Chapter 14 #2
He saw the faint tremor when she lifted her glass, masked by the tilt of her wrist as she raised it, and the same hand gripping the stem of her wine glass hard enough to turn her knuckles white until she realised her mistake and relaxed.
The need to go to her twisted in his chest. She was hurting, and he couldn't do a draanthing thing about it.
He crushed the thought. Flattened it beneath decades of training and the rhythm of his own breathing. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth. Repeat. She wasn't his. She never had been. What they'd had had been nothing more than a dream. A fantasy of hours gone with the morning light.
And she hadn't looked at him once since entering the hall.
The emperor leaned in toward Emily, and the candlelight caught the hard angles of his face.
Daaynal wore warrior leathers tonight, not court robes, the plain band of his crown against his dark hair the only thing that marked his status.
Which only made him stand out more against the finery of the lords in attendance.
But he didn’t look at them. Instead, most of his attention was on the tiny female at his side.
He asked Emily questions about her work at the shelter and listened, actually listened, to her answers.
He was a good man.
Which was the draanthing problem.
If the emperor had been cruel, if he'd pawed at her or dismissed her opinions, Raaevik could have hated him. Could have made the math work… she deserves better than him, I am justified.
But Daaynal K'Saan was the male who'd called Raaevik "brother" when he'd pinned the guard insignia on his chest.
His jaw ached. No surprise, he was clenching it hard enough to crack a molar.
To his left, further along the wall, Thyaar stood at the next guard post. He was watching the room with the same flat attentiveness as Raaevik, but every few minutes his gaze would cut sideways. Checking. Measuring.
Raaevik didn't catch his gaze. He didn't need to. He felt Thyaar's attention like a blade between his shoulder blades.
The noise of the dinner covered a low-frequency comms channel between the guard posts. Thyaar's subvocalized words were barely a murmur in his ear.
"She is performing," Raaevik said, his lips barely moving.
"It is a convincing performance."
"That is why it is impressive."
At the high table, the first course was cleared and the second brought out.
A server approached Miranda Evans's seat, and his attention shifted.
Emily's mother sat three chairs down from the Emperor, wearing a silver gown that matched the silver-blonde fall of her hair.
She had been preening all night, basking in the reflected glory of her daughter's position.
But then she leaned forward, tapping her glass with a manicured nail.
"Your Imperial Majesty." Her voice carried and the table quieted. Daaynal looked over, his expression polite. "I must say, looking at my daughter... she was born for this role, wasn't she? I always knew she would ascend to greatness."
"Emily conducts herself with grace," Daaynal agreed.
"Indeed." Miranda smiled, reminding Raaevik of the deearin that got the cream.
"And as her mother, I find myself thinking about the future and the structure of the household.
Ideally, the Empress mother would have a formal position at court.
To assist with the transition and ensure standards are maintained. "
The silence at the table changed from polite to stunned surprise as all eyes focused on the female who had dared to speak to the emperor in such a way.
Emily stiffened. "Mother, I don't think—"
"I was speaking to the Emperor, darling," Miranda cut her off, her eyes locked on Daaynal. "Surely you agree, Majesty? A suite in the royal wing and a modest staff… Perhaps the title of Lady Steward? It would only be appropriate."
Daaynal set his wine glass down with a soft click, lips compressing in a line that would have anyone who knew him running for cover.
"Lady Evans," he said, his voice calm and the terran words precisely enunciated. "We are grateful for your contribution to the Empire. You have raised a remarkable daughter, and for that, you have our thanks.”
Miranda beamed.
"However, I must make one thing clear,” he carried on, “Regardless of how things are done in human society, in Latharian culture, a mate bond is a singular contract. It does not extend to the kin of the bonded. When Emily joins my house, she becomes K'Saan. You remain Evans, and always will.”
Miranda's smile faltered. "I... I don't understand."
“Let me put it another way," Daaynal said. "Your daughter is marrying into the Empire. You are not. You will be provided with comfortable guest accommodations for the duration of your stay, of course. And transport back to Earth will be arranged at your convenience following the ceremony."
He picked up his glass again, signaling the end of the discussion.
The blood drained from Miranda's face. She opened her mouth, then closed it and inclined her head.
"Of course, Your Majesty," she choked out. "You are too kind."
Raaevik bit back his grin. She’d overplayed her hand and knew it if her sour expression was anything to go by.
But she recovered fast. Within moments, her attention had shifted to Duke Kaarigan. Unmated, wealthy, and a duke — her obvious next target. Ducking her chin coyly, she touched her collarbone as she asked if he would pour her some wine.
Demure. Modest… Available.
"She wants a title," Raaevik sub-vocalized, watching Miranda place a hand on the duke’s arm. "Since she can't get one from the Emperor, she's looking for a backup plan.”
"The Duke is an idiot if he falls for that," Thyaar's voice crackled in his ear.
"The Duke is lonely and rich. That's all she needs."
The dinner ended. Daaynal offered Emily his arm.
She leaned on the table for a split second before rising, so brief he might have imagined it, and took it.
The smile she gave Daaynal was so convincing that Raaevik's chest physically hurt.
Seeing them together, you would believe they were really falling in love. Or at least, the very start of it,
Daaynal murmured something to Emily at the door, too low for Raaevik to catch, and she nodded, her smile still perfectly in place. He turned toward his private wing, and she turned toward hers.
Raaevik fell into step behind her, Thyaar taking the opposite flank in the standard escort formation. She walked ahead of them, her spine ramrod straight and her skirts whispering against the deck plates. She hadn't spoken since leaving the hall. Hadn't turned around. Hadn’t looked at him once.
They were approaching the junction where the corridor split toward the residential wing when Miranda stepped out of a side passage.
"Darling, a moment—"
"Not now, Mother." Emily didn't slow down, waving her hand dismissively. He almost laughed. Served the old harridan right.
Unfortunately, Miranda just looked for another target, her gaze locking onto him.
Draanth.
"Warrior." Her voice dropped half a register. Warm. Inviting. "A word?"
Lengthening his stride, Thyaar closed the gap with Emily and took point.
Raaevik stopped.
Miranda stepped in closer. The corridor lighting caught the angles of her face, the careful application of cosmetics designed to make her look a decade younger than she was. Up close, the gown was cut lower than the court standard. Not enough to draw censure… but just enough to draw attention.
"I wanted to apologize," she said, her voice hushed and conspiratorial. "For any... tension between us."
He said nothing.
"I've noticed the way you attend to Emily,” she continued. She was close enough now to touch, her eyes traveling down his chest with appraisal. "The dedication. It's... impressive."
"I am assigned to her grace’s protection," he said. "Nothing more."
"Hmm." Miranda tilted her head, and the smile she gave him was nothing like the one she'd been practicing on Kaarigan all evening.
This version was stripped bare. Direct. "I've heard stories about Latharian warriors.
Their devotion. Their... stamina." Her fingers reached out and grazed his arm. "A woman can't help but be curious."
He froze and looked down at her hand on the leather of his sleeve, then back up at her face. He let her see his eyes. Let her see the vertical pupils contract to slits.
"Ten minutes ago," he said, his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry past the five feet between them, "you were performing modesty and virtue for Duke Kaarigan. Yet now you proposition me in a corridor, like I'm something to be sampled."
She pulled her hand back. "I don't know what you mea—“
"You sold your daughter." His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. "You signed her into this program without her knowledge. You traded her for access and position. And now that the Emperor won't give you a title, you're hunting for another target."
"You're overstepping, warrior."
“Sub-Commander,” he corrected her. “And I’m observing."
Stepping forward, he forced her back until her shoulders hit the corridor wall.
"You play virgin for the Duke and seductress for the guard.
You wear whatever face gets you closer to what you want.
But I've stood outside your daughter's door and watched her break apart because of what you've done.
So hear me. She is not your property. She is not your—"
Mate.
The word almost ripped free. He felt it in his throat like a snarl, and the possessive fury behind it blurred his vision at the edges.
"—concern. Not anymore."
Miranda's face had gone white. Her jaw worked, and for a moment she looked exactly like what she was beneath the silk and the perfume and the careful smiles: a snarling, cornered animal calculating its next move.
"Careful, Sub-Commander," she said tightly. "You might regret speaking to me like that."
"I already regret that Emily shares your blood."
Miranda's mouth twisted into a snarl, and for a moment, she looked like she might slap him. Then she seemed to remember who and what he was and thought better of it.
So she fled, her heels clicking a rapid, uneven retreat down the side corridor until the sound was swallowed by distance.
Taking deep breaths, he fought to control himself.
"Quite the performance, wasn’t it?”
He turned to see Thyaar leaning against the wall at the junction, arms crossed. He pushed off and walked toward him.
"The demure Lady Evans. Such virtue. Such modesty." He shook his head, lip curling back from his teeth in disgust. “Good thing the daughter is nothing like the mother.”
Stopping in front of Raaevik, he looked at him with understanding that was harder to bear than judgment.
"Whatever you're doing, brother..." Thyaar said quietly. "If that is what she came from... if that is the viper's nest she lived in—"
"She is nothing like her!”
"I know," Thyaar said. "That's the tragedy of it, isn't it?"
He clasped Raaevik's shoulder.
"Go," he said, jerking his head down the corridor. “You can take first watch.”