Page 4 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
His jaw tightened. "No."
"Pity."
"The empire has plenty of lackeys already."
The words came out harsher than he'd intended, carrying years of resentment and old pain.
Daaynal's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes.
"Indeed, we do." Daaynal's expression was neutral, giving nothing away. "Tell me, does she know?"
The question came from nowhere. He slid a glance at Red, who was watching the exchange with sharp intelligence, arms folded over her chest.
"Know what?"
"Who taught you that signal? Who you really are?" Daaynal's voice was quiet, almost gentle. "She's your family; that much is obvious. But there are things you're not telling her."
His hands clenched into fists. "She knows everything that matters."
"Does she?" Daaynal stepped closer, and he caught a familiar scent: weapon oil and leather, the clean metallic smell of well-maintained equipment. Not at all what he would have expected from the emperor himself. "That signal hasn't been used in decades."
Red went very still beside him.
"That's not relevant," he said roughly.
"Isn't it?" Daaynal's smile was sad, tired. "Signals like that... they're not common knowledge. Andthatsignal is unique. Known only to two people."
The words hung in the air between them. A statement. Or maybe a question they were both dancing around.
"The past is complicated," he said quietly.
"Yes," Daaynal agreed. "It usually is." He paused. "Your mother trained you well."
His chest tightened until he could barely breathe. "Don't."_
Daaynal moved toward the door again. "The offer stands, T'Raal?—"
"Verran," he cut in. "My name is T'Raal Verran."
Daaynal frowned. "What?"
"My name. It's T'Raal Verran. Not whatever you think it is."
Something flickered in Daaynal's eyes—disappointment, maybe, or just acceptance. "Of course. T'Raal Verran. The offer stands, based on your character and skills. Think about it."
The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss, leaving them alone in the small chamber.
"Well," Red said finally. "That was interesting."
He turned to face her, expecting questions he wasn't ready to answer.
"You want to tell me what that was really about?" she asked.
"No."
"Didn't think so." She was quiet for a moment. "But whatever history you've got with His Imperial Majesty?—"
"It doesn't matter. The past is the past."
