Polly’s hands smooth the fabric across my shoulders, adjusting the fall of the ceremonial sash. I catch her wrist and bring her palm to my lips.
“Whatever they say.” I press a kiss to her pulse point. “Whatever they think. You are my mate. My choice. My future. That’s not changing.”
“I know.” But her voice is smaller than usual. Through the bond, I feel her fear—not of me, but of them. Of not being enough.
“Hey.” I tug her closer. “I’ve survived pirates, corporate death squads, and your terrible navigation.”
“My navigation isfine—”
“You got us lost in a debris field.”
“That wasartistic interpretationof the route.”
I’m laughing when the door chimes again—and this time, it opens.
My mother sweeps in first, because Lady Valorian has never waited for permission to enter anywhere in her life. She’s immaculate in diplomatic silks, every silver hair in place, and her eyes find Polly immediately with the precision of a targeting computer.
Behind her, my father fills the doorway. Lord Valorian in full ceremonial armor—because of course he wore armor to a medical bay. His gaze sweeps the room, cataloging threats, before settling on me with an expression I can’t read.
And behind them both, trying to peer around my father’s considerable bulk: Ayla. My younger sister looks like she’s about to vibrate out of her skin with contained energy.
“Rynn.” My mother’s voice is perfectly modulated. Perfectly controlled. “You’re awake.”
“Mother.” I incline my head—the greeting of an heir, not a child. “Father. Ayla.”
My father steps forward, and for a moment I think he’s going to embrace me. Instead, he grips my shoulder—firm, assessing. Checking that I’m real. That I survived.
“The bio-flare,” he says. “The healers’ reports were... concerning.”
“I’m recovering.”
“You nearly burned yourself out.” His eyes are hard, but underneath—I know that look. That’s fear, barely contained. “Your mother was... we were concerned.”
“I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” But he releases my shoulder, and something in his posture eases. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
“Father.” I take a breath. “I need to introduce—”
“The courier.” My mother’s voice cuts across mine. She hasn’t moved from the doorway, but her attention has been fixed on Polly this entire time. Assessing. Calculating. Finding her wanting. “The one who was transporting you.”
Polly straightens beside me. I feel her spine going steel-rigid through the bond.
“Polly West,” she says. Her voice is steady, but I can feel what it costs her. “OOPS Senior Courier. And—”
“His mate.” My mother says it like she’s naming a disease. “Yes. We’ve been... informed.”
The silence stretches. Polly’s hand finds mine, and I grip it like an anchor.
“She saved my life,” I say. “Multiple times.”
“How fortunate.” My mother’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “The High Houses will have... questions about the circumstances of your bonding. Whether proper protocols were observed.”
“There were no protocols.” I keep my voice even, though my scales are heating with anger I can barely suppress. “There was a mission. A crisis. And a woman who stood beside me when everyone else would have run.”
“Rynn—”
“She is mymate.” The word comes out with more force than I intend. “My choice. I would make it again.”
