Chapter 13
The chime at the door sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Emily flinched, her hand tightening on the edge of the bathroom sink. She hadn't even had time to wash the taste of bile from her mouth or splash water on her face to hide the blotchy evidence of her breakdown.
Get up, she ordered herself. Get up, Em. You don't get to fall apart now.
She forced herself to stand. Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else—shaky and unreliable—but she made them move. Rinsing her mouth, she scrubbed a hand over her face and walked back into the main living area just as the chime sounded again. Impatient. Official.
Raaevik?
Her heart gave a traitorous leap and slammed against her ribs. If it was him... If he walked in here looking at her the way he had last night, like she was the only real thing in a universe of artificial lights... she would shatter.
She smoothed the front of her robe, cinched the belt tighter until it dug into her waist, and triggered the door.
It wasn't Raaevik.
A group of Lathar swept into the room. Four males in dove-gray tunics carrying cases and dataflexes, flanked by two armed guards. One of them was Thyaar. He stepped inside, gaze sweeping the room. His gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a second before he nodded to the attendants.
“You may proceed," he said. His voice was flat, professional, and he didn't meet her eyes.
"Your Grace," the lead attendant said, bowing low. He didn't wait for her to acknowledge him before gesturing to the others. They fanned out, taking over her space with terrifying speed. Cases snapped open on the table, the sofa, even the floor.
"What is this?" she asked. Her voice sounded thin to her own ears. Scraped raw.
"Ceremony preparations, Your Grace," the lead attendant said, not looking up from his dataflex. “There is much to prepare and it must be perfect for the emperor.”
For the emperor. Not for her.
"We must measure for the bonding cuffs," another attendant murmured, appearing at her elbow with a silver tape. He lifted her wrist without asking, his touch cool and impersonal. "And we need to select the thread for the blood vows."
“We need to settle on colours,” another attendant chimed in, holding up swatches of fabric against her skin. "With her coloring... the deep crimson, I think?"
She blinked. They were talking about her like she was a sofa they needed to reupholster. Like she was furniture.
"The crimson," the first attendant decided, dropping her wrist to make a note. "It will contrast well with the gold of the cuffs."
She stood there, frozen, while they debated the aesthetics of her bondage. She looked toward the door. Raaevik wasn't there. Good.
Her gaze shifted to Thyaar. He stood like a statue by the door, his face unreadable.
A young guard near the window shifted his weight. He was younger than the others… fewer beads in his braids, his leathers less worn.
He caught her eye and smiled. This is a lot, the smile said. Hang in there.
"Kaaelen," Thyaar's voice cracked like a whip.
The young guard snapped to attention, the smile vanishing instantly. "Sir."
"You looked at her," Thyaar said. His voice was low. Dangerous. "Directly. Without permission."
The room went silent, the attendants freezing mid-motion.
"I... apologies, Sub-Commander," he stammered. "I meant no disrespect. I only—"
"You are relieved," Thyaar cut him off with a sharp motion. "Report to the duty officer immediately for disciplinary review."
The blood drained from Kaaelen's face. "Sir, please. It was a moment of—"
"Go."
The young guard swallowed hard, saluted, and marched out of the room. She stared at the doorway, her stomach churning.
"Was that necessary?" she asked, her voice trembling. "He was just being nice."
Thyaar turned his head slowly to look at her. His eyes were hard and cold. "He forgot his place, Your Grace. A guard who forgets his place is a danger to himself and his charge."
She flinched, just the tiniest movement, but she knew he’d seen it.
The door chimed again, and Thyaar reached out to trigger the panel. The door swept aside, revealing Raaevik standing in the corridor.
Her breath caught. His leathers were polished to a dull gleam, his braids neat and tight against his scalp. He filled the doorway, massive and terrifying and so achingly familiar that her hands actually twitched with the urge to reach for him.
He stepped inside.
Thyaar moved to block him. Not aggressively, but purposefully. They stood chest to chest, two massive warriors in a silent standoff. Then Thyaar leaned in. He said something, his voice a low rumble that didn't carry across the room. Raaevik's jaw tightened, and a muscle jumped in his cheek.
Pulling back to look at Thyaar, his violet eyes blazed with something dark and dangerous. Then he shook his head. Thyaar held his gaze for a long second, then stepped back, his expression grim as he looked past Raaevik to her. The door hissed shut behind him.
Raaevik didn't move. He stood by the door, staring at the far wall.
"Sub-Commander," the lead attendant said, not bothering to look up. "If you could step aside? We need the light from that panel."
Stalking toward the corner, Raaevik took up a position there and faded into the background as if he were part of the furniture.
She turned back to the viewport. She couldn't look at him. If she looked at him, she would cry, and if she cried, she wouldn't stop. So instead, she stared at the stars wheeling past outside. Cold and distant.
"Arm out, please," the attendant said.
She extended her arm and let them measure her. Let them drape fabrics over her shoulder. She stood there and let them turn her into an object. It took an hour, maybe two. Time blurred into nothing when all she could think about was Raaevik standing like a statue in the corner of the room.
Finally, the lead attendant packed away his dataflex and motioned to the others. "We have what we need. The crimson silk will be prepared. The cuffs will be cast tomorrow."
"Thank you," she said. She didn't know where the voice came from. It didn’t sound like hers. Polite. Regal. Dead inside.
They filed out. One by one, the gray tunics disappeared into the corridor. They walked past Raaevik without acknowledging him, and then the door slid shut. Silence descended, heavy and suffocating.
"Emily."
His voice was rough, scraping against her nerves. She kept her eyes on the viewport, on the stars twinkling against the darkness.
"You won't look at me," he said. It wasn't a question.
"I'm tired, Raaevik."
"Is that what it is?" His steps were heavy on the floor as he approached. "Because last night—"
"Last night was a mistake."
The words tasted bitter, but she forced them out, pushing them through a throat that felt like it was closing.
His steps stopped.
"A mistake," he repeated.
His voice was flat. No emotion. Just dead calm.
"Yes."
She turned then. She had to do this right, or it wouldn't work. She looked him in the eye, summoning every ounce of socialite training her mother had ever drilled into her.
"I was scared," she said. "Everything was happening so fast. The ceremony, the pressure... I needed to feel something. Anything. And you were there."
He flinched. It was microscopic. Just a tightening around his eyes. But she saw it. Saw the arrow land.
"I see," he said softly.
"It won't happen again," she continued, trying not to twist the knife but knowing she had to. "I'm the Emperor's intended. I have a duty. And so do you."
He stared at her, searching her face. Like he was looking for the woman who had clawed at his back in the dance studio, who had whispered his name like a prayer.
The warmth bled out of his eyes, leaving them cold and distant. Her heart shattered right there in her chest.
"You're right," he said. Stepping back, he bowed. "Your Grace."
“I’ll be in my room," she said.
He didn't answer.
She walked past him. It took everything she had not to reach out and grab his hand. Not to fall to her knees and beg him to forgive her.
Somehow, she made it to the bedroom, and the door slid shut behind her.
But she didn't make it to the bed. Instead, she slid down the wall until her ass hit the cold floor. Pulling her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and held herself together by sheer force of will.
She didn't cry. Crying was for people who had hope.
And she was long past that point.
* * *
Three corridors out from Emily's quarters, Raaevik's hands started shaking.
Shoving them in his pockets, he kept walking. Kept his pace even and his expression locked. Just another warrior heading back to barracks after a shift. Nothing to see here. Definitely not a male who'd just had his guts ripped out by a tiny human female.
A mistake.
That's what she'd called it. Called him. And the worst part? She wasn't wrong.
Draanth.
He needed to hit something. Needed to get to the training room and beat on a combat dummy until his arms gave out.
Or maybe just stand under a shower until he couldn't smell her on his skin anymore.
He could still taste her. Still feel her hands on him back in that dance studio.
And now it was over, and her scent was stuck in his nose like he'd never get it out.
A hand clamped onto his shoulder from behind.
He spun. His dagger cleared the sheath and kissed his throat before his brain registered raven hair, familiar bulk, the particular smell of a male he'd known since they were both young and stupid in the training halls.
Thyaar…
Who didn't even flinch at having a blade to his jugular. Instead, he just grabbed Raaevik by the front of his jacket and hauled him sideways into a maintenance closet.
The privacy seal engaged behind them, and the hum of the station cut off.
"We need to talk," Thyaar said.
Raaevik sheathed his dagger and took a breath. "I have a shift in—"
"Cut the trall." Thyaar stepped in close, crowding him back against the piping. "I watched you come out of her quarters looking like someone gutted you. So don't give me that trall. Tell me what the fuck is going on."
"Nothing." The lie tasted sour. "I was dismissed. She wanted privacy."
"She wanted privacy." Thyaar's laugh had no humor in it. "Is that what we're calling it? After you damn near took my head off for doing my job?"
"I didn't—"
"I saw your face, Raaevik." Thyaar jabbed a finger into his chest. "I saw the way you looked at her. So I need you to tell me right now that I'm imagining things. Look me in the eye and tell me."
Raaevik looked at his shoulder instead. "You're imagining things."
"Draanth!" Thyaar's fist hit the wall beside Raaevik's head hard enough to dent the metal. "Not to me! You can lie to the Emperor. Lie to the whole draanthing Council. But you don't get to lie to me. Not about this."
Grabbing Raaevik's jaw, he forced his head around. Then Raaevik saw it. Fear. The kind that came when you watched someone you loved do something stupid enough to get themselves killed.
"Tell me you haven't touched her." Thyaar's voice cracked. "Tell me you haven't done the one thing that puts your head on a spike."
But he could still feel her hands on his chest. Still taste her mouth. So he just stood there and didn't say a word.
Thyaar went white.
"Oh, draanth.” He let go of Raaevik's face and stumbled back a step. "Oh, draanth. What have you done?"
"I didn't plan it."
"You didn't plan it?" Thyaar's voice pitched up. "You don't just fall dick-first into the Emperor's mate-to-be, Raaevik!"
"I know."
"Do you? Do you know what they'll do?" Thyaar started pacing, two steps one way, two steps back. The closet was too small for it. "It won't be quick. Not for this. They'll make an example. Strip your name, shame your bloodline, drag it out for weeks—"
"I know."
"And her." Thyaar spun back around, hair flying around his shoulders and beads clicking together.
"What about her? If the emperor finds out, if the Council gets wind of it…
they won't execute her. Too messy. But she'll have an accident.
Something tragic. Life support failure in her quarters, maybe. "
"No blame attaches to the female." The words were automatic. "That's the law. If a male in a position of authority—"
Thyaar laughed.
It was an ugly sound. Raaevik had heard him laugh over drinks and at terrible jokes in the barracks at oh-three-hundred. This wasn't any of those.
"You think the law matters?" Thyaar got in his face. “Yeah, maybe, for normal females. But, she's matched to the Emperor, Raae! If she's damaged goods, they need her gone so he can try again. They'll call it a tragedy. Very sad. And you'll be too dead to argue about it."
Emily, cold on a slab. Gone.
His anger surged so hard his vision went red.
"They won't touch her." His voice came out wrong. Too deep. Not quite lathar. "I won't let them."
"You won't be here!" Thyaar shoved him back against the pipes. "You'll be dead, and she'll be alone. You were supposed to protect her. You were supposed to be the thing standing between her and the dark." His voice cracked. "Instead, you became the dark."
Raaevik couldn't breathe.
Thyaar was right. He was right about all of it.
"Are you going to report me?"
The words hung between them.
Thyaar's hands were still fisted in his jacket, his knuckles white. Raaevik watched him fight with it.
"Damn you." Thyaar's voice was barely a whisper. "Damn you for putting me here."
"Thyaar—"
"No." He shoved Raaevik back and turned away, bracing his hands on the wall, head hanging. "You don't get to ask me that. You don't get to make me choose."
When he looked over his shoulder, his eyes shimmered. "I can't watch them kill you. I can't."
The air left Raaevik’s lungs, and he sagged back against the pipes. "Thank you."
"Don't." Thyaar snapped. He turned around, and the warrior was back… locked down, controlled. "I'm committing treason for you right now. Don't thank me for it."
He stepped in close again.
"End it," he said, his voice cold and hard. "Whatever this is. It's over. You don't look at her. You don't touch her. You do your job, and you keep your hands to yourself."
"She already ended it." Raaevik's voice came out rough. "She sent me away."
"Good. Keep it that way." Thyaar gripped his shoulder, hard enough to bruise. "I won't report you today. But if I see you slip, if I see you look at her the way you were looking at her—I'll stop you myself. Before anyone else has to."
Letting go, he straightened his jacket.
"Barracks," he ordered. "Stay away from her quarters until your next shift."
The door opened, and he walked out without looking back.
Raaevik stood in the dark, his back against the cold metal, and his hands shaking.
Worse, the feeling was still there. The possessive certainty that she was his, lodged in his chest like shrapnel.
And he didn't know how to cut it out.