Page 53 of Return to Sender
“Of course it is,” Dominique replies with acid sweetness that could strip paint. “Just like this engagement was for my own benefit. Just like everything you do is for someone else’s good rather than your own political advancement and personal gratification.”
The observation hits its mark. Dante’s composure slips slightly, revealing the possessive anger beneath his diplomatic facade. His face becomes even more unpleasant when twisted with rage.
“Agent Wi’kar,” he continues, dismissing her objections with practiced ease that suggests years of ignoring inconvenient opinions. “You will transfer Princess Dominique to my custody within ten minutes, or I will be forced to consider this a hostile situation requiring... direct intervention.”
The threat hangs in the air between us like a weapon drawn but not yet fired. The implication is clear: surrender Dominique or face the firepower of six Royal Fleet vessels against a civilian mining station. Dante is gambling that I will not risk civilian casualties for the sake of one runaway princess.
He has miscalculated significantly.
“Prince Dante,” I reply with formal precision, allowing my own authority to color my voice, “I must inform you that your assessment of the situation is fundamentally incomplete. Princess Dominique is not my prisoner, my patient, or my responsibility. She is my mate.”
The word carries implications that any trained diplomat should understand, but I see confusion flicker across Dante’s grotesque features. Human Concord culture lacks the nuanced understanding of bonding protocols that govern inter-speciesrelationships—a gap in knowledge that may prove tactically useful.
“Your... mate?” he repeats, as if the concept is not merely foreign but personally offensive. His face contorts into an expression of disgust that makes his features even more repulsive.
“Bonded partner,” Dominique clarifies with obvious satisfaction, moving closer to me in a gesture that broadcasts possession and choice. “Claimed, marked, and utterly devoted to each other. You know, all those things our engagement was never going to be.”
The distinction is important. Marriage implies political alliance and property transfer. Mating implies personal choice and emotional commitment—concepts that clearly make Dante uncomfortable.
Dante’s composure finally cracks entirely, revealing the possessive anger beneath his diplomatic facade. His face becomes a mask of barely controlled rage that transforms his already unpleasant features into something truly hideous.
“You belong to House Malren,” he snaps, his voice rising with indignation and taking on a whining quality that makes him even more repugnant. “Your father arranged our union to benefit both our houses. You cannot simply abandon your responsibilities for some alien infatuation.”
“Watch me,” Dominique replies with calm certainty that carries more weight than any threat.
“This is ridiculous,” Dante declares, his diplomatic training warring with obvious frustration. His face has taken on an unpleasant mottled quality as his anger rises. “I am offering you one final opportunity to resolve this rationally. Return to your proper place, and I will ensure your alien companion receives a diplomatic pardon for his temporary... misbehavior.”
The condescension in his voice makes my patterns pulse with irritation. He speaks as if I am a pet who has misbehaved rather than an agent of an established postal service with diplomatic credentials.
Before I can formulate a response that maintains diplomatic protocols while expressing my displeasure, another voice cuts through the communication channel—calm, authoritative, and utterly unimpressed with the proceedings.
“Prince Dante,” Diplomat Merida Toner’s image appears alongside his on the split screen, her timing suggesting she has been monitoring the conversation. “How delightful to find you here ahead of our scheduled meeting. I trust your early arrival indicates eagerness to resolve these diplomatic complications through proper channels?”
Toner is a woman of middle years with steel-gray hair and piercing eyes that suggest she has seen every form of political maneuvering and found most of it tedious. Her diplomatic credentials are displayed prominently on her uniform, indicating authority that supersedes even royal prerogatives in matters of inter-species law. More importantly, her expression suggests she has been listening to this conversation with growing displeasure.
The contrast between Toner’s professional competence and Dante’s grotesque entitlement is stark. Where he radiates unpleasant self-importance, she projects genuine authority earned through skill rather than birth.
“Diplomat Toner,” Dante replies with forced cordiality, his voice noticeably strained. The comparison to the professional diplomat makes his own inadequacies even more apparent. “I was not expecting your early arrival.”
“Clearly,” she observes dryly, her tone suggesting that Dante’s surprise is neither unexpected nor particularly concerning toher. “I assume the Royal Fleet surrounding this civilian station is simply... enthusiastic escort protocol?”
“Security measures,” Dante explains, falling back on official justification while his face betrays his discomfort. “This situation has diplomatic implications that require careful handling and appropriate precautions.”
“Indeed it does,” Toner agrees with the kind of professional satisfaction that suggests she is about to enjoy herself. “Shall we proceed with our scheduled mediation? I believe Agent Wi’kar has prepared appropriate accommodations for our discussion.”
“Actually,” I interject, recognizing an opportunity when it presents itself, “this conversation can continue in its current format. All relevant parties are present and accounted for.”
“Excellent,” Toner says with professional satisfaction that does not quite conceal her amusement. “Prince Dante, you have made serious allegations against Agent Wi’kar and the Orion Outpost Postal Service. Kidnapping, corruption of a royal family member, violation of diplomatic protocols... quite an impressive list of charges for a simple postal delivery situation.”
“All of which are substantiated by evidence,” Dante replies with renewed confidence, apparently believing that formal proceedings will favor his position. His face regains some of its arrogant composure, though he still looks thoroughly unpleasant. “Princess Dominique was clearly abducted from the royal compound and subjected to alien influence techniques designed to compromise her judgment and autonomy.”
“Fascinating,” Toner observes with the kind of detached interest that suggests incoming trouble for someone. “Agent Wi’kar, how do you respond to these allegations?”
“They are completely false,” I state clearly, allowing my professional credentials to support my words. “Princess Dominique stowed away aboard my vessel without my knowledge or consent. When I discovered her presence, Ifollowed standard OOPS protocols for diplomatic complications involving royal personnel.”
“Which are?” Toner prompts, clearly already knowing the answer but wanting it on record.
“Protection of civilian personnel, avoidance of inter-species incidents, and resolution through proper diplomatic channels,” I recite with the precision of someone who has memorized regulations. “All of which I have fulfilled to the letter.”
