13
The chime at the door sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Emily flinched, her hand tightening on the edge of the bathroom sink.She hadn't even had time to wash the taste of bile from her mouth or splash water on her face to hide the blotchy evidence of her breakdown.
Get up,she ordered herself.Get up, Em.You don't get to fall apart now.
She forced herself to stand.Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else—shaky and unreliable—but she made them move.Rinsing her mouth, she scrubbed a hand over her face and walked back into the main living area just as the chime sounded again.Impatient.Official.
Raaevik?
Her heart gave a traitorous leap and slammed against her ribs.If it was him...If he walked in here looking at her the way he had last night, like she was the only real thing in a universe of artificial lights...she would shatter.
She smoothed the front of her robe, cinched the belt tighter until it dug into her waist, and triggered the door.
It wasn't Raaevik.
A group of Lathar swept into the room.Four males in dove-gray tunics carrying cases and dataflexes, flanked by two armed guards.One of them was Thyaar.He stepped inside, gaze sweeping the room.His gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a second before he nodded to the attendants.
“You may proceed," he said.His voice was flat, professional, and he didn't meet her eyes.
"Your Grace," the lead attendant said, bowing low.He didn't wait for her to acknowledge him before gesturing to the others.They fanned out, taking over her space with terrifying speed.Cases snapped open on the table, the sofa, even the floor.
"What is this?"she asked.Her voice sounded thin to her own ears.Scraped raw.
"Ceremony preparations, Your Grace," the lead attendant said, not looking up from his dataflex.“There is much to prepare and it must beperfectfor the emperor.”
For the emperor.Not for her.
"We must measure for the bonding cuffs," another attendant murmured, appearing at her elbow with a silver tape.He lifted her wrist without asking, his touch cool and impersonal."And we need to select the thread for the blood vows."
“We need to settle on colours,” another attendant chimed in, holding up swatches of fabric against her skin."With her coloring...the deep crimson, I think?"
She blinked.They were talking about her like she was a sofa they needed to reupholster.Like she was furniture.
"The crimson," the first attendant decided, dropping her wrist to make a note."It will contrast well with the gold of the cuffs."
She stood there, frozen, while they debated the aesthetics of her bondage.She looked toward the door.Raaevik wasn't there.Good.
Her gaze shifted to Thyaar.He stood like a statue by the door, his face unreadable.
A young guard near the window shifted his weight.He was younger than the others… fewer beads in his braids, his leathers less worn.
He caught her eye and smiled.This is a lot,the smile said.Hang in there.
"Kaaelen," Thyaar's voice cracked like a whip.
The young guard snapped to attention, the smile vanishing instantly."Sir."
"You looked at her," Thyaar said.His voice was low.Dangerous."Directly.Without permission."
The room went silent, the attendants freezing mid-motion.
"I...apologies, Sub-Commander," he stammered."I meant no disrespect.I only?—"
"You are relieved," Thyaar cut him off with a sharp motion."Report to the duty officer immediately for disciplinary review."
The blood drained from Kaaelen's face."Sir, please.It was a moment of?—"
