Chapter 8 #2
Tall and broad-shouldered, they were unfairly handsome, the lot of them.
Most wore their leather uniforms open at the chest, because apparently buttons were optional when you had abs like that.
Long hair seemed to be the fashion, worn loose or pulled back with small braids threaded through, though she spotted a few with short-cropped cuts.
The high-ranking ones, she'd learned. The ones who'd earned enough glory that they didn't need to show it off anymore.
Next to them, she felt small. Tiny.
"The High Lord V'Keer," the herald announced.
A male who looked like he'd been carved from granite approached, bowing low. she nodded, executed the small curtsy the protocol instructor had drilled into her for three hours that morning, and murmured the appropriate greeting.
Lord V'Keer ignored her completely. He spoke only to Daaynal in rapid-fire Latharian.
"The K'Vass clan oversteps," V'Keer said, his tone clipped. "Sector Nine has been under M'Kaais oversight for three generations. We will not yield jurisdiction to upstarts who think a connection to the imperial house grants them territorial rights."
She kept her expression neutral, even as her brain scrambled to keep up. She understood Latharian well enough now—language implants were a hell of a thing—but the political subtext was harder to work out.
"The Imperial Council sanctioned the K’Vass expansion,” Daaynal replied, his voice mild. "If you have concerns about the redistribution of sector oversight, I suggest you bring them before the Council. Formally."
She bit back a grin.
Translation: file a complaint and stop whining at me during a party.
V'Keer's jaw tightened, but he bowed his head in acknowledgment. "As you say, Majesty."
He moved on, and Daaynal's hand settled on the small of her back. The touch was warm and respectful, but it made her want to crawl out of her skin. Because twenty feet away, standing in the shadow of a massive pillar, was Raaevik.
He wore full dress uniform, which apparently meant more leather, more buckles, and a cape that should have looked ridiculous but just made him look dangerous and sexy.
He didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on the crowd, his face as hard as the stone of the pillar behind him, and she knew he was scanning for threats to his emperor. And by extension, to her.
But no matter how far away he stood, she still felt him.
There was a pull in her chest, a hook that tugged every time she moved away from him. She wanted to go to him, to stand next to him, not Daaynal. She wanted to strip off this stupid dress, put on her scuffed boots, and run.
"Emily?"
She blinked, snapping back to the present. Daaynal looked down at her, concern etching a line between his brows.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she lied, adding a smile. "Just... thirsty."
"Go," he said, nodding toward the refreshment tables lining the far wall. "Take a moment. I must speak with the Sector Governor regarding the trade routes before V'Keer moves in for the kill, and it will be very dull."
"You're too kind, Your Majesty."
"I am pragmatic, and call me Daaynal. Now go."
Breathing a sigh of relief, she slipped away and wove through the crowd, keeping her head down and trying to make herself invisible. It wasn't hard. Most of the guests looked right through her, their gazes sliding over her like she was part of the furniture.
She reached the table and grabbed a glass of something blue and sparkling. She didn't drink it. She just held it like a shield, retreating toward a cluster of tall, fern-like plants that offered a bit of cover.
"Oh, Lady, did you see that dress?"
The voice came from the other side of the greenery. It was female. Melodic, sharp as broken glass with a hiss in the sibilants.
"It’s hard to miss," a male voice replied, followed by a low chuckle. "It looks like they wrapped a child in the Crown Jewels."
Emily froze, her knuckles white as she gripped her glass.
"A genetic anomaly from a primitive world," the female voice continued. "Daaynal is degrading himself."
"The healers say she is compatible."
"Compatible for breeding, perhaps. Like a prize solii." A pause, followed by a sniff of disdain. "Though looking at her, I wonder if she will survive the birthing. She is so... stunted. Did they check for deformities? Or is that just how these… humans are built? All soft flesh and no bone?"
"She looks like a verisski," the male agreed. "A frightened little rodent in a house of deearin. It is cruel, really. He should have chosen a strong mate. Someone who can stand the weight of the crown. Not a pet."
Her blood roared in her ears.
At least this way you're useful.
The air in the hall turned thick, the scent of alien perfume cloying enough to choke her. The lights were too bright, the laughter too loud, and… everything pressed down on her until she felt like she was being crushed.
She looked down at her hands, clutching the crystal flute. They looked small. Weak. Human.
Oh God. They were right. They were all right.
No matter what Daaynal said, no matter how lovely he was to her, she had to face the truth. She wasn't a partner or an ally. She was just a genetic vessel he needed to secure his legacy. A tear slipped free, streaking down her cheek… hot and humiliating.
She couldn't do this. She couldn't stand here and smile and pretend she belonged in this world of giants and starships and political intrigue.
Setting the glass down on a pedestal with a clatter that sounded like a gunshot to her ears, she turned and ran.
She didn't look for Daaynal. She didn't even check for Raaevik. She just bolted for the nearest exit.
Pushing through the heavy golden doors, she stumbled out onto the terrace and then past it into the gardens.
Since they were on a space station, it wasn't really outside, but she didn't care.
The massive, domed biosphere, filled with dark earth and twisting, alien trees, felt as if it were outside.
The air here was cooler, damp, with a floral scent from the night-blooming alien flowers she barely saw all around her.
She ran down the stone path, her heels clicking too loud in the quiet, until she reached a secluded bench beneath the weeping branches of a tree with silver heart-shaped leaves.
Collapsing onto the stone, she buried her face in her hands. A raw sob ripped from her throat, sharp and jagged. Her chest heaved, the force of it shaking her as the dam finally broke.
"Emily."
The voice was low and rough from the darkness behind her.
She didn't jump. Her body knew he was there before her ears registered the sound.
Looking up, she scrubbed at her wet cheeks.
Raaevik stood at the edge of the path. He looked huge in the dim light, a shadow made solid. His hands were clenched at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking.
"Go away."
He didn't move. "I cannot. My duty is to—"
"To protect the Emperor's mate," she snapped, standing up. Her legs were shaking, but anger flared hot in her chest, burning away the shame. "To make sure the broodmare doesn't trip and break her neck before she can do her job."
He flinched. "Do not speak of yourself that way."
"Why not? Everyone else does!" She stepped toward him, not caring about the tear tracks on her face. "I heard them, Raaevik. A pet. That's all I am here. Just a genetic broodmare in a fancy dress."
"They are fools," he growled. "Blind, arrogant fools."
"Are they?" Her laugh was bitter and harsh. "Look at me! I don't belong here. I'm just Emily. And apparently, I'm deformed, or stunted. I think the jury is out on which."
"You are not deformed." His voice dropped, low in the quiet garden. "You are..."
He stopped, his jaw tight.
"What?" she demanded, closing the distance between them, stopping just inches from him. She had to crane her neck to look at him, he was so tall. "What am I, Raaevik? A duty? A burden?"
He looked down at her. His eyes were violet fire, and she couldn't read what she saw there.
"You know what you are."
"No, I don't! Tell me!" She grabbed the edges of his jacket, bunching the leather in her fists. "Because I feel like I'm going crazy. I feel like I'm drowning in this place, and the only time I can breathe... the only time I feel real... is when you're near me."
Raaevik froze.
"Emily," he warned, his voice rough. "Do not."
"Do you feel it?" she demanded, shaking him slightly. It was like trying to shake a mountain, but she didn't care. "The pull between us. Do you feel it too? You have to feel it too?"
He closed his eyes, and a shudder went through his massive frame.
"Please," she whispered, the anger draining out of her, leaving only raw, desperate need. "Please just tell me I'm not making this up. Tell me I'm not alone in this."
He opened his eyes, and the mask was gone. Now there was only the man and the predator beneath.
"I feel it," he said, voice raw. "Every moment. Every breath. It is a fire in my blood. It screams at me to claim you, to keep you, to kill anyone else who dares to look at you."
Her breath caught.
"Then why?" she whispered. "Why do you push me away?"
"Because you belong to him."
"I don't!" The denial tore out of her. "I was sold to him! And I didn't choose him!"
She stared up at him, heart pounding against her ribs.
"I don't want an Emperor," she said, her voice cracking. "I don't want a crown. I just want to be seen. I want to be chosen for me, not my DNA."
She released his jacket and laid her palms flat against his chest, over the thundering beat of his heart.
"You see me, Raaevik. You're the only one here who does."
He made a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and a snarl.
Then his control snapped.
Cupping her face, he traced the line of her jaw and looked at her like a starving man looking at a feast.
"I see you," he breathed. "I have seen nothing else since the moment I walked into that room."
He lowered his head, and she rose on her toes to meet him. His mouth crashed down on hers in a collision, desperate and starving.
Raaevik tasted of darkness and heat. He kissed her like he wanted to devour her, his mouth hot and demanding. His hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so he could deepen the kiss.
The pull in her chest locked tight, and her knees nearly gave way. He caught her easily, holding her safe against his larger, harder body with a hard arm around the back of her waist.
The world narrowed down to this… to the scent of him and the heat of him and his tongue sliding against hers.
It was treason. It was death.
But it was the first breath of air she'd taken in days.