I wanted to tell him that I did, that it was the burden of my position, that I'd been carrying it alone for so long I didn't know how to do anything else. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, I simply nodded, then turned and walked away, feeling his gaze on my back the entire way down the corridor.
My heart was pounding, and it had nothing to do with the urgent comm waiting for me. Something I wasn't sure I was ready to name, but something I worried I couldn't ignore.
Not anymore.
Chapter 2
Cullen
I watched Serna from across the terrace of her ancestral home, her silhouette framed against the blue-green waters of the Valasyne River. The twin moons had risen early, casting silver light across the gardens. She stood perfectly still, staring out at nothing. Or perhaps at everything.
Three days since the funeral. Three days of watching her move through the rituals of widowhood with unshakeable composure, greeting dignitaries and accepting condolences with grace that seemed effortless. But I'd been watching closely enough to see what others missed: the way she barely touched her food at meals, how her eyes carried shadows that hadn't been there before, the slight tremor in her hands when she thought no one was looking.
She was exhausted. Not just physically, though that was part of it. This was bone-deep weariness, the kind that came from carrying too much for too long.
Most people saw only the title, the power, the unbreakable leader who'd held the Alliance together through crisis after crisis. They didn't see the woman underneath, the one who'd sacrificed everything for duty.
But I saw her.
I'd been seeing her for months now, ever since I'd arrived in Alliance space. And God help me, I couldn't stop.
"You're brooding again."
I turned to find Willa approaching with Titus balanced on her hip, the toddler's blue-gold eyes bright with curiosity. She gave me a knowing look that made me feel uncomfortably transparent.
"Just thinking," I said.
"About her." Not a question. Willa glanced toward Serna, then back at me. "You care about her."
I should have deflected. Should have maintained the professional distance my position required. But Willa had a way of cutting through bullshit that reminded me of my own daughter, and I found myself being honest instead.
"I respect her," I said carefully. "She carries more than anyone should have to."
"That's not what I meant." Willa shifted Titus to her other hip. "But I'll let it go. For now." She paused, studying me. "You're good for her, you know. She needs someone who sees past the job."
Before I could respond, she'd moved on, leaving me alone with thoughts I had no business entertaining.
The truth was, I hadn't planned on any of this. When I'd volunteered to come to Alliance space, it had been purely strategic. A way to help President Eleanor Bradford deal with the Declan Hewes situation. Ellie had been in the crosshairs of that bastard's human trafficking operation, and the Prime had stepped in to help. When Ellie fell in love with Rickon—an alien who'd chosen to stay with her on Earth with the help of a holographic disguise—I'd offered to help the Alliance track and capture Hewes.
It was supposed to be temporary. A few months, maybe a year at most. Just long enough to see Hewes brought to justice and ensure Earth's relationship with the Alliance remained strong. A feat we'd finally accomplished.
Then Chloe arrived. My daughter, brilliant and stubborn and so much like her mother it hurt sometimes to look at her. She'd come on a mission to draw Hewes out of hiding, met Nansar, and within weeks they'd bonded as mates.
My wife Catherine had been gone over ten years now, taken by cancer that had eaten away at her until there was nothing left but pain and goodbye. I'd thrown myself into work afterward, into service, because it was easier than facing the empty house and the memories. I'd told myself I was honoring her by staying busy, by making a difference.
But the truth was, I'd been running. And I'd kept running until I ended up here, in a place so far from Earth that the stars themselves looked different.
Now Chloe was here, building a life with Nansar. And I couldn't bring myself to leave. Not just because of her, though that was part of it.
Because of Serna.
I'd been drawn to her from the first video comm, when I'd seen past the formal greeting and the title to the woman beneath. She'd been beautiful, yes—striking in a way that had nothing to do with conventional attractiveness and everything to do with presence, with the kind of strength that came from surviving things that would have broken lesser people.
But it was more than that. It was the way she listened when people spoke, really listened, as if their words mattered. The way she made decisions with both her head and her heart, even when it cost her. The way she carried the weight of billions of lives on her shoulders and never complained, never faltered, never asked for help even when she desperately needed it.
I respected the hell out of her. And somewhere along the way, respect had become something else. Something I had no right to feel.
She was the Prime. I was a human from Earth on temporary assignment. Whatever I felt—whatever I thought I saw in those rare moments when she let her guard down around me—it didn't matter. It couldn't matter.
