Chapter 14
The need to see Raaevik pulled at her like a fishhook caught somewhere behind her ribs.
Emily sat on the edge of the sofa, spine straight, hands folded in her lap like a good little prisoner.
Raaevik was on the other side of the door, standing out in the corridor.
.. she didn't need to see him to know it.
Her body tracked him like a compass needle finding north.
Three meters of metal and whatever else, and she could still feel the rhythm of his breathing like it was her own.
Her jaw ached from clenching it as she stared at the tapestry on the far wall. Some Latharian star chart she couldn't read.
Don't think about him. Don't.
The door chime almost made her jump out of her skin.
"Enter," she called, smoothing the blue silk of her gown across her thighs.
Lucy slipped through the gap before the panel had fully opened, her gaze darting around the suite like a hunted animal. The standard gray jumpsuit hung loose on her frame—she'd definitely lost weight since they'd last met. Stress eating in reverse.
"Hey." Her voice was pitched low, barely above a whisper. "I can't stay long. I'm supposed to be in a cultural orientation meeting... You know, one of those bullshit sessions about how to attract a match when they ship me off to the colonies."
“Shit. Are they doing that?” Emily was off the couch in a heartbeat, taking the other woman's hands. Her fingers were cold, with a slight tremor in them. "Are you okay? You look—"
"Scared." Lucy squeezed hard, then dropped her grip. "I'm fucking terrified, actually. They might do, yeah. I haven’t matched yet, and it’s been three cycles.”
Shoving a hand through her hair, she turned in a circle then looked at Emily again. “But I'm more scared for you."
"Why? What's happened?"
Lucy stepped closer. Close enough that she could see the shadows in her eyes, the chapped skin on her lips.
"The network," she breathed, barely moving her lips. "They're moving up the timeline. The ship leaves tonight. Maybe early tomorrow at the latest."
Emily's stomach lurched.
The burner comm shoved to the back of the second drawer under more silk underwear than she could wear in a lifetime.
"Lucy, I can't." The words scraped out past her tight throat. "I have to stay."
"Do you?" Lucy's blue eyes speared her. They were too bright, too intense. "Because you look fucking miserable, Em."
"It's complicated."
"It's really not." Lucy gestured at the gilt furniture, the viewport full of stars. "This is just slavery with better fucking PR.”
Emily turned away, wrapping her arms around herself.
"I have responsibilities," she said. Her voice sounded thin even to her own ears. "People who would get hurt if I left."
If she vanished, Raaevik would be blamed. The Emperor's guard, losing the Emperor's mate? Daaynal might be decent under all the battle honors and the ice-cold stare, but he was still an emperor. Failure had consequences—the lethal kind.
But if she stayed...
She would have to see Raaevik. Every day, every ceremony, every public appearance.
She shut that thought down hard.
"The window's closing, Em.” Lucy grabbed her hands again. "If you don't go now, you never will."
"Tonight's too soon. I'm not—"
"You'll never be ready to jump off a cliff." Lucy shook her head. "You just have to close your eyes and do it."
The door chime sounded again.
This time, it didn't wait for permission. The panel slid open with an aggressive hiss, and expensive perfume flooded the room like a chemical weapon.
Miranda.
Emily's mother swept in like she owned the entire station.
Pale cream silk and blonde hair piled into a complicated updo that added three inches to her already willowy frame.
Behind her, a harried-looking Latharian official trailed with a dataflex, dragged along in Miranda's wake like a dinghy behind a yacht.
"There she is!" she announced, teeth bared in something that resembled a smile. "My beautiful girl. Or should I say, Her Grace?"
Emily's spine locked. "Mother."
Miranda's gaze swept over Lucy and dismissed her before locking onto Emily with predatory focus.
"Don't look so sour, darling. I come bearing news." She snapped her fingers at the official. "Tell her."
The male cleared his throat, clearly wishing he were anywhere else. "Your Grace. The Emperor has finalized the schedule. Due to security concerns regarding the recent transport incident, the Council has advised accelerating the timeline."
Cold spread through her chest. "Accelerating?"
"The bonding ceremony." He tapped his dataflex. "It has been set for two days from now."
Two days.
The room tilted. Or maybe she did.
"That's impossible," she heard herself say. "I haven't—I'm not prepared. I don't even know the vows properly."
"Oh, pish." Her mother waved a dismissive hand. "You'll be fine. You've always been a quick study. Besides, the hard part is done. I've handled the guest list."
She began to pace, trailing her fingers along the velvet sofa like a predator marking territory. Her eyes were bright. Triumphant.
"It's going to be spectacular, Emily. The entire High Council. The clan leaders. Dignitaries from three sectors." Miranda laughed, a high, brittle sound. "And everyone will know that I arranged it. Duke Kaarigan asked to dance with me at the reception. A Duke! Can you believe it?”
She turned, and her smile sharpened.
"Finally," she purred. "Finally, you're doing something useful with your life. No more wasting time in those dreadful shelters with the unwashed masses. You will be an Empress. My crown jewel."
That was it, she was going to throw up again.
She looked at her mother. But Miranda didn’t care about that, did she? To her, Emily was just a ledger entry. An investment finally paying off. Money in during childhood, rank and money out when Emily was married off. To an alien.
"Mother." Emily's voice cracked. "I need more time. Can't you speak to them? Ask for a delay?"
Miranda's face hardened. The smile vanished as if it had never existed.
"Don't be stupid." Her tone could have frozen oxygen. "Delay? And risk insulting the Emperor?" She stepped forward, invading Emily's space. Her eyes glittered as she glared down. “Absolutely not. You will walk down that aisle in two days, you will smile, and you will secure our future."
She stepped forward again, backing Emily up against the edge of the table.
“You will not ruin this for me." Miranda's voice dropped to something soft and poisonous. "I won't let you."
She wanted to push back. Wanted to scream. Do something… anything. But suddenly she was ten years old again, cowering over a spilled drink while Miranda shrieked about the new rug.
She nodded, unable to get a word past the thickness in her throat.
"Good." Miranda patted her cheek… a sharp, stinging tap that wasn't quite a slap. "I knew you'd see reason. Now. I have to approve the floral arrangements. The Lathar have absolutely terrible taste in centerpieces."
Whirling around, she swept out, clicking her fingers and barking orders at the official. The door hissed shut behind her.
Silence fell, heavy and thick with the synthetic sweetness of Miranda's perfume.
Emily stayed frozen against the table. Her cheek burned.
"Emily?"
Blinking, she turned her head slowly. Lucy took a step toward her, her expression concerned.
"Time is running out, Em," she said quietly, then her wrist comm chimed and she winced. "Shit, I have to go."
She headed for the door, then paused with her hand hovering over the panel. She looked back, her eyes dark. “Make the right choice, Em. Before they make it for you."
Then she was gone.
Emily stood in the center of the room. Alone with the gilt furniture and that phantom ache pulling at her ribs.
Two days.
In two days, Raaevik would be three steps behind her for the rest of her life.
Slowly, like her limbs were weighted with lead, she headed to the bedroom. She went to the dresser and pulled open the second drawer. Pushing aside the silk camisoles, she reached to the back until she found cool matte plastic. The comm sat ugly and black in her palm when she pulled it out.
She stared at it, tracing the single button on its side with the edge of her thumb.
She couldn't marry Daaynal. Couldn't spend a lifetime trying not to look at Raaevik, couldn't bear the weight of that false crown pressing her down day after day.
If she disappeared...
The thought crept in before she could stop it. If she vanished completely, maybe Raaevik would follow. Perhaps he'd find her, and they could—
She crushed the thought before it could finish. That kind of thinking got people killed.
But the comm was still in her hand.
Two days.
* * *
The formal dining hall was a cage made of crystal and candlelight.
Raaevik stood at his post beside the secondary entrance, hands clasped behind his back, his back rigid against the carved column behind him.
From here, he could see both exits, the serving corridor, and every face in the room.
He was supposed to be watching the entire room, but his eyes kept drifting to the woman in crimson silk.
Emily sat at the high table beside the emperor, her posture impeccable and her smile as fixed and bright as the crystal chandeliers above. Her dark curls had been pinned up, exposing the line of her neck, and the crimson gown poured over her curves like wine.
She looked perfect. On the outside.
She looked like she was dying inside.
He knew nobody else would see it. All they saw was the Emperor's mate-to-be, radiant and poised… everything they could want in their future empress.
He watched her charm the Minister of Trade before turning to listen raptly as Duke Kaarigan droned on about his racing keviits. She laughed at all the right moments, touching her napkin to her lips with a delicate precision that would have delighted her etiquette instructor.