Page 11 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
“And risk getting fired? No thanks.” She leans forward slightly, and I catch a hint of her scent—something floral from the preparation oils, but underneath it, something warmer and more distinctly her. “Look, I get what you’re implying, but I’m just the delivery girl. Whatever’s in that package, it has nothing to do with me.”
I study her for a long moment, noting the slight increase in her pulse visible at the base of her throat, the way her breathinghas become shallower. But these seem like natural responses to interrogation rather than deception.
The servants return, clearing the main course and presenting the final offering—a chilled crystal-fruit sorbet known for its refreshing properties. Suki’s eyes widen appreciatively at the presentation: the dessert glows faintly from within, the natural bioluminescence creating a soft blue light that reflects off her features in mesmerizing patterns.
“Okay, that’s legitimately beautiful,” she admits, picking up her spoon. “Does all your food glow?”
“Only certain varieties that grow in the deeper caverns,” I explain, finding myself oddly pleased by her wonder. “The bioluminescence evolved as a means to attract the cave insects that pollinate them.”
She pauses with the spoon halfway to her mouth, and I watch her lips part slightly in question. “Please tell me you removed the insects before serving.”
The question is so unexpected that it takes me a moment to realize she’s joking. The concept of humor during a formal meal is foreign enough that I’m unsure how to respond.
She misinterprets my silence, her expression shifting to genuine concern. “That was a joke. Sort of. I mean, I hope it was...”
“We remove the insects,” I confirm, allowing a slight softening of my expression. “Though some traditional preparations do incorporate them for their distinctive flavor.”
“Not this one, right?” She eyes the sorbet suspiciously, her head tilted in a way that makes her braid slip over one shoulder.
“Not this one.”
She relaxes visibly and takes a bite, then closes her eyes in apparent bliss. The expression of pure pleasure that crosses her face sends an unexpected jolt of heat through me—inappropriate and unwelcome, but undeniably present.
“Oh, that’s amazing,” she breathes, the words almost a sigh. “Sweet, but not too sweet, with this weird tingling sensation...”
I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus on safer topics. “The natural enzymes create a mild numbing effect, considered pleasant by most species.”
She takes another spoonful, clearly savoring it, and I find myself watching the movement of her throat as she swallows, the slight smile that curves her lips as she appreciates the complex flavors.
Dangerous territory. This human—this courier who stumbled into my domain by accident—is affecting me in ways I didn’t anticipate. The realization should prompt immediate withdrawal, professional distance.
Instead, I find myself leaning forward, drawn by her unguarded pleasure in something as simple as an unfamiliar dessert.
When she finishes, I signal for the servants to withdraw, leaving us alone in the chamber. The luminescent veins in the obsidian walls provide the only light now, casting everything in a soft, bluish glow that makes her pale skin appear almost translucent.
“I owe you a more formal apology,” I say, the words feeling stiff on my tongue. “The misunderstanding regarding your status was unfortunate and inappropriate.”
She studies me for a moment, head tilted slightly. In this lighting, with her guard lowered by good food and comfortable surroundings, she looks younger somehow. More vulnerable. “You really didn’t know, did you? About the ‘gift’ thing.”
“I did not.” The admission costs me nothing; it is simply truth. “Had I been consulted, the error would not have occurred.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess.” She absently touches the ceremonial bracelet on her wrist, and I realize I’ve been unconsciously aware of it throughout the meal—this symbol ofmy people’s claim on her, however temporary. “So, about this tracker...”
“It remains until our security verification is complete,” I reiterate, though the words feel less firm than they should. “Your movements will be restricted to the diplomatic wing and, tomorrow, the landing bay where your ship is docked.”
She frowns but doesn’t argue—a first. “Fine. But I want your word that once my ship is fixed and the package delivered, I’m free to go. No more surprises, no more ‘misunderstandings.’”
“You have my word as First Blade,” I tell her, the formal pledge heavier than she likely realizes. “Provided our security protocols are satisfied.”
She nods slowly, seeming to weigh my words. “Okay then. I guess we have a deal, Hen-rock.”
Again, that deliberate mispronunciation. This time, I decide to correct it.
“Hen-rok,” I say, emphasizing the proper stress on the second syllable. “If we are to maintain diplomatic relations until your departure, you might consider using my correct name.”
A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth—the first I’ve seen from her that isn’t tinged with defiance or stress. It transforms her features completely, lighting her face from within and revealing a warmth that had been hidden beneath layers of professional caution and justified wariness.
The effect is... devastating. In that moment, I understand why her preparation team described her as suitable for presentation. It’s not her exotic coloring or unfamiliar features, though both are striking in their own way. It’s this—the warmth of genuine amusement, the way her smile seems to invite shared humor rather than demand attention.
