Chapter 23
The facility was quiet now.
Thyaar walked two steps behind the Emperor through the blood-scrubbed corridors, watching Daaynal's broad back and trying to get his head to stop spinning.
It wasn't working.
The last three days had made a complete draanthing mess of everything he thought he understood. He'd expected to be arranging a funeral… Raaevik's funeral. Because that was what happened when a sub-commander decided to sleep with his Emperor's matched mate.
Except that Daaynal hadn't ordered the execution. He'd handed Raaevik a ship.
And then it turned out Raaevik was Izaean.
Thyaar's jaw worked as he tried to make that all fit in his head. Draanth, he had a headache.
He'd fought beside that male for years. Years of shared watches, rations, and blood on different battlefields. That hadn’t stopped him from grabbing Raaevik by the collar, shoving him into a maintenance closet, and telling him exactly how he was going to die if he didn't get his head straight as soon as he’d seen what was happening.
Trall… He'd even committed treason himself by not reporting Raaevik.
And apparently, the whole time, Raaevik had been sitting on top of the rage mutation like unexploded ordnance.
Always knew there was something wrong with you, brother.
He'd said it as a joke…as an insult, because that was how they worked. Because Thyaar was better at insults than he was at anything that sounded remotely like feelings.
Turns out he hadn't been wrong.
He just hadn't been right enough.
Izaean. The black armor. The eyes. No wonder he'd always been so locked down. So relentlessly, exhaustingly controlled. He hadn't been holding himself together.
He'd been holding something else back.
And Emily Evans had been the thing that finally—
"Thyaar."
He blinked.
The emperor had stopped walking. He stood in the middle of the corridor, arms folded over his chest and one eyebrow arched.
Thyaar's ears went hot.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty." He kept his voice level. Professional despite the mortification crawling up the back of his neck. "I didn't catch that."
The Emperor looked at him for a long moment.
"No," Daaynal said, his voice mild. Dangerously mild. "I noticed."
Thyaar squared his shoulders and met the Emperor's gaze. He said nothing because there was nothing to say that wouldn't make it worse. You didn't ask the most powerful male in the known galaxy to repeat himself. You just stood there and took the hit.
Daaynal studied him with those sharp green eyes and then, unexpectedly, a smile curved his lips.
"I asked," the Emperor said, "whether you believe Raaevik knew."
Thyaar thought about it. Actually thought about it, not the reflexive answer that would move the conversation along and get him the draanth out of there the fastest.
"No," he said. "He thought he was losing his mind." He paused. "I think that's why he was so—" He stopped. Started again. "He held the line harder than any male I've ever served with. I used to think it was stubbornness."
"And now?"
"Now I think he was terrified of what would happen if he let go of it."
Daaynal nodded slowly, his gaze moving to the far end of the corridor where the airlock had already sealed behind two people who wouldn't be coming back. His expression was unreadable, and somehow that was worse.
"Good," the Emperor said quietly, his hands clasped behind his back as they walked. His drakeen trailed them, as silent as hulking combat machines could be. "That's what I thought too."
Daaynal slid him a sideways look. "You saw them off?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." He nodded. "Before they boarded the Ravec'tias."
He'd never been so grateful to be a commoner. There was absolutely no K'Saan blood in his lineage, not even a distant splash of it. Just solid, boring, common-as-dirt Latharian stock stretching back as far as anyone had bothered to check.
It meant he'd been able to stand at that airlock and say goodbye to his brother.
Because that was what Raaevik was to him.
A brother. A complete pain in his ass and the most infuriating male he'd ever cared about, but still his brother.
And he'd gotten to stand there and say that with an insult wrapped around it like armor, because that was how they worked, and Raaevik had known exactly what he meant.
For the first time in his life, being nobody from nowhere felt like an outright gift.
He cleared his throat. "Your Majesty. On the subject of the female—"
Daaynal's eyebrow arched. "You mean Lady Emily of Izaea?"
"Indeed, sire. Lady Emily made a request." Thyaar kept his expression straight through sheer force of military discipline. "Before she boarded. I will require leave to go to Earth. With your permission, of course."
The Emperor waited.
"She wants her cat," Thyaar said. "Its name is Barnaby. She'd like it brought to Parac'Norr."
Daaynal looked at him for a long moment. Then the ghost of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before he got it under control.
"She asked you specifically?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And you agreed."
Thyaar held his gaze. "I did."
Daaynal's lips quirked. "I would have assigned you the W'Raaith." He nodded toward the landing bay as they passed, and Thyaar's gaze followed automatically.
Draanth.
The interceptor looked like it had argued with the asteroid, and the asteroid had won.
The whole forward section was caved in, as if someone had used it as a battering ram…
which, knowing Raaevik, was exactly what had happened.
Scorched metal. A landing strut that pointed at an angle it was never designed to achieve.
Coolant or something worse still dripped from the undercarriage onto the deck.
He stared at it for a moment.
Yeah. That tracked.
"Instead," Daaynal continued, his tone carrying that particular mildness that meant he found something funny and had absolutely no intention of showing it, "you will take the Vett'an."
Thyaar's head came around.
The Vett'an. The Emperor's personal yacht. It was the finest non-combat vessel in the Imperial fleet, with atmospheric processors that could handle any environment and enough room to host a diplomatic summit. Thyaar had seen it once, from a respectful distance, while on perimeter duty.
He blinked.
"Your Majesty," he said carefully, "that is... an exceptional honor."
Daaynal inclined his head, already moving again.
Thyaar fell into step beside him, his brain playing catch-up.
The Vett'an. To Earth. To collect a cat.
He turned it over. Tried to picture it. The most luxurious vessel in the Empire, sitting in some Terran docking bay while he—a sub-commander built like a weapons locker—attempted to locate one specific small animal in one specific human city.
And then brought it back.
In the Emperor's yacht.
"Your Majesty." He kept his voice absolutely neutral. "Will I need some kind of containment unit? For the animal?" He paused. "I have no experience with Terran cats."
Daaynal glanced at him.
"I assume a cage of some description," he carried on. "And possibly... I mean, how large are they? Because the Vett'an has the smaller forward cabin, and if the animal requires significant—"
"Thyaar."
"Sire?"
"A cat," the Emperor said, "is approximately this large." He held his hands about thirty centimeters apart.
Thyaar looked at Daaynal's hands. Then back up at the Emperor.
"The yacht will be sufficient," Daaynal said, the amusement in his sharp green eyes absolutely unmistakable.
"Although I have heard Terran felines can be formidable indeed." His lips quirked, fighting a losing battle against an actual smile. "You will need to be wary, Sub-Commander. If you require backup to subdue the beast, you have only to call for it."
Thyaar kept his face perfectly blank. A thirty-centimeter animal. Right. He'd fought blood-crazed Krin hand-to-hand and survived enemy charges, but sure, he'd call in the cavalry if a tiny fluffball got the drop on him.
He wasn't stupid enough to point that out, though. Not to the emperor himself.
"I will keep that in mind, Your Majesty."
"You are dismissed to your new assignment," Daaynal said, the amusement dropping from his face as his voice dropped into the hard register that made lesser males look for less dangerous places to be. "I am remaining here for now."
He looked past Thyaar, his jaw tightening into rigid lines. "I have had enough of this Purist threat. I intend to deal with it. Once and for all."
Ice spiked in Thyaar's veins. Well, they were draanthed six ways to Sunday. The Purists had kidnapped Daaynal's matched mate, turned her into a weapon… even though she'd turned out not to be the emperor's mate, she could have been. Which meant this was an act of war… against a warrior emperor.
Draanthing idiots. They had no idea what was about to hit them.
Bowing low, Thyaar offered a formal salute. "Happy hunting, sire."
"Thank you. And yourself."
Daaynal gave a single, sharp nod and turned to stalk down the long corridor. His four drakeen fell into lockstep behind him, moving in deadly, synchronized silence.
Thyaar watched his Emperor go. He almost felt sorry for the Purists. Almost.
Mostly, he just felt a wave of regret that he wouldn't be on the ground to watch Daaynal do what he did best. The male was a living legend on the battlefield, and whatever retaliation he unleashed was going to be written about for centuries.
Sighing, he turned to walk the other way to the airlocks. He had his orders.
Which meant he had a cat to fetch.
Thank you so much for reading
STOLEN BY THE ALIEN BODYGUARD!
I hope you loved reading Emily and Raaevik’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it!