“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
I take it, the metal warm from his hand. The weight of it feels significant, symbolic.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice tight with emotion.
He nods once, sharp and decisive. “Don’t make me regret it. And stay thefuckaway from Pluto unless you’ve got someone watching your back.”
Then he’s gone, melting back into the crowd with surprising grace for someone his size.
The masquerade continues around me, political alliances forming and fracturing with every conversation. I can’t rest on this victory. Lucien’s advice comes back to me: I need to show Commander Kaelix that I’m willing to bridge divides.
I spot them near the technological displays, their sharp eyes tracking my movement across the garden.
“Commander Kaelix.” I stop just shy of what looks like their group of tech engineers, each member outfitted with different gadgets on their faces, hands, or arms. “Would you care to dance?”
The Commander’s hand stills over the device they were studying. Their attention sharpens, not with welcome, but with curiosity edged in suspicion.
“You’re choosing interesting company,” they say. Their electric blue eyes track my expression. “Fine. Let’s see what you want.”
They offer their arm with unexpected formality.
The musicians pivot to a piece with jagged rhythm, unmistakably Uranian. The tempo shifts unpredictably, refusing to settle into comfortable patterns. Commander Kaelix guides us into the first turn, every movement clean and deliberate, as if the music answers to them rather than the other way around.
“For a place built on humble tradition, this garden is drowning in excess.” Their voice is low enough that only I can hear. “Imported crystal, manufactured starlight, delicacies flown across the system. All of it bought with labour the workers will never be paid enough to enjoy.”
“I know,” I say. “I grew up stitching wounds in alleys that smelled of coolant leaks. Places where imported delicacies never existed. I know what it really costs to fund nights like this.”
That earns a flicker of attention, a recalibration maybe. Their grip on my hand shifts slightly, testing.
But they don’t soften. “Plenty of nobles say they’ve seen hardship. It’s easy to use suffering as a story when it helps you toward the throne.”
I let their words sit. They expect defensiveness – expect a polished rebuttal.
Instead, I say, “The people I treated never saw nobles. Never spoke to anyone with power. When their lives improved, it was because someone actually showed up – made a choice that affected them directly. Not through policy. Through presence.”
Commander Kaelix studies the line of my posture as they guide us through a sharper step. The movement is aggressive, testing my balance. “So you think individual action fixes broken systems.”
“No, I don’t think there’s one simple solution to fix the entire thing,” I answer. “I think the system’s built on choices that kept the powerful comfortable … that part can’t be repaired. It needs to be replaced piece by piece, not burned all at once. Burn everything, and the same type of people rebuild the same walls.”
Their grip shifts again in my hands – a change of approach.
“How do you decide what survives and what burns?”
“I wouldn’t,” I say. “I’d use power to redistribute it. Shift who getsto decide. Make sure people who live the consequences have the authority to shape them.”
Commander Kaelix turns us sharply, sending a sweep of my skirt and motion through the open space nearby. A few dancers step aside. The scent of night-blooming jasmine drifts past, almost too sweet against the weight of our conversation.
“Interesting. But what you’re saying is just more of the same rhetoric I hear over and over … every politician gives me empty promises of equality, just so they can cozy up to us and take advantage of our tech and resources.”
“That’s not what I want.”
“Then whatdoyou want, Lady Cyra?” Their voice lowers. “If you reach the throne, what changes for the people who work in coolant-soaked alleys?”
“They stop being invisible. Resources flow toward survival before luxury. Decisions aren’t made by people who’ve never stood on cracked pavement or rationed water for a neighbour.”
Commander Kaelix’s expression remains guarded, but their steps change. They adjust to my movement instead of forcing me into theirs, the dance becoming collaborative.
“I wasn’t raised a noble. I’m not a politician.” I say softly.
