rumble directly behind her.
"That's not helpful."
"Imagine them naked, little female."
Blinking, she turned her head slightly and caught his profile from the corner of her eye. "What?"
"It is a technique I have heard humans employ. When facing intimidating crowds." His voice dropped even lower. "Or if that does not appeal, imagine them in pink."
A noise escaped her throat. Half-laugh, half-sob. "Pink?"
“Yes. Very bright pink. With ruffles."
The image formed in her mind: all those massive, terrifying warriors in frilly pink tutus, and she snorted. It wasn't dignified or appropriate. But it worked, and the tight knot in her throat eased.
"You are the Empress-to-be," he continued, his voice returning to its usual gravel. "You outrank every soul in that room. They should be afraid of you."
"Pretty sure it doesn't work that way."
"It does. Walk."
She walked.
The floor was exactly as treacherous as he had warned. The polished stone was like walking on ice. Under her gown, her battered boots gripped the surface, keeping her upright.
The crowd parted before her, creating a pathway down the center of the hall. The chatter died down, and anticipation filled the air as they all looked at her.
Somehow, she kept her chin up and a smile on her face.
Pink tutus. Ruffles. Pink tutus. Ruffles.
Raaevik followed her, a silent, deadly shadow at her back. She didn't turn to look at him. Didn't need to. His presence was a constant behind her.
There was a dais at the far end of the hall. Steps of white marble led up to a throne that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of black stone. And standing before it, descending those steps as she approached, was the emperor himself.
She swallowed nervously.
Emperor Daaynal K'Saan.
He was freaking enormous. Even among the lathar filling the hall, he stood apart. Taller than Raaevik by at least two inches, broader across the shoulders, with a physique that belonged on a recruiting poster for some war god's army or a porn shoot, her brain less than helpfully added.
Long dark hair was pulled back from his face, emphasizing the harsh angles of his jaw and cheekbones. His eyes were a bright, piercing green that seemed to cut through the distance between them.
To her surprise, he wore leather like the other lathar. Not the ceremonial robes she’d expected, but actual warrior's gear… fitted and scarred and clearly well-used. The only concession to his rank was the crown: a simple band of unpolished metal.
He was terrifying.
He was also, annoyingly, handsome.
Not in the pretty way of the attendants who had stripped her. But handsome with edges and danger and the promise of violence held in check. Handsome, the way Raaevik was devastating.
Her stomach dropped.
Shit. This would have been easier if he'd been ugly. Or cruel-looking. Or had tentacles, for god's sake. Something she could hate on sight. Instead, he looked like every romance novel hero she'd secretly devoured in college, scaled up to alien proportions.
Shit.
She reached the base of the dais and stopped. What the hell did she do now? Did she bow? Kneel? Curtsy? Throw herself at his feet and beg for mercy?
Before she could panic, Daaynal closed the remaining distance himself. He descended the last few steps and stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she had to crane her neck to see his face.
He smiled. It wasn't a politician's smile, practiced and empty. It was warm and almost gentle. The kind you give a skittish animal you’re trying not to spook.
"Emily Evans," he said, his voice deep, with an accent that made her name sound exotic. "Welcome to Devan Station. Welcome to the Empire. Welcome home.”
He held his hand out, waiting for her to put hers in it. She looked at it for a moment. Even his hand was huge. Her gaze dropped to his feet, in heavy combat boots. Yeah, also huge.
Her cheeks burning, she reached out and took his hand. His eyes were warm with approval as his fingers closed around hers, his grip careful and controlled.
"I have waited a long time for you," he continued, his green eyes locked on hers. "My perfect genetic match.”
The words should have made her angry. Reminded her that she was here against her will. But standing this close, feeling the warmth of his hand and the weight of his attention, all she felt was overwhelmed.
He wasn't a monster. He was… nice.
The court erupted, and the cheers crashed over her like a wave.
Warriors slammed fists against their chests.
The noise was physical, pressing against her from all sides.
She forced her lips into a smile as Daaynal turned her around to face the crowd, her heart hammering against her ribs as if trying to escape.
Through the chaos, her eyes sought something… anything familiar.
Raaevik.
She found him standing near a pillar where the shadows were deepest. He stood at ease, arms behind his back, face unreadable. But he was watching her.
Daaynal's hand tightened slightly on hers.
"You look for your protector," he said in a low voice. Not accusing. Just noting.
Her attention snapped back to him as heat crawled up her neck. “Yeah, sorry. I— He's the only person I know here."
Daaynal nodded, then looked up. "Raaevik K’Vass.”
The name rang out across the hall, and the cheering quieted instantly.
Raaevik stepped forward from the shadows, approaching them with measured steps. He dropped to one knee at the base of the stairs, fist pressed to his chest.
"My Emperor."
"Rise." Daaynal waited until Raaevik stood before continuing. "I understand there was some excitement during the retrieval. The transport shuttle was disabled?"
Raaevik nodded, his face impassive.
"Sabotaged, my lord. The cause is under investigation."
"And yet my match arrived safely." Daaynal's voice was warm with approval. "Your quick thinking preserved what is most precious to the Empire. I thank you.”
An odd expression flickered across Raaevik's face—barely there, too fast to identify. Surprise? “I live to serve, your majesty.”
"Good. The safety of the future Empress is paramount." Daaynal turned back to Emily. "You see? You are well protected. Raaevik is one of my finest warriors. His loyalty is absolute."
She looked between them—the Emperor, radiant with power and certainty, and Raaevik, stone-faced and rigid. Then she thought about how he’d been when he’d pressed her against that wall in the alley. “He was certainly… thorough in the pursuit of his duty.”
“Now. Many wish to meet you," Daaynal said, releasing her hand and offering his arm instead. "The heads of the clans and the war-commanders of the fleet are all eager to welcome their future Empress."
She took his arm, and the silk of her gown whispered against the floor as they turned. The crowd parted ahead of them, a new path opening toward a side chamber where she could see clusters of more aliens waiting.
She didn't want to go. She didn't want to shake more hands or force more smiles. She just wanted to go home to Barnaby and her little apartment.
But she didn't have a choice.
The back of her neck prickled, and she glanced over her shoulder. Raaevik hadn't moved. The crowd surged around him, but his eyes were on her. Something in them made her breath catch. Then it was gone, and he was stone again.
But she’d seen it.
He didn't look like a guard anymore. He looked like trouble.
* * *
Raaevik hit the corridor at a pace that dared anyone to get in his way.
The Great Hall was behind him, but the scent of her clung to his nose and coated his tongue. Lilac and something sweeter, something that made his back teeth ache.
Mine.
The thought filled his mind, trying to push all other thoughts out.
He ignored it as he bypassed the lift to the level his quarters were on.
He couldn’t go there. If he stopped moving, if he had to stare at four gray walls and think about the emperor touching Emily, he’d put his fist through a bulkhead.