"He united the princes against an ancient enemy that threatened to consume us all," Kirr said. "But the war was not the only battle he fought. To claim his bride, the first Empress, he had to wage a war against a rival family who sought to keep them apart. He burned their strongholds and broke their armies, not for land or power, but to reach the woman the gods had chosen for him."
She blinked. "So, he started a war for a girl?"
"He ended a war for his mate," Kirr corrected. "And yes. He bathed the sector in blood to ensure no one could ever take her from him. It is considered our greatest romance."
"Riiight." She shook her head, though a shiver slid down her spine. "Of course it is. Your romance involves burning down strongholds. I should have guessed.”
"Is that not what a fairytale is?" he asked, confusion in his deep voice. "A male proving he is strong enough to keep his chosen female safe against all threats?"
"In Earth fairytales, usually the prince just finds a shoe," she muttered.
But as she looked at him—at the sheer size of him, the lethal grace in his movement, the way his eyes scanned the corridor for threats even now— it made sense. Latharian fairytales weren't about magic. They were about claiming… about violence committed in the name of devotion.
It should have terrified her. Instead, heat curled through her.
They reached the double doors of the function hall. Two guards in formal dress snapped to attention as they approached.
"Ready?" Kirr asked, offering his arm again.
She took a deep breath as her imposter syndrome tried to flare up again. Who did she think she was, walking in here like she belonged? Then she looked at the silver vine bracelet around her wrist and up at the giant warrior at her side. The one whose jaw had hit the deck when she stepped out of the bedroom.
She threaded her hand through his arm and lifted her chin like she was daring the room to try her. "I’m ready."
The doors slid open.
The hall was impressive, a cavernous space with a vaulted ceiling that displayed a holographic projection of a nebula somewhere. Not outside. She might not have known much about space, but she knew there was nothing like that in Earth’s solar system.
Soft music played, and the air smelled of unfamiliar spices and expensive perfume. Conversation lulled as they walked inside, heads turning their way.
She braced herself for judgment. For the sneers, quickly hidden, that she'd seen from the LMP panel, or the dismissal she'd gotten from the engineering techs before she proved them wrong.
She didn't get it.
As they moved through the crowd, people nodded. Respectfully. A group of warriors near the buffet table—the same ones who had scoffed at her yesterday—straightened and inclined their heads as she passed. One even raised a glass.
"They remember," Kirr murmured against her ear, his hand warm on the small of her back. "They know what you did."
"I just read the data," she deflected, as she took the glass Kirr handed her from a passing server's tray.
"You saved the station." His fingers spread wider on the silk of her dress. "Accept the honor, kelarris. You earned it."
She sipped her drink again, trying to look natural standing next to the most imposing man in the room.
"War-Commander."
A younger Latharian male approached them. He was tall, because they were all tall, but he lacked the sheer, overwhelming bulk of Kirr. His hair was a lighter shade of blond, woven with intricate braids, and his smile was easy. Open.
“T’aarn," Kirr acknowledged. His tone dropped a decibel. It wasn't rude, but it wasn't welcoming.
"I heard the rumors, but seeing is believing," the younger male said, turning his smile on Harper. It was a nice smile. Charming. "You must be the human female who outsmarted the entire engineering department. I'm T’aarn."
"Harper," she said.
"A pleasure, Harper." He stepped a little closer and gestured to the buffet. "Have you tried the gliss-tarts? The texture is strange for humans, or so I'm told, but the flavor is worth the risk."
He was nice. Safe.
She looked at him and realized he was the kind of man she would have chosen for herself. Before. The safe choice. The one she could hold at arm's length, the one who wouldn't crack her open and see what was inside, and she felt... nothing.
