The guard’s eyes widen slightly as he looks at Maya, recognition dawning. “Prince Logan’s Omega? The one who escaped?”
“The very same,” I confirm, allowing a hint of smugness to color my tone. “Found her wandering the eastern road, dressedlike she was heading to a royal ball. Surrendered without a fight.”
The guard studies Maya with undisguised interest, his gaze lingering on her in a way that makes my jaw clench. I force myself to remain impassive, to not react as he circles her, examining our prize like a piece of meat at market.
“Doesn’t look like much,” he comments, stopping in front of her. “Pretty enough, I suppose, but hardly worth all the fuss.”
Maya keeps her eyes downcast, but I can sense the fury radiating from her, carefully controlled beneath her submissive posture. If we survive this night, I’ll make sure this guard regrets his words.
“The king wants her,” Ares says, his deep voice rumbling with authority. “That’s all that matters.”
“Our commander ordered us to transfer directly into the king’s custody,” I tell him. “Can’t risk her going astray again.”
The guard hesitates a moment longer, then hands back the papers. “Alright. Proceed to the main gate.”
The barrier rises, and I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. First hurdle cleared. But the main gate will be more difficult—more guards, more scrutiny, more chances for our disguise to fail.
We move forward, the palace growing larger with each step. Even after years away fighting in the Outlands, even after my recent exile, the sight of it still stirs something in my blood. The ancestral home of the Corellian line, a monument to power and permanence. My birthright. My prison.
“You’re tense,” Maya murmurs, her lips barely moving. “They’ll notice.”
She’s right. I force my shoulders to relax, my stride to become more casual. Just another guardian doing his job. Nothing special. Nothing worth noticing.
The main gate approaches, its massive iron doors flanked by a dozen guards in royal livery. Unlike the outer checkpoint, these men are elite—handpicked for loyalty, trained to spot deception. If anyone will see through our disguise, it will be them.
“Remember to stay focused,” I say quietly. “I’ll get you through this.”
Maya’s eyes meet mine briefly, a flash of understanding passing between us. For all our differences, for all the hurt and anger that still simmers between us, we are united in this purpose. In this moment, we are truly allies, fighting for something larger than ourselves.
The captain of the gate guard steps forward as we approach, his hand resting casually on his weapon. “Halt,” he commands. “State your business.”
I repeat our cover story, presenting the forged documents with practiced confidence. The captain examines them more thoroughly than the checkpoint guard, his eyes narrowing as he reads.
“Maya Tantamount,” he says, looking up at her with increased interest. “The prince’s runaway. Interesting timing, her return.”
“Sir?” I keep my voice neutral, though alarm bells ring in my head.
“The king is hosting a revel tonight,” the captain explains. “High-ranking Alphas from all the provinces are in attendance. Your prisoner will make quite the spectacle.” He smiles, the expression lacking any warmth. “The king will be pleased.”
A revel. Of course. The timing couldn’t be worse—the palace filled with nobles, security heightened, all eyes on the throne room where we’ll need to present Maya. The odds of being recognized just increased exponentially.
“We were instructed to bring her directly to the king,” I say, maintaining my role. “Sergeant Keller was most insistent.”
The captain signals to the gate guards, who begin the process of opening the massive doors. “You’ll be escorted to the throne room,” he says. “The revel is in full swing, so be prepared to wait until the king acknowledges you. I’m sure a hefty reward will come your way for being the lucky bastards that brought her in.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, inclining my head in deference to his rank, glad he can’t see my bared teeth. “We appreciate your understanding.”
As the gates swing open, revealing the grand courtyard beyond, I feel Maya tense beside me. This is it—the point of no return. Once we step through those gates, there’s no turning back. We either succeed in our mission or die trying.
“Ready?” I murmur, the question meant for both my companions.
“Born ready,” Ares replies, his voice a low rumble.
Maya says nothing, but she straightens her spine, lifts her chin slightly. The gesture is subtle, but I recognize it for what it is—determination, resolve, a silent declaration that she will not be broken by what comes next.
We move forward as one, crossing the threshold into the palace grounds. Two guards fall into step behind us, our escort to the throne room. I keep my gaze forward, my posture relaxed but alert, the perfect picture of a guardian doing his duty.
The courtyard is familiar yet strange, like a place visited in dreams. The same elegant fountains, the same meticulously maintained gardens, the same marble statues of Corellian ancestors watching our progress with blind stone eyes. But the atmosphere has changed—tenser, darker, the air itself seeming to vibrate with suppressed violence.
