Until they saw her.Then the silence spread outward, killing conversations as heads turned.
Then, the parting began.
It wasn't subtle.As she walked, the crowd pressed themselves against the walls, clearing a path twenty feet wide.Warriors bowed their heads.Civilians averted their eyes.It was the kind of reverence you gave a religious icon, or a bomb you were afraid might go off.Probably the latter, considering Raaevik’s reaction in the transport.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered as her steps echoed in the quiet.
"It is respect, Your Grace," Thyaar said softly.He wasn’t looking at her.Instead, his gaze scanned the crowd for threats.
"It feels like I have the plague."
She kept her head down, hating the way the silk robe swished around her ankles.She wanted to scream.She wanted to tell them she ate cereal for dinner and didn't know the first thing about running an empire.She was going to make a crap empress.
Ahead, near a cargo lift, a worker was struggling.He was a spindly creature, his skin a mottled greenish-brown, wrestling with a hover-cart piled high with crates.The cart was listing dangerously, one of the repulsor nodes whining in protest.Then it lurched.The worker scrambled, his boots slipping on the polished deck, but the weight was too much, and the crates started to slide.
"Hold on, I've got it!"
She raced across the gap, her boots finding traction where the workers hadn't.She slammed her shoulder into the side of the cart just as it began to tip, bracing her weight against the slide.
"Okay," she grunted, shoving hard."On three.One, two?—"
The worker looked up.He saw her face, then he saw the blue silk, and the color drained from his face.His massive, dark eyes went wide… not startled, not embarrassed.Terrified.She'd seen that look before, on kids who flinched when adults raised their voices.
"Do not—" he gasped, snatching his hands away as if the cart had suddenly turned white-hot."Mercy, Your Grace!Please!"
"Don't let go, you idiot, it's going to?—"
Without his support, the weight was too much for her.The cart slammed down onto its skids with a bone-rattling crash, and purple, spiky fruit rolled everywhere.
"Oh god," she said, reaching out a hand to reassure him."I'm so sorry.Are you okay?"
The worker threw himself to the floor, forehead pressed against the deck plates.He was shaking."Forgive me!I did not see you!I did not mean to obstruct the Empress!"
"Stand up," she pleaded, looking around."Please stand up.It's just fruit."
"Your Grace."
Thyaar was there in a heartbeat, stepping between her and the cowering worker.He didn't draw a weapon, but his presence was a wall of black leather.
"Step away," Thyaar ordered the worker, his voice low and hard.
"He didn't do anything!"She snapped, grabbing Thyaar’s arm.His heavy muscles were as hard as stone under her fingers."I was trying to help him!"
Thyaar looked down at her hand on his arm, then at her face."It is not appropriate for the Emperor's mate to perform manual labor.And it is dangerous for him."He gestured to the worker, who was still trembling on the floor."Your favor could cost him his position.Or his life, if it is perceived he endangered you."
She froze.
She looked at the worker.Oh shit.He wasn't afraid of the cart.He was scared ofher.
"Get up," Thyaar told the worker."Go.Cleaning bots will handle this."
The alien scrambled backward on hands and knees, then bolted into the crowd without looking back.
She stood there, biting her lip.The crowd was dead silent.Hundreds of eyes, all terrified, all watching the emperor’s new mate.
"I need to go," she whispered."Anywhere.Just...away from here."
Thyaar nodded once."There is a terrace on the upper level.It is less crowded."
