Page 12 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
“I’ll think about it,” she says, the smile widening just enough to suggest she has no intention of doing so.
I should be offended by such disrespect. Instead, I find myself fighting an unfamiliar sensation that takes me a moment to identify.
Amusement. And beneath it, something more dangerous—a genuine desire to see that smile again. To be the cause of it.
I stand abruptly, the movement sharp enough to startle her. “Vex’ra will escort you to your quarters. A guard will be posted outside your door—for your protection,” I add when her expression darkens. “The fortress can be... disorienting for outsiders, especially at night.”
She rises as well, though the movement lacks my fluid grace. I note a slight wince as she straightens—muscle strain from the crash, perhaps, or lingering tension from the day’s events. The protective instinct that flares in response is immediate and unwelcome.
“Right. My ‘protection.’” The skepticism in her voice is clear, but she doesn’t challenge the arrangement directly. “What time tomorrow can I see my ship?”
“After first light. Vex’ra will come for you.”
She nods, then hesitates, as if debating whether to say more. Finally, she simply inclines her head in a gesture that’s not quite a bow.
“Goodnight, then. And... thanks for dinner. It was actually not terrible, considering the circumstances.”
High praise, apparently. I acknowledge it with a slight nod of my own.
“Rest well, Courier Vega.”
She turns to leave, then pauses at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. The movement causes her braid to slip forward, exposing the elegant curve of her neck, and I have to force myself not to stare.
“You can call me Suki, you know. ‘Courier Vega’ sounds like you’re reading from a shipping manifest.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of crystal-fruit and something uniquely hers—warm and alive in ways that seem to mock the controlled perfection of my domain.
I move to the window, gazing out at the nebula that surrounds and protects Zater Reach. Somewhere beyond that swirling barrier of gas and cosmic dust, forces are moving—political currents I’ve spent three cycles navigating to keep my people safe.
But for the first time in longer than I care to remember, my thoughts aren’t focused on strategy or survival. Instead, I find myself replaying moments from the evening: the sound of her surprised laughter when she tasted the broth, the way she closed her eyes in pleasure at the dessert, the warmth of that unexpected smile.
She smiles too much, this human. Unguarded. Unpracticed. Unlike the calculated expressions of diplomats and warriors trained to reveal nothing.
It’s a weakness I should note and dismiss. Instead, I find myself wondering what it would take to make her smile like that again—at me, because of me, not despite me.
The thought is dangerous on multiple levels. She’s a courier, a temporary visitor who will leave as soon as her business is concluded. More importantly, she’s human—alien in ways that go beyond mere physical differences. Whatever attraction I might feel is inappropriate and impossible.
Yet as I turn from the window and prepare for my evening meditation, I cannot dispel the memory of green-gold eyes and the sound of my name deliberately mispronounced in challenge.
Tomorrow, I will remember my duties. Tomorrow, I will maintain proper distance and professional boundaries.
But tonight, as I settle into meditation position and attempt to clear my mind of all distraction, one thought echoes through my consciousness with troubling persistence:
She smiles too much. And somehow, against all logic and training, I find myself wanting to see it again.
4
The Break In
Suki
Thediplomaticguestquartersare nicer than any place I’ve slept in the last three years. The bed is massive, carved from that same obsidian everything else is made of around here, but topped with a mattress that feels like floating on a gravity-free cloud. The bathroom—sorry, “cleansing chamber”—has actual water pressure. Like, the kind that makes you want to stand under it for an hour contemplating your life choices.
Which is exactly what I’m not doing.
I press my ear against the door for the fifth time in twenty minutes. The guard outside hasn’t moved. Hasn’t coughed. Hasn’t even shifted his weight, as far as I can tell. Either Zaterrans don’t get bored on duty, or this guy is the most disciplined sentry in the galaxy.
“Come on,” I mutter, pulling back to glare at the ornate timepiece on the wall. Its crystalline hands glow faintly in the dimmed lighting, marking what must be close to midnight in whatever system they use here. “Take a bathroom break already.”
