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.
1
Thyaar had been to some shitty—gods, he loved the human language; it was so… descriptive—planets in his time, but Earth had to be one of the worst he’d ever had the misfortune to set foot on.
