"May I present Princess Thallia of House Morven."
She stepped forward, and I found myself studying her in person—smaller than I'd expected, delicate by Romvesian standards, though still taller than most humans. Her movements were graceful, controlled, every gesture deliberate and measured.
"High General Kavak," she said, and her voice was softer than her father's, but no less composed. "I am pleased to finally meet you in person."
"Princess Thallia." I bowed again, this time with genuine warmth. "The pleasure is mine. Our communications have given me great respect for your intelligence and your commitment to our peoples' future."
Something flickered in her eyes—surprise, perhaps, or appreciation. "You are kind to say so. I hope that our partnership will prove beneficial to both our empires."
"I have no doubt it will."
We stood there for a moment, taking each other's measure. She was studying me as carefully as I was studying her, and I could see the intelligence behind her gaze. She knew what this mating was. She knew it was political, pragmatic, built on necessity rather than passion.
But she was committed to making it work. I could see that in the set of her shoulders, the steadiness of her gaze.
And so was I.
King Jurtis cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Come. We have prepared a formal reception in the palace. There is much to discuss regarding the ceremony and the terms of alliance."
He turned and began walking toward the waiting transport vehicles—sleek, angular craft that hovered a few feet above the platform. His guards fell into formation around him, a moving wall of armored bodies.
Thallia moved to follow her father, and I fell into step beside her. My entourage followed, maintaining the proper distance for formal occasions.
"Your journey was pleasant, I hope?" Thallia asked as we walked.
"As pleasant as space travel can be," I replied. "Though I confess I'm grateful to be on solid ground again."
"Daristune must seem harsh compared to Vaktaire," she said. "I've seen images of your homeworld. The rivers, the forests. It's very different than Daristune."
"Different," I agreed. "But no less impressive. Your empire has built something remarkable."
"Built on the backs of conquest and subjugation," she said quietly, and there was something in her voice—regret, perhaps, or acknowledgment of uncomfortable truths. "I hope that our union can help shift that legacy. That we can build something better together."
I looked at her with renewed respect. She wasn't blind to her empire's flaws. She wanted to change things, to make them better.
Yes,I thought.This can work. We can make this work.
We reached the transport vehicles, and King Jurtis gestured for us to board. But as I moved toward the nearest craft, something made me pause.
Movement at the edge of my vision. A shift in the formation of people behind the royal delegation.
I turned, almost without thinking, and found myself looking at the group of servants who had been standing in the background throughout the formal greeting. They were mostly Romvesian—gray-skinned, dark-eyed, dressed in the simple robes of palace staff. But there were a few others among them as well. An Andorian. A Verdesian. A—
My breath caught.
A human.
She was tiny compared to everyone around her—barely five feet tall, dwarfed by the Romvesian guards and servants. Her skin was pale—not the gray of Romvesians or the varied tones of other alien species, but the pale cream of Earth humans. And her hair...
Her hair was the color of fire.
Deep copper red. The kind of red that seemed to glow in the light, that caught the eye and held it. It fell in waves past her shoulders, partially obscured by the hood of her servant's robe, but impossible to miss.
She was looking down, her gaze fixed on the ground, her posture submissive in the way servants were trained to be. But even from this distance, even with her face partially hidden, I could see the delicate features, the curve of her jaw, the way her hands were clasped in front of her.
Something made her look up.
Perhaps she felt the weight of my stare. Perhaps it was instinct. Perhaps it was something else entirely—something neither of us could name or understand.
