Page 26 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“Thank you. That is most kind, but I must inform you I came on board under false pretenses. I knew my mate was a member of your crew and—”
Pashaal waved a ring-encrusted hand, the robe’s sleeve billowing. “Nonsense. I want to hear everything about your story. I miss my Kullar so, and my heart is glad for your safe return.”
“Then I accept your invitation,” he said.
“You will need to clean and change into proper attire, of course. Let me walk you to the airlock.” Pashaal held out an arm for him to take as they strolled. Then she caught sight of the dirt on his sleeve and thought better of it. She cleared her throat and smoothed down the front of her robe. “Follow me. Emmarae, how is the meal preparation? I hope you will no longer be unhappy and pollute the meal.”
“No. Unhappy is not what I’m feeling.”
“My mate is unhappy?” He stepped back, intending to return to his mate, but she had vanished down the corridor.
“Family issues.” Another dismissive wave. “Proper attire is expected to dine. I do not expect formal robes, but clean, at least.” Her gaze swept over him, judging his work garments, and finding them lacking.
“You are awfully small for a Mahdfel,” she said in a decisive tone.
Ren lifted the hem of his shirt to display the clan mark tattooed on his skin. Her eyes went wide with recognition. Immature? Yes. Satisfactory? Very much so.
“If I am not, then my mother deceived my father,” he said.
They arrived at the airlock. Pashaal raised her hand to the control panel, then paused. “You must understand that Emmarae signed a contract with me. She is my employee for another fifteen months.”
“Then I will purchase the remaining contract.” He named a figure.
Pashaal’s brows rose. “Generous, but I am about to embark on a long journey. It is difficult to replace staff while traveling.”
“She is my mate. She belongs with me.”
“Yes, no one is disputing that fact.”
“You cannot keep her from me. The treaty states—”
“The terms of the treaty clearly state that such contracts and other obligations are dissolved once a match occurs. After is… murky.”
He did not like the way she stretched out the sentence, or the way her brows rose, as if expecting Ren to plea or bargain for his mate.
“Negotiable,” she added.
Did the female want a bribe? No, she was on the Council and would phrase it behind legal-sounding words likefair compensationorrecompense.
“This is more complex than I expected. I am only a mechanic,” he said and lifted his tool kit as proof of his lack of an ulterior motive or subterfuge.
“We will discuss this after dinner, yes?” She nodded, the decorative horn chains jingling with the motion. “I cannot wait to hear your story. I am such a romantic at heart.”
The airlock opened onto the station docking bay, and Pashaal nearly shoved Ren down the ramp.
He had a few hours to prepare.
“We have a change in plans,” he said into his comm, heading to his ship to scrub himself clean and change intoproper attire, whatever that meant.
“There was a plan?” Havik replied, which Ren ignored. Havik was not amusing.
“Yes. Inform Zalis that the bots have been deployed. He can remotely run the decryption programs.”
“And you are unable to do this task because?”
“What is proper attire for dinner with a Sangrin Council member?” Ren asked, ignoring another question.
“Armor. White or a light gray, to better display the blood of your enemies. Several weapons on display and a succession of blades in diminishing size to be hidden on your person,” Havik answered with surprising speed.
