11
The corridor outside the Imperial Suite was a study in Imperial perfection: white panels and seamless joins.The lighting mimicked the soft, golden hour of Lathar Prime.It was designed to soothe, to project an air of effortless tranquility suitable for the highest echelon of the court.
And it felt like the inside of a tomb.
Raaevik stood at his post, back to the wall, feet shoulder-wide apart.The passing servants and minor functionaries gave him a wide berth, their eyes sliding away.They saw the uniform and the Emperor’s crest, but they didn’t see the male.
They certainly didn't hear him losing his mind.
The need to go to her was a physical ache.She was distressed.She was alone.And he was out here, useless, when every instinct he had demanded he break thatdraanthingdoor down and take her into his arms.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles creaked and focused on the discipline he'd been taught virtually from the cradle.He was a warrior of the Empire.He was K'Vass.He had sworn an oath to protect his Emperor, and he would keep it.
But the memory of that little scene in the café burned behind his eyes.He'd let her go earlier—it wasn't his place to tell the Empress-to-be where she could go, only to make sure she came to no harm.So he'd followed, close enough to intervene but far enough to give her the illusion of freedom.When she'd ducked into that café, he'd watched her from his post at the door, maintaining the perimeter, as she sat in that hard plastic chair and looked like she was bleeding out.
He had seen the way she touched her pocket, the desperate set of her jaw.At least she seemed to have found a friend in the red-haired human female.That was something.Perhaps the only good thing to happen to her since she'd arrived.
He sighed, resisting the urge to rub his face.Such a display of emotion while on duty would be unseemly for one of the Emperor’s Guard.The corridor air was recycled, scrubbed clean of scent and life, and too damn cold.His physiology ran hotter than a human's, his metabolism a furnace designed for sustained combat, and the station's ambient temperature always felt like a mild chill against his skin.Today, though, the cold seeped deeper, right into his bones.
"I don't care about the schedule!"His head snapped left as a voice cut through the silence.
Emily’s mother marched down the corridor, her chin high, and her gaze fixed on the dataflex in her hand.
"The credits haven't transferred," she snapped into the device."I checked the account this morning.The contract said payment upon the public announcement.The announcement was yesterday."
She stopped near a viewport and stared out at the starfield, but he highly doubted she saw the stars.All she saw was the reflection of her own ambition.
"Don't give me that bureaucratic nonsense," she hissed."I delivered her, didn't I?If the Emperor is happy, I still expect my payment."
He froze.The anger drained out of him, replaced by a cold stillness.
Miranda paced in a tight circle, her heels clicking staccato beats on the deck."She's fine.She's dramatic.You know how she is.She gets these ideas about 'agency' and 'choice.'I told her, you don't get to have choices when you're the face of a galactic alliance.You get to smile and wave and make sure the check clears."
She laughed, a harsh, jagged sound that grated against his ears like broken glass."Oh, she'll behave.I told her if she got difficult, I'd have the shelter shut down.Nothing motivates Emily like a sob story.She's pathetic that way.Soft heart.Soft head."
He shifted his center of balance, the sole of his boot whispering over the deckplating.The sound was soft, but Miranda stopped talking.She turned around.
He took a step toward her.He didn't draw a weapon.He simply let the mask slip.Let the professional indifference and the guard's blank stare drop away.
She froze, wide eyes fixed on his face.
"Excuseme," she said, her voice trembling."I am on a call."
Dropping any pretence of human movement, he stalked her, eating up the distance between them until he stopped less than two feet away.Close enough to smell her perfume… a cloying scent that couldn't hide the sharp, metallic scent of her fear.The frantic rhythm of her pulse hammered in his ears, a bird trapped in a cage of ribs.
"You are disturbing the peace," he growled, one step down from a snarl."This is a secured sector.Silence is mandatory."
"I...I am the Empress Mother!"Miranda clutched her dataflex like a shield.She drew herself up, indignation in every line of her body."I have clearance."
"You have access," he corrected in a low, dangerous voice."Clearance is earned."
He leaned down an inch.Just enough to let her look into his eyes and see the vertical slits of his pupils narrowing to razor-thin lines.
"If you speak of her that way again," he whispered, each word precise as a blade, "as if she is an item to be sold...if you threaten her...if you so much as look at her with anything other than absolute reverence..."
He let the silence stretch.
Her breath caught, and her pupils dilated as her imagination filled in the rest.The blood draining from her face, she scrambled back, nearly tripping over her own gown."I...have other places to be.An appointment..."
