Chapter 9
The kiss didn't end. It just… stopped.
One moment, Raaevik was drowning in her… the taste of her on his tongue, the feeling of her in his arms… the next, the sound of a distant door chiming somewhere shattered the moment.
He wrenched himself back. It felt like tearing off his own skin.
Emily stood there, breathless. Her lips were swollen, her eyes wide, dark, and shocked as she looked up at him. She looked… perfect.
He stepped back, putting distance between them. He didn't speak. He couldn't. If he opened his mouth, he'd either beg her forgiveness or drag her back against him, and he wasn't sure which one would damn him faster.
"We must return," he grated out, his voice rough.
He couldn't take her back to the ball. Not like this, with her lips kiss-swollen and her eyes dazed. He tapped his comm unit.
"Thyaar."
"Raaevik?" His second's voice was low, cautious. He was on duty with the Emperor.
"Her Grace is feeling unwell. I'm escorting her to her quarters."
A pause. Thyaar would pass the message to Daaynal. That was protocol. "Understood."
The comm clicked off.
She nodded. She didn't argue or try to touch him again. She just wrapped her arms around herself, pulling the edges of that ridiculous dress tight like armor, and started walking. Away from him.
But he followed.
Draanth, he couldn't do anything but follow, even though he was the traitor who'd just kissed the Emperor's mate-to-be. If anyone knew… if anyone found out, he wouldn't be exiled. He would be executed.
The walk back to her suite was a blur of gray corridors. Marching two paces behind her, he stayed constantly alert for threats.
Every step was a fight. Her scent filled his lungs with every breath. Yellow flowers with something sweet underneath. It hooked into him and refused to let go. He could still feel the phantom pressure of her body against his chest, the desperate grip of her hands in his hair.
The temptation to take her back, find a dark corner, and pretend none of this had consequences—
He cut the thought off and kept walking.
They reached her door. Raayk stood at attention outside, his posture parade-ground perfect.
"I'll take over," Raaevik told him. "You're relieved."
Raayk's gaze flicked to Emily, then back. If he noticed anything amiss, he was smart enough not to comment. "Yes, sir."
He marched away, leaving them alone in the late-cycle dimness.
She stopped and turned to him. When she hesitantly raised her eyes to his, the hope in them gutted him.
Clenching his jaw until his teeth ached, he stared at a point just above her left ear. "Rest well, Your Grace."
She flinched but then drew herself up, mask sliding back into place.
"Goodnight, Sub-Commander," she whispered, and then she was gone, the door sliding shut behind her and cutting him off from her warmth.
Alone, he drew in a shuddering breath. His heart pounded against his ribs.
He could see it… him striding through the door, Emily turning in surprise, the way she would look at him as he backed her against the wall…
"Problem, Raaevik?"
The voice from the corridor snapped him back to reality. Spinning, his hand dropped to his weapon before he registered the speaker.
Thyaar. His second-in-command strode up the corridor toward him. He stopped a few feet away, leaning casually against the wall, but his eyes were sharp. Too sharp.
"You're standing guard," Thyaar noted. "Shift change was an hour ago. Raayk is supposed to be on this door."
"I relieved him," Raaevik growled.
Thyaar didn't blink. He looked at the closed door, then back. "You're relieving a lot of people lately. You look like shit, brother."
"It's been a long cycle."
"Is it?" Thyaar pushed off the wall and took a step closer. The casual slouch vanished. "Or is it something else? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're hunting. And you're standing outside the wrong door for that."
Raaevik stiffened. "Watch your tongue."
"I'm watching yours," Thyaar shot back. "I saw you in the garden. I saw you run after her."
"She was distressed. It was a security matter."
"Trall." Thyaar lowered his voice. "We're friends, Raaevik. I'd die for you. You know that. But if you do what I think you're thinking of doing… if you touch what belongs to Him…"
"I know my duty," Raaevik snarled. The defensive anger flared hot and fast.
"Do you?" Thyaar held his gaze for a long moment. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "I hope so. For all our sakes."
He clapped Raaevik on the shoulder and walked on. Raaevik watched him go, gut twisting.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. Distinctive. Confident. He'd recognise it anywhere, all of them did.
Raaevik snapped to attention as the Emperor turned the corner. He was alone, still wearing his formal leathers, though the crown was gone. He looked exhausted, rubbing at his temple as he walked. When he saw Raaevik, he paused, and the tired lines of his face smoothed into a smile.
"Raaevik," he said. "I should have known."
"Your Majesty." Raaevik kept his eyes forward.
Daaynal nodded toward Emily's door. "She returned safely?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Good." Daaynal sighed, stepping closer. He didn't look like an Emperor now. He looked like a man seeking comfort from a friend. "She is human, Raaevik, and this is a big change for her. I saw it in the hall tonight. She was terrified, and I hate that I am the cause of it."
"She is resilient, Sire," he managed.
"She is. But I worry about her. I cannot always be here to watch over her.
The court is… cruel. But knowing you are here?
" Daaynal reached out and gripped his shoulder.
"I know my mate is safe in your hands. I know you would never let harm come to her.
Your loyalty is the one thing in this galaxy I do not have to question. "
The words burned like acid.
Safe in your hands.
He could still taste her on his lips.
"I live to serve," he murmured. It was the only truth he had left.
"I know." Daaynal patted his shoulder and stepped back. "Get some rest soon, Raaevik. That is an order."
"Yes, Sire."
The emperor walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor. Raaevik leaned his head back against the cold metal of the wall and closed his eyes.
He couldn't do this. He wasn't the male the emperor thought he was… he was something else. Something worse.
He was a traitor.
Pushing off the wall, his face set into stone. The heat in his blood was gone, replaced by cold certainty.
He would guard her…
He would die for her…
But he would never touch her again.
* * *
Another dress. More silk.
Emily held still while the attendants fussed, one of them pinning yet another sparkling something into her hair while another tugged at the drape of her skirts. The gown was blue this time—shimmering, expensive, and about as comfortable as wearing a fishing net made of credit chips.
Her comm unit buzzed against her thigh, tucked into a hidden pocket. She glanced down at the screen.
Lucy: How's life in the gilded cage?
Emily angled the screen away from the attendants and typed back.
Emily: They're putting more rocks in my hair. I'm going to need a neck brace.
Lucy: Pics or it didn't happen.
Emily: I look like a chandelier had a baby with a disco ball.
Lucy: Hot. Very "eat the rich" energy.
She bit back a smile. The attendant tugging at her bodice gave her a sharp look, and she schooled her expression back to emptiness.
Emily: The ball last night was an absolute nightmare. Half the nobles looked at me like I was something they'd scraped off the bottom of their boots.
Lucy: Shocking. Alien aristocrats are snobs. Who knew.
Emily: One of them actually asked Daaynal—right in front of me—if humans could be trained to behave in polite company.
Lucy: WHAT. What did he say??
Emily: Something diplomatic. I smiled so hard I thought my face would crack.
Lucy: You should have bitten her.
Emily: Don't tempt me.
Lucy: Look, think of it as armor. The dress, the jewels, all of it. They can't touch you if you're playing a part.
Emily stared at the message for a moment. Armor. Right. Except armor was supposed to make you feel protected, and all this silk made her feel exposed.
Emily: Easy for you to say. You didn't have to attend.
Lucy: Are you kidding? I'm nowhere near important enough for fancy alien balls. I'm down here with the other peons, eating reconstituted pasta and watching bad holovids.
Emily: Trade you.
Lucy: Absolutely not. I'm living the dream. Suffer prettily.
Emily snorted, then quickly converted it to a cough when the attendant shot her another look.
And through all of it—the texting and the fussing—Raaevik stood by the door like a statue.
He hadn't looked at her once. Not when she'd emerged from the dressing area. Not when the attendants had arrived. Not during the endless fussing and adjusting. He stood with his back to the room, spine rigid, hands clasped behind him.
"There." The lead attendant stepped back, surveying his work. "You look breathtaking, Your Grace."
"Thank you," she said. The words came out robot-perfect.
The attendants gathered their things and filed out, the door sliding shut behind them with a soft hiss.
Silence filled the room.
She stared at Raaevik's broad back. At the rigid line of his shoulders and the hands that had held her last night. Last night. The garden. She closed her eyes.
Oh god… his mouth on hers, desperate and starving. And now... this.
"Raaevik?"
He didn't turn. "You should prepare, Your Grace. The diplomatic delegation arrives at midday."
The formality landed like a slap. Your Grace. So they were doing it this way, were they?
"Raaevik, look at me."
"My duty is to guard the door."
"Your duty?" Crossing the room toward him, the silk of her gown whispered around her legs. "Last night—"
"Last night was a mistake."
"A mistake?" The hurt was sharp and immediate. "That's what you call it? A mistake?"
He finally turned, and the look on his face stopped her cold. His eyes were purple ice. Cold and closed off.
"I dishonored myself." His voice dropped, rougher now. "And I dishonored you. It will not happen again."
"You kissed me." She stepped closer, needing to break through that wall, to find the man who had burned for her in the garden. "You felt it. I know you did. Don't stand there and lie to me."
"I do not lie." His gaze dropped to her mouth, her throat, then snapped back to a point somewhere above her head. "I swore an oath to the Emperor. My life is his. My honor is his. Last night…" He swallowed hard. "Last night I was a traitor."
"A traitor?" She barked a laugh. "For kissing me? Daaynal doesn't even want me! He's marrying me for a treaty, for… for biology! He doesn't care!"
"He trusts me." The snarl cracked the stone facade. He took a step toward her, looming, and for a second, she thought he might grab her. "He trusts me with his life. With yours. He called me brother."
She stared at him.
"So that's it then?" Her voice trembled. "You just… shut it off? Go back to being the perfect soldier?"
"Warrior. And yes."
"And what about us? What about what happened?"
"Nothing happened." He locked his jaw, his eyes shuttering. "Nothing can ever happen. I will protect you, Emily. With my life. If danger comes, I will be your shield. I will die before I let harm come to you."
"To touch you is treason. The penalty is death." He looked at her then, and she flinched at the blankness in his eyes.
"But I will never touch you again."
The silence stretched out between them.
"Okay."
She swallowed hard as tears pricked her eyes. She wanted to scream at him. Pound her fists against that massive chest until he cracked. She wanted to tell him to keep his damn protection. What she wanted was him. "If that's… if that's what you want.”
"It is what must be." He motioned to the door. "The delegation will be arriving soon."
She stood there for a long moment, staring at him. He was right there, just a few feet away, but he might as well have been on another planet.
"Are you ready, Your Grace?"
Pushing the pain down into a box in the dark of her mind, she lifted her chin.
"Yes. I'm ready."
She walked past him, careful not to let her skirts brush against his boots. She didn't look at him. She couldn't.
If she looked at him, she would shatter.