Page 19 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
“Get it together, Vega,” I mutter, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “He’s just doing his job. And you need to focus on doing yours.”
Tomorrow, I’ll see my ship. And my package. And then, hopefully, I can get off this asteroid and back to my normal life of dodging debt collectors and delivering questionable packages to even more questionable clients.
Simple. Straightforward.
So why does the thought of leaving suddenly feel so complicated?
I flop back on the bed, staring up at the crystalline patterns on the ceiling. They pulse gently, almost like a heartbeat. Almost like the rhythm I felt when pressed against Henrok’s chest.
“Definitely not thinking about that,” I announce to the empty room, rolling over to bury my face in a pillow.
But as I drift toward sleep, my traitor brain replays the sensation of being lifted effortlessly, of garnet eyes studying my face with unexpected intensity, of a deep voice calling me “little courier” with something that sounded almost like affection.
Tomorrow, I remind myself firmly. Tomorrow I focus on escape.
Tonight... well, tonight I’m apparently dreaming of warlords.
6
The Warlord's Weakness
Henrok
Thesecurityfeedflickersbefore me, cycling through various sectors of the fortress. I stand motionless before the command console, hands clasped behind my back, spine rigid with centuries of discipline. Dawn is still hours away, yet sleep eludes me as it has since the courier’s arrival.
I watch her pace the confines of her quarters, restless even in slumber. She moves with unconscious grace, trailing her fingers along crystalline walls as if reading their composition through touch alone. Pausing at the viewport, she gazes out at the asteroid belt, her expression unguarded in what she believes is privacy.
Longing. That is what I see there. Not fear, as would be appropriate. Not calculation, as would be expected from a potential infiltrator. Simply... longing. For what, I cannot say.
I should not be watching her. It is... unseemly. Yet I find myself unable to look away.
“First Blade,” Vex’ra’s voice cuts through my thoughts as she enters the command center. “The diplomatic contingent from Corsairia requests your presence at the morning council.”
I do not turn. “Inform them I am occupied with security matters.”
She moves to stand beside me, her gaze following mine to the monitor. Her crystalline markings pulse once with disapproval.
“The human courier,” she observes. “She continues to... interest you.”
“She breached our security,” I remind her, though we both know this is not the complete truth. “Until her ship is repaired and her package verified, she remains a potential threat.”
Vex’ra’s expression does not change, but the slight shift in her posture communicates her skepticism more clearly than words could.
“The package has been thoroughly scanned,” she says. “It contains nothing but ceremonial artifacts from the Corsairian delegation. Harmless trinkets.”
“Then why was it rerouted to my personal landing pad?” I turn to face her fully. “Why was the courier’s navigation system compromised?”
Vex’ra tilts her head, the gesture almost imperceptible. “Perhaps it was simply... an error.”
“There are no such errors in Zater Reach,” I state flatly. “Not without purpose.”
She inclines her head in acknowledgment, if not agreement. “As you say, First Blade. Shall I have the human brought to you?”
“No.” The response comes too quickly. I moderate my tone. “I will collect her myself. After the morning meditation ritual.”
Vex’ra’s eyes narrow slightly, but she does not challenge me. “As you wish. I will inform the Corsairian delegation of your... security concerns.”
After she departs, I return my attention to the monitor. The courier—Suki—has moved to the small table in her quarters where the morning meal awaits. She prods at the Zaterran delicacies with obvious suspicion, eventually selecting the simplest item—a crystallized fruit native to our asteroid belt. Her expression as she tastes it shifts from wariness to surprise to something like pleasure.
