“Of course, Captain,” Merkit nodded, unwavering loyalty blazing in his crimson gaze.
We departed the space station without incident, theEden’smassive bulk sliding through the docking bay’s atmospheric barrier with barely a shudder. Our course to Zarpazia would take us through the Kepler Asteroid Fields. A deliberate choice that would provide natural cover and multiple escape routes should we discover unwanted pursuit. So far, Merkit’s sensor sweeps confirmed what I hoped. We had departed undetected, our wake clean of following vessels.
I activated the internal communications system and contacted the galley, ordering virtually every human entrée on our menu to be prepared and delivered to Jolie and Lilibet’s quarters. I had no way of knowing their preferences, and after their ordeal, they deserved choices and abundance. The thought of them settling into the safety and comfort of theEdeneased some of the tension coiled in my shoulders.
Every instinct screamed at me to return to their quarters, to stand guard outside the door, and to ensure their safety with my own eyes. But they needed food, rest, and time to process their newfound freedom. The rational part of my mind understood this, even as the primal part of my nature chafed against the separation. Still, I dispatched one of my most trusted guards to stand sentry outside their door and a yeoman to gather clothing and anything else he thought they might need—including instructing him to make a small miniature stuffedKerzak. An order for which more than one of my crewmen regarded me skeptically.
I settled into my command chair, forcing myself to focus on the mundane but necessary tasks that comprised the daily life of a ship captain. Supply manifests required review and approval, crew rotation schedules needed updating, and maintenance reports demanded attention. Yet despite my best efforts, my mind kept drifting back to Jolie and Lilibet. To the fire that burned in the human female’s eyes despite the hell she must have endured at Qurbaga’s hands, to her fierce devotion to the youngling, and to Lilibet’s adorable, irrepressible energy despite what had to be a traumatic upbringing.
When I was with them, that broken, empty space inside me—the void that had consumed me since the queen’s torture—seemed filled with purpose and not quite so vast or cold. I would keep them safe. The Kwado prince would never touch them again.
I forced myself to concentrate on the tasks at hand, methodically reviewing and approving with the attention to detail that had kept my crew alive through countless missions. The latest intelligence reports from Siemba’s extensive spy network required analysis. Asad operatives had identified several new suspected human trafficking locations, potential targets for future rescue missions.
The sharp wail of proximity alarms shattered the bridge’s peace like a physical blow. I jerked upright in my chair, the datapad slipping from my suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter against the deck plates.
“Merkit, report!” I bellowed. My fist slammed down on the emergency alert button with enough force to send vibrations through the command console. Pulsing red light bathed the entire bridge as the ship’s defensive systems came online.
I whipped my head toward my first mate, reading the worry etched into every line of his features even before his words confirmed my fears.
“Two Kwado warships approaching fast, Captain,” he reported, his voice tight with controlled tension. “They’re running dark. No transponder signals, no communication attempts. This isn’t a routine patrol.”
Chapter 5
Jolie
Lilibet and I nestled into the heart of the enormous bed, a soft expanse of silk and down that seemed to cradle us with warmth and safety. Dampness clung to our skin, and as I worked a plush towel through Lilibet’s wet ringlets. Her voice bubbled happily recalling the surprises hidden in the room like treasures, the shimmering rose-gold bathwater that conjured scents of distant gardens, the plush blankets that surrounded her like a hug, the delicious meal that filled our bellies, Yet, it was the small stuffed bear with velvet ears and button eyes that truly captured her heart, a symbol of promises kept. I smiled, indulging in the rare moment of peace, even as a subtle longing curled within me—a desire for more than just survival, a yearning for a world where such small comforts were a daily certainty rather than a fleeting treasure. .
If fate ever brought me face-to-face with the Zarpazian queen, I would thank her for her thoughtfulness. The tunic and trousers I wore whispered against my skin in sage-soft hues. Dressing Lilibet required more imagination—even the smallest garments could have housed three of her. But I’d managed to transform a midnight-blue shirt into a dress, cinched with a ribbon of sunshine yellow that made her twirl like a ballerina in front of the mirror. Her face bloomed with pure joy, something fierce and protective unfurling in my chest like wings.
Each promise Diarvet kept added another thread to the fragile tapestry of my trust. I’d been an oncology nurse back on Earth, and trust had been a cornerstone of my life. Trust that the doctors would use their knowledge with care, aiming to do no harm. Trust patients to become fighters in their own battles, honest about their fears, and brave enough to try. Trust families to remain steady and supportive. I’d seen trust create miracles more times than I could count, though I’d also been present when it fell apart, leaving only grief.
Now I faced a different kind of trust. Trusting a complete stranger with what mattered most to me. As much as Diarvet had proven himself so far, wariness lay quietly in my chest, ready to awaken at the first hint of betrayal.
When the alarms erupted, Lilibet’s small body jolted against mine like a startled bird. Her fingers clawed desperately at my shirt as she pressed deeper into my embrace, trembling so violently I could feel it reverberating through my bones. The sound—that particular pitch of mechanical screaming—sent ice flooding through my veins. On the Kwado ship, alarms had always heralded that fresh horrors were about to unfold. The knowledge that my precious girl understood this made my heart fracture into jagged pieces.
“MeMe?” Her voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, fragile as spun glass and threaded with the kind of fear that no child should ever have to carry. I forced my lips to curve upward, painting on a calm mask even as panic clawed at my throat.
“Let’s go find Diarvet and see what’s going on.” The words tasted like ash, but I delivered them with manufactured lightness. Whatever catastrophe triggered the sirens, I knew with bone-deep certainty it spelled disaster. Yet, facing the unknown at our protector’s side seemed infinitely preferable to cowering alone in our borrowed sanctuary.
We dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling with the boots and jackets that had accompanied our wardrobe. My black leather boots embraced my feet like old friends. After a second pair of socks, Lilibet’s did as well.
A towering Zarpazian stood vigil outside our doorway, his scales creating a mosaic of deep greens swirled with vibrant orange. When I inquired as to Diarvet, he responded with a sharp, economical nod before gesturing down the corridor, leading us on our way. The realization that Diarvet had stationed guards even aboard his own vessel—protecting us from threats both known and imagined—sent a warm flutter through my chest. A small act that made me trust him just a fraction more.
We arrived on the bridge just as the words of Kwado Chamberlain Ukala slithered through the communications array each syllable dripping with slimy malice.
“Return the human and youngling to the prince immediately, or we will deem it an immediate act of aggression.”
My blood froze as I stared at the toad-like visage of the chancellor, dominating the massive viewscreen. His bulbous eyes gleamed with cruelty, and for one terrifying heartbeat, I believed our presence on the bridge shattered any hope of plausible deniability. But Diarvet beckoning us to join him at the command center dissolved that particular terror.
“He cannot see or hear us,” Diarvet murmured when we reached his side. His voice a low rumble that somehow steadied my racing pulse.
Lilibet had transformed into a living barnacle, her small arms locked around my neck. Though her shivering had subsided, her emerald eyes were wide as saucers, reflecting a fear that made my soul ache. She was too young, too innocent to carry such heavy knowledge of the world’s cruelties. I pressed her face into my shoulder and held her tight.
“Captain,” a tall Zarpazian officer interjected, his scales were painted in various shades of green that seemed to shimmer under the light. Deep lines of concern etched themselves across his features as he delivered his assessment. “The Kwado have deployed two fully armed warships. Our vessel lacks the firepower to engage them successfully, but our ship is smaller, faster. Our options are limited—surrender or flight.”
His words decimated every tiny bit of hope I’d built in the past few hours. Dreams of freedom, of safety, of a future where Lilibet could laugh without fear—all dissolved, leaving behind only the bitter certainty of life in shackles… or worse.
I’ll go." The words escaped my lips before my rational mind could intercept them. “Give me to the Kwado. I’ll tell them I already sent Lilibet to safety.” In that moment, it was more than just a parental urge to sacrifice, it was an echo of the vow I’d once taken as a nurse. To serve, to protect, even at the cost of my own well-being. My fate, likely pain and death at the hands of the prince, seemed a small price for Lilibet’s safety.
