Chapter 5
The antechamber to the Emperor's private study was quiet. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that pressed against his eardrums and made him want to check his weapons.
Raaevik stood with his back to the wall, staring at a spot on the opposite bulkhead. He didn't pace. Pacing was for rookies and males who hadn't learned that movement drew the eye. He was neither.
His hands were clasped behind his back, hidden from view. Good thing, too. His knuckles were a mess… raw, split, and blooming with bruises.
Stupid. The self-disgust was like acid in his throat. Losing control in front of junior warriors. Letting Thyaar drag him off like a brawling recruit.
Squeezing his hands into fists, he let the sharp spike of pain ground him. He deserved the pain, deserved whatever the emperor was about to dish out. A demotion? Reassignment to the outer systems patrol? Execution for conduct unbecoming a sub-commander of the Imperial Guard?
Right now, execution felt like the mercy option. At least if he were dead, he wouldn’t have to smell her on his skin.
He'd scrubbed himself raw in the shower, turned the settings up until his skin burned, but the scent of Emily Evans, sun-warm earth, and something sweet, like those little yellow flowers that grew on the cliffs of home, taunted his memory.
The door to the study hissed open.
"Enter."
Daaynal's voice. Calm. Authoritative. It didn’t sound like he was about to order a summary execution, but Emperors were tricky like that. They smiled while they signed your death warrant.
Raaevik pushed off the wall and walked in.
The room wasn't grand. It wasn't the Throne Room with all its drama. This was where the real work happened. Screens floated in the air, scrolling with data streams. The emperor sat behind a huge desk, not looking at the screens but at a small, battered dataflex in his hand. One of his drakeen was hunkered down in the corner, seemingly powered off. But the glint of metal at Daaynal’s neck proved he wore the link-band, which meant that drakeen could be up and combat-ready at the speed of thought.
Raaevik looked at his emperor.
Daaynal looked tired. The crown was gone, replaced by the simple leather tie holding back his dark hair. He looked less like a god-destined emperor and more like a man who hadn't slept in three days.
Stopping in front of the desk, Raaevik snapped a salute, fist to chest.
"My Emperor."
Daaynal looked up. Green eyes swept over him. They lingered for a fraction of a second on Raaevik's hand, then moved up to his face.
"At ease, Raaevik."
Dropping his hand, he kept his spine rigid. "I am ready to receive your judgment, Your Majesty.”
Daaynal blinked, setting the dataflex down. "Judgment? What on Lathar for?”
"For the incident in the training hall last night. My conduct was... undisciplined."
"Ah." Daaynal leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking. "I heard you took apart three lower-level warriors and nearly took Thyaar's head off."
"Thyaar is fast. His head was in no danger.”
A ghost of a smile touched the Emperor's lips. "He is fast. And you are stressed. I assume the adrenaline from the extraction yesterday hadn't fully dissipated?"
Raaevik hesitated. He recognised an out when it was handed to him. A perfect, clean excuse handed to him on a platter. Yes, Your Majesty. Just combat stress. Just the lingering fight-or-flight from pulling your mate-to-be out of a sabotaged shuttle.
It was a lie. It was the scent of her fear and the feel of her small, soft body pressed against his that had driven him to violence. It was the word MINE screaming through his mind until he thought his skull would crack.
"Something like that," Raaevik said.
"Understandable." Daaynal waved a hand, dismissing the incident entirely. "We are warriors, not bots. Sometimes the energy needs an outlet. Though perhaps try not to break my junior warriors? They are expensive to train."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Raaevik waited for the but. There was always a but. You didn't get summoned to the private study just to be told to stop punching rookies.
Rising from his seat, Daaynal walked to the viewport. Devan Station rotated slowly, the blue-white curve of Earth filling the view. It was a beautiful planet.
"The shuttle incident," he said, his back to the room. "Tech crews finished their analysis an hour ago."
Raaevik stiffened. "And?"
“You were correct. It was sabotage. Some cosmetic damage on the outside of the shuttle to draw you in. If you’d managed to deal with the door, the power couplings were also fused.
" Daaynal turned around, and the exhaustion was gone, replaced by a cold, hard anger.
“Which would have left you and my match the perfect target.
It wasn't an accident, Raaevik. It was an attempt. "
A chill slid down Raaevik’s spine.
“An attempt,” he said. It wasn't a question.
"Assassination. Abduction. Take your pick.
We don't know which yet." Daaynal walked back to his desk, tapping a command into the console.
A holographic image of the shuttle's gutted wiring flickered into existence between them.
"Someone knew she was coming. Someone knew exactly which office she was in and which mode of transport she would be on.
And they wanted to make sure she never reached the station. "
Raaevik stared at the jagged, melted ends of the couplings. If he hadn't reacted when he did... if he hadn't dragged her into that alleyway...
"Who?" he asked, his voice low.
"We don't know. Intelligence is scrubbing the comms, but whoever did this covered their tracks well." Daaynal deactivated the hologram. "But that is not why you are here."
Walking around the desk, he closed the distance between them and stopped a foot away, close enough that Raaevik had to tilt his head back to meet the Emperor's gaze. Daaynal was a big male, broad and powerful, with a presence that usually made lesser males shrink.
Not Raaevik. He just waited.
"I have enemies," Daaynal said, his voice dropping.
“Both within the Empire and without. The treaty with Earth is controversial. My choice to take a human mate... even more so. Even though we have no females left for me to produce an heir with, some factions believe I am diluting the bloodline. Weakening the throne.”
"Traitors," Raaevik spat.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps just fools who fear change." Daaynal sighed. "But Emily... she is innocent in this. She didn't ask for this match. She didn't ask to be a target."
They could agree on that.
"No. She didn't."
She'd fought him in that office. She'd fought him in the alley. She was fighting everything about this, kicking and screaming against a future she hadn't chosen.
"I cannot watch her every moment of the day,” Daaynal said. "I have an Empire to run. Wars to manage. Trade disputes to settle. I cannot be her shadow. I cannot be her shield.”
He placed a hand on Raaevik's shoulder. It was a heavy, grounding weight.
"You and your comrades are my guard, but I need you to become something else, Raaevik. Not just a warrior who follows orders. I need a warrior who will throw himself in front of a threat without a microsecond of hesitation. Someone who will value the empress’s life above his own."
Raaevik's pulse jumped.
"Your Majesty.” He shook his head. "I am a warrior. My duty is to the Throne."
"Your duty is where I assign it." Daaynal's grip on his shoulder tightened in warning. "I saw the footage from the alleyway. I saw how you covered her, how you moved. You didn't wait for backup. You acted."
"It was just instinct, Your Majesty.”
"Exactly. And that’s what I need… that instinct.
" Daaynal looked him in the eye. "I am assigning you as Emily’s permanent personal guard.
You will shadow her. You will sleep outside her door.
You will vet every person who comes within ten feet of her.
If she moves, you move. If she breathes, you are there to ensure the air is clean. "
Raaevik's stomach dropped.
Shadow her. Sleep outside her door. Be close enough to smell her, to hear her heartbeat, to watch the way her dark curls fell over her eyes. It was a death sentence. It was torture, pure and simple.
Raaevik felt sick.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. Rough. Desperate. "I... perhaps Thyaar would be better suited. He is faster. His tactical scores are higher."
"Thyaar is a good warrior,” Daaynal agreed. "But Thyaar is light. He is quick to laugh. He charms. Emily needs gravity right now. She needs someone immovable." His lips quirked slightly at the corners. "And you, my friend, are the most intense draanthic I know."
"Intensity can be a liability."
"Not when it is focused on protection." Stepping back, Daaynal dropped his hand. The moment was over, and the Emperor was back. "This is not a request, Sub-Commander. It is a direct order. Emily Evans is under your protection. Her life is your life. Do not fail me."
Raaevik stared at him. He looked at the male he had sworn to serve, the male he respected more than any other living soul. The emperor trusted him. Daaynal was handing him the one thing in the universe Raaevik wanted to steal, and he was doing it because he believed in Raaevik's honor.
"I will not fail you," Raaevik forced the words out.
It was a vow, and it was a lie, but it was the only thing he could say.
"Good." Daaynal nodded toward the door. "She is in her quarters. Go to her. Don't let her out of your sight."
Raaevik saluted again. Then pivoted on his heel and marched out, his movements stiff and mechanical.
Holy Draanth.
He was a dead male walking.
* * *
Sleep outside her door.
Gods. This was going to kill him.
Reaching the lift, Raaevik punched the code for the Imperial level. The doors slid shut, enclosing him in silence. He leaned his head back against the metal wall and closed his eyes.