Chapter 12 #2
Raaevik.
They'd walked back from the dance studio in silence yesterday, and he'd left her at her door. He couldn't stay, she knew that. He couldn't risk being found in her quarters, not after what they’d done. She hadn’t seen him for the rest of the day, her hours filled with attendants and dress fittings in the main room of her quarters. She hadn’t even been able to get a glimpse of him when the door had opened.
But her body still hummed with the memory of his hands.
Twisting off the shower, she grabbed a robe and dragged it on as the chime came again. Her hands shook.
Get it together, Em.
Cinching the robe tighter, she crossed to the door, trying to arrange her face into something neutral. Professional. Not like a woman who'd spent the last eight hours reliving every touch, every whisper, of an affair that could get them both killed.
The door slid open.
It wasn't Raaevik.
The emperor stood in her doorway. Alone. No guards flanking him, no attendants trailing behind. He wore warrior leathers without the crown or ceremonial weapons—just a massive warrior filling the doorway.
Every muscle in her body locked as he studied her face.
He knew.
The thought screamed through her brain. Oh shit, he could smell her guilt. Lathar had enhanced senses, didn’t they? They could smell things humans couldn't. He could probably smell Raaevik all over her despite the shower, despite the scrubbing, despite—
"Good morning." His voice was low and mild. "I apologize for the early hour. May I come in?"
She couldn't say no. She couldn't shut the door in the Emperor's face and pretend she wasn't home. Her social training kicked in on autopilot, pulling her aside, gesturing him through.
"Of course, your majesty. Please."
He stepped inside.
Her gaze darted around the room and to the door of her bedroom beyond. The bed was made, but the covers were crooked, evidence of her tossing. The air recyclers would have cleared any scent by now. Wouldn't they?
Could he tell? Could he—
"I wanted to speak with you privately." He moved to the center of the room and turned to face her. His expression was... Gentle and concerned. "Away from the court."
She stood frozen, her wet hair dripping on her shoulders and her heart beating so hard she could feel it in her temples.
He knows. He's going to have Raaevik executed, and me locked away somewhere...
“Emily, I’ve noticed you're unhappy," he said.
She blinked. Okay, that had not been what she was expecting.
"The formal events." He clasped his hands behind his back. "The protocols. The constraints of your position here. I know they are difficult to get used to. Especially for someone not raised at court.”
Her eyes widened slightly. He thought she was unhappy because of the court.
The relief hit her so hard her knees nearly buckled. Grabbing the back of the nearest chair to steady herself, she disguised the motion as a casual lean.
"I've been thinking about what you told me," he continued, looking past her to study the large painting on the wall opposite.
It was one with latharian warriors fighting something that looked like an octopus out of a nightmare.
"About your work on Earth. The shelter. The people you helped.
" He paused, his green eyes studying her face. "You miss it."
It wasn't a question. She nodded, not trusting her voice.
He nodded, a small rumble in the back of his throat as though he’d gotten the answer to a question.
"There are humans on this station… some who've struggled to adapt to life among us.
" He moved closer, and she forced herself not to step back, tilting her head up to look at him.
He smiled. "I'd like to give you a project.
Something meaningful. Work with them—counseling, advocacy, whatever you think they need. "
She blinked in surprise, not sure what to say.
"I know this wasn't your choice." His voice softened into a low rumble. "I cannot give you freedom from this match. But I can give you freedom within it."
His eyes met hers, and there was no demand in them.
"I don't expect you to love me, Emily." A shadow crossed his face, there and gone before she was even sure she’d seen it. "I'm not certain I'm capable of offering that myself. But I would like you to have a life here," he finished. "Not just an existence."
Tears burned at the backs of her eyes as she blinked them away.
"Why?" Her voice cracked. "Why are you being so..."
"So what?"
"Good to me."
He was quiet for a long moment. The station hummed around them, that constant background vibration of machinery and life support that she'd almost stopped noticing.
"Because I know what it is to be caged by duty," he said. "To want something you cannot have."
His gaze drifted to the viewport, to some point beyond the glass she couldn't see. The silence stretched.
"There was an emperor once," he said quietly. "Raxaan. Three centuries ago. He was matched to a woman from a powerful clan. A political alliance, like all imperial matches." A muscle feathered in his jaw. "But his heart belonged to another."
Emily's stomach turned to ice.
"He was discovered. The woman he loved was exiled—sent to a colony world where she lived out her days in comfort, if not happiness. And the emperor..." He stopped. His throat worked. "In our culture, the fault lies with the male. Always."
He didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
They killed him. The realization hit her, stealing her breath. They killed an emperor for it.
"So you see, I do understand cages," Daaynal said softly. "Think about my offer. There's no pressure. No timeline."
He moved toward the door and then paused with his hand near the door control.
"For what it's worth..." He turned back, and something soft entered his expression. Something almost vulnerable. "I'm glad it was you they matched me with. You have a good heart, Emily."
The door slid open, and then he was gone. She stood alone in the middle of her quarters as the words rang in her mind like an accusation.
You have a good heart.
She didn't.
Her skin still tingled from Raaevik's touch, and his fingerprints had bruised her hips… Her stomach lurched.
She made it to the bathroom just in time, collapsing to her knees on the cold tile as everything came up. Not much, she hadn't eaten since yesterday, but her body heaved anyway.
Betrayer.
The word pounded through her skull in time with the heartbeat in her ears. She was a liar. She sat back on her heels, pressing her forehead to the cool edge of the sink.
Raaevik.
If this came out—when this came out—he would be the one to pay. She was valuable. Political. The Emperor's intended. But Raaevik was expendable.
Pushing herself up on unsteady legs, she caught her reflection in the mirror. She was pale, her expression haunted… the image of a woman held together by spite and not much else.
She had to stop. Had to pull back. Had to build the wall between herself and Raaevik so high that neither of them could climb it.
She would accept Daaynal's offer. Throw herself into the work, into the purpose he'd given her, and become the Empress they needed her to be.
And let Raaevik go.